I've got to that time of life when just getting out of bed in the afternoon hurts every bone and muscle in my body. For any normal person that age is about 80, but I've been a professional wrestler for 25 years so technically I should be dead by now.
If history has taught us anything though, it's that old men trying to wrestle is embarrassing. Are you listening Reece Jackson? You fucking fat retard. Jesus, man, I’m in my mid 40s and my body is falling apart, you must lose a major organ every time you take a shit! You’re the archetypal old man river of wrestling. We've all seen it and we've all heckled from our armchairs, telling that old codger to hang up the boots and stop stinking up the place. It's easy for that old geezer to retire and put his feet up, watch This Morning and have a wank over Holly Willoughby. But it's hard to stay retired.
Every day you're reminded of your glory days. It’s always on my mind. The occasional autograph or photo-op that stops you in your tracks and takes you back to those hazy nights of blood, sweat and tears. And there are the trophies, belts and pictures of past success hanging up on the walls that take you back to the screaming crowd watching you hold up that championship gold above your head... And throw garbage at you. I can't escape those feelings. I can't let that passion go. Also I just had an extension put on the house and what am I gonna pay that with? Fucking M&Ms?
So what if I weigh over 300 pounds now? So what if my tan makes me look like a slag's handbag? And so what if my shits weigh more than King Kong’s balls? I'm a straight-up wrestling legend and I don't need conditioning to draw money, I have big name value. All this talk of fitness and agility, it's all bollocks. It's just a myth to convince all the fat little bastard kids of the world to stop eating Wotsits. Well I'm not buying. Because I'm wide awake, I know the truth. The crowd isn’t here to see a fat, balding, leather-skinned former substance abuser make a fool of himself on live TV; they're here to see The Idol Bill Dynamite.
I know how that sounds.
"Hey sweet cheeks..." I say, cocktail in hand, leaning on the bar in a place I suppose only Canadians would call classy. "Did it hurt when you fell from heaven because... You have great jugs"
"Fuck you, perv. I was born in 1990. You look like you probably had a hip replacement that year". She says, correctly, as she takes the last gulp of her Smirnoff Ice.
"You’re a treat. Do you have any English in you?"
"No"
"Would you like some?" I reply, real suave. She gets up and leaves, I take a last look at her tight arse through her dress. "I love you!” She doesn't respond.
The bad thing about coming out of retirement is that I have to leave the comforts of good old blighty and the green, green grass of home and go across the pond to either the shit stinking streets of America or... Well, the shit stinking streets of Canada. And here the ladies are different. I mean you get the same ho-bags here that you do in England, but it's the subtle differences. In America most places you need to be 21 to drink. 21! By that time they've been pounded by more dudes than momma Clark. And where's the fun in that?
So I’m here in this toilet they call a bar, once again waiting for Czecher to get here. But with the way his mind has been recently I’d be surprised if he made it. He’s totally lost it. I mean, I thought he lost it long ago, but it turns out he just misplaced it. Now he’s totally fucking lost it. I can’t keep his attention for longer than five seconds before he’s telling me about the seagulls flying south or some bullshit. If we’re gonna be a cohesive tag-team I need to know he’s gonna have my back and not be up in the clouds away with the fairies. But there’s one thing I know about Czecher – no matter how much poetry he reads, he’ll decapitate you with a shovel if needs be, so don’t make him mad. We’ll get a tag match soon and we’ll show the world EgoCzech still has it. By has it I mean hepatitis. And by EgoCzech, I mean me.
My phone rings, I have my own entrance theme as my ringtone to make sure everyone in the room puts a name to the face. The caller display reads “That Czech Dude”.
“Hello mate, where are you…? Where? That’s ridiculous, I’ve been waiting for you, you dumbass… Just leave them… I’m sure the ducklings can find their own way home… yes I think six hours is a long enough journey… So what if it does rain…? Yes but they’re ducks, they’ll swim… Czecher this is just absurd… So you’re not coming? Well I’ve been trying to get some action but it isn’t happening… Yes I tried the lines you gave me… I did try that one… I asked if she had any English in her… No it didn’t work… It worked for you? By ‘worked for you’ do you mean you asked them if they had any Czech in them, they said no and you killed them with a shovel..? Yes I know you’re not that guy anymore… I’m sorry… I said I’m sorry. I’ve apologized to you I don’t need to apologize to all the kids in the world… Are you coming or not? Czechs? Hello? HELLO?! DAMMIT!” Asshole. Looks like I’ll prepare for this match on my own.
I go into this match as the most experienced fella in there. I'm so experienced I’ve done no research on my opponents what so ever and merely assume that I'm correct. And that's enough for me. Experience only takes you so far in a match but conditioning takes you the rest. I haven't got conditioning so I hope to end it before then. I'm gonna bring a 6-pack of red bull, not to give me energy but to mix with the vodka I bring to pick my spirits up after a match.
And what a match. Thanks Wolf, you idiot. Nice booking. Take a dude who’s been retired for 2 years and stick him in the main event. I thought I’d be in a tag match, letting Czecher do all the work. But now I actually have to do stuff on my own? Are you kidding me? Seriously, have I not embarrassed myself enough over the years for you to give me a break? I wrestled an entire Body Count Rumble naked. Everyone saw Voyager. That’s not a bad thing for me, but there were kids in the crowd and the judge told me not to get my dick out in front of them ever again. But I’m a professional, I rise above it. I didn’t get the reputation I have for backing out of fights, and I won’t back out now. On paper it’s definitely the most interesting match of the night, and I doubt WOLF will see a more interesting match this year. I heard some shitstain say it's a history lesson in the form of a triple threat match, and in a lot of ways it’s true.
