Post by Kid Cannabis on Aug 16, 2012 18:17:57 GMT -4
It’s just another typical APW house show. You probably been to one, tickets are so cheap you spent more jack on the Johnny Rebel foam middle finger than you did getting you and your kids in. Usually you get a decent show, nothing to write home to mom about. Some local talent gets squashed, some dark matches play out. Maybe, just maybe, if their over-inflated ego doesn’t get stuck in the hallway, you might get a “megastar” come out of the back to cut a shoot. Let’s face it, half the time, these things are so sleepy that the camera crew just stays back at the hotel and orders Chinese.
But something about this show was different. Not only were the APW camera monkeys here in full force, you even saw a crew here filming with a whole different set of initials on their equipment.
Today’s episode of House Show Sesame Street’s brought to you by the letters H, B, and O.
There was even a rumor that the Prez himself, Jazzy Jeff, was here overseeing this personally. The boss at a House Show? Half the time, dude’s so busy he has to check his email while taking a dump, what could be so important that’d he show up to one of these throw-away, glorified piss break match marathons?
And the fans, the fans knew nothing. The Internet marks didn’t have a clue; the so-called “insiders” were out in the cold. Most of the staff were treated like mushrooms about what was going down: fed shit and left in the dark.
So, when the lights suddenly cut off during a chinlock festival in the ring between a couple of road apples that looked like Justin Bieber on HGH, it was a bit of a shock.
But when the spotlight hit the enterance ramp, shock turned to pandemonium. Camera flashes and smart phones turned the darkness into a whiteout. No need for pyro, and no need to explain why the monkeys at the zoo are acting bananas.
It’s just the glorious side effect one enjoys where given a long overdue overdose of….
Kid Cannabis! Baddest Nigga on God’s Green Earth, and the cat who’s about to add extra digits to Jeff’s bank account, is back to restore balance to the Force.
The fans mark out, the jobbers scurry like roaches when the lights kick on, the ring-rats are making sure their hair’s right and they re-up'ed on their birth control pills, and even though it’s been two years since he’d step on canvas, he walks down to the ring like he did this yesterday. They even got an intern there waiting center ring to hand him a mic.
But he stops right in front of the kid, lights a blunt, takes a puff, and absorbs it all. Not just the THC from the Cheese kush….
The energy. The vibe. The reason why this dude decided to put the ink to the contract and put his boots on again. A few more puffs, then he trades the blunt for the mic.
*Pauses, clears his throat*
First and foremost, props to APW and Hurricane Jeff for welcoming a brother back to the game like family. I’ve known this dude since back in the day dealing with Danny Whack’s nonsense in the E. Not only is this dude one of the best for making this fed what it is, but, my man, on the real….
What brothel have you been recruiting these freaky ass assistants of yours, man? Damn! Seriously, HJ’s secretary pool’s so dirty, a nigga can’t help but swim that like Michael Phelps. I may not be an Olympian, but these girls helped a brother the last few days get a gold medal in the breaststroke again, feel me?
These white chicks sure as hell been feeling me.
*crowd starts laughing*
Oh, FYI, smile for the HBO cameras, folks. Cannabis 24/7’s back on line, and we trying to make those Game of Thrones dollars off this thing. So if you ain’t got it, call your cable or satellite provider and cop that shit. And no bootlegging, either. I catch a nigga selling knock offs on the corner, I’ll turn that block into the Gaza Strip.
*pauses*
Had to take a couple of years off, man. Had to. You know how real life is. Plus, I’ve been doing this for so long I figured I needed a long vacation. I toured the world so many times, I forgot what it was like to actually stop and see it, enjoy it. It’s a beautiful world we live in, man. You should try it too, man. Get off the PS3 and the Facebook, pack your iPhone away and get out there and see some things. It was one of the best things I ever did. Get yourself lost in this wonderful world and recharge the batteries.
But I’m getting a bit off track here. Everybody wants to know why you back after all this time, Mike?
It’s as simple as ABC, brothers and sisters. I miss it. My DNA’s screaming for it. It’s like a nutrient my body and soul needs to survive and thrive. This is my bread and butter, my passion, my religion.
This ring isn’t just my ring, it’s my church. My cathedral. Wrestling to me is what Ramadan is to a Muslim, it’s what’s right in the world.
