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Post by steve on Oct 8, 2009 11:18:40 GMT -5
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"Try it again, Shane," the man in the glasses said in an irritated tone. Shane slouched insouciantly on the leather sofa across the room. This was becoming a bit taxing on his nerves. He knew he would have to gain a better grasp of English as it was spoken in the Western Hemisphere, but this man was being a bit more of a taskmaster than he'd bargained for.
"All right......How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?"
The man's eyebrows rose above the black rims of his glasses in surprise.
"Outstanding," the man proclaimed. "That really was perfect, Shane. I knew you could do it." The man moved over to the coffee pot on a table in the corner, and poured himself a cup, then began adding sugar. Shane looked out the large window to his left, watching the rain come down. Thunder sounded in the distance, following the flash of lightning that lit the storm-darkened sky momentarily. It reminded him far too much of Capetown for his liking, just then. He loved his hometown, but it held bad memories for him, and those memories were too fresh to be dealt with comfortably. He lit a cigarette, and continued to look out the window. Over an hour left of this. Bloody lovely.
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I guess you're probably not liking what you got the other night, hey, Blazenwing? You weren't expecting someone to have the gall...the temerity, to try to interrupt you and your partner in your efforts to end the career of AJ Adams, were you? I actually owe Adams something of an apology. Were I not so new to TGW...were I not expectant of someone else to stop those two from doing what they did, I would have come sooner, and perhaps prevented some of the pain you endured. I will know better in the future, hey?
And speaking of the future, David...ours, it is not so distant, hey? Monday comes soon, and you will be found unprepared for what awaits you, I'm afraid. Oh yes, I've studied up on you my friend, and that kak you had the audacity to spew when you claimed to be the best wrestler today was just that.....what's the word you Amerikaaners use? Oh...shit. That's what it was...shit. But apparently, you were not done there. You promised to 'break' anyone who disagrees with you. Pardon me while I get the waders on, David. It's getting deep. Tell you what, Dave....I disagree with you. Break me, hey? I dare you, moffie. You'll find that I'm more than equipped to put that myth to rest. Looking at some of the video available for your activities in yhe ring, I can assure you that the only world in which you are better than anyone is the fantasy world inside your head, or ma se poes. You will see the truth of this, hey...come Monday.
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"All right, Shane, try that one more time, and actually TRY this time."
He was getting tired of hearing that. He supposed the man was trying to actually earn his money. It really would not do for him to come off sounding like someone who didn't know English while talking about his opponents. No matter what he said, it would sound like rubbish. No, that simply would not do. Hence employing this tutor to help him grasp the brand of English spoken in the Western Hemisphere. His understanding of how necessary this was did not prevent an exasperated sigh for escaping him. The tutor, Reid Sharpton was his name, was a professor at a local university, and had agreed to work for a surprisingly small amount of money, which was good. His funds were not limitless. Neither was his patience. an hour of this was long enough, and yet, there were thirty more minutes to go.
He crushed his cigarette in the ashtray, and sat erect before speaking.
"She sells seashells by the seashore."
The tutor nodded in satisfaction. No verbal indicator of how he was doing. Those had stopped earlier. It wasn't like he needed verbal confirmation of doing well....well, yes it was, in a way. Without the verbal confirmation, he had no idea exactly how good he was doing. Sharpton's phrases of praise had been "excellent" for something said spot-on, 'well done" for something that was almost there, but not quite, and "try that again" for complete kak. The tutor looked up from a book he'd been going over, and spoke.
"OK, I want you to make a sentence that sounds completely American, except for the accent, of course."
He grunted.
"Of course," he said. He thought for a moment, then looked his tutor in the eye and said, "I'd love to rip your fucking throat out," without a blink.
The professor blinked, though. Several times, in fact. He adjusted his collar, moved his tie about, dabbed his sweaty face with a cloth from his pocket. the man's eyes bulged behind his glasses. he wished he could have seen his own face, just then. Very satisfying. Shane smiled.
"V-very well, Shane. Excellent," he stammered. Then he was gathering his books, and other belongings, even though this was his office. "I-I'm afraid I have a very important meeting. S-so t-that will be-uhm, be all for t-today."
