Post by The Hitman on Jun 11, 2012 14:29:58 GMT -4
Well this was different. Steve Stryker didn’t have a routine for when he lost a match. It wasn’t something he had planned on dealing with, nor did he really consider that he should change things up should he lose. Fortunately the change happened for him. While Stryker was staying in Auburn, Alabama for a few nights, pondering over his loss at the local watering hole, he had finally found some strange to throw himself into.
It was a great few days; they almost acted like children who had just met on the jungle gym, except for the sex of course. It had been over a month since Stryker had been dumped by Bianca. With everything that was happening on Meltdown and in the APW he hadn’t much considered women or relationships or anything of the sort.
Now, let’s not play this up as though it was some magical romance that they would sing about in the movie Grease. Far from it. There wasn’t much talking at all really. Any talking that there was revolved around making fun of others. Stryker had grown weary of people since his perceived success in APW so far. To the point that now he couldn’t go out in public without being recognized at least once.
He wasn’t like a Will Smith or a Tom Cruise, but at some point in the day when he was out someone would recognize him and approach him for an autograph or try and take a picture without him noticing. He always noticed. It was such an invasion of privacy. He could be eating dinner, drinking a beer, or just walking around outside. It didn’t matter, someone was trying to take a picture of him.
The girls name was Wendi. Yes, with an “I”. She was probably an ex-stripper. Stryker didn’t care. She was as cold hearted towards people as he was. Which is why Stryker had no problem believing she was an ex-stripper. Her dead eyes staring into the lustful stares of old men and creepy young adults who kept asking to go to the champagne room.
People had just become disgusting to him.[/color]
“Seriously? Back up the 85? Why don’t I just get a room in every hotel right off of the highway and eventually I’ll get to that venue.” Stryker has been driving up and down Interstate 85 for four weeks now. This time was certainly more bearable as it was a short two and a half hours, but he’s become very comfortable with this road and with landmarks or lack thereof.
“Up and down, up and down. I’m like a damn whack-a-mole that just keeps coming up for more.” Stryker was talking to himself. This has become a common occurrence over the past few weeks. He’s felt very alone on the road and it’s not like he’s making friends with the APW crowd. Each week it’s somebody new, each week he’s got to find a way to hate someone new.
“Biggest yogurt in Georgia! Well by golly! Gee wiz! Look at that Ma’, a big ole’ yogurt.” Although over the past few days he had a companion to yell these absurdities at, he was still more comfortable on his own. That’s why he had to leave her.
Stryker had spent the whole weekend with Wendi. She wasn’t the most pleasant girl in the world, but she got the job done and had a sense of humor that was perfectly compatible with Stryker’s. She hated people but loved making fun of them. From their weight, to their hair style, to the look on their face when Wendi would be flipping them off for looking at her too long.
She was asking for people to be looking at her though. Fishnet stockings, knee high boots, a bare mid-drift and a tank top with no bra on. She wasn’t what someone would call classically beautiful. But she did have a certain sex-appeal. She wasn’t as drop dead gorgeous as Bianca, his ex, was. But, as Stryker said, she got the job done.
The weekend went by quickly, Stryker knew he had to leave for Georgia but something just felt wrong. After his loss to Evan Envi he just felt deflated. He needed something to keep him going and just couldn’t find it. He couldn’t get any sort of motivation to leave the shitty town of Auburn, Alabama.
It took Wendi asking when “they” were going to Georgia. Stryker kind of snapped after that question. He definitively said that there was no “they” and certainly no “we”. He grabbed his stuff, threw it in his bag, and stormed out of the hotel room. It wasn’t as simple as a fear of commitment. While he was having a lot of fun with her, he didn’t really want to be with her for any amount of time. He found himself hating her at some points. But then she’d take her top off and he’d forget about it pretty quickly. She was nothing but a doll to him, a play thing. The second she starts talking about “we” and “they” he knew that had to be the end of it.
What was even worse was that the hotel room was under both of their names and had her credit card on file. Stryker ditched her with the bill too. But the absolute worst thing. The thing that was itching at Steve was that he didn’t care. He cared more about not caring than about the girl herself. Stryker used to be a pretty noble guy. He used to take care of women when he was with them. This was different. Now, he didn’t care one bit. That was really different.
