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Its What I am becoming
..:: I said as I put the phone to my ear. ::.. Johnny it's me Sam. I am in trouble. I need your help. If you ever loved me then please prove it to me...I really need your help. ..:: I was in utter shock. Tails really did make a suicide move. It was dry, and raspy. As if she had been crying for days at a time. Something was truly wrong. All I could think about was the note that had been slid underneath my door. I felt as if I had been hit by a truck. ::.. Sam, what is it? Where are you? I don't know where I am Johnny. Do you have any idea who's doing this? He said as I broke down into a loud sigh. I felt my legs give out and I quickly sat on the cold cement floor. I breathed in and out deeply. Part of me felt so happy to hear Johnny's voice while the other part was angry. He should have protected me, he said he always would. Johnny I have to get out of here...Our baby, what if he hurts our baby? He said he won't but he's crazy. I think he will. SAMANTHA! Who the hell is doing this to you. Tell me, please. I can't help you if I don't know. ..:: I felt as if I was going to vomit. My life was going back in to its downward spiral, back in to it's deep depression. But I couldn't sit back and watch this time. I had to help Sam. I truly did love her, and my unborn child. ::.. Johnny…I… ..:: There was rustling around in the background, and I then heard a man's voice speaking in the background. Had to be my crosskicking brother! I thought I had heard him say ::.. Shut the fuck up. ..:: But it was very muffled. ::.. Listen Brother, I don't want to start problems between us, but I've been enjoying your girlfriends company. How about this Johnny, I'll make you a deal. Show up on Friday, at the cafe I tell you to be at. We'll discuss this then. I suggest you come alone, or you might never see Samantha again. Deal? I swear Eric if you- Please keep it professional…Call me TAILS! ..:: CLICK! ::.. ..:: He hung up just like that. Now he had my full attention. This bastard was going to pay. I'd probably end up killing him myself. But first I walked to the bathroom and threw up. My nerves were shot. Too much stress. I was in far over my head. ::.. 
NLWF is a lie. Yeah, you heard correctly. It's a lie. NLWF would have the people who watch any of it's various forms of programming believe that it is the most sensational, most dynamic, well-rounded wrestling product on the planet; full of top name talent, and operated by a sheer wrestling promotion genius. Lies. You had your chance to do the right thing Silva. You had your chance to give me my due, and allow me the right to be the one to knock Cyber Punk from his pedestal of misleading half-truths, full-on lies, and deluded self-perceptions. You knew. You had to, being in your position, Silva. Cyber Punk saw V1 programming, and turned himself into JWF’s Johnny Styles. Then, the real deal shows up, and I see Cyber Punk getting treated like only I get treated. Like royalty. For copying me. For being a poor man's version of ME. So, I decide to set things right, only to realize that I'm the one viewed as the copycat. The wannabe. Lies. Cyber Punk will never be me, as much as he'd like to. Cyber Punk will always be the fake. Cyber Punk will never be anything more than what the rest of you are. In my shadow. But why do I hold Silva responsible? Silva has done nothing but help propagate the lie that has been known as the 'The King of the New School'. And for what, Silva...bigger buy-rates for your pay per views? You pulled a Vince McMahon, and created your very own Hulk Hogan. You turned a no-talent hack into a merchandise-selling, buy-rate-improving cash machine, and all you had to do was feed his massive ego. Not that I'm saying my ego isn't massive, mind you. But contrary to Punks, you wouldn't have had to make me out to be something I'm not. I really am as good as I say I am. As soon as I walked through NLWF's doors for the very first time, you should have had me in a match with that fraud immediately. So I could show the world exactly how and why I can make the claims I do, both about myself and about Punk. But no....Johnny Styles, a certified ring LEGEND before I ever stepped foot in an NLWF ring was forced to 'prove' himself. I had to mingle and build up my contract hype while Punk was imitating Notorious BIG! Right down to the words…Best promo ever? More like Best Rant filled with someone else’s bullshit I had to sully myself with the likes of Carmine to help get people watching. To watch what? Did you want to see if SBK was legit? If I still could draw in a