The True Story of the Don King-Wayne Newton Fight

Ladies and Gentlemen, I’ve done a little digging into the inevitable battle between Wayne Newton and Don King and from various security tapes and the sworn testimony of those present, I’ve been able to reconstruct what I believe to be an accurate telling of events as they happen.

***

Sweat poured from Wayne Newton’s brow as he stepped from the stage. Another show a success. He panted. These performances so far from home always took a lot out of him. Sure, he’d tell the stage hands that it was just this Mississippi humidity, but deep down, he knew the truth. He was too far from the vault, too far from the Holy Grail it contained. With every mile apart he felt his mortality return. So far from home, he would barely be able to walk away from a head on collision. Still, though he may not have been safe so distant from its power, it was far safer where it was than on the road. He couldn’t risk the grail falling into the wrong hands, such as those of long time rival Tom Jones. The thought of losing the chalice made his hair stand on end. Or was there perhaps something else in the air?

*

On the other side of the casino on the convention floor, the air sizzled with electricity as Don King promised the press what would certainly be the most prospicitous pugilation beyond all rememimbrification. Even so, deep within him, his spirit stirred. He could sense a power, a presence not far from him, Beyond Magnolia Ballroom to be sure. Beyond even the casino floor, but not much farther. In fact, if he had to guess, he would assume the source of these disturbances was the theatre. He rushed through the rest of the press conference, accidentally mispronouncing awesomicity, though no one seemed to notice. He had to find what caused his mind to buzz and flare. Surrounded by the blinding light of his rhinestone covered denim jacket, he quickly made his way down the back corridors to the stage.

*

In the theatre, Wayne Newton hurried to his dressing room, wrought with unplaced apprehension. As he rounded the corner, he found himself finally able to name his fear.

“King.”

“Newton.”

Wayne immediately sprang into Crane style, but Don King’s Monkey Fu outclassed the singer in moments. “I’m gonna increase the whoopitude on you a hundred-fold.”

The martial arts battle continued. Newton switched to Blind Frog Style, which King countered with Silent Tiger school. Naturally, Newton countered with Heavy Fist, due to its unbalancing effect on King’s graceful deadly dance. Silent Tiger gave way to Hungry Fox, but Newton anticipated the change and was already preemptively counterstriking with Hundred Petal Lotus technique. I could not ascertain who, but someone threw fencing blades to the two as they neared the stage. Again it became a contest of rival styles. They started with Agrippa due to the uneven surface of the stage steps, but Don King countered with Capo Ferro. Newton turned to Thibault, which he always felt cancelled out Capo Ferro. Now on the level stage, King was able to counter with the Bonetti defense. Looking at the scuff marks on the stage, I was able to ascertain that it was clearly the work of two masters, if not wizards, of swordcraft.

With a laugh, Don King switched his sword from his left to his right and began a relentless flurry of blades against the singer. Newton quickly became overwhelmed by the assault, lost his footing and fell, cursing himself for ever switching from the Agrippa. He began to climb to his feet before a searing pain shot through every nerve in his body. He cursed himself again. How could he have forgotten? How had he failed so completely to account for his opponent? For one brief moment, Newton had been on all fours. In that moment, Don King attempted his mental killing blow. Though by no means near, Wayne Newton was still close enough to the Holy Grail that the mental assault merely stunned him for all he was woth.

Sensing that he was losing the upper hand to Don King, Wayne Newton panicked and turned invisible. He had to get back to the grail if he was to survive this. Otherwise, Don King would sever his head and take his power. He raced for his private jet as Don King released a nigh endless flood of lightning through the theatre. Each blast burned like hellfire, but Wayne Newton managed to make it to the roof, where he boarded his aircraft and blasted his way across the menacing night sky.

Back in the theatre, Don King was momentarily stunned by the sonic boom, but knew where the singer must be going. Out of the building in a flash, Don King used his hypersonic speed to run down mile after endless mile of highway before finally reaching his destination: Wayne Newton Manor.

He began his merciless attack on Newton’s abode, but was quickly struck down by a being of raw force. Wayne Newton descended from the mansion aglow with holy avenging power. “Not here, mortal. Perhaps in Biloxi you could have defeated me, but not here. And not when I have THIS!”

Newton wielded the grail before him. It was filled with pure, unadulterated power. Indeed, the cup ranneth over with it. Don King had to back away. The power was too great for even him to be in the presence of. The promoter steeled his courage for one final, though futile attack. So close to the grail, Newton did not even need to defend against it. Don King was blasted back by Wayne Newton’s overpowering aura.

(the following I cannot confirm as the two were out of view of the camera, but I heard it in at least one account and I really want to believe it’s true.)

The singer strolled to Don King’s prone body, plucked a twenty from his wallet, and whispered into the beaten man’s ear before having him removed from the property.

“Danke schon, bitch!”

***

Again, this account is based on observation of security tapes coupled with my lip reading ability and the sworn statements of seven key witnesses and twelve auxiliary witnesses.

You have been informed.