It's A Wonderful Life...

[Your JESUS]

-Early One Evening-

The evening air is crisp, and snow flakes float through the air. Each of my breaths can be seen steaming from my mouth. My evening run through in my mind just another city, in just another state. In this instance APW has forced me some dump called Leeds, England. The funky sound of the Solid Suns accompanies my run as the soundtrack to keep me from boredom. The loose fitting hood of my sweat shirt bounces from right to left with each foots contact to the ground. I notice up ahead a bridge crossing a river. Something else catches my attention. I slow my pace and flip off my hood to get a better look. On the bridge stands a man up on the railing rocking back and forth on his feet. His right hand loosely clutching a support beam as his head just looks down at the freezing cold water below. I pull off my head phones and walk carefully up toward this man as to not startle him.

Lively: Hey...uh, you alright there pal?

The guy turns his head toward me looking distraught. I was instantly shocked when I saw this mans face.

Lively: Julius? Julius Farquhar??

The mans demeanor went from total misery and despair to complete confusion.

Man: Julius? No my name is George...George Bailey!!!

I scratch my head at the sheer similarity between this man and the Quintessential One of APW.

Lively: Bailey did you say? Any relation to Anthony Bailey?

Again the mans face looks staggered by my questioning, this time a little more aggregated.

George: Look man why don't you just get...I'm busy here!

I shrug my shoulders and grab my Michael Lively edition Beats headphones placing them back over my ears. I take two deep breaths as the man looks back down toward the river. Just as I am about to take off running again I realize I am not sure how to get back to my hotel. So I pull down my music blasting ear coverings.

Lively: Hey George...you know how to get to the New Ellington Hotel?

George: For God sakes man I'm trying to kill myself over here. You keep going straight follow the bend, take the second right then left on York Place...now if you don't mind...

Lively: Thanks!

I grab my headphones once more about to take off, then it hits me. This son of a bitch just said he is trying to kill himself. I rush over and yank this fucker from the railing by the tails of his coat. He lands partially in the snow built up and the cement along the bridge.

George: Hey what's the idea?

I look down at this guy with a stern look in my eyes.

Lively: What's the idea? Are you a fucking pussy man? Kill yourself...that's a cowards way out! What's so bad in your life that you would want to kill yourself?

Anguish fills George's eyes as his troubles spill to the surface.

George: I gave up on my dreams for everyone else all my life. I had big plans to see the world, instead I got roped into running my family's building and loan. Then...

Lively: Building in loan...what in the blue hell is a building and loan?

George: It's like a bank but...

Lively: Then say a fucking bank man, building and fucking loan, this fucking guy, alright go on doesn't sound so bad so far.

George: Well my idiot Uncle misplaced eight thousand dollars for deposit and the bank inspector came. I'm looking at jail time mister!!

Lively: Eight thousand that's like chump change these days, how much time could you get clinked up for that? Say you got any family George Bailey?

George: I got a wife and four kids. My youngest is sick...Zu-Zu!

Lively: Zu-Zu...what kind of screwy name is that?

Frustrated, I pick this guy up out of the snow dusting off his back.

Lively: Listen pal, I really can't put myself in your shoes, I don't know the troubles you feel. You see the life I lead, it's a wonderful one! So maybe you were right by getting up on the railing. For fuck sakes George Bailey do the world a favor and jump, we got enough limp wristed whine asses in the world, and here you are adding more with four of your offspring.

I shake my head in disgust as I spin George by the shoulders pointing him back toward the railing. I get back to my music and begin running toward the helpful directions that George Bailey just offered up. At least he did something right in life, poor bastard.


-Sometime Later-

The rushing sound of bubbling jets fill the air as steam rises around me. After a day of training I subject myself to a fourteen minute ice bath for recovery then run a twenty minute hot tub session. The life of a wrestler is a hard one. We have no off season, there is no breaks. Even worse the fans that follow this sport have a very short memory, out of sight out of mind.

Whether anyone likes to admit it or not the fans have a big say in the potential success of a pro wrestler. You can come out the curtain, rack up a bucket full of wins, but if half the crowd hears your music as the Que for a concession run or bathroom break, then your days under those bright lights are numbered. Winning and loosing has it's positives and negatives in this business but you also have to have flash, flare, and stay healthy. If those fans take a shit on your efforts by not paying you any mind, then dark match willy might as well be your name. Same theory spun just a different direction. If you aren't constantly out in that ring, sweating your ass off, spilling your blood, and being what some could consider a modern day Gladiator for the sake of those who fill the arenas, then you might as well be the son of a bitch stacking the chairs. These people are cut throat, ruthless, and can ruin mere mortals.

Gods on the other hand, us wrestling Gods we have an easier go at it then the rest. I play these fucking fans like an instrument at an orchestra concert. I make beautiful music night after night. They love to hate me, and I love to hate them back. When all is said and done any bit of success that is granted comes from one simple place, respect.

