What's In A Name...

[The Paragon of Hardcore]

*The pirated video feed of The Blackwells’ Personal Cameraman, Emrys statics into life to show the interior of a room that’s been different things at different times… it’s the Blackwell Crew’s locker room… its Trevor Blackwell’s office as owner of the Blackwell Academy and the building that currently houses the Event Center known as the IWC Arena… but right now it serves an entirely new purpose. Right now, this is the recovery room for the next IWC Insane Champion, “The Paragon of Hardcore” Trevor Blackwell. He sits across from his little sister, the next IWC Suicidal Champion, “The Hardcore Princess” Kristina Blackwell, in his legendary red and black recliner… an icepack on the back of his neck… a rather well rolled, fragrant blunt in his mouth. Kristina sits on a gray suede couch and watches her big brother take a deep toke from the blunt… he stifles a cough and holds his surgically repaired neck in a wince of pain before letting the smoke out in a psychotropic cloud that envelopes his head like a character in a comic book or an old Looney Tunes cartoon. The Hardcore Princess shakes her head and sighs.*

Kristina: I know you’re not going to give me anything so constructive as a straight answer… but are you alright?

*The Career Killer laughs and takes another toke… holding this one in much better… before releasing more smoke and handing the blunt to his sister.*

Trevor: Yeah… I’ll be fine… that Hybrid Twist is no joke though. The kid really cranked that move on me hard… almost like he had something to prove.

*Kristina Blackwell laughs… the sound almost something akin to a tinkling Christmas Bell as her eyes light up at the mention of Damian Dimitri… though she’d never admit it out loud. She takes the blunt and hits it with a smile… holding the toke in for maximum effect… her voice showing the strain of her effort.*

Kristina: Of course he has something to prove. Don’t get me wrong… Damian is backing you as the next IWC Insane Champion. We both are. But he still has a highly competitive nature… its part of why you trained him to begin with. He’s willing to back you because he knows he’s not quite ready to be the standard bearer of Insane Wrestling Championships… he knows he hasn’t proven himself enough yet… I mean, not compared to you. But I know you’re not naïve enough to believe that he’s not hungry enough. If you think the IWC Tap Out Championship is going to hold him off forever… if you think he’s not eventually coming for that belt, you’re fooling yourself.

*The Hardcore Princess… living up to her name… finally exhales a cloud of psychotropic smoke large enough to fill the entire room with its stink. Like the professional that she is… nary a hack comes from Kristina Blackwell’s lungs as she passes the blunt back to her sibling.*

Trevor: Now THAT was fucking Hardcore…

*Brother and sister both laugh as the Excellence of Extreme takes another quick toke… this one a bit shallower so that he doesn’t hurt his sore neck again. He exhales it… his eyes starting to take a slightly reddish tint.*

Kristina: But that’s not what I meant when I asked if you were ok and you know it…

*Trevor Blackwell smiles as he hits the blunt again… he’s taking two hits now for every one of Kristina’s… but he’s using the weed as a bit of a pain killer right now. An argument could be made here about the medicinal value of this little green herb.*

Trevor: You were really asking if I was ok for Massacre On 34th Street, huh? Yeah… I’ll be fine… I’m a motherfuckin’ Blackwell. I’ve taken worse beatings than that in sexual encounters with Tabitha Crowley. This Sunday, the IWC Insane Championship is coming home with me whether the rest of the roster likes it or not. I thrive in environments like this where I have to prove myself despite insurmountable odds. I always have. Besides… I have a few aces up my sleeve as well. You know me… I love stacking the deck in my favor with as many cards as possible.

*The Hardcore Icon laughs and almost chokes on his hit because of it.*

Trevor: Shit… I’m starting to sound like The Gambler…

*Kristina Blackwell takes the blunt when it’s offered to her and takes another deep lungful of marijuana smoke. Again she speaks as she holds the hit in… her voice strained and tight once more.*

Kristina: Speaking of The Gambler… you saw his promo against you, right?

