Post by Chris Strike on Dec 9, 2012 0:24:51 GMT -4
“Has anyone ever told you that silence is golden?”
The setting in question is a rather plain one compared to the last time the APW cameras saw the “God of Thunder” and now APW Suicidal Champion, Chris Strike. A quiet, small room with black curtains behind him where Chris is sat down on a recliner chair, APW Suicidal title resting around his waist as he leans back slightly on the chair, eyes gazing onto the lens, awaiting an answer to his question.
“No, seriously…has anybody ever told you that? Or do you just not listen and keep running your mouth regardless?
Johnny Knuckles, it’s not all that difficult to sit and just yap away at all the things that bother you. I’ve done it, Jason Kash has done it, other people in wrestling do it, regular people working nine to five jobs do it, you do way too much of it, etc. Not difficult at all. It’s extremely easy.”
Strike peers his eyes over at the picture he’s holding in his two hands in front of him now, before looking back at the camera lens, grinning.
“Oh, this picture? Simply a way of entertaining the masses and to help make sure my point gets across. After all, a picture is worth one thousand words…”
Strike glances at the second picture he’s pulled up, glancing at it, then glancing at the camera wide-eyed, before glancing at the picture again, then back at the camera and quickly tossing the picture over his head before placing his arms back on his lap.
“Anyway, let’s take a look at every single bit of ‘venom’ that you have thrown at me ever since my arrival here in APW, the entire compiled list. Let’s see here…you’ve said you’re not afraid of me, that I’m full of bullshit, that I am a coward, a thief, a liar, that I’m ignoring you, that I am some odd ass weak link that’s hiding under Sally Talfourd’s skirt – and I’ll have you know she wears pants and booty shorts, you suck pervert. Anywho…odds are, you’ve probably called my mother a whore at some point or another too. Knowing your indignant ass, I wouldn’t be surprised all that much by it.
But I’m afraid if you’re looking to get a rise out of me…well, I’ll let my friend Spider-Man spin it to you quick.”
Strike doesn’t even bother to glance at the picture, just holding up rather defiantly before calmly carrying on, casting the picture aside after a few seconds.
“Of course, now is the part where you are going to call foul, probably go to Meltdown or another house show and spew another essay on me about how I’m not taking you seriously, even after you ‘soundly beat me.’ Yeah, congratulations on that…you did do that. It’s not a mirage, Knuckles. You have a pinfall victory over Chris Strike. Finally, after so long, after so much work, you finally got yourself that one story to tell your inept future children and grandchildren about when you grow old and decrepit. You can tell them all about the moves and grooves you put on for one single night to best a man who is your better in every single way. You swept the leg, Knuckles-san. You became the underdog you always wanted to be and overcame the so-called odds when nobody would give you a chance.”
Rolling his eyes in annoyance, Strike waves the meme picture for a few moments before tossing it aside like a frisbee.
“Cherish it, Johnny Knuckles. Cherish the absolute holy fuck out of that victory. Just like you relish in the fact you even so much as think you were the one who handed me the APW Suicidal title on a silver platter by showing up on the apron for a few seconds and standing there like a jackass while like the fool he is, Jason Kash allowed himself to be distracted in an environment where single fucking thing goes! And maybe that’s been my issue with you, Knuckles. Maybe…just maybe…I’ve been treating you with kid gloves. Or maybe I’ve just given you exactly what it is you have deserve, what you have had coming to you for a long, long time…”
Strike’s chocolate-brown eyes narrow as he crosses his legs, leaning back a little further on the recliner before crossing his arms as well.
“See, you are a fucking leech, Knuckles. A blight in the history of every single company that you have stepped into, a face that’s more worthwhile of a double homicide and suicide case than that of a wrestler, the kind of guy who is so completely untalented at professional wrestling that the only way he can make a living for himself is to be a dime a dozen garbage wrestler who talks shit that can rarely be backed up. Everything you disguised for so many years as ‘hard work’ and ‘guts’ got thrown right into wayside sooner or later, because people realized what it is you actually are. A no-good hack whose only reason for getting anywhere near a World Heavyweight title once upon a blue moon is because there was nobody else left in the queue and they had to find SOMEBODY to do the job!
