''Ones'' Love Triangle (3)

[Level-Two]

''Ones'' Love Triangle (3)

If the Devil is my disease; I don't want the cure. The man I stand as today, is the man I should have been all along. Sure, even Lester Only wasn't the most upstanding citizen in the world—but he did develop a guilt complex. The morale compasses, the lessons taught and the rules of society on how one is to behave has held me back for far too long—they have been the chains and handcuffs that have held me back from reaching and embracing my full potential.

It's why we are all here, aren't we? Most people are born to sit in the crowd. Some are born to be a wrestlers; but there is only one lucky enough to be the one, the only... the absolute best. And if that is not to be accomplished what exactly are your efforts on any scale, worth? This thing called life is a dangerous game, with plenty of lives to be lost and to be served as collateral; with only one true winner at the end... me.

The world may not revolve around me; but that just means I need to slap the globe back into it's rightful rotation. And with the help of an old friend the concept is more the possibly, in fact, highly likely. For she could have chosen any other lost soul to be with and she chose me. In a line up, with some of the most sadistic murderers, rapists and dictators burning human flesh by the dozens—my mugshot managed to catch her eye. Impressive.

Some may say, I sold my soul once and for all—but they do not understand at what price nor what a bargain I have managed to receive. On the surface alone, I'm cunning enough to con-the-artist. I can tell a lie big or small and I can make that machine draw it's lines until it believes it. I can cheat, I can steal and I can get away with it; because the world is MY playground and I make my own rules... this is power, this is strength—this is what I have become.

''Are you feeling tired yet?''

The sultry, sexy voice in my head asked me as I wailed on a punching bag, hanging up by a steal cord from the ceiling. It was an old vacant gym in core-slums of the city. The cock roaches often came out for an exercise themselves with a few misguided laps towards the old wrestling ring, where a few unlucky ones died looking up at the lights, back to the mat. The ring was old, dusty, with a brown spot smack dab in the middle of the ring, an advertisement for a bar of soap. The ropes initially were blue but have been ducked taped so heavily, since it's initial conception the ropes are now a boring, Gray.

''Are you kidding me? It feels like I have just started...''

1-2, 1-2, duck, do it again, 1-2, 1-2; my fist crack the old bag, as the chain cries out from the impact. It's been doing a whole lot of that, today.

''... seems like I have started an hour ago and I haven't even broken a sweat. It's a shame I couldn't have found you sooner; Pence Weatherlight couldn't keep up with this pace even if he did a eight ball with speed. That fucking asshole...''

''Well, your lesson has been learnt and I highly doubt you will come to make that mistake again. It's good to see you here again, you haven't forgotten who you were''

She was right. Long before all the fame, all the glitz and all the glam; I was here busting my ass off, attributing to the stains in the ring day in and day out—starving to be someone. And ever since I got a taste of it; and serving large enough to swell my belly, I had forgot how it felt to be hungry.

''I never needed, Lee. My success came when I embraced you and all the power you brought to me; I'd still be champion if I didn't let that escape me replacing it with trivial shit. The nonsense, beyond the ring's ropes only helped split my attention long enough for chumps like Pence Weatherlight to catch me off guard''

''I like what I hear. It isn't only, Lee Takashi you don't need Level-One. It's everything, else. Patricia Lewis and that whore friend of yours...''

I closed my eyes tight but never stopped hitting the bag. With each punch, the bag rattled harder. As amazing as this transformation was it all came so quick and had me lost in it's shuffle... even if it didn't startle me for too long.

''You're right''

I said staring up at a broken clock hanging up on the wall, one hour behind. I had a date with Patricia Lewis tonight and would have to pack it in at the gym, anytime soon now—or I'd be late. I slowly eased off the bag, as a single beat of sweat trickled down my forehead.

''I have never felt so strong before in my life; I feel like I can do this forever... which means, she'll just have to wait''

I said as I rolled under the bottom rope and into the ring. The voice in my head danced around in my head blissfully, celebrating her great victory.