Note, I said “Wrestling” Some dumb-ass journalist asked me why I left “sports-entertainment”, I almost smacked the plaque off that mutha-f*cka’s teeth. I hate that term, that terminology’s so sh*tty saying it makes my breath stink. I need to floss now after saying that term. It’s disgusting.
This is wrestling, not that noise Vince pumped down the younger generation’s throat. And that’s reason #2 why I’m back on the clock, to remind these cats, from rookie to legend, what this sport’s all about.
*Pauses while he waits for the applause to die down*
I’ve been around the block since the 90’s, and the state of things is repugnant. It’s the worst I’ve ever seen. We got rookies who haven’t earned their stripes claiming they’re legends. We got guys claiming they’re a Prodigy when they got no legacy or lineage to fall back on. We got cherries claiming they’re the main event when they can’t go two weeks jerking curtain without spraining their wrists. We got nobodies claiming they the “Whole F’N Show” when after one promo, everybody knows this program should’ve been cancelled before the pilot aired.
We got this silly little girl claiming to be the Queen of North America when in reality, this b*tch’s face and attitude just proves the mutha-f*cking Burger King’s got more claim to nobility than her.
Niggas are tripping left and right like drunks tripping on the curb, and even some of the established ones are drinking their own Kool-Aid. I even heard one vet claim he ain’t got nothing to prove anymore.
If that’s true, then why the hell are you still wrestling, then? What’s the point of clocking in if you got that attitude? It’s a recession, nigga. Lots of cats looking for work these days. You don’t think you need to prove why you get a check for APW, then get to steppin’ and let somebody who wants to earn their bread and their cred on the payroll.
Me? I got everything to prove. Don’t matter how many matches I’ve won, how much gold I wrapped around my waist, how many feds I’ve ran table on, that was yesterday. My mentality is, I win a championship on Sunday, come 6 a.m. Monday, I start from scratch in the gym and earn that again next Sunday.
This game’s got short term memory. It forgets you, they forget you, if you’re not out every week proving yourself.
I’m back to jog the game’s memory. Back to remind the fans why they mark out when they see a brother with a phat sack. Back to remind “entertainers” what wrestling’s really about. Back to remind myself why I bust my ass to do what I do.
And finally, back to remind Jeff why he needs to double up on the toilet paper and Febreeze for the locker room. Because if you people think this roster stinks right now….
Imagine how bad it will reek after I get done taking a s*** on everybody in it!
Can drops the mic, smiles for the camera, and while the crowd wilds out....
We bring you back to your regularily scheduled program.
B.T.S. (Best Thing Smoking)
But something about this show was different. Not only were the APW camera monkeys here in full force, you even saw a crew here filming with a whole different set of initials on their equipment.
Today’s episode of House Show Sesame Street’s brought to you by the letters H, B, and O.
There was even a rumor that the Prez himself, Jazzy Jeff, was here overseeing this personally. The boss at a House Show? Half the time, dude’s so busy he has to check his email while taking a dump, what could be so important that’d he show up to one of these throw-away, glorified piss break match marathons?
And the fans, the fans knew nothing. The Internet marks didn’t have a clue; the so-called “insiders” were out in the cold. Most of the staff were treated like mushrooms about what was going down: fed shit and left in the dark.
So, when the lights suddenly cut off during a chinlock festival in the ring between a couple of road apples that looked like Justin Bieber on HGH, it was a bit of a shock.
But when the spotlight hit the enterance ramp, shock turned to pandemonium. Camera flashes and smart phones turned the darkness into a whiteout. No need for pyro, and no need to explain why the monkeys at the zoo are acting bananas.
It’s just the glorious side effect one enjoys where given a long overdue overdose of….
Kid Cannabis! Baddest Nigga on God’s Green Earth, and the cat who’s about to add extra digits to Jeff’s bank account, is back to restore balance to the Force.
The fans mark out, the jobbers scurry like roaches when the lights kick on, the ring-rats are making sure their hair’s right and they re-up'ed on their birth control pills, and even though it’s been two years since he’d step on canvas, he walks down to the ring like he did this yesterday. They even got an intern there waiting center ring to hand him a mic.
But he stops right in front of the kid, lights a blunt, takes a puff, and absorbs it all. Not just the THC from the Cheese kush….
The energy. The vibe. The reason why this dude decided to put the ink to the contract and put his boots on again. A few more puffs, then he trades the blunt for the mic.
