High Octane Wrestling
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Published: Written by: Cecilworth Farthington

What is a measuring stick?

 

Well, it’s a big stick.

 

And you use it to measure things. Like height, sometimes length. I’ve heard on occasion that people can even use it for girth if you can imagine such a thing, crazy as that may be. 

 

Sometimes though, on special occasions for special boys and girls, the term is used to define an actual living and breathing human being. A person that has been so incredibly accomplished in their field at that specific moment in time that they are the benchmark to compare all others in their field against. Sometimes people may even refer to them as the “Gold Standard” of the industry. 

 

Our hero, the ICONIC World Champion, Cecilworth M! J. Farthington tends to have a slight issue with the term “Gold Standard”, it tends to trigger more negative memories of a fight unfulfilled. His white whale of the Refueled era, Mr Johnny Q. Sektorton is the only man who has always had the upper hand in the ring with him. After recent revelations prior to Rumble at the Rock related to Cecilworth’s now former agent, manager and advisor it seemed that perhaps Sektor had some outside support in his domination over the Farthington Fancy Lad and certainly there were underhanded deeds in place during the War Games match at the very minimum. 

 

Cecilworth had and indeed still has a burning desire to rectify this situation, particularly with the saboteur out of the picture for the foreseeable. What happened with Dirk? Well that’s a different story for a different day, that day probably being tomorrow in all likelihood. 

 

Still, there was a hitch in that plan of great vengeance, that small problem being, with Sektor’s disappearance after his surprising and rapid shock loss for former World Champion Halitosis for the big red strap, Cecilworth is very likely never to have to opportunity to avenge that loss. This leads us to the following statement of wise words…

 

“If I can’t get him in the ring, I can get him in the record books.”

 

The rather forceful voice of Cecilworth Farthington rang through the air with a degree of awkwardness at the outside of the SAP Center is San Jose, which is home to at least one shark. Perhaps even more than that! 

 

Cecilworth as we join him is in the middle of making his way through a line of High Octainites eager to get some ink on a picture, paper or human appendage that vaguely looks like a scribble that if you squint hard enough you could convince yourself said “C. Farthington” but actually just looks closer to a flacid penis trickling out some golden juice. 

 

Farthington: It’s true you know, if I can find my way around Queen Linda THIS FRIDAY on Refueled VEE EYE EYE EYE then I am one step closer to eclipsing the longest reign in ICON history and erasing that handle-barred miscreant once and for all. I do not want people thinking for a single

 

Cecilworth was learning that the life of the World Champion required perhaps a little more showing of face than that of the ICON. As ICON, Cecilworth basically had his own fiefdom, made his own agenda, shoved his face in the public when he fancied a day at the water park. Beyond all that, all the arrangements used to run through Dirk, who had a rather forceful way of filtering through the good appointments and the bad ones. Now, on his own and with the entire brand of High Octane on his shoulders, CM!JF didn’t feel like he had much of a say in which appointments he would and would not attend. He was requested to make an appearance at the SAP Center Box Office to help boost ticket sales to a potential sell out and he viewed it as his duty as World Champion to do so. 

 

He knew that the success and failings of the company rode on his shoulder now. Sure, he talked a big game in the run up to RATR, it’s easy to take potshots from the sidelines as the ICON champion and claim yourself to be the figurehead of the company, it’s a very different situation however when there is not a single doubt in anyone’s mind that you ARE at the center of the company. Sure, Lee and Scotty ran the business side but people were going to judge High Octane Wrestling on their measuring stick and that measuring stick was now draped in a fancy scarf despite the reasonably pleasant San Jose climate. 

 

Next up in line with a large A3 printing of Cecilworth’s beautiful face is a rather burly lad who it could be said walks with a bit of a waddle but was an eager fan nonetheless.

 

Burly Boy: Congratulations Cecilworth, how do you feel about finally becoming a World Champion? 

 

Cecilworth flips off the lid of his golden sharpie marker and begins to scribble on the top of his face as he converses with the chunky funster. 

 

Farthington: It doesn’t feel right… yet. It won’t feel right until I achieve what I need to achieve. Do not get me wrong, another victory against the smokey, molten malformed Terminator that is Dan Ryan, alongside a chance to shut down the underdog narrative of bad-breath mask guy only this time as a special surprise he doesn’t have a mask or bad breath, ruining to two mildly interesting things about him was a wonderful moment in my life, something I will cherish forever with my good friends and fellow belt boys Max Kael and Mike Best but… I am still longing, I am still left waiting. I still have to correct one last issue that lingers in this era of the High Octane and I do that as ICON Champion, not World Champion. 

