Post by "The Hottest Shit Going" on Nov 25, 2009 18:15:08 GMT -4
The Saga Continues On
As I slam the door shut on my hotel room the ache in my stomach twists a knot making sure I still realize what I am about to endure. I am set to have the meeting that I have been dreading since that first phone call. I am about to confront things that I have buried in the past, come face to face with a man that I can not stand. Deep in my pit of disgust is where I keep this mans picture stirred in my memory. The walk across the street to a cafe has me scanning the outside tables. Looking at each one and it's patrons trying recognize what little I have seen of this man. I check each one trying to see if my memory will serve me correct, yet it does not. I walk in grabbing a newspaper as I check over the seating inside as well. With no one jumping out to me I asked to be seated. I have a seat and check over the paper looking toward the sports section.
My eyes glance over the weeks scores, and then the ringing of the door opening gets my attention. As it does my heart jump starts. I can't understand why I feel nervous, or have anxiety. This man means nothing to me, and has been pretty much dead to me for quite some time. As I try to slow my heart rate down I look up to an older gentleman in his fifties walking toward my table. With a tilt of his head and a sympathetic stare he asks "Michael?".
I acknowledge him by standing up and giving a simple head shake. The man looks toward me with a stare of admiration, the kind of glare a father would his son. I give him the up and down before taking my seat. It seems that prison was rough to this son of bitch. The mans skin leathery and scarred. His face definitely shows the signs of a daily Marlboro habit. As we sit he starts of the conversation by asking how I am. What a stupid question especially considering the circumstances. The man shakes his head apologizing as the waitress comes over asking us for anything. Steven orders himself a cup of coffee, and I just ask for a glass of water with no lemon. Before the waitress leaves he makes sure to demand the check come to him, and him alone.
Now I'm not sure if this was some ploy to let my guard down, or try to score points but it surely had no affect on me. I stand my ground, hold true to my feelings and offer up zero gratitude. The man looks down at the table briefly, then clears his throat.
"Wow, you sure look good...these old eyes..."
"You know, save the pleasantries, you needed to talk so lets start this conversation."
"Alright, alright...I understand I might not be your favorite person. Listen Michael I made a lot of mistakes in my life. I made my bed and I have to lie in it. I accept these things, and have tried to right my wrongs. The one thing I haven't righted is you."
"So you are telling me that you need to clear your guilt, free the burden of your wrongs and I am last on your list. Listen Steve, you weren't there for me and it hurt at first. Rather then becoming just another child in the system, I ran far-far away from you , mom, and all the shit that went down in Florida. I knew I wanted no part of that, I knew I was better then that, and I proved that without you, or anyones else's help I had my own path layed out. So don't you worry about an apology, it is not needed. You just go on about your life, and I will do the same. Until you called I haven't thought much about you...like I say WHAT FATHER!"
Those words seem to garner the reaction I wanted. That nasty sentence seemed to slice with the venom intended.
"Michael, you are absolutely right...what father indeed. I wasn't a father to you, I wasn't a role model, I wasn't there. You nailed that one right on the head. Through all my mistakes, this one thing must be righted. This one thing from the past must be set free. Through my entire life the guilt of this burden has weighed heavily on my heart. You see while I wasn't around, I thought about you on many occasions. I wondered how you were doing, how you mother was going to raise you."
My eyes begin to roll as he empties his heart on the table. I don't believe this man for one second, his lies, his guilt, his burden it means nothing to me.
"Listen Michael, what I need to apologize for is lying to you."
This sparks my attention. Rips me from the carousel of shrugging off his comments, and into the reality that sits directly across from me.
"Michael, I AM NOT YOUR FATHER!"
That statement rang cloud and clear stunning me to the core. Before I could get a chance to process that revelation he continued on.
"You see I felt guilt because I took your mother in, I promised to raise you, and be a father to you. We were young, both stupid and full of mistakes. The initial thought of raising a young man touched my heart. My immaturity, my selfishness soon took over, and I found my self out of work because of my mistakes. With your mother, and you at home I resorted to making money on the streets, and eventually..."
"Wait a minute, you are not my father. How...wh..."
"Michael, I really wanted to be. I adopted you, gave you the Lively name, you became part of my legacy. Unfortunately for both of us that legacy was written in ruin. As I sat in my cell I wondered if I had told your mother no, if I had made her realize that hiding the truth from you was wrong. I wondered if she would have just found out who your father was...would your situation be different. Michael, I am so sorry for the pain I caused you as a youth, and am desperately sorry for laying this in your lap as we speak, but I couldn't go on any further with out you knowing the truth. I felt it was right, and I felt you needed to know."
I sit back in shock as the man I resented my entire life just unfolds a mystery to my puzzle that I never knew existed. He explained a plot to my life that maybe belonged on Maury Povich, or Jerry Springer. As moments passed by it seemed like hours as I sat in silence. I had so many questions, unsure of which one to unleash first. The one thing at that very instant that rang loud and clear was that my hate for this man seemed to vanish at the moment.
"Michael, again I am sorry. I just need to clear that air, I couldn't walk another day on this earth without making peace with that lie. I felt I owed you that much."
"Yeah, thanks I guess...I mean, no seriously thank you, it needed to be done for sure. So you don't know who my real father is?"
"I made a promise to your mother that I would keep her secret. I could no longer do that. I do not know who your father is, I know certain circumstances surrounding the entire process, but I feel maybe it's best if she tell you."
