Post by Level-Two on Sept 30, 2009 20:25:51 GMT -4
''One's'' A-Negative
Have you ever taken the time to cherish what's around you?
For as long as I can remember; I've never known what I had until it was gone. As if, the thing I was ever meant to feel was pain. That my thought process never really added up to a collective sum; a negative thinker whom only sees the bad in everyone but himself and is blind to as what is good. It's hard to see whats good. It's hard to tell what's pure when your looking through my eyes, filed with a thin layer of the dirtiest things you could imagine; but if you saw half the shit I have saw, the blood, the gore, the death—well, then perhaps you wouldn't be so quick to judge.
Take a busload of kids for instance. They're going on a field trip to a museum to view art they couldn't even appreciate and the bus driver looses control of his over sized vehicle. After spinning off the side of the road they speed towards the bridge the guard rails of a bridge, with a road below it, where not a single driver would see nor feel a bus crushing their spine. The end result is that the kids survive due to the direction and speed in which the bus had crashed into the barrier—now before we say, some sky god had something to do with it through divine intervention, let's try to be at least half serious.
The good thing about their survival is, simply the fact nobody died. The kids can return to their homes, and continue to grow into adults, where they will grow to be successful and live happy lives...
But here standing on this bridge looking down at the same overpass the kids had come to remember for the rest of their life's, one has to really question if it was the best thing that would've happened to them. Now, what if we switched the dynamics a little? What happens if me, the man you've come to hate with seething spit with your venomous tongue, was on that bus. Eight years old; and already known by name in every detention centre in town, ready to tear apart and piece of artwork he could get his hands on. Would you take the chance? Would that make the bus flying off this overpass, a little bit more re-warding, knowing just how evil the little kid in the back the bus, seated all alone would grow to be?
Come on think about it.
I spit on the overpass below, failing to track it's landing, I only hoped it would find it's way on a car's front window. Behind me a truck pulled up. Distracting me momentarily, I turned to face the truck, in which a man with a yellow jack and base ball cap stepped out, slamming the door shut. He chewed on a piece of gum and sported a beer belly, almost a despicable human being, when stood up to myself; but his voice commanded respect at the very least.
''Hey Sir, you stranded or somethin?'' The man asked, his eyes travelling around the bridge looking for a abandoned car anywhere and when his eyes deceived him he nodded his head. ''I'll take that as a no''
''Yeah'' I shot back carelessly, as the man merely nodded his head and turned around in his own foot print. Tilting my head I could see that the man worked for the city, as a toe truck driver. These people weren't the cream of the crop of society by any means, but he was worthy of sharing some dialogue with in the mean time. ''So is business going alright for you?''
The toe truck driver stopped and slowly turned around and shrugging his big broad shoulders, his fists balled up in his hands. ''It's alright. It's one of those things, you can always count on to be there for you. Ain't no shortage of broken down cars, I tell ya''
I nodded my head hawking yet another wad of spit, over the over pass, this time sure of myself that I hit a target. ''Have you ever thought about the car washing business?'' I snarled. The toe truck driver seemingly ignored my smarty comment but it was understandable. It was only a joke to be shared with myself; plus when your me? It never hurts to smile; it's just harder then you think.
''In my business; there is no shortage of blood, sweat and broken bones. Yet, you always have the feeling that you simply cannot go forever'' I said, losing my focus within the flow of traffic below. The toe truck driver leaned over the over pass, observing the road below him. He was a country boy and had been surprised at the amount of people they were in the city, they tripled his population by the hundreds, he had lost his way a few times too.
''Sometimes you gotta' make a livin' off of other peoples misfortunes. Cause you know, if you don't, the next man won't think twice before he do too'' Said the toe truck driver. ''The minute you start thinkin' that you the bad guy, when you playin' fair, the more the game seems tipped for the other hand and quickly you just hate the game together, now''
I let his words soak in; they had value to it. As if this guy, this city worker had been going through the same thing I had been. Is that possible? How is that possible? It can't be possible. I'm different from everyone else. I'm not like you; nor am I like them. I shook my head free from his words dismissing them as quickly as I possibly could, throwing my head side to side unleashing yet another wad of spit, onto the traffic below.
