Dean Vandal [vs.] Ezekial Task

500 words minimum - 5000 words maximum
RP HERE

Growing up on the streets of Mexico adapting to their language and always being an outcast regardless of at the time calling the place my home was always difficult. Getting a meal proved to be the hardest. I had stopped going to the missions because the religious stuff didn’t interest me and they forced it on you in exchange for the meal. I was all about independence, taking care of myself. I had to take care of myself since no one else wanted to.

While the childhood was a struggle everyday it all proved to be the foundation for the man I’ve become. I’m a disciplined individual with my own set of beliefs. I’ve also become the best professional wrestler EVER and the people just don’t know it yet.

It wasn’t an easy road to finally being signed to a developmental deal. I worked in shitty conditions, didn’t have medical insurance so I couldn’t go to the hospital if I got hurt, barely made ends meet as I bounced around and couldn’t afford any of the fancy ring gear like some of the other guys had.


Fireworks lit up the dark sky as colorful explosion after colorful explosion blossomed in the air. Standing there all of eleven years old with a few of the other kids I had befriended we watched the fireworks light the sky up and watched people parade up and down the streets. The smell of freshly cooked food and the sounds of festive traditional Mexican music filled the air.

It was Cinco de may and the streets were crowded. So crowded that a group of misfit orphans could blend in the crowd and not be hassled by the local authorities. We weaseled our way to the buffet tables snatching up handfuls of food and eating under the table. It was the first big meal I had had in a LONG time.

Sitting there with my friends we ate together and never said a word. It was pure bliss for some street kids.

Finishing up the first helping I poked my head up to survey the area before popping up and grabbing some more food to take back under. Just as I went to reach my hand up I felt someone grab my wrist and yank me out from under the table. I looked the police officer in the eyes and he started to question me. So close to breaking I looked behind me and my friends bolted from under the table. The officer dropped me hesitating on if he should go after them or not. Without hesitation I took off and didn’t look back.

Cutting through the crowd was easy with my size. I weaved through and ran between the alleys all the way back to my little shack I had take shelter in.

-Whistle-

Whistling for my friends to see if they were around the abandoned auto garage but they weren’t there. Maybe they thought I was going to snitch on them so they found another place to stay. It wasn’t uncommon, I had friends that were around for a year then would just vanish. I was used to being by myself and alone. At least I got away and had a full stomach. Tonight would be a goodnight.



“Here you go kid, you did pretty good out there for a gringo meng.”

Looking up from unlacing my boots the smell of cigar smoke poisoned my nostrils as I cough a bit and fanned the smoke away from my face. A large Pancho Vila looking Mexican stood in front of me with his white beer stained polo shirt that was too small for his stomach. He smiled at me with the cigar jammed into the corner of his mouth.

“You gotta…como se dice? Connection with the audience, or something like that meng. We’d love to have you back anytime you want. This is for you…”

Dropping down an envelop on the waterlogged and corroded bench I looked at it as it sat there beside me. Cursiouly I opened it up and inside it was 2500 pesos. Thinking about how that’s like 200 American dollars it was whatever. Just enough to feed myself and give my body the fuel it needed.

“Gracias…”

I was grateful for the opportunity to showcase my talents to even a small crowd. That small crowd cared more about the sport than most mainstream fans did now anyways. The large Hispanic man nodded his head to me and whistled a tune walking away to hand a few of the other wrestlers their envelopes.

This was just the beginning and a small portion of what I would be molded into. The pure wrestler with all the talent in the ring and naturally having a big mouth made me an animal on the microphone. Speaking both English and Spanish perfectly helped me out too.

As I had gathered my things together I walked with a pep in my step. Wearing the same track jacket and pair of breakaway pants I had bought from a thrift store I wasn’t the stylish of people. My bleached blonde locks made me look like a delinquent or so I was told. I just didn’t really pay much attention. I’ve only wanted to be a professional wrestler and nothing else. I wasn’t trying to be on the cover of GQ magazine like Alex Dillinger or Brandon Macdonald.

“Hey amigo!”


Turning my head as I walked down the road heading away from the small arena. Nope I had no clue who this stocky guy was that was approaching me. He patted me on the back and shook my hand. He was a friendly guy that’s for sure, I wasn’t used to that in the least bit.

“I saw your match, impressive really impressive amigo. You trained long or no?”

“A few years yeah…”

Here again I didn’t know this guy and wasn’t about to share my life story with him. He smiled wide and nodded like he knew he was on to something.