With that the man slid across a large manila envelope tattered on the edges and faded in color. He stood from the table leaving behind a twenty dollar bill to take care of the tab. I looked down at this envelope and before I had a chance to ask what exactly it was Steve Lively was gone. My hand shook as the tension of what I just learned still hasn't sunk in just yet. I open the envelope unsure of what I am about to find. I pull out a few papers and set them on the table. The top a letter from Steve explaining pretty much what he just went over at the table with me in person. As I skim over the letter I become thankful that he decided to let this happen face tot face. The next paper proves this man to be one hundred percent truthful as I look upon the certificate of adoption, Michael Gallagher to become Michael Lively dated July 20,1988 on my second birthday.
My mother's maiden name was what I had until that day? I had no idea any of these things transpired. Why, why wouldn't my mother tell me the truth. Why wasn't I told that I was adopted, and is she even my real mother? What the fuck is going on, better yet what the hell happened?
HERE WE GO AGAIN
You know what chaps the skin on my ass, driving up to a stop light. The red illumination glows bright as your foot depresses the brakes. Your vehicle just completes it's halt and the light quickly turns to green. How about this, you drive by a gas station on your way to work noticing the decent price on fuel. You think to your self to stop but realize it's probably better to just get to work on time. So you decide that on your way home you will roll on through and take full advantage of the savings you witnessed. As you do this you quickly realize that these mother fuckers raised the god damn price.
These things can make you pull your hair out from the roots. Instances like this cause your brain to swell from frustration. Something else has begun to pluck at my nerves in the same manor at work. So here I sit, very enthused, very basically to explain to you what is on my mind. As usual my rant is filmed by Chubs the cameraman. A very loyal person, and kind hearted. What this kid is doing following me around must definitely explain that the country we live in is surely in a financial crisis. Watch as I lift my head very confidently looking into the lens as if I am starring you stupid shits right in the face, almost so sickening how professional I am.
Lively: With Overdrive moving forward each week like an unstoppable machine sucking the life from us as it powers forth, I find myself once again booked for action. You are probably wondering why then if I am such a competitor, such a man ready for action, would I have this look of distaste on my face. You would think I would be pleased to once again step through the curtain, as each time I do the dollars keep adding up.
Look at that sigh, it surely tells you how frustrated I really am. Here it goes, you people will find out why right here.
Lively: Tag team action, I can not believe I am booked for tag team action once again. Now, I'm probably confusing you people once more. Why would a man that is a former tag team champion have a problem with a division that I once ruled. Well I can put that little mystery to bed real fast by asking you to look at the recent results of my tag team conquests. Streets Wilson, an unreliable partner, and even worse wrestler. I was teamed with him and in fact it is him that didn't carry the weight causing me to have a loss thrown onto my record. Now here we go once more, same story different faces. Pence Wetherlight, a former world champion and current ball licking douche wad released from the twat of misery.
Harsh words for a man that is supposed to be my partner, well I guess it proves the point that I do not like counting on others for my success.
Lively: Now, fresh off your journey from the land of tuna, you step in the ring to be my partner; Damn I am so lucky. Listen pretty boy, this isn't some glamor shots photo shoot, it's a wrestling match. People get hurt in these things, we don't just stand around trying to look like models. So wipe the smile off your face, watch my back, and let me do the work...because it's apparent you like to be in the back taking IT up the rear anyways.
Ooops, I think I meant to say taking up the rear, not taking IT in the rear...oh well.
Lively: Point is pretty boy I am not happy about this. Twister is the only partner I could be successful with because basically everyone else isn't him. Nothing personal Pence, I just think you...SUCK! Toss in the fact that we have stiff competition and that makes it a bit more challenging. I know the thought of something stiff has you excited, but like I said...WRESTLING, not pretty boys trying to sniff out which set of testicles he can place his mouth on!!
Now with that out of the way maybe I can begin to shoot on the opponents of the match rather then trying to infuriate my partner.
Lively: Victor Hades, and Level One. Where do I begin, let me see, with Level One. I mean why oh why must I once again stare across the ring seeing this man. The booking staff knows I hate tag team matches, and now they pit me against Level One as half of the team I am up against. They must love to torture me. None the less I'm not sure why I will even try. Maybe I should just take a seat in the back, and let Pence do it all himself. He has proved on many occasions, just like last week how I proved that Level One bathes in the sperm of Leprechauns, and lets Unicorns ram his asshole to give him the mystical powers of luck. I mean this guy is simply unbeatable, listen to him speak and he'll tell you himself. He is the greatest, he has beaten us all. Why we even keep stepping toward him only to be crushed is senseless. I say we create another world title, one that he is forbidden in competing for. Then these poor fans will have the thrill of seeing the average man battle it out for the chance to be champion instead of this ultra dominating superstar who seems to be light years above the rest of us. He can have that title, he can be the one who stands at the top, maybe we should anoint him King...thats what we should do.
On second thought, I can walk that aisle, spit right in your face, and bring the pain. You miserable shit stain. Your breath reeks of cock, and your back must ache from being bent over daily giving your self the stroke job you think you so badly deserve. You are a piece of shit with one hell of a lucky streak is all I see. A man who likes to twist words, and manipulate things so that they seem to work in his favor. You are a master of the brainwash. Hell you have convinced yourself that you are the greatest thing walking this green earth...thats a hell of a feat. You speak of how top notch you are, how dominate you are, who you have beaten, and the accolades that you seem to rack up. Your pride is huge, and your resume is even bigger. That impresses people like Jeff, bookers, and the simple minded fans sitting at home hanging on your every word.
