1.3
"I'm not going to lie to you. It may be a difficult pill for a lot of you to swallow, but I make a habit of telling the truth. It's often cold; it's often brutal; but it's the truth. So, with that being said, here's me being honest:
This isn't what I wanted.
See, some people do this for the thrill of competition. Others do it because they just get their jollies from causing other people to suffer. Me? I guess I'm a little bit of both. More importantly though, I do this because every now and then, I stumble across the faintest whisper of a challenge that forces me to dig deep down inside myself and come up with something new.
I do this to better myself.
There used to be a time - five or six, maybe even seven years ago - when people like me were the norm. Everybody had their eye on the prize; everybody wanted to be 'big man on campus'. Nowadays, I just don't see it. Sure there's the odd glimmer of hope - there's certainly a lot of talk, but really, when you have somebody like Hunter fucking Ryan trying to get into the Hall of Legends on the basis of having the most United States title reigns, then you've gone seriously awry somewhere.
Newsflash Hunter: You're not Centurion.
As a matter of fact, Centurion and that uber-flake brother of his Extreme Warrior are the two shitheads that are most to blame for this embarrassing promotion of mediocrity that is currently plaguing the XWF, and they should be fucking ashamed of themselves. A Canadian Title legend and a Cruiserweight legend? Next thing we'll be doing is dropping somebody into the Hall for never progressing past the Hart or X-Treme divisions. Actually, in regards to the latter, I want to take the time right now to send a little message to Zach Rizza.
Zach, buddy-boy, nobody fucking cares about the twenty-billion X-Treme Title reigns you've had, because nobody cares about the X-Treme Title. Jayzon Williamz doesn't even care about it, hence why he's gunning for 'your' World Title. Furthermore, nobody even cares about Jayzon Williamz anymore, so if he doesn't give a shit about something then you know it's worth less than Miss Kitten's opinion on safe-sex practices and Peter Gilmour's opinion on, well... anything, combined.
'Come back soon, bub.'
Faggot.
Hmm... you know, Jayzon, while I've got you here, I feel like I should explain a little something to you. I'll even speak slow too, since I know your people have trouble with the English language, what with all the cotton-picking and corner store hold-ps digging seriously into your school time.
Point A: Jayzon, you are not relevant.
Now, don't get me wrong 'homie', that last point wasn't intended as racism. It's just stating a fact. You are a nigger. You are not an African American. You are not a black man. You are a dirty, filthy, stinking nigger. You perpetuate every negative stereotype associated with your race, and given that your hideous nigger mug is broadcast into television sets around the world on a weekly basis, you serve as a representative of your race. Quite frankly, Jayzon, you are doing a terrible job.
Side note: What the fuck is with the whole Zs in the name, gig? That shit's at least a decade old, you'd have to have been around for... oh... hmm...
Faggot.
In case you didn't catch it, there's a recurring theme here. It may not be 'mature', but fuck it. At least it's half-way logical, and that sort of shit has been lacking so god-damn much around here. Of course, it was pretty bad at the beginning of the year too, but at least then there was this stalwart motherfucking fending off the mass retardation threatening to overwhelm the two percent of potential brain capacity that the majority of you buttmunchers actually used.
By the way, I was just referring to myself. And yes, I did feel the need to explain that, because with the way some of you think (or don't think, as the case may be), you'd have gone to the motherfucking grave still trying to work that shit out. And yes, I did start a sentence with the word 'and'. Grammar is my bitch, so sue me. Actually, please don't. There's only one way that would end: you losing, crying, killing yourself, and depriving me of the honour of being responsible. I guess it'd be kind of cool to add another to my 'Accessory to Murder' list, because Famine of the Vile's probably getting lonely, but hey at least he'll have Davey Dunham and his entire gang of merry fudgepackers to keep him company soon. Because rest assured, that little bitch is going to fucking die. It's kind of funny actually, I explained myself to avoid you assholes dying sans enlightenment, but I haven't done shit to address the actual act of dying itself...
...
It was funny to me, okay?
You can't stop the inevitable, anyway. The only thing that you can do is try to be as comfortable as possible, and hope that it won't hurt.
