Post by Your JESUS on Oct 12, 2012 22:19:21 GMT -4
October 8th, 2012
I clutch the North American title like a parent would a lost child that they had just been reunited with. Covered with sweat I walk through the back followed by a raging beast breathing heavily behind me. Did this match go according to plan, no. Did I achieve the end result I wished for, yes. We walked out the victors, I have the beloved title back in my clutches once more. I pause briefly in my walk as medical staff comes rushing past us. I turn my head trying to eves drop on the conversation going out over their radios.
"Aubrey is hurt..."
I can't help but grin at that news. What can I say I was born a bastard, literally so I have no problem embracing who I am. Do I get a tingle in my balls when I hear that a woman in this sport got injured? I sure the hell do. Am I a chauvinistic son of a bitch? If thinking this is a mans sport, and women belong in places where their talents are best suited like answering phones, or in the line up at a brothel; then yes I am a sexist pig. So hearing that someone bold enough to wrestle in her Escort attire just got injured sing out like music to these rugged ears. Aubrey J.Parker needs to realize this is wrestling. She can use her sexy looks to distract many, but there are just a few people who don't give a shit about her curvy form, or batting eye lashes.
A grin grows upon my mouth as I also reveille in the fact that one opponent in this crazy match I begged for at the PPV may be injured and slight banged up come time for my belt to be on the line. This thought begins to unleash different plans of attack as I formulate my game plan for One Night In Hell. Lost in my ego I am brought back to reality as Sabur spins me around by my shoulder. I almost drop the title but catch it with my right hand as I stare up toward the eyes of an angry dragon puffing his chest right before my eyes.
What is a mere second seems to me like time has stood still. I stare down the beast wondering what is on his mind. Before I can even speak the big man head buts me like a pro football player celebrating with his team mate and then chest bumps me across the hall. A ringing sensation overcomes my ears from the solid crack his coconut head delivered. The big man claps his hands together, flexing his muscles and then looks down seeing me on the floor. He chuckles as I stand up.
Sabur: My bad!!
Lively: We're good...
Relief comes over me. Since the rumblings of others this week, I have wondered if my treatment of this big man in the past would in deed bite me in the ass. We have butted heads more times then this recent celebration shared right here. Part of me was unsure if the words others spoke might have polluted this big mans brain. Sure he had declared his dependence and loyalty to me, but in this business you never know what's a work or what's a shoot. Apparently he was shooting, but in that match when I ignored him and selfishly tried to carry the tag team match myself I thought that might have been the fuel to ignite the fire others hope to bring to life.
Clearly Logan Alexander needs to focus on his partner instead of trying to rile up mine. Maybe had he paid more attention to his own backyard so to speak, medical staff wouldn't be rushing to the ring in attempts to aide his tender tit'ed partner. So with the stars aligned and everything falling into place, I sigh in relief. One more week to go before I get what I have asked for. Many people think that is an ass whipping, or at seems that's what they wish for me to endure. The reality is that I have begged for challenges. I have heard the fans, seen the Internet rumblings that I'm slumming it on Meltdown. The thing that people don't seem to see is that I am such a great vision of inspiration. Meltdown, developmental in it's nature has awaken to be a rowdy brand of it's own. It screams to be noticed, and I poked and pushed every member of this roster to stand up, and be the one to get it noticed. Now it is full of wrestlers that can not and will not be looked upon as rookies. No, we have a stable of young bloods here that wish to not only fight for their future, but will stand up and proclaim that this is their time. With all my douche baggery as the nerdy ass Podcaster's call it, it seems I have sparked life into this place. With a pack of hungry wolves starring you down, what does an ego driven, asshole that fancies himself a wrestling deity do in response? Dangle the North American title in their snouts like it was fresh meat. Only me...that's all I can say, and I don't think it surprises anyone. People who know me, I mean really know me can vouch for the fact that I am a driven man. Driven by my greatness, and always ready to feed the monster inside that makes my head swell night after night.