*The Paragon of Hardcore grins as he takes the blunt just in time for his little sister to blow the healthy cloud of smoke in his face. He seems to inhale some of it before taking another hit… blowing the toke out in loud cough… his eyes growing even redder.*

Trevor: Yeah… I heard that bullshit. You’d think that for a man his age, The Gambler would be better informed. He acts like he has no clue who I am… like he’s never heard of me before he joined IWC…

*The Hardcore Princess hears these words and sees that look in her brother’s ice blue eyes… not the bloodshot stare from the pot… but the glaze that comes over them as he turns towards Emrys’s camera. She deftly plucks the blunt from his fingertips with hands that seem very well trained and takes another toke as she settles back for what looks to be a rather lengthy Trevor Blackwell Rant.*

Trevor: Oh, you don’t know? Your ass better call somebody… Unlike many in this business who give themselves nicknames of grandeur… I am EVERYTHING that I say I am. Ask around, Gambler… Talk to APW President Jeff… He’s known me for almost a decade now. Ask him about the rookie, Trevor Blackwell who came into the Combat Wrestling Federation boasting the be the Future of this industry… threatening to give the entire wrestling world a Shock and forming a group of wrestlers that along with himself came through on every damn promise they made. Ask him who swept the CWF Year End Awards that year…. He’ll tell you how I earned the name, Hardcore Icon.

Ask Jason Royce about my CWF Xtreme Title reign and how I beat him and every single fucking challenger who came after me from one coast of this great country to another and left blood, broken bones, beaten bodies, and decimated careers over two continents. Ask him about the Singapore Cane Match and the Stairway To Hell Match and the Inferno Match and the Hardcore In Hell Match. Go ask him if I earned the name Excellence of Extreme.

Ask Dr. Matt if they’ve unwired his jaw yet after the 100th Episode of APW Overdrive… ask him about a little fed called Tombstone Championship Wrestling… ask him about the bathroom incident and how his blood flowed amongst the burst water main and the ceramic from the porcelain sink I DDT’’d his head through. Ask him about how I nearly killed him on my way to winning the TCW World Heavyweight Championship. While you’re at it… if you’re feeling particularly ballsy… or suicidal… ask him about the plate glass window I drove him through in World Wrestling Competition… ask him how long it took to pull the shards of glass from his flesh… While we’re mentioning WWC… if Damian Darko had made it past his debut match here in IWC, you could ask him about how I crucified him and set him on fire right before I put him out of wrestling for years when I defeated him for that promotion’s World Heavyweight Title too… Ask them why they call me The Career Killer.

Ask Chris Cyrus… don’t worry, Chris… I’m getting to you too, Buddy. But ask Chris Cyrus if his selective memory remembers being called The Hardcore Kid. Ask him what it was like to nearly be crippled by me in the first ever match in Action Packed Wrestling. Ask him about the Long Island Deathmatch I had with Kristina. Ask him about how I left my own little sister’s flesh and blood hanging from the strands of Barbed Wire that served as that ring’s “ropes”… Ask him about how I became the Inaugural APW Xtreme Heavyweight Champion. Ask him about how I dominated APW in its early days and main evented Overdrive every single week. Ask him about the Sex and Violence that I brought to APW programming. Ask him about how I headlined four Pay Per Views in a row. While you’re at it, go over to APW and dig up former world titlist John Green. Ask him who the true champion was in those days. Shit, ask the APW Faithful… they’ll tell you why I say, “Paragon”.

But I’m not here to defend myself or give credit to the name I almost killed myself to earn, that you oh so casually dragged through the mud in your promo. All you have to do is go on APW’s website and look through its first year archives… look through WWC’s archives… look through CWF’s archives… you’ll barely be able to click a link without seeing my name at or near the top of the card… my bloodstained handprints are all over the history of this great business.

The point I’m making is this: Your promo was lacking. It reeked of desperation and all your accusations were unfounded. I truly am everything I claim to be. You won’t find a more accurate description of me then “Paragon” or “Icon”. I understand where you were coming from though… you’re scared despite how hard you try to hide it. You knew you had nothing to say to me that would hold water so you picked at my name and listed all of your own accolades. But I didn’t go the cushy route of wrestling manager. I’ve been kicking ass and taking names since 2001. There wasn’t much you COULD say. I’ve heard it all before. I’ve experienced it all before. And I’ve seen and heard it done much better than you were capable of.