''But the car washin' business ain't seem to bad neither'' The toe driver said in a fit of his own laughter, unleashing a relaxing sigh after it all. I didn't pay him too much attention; his company wasn't desired, a loner at heart I was. ''I tell you what the hardest moment of my career was...'' The toe driver said turning his head in my direction his face while grubby, rough and worn...was sincere.
''Career? Yeah? Is that what you call it?'' I reply, in a show of complete and utter ignorance to his tale. Yet, my words didn't effect him, as if he didn't even hear me. Here I was, trying to get a rise of out of some government worker, hauling old beat down vehicles for chump change, and he showed more self restraint that I could ever have.
''...it was pullin that bright yellow school bus away from the same bridge we depend on to hold us upright and keep us safe, right at this very moment'' The toe truck driver said tapping the top of the rail, gazing into the clouds hanging above the sky. ''Ain't nothin' in the world could've lit my day up, then seein' those smiles on those kids faces one by one as they had been picked up by their parents''
I lifted my eyebrow in intrigue, turning towards him for the first time. ''You know as well as I do, you picked up a bonus that night...''
''Cash can't compare'' The toe truck driver said shaking his head back and forth, positive about his stance on such a matter. ''I love my job and I know sometimes the vehicle I toe away, belongs to an owner who ceases to exist; but that comes with the job''
''I don't get you'' I said shaking my head back and forth. ''You're wasting my time''
The toe driver put his hand on my shoulder, granting himself my full attention. I pulled back on the urge to swing, my violent characteristic seemingly, changing ready to pick up the whispers of reason.
''You may break bones and beat people up for a livin' but as long as the end of the day, you ain't just out there to break bones and beat people up, that perhaps you can be satisfied with what you do''
The toe truck driver removed his hand from my shoulder, making me feel as if a weight of the world had been lifted from a top of me, and if it was a feeling that would last a few seconds, maybe just a single moment only to never return again....
I'd cherish it.
John Green; look at yourself now.
It's hard to, isn't it? It makes your skin crawl down your spine, plaguing you with a sharp pinch of pain all because failure is about the only thing real to you. Your eyes blood shot red, as you try to scratch your dull image away—the man you have become today. But even through distorted colours, you can see your beaten black and blue and branded useless, worthless, a joke. Time after time, you are sure to remind us that one day you'll possess MY world title and that the old John Green that the world all knew and love, would return. The clock has been ticking for awhile John, and I think the world is slowly losing their patience; we are tired of waiting.
John, I'm at the point of my career where this title becomes more of a duty to hold then an actual honour. I'm at the point of my career when it isn't necessary to win, but expected of me never to lose. John, truth be told? You need the APW championship more then I do. Fuck, there isn't ANYONE on this roster who needs this championship more then I do. Nameless faces all looking for a manner in which they can shell their dull personalities to the world on the grandest scale; here I am, and everyone knows my name.
Unlike you, John; I don't need to seethe spit and rain down a tear storm to be successful nor occupy the main-event scene of the APW. I bring my talent, my natural ability, and leave the fucking luck with Pence Weatherlight; and winning matches just merely seem to fall in place. You on the other hand? Your countless vibrato about being the next APW world champion, only to fall flat on your face when your given a wide open door to walk through is laughable at best. At what point will it ever settle in that you simply aren't good enough? At what point will you realize your white ass cheeks are done receiving a tan in the lime light? At what point will your grab your fucking balls; be a man, and own up to the fact you are simply incapable of keeping up with men like me? You are inferior.
John, we are at the point where it's time not for me to look back at all you've accomplished but for you to look out for your own good and do the same thing. We understand that when the APW was barely pulling in enough cash to air a pay-per-view, selling enough tickets to fill the seats, and airing their weekly show pulling ratings in like an infomercial—you were the King Shit. This was your kingdom and you called the shots. Unfortunately, what you fail to realize is that the APW way back when, was trash. Garbage. Flawed to third degree with a fourth adjusting it's angle in which it planned to fly up the poo-per; to fuck real talent in the ass. Yes, you heard me. APW was a DISGRACE to this industry.
I mean the blackwells? The lambardos? The Chruch of Kaos? Mix in the countless addition of needless trashy foreign weapons, deaths, and awkward marriages live on television... and you have quite possibly the biggest shit fest, since President Mac self inducted hall of fame... induction. Good god. And to top it off; your title rein consisted of losing it in five minutes, when clearly you blow your load in two! And sure, it's low of me to dig up your past skeletons, but the truth is... I'm just bringing it back to life the only thing historical about you. Even at your prime, you weren't anymore worthy, then a hair on my nut sack. Bitch, please.
