Post by adm on Aug 16, 2011 8:34:02 GMT -6
“Everybody pulls for David, nobody roots for Goliath.”
Wilt Chamberlain
The dripping of water into the bath tub is like the slow drip of morphine out of an IV. I can't focus on anything but the drip. The pain has subsided, mildly, and my body aches less today than it did after Collision went off the air. Between putting up a fight against the giant of Lex Sense, and, to my surprise, surviving intact; to being kicked in the face by one of my uh "friends" in this business, Jimmy Zane. Well, I'd consider him more of a grudged acquaintance more than anything these days, but you know how that is. I got the call this morning about the finalized card for Collision. Oddly enough, Jonas Potter, the man who will soon be challenging for my Honor Championship is on the web show, against Nathan Webb. I think that's a bad pun, no matter how you play it. But they have yet to make adjustments to what I saw, which was my name against a familiar face, yet another giant. My body will be recovered for this challenge, if I dare call it that.
The warm water allows me to relax, to unwind my mind and soul. I take a sip of the cold glass of whiskey next to me. Of course, the cameraman is not too pleased to be in here, but he can't see anything, I've made sure to draw the curtain over my "shame", just in case the idiots up above want to censor me. But this is how I unwind, relax myself for another week of training for another match in the biggest company this world has ever known. I close my eyes, and begin to cry a little. My mind drifts to the words said against me last week, not only by Sense, but Jimmy Zane. Obviously I have gotten into a few heads, but the beginnings of the hateful slurs was something I was not prepared for, yet. I thought it would take a while before my personal problems with women led everyone and their mother to start calling me a homosexual until later, I can't quite figure out why it came so fast. Perhaps I am in a place full of closeted homosexuals and they are afraid of being outed? That is a distinct possibility, indeed.
"I'm not gay."
I don't need to say it aloud. Editing catches my overdubbed monologue and description like any "professional" actor would allow. Seriously, do you think you can read my thoughts? I'm not Garfield, I don't have that power. Though it's one I'd like to have. Then, perhaps, people would be able to see that I, like Sense, am not longing for big, brown, anus.
A few minutes from now, I will be getting out of the bathtub, dressing for my day at the gym, and taking a minute to read the piece of paper carrying my "motivational quotes" to keep my mind in the right place. Some may call me an alcoholic for drinking so early, but if you were manhandled by Lex and then he refused, after you grab the ropes to call for the move to be broken, you kind of have enough latent pain to necessitate some kind of "natural remedy". Don't want me getting Rye's Syndrome or something, that would be very bad.
"I feel ashamed of myself, really I do. I'm turning into Steve Awesome. Treating females like conquests. Of course, my choices are a lot less like him, I don't have intercourse with whores and not use a condom. I don't want the laundry list of STD's he is rumored to have. But judging by the smell of his locker room, I'd be sure they were right. But I am, all around, disappointed in myself pursuing conquests instead of love, instead of something more stable than a one-night-stand. Oh well..."
The drip continues, and my mind refocuses onto it. I close my eyes and allow it to drift me off to a place far from here, far back in time to when things were better. When I didn't have these accusations and thoughts about my sexuality. When it was automatic that I was heterosexual based on my wife and children. When I was a somebody instead of a nobody. My name doesn't mean ****, but then again, does JackHammer's? Perhaps not, I think to myself as I drain the bath water. Soon I'll be in the gym, and soon I'll be preparing for the giant. But, perhaps, I don't need to train so hard this week? I guess not, but then again, it's habit. And it's hard to break habits.
****
So, Jack-off Hammer. We meet, uh...again? It's been a while, hasn't it. Since, you know, you and your down-syndrome face and giant muscles roid-raged your way to a feud with Sexy Jason, the other roid-freak of the federation, for the Xtreme Championship. Now, allow me to restate that these events happened, while I was going up against Angel and Burns in a Death Cage followed by a well-lost match to Adam Knite for the World Championship. While you were bathing and reveling in your obscurity and performance-enhancing drugs with your butt-buddy Jason Evans, I was at the height of this Federation, feared, and unstoppable. Well, so it seemed. Then reality hit, I was pushed to the back of the line, lost match after match and eventually faded from view. But you never went INTO view, did you? You were always that curtain jerker who was JEALOUS of Joe Everyman. The guy everyone roots for, but knows will let us down. You were WISHING you could have that kind of failed career, instead of a never-started, you wanted to be a has-been. Poor Hammer, your attempts to reclaim what was never there are obviously going to lead to further failures and disasters.
