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Post by Wade Mason on Oct 13, 2009 4:50:01 GMT -5
[3 on 3 Tag Team Match AJ Adams/Shane Magnus/Jordan Albrecht Vs. Jack Darling/Teresa Quaranta/Reina Morgan
Limit: 1 Rp Each Handler/3 Per Team First Deadline: Saturday October 17th at 11:59pm EST Final Deadline: Sunday October 18th at 11:59pm EST Kirsten Shelley: The self called "Blacklist" of wrestling made a huge impact last week at the end of the show. Darling, Quaranta, and Morgan spoiled the celebration of AJ Adams' TGW Title win with a beat down on both Adams and Cody Only. The team looks to dominate this week in a 3 on 3 tag match. Adams is getting backup from Shane Magnus, who has helped him once before. And a new comer Jordan Albrecht has been assigned to the team by Wade Mason. Who leaves Animosity the victor?
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Post by teresaquaranta on Oct 15, 2009 1:30:47 GMT -5
Every thought you've ever had can be translated into computer language. Binary. On and off. Ones and zeroes. The universe speaks the same language - voluntary actions and involuntary actions, the ego and the atman, positive, negative, good evil, whatever. They exist in flux, and one never destroys the other. Some people go through life trying to create a "positive" life experience for themselves. They think positive thoughts and say positive things and associate with positive people. But instead of bringing them peace, these people end up being the most oversensitive, and generally unhappy people you'll run into. There is a weakness here; an inability to adapt.
And the problem with this line of work is that for the last decade or so, the ones have really really really wanted to be zeroes. Everybody is a brooding loner who'll cut you the fuck up if you come too close. Everybody hates authority. Everybody is promiscuous. Nobody sticks up for Grandma and Apple Pie and the American Flag. Too hard, too lonely, too many people cracking you in the back of the head. But. It takes that much more effort to be a compelling zero anymore.
You have to become something that repulses even an amoral man.
I've been thinking lately, that I might be something unique to the world. Something that transcends binary. Something divine, in a sense stronger than a mural of Zeus on a cathedral wall, I mean. I've wondered if, even to a small degree, the world is made for me. And I'd like to find out.
So, the obvious out of the way first. Stables don't work in the long run. Ever. I remember watching Micah Castille do a pretty exhaustive explanation for that a while ago, but in short - too many cooks with too much ego, it's hard to put an entire company under your thumb, the prey eventually rallies like any other dumb animal in the wild, there's always a few lame ass hangers on riding the back of your bus. People get injured. Whatever.
But all those things are symptoms, I think, of a root cause that I can't describe perfectly. A sort of divine justice that reverts everything to the status quo. You can say what you want about me torturing Cody Only, but there is something really sadistic about Spider-Man's uncle dying over and over. Or Homer Simpson disappointing his family every week for two decades. The ones always come out alive and unscathed, nobody grows, nobody learns anything.
The surest way to test my own place in the universe is to... permanently transform something. It doesn't matter if I take a touring worldwide promotion or a tiny indy place or a cult promotion like TGW, and it doesn't matter how high I've stacked the odds in my own favor (you'll look back at this and cry in three months, because believe me, I have stacked them high) - all that matters is my own ultimate success. This is because I am not at war with buzzing hairgelled interchangable pissant nuisances like AJ Adams and Shane Magnus. I am at war with the concept of fairness. I am at war with the idea of ultimate retribution. I am at war with whoever keeps murdering Ben Parker, and I'm gonna make sure nothing stops this, not even a waver in my own resolve.
There's a cool thing about being a knight. If you're any good at it (and I was among the best)... then you've got some scary fucking dragons in your Rolodex.
.::. be polite .::. Estelle (she's insisted that's her name, ever since I found her, but I'm certain she's lying) turns to me on the ride home. "I noticed you've still got that scar." From the passenger's seat, I trace a couple of fingers around my throat. It's faint, yeah. But it's still there, and a part of me can remember the feeling of the barbs and getting dragged around the neck. "I got it trying to protect a friend." "You regret it?" I look at her. Because I think it's a weird question. "When I found you, those guys did almost the same thing to you. So I'll ask you. If you could have gotten out of that situation and put your best friend in it instead, would you?" "Yes." "OK, then." .::. be professional .::. They might have given me my money back, but I still feel robbed. I worked myself into a lather about Absolute Pro, you know? After eWo folded, I was really thinking of going out in the sunlight, getting a better job and some clean clothes, getting off the damn internet once and for all. But Absolute Pro did something to me. I jumped aboard the hope train. Except Kevin Storm and Teresa Quaranta and Chelsea Pryce jumped on with me - but you know what? I'm glad that Rio didn't get off the ground, I'm glad there wasn't an Elimination Chamber, I'm glad that there wasn't ever an Absolute Pro World Champion, because that just means Quaranta will never be able to have that line on her resume or feel that smug satisfaction of being the "best" - anywhere. Pretty sure having her as champion anywhere would be a sign of the apocalyse anyway.
Now I dunno what promotion I'm gonna follow now, but I heard The Fucking Machine is working at this really cool new -"Mitch!" Orlando, Florida. Mitch Cafferty looked up from the laptop with a frown on his face. "Moooom, I'm talkin' about wrestling or the internet!" "Uh huh." His aunt stepped into the doorframe with a scrunched up look on her face. "Listen, there's this a... starnger at the door who wants to talk to you." Without looking up, he checked his Facebook status. Since none of his friends had "at mitchs d00rstep, LoLz!!1!" on, he grudgingly got up and peeped around at the door. And then went back to the door. "Shouldn't I, uh... let her in?" "NO." Mitch looked around his room for pointy objects - finding none, he grabbed some sheets off his bed, tied one end down and let the other one out the window. He'd never actually done this before, but it worked in all the movies, and the movies had never failed him - And then, as soon as he said it, one of the sheets untied - he had enough time to think ohshi - before landing hard on the ground shoulder first. He rolled over, grasped his shoulder and looked up. He didn't recognize the face above him, but one he did stepped into the frame before long. He gave a weak smile. "Uh... hi, Teresa." "Tried to sneak out the back, eh?" "Yes." "How'd that work out?" "Not well." "So." She tilted her head of the side. "You put your real return address on these letters?" "Uhm. Yes." "That wasn't smart either. I mean, there's some really disturbed shit in here. And me with all this newfound free time..." Mitch slowly pulled himself to his feet, a little bit of his courage returning to him. "You're not gonna kill me or anything. I mean, you're not one of the crazies." "Really." Teresa got really close to him, grabbed him a little too tightly around the neck, and leaned down into his face. "I spent last week watching video of one of my friends, and mentally committed to throwing her through a glass panel. Whenever someone talks to me for more than one sentence at a time, I start listening for things I can turn against them. I spend a pretty sizable portion of my waking life assaulting people for the crime of having their names written across me on a list. I get paid for this. We're all that, Mitch. We're all the crazies." He swallows. "Sooooo you're gonna kill me." "Nope." She shoved him backwards and stuck out his leg, tripping him back to the dirt. "That's a little predictable isn't it? But I'll do something. Eventually." I will think about this moment a few weeks later as I'm walking back out with Rei and Darling, because it's a similar gesture. Not enough to hurt, really. But enough to make you worry. .::. have a plan to kill everyone you meet. .::. Look at that, all you TGW fans out there. Both of you got so much more than what you paid for last week.
You paid to see a man who got lucky against Kaori Shikagami face Steve "No, I'm Serious About Not Being A Loser This Time, I Mean It" Canyon. You paid to see Dave "Ultimate Champion Of Places With Blazenwing In The Title" Blazenwing get dropped on his head by wrestling's latest happy go lucky loudmouth fresh from the Dropkick U Varsity Team. You paid to watch Kazuma Tsuruga in a thirty second squash match against some hilariously pathetic appetizer in tights. You paid to watch AJ Adams vs. Cody Only vs. AJ Donovan in this economy, which, let's be honest, isn't far removed from boiling your money, eating it, and leaving it in tightly coiled lumps on your front porch.
And amazingly, after promising so little, this company still managed to underdeliver. Some of the people on-card didn't bother showing up. As in, you couldn't have paid them to be here. And some of them showed up in body, but clearly couldn't have cared less about the outcome of their fight.
And some of them were born AJ Adams and couldn't help but be shit at their job.
But as dissapointed as you must have been, sitting at home watching this on TV or inside of the arena, something happened that night. A select group decided to keep the night from being a complete waste of time, and while you might have booed when you saw Jack Darling bursting in on the handshake hug celebration, a part inside of you deep down thought, finally. And when we left that ring together, heads held high and noses in the air, Adams half dead and gripping for his precious new title, Cody Only blacked out, face down on the canvas, tendons probably ripped off the bone, courtesy me - I know I felt something tear in there, anyway - you didn't really feel pity for an emo kid who just last week was lamenting not embracing his spooky enough lately, and you didn't care for the smug tatooed jackass who had the nerve to promise title shots to people when he couldn't even get the job done against AJ Donavon, King of the Nonsensical Run-On Sentence. You leaned back and thought to yourself, OK. Now it's getting good.
Welcome to the world of the Blacklist. We overdeliver.
It's not because we put more effort into it (although we do), it's more because we've got so much talent, and you're able to concieve so little.
And what's really cool about what you're seeing is that either of us could have destroyed everyone here and won the title and been the best rah rah rah by ourselves. I mean, if there's someone out there who doesn't think Darling or I would have pummeled stunning talent like Camisado and Lily Haris, skip right to the "forever hold your peace" part, because you're slow. But the three of us combined? That's something more than the personal satisfaction that comes from a very long title reign. That's something transformative, something that breaks a company into eras, something like the childhood memory you never quite forget.
Of course all that starts this week. But before I talk the here and now, let's talk the then. AJ Donavon might not be here anymore, but he sums this place up better than anybody I'm fighting this week. He wins the Heavyweight Championship over here, gets his Visa revoked, and has to go back to Toronto. Seriously?