''That's what I am talking about, baby. Now show these hoodlums what it's like to be a star...''

The gym door opened as two men accompanied by an entourage of their friends and gang members march into the gym. One man stands larger then Level-One himself, with a motor bike chain wrapped around his large first. Another one stands at an average height, a Mexican national with a crow bar propped up on his shoulder. The entourage quickly surrounded the ring, chanting their man men on.

''Come on Bronco; fuck this guy up, show him how we do it up in the hood, make some big news and get that paper!'' one shouts from the crowd.

The two men slowly entered the ring, as I smiled.

''Looks, I'll be just in time for dinner...''

---

It was the traffic?

''Lester your twenty-five minutes late''

Patricia Lewis complained as I took a seat in-front of her at her favourite upscale restaurant. This, was before she actually saw me. Like her, the other patrons weren't impressed by my choice of clothing. Patricia Lewis reached over and tugged on the collar of my sweater to emphasize her point.

''What the hell, Lester!? You wore a sweater to our date? First you show up twenty minutes late, five short of me leaving and when you finally do show up, your dressed like a bum''

Patricia Lewis let go of my sweater, sighing in frustration. With her arms crossed over her chest she stared at me, waiting for me to say something, but I didn't respond. This only propelled her frustration further.

''You are an absolute mess, look, your eyebrow is bleeding...''

She points up at my face to which I casually grab a napkin on the table and wipe away the blood surfacing on my eye brow; the crowbar caught me pretty good but there was nothing like a solid wound to put a stamp on the end of a hard workout session.

''Are you going to say anything at all or are you just going to have me ask all the questions? You know, like... what that hell have you done to yourself, tonight?''

''Sorry, Patricia... the gym session took a little longer then I anticipated, okay?''

I answer to which Patricia Lewis flashes an unflattering look back at me in return. Although, she knew me better then anyone else did, she didn't know about the transformation I had undergone—nor could she begin to understand it. It would surely, scare her away... knowing the Lester Only she knew and loved is no longer here.

''And you couldn't have picked up the phone and gave me a call? Lester this isn't like you. What the hell is has gotten into you? And if has anything to do with that world title... I really do not want to hear about it''

I shrugged my shoulders.

''Then I guess nothing is wrong...''

Patricia Lewis rolled her eyes and clinched her teeth as I opened my menu and glanced over it. The waitress walked over to the table with a pad and pen in her hand.

''Can I take your order?'' the waitresses asked as Patricia Lewis looked up at the waitress, while I continued to scan through the menu. It was good knowing that you could buy anything you wanted on the menu, even the $300 bottle of crystal.

''My boyfriend would like the stake, with baked potatoes and a glass of coke to drink...''

She smiled, glancing at me. As I shook my head back and forth and softly touched the waitresses elbow to grab her attention.

''Actually, I'd like the hot wings with french fries. I know it's under the kids meal... so get me two servings''

The waitress smiled awkwardly, as she scratched out the initial order, replacing it with mine. Patricia Lewis stared at me with confusion shaking her head softly back and forth as I closed my menu and handed it to the waitress.

''And what would you like?''

She asked Patricia Lewis who was still caught in her confusion. She flashed a serious look at me, while holding a fake smile.

''I believe I just lost my appetite...''

''Do you mind if I check back to see if you would like to order in five?''

Patricia Lewis smiled.

''Make that ten if you don't mind...''

The waitresses nodded her head before awkwardly slinking away from the table as Patricia Lewis leaned forward clearly feeling slighted.

''Chicken wings? When do you ever order Chicken Wings at a five star restaurant!?''

I looked at her, laying back in my seat casually, I didn't know what the big deal was. I figured it was just a women thing, I couldn't be bothered to put much more thought into it to be honest... my eyebrow was leaking like a fountain again as I held the napkin to it.

''I don't know. I just felt like something different today, I guess...''