It doesn't mean jack shit to me. I could wipe my ass with your accomplishments, ohh wait...I pretty much did, on the title that you hold over your shoulder with oh so much joy. Two weeks ago you went off on a rant about that very title...please slow your role...it's all yours. I want nothing to do with that belt after where it's been trust me. So you keep puckering your lips, and kissing that precious hunk of tin that my balls swiped all over.
Nice dig I think, bringing up the past as if people don't already toss that our direction time and time again like it's the only thing out there. Maybe it is, that might be all they have, anyways keep getting you some
Lively: You are a fucking jerk off, a cancer a plague just eating away at the APW like you do every fed you wonder into. I see you for who and what you are, and I'm going to hit you where it hurts, right in that swollen pride of yours. I'm going to make you look foolish inside the ring. Your are a fragile man, that can't stand defeat, you handle it poorly. Thanks to Chris Cyrus you didn't have to taste it on Overdrive two weeks ago, but in front of thousands this week my number one goal is to drag you down a few rungs clanking your head along the ladder as I do. Someone needs to knock you off this pedestal that you seem to be perched upon. Casting your judgment, boasting your greatness. We will see how great you feel when the JESUS slaps a loss on your record, and follows it up with a classic tea bagging.
You see you might have been something in the past, and it has just snowballed. You keep building, and building. People buy into your hype, quiver in fear of you. They feed into this mystical make believe that your are some unbeatable bastard, not knowing that it just fuels the fire. You do a good job playing the part too. You sit up there ripping people to shreds, tossing stones, and picking out their flaws.
What I see is an excuse making, company backed, drama queen who will cry foul if they don't get their way. You are just like people that have graced our presence before...when the paper house crumbles around you, or the pressure gets thick you will take your ball and look for a new home. That is what happened in EWC isn't it Level. I'm sure you will rebuttal with I have no idea what I am talking about, you will spew lies and trash talk, even bring up people who will have your back in the claims that you bring forth. The point is Level One...wait...you have some brown shit on your nose...has it been up Jeff's ass again.
Nice, I'm taunting a dragon with fire, not very smart, but hopefully effective.
Lively: You know Level One, you make a lot of accusations, and cast a lot of blame. In my life thats called a swerve. Just like the little boy who farted. He immediately points the blame elsewhere. You have a lot of excuses about this Shadow Man, have plenty of reasons why you lost to this man. Well if you fall here, will there be the same thing? Is this why you are the road traveler, the man who wrestles everywhere. You burn a bridge here, and move over there. The time things go off course from your grand plan of being the best, most unbeatable wrestler you tuck tail and dip out. Not before letting everyone know how you got jobbed, railroaded and all out screwed. You bog voice bellows out for the world to hear you cry what a crock of shit it is that you even lost, because of course you are the great Level One...who beats him. Well, cunt lips, I surely will. It may not be in this match, but I have your number, and it will be called out.
Alright Michael, now switch it up. There is one more person in this match.
Lively: You see Level One the factors in this match are too great. I have Pence who could drop the ball any second with his constant fumblings, and you will always have the out that it was a tag match, and you were not the one who lost. Which brings me to Victor Hades. You my friend must stop taking PCP, the dreams and delusions are spilling over into work and I must say they make you look retarded. If you wish to toke it up on your personal time trying to get close to the devil by all means go right ahead. Yet when you walk in front of a camera still buzzing from the effects of what ever cocaine you seem to snort and spew out comments as if they are truth you show just how ignorant you are. I don't even know where to begin, so let me first address the JESUS thing. You just like everyone else in this place seem to think that I really honestly feel as if I am the second coming of Christ.
Silly bastards don't even know when they seem to look like idiots while trying to call me out, oooh preach on ME, preach on!!
Lively: You like to point out that I am not, and I would like to for the first time stand and applaud all of your genius.
Look at me, a real smart ass clapping for the stupid dip shits of this company.
Lively: You see it's a moniker, a nickname if your will. I use it to piss people off. The religious nuts in this country foam at the mouth with hatred because I call myself the JESUS. The fire grows even bigger when these stupid fans begin their chant "FUCK YOU JESUS". What do you think it does to these nutty assholes then. So relax, take a break, and maybe stop trying to throw the insult my direction that I must be out of my mind thinking I am a GOD, because after viewing one of your senseless rants Hades it's clear who is Coo-Koo for Coca Puffs in APW. It's a play on words, a dig to get a reaction, and it does just that. Like fish bitting on worms you people get the hook every time, stupid asses. The shameful part of it all is that you preschool minded sluts seem to take it literally, grow up people, and use that mush in your head.
I think though it must be hard for a thick necked retard like you Hades to do such a thing. Take in your reckless style, toss in the fact that you must be killing brains cells on the daily because no one in their right mind could come up with the shit you do totally sober, doesn't leave much matter left to try to power up a brain now does it. I find it humorous that you try to downplay my accomplishments here in APW, when you yourself have yet to even break through your gums. Still chewing on the binky with nothing but baby teeth. You don't have anything resembling a winning streak. Your record is pitiful, yet with my impressive over thirty wins here in the company you seem to have the right to throw around the fact that it means nothing. I helped build this place, I bled for this place, and I have done it all with a smirk on my face. I stand here watching douche bags like you waltz in from other places that have fallen and try to build something here only to fail, only to fall beneath my mighty boot.