Listen up kids. I was born and raised in Toronto. I'm like a year older than he is, I probably have his picture in my high school yearbook, complete with giant shades over his eyes and a yearbook quote you'd need all month to read through. So trust me when I tell you that if AJ Donavon had pawned a scarf or something and hired someone to keep his Visa status up to date, he'd still be here. And trust me, paperwork or not, I would have been there, slapping the greasestains off of Cody Only's head, and if the INS wanted to make an example of me, I'd leave San Diego with the TGW Title in one arm and AJ Adams' decapitated head tucked in the other. That's what anyone competent would have done, being champion.
But let's be honest, Donavon didn't come here to be the champion of this promotion. After years of never quite understanding why he'd never be a real main eventer and being too lazy to improve, he got desperate to go somewhere, anywhere, to get the line "World Champion" added to his resume. I know it, he knows it, backstage knows it, Wade Mason knew it - but, and this is important - he didn't care, because the alternative was having Ja-Gi Kyung Moon as his poster boy. It's not really politic to come out and say it, but as bad as AJ was, all of you were worse. So, they rolled out the red carpet for him. He walked over you and took what he wanted, and now he's gone. And like a horny middle aged man who throws himself at strippers, Wade Mason feels like a bit of a sucker the morning after. His world champion, far away from an A-list guy but the closest somebody like him could get to it, was an incompetent failure. His roster was packed with leeches, an identical crowd of whining nothings who mysteriously got "the flu" every time they had to show up and do their jobs.
In short, he found himself at a crossroads.
And anyone who's familiar with mythology knows that when you're at a crossroads, you get the chance to make all kinds of... interesting bargains. You're given the chance to prostrate yourself before a higher power, to be delivered from your immediate crisis. I found myself at a crossroads too.
The Germans call my crisis hintergedanke. It's a truth that persists in the back of your mind no matter what you ask yourself to think instead. When you ask yourself to think positively, it's the voice in your head that politely informs you that you are bullshitting yourself. I was a chubby burnout with ring rust when I went to South America. I turned in some of the best performances of my career against people who honestly didn't deserve to watch me on television, let alone stand in a ring with me. I went undefeated, of course, and anybody with sense knows I would have been the first world champion. And even though I tried to tell myself that it was enough to spread the sport and entertain the people and everything else they put in the press releases, hintergedanke told me that I was entitled to better.
We're putting our flesh at stake, sometimes the very way we view reality. I've always thought that was important, something that deserved respect. But it's hard to get a crowd behind you when you're insulted by the existence of every opponent you're booked against. The pickings got so slim that I took an interest in Jake Norton. So one week, I drove him insane, and the next week I killed him. Mostly by accident. Mostly without any effort. And to me, the life that I destroyed was something important, the pleasure I took from it was something sacred and worth reflecting on - even if it had been the other way around.
But for everyone else? It was a sequel to last week's bloodbath, and a prequel to next week's. It slowly dawned on me that there wasn't any point in giving so much of myself to people who couldn't in their wildest imaginations comprehend who I was and what they were really seeing. It dawned on me that no matter how many cheap pops I got... I didn't have much in common with any of them, either. I've been more places and done more things than most people. I have a lot more easy success than heart rending emotional porn in my life, and most of my trauma comes from accepting my own strength. I don't have a whiny boyfriend who cheats on me. I don't work nights at Wal-Mart to put my kid through preschool. More importantly, I don't see a merit in anything AJ Adams does.
Do anyone here know how many professional wrestlers can call Jack Darling's phone number knowing that he'll take it? Do anyone here know how it feels to be feared by everyone in a locker room, save of course whichever loser has to pump his chest out because he has a fight with you this week? I got something you don't see everyday - how many people here have won a handicap match? Yeah.
So when Wade Mason called me up and begged me to save his promotion, hintergedanke reminded me of all the power I had. And I decided to use it.
Ninety-nine percent of people in this business are worthless. Ninety nine percent of fans like guys like Shane Magnus, the people who put themselves in wheelchairs and jump off high platforms and get jumped by people who grasp the concept that three people can reliably beat up one person. Ninety nine percent of promoters are leaky bags of shit who will shutter a promotion right before a Pay-Per-View because they caught the cold or something. Ninety nine percent of workers want to be cool and brash and cocky and rebellious and loved for it despite not really having the talent for any of the above. In all honesty that could be AJ Adams or Jordan Albrecht. Really the only difference between the two this week will be that one will be whining about being screwed and one will be whining about all their memories. Whatever. If Albrecht spares us his "Treasured Memories" Supervillain Scrapbook, we'll save him the thirty minutes of effort it would take to make him look like an even bigger moron.
Ninety. Nine. Percent. And the only reason that anything remarkable ever happens in this business is because they ride on the backs of that worthwhile one percent. Working with them or jumping them or offering running commentary on every word that passes out of their mouths and passing it off as a promotional. And I used to think that if someone stuck up for that ninety nine percent that they'd have room to grow, that they'd all blossom into unique and worthwhile people. But they don't, because they aren't that one percent, and their goal isn't becoming a worthwhile person. It's squeezing out as much success as they can while actually doing as little as possible. A free ride on the shoulders of people who make a promotion work. eWo, Absolute Pro, eXWF - they all had a few too many of these. And they're gone. So this time, we're going to do things a little bit differently.
This time, each and every one of you are going to get off my back and under my fucking heel.
Some of you might gather the courage to address the boot that's going to be clamped onto your throat for the remainder of your stays here. You might say that it isn't fair. You might ask, why don't I even get my moment in the sun? Why so much blood? I'm saying my prayers and eating my vitamins and giving my high minded moral lectures - so how come all I'm getting out of it is mockery and hospital visits? You don't think you'll ask yet, but you will. And when you're ready for the answers, wipe the tears out of your eyes and look behind you.
Because this is what happens when you children drive the family car. This is what happens when AJ Donavon and Cody Only headline a promotion. This is what happens when you let pathetic Japanese social rejects and a fucking sports talk radio host compete for a title on Pay-Per-View, this... is what happens when a promotion treats you people like people. You descend onto it like a flock of illiterate locusts, gumming down what you can and flying off when there's nothing of value left.
Of course, anyone with common sense knows that won't really be the reason why this is happening. But it will be why, deep down, you'll all be grateful for it.
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Post by adamnv2 on Oct 15, 2009 22:32:32 GMT -5
||[[ Wounded Wasteland Productions Presents: [/i]]]|| ||[[ 3,000 Miles to Wasteland ]]||
Uninvited Guest "When it rains... it poors"
The woman fell to the ground as Pete restrained me. I'd waited twenty-four years to do that and I had finally gotten to do it. It felt like heaven. I didn't even feel bad about the woman crying at my feet. Pete escorts me back into the house and we go to my room upstairs. A strike of lightening is seen through the window and roaring thunder follows suite. "Dude, that was your mother you just slapped." Pete said in shock. He ran his fingers through his hair while I sat on the floor with a bottle of xanax and an old high school year book in front of me. "She ain't my mother." I say while crushing two pills into complete powder. Pete spectates as a mountain of green powder forms on the cover of the yearbook. I use a business card that had been sitting in my floor all day and formed a single line with the remains of what was once a pill.
"You're fucking nuts dude." Said Pete. I ignored him, continuing to crush the xanax. I glance out the window and notice the rain began to fall much heavier than I'd seen in the past couple days. The paper money entered my left nostril, the powder burned on the way to the brain and the drip numbed the back of my throat a bit. The book is placed on the wooden dresser drawer and then I move to the closet and dig around. I find a half empty bottle of good ol' No. 7, Jack Daniels. The black and white label are like a sign of heaven as I tilt my head back and take a long chug from the bottle. Pete rushes over to me and snags the bottle from my grasp. "No way dude you have to share this shit!" Pete exclaimed in excitement. Pete was always looking to get in on the phone. He put the bottle near his lips and I took the bottle back. Pete scolded me, he seemed to be confused. The bottle tilted upward again and I drowned my stomach in whiskey. I place the bottle back in Pete's hand, wipe the corner of my mouth and head for the door. "Time to slap a bitch." I say before slamming the door behind me. The xanax and whiskey start to work as a team and I slowly begin to feel a little fucked up. The walk down the hall and to the living room is much harder than usual. Standing at the top of the staircase I see Niky and Kaci walking from the direction of the front door. I dart down the steps and stand in front of them.
"Where'd the bitch go." I asked. Kaci rolled her eyes and walked away while Niky stood there, giving me a look of disgust. She punched me in the arm with all her power. "What the fucks your problem Ian? You need a serious attitude adjust. Why in the FUCK..." Before she can finish her sentence my hand wraps around her throat and I slam her into the wall. Kaci comes running around the corner while Pete walks down the stairs still chugging from the bottle of Jack Daniels. Kaci urges for me to release her friend but we soon find out, Niky can handle her own altercations. I feel a sharp pain shoot into my stomach and I drop to both knees. Niky lands a stiff right hook to the side of my jaw before she's grabbed by Pete and carried into the next room. "Don't ever put your hands on me you stupid son of a bitch!" She screams before she is carried to the back patio to simmer down a bit. I roll around on the floor in pain. It feels like an anvil has just been dropped on my nuts and that funny gut feeling you get was just too much for one man to handle. Thunder roars and I make my way up the stairs and back into my room.
I take a seat on my bed and took a moment to think. Everything had happened so quickly I hadn't even realized what had just happened. The xanax jumbled all my thoughts into one which made it terrible to comprehend my own mind. I heard a loud thud against my window. Each thud made a heavy impact. I figured it was an open branch so I walk over to the window and push it open. As I push the window open a lightening bolt lit up the sky and a female body attached to a rope comes swinging into me. I lose my balance trying to catch the body and I fall out the window. I twist and turn in mid-air before grabbing hold of the woman hanging from the tree. A rope placed tremendous amounts of pressure around her neck, her face had turned a purplish blue before I realized who the woman was. It was the lady that had claimed to be my mother. She was trying to herself and I was only helping. I heard the branch crack and we both crash to the ground beneath us and I black out for a moment.