Shane stood up quickly, and the man jumped. Very satisfying.
"Same time tomorrow, Professor?"
The man nearly groaned aloud at that.
"Yes..yes, tomorrow. Same time, Shane. See you then," he said as he scurried out the door.
Shane lingered for a moment, turning back to the window. He sort of regretted startling the tutor. It was mean spirited. A bit of fun, but still....ah, nothing to be done about it now, he supposed, except to be a model student tomorrow. The man was helping him, after all.
Of course, he was making a nice habit of offending those who tried to help him. He'd have to change that. One more thing to atone for. His thoughts drifted to the way he'd left Vilaar. He'd regretted it every day. Vilaar understood, of course. He'd said so, anyway. That's just the way Vilaar was, though. Understanding. The man would likely slap the taste out of his mouth if he ever saw him again. The list of wrongs to be righted seemed to be growing, not shrinking. He'd have to work harder. Work until it was over with, this entire charade. Then he'd be truly happy.
Somewhere in the distance, thunder rolled.
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Jy weet mos, David, that what you're in for at this week's edition of Animosity, it won't be pretty. Animosity. An apt name. You may wonder why I bear so much of it for someone I don't really know, hey? You used to be one of the fellows on the right side of things, David. You used to take the fans to heart, hey? Now you shun them, as if they had done something wrong to you. You said they made you soft, David. You hold these people who spend the duration of your match in your presence accountable for the decisions you make? You have enough of the lack of success, and you blame the people who pay their hard-earned money to see you? I never did have much respect for your wrestling ability, but I have even less respect for you as a person now, David. You're a poes, David. And you don't even have the fortitude to admit it. Of course that would be a bit of an oxymoron or something, hey? Oh, I'm sorry...I keep slipping into the language with which I grew to adulthood. What I called you was a 'pussy'. I'm almost certain you've heard that before. I will, however, try to refrain from referring to you as things in my native language. I'd hate to confuse you even further. but then, let's face the truth, shall we? No one would ever confuse you for erudite, would they? Go ahead and look that up, David. That's actually English, though it wouldn't surprise me to learn that the company I think you'd keep would never have heard of it, much less uttered it.
Done? Good. Let's move forward, shall we? Let's see...you used to be on the right side of things, as I said, but now, you seem intent on making every fan who was ignorant enough to cheer for you regret the act. Almost as much as I regret having to dirty my hands on you. I don't appreciate those who take the path you seem set on, no matter who they are, but you....it seems you'd be better left to someone of your considerably lesser abilities. And in case my education befuddles you, yes, I just said that I, who have never wrestled a competitive match outside Baron Vilaar's training facility, am better inside the ropes than you are.
Perhaps you're anticipating a game of Super Mario Bothers, hey? I'm all for fun and relaxation, David, but I assure you, this will be no game. Come Animosity, you're going to learn that years in the ring mean nothing when confronted by superior talent and ability. You've faced some excellent competition, I'll grant. But none, I think, as knowledgeable as The Baron. He says he's seen you in the ring before, and lends your ability some weight. He's seen many people you've known and faced in the ring. Like Anthony Johns, the Legend. He's seen the likes of Chis Legion, who he said I remind him of in some ways. He compared me to some of the greatest wrestling has ever seen, David. People who everyone knows are your better. Does that mean I'm the greatest thing snce sliced bread? Of course not. I'm confident in my abilities, though, and for very good reason. Vilaar imparted to me everything he knows, everything I need to not only survive, but succeed in the ring, and that success begins with you, David, when I show you that preparation breeds success, and show the fans of TGW, of this business, that there are still people worth cheering for.
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The rain pelted him as he waited for a taxi to stop. He didn't understand it, actually. He thought that the only people taxi drivers feared in this country were blacks and foreigners. And while he was foreign, he certainly didn't look it. finally a taxi pulled to a stop in front of him. He opened the door to find plastic spread on the seat. He glanced at the driver questioningly. the man, a burly looking man of obviously Middle-Eastern heritage looked at him as if he were ready to drive away.