Before I know it we are in my locker room. Sabur decided get a shower in first. I guess my lost in thought mind set prompted him to just take charge. I sit down with the title in my lap just staring upon the name plate. I tried to play coy, or cool guy the fact that Vince stealing this belt didn't bug me. The cold hard fact is that I haven't felt at ease until the moment my hands touched it again. I have busted my ass, and honestly leave everything I have inside the ring to make sure that I always end up with one of these. To have it stripped from my possession in such an unjust fashion caused me to unravel. I tried to keep it under wraps, hold my emotions under control. I couldn't give any indication that I have a chink in my amour. All is good now, everything is right in the realm of the JESUS. My title is right where it belongs, in the grasp of the man who earned it.
You will not hear me agree with Evan Envi at any point in time out loud, but I totally agree with his statements claiming Pennington is nothing more than a thief. If the beefed up marshmallow wishes to have a moment of glory that doesn't involve a bathroom stall and a hole with a hot dog poking through it, I suggest the son of a bitch try something like earning his stripes. While I stare upon this title anger overwhelms me. In this business when title shots are far and few between, I decided to give many the chance of hope. Pennington, despite being given a chance that he may not be worthy for, decides to steal my belt. Thanks Mr. Lively for being a champion unlike any other. Thanks for not only putting your money where your mouth is, but basically showing that when I claim to have massive balls that in fact, I DO!!!!
I calm myself knowing I don't need the thanks or respect of some run of the mile asshole like Pennington. I know he has so much on his plate, he can't possibly juggle Evan Envi, Sienna, and a match on the level that I offered up with the pressures of his future all hanging in the balance. My comfort comes in knowing he entered APW nothing and will leave nothing. Just as that revelation comes over me my mother, Jerry, and Chubs all enter the locker room.
Terri: Michael, the jet is fueled up and ready to go. I have the Thundertank out back ready to go when ever you are.
I simply nod toward my mother as if telling her good job. She knows I will not speak those words to her. Some say a councilor could fix us...to them I say fuck off. I'm no bitch, I need no shrink. Jerry decides to chime in.
Jerry: Got the belt back, hell of a match tonight.
I tilt my head toward him giving that look as if he needs not to speak.
Chubs: Uh...not to bug you but, after Sabur's promo this week, we don't have a camera?
I shake my head with slight disgust and slight humor as I recall the look of panic on Chubs face when Sabur cut loose on him.
Lively: Go to Johnny Diamond's office, tell him I need a camera, and have if deducted from my pay.
Chubs giddy with the thought of having the high quality equipment uses by APW television staff, he hurry's out of the room. Sabur comes out of the bathroom dressed, and ready to bail. I stand up walk past the man I now know I can trust with my life patting him on the shoulder as I pass. He nods with approval knowing I basically just said good match, good work, and you are still the fucking man. All with out exchanging one word. The sound of the shower rings out as I begin to cleanse my body of it's sins, or sweat, but sins seemed so fitting.
October 15th, 2012
Hours before the show Chubs timidly knocks on the door to Shadow's locker room. I got news from a little bird that him and Streets Wilson were discussing tonight's main event. In case you live under a rock the show closing match has these two men tag teaming with me to take on three other men. I know what you are thinking, Damn another tag team match, you can't be serious. Well lets just say I am on board with this one, why is beyond me.
So back to Chubs who nervously waits with the new camera perched on his shoulder for the door to open. When it does there stands the intimidating figure of Texas, Shadow. Without saying one word he gets a question across to my camera man who gulps before responding.
Chubs: Michael Lively wanted a word with you Gentlemen.
Streets smiles toward Shadow who none to pleased with the interruption goes with the flow. Chubs then clears his throat.
Chubs: They are ready!!
In walks Jerry O'Harrow blowing a trumpet with a royal tune. He finishes, holds the instrument at his side.
