The Ego
I may not be known for my tag-team wrestling. My singles record speaks for itself, what I’ve achieved over the years, the titles I’ve won, the status I have acquired. But it may surprise you to know I’ve been a tag team champion before. Back in the Fatal Wrestling League, I won the tag team championships with a guy I hated. Magnus Diesel and I had one of the hottest feuds of the year, but yet I still managed to carry him to the tag team titles. Sadly he died in a tragic accident, but I’m sure if we still had to team together after his death, I would have carried his lifeless corpse to the titles too. And if I can win tag team gold with a guy I hate, imagine what I can do with a guy I respect and admire. I’m talking about Czecher.
Ever since my arrival in x2w, Czecher has been by my side. From the first moment he found that shovel backstage, smashing it over British Brawler’s head, to this very day. If I ever need a favour, he’s the first man I go see. If I need a tag partner, he’s the man I go see. If I’m setting up a group of guys to kick some arse, he’s the first man I go see. Czecher is loyal, he will not turn his back on me; will never leave my side if I need him. If I ask him to, he’ll probably smash that shovel over the head of his own grandmother. But Granny Hespeler is cool with me.
Nuclear Wynter, I know you guys have a cool, well-thought name. I get it. But you two are “relatively new” to each other. You’re inexperienced as a team together. I know C.M Virus has had the misfortune in the past to win tag team gold with Dave BLAZEN~SMASH, and others. But sadly, that doesn’t mean shit. On Violence this week, you face two guys who have been by each other’s side for years. Two guys who have not only been tag partners before, but have fought each other before. Twice. We fought one-on-one in the original eWo and in All Pro in a triple-threat. We’ve been in the ring together more times than you two have been in bed together, and that’s saying something. We know each other’s moves, each other’s strategy. We know what the other guy is going to do next. I know when Czecher needs a tag and I know when he needs to go it alone. We have something that only guys like us who have been buddies for years have, and that’s instinct. You still have a lot to learn.
So if you think having a catchy name and matching facial hair is going to win you the eWo Tag Team Titles, you will be very surprised. You will have to learn the hard way that eWo Originals do not take newcomers lightly. We’re not “cool” with new guys coming in and taking the gold that we, as eWo Originals, worked so hard to create. The history of this place was built on us, not you. It’s my legacy, my achievements that have this place here today. It’s my legacy that allows you to have a job here, that allows you to earn money without going back to that shit-hole BWF. So I suggest, when you’re in that ring on Sunday, and you’re lying on your back looking up at the lights, you of think the guys who just knocked you out. You think of the two legends of the business who just graced you with their presence and you think that one day, ONE DAY, you may just get to be like me.
A Fucking Idol.
The Shovel
The eWo...It's a spectaular place, many superstars have risen to glory here. Erin Jacobs, Cody Clark, Bill Dynamite, and myself - Czecher just to name a few. We've all paid our dues, we've gone through Hell and Back, sometimes twice, we've earned the right to waltz around the place like we own it...after all, we did build it. With out us, there would be no place for the likes Nuclear Wynter to come and play, they'd be stuck in some crap hole like BWF, which nobody wants. These two lover-boys should be thanking Bill and I, not trying to take the gold we worked so fucking hard to build and achieve. But, such as life. Work is work, and personally, I don't care at all who I'm beating the hell out of.
That's a brief little plug on the eWo and the legends, and the respect we deserve...Now, on to the match, and the first ever violence...again. Nuclear Wynter AKA C.M. Vyrus and Rylie Wynters, they have the luxery of fighting two of the best this promotion has ever seen. Bill Dynamite, first name on the Hall Of Fame, and rightfully so. He was still better than half the people I knew when he was overweight and on drugs...One of the few people I have ever seen gain weight from drug use. However, he still managed to get his life back on track, and he's fit again, and that's a scary thing. The older he gets, the better he seems to grow. Just like a true Idol, he never stops being great, he'll be great until the end of his days. Nuclear Wynter maybe younger and possibly faster, and who knows, maybe ever stronger, but they are not smarter, they are not wittier, and they are definatly not legends, and they have a long way to go before they are considered half-way decent...They will never become legends.
Would I consider myself a legend? Perhaps, I'm fairly modest, but I've won my fair share of hardware over the years, and I've been around long enough. But legend means that somebody admires you and looks up to you. You are their role model. I doubt I have reached that. I'm good, Bill is a legend. Perhaps a part of me is, his name is Captian Shovel. He's won me many a matches, but that is a story for another day.
You need proof we're legends? The Proof is Pain.
The Strip Joint
“Another snowball, please.” I say to the bartender.
“What do you mean, another? You haven’t had a snowball.”
“Then what was that?” Pointing at an empty glass.