Stryker had to get out of his own head. He had to focus on the match coming up tonight. He was saving his drive until the day of his match. What kind of idiot is he that he’d give himself zero time to work with. If he was in an accident or hit an absurd amount of traffic he would miss the show and his match. This isn’t the type of focus that he needs to have going into a match. It was time to settle down and get to work.
[o] RECORD [o]
“Evan Envi, you better consider yourself the luckiest man on the face of this earth. I had you defeated time and time again, but whether it was a slow count by the ref or just a random muscle spasm you had you managed to kick out over and over. You bested me Envi. The first one in the APW to do so. Your nerves sent me into a place of comfort and complacency. I didn’t take you seriously enough until about mid-way through our match and at that point it was too late anyways.”
“The announcers said after our match that it would be in early contention for “Match of the Year”. Well, believe you me Evan, this won’t be the last time I see you in the ring. While my desires are obviously far reaching beyond you and your North American Title, I have certainly made beating you a new obstacle I have to deal with.”
“I don’t like the idea that there is someone out there who can beat me. I don’t like the idea that you have something to hold over me. So Evan, I need to take it back. You can finish your little two-step with Carmen Rivera, and she might even beat you, but again the title isn’t important, beating you is important.”
“I’m going to make the same mistake I made last week this week though. Yarmouth, don’t think that my absence over the past week has been anything more than mere coincidence. I have been focused on you and focused on beating you and frankly I can’t wait to get into the ring with a big dumb monster like you. You have also lost to Evan Envi, the only difference being that you didn’t even really give him a fight. I at least pushed that man to the brim and lost by a miracle ending for Envi.”
“No, Yarmouth, you just meddle around with no real ability or purpose. You were a last minute fill in at Mayhem. Someone they figured they could just pop right in, give Envi the quick win, and not take up too much time. Yarmouth isn’t really putting people in seats anymore is he? Your career is just falling back to earth one step at a time. No chance that’s going to change this week.”
“I can’t have another loss. I can’t look like a fool for two weeks in a row on Meltdown. What would that say about me? How would that look Yarmouth? I’m supposed to be a bright young star on Meltdown and instead I’m toiling around losing two weeks in a row? No way, can’t happen. I have to beat you this week. You may be big and may have some experience in these APW rings, but I know how to win damn it. This isn’t my first rodeo anymore big man. I’ve beaten what APW has to offer. I’ve faced people worse than you and won. Tonight will be no different Yarmouth.”
“I’m amazed you could even stutter your way through an entire promo the other day. It was completely pathetic. It’s like watching an infant figure out how to use their fingers. You’re almost there, but you look more like a retard than a wrestler. Oh, I’m sorry, did I offend you APW? Saying the word retard? Is that offensive these days?”
“The teacher in Wellesley, Massachusetts was right last week. This current generation and current era of the United States, Canada, and Western Europe is disgusting. Kids getting trophies for showing up, having parties thrown for getting your first period, and not being able to say retard. Now hear me out, I’m not saying all handicapped people are retards. The word has expanded from its literal meaning. Much like the n-word or another word for a gay man or a bundle of sticks. See how I have to navigate around the most basic things in life? It’s a word for god’s sake! Am I even allowed to say that? God? I mean, I can say shit and bitch and piss and damn and if you watch this on the internet I can say fuck. But I can’t say retard, I can’t say the n-word. It’s pathetic. Sometimes you’re just acting like a retard and you need to deal with it. Sometimes a big black guy is stumbling through his words and barely getting the sounds to come out and he looks like a retard. He’s not mentally handicapped, he’s just a retard.”
“God that felt good to get out. Do you know how sick I am of you people? Your damn attitude like I owe you something? Like I’m supposed to be a role model to your kids or some shit like that. Give me a break people, I wrestle for a living. I drink, I smoke, I whoop ass. That’s what I do and you want them to look up to me? What kind of shitty parenting skills are those? You know who is a good role model, the Pope. Oh no wait, he let priests rape little boys, that doesn’t count. You know who is a good role model, the athletics supervisor at Penn State. Nope, more rape. You know who are good role models? NBA players… ah shit, rape again!”
“How about your read books with your kid, play catch with him, and pull them away from the damn TV and Cheetos for two hours a damn day and pretend you’re a real parent and not just some Zoloft overdosed zombie of a person with a lack of morality, originality, and personality!”
