July 26th 2007 - 8:32 AM

A new day, a new face. A bad dream. In what I wish was a dream was definitely reality. Two o'clock, I had to be at a location, at the exact time,, not a minute later. The bulging of my knuckles seemingly going through my fists, made it clear. I hated this bitch-ass punk.

I wanted to wring his neck like a wash cloth ...

However, I couldn't risk it. I was in much of a situation that I was in four years ago. No options to choose from. Either do it, or die. Two o'clock was an "okay" time, but I didn't feel like doing this shit. I didn't want to. I got away from it in 2003. I made a promise to not stoop to that level again. However, Baxter picked the perfect time to call a brotha'.

I coulda sworn I put him in there for good.

He managed to "break" himself out along with breaking others in half to accomplish escaping the facility all the way in Tempe, Arizona. He brought himself back up to the 'Big Apple' and now has planned to possibly want payback for those four years. This was his way of doing it.

I stood there several minutes in front of the bathroom mirror, only a pair of dark-blue mid-length nylon shorts on as I stood with the wash cloth in my hand as soap had lathered into the texture. I splatted it across my face, as I lathered it onto my face. Washing and rubbing the cloth across my entire face, every area, as I thought about what was to happen later this afternoon.

As I dropped the cloth into the water, rinising it out thoroughly, I wringed it out with much of aggressive intensity. Rolling it out, I wiped the soap off my face, as I felt somewhat better. Rinsing the cloth out once more, I folded it up, hanging it on top of my towel, followed by the lights being turned off.

Almost nine o'clock, I was normally in bed. I didn't feel right. Who'd actually feel right not knowing whether they'd survive a life or death situation-type? I sat on the edge of the bed, as I looked outside of my nice little mansion, watching the sun shine greatly and the birds soaring through the air.

I grabbed my t-shirt from off the other side of the bed, as I slinged it across my shoulders, as I hung my head down.

Well ...

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July 26th 2007 - 1:45 PM

It was a few minutes before two o'clock. A few minutes to spare. Set myself straight, straightening the collar on my shirt, as I walked towards the location of Doug's Carry-Out, as a few dumpsters were seated on both sides of the buildings. I continued to stroll through as I stopped mid-way down, looking at my watch as it now read two minutes after two.

The fuck?

He tells me not to be a minute later, yet he chooses to not show up on time. I truly wanted to smack the fucker seriously. I just leaned against the red brick wall, awaiting the arrival. After several minutes, slight sounds of what could be him finally appeared as a the newest Mercedes-Benz make, as the driver instantly got out, to open the back door. One leg came out, followed by another, as the person stood up to be Baxter. I smirked, as I looked at my watch.

"You're fucking late ..." I said, as he shrugged his shoulders, as not caring one bit.

"Why should I? I'm the fucking Captain ... you follow my orders ..." He said in an aggressive tone, as he straightened up his suit.

I chose to ignore his ignorant lines, as I cleared my throat, trying to hurry this over as quick as possible. I continued to stare at my watch, as he looked at me with a slight smirk.

"No worries .... this will be over quick ... as long as you don't fuck it up!" he said, as he handed me the briefcase, eyeing me with a stare.

"This is with one hundred kilo's of the finest heroin on this planet. You are to receive the two hundred grand and walk away. Nothing more ... you hear?" He said, tugging my collar.

"What the ----"

Stopping me, he quickly hushed me. As he pointed his finger right at my left eye.

"If you fuck this up .... It's your ass, kid ...." He followed, releasing his hand from my collared shirt.

He then got back inside the limo, as he smirked still, on his way sliding back into the vehicle, as the driver closed the door.

This piece of shit.

He thought he was cool, cause he's being driven around town. Me doing his shitty work. I'd fix him though, soon enough.

"Now, ... another vehicle should pull up here in ten minutes. Get in the vehicle, and it'll take you to the required destination. Remember Juan, I'll be watching your every move.