It seems at times we get worked up over a lack of it, or get rilled easily when we don't get the fair share we feel we deserve. Cut and dry I have respect. I have the respect of this company that I have bled for. I have the respect from the fans because they know how far I will go, not for the victory, not for the championships, but just to here them gasp with shear excitement when I land a sick move. That pop given when I muster the strength to kick out when it was unthinkable. I know I have their respect because the look of astonishment on all their faces when my music hit those speakers and I returned from what should have been the end of Michael Lively.

Respect goes a long way, from my peers I was given the nod that I had their approval as well. First ballot Hall Of Fame Induction. It spoke volumes, in a business where respect is often never shown. Hell I might be the worst offender of them all for my lack of respect both given or shown. It may not be visible but people earn forms of my respect.

The night before Christmas Chaos Sabur and I tangled with some rowdy cowboys. Prior to the match I showed a complete lack of respect for these two men. Inside that ring, those two earned a sliver of respect from the JESUS, even though it will never be shown on camera or in person. I wear my respect for others close to my heart, using my blatant disregard for them as a weapon, all the while knowing what aspects of their game I need to show that valuable word, respect. Each and every night we are faced with different opponents, some we respect others we don't. This week your JESUS is set to make his in ring debut on Overdrive against a man that has earned my respect inside the ring and out. Level One! If that wasn't enough for the fans to cream their pants APW has made it a three way dance with the accompaniment of C.J. Gates. Now the question is does Gates have my respect? His resume should suggest that I should offer him my respect. I guess only time will tell, when Overdrive hits the air maybe that question will get answered. Till then I will just finish up my hot tub relaxation.


-The Day Before Shit Goes Down-

I arrive at the arena ready to get after it. Believe it or not I am pumped to get back in the Overdrive ring, ready to shit on the fans, and crush the egos of those unfortunate souls filling that locker room. I sit in the back seat of my personal limo known worldwide as the Thundertank. Impatiently my leg bounces up and down waiting for the door to open, but it never does before I lose my cool. My finger presses a button and the sliding privacy window lowers to reveal way up front, my mother still sitting in the drivers seat on her cell phone. I clear my throat but get no response. I hear what sounds like a video game.

Lively: Hey...are you playing Temple Run? What the hell, come open my door!!!

Suddenly I receive a text on my phone. My finger swipes the screen to open the message.

~~From:: The Cunt That Squirted Me Out

I am employed to be your driver and nothing more. As for your personal slave...(look up)~~

My eyes lift from my screen to the window where my mother holds up a sign that reads "SHAME ON JESUS, I AM ON STRIKE". My blood begins to boil as my cheeks flush red with anger. Before I can spit hot fire from my lips the privacy glass rolls up. Frantically my finger hits the button trying to get in my two cents.

Sucking up my frustration I kick the door to my limo open, step out and slam the door. I slide my cell phone in my pocket and realize I need my bag. I bang on the side of my expensive chariot to get my mothers attention and suddenly I hear the latch pop to the rear hatch of my stretched SUV.

I walk toward the back lifting the tailgate, and grab my bag. With a violent and frustrated shove I slam the tailgate shut. I begin walking toward the building with my gear in hand.

Lively: Strike...please! Like I have ever needed a woman for anything. A useless species made for simple slave labor, and semen deposits!!!

My left hand reaches out for the door grabbing the lever and as I give it a twist and pull my level of anger intensifies. Again I try to open the door and like an angry ape I shake the lever for all it's worth. Knowing there has to be a mistake I begin banging on the door and follow up my best Tommy Lee door drumming impersonation with one hell of a swift kick.

Lively: Locked??

Just as I am set to begin another percussion session I hear the horn of the Thundertank. I whip around to see the drivers window roll down.

Terri: The show isn't till tomorrow Mike...for you here early!!!

With that the clicking sound of my limo style SUV drops into gear and with a roar of the engine speeds off. I stand there bewildered at the audacity of my mother. After the shock wears I off I begin to place blame. I know for damn sure it's not my fault, nothing is ever my fault. That son of a bitch A.C. Smith, that's who is to blame for this sudden spark in womanly civil rights.

I have barely shown my face on Overdrive television and already I have the attention of a so called "Big Time Megastar". If that isn't respect for what I bring to the table then I don't know what is. People always trying to build their careers off the name Michael Lively. Many fail at this radical attempt. Then there are those few that live out the Never Ending Story as if they were Atreyu. I, Michael Lively stand tall the Sphinx's Gates. One man in particular blasted past my defenses and took the reigns of APW from me...Level One. All I could do is applaud his hard work, his determination, and skill. He entered the hallowed halls on Valhalla where men become Gods. Now tomorrow night what some could consider three Gods tangle on free TV, oh how APW takes care of their fans.

I pull out my phone to text the fat man with the camera. I have a promo to shoot, and obviously time to kill. I shiver a bit as the message goes out and turn toward the arena. Seconds later as I pace back and forth Chubs responds. As my eyes skim the text from left to right my first response is to throw my phone against the wall. Him, Sabur, and Jerry are on a train and won't be here for another four hours. That's what I get for being budget conscious with my staff. It's damn expensive to have this limo carted all over the globe, so I pinch a few pennies on these bastards travel accommodations, and here I am.

