Blackness. *Click click* “Ruby Soho” by Rancid soon blasts through the speakers as Mickey turns on his webcam. He is seen in an undisclosed location, where all we can see is four small walls. It appears to be an empty closet of some sort. Mickey’s face is shadowed at first until he pulls on a chain, lighting a bulb up above his head. He tosses back his pint of Guinness, smacking his lips afterward, setting it down as he adjusts himself comfortably.
Mickey: Alright? To my two fans, and anybody else who has wondered where I been lately…I’m gonna be quite honest here, mates… Been on quite the bender lately, staying pissed. It’s been great, but then I remembered I had a job when I got a call from ole Staggy the other evening. Bloody fuckin’ hate when that happens…
Mickey turns the music down ever so slightly as he adjusts the camera to look up into his bloodshot eyes. He pulls a cigarette out of his black flannel shirt pocket and places it between his lips, lighting it as he continues to speak.
Mickey: I’d like to go on kissing arse and saying that I’m lookin’ forward to facing this bloke, but to be quite honest I’m not… Never heard of the wanker. I took a quick look to find some information as if I gave a dog’s bollock, but all I could come up with is that his brothers are pretty good.
Mickey nods his head as he draws the cigarette out of his mouth. He sucks the smoke in deeply before blowing it out after a moment. He looks up at the ceiling for a moment, letting the cigarette hang back from his lips.
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Mickey: Ehhh… no, I tried to give a toss about it. Tried to convince me’self that he’s worth worrying about. Tried talking me’self into going to the gym earlier today to get worked up to face him. The truth is that I can’t seem to come up with a fuck to give. Fresh out, mate… And to think, yer being propped up for a shot at the Roulette Championship? Bleedin’ shame if I do say so me’self. Yer barely a threat to someone the likes of Steve Ramone so I’ll piss me’self if ye make it past Brother Grimm. I’ll drop dead of a heart attack, honestly…
Mickey takes another swig of his beer as he taps the end of his cigarette, ashes falling to the floor as he goes.
Mickey: I seen some Tweets this morning from Mr. Hardon, and how forward to this match he is looking. Warms me heart to see someone who hasn’t realized I’m a complete dick these days. Makes me want to shake his hand before I boot his crackers all over the ring. I won’t, but the thought crossed me mind.
Mickey lifts his practically empty bottle up to inspect it, looking upset. He lowers it down and drops his cigarette into the bottle, swirling it around a bit as it sizzles.
Mickey: I’m gonna perfectly honest with ye, Michael me boy… I don’t give a toss if ye beat me mate Ringo a couple weeks back. Doesn’t impress me at all. Ye got lucky. Don’t take it as a sign that yer going to walk on by me. If ye think so, I’ll make sure ye regret it. In ACW, I took down some of the top notch competitors that walked through those ropes. When I came here, I took down me fair share of people too. Yer nothing special, mate. Ye might have yer “Creatures” supporting ye, but that’s only going to be even more upsetting for ye. After all, other people are the reason to compete, right? Can’t let people down…
Mickey rolls his eyes as he laughs. The music switches over to “Sheena Is A Punk Rocker” by Ramones. Mickey’s smirk mellows out as he bops his head along to the music.
Mickey: ”She’s a punk, punk… a punk rocker… punk punk, a punk rocker…” Bloody hell, Ramones… now I forgot where I was. Guess it wasn’t that important to me after all? Kind of like this match. It’s a joke, and a waste of me time, but I never give up the chance to collect a paycheck. If it means coming in there and laying you out with Drunken Lullabies, then I guess it’s what has to be done, yeah? Just don’t expect me to come in there and play nice with ye, Hardy. I don’t play nice with anybody. Just ask Ben Jordan. He’ll tell ye. I don’t come to the ring and show respect to anybody. Never have, and don’t expect I will be starting any time soon.
Mickey stretches out as the door to the closet opens up. A soft feminine voice is heard indistinctly, not being picked up by the microphone. Mickey scoffs as he looks off past the camera.
Mickey: Oi! I told ye I’d be back in five minutes, woman! Can’t ye keep yer panties on for that long? Bloody hell…
Mickey looks back to the camera, shaking his head and squinting his eyes at the sudden increase of light. He takes in a deep breath and then points out past the camera with his thumb.
Mickey: I’ve been on about this Michael Hardy for long enough. Plus, I have been meaning to get to some training, and boning is one of the best workouts, yeah? I’m gonna have it off with this fit blonde slag, and then I’m gonna show up on Sunday and crack yer skull, Michael. I’m gonna stop ye dead in yer tracks so ye get nowhere near the Roulette title. Cracking skulls and crushing dreams… sounds like a fun night. See ye there, Mikey… And for Jake Salco, and anyone else bothered to watch this… just remember, “#BoinkedYerSister”
With that, Mickey nods his head, rolling his eyes as he begins speaking indistinctly. He quickly shuts off his web cam, allowing the music to play through to the end of the song, a few mere seconds. We fade out from here.
