Post by The Matlock on Mar 24, 2012 19:12:45 GMT -4
There are a lot of big stages in wrestling. It seems that almost every promotion currently worth its salt will have its big show, the one event every year that is immortalized for all time, moreso then any others. Within the walls of Action Packed Wrestling, that event is Rasslemania. I remember watching the first Rasslemania, way back when. My partner was a rookie in the promotion, and had a match on the card. I could tell there was something special about that night. Although I never had a chance to witness another Rasslemania, I know it is indeed one of the biggest, if not the biggest stage, in professional wrestling.
The event should be mine, with my own singles match and the spotlight on me. To be more specific, it should be me in the match for the Suicidal Championship, and not that ignorant fool Chris McKenzie. The worthless little twat has never truly beaten me, only tossing me over the top rope; being lucky in other words. Instead of personal glory, I am forced to share the spotlight with seven others. Three fools from the Asylum brand, one of whom I've previously beaten, and two others substituted in after Alyssa Casteele contracted AIDS and Allioth Starre curiously left the company. But against us are four men from the Overdrive brand of the promotion.
Normally I could give less of a shit about a match like this. But this is Rasslemania, the grand stage; not only that but the general manager of the brand has promised big things if our brand is the victorious one tonight. It shouldn't be hard considering the lackluster of the OverDrive superstars. But tonight isn't about Overdrive, or Asylum, or even APW. Tonight is about me. Tonight I will stand victorious, and tonight I will have my Rasslemania moment.
The first of many, many to come, I assure you.
I was inside of my hotel room at Staybridge Suites in Indianapolis, with only maybe three hours until the event. It was Rasslemania Eight, the biggest pay per view event for APW, and my first appearance at the legendary event, and hopefully not my last. Right now I should be at the arena, preparing to lead my team to victory. Yes, I said 'lead'. You think Pepsi, Suzuki, or Cannon are fit to lead? Fuck that.
But like i said, I should be there. But I'm not, rather I am still at the hotel room, staring outside the window. I had been staring out there for a few minutes, waiting. Then, what I was waiting for came. A long distance call on my cell phone; at the other end, Anthony. I met him in the fifth grade, and considering I finished those last two years in elementary, six years of high school, and had been wrestling ever since, I knew the man for a long time. His father was dying in hospital, a victim of resurgent cancer. It wasn't so much his father, but Anthony himself, as he was a lot more troubled then he let on. Hell he had been at the hospital non-stop since Wednesday, holed up in the pallative care unit. I answered the call, holding the phone to my ear.
Anthony, is everything alright? ...Yeah, he's still breathing is he? That old man of yours just won't quit, will he? How is your mom and brother? ...The same, eh? I see. Well you know I'd be there if could. I skipped a lot of shows this week to be at the hospital, but I can't skip this one. Right, I understand. ...Thanks but I don't need good luck. My opponents aren't very good. ...Let me put it this way. You and Tainted Steel haven't wrestled in what, eight years? You guys could handle my opponents tonight, ring rust and all. Thanks man, I'll call you later tonight after the show.
I hung up the phone and laid it on the table. His father was a good man; stubborn, and a fighter. I knew him for almost twenty years, and it bothered me to have seen such a strong man wither and die. But I could not let this distract me. I had to be focused tonight. After all, someone on my team had to be worth a damn.
So here we are ladies and gentlemen. The hour for the greatest event in sports entertainment to begin, slowly approaches.
It is later on inside of the Lucas Oil Stadium, in the backstage area. I was fully dressed for the upcoming match now, wearing a black tanktop with the logo of Asylum on it, and along with it a pair of black trackpants insted of denims. The cameras had found me, and now it was time to let loose with a verbal assault.