"Do not waste my time, buddy. I am busy. Get in, or don't."
He got in, feeling the plastic move as he situated himself. He gave the driver the address he was headed to.
"That's some accent you have there. Almost English, but something else...some German in there?"
He shook his head 'no'.
"South African," he said without looking at the driver's reflection in the mirror. If he had, he would have seen the flash of indignant irritation that flashed over the man's face.
"Oh, I suppose your kind thinks that my kind is beneath you, then."
Inside his head the sigh was much more expressive than the small one he let out.
"Sadly, some of my countrymen think in ways similar to that."
"And you?"
" I do not think that way, hey?"
"That is good. I do not tolerate racism in my cab. It is hard enough, what with the man keeping people like me down."
The driver continued to ramble, but he tuned him out, for the most part. He'd mumble agreement every so often, but mostly concentrated on the window, and what was beyond it. Here he was, pretty new to this country, and already he had garnered gainful employment with TGW, and had already likely created an enemy with his actions at the most recent edition of the company's weekly show, Animosity. This David Blazenwing, a man he had heard of before, might prove a bit testy. He'd best not let the man win. that wouldn't impress his new friends at all. He was quite happy with the cheers he'd gotten from the fans. That would certainly make everything all the more enjoyable. Indeed.
Finally, he started to recognize some of the scenery and knew he wasn't far from his stop. The driver had stopped rambling. He wondered if he'd supplied the right responses at the right times. No matter. The man WAS beneath him. Not because of the color of his skin, but because of his racism. Assuming all South Africans were racist simply because they were South Africans. Once the cab stopped he handed the man a one hundred dollar bill and told him to keep the change. He suddenly wanted nothing more than to be away from the man. Soon enough he was inside his room at the Hilton. A bit expensive, yes, but a man had to have standards. No sooner had he walked into his room than his cell phone rang. It took him a moment to answer it. It was new, and he wasn't quite familiar with it.
"Hello."
Silence answered him, for a moment. He almost spoke again when a familiar voice spoke to him.
"Hello, kid."
"Ah, hello Mr.-"
"Shut that shit up, kid. You never know who might be listening. Do you understand what I mean?"
"Yes sir, I understand."
"I understand you have a match with David Blazenwing this week."
"That is true, sir."
"Let me make this clear to you, kid....we do not like Blazenwing. It would not hurt our feelings if something very unfortunate happened to him."
"Sir, you know that I cannot do anything like that."
"Haha! Good answer, kid! Just testing you. Look, we wanted to wish you the best of luck out there this week. and say, those English lessons seem to be going well, from the sounds of it. You like the tutor I hooked you up with?"
"She wasn't available, sir. I had to get someone else. Professor Sharpton. He's quite good, actually."
"Sounds like it. Still, Sophie should have made herself available to you. did you tell her I sent you?"
"I did, sir. She appeared pained at not being able to take me on."
He wasn't about to mention the face the girl had made at the mention of his name, though pain might have been in there somewhere.
"Well, she must have been very busy. She'd do anything for me, that one. Ah, well. Anyway, best of luck to you this week. Remember, we'll be watching."
"I'll...uh...keep that in mind, sir. I'll do my best."
"See that you do."
*click*
He didn't notice the building ache in his head just then. He was too busy hoping he'd deciphered that message correctly. when that ache made itself known though, it was a doozy.
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So, David, have we covered everything of necessity? Let's see, I illustrated how you turned your back on the fans who provide you with an income. A handsome income, I'd guess, hey? I pointed out that, for all of your having been in the ring with some of the best the business has ever seen, your own ability is the equivalent of horse offal. I personally think that when you weren't putting yourself in those matches, the ones who did simply wanted to see you humiliated. I'm sure they got what they wanted more often than not, too. Well if the match makers in TGW wanted to see that one more time, they're might just get what they want. That simply depends on you. You can bring the type of game you normally bring to your matches, if you want. That will definitely see you get humiliated. But I'd prefer if you brought something other than the norm. I'd like to see you at your absolute best. I want you to give the very best effort you can muster. The best you've ever mustered. I would dearly love to see you elevate yourself to a level of respectability. It won't do you much good, but at least you'll be able to say you tried. Of course, when I leave you laying there, wondering how it all went wrong, wondering how you lost to a novice, wondering why Steve Canyon didn't come out to help you, you'll lie, and say you didn't try your hardest. You weren't ready. You thought we were going to play Super Mario Brothers.
