Kayfabe in Aldi - The Satanist John Dusk v The Golden Goober
by Josh Dale, 3.24am May 10th 2021
It all kicked off when The Golden Goober plowed into the chest of “The Satanist” John Dusk with a shopping cart. The mobile cameraman stood in the foyer as G.G. grappled J.D. by his black, leather shoulders, hurling him into the Aldi. Casual shoppers near the produce shrieked as the gold and black duo swung elbows at each other for a solid 20 seconds. Grunts echoed all around the building as the wearied Aldi workers peered around the aisles. Customers shirked as their bodies slammed into shelves. Nobody on that casual Thursday evening was ready for the carnage,
“Get over here!” J.D. yelled, grabbing G.G. by his long blonde hair. He stiff-armed his face into packs of grapes, the juice flying all over the place. He slid down the shelf, and onto his back. The cameraman zoomed in on his face, gasping and glazed.
“You…bastard,” G.G. said.
“Wait till the Spring Break Bash, when I take those title rings of yours!” said J.D. pointing to the five bedazzled rings spanned across his ten fingers. They were so tight, they made G.G.’s fingers miniature sausages. They were the original rings from when the league formed in 1984, each with a different colored gemstone that was replaced after every Pay-Per-View. The rings themselves were hammered brass and scuffed to hell. They passed through the hands of famous stars, such as Dull Dan, Sulk Slogan, and The Turquoise Tiger.
Meanwhile, the Aldi cashiers yelled for their manager to break up the ruckus. Customers formed a loose semi-circle around the brawling duo, now throwing bags of trail mix. Nuts and berries flew like confetti. A rotund, aloof man in a blue hoody stood at the end of the aisle, looking ahead as if distracted by an unseen phenomenon. With the brute strength of a silverback gorilla, J.D. speared G.G. and sent their combined mass into the man. The trio fell to the floor. The assailant in black was the only one to rise.
“Serves you right,” he said. His veiny hand grabbed the wrist of G.G. “Maybe, I’ll take those rings from you right now. Doesn’t look like you’re using their power.”
He then etched a pentagram onto his firm, leather-clad chest, preparing for the finishing move, The Black Sacrifice. The lifeless bystander finally rolled out of view as the cameraman looped behind G.G. and capturing the ritual for the ratings. The concrete was stained with their sweat. Specks of blood spat from G.G.’s mouth onto his lengthy amber beard. Real blood.
It was only when G.G. rose, wobbly at the legs, did the power of the five rings course through his body. He took both fists pulled them back as if he were reigning in a bronco, and punched J.D. One fist per pectoral. The ritual was broken. J.D. jettisoned backward, only stopping as his back crunched into the cold case. He plopped face-first into the ground and didn’t get up. G.G lowered his hands, awestruck at the temporary superpower.
The cameraman, affixed on everything, lowered his camera, dumbstruck. “You must be the Wrestle God. The rings’ engravings foretell of the one who can harness the power.”
The Aldi manager finally came out of the stock room, clipboard in hand, and on a Bluetooth call. One look at his ransacked store, and two towering titans of men that caused it, forced his hand. He strode over to John Dusk, nudged his ribs with a non-skid shoe. John didn’t budge, as if he sensed the camera’s empty eye still upon him.
“Y’all are getting arrested, just so ya know!”
G.G.’s eyes inspected the rings and how the gemstones’ shine pulsated with the beat of his heart. His letterman jacket covered in dirt and food and sweat, he walked out the door, his stage name emblazoned on his broad shoulders. The cameraman broke from his stupor and lifted the camera again. The studio rolled the credits in the bottom left corner as The Golden Goober—the true champion—plodded through the sliding doors of the foyer, into a flickering sunset of red and blue.