Tonight some of the greatest in the world will face off for the entertainment of the masses. Tonight is a night that will be remembered forever, the same as every Rasslemania in the past. I plan on making sure I am remembered forever at least. I team up with three of Asylum's mediocre caliber wrestlers to take on four guys from OverDrive who look like they would be better suited to carrying my bags around. My own team has seen a drastic change from the original vision, which saw Allioth Starre leading me, Suzuki and Alyssa Casteele into battle. Unfortunately as I addressed last time I was on camera, Alyssa has AIDS. Allioth, for whatever his reason, decided to leave. So they replace him with Frank Cannon? The old fart who almost got fired? And Alyssa is replaced by Billy Pepsi? It's completely obvious who the real leader of this team is now. Tonight I shall prove to be a leader as i lead this team to victory, and gain glory and fame for the Asylum brand.
The so-called captain on the other team is Yarmouth, formerly known, I believe, as Yarmouth Blade. However he lost half his name in a match last month at S&C. All I can say is, really? You named yourself after a, what, a town or something? That'd be like Billy Pepsi naming himself after the town of Balls Creek. It makes no sense. Of course, going along with your stupid name, is your absolutely horrendous wrestling ability. It's no wonder that Blade had his way with you last month. Oh, and did I mention how stupid you are? I've had three matches in APW, four if you count S&C. Your father, I think, was being extra nice to you. Because there's no way in hell he really believes you're ready for this, or that you're ready to face the challenge that awaits you. A 'Yarmouth' wannabe I am not, as I'd have to be off my rocker to want to be anything like you. You see despite what you said, I do have the strength and the skill to beat you. I have years on you in terms of pure in ring ability. In all honesty, I feel bad for the OverDrive brand, what with having someone like you representing them.
But who else do we have? We have Donovan Caine. A man born in a shallow grave, because the man who raped his mother didn't bury the bitch deep enough. Do you honestly believe that the man suddenly appeared in a graveyard one day, just so happened to run into a wrestling promoter, and struck up a friendship and got into the wrestling business? That is the biggest crock of shit I've ever heard. But what has Donovan done? Nothing. He's too embarassed with his total failure of existing, so he decided to bury himself, this time in a deep grave.
Also there is the master of horrible wordplay himself, Warren Peace. He's actually the most senior member of the team, but being here since October doesn't make you suck any less then any other member of the team. Poor Warren is a bastard son of a wrestling legend, looking to get revenge on his father by trying to close down various wrestling promotions. He's actually closed two promotions already, so why is he employed here? Why would you actually hire a man who states in his application he, on purpose, has made an effort to close down wrestling promotions? To be quite honest Warren, maybe you should stick to the backstage politicis, because that's most likely the only way you're going to win anything. You're not going to win tonight because, well, you're on the other team. Not to mention your captain is slightly more retarded then Billy Pepsi.
Finally, the last member of Yarmouth's personal J.O.B. squad is Chris Hart; a man I know very little of, except that he reminds of some teenage hearthrob like Zac Efron, and he is like some super flyweight style wrestler. But who is Chris Hart? Has he even wrestled here before? Is he worth a damn? Does anyone even care? No, they don't. So we have Yarmouth, already established as a retard, leading a team consisting of gothic graveyard seeking waste of existence, a man with daddy issues who takes them out on the wrestling business, and some guy who looks like he is better suited in a Justin Beiber music video.
I let out a laugh, after that lengthy amount of speaking. This is litterally the best OverDrive can come up with? Hardly any effort required then.
It is unfortunately very very sad the most competent member of my own team is Billy Pepsi. Frank Cannon never shows his face on camera, saving all of his words for his personal blog, in which he insults people with pathetic insults, and exposes himself to be too drunk to be worth anything. You do realize you're fighting for Team Asylum right? Your blog said you were fighting for Team OverDrive and you were leading them to victory. Then again they need all the help they can get, so why don't you go fight for them? I've been looking to kick your ass back into obscurity anyway. Far as Suzuki goes, he seems to be focused on re-inventing himself into something actually worth a damn. I guess having the shit slapped out of you by an old man is a form of match preperation? And your sensei thought *i* had bad ideas. Still, both of those men are more competent then those on the OverDrive side. Billy, you've regained your confidence apparently. Having fought you in my debut match, and only barely beating you, you're the only one I know is fully invested in this match. But let's not forget. I am the team captain. I am the man who actually is worth a damn, with the best ideas, and the best skills out of this bunch. We will win, we will receive whatever rewards come our way for doing son. But the moment will be all mine. Rasslemania belongs to Asylum, not to OverDrive. That's all there is to it.