Story of your fucking life, isn’t it Johnny?!
See, being an underdog is one thing, but this whole ‘woe is me, I’m underappreciated’ schtick has grown old, John boy. Because it’s the same story, again and again, rinse and repeat and that’s the reason why all of us in the world at large ask you the following…”
Strike lets the sign in front of him stay there for a while, the cameraman even going as far as closing up on the meme poster, before Chris casually sets it down on the ground before him, grabbing another photo almost immediately, although he keeps it turned towards him so that all one can see is a white, blank piece.
“Now, I know a man with basic smarts like yourself is probably flabbergasted at all of this and going ‘B-b-but…BUT I BEAT YOU TWO WEEKS AGO! YOU SHOULD BE AFRAID OF ME, BECAUSE I’M NOT AFRAID OF YOU’ or some predictable jargon of the sort. See, the reason why I’m not anywhere near interested in you…hell, the reason I find your entire existence nothing more than a blip on the radar, it’s rather simple. But prior to that, I am going to tell you a story…I know, I know, you must be thinking I am a complete scumbag right about now. Well, you’re right. So here’s me proving that I have a sense of humor…”
Strike lets the picture be displayed for another moment before tossing it over his head, clapping his hands together afterward.
“Now that we’ve got this moment out of the way, it’s story time with the God of Thunder. Because we all know that we’ve listened to one too many Johnny Knuckles stories over the last month.
This story is about an old friend of mine who didn’t have a quitting bone in his body. Known to the world as ‘The Tsunami’ Jeff Fury, he was a nerd at heart, a guy that went out each and every week and put his heart and soul out into every single match – win, lose or draw. He was always fighting, never giving an inch to anyone who stepped into his path, moving forward regardless of what fate had in store for him…even if it meant suffering bitter loss after bitter loss, even if it meant being mocked constantly by his foes and critics as a guy who couldn’t win the big one, stapled with the mocking moniker of ‘The Eternal Midcarder.’ Yet, he wouldn’t wave from his resolve, from his dream of becoming a World champion…and even though it took him seven years, by the Gods, he pulled it off. He accomplished his dream. He went out on his own terms and then he started training the next generation of wrestlers, passing on his moniker and his fighting spirit to a pair of young women making waves in an all-female federation…
Compared to his story, John boy, you…you are nothing more than a pathetic, weak, feeble, sad little loser. Oh, did I mention whiny along with being pathetic? Because that’s all I hear, Knuckles: WAH WAH WAH, I WANT THIS, GIVE ME THAT, I’VE BEEN HERE LONGER, YOU STEAL MY SPOT, DON’T IGNORE ME, YOU HIDE UNDER SALLY TALFOURD’S TROUSERS BECAUSE YOU AREN’T MAN ENOUGH TO BEAT HER FOR HER WORLD TITLE, APW SUICIDAL TITLE WILL BE MINE, WAH WAH WAH WAH BITCH BITCH BITCH BITCH BITCH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
ARE YOU ANNOYED YET BY THE SOUND OF MY VOICE, JOHNNY KNUCKLES, HUH?! IS THE FACT THAT I’M CONTINUOUSLY POKING FUN AT YOUR MENTALLY ILL SELF STARTING TO PISS YOU OFF?! GOOD! BECAUSE NOW YOU UNDERSTAND HOW WE ALL FEEL ABOUT YOU!!!”
After going on his own little mini-rant, Strike takes in a few deep breaths, regaining his own senses and returning back to the rather calm state of mind in which he was in when he began this entire process.
“You…you have defeated me once. Congratulations on the biggest win of your fucking life. Gloat about it, milk it to its fullest extent, your rotten ass motherfucker. But realize that it will not change jack squat! See, John boy, I’m a big picture kind of guy, a grand scheme of things type of person. So, for all the diatribe you have going on about stealing your spot, you seem to forget about the ONE basic thing in professional wrestling…which is PAYING. YOUR. DUES! And I sure as fuck am paying mine right now by starting on the lower levels by dealing with the likes of you and Jason Kash as I proudly hold this APW Suicidal championship over my head.