''Bullshit. You are trying to drive me nuts and you've been doing it since you took a seat in that chair. You know, just because things didn't work out for you at Rasslemania... it doesn't give you a right to be a complete asshole to me, okay?''

Staring at her, I stopped and took a deep breath.

''Lester...''

I interrupted her before she could say anymore.

''Look, Lester isn't home right now and he isn't coming back. I warned you, Patricia. I told you, I said to you if I lost... things are going to change''

''And so THIS is the change? You treating me like shit?''

Patricia shook her head, grabbed her purse and reached over to grab her glass of water to which she threw into my face. The cold water splashing into my face and dripping into my lap, clearly, by the look on my face she could tell I wasn't impressed in the slightest.

''I remember what you told me, Lester... you told me that if you didn't walk away with that stupid title I was to run... run as fast as I can and that's what I'm doing''

Patricia said throwing her napkin at me.

''You can chase me if you want to show me I am worth it...''

I watched her as she stormed off, her high heels clicking against the floor as she made her way to the door. A waiter walking past my table stops and notices the empty glass, before whispering under his breath.

''Refill?'' he asked as he poured the water into the glass, filling it back to the top.

''Fuck you'' I uttered under my breath as he walked off.

I sat in the chair, drowning in water, swimming in a puddle of my own rejection. I wasn't sure if I needed her anyways. She didn't respect my hunger for success nor my hard working work ethic that by far supersedes a little social meeting between two people at an overpriced restaurant. Wrestling was my life; and everything else came second...

even, my own girlfriend.

I knew I couldn't tell her this; but I knew I wouldn't kill myself trying to hide it either. At the end of the day, regaining my spot designated for me was the only thing that ultimately mattered—but who said I couldn't make her believe otherwise?

I don't care who gets hurt; as long as I remain untouched... speaking of which, I may need to get a few stitches for my eyebrow; but I suppose there is nothing crazy glue can't handle.

Here's hoping it can hold me together long enough to regain what I have lost.

---

The more I had consumed myself with feelings of rage, frustration and hate the further I had distance myself from the concept of love. Something, I was beginning to learn and even understand. So, unable to come up with any creative concepts on how to win back Patricia Lewis's heart; I went with common knowledge. Something, you could find out of a hand book—every real man has read at least, once.

I'd buy her flowers. Nothing, says I am sorry but a simple plant which dies before you make another mistake which calls for a similar apology. Still, it took a lot of humility to show up in public in place as hideous as this. I never planted a single seed to give a damn thing life, but I sure as hell know what it feels to take life away. Plants of all shapes and sizes surrounded me in every direction as I made my way through the maze and to the front counter; the flouriest greeted me with a smile.

''How can I help you today, sir?''

I looked around observing the plants momentarily, before shrugging my shoulders and leaning chest first over the counter; I could care less about being here, honestly.

''Yeah. I need one of these plants... you know, something for the special lady''

''Ah, yessir. Now what are you looking for? Something that says, these are for you my crush? Or... these are for you on our first date? Or maybe something like... these are for you, my lady friend but I don't mean anything by it, nothing it all...''

I stared at the animated flouriest with a blank look on my face, before shrugging his question off.

''Neither... I am looking for something that says; I am sorry baby for treating you like an absolute asshole now please take me back because I REALLY want to get into your pants, again''

The flouriest returned a blank look at me; serious as ever... before throwing up his arms and letting an a loud obnoxious laugh pound my ear drums. His happiness was contagious; though, it didn't make me laugh—it just made me scratch the back of my neck, trying to hold myself back from strangling him right then and there. This place was far to bright for a person like me and the scent of freshly picked flowers drove me to the brink of death.

''I'm afraid we don't have any flowers that quite puts those feelings on display, but I can offer you the classic red rose bundle which absolutely screams romantic''

''Well... I'm not very romantic; but your the flower expert, hell I am not going to tell you how to do your job...''