“Cup-a-semen.”
I’ve been waiting all night for Czecher to arrive it seems. Maybe his wife has him doing the dishes or mowing the lawn. He’s so pussy-whipped. I’m waiting at the bar of a strip club I used to frequent once in a while when I was in town, The Booby Trap. Every chick in this place is out of this world hot, but they come at a cost. They lure you in with compliments and sweet talk and then BAM~! You’re motorboating their titties and it’s cost you fifty bucks. Well I’m staying strong tonight, I’m a rock, I’m untouchable, I’m…
“Hey big-guy.” Says a hot blonde bombshell, wearing a tiny nurses outfit. Her big tits are busting out of that thing, they’re begging to be grabbed. How can I resist? I’d like to see The Legend resist. I mutter some nonsense, it doesn’t matter she’s not listening. My hands are out of control, I start reaching out.
“Bill!” Czecher arrives and taps me on the shoulder to break the hypnosis. “Not wasting any time with the grabbing of the tits, I see.”
“Dammit, Czecher. You took so long, if I wasn’t so strong willed, 25 strippers would be pregnant by now.”
“Sorry, Bill. I was thinking up an excuse to tell Sarah. I told her I was buying her a diamond necklace.”
“Yeah? Then what you gonna do when you give her nothing but crabs?”
“I’m just here for a good time, man. Some drinks, a lap dance or two… Maybe even motorboat some titties. But nothing more.”
We get some drinks in and find a table front row to a pole. I take a large gulp of my lager as Busty Brown is introduced and makes her way onto the stage. She clocks eyes with me as soon as she starts to grind the pole.
“I’m telling you, man…” I begin, gulping down more lager and lighting up a massive cigar. “these chicks… They love me.”
“Yeah, they’re being paid to love you.” Czecher replies.
“By who?”
“You.”
I shrug my shoulders.
“I’m happy with that arrangement.”
I look over at Czecher and realise his biceps are nearly splitting the sleeves of his shirt open. The guy is only 5 years younger than me, but yet he looks more like 20 years younger. Makes me wonder whether I should have settled down like him, got myself a wife, a kid, kept in shape. Maybe saved my money for the future instead of blowing it away on booze, drugs and one night stands. But if I did that, I wouldn’t be Bill Dynamite, would I?
“You’re in damn good shape, Czechs.” I say nodding in approval.
“Yeah well, I always keep myself in shape, and since I knew I was signing for eWo I stepped it up a notch. How about you?”
“I bought a big tub of ice cream and watched daytime TV.”
“So your usual preparation then?”
“Indeed.”
The Czech Perspective
I chuckle and look up at the utterly gorgeous women dancing naked for me and my unsightly friend. A few seconds pass, and I stands up.
"Where the hell are you going? You just got here ya bum!" Bill shouts out
"To take a piss...if that's alright with you, mom..."
"...Fucker, ok go."
I push my chair out from the table; it makes an awful screeching noise that was audible above all the hardcore pole dance music. I make way for the pisser. The crowd in this place isn't too friendly looking, and I get eyed at, probably because I can walk on my own two feet in a straight line. Anyway, the head is just around the bar. Convenient place considering all the vomit rockets that will be seeking the porcelin toilet bowls. I walk through the door, there's an interesting character at one of the two urinals. He's wearing tight and I mean tight blue jeans with a rip just below the left butt cheek, a leather vest, and it doesn't look like there's a shirt underneath, and a pink truckers hat. His boots, well, they're pointy, very pointy. Unfortunately, I have to pee, really badly, and the stall seems to be taken, at least it smells like it. I move in beside the...interesting character.
"Hey big guy." The man says. I try to ignore him... "I said hey, you don't have to be rude about it, geeze."
"Oh, sorry..." I said and shot him an awkward kinda smile.
"Smiling at me? Smiling at me while I'm takin' a piss, what are you, some kinda gay?"
"err...uhh...n.." He interupts me.
"Well, that's good then big boy..." said and winked...and pulled back from the urinal. He was never taking a leak.
BANG!, the bathroom door flies open, I never thought I'd be so happy to see Bill Dynamite, piss drunk, in a bathroom with me before. He pauses to look at me and... my new friend with a very hard, yet small penis. He raises an eyebrow.
"I knew it! Kodak ya big gay...." Bill says. His face turns green; I know where this is going. It’s a shame the only stall is occupied.
"Bill, you ok...?"
"Toilet...now..." He takes off running for it.
"But It's...!"
Too late, he bursts through the door, and to the poor man's surprise, a near 300-pound wrestler falls with his head on his lap, and vomits through his legs. The erect crazy guy turns to me with a big smile.
“Looks like the party’s in there, sweetheart”
EgoCzech Out.