Rain pelts my eye-lid, I blink a few times before rolling onto my side and seeing the woman claiming to be my mother lying next to me. I sit up and to my surprise Niky and Pete are there to check on me. Niky helps me to my feet while Pete manages to lift the lady from the ground. Soon I find myself in the bathroom drying my face with a towel. Niky stands in the doorway as I look into the mirror."I'm sorry.." I say to Niky, who has seemingly left the past in the past. "I look past your immaturity. I've known you for too long. You can't help it." She responded. I look away from the mirror and scold her. She folds her arms and looks deeper into my eyes. The death stare was never good, and I could see she was still a little pissed that I choked her. I finish up what I'm doing in the bathroom and headed to the living room. I sit in a the black leather LA-Z-BOY recliner and start flipping through channels with the remote. The woman claiming to be my mother sits on the couch across from me and all I could do was ignore every word she said. She brought up various topics of discussion but each time I ignored her. "I hope you can find it in you to forgive me Ian." She asked in a sincere voice. She began balling her eyes out like she did earlier. She had just tried to kill herself and not a single atom in my body gave a fuck.
I listened to her apologies a little while longer before finally muting the skate video I had been watching. The LA-Z-BOY rotated in her direction. The fact that I paid her the slightest bit of attention made her smile.
"Ok enough. I know you're trying to make things right, but twenty-four years and not a phone call or a letter?", I ask. She's speechless.
"Exactly. You don't have anything to say to me, you only want to show your face because you saw mine on television. You're worse than a dead beat dad." I say to her.
"But..." She's interrupted in mid-sentence.
"You're dead to me. There's the door." I tell her before returning to the skate video I had been watching. The bitch sat on the couch a minute longer before gathering her belongings and heading for the door. I hear the door close and I notice the rope left lying in the floor. I grab the rope and run for the door. The bitch is half-way to her car and she turns around when she hears the door open. I throw the rope to her and it falls at her feet. "You almost forgot something." I yell to her. Rain continues to fall, her tan trenchcoat is awfully soaked. I turn around, enter the house and never look back. The door shuts behind me and I make my way back to LA-Z-BOY heaven. I stop by the sofa, a white piece of paper has intrigued me. Ten digits were written in black ink with the name "DARLA" written above it. Like I was really ever going to call her. I place the piece of paper on the coffee table and take a seat in the recliner. A video montage of various skaters such as, Bob Burnquist, Tommy Sandoval, Kareem Campbell, Chad Muska, and a few others plays on the 37" Vizio. Kick flips, 540 varial flips, all the tricks you could imagine were happening before my eyes. The video made me want to skate, but it's never good to skate on rainy days.
Niky entered the room and stood in front of the television. Of all days, she chooses today to be a bitch. "Hi," I say. She continues to give me a crazed look. Her arms folded, that cold dead stare in her eyes. She meant business. "You want to get out of the way?" I ask in an annoyed tone.
"How can you be so cold? That woman was pouring her heart out to you and you couldn't bare to look at her." Niky said. I couldn't believe she was taking that woman's side. That's the problem with women.... too sincere and too fuckin' emotional. But no matter what, they always seem to get their way. "What do you want me to do? Call her, move in with her, and pretend she was around my whole life? Ya that'll happen." I say as I lean back and the chair reclines. Niky unfolds her arms and walks away. I go back to watching the television, but I begin to get a funny feeling inside. It was hard to explain, I think I actually found out the feeling of guilt. I'd never felt this before... it sucked ass. Guilt remained in my system only for a brief moment though, Pete entered the room and took a seat on the couch. He placed the clear Illidelph water pipe with the defuser on the coffee table. A ziplock bag full of bright green nugs rests on the table and Pete seems to be the only person who smiles when I'm around.
"Bowls?" He asked while he cheesed. I nod in agreement and put the recline back in rocking chair mode. The contents of the ziplock stunk up the room, but to me it smelt like heaven. Pete broke a nug into shake and then placed it into the bowl. Water bubbled at the bottom of the stem and smoke filled the chamber. Pete cleared the bong and inhaled deeply before coughing up a lung. He slaps his chest with his fist, he salivates at the corner of his mouth. Seeing Pete's reaction has only made me more excited to smoke this bud.
"What's this called?" I ask while reaching for the bong.
Pete coughs, and responds."What you know about that train wreck boy?" He said in a low-moderate tone. I bring the bong to my lips and take a rip. The same effect happened. The water bubbled, I inhaled, and the coughing roared like a symphony. "You know, I've come to realize that herb will get you through times with no money better than money will get u through times with no herb." Pete said as I took a moment to collect myself. The quote stuck in my mind, it was wise.. no it was genius. And it was true. My eyes turned red and then my eye-lids became heavy. Pete couldn't control his laughter as he hit the bong once again. He coughed up another lung and I looked at the clock. The time was 9:25 PM. Today was going by fast and I wasn't having much fun until now. The bong was placed in front of me again and I took another rip. THC coats my lungs and the coughing becomes rather rhetorical. I set the bong on the table and lean back in my chair, thoughts run rapid but only one thought comes to mind. I wonder who got my mom pregnant.
"You know what I think my real father was? I asked Pete. "A rolling stone." I say.
"Like... Mick Jagger?" He said out of confusion.
"No, like a guy who gets with a girl, gets her pregnant and then bails." I say while reaching for the bong once again.
"Sounds like a black man." Pete joked. I nearly dropped the bong when I heard the words from his mouth. There was an odd silence for a moment. "Dude that was a joke. I have a black aunt, I ain't a racists." He assures me. I exhale a sigh of relief and put my attention on the bong. Niky enters the room in a pair of PINK shorts from Victoria's Secret, and a white beater. She takes a seat in my lap and grabs the bong from my hands. Pete and I watch as she hits the bong and cashes the bowl.
"Got any more?" She says with her lungs and mouth full of smoke. She exhales the smoke and then coughs. Pete laughed when Niky began coughing uncontrollably. Pete grabbed the bowl from the stem and began loading more green into it.
"So what were you guys discussing in here?" She asked with a grin.
"What type of man Ian's father was."Pete responded before placing the lighter over the bowl and racing to the heavens. Niky pondered a moment before throwing out her own ideas. "Ian's dad was probably a stunt man." She said with an expression of confidence.
"No way." Pete argued while placing the bong on the table. "His father was a legendary pimp known for smacking bitches." He responded. Pete was notorious for saying dumb shit, but he was a character. He always found a way to make you laugh no matter how serious the situation.
"Well whatever he was, it's obvious he wasn't good enough to be your father. He probably doesn't even know you exist." Niky said. She reached for the bong and knocked the bong off the table. Bong water hits the floor and we all rush out of the living room to find a towel.
FIN.
Lemme show you how to do this... "For Shame... For Shame..."
"Two minutes into the place and I've already created enough buzz to be in the main event. It's a six man tag and there's never anything wrong with a little team work, but my only problem is the people we're facing. Reina Morgan, Jack Darling, and Teresa Quarantana. I don't know why I'm in this match, but you can't pass up an opportunity to deliver an ass whoopin' and it just so happens I get to hand out three in one night."
"Terea Quarantana, you talk a big game but you're going off assumptions and now you've left yourself out as bait and it's gonna bring your whole team down. You're comparing me to other guys on this roster when you don't know a thing about me. Rookie mistake. You're right, a few people didn't bother to show last week and few didn't even give their all but I'm not the other guys. The names Jordan Albrecht, goodbye, nice to know you. Teresa Quarantana is looking to make a name for herself, and I respect that, so I expected her to throw out false statements and try to belittle the entire roster. And since I'm a man of my word, and I said I'm not like the rest of the roster, I'm just going to focus on your for now Teresa."
"You talk a big game but you're only confident because like every other female you expect others to cater to you like little slaves on a plantation. Coming into True Glory, I knew I would encounter a few haters, but I didn't think the hate would spread so quickly. Jack Darling, Reina Morgan, Teresa... You're no match for the three men who stand across from you. You've got Shane Magnus, he nearly brought Blazenwing to tears last week, and the current TGW Champion, AJ Adams. You add Jordan Albrecht and you've got a team that can't be beat."
"I don't know much about the boys I'm teaming with but seeing how Wade Mason placed me on their team, I'm trusting he chose good guys. It'll be the perfect to let the TGW roster know that Jordan Albrecht is the alpha male in TGW. TGW's got a solid foundation and I'm looking to add to it. Everybody wants to be the top dog but not everyone possesses the traits of the top dog, and those are the ones that let jealousy take over their emotions. You know who I'm taking about, Jack Darling, Quarantana, Morgan.... you're all going down."
END.
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Post by reinamorgan on Oct 17, 2009 0:37:16 GMT -5
Friday, October 16, 2009 Some Appreciation, Please I hope none of you were expecting me to come out here and gloat. To AJ Adams, Animosity was the day he finally made it to the top of a company. And it was also the worst day in his life, because a few seconds later he learned that his little achievement would be a footnote to some superior talent just walking into the arena. A footnote that came with an expiration date. He has to bottle the pride, the embarrassment, the anger that came in the wake of the biggest day of his life.
To me? It was just another Monday night.
Hi, America. I'm Reina Morgan, and I already remember why I never wanted to come here in the first place. There's a sense of privacy overseas but here everybody feels like they've got the right to know you, probably because they spend more time with their TV's than with their families. I've been here for less than a week, and I've already got people bothering me day in and day out when I’m going through my routine, giving me the third degree. Who am I? Where'd I come from? Why'd you bust up poor adorable AJ and Cody?
So for all you curious on-lookers with burning questions related to my job - this is a blog, technology's latest cheap replacement for therapy. Read it. Stay out of my face. Save me the agony of having to look at yours. Everybody fucking wins.
First burning question. What's it like to be here?