Fade out.
The event should be mine, with my own singles match and the spotlight on me. To be more specific, it should be me in the match for the Suicidal Championship, and not that ignorant fool Chris McKenzie. The worthless little twat has never truly beaten me, only tossing me over the top rope; being lucky in other words. Instead of personal glory, I am forced to share the spotlight with seven others. Three fools from the Asylum brand, one of whom I've previously beaten, and two others substituted in after Alyssa Casteele contracted AIDS and Allioth Starre curiously left the company. But against us are four men from the Overdrive brand of the promotion.
Normally I could give less of a shit about a match like this. But this is Rasslemania, the grand stage; not only that but the general manager of the brand has promised big things if our brand is the victorious one tonight. It shouldn't be hard considering the lackluster of the OverDrive superstars. But tonight isn't about Overdrive, or Asylum, or even APW. Tonight is about me. Tonight I will stand victorious, and tonight I will have my Rasslemania moment.
The first of many, many to come, I assure you.
I was inside of my hotel room at Staybridge Suites in Indianapolis, with only maybe three hours until the event. It was Rasslemania Eight, the biggest pay per view event for APW, and my first appearance at the legendary event, and hopefully not my last. Right now I should be at the arena, preparing to lead my team to victory. Yes, I said 'lead'. You think Pepsi, Suzuki, or Cannon are fit to lead? Fuck that.
But like i said, I should be there. But I'm not, rather I am still at the hotel room, staring outside the window. I had been staring out there for a few minutes, waiting. Then, what I was waiting for came. A long distance call on my cell phone; at the other end, Anthony. I met him in the fifth grade, and considering I finished those last two years in elementary, six years of high school, and had been wrestling ever since, I knew the man for a long time. His father was dying in hospital, a victim of resurgent cancer. It wasn't so much his father, but Anthony himself, as he was a lot more troubled then he let on. Hell he had been at the hospital non-stop since Wednesday, holed up in the pallative care unit. I answered the call, holding the phone to my ear.
Anthony, is everything alright? ...Yeah, he's still breathing is he? That old man of yours just won't quit, will he? How is your mom and brother? ...The same, eh? I see. Well you know I'd be there if could. I skipped a lot of shows this week to be at the hospital, but I can't skip this one. Right, I understand. ...Thanks but I don't need good luck. My opponents aren't very good. ...Let me put it this way. You and Tainted Steel haven't wrestled in what, eight years? You guys could handle my opponents tonight, ring rust and all. Thanks man, I'll call you later tonight after the show.
I hung up the phone and laid it on the table. His father was a good man; stubborn, and a fighter. I knew him for almost twenty years, and it bothered me to have seen such a strong man wither and die. But I could not let this distract me. I had to be focused tonight. After all, someone on my team had to be worth a damn.
So here we are ladies and gentlemen. The hour for the greatest event in sports entertainment to begin, slowly approaches.
It is later on inside of the Lucas Oil Stadium, in the backstage area. I was fully dressed for the upcoming match now, wearing a black tanktop with the logo of Asylum on it, and along with it a pair of black trackpants insted of denims. The cameras had found me, and now it was time to let loose with a verbal assault.
Tonight some of the greatest in the world will face off for the entertainment of the masses. Tonight is a night that will be remembered forever, the same as every Rasslemania in the past. I plan on making sure I am remembered forever at least. I team up with three of Asylum's mediocre caliber wrestlers to take on four guys from OverDrive who look like they would be better suited to carrying my bags around. My own team has seen a drastic change from the original vision, which saw Allioth Starre leading me, Suzuki and Alyssa Casteele into battle. Unfortunately as I addressed last time I was on camera, Alyssa has AIDS. Allioth, for whatever his reason, decided to leave. So they replace him with Frank Cannon? The old fart who almost got fired? And Alyssa is replaced by Billy Pepsi? It's completely obvious who the real leader of this team is now. Tonight I shall prove to be a leader as i lead this team to victory, and gain glory and fame for the Asylum brand.
