Life is Cruel: "Face the facts."

[Victor Hades]

Life is Cruel:
"Face the Facts."

You want it, you got it
Everything you needed and more
You said it, I heard it
Careful what you wish for
Deleted, defeated everything you've ever been
No mercy, it's the way of the fist

[Pre-Chorus:]
Strapped with rage, got no patience for victims
Sick and tired of the whole fuckin' world

[Chorus:]
I don't remember asking you about your imperfections
You might win one battle
But know this, I'll win the fucking war!

End of the goddamn road! (Right!)

Step to me, step to me motherfucker
Zip your lip, you've run out of time
Step to me, step to me motherfucker
Talk the talk, now walk the damn line

Hades Journal :
Monday-September 7th, 2009

It's been only a short distance so far, but the journey is far from over now. Stepped off the charter bus arriving in Los Angeles this morning, tire treads on dead raccoon beside the curb. So much for a warm welcome home after being on that tin-can, crammed in a small contraption for twelve hours. Listening to crying infants, bitching and neglecting mothers, war-veterans suffering post-trauma, and crackwhores tweaking for a fix. Some place to call home they say...

I move towards the luggage compartment, the woman who was seated next to me nearly jumped a whole two feet away as I reached for my bag. Maybe it was the cold stare I gave her after she realized her pillow was in my face on the bus, not that I had a problem checking out the goods. Being on the road 24/7, sleeping on buses and in hotel suites, rental cars, and living off fast food. It's not the perfect life; it separates you from the outside world in a sense. There's no time to be social, no time to sit down and talk or be polite, there's no time for pleasant behavior in a city like this. Finding a companion isn't easy in this career; unless you call visiting strippers whose name you can hardly remember as "having a girlfriend" changes anything. These people hate me; they hate me not because I choose to be something they're not, but because of what I’ve done. They hate me because I choose to show them the things they don't want to see, the things they're afraid of. Blood, violence, foul language, and a taste for horror unlike anything they've seen before. They hate me because I take their favorites, they're heroes, and I expose them for what they truly are...worthless. I break them and separate them from the rest, while I prove I'm on a much higher level than they can reach.

But this city-the city of Los Angeles, so-called the "City of Angels" has been everything but close to that. The place I so proudly call home I've come to welcome as living in Hell. I grew up in these filthy streets of criminals and juvenile delinquents, drug dealers, gang-members, meth-addicts and crackwhores. I have seen its true face beneath the filth and publicity. The streets filled with drugs and crime as well as innocent blood and dirty money trafficking. Soon these streets will be filled with filth this city has polluted them with, sewer drains filled with blood will finally scab over, all the decent things left in this society will drown. Then before too long this chaos will spread, and the rest of the world will become a cluster-fucked riot. This is Hell...I call this place home.

[ Ring! Ring! Ring! Ring! ]

The echoing and nauseating sound from the nearby alarm clock screams from the nightstand, as a tattoo-sleeved arm extends from beneath a white sheet on the bed beside it. A very quiet yet monotone grunt escapes from beneath the covers, followed by a few choice of foul words along with it. Victor shoves the blanket from his upper masculine torso, sliding his palms of his hands over his face. Climbing from his bed from yet another sleepless night in a hotel room he moves towards the bathroom, flipping the light switch. Weary eyes still haven't adjusted to the bright lighting as he squints, leaning against the bathroom counter. Glaring upon his reflection in the mirror across from him, while a thought happens to stick out in the back of his memory.

"Another day in paradise Victor ol' pal..."

His right hand slides across the surface of the sink and grasps of pack of half empty cigarettes, slipping one out as he lifts it to his chin. Pulling it out with his mouth, while his free hand whips around a zippo-lighter and fires up the toxin filled candle.

Victor Hades: "Cough in hell."

Victor mumbles audibly to himself as he gives his reflection a nod and moves aside to turn towards the bathroom door.

Victor Hades: "Better yet..."

Victor turns his head counterclockwise towards the mirror and exhales a small cloud of smoke between the cigarette and his lips.

Victor Hades: "...Coffin nail."

He smirks as he steps out from the bathroom flipping the switch off after releasing some bodily fluids.

"Very fitting Victor..."

He smirks thinking to himself, walking towards the sliding glass door and stepping out onto the balcony. Reaching into a baggy pair of black and white "surfer" board shorts, he slips out a cell phone.

"Four New Voice Messages."

Victor raises the cell phone to his ear after mashing a button with his thumb, leaning along the guard rail while overlooking a sandy beach below.

Voice: "Hades, it's Michael...Saint-"

Victor pulls the cell phone away from his ear and mashes a button.

"Message erased...next message."

Voice: "Hey Hades! Orsome here-"

Victor narrows his eyes and perks a brow, grunting to himself before quickly mashing the button on his keypad once more.

