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Chapter: The Heart Attack
Jack Fucking Shit! You see this world of wrestling if every man for themselves. No one is going to hand you a damn thing. Being a hero is a lost art. Maybe you sell a shirt or two, but in reality 95% of the time there cheering for the dicks to destroy there beloved heroes. Given some people think two Type-A personalities like Tails and myself cannot possibly co-exist successfully. This is of course the type of thinking that comes from a long history of inbreeding. I know many of you may be wondering just how the hell Tails and I came to the decision to team together one more time. It's common sense, really. When you have two guys who are so close in talent, in-ring ability and style as Tails and I are, working together not only makes sense, it fucking RULES. Let's face it, when Tails wakes up in Boston, and I wake up in what ever god-given hotel, we wake secure in the knowledge that there simply is no one better at what we do than we are. We don't only succeed in the ring, we dominate as only we can. And now, at what will most assuredly be the End of Days for two idiots named Johnny Bloodstone and Bart Bloodstone, Tails and I get to show just how cohesively we actually DO work together. Sure it's against Two pussy donning Straight Edge Gunners, but let's not assume this match is a foregone conclusion already. Even if it really is. See Tails and I have been decidedly not giving a fuck about anything that these two have been praising. I didn‘t give a fuck about McGruff the Crime Dog, and I was never a big D.A.R.E guy. So, I thought along those lines you think once. I thought something was coming to save wrestling in a whole and rebuild it in it's image. I thought that a force that only someone with as much talent and ability as I have could stand up to was going to screw up the ol' Nl' something horrible. I should have known better. Because I know that wrestling, like life, is not evolution. It's revolution. What goes around once will surely rear it's ugly fucking ass for a head again, somewhere down the line, as evidenced by the return of Straight Edge Gunners. But, one thing I failed to realize last time around is that they can't touch me. They may play hero to everyone else, and they're welcome to it, but guys like Tails and myself? We might as well be made of Teflon. None of the so-called 'good guys' can touch us. Tails and I have always, and will always do what we want, when we want, to whomever we want. The two things you can all do about it? Nothing, and like it. The only thing Johnny and Bart have done that means a fucking thing in NLWF is wgive the Heart Attacks a shot at the Tag-Team championships. But, back on point. Revolution. Everything that goes around comes back around, eventually. And none of it can touch Tails aka The Chosen One or Frank Hart. Perhaps you don't believe me. Try us, please. Perhaps you just wonder why it can't touch us. Simple, really. The phrase 'Better.Than.You.' ring any bells? I know you have. I'm a certified ring legend, after all. Eventually, Johnny and Bart, you may grow into serious, big-time ring veterans. You may become two of the best to ever step into the ring. But don't delude yourself. You're no Tails, and you're no Frank Hart. Not now. Not ever. Nothing you do will ever elevate you to the hallowed status we have attained. Eventually, you'll recognize this for the truth it is. Eventually, you'll know that not on your best day could you ever hope to be equal to either of us. Not on your best day could ever hope to equal our ability, our in-ring general-ship. The proof will be laid before you and the entire world at Tx3. when the reality of truth sinks in, try not to feel too bad about it. You're in the same boat as everyone else. Eventually, you will all come to know Tails and Frank Hart as exactly what we say we are; Heartless Bastards. You'll also come to know that no matter what you throw at us, or try to conceive to bring us down, it simply is not enough. See, that thing about revolution that I mentioned? It's always going on. Someone's always trying to lay their plans of domination and bring them to fruition. Someone always wants to watch the world burn, either to re-make it in their image, or perhaps simply to watch it go up like the over-ripe Molotov it is. Is that what Tails and I are up to? Well, that would be telling now, wouldn't it? Suffice it to say that you'll all learn, eventually. And eventually, you'll all tremble. With fear? Some, yes, beginning with a couple of cumbuckets at Tx3. Some will tremble with fear, some with anticipation, some even with excitement. Doesn't really matter to us. Bring whatever shit you think you have and try to stop us. Please. Bring your superior numbers, your accolades you've gathered throughout your so-called careers. Bring your vengeance, you retribution, and your holier-than-thou stance. You're going to feel you need some vengeance and retribution after Tx3. Because as much as I meant it when I said we wouldn't do much damage to your little girls when we take what we want from them if they only had the good sense to keep from pissing us off, I doubt anyone stupid enough to get tangled up with you has the sense to keep their cockholsters closed and not anger us. They'll learn eventually. And eventually, sure as a horse shits where it pleases, Johnny Bloodstone will realize that it's a thankless fucking job, saving people who don't want to be saved. But you two nancies come on, bring those nice, shiny title belts to Tx3, and watch, in shock and awe, as we show you just how easy it is for us to impose our will on you. Watch in horrified amazement as we take your singular accomplishment in NLWF and make it look easy while we do it. Watch as we start the fire in NLWF that will consume each and every one of you worthless, useless motherfuckers. Johnny Bloodstone and Bart Bloodstone, it begins in California with you. Dig into those vaults of video that I'm sure you have access to for footage on me. Maybe Silva will let you look over all the footage you could want of Tails. Come on out in front of a camera and tell the world how you and you boss have seen 'our kind' countless times, and heard the rhetoric we spew ad nausea. Tell the world how you have the perfect counter to two masters of the ring like Tails and myself. Tell the world how you're going to prove that we're all talk and no substance. Tell us all how you're going to overcome your lack of experience -by comparison, at the least- and you lack of ability, your lack of intelligence, and your lack of a set of balls, and defeat the two best wrestlers you'll ever be privileged enough to step into the ring with. Go ahead. Tell us. And then, when the world is asking you how you could let us take your titles like we will, you can tell 'em Frank Hart said that it all happened for one very simple reason, and one very basic truth you'll learn about us in the time to come.... We are evil motherfuckers. What we intend for our future and the future of NLWF is our business to know, and yours to discover as we feel like letting you in on it. It won't be happy. It won't be fun for anyone but us, and when we're done, you can believe it like you know your name...NLWF will most assuredly know what the definition of woe is. beyond the shadow of a doubt. You can't stop it. You never had a chance. What goes around comes around motherfuckers, and when it comes around this time, it's comin' like a motherfucker. Be prepared. Yeah, there's rhetoric to go with it, but when it comes around, you won't be ready enough. See, this is the part where we tell you what we're going to do. The next part will be where you try, in vain, to make anyone listening believe otherwise. Tournament To The Title? Well, that's the part where you both Bow Down. Maybe I’ll do you both a favor and eject you both with a shot of a drug called ‘Heartless’ It’s done wonders for me. |