The second defense.
Against ignorance.
Look at him.
Look at my opponent.
Hear his insolence.

He wants the Universal Title.
He thinks he's already won.
He's got the name plate ready.
He's marginalized the Champion.

The pyros have yet to fire.
The music hasn't played yet.
The bell hasn't rang.
This is only beginning.

Hybrid Theory
This is my message to you.
Your power, your Fuhrer.
Your leader, your mother.

Whatever the fuck he is,
He's taking a step down.
Permanently.
Maybe not to retire, but to recuperate.

Hybrid Theory amounts to nothing.
In a world built by gold,
They will understand:
No Cash Value.

DIRTY MANIFESTO
"The Hitler Complex"

Nathan Gust. The one that got away. Ha. I say that because he’s gotten away with murder ever since the concrete was poured to lay the foundations of Fight One Xperience. Führer is appropriate not only because of the negative connotations but also an important history lesson…

The Führer, yeah, he did well. He not only ruled his people but he nearly ruled the world. But then the Führer decided it would be a swell idea to push into Russia. Not since Alexander The Great rode through Siberia and Asia had a leader or Führer taken Russia. This miscalculation cost the Führer everything. Führer, I’m not Annika Reizeger but you’re damn sure I’m a much more insurmountable obstacle than Russia could ever be.

One hundred percent better than you.

If not for Adolph Hitler, Gust wouldn’t be so excited about calling himself The Führer. For the same reason, assholes fly swastikas and think they can cash in on the negativity caused by it. Yeah. Shock jocks—controversy hunters. Little bitches that can’t make their own titles and symbols so they steal those of the others.

To quote Dirty Harry, “A man’s gotta know his limitations.”

No, no you don’t know your limitations. You tell me to attack your hip, you tell me to look out for the old guy in the ring and you expect me to cower when you say you’re going to bring me down—blah blah fucking blah. No bitch, you’re telling me the same thing you tell everyone else. You know only your piddly ass script and you flaunt it like the phony fucken flag you wave around with a picture of your bozo face right in the middle of it.

You don’t have any respect left for this ring. Nah, you lost that long ago. You lost it the second you thought “The fed of which we do not speak” meant something. All it means is that Nathan Gust is now dated. He’s living in the past. He’s no better than the “Owner of which we don’t speak.”

NEWS FLASH!

Strike Fantasy Towers is just that—a fantasy. Just like the fantasy you have of beating me. This is Fight One, sir, You’d better expect me to be true to the fucking name. Trust me, it will be an experience. Yes. With an E.

Mr. Gust or Mr. Führer of whatever the fuck he wants us to call him now has a hard time with comprehension though. He’s off the wall nuts but thinks he’s in control. He wishes the part he plays in this modern day “Rainman” was that of Tom Cruise but he’s wrong. Like I said, he’s got problems comprehending things. One of those things is how he rates…

I’ll be the first one to give him credit where it’s due. He has done a lot to help Fight One get to where it is but what does he want to do now that it’s rolling? He wants to use his power to get him the top title in the federation. Yeah. Look at how that power worked out for him in the Vendetta picture. Now he wants to flat out lie to you guys and say he used his power to get himself a title shot? No. Fuck that, and fuck those who believe him. I gave him this shot—I picked him. I’m giving him the credit he deserves. He’s done so much for this promotion that yes—he deserves a title shot.

But…

Now he wants to turn around on me and claim that he engineered all of this—what—so he can look cool to that fat greasy XCW?

All you’re achieving with this charade is an ass-kicking. Why do you think you got the “Führer” title anyway? It’s a nothing position. You’re the Führer and Brick Ramrock is the Assistant Principle. Whoopty fucking do. Aidan’s the boss--he just lets you think you're pulling the strings. You didn’t engineer this title shot—I did. Snap out of your fantasy Gust.  Snap out of it.

Maybe you should take a cue from King and Pitt and step onto this side of the camera.

At Aftershock the fantasy ends.
 

 

 

DIRTY MIND FUCK
"The Devil in disguise."

Times like these I get the sensation I need to run. Run hard and run fast. Run until my muscles burn and I fall over. Yeah, that’s right, fall over. I hit it up hard, seriously. I swear sweat bands—the works. I do it because I believe in the business. I know what wrestling is and I don’t let it bother me when the chips are down.

I’m on top of a mountain. I’m King here.

No, literally, I’m standing on the top of a mountain. I’m looking down upon Fight One from my stoop and I don’t like what I see.

I’m talking to god.

“Gust’s all out of date rubbish and frankly, I wish I could leave it alone but I can’t.” I admit.

I bust out into some jumping jacks, counting the cadence, I’m working myself up.

“Nathan Gust. Sounds familiar.” He murmurs, “The lost child of Strike Force Towers.”

“Some’n like that.”

I hit the ground and go into push ups. I let the sweat roll—pushing hard and fast. I push myself off the ground and start clapping my hands. I let go of how retarded I must look. There I am, on top of a mountain, as close as I’ll ever be to heaven, and I’m doing pushups.

“This one’s big.” I clap; snap up and down. I clap, “Real big—for the Title.”

“And?” He laughs, “Titles matter to you now?”

“This one does.” I mutter.

“Why?”

I stop, I pop back to my feet. I start into squat thrusts.

“Fight One Xperience is be all end all.” Slips through my lips.

“No, that’s me.”

“For a wrestling promotion, I mean.” My words don’t drown out the cadence banging out in my head.

“Very good.”

