Beda Simmons vs. Johnny Flash: First Strike is Deadly

As the crowd lulls into a state of quiet, the Jumbotron screen begins to show creepy video clips of the dying and gothic swamps of South Louisiana. Included: Decaying houses on the bayou. Voodoo dolls. Toothless and haggard redneck-horror show-people giving thousand-yard stares. Alligators. Whispy ghosts. Snakes. Tires. Coyotes. Old statues, arcane graffiti and mud. Hanging Spanish Moss. What appears to be a face down body in the swamp.




….The video clips are accompanied by voices. Intersecting voices. A stew, a whirling dervish like the collapse of the Tower of Babel. Too soft to decipher yet too loud to be anything but a constant sea of noise.

Very faintly we can hear the opening baritone of Glen Danzig’s voice as the soft opening of “Devil’s Plaything” hits the speakers. After a few moments, we hear a deceptively light combination of the auditory equivalent of honey, cigarettes and broken glass. It’s the soon to be familiar Cajun drawl of Johnny Flash. As soft as his voice is, it booms above the others.

“Ohhh…Beda Simmons. Bed, Beda, Beda Simmons..little soldier girl..little commando..Army Strong, eh..you’re behind enemy lines, aren’t you? By luck or by fate, the dice have been rolled. Heh-heh..Ha!  Y-y-you’ve been selected as my first opponent, haven’t you? Qu'est-ce que c'est, baby? Did-did you see something in me that made you homesick for war? Something that made you miss the bullets flying overhead? The explosions in the back? Do you have post lack-of-traumatic stress disorder? When you see chaos, do you feel home? If you wanted a homesickness cure, if you wanted a war. I’ll oblige ya, chere. I’ll give you a war you won’t believe. I’m double the worst thing you’ve seen over there. Come out and play, Beda..”

The jumbotron cuts to black as the heavy lead guitar of “Devil’s Plaything” kicks in and Danzig’s baritone becomes a heavy wail..and a green spotlight illuminates the entrance ramp.

To a mixed reaction of boos, cheers, gasps and true stuttering incomprehension, Johnny Flash walks out from the back. He’s different from most of the roster. Way different then most of the roster. Flash is clad in his typical orange kimono-style ring jacket and orange hakama-style pants with the ankles tucked into his black wrestling boots underneath a pair kick pads. The chest is open, to reveal heavy mistreated skin. It's nicked and bruised and burned and discolored from all sorts of after-effects of assault with various sharp/heavy implements. His stomach is actually taped with medical tape, from his navel up to the underside of his pecs, matching the tape on his fists and forearms. His wild blonde hair hangs by his shoulders and his dead eyes look out of his boyish face as if stoned or perhaps post-coital euphoric, the kind of smug satisfaction you get when you've made love to someone beautiful and your whole body feels pure and good and right in the moments that follow.

Flashy:

We realize the fans aren’t staring at him, they’re staring at what he’s brought with him.

Across his shoulders is an absolutely gargantuan bundle of light tubes.

“Got Beda a present. It's a newborn babe! A little BUNDLE of JOY! HA! Qu’est-ce qui c’est!?”

Flashy chortles, letting out a laugh as he walks to the ring with a zombie-like gait, occasionally stopping to sneer at fans before sliding the tubes under the bottom rope, and walking up the steps to meet them in the ring. He slowly takes off the kimono-like jacket before folding it over the ropes and turns his body, staring down the entry ramp like a gunslinger waiting for the other unlucky soul at the OK Corral.