 

Cecilworth notices the chunky funster has sort of zoned out so to try and regain his attention and fanship, Cecilworth tosses upwards of thirteen dollars at his face. This slaps the big lad out of his funk and he ambles off on his merry way, being replaced by a rather petite and eager woman with a small napkin in hand.

 

Lady Female Fan: Like, so… you’re like super not focused on Elle Tee, right? You have a big Iron Man match against Dan Ryan at Iconic and that’s like, totally your focus isn’t it? She’s totally going to sneak up on you…

 

Cecilworth’s brow furrows in this exchange.

 

Farthington: Why young lady, I do not even know what you mean. 

 

LFF: Well, like, everyone looks over Elle Tee despite her having a very dominant record and that’s how she gets her wins… underestimation. You’re like a big silly boy so you’re totally going to fall into that trap… also please sign my napkin.

 

Cecilworth bunches up the napkin and tosses it in a nearby rubbish bin trash can. It is unconfirmed at this time whether he yelled “KOBE!” or not as he did so. I mean, how would Cecilworth even know what a Kobe or a basketball was. Unless it was a delicious eighty seven dollar Kobe steak. Now that’s the kind of Kobe a man like Cecilworth can get behind. Perhaps he was so impressed with the throw he had decided that he was going to reward himself with an expensive steak and perhaps and one hundred dollar bottle of sake to match. 

 

Farthington: I will do no such thing you foul mouthed wench. Napkins and pen ink is for genuine fans of HOW’s Bestest Boy. None of this “oh, underdog, looked over” nonsense. If you were an actual fan of the ICONIC World Champion, who is me, you would know that the last thing I do is overlook ANY defense of my precious ICON Championship. I don’t know if you missed the fact that me and THE BIG WHITE are one…

 

LFF: That’s like totally racist.

 

Cecilworth splutters in a confused irritation.

 

Farthington: What? No, look at the colour of the leather you young fool and your idiot ideals. We have been melded together as a single unified ICON since the beginning of the era. I’m hardly going to be taking my eye off the prize in this fine city of San Jose, famous for having sharks that roam the street and eat the poors, a concept that I can firmly get behind. Now please, begone, me and my ICON need to heal ourselves from your nonsense words. 

 

We zoom back in the shot enough to see that on the signing table, the HOW World Championship and HOW ICON Championship sit neatly presented and propped up to either side of Farthington. Farthington begins patting and stroking the ICON Championship in a longing fashion. He begins to talk to it in a cooing voice that unsettles those within earshot

 

Farthington: Our work here is not yet done my baby. Ms. Troy thinks that she is something of a stealth assassin, luring in the fools who doubt her prowess and impressive CV with her feminine wiles. I’ve seen through her though, I saw through her at War Games, I knew what very few else in that match knew, that Lindsay Troy is a threat. Give her an opening, give her an inch and you will not come out with anything close to a victory. Look at what happened to the former Sex and Money, she’s had seven wins since she got back, two losses, one of which was at War Games and they thought they were going to brutalise and destroy her on the way to reclaiming their tag gold. Idiocy. I admire Troy, I know her talents but Refueled is not going to be her night. Refueled is not for her because she’s trying to come between me and you, my dear…

 

Cecilworth picks up the ICON Championship and gives it a big old smooch, weirding out and disgusting many of the onlookers.

 

Farthington: Yes, our relationship is an open one now, the red beast is also one with my heart but you know you were my first and I will never let any harm come to you. Our work together, our relationship, it is not yet done… we still have so much to do together. I will never let a member of The Industry sully our precious connection. We are bonded, we are one, you are never leaving my side no matter who comes and joins our family. Maybe those tag boys will come next, I know you can handle the orgy, you are a majestic ray of light, a true vision in white. 

 

The fan who was about to approach the signing table begins to take a rapid step backwards as Cecilworth continues to talk to the belt, opening his shirt and rubbing it up and down his chest. 

 

Farthington: She will try and she will try damn hard but she isn’t breaking us up. We have so many sights to see, worlds to conquer, Sektor records to crush. It is not yet our time to part and I will not let her come between us. 

 

Let us leave with some fine parting words. A great mental image for your soul.

 

Random Onlooker: That’s kind of disgusting. Is he… OH GOD HE’S UNZIPPING. EVERYONE FLEE!

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