It's a bit like coming to a home you've left dusty for a long time. Your eyes think it's the same, but all your other senses tell you that the air smells different or that's it's just a little too quiet. I felt like that a few weeks ago, when I came back to my flat after a tour of southern Japan (The promoter was a cheapskate; his racket's gonna go unnamed). To be totally accurate, it was a tour of southern Japan and then a tour of nightclubs in the greater Tokyo area, but I've got plenty of drinking stories, so I won't go off on a tangent.
Before I even finish checking my messages from the past week, I get a call from someone from a number I don’t recognize. The first thing that I assume is that it’s him. Seeing as I'm as likely to commit murder via telephone as I am to have a civil conversation with him, I turn the stereo up (Sneaker Pimps), start dinner (some cheap "meal in a bag" stuff that's big with bachelors here) and let it drop to voice mail. That’s the logical approach to that situation, right? Wrong.
It rings again and again (and again, and again, and again) while I'm trying to cook. Finally, I snatch the thing off the receiver and get ready to scream at whoever it is, but I hear a familiar voice while I breathe in, and I knew exactly who it was as soon as I heard them call me “Rei”. There was only one person that I could bring to the tip top of my brain that called me that. Remember who I walked out to that ring last week with?
I have a few things in common with Teresa. We're a little more honest than most people are comfortable with, and neither of us really care whose feelings get hurt. We're both very intelligent. Both of us would beat the living shit out of someone who nags the hell out of us in a snap. Both of us are very confident in whatever we do. Of course, there's differences too - she's into the hippy dippy shit, where as I like to uh... focus on the physical? She likes to wear her emotions on her sleeve - me, not so much. She parties a little lot less. But overall, I consider this chick somewhat of an equal - which is why I didn't hang up the first time she mentioned the words "back to California" in her little recruitment speech. She'd decided to do something big (I don't need to tell you what, do I? You DID watch last week's show) and wanted me on the ground floor. There was plenty of flattery thrown in there, but I still probably would have told her no - but then she told me about the paycheck. I probably would have moved into Hannibal Lecter's meat freezer for that kind of bank. T.Q. isn't a bloodsucker. I don't have to carry her on my back or cover for her deficiencies. Same goes with Darling. A group like this means I don't have to spend months of my life battling down wannabes or watching my back for jealous nobodies with a hero complex. That means I can focus on hurting people. It's what I do best after all.
Which brings us here.
The most fun thing about last Monday wasn't putting Tsuruga through a locker, it wasn't watching the helpless look on AJ's face, and it wasn't dropping Cody Only on his head. In all honesty, I could get those anywhere. The fun part was the shock. Nobody saw it coming. Everyone is so fixated on their own little issues that they ignore any threats that are set before them and the so-called fans are so face-first into their beer and nuts that they fail to recognize it at all until after it happens. You're all soft. You don't know how to respond to the danger you're in.
People in the States are all about pleasing the others and being a part of the majority. That mindset is why this company is in a near comatose state. Everybody here wants to fight the good fight and be respectful and sing “Kumbaya” after every single match because it’s all so beautiful. Everything is so whimsical and bright and joyous that all the fans just sway and enjoy the hours of good entertainment with smiles on their faces with their lighters and cheap cell phones raised in the air. They get matches like last week’s main event and everyone is on their feet, shouting about how “awe-some” the match is and how they loved every bit of it. Everything is so sunny and shiny for moments like AJ Adams winning the belt. That's when we stepped into the moment.
Or better yet, stepped on it. And within the blink of an eye, one of the greatest moments became one of the most forgettable.
Speaking of forgettable... Adams. Did you think that you rightfully deserved to be in that spot for the TGW title? I mean, you would probably say yes being that Mason made you the number one contender, but at the same time, do you honestly believe that? Donavon may have held the title for about a couple of weeks, but it meant nothing then. It was a way for him to get “World Champion” added to his name because of his deep envy towards his best friend pushing him back in his shadow and getting that privilege first. Reno Drake held him back for two years, overshadowing someone that was supposed to be his best friend just to make his way up to fame.
But that's the job. Overshadowing others is the price of greatness. I could care less about the fans, the locker room, and what they want out of their lives. They don’t pay my bills and they aren’t the ones that trained me. They don’t live with me 24/7 so they have no say in what I say or do whatsoever in my life. There are so few in the industry if not in life period that actually make it. And they make it because they look after themselves. Look at the long list of those that have been successful and continued to and tell me which ones are the ones that “fought the good fight” and are still around? I’m waiting. And I’ll still be waiting next week and the week after that and so on because you won’t be able to answer that. All of them got to the point where they got sick of pleasing the bloodsuckers and instead started actually looking out for themselves.
Remember the crossroads that T.Q. was referring to?
That applies fully to those hypocrites. Every single one of them always paint this picture like they are for the fans and for the good, yet when they do something bad or go through a crisis and have to make a decision for themselves, the fans are completely let down. And that’s where Darling, T.Q. and I differ. I’m not like the majority of the locker room who has that mindset. I’m not like a majority of the guys that want to be bad, but can’t cut the mustard. I’m not even trying to be bad. I’m just honest and sometimes, honesty is a bitch…no matter what gender. So whenever I do something bad or I end up going through a crisis, I know you guys won’t feel sorry for me or even say that I deserve it, but I expect you to do that and I wouldn’t be surprised. I’m not living my life for you. I’m not living my career for you. My heart doesn’t beat because of you. My heart beats because I can take care of myself fairly well. So you can hate me as much as you want to, but in the end, once my career is over, you can never say that I lied about anything because it was in front of you all along…you were just too stupid to figure it all out.
Speaking of stupid, not only was Adams feeling that way once we were finished with our foray last week, but I know that he’ll continue to feel that way for weeks to come, but will he ever see the full scope of what he's up against? I highly doubt it. Adams, I know that you’re mad and I understand, but be careful what you do because blind rage will only lead you deeper into a grave that you can't excavate yourself from. And your new buddies can't carry a shovel, let alone their own weight. Hell, the debuting Bore-dan Albrecht is proving just that by the looks of it. He's a man whose every word screams "Victimize me".
He’s too into himself to know what he’s dealing with.
Dear Jordan, have you ever heard of the phrase “think before you speak”? I’m going to assume that you haven’t. Guys like you are living proof that ego and ignorance are a dangerous combination. You talk about T.Q. running a big game and how she’s jumping to conclusions about things, but she, unlike you, has a way of backing them up and not by listing how much shit you’ve done in the past. You see, that’s what a number of you are good at and to be quite honest, if I wanted to sit through a history class, then I would go back to NYU and do just that. But even an ordinary history class would be ten times more interesting than the soap opera story that you’re dishing out in everyone’s face.
You’re right, a few people didn’t bother to show last week and few didn’t bother to give their all but I’m not like the other guys. I give my all, but it's honestly so pathetic that you can hardly tell the difference. However, I can promise you that I will come out and fight the good fight and give every bit of me in that ring this week and show you what a real fighter is because TGW is about true glory. Scouts honor.
...right.
I would assume that you know first hand how much we can give in the ring but...oh yeah...you weren't there last week. I would assume that you have seen first hand what T.Q. can do in the ring but...oh yeah...you weren't in South America or Europe or anywhere else with her. I would assume first hand that you would know about the many things that Darling has done in that ring, including killing a man no less but...wait for it...you weren't there, but I'm sure you can go to Scott Free's grave and ask him. I would assume that you’ve been in Japan, following my career since day one but... seconds ticking away before the revelation... you weren’t there. There are a million things that I could say about you after that stunning introduction of yours. I already feel like I know you. You're a pawn. A fill in for this match. Another sheep in the flock. Another nobody rambling about his bright, shining destiny. And the best words to describe you…fresh bait. Did you seriously think that Mason holds you so high in his books that he sees you as the poster boy and his boy toy for the company? Did you think that he saw such high hopes for you that he would place you in the main event?
Please stop me from pissing my pants from the laughter.
You're the guy who brags about "taking bait" and thinks not being able to pronounce a word with three syllables is funny enough to be a running gag. Know what happens in the wild once you "take the bait"? Someone way smarter than you pulls you up and guts you. Nice meeting you, too.
Now Jordy, I know that you’re mainly gunning after T.Q. in this bout and I can understand why, but if you’re gunning for her, then what would that make you? While you’re after her, you’ll have a murderous bastard and a lethal vixen right behind you, aiming for your back. If you think that your partners have your back, well, you better ask Adams what happens when you let your guard down. Better yet, look at him - the bruises on his face can speak for themselves. The Blacklist is the only reason you three have any sort of unity. You seriously think that you are the “it” factor in this company. Blazenwing thinks the same thing. Adams does as well. So does your partner, Magnus, who beat so called It Factor #1 last week. Every single person sees themselves as the “It” factor when they step into that ring every week, but are they memorable? Are they legendary? Oh trust me, you’ll be legendary after this week. There is a ninety nine percent chance that you will attempt to make yourself look like an “alpha male” in this match, screw it up, and look like the impetuous, insignificant fool you are.
Yeah, TGW fans. These were almost your new poster boys. Strung Out, Loud and Stupid.
But you don't have to worry about that. That was the old TGW. It was beautiful while it lasted, but now? It's going to get brutal. These next few weeks and so forth are going to kill you inside, watching us succeed every week, watching the rise and fall of a new self anointed savior every show. After this week, we'll already know that the best the locker room has to offer joining hands and believing in each other wasn't enough to stop us, or even slow us down. Where will those saviors go from here? What'll they do next? Absolutely nothing. You will do nothing but sit down and watch as the numbers roll in at our expense and conceive the fact that you could never do as much as we can. And you will join them…and fall into grace amongst the rest.
There’s nothing beautiful and positive about the truth. It’s always going to be cold hearted and ugly. You saw that last week. The Blacklist is truth, pure and simple, and just like an addiction, you can love it or hate it, but you will always come back for more. And guys, when you do fall victim to us this week, you can probably get away with blaming it on Jordan’s alcohol.