More's the pity. I'm going to show you that the right way works, David. Sure, there may be ups and downs along the way, but nothing says more for a man's character than whether he decides to stay the course, or turns tail and runs away. you ran away, David. You chose to take the short cut, the easy way, hey? That's okay, though. If you've got any sense whatsoever, you'll take the beating I'm going to give you this week as it is intended; a lesson. A lesson about how what is right can emerge victorious over what is wrong. You made a mistake, deciding to go the way you have, David. But mistakes are just that. You learn from them and you move on. And perhaps that is what you'll do, David. Assuming you can move, that is.
I look forward to our encounter, David, but I want you to take something to your heart, hey? You can't beat me, David. Oh, you'll try, I'm sure. It will seem a valiant effort, inside your head, no doubt. You will bring what you consider to be your talent to the ring, you will try to overcome me with the *ahem* awesome might of your vast ring knowledge, and you'll undoubtedly unleash the power of your new found attitude. You go ahead and cheat all you want to, David. Still you won't defeat me. Why?
You just can't beat The System.
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Post by David Blazenwing on Oct 10, 2009 7:33:21 GMT -5
My name is David Motherfucking Blazenwing. I don’t make excuses. The TGW logo appears, followed by a few moments of static, and then an image flickers onto the screen; that of a dank, dark basement. Championship title plaques adorn the walls, along with posters of many of the greats of the game. Footsteps can be heard approaching and after a moment, David Blazenwing walks into the frame. He stares into the camera for a moment, glaring, then claps mockingly for a few moments before beginning. David: I have to admit, Magnus. You talk a pretty big fucking game for somebody who’s never been inside those ropes when the bell rings. Maybe you fashion yourself some kind of freedom fighter? Some kind of locker room hero?Blazenwing smirks. David: You got a lot to learn about the business, kid. The first lesson is free; don’t get involved in matters that don’t concern you if you enjoy being able to walk properly.DB leans against the wall, his head slightly cocked to the left as he continues. David: You see, Shane, there’s a certain code in this business that less and less of you new guys are adhering to these days. All of you rookies are running to the ring and trying to make their names against us established stars. I don’t take too kindly to anybody trying to make a name at my expense, Magnus. It’s not polite.As the word ‘polite’ leaves his lips, David smacks them softly, uttering the word with as much audible disdain as possible. David: I’ve been a wrestler for, damn, probably going on eight years soon. When I started wrestling, did I try to run to the ring on my first show and challenge the top dog? No. I knew my place and I worked my way up from the bottom. Wasn’t long before I was getting big matches and winning titles. I have respect for anybody who is willing to work for their spot. But when I see some young ham-and-egger coming in trying to off that one big name to become known, well, I have to take exception to that.David pushes off the wall with his left foot, taking a few strides before turning 180 degrees and leaning against the opposite wall, his eyes never leaving the gaze of the camera. David: I also have to admit, I’m quite disappointed in your approach against me. Don’t get me wrong, the little speech training vignettes you aired? Very cute. Very Rocky. It’s been done, though. I could have done the same thing as you; hell, I could have shown video of the time I spend a day working out, or perhaps a kitschy barbecue with me and the wifey. I’m just not as facetious as you. I also wouldn’t air the parts that show the clearly visible hard on you have for your professor. How exactly were you paying him, again? Keep it in your pants, kid. It’s embarrassing.David chuckles softly. David: I haven’t even gotten to the best part… your overly clichéd rant against me. I swear to God, it’s like you’re a close personal friend of everybody who’s fought me over the last eight years. Let’s see if I got all the points here… I’m a talentless hack who is only a great wrestler in my own head. Check. Heard it before. Tell that to every wrestler I won a Championship belt from. Take your time, there’s a lot of them.David smirks darkly. David: What else… oh, yes, I’m incapable of breaking you, and I’m full of shit for thinking I can handle you. Check. Heard THAT one a million times. Really, you’d think I was stepping into the ring with