Now, I understand, the big words are probably being lost on your bird-sized brain. So, allow me to translate what I just said. "Drugs bad, but make muscles big but Hammer DUMB!" Got that one? Good.
Onto more pressing matters, like Collision. How does it FEEL to be downgraded to the Webb show, Potter? Did you see that terrible Ace-like pun I made? Perhaps you need to go read some Webb slinging Spiderman to get that, perhaps not. So, you want to face me for my Honor Championship, you wish to relieve me of my personal troubles and my championship. Well, go ahead, let's see what the Doctor orders for prescription for one Kristoff Liam Bates. Is is a strong dose of technical wonder and being pinned? Or will it be to make me submit to my own personal problems and admit the truth? Well, I'll let you ruminate over that one for a few weeks while I talk to the friends I have upstairs and arrange our little, get together. You don't have anything to lose, you haven't really won anything here yet but a few matches. Some are against high-profile opponents, I'll give you that. But who HASN'T beaten Spike Kane lately? I beat him when he still meant something, and it...STILL DOESN'T REALLY MEAN ANYTHING! Everyone's done it, you just add your name to a long list of people who've beaten the legend, as he likes to be called. Hell, I think even Hammer has a win over Spike, but I can't be sure, I never follow giant alcoholic retards around enough to know.
So here it sits, another week, another opponent with lower intellectual fortitude who will probably not understand half of what I'm saying due to rampant drug abuse. In Hammer's case, these are steroids. In Lex's case, they were prescription psychotic medications and a lack of initial sanity. For you, Potter, I'm sure I'll find some reason your intellect is lacking, but perhaps you'll be the one shining light in this place that truly gives me not only a physical, but intellectual equal. I'm tired of facing retards and imbeciles every week. I'm tired of people who resort to "Hurr hurr, he's gay, hurr derp" as their long-winded finale to reply to my initial assault. They are known to verbally defecate, and I'm sure I'll have to shower for an hour after Hammer speaks, not only to wash his idiocy, but that foul stink, from my body.
So as a final word of wisdom, don't use drugs, kids. You'll turn into a pea-brained retard who is only good for menial labor like JackHammer. Either that, or you can become a wrestling legend like Spike Kane. Or blow your ****ing head off like Kurt Cobain, either way, the end results of drug use are rarely good. I'll see you kids later. Remember, knowing is half the battle. And now you Know.
Reality is a crutch for people who can't cope with drugs.
Wilt Chamberlain
The dripping of water into the bath tub is like the slow drip of morphine out of an IV. I can't focus on anything but the drip. The pain has subsided, mildly, and my body aches less today than it did after Collision went off the air. Between putting up a fight against the giant of Lex Sense, and, to my surprise, surviving intact; to being kicked in the face by one of my uh "friends" in this business, Jimmy Zane. Well, I'd consider him more of a grudged acquaintance more than anything these days, but you know how that is. I got the call this morning about the finalized card for Collision. Oddly enough, Jonas Potter, the man who will soon be challenging for my Honor Championship is on the web show, against Nathan Webb. I think that's a bad pun, no matter how you play it. But they have yet to make adjustments to what I saw, which was my name against a familiar face, yet another giant. My body will be recovered for this challenge, if I dare call it that.
The warm water allows me to relax, to unwind my mind and soul. I take a sip of the cold glass of whiskey next to me. Of course, the cameraman is not too pleased to be in here, but he can't see anything, I've made sure to draw the curtain over my "shame", just in case the idiots up above want to censor me. But this is how I unwind, relax myself for another week of training for another match in the biggest company this world has ever known. I close my eyes, and begin to cry a little. My mind drifts to the words said against me last week, not only by Sense, but Jimmy Zane. Obviously I have gotten into a few heads, but the beginnings of the hateful slurs was something I was not prepared for, yet. I thought it would take a while before my personal problems with women led everyone and their mother to start calling me a homosexual until later, I can't quite figure out why it came so fast. Perhaps I am in a place full of closeted homosexuals and they are afraid of being outed? That is a distinct possibility, indeed.
"I'm not gay."
I don't need to say it aloud. Editing catches my overdubbed monologue and description like any "professional" actor would allow. Seriously, do you think you can read my thoughts? I'm not Garfield, I don't have that power. Though it's one I'd like to have. Then, perhaps, people would be able to see that I, like Sense, am not longing for big, brown, anus.
A few minutes from now, I will be getting out of the bathtub, dressing for my day at the gym, and taking a minute to read the piece of paper carrying my "motivational quotes" to keep my mind in the right place. Some may call me an alcoholic for drinking so early, but if you were manhandled by Lex and then he refused, after you grab the ropes to call for the move to be broken, you kind of have enough latent pain to necessitate some kind of "natural remedy". Don't want me getting Rye's Syndrome or something, that would be very bad.