There’s a lad known as “The Bastard Himself” Jack Darling. The last person I called darling was pregnant 20 seconds later! So will you if you're not careful. I’m serious, son. Don't turn your back on Dynamite, you'll get donkey punched. I’m literally gonna fuck you, not with my dick, but with my boot. Left ones for you, right one is for Cross. I’m gonna be up to my nuts in guts and there’s nothing you two nob jockeys can do about it. I’m thinking of making you my little bitch after this fight and I don't play nice, I won’t love you tender. I'll ruin you like I'm doing life and I see Jessica Alba practicing yoga in the yard. I’ll show you what the Jailhouse rock is. It’s gonna hurt, you wont enjoy it and you damn sure won’t forget it.
If you ever did some time in the pen, Darling, you'd be everyone’s bitch. You'd only have to serve one day and you'll not shit right for the rest of your life. You’re that kind of guy, I can tell. You’ll talk tough and act tough, but when you come up against a big dog you’ll realize you’re out of your depth. I know you’ve been eWo World Champion, congratulations, but did you beat anybody even close to my level of superstardom? I think not. If you were around in my era of eWo, son, I’d show you what a real champion is made of. The shit I went through to get that belt… and I didn’t even get pinned to have it taken away from me. Do you know how it makes me feel to know you held that title and didn’t beat me for it? It makes me feel like knocking your teeth so far down your throat you’ll have to stick Colgate up your arse.
Do you know why I’m the biggest name in wrestling history? I’ll let you in a little secret. It’s because I have the biggest dick. They can say size doesn’t matter all they like, but when you shove a giant dick in their face they soon change their tune. It’s all about how big your dick is, and I can tell you’re pushing 3 inches on a warm day, so you’re nothing to me. I know what you’re thinking, and yes I do have a name for my penis. If you don’t already know, I call him Voyager. Reason being; because he's often in and out of black holes. And that’s not racist folks; I just like the jingle jangle of a piece of Caribbean arse from time to time. Not on a Tuesday though, not on a Tuesday.
Speaking of arse, I do believe I’m stepping into the ring with yet another former world champ, Kyle Cross - “The Scarred Sentinel”. I scarred my sentinel once when I got it caught in my zipper. And I’ll scar yours too. How’s this for a scar? How about I tear you a new arsehole so you can be fucked twice at the same time? I bet you’d enjoy that huh. I bet you’ve been inside, Cross. Not for breaking the law, I just think you visit sometimes to get some action. I’ve heard about you, Kyle, I appreciate your reputation in this business, but I don’t appreciate you thinking you’re some kind of legend. You haven’t got an ounce of charisma and I piss more presence than you’ve ever even had in your whole life.
You need to be absolutely sure before you question a man’s desire and drive. When you bring a warrior’s heart into disrepute you need to be spot on in that assumption. On this occasion, you’re totally correct. You’re spot on, I have no heart for this business any longer. To get in there and fight you and Darling pleases me only two ways. 1) I get to punch you repeatedly in that god-awful, continuously running mouth of yours. 2) I’m paid handsomely to do so.
Nevertheless, I don’t see the need for you to point out to everyone that I’m here for the pay cheque when it’s blatantly obvious to everyone. When was the last time I cared? It’s so long I don’t remember. So yeah I’m fueled by money, not heart. Fuck heart! You can keep your heart and that moronic relationship you have with the fans and you can stick it straight up your arse.
Those fans of yours. Are they following you or are you following them? I have a suspicious mind about that. Just be careful, because one day when you’re old, not Dynamite old, I’m talking Reece Jackson old. One day you’ll realize that those fans didn’t give a fuck about you, they just see you as a punching bag that they pay to see battered. You’ll see one day that all the blood you spilled was for what? Some spotty little internet nerd, 35 years old wearing your ring outfit to the event. That little prick will discard all your merchandise and forget about you the second you go take a piss and someone new comes along. Then you’ll see that the person you should be sweating, bleeding a dying for is yourself and only you. Nobody else deserves that. The quicker you realize this the better, just take a leaf out of my book and in ten years when you make another comeback you’ll know you don’t need to worry if anyone likes you, forget the public opinion, you just come in, pick up your cheque and go home. That’s content. That’s me. That’s why no pressure is on me whatsoever to win this match. In fact, despite my previous honours I’m the rank outsider and that suits me down to the ground because when you and Darling are killing each other in your quest to become the big dog, the real big dog, the biggest dog of them all – the hound dog is waiting right there to take your beaten carcass and finish you forever.
They called Elvis ‘The King’, and fat Elvis or not, he’d still get more pussy in one day than you’ll get in a lifetime, whereas you’ll be lonesome tonight. So come Futures, It’s gonna be quite the occasion for you and Darling, for you two have the chance to go down in history, just another couple of wannabes getting demolished by the one true king of wrestling. Get your hands off my throne you ham and eggers, the king isn’t dead yet. Win or lose; I’ll still be the man in this business until the day I die. Uh huh, I’m all shook up.
The Ego…
… Has Landed.