fucking Superman every week with all the posturing you people throw out there. Despite what you think talent really is, the difference between myself and someone like you is that I regularly accomplish what I set out to do. Now, I’m not perfect. You win some, you lose some. Some just lose a lot more than others. I’m not one of those people.David sighs. David: And by the way, don’t think of my beatings over the last few weeks as me, how did you put it, “taking the shortcut”. My change in attitude has had exactly the effect I expected it to. Since turning my back on my so-called “fans” - who, might I add, did not provide me with my income, that would be my “sucky” wrestling skills… the same skills that garner me a paycheck that I guarantee is at least four times bigger than anything you’ll ever earn - my stock has been on the rise. Before, I was lost. Now, I know exactly where I am… on the road to the TGW World Championship. Although…DB tilts his head up in recollection, his facial features hardening slightly. David: Although, there was that one other thing you said. Probably the one thing you said that got to me, if ever-so-slightly. You actually have the balls to proclaim that I would even consider, for one singular moment, lying. How did you word it? Oh, yes… you expect that after you defeat me, I’ll lie there and make excuses for myself. I wasn’t ready for you. I didn’t try my hardest. I thought we were going to play Super Mario Brothers.David leans his head down and stares into the camera, his eyes burning a hole through the lens. David: Is that what I am to you? Some kind of excuse making monkey? I may be a lot of things, kid… an asshole, a son of a bitch, a generous tipper if you’ve got nice tits, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to be called a liar by some little shit who doesn’t even know me! You dare to bring up names like The Legend, like Chris Legion, and think you’ll rattle me? Please. I’ve beaten The Legend. As for Legion, he wouldn’t have been a problem, but he was smart enough to catch me when I was going through my alcohol addiction a few years back. At 100 percent, I would wipe the floor with that steaming pile of retard. Listen, kid. My name is David Motherfucking Blazenwing. I don’t make excuses. And I damn sure don’t think we’re going to be playing Super Mario Brothers Monday night at Animosity… although once I get done with you, you’re going to be begging for a power mushroom or anything else you can get your grubby little hands on just to get the stale taste of I-just-got-my-ass-kicked-by-my-superior-in-every-way out of your mouth.Blazenwing snorts angrily. He pulls back slightly, his eyes not leaving the camera. David: But what the hell, let’s say you do beat me. Maybe you are younger, stronger, faster and determined to expose me to the world as the talentless hack I really am. Even miracles can happen, am I right? Years from now, after you’ve wrestled your final match and you’ve settled into your rightful place at the drive-thru window, you’ll recollect the day you bested David Blazenwing as the single biggest moment of your entire career.DB then smirks. David: For me… it’ll be just another Monday. Inconsequential in the big picture. You’re a nothing now and no matter what happens Monday night, Magnus, you’ll still be a nothing. I’m too focused on important matters to care about some puissant like you trying to make a name for yourself off mine. Beat me. Don’t beat me. It really doesn’t matter in the end.
Just.
Like.
You.
Bank on it.A cut to static, then a return to the TGW logo before fading to black.
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Post by steve on Oct 11, 2009 17:32:10 GMT -5
Seems I'm not the only one with confidence in himself. Good to see, though yours is misplaced. Let me ask you something, David...who in their right mind would try to make a name for their self at your 'expense'? That's like trying to get famous by wiping my ass. I doubt more than five people in television-land saw what I did to you and your playmate last week. Anyone trying to make a name off of you is barking up the wrong tree, David. Because everyone knows that every single time you're in the ring with anyone of substance, you're going to lose. Everyone yawns when they see or hear that you lost a match, because it's old hat, hey? It's expected. The surprise is when you stumble your way into a win. The cosmic accidents that have to occur for that to take place....mind-boggling. As for what I 'fashion myself'? I'm no hero, David, locker room or otherwise. I'm just a guy who won't stand for the type of thing that was transpiring last week. And I also happen to possess the ability and the will to do something about it. Poor you.