“Gust isn’t protecting this ring.” I shoot up straight and snap back to a crouch.

“Are you?”

The cadence disappears. The sky goes black. The ground rushes out from beneath me. I fall. Straight down and I’m not stopping. I can’t see anything. I land in the middle of the ring—I look up and the lights blind me.

“This is your love.”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course.”

I look down and a slash opens up in the canvas, blood seeps out. I look down at my chest, it’s slashed open too.

“Protect it.”

“How?!”

The canvas rips open in a bigger slash. I feel a slash open up on my cheek. I fall back against the ropes. I fall forward but hook my arms on the ropes behind me. The light grows more intense.

“You cannot protect this ring. We must move beyond that now.”

I’m standing before God. He’s wearing James Gemini’s mask.

“What?”

“We must become one.” He growls.

He pulls off his mask. It’s Till.

“Greetings.” He snarls.

I push myself back up and rush forward to hit him but he reaches out a claw and slashes the canvas. The other side of my face opens up. I grab him by the throat. But he smacks me off.

“I am with both of you now.” Till mutters, “You were merely a puppet. You have been groomed for this Shane.” He snarls, “This was inevitable.”

I get up to my knees.

“I will never be rid of you will I?”

“Oh it’s too late to get rid of me now Shane.” His Mohawk is taller than it ever has been. His eyes are deep dark pits, no whites, like hunks of coal.

“This will be easier if you simply accept me.” Till snarls.

I rush over to the turn buckles and rip off the covering, I roll the turn buckle slack as fast as I can. I pull it free and wield it as a weapon.

“This will be forever Till.” He roar, as I plunge the turnbuckle into my jugular.

“How cute.” He smiles and watches me fall to my knees, “Sacrificing yourself like that.” He walks to me and pulls the turnbuckle out of my neck. He flings it behind him, “You’ve already been sacrificed.”

He falls into me. I wake up and grab at my throat and look for blood. I’m sweaty and in the middle of the bed… Bronwen’s nowhere to be seen.

Outside I hear the bark of a dog… The barking abruptly ends with a crunch and a yelp.
My eyes glow red in the mirror across the room.

 

And now it gets ridiculous.
You think you know,
But you're clearly fooled.
Didn't see it coming?

Bully on you.

Nothing is what it seems.
Still.  Walsh didn't change anything.
Gust won't either.
None of you will.

No Cash Value.
The Devil in disguise
stalks Eve in Paradise.
Hidden and despised

Nothing is as it seems.

-DG

 

DIRTY AMERICAN DREAM
"Stalking Eve in Paradise."

I roll out of my bed and wipe sweat from my brow. My vision’s blurred. I stumbled to the bathroom and splash water in my face. I can’t stop thinking about how real it’s all becoming. I dab myself off with a towel and return to my room and throw open the window. The cool breeze helps but I feel knotted up inside. I’m having a bad trip—but I didn’t take anything. I breathe out fog. I shiver.

The entire room is cold…

“This will never end.” My voice isn’t my own.

Bronwen enters the room… I turn to her and stand up straight. Her eyes shine in the darkness. I take a step towards her.

“It’s freezing in here.” She says.

“Freezing.” My last words…

“Are you ok?” She asks.

“I’m perfect.”

She steps closer. She’s in nothing more than a robe. I pull the robe up off her shoulders and let it fall to the ground. She stands before me—vulnerable. I pull her against me but she pushes me away.

“You’re freezing.” She shudders.

I glare at her and grab her by the throat but she struggles. She rips my hand from her throat and tries to put me into an arm bar but I spin her right back into my arms. I wrap my arms around her and growl into her ear, I breathe out hot breathe onto her neck.

“Raising your temperature?”

“I will fucking…” Bronwen struggles, “What’s gotten into you?”

“What’s gotten into you?” I sneer as I sling her onto the bed.

“Shane?” She looks up at me—she’s confused. Almost scared.

I smile, “Don’t girls like you like it rough?”

“Girls like me?” She asks, her lip curls. “Girls like me like it ROUGH!” She yells, she leaps up and decks me right in the mouth. I stumble back and shake my head.

“God what the hell was that for?!”

“Don’t you talk to me like that bucko.” Bronwen’s buck as naked and about to toss another fist.

I stop her attack and subdue her. We kiss. She struggles but I push her back into the bed. Her nails claw my back. I look up—frost is receding from the walls.

What the hell is happening?

I cringe and roll off over beside her—she’s rolls right over on top of me and kisses my chin.
“What’s wrong with me” I whisper.

“What?” She asks, “Something wrong with a raging hard on?”

She pushes herself into a mount position.

“What could possibly be wrong, drama queen?” She asks with a groan.

“Do you ever dream of Till?” I ask.

“Oh, so you really wanna ruin the mood.” She stops moving and looks down at me, I sit up and wrap my arms around her. “Why do you ask?”

“Fucked up dream.” I mutter. “Nevermind.” I kiss her neck and she wraps her arms around me, taking my hair in her fingers…

“Don’t worry about him. And right now, put him out of your mind.” She whispers, “Just let it be us.”

We kiss.

Just the two of us--that’s how this should all end. Titles, Stables, Promotions, they fade away, they disappear. Bronwen and I can outlast it all. We can weather the storm.

“Just the two of us.” My voice is hushed…

“Against the world.”

On this night, the Dirty Dog vanishes… On this night, the moon eclipses the sun. On this night, a heir is conceived. On this night, a god is born.

Everything vanishes in a deep crimson red flash.

A God is Born.