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Now that HE was handed a worthless title, its time to step up Mary's eyes caught mine and she nodded, our thoughts seemingly cross-linked. It seems like he was doomed from the start I said to her. That's one way to think of it, I suppose She said, pouring herself some water from a plastic pitcher. What's another? That his life turned out exactly the way he wanted it to she said. As if he planned it himself from the very start. 
Now Normally, I open my vignettes by telling Hartmann what an idiot he is for booking me in a match, regardless of who my opponent is. I suppose it amuses me, mildly. This time, however, I think I'll leave that task to my opponent, because whatever Shadow Demon may say about his upcoming encounter with me, deep down, he knows that the pulp duo has just dropped him into a world of shit. If, that is, he has any sense. If he is lacking in the common sense department, he's going to tell you that he doesn't believe me when I say I'm going to crush him. Or talk about beating me months ago, Well Shadow, this time there is no one spoon feeding him a victory Kid, maybe when he defeats me without someone sticking there nose into the mix, then maybe he could brag. But I’m sure that would never happen, just as sure as I am that he’ll come on here and say I'm full of shit - I must be to tout my own praises the way I do, right? I mean, nobody could be that good....could they?- and that he's going to do something akin to making me eat my words, or something else equally ridiculous. If says some of those things, the right things, he'll be correct. Let's face it. I run my mouth. A lot. I've never made any attempt to say otherwise. All I've ever said to mitigate the fact is that I back up what I say. And I do. Period. No...Absolutely. Does that mean I never lose? I'll put it to you like this: I started wrestling at the tender age of twenty. I've been doing this for five years. I've won titles and acclaim wherever I've been, and I've been cleanly defeated a grand total of one time. Once. And that wasn't so much of a case of my opponent beating me as it was me being stupid enough to let myself get distracted. Oh, Brenton Cyrus will likely tell anyone who will listen that he kicked my ass in that match, but he knows as well as I do that he got everything he expected from me, and more in that match, and he could just as easily have been on the other side of that decision had it not been for Alex. And the whole Tournament…call it taking a dive… My point, Yes I run my mouth. Trust me, if you were as awesometacular as I am, you would, too. And you'd dare anyone to prove you wrong. And that, Shadow Demon is what you're tasked with at Legacy. Shutting me the fuck up. Good luck, motherfucker. See, I'm going to tell you right now that you're beneath me, and no, I don't mean in the sense you'd like to be. I mean in the food chain of this company, the food chain of wrestling in general, hell....in life. I'm also going to tell you not to feel bad about it, because you're in the same boat as everyone else. I'm going to go a step further, and tell you that you should expect humiliation, degradation, and defeat at Legacy. I'll also tell you that it would be prudent for your wrestling future not to show up for our match. Of course, you won't listen. You'll come to Legacy looking to take me out, shut me up, whatever. You'll come to Legacy looking to make a name for yourself, to re-establish your career in on the West, trying to move out of the light of being Silva’s penis’ number one fan and you’ll try to do this by defeating me. Of course you will. And of course, you don't believe any of the things I've said about myself. Why would you? Surely, it's just another guy in the West trying to make himself look good by talking himself up. Right? Right? Good. Don't believe it, Shadow. Come to Legacy thinking that your preference for brawling will get you somewhere against the best wrestler that ever laced up a pair of boots. I promise you, if you come to me thinking those moves that would work for you in a bar fight will gain you some advantage, you're going to NEED a bar when I'm done with you. After your lengthy stay in the hospital, that is. If you come to me thinking those high-risk or Gothic brawl moves you like to try will do me in, you're defeated already. And don't think I haven't noticed your high-grade punishment threshold. What, you think I couldn't get footage of you? That's actually one of the few areas where the pulp team isn't a set of complete tools. There pretty forthcoming with the video footage. I'm sure he'll give you some of me, if you ask him. But it's not like you need it, is it? I mean, I'm all 'show', and no 'go, aren't I? You've seen a hundred guys just like me, right? Wrong, fucker. There IS no one like me. Absolutely. Nobody brings it like SB does. But, you still don't really need any footage of me to figure out what I'm going to do. Why not, you ask? Simple. I like to run my mouth, remember? I'm going to TELL you exactly what I'm going to do to you, Shadow. I'm going to show up, like only I can, and I'm going to beat you like a whore that owes her pimp some money. And, might I add, I most assuredly WILL make it look so easy a Canadian could do it. And your supposedly jacked-up ability to withstand punishment? That might help you against someone else, say, Havoc, or Shayne Wolf. But against me? All it means is that our match might take thirty seconds longer. And in those thirty seconds, I'm going to make you wish you were already unconscious. You'll regret every single instant I spend tearing you apart. I'm going to stick my fist down your throat and rip out your will to compete. And when I'm done, you'll be left lying in a pool of your own regret, mingled with blood, drool, and the decaying remnants of your career, while you look up at the lights and think 'PRETTY!' Believe me yet? No? Good. But don't worry, I won't just leave you lying there like that. I may be an evil motherfucker, but I'm not heartless, dude. I would never leave you lying there on international television, looking like a kid who had a wicked seizure, oh no. Before I leave you, I'll make sure you get my autograph. And, because I'm such a nice guy, I'll forego the customary hundred bucks it'd cost you. But of course, you don't believe me. And you know, for the first time in a while, I'm kind of glad you don't. No, I'm VERY glad you don't believe me. That means there will be no fear in you when you arrive, and of course, no fear means I'm going to get your best shot. And what does all that add up to? Well, for one, I'll get to enjoy proving every single word I've said to be true. That's right...enjoy. It seems I've forgotten to enjoy the little things in this business lately. I think it will prove most...therapeutic to get back to enjoying humbling you