I’m out for now, but of course, I will live on to confess another day.
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Post by steve on Oct 18, 2009 7:07:43 GMT -5
The phone rang incessantly. He knew who it was. He didn't want to answer. Vilaar likely only wanted to offer him congratulations, but it would turn into something else, he was sure, and Vilaar would inevitably end up reminding him about how much of his training he'd skipped out on. The ringing, though...annoying. He flipped his phone open, speaking in an irritated manner.
"What?"
For a long moment, silence answered him. Then, the voice on the other end spoke. It was not who he'd expected. An almost sultry female voice sounded in his ear. Not who he expected at all.
"Good job last week, Shane. Better than expected, even," the woman said. She almost sounded as if she meant it. He wasn't quite sure how to respond. He had, after all, only gone out to the ring and done exactly what he knew he could. Exactly what he had expected of himself. "But really, there's no need to answer the phone that way."
So, she had noticed. A wonder, considering. He grunted.
"I was expecting someone else," he said simply. He found himself what she really wanted. He was sure that congratulatory phone calls were not part of the process. Definitely not a part he had envisioned when he'd agreed to this. But then, the flare for the dramatic is likely par for the course when your standards are this high. And a man has to have standards after all. One thing he'd learned from Vilaar was that a man had to stand for something, or he'd fall for anything. He wasn't sure he understood that, fully, but if Vilaar believed it, it was likely true.
"Someone else, eh? Something going on we should discuss, Shane?" Her tone was entirely too serious for his liking. She knew better, or should. He had made it very plain where his die had been cast, and if the happenings of Animosity did not put the icing on that particular cake, nothing would.
"You bore me, M. I'm busy. If there's nothing else?"
Bored him. Of course. Then why was he wondering if she smelled the same way she had the last time he'd seen her? Like a subtle scent of a flower he couldn't quite identify, and -No! He cut that line of thinking off harshly. A very bad idea to think about certain people in that way. Besides, she was practically batshit anyway.
"There actually is something else, Shane. I know he called you last week. Did he give you the 'we're watching you' speech?" She chuckled as she finished speaking. For some reason, it sounded nervous. Very rare, from her. Something was up.
"You can put him on the phone, M," he said flatly. There was no question in his voice, simple statement of fact stating that he knew the man was present without actually saying it.
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Well, things certainly went to plan at Animosity, and David Blazenwing was shown that the words I spoke to him last week were the truth, nothing more or less. I sincerely hope you took that match as it was intended to be David...a lesson. But, that isn't all that it was, David...it was an opportunity, as well. You see, the lesson was that what is right and just can always overcome what is wrong in this business, if people with the ability to do something about it only have the will to make that stand. The opportunity, David...that is something else again, my friend. You see, even though the match ended in victory for me, you proved me wrong about one thing. You remember how I said I didn't think you had it in you to bring your best match to me? Well, I don't know if that was the best you could do, but i definitely saw something in you at Animosity, David. I saw what could have been that competitive fire in your eyes. It was small, and I don't say that to impugn you in any way, David. I think that if what I saw was that fire that drives everyone in this business it didn't burn very brightly, but that's not a totally bad thing, hey? You see, there has been a lot of baggage piled on that fire over the years, David. At first, it caused that fire to burn brightly, and motivate you to great things. But eventually, the baggage started going on more quickly than the fire could burn it away, so to speak, and instead of an inspiration, a motivator, it became a weight around your neck, a yoke to stagger any man. and it has led you to the path you now hold to. a path that will lead to your destruction unless you turn away from it, and soon. The blacklist certainly made their impression felt at Animosity, David, and even though I will not be cowed by them, I'm not green enough to think I can face them alone. I know I'll need help. That's where the opportunity comes in. Your opportunity to do the right thing, David. You can stand up to the injustice of The Blacklist along with me, knowing you have someone to watch your back, or you can keep playing the game you began some weeks ago, and hope that they are too busy with me and others like me to notice you. I wouldn't...ahem...bank on it, though. Hear my words, David, recognize them for the simple truth that they are, and be part of the solution, not the problem. Because I'm invested in this, now. I'm invested in you, to an extent. An extent that will see me employ every effort to remove you as an enemy if I can't have you as an ally. Together, David, we can make a difference, and sweep The Blacklist out of TGW before they get dug in.
Do something different, David. Do the right thing, hey?
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"Hey, kid. Good work, figuring that out. Good work at the show last Monday, too. We were all impressed."
The man seemed very laid back this time. Not a hint of the intensity that was present last time. Ah, well, he was likely just tired. A very busy individual indeed. His reliable sources had put the man on four different continents in the last seven days. That would tire anyone out.
"Thank you."
"So, I take it you see what lies ahead of you, if you mean to get to the end we discussed in Capetown."
Actually, those details were quite fuzzy to him. It had been a trying period. His father had died, he'd been drinking heavily for a week or more when that conversation had occurred. He might have agreed to go down on everyone present that night, for all he knew. A couple of them wouldn't have been so bad, though. M, for one. And one of the other women...he couldn't quite remember what he'd called her that night. She was quite a beauty, though. Raven-haired, milk-skinned. A very assertive look about her, too. Like a woman who was used to getting what she wanted and didn't brook any interference.
"I think so, yes. I think this new faction...The Blacklist... is going to prove a trial, though."
The man grunted.
"They might, indeed, but keep this in mind.....if you do what you're expected to, you won't have to worry about The Blacklist for long."
"Of course," he grimaced. He knew what was needed. The fans needed something...someone they could believe in. What the fans needed often fell on deaf ears, though. But he was listening. He heard, and he would deliver, no matter what.
"Don't sound so wry, Shane. That's my gig," he said with a chuckle. The levity left the conversation as quickly as it had arrived.
"Are you having second thoughts, Shane?"
As if. He'd known before he left Vilaar's that this path was his path. Honor, justice, doing what's right....some things many people only thought they had a concept of. He understood those ideals perfectly, though. And he had to hold them dear. If not him, then who?
"Never," he replied. "I know exactly what needs to be done..what MUST be done. Blazenwing may be a lost cause, or....he may not. I'm not sure. I hope he listens to sense. He could be a useful ally. Either way, TGW will receive justice, and anyone who tries to prevent that is going down."
He could almost see the man nodding in agreement.
"Exactly, Shane. And that's just the way we want it. You make sure you don't lose sight of that."
He grunted sourly. "I won't...it's just...I thought there would be more...help. I thought there would be more people who were willing to stand up for what is right, but everyone just seems to be out for self."
"Seems like no one cares what happens to the next guy, eh?"
"Sadly, that's correct."
"Well, that's perfect, Shane! That's why you're going to be successful. You're the ONE guy right now that gives a fuck. When people look back at this years from now, you'll be the guy remembered for rallying the troops. You'll be the one that people remember as the one who started the resistance to the vileness that the Blacklist represents."
Them an may have had good intentions, but sometimes he just couldn't separate that from self advancement. There had to be more to it than that. He didn't want to be remembered for any of that. He just wanted to do what was required, and get it over with. The only battle that was truly won, was one that was truly over with, after all.
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The Blacklist. Some might say the name suits you, and perhaps it does, but I can think of others that would fit better. How about "The Two Chicks Who Jumped on Jack Darling's Coattails To Get Some Recognition"? Doesn't roll off the tongue, though, does it? How about "Jack Darling And Those Two Unknown Bimbos"? Nah. It's not like it truly matters what you call yourself, anyway. The facts remain that the only one of you with any name recognition is Darling. Teresa Quaranta might be known to some of the more intelligent smarks, but Joe Wrestling Fan doesn't know you from anything but underwear ads, Ms. Quaranta. As for Ms. Morgan, well no one knows you from anything, and no one really regrets that fact.
You two seem plenty chummy with ol' JD, though. Sup, Jack? You still rockin' that whole "I'm a really, REALLY, bad guy, dammit! Recognize!" shtick? Yes, you're 'The Bastard' or whatever. You're the obvious choice for Asshole of The Year at this point. But that's only because Scott Free isn't around. He'd win it hands down, every year, if he were still breathing. Hell, he might more of an asshole than you while being dead. I'll bet he's taken over hell, and reduced Satan to "Useless Cunt" status already. That's a bit of a touchy subject with you, though, isn't it? Free kidnapped your daughter, and when he died in an accident during a wrestling match that you just happened to be taking part in, you of course took credit for 'killing' him. A very bastardly thing to do, if I do say so myself. Anything to raise your "I'm the baddest bad guy alive" persona, hey? But then, your name isn't Dudley Dooright, is it?
Don't think that I don't have respect for what each of you is capable of in the ring. I'm fully cognizant of your abilities. I mean you're all flippin' badasses when it's three on one, aren't ya? You're awesome at taking down a guy that's just been through what was likely the biggest match of his life, hey? We'll see what you're capable of when you're facing equal odds against three people who aren't dead tired, and are actually expecting you to be there. We'll see how may jokes you're making after an actual match, you know, when it's not a surprise attack on an unsuspecting guy who just finished a grueling match. We'll see how much smack-talk you've got prepared for a post-match scenario where you're on the losing end. You go ahead and sit there thinking it won't happen. David Blazenwing didn't think it would happen, either. Hopefully, the lesson he learned last week will also serve as a wake-up call. Those of us who stand for what's right need people like him. Don't think I have any such delusions about converting any of you. I know better. You were born to your roles as much as I was to mine. You represent the darkest nature of this business, just as I try to uphold the light. You would make the rest of the TGW roster subservient to your will. Hell, you probably think your very existence makes that a fact anyway. Well, every one is wrong sometimes. We'll see how wrong you are in the coming weeks, I'm sure.
Because if you think that you can just walk in here and 'take over', you're one delusional bunch of bitches. No one likes to feel like they are under someone else's control, and being subservient? That went out with slavery, hey? If you think you can run roughshod over a roster as talented as TGW, then you'd best enlist some help. You'll need it to pull off something like what I'm sure you're planning. But I don't intend to let things progress that far. I intend to remove you from TGW before you can pose such a threat.