“You see my friend and I run a gym not too far from here and we’re looking for some new blood. You should come down and check us out, train with us even if you’re too advanced…”

Advanced? Ha this guy was a joker I botched a couple movies and it was my ability to last out at the audience that saved me. Needless to say I was shocked at the opportunity to do something. Get free training in a real gym that sounded promising.

“Yeah why not, I mean I’d love to come check it out. You got a card or something?”

Quickly reaching into his wallet he now looked like the nervous one. Fumbling through credit cards and membership cards he finally pulled out a bent up card and handed it to me. It looked like he had chewed on the corners or something. My eyes looked unsure as I slid the card into my pocket.

“There you go amigo, we’re there usually everyday. I sleep there sometimes. It’s like the home away from home you know what I mean?”

“I know exactly what you mean. Maybe I’ll drop by tomorrow. I gotta run though. Nice meeting you.”

“Yeah you too amigo.”

He went for the handshake and I went for the hand slap it was confusing. I simply waved my hand at him saying goodbye and headed down the road to the cheap little motel I was staying at. I knew the hard work would pay off and finally I would be able to train in an actual gym. This was going to be an exciting time for me. I looked forward to it.




“You know I’ve been talking and talking and telling each and every single one of you that Dean Vandal is the real deal. I’m not some overhyped muscle bound gorilla that happened to be in the right place at the right time. No, I’ve had to work to get to where I am. The constant traveling, bouncing around the small territories, living in a van, eating cup of noodles and crackers…I lived that life. I lived it in pursuit of my dream. My dream is to become the greatest wrestler, not the greatest sports entertainer but the greatest WRESTLER in this fucking business!”

“There isn’t a single person in this company that has worked as hard as I have and there sure as hell isn’t a single person in this company that can match my talent in that ring.“

“I didn’t have a place that I could ever call home. The squared circle is about as close to a home as I’ve got. This isn’t just me pumping myself up as a wrestling God but it’s me being one hundred percent honest and me being one hundred percent determined to prove true to my word. When I say the ring is my home I mean it. The moment I step through the ropes, the moment the bell sounds and the moment I lock up with my opponent…. that very moment it’s like pure bliss for me.”

“It’s not about the thrill of stealing something or jumping out of an airplane. It’s not about getting my kicks from physical violence. It’s not about getting off on all of the attention from the press, the fans or your peers. None of that means shit to me. It’s all about he competition and being the BEST. Everything else comes with the territory. “

“You know I watch other programs I don’t live under a rock, I see what goes on I’m no dumb, deaf or blind either. There are federations out there that have lost touch with this sport. Almost making a pathetic mockery of it. Looking like a cheap VH1 rip off…think about that for a second VH1, cheap and rip off. Yeah that’s what I thought. Fucking gossiping like they’ve got nothing better to do. Every single one of them slaves to the screen glued to twitter to find out who is sticking their dick in who. Personally I think it’s a fucking joke. Lot’s of talking and hardly any action. Let’s not forget the ever so popular hard asses that talk a big game but when you walk into their house they shriek in fear. Yeah I’m looking at you Kenneth whatever the fuck your last name is.”

“It amazes me that while I remain here with the REAL wrestlers in a raw and gritty setting I’m being looked at as average, just a developmental talent with no future. Fuck you for thinking that. How could I even be judged when most of you have only seen me wrestle one match? Know what happened in that match? Yeah I won. Said I was going to win, walked out and backed up my mouth. When you’ve got a mouth like I do you’ve got to be handle business in the ring.”

“You see what I speak is the truth, I tell you the things that deep down you’ve always thought but been too afraid to say. I’m that voice. Take my word as gospel not some clown…hold on I don’t normally do this…”

Fuck where was my cellphone? Reaching into my pocket I pulled it out and started to enter the unlock code scrolling down and then stumbling on what I was looking for. Turning my phone for the camera to see a man with a beard and giant stomach could be seen.

“Ezekial Task. I couldn’t remember his name so I had to pull up his bio. Pretty cool phone huh? Never thought I’d have one of these, I told Alex Dillinger I’d get a twitter if he bought me an iPhone 5. Personally I hate the idea of twitter and pretty much everyone on there, yet somehow I’ve started to gain this weird following. Anyways where was I….”