Jerry: It is with great honor, I present to you mere mortals...thee greatest man to walk the Earth, the Savior of Meltdown, a true warrior among men. He can be considered a Spartan in Spirit..."YOUR JESUS" MICHAEL LIVELY!!!
Collectively my two tag partners roll their eyes before I make my presence know. The look on their faces quickly shifts as the feast their peepers on my get up. Leather strap sandals, brown bikini briefs, no short, a red cape and a Spartan helmet. In my right hand the symbol of Sparta, a large round shield. Streets Wilson bursts into laughter, as again Shadow isn't too amused. Needless to say when I'm in my zone I rarely notice others. Simply just accents to my adolescent behavior.
Lively: You my fellow warriors are not Spartans...but tonight, this perfect evening you get to stand and fight with one. The world will remember this day as the day, two simple men of bravery stood tall against a great valiant warrior and spilled the blood of those who oppose the greatness of Sparta.
Chubs just films as Streets Wilson tries to contain himself. Shadow crosses his arms as I ramble on.
Lively: Three people wish to enter the sacred land of Sparta and challenge my rule, they wish to oppress me and MY show with Tyranny!!!
I clench my left fist shaking with authority trying to inspire the two men I am set to team with. For whatever reason it seems it falls upon deaf ears.
Shadow: Tyranny? Pretty sure the only Tyrant on Meltdown is you Lively.
I act as if the big man hasn't even spoken. Not out of disrespect I just can't stand the thick accent he garbles from his lips. I hear a Texas twang and swear that cattle have evolved to the point where they can communicate.
Lively: So tonight live on Meltdown join me for glory...let us dine in hell...
I yell out hoping that rallies the troops but again nothing. Wait Streets comes alive. I eagerly wait to hear his response.
Streets: So let me just play along for a moment. I take it you are trying to play the part of Leonidas. So that means Young Mannie and his partners are playing the part of Xerxes and his army?
I pause when Streets brings up the irrational notion I just presented.
Lively: You are right, who am I kidding?
I toss down the shield and rip off the cape. I pull the Spartan helmet off and stand there in brown underwear and sandals looking at the two men set to be my partners.
Lively: So...I guess good talk then?
Shadow has had enough and steps forward looking down upon my great presence.
Shadow: I'm glad you are running around enjoying yourself. Making Meltdown your personal party palace. i think you are a joke, and come One Night In Hell I end the sitcom that you are forcing down our throats.
I lift my hand to cut off the big man mid sentence.
Lively: Listen I didn't come here with hostile intentions...
Streets: Wearing a brown banana hammock...that is nothing BUT hostile!!!
Lively: Look, I came here to hopefully build a little solidarity for one evening. I know the three of us don't see eye to eye, but the only thing we all seem to have in common is the want to win. I know the odds are stacked against our opponents. You have two virtual young bloods trying to cut their teeth, and a guy basically pedaling a bicycle up hill in the wrong gear. Young Mannie has been at this game for some time yet seems to be stuck at start.
I stick out my hand leaning against the wall. The brown underwear that I'm sporting shift as my legs cross. Apparently my left testicle falls out as I keep rambling on.
Lively: These three are basically a joke.
Streets and Shadow both cringe as I do not realize the exposure of my famously talked about balls.
Lively: I know sickening right? These three in the ring with talented veterans like us, shameful. So tonight we need to show them why we are the upper echelon...
Streets: Dude...you are showing enough, no more show and tell.
The martial arts master points toward my crotch sending my attention toward my left nut which happily is catching the breeze. I smirk and tick my junk back in.
Lively: Sorry it's hard to keep these fucking things under wraps. Listen, the only chance these three have is banking on the fact that we can't get along. To tell you the truth, they may have pretty good odds it that happening if history tells the tale. Three sets of ego, three massive talents, and three independent mind sets that all strive for greatness. I know both of you wish to be standing in my shoes.
Shadow: Nah...I'm not a sandal guy, and those under-Roos!!!
Shadow shakes his head.
