The Anal Destruction Of Eric Dane
I can hear the old man’s voice in my fucking head.
I know it’s his voice, even though I have never heard him speak. Even though I have never met him, I know it’s him talking to me.
It’s the fucking mask.
It’s only when I put on the fucking mask.
Maybe I shouldn’t have done what I did. Maybe I should ha-ah, fuck. I’m supposed to be cutting a fucking pr-whoops, preaching to the people. Aunt Princess came up with that euphemism and I actually like it, I think it’s a great little carnie term. I’m essentially doing a commercial here, but I can’t let you know it’s a commerc-GOD DAMN IT. Who the fuck thought it was a great idea to use my fucking inner voice as the narrator? There’s a perfectly good camera here. You fuckin’ deal with this shit. You’re impartial. You see it like it is.
“What would happen if Thanos jacked off with all six stones inside the Infinity glove?”
“Hold the fuck on. This is fucking serious. For real. I need to know this shit.”
Princess Madwoman, in her brand new swan mask and pink fleur-de-lis gown, stares at Madman Szalinski II with a state of frozen bewilderment. The anonymous interviewer can only stand back and watch, as the schedule regarding their time to question Madman about his upcoming matches in the tournament appears irrelevant to the Pas De Deux.
“Like, would his dick come clean the fuck off and fly away to fucking Narnia or something…”
“Mad, he has the time stone. He can just go back in time and get it back.”
“So, if he’s busting cheeks, he can just freeze time right at the millisecond before he busts off, pull out, aim it at whatever, and BLAM?”
“Well…yeah, I guess so.”
The tag team partners are in a deep discussion at this point, still seemingly oblivious to the attempted interview currently in progress. Madman is far more into it than Princess, however. “Well shittin’ up the bed! Why the fuck didn’t he just do that to disintegrate half the universe?”
“Because the sacrifice he made throwing Gamora off the cliff was a pivotal plot point to the movie.”
“So was all the motherfuckers they turned into fractal dust, but okay. And she was adopted. Who the fuck cares about foster kids? Not even the fuckin’ Democrats care about us. Shit, I’d throw me off a cliff for a six pack of Pabst.”
Madman trails off, flicking a lock of his blonde hair over his shoulder. He looks confused for a moment, but right before the interviewer can ask him a question, he snaps his fingers. “I got it! I know what I’m supposed to be talking about now! Okay, okay, do the thing!”
“You ready?” Princess looks over towards her nephew, who licks his lips as he rubs his hands.
“Ready to get this done and over with so I can smoke the rest of this joint in the parking garage.”
“I’m gonna give you a good one. This is your HOW debut, they’re been waiting for you to come here for years now…this is really important, Mad. So you deserve the best.”
Madman puts a hand on Princess’ shoulder, smiling through the mouth slot on his mask. “Awww….god damn it, you’re making the red on my rights blush. Isn’t she fuckin’ adorable? My aunt, Princess Madwoman, ladies and gentlemen. If it wasn’t for her I would still be eating out of a god damn soup kitchen on the east side of Columbus.”
Princess’ cheeks are a bit more visible than Madman’s, so her blushing can be seen by the viewer. “That’s very sweet, but we’ll talk about me next time. This is about you. Ready?”
Finally, Madman appears to be able to concentrate on the task at hand. He leans down a little bit, stretching slightly, then nods back. “Fuck her right in the pussy.”
Princess takes a step back. before yelling. The interviewer does not, and cringes holding their ears when she yells out.
“PREACH TO THE PEOPLE, MADMAN!!!”
Immediately, Madman goes into orator stance, as if he is delivering a sermon upon a mount.
“GOD DAMN SON!!!!!!!!!” He smiles; peacefully but with a very uneasy feeling of eruptive tension, just itching to poke out from the thin membrane of a front being put up. “It’s been a little while, hasn’t it? Last time y’all saw me, I was in England letting the Greek Wonder Woman get one over on me – and no, I’m not talking about Ms. Troy, I have nothing but the utmost love, respect, and professional admiration for that class act of a lady. That and she’d rip my tongue out and make me eat my own ass if I ever did say anything cross to her. But I digress.”