crowed? Believe me, Silva, you're the only motherfucker alive who seemingly didn't know that. So I burn through the weak, pathetic cumbucket Hype you tossed at me and then saw Brother Tails. Being hype as the chosen one? Do you even know who Tails is? He‘s a mid card draw at best, and your hyping him up like he‘s the Next Stone Cold Steve Austin! But Bullshit aside, You’ve finally made it happen A shot at Cyber Punk and the NLWF Title. I could give a rats ass about the championship. You see I‘m not here for another championship belt, I got 6 others hanging on my way at home. I came here with the idea of slowly helping Punk move out on his own, and aid him in creating his own ego, instead of riding mine. A task I tired to accomplish in JWF. See then the goal was the same as it was with me coming here. So, I figure I’ll watch his back for a while, a task equal to taking candy from a baby- and then when Punk was his own character I would simply break him with the idea of Respect being offered, like I'd always intended, leaving no doubt in anyone's mind who the very best to ever lace up a pair of boots in this business really is. And what happened last week? I went out to the ring and saved Punk his spot this Sunday. And what does the ungrateful fuck you all call a hero do in return? Slaps me with a steel chair. Some say I owe the kid a break since he is the reason I’m even apart of Tournament to the title. I see it different. I see a Punk scared for his entire gimmick. He understood by knocking me down on to Johnny Bloodstone that it would put this epic match into the fast line. And in the same breath put Punk into another Spotlight. And Silva, saw dollar signs. But as I told Cyber Punk last week when I was officially becoming a member here, Be careful for what you wish for. Because now Silva, you got your epic PPV main event, but you have also put your creation on the hot seat, and it’s my job to reveal Cyber Punk as the lie that he is. The hype machine that you built this promotion around is about to be revealed for the fraud, the unmitigated bald-faced lie that he is, and then everyone who mattered would know the truth. Cyber Punk has never been anything more than a mediocre wrestler at best, and "Captain Anarchy" was a mere hype device created by you and Santiago, Silva and perpetrated on the wrestling public in the chase for the almighty dollar. Cyber Punk isn't to blame for himself. You are, Silva. Punk just simply did what the general public did. He started believing he was what you made him out to be. He believed the lie. You don't know what misery is Silva. You've never experienced what I can do you. Financially, physically, personally. You will watch as Cyber Punk is killed by the hands of a Real Heartless Bastard! My vengeance thus far has been subliminal, as I heard someone say once. But, try my, bitch, and it will most definitely become visceral. I've been in the ring with the very best in the business. And no, I don't mean you Cyber Punk. You're a fucking joke with no punchline. I've been in the ring with guys so much better than you that comparing you to them isn't even possible. I've been in the ring with guys like Barelai Von‘Vicious, Requiem, Matt Marvel, Chris Daniels, and so many others even I can't keep count. Needless to say, the best this business has to offer, and with but one exception, I've beaten them all. Only twice have I been cleanly defeated in my career, and I've held more titles that you've held dicks in your mouth, and I know you're trying your best to catch up, there. All this, and I just turned 30. I'm a guaranteed Wrestling Hall of Famer, a multi-time World Heavyweight Wrestling Champion who's faced and beaten the very best this business will ever see, and who's been copied and bitten off of more than any three wrestlers you could name. I, quite literally, have done everything a man can do alone in this business. And now, I've decided to do something I haven't done before. Defeat A Punk. And what have you done, Cyber Punk that makes you important? Oh, yeah, I remember now...you're that guy Porter MaCleod beat the fucking shit out of for the right to be named last JWF Heavyweight Champion. Yeah, I remember that shit. Well, guess who faced Porter and defeated him…TWICE, Punk? Me. That's right. I trained the kid, and you couldn't even handle his rookie-green ass. It wasn't even close, really. He made you look pretty bad in that match, and he took your title from you, your dream, and guess what? He's still got it! So, pray tell, how on earth are you going to handle me? I taught the kid everything he knows, to be sure, but I sure