Post by Philip Burns on Sept 18, 2009 5:58:40 GMT -6
Moments after my battlegrounds match I was in the back face down on a table while a doctor removed glass from my back. I felt dizzy, almost sick to my stomach thinking about what my “brother” Angel and I had just done to each other. The only calming factor was that I seemed to remember my music playing at the end. Undoubtedly this meant I had captured a victory but the blood I sacrificed apparently contained the precious oxygen needed for my consciousness, because immediately after I walked through the curtain I became a pile. The body of a warrior was left in the ring that night and instead I now inhabited a trembling bloody mess.
Every time the doc took the tweezers to my skin in order to remove the small pieces of floodlight I flash to another part of my match. First the glass, then the tables. One time feared tag team and good friends tear at each other. I hold my head up for just a moment before the physician tells me to relax. In that brief moment I see Angel across the hall in a similar position. He looks like I feel. And kids, thats not a good thing. A near six year rivalry was laid to rest, at least for now.
What a confusing end. Its coming back to me now. Two men spend a lengthy time tearing each other apart only to embrace at the end. What does it all mean? I will tell you what it doesn't mean. It doesn't mean I forgive him. The little moment where he finally showed me some respect certainly does not mean that I am putting all this behind me and moving on. I have more important things to focus on, such as my newly one number one contendership or even finding a way to stop bleeding. Wouldn't that be awesome?
I hear a familiar chiming ringing throughout the room and I'm snapped back into reality. My cell phone is letting me know I have a text message.
Yo doc, find that phone and hand it to me.
No you need to rest.
Give me the phone or I am getting up to retrieve it. Then you can explain to Leo why someone was bleeding all over the place.
Alright alright hold on.
Well, well. Its my old friend Ruston Bourne. He decided to let me know that Mr. Diamond has booked me against the Ace, Xtreme rules. I lay my head back down and brace myself for the stitches this not-so-gentle man of medicine have prepared. Thats exactly what I need. I fully expected to be in Road to the Gold this year. It was becoming a tradition I thought. Philip Burns, Road to the Gold, closer every year. It made sense. Would have made a great DVD some day. I'm sure Ace feels the same way. We headlined the hell out of that joint last year and now we face each other in a seemingly pointless match on the week the tournament gets kicked off.
I feel numb. Not just the wounds, which have been deadened but the untold wonders of modern medicine. I feel it all over. I think I am going to pass ou-
Thats not good. I remember being in an out. The cab I barely remember, stumbling into my home hours later is a blur. I could have easily been mistaken for a drunk man if one had not seen what I had been through. I just wanted to go to bed and wake up to a new day. Thats what I remember. And boy did I.
Philip Burns awakens with a start. He is back in his own bed, in his own house. The stitches in his head and back pull tight and remind his of the horrors he faced and overcame the night before. Slowly but surely this man pulls himself to the side of the bed and hangs his legs over. The warrior seen in the ring last night is gone. But on the bright side so id the broken down lump of human clay that was backstage. Burns stands and makes his way over to the closet. Currently he is dressed in only a t-shirt and pajama pants, neither of which he remembers putting on. There he stands poised in front of the full wardrobe indecisive and really unimpressed with the selection.
Most of his life Phil has been content in the jeans and shirts but on this day he reaches to the back. For some reason as though a switch had been flicked his tastes were turned to the more trendy and sophisticated. Today the “special occasion” suit just became the attire of a new man. He grabs the garment bag and heads to the shower.
Minutes later a door flies open and a cloud of steam signifies the entrance of Mr. Philip Burns. He adjusts the jacket on his suit as he heads downstairs expecting to see the usual sight at the Burns household. You see it has become tradition that his girlfriend makes him breakfast and then later in the day he brings her lunch. Their way of spending a little time together you see. Only on this day there way a note. “Philip, went out. See you later”
It seemed simple enough but but without hesitation he picks up the nearby pen and proceeds to write down “Take your crap and don't come back to my house.”
This over reaction is one of many as within the hour he loads up the entire contents of his closet and puts it out with the garbage. Something is going on.
The phone rings and the caller ID lists Josh Palmer as the caller. “JP Rush still wants to talk to me?” he thinks to himself as he accepts the call.
Burns here.
Hey man, its JP. Listen about the other day: I know Angel really messed with your head and all. I didn't mean to snap at you. I was thinking since Burning Angels is a thing of the past and all that maybe we could tag team sometime. My loyalty is to you so you wont have to worry about me blaming you for anything or not appreciating your efforts in the team.
Oh, is that so?
Yeah man so what do you think?
Honestly it sounds like something I would normally be fine with.
But?
But I'm going to go with no on this one.
No?
Yea you see I just don't see myself as the partner type anymore. I am the number one contender for what most people see as this companies second most valuable prize. I am not going to get the the big gold belt by taking on tag team partners and carrying around a dead weight bartender from Arkansas. I have a natch against the Ace. He has been to the top and he currently has me beaten in singles competition. A win over him will put me where I need to be. I'm tired of beating this dead horse of a rivalry we have brewing so much like what I should have done to your dreams a long time ago I am going to put his success story to sleep.
What the hell, man?
And besides if I were to team with someone it would have to be an nCw employee, which you aren't.
Actually, I am.
Actually, you're wrong. I sent a message to all staff that I wanted that pity contract Angel got for you terminated if I won and they told me they would do it if the match delivered the kind of nCw action this company is known for. And it did.
Why would you do that?
There are two kinds of people in this world my friend. People who earn what they get, and people who are handed what they get. I no longer wonder which one you are. I hope you and Uncle Angel have an awesome time having gay sex together or whatever it is that you guys do. But listen I gotta run. Its been fun. Lose this number, k? Thanks Buddie.