Victor Hades: "-what the fuck?"

"Message erased...next message."

Voice: "V look you need to get ahold of me, your EWC contract is still expired and we-"

Hades yet again pulls the phone away and presses the button again.

"Message erased...next message."

Voice: "Hello, this message is for Victor Hades regarding your contract with EWC-"

Hades folds the phone shut and holds it out in front of him, overlooking the phone in his hand for a moment.

Victor Hades: "Sorry-not interested in a "screw myself over" contract."

He grumbles just seconds before tossing the phone out into the distance from the fifth-story balcony. Turning away he flicks the finished cigarette out into the air, while the ash and embers drift into the updraft of the wind out into the atmosphere.

Minutes later after showering and getting dressed he moves downstairs to the lobby to check out, stepping to the front desk. Sliding his shoulder strap of his gym bag to the floor, he rests his black leather coat sleeved-arms on the desk. Sporting a red and black "APW" t-shirt underneath the open flaps and a pair of baggy, while a pair of wore down yet torn denim jeans and black Adidas shoes cover the rest. Finally a man approaches him from the back room, wearing a name tag that reads "David".

David: "Can I help you, sir?"

Victor Hades: "Yeah, I'm just looking to check out and see if my flight to San Diego is still on time."

Victor mutters while still carrying the same monotone voice.

David: "Ookay, let me check real quick here..."

David, the front desk manager begins typing away at his computer as Hades stands a bit impatient. Chomping away on a piece of winterfresh gum, beginning to lose it's flavor as he waits.

David: "Noo...I'm sorry, it says here your flight was cancelled sometime around 5 o'clock this morning."

Victor pauses for a moment and stares with a blank expression.

Victor Hades: "...Well, is there another flight coming in any time soon? I have to be there by seven tonight for a house show I'm booked to wrestle for."

David nods with a smirk and perks a brow himself.

David: "Wrestling huh? Like the "Stone Cold" Steve Austin-Hulk Hogan kind of wrestling huh?"

David's tone picks up, clearly showing he must have been some kind of big fan at one point in his life. Coming off as rather weird in some sense, as Hades holds the blank expression on his face.

Victor Hades: "Something like that."

Nearly hesitating to admit aloud APW surpassed Vince McMahon's billion-dollar company years ago, amusing himself quietly. Slipping out his itinerary paperwork and handing it over the counter, as he reaches back brushing his fingertips through his long, black strands of his hair.

Victor Hades: "Supposed to be on Flight 115 B."

Victor responds clearing his throat as he slides the paperwork to David, who opens it up and fumbles around on his keyboard some more.

David: "Okay it says here your ticket is non-refundable, but I may be able to slide you into another incoming flight that's switching to San Diego later tonight."

Victor nods and slowly begins to crack a smile.

Victor Hades: "Dave, that'd be excellent dude, I can't thank you-"

David: "If that is, you don't mind meeting my son and taking some pictures and autographing a few things."

Victor's smile immediatly fades and stands silent for a few minutes while contemplating all of this information to himself.

"Extortionist piece of shit."

David: "He's coming by here in a few hours to visit me, it's bring your kids to work day and well, he just happens to be a huge fan of wrestling and all."

"Isn't that just kick-you-in-the-crotch-spit-in-your-face-perfect."

Victor nods slowly while thinking to himself peering at the plane ticket in David's hand, biting down on his tongue hard trying not to scream "No". But perhaps there is another way out of this, Victor just may have a plan...

Victor Hades: "Sure, I'll do it...just uh, stop up at my room after he gets here."

Victor reaches out getting a few fingertips on one end of the ticket, while David keeps a tight deathgrip along the opposite end. Fighting to keep a "smile" Victor looks back over the counter to David, who perks up remembering something that just came to mind.

David: "Ooh! He'll be here approximately between 12 and 12:30 so if you want to wait over there in the lounge area you're more than welcome to!"

Victor tugs the ticket slightly.

Victor Hades: "That's quite alright I'll just...wait comfortably in my room for you guys to come upstairs and I'll sign some...stuff for you guys."

Victor grumbles before finally jerking the ticket from David's hand, smiling between his teeth.

David: "Great!"

Victor "smiles" once more and picks up his bag turning away, rolling his eyes as the "smile" becomes a deep look of disgust. Moving quickly to the elevator Victor eyeballs his ticket, reassuring himself it's the right one. Mashing the elevator button repeatedly Victor taps his foot impatiently, peering back at David behind the desk. David, who simply grins from ear to ear raises his arms and flexes with a serious look before giving two thumbs up. Victor "grins" and chuckles slightly and gives a thumbs up as well. The door opens and Victor quickly steps inside flipping the bird once the doors close.

Victor Hades: "Jesus christ-are they always like this?! Come on!"