''Excellent''

He said with a smile and as he was about to leave to gather the flower bouquet, I reached over the counter and tapped him on his shoulder to which he turned to me, his smile still engraved in his face.

''Well, on that thought; Please, start smiling less... you are starting to creep me the fuck out''

The flouriest looked away nervously, before marching off and gathering the red rose bouquet handing it over to me as I tossed him my credit card. I held the bundle of red roses in my hand extending my hand as far as I could away from my face.

''I hate these things, already... but hopefully she sees something in them; I cannot''

I said as the flouriest provided me my receipt to which I grabbed with my free hand, crumpled up and shoved into my pocket.

''So what exactly made you grow and sell flowers as a career? I mean, no offence... but I don't see what's special about any of it''

''Ah, maybe you just aren't looking hard enough. I watch them grow, I watch them blossom, until they are ready to find a home and brighten someone's darkest days. In a world where there is so much war, so much death, and so much anguish a flower shop where innocence grows is quite possibly the only sane part of this entire world''

''Well, the wrestling ring is my safe haven...''

''I'm sure it is; we all have one''

I nodded softly, as I made my way through the maze of plants and through the door with flowers in hand.

The thing about a safe heaven; is that you can't hide within it forever. At some point, you need to step out of that door and face the asshole that is life. I face it, every single day I step through the ropes; though, everything seems much easier with her by my side.

Before I knew it I was standing on Patricia Lewis's door step, with a bouquet of flowers in my hands desperate for her forgiveness for all the wrong reasons. It felt like a lifetime before she finally opened up the door, looked at me, and smiled.

''Flowers, Lester?''

Patricia asked me trying to fight back her smile as I handed them over to her. She put them to her nose and took a deep breath, before looking back up me caught in a gaze.

''I am sorry, I fucked up last night. With me spending most of my time on the road; I'd hate to spend most of it fighting with you''

''Well... as long as you think these flowers isn't the only thing you have to offer me to take you back?''

''No, of course not''

Strategically, I planted a kiss on her soft lips, as she pulled me into her house. The camera was barred from what went on next; after her bra became undone and our bodies morphed into one.

---

I laid on the bed, shirtless. My scars exposed to anyone daring to look. The marks of warrior; living on the edge where his wounds are nothing but a badge of honour many don't have the privilege of wearing, outside a nasty car wreck or two. I looked to Patricia Lewis laying beside me, her face resting upon her pillow and her naked body, being hidden behind the thin silk sheets.

''Was it worth it?''

She, the voice in my head asked me as I stared at my girlfriend resting in her bed peacefully. I grabbed the sheet lifting it over my eyes, grabbing one last look of her perfect frame and came to my conclusion.

''Sorry, but it absolutely was. Every last minute of it''

I told myself as I quietly rolled myself out of my bed. My t-shirt and my black jeans laid on the floor as I slipped my jeans over my boxer shorts and the t-shirt over my bare chest as I eagerly planned my early morning escape. As, I tightened up my belt buckle her eyes opened. She looked at me momentarily, before lifting up her head, still battling her exhaustion.

''Where in the world are you going?''

''Downtown... for a little jog, you know, a light work out...''

I lied. Patricia Lewis knew this as her eyebrow spiked up, in displaying her suspicion. Despite, the changes I have gone through mentally, she still knew who Level-One was to a certain degree. There was no such thing as a light workout.

''Lester; please do not tell me you are going to do anything stupid, like you did yesterday? I mean thugs, crow bars, and motorcycle chains? I don't need you getting hurt on me now, please''

She pleaded with me as I acknowledged her fears; even if I didn't necessarily, see things the way she did herself.

''Don't worry, I'll take care of myself...''

''It's five o'clock in the morning''

''Yeah, well, I'm used to the sleep deprivation. Whoever came with this 24 hour cycle obviously didn't make these days nearly long enough. So, if I have to sacrifice sleep to get what I need to get done... so be it''

Patricia Lewis threw her head back into her pillow.