“Yarmouth this has gotten away from you because you’re just the base of this problem. You’re a product of your environment. You were probably told you were great your whole life and given sports scholarships like the damn Blindside kid. That’s why no one ever took the time to sit you down and teach you how to make words with your mouth and not look like a retard all the time. But don’t you worry big guy, tonight I’m going to smack that look right off your big dumb mouth and maybe knock a little sense into you. I’ll get my arms around your neck and just keep the blood from rushing to your brain for just long enough to see you go full vegetable before I slam you to the mat and the blood rushes back up and maybe knocks something loose. Maybe you had a blood clot you didn’t know about and this can be some quick Dr. House style cure.”
“Damn it you make me angry Yarmouth. It’s like you think that you actually belong in the conversation with these top echelon guys. Echelon, there’s a big word for you, dummy. Echelon, a level or rank within an organization. What I’m trying to say is that you’re not the same caliber talent as I am. Damn it, there’s another one you won’t understand. Caliber, the quality or level of one’s abilities or talents. Hell, do you even know what talent means? Here’s the deal Yarmouth, in a way that you can understand. Steve Stryker, strong, smart, good. Yarmouth, big, dumb, bad. Steve Stryker, win. Yarmouth, lose. I hope that didn’t go over your head you damn oaf.”
“You know what, I can’t keep doing this, I can’t belittle myself in front of this camera so that everyone in APW can get a good laugh at ole’ Yarmouth’s expense. Everyone is laughing at him already. So APW, I can’t wait to get this week over with so I can move on from my loss to Evan Envi and finally start taking care of business again. It’s been a long week and I’m damn sick of feeling like a loser. Tonight I’ll go back to winning and tonight I’ll continue to downfall of Yarmouth.”
[ ] STOP [ ]
Stryker looks away from the camera and out of the side window of the car. The anger was just welling up inside him again and he couldn’t stand it. Society in general was pissing him off. He had enough of dealing with these imbeciles week in and week out. He just hoped that when he arrived to the arena today that he’d be alone. Last week’s debacle was enough to mess with his concentration in the ring. It threw off his routine and ended with him losing the match. Not this time.
One hour later[/u]
Stryker arrived at the arena like he had in weeks past. Expecting that worst. He was relieved to find nobody there. The relief vanished quickly though as he realized that having something to hate would be a good way to drive him towards success. With nobody around to hate, he’d just be lonely and angry. Stryker had to find the balance between getting people to come out to see him and ask for autographs and hating these people at the same time.
Clearly getting his thoughts out on camera didn’t relieve his mind this week. He was in for a long night in Duluth, Georgia.
It was a great few days; they almost acted like children who had just met on the jungle gym, except for the sex of course. It had been over a month since Stryker had been dumped by Bianca. With everything that was happening on Meltdown and in the APW he hadn’t much considered women or relationships or anything of the sort.
Now, let’s not play this up as though it was some magical romance that they would sing about in the movie Grease. Far from it. There wasn’t much talking at all really. Any talking that there was revolved around making fun of others. Stryker had grown weary of people since his perceived success in APW so far. To the point that now he couldn’t go out in public without being recognized at least once.
He wasn’t like a Will Smith or a Tom Cruise, but at some point in the day when he was out someone would recognize him and approach him for an autograph or try and take a picture without him noticing. He always noticed. It was such an invasion of privacy. He could be eating dinner, drinking a beer, or just walking around outside. It didn’t matter, someone was trying to take a picture of him.
The girls name was Wendi. Yes, with an “I”. She was probably an ex-stripper. Stryker didn’t care. She was as cold hearted towards people as he was. Which is why Stryker had no problem believing she was an ex-stripper. Her dead eyes staring into the lustful stares of old men and creepy young adults who kept asking to go to the champagne room.
People had just become disgusting to him.[/color]
“Seriously? Back up the 85? Why don’t I just get a room in every hotel right off of the highway and eventually I’ll get to that venue.” Stryker has been driving up and down Interstate 85 for four weeks now. This time was certainly more bearable as it was a short two and a half hours, but he’s become very comfortable with this road and with landmarks or lack thereof.
“Up and down, up and down. I’m like a damn whack-a-mole that just keeps coming up for more.” Stryker was talking to himself. This has become a common occurrence over the past few weeks. He’s felt very alone on the road and it’s not like he’s making friends with the APW crowd. Each week it’s somebody new, each week he’s got to find a way to hate someone new.
“Biggest yogurt in Georgia! Well by golly! Gee wiz! Look at that Ma’, a big ole’ yogurt.” Although over the past few days he had a companion to yell these absurdities at, he was still more comfortable on his own. That’s why he had to leave her.