You’re going to be an “also ran” in our match this Sunday at Massacre On 34th Street, Gambler. Just face the cold hard facts. I notice you didn’t speak much about the Wild Card Match itself. I’m surprised. With a name like “Wild Card”, I was sure you’d have plenty of not so witty comments to make comparing it to a poker game or a blackjack game or some other irrelevant shit. But again, I understand where you were coming from. The match itself scares you and with good reason. It’s going to be a very dangerous match. Apparently, the stipulations change every two minutes and the match becomes more and more extreme as time goes on. You’re out of your element, Gambler, and you know it. I can tell. Your voice was practically quivering with fear and uncertainty. Maybe you fool the masses and mental midgets like Jason Royce and Level One… but you can’t fool a wily veteran like me. I’ve been at this game entirely too long for that. Just like the roaches that you seemed so infatuated with, I’ve been here forever and I will continue to be here long after this wrestling world crumbles to dust.

And that’s exactly why I have the advantage over you in this match. See, I’m not frightened at all. I’m not uncertain in the slightest bit. This truly IS my element. There is no better way to showcase the resilience, stamina, and versatility of “The Paragon of Hardcore” Trevor Blackwell then in a match like this Wild Card Match. Do you know why I’m so sure of myself in all these claims I just made? Because there isn’t a damn thing this match can throw at me that I haven’t survived and THRIVED against already. Thumbtacks? Broken Glass? Barbed Wire? Weapons? I’ve carved a legacy out of those elements. Steel Cage? I’ve shattered my way through those matches, defeating the likes of Kenny Lambardo, Andy McHeyman and Twister. Singapore Canes? Ladders? Flames? I made those famous back in CWF. Tai Pei Deathmatches? Long Island Deathmatches? Hardcore In Hell Matches? Last Man Standing Matches? Iron Man Matches? I’ve done them all and became a household name. You want to talk about winning matches and earning accolades that truly matter? No matches matter the way the ones will this Sunday at Massacre On 34th Street. This Supercard will set the tone for the entire first year of IWC. We will crown our first champions. And make no mistake about it… The Blackwells will walk out with all the gold. And you can make a solid, can’t miss, surefire wager on that one, Gambler. Bet the house on it. You just may have some money to finally retire on… stop being such a burden to your grandkids finally…

*The Paragon of Hardcore finally seems to take a deep breath and snap out of the fugue of his rant as he snatches back his blunt and takes a deep, soulful hit. He leans back in his red and black recliner… looking to the ceiling thoughtfully… almost like he’s searching the heavens for answers… and then paints the ceiling of his study with smoke. “The Hardcore Princess” Kristina Blackwell laughs.*

Kristina: Are you done now?

*The Hardcore Icon looks down at his sister… his flesh and blood… yet another opponent that he left a bloody smear on the mat once before… His lips curl into a sick smile… Gods is Trevor Blackwell fucking STONED…*

Trevor: Yeah… I’m more than done with The Gambler… no need to waste anymore breath on that fucking speed bump in the road to the title. But as for Chris Cyrus… I’m sure I’ll meet him in the Fatal Four Way for the belt… most likely along with Damian and Arcadia…

I can’t wait… I’ve been dying to wipe that shit stain of the face of these federations for years. Its fitting that he’s got his qualifying match against Jason Royce… they’re both fucking worthless, curtain jerking, jobbers. I welcome his challenge to my glory at Massacre On 34th Street so I can put him down like the dirty fucking mongrel that he is. He’s like a Chihuahua nipping at your fucking ankles… he’s small, obnoxious, and annoying… his yipping will make you want to change the fucking webcast. But when all is said and done… a simple punt across the room will shut his mouth. He didn’t stand a fucking chance against me years ago and most certainly won’t now. Do you know why I’m destined to be Champion, Little Sister?

*Kristina Blackwell shakes her head and takes the blunt one more time… she knew he wasn’t done…*

Kristina: Tell me, Trev…

*The feed fading out on his words.*

Trevor: Because they don’t come more insane than me…