''You can't knock the hustle, baby''

''You've been spending to much time down at that gym, your starting to talk like the hoodlums too''

She laughed and was probably right.

''To make it up to you, I'll pick you up after your finished class''

''Thanks baby''

Patricia Lewis said as I headed to her bedroom door.

''Love you''

I quickly shut the door and pretended I didn't hear her. There was something about that word; that brought back old memories.

Lester Only is dead and he isn't ever coming, back.

---

In the university parking lot, I sat on my motor bike, with the engine still running. I pulled of my helmet holding it in my hands as students walking by acknowledged my presence, many of which to shy to say anything out loud. A couple of girls walked by, scouting me with their eyes, acknowledging me as the guy ''Patricia was banging''; yeah, this was university, alright... where the smartest of minds gather to lead us all into the future.

Do you still wonder why the world has gone to shit? Doubt it. Nonetheless, a familiar face came walking by, accompanied with two of her friends; I tried to hide my identity by slipping back on my helmet but it was too late, she saw me. Kayla tapped on the top of my helmet, as I regretfully removed it from my head.

''Hi ladies, how are you doing?''

I ignored Kayla, a pure calculated movement. Kayla Rose glanced back as her two friends whom were blushing, playfully, as they flashed a look to each-other and slowly, giggled with each-other as they wondered off across the parking lot.

''I am not going to stand here and let you embarrass me in front of my friends, Lester''

I shrugged my shoulders placing my helmet on the motorcycle handle.

''Well, now that they're gone; I suppose that is a que for me to hold back on embarrassing you? Look, I don't want anything to do with you. Especially, with all I have going on in my life...''

''Like what? Losing, the APW world title? You know, I can't you didn't deserve it after what you did for my journalism project. I was really hoping that you could help me out and you absolutely tarnished it for no good reason''

''Well, I'm sure you got an A+ on the article you pushed to the media outlets, regardless. You know, with my recent title loss, I'm not quite sure it calls for a celebration of any sort. After all... you may just need to find someone much more important then I, to leech off and expand your journalism career''

Kayla Rose crossed her arms clearly not impressed by my choice of words to which I didn't think over twice.

''Look, Lester. I'm only here right now because Patricia Lewis told me how you treated her Saturday night on your date with her...''

''And let me guess, you are playing the role of the concerned friend? As if you give a fucking shit. Stay out of it. It's none of your business...''

I said as I turned my attention back to my helmet putting it over my head.

''Lester... I know you are having problems because I am the women you want to be with''

I revved up the engine, smiling with pleasure as I drown out her voice. She slapped my arm trying to get my attention as I continued to rev up the engine, smoke consuming the both of us. Defeated, Kayla Rose marched off across the parking lot flashing me a look; I would never forget.

''This one is going to turn out to be quite the problem'' the voice in my head assures me as I shake my head back and forth.

''Nothing, I can't handle''

I looked off in the distance as Patricia Lewis made her way from the front door, down the steps, and down towards the parking lot spotting me on my bike as I waved her over. She smiled as I handed her an extra helmet.

''Nobody cause you too much trouble while you were waiting out here, did they?''

I thought about Kayla Rose; but I shook my head free and ignored our encounter—it would've only made this situation far more complex-ed.

''No, not at all...''

She hopped on the back of the motorcycle as we sped off into the distance, disappearing in bright UV rays of the sunlight.

Though, I knew this Sega was far from done.

---

You've got to be kidding me? Apparently, I've been booked in a tag match with the new overdrive general manager. Do you enjoy your new moniker, Biggs? Do you enjoy the power surging through your fragile limbs? Biggs... you've always been weak. For, while you have stumbled upon this great power you have allowed it to rule over common sense. You have allowed it to rule over rationalism. You have so much power; you barely can comprehend what you are able to do with it—this, is a sign of weakness.