You wish to speak of my MISTAKE, which is simply more like a hiccup in the grand scheme of things. Is it hard to believe that this company, the APW would take me back. If I am what Level One boasts about every fucking chance he gets like a nagging whore then why am I standing here, signed to a deal. If I am what you say I am then why do you feel so threatened by me. Scarred I might give the beating I dish out weekly. Your mouth speaks a different story then emotions do, that was a lot of rage you tossed my direction for a simple walk in the park now wasn't Hades. The point is, the world champ who's balls you seemed to glom onto knows, just like Jeff, and the rest of this place that I truly am The Hottest Shit Going.
Thats the only thing that left you mouth people can take as fact. That putrid smell is my greatness, and you my friend are standing a little too close. You will find out first hand why I have the most victories in the APW. You will see why anything is possible when I'm in that ring. I can honestly tell you, racking up the wins like I have isn't from ducking loud mouths like yourself. It isn't from running the jobber scene as you put it. It's from listening to yappy ass ankle bitting little bitch dogs like yourself squeal in pain when I crack their jaw hinges loose by shutting them up with a mouth full of beef steak courtesy of my crotch region. You see I have held every title in this company except for one. Come Christmas Chaos that will all but history as I become the company's first, and possibly only Grand Slam Champion.
Hades, you claim to have a thirst for blood, a thirst for punishing people. What I see is a man envious of others. Envious of peoples accomplishments. I can look into you eyes and tell that the hunt for gold is what lights that fire inside you. Let me be the first to wish you good luck in that pursuit. Just know that while you pussy foot around with people like Shadow, and struggle to muster a win over him, you aren't even in my league. You take a gander at his record and realize that first loss this man received in singles competition come by my hand.
Here it comes, my eyes roll as I almost can tell the response you are having, while you watch me trash you.
Lively: But Jeff, helped you win, it was a DQ victory, awhhh...yeah what the fuck ever. Listen if Jeff hadn't interfered in that match, this big Texas hair lip would have still walked out a steer fucking, redneck, piece of trailer shit, with a loss on his record either way. It made no difference to the JESUS, the outcome was the same. So Hades, trash me all you wish, down play what I have done...just remember it will be you who looks like a fucking idiot when you fall to my boot. You will have no one to blame but yourself for hyping it up, building these mindless assholes that follow our sport into believing the falsehood you brought to the table. How will you look when a simple no talent, God-complex having, shit spewing, cliche' spouting, overdone, same old-same old, ignorant cocky jackass knocks your fucking teeth down your throat. How will you feel when you come to and I am standing over you dangling my nuts in your face showing just who has balls. How will your credibility stand up the next time you rant and rave about an opponent, and people remember how I made you look like a dress wearing school girl inside that ring.
You truly are lost little man. You are trying to attach yourself with Level One, this man will be the first to plunge a knife in your back. Let me save you the trouble because I will simply spit in your face, and plunge it in your gut so you can stare me in the eyes as you bleed. Thats the courtesy I will show you. That dope you have must be strong to cloud you mind in these matters, and then make you super paranoid enough to think that I hate you. It's simple Sasquatch, I don't hate you, just the fans, well I guess I do hate everyone..so fuck it maybe you got two things right. Either way, I'm not hard to find big boy. You claim you want to knuckle me up, then on Overdrive you will get your chance, but know that my door is open anytime you want to try your luck. From where I stand, and what I heard from you was a big pep talk. I watched as you trembled with fear in the beginning and through out your piece you began to build your confidence. You don't have to convince me of anything I am game at all times, but the job you did on yourself, trying to pull the wool over your own eyes was quite impressive.
So you brainless sheep...follow your new master Level One to the ring. Know that when you dicect his repetitive speech that he delivers each and every week trying to tweak it into your own that I have two legs, and super kick for both of you bitches. Do me a favor though, unlatch off his balls before entering the ring...we have children watching the show, and I don't think their parents want them to see you trying to Turkey call with a mouth full of Level One's balls.
It's Thanksgiving, and there is plenty to be excited about. I will soon fulfill my goal of becoming Grand Slam champion, Level One will never be beaten in singles competition (rolls eyes) and Victor Hades will be thankful he is not facing me one on one. Because if you were you slimy haired, Donkey shit...I would give you a lesson first hand why I was considered to be the gate keeper here. No one gets to success around here without going through me. This is my house, my playground. Say what you will, bring up the bump in the road as many times as you can because it makes no difference. There are far more facts that prove I am the fucking man here, far more successful then you. So step sunshines, your Daddy feels like raping whats left of your careers.
Hades you made a wrong turn, you have latched on to a champion, so enjoy it while you can cause that is as close as you will ever get to one. Level One enjoy what ever it is you enjoy, oh yeah being the best I forgot. Either way this match means nothing to me, except for possibly stuffing a boot inside you Ostrige fucking cock wads ass's. I don't care if it's the champ, his new found flea on the nut sack, or even the man who is supposed to be my partner. Any one of you fags can get some, I'm in this shit for one reason and one reason alone...ME! Tag matches are for fags, and it seems Overdrive goes both ways. So since I'm booked, someone is getting it in the ass. Bend over boys, it's not gay if you do the fucking, and thats the only way I operate. Win or lose, I'm walking out with my head held high, and my rectum in full tact...I don't know about you queens, but this asshole is closed for the Holidays.
Look at me cool, calm, collected like a pro. God I am great, not literally JESUS, but as close as you people will ever get to one on Earth, fucking stupid asses!!