And for the record, David....no, you're no excuse-making monkey. You're many things, but not that. I mean, monkeys hang out in trees, masturbate in public and toss feces at people who get close enough. Well, maybe you are exactly that after all. Instead of your feces, though, you toss excuses that can only be called bullshit. And seriously? Your middle name is "Motherfucking"? I certainly hope you don't plan on passing that gem along to any sons. Heh. Of course, if you're anything in the bedroom like you are in the ring, you likely can't get it up without some medicinal help, and you're probably firing blanks there, as well. Your impotency knows no bounds, hey? It's amazing they even let you in front of a camera, David. All you do every time you speak is display TGW's ignorance in employing you. I'm sure they'd love it if you took the handsome income you claim to make and spent it on something that would help you sound less like a caveman, and more like someone of intelligence. But then, where would all those lovely signs in the crowd go? I saw one last week with your likeness that read "So Easy A Blazenwing Can Do It." Wanna see? Of course you do. Here, check it out, hey?
I guess I found something you're actually better at than I am. Perhaps I'll give you a chance to tap-out on Monday, hey? And you did say a couple of things I'd have to agree with. You are an asshole. You are a son of a bitch. You are a liar, as well, though you deny that, for some reason. But no, David, you're no excuse-making monkey. You're the easy match TGW gave me to start my career off with. I really must thank you for revealing something to me that I hadn't fully realized before. You're an idiot. A right looby, you are. I knew you weren't the sharpest knife in the drawer, but I actually felt my I.Q. trying to drop as I watched your promo. I of course put a stop to that. How, you ask? Simple, really. I split time between viewing your promo and doing something vastly more intelligent..... I took a shit. But back to your ignorance, hey? Thinking that you have the right to tell anyone what 'polite' is. Polite would be you chewing on the barrel of a large caliber hand gun for about a day and a half while you screw up the courage to pull the trigger, then actually doing it. Polite would be you apologizing to everyone you've ever met for uselessly sucking in breath that would have been put to better use filling the nostrils and lungs of someone who wasn't a complete waste of the sperm it took to make you. Polite would be finding your father and apologizing to him that you weren't one of the loads your mother swallowed. Polite would be begging for you mother's forgiveness that one of her eggs was actually used to help create your entirely useless ass. No, David, you don't need to tell anyone what polite is until you actually get a grip on what it means.
As for me running down and challenging 'the top dog'? I wasn't aware that you were playing the part of A.J. Donovan when I came to the ring. Perhaps you meant Canyon? No, he's not the top dog , either. Though, I'd lay money on him reaching that particular plateau long before you. Of course 'never' would tend to indicate that everyone would make it before you. You also mentioned a 'code', though you failed to elaborate on what that code is supposed to be. I'm not surprised. You seem the type to begin things and not finish them. Let me fill you in on the real code of this business, David: Only The Strong Survive. For someone who's been in this business, bringing mediocrity to all-time low's for nigh on eight years, it would seem you'd be aware of that. Now some survive by any means necessary, like you're attempting to do at this juncture. But some, hey? Some operate by a code that goes hand in hand with the code of survival. It dictates that they prove their superiority by doing things the proper way, and showing respect when and where it's due. You want some respect, David? You want me to respect your 'stature' in this business? EARN it. The only people associated with this business that deserve respect from square one are those who sit in the audience and watch on TV, hoping to live vicariously through those they see doing what we do.
And by the way, just because you think that your 'wrestling ability' is what makes you money doesn't make it so. I'm sure The Ultimate Warrior thought he had some ability, too. The difference there? He actually had some appeal to the masses. You? You're the guy that is facing the guy that the fans want to win. Not just this week, David. Every single time you step through the ropes. No matter who your opponent is. Hell, Scott Free got cheered when he did his little marker ceremony on your forehead. You actually caused people to cheer for Scott Free. I really think that says it all. People preferred to cheer for one of the lowest forms of scum that has ever set foot in a ring than you. And you have the audacity to think you're special, or good, or anything other than useless. You weren't much before, Dave, and without the fans, you're less than zero.