Lively: Bitch...I'm talking about being champion!!!
Shadow: Bitch???
Shadow lunges forward but Streets jumps in between us. He looks at me.
Streets: I don't like you...
Wilson then turns toward Shadow.
Streets: But he makes a point. I for one don't want to be embarrassed with defeat from Young Mannie, his new girlfriend, and some washed up actors son.
Shadow eases his aggression and backs up. I just smirk with a slight ego filled grin hoping that maybe I have motivated these two to operate as a unit.
Lively: Alright gentlemen, I will leave you two to your thoughts. See you under the lights of the main event.
I hold my hand outward like a football player in a huddle.
Lively: Team on three??
Streets just stands unamused, but Shadow clenches his fist glaring at me.
Lively: Alright, again guys, good talk!!!
I throw down the helmet and exit the locker room. Chubs and Jerry follow me out into the hall. You can hear the sound of the door slamming shut behind me and I simply laugh. Tonight we must work as a unit, but knowing Shadow's hate for me, and thirst for the title seems to be eating at him is good knowledge to have just a few weeks before my greatest challenge.
With the camera still rolling I wink toward Jerry and Chubs as we all notice Hannah Storm. I quickly remove the underwear stripping down to nothing more then my JESUS like sandals. I turn toward the camera...
Lively: I'm Michael Lively...just like my recent outcomes of matches, this is the JESUS's HOT STREAK!!!
I quickly run over toward Hannah Storm jumping in front of her with my arms out stretched in the I am JESUS pose. Her eyes roll when she sees my face. Horror over takes her as she rapidly notices I am wearing nothing more then my sandals. Her head looks down as still in my famous pose I manage to swivel my hips with enough talent to helicopter my heavenly propeller if you will. A loud ear shrieking scream is let out followed by the clacking sound of her heals as she runs off. I burst into laughter as do Chubs and Jerry. It seems I am having nothin' but a good time, How can I resist. I said I
Ain't lookin' for nothin' but a good time, And it don't get better than this...that's right I just had myself a Poison moment if you will.
I clutch the North American title like a parent would a lost child that they had just been reunited with. Covered with sweat I walk through the back followed by a raging beast breathing heavily behind me. Did this match go according to plan, no. Did I achieve the end result I wished for, yes. We walked out the victors, I have the beloved title back in my clutches once more. I pause briefly in my walk as medical staff comes rushing past us. I turn my head trying to eves drop on the conversation going out over their radios.
"Aubrey is hurt..."
I can't help but grin at that news. What can I say I was born a bastard, literally so I have no problem embracing who I am. Do I get a tingle in my balls when I hear that a woman in this sport got injured? I sure the hell do. Am I a chauvinistic son of a bitch? If thinking this is a mans sport, and women belong in places where their talents are best suited like answering phones, or in the line up at a brothel; then yes I am a sexist pig. So hearing that someone bold enough to wrestle in her Escort attire just got injured sing out like music to these rugged ears. Aubrey J.Parker needs to realize this is wrestling. She can use her sexy looks to distract many, but there are just a few people who don't give a shit about her curvy form, or batting eye lashes.
A grin grows upon my mouth as I also reveille in the fact that one opponent in this crazy match I begged for at the PPV may be injured and slight banged up come time for my belt to be on the line. This thought begins to unleash different plans of attack as I formulate my game plan for One Night In Hell. Lost in my ego I am brought back to reality as Sabur spins me around by my shoulder. I almost drop the title but catch it with my right hand as I stare up toward the eyes of an angry dragon puffing his chest right before my eyes.
What is a mere second seems to me like time has stood still. I stare down the beast wondering what is on his mind. Before I can even speak the big man head buts me like a pro football player celebrating with his team mate and then chest bumps me across the hall. A ringing sensation overcomes my ears from the solid crack his coconut head delivered. The big man claps his hands together, flexing his muscles and then looks down seeing me on the floor. He chuckles as I stand up.
Sabur: My bad!!