"I feel ashamed of myself, really I do. I'm turning into Steve Awesome. Treating females like conquests. Of course, my choices are a lot less like him, I don't have intercourse with whores and not use a condom. I don't want the laundry list of STD's he is rumored to have. But judging by the smell of his locker room, I'd be sure they were right. But I am, all around, disappointed in myself pursuing conquests instead of love, instead of something more stable than a one-night-stand. Oh well..."
The drip continues, and my mind refocuses onto it. I close my eyes and allow it to drift me off to a place far from here, far back in time to when things were better. When I didn't have these accusations and thoughts about my sexuality. When it was automatic that I was heterosexual based on my wife and children. When I was a somebody instead of a nobody. My name doesn't mean ****, but then again, does JackHammer's? Perhaps not, I think to myself as I drain the bath water. Soon I'll be in the gym, and soon I'll be preparing for the giant. But, perhaps, I don't need to train so hard this week? I guess not, but then again, it's habit. And it's hard to break habits.
****
So, Jack-off Hammer. We meet, uh...again? It's been a while, hasn't it. Since, you know, you and your down-syndrome face and giant muscles roid-raged your way to a feud with Sexy Jason, the other roid-freak of the federation, for the Xtreme Championship. Now, allow me to restate that these events happened, while I was going up against Angel and Burns in a Death Cage followed by a well-lost match to Adam Knite for the World Championship. While you were bathing and reveling in your obscurity and performance-enhancing drugs with your butt-buddy Jason Evans, I was at the height of this Federation, feared, and unstoppable. Well, so it seemed. Then reality hit, I was pushed to the back of the line, lost match after match and eventually faded from view. But you never went INTO view, did you? You were always that curtain jerker who was JEALOUS of Joe Everyman. The guy everyone roots for, but knows will let us down. You were WISHING you could have that kind of failed career, instead of a never-started, you wanted to be a has-been. Poor Hammer, your attempts to reclaim what was never there are obviously going to lead to further failures and disasters.
Now, I understand, the big words are probably being lost on your bird-sized brain. So, allow me to translate what I just said. "Drugs bad, but make muscles big but Hammer DUMB!" Got that one? Good.
Onto more pressing matters, like Collision. How does it FEEL to be downgraded to the Webb show, Potter? Did you see that terrible Ace-like pun I made? Perhaps you need to go read some Webb slinging Spiderman to get that, perhaps not. So, you want to face me for my Honor Championship, you wish to relieve me of my personal troubles and my championship. Well, go ahead, let's see what the Doctor orders for prescription for one Kristoff Liam Bates. Is is a strong dose of technical wonder and being pinned? Or will it be to make me submit to my own personal problems and admit the truth? Well, I'll let you ruminate over that one for a few weeks while I talk to the friends I have upstairs and arrange our little, get together. You don't have anything to lose, you haven't really won anything here yet but a few matches. Some are against high-profile opponents, I'll give you that. But who HASN'T beaten Spike Kane lately? I beat him when he still meant something, and it...STILL DOESN'T REALLY MEAN ANYTHING! Everyone's done it, you just add your name to a long list of people who've beaten the legend, as he likes to be called. Hell, I think even Hammer has a win over Spike, but I can't be sure, I never follow giant alcoholic retards around enough to know.
So here it sits, another week, another opponent with lower intellectual fortitude who will probably not understand half of what I'm saying due to rampant drug abuse. In Hammer's case, these are steroids. In Lex's case, they were prescription psychotic medications and a lack of initial sanity. For you, Potter, I'm sure I'll find some reason your intellect is lacking, but perhaps you'll be the one shining light in this place that truly gives me not only a physical, but intellectual equal. I'm tired of facing retards and imbeciles every week. I'm tired of people who resort to "Hurr hurr, he's gay, hurr derp" as their long-winded finale to reply to my initial assault. They are known to verbally defecate, and I'm sure I'll have to shower for an hour after Hammer speaks, not only to wash his idiocy, but that foul stink, from my body.
So as a final word of wisdom, don't use drugs, kids. You'll turn into a pea-brained retard who is only good for menial labor like JackHammer. Either that, or you can become a wrestling legend like Spike Kane. Or blow your ****ing head off like Kurt Cobain, either way, the end results of drug use are rarely good. I'll see you kids later. Remember, knowing is half the battle. And now you Know.
Reality is a crutch for people who can't cope with drugs.