You would be absolutely jack shit if you didn't follow me around and had the champions rub on the top of your skull, kid. You would still be getting your skull kicked in trying to win the overdrive title and the most interesting thing about you; would be the stupid spaceship cameo on your way down to the ring, to which you would proceed to stink up, like old times. Despite all this, you didn't even take the time to thank me when you got the key to President Jeff's office, in fact, the first thing you did was turn your back on me.

Are you fucking kidding me? Turn your back on ME!? You fucking fool. Biggs, if I didn't know you any better I would have stuck that knife so deep into your spine and plunged you into the depths of hell you are bound to find yourself in when your time on this earth is exhausted. And trust me, kid. The way you have chosen to push me past my limits, start expecting it sometime soon. Regardless, this week you better start ordering body bags—because if you continue to play this game; you are making dangerous sacrifices that are really going to put a dent into your new little pocket book.

Here I am, tagging with you—while you have granted Micheal Lively and John Green a chance at Pence Weatherlights championship. Micheal Lively, has been Luke warm at best and John Green is back from his monthly vacation. He'll be gone again by the time the next title match will be held. Biggs, just because I am clearly better then you—you don't have to make your jealousy so blatant. This is what happens when show openers; call the shots.

Still, I haven't given up on you just yet. There is still room for me in that ring. And as far as I'm concerned; Pence Weatherlight was a second away from losing to me, again. To truly be the champion, you need to beat the champion—and Pence Weatherlight didn't beat me, he slithered by like the snake he was and stole my championship. And by allowing him to get away with it, you are just as guilty. Fix your mistakes before I break your scrawny neck... friend.

Assuming, I don't lay Biggs the fuck out come Thursday... my real opponents are in the form of Pence Weatherlight and Hellfire Kid. Cute. Apparently, Hellfire Kid is holding the overdrive championship Pence Weatherlight at best, should be holding. It's obvious that was Pence Weatherlights next destination if he didn't pull off the fluke win of the century; and it's obvious to anyone with a set of eyes and a brain the overdrive title is about as good as the Hellfire Kid will ever come to stumble upon in his lifetime—assuming Pence Weatherlight doesn't kick him the APW world heavyweight title like he did the overdrive championship for, Hellfire.

You know, I didn't mind you jumping around the ring like a clown when I wasn't in it; but now that you have been thrown in my presence for disposal my dislike for you is imminent. Holding that overdrive championship, is like being head geek. At the end of the day, the pocket protector, the overalls, the square glasses, and an uncanny relationship with World of war-craft isn't going to get you laid by a hot women.

Yeah, this IS about time I Que the picture of Alyssa. Butt-fucking-ugly, her entire line up looks like a bad mugshot.

...and she kinda looks like your sister. Fucking repulsive. The point is that overdrive championship, is nothing more then a tin can that could properly seal the same trash bin-- Micheal Lively pulled his championship out of; neither title means a damn thing and you aren't worth much more. Like you, and like your championship... they are little fishes I merely catch and simply throw back. I want nothing to do with you or your rubbish.

So rather then strutting around with that stupid tin can passed around the locker room more then Micheal Lively's mother was in the 2008 circus era of the APW; sit your jumpy ass down and catch a glimpse of that slab of gold your partner disgracefully wears around his shoulder as if he actually deserves it because that is the prize the entire show is all about.

Sorry, to break it to you—but there is no such thing as a ''PROUD'' overdrive champion; there is however a proud world champion. At this point you shouldn't be strutting around with the overdrive title, you should be dragging that piece of shit—plate to the ground first trying to elevate your game—which you will not do by attempting to ride on Pence Weatherlights coattails to victory but instead going out and grabbing it for yourself. You want it? Go ahead. I will watch you pin Biggs if you can keep that snake down on his back long enough with no interference on my behalf but I highly doubt it will come to that.

As for you? You can't beat me. You are below my pay-grade. You are a little ant; I can step on, crush, and obliterate in a matter of seconds and run your ass straight out of his company if I wanted too—but I have bigger fish to fry. If you for one second think you are nothing more in this match but Pence Weatherlights human shield then you are dead wrong. Stay out of my way, or prove to be Pence Weatherlights useful idiot and get yourself hurt. It seems simple enough, doesn't it?