As I slam the door shut on my hotel room the ache in my stomach twists a knot making sure I still realize what I am about to endure. I am set to have the meeting that I have been dreading since that first phone call. I am about to confront things that I have buried in the past, come face to face with a man that I can not stand. Deep in my pit of disgust is where I keep this mans picture stirred in my memory. The walk across the street to a cafe has me scanning the outside tables. Looking at each one and it's patrons trying recognize what little I have seen of this man. I check each one trying to see if my memory will serve me correct, yet it does not. I walk in grabbing a newspaper as I check over the seating inside as well. With no one jumping out to me I asked to be seated. I have a seat and check over the paper looking toward the sports section.
My eyes glance over the weeks scores, and then the ringing of the door opening gets my attention. As it does my heart jump starts. I can't understand why I feel nervous, or have anxiety. This man means nothing to me, and has been pretty much dead to me for quite some time. As I try to slow my heart rate down I look up to an older gentleman in his fifties walking toward my table. With a tilt of his head and a sympathetic stare he asks "Michael?".
I acknowledge him by standing up and giving a simple head shake. The man looks toward me with a stare of admiration, the kind of glare a father would his son. I give him the up and down before taking my seat. It seems that prison was rough to this son of bitch. The mans skin leathery and scarred. His face definitely shows the signs of a daily Marlboro habit. As we sit he starts of the conversation by asking how I am. What a stupid question especially considering the circumstances. The man shakes his head apologizing as the waitress comes over asking us for anything. Steven orders himself a cup of coffee, and I just ask for a glass of water with no lemon. Before the waitress leaves he makes sure to demand the check come to him, and him alone.
Now I'm not sure if this was some ploy to let my guard down, or try to score points but it surely had no affect on me. I stand my ground, hold true to my feelings and offer up zero gratitude. The man looks down at the table briefly, then clears his throat.
"Wow, you sure look good...these old eyes..."
"You know, save the pleasantries, you needed to talk so lets start this conversation."
"Alright, alright...I understand I might not be your favorite person. Listen Michael I made a lot of mistakes in my life. I made my bed and I have to lie in it. I accept these things, and have tried to right my wrongs. The one thing I haven't righted is you."
"So you are telling me that you need to clear your guilt, free the burden of your wrongs and I am last on your list. Listen Steve, you weren't there for me and it hurt at first. Rather then becoming just another child in the system, I ran far-far away from you , mom, and all the shit that went down in Florida. I knew I wanted no part of that, I knew I was better then that, and I proved that without you, or anyones else's help I had my own path layed out. So don't you worry about an apology, it is not needed. You just go on about your life, and I will do the same. Until you called I haven't thought much about you...like I say WHAT FATHER!"
Those words seem to garner the reaction I wanted. That nasty sentence seemed to slice with the venom intended.
"Michael, you are absolutely right...what father indeed. I wasn't a father to you, I wasn't a role model, I wasn't there. You nailed that one right on the head. Through all my mistakes, this one thing must be righted. This one thing from the past must be set free. Through my entire life the guilt of this burden has weighed heavily on my heart. You see while I wasn't around, I thought about you on many occasions. I wondered how you were doing, how you mother was going to raise you."
My eyes begin to roll as he empties his heart on the table. I don't believe this man for one second, his lies, his guilt, his burden it means nothing to me.
"Listen Michael, what I need to apologize for is lying to you."
This sparks my attention. Rips me from the carousel of shrugging off his comments, and into the reality that sits directly across from me.
"Michael, I AM NOT YOUR FATHER!"
That statement rang cloud and clear stunning me to the core. Before I could get a chance to process that revelation he continued on.
"You see I felt guilt because I took your mother in, I promised to raise you, and be a father to you. We were young, both stupid and full of mistakes. The initial thought of raising a young man touched my heart. My immaturity, my selfishness soon took over, and I found my self out of work because of my mistakes. With your mother, and you at home I resorted to making money on the streets, and eventually..."
"Wait a minute, you are not my father. How...wh..."
"Michael, I really wanted to be. I adopted you, gave you the Lively name, you became part of my legacy. Unfortunately for both of us that legacy was written in ruin. As I sat in my cell I wondered if I had told your mother no, if I had made her realize that hiding the truth from you was wrong. I wondered if she would have just found out who your father was...would your situation be different. Michael, I am so sorry for the pain I caused you as a youth, and am desperately sorry for laying this in your lap as we speak, but I couldn't go on any further with out you knowing the truth. I felt it was right, and I felt you needed to know."
I sit back in shock as the man I resented my entire life just unfolds a mystery to my puzzle that I never knew existed. He explained a plot to my life that maybe belonged on Maury Povich, or Jerry Springer. As moments passed by it seemed like hours as I sat in silence. I had so many questions, unsure of which one to unleash first. The one thing at that very instant that rang loud and clear was that my hate for this man seemed to vanish at the moment.
"Michael, again I am sorry. I just need to clear that air, I couldn't walk another day on this earth without making peace with that lie. I felt I owed you that much."
"Yeah, thanks I guess...I mean, no seriously thank you, it needed to be done for sure. So you don't know who my real father is?"
"I made a promise to your mother that I would keep her secret. I could no longer do that. I do not know who your father is, I know certain circumstances surrounding the entire process, but I feel maybe it's best if she tell you."