Problem is, it will hurt. That's just a fucking fact. Adding to that, there is no way in hell that anybody can be comfortable with me lurking around the corner once again. See, you dickwads thought you were safe. You thought Dante Anglais' shenanigans were going to protect you from the big bad wolf. But Dante was a bitch, injecting himself into the main event to try and leech off my notoriety. True to form, he ultimately failed, because the moment he stepped away from his position I was thrust back into the roster quicker than Centurion's crotch-rocket fires when massaging oils into Steve Jason's inner thigh. Dante Anglais was a complete douchebag, but when he fired me, all the muppets in the crowd actually cheered him. Think about that for a second. Dante Anglais did something that people actually enjoyed. That's some twisted shit right there. Furthermore, Drake Komodo is a monumental ass, and yet he was the one getting cheers against me. Apparently, I have some sort of superpower that lets me change how anybody is perceived by others. I am ratings. I am money. I am fucking gold. I am the reference point by which other people are judged. That just tells me one thing:
I am better than them.
Despite Dante and Drake's conspiracy to take my Universal Title from me, I still stand proudly, knowing full well that I am above and beyond what either of them could ever hope to be on their own. I changed their worlds forever, yet all they ever did to me was ever-so-slightly inconvenience me. They were the equivalent of that fly that buzzes around the room when you're trying to go to sleep. With one foul swat, it's gone.
You've all missed me too. I can tell. That's why there have been so many people so eager to fill my shoes. RJ Palmer springs to mind instantly, and recently Jason Mudd can be put into the same category. But neither of those two twats are quite like the real thing, and if they think they're fooling anybody, they should go ahead and think again. It's like I used to say:
I am Kieran King.
You're not.
Accept no substitutes, XWF. Don't buy into this half-assed, mediocre nonsense. Take this Universal Title tournament for instance. It's a motherfucking joke. Why?
Because I was left out.
My contract states that when I get back in the ring – so, this Sunday – I no longer have the option of refusing matches. Naturally, I wanted to cash in on something worthwhile, and what could appeal to the 'over-inflated ego' that people love to label me with, than a chance to once again hold the title that I was unjustly screwed out of? Apparently management isn't all that bright these days. Hell, Bliz just got his ass kicked by Kid Money of all people over in PWE. Last I checked, I annihilated Kid in my third match ever. That cocksucker can call himself 'K Money' all he wants now, but compared to me, he's still just a kid. Shit, I should probably be sent straight back to that Siberian prison after how badly I raped that bitch. But no, here I am, preparing to get back into an XWF ring, and yet being kept as far away from any gold as possible. Trust me when I say that it doesn't get any further than Davey Dunham. Gold equals success in our line of work, and success and Davey have never really been on the same page since I crushed his hopes and dreams at the end of last year.
If somebody wasn't already running around and making a mockery of this tournament, I'd have half a mind to do something about it myself. After all, you're going to include Peter Gilmour and not me? Man, that's legitimately the most hurtful thing that anybody has ever done to me. The very thought of it makes me want to smash someone's face into a jelly. Steve Jason and Ace Vincent come to mind as swell face-smashing targets, but I don't want to risk being molested by some freak in green spandex. Seriously... Greenman? Can you say 'what the fuck'? I don't know if this is the single most amazing thing I've ever seen happen in this company, or the most retarded. I'm leaning towards the latter. To each his own though. Greenman can get his kicks from skin-tight spandex, I'll get mine from being fucking incredible at everything, and Jayzon Williamz can get his from sticking a finger up his ass and throwing faeces with the rest of the monkeys.
God I hate what this place has become. It's a fucking circus around here. We even get a tent pitched up when Hunter Ryan starts talking about Ranma Saotome. Man, that motherfucker had to steal his name from a Japanese manga series, and I wouldn't be surprised if everything else he did was copied from somewhere else, since nobody can spout that much nonsensical bullshit and not be locked up in the loony bin. I hate that fucking queer. In fact, I'm pretty much hating on everybody right now. Can you blame me though? Given the circumstances that I left in, I think my own sanity should be brought into question if I didn't return filled to the brim with piss and vinegar. Luckily I'm getting a human crash dummy thrown at me to take out all these lingering frustrations upon. Personally, I couldn't have thought of a better punching bag to use than Davey Dunham, but it's like I said at the start of this little tirade:
This isn't what I wanted.
I had to think long and hard about how this match could contribute at all to progressing myself along the continuum of badassery, and I finally settled on the whole 'burying the past' shtick, but the prospect of facing Davey Dunham one more time still bores me a little.