The energetic flow of Madman as he engulfs himself in his words allows him to continue speaking without pause, pantomiming modestly with his hands. “I was giving y’all this big spiel about how I was done, and y’all would never see me again. Well, you know that in pro wrestling, never say never. High Octane Wrestling was closed at that time, too. They said HOW was too much for the business. It was stuck in the old ways of blood, guts, and nipples being visible through women’s tops. They said HOW couldn’t survive in a refined business where management hands you a list of words you can’t say on their programming.”
Madman chuckles a little bit at this. “And whose programming are you seeing me on right now? Fuck what they said, can’t be done my baby blue ass! Madman Szalinski is done, you say? Oh, he’s dead now so we can go around saying he never did anything in the busines-OH LAWD HE COMIN’! SHOULDN’T TALK SHIT IF YA AIN’T READY TO CATCH SOME HEAT! I WALKED RIGHT BACK OUT THE AFTERLIFE THE WAY I WALKED IN, BLUNT IN ONE HAND AND FIST OF RAGE IN THE OTHER!”
“GOD DAMN SISTER! I’M FEELING THE HOLY SPIRIT!” Princess raises her hands in testimony, walking around in the background, eyes rolling into the back of her head. Madman, meanwhile, keeps on trucking. “AND WHEN A GUY COMES BACK FROM THE DEAD, AND SEES TWO OTHER MOTHERFUCKERS COMING BACK FROM THE DEAD, ONE HAS A SHOVEL AND THE OTHER ONE HAS A COPY OF A BOOK CALLED ONE CHANCE: THE LEGEND OF VALERIAN’S GUARDIAN, HE WANTS TO KNOW WHY EVERYONE IS TRYING TO SNEAK OUT! AND THEN HE SEES TWO IMPS HIGH ON COCAINE WEARING NO PANTS AND A UMPIRE HELMET CARRYING A BIG ASS POSTER THAT SAYS HIGH OCTANE WRESTLING ON IT AND THEN I’M LIKE WELL THAT MAKES PERFECT SENSE!”
Madman leans back, pointing to his aunt with a familiar face of a long-haired hulk of a man clad in yellow. She completely suspends all movement, heeding the call of the pastor. “DAB ON ‘EM, AUNTIE! DAB ON ‘EM IN THE NAME OF THE FIGHTING SPIRIT THAT DRIVES US TO DO STUPID SHIT TO OUR BODIES IN THE NAME OF ENTERTAINMENT AND COMPETITION!”
Still entranced, Princess does indeed ‘dab on ‘em’ while giving praise. “THOU SHALT NOT STIFF THY WORKERS ON THY PAYOUT!”
“I’m here, I got my family by my side, there’s a tournament going on to figure out who’s gonna carry the HOW banner into war against the competition, and I’m in it.” Now turning back to the camera, Madman has calmed enough that he has no longer scared the crew filming. “High Octane Wrestling has always been one of the biggest names in the business. If you hold their title, you are indeed a true champion. You’re not holding a belt you got as a participation trophy. The HOW champion, whoever they were, earned their place in history. I want that belt not because of what it would mean to me, but what it will mean to you. I want you to be proud when you tell your friends HOW is back and they ask who the champion is. When you say Madman Szalinski is the champ and he won the belt by fighting for it in five different matches, I want you to feel good about yourself.”
Even when being loud, there has still been an aura of lightheartedness throughout this video segment. This begins to dissipate on Madman’s next line. “Now, if someone like Max Kael, or Eric Dane wins that tournament, how will you feel about having to call them champion? That’s my point. I want this, but I definitely don’t want them to get it. I have a lot of people I need to think about going into this tournament. Virtually everybody in it is a potential opponent down the line. Even Princess Madwoman.”
Both family members look at one another and shudder at the thought of facing one another. Princess gestures at the camera, which Madman returns to addressing.