It's not like he actually cares about you, Hellfire. He is using you. Pence Weatherlight is the master of manipulation. A wolf in sheep's clothing. My hand will be raised by the end of the night... but it will not be because I pinned Pence Weatherlight to the mat for even he is too smart for that—you will take HIS fall and he will do everything in his power to do so and hold onto his dash of credibility, his win over me gave him.

The best thing you can do with the opportunity you have been given is send Pence Weatherlight a message. As he's cowering in the corner; allowing you to take his fall, back the fuck up and tag that son of a bitch in... right before climbing over the barrier and into the crowd and let each one of his fans know that you aren't going to take the fall for no-one... not even the world champion. Pence Weatherlights short coming against yours truly, would be a footnote compared to the news you would make with such a statement... think about it.

It's these types of things, Hellfire—that separate the strong from the weak. The champions from the contenders. And the Level One's from the Pence Weatherlights. I am at the point of my career where I don't even need to win matches to really win. I'm at the point of my career; I don't even need to be the champion to be the best—it's because I have an historic time line of doing both things inside that ring time and time again to the point where my greatness has elevated beyond the comprehension of the human mind... you just can't understand.

For example... just last week, Phate forgot he had a pair of legs, was a professional wrestler, never mind a former world heavyweight champion when he stepped in the ring with me. I didn't need a to beat Pence Weatherlight at Rasslemania to break him down on overdrive. I didn't need the glow of a championship to remind him who I was. The only name he heard was ''Level-One'' and everything I have ever done hit him to the core and snatched his soul before the bell rung. You do not get a more decisive victory then that, Hellfire.

You look at Pence Weatherlight holding my title... but you don't see a true champion do you? You look at Pence Weatherlight and you ask yourself... what exactly has he done to deserve to hold that championship twice? And each time, you come to the conclusion that he managed to survive the wrath of Level-One. However, without my name added to his win column... what else does he got? Pence Weatherlight is known, has always been known and will never be known as anything else, other then that guy who managed to beat Level-One at his best.

That says a lot, not about Pence Weatherlight but ME! Pence Weatherlight would be nothing without me—and it's your duty as an APW competitor to help me back that statement up. Hellfire, you wouldn't have a job if it wasn't for me. Shit, if it wasn't for me the APW wouldn't be alive today. It would have been driven into the ground by the Blackwell's and their circle jerk of mediocrity and tendencies to fund backyard brawls with low budget production values. Considering, the APW roster was heavily, inspired by the untalented family tree it was enough to run APW ground on the surface.

The only reason APW is prospering in the year 2010 is because of two names. Level-One... and President Jeff. Not, Biggs the pretend GM wearing the big boys jock strap, not Pence Weatherlight your one-hit-wonder world champion... but YOURS truly with President Jeff being credited with the assist. He was never really the star player... in anything. And now that he is gone and the APW is still on the upraise, it's clear—today, I am the only person this show really needs to succeed beyond a supporting cast, the rest of you are lucky enough to make up and play the role as.

At the end of the day, Hellfire... the ball is in your court. Do the right thing and put Pence Weatherlight in his place once and for all. Do not make yourself my enemy. And maybe... just maybe, I can mold you into something, someday, like I did for Biggs. I only hope you don't turn into the ungrateful bastard he's become.

As for Pence Weatherlight; the crimes he has committed has played themselves out on high-light wheels all across the television airwaves. This propaganda has shown Pence Weatherlight in a positive light rather then the hard nosed criminal he clearly is. Pence Weatherlights victory over me is merely a formality, everyone is too incompetent to fix with an immediate rematch; in fears that the world title will begin to look like the overdrive title, the way I rip it back out of his hands and restore order around this joint.