Burns hangs up the phone, adjusts the suit and places a pair of nice shades on the clean shaved face of a new man. Less than twelve hours removed from the most bitter battle in his life a smug man has emerged from the ashes of an all around nice guy. This jackass has a name. He is the new Philip Burns.
Every time the doc took the tweezers to my skin in order to remove the small pieces of floodlight I flash to another part of my match. First the glass, then the tables. One time feared tag team and good friends tear at each other. I hold my head up for just a moment before the physician tells me to relax. In that brief moment I see Angel across the hall in a similar position. He looks like I feel. And kids, thats not a good thing. A near six year rivalry was laid to rest, at least for now.
What a confusing end. Its coming back to me now. Two men spend a lengthy time tearing each other apart only to embrace at the end. What does it all mean? I will tell you what it doesn't mean. It doesn't mean I forgive him. The little moment where he finally showed me some respect certainly does not mean that I am putting all this behind me and moving on. I have more important things to focus on, such as my newly one number one contendership or even finding a way to stop bleeding. Wouldn't that be awesome?
I hear a familiar chiming ringing throughout the room and I'm snapped back into reality. My cell phone is letting me know I have a text message.
Yo doc, find that phone and hand it to me.
No you need to rest.
Give me the phone or I am getting up to retrieve it. Then you can explain to Leo why someone was bleeding all over the place.
Alright alright hold on.
Well, well. Its my old friend Ruston Bourne. He decided to let me know that Mr. Diamond has booked me against the Ace, Xtreme rules. I lay my head back down and brace myself for the stitches this not-so-gentle man of medicine have prepared. Thats exactly what I need. I fully expected to be in Road to the Gold this year. It was becoming a tradition I thought. Philip Burns, Road to the Gold, closer every year. It made sense. Would have made a great DVD some day. I'm sure Ace feels the same way. We headlined the hell out of that joint last year and now we face each other in a seemingly pointless match on the week the tournament gets kicked off.
I feel numb. Not just the wounds, which have been deadened but the untold wonders of modern medicine. I feel it all over. I think I am going to pass ou-
Thats not good. I remember being in an out. The cab I barely remember, stumbling into my home hours later is a blur. I could have easily been mistaken for a drunk man if one had not seen what I had been through. I just wanted to go to bed and wake up to a new day. Thats what I remember. And boy did I.
Philip Burns awakens with a start. He is back in his own bed, in his own house. The stitches in his head and back pull tight and remind his of the horrors he faced and overcame the night before. Slowly but surely this man pulls himself to the side of the bed and hangs his legs over. The warrior seen in the ring last night is gone. But on the bright side so id the broken down lump of human clay that was backstage. Burns stands and makes his way over to the closet. Currently he is dressed in only a t-shirt and pajama pants, neither of which he remembers putting on. There he stands poised in front of the full wardrobe indecisive and really unimpressed with the selection.
Most of his life Phil has been content in the jeans and shirts but on this day he reaches to the back. For some reason as though a switch had been flicked his tastes were turned to the more trendy and sophisticated. Today the “special occasion” suit just became the attire of a new man. He grabs the garment bag and heads to the shower.
Minutes later a door flies open and a cloud of steam signifies the entrance of Mr. Philip Burns. He adjusts the jacket on his suit as he heads downstairs expecting to see the usual sight at the Burns household. You see it has become tradition that his girlfriend makes him breakfast and then later in the day he brings her lunch. Their way of spending a little time together you see. Only on this day there way a note. “Philip, went out. See you later”
It seemed simple enough but but without hesitation he picks up the nearby pen and proceeds to write down “Take your crap and don't come back to my house.”
This over reaction is one of many as within the hour he loads up the entire contents of his closet and puts it out with the garbage. Something is going on.
The phone rings and the caller ID lists Josh Palmer as the caller. “JP Rush still wants to talk to me?” he thinks to himself as he accepts the call.
Burns here.
Hey man, its JP. Listen about the other day: I know Angel really messed with your head and all. I didn't mean to snap at you. I was thinking since Burning Angels is a thing of the past and all that maybe we could tag team sometime. My loyalty is to you so you wont have to worry about me blaming you for anything or not appreciating your efforts in the team.
Oh, is that so?
Yeah man so what do you think?
Honestly it sounds like something I would normally be fine with.
But?
But I'm going to go with no on this one.
No?
Yea you see I just don't see myself as the partner type anymore. I am the number one contender for what most people see as this companies second most valuable prize. I am not going to get the the big gold belt by taking on tag team partners and carrying around a dead weight bartender from Arkansas. I have a natch against the Ace. He has been to the top and he currently has me beaten in singles competition. A win over him will put me where I need to be. I'm tired of beating this dead horse of a rivalry we have brewing so much like what I should have done to your dreams a long time ago I am going to put his success story to sleep.
What the hell, man?
And besides if I were to team with someone it would have to be an nCw employee, which you aren't.
Actually, I am.
Actually, you're wrong. I sent a message to all staff that I wanted that pity contract Angel got for you terminated if I won and they told me they would do it if the match delivered the kind of nCw action this company is known for. And it did.
Why would you do that?
There are two kinds of people in this world my friend. People who earn what they get, and people who are handed what they get. I no longer wonder which one you are. I hope you and Uncle Angel have an awesome time having gay sex together or whatever it is that you guys do. But listen I gotta run. Its been fun. Lose this number, k? Thanks Buddie.
Burns hangs up the phone, adjusts the suit and places a pair of nice shades on the clean shaved face of a new man. Less than twelve hours removed from the most bitter battle in his life a smug man has emerged from the ashes of an all around nice guy. This jackass has a name. He is the new Philip Burns.