Stryker had spent the whole weekend with Wendi. She wasn’t the most pleasant girl in the world, but she got the job done and had a sense of humor that was perfectly compatible with Stryker’s. She hated people but loved making fun of them. From their weight, to their hair style, to the look on their face when Wendi would be flipping them off for looking at her too long.
She was asking for people to be looking at her though. Fishnet stockings, knee high boots, a bare mid-drift and a tank top with no bra on. She wasn’t what someone would call classically beautiful. But she did have a certain sex-appeal. She wasn’t as drop dead gorgeous as Bianca, his ex, was. But, as Stryker said, she got the job done.
The weekend went by quickly, Stryker knew he had to leave for Georgia but something just felt wrong. After his loss to Evan Envi he just felt deflated. He needed something to keep him going and just couldn’t find it. He couldn’t get any sort of motivation to leave the shitty town of Auburn, Alabama.
It took Wendi asking when “they” were going to Georgia. Stryker kind of snapped after that question. He definitively said that there was no “they” and certainly no “we”. He grabbed his stuff, threw it in his bag, and stormed out of the hotel room. It wasn’t as simple as a fear of commitment. While he was having a lot of fun with her, he didn’t really want to be with her for any amount of time. He found himself hating her at some points. But then she’d take her top off and he’d forget about it pretty quickly. She was nothing but a doll to him, a play thing. The second she starts talking about “we” and “they” he knew that had to be the end of it.
What was even worse was that the hotel room was under both of their names and had her credit card on file. Stryker ditched her with the bill too. But the absolute worst thing. The thing that was itching at Steve was that he didn’t care. He cared more about not caring than about the girl herself. Stryker used to be a pretty noble guy. He used to take care of women when he was with them. This was different. Now, he didn’t care one bit. That was really different.
Stryker had to get out of his own head. He had to focus on the match coming up tonight. He was saving his drive until the day of his match. What kind of idiot is he that he’d give himself zero time to work with. If he was in an accident or hit an absurd amount of traffic he would miss the show and his match. This isn’t the type of focus that he needs to have going into a match. It was time to settle down and get to work.
[o] RECORD [o]
“Evan Envi, you better consider yourself the luckiest man on the face of this earth. I had you defeated time and time again, but whether it was a slow count by the ref or just a random muscle spasm you had you managed to kick out over and over. You bested me Envi. The first one in the APW to do so. Your nerves sent me into a place of comfort and complacency. I didn’t take you seriously enough until about mid-way through our match and at that point it was too late anyways.”
“The announcers said after our match that it would be in early contention for “Match of the Year”. Well, believe you me Evan, this won’t be the last time I see you in the ring. While my desires are obviously far reaching beyond you and your North American Title, I have certainly made beating you a new obstacle I have to deal with.”
“I don’t like the idea that there is someone out there who can beat me. I don’t like the idea that you have something to hold over me. So Evan, I need to take it back. You can finish your little two-step with Carmen Rivera, and she might even beat you, but again the title isn’t important, beating you is important.”
“I’m going to make the same mistake I made last week this week though. Yarmouth, don’t think that my absence over the past week has been anything more than mere coincidence. I have been focused on you and focused on beating you and frankly I can’t wait to get into the ring with a big dumb monster like you. You have also lost to Evan Envi, the only difference being that you didn’t even really give him a fight. I at least pushed that man to the brim and lost by a miracle ending for Envi.”
“No, Yarmouth, you just meddle around with no real ability or purpose. You were a last minute fill in at Mayhem. Someone they figured they could just pop right in, give Envi the quick win, and not take up too much time. Yarmouth isn’t really putting people in seats anymore is he? Your career is just falling back to earth one step at a time. No chance that’s going to change this week.”
“I can’t have another loss. I can’t look like a fool for two weeks in a row on Meltdown. What would that say about me? How would that look Yarmouth? I’m supposed to be a bright young star on Meltdown and instead I’m toiling around losing two weeks in a row? No way, can’t happen. I have to beat you this week. You may be big and may have some experience in these APW rings, but I know how to win damn it. This isn’t my first rodeo anymore big man. I’ve beaten what APW has to offer. I’ve faced people worse than you and won. Tonight will be no different Yarmouth.”