“That’s right I was talking about ME. There’s one thing that I can say is while my word is the truth it’s become more and more difficult to get airtime. I mean here I am sitting here in front of my own little camera to film my promo. They don’t’ pay us much and they don’t give us all of the glamorous perks that the guys on Battlegrounds get. That’s all fine and good I guess they “entertain” more than we do. Half of those guys couldn’t wrestle their way out of a fucking wet paper bag. Who are they to judge me on ANYTHING? I’ve trained harder than anyone else PERIOD. This has been my life, it’s what I’ve lived for. Worked my fucking fingers to the bone for. I guarantee you I’ve never been given a handout in my LIFE…well except for maybe this….”

I hold out the phone again for the camera cracking a coy smile before slipping it back into my pants pocket.

“All joking aside I just love this sport, this business and I appreciate the real legends of the sport…guys like Frank Gotch and George Hackenschmidt. The two brutes that grappled and brought wrestling into the spotlight. I could give a fuck what people have to say about that goofy fuck in red and yellow tights BROTHER! He’s a showman and a stiff terrible worker, let’s not forget if not for some prewritten bullshit catchphrases he’d be NOTHING. Just another product being force-fed to the public. ENOUGH! No more of this SHIT! I’m here to change ALL of THAT.”

“Ezekiel Task serving a false being, haven’t seen that before. You claim that you’re here in IWF to spread the word of the Lord. I’d love to sit down and have a face to face with you some time Ezekiel, maybe after our match….once I BEAT you. Seeing as how you seem like such the impressionable guy there’s a few things I’d like to run by you. One of those things being ocean front property in Arizona, I’ve got some and you look like the right buyer.”

"Ezekiel know what I think of people like you?"




“Zeke…hopefully I can call you that. Or not I could give a shit. You’re no better than the fools you talk about that watch these garbage programs poisoning their minds and being forced into their homes gathering around at a certain time and day of the week just to stare at a screen. What do you think you do when you go to “church”? You just sit around staring at a statue of a man crucified, listening to a man in a robe that’s supposed to have some special connection with our “father” that I don’t have. Yeah because that makes perfect sense, this all powerful, forgiving, understanding being that’s supposed to love all of his children equally yet the piece of shit child molester in the robe is closer to him than I am….ok sure. Fuck you GOD. I am my own man and I’ve always been my own man. Everything I’ve ever done in this life has been by my own merit. Using these two hands as the tools of my trade. Using my brain to learn and study the sport. I never need GOD in my life. I didn’t need him when I went nights without a meal starving as a kid in the streets of Mexico abandoned by my oh so loving mother and father. I sure as hell don’t need him now.”

“I dare you to come to me preaching on and on because everything you say I’ll throw it all back in your FUCKING FACE and laugh about it. I’ll disprove anything you have to say about your choice in beliefs because it’s all STUPID. To think that the world has monsters, goblins, ghouls and chupacabras….IGNORANCE, pure IGNORANCE. That’s nonsense of children and campfire stories. Maybe I’m just too advanced in my mental abilities to allow myself to dumb down to a level of accepting some great and powerful OZ or Holy Marionette.”

“So who did I beat Zeke…that rhymes, I bet those PUMA assholes would want to sign me after that one. Generic pieces of shit. Well to answer your question before I start ranting and raving on a whole different subject manor…I beat two guys that by all intensive purposes could BEAT you! I could see either Daniel Psycho or Hot Stuff beating you. You fucking slob. While I think Hot Stuff is a retard and his gimmick is stupid and he has an academy award for an award that doesn’t exist…BEST KISS…moron…but either man would best you on any day. Believe in that gospel Hoss.”

“Save your prayers for me and use them on yourself. Pray long and hard don’t move from your bedside the entire time up until the point we have our match…eat your vitamins too. Cock smoker. Once I walk out through the curtain and down the ramp…climb into the ring step by step…and that bell DINGS…”

“Well I’m sure if you ask your GOD that knows all he’ll be glad to tell you. It’s your time to be JUDGED! You and everyone like you is good at pointing the finger but what happens when the finger gets pointed back? What happens when someone has a bigger mouth and a MUCH bigger set of nuts? What happens when a MAN steps into the ring with someone under the protection of some mythical creature? What happens when Dean Vandal lifts your big ass up and knees you in the fucking face!? THEN WHAT!?”

“Then you’ll lay there on the flat of your back in a daze, the referee will make the count one, two and three. You’ll think to yourself why God why? Yet receive no answer. You’ll wonder where your oh so powerful savior was when you needed him. You will question your faith and you will question your existence. Dean Vandal has spoken the truth and I invite you to SAVIORSELF.”