“But before I look ahead at the possibilities, I first have to face the inevitable. I don’t know if I will face my aunt in the finals, or Max Kael in the next round. I DO know that I will be facing Eric Dane in the first. Before I can talk about wanting to pull on Max Kael’s chin until Skittles come out of his nose, I have to discuss humbling Mr. Upper-Middle Class. Yeah, we seen you in your suit you got from the local Sears that was closing and had a 75% off liquidation sale. And front all you want, pal, but we both know them royalty checks from shit you did in 2012 ain’t coming in anymore. So you think to yourself, hey if Madman Szalinski is coming back from the dead, so can my career. The only difference between us is that the things that held you back are still tied to your neck, while the albatross that stopped me has long since flown the fuck off. Eric, get your headphones on and go in the other room for a minute. You will want to listen in closely for the next couple of minutes.”
Any playfulness within Madman is fading fast. “The old man is dead and gone. The jaded and brittle old fool you convinced to play on your team back in Utah, Eric? That isn’t who’s standing before you today. Just like how the hair on my shoulders has grown a little bit longer than the last time you saw this gig on a glossy 8×10, so has the entity you know as Madman Szalinski. And I see you grew your hair out a little bit since the last time you saw this mask. It must be feeding your ego, according to your Twitter feed. You said, and I quote…hang on, let me pull it up.” Producing a cell phone from inside of his tights, Madman begins swiping and scrolling frantically. “Here we go. I screenshotted it so it would motivate me.”
“No. No. Hell the fuck no. We are absolutely NOT turning this into some kind of “underdog’s journey” for you, sweetheart. There will be no bracket breaking for you, Deadman Szalinski!” The cell phone is angrily stuffed back into Madman’s tights. “Says the guy who has not done shit since he won the UTA Championship – a belt he won only when your favorite masked Madman put on a striped shirt and fast-counted the champion out BECAUSE HE PAID HIM TO, MAY I REMIND YOU…”
Madman now stands tall, opening his arms out wide. “CAN I GET A MOTHER FUCKING AMEN IN THIS COCK SUCK?”
“MOTHER BLEEPING AMEN! THERE MIGHT BE KIDS WATCHING!”
“Please.” Madman brushes this off with a dismissing wave. “HOW has broadcast the feeding of used tampons, a guy getting killed with a shovel, Scott Stevens matches….if anyone is letting their kids watch this shit, I pray to God they didn’t register to vote. Trump doesn’t need any more help destroying my country that I love so dearly.” Princess shudders at the thought of Scott Stevens’ matches. Madman shakes his head for a quick moment, taking a second to breathe before resuming.
“Eric Dane, after I helped you win the UTA title, you disappeared faster than Chingy. You weren’t hurt. You weren’t dead. You didn’t have a heart attack seconds after winning a title. You just decided you wanted to sit at home and play with the couple hundred thousand you had left. Hopefully you didn’t spend it all on that fancy little suit with the scarf. Them paparazzi dirtsheet reporters take pictures of everything, I’ve vanity searched myself on Google image before looking for the perfect p-”
Princess nonchalantly interrupts Madman. “You have some very serious ADD issues. I hope you know that.”
“FINE! Getting back to the point.” After Princess redirects Madman’s wavering thought process back onto task, Madman is able to get back to delivering his message.
“You just took your ball and went home. You were bored of fucking the same bar rats and watching old UFC pay per views on your 64 inch home entertainment system, so you decided you’d come crash HOW’s return thinking people would run scared of your reputation for things you did way back when. Me on the other hand? I crawled out of the titty fucking grave to be here. Just by showing up, I have already done more than you. I broke the bracket just by being in it. I beat the odds just by standing here talking to you, Eric.”
Madman looks stoic, determined, and as firm as ever. This almost nostalgic aura of Madman Szalinski fills the room, as the former UTA champion slowly raises in intensity once more.
“You can’t just pick up where things left off. The UTA is gone now and with it, whatever legacies we had there that we didn’t take with us. Your legacy is intimidation and unfair play to get what you want. My legacy is repeatedly doing what I’m told can’t be done. Oh, I can’t win that belt? Sorry, I didn’t hear you, it was really loud in there when I won that belt. Oh, I can’t beat the brass’ top pick for the future of the company? Ask that guy how many booking offers he had in his DMs after I beat him. YOU KNOW WHY PEOPLE MOCK ME FOR SAYING I DON’T NEED A FUCKING TITLE TO GET OVER? BECAUSE THEY KNOW IT’S FUCKING TRUE!” Madman’s yelling is now at full force. The pure emotion of his frustration pierces every syllable. Even Princess appears somewhat uneasy.