Lively: We're good...
Relief comes over me. Since the rumblings of others this week, I have wondered if my treatment of this big man in the past would in deed bite me in the ass. We have butted heads more times then this recent celebration shared right here. Part of me was unsure if the words others spoke might have polluted this big mans brain. Sure he had declared his dependence and loyalty to me, but in this business you never know what's a work or what's a shoot. Apparently he was shooting, but in that match when I ignored him and selfishly tried to carry the tag team match myself I thought that might have been the fuel to ignite the fire others hope to bring to life.
Clearly Logan Alexander needs to focus on his partner instead of trying to rile up mine. Maybe had he paid more attention to his own backyard so to speak, medical staff wouldn't be rushing to the ring in attempts to aide his tender tit'ed partner. So with the stars aligned and everything falling into place, I sigh in relief. One more week to go before I get what I have asked for. Many people think that is an ass whipping, or at seems that's what they wish for me to endure. The reality is that I have begged for challenges. I have heard the fans, seen the Internet rumblings that I'm slumming it on Meltdown. The thing that people don't seem to see is that I am such a great vision of inspiration. Meltdown, developmental in it's nature has awaken to be a rowdy brand of it's own. It screams to be noticed, and I poked and pushed every member of this roster to stand up, and be the one to get it noticed. Now it is full of wrestlers that can not and will not be looked upon as rookies. No, we have a stable of young bloods here that wish to not only fight for their future, but will stand up and proclaim that this is their time. With all my douche baggery as the nerdy ass Podcaster's call it, it seems I have sparked life into this place. With a pack of hungry wolves starring you down, what does an ego driven, asshole that fancies himself a wrestling deity do in response? Dangle the North American title in their snouts like it was fresh meat. Only me...that's all I can say, and I don't think it surprises anyone. People who know me, I mean really know me can vouch for the fact that I am a driven man. Driven by my greatness, and always ready to feed the monster inside that makes my head swell night after night.
Before I know it we are in my locker room. Sabur decided get a shower in first. I guess my lost in thought mind set prompted him to just take charge. I sit down with the title in my lap just staring upon the name plate. I tried to play coy, or cool guy the fact that Vince stealing this belt didn't bug me. The cold hard fact is that I haven't felt at ease until the moment my hands touched it again. I have busted my ass, and honestly leave everything I have inside the ring to make sure that I always end up with one of these. To have it stripped from my possession in such an unjust fashion caused me to unravel. I tried to keep it under wraps, hold my emotions under control. I couldn't give any indication that I have a chink in my amour. All is good now, everything is right in the realm of the JESUS. My title is right where it belongs, in the grasp of the man who earned it.
You will not hear me agree with Evan Envi at any point in time out loud, but I totally agree with his statements claiming Pennington is nothing more than a thief. If the beefed up marshmallow wishes to have a moment of glory that doesn't involve a bathroom stall and a hole with a hot dog poking through it, I suggest the son of a bitch try something like earning his stripes. While I stare upon this title anger overwhelms me. In this business when title shots are far and few between, I decided to give many the chance of hope. Pennington, despite being given a chance that he may not be worthy for, decides to steal my belt. Thanks Mr. Lively for being a champion unlike any other. Thanks for not only putting your money where your mouth is, but basically showing that when I claim to have massive balls that in fact, I DO!!!!
I calm myself knowing I don't need the thanks or respect of some run of the mile asshole like Pennington. I know he has so much on his plate, he can't possibly juggle Evan Envi, Sienna, and a match on the level that I offered up with the pressures of his future all hanging in the balance. My comfort comes in knowing he entered APW nothing and will leave nothing. Just as that revelation comes over me my mother, Jerry, and Chubs all enter the locker room.
Terri: Michael, the jet is fueled up and ready to go. I have the Thundertank out back ready to go when ever you are.
I simply nod toward my mother as if telling her good job. She knows I will not speak those words to her. Some say a councilor could fix us...to them I say fuck off. I'm no bitch, I need no shrink. Jerry decides to chime in.
