| Rockin' it old school!; RP vs. Rosario | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Feb 18 2011, 03:41 AM (86 Views) | |
| Jay Wildman | Feb 18 2011, 03:41 AM Post #1 |
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In a retirement home
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Another arduous week of training has come and gone and left me worn and haggard. I was quite aware when I made my petition to whatever gods believed in me that I would have to do a lot of work to maintain my hold on the World Heavyweight title but I didn't think it would have been through blood, sweat and tears. The man pushing me to the edge of my limits and then some is the man beast now known as Grimfamos, once beloved as Samuel Amos. He didn't believe me when I mentioned to him once about the powers of the mask in general. Not only will it keep your identity hidden from those you don't want to see but it also plays tricks with your mind. You tend to see things which aren't there, alone in your little world and adrift in your turbulent seas of sanity. There is no hope once you set sail, only hope you can make it out on the other side without losing too much in the process. However, this subject matter would have to wait for another day. Amos and his fractured psyche had a special place in my offices during Vendetta where we would settle the score once and for all. I had other things to worry about, things which had a lot of potential but never recognized dreams; Rey Rosario. I could feel myself bristle a bit as I thought of what I went through to get my title desires fulfilled and yet I had the Canadian Lamprey on my behind, trying to suck out all of my mojo while riding on my coattails. "Rey Rosario, your name says it all. You are one sorry-o wrestler and a poor excuse for someone who thinks he deserves the World title. You've gone on and on about how the world is unfair to you, to Canada, to the planet in general and yet all of your bitching and complaining has gotten you where? Oh yeah, in a match against the man who has yet to be pinned since he came back into the federation. You want to know when the last time I was pinned in sVo? 2008. I started to flex my muscles and bend my legs a bit, feeling the power in each movement. As I did, my heart raced and I thought back to my younger days in wrestling, when we would just talk about everyone and everything under the sun until it cried, and then talked about it some more until it disappeared into a fine powder before we snorted it and screamed in victory. "You say I'm greedy? You think I have this title to just have it around my waist like some sort of bad pimpmobile accessory? Maybe I just walked in with all of my bling around my neck, poppin' rocks on my fingers for real yo' thinkin' about addin' some gold on the jimmy junk for good measure. Do you really think everyone is so stupid to think like you; Molson's, hockey players missing their teeth and the snowy white stuff you don't snort off a hooker's back? "I'm only going to say this once, you goddamned maple infused retard. I... won... this... belt... through... hard... work! Something your countrymen don't know about since no one in Canadia has ever worked other than cleaning up the moose spittle and trying to bottle it as Canadian beer. I wrestled in this industry for over seven years now, off and on. I fought some tough people, people who pushed me to the edge. I've bled bigger puddles than when you piss yourself silly after facing me in the ring on Sunday." Yeah, I could feel the old energy flowing through my body. I could see the flashbacks in my head, from the first major title win to the struggle against management to claim my rightful prize long ago. The aches and pains disappeared with every word, the bum knee moved without a hitch and my elbow didn't throb in protest as I started to flail my arms about, adding more passion to my words. "You want someone to hand this belt to you because you have potential? You think you win these things because you pop open some cereal and send in enough box tops to get the special decoder ring which allows you to get the magical belt which will make all of your dreams come true? Grow up, Winnipeg man. This ain't the Canadian Wastelands where you suckle on trees for survival while rubbing beavers on your body to keep warm. This is goddamned 'Merica! "Get off your ass and stop whining about lost dreams! When you get into the ring with his rabid wolf ready to tear your throat out, you'll see the fire in my eyes and feel the ground shake as my heart beats! When you get into the ring with me, you're going to see a whole different side to Jay Wildman, the kind of man who was buried with the name Odinist. You thought Grimnir was bat shit crazy, you haven't see anything until I set your Mountie ass on fire and laugh as you scream in agony. "If you want a picture of greedy, look at yourself in the mirror after your syrup bath and see a desperate man who can't come to terms with his own greed. You focus on what matters instead of playing with your fellow oiled up Moosjaw residents, Chris Wrestling and The Canadian Crippler. Get your head out of your ass and get it into the game because if you want to ostrich yourself, I'll be more than happy to do something for you. I'll send you packing to Labatt's packaging factory so they can bottle your tears for champions to drink!" Yeah, it felt right. It felt good to get it all off my chest and out into the open where the universe could hear me. I was just in my cause. I could see the goal within my grasp. All I had to do was... Answer the bathroom door as someone knocked on it. I swore and spit the toothpaste from my mouth into the sink, trying desperately to wipe off the spittle from the mirror. I tossed aside the toothbrush and yelled out to whoever knocked on the door, hoping they would give me a moment. "Occupied!" "I know. I can hear you from down the hall." Crap, it was Zyrah. I woke her up with all of my old school trash talking. She loved sleeping in on a weekend, she knew she didn't have to worry about having to take care of my needs and often spent the mornings recovering from her latest bender. I gulped down the yelp of terror, already seeing the anger etched face of a hungover woman behind my bathroom door. "Sorry, I got a little caught up in the moment." "I can tell. Are you going to keep it down at least?" "Yes, I promise." A moment of tense silence hung in the air, causing me to think she stumbled back to bed to sleep off the last alcoholic remnants from her system. I smiled and then sighed, thinking I dodged a bullet. I flexed once again, looking at my aging biceps and wrinkles in places where they shouldn't be. I opened my mouth to continue my rant at a softer volume when Zyrah spoke again, this time her voice had a humorous edge to it. "Are you wearing your title while brushing your teeth again?" I looked down at the title around my waste and felt my face erupt into a blush. I hated being so predictable, my old age must have made me turn into my father. I let the question die, hoping my silence would discourage her from pursuing it further. Instead, she giggled and then asked another question, causing my face to glow a deeper crimson. "Are you at least wearing underwear this time around?" "Yes!" I bellowed. "Good, the last time I had to clean your belt I didn't want to ask what happened to it. I know it's a replica you paid for but still, please take care of it. I don't want to think of you ending up on a CSI episode where they match your DNA on the belt to a crime scene." "Jesus Christ, woman!" "All right, all right; have fun playing pretend wrestler. Some of us have to get some work done once they get their beauty sleep." I heard her footsteps as she left my room. I nodded to myself for being able to weather the worst of her shame, though a heartbeat later the statement she left me with sunk into my head. I ran over to my door, threw it open and yelled at her just in time before she slammed the door behind her. "I'm not a pretend wrestler!" |
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2:31 PM Jul 11