The so-called captain on the other team is Yarmouth, formerly known, I believe, as Yarmouth Blade. However he lost half his name in a match last month at S&C. All I can say is, really? You named yourself after a, what, a town or something? That'd be like Billy Pepsi naming himself after the town of Balls Creek. It makes no sense. Of course, going along with your stupid name, is your absolutely horrendous wrestling ability. It's no wonder that Blade had his way with you last month. Oh, and did I mention how stupid you are? I've had three matches in APW, four if you count S&C. Your father, I think, was being extra nice to you. Because there's no way in hell he really believes you're ready for this, or that you're ready to face the challenge that awaits you. A 'Yarmouth' wannabe I am not, as I'd have to be off my rocker to want to be anything like you. You see despite what you said, I do have the strength and the skill to beat you. I have years on you in terms of pure in ring ability. In all honesty, I feel bad for the OverDrive brand, what with having someone like you representing them.
But who else do we have? We have Donovan Caine. A man born in a shallow grave, because the man who raped his mother didn't bury the bitch deep enough. Do you honestly believe that the man suddenly appeared in a graveyard one day, just so happened to run into a wrestling promoter, and struck up a friendship and got into the wrestling business? That is the biggest crock of shit I've ever heard. But what has Donovan done? Nothing. He's too embarassed with his total failure of existing, so he decided to bury himself, this time in a deep grave.
Also there is the master of horrible wordplay himself, Warren Peace. He's actually the most senior member of the team, but being here since October doesn't make you suck any less then any other member of the team. Poor Warren is a bastard son of a wrestling legend, looking to get revenge on his father by trying to close down various wrestling promotions. He's actually closed two promotions already, so why is he employed here? Why would you actually hire a man who states in his application he, on purpose, has made an effort to close down wrestling promotions? To be quite honest Warren, maybe you should stick to the backstage politicis, because that's most likely the only way you're going to win anything. You're not going to win tonight because, well, you're on the other team. Not to mention your captain is slightly more retarded then Billy Pepsi.
Finally, the last member of Yarmouth's personal J.O.B. squad is Chris Hart; a man I know very little of, except that he reminds of some teenage hearthrob like Zac Efron, and he is like some super flyweight style wrestler. But who is Chris Hart? Has he even wrestled here before? Is he worth a damn? Does anyone even care? No, they don't. So we have Yarmouth, already established as a retard, leading a team consisting of gothic graveyard seeking waste of existence, a man with daddy issues who takes them out on the wrestling business, and some guy who looks like he is better suited in a Justin Beiber music video.
I let out a laugh, after that lengthy amount of speaking. This is litterally the best OverDrive can come up with? Hardly any effort required then.
It is unfortunately very very sad the most competent member of my own team is Billy Pepsi. Frank Cannon never shows his face on camera, saving all of his words for his personal blog, in which he insults people with pathetic insults, and exposes himself to be too drunk to be worth anything. You do realize you're fighting for Team Asylum right? Your blog said you were fighting for Team OverDrive and you were leading them to victory. Then again they need all the help they can get, so why don't you go fight for them? I've been looking to kick your ass back into obscurity anyway. Far as Suzuki goes, he seems to be focused on re-inventing himself into something actually worth a damn. I guess having the shit slapped out of you by an old man is a form of match preperation? And your sensei thought *i* had bad ideas. Still, both of those men are more competent then those on the OverDrive side. Billy, you've regained your confidence apparently. Having fought you in my debut match, and only barely beating you, you're the only one I know is fully invested in this match. But let's not forget. I am the team captain. I am the man who actually is worth a damn, with the best ideas, and the best skills out of this bunch. We will win, we will receive whatever rewards come our way for doing son. But the moment will be all mine. Rasslemania belongs to Asylum, not to OverDrive. That's all there is to it.
Fade out.