In regards to my 'very clichéd' rant about you, it's not that I'm friendly with any of your old enemies, David, it's just that the most well-known things about you are all negative. You claim you've heard everything that I said about you before. I'm guessing that includes the part where you're a liar. So, don't get your knickers in a twist, hey? Besides, if you've heard it all before, that only lends credibility to what I said. After all, if one person says you're a telentless hack, perhaps it is only so much rhetoric. But if it becomes a trend among your opponents, David, perhaps it's just the truth. You ay some people lose more than they win, but you're not one of those people. Riiiiiiiight. Tell me then, Dave....when was the last time you won a match that you didn't A: have help winning, or B) book yourself in? When was the last time you legitimately won a wrestling company's World title? Ever? Well, at least we're equal there. When was the last time you did anything important in this business? You got in front of that camera and tried to preach to me about the etiquette of the business, like I'm supposed to have tangible respect for the man who's most famous act in his career boils down to the words 'Mall Brawl'.
Get over yourself, Dave.
I know why you prattled on like you did, though. You see what's coming, knowing you can do nothing about it, and you wonder what people will think when you lose to someone wrestling in their first official match for a real-life wrestling promotion. Do you think that what happened last week was luck? Do you think it can't be reproduced this week? I assure you it will, David. The only difference will be that this time, it will count. And years from now, when I'm done wrestling, beating you won't be the highlight of my career, hey? It likely won't even be remembered by anyone other than you. But at least you'll be able to tell David Motherfucking Blazenwing III that you knew me 'back when'.
Just make sure you tell him that even the mighty DMB just can't beat The System.
Truth.
Monday Night, David. The fact that you're incapable of defeating me will matter. The fact that for all of your eight years of experience, you're going to get shown-up by a man wrestling his very first match WILL matter. The fact that there is nothing you can do about it? Well, that may or may not matter, depending on your point of view. Just remember, David....there will be no excuses. You've talked the talk. Now you've only got to come out to that ring and do something you've never been able to do by yourself before; beat someone who is at least as good as you in the ring. I dare you to actually wrestle this match David. I dare you to look deep within yourself, past all the regret, and self-loathing, past all the unfulfilled ambitions, past the secret yearnings for homosexual intercourse with Gabe Shelley, and find that something that can make you the best you've ever been for this one night. If you can do that, David, you have a chance. Will you? I'dl ike to think you can, but I seriously doubt it. I think you've given up on more than the fans, hey? I think you've given up on yourself, David, and now any and every shortcut you can find will be taken, all in the pursuit of something that is barely tangible, and something else that assuredly is not. You want success, which anyone with the sense God gave an armchair knows is relative, at best. And you want glory, a chance to ascend to the heights of this company, and thus this business. Remember something, David...all glory is fleeting. You know that first-hand, right? Here you are, professing to want a shot at the TGW World title, likely thinking you actually deserve one, and yet you're mired in a match with me, a man who has never wrestled a match, professionally. But suuuure, you're the 'top dog'. Yeah. And I'm the Easter bunny. You've obviously missed the fact that I have a very distinct advantage over you this week, as well. Well, more than one, actually, but let's focus on this for the moment, hey? See, David, you have NO idea what I'm all about. At this point you only know what I want you to know. But I, on the other hand, have had plenty of material to research on you. I've seen enough footage of you to make me physically ill. More than I ever wanted to. But, to gain victory, some things are a necessity.
This week, necessity dictates that you lose. Pray I decide to leave it at that. If I don't....well, there are some fans out there, I'm sure, that would love to see you humbled, humiliated....conquered...defeated, completely, and utterly. I like to give the fans what they want, David. I won't need much of an excuse to give the fans apiece of you. Bottom line, you're done. Monday's coming ever closer, and your fate is sealed. You're going to lose. To a rookie, and there is little to be done about it. And at Animosity.........David Motherfucking Blazenwing? Nah.
Dead Motherfucking Body.
Bank on THAT, bitch. Edit: grammar/spelling. DB hasn't replied at this point, so...
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