Everyone saw Pence Weatherlight pin me at 0:00; which clearly displays that there was NO MORE time left on the clock. The only reason I decided not to kick out... because there would have been no need too! I was wrong, because the referee decided I had lost the match and President Jeff failed to do his job by reversing the bad call because deep down he too wanted to watch me lose. Now Pence Weatherlight can sell t-shirts, water bottles and head bands more then ever after the screw job that carried itself out at Rasslemania and it's all cohsure for EVERYONE but ME!

I'm not taking anything from Pence Weatherlight. He put everything he had on the line—but clearly it wasn't enough as the time on the clock expired. You would think that if Pence Weatherlight was half the man he claims to be; he'd man up and admit the mistake made by the referee and give back my championship, and try again sometime soon. Instead, he's pranced around with my title—playing the role. Well, you aren't fooling anyone, chump.

You are an illegitimate champion and your credentials back my claims up. A champion is supposed to be consistent in his efforts; a champion is supposed to bring his absolute best night in and night out... not pull a good scam once in awhile. Your less then impressive win/loss record displays that you aren't consistent in that ring, nor are you really dependable. It is in my best interests to take back my title before you even gain the opportunity to have a ''bad night'' against the likes of Micheal Lively or John Green... which ever manages to fluke out and get a title shot against the illegitimate APW world champion.

I mean seriously... what happens if it lands in the lap of Micheal Lively, rubbing with his three inched boner? Have we all forgotten what he did to deface, disrespect, and absolutely shit on (literally) that APW world title? What about John Green? What if that loser get's his dirty palms on the APW world championship? He'll no-show his own title defence and fled to Mexico for a month for an impromptu vacation; while we are all here without the cornerstone of this promotion. It's clear to me that Pence Weatherlight is involved in a plot to ruin the APW; once and for all in the name of his home promotion.

You don't rep the APW, Pence. You are all about the SCW and wearing their colours. Just like Bryan Payne, who is on the loan from that dump. Even that jobber Jimmy Jazz is sniffing around those parts looking to jump ship. The SCW stars has engaged in a plot to run APW into the ground and it's led by Pence Weatherlight. If Biggs had a goddamn brain in his head; as general manager he would do what's best for the show and that's arranging the return of my APW world championship as soon as possible; you fucking crook!

The truth is, you don't want to go one on one with me again, Pence. You know I have and always will have your number. You may have struck thunder when you got hit with it standing in the same spot twice; but there is NO WAY it'll happen again—and not even your regurgitated tirades can convince me or anyone else, otherwise.


If you truly wanted to test yourself you wouldn't stand around and watch John Green and Micheal Lively, bitch slap each-other to see who gets an unrighteous shot at the championship you stole from me—you would grant me a rematch, superseding Biggs authority. We all know as former APW world champion; I have the RIGHT to my title shot and you and that coward Biggs are the only one's standing in my way, from retrieving my prize.

Though, I doubt it. You don't got one brave bone in your body, never mind a spine that isn't made out of elastic. You'll run from me like the coward you are, pretending your hands are tied after an R&R session with my tag team partner, tonight. And while I'd love to give Biggs the benefit of the doubt; the power may have gotten him drunk enough to the point where he decides to stand to his guns...

and in the case; the blood spilled will be on YOUR hands, Pence. I am going to turn the APW into complete and utter hell. I will make each one of your life's miserable. You'll be looking behind your back and watching your corners every time you turn one. You'll lay in bed at night and you won't fall asleep until you check your closet to see if I am not hiding in it, ready to slaughter you with a machete. Every match you wrestle; you'll have to ask yourself... what winning is REALLY worth to you, with a mad man running around wielding a steel chair looking to collect blood samples like a DNA research centre!

Mark my words, Pence Weatherlight; I'm coming for your fucking neck. I'm coming for my championship. And anything, else I choose to want. And there isn't a damn thing you... Hellfire OR Biggs can do to change such facts.

It took you a single hour to steal my world title, Pence. And now? You are going to live with the consequences of your actions until they day you fucking die, you son of a bitch.