What I see when I look at you three is a cancer that threatens to tear away the very fabric of this great business. Oh, you have that ability if you focus it properly...if you're allowed to. But i think you may have selected the wrong promotion to try your little game in. Because I, for one, will not let this stand. You heard me right. I will not let this stand. I will enlist any method or means I feel necessary to rid TGW of the common filth you are. Any aid I can garner in that endeavor will be welcomed, but do not be fooled. I will fight you by myself, if need be. I will fight you if you add the REST of TGW to your ranks. I will fight you until one of us is no longer able to exist in TGW. I can't tolerate you, and I know you can't tolerate anyone with enough of a spine to stand up to you, but I draw my strength from a source you cannot hope to dispose of. The fans of this great sport are my strength, and all I need is the belief and the trust of the fans, and I will show them that there are still people in this business who will stand up for them. Who will fight for them. Who will succeed for THEM. The fans are the lifeblood of this business, and they flow through my veins as surely as does my father's blood.
You really are to be thanked, though. you, in one fell swoop made the dividing line absolutely clear in TGW. Ayone who opposes you stands with me. However, I'm sure you're just elitist enough to think that no matter how many of my brothers and sisters rise with me to oppose you, that you don't need any help. That's fine with me. Shun all those who would bolster your numbers. Scorn those who would be your first line of defense against the uprising I will lead. In the words of a man I have the utmost respect for, So Be It.
You three come on down to the ring at Animosity....we'll see who emerges victorious, and who is left wondering how a raw rookie defeated them . Oh, I'm sure my teammates will play their own important role, but not knowing much about them, I do not assume to be able to speak for them. All I can speak to is what I intend, and what I aspire to. But believe me when I say, if it were the three of you against only myself, I'd like my chances. You don't scare me. You don't intimidate me, and you will not cow me. Because for all of your bravado, for all of your vast experience in the ring, and for all of your misbegotten intentions, you can't stand up to the hand of justice, and whether you like it or not....
You just can't beat The System.
I'll see you ladies on Monday. Bring bandages, hey?
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Post by jay2k on Oct 18, 2009 10:05:19 GMT -5
[/right] .:.:.:.:.:.:. google.arena. | oct.12.2009Kazuma Tsuruga lay on the gurney in the back of the ambulance. His eyes burned, his face was a bloody mess. Pain occupied most of his neck and lower back. In the front of the vehicle, the EMTs were calling in for preparations, and completing anything else that needed doing before their departure. What the hell was taking so long? A clink of a cigarette lighter got his attention, as did the sudden smell of burning tobacco. Someone lounged against the open door of the ambulance, regarding him with open apathy and indifference. Even though the blinding haze in his vision, Tsuruga recognized the slouch and even the smell of the cigarette. "Darling." The Bastard Himself gave a little smirk. "Kazuma," he replied, deliberately using the man's given name, and no Japanese honorific. Tsuruga nodded back toward the arena. "I have you to thank for Kuroneko Morugan jumping me, then." It wasn't a question. You didn't ask questions of Jack Darling, after all, since it only served to further prove how unintelligent you were in the man's eyes. But then Darling surprised him. "Actually, no. You can lay blame for that at Quaranta's feet. She felt it was a nice way for Reina to make an impact and make damn sure that people sat up and took notice. Not everyday a woman shows up and kicks the living shit out of a huge friggin' Japanese dude, after all."Tsuruga squinted at him. It was the closest he could come to a glare at present. "Fuck you.""Of course, I benefit from this," he went on, as if Tsuruga hadn't spoken. "See, I'm good friends with Murasame-san. When I got wind of the little temper tantrum you threw, I wasn't happy, I'll admit. Then Teresa decided to get this little band of ours together, and she decided to aim Reina in your direction. I approved of it, and even made sure to tell Murasame-san to tune into the show. Thus, he got to see you get what was coming to you, I'm associated with them as did the deed, which makes me look good, and..."Here, the Bastard pulled out his Blackberry Storm and checked something. "And as we speak, the video of the ass-kicking Reina gave you is already on YouTube. That spells the end of your wrestling career, if I have any say in it." He leaned forward, exhaling smoke straight into Tsuruga's face. "Which I do."Tsuruga scowled. "You think you're better than me? I get blackballed for attacking and disrespecting a promoter, but you're no better! How many promoters have you humiliated? Or disrespected? Or attacked?" Almost as soon as he said it, he knew Darling had an answer. Men like him always did. They had ways of predicting how people would react. It was how Darling had managed to last as long as he had. "Wrong," the Bastard declared. "I do respect people. There is, shocking as it may sound, a list of people I have respect for. The names of those people are a closely guarded secret, because, after all, it wouldn't do my reputation any favors if it came to light."Now he climbed into the back of the ambulance to lean over the restrained Tsuruga. "The difference between you and me is this. You throw a temper tantrum, throttle your employer, and get fired. I verbally eviscerate them, then put them out of business."Kazuma Tsuruga glared with impotent fury as Darling smirked and patted him on the cheek, like he were some pouting child. "And you know what's worse? Teresa insisted on giving you the heads up on it in advance. Survival of the Fittest and all that. But I never worried about you passing that little test because let's face it--" Jack leaned over and flicked his ash onto the gut. "When it comes to fitness, that's never been your strong suit."Darling climbed back out of the ambulance, but he didn't leave without one last, unsolicited bit of advice: "Chins up, Jumbo. You can still drop weight, and maybe one day Toshiro will deem you worthy enough to lick the dirt off his boots." With that, Darling shut the doors behind him, then slapped the side of the vehicle, which finally made its way out of the arena. .:.:.:.:.:.:. Less than a month ago, when Absolute Pro folded just before their debut pay-per-view extravaganza in Rio, some of the blogs and wrestling wonks declared that my career "was finished." After all, what did I have left to prove? My name was down in the history books for the accolades I'd accumulated in the sixteen months I was in the mainstream spotlight. And on top of that, there's another certain incident which will also follow me for the rest of my days.
But I don't need to really mention that, do I? If you're watching one of my little promotional videos, you should already be familiar with me. And if you're not, how fucking ignorant are you?
But I digress. They said my career was finished. Nothing left to prove, and they said I was a liability. Me. A liability. Why? Because of the fact that the last three wrestling companies I did appearances for went out of business? That's mere happenstance in two cases-- Cody Clark was hardly a bastion of integrity as a businessman, and it wasn't my fault that Saint and Southwell were a little too ambitious in their grand vision. As for the third... fuck, I'll gladly take credit for killing off Konkrete's playground up in Seattle, because mocking Frank Murdoch and all that he stands for has practically become a hobby.
Back to the nay-sayers. My career was over, because I don't need the money. And this is true. I have managed to become a multi-billionaire through careful investment, cutthroat practices, and instinctive business savvy. I could very easily retire and live off my own personal wealth for the next hundred years. (And you'd better believe I plan on living that long, just to spite you.)
Why, then, would I continue wrestling? Why would I continue to heap infamy upon infamy on my reputation? Why would I take the immense physical risk that professional wrestling carries? Why why why.
Well, the answer is because I like doing it. I enjoy being able to physically mutilate another human being, to pummel their nose into mush, to shatter their jaw, to drop them on their head and risk paralyzing them. And here's the thing, folks: it's all legal. I am naturally a violent man, and wrestling gives me a legal outlet for it.
Now, I'll admit that when it became clear that Absolute Pro was going under, I started making calls to Wade Mason and True Glory. And I wasn't exactly surprised that he didn't return my phone calls, given that I'd rejected him initially when they came calling after Epic went under. Turnabout is fair play, after all. Plus, I'd gone around calling TGW "too small-time" for me not too long after that.
I'm sure there are some of those basement-dwelling wrestling dweebs cranking out their little blogs and cackling that I've had to "stoop to TGW" after all. But that's where you're wrong.
See, after Absolute Pro went tits-up, I started making overtures with my friend Murasame Masaki in Japan, to come back to ASPEN for a couple of tours while I considered my options. But before that could come to pass, I got a phone call of my own.
Teresa Quaranta, the very woman I'd at once praised and denigrated in South America, had a business proposition for me.
I won't bore you with all the details. Plans were made, names were suggested to add to our Blacklist, and things started rolling.
Wade Mason was stupid enough to give her enough legal power to offer out rather significant paid contracts with TGW. And she parceled these out to the right people.
Again, I won't bore you all with the intricacies of what we're here to accomplish. Both Teresa and Reina have already said it, and while I am quite, quite capable of talking for hours on end-- because I love the sound of my own voice, or so I'm told-- I, at least, don't suffer from Diarrhea of the Mouth like a certain former TGW Champion I could think of.
I won't even go the banal route of claiming that Donavon punked out because he heard I was coming. That ascribes too much intelligence to that Iconoclast also-ran. Donavon punked out because he's a bitch and because he'd done what he wanted to do and wanted to go out without an official title loss on his record. You watch. He'll get bored up in Canada, renew his work visa, Wade Mason will welcome him back with open arms, and Donavon will ask for a shot at the title "he never lost" within five minutes.
And then he'll choke, like he always has done. He's choked whenever he was in the ring with someone with even a modicum of talent. He's choked whenever he had to gun for a real World Championship. He's choked whenever he had to suck on Reno Drake's cock. That's all AJ Donavon is, and ever will be: a choke artist.
But putting aside AJ Donavon like the used jizz-rag that he is, let's get down to brass tacks.
For a shitty businessman, Wade Mason does, I'll admit, have the occasional flash of brilliance. When faced with a threat to his company, he's immediately tried to rally the troops and put up a defense against us. Cody Clark, meanwhile, would have let them run around hanging people and crucifying them, while waiting for a pay-per-view to roll around to attempt to stop them. Already, Mason's proved marginally more competent than the Hungry Hungry Hobo ever was.