Do not doubt for one millisecond that I won’t work my ass off to eventually earn my way into the World Heavyweight title division, John boy. I will do just that when the time comes. But until that time comes, I will prove myself wherever it is that APW chooses to put me and THAT RIGHT THERE is the difference between you and I, the difference between you and my friend Jeff Fury. Fury and I…we have worked to get to where we are today, we have worked for the opportunities at hand and most importantly, we were certainly NOT afraid of taking risks, of doing what was necessary!
You, on the other hand, have remained just as stagnant as ‘Mr. Grand Slammer’ Jason Kash himself! You are content with being the runt of the litter, content with being the bottom of the barrel, content with pretending to hold a replica championship belt that you bought on eBay and prancing around like you’re some sort of hot shit. Your birth certificate is basically an apology from the condom factory and let this be known, both in camera and outside of it…I hate your fucking guts! Ever since the first day I walked into that locker room, even before you so much as vilified me in a fucking house show because I took you out.”
“You are EVERYTHING that is wrong with this sport!
And nothing you can do is going to change that reality, Johnny Knuckles. You were born in the bottom of the barrel, you’ve grown up and started wrestling in the bottom of the barrel and this is where you are going to remain until the day of your death…because there’s no bone in your fucking body that dares to be something else, that dares to take a chance – you’d just rather sit back in your comfortable little spot and bitch and moan and cry about everyone else is passing you by and how unfair it all is to you!
So by all means, continue to be disguising yourself behind the mantle of ‘hard work,’ continue with carrying around some dumb fucking replica belt and claiming it to be a legitimate championship, continue to act like the sole fact you don’t have a legitimate championship right now is because I swooped on in and took a giant shit on all of your ‘hard work.’ Live in your world of delusion…because regardless of whether I win or lose here, I’ll follow on the example of working my ass off to be a great APW Suicidal champion, to eventually get a chance at becoming the World Heavyweight champion, to paying my dues each and every week so that the fans out there who watch me every week are doing the following…”
“You can keep being the punch line for the rest of your fucking career for all I care, Johnny Knuckles.
I won’t do a damn thing about that!
Just know that I’m going to fucking hurt you come Asylum…”
The setting in question is a rather plain one compared to the last time the APW cameras saw the “God of Thunder” and now APW Suicidal Champion, Chris Strike. A quiet, small room with black curtains behind him where Chris is sat down on a recliner chair, APW Suicidal title resting around his waist as he leans back slightly on the chair, eyes gazing onto the lens, awaiting an answer to his question.
“No, seriously…has anybody ever told you that? Or do you just not listen and keep running your mouth regardless?
Johnny Knuckles, it’s not all that difficult to sit and just yap away at all the things that bother you. I’ve done it, Jason Kash has done it, other people in wrestling do it, regular people working nine to five jobs do it, you do way too much of it, etc. Not difficult at all. It’s extremely easy.”
Strike peers his eyes over at the picture he’s holding in his two hands in front of him now, before looking back at the camera lens, grinning.
“Oh, this picture? Simply a way of entertaining the masses and to help make sure my point gets across. After all, a picture is worth one thousand words…”
Strike glances at the second picture he’s pulled up, glancing at it, then glancing at the camera wide-eyed, before glancing at the picture again, then back at the camera and quickly tossing the picture over his head before placing his arms back on his lap.
“Anyway, let’s take a look at every single bit of ‘venom’ that you have thrown at me ever since my arrival here in APW, the entire compiled list. Let’s see here…you’ve said you’re not afraid of me, that I’m full of bullshit, that I am a coward, a thief, a liar, that I’m ignoring you, that I am some odd ass weak link that’s hiding under Sally Talfourd’s skirt – and I’ll have you know she wears pants and booty shorts, you suck pervert. Anywho…odds are, you’ve probably called my mother a whore at some point or another too. Knowing your indignant ass, I wouldn’t be surprised all that much by it.
But I’m afraid if you’re looking to get a rise out of me…well, I’ll let my friend Spider-Man spin it to you quick.”
Strike doesn’t even bother to glance at the picture, just holding up rather defiantly before calmly carrying on, casting the picture aside after a few seconds.