With that the man slid across a large manila envelope tattered on the edges and faded in color. He stood from the table leaving behind a twenty dollar bill to take care of the tab. I looked down at this envelope and before I had a chance to ask what exactly it was Steve Lively was gone. My hand shook as the tension of what I just learned still hasn't sunk in just yet. I open the envelope unsure of what I am about to find. I pull out a few papers and set them on the table. The top a letter from Steve explaining pretty much what he just went over at the table with me in person. As I skim over the letter I become thankful that he decided to let this happen face tot face. The next paper proves this man to be one hundred percent truthful as I look upon the certificate of adoption, Michael Gallagher to become Michael Lively dated July 20,1988 on my second birthday.
My mother's maiden name was what I had until that day? I had no idea any of these things transpired. Why, why wouldn't my mother tell me the truth. Why wasn't I told that I was adopted, and is she even my real mother? What the fuck is going on, better yet what the hell happened?
HERE WE GO AGAIN
You know what chaps the skin on my ass, driving up to a stop light. The red illumination glows bright as your foot depresses the brakes. Your vehicle just completes it's halt and the light quickly turns to green. How about this, you drive by a gas station on your way to work noticing the decent price on fuel. You think to your self to stop but realize it's probably better to just get to work on time. So you decide that on your way home you will roll on through and take full advantage of the savings you witnessed. As you do this you quickly realize that these mother fuckers raised the god damn price.
These things can make you pull your hair out from the roots. Instances like this cause your brain to swell from frustration. Something else has begun to pluck at my nerves in the same manor at work. So here I sit, very enthused, very basically to explain to you what is on my mind. As usual my rant is filmed by Chubs the cameraman. A very loyal person, and kind hearted. What this kid is doing following me around must definitely explain that the country we live in is surely in a financial crisis. Watch as I lift my head very confidently looking into the lens as if I am starring you stupid shits right in the face, almost so sickening how professional I am.
Lively: With Overdrive moving forward each week like an unstoppable machine sucking the life from us as it powers forth, I find myself once again booked for action. You are probably wondering why then if I am such a competitor, such a man ready for action, would I have this look of distaste on my face. You would think I would be pleased to once again step through the curtain, as each time I do the dollars keep adding up.
Look at that sigh, it surely tells you how frustrated I really am. Here it goes, you people will find out why right here.
Lively: Tag team action, I can not believe I am booked for tag team action once again. Now, I'm probably confusing you people once more. Why would a man that is a former tag team champion have a problem with a division that I once ruled. Well I can put that little mystery to bed real fast by asking you to look at the recent results of my tag team conquests. Streets Wilson, an unreliable partner, and even worse wrestler. I was teamed with him and in fact it is him that didn't carry the weight causing me to have a loss thrown onto my record. Now here we go once more, same story different faces. Pence Wetherlight, a former world champion and current ball licking douche wad released from the twat of misery.
Harsh words for a man that is supposed to be my partner, well I guess it proves the point that I do not like counting on others for my success.
Lively: Now, fresh off your journey from the land of tuna, you step in the ring to be my partner; Damn I am so lucky. Listen pretty boy, this isn't some glamor shots photo shoot, it's a wrestling match. People get hurt in these things, we don't just stand around trying to look like models. So wipe the smile off your face, watch my back, and let me do the work...because it's apparent you like to be in the back taking IT up the rear anyways.
Ooops, I think I meant to say taking up the rear, not taking IT in the rear...oh well.
Lively: Point is pretty boy I am not happy about this. Twister is the only partner I could be successful with because basically everyone else isn't him. Nothing personal Pence, I just think you...SUCK! Toss in the fact that we have stiff competition and that makes it a bit more challenging. I know the thought of something stiff has you excited, but like I said...WRESTLING, not pretty boys trying to sniff out which set of testicles he can place his mouth on!!
Now with that out of the way maybe I can begin to shoot on the opponents of the match rather then trying to infuriate my partner.
Lively: Victor Hades, and Level One. Where do I begin, let me see, with Level One. I mean why oh why must I once again stare across the ring seeing this man. The booking staff knows I hate tag team matches, and now they pit me against Level One as half of the team I am up against. They must love to torture me. None the less I'm not sure why I will even try. Maybe I should just take a seat in the back, and let Pence do it all himself. He has proved on many occasions, just like last week how I proved that Level One bathes in the sperm of Leprechauns, and lets Unicorns ram his asshole to give him the mystical powers of luck. I mean this guy is simply unbeatable, listen to him speak and he'll tell you himself. He is the greatest, he has beaten us all. Why we even keep stepping toward him only to be crushed is senseless. I say we create another world title, one that he is forbidden in competing for. Then these poor fans will have the thrill of seeing the average man battle it out for the chance to be champion instead of this ultra dominating superstar who seems to be light years above the rest of us. He can have that title, he can be the one who stands at the top, maybe we should anoint him King...thats what we should do.
On second thought, I can walk that aisle, spit right in your face, and bring the pain. You miserable shit stain. Your breath reeks of cock, and your back must ache from being bent over daily giving your self the stroke job you think you so badly deserve. You are a piece of shit with one hell of a lucky streak is all I see. A man who likes to twist words, and manipulate things so that they seem to work in his favor. You are a master of the brainwash. Hell you have convinced yourself that you are the greatest thing walking this green earth...thats a hell of a feat. You speak of how top notch you are, how dominate you are, who you have beaten, and the accolades that you seem to rack up. Your pride is huge, and your resume is even bigger. That impresses people like Jeff, bookers, and the simple minded fans sitting at home hanging on your every word.