Suddenly a smirk grows on my face. That's right here I am, Michael Mother Fucking Lively. That's all I need, Myself and my trusty cell phone, with that magic can happen. So my inner Floridian spirit takes over with ingenuity. I prop up my suit case, my wallet and then my cell phone. Within seconds my timer counts down and my iPhone captures my make shift promo.


~The Shoot~

I stand there hands on my hips glaring up at the building. My voice then slowly echoes out into the cold air.

Lively: Leeds arena...home to tomorrow nights Overdrive!!!

I spin back toward the view of my phones camera.

Lively: So ladies, you might want to grab an extra pair of Poise Panty liners, and Gentlemen get you pens and paper ready because the JESUS is back jack. That's right the savior of wrestling makes his return to this pathetic show in an even more pathetic town with what I can consider a miserable dump of a town. None the less I am here ready to do my thing. I guess the Overdrive brand was slipping in the ratings and old Mr. Canada Hurricane Jeffery decided to give his pride and joy a shot of adrenalin in the form of your JESUS!!!

I tilt my head back and outstretch my arms in the I am JESUS pose to let my arrogance have a moment to breath on its own. Once settled I can resume with my public address.

Lively: Here in my first match back on a show that I sky rocketed into the main stream, and you lucky shit stain fans get to witness one hell of a spectacle. I know the folks back home in the states are ready to go, thinking what way to kick off the New Year...Level One, C.J. Gates, and the one and only Michael Lively.

I pause briefly as a look of seriousness overwhelms my face.

Lively: I am half tempted not to answer the call tomorrow night. You see, this is a huge match, and quite frankly I don't think the wankers of this shit hole country deserve to be gifted solid fucking gold. So maybe I take my bags, hit the airport and maybe just take the night off?

I shrug my shoulders as I look down at my phone capturing my shoot.

Lively: Ah but I'm a professional, a living legend, a fucking God amount men. So no worries folks, your JESUS will gladly walk that aisle. I will welcome your out pouring of hate, and accept the shower of boo's fully anticipate. I can handle all of these things because deep down in the pits of your overweight bellies I know that you can't get enough of me. In the bowels of your consciousness you people thrive on my greatness. Overdrive will be just another offering brought for by your Savior.

I turn back toward the arena once more.

Lively: Tomorrow evening consider this a Heavenly Coliseum, where legendary Gods of wrestling will lock horns for your pleasure. Level One, the powerful, feared and famous dirty of Action Packed Wrestling known as Ares. Yes Level One is a God of warfare inside the ring and out. People tremble with the mention of his very name.

I then look up to the heavens with my back still facing my phone.

Lively: Then you have C.J. Gates beloved by many, and feared by others. Gates as you call him also can be referred to by his heavenly name in clouds, Poseidon. A powerful and fierce God, but often overlooked and forgotten about. Sure his mighty control of the ocean and waves can bring about challenges and things of concern. Let us be honest though, children of the world aren't running around to when it's time to play Gods calling for Poseidon, it just doesn't happen.

I chuckle a bit then turn around showing my face to all who will watch this recording.

Lively: There you have it, two mighty Gods completely different in nature posing opposite powers of concern. How can I compete with that, how can I possibly match up with a God of War, and The Master of the Ocean you ask? Quite simply the only way I can sum it up is like this...

I move in close to the phone.

Lively: This Heavenly Coliseum where we are set to do battle was built by me, these so called Gods you people have watched rule over APW have power because of ME! Thursday night you sons of bitches ZEUS IS BACK TO CLAIM HIS FUCKING THRONE!!!

Suddenly my camera falls off the suit case.

Lively: Oh shit!!! God Damn it!!!

I quickly scramble to pick up my phone and hold it upright to capture my face which instantly goes back to intensity filled.

Lively: I don't plan on coming into this match to win, I'm not here to jockey for my position on this show. You two seem to have been battling with one another for bragging rights, for a chance to sit at the top of the throne. A throne that only became available with my departure. Well Daddy's back boys...I say tomorrow night I go ahead and Garth Brooks both you bitches by letting the thunder roll. I have been everywhere, done everything, and now it seems that I'm back where it all began. Michael Lively plays seconds to no man, and damn sure don't feel like being a third wheel. So Gates you focus on Level One like you have been all while looking toward the world title. Lester my old friend you continue your obsession with winning back the gold all while stiff arming your competition away. While you silly little bastards fight over who is going to swoon the heart of the bitch known as Overdrive for the hopes to have her glory that we call the world title. I will play the part of Sancho, run in while you aren't looking, and fuck this bitch real good. She missed the stiff dick I deliver, and since I am back in town it's only right I go ahead and take up where I last left...which was basically laying pipe to this organization like only the JESUS can.

I set my phone down on the suit case once more and step back.

Lively: I wouldn't get too comfortable with the current pecking order Gentleman...Lord knows Michael Lively throws a wrench into damn near everything!!!

I take a deep breath of arrogance to let my ego swell and once more outstretch my arms for the camera. Once again the phone starts to fall.

Lively: Oh shit...

I dive forward catching the phone but my finger accidentally turns off the recording.

(OOC: I don't have enough time to code this from work, New Years out here in Vegas is crazy for work preparation, sorry guys that it looks bland)