Jerry: Got the belt back, hell of a match tonight.
I tilt my head toward him giving that look as if he needs not to speak.
Chubs: Uh...not to bug you but, after Sabur's promo this week, we don't have a camera?
I shake my head with slight disgust and slight humor as I recall the look of panic on Chubs face when Sabur cut loose on him.
Lively: Go to Johnny Diamond's office, tell him I need a camera, and have if deducted from my pay.
Chubs giddy with the thought of having the high quality equipment uses by APW television staff, he hurry's out of the room. Sabur comes out of the bathroom dressed, and ready to bail. I stand up walk past the man I now know I can trust with my life patting him on the shoulder as I pass. He nods with approval knowing I basically just said good match, good work, and you are still the fucking man. All with out exchanging one word. The sound of the shower rings out as I begin to cleanse my body of it's sins, or sweat, but sins seemed so fitting.
October 15th, 2012
Hours before the show Chubs timidly knocks on the door to Shadow's locker room. I got news from a little bird that him and Streets Wilson were discussing tonight's main event. In case you live under a rock the show closing match has these two men tag teaming with me to take on three other men. I know what you are thinking, Damn another tag team match, you can't be serious. Well lets just say I am on board with this one, why is beyond me.
So back to Chubs who nervously waits with the new camera perched on his shoulder for the door to open. When it does there stands the intimidating figure of Texas, Shadow. Without saying one word he gets a question across to my camera man who gulps before responding.
Chubs: Michael Lively wanted a word with you Gentlemen.
Streets smiles toward Shadow who none to pleased with the interruption goes with the flow. Chubs then clears his throat.
Chubs: They are ready!!
In walks Jerry O'Harrow blowing a trumpet with a royal tune. He finishes, holds the instrument at his side.
Jerry: It is with great honor, I present to you mere mortals...thee greatest man to walk the Earth, the Savior of Meltdown, a true warrior among men. He can be considered a Spartan in Spirit..."YOUR JESUS" MICHAEL LIVELY!!!
Collectively my two tag partners roll their eyes before I make my presence know. The look on their faces quickly shifts as the feast their peepers on my get up. Leather strap sandals, brown bikini briefs, no short, a red cape and a Spartan helmet. In my right hand the symbol of Sparta, a large round shield. Streets Wilson bursts into laughter, as again Shadow isn't too amused. Needless to say when I'm in my zone I rarely notice others. Simply just accents to my adolescent behavior.
Lively: You my fellow warriors are not Spartans...but tonight, this perfect evening you get to stand and fight with one. The world will remember this day as the day, two simple men of bravery stood tall against a great valiant warrior and spilled the blood of those who oppose the greatness of Sparta.
Chubs just films as Streets Wilson tries to contain himself. Shadow crosses his arms as I ramble on.
Lively: Three people wish to enter the sacred land of Sparta and challenge my rule, they wish to oppress me and MY show with Tyranny!!!
I clench my left fist shaking with authority trying to inspire the two men I am set to team with. For whatever reason it seems it falls upon deaf ears.
Shadow: Tyranny? Pretty sure the only Tyrant on Meltdown is you Lively.
I act as if the big man hasn't even spoken. Not out of disrespect I just can't stand the thick accent he garbles from his lips. I hear a Texas twang and swear that cattle have evolved to the point where they can communicate.
Lively: So tonight live on Meltdown join me for glory...let us dine in hell...
I yell out hoping that rallies the troops but again nothing. Wait Streets comes alive. I eagerly wait to hear his response.
Streets: So let me just play along for a moment. I take it you are trying to play the part of Leonidas. So that means Young Mannie and his partners are playing the part of Xerxes and his army?
I pause when Streets brings up the irrational notion I just presented.
Lively: You are right, who am I kidding?
I toss down the shield and rip off the cape. I pull the Spartan helmet off and stand there in brown underwear and sandals looking at the two men set to be my partners.