Victor grumbles in an angered tone to himself and punches the elevator door, seconds before finally reaching his floor and tearing down the hallway. Sliding his key card into the door, it fails the first attempt, then the second, then the third. Victor pauses and grunts once more before trying a final time as the door unlocks. Kicking the door open Victor races in and slams the door behind him, packing up all his gear and belongings as quickly as possible.

Victor Hades: "I got the ticket-I'll sneak down the side stairs, out the back, grab a taxi-and then I am getting the HELL out of here."

He mumbles to himself once more.

Finally zipping up his gym back, Victor turns and heads for the door as he opens it-only to find David the front desk manager and his son standing at the door.

"-Shit!!"

David: "Mr. Hades! My son Logan just arrived a little earlier than I expected, so I thought by golly why not just-bring him on up here!"

Victor Hades: "Perfect.........."

[ To be continued... ]

"This time, I'll make sure you stay down."

"The laughing stock of what was once EWC, the laughing stock of the future that is APW, and the ass-end of every joke-that very poor and pathetic soul is John Green. John Green has been a very little fish in a very big ocean for some time now, trying to swim with the sharks. The problem with that is, he can't swim, he's simply drowning as he has been for a long time now. People at home would much rather put a gun to their heads than suffer the agony of listening to a John Green promo that will almost instantaneously go nowhere. John, let's be honest here- you're going to jump the gun with our recent encounters. We know this. You're going to bring up our tag match, and our big encounter at Shockwave. Now before you pile up some nonsense babble of bullshit I'm soon going to pummel your face in for, let's get to the facts. FIRST-I never lost that tag-team match several weeks ago, I wasn't in the ring getting my ass kicked and then being pinned...BENNETT did. I was pre-occupied outside the ring whooping Zero's mute ass to a pulp. SECOND- I wasn't pinned at Shockwave nor did I agree to that match to begin with, both my lawyer and my agent already settled the matter with Jeff last week. Therefore, that match never happened...understand? You couldn't simply beat me, and I'll suffer just one more match with you to prove it once again."

"You are the biggest piece of shit of them all. Cheap bastard with child-like tactics just like Jason Royce, Joe Martinez and Pence Weatherlight with their cheap attacks; at least they’ve had “some” notable success. You though? You sat back and watched, making you the biggest pile of shit of them all. You were the biggest paperweight champion in wrestling history; you held that APW title for Pence to take so he could hang onto it for Level One. It’s only a matter of time before someone worthy comes along and does the same to him. Don’t get all froggy’ on me and bring up EWC, we all know that story John. We all know how you had the worst record streak alongside the likes of Maddogg and Redface Rodgers. That International championship was GIVEN to you because no one possessing a set of balls and REAL talent WANTED it at the time. You simply tainted it John and it was up to people like Ferguson and me to rid that Championship of its lack of talent you bestowed upon it."

"If it were up to me, you would never see the golden glimmer of a Championship prize ever again. You never could run with the ball, much less run and carry your own for that matter...still; it’s hard to wonder if yours ever dropped. You lost every title you ever won, and that’s the truth…you never held onto them. You choked on every single match you could’ve launched a career from; did you ever seize that chance? No...you didn’t...you dumb son of a bitch."

"In reality, you should be finished, fired, and forgotten just before being removed from the face of this company. John, I’m thinking it’s time you hang up those cement boots weighing you down if you can ever get out of them. Everyone on this roster, everyone watching, and everyone wasting their money to see your disgusting and unappealing face disgrace the camera for five minutes-doesn’t wanna see it. They’re tired of seeing me kicking your ass across the country, show to show, month to month, company after company. Hell, I almost wish I tossed you far enough for you to land on your head in the crowd back in our Scaffold match last year. Then I’d have the honor of saving my breath from wasting time reminding you what a waste of space you are. You can’t step up, you couldn't then, you can't now, and you simply never fucking will."

"These people-they’re tired of you seemingly forgetting our history and our run-ins when our paths crossed time and time again; and ignoring that I am the superior. You’re nothing more than the inferior, jobbing, conceited little shit that still sports every cut, bruise, broken jaw, and foot-print my boots left on your ass to this day. You even had COUNTLESS opportunities in the Main-Event spotlight to make yourself SOMETHING instead of NOTHING, but like you-you blew your load too soon. You fucked up time and time again, and pretty soon there wasn’t a single person who hasn’t beaten your sorry ass."