people. And all that starts this week with you, Shadow. You can hate me all you want for what I'm going to do to you, but one thing you can't do is blame me for it. But of course, you expect me to say that, don't you? You'll reply with "You're so full of shit, SBK" or something very like it, I'm sure. But that's OK, Shadow. You keep thinking that everything I say is horse shit. Please. Come to Legacy believing that you're good enough, smart enough, talented enough....man enough to stop me. You aren't. And when the bell rings, and the smoke clears, and you're on your back, unable to make yourself move, you'll be intimately familiar with the Absolute fact that whatever you think you are in a wrestling ring, The Old Guard Gladiator is your superior. Get ready, motherfucker. You. Me. VLegacy. Bell rings, you get destroyed. By someone who's just infinitely The Best. Yea I said it Brenton, enjoy feeding your ego with a handed victory, because we all know the Annihilation tournament turned out to be a failed project! Hart, it’s good to see your doing what you do best…Win mid card championships. But jokes a side its good to see you again. I was sure you would have left with my cock face brother. You really have fallen and bumped your head with that bridge dive. One thing you should know is that SB is ALWAYS exactly where he wants to be Hart. You look, and see a guy who is what...hiding out? ...pondering retirement? You, of all people Frank, should know that NO ONE manipulates situations like SB. Remember that 12 person clusterfuck Elimination match way back when? What did I tell you all week leading up to it? I told you to stay the fuck away from me, or I was going to knock you the fuck out. And what happened? I knocked you the fuck out. Eliminated you from the match, and sent you away from ringside under the supervision of the JWF medical staff. And while we're on the subject of you being in the ring with me, Frank…why don't you tell the fine people out in internet-land exactly how many times you've defeated me? How many times, Frank? What's that? Oh, that's right....you've NEVER defeated me in any capacity. Of course, you were never good enough to be in my ring one-on-one, but you had other opportunities, and you failed. I was so much better than you that you steered away from chances to face me, didn't you? That's right...Hart, SB doesn't forget. Hart, your chances of winning just went from zero to negative one trillion. But I don't want the two of you to get too upset before the match. I don't want to ruin too much of the fun I am going to have in dismantling you. And I AM going to dismantle you. I don't care how many people you've been in the ring with, or how great they are, now more than ever...you've NEVER been in the ring with any one more dangerous then a fella who has nothing left. Nothing to lose. Nothing to gain. But go ahead, the two of you...go ahead and drop my catchphrases all week long -everyone does, you know- tell the world how you're going to defeat the SB Gladiator, and walk over his downed body and walk straight to KOTT to face whatever cumbucket has the title at that point. Tell the world, try to convince them. Try to convince yourselves...but deep down, in places your only your gynecologists gets to see, you know what a world of fucking shit you're in now. You're in a match with SB. Let's see, I think we've all three been there before, and I think you know that I'm never more dangerous than when I have nothing left. What I’m saying, is that you Frank, is nothing more than a fluke. A falling star that never was as ascended as he believed himself to be. The whole Pure gimmick… Nothing more than bullshit. You only moved forward in your own eyes Frank. Maybe you fooled the people at home. Maybe you didn’t, that’s their problem. But your problem is that you lied to yourself. Look at you…I mean really, for the first time in a long time, take stock. Look at yourself. Look where you are. You are in an undeniable tailspin. But you will deny it. It is INEVITABLE It is absolutely inevitable with you. And you will deny this too. Why? Because it’s the Hart way. When you can’t fight your way out of things with the truth, you lie until even you believe it’s the truth. But some things are true whether you believe them are not, Frank. Such as losing this match, cause the odds are stacked against you, I know you don’t wanna believe it, but sober up to this reality. Because this is real. This is not another one of your fairy tales. And in this story you don’t get your way. You do not escape unscathed. You do not escape with the win. I would say you don’t escape with your dignity, but you’ve never had that. You are a record stuck on the same beat. You are not changing. You are simply staying the same sad sack fool that you’ve always been. What in the hell makes you think you are even close to a credible contender Frank? Why? Because you have the only people you have beaten are a bunch of no names that couldn’t shine my own shoes. Come on Frank, until you actually beat someone worthy of remembering or done something with out Tails name being attached, would you drop that fucking ego that you carry around on your shoulders that makes you think your all high and mighty. And if you’re alright with that… I guess I am too. It really makes no difference at this point. You will bleed. You will suffer. You will lose. How can I be so sure of this? I'm the Gladiator, motherfuckers. Recognize and whatnot. One more thing you're both going to get? Autographed. Absolutely. Come get some, Hart. You're going to regret that you were ever put into a match with us. You lose, motherfucker. Go dig up Tails, and maybe you'll have a fair chance. But I doubt it. Sunday Night, you're both going down, and I don't mean in that way you like, Frank. You're going down in my ring. In MY ring, that is. MY ring. You're just unwelcome guests, and you will be shown the hospitality befitting your status. Bring your best. Bring your bodyguard. Bring your glitter-chair. It won't avail you. You're climbing in the ring with a guy who simply is the best. A guy who have the ability to make anyone else look like a retard by comparison, and the will to do whatever is necessary to get the job done. I’ve gone soft, and your all starting to take advantage of it, guess what…I’m still that Evil motherfucker, and you two? You've been set-up by the West to do only one thing this week: Fail. It's all you've ever been good for. All you'll ever achieve, to be fodder for the truly mighty in this business. Everybody wants to be myself. From Brenton jacking my GOD gimmick to Alex talking like a younger version of me. The two people no one wants to be this week? Frank Hart and Shadow Demon. The King of beasts, the lion is in the room, and it's feeding time. At the risk of gimmick infringement... Welcome to the suck, bitches. -- [ FIN ] -- |