He gave me the awkward eye a little as the Mercedes-Benz pulled off, as I was left watching him pass by, as I stood there, awaiting some fucking vehicle. This was total bullshit.

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Bryan ... Bryan ... Bryan

You just don't know when to fucking shut up, do you? It's just one little fucking win. Toreno was never anything "big". I could beat the fucker with one arm tied behind my back. What makes you so special? You think you rule because you broke his jaw and ended his career? Fuck, kid ... that's nothing new. You're all psyched up out of your pants because you knocked him on his ass. You think you're Supreme now?

You're not even in a fucking category.

I have to compliment you on one thing, Bryan. You made me laugh. Seriously, you did. You should trade in your gimmick for wrestling and become a stand-up comic. Doubt you'll last long, but I'm sure you'll last longer than Michael Richard's career. If you think cause' you scored one win last week, you're going to score again? I don't think so. Not against me. I'm that obstacle you cannot surpass. You can cheat anyway you want, you're still not going to outsmart me. Your mouth has already ran you into more trouble than you can stand for.

You're not going to like this ...

I've made a career of putting people on the mat. I've won titles. I've taken top titles. Top honors everywhere I've traveled. What have you done, Bryan? Speak shit from that tiny mouth of yours? That's not called a "career", ... that's called "Suicide". You run your mouth to the point where it literally shuts down and downs your ability to actually do what you said you were going to do, ending up as a suicide. You keep going this route, and there will be no such thing as "High Rollers" or better yet a "career".

I'm going to do what your mom's used to do to you. Strip you down, and fucking kill you with a belt and hot water combined. I'm going to teach you a lesson. I'm going to show you, just what it's like to be in the spotlight with Juan Ramirez. You want to live under that persona, as a "High Roller". I'm going to roll you ... right into the fucking grave.

You're going to regret the day you considered me "little piece of shit" ...

You haven't heard of me. Well kiddo, no need to fear ... because soon as I'm done with dropping your ass onto the mat a few times, you'll be hearing the name "Juan Ramirez" echo throughout your ears as you lay in a mummified state in the local hospital. The thing that makes me better than you, is that I don't even need weapons to finish the job. I won't need no steel chairs to cluck you out into an absolute state of "amnesia". My fist will do the job. My feet will be the secondary weapon. The only weapon you have is your leader.

So go ahead, sit there in your little "comfy" chair. Pop yourself a bag of popcorn, fix yourself a nice glass of Kool-Aid. That will be your last day of eating. All you'll be doing is swallowing. Your teeth will be gone. Your facial bone will look like Michael Jackson. You will see just exactly why I am Supreme's Finest. Once I'm done with you, I'm chasing down gold, while you continue to run your trap all over the place.

High Rollers isn't nothing special. Just a regular stable as the others. The only one that stands out is Syndicate Inc. Why? A dominant force to be reckoned with. We took out part of the Pit Crew last week. They've taken the advice and have shut the fuck up. Much like you'll be doing after this week. Your mouth will get you nowhere, Spiros. You actually have to prove your worthy. I may not hold a title here in SCW yet, but believe me sonny' boy ... in a few weeks, you'll see that I kept to my words.

Reminder: You cannot bleed buckets of blood and sweat in just one match, kid. Stop trying to swagger-jack Ric Flair's lines and stick to your own script.

I've grown sick and tired of you already, from your mouth to your stupid, cheesy lines. You're nothing, kid. You'll never be nothing here in SCW. All you'll be is Weapon's lackey for the rest of your little career. The more I listen to you, the more I feel like grabbing Oscar and have him curl up, and kill you immediately. You're just what i called you, A stupid joke. You and the High Rollers ... "The wrestling version of Three Stooges".

JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP!

"I've Knocked Out Bitches Like You Since 86'"

Be sure to pray, Bryan. You're going to need to all the help in the world ... Your silly repetiveness has killed your chances.