*Pauses, clears his throat*
First and foremost, props to APW and Hurricane Jeff for welcoming a brother back to the game like family. I’ve known this dude since back in the day dealing with Danny Whack’s nonsense in the E. Not only is this dude one of the best for making this fed what it is, but, my man, on the real….
What brothel have you been recruiting these freaky ass assistants of yours, man? Damn! Seriously, HJ’s secretary pool’s so dirty, a nigga can’t help but swim that like Michael Phelps. I may not be an Olympian, but these girls helped a brother the last few days get a gold medal in the breaststroke again, feel me?
These white chicks sure as hell been feeling me.
*crowd starts laughing*
Oh, FYI, smile for the HBO cameras, folks. Cannabis 24/7’s back on line, and we trying to make those Game of Thrones dollars off this thing. So if you ain’t got it, call your cable or satellite provider and cop that shit. And no bootlegging, either. I catch a nigga selling knock offs on the corner, I’ll turn that block into the Gaza Strip.
*pauses*
Had to take a couple of years off, man. Had to. You know how real life is. Plus, I’ve been doing this for so long I figured I needed a long vacation. I toured the world so many times, I forgot what it was like to actually stop and see it, enjoy it. It’s a beautiful world we live in, man. You should try it too, man. Get off the PS3 and the Facebook, pack your iPhone away and get out there and see some things. It was one of the best things I ever did. Get yourself lost in this wonderful world and recharge the batteries.
But I’m getting a bit off track here. Everybody wants to know why you back after all this time, Mike?
It’s as simple as ABC, brothers and sisters. I miss it. My DNA’s screaming for it. It’s like a nutrient my body and soul needs to survive and thrive. This is my bread and butter, my passion, my religion.
This ring isn’t just my ring, it’s my church. My cathedral. Wrestling to me is what Ramadan is to a Muslim, it’s what’s right in the world.
Note, I said “Wrestling” Some dumb-ass journalist asked me why I left “sports-entertainment”, I almost smacked the plaque off that mutha-f*cka’s teeth. I hate that term, that terminology’s so sh*tty saying it makes my breath stink. I need to floss now after saying that term. It’s disgusting.
This is wrestling, not that noise Vince pumped down the younger generation’s throat. And that’s reason #2 why I’m back on the clock, to remind these cats, from rookie to legend, what this sport’s all about.
*Pauses while he waits for the applause to die down*
I’ve been around the block since the 90’s, and the state of things is repugnant. It’s the worst I’ve ever seen. We got rookies who haven’t earned their stripes claiming they’re legends. We got guys claiming they’re a Prodigy when they got no legacy or lineage to fall back on. We got cherries claiming they’re the main event when they can’t go two weeks jerking curtain without spraining their wrists. We got nobodies claiming they the “Whole F’N Show” when after one promo, everybody knows this program should’ve been cancelled before the pilot aired.
We got this silly little girl claiming to be the Queen of North America when in reality, this b*tch’s face and attitude just proves the mutha-f*cking Burger King’s got more claim to nobility than her.
Niggas are tripping left and right like drunks tripping on the curb, and even some of the established ones are drinking their own Kool-Aid. I even heard one vet claim he ain’t got nothing to prove anymore.
If that’s true, then why the hell are you still wrestling, then? What’s the point of clocking in if you got that attitude? It’s a recession, nigga. Lots of cats looking for work these days. You don’t think you need to prove why you get a check for APW, then get to steppin’ and let somebody who wants to earn their bread and their cred on the payroll.
Me? I got everything to prove. Don’t matter how many matches I’ve won, how much gold I wrapped around my waist, how many feds I’ve ran table on, that was yesterday. My mentality is, I win a championship on Sunday, come 6 a.m. Monday, I start from scratch in the gym and earn that again next Sunday.
This game’s got short term memory. It forgets you, they forget you, if you’re not out every week proving yourself.
I’m back to jog the game’s memory. Back to remind the fans why they mark out when they see a brother with a phat sack. Back to remind “entertainers” what wrestling’s really about. Back to remind myself why I bust my ass to do what I do.
And finally, back to remind Jeff why he needs to double up on the toilet paper and Febreeze for the locker room. Because if you people think this roster stinks right now….
Imagine how bad it will reek after I get done taking a s*** on everybody in it!
Can drops the mic, smiles for the camera, and while the crowd wilds out....
We bring you back to your regularily scheduled program.
B.T.S. (Best Thing Smoking)