I saved this company, I took it to the next level—no pun attended. In fact, the name Level-One comes before the name APW, even today. You don't think it's true? You don't think that I am the most successful face associated with the APW? Get out more or if your tired of virtually everyone on the street ignoring you on your way by, further cementing the fact that your curbside worthy shit; then hop onto your computer, load the bitch up, open up fire fox browser—don't stop to check your fan mail, you have none—and then proceed to Google APW and find my name you saliva slurping piece of shit.
I am the hottest entity in the APW; FACT. And if you believe otherwise John, while your on the internet, your better of sharing your opinion on page 10 of some internet forum because I don't want to hear it. In fact, nobody wants to hear what you say. Nobody wants you to sit in front of a camera for twenty minutes, and hear your spew out dictionary terms that you don't even understand the definition of! Sure, we appreciate whoever you've paid to write all that fancy chat speak, and sure—we're all surprised you've managed to rub the brain cells together to memorize it, but in the larger scale of things, it weighs in at nothing of worth. Just useless trash talk, with no meaning. Empty shit filled promises, that further drive your credibility into debt.
John the truth is; there has NEVER been a time when you took this wrestling thing, serious. You may get the rush every so often, but the John Green whom is focused, starved, and devoted to becoming something? It's long gone. You know as well as I do that I gave you a chance. I took you under my wing, and you decided to bit the same hand the fed you; now you don't get to eat. It doesn't matter what you do or how hard you push anymore, you'll never be noteworthy in this business and as long as I am in the APW? You'll never be the world champion again and it's all because of you.
Though I tried to help you, I realized there was no chance of bringing back John Green from the dead. You want all the quips and lavish material objects this business has to offer you, but you don't want to put in the work to achieve any of it. You expect hand outs. You expect to get a lucky win over a big name here and there and hopes it carries you into the future, when you expect bright things are waiting there for your arrival. Wake up from the fairy tale John Green and take a whiff of reality, it make stink—but at least the smell is authentic. Sniff sniff. You still aren't shit.
I'm sorry if you expect me to change my tune anytime soon, it just isn't going to happen. I used to have a morsel of respect for you, when you knew your place around here. When you assumed your role as a student of mine who would take me as an example and you would model yourself after. I wasted weeks trying to teach and old dog new tricks. I wasted my energy, trying to keep you from chewing apart Jason Royce; all so you could screw me over. But now, once you open your eyes and realize, you'll see that without me? Neither of you two are shit.
You've been given all the chances in the world, Green. Opportunity after opportunity, all fell into your lap and you decided to make nothing of it! John, you've been given opportunities, most glorified mid carders would give their left nut for. It makes me sick, knowing an old, worn, tired, out of shape bastard Chris Defoe still has the urge to fight, the urge to preform, and the will to get back to his old fighter for form only to see you, John Green throw away all your potential with a series of stupid moves, only to return and never see the trail of failure you've left behind.
Green where you go from here? I don't give a fuck. I stopped caring about long before you stopped caring about yourself. If here to collect your pay cheque at the end of the day? Then so be it, I'll kick in a little pay raise for you—out of respect. Not because I owe you; but in fact because you owe yourself. You owe yourself a nice comfortable bed, a nice big screen television, and a remote control to change the channel whenever I grace your television. You can live in luxury, Green. You can sit back and be happy about what you've managed to accomplish in the APW; no matter how little it maybe, and you can leave the wrestling all to me.
If I was you? I wouldn't show up. I'd stay home. I'd save the extra long script, I'd save the dreadful promo—and I'd go on the lamb, ASAP. The further you go, the more painful it is to watch. Pork chop, you've been over cooked and it's about time someone shoves the fork up your ass and calls it a night. But if you do show up, just remember how big this is. Just remember how momentous a win over the world champion is! It put you right back on the door step to become a world champion, and can repeat the entire Sega again and you can prove yourself a bigger failure, then I could ever explain you are.
Fuck your big ass; nose.
Fuck your big ego.
And here's to it...
FUCK YOU.[/center]