“Of course, now is the part where you are going to call foul, probably go to Meltdown or another house show and spew another essay on me about how I’m not taking you seriously, even after you ‘soundly beat me.’ Yeah, congratulations on that…you did do that. It’s not a mirage, Knuckles. You have a pinfall victory over Chris Strike. Finally, after so long, after so much work, you finally got yourself that one story to tell your inept future children and grandchildren about when you grow old and decrepit. You can tell them all about the moves and grooves you put on for one single night to best a man who is your better in every single way. You swept the leg, Knuckles-san. You became the underdog you always wanted to be and overcame the so-called odds when nobody would give you a chance.”
Rolling his eyes in annoyance, Strike waves the meme picture for a few moments before tossing it aside like a frisbee.
“Cherish it, Johnny Knuckles. Cherish the absolute holy fuck out of that victory. Just like you relish in the fact you even so much as think you were the one who handed me the APW Suicidal title on a silver platter by showing up on the apron for a few seconds and standing there like a jackass while like the fool he is, Jason Kash allowed himself to be distracted in an environment where single fucking thing goes! And maybe that’s been my issue with you, Knuckles. Maybe…just maybe…I’ve been treating you with kid gloves. Or maybe I’ve just given you exactly what it is you have deserve, what you have had coming to you for a long, long time…”
Strike’s chocolate-brown eyes narrow as he crosses his legs, leaning back a little further on the recliner before crossing his arms as well.
“See, you are a fucking leech, Knuckles. A blight in the history of every single company that you have stepped into, a face that’s more worthwhile of a double homicide and suicide case than that of a wrestler, the kind of guy who is so completely untalented at professional wrestling that the only way he can make a living for himself is to be a dime a dozen garbage wrestler who talks shit that can rarely be backed up. Everything you disguised for so many years as ‘hard work’ and ‘guts’ got thrown right into wayside sooner or later, because people realized what it is you actually are. A no-good hack whose only reason for getting anywhere near a World Heavyweight title once upon a blue moon is because there was nobody else left in the queue and they had to find SOMEBODY to do the job!
Story of your fucking life, isn’t it Johnny?!
See, being an underdog is one thing, but this whole ‘woe is me, I’m underappreciated’ schtick has grown old, John boy. Because it’s the same story, again and again, rinse and repeat and that’s the reason why all of us in the world at large ask you the following…”
Strike lets the sign in front of him stay there for a while, the cameraman even going as far as closing up on the meme poster, before Chris casually sets it down on the ground before him, grabbing another photo almost immediately, although he keeps it turned towards him so that all one can see is a white, blank piece.
“Now, I know a man with basic smarts like yourself is probably flabbergasted at all of this and going ‘B-b-but…BUT I BEAT YOU TWO WEEKS AGO! YOU SHOULD BE AFRAID OF ME, BECAUSE I’M NOT AFRAID OF YOU’ or some predictable jargon of the sort. See, the reason why I’m not anywhere near interested in you…hell, the reason I find your entire existence nothing more than a blip on the radar, it’s rather simple. But prior to that, I am going to tell you a story…I know, I know, you must be thinking I am a complete scumbag right about now. Well, you’re right. So here’s me proving that I have a sense of humor…”
Strike lets the picture be displayed for another moment before tossing it over his head, clapping his hands together afterward.
“Now that we’ve got this moment out of the way, it’s story time with the God of Thunder. Because we all know that we’ve listened to one too many Johnny Knuckles stories over the last month.