Of course, Mason had to work with what he has. I mean, let's face it, the TGW roster isn't exactly brimming with talent. When your top three guys are essentially the Chairman of the Emo Lookalike Society, the poster-boy of the Tattooed As Fuck Generation, and David Blazenwing, you've got a problem. Especially when Tattooed As Fuck is ... oh, I'm searching for a good metaphor, but let's just settle for FUBAR, and the Blazenbitch just jobbed to a nobody and is tuning up against another fucktard off the turnip truck. Most of us call that complete failure; he just thinks of it as getting a jump on 2010. In short, Wade Mason has problems.
He needed a couple of warm bodies to fill the gaps, so who does Mason throw out as meat shields?
Shane Magnus and Jordan Albrecht.
First of all... Albrecht. Jesus Christ, did you get cut from the X-treme Games or something? A skater punk wannabe? There are so many jokes I could make about that just by itself. I could call you Tony Hawk, but that implies that you actually had talent at skating-- which, by virtue of the fact that you're wrestling, I'll guess you don't. I could compare you to Bam Margera, but I don't want to give that demonic little shitbag anymore press, so fuck that.
And that's before I even get into your former identity. Ian Ballistic. Really? Really? I've never understood the need for some professional wrestlers to give themselves a name like that. You now, changing their name to something they think sounds really cool. Need some examples? Here we go: Captain Casualty. Casey Chaos. Kelly Godless. Nick Xero. David Blazenwing.
Picking up on a theme here? The first two, you've never heard of, no surprise there, they're nobodies. The next two? Nicky's retired, happily married, and on medication, so bully for him. Kelly the Atheist, meanwhile, dropped off the face of the earth, and the world's a better place for it. And David Blazenwing... well, I hear he's a front runner for the 2009 Blazenwing Award for Best Blazenwing in a Wrestling Ring, which should tell you all you need to know.
Of course, some people use a different name in the wrestling business, and they go on to become very successful. I'm only going to drop one name here, and it will tell you all you need to know: Teresa Quaranta.
Remember that name, Jordan. Te-re-sa Qua-ran-ta. Not "Quarantana," Qua-ran-ta. I highly suggest you get it right, or she'll carve it into your forehead. In fact, she just might do it anyway on principle, and I'll hand her the scalpel to do it.
Thankfully for you, Jordan, you found your birth certificate and have decided to go by your birth name, and that, at least, saves you more ridicule for having a stupid name. Of course, it doesn't spare you ridicule for being a stupid, ignorant fucktard who has gotten himself in way over your head.
You focused too much on Teresa, and that's a major, major mistake when you're talking about us. The three of us are predators. We prey on weak little shits like you. While you're busy trying to make a name for yourself on Teresa's expense, Reina will cut the legs out from underneath you. While you're busy mispronouncing Qua-ran-ta, I'm lining up the perfect angle from which to drive my foot through your voicebox.
Ask anyone who's ever wrestled me, Jordan. I'm an expert at exploiting weakness and using the slightest opening to turn a match in my favor. Of course, you're not ever going to have the match go in your favor.
You're right about something, Jordan. Everybody wants to be the top dog, and not everyone possesses the traits to become one. Except right now, you're looking at the top dogs. AJ Adams might wear the TGW Championship, but after last week, he doesn't look like much of a champion, does he? He might officially be the guy at the top, but in the eyes of the world, the Blacklist stands tallest.
Moving on to other pieces of meat. Shane Magnus.
You come from a proud pedigree, boy. Karl Magnus was a beast in his day. He was called the 'Mauler,' after all. I've seen some of his old matches, and the brutality he could unleash was just insane for the time period. More to the point, 'Baron' Raymon Vilaar trained you, and despite our falling out, I still respect the old bastard, so if he agreed to train you, he must've seen something.
...can't imagine what that could have been. See, Vilaar would have looked at your record: constant troubles with the law, kicked out the military for "gross neglect and derilection of duty," all that and there's talk that your actions led to someone's death. I might admire that, but I don't have any respect for someone who joins the military-- any military-- and fucks up his responsibilities.
People can say what they like about me-- and they have-- but one thing they can't say is that I don't own up to my responsibilities. When I found out I had a daughter, I did my part. I provided for her, gave her a place to stay when her mother had one of her toxic emotional episodes, and much more. Rosalyn is a major responsibility of mine, and no one can say I don't shoulder that responsibility.
Not you, Shane-O. You shirked those responsibilities. You got someone killed out of neglect because you didn't do your duty. And don't go comparing what I've done to what you've done. What I did, I did to protect my daughter. I would really, really like to hear you try to defend what you did. I don't believe for a second that you're innocent of the charges. No one is innocent. No one.
You might think you're on the path of redemption, but that just makes you fucking weak. You're playing it straight and narrow now, trying to prove that your wild and law-breaking days are behind you. Playing it by the rules, except it's too little, too late. Something is rotten in the state of South Africa, isn't there?
That's before we even get into the fact that you once again abandoned your responsibilities. When your dad died, you left Vilaar's school despite his indications that you weren't ready yet, and you came to the States to seek your fortune and to make your name.
You have no idea what you're getting yourself into here.
Are you all pumped and excited because of your victory last week? Why? The victory was over David Blazenwing. That's like being excited because you caught syphilis.
Playing it straight and by the rules only makes you a sitting duck for hunters like the Blacklist, Shane-O. We've got you lined up in our crosshairs and ready to take you down in a split second.
And then we have the third member of the Meat Shields. The TGW Champion, AJ Adams.
What is there to say, AJ? You look stupid, you act stupid-- I'd call still being in the ring to congratulate the Illustrated Dickless Man known to the world as Cody Only pretty damn stupid, especially since it left you right in the path of Teresa and Reina last week.
There's not even a whole lot to say about your past, and that's because all you've ever been was a ghost. A cipher. A nobody. There were no labels attached to you because no one ever noticed you. Well... up until last week, anyway.
All eyes are on you now, AJ. Not because of us, not because of what we did to you and Cody Only-One-Testicle. But because you're holding the TGW Championship now. You're the Man of the Hour. You've got to shoulder the burden of carrying this company through this period of adversity it has found itself in, courtesy of the Blacklist.
As it stands, the TGW Championship is still ... relatively small-time, compared to actual World Championships. But I've seen better men than you buckle under the pressure of being the face of their company. The stress can get to them. They go crazy, they break down. Some people power-trip and start developing god-complexes, and I mean raging ones.
By all means, be proud of that accomplishment, AJ. I want you to have a picture made of you raising that championship gold for the first time. Frame it. Put it somewhere nice and prominent in your hovel. Study it everyday.
I want you to have something nice to remember for the days to come, when all you'll see is blackness.
Believe me when I tell you this.
This is merely the beginning.[/b] .blacklisted. | one | end [/quote]
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Post by AJ Adams on Oct 18, 2009 22:01:52 GMT -5
Sunday. October 11th. 10:30 pm 24 hours before the main event of Animosity Streets of San Diego, California “Where are we going again?” AJ Adams is walking behind Cassie as she walks at a pretty fast pace. It's almost as he is trying to catch up, his legs sore from working out all day on Saturday. “I told you, AJ. This little club that my girlfriends and I found a couple weeks ago, called the Onyx Room. It's so freakin' cool!” “And, they do what there?” She slows down a little bit to make sure he is keeping up and playfully jabs him in the shoulder. “They boogy.” “Lovely.” If you couldn't tell that was sarcasm then you need to get out and live in the real world. Cassie caught the tone in his voice and stopped dead in her tracks. She pouted as she looked up to him and sighed. “You don't have to come if you don't want to AJ. I just thought it be fun to go with you and hang out.” He smiled and brushed some blonde hair away from her face. He seemed to just become lost in her eyes and blinked a few times before coming to. He let out a small chuckle to break the silence of them standing on the sidewalk. “I'm just kidding, Cassie. I'm excited to be going out tonight and just having a good time. I'm a little nervous to meet your friends because I know how girls get with the whole – he's so cute, does he have any cute friends, and can I steal him to make my ex jealous, and such.” “Well, aren't you just sure of yourself? Who says they will like you?” Cassie smiles and sticks her tongue out at him. “Well, if they are anything like you then I'm sure of it. You and I seem to get along right from the get-go.” The two begin to walk again, Cassie biting her lip, holding back something she clearly wants to say. She's so amazing, I don't get it. 3 months ago I would have blown her off and just went about my business. Timing is everything they say, I guess they're right. She takes my mind away from the pains and stress of anything that has to do with a wrestling ring. I don't know how she does it.As the couple get closer to the club, Cassie takes AJ's hand and he blushes. She looks back at him and smiles before seeing her friends standing outside the club waiting for the two of them to arrive. As they get a handful of feet from the group of 4 girls, Cassie lets go of AJ's hand and jogs over to his friends and gives them each a hug. As she hugs the last girl, she fixes her short green dress. All the while AJ has taken the time to brush a hair or two off his black Bon Jovi t-shirt and put his hands in the jeans. Ok, here we go.Cassie came running back over to him and took his hand again and went back over to her friends. She leaned up and whispered in his ear. “You look fine, AJ. Just be yourself.” Monday. October 12th. 10:56pm. Google Arena. San Diego, California. I...I can't believe it.AJ Adams is standing in the middle of the ring as the referee walks up to him and hands him the TGW Title. He looks down at it, smiles, and brushes his hair out of his face. It's finally happened. It's a dream come true and it's, it's just unexplainable.Huffing and puffing to catch his breath, AJ holds the title high into the air as Cody Only begins to stir a few feet from him. AJ turns and catches the eyes of Cody. Right here, right now, everything changes. I have a choice to punk out Cody or to be the bigger man and step into a new me.AJ walks closer to Cody and lowers his title to his side, taking another big breath. He reaches down and pulls Cody to his feet and the two men hug. Cody shares a few words for his opponent. “Good match.” “Let's go another round sometime, bro. Whenever, wherever.” Cody raises the hand of AJ as the crowd begins to cheer. Then, an unfamiliar voice booms throughout the arena. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.” Cody and AJ turn their attention to the entrance as the crowd stops cheering and boos whomever is interrupting the celebration. Jack Darling walks out onto the stage and most of the fans know exactly who they are dealing with. Right here, right now. EVERYTHING changes.Sunday. October 11th. 11:01pm 23.5 hours before the main event of Animosity. Onyx Room. San Diego, California. Sexy Bitch by David Guetta featuring Akon is playing in the club as we see Cassie with her arms up, hands reaching behind the neck of AJ, the two of them close and dancing to the music. Her friends are off on the other side of the dance floor, using the bathroom and getting a couple of drinks. The group has been in the club for about 20 minutes and Cassie and AJ have been dancing non-stop. She looks into the eyes of AJ and just smiles, able to tell at first he was nervous but he had started to loosen up. “AJ, you got something on your mind?” She cracked him a devious smile, knowing that she had to have been turning heads with the way she was dancing with him. “Just you. I'm not going to lie, Cassie. You're hot, funny, and just totally amazing. There is something about you that just makes me forget all the cares in the world and I can't help but smile when I'm with you.” She spun around with him and pulled him in closer. If you hadn't known neither of them had anything to drink yet, you might have thought it was the alcohol talking. What did I just do? Why did I just say that?Cassie moved her hands away and brushed her hair away from her face and smiled. Her right hand came back to his neck and pulled him in and kissed him on the cheek. She continued to dance to the music but kept him close enough so she could talk without yelling. “AJ, you're a great guy. I can tell you're hard on yourself and I know I don't know much about your past, but it's just that. The past. It might be able to mold us into who we are today, but if we hang onto it too much then it hinders who we can become in the future. Don't let something that happened to you make you not go for something that you really want.” She's...she's right.AJ smiled. It was all he could do at this point because he knew that as much as he wanted to hang onto the past and be the 'asshole that didn't care' it just wasn't who he was. He ran his fingers through his hair and wrapped his arms around Cassie, spinning her in circles, holding her tight. He let his lips touch hers and the two shared an embrace that got the looks from a few people around them. Right here, right now, everything changes.Monday. October 12th. 11:17pm. Google Arena. San Diego, California An angered AJ Adams is handcuffed to one of the ropes, who just watched Cody Only get destroyed at the hands of Reina Morgan and Teresa Quaranta. Jack Darling is talking into a microphone but it's all just noise to AJ. He can make out that he just introduced the group. He knew who they were and what kind of people they were. He knew their achievements and their lists of accomplishments. Jack Darling, 2 time eWo World Champion. A grand slam winner and the guy that lead to the death of Scott Free. Teresa Quranata, NFW National Champion, some of the longest win streaks that he had ever seen. Lastly, Reina Morgan. Some what new to the business but amazing skill in the ring. He didn't need the lesson that Jack was giving the fans. Jack gets into the face of AJ and tells him that he will not like them, that he will hate them. You have no idea.AJ spits into the face of Jack as the fans cheer, always loving a rebel. CLUNKJack swings the microphone with full force into the skull of AJ, causing him to go almost limp. The group begins to leave as some help for Cody and AJ come down, but the damage is done. There is blood trickling down the face of AJ as the microphone shot busted him open, he desperately tries to reach for his title. Looking over at the fallen Cody Only. Right here, right now, everything changesI know you're expecting me to come here and say I told you so, why didn't you listen, and all that jazz that I normally would. This week is a little different. Yes, I walked into Animosity and beat Cody Only. Yes, I became the TGW Champion. Am I excited?
Very.
Am I proud of myself and being able to achieve something like this?
Of course.
However, instead of being focused on the biggest win of my career, I'm focused on a Blacklist. The self-proclaimed Blacklist of wrestling – Jack Darling, Teresa Quaranta, and Reina Morgan. A group that has shown up in True Glory Wrestling to make a statement, to take over, to prove that they are bigger than life. Or whatever their reasoning might be. All I know is that my jaw kills after taking the CHEAP kick from Teresa. All I know is that I have been blowing blood out of my nose all week after some knees to the face. All I know is that I have 7 stitches in my forehead because of Jack Darling.
I know that if Teresa thinks that I'm shit at my job then she should have come to be and faced off fairly, not jumped around and kicked me without so much as a heads up. It's always funny to me that someone will say that another person is worse than them, has no talent, is pathetic, but it takes a sneak attack to be able to take advantage. AJ Donavon was the same way. He had to wait until a match was over before being able to come in a steal the spotlight, the exact same way that the Blacklist did.
When Donavon arrived on the scene, he claimed to be the best, here to make TGW something else, and to bring it to a new level. Does any of this sound familiar? This is the same crap that Teresa and Reina are spewing. I can only imagine that Jack Darling is going to do the same.
Blah blah blah, I'm more talented than the entire roster, blah blah blah. No one in TGW is worth a damn, blah blah blah. Blacklist is going to come in and change the face of the company, blah blah blah.
I just summed up the entire Teresa promo in 10 seconds. When you come up with something original and that hasn't been said by half of the roster before, come and talk to me. I may not be the greatest wrestler ever or have the best microphone skills, but I always back up what I say. I said weeks ago that when I came to TGW that I would be its champion and I did just that. Plain and simple.
THAT is why I deserved to be in that title match last week. Not because someone said that it would be good for business or because it would make for an interesting match up. I have shown that I am more than deserving with each win, my impressive skills in the ring, and my dedication to be at the top.
I may be getting teamed up with a couple of people this week that have different agendas for this match, for them it's just business to impress the boss. For me it's personal. I'm not one of those rookies that is going to come into the match swinging blind and in a fit of rage. I'm going to approach it just like I have every week and make sure I come out on top.
It's going to be interesting to see after a few weeks where this group goes because simply they all want to be on top and it's clear to everyone looking in, that Jack Darling is the leader. He calls the shots whether Reina and Teresa admit to it or not. If it wasn't for Darling then this group wouldn't even exist. Jack, I'm not going to go and kidnap your daughter or threaten her life. I'm not going to sit here and tell you that you were a horrible guy for what happened to your baby mama. I won't even shout that I'm BETTER. THAN. YOU. My name isn't Scott Free.
My name is AJ Adams and I am the TGW Champion for a reason. I'm going to make sure that I beat you in the middle of that ring and show you exactly why. I'm not going to sit here and run you down with insults because when it comes down to it Jack, I respect you. I sit here and I look at your career and know that if I succeed half as much then I will be happy with where it ends up. Then to go on and have the reason you came back to wrestling, when you obviously don't need money or more success, because it's what you love to do – just great. You may not like the fans and they may not like you, but it's because you love to give them the show.
See though, where you are wrong is me never having a label. I was that kid that, growing up, I tried to stick up for everyone. I tried to be involved and at the top. After a small run in with a few “thugs”, to put it kindly, and taking a lead pipe to one of their knee caps, I was outcast. People thought I was too violent, too weird, too.. - on edge. I started to let my hair grow out some and kinds thought I was weird. That was then. Now, I'm labeled the best in TGW because I am not only the champion but I have been true to my word. Just like I'm going to this week.
Jack, bring your crew and I'll bring whomever Mason wants to stick in my corner. Shane Magnus, Jordan Albrecht, Russell Franchise, Gobbly Gooker, the guy that sells tickets in the front box office window 4, the corpse of Scott Free. I honestly don't care because I'm going to make sure you and your Blacklist know that the only reason you got the upper hand last week was because I was blindsided. So, you believe me when I tell you -
- It's last call. This rounds on me. Tuesday. October 13th. 3:02pm AJ Adams' Apartment. San Diego, California[/right] Inside of AJ's living room all of the drapes are closed, the TV is turned off, the ceiling fan is turned low, making the room almost dead quite. AJ lays sprawled out on the couch nearest to the window and a stray beam of light is shining through on his face. His eyes are closed and it's an easy guess as to why. Wrapped around his head is a white bandage, hiding the stitches required after Monday night's match. He's dressed in a pair of gray workout pants and a black t-shirt, his hair a mess. It's almost impossible to tell if he's sleeping or just lying still until he starts to stir, sitting up to face the other way on the couch. Just as he goes to lay his head back down there is a knock on the door. Go. Away.He doesn't even have the strength to say it. They knock again and he sighs. After a third set knocks, a woman's voice is heard. “AJ!? I know you're in there, your neighbor called me worried because you came in late last night with a bandage around your head and tried to use your keys to get into his apartment. He said you were really out of it. AJ? Can you hear me?” He looks over to the door, he can tell he didn't lock the deadbolt, but not sure if the handle was undone. “Cassie, it might be open”, he tried to yell as loudly as he could. He was right and the door swung open. Cassie took a step inside and gasped as she saw him. “Oh my...what happened!?” She swung the door closed and it hit loudly, AJ wincing his eyes is pain. She moved over towards him and sat beside him on the couch. “Sorry.” “It's ok, kinda got beat up last night.” “Who did this to you? Did you call the police?” “No one of importance and no I didn't. I kinda know these people and plan on handling it myself. Don't you worry about it ok? I'll be fine, it's just a few stitches and a nasty bruise.” “Well at least let me take care of you for a few days.” I don't know what this is, this relationship. It's been a long time since someone has shown compassion like this for me, or the fact that it's as if she's falling in love.“Ok, but the deal is that you can't sit around and put your life on hold.” “Deal.” Cassie stood up and started to walk towards the kitchen, a smile on her face. “Have you ate lunch yet? I skipped it and I'm getting hungry.” “No, I haven't ate since last night.” She turned back around and smiled, nodded and ducked into the kitchen. He heard her trying to be as quiet as possible as she pulled out a couple pots, only guessing what she planned on making. Whatever this is, I like it.AJ looked to his left and saw his gym back sitting on the loveseat a few feet from him unzipped. On top shined his TGW Title. That lone ray of light had moved just enough to shine on the front plate, making it glow. He smiled and placed his hand on his forehead. Totally worth it.
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