“THEY KNOW I’M RIGHT! THEY KNOW THAT NO MATTER WHAT HAPPENS, WIN OR LOSE, I WILL STILL BE MADMAN SZALINSKI IN THE MORNING! I WILL STILL BE THE GUY WHOSE TWITTER HANDLE IS AT AUTOTUNE MY PENIS, I WILL STILL BE THE GUY WHOSE DOG GOT INTO THE UTA HALL OF FAME, I WILL STILL LOVE OTHERS AND BE LOVED OTHERS BY THE WORLD OVER! I WILL STILL BE THE BLUE AND RED THAT SHINES IN THIS DULL ASS BLACK AND WHITE WORLD!” Sweat drops from Madman’s mask, and down through his chest and arms onto his trademark blue and red singlet. Veins are protruding throughout his wrists, and he almost appears to be shaking. “AND YOU ERIC, ARE SALTIER THAN JACK SPARROW’S NUTSACK ABOUT IT! BECAUSE WITHOUT THAT TITLE, ERIC, YOU AIN’T NOTHIN’ BUT JUST ANOTHER OLD MOTHER FUCKER LOOKING FOR ONE MORE HIT OF THAT GOOD SHIT YOU USED TO DO WITH YOUR BUDDIES BACK IN THE DAY! YOU NEED THIS, ERIC!”
“Calmez-vous.Tes nerfs…” Princess jumps up with very legitimate concern for her nephew, who has to take a deep breath and cough a couple of times, leaning forward. He looks back nodding at her. “Yeah yeah, oui oui and shit. Thank you. Heart.” A tired Madman looks up at his aunt, forming his hands in the shape of a heart against his chest. She returns the gesture with a nod and a weak smile.
After feeling confident that partner in their Pas De Deux is okay enough to continue, Princess finally steps back. Madman wipes his face with his hands, and when he one more speaks it is with a much calmer tone. “Eric Dane, do I still got your attention? I know I do, I keep saying your name just to make sure I do. That’s the only way to keep you listening.. You need this tournament, this HOW championship, hell this HOW revival even….you need it to be relevant again. I am already relevant. Madman Szalinski is well known throughout the globe, from BFE to the LBC, from Panama to Wichita. Pas De Deux? That’s French for ‘hottest tag team in the business, and we haven’t even debuted yet.’ I need this because I want to take wrestling back from men like you, and give to those who never stop trying. While you shower and leave right after your match, we stay and help ring crew tear down and load up trucks. While you eat lobster tail on the promoter’s company credit card, we eat pizza with the production team and tell jokes. We ain’t here for us. We’re here for the people watching this. I need to win the HOW tournament…so Eric Dane doesn’t.”
For the first time in several minutes, Madman is able to smile. He closes his eyes for a moment, appearing to finally be zen and relaxed. This is short lived. “Dane. your fairy tale comeback story ends at Refueled One. As for me, don’t call it a comeback. Call it a rebirth. STILL I RISE! FROM THE ASHES LIKE A PHOENIX MIDDLE FINGER TO THE SKY, SUCK ON MY…”
“Don’t do it, please dear God-” Princess covers her face, but Madman still grabs his junk and flips the camera off anyway.
She merely throws up her hands and shrugs, motioning towards the interviewer who has yet to say a single word throughout the video clip. “I’m walking away now, and I strongly advise you do the same. We could be here all night.”
Princess exits, stage left. The interviewer shrugs and does the same. They could have done so five minutes ago and nobody would have known. Madman is left alone, and could care less. He is in full trap rap mode. “LYIN’ ASS HO OUT DEFIANCE WHEN I SAY THE SHIT AIN’T LYIN’! FUCK YOU MARKS WHO HATIN’ THIS FOR ALL MY FANS THAT WAITED!”
Madman begins to stop jumping, slowing down as if he is a kid about to vomit.
“High Octane’s hottest new agent.”
Madman freezes, his face inches from the camera. The final like is almost a whisper, directed through the camera right into the minds of its intended recipients.
“Bitch, I’m reincarnated.”