It doesn't mean jack shit to me. I could wipe my ass with your accomplishments, ohh wait...I pretty much did, on the title that you hold over your shoulder with oh so much joy. Two weeks ago you went off on a rant about that very title...please slow your role...it's all yours. I want nothing to do with that belt after where it's been trust me. So you keep puckering your lips, and kissing that precious hunk of tin that my balls swiped all over.
Nice dig I think, bringing up the past as if people don't already toss that our direction time and time again like it's the only thing out there. Maybe it is, that might be all they have, anyways keep getting you some
Lively: You are a fucking jerk off, a cancer a plague just eating away at the APW like you do every fed you wonder into. I see you for who and what you are, and I'm going to hit you where it hurts, right in that swollen pride of yours. I'm going to make you look foolish inside the ring. Your are a fragile man, that can't stand defeat, you handle it poorly. Thanks to Chris Cyrus you didn't have to taste it on Overdrive two weeks ago, but in front of thousands this week my number one goal is to drag you down a few rungs clanking your head along the ladder as I do. Someone needs to knock you off this pedestal that you seem to be perched upon. Casting your judgment, boasting your greatness. We will see how great you feel when the JESUS slaps a loss on your record, and follows it up with a classic tea bagging.
You see you might have been something in the past, and it has just snowballed. You keep building, and building. People buy into your hype, quiver in fear of you. They feed into this mystical make believe that your are some unbeatable bastard, not knowing that it just fuels the fire. You do a good job playing the part too. You sit up there ripping people to shreds, tossing stones, and picking out their flaws.
What I see is an excuse making, company backed, drama queen who will cry foul if they don't get their way. You are just like people that have graced our presence before...when the paper house crumbles around you, or the pressure gets thick you will take your ball and look for a new home. That is what happened in EWC isn't it Level. I'm sure you will rebuttal with I have no idea what I am talking about, you will spew lies and trash talk, even bring up people who will have your back in the claims that you bring forth. The point is Level One...wait...you have some brown shit on your nose...has it been up Jeff's ass again.
Nice, I'm taunting a dragon with fire, not very smart, but hopefully effective.
Lively: You know Level One, you make a lot of accusations, and cast a lot of blame. In my life thats called a swerve. Just like the little boy who farted. He immediately points the blame elsewhere. You have a lot of excuses about this Shadow Man, have plenty of reasons why you lost to this man. Well if you fall here, will there be the same thing? Is this why you are the road traveler, the man who wrestles everywhere. You burn a bridge here, and move over there. The time things go off course from your grand plan of being the best, most unbeatable wrestler you tuck tail and dip out. Not before letting everyone know how you got jobbed, railroaded and all out screwed. You bog voice bellows out for the world to hear you cry what a crock of shit it is that you even lost, because of course you are the great Level One...who beats him. Well, cunt lips, I surely will. It may not be in this match, but I have your number, and it will be called out.
Alright Michael, now switch it up. There is one more person in this match.
Lively: You see Level One the factors in this match are too great. I have Pence who could drop the ball any second with his constant fumblings, and you will always have the out that it was a tag match, and you were not the one who lost. Which brings me to Victor Hades. You my friend must stop taking PCP, the dreams and delusions are spilling over into work and I must say they make you look retarded. If you wish to toke it up on your personal time trying to get close to the devil by all means go right ahead. Yet when you walk in front of a camera still buzzing from the effects of what ever cocaine you seem to snort and spew out comments as if they are truth you show just how ignorant you are. I don't even know where to begin, so let me first address the JESUS thing. You just like everyone else in this place seem to think that I really honestly feel as if I am the second coming of Christ.
Silly bastards don't even know when they seem to look like idiots while trying to call me out, oooh preach on ME, preach on!!
Lively: You like to point out that I am not, and I would like to for the first time stand and applaud all of your genius.
Look at me, a real smart ass clapping for the stupid dip shits of this company.
Lively: You see it's a moniker, a nickname if your will. I use it to piss people off. The religious nuts in this country foam at the mouth with hatred because I call myself the JESUS. The fire grows even bigger when these stupid fans begin their chant "FUCK YOU JESUS". What do you think it does to these nutty assholes then. So relax, take a break, and maybe stop trying to throw the insult my direction that I must be out of my mind thinking I am a GOD, because after viewing one of your senseless rants Hades it's clear who is Coo-Koo for Coca Puffs in APW. It's a play on words, a dig to get a reaction, and it does just that. Like fish bitting on worms you people get the hook every time, stupid asses. The shameful part of it all is that you preschool minded sluts seem to take it literally, grow up people, and use that mush in your head.
I think though it must be hard for a thick necked retard like you Hades to do such a thing. Take in your reckless style, toss in the fact that you must be killing brains cells on the daily because no one in their right mind could come up with the shit you do totally sober, doesn't leave much matter left to try to power up a brain now does it. I find it humorous that you try to downplay my accomplishments here in APW, when you yourself have yet to even break through your gums. Still chewing on the binky with nothing but baby teeth. You don't have anything resembling a winning streak. Your record is pitiful, yet with my impressive over thirty wins here in the company you seem to have the right to throw around the fact that it means nothing. I helped build this place, I bled for this place, and I have done it all with a smirk on my face. I stand here watching douche bags like you waltz in from other places that have fallen and try to build something here only to fail, only to fall beneath my mighty boot.