"Face it John, you’ve been deemed with retardation since the day you’re alcoholic mother gave birth to you, and dropped you on your head seconds later. You shoot blanks in the dark with no aim, no knowledge of what you’re getting at, or really what the hell you’re even doing. You never fail at shooting yourself repeatedly in the foot, and repeating the same mistakes a million times over. You thought jumping ship to this wretched and filthy mess of a company could save you-that you could hide yourself from the cold-hearted truth? That you could salvage what little of a pathetic and fucked up excuse for a career you have left? That people wouldn’t know the truth about John Green? Wrong again buck-o. Just as always, the wrong place at the wrong time...but don’t get too down on yourself, your time will come...the day the entire roster retires and you become world Champion and your biggest rivals will be that of Noah “Red Face” Rodgers, Maddogg, and don’t forget Justin Slade."

"You piss, bitch, whine, moan, and constantly persist on reminding everyone you will become World Champion again. Yet, here we are still to this day growing older by the second waiting for you to back up that massive mouthful of shit, and empty promises that everyone knows will never occur. Tell me I’m wrong, that everything I’ve stated is truly and undeniably a lie, lies like the ones you’ve spat since the day you graced a wrestling ring. Stop beating the dead horse for Christ sake about that short streak, that rotting corpse is stinking up the place. Face it John, you’re the name everyone forgets, the rock bottom of everyone’s list, the name that makes people’s stomachs terribly sick. You John Green are simply the dumb fuck on the totem pole."

"Hurricane Jeff booked this match simply for me to have an easy start to my week, for me to run through you like an Olympic sprinting event. Without breaking a sweat, without suffering any minor injuries-not that you could leave a scratch on me, or even feeling emotionally ill from the pointless, dip-shitted remarks you could throw at me. You never fail to buy into the lies, to sell yourself out, to take the short end of the stick, to feed into the bullshit that is considered “hype”. You think you could stand two minutes in the same ring with me, or anyone else for that matter? Shit, I’d be turning in my resignation for my contract, feel humiliated, and turn away from APW. The old Victor Hades you want to poke at, provoke, and piss-off from EWC is dead, now I’m just a heart-less, pissed-off, blood-thirsty sick fuck ready for a fight."

You are simply the same as you have always been John, a loser, a dipshit, a coward, a liar, irrelevant, and talentless as they come. There is no room on this mountain for people like you; you’re simply going to be buried in the snow. You’re final resting place, where you can once and for all realize your place in this world. It’s not in the championship scene, it’s nowhere near the Main-Event scene, and it sure as hell won’t be on the live-televised scene either. You belong in the dumpster with the rest of the filthy trash lingering around this company. You don’t deserve this. I will tell you what you do so desperately deserve, a cold, brutal, bloody massacre, unlike anything anyone has ever seen, an unforgettable ass-kicking your mind and body will never forget. The final blow to that thick skull to show you what you’ve been too fucking stupid to realize..."

"I’m done playing games; I’m done pretending I’ll make it in this life as just the guy who can step-up time to time to remind everyone I’m better than this. I’m tired of people like YOU who prance around “just trying to get by”. It’s because of people like you people like me get spat in the face because we have the drive, the heart, the skill, the finesse, the passion, and the will to compete. While you only give seventy to seventy-five percent we give it our all. We do whatever necessary to remind you idiots of your rightful place. At the fucking bottom..."

"So go on with the ranting and the bullshit, tell me how you’re reign as APW World Heavyweight champion wasn’t a waste, a fluke, a fucking joke. While I’ll turn and point to the fact during your reign in APW, you were getting your ass KICKED in EWC. Which says a whole lot about the competition in APW those days, must have been quite the battle to win that thing eh, John? You’re time has come and gone, right in front of your fat-nosed, beady-eyed, thick-headed face. You’re reputation-shot down, torn apart, tarnished, shit on, and left in the dirt. The truth is, we’ve all surpassed the likes of you a long, long, LONG time ago, and it’s time someone put you out of your misery. At Over-Drive, I’m going to finish what I started a long time ago in a place called EWC, I’m going to remind you where you’re rightful place is, flat on your ass in the middle of the ring. I’m going to teach you what could never be taught, and then…you can go crying home to your mamma. And while you’re at it, tell that bitch I’m hungry."

[ Fade to black. ]

Deserve it, you earned it, got yourself a fuckin' war
Believe it, you need it, face down on the fuckin' floor
I hate it, can't take it
Wanna break your fuckin' bones
No mercy, you maggot
Should've left it all alone

[Pre-Chorus:]
Strapped with rage, got no patience for victims
Sick and tired of the whole fuckin' world

[Chorus:]
I don't remember asking you about your imperfections
You might win one battle
But know this, I'll win the fucking war!

As you crash and burn
1, 2, fuck you! (Right!)

Step to me, step to me motherfucker
Zip your lip, you've run out of time
Step to me, step to me motherfucker
Talk the talk, now walk the damn line!
Step to me, step to me motherfucker
Shut your face, it's your turn to die
Step to me, step to me motherfucker
Talk the shit, your ass is mine!