as shittin' didn't teach him everything I know. What you don't seem to be getting through your caveman-density skull is that I really am the very best there is inside those ropes. You could bring your alter ego Shadow Deviant, your mama, your daddy -if you can find him-, your uncles, your cousins, your fellow gang members, the entire city of Baltimore, and it wouldn't fucking matter. It’ll be another heartbreaking lost. You don’t matter Punk. You were spoon feed everyone in JWF. I Hope you're content with the amount of breath I'm wasting on you. You're definitely NOT worth it. One thing I would suggest to you is to invest in more of an education. I detest people who have a tiny bit of intelligence, and turn around thinking they're vocabulary is flawless. Yours sucks. Learn the definition before you use a word, eh? And if you want a bible study, bitch, take your ass to church. Then only study you should be doing right now is a dictionary, and as much video tape as you can get your greaseball little hands on of SB-ME. But, no...That’s not your style right Punk, you'd rather run your mouth about how you're not a nobody....guess what, motherfucker...if you have to say you're not a nobody, you're a fucking nobody. And here you are, about to step into the ring with the the greatest wrestlers ever to lace 'em up, and you're retarded enough to be giddy about it. I guess inbreeding really does damage the braincells of the children. Fucking moron. In can only attribute your unbound giddiness to the fact that even though you've supposedly seen plenty of myself in the ring, you really have no clue as to what awaits you at Tournament to the title this week. And if you think seeing me in in the ring once qualifies as 'plenty', Punk, you're an even bigger idiot than Porter told me you were. And you have no idea what I am capable of. Of course, especially there, you're in the same boat as a lot of other people. Those clowns running around with Heartless on there shirts seem to think that no one can be evil, because they are evil, or some shit, but trust me, when I say that I am a evil motherfucker, I’m speaking the truth. Watch and learn, motherfuckers. There is no redemption Punk. There is no forgiveness. And, especially in your case, there is no mercy. The damned may not cry, bitch, but they sure as fuck bleed. You really don't want this, but you're going to get it, and I'll clue you in on a little something, since I'm feeling magnanimous, and slightly beneficent, I'll give you a clue. And what is that clue, you ask? Simple. You're not going to like what you're going to get. Not even a little. But you're going to have to take it anyway. And I don't care if you cry about it or not. I don't care if think you actually have a chance of avoiding your fate or not. I don't care if you actually believe all that shit you were spewing in your so-called hype. Your statements will make it plain that you and reality aren't very familiar with each other. Take the supposed 'pedestal' you think I‘m on. For one, I've more than earned any status I claim, motherfucker. If I say I'm the very best, then it's the fucking truth. And it comes from me having put paid to those words, time and again inside the squared circle. And as for the 'pedestal' itself, It's no mere pedestal, Punky Brewster. It's the Top of the Fucking Mountain. It's who I am, what I am. I'm the measuring stick, the man by which all others are measured. I always have been, and I always will be. Very few walk the hallowed ground I claim as mine, and even they know that SBK ain't nothin' to fuck with. But, you've got years and many, many miles to go to get to where I am, bitch. Try. Try really, really hard, and if you live to be a million, you might get halfway there. Until you get here, though, and can claim with any believability that like one or two others, that you might, just maybe, be my equal, keep your fucking mouth shut. You've already earned some up close and personal time with me come Sunday. Keep your mouth shut and listen for once, and you’ll find that for as much as people like to say I brag all the time, I can back any claim I make. But, you and your life partner bring your female asses to Sunday, (Yes I’m talking about your Dead Alter Ego) and try to act surprised, as if I didn't tell you it was going to happen, when I prove to be every bit as Bastard-riffic as I say I am. Don't say you weren't warned that I am going to beat you. Don't say you weren't warned that I am going to hurt you. Don't say you weren't warned that I am going to make it look ridiculously easy. And don't say you weren't warned..... -- FIN -- |