You wish to speak of my MISTAKE, which is simply more like a hiccup in the grand scheme of things. Is it hard to believe that this company, the APW would take me back. If I am what Level One boasts about every fucking chance he gets like a nagging whore then why am I standing here, signed to a deal. If I am what you say I am then why do you feel so threatened by me. Scarred I might give the beating I dish out weekly. Your mouth speaks a different story then emotions do, that was a lot of rage you tossed my direction for a simple walk in the park now wasn't Hades. The point is, the world champ who's balls you seemed to glom onto knows, just like Jeff, and the rest of this place that I truly am The Hottest Shit Going.
Thats the only thing that left you mouth people can take as fact. That putrid smell is my greatness, and you my friend are standing a little too close. You will find out first hand why I have the most victories in the APW. You will see why anything is possible when I'm in that ring. I can honestly tell you, racking up the wins like I have isn't from ducking loud mouths like yourself. It isn't from running the jobber scene as you put it. It's from listening to yappy ass ankle bitting little bitch dogs like yourself squeal in pain when I crack their jaw hinges loose by shutting them up with a mouth full of beef steak courtesy of my crotch region. You see I have held every title in this company except for one. Come Christmas Chaos that will all but history as I become the company's first, and possibly only Grand Slam Champion.
Hades, you claim to have a thirst for blood, a thirst for punishing people. What I see is a man envious of others. Envious of peoples accomplishments. I can look into you eyes and tell that the hunt for gold is what lights that fire inside you. Let me be the first to wish you good luck in that pursuit. Just know that while you pussy foot around with people like Shadow, and struggle to muster a win over him, you aren't even in my league. You take a gander at his record and realize that first loss this man received in singles competition come by my hand.
Here it comes, my eyes roll as I almost can tell the response you are having, while you watch me trash you.
Lively: But Jeff, helped you win, it was a DQ victory, awhhh...yeah what the fuck ever. Listen if Jeff hadn't interfered in that match, this big Texas hair lip would have still walked out a steer fucking, redneck, piece of trailer shit, with a loss on his record either way. It made no difference to the JESUS, the outcome was the same. So Hades, trash me all you wish, down play what I have done...just remember it will be you who looks like a fucking idiot when you fall to my boot. You will have no one to blame but yourself for hyping it up, building these mindless assholes that follow our sport into believing the falsehood you brought to the table. How will you look when a simple no talent, God-complex having, shit spewing, cliche' spouting, overdone, same old-same old, ignorant cocky jackass knocks your fucking teeth down your throat. How will you feel when you come to and I am standing over you dangling my nuts in your face showing just who has balls. How will your credibility stand up the next time you rant and rave about an opponent, and people remember how I made you look like a dress wearing school girl inside that ring.
You truly are lost little man. You are trying to attach yourself with Level One, this man will be the first to plunge a knife in your back. Let me save you the trouble because I will simply spit in your face, and plunge it in your gut so you can stare me in the eyes as you bleed. Thats the courtesy I will show you. That dope you have must be strong to cloud you mind in these matters, and then make you super paranoid enough to think that I hate you. It's simple Sasquatch, I don't hate you, just the fans, well I guess I do hate everyone..so fuck it maybe you got two things right. Either way, I'm not hard to find big boy. You claim you want to knuckle me up, then on Overdrive you will get your chance, but know that my door is open anytime you want to try your luck. From where I stand, and what I heard from you was a big pep talk. I watched as you trembled with fear in the beginning and through out your piece you began to build your confidence. You don't have to convince me of anything I am game at all times, but the job you did on yourself, trying to pull the wool over your own eyes was quite impressive.
So you brainless sheep...follow your new master Level One to the ring. Know that when you dicect his repetitive speech that he delivers each and every week trying to tweak it into your own that I have two legs, and super kick for both of you bitches. Do me a favor though, unlatch off his balls before entering the ring...we have children watching the show, and I don't think their parents want them to see you trying to Turkey call with a mouth full of Level One's balls.
It's Thanksgiving, and there is plenty to be excited about. I will soon fulfill my goal of becoming Grand Slam champion, Level One will never be beaten in singles competition (rolls eyes) and Victor Hades will be thankful he is not facing me one on one. Because if you were you slimy haired, Donkey shit...I would give you a lesson first hand why I was considered to be the gate keeper here. No one gets to success around here without going through me. This is my house, my playground. Say what you will, bring up the bump in the road as many times as you can because it makes no difference. There are far more facts that prove I am the fucking man here, far more successful then you. So step sunshines, your Daddy feels like raping whats left of your careers.
Hades you made a wrong turn, you have latched on to a champion, so enjoy it while you can cause that is as close as you will ever get to one. Level One enjoy what ever it is you enjoy, oh yeah being the best I forgot. Either way this match means nothing to me, except for possibly stuffing a boot inside you Ostrige fucking cock wads ass's. I don't care if it's the champ, his new found flea on the nut sack, or even the man who is supposed to be my partner. Any one of you fags can get some, I'm in this shit for one reason and one reason alone...ME! Tag matches are for fags, and it seems Overdrive goes both ways. So since I'm booked, someone is getting it in the ass. Bend over boys, it's not gay if you do the fucking, and thats the only way I operate. Win or lose, I'm walking out with my head held high, and my rectum in full tact...I don't know about you queens, but this asshole is closed for the Holidays.
Look at me cool, calm, collected like a pro. God I am great, not literally JESUS, but as close as you people will ever get to one on Earth, fucking stupid asses!!