Lively: So...I guess good talk then?
Shadow has had enough and steps forward looking down upon my great presence.
Shadow: I'm glad you are running around enjoying yourself. Making Meltdown your personal party palace. i think you are a joke, and come One Night In Hell I end the sitcom that you are forcing down our throats.
I lift my hand to cut off the big man mid sentence.
Lively: Listen I didn't come here with hostile intentions...
Streets: Wearing a brown banana hammock...that is nothing BUT hostile!!!
Lively: Look, I came here to hopefully build a little solidarity for one evening. I know the three of us don't see eye to eye, but the only thing we all seem to have in common is the want to win. I know the odds are stacked against our opponents. You have two virtual young bloods trying to cut their teeth, and a guy basically pedaling a bicycle up hill in the wrong gear. Young Mannie has been at this game for some time yet seems to be stuck at start.
I stick out my hand leaning against the wall. The brown underwear that I'm sporting shift as my legs cross. Apparently my left testicle falls out as I keep rambling on.
Lively: These three are basically a joke.
Streets and Shadow both cringe as I do not realize the exposure of my famously talked about balls.
Lively: I know sickening right? These three in the ring with talented veterans like us, shameful. So tonight we need to show them why we are the upper echelon...
Streets: Dude...you are showing enough, no more show and tell.
The martial arts master points toward my crotch sending my attention toward my left nut which happily is catching the breeze. I smirk and tick my junk back in.
Lively: Sorry it's hard to keep these fucking things under wraps. Listen, the only chance these three have is banking on the fact that we can't get along. To tell you the truth, they may have pretty good odds it that happening if history tells the tale. Three sets of ego, three massive talents, and three independent mind sets that all strive for greatness. I know both of you wish to be standing in my shoes.
Shadow: Nah...I'm not a sandal guy, and those under-Roos!!!
Shadow shakes his head.
Lively: Bitch...I'm talking about being champion!!!
Shadow: Bitch???
Shadow lunges forward but Streets jumps in between us. He looks at me.
Streets: I don't like you...
Wilson then turns toward Shadow.
Streets: But he makes a point. I for one don't want to be embarrassed with defeat from Young Mannie, his new girlfriend, and some washed up actors son.
Shadow eases his aggression and backs up. I just smirk with a slight ego filled grin hoping that maybe I have motivated these two to operate as a unit.
Lively: Alright gentlemen, I will leave you two to your thoughts. See you under the lights of the main event.
I hold my hand outward like a football player in a huddle.
Lively: Team on three??
Streets just stands unamused, but Shadow clenches his fist glaring at me.
Lively: Alright, again guys, good talk!!!
I throw down the helmet and exit the locker room. Chubs and Jerry follow me out into the hall. You can hear the sound of the door slamming shut behind me and I simply laugh. Tonight we must work as a unit, but knowing Shadow's hate for me, and thirst for the title seems to be eating at him is good knowledge to have just a few weeks before my greatest challenge.
With the camera still rolling I wink toward Jerry and Chubs as we all notice Hannah Storm. I quickly remove the underwear stripping down to nothing more then my JESUS like sandals. I turn toward the camera...
Lively: I'm Michael Lively...just like my recent outcomes of matches, this is the JESUS's HOT STREAK!!!
I quickly run over toward Hannah Storm jumping in front of her with my arms out stretched in the I am JESUS pose. Her eyes roll when she sees my face. Horror over takes her as she rapidly notices I am wearing nothing more then my sandals. Her head looks down as still in my famous pose I manage to swivel my hips with enough talent to helicopter my heavenly propeller if you will. A loud ear shrieking scream is let out followed by the clacking sound of her heals as she runs off. I burst into laughter as do Chubs and Jerry. It seems I am having nothin' but a good time, How can I resist. I said I
Ain't lookin' for nothin' but a good time, And it don't get better than this...that's right I just had myself a Poison moment if you will.