This story is about an old friend of mine who didn’t have a quitting bone in his body. Known to the world as ‘The Tsunami’ Jeff Fury, he was a nerd at heart, a guy that went out each and every week and put his heart and soul out into every single match – win, lose or draw. He was always fighting, never giving an inch to anyone who stepped into his path, moving forward regardless of what fate had in store for him…even if it meant suffering bitter loss after bitter loss, even if it meant being mocked constantly by his foes and critics as a guy who couldn’t win the big one, stapled with the mocking moniker of ‘The Eternal Midcarder.’ Yet, he wouldn’t wave from his resolve, from his dream of becoming a World champion…and even though it took him seven years, by the Gods, he pulled it off. He accomplished his dream. He went out on his own terms and then he started training the next generation of wrestlers, passing on his moniker and his fighting spirit to a pair of young women making waves in an all-female federation…
Compared to his story, John boy, you…you are nothing more than a pathetic, weak, feeble, sad little loser. Oh, did I mention whiny along with being pathetic? Because that’s all I hear, Knuckles: WAH WAH WAH, I WANT THIS, GIVE ME THAT, I’VE BEEN HERE LONGER, YOU STEAL MY SPOT, DON’T IGNORE ME, YOU HIDE UNDER SALLY TALFOURD’S TROUSERS BECAUSE YOU AREN’T MAN ENOUGH TO BEAT HER FOR HER WORLD TITLE, APW SUICIDAL TITLE WILL BE MINE, WAH WAH WAH WAH BITCH BITCH BITCH BITCH BITCH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
ARE YOU ANNOYED YET BY THE SOUND OF MY VOICE, JOHNNY KNUCKLES, HUH?! IS THE FACT THAT I’M CONTINUOUSLY POKING FUN AT YOUR MENTALLY ILL SELF STARTING TO PISS YOU OFF?! GOOD! BECAUSE NOW YOU UNDERSTAND HOW WE ALL FEEL ABOUT YOU!!!”
After going on his own little mini-rant, Strike takes in a few deep breaths, regaining his own senses and returning back to the rather calm state of mind in which he was in when he began this entire process.
“You…you have defeated me once. Congratulations on the biggest win of your fucking life. Gloat about it, milk it to its fullest extent, your rotten ass motherfucker. But realize that it will not change jack squat! See, John boy, I’m a big picture kind of guy, a grand scheme of things type of person. So, for all the diatribe you have going on about stealing your spot, you seem to forget about the ONE basic thing in professional wrestling…which is PAYING. YOUR. DUES! And I sure as fuck am paying mine right now by starting on the lower levels by dealing with the likes of you and Jason Kash as I proudly hold this APW Suicidal championship over my head.
Do not doubt for one millisecond that I won’t work my ass off to eventually earn my way into the World Heavyweight title division, John boy. I will do just that when the time comes. But until that time comes, I will prove myself wherever it is that APW chooses to put me and THAT RIGHT THERE is the difference between you and I, the difference between you and my friend Jeff Fury. Fury and I…we have worked to get to where we are today, we have worked for the opportunities at hand and most importantly, we were certainly NOT afraid of taking risks, of doing what was necessary!
You, on the other hand, have remained just as stagnant as ‘Mr. Grand Slammer’ Jason Kash himself! You are content with being the runt of the litter, content with being the bottom of the barrel, content with pretending to hold a replica championship belt that you bought on eBay and prancing around like you’re some sort of hot shit. Your birth certificate is basically an apology from the condom factory and let this be known, both in camera and outside of it…I hate your fucking guts! Ever since the first day I walked into that locker room, even before you so much as vilified me in a fucking house show because I took you out.”
“You are EVERYTHING that is wrong with this sport!
And nothing you can do is going to change that reality, Johnny Knuckles. You were born in the bottom of the barrel, you’ve grown up and started wrestling in the bottom of the barrel and this is where you are going to remain until the day of your death…because there’s no bone in your fucking body that dares to be something else, that dares to take a chance – you’d just rather sit back in your comfortable little spot and bitch and moan and cry about everyone else is passing you by and how unfair it all is to you!
So by all means, continue to be disguising yourself behind the mantle of ‘hard work,’ continue with carrying around some dumb fucking replica belt and claiming it to be a legitimate championship, continue to act like the sole fact you don’t have a legitimate championship right now is because I swooped on in and took a giant shit on all of your ‘hard work.’ Live in your world of delusion…because regardless of whether I win or lose here, I’ll follow on the example of working my ass off to be a great APW Suicidal champion, to eventually get a chance at becoming the World Heavyweight champion, to paying my dues each and every week so that the fans out there who watch me every week are doing the following…”
“You can keep being the punch line for the rest of your fucking career for all I care, Johnny Knuckles.
I won’t do a damn thing about that!
Just know that I’m going to fucking hurt you come Asylum…”