“I’m amazed you could even stutter your way through an entire promo the other day. It was completely pathetic. It’s like watching an infant figure out how to use their fingers. You’re almost there, but you look more like a retard than a wrestler. Oh, I’m sorry, did I offend you APW? Saying the word retard? Is that offensive these days?”
“The teacher in Wellesley, Massachusetts was right last week. This current generation and current era of the United States, Canada, and Western Europe is disgusting. Kids getting trophies for showing up, having parties thrown for getting your first period, and not being able to say retard. Now hear me out, I’m not saying all handicapped people are retards. The word has expanded from its literal meaning. Much like the n-word or another word for a gay man or a bundle of sticks. See how I have to navigate around the most basic things in life? It’s a word for god’s sake! Am I even allowed to say that? God? I mean, I can say shit and bitch and piss and damn and if you watch this on the internet I can say fuck. But I can’t say retard, I can’t say the n-word. It’s pathetic. Sometimes you’re just acting like a retard and you need to deal with it. Sometimes a big black guy is stumbling through his words and barely getting the sounds to come out and he looks like a retard. He’s not mentally handicapped, he’s just a retard.”
“God that felt good to get out. Do you know how sick I am of you people? Your damn attitude like I owe you something? Like I’m supposed to be a role model to your kids or some shit like that. Give me a break people, I wrestle for a living. I drink, I smoke, I whoop ass. That’s what I do and you want them to look up to me? What kind of shitty parenting skills are those? You know who is a good role model, the Pope. Oh no wait, he let priests rape little boys, that doesn’t count. You know who is a good role model, the athletics supervisor at Penn State. Nope, more rape. You know who are good role models? NBA players… ah shit, rape again!”
“How about your read books with your kid, play catch with him, and pull them away from the damn TV and Cheetos for two hours a damn day and pretend you’re a real parent and not just some Zoloft overdosed zombie of a person with a lack of morality, originality, and personality!”
“Yarmouth this has gotten away from you because you’re just the base of this problem. You’re a product of your environment. You were probably told you were great your whole life and given sports scholarships like the damn Blindside kid. That’s why no one ever took the time to sit you down and teach you how to make words with your mouth and not look like a retard all the time. But don’t you worry big guy, tonight I’m going to smack that look right off your big dumb mouth and maybe knock a little sense into you. I’ll get my arms around your neck and just keep the blood from rushing to your brain for just long enough to see you go full vegetable before I slam you to the mat and the blood rushes back up and maybe knocks something loose. Maybe you had a blood clot you didn’t know about and this can be some quick Dr. House style cure.”
“Damn it you make me angry Yarmouth. It’s like you think that you actually belong in the conversation with these top echelon guys. Echelon, there’s a big word for you, dummy. Echelon, a level or rank within an organization. What I’m trying to say is that you’re not the same caliber talent as I am. Damn it, there’s another one you won’t understand. Caliber, the quality or level of one’s abilities or talents. Hell, do you even know what talent means? Here’s the deal Yarmouth, in a way that you can understand. Steve Stryker, strong, smart, good. Yarmouth, big, dumb, bad. Steve Stryker, win. Yarmouth, lose. I hope that didn’t go over your head you damn oaf.”
“You know what, I can’t keep doing this, I can’t belittle myself in front of this camera so that everyone in APW can get a good laugh at ole’ Yarmouth’s expense. Everyone is laughing at him already. So APW, I can’t wait to get this week over with so I can move on from my loss to Evan Envi and finally start taking care of business again. It’s been a long week and I’m damn sick of feeling like a loser. Tonight I’ll go back to winning and tonight I’ll continue to downfall of Yarmouth.”
[ ] STOP [ ]
Stryker looks away from the camera and out of the side window of the car. The anger was just welling up inside him again and he couldn’t stand it. Society in general was pissing him off. He had enough of dealing with these imbeciles week in and week out. He just hoped that when he arrived to the arena today that he’d be alone. Last week’s debacle was enough to mess with his concentration in the ring. It threw off his routine and ended with him losing the match. Not this time.
One hour later[/u]
Stryker arrived at the arena like he had in weeks past. Expecting that worst. He was relieved to find nobody there. The relief vanished quickly though as he realized that having something to hate would be a good way to drive him towards success. With nobody around to hate, he’d just be lonely and angry. Stryker had to find the balance between getting people to come out to see him and ask for autographs and hating these people at the same time.
Clearly getting his thoughts out on camera didn’t relieve his mind this week. He was in for a long night in Duluth, Georgia.