What I wanted was to be facing those two losers Manny Harris and Joey Caso. At least then I'd have two fuckers to deal with, and that's always an interesting situation. Sure they've got nothing in the way of experience, but I'm pretty certain that if things went how they were going to, they'd be all about trying to kick my pretty little face in, and to me that sounds like a fun ol' time.
But no, Davey had to go and switch things up again. I'm not even mad though; I'm just disappointed. In myself more than I am in him, too. I should've seen this coming. That little motherfucker can't stick to one plan for more than two weeks without playing his flake card. Manny and Joey were dead in the water the moment they signed up to have him as their 'manager'. It should be a prerequisite for management, that you've got to be able to handle your own shit first and foremost. But hey, I suppose I should share in the blame for Davey's inability to accomplish anything worthwhile. Since December 27, 2009, Davey Dunham has been on a downhill slide that just keeps getting more and more pronounced.
Davey... you're welcome for that.
Let's do the history lesson, alright? Davey Dunham may have had one or two matches here prior to the 2009 X-Mas X-Treme tournament, I can't remember though, as he was never very important (and still isn't when you think about it). So, given his 'nobody' status, when his name was dropped against Brian Cady in the first round, everybody chose Cady as the guaranteed winner. I could relate, as nobody expected me to get past Jack Nation.
We both did, easily.
Begin the second round, and Davey Dunham has drawn Dante Anglais, while I've got the then Hart Champion, Dr. Emo. These two were supposed to meet in the finals against each other, but what'd Davey and I do? We booted them the fuck out, where they belong. Neither have ever managed to claw their way back into serious contention since, despite Emo being given a Universal and World shot in a tag match for the simple reason of their being nobody else to take it.
Third round and the two biggest names going into the tournament fell. Davey took out Famine of the Vile, while I sent the then Cruiserweight Champion Kid Money high-tailing back to PWE where he can fight perennial curtain-jerkers like Hawaiian Hardhead. The stage was set for the final that nobody predicted: Davey Dunham versus Kieran King, round one, with the XWF World Title on the line as well as, how would Davey put it? All the bragging rights?
Yeah, that sounds about right.
I don't think I have to remind anybody of the outcome. My stock kept rising while Davey fell into the same pit of despair that Dr. Emo and Dante Anglais have been wallowing in ever since.
I am so very fucking proud of myself for that.
The interesting thing about this all though, is back then everybody seemed to like me. If anything, Davey was the 'bad guy' due to the dubious circumstances around the finals match
How are Marco and Noah Polo doing, by the way, Davey? Whatever did happen to them after they hightailed it the fuck away from where I could reach them?
Times have changed though. Now apparently you're some sort of 'hero to the people', while I'm public enemy number one. It doesn't really make sense when you think about it. I beat you, when the Polo Brothers got involved, as well as your bland little beast Haley; and then I beat you again when I was put across the ring from you and Peter Gilmour in a handicap situation. Yet, after doing all that and proving just how incredible I am, the people started to get rather pissy about it. I tried to dream up reasons for this, and eventually I think I came to a pretty solid conclusion. The idiots didn't like me anymore because they completely misunderstood who I was from day one. They used to look at me like I represented the dream that 'anybody can do anything', but that was never the case. Just like I've always been better than Jack Nation, Dr. Emo, Kid Money, Peter Gilmour, Famine of the Vile, Big Shank, you, and every other person I've had to face... I was always better than them. Sooner or later, it just became impossible for them to ignore that fact. I didn't change at all. I was never one of them.
You on the other hand, are exactly like them, and knowing you like I do, you're probably going to take some fucking pride in that. You have the same desire as I do: the desire to better yourself, but the task is just too damn hard for you. That's the same mentality that leads to the obesity epidemic plaguing the Western world, or criminal reoffending, or any number of character flaws that a person might have. You can recognise when you're wrong, but you're just too weak willed to do anything about it.
That's why you surround yourself with so many idiots.
Noah and Marco.
Manny and Joey.
Alex Berenstein.
Haley Colebridge.
I'm probably leaving some of your 'crew' out too. You're all the same though. You only serve one purpose anymore: fodder for those better than you.
Ultimately, Davey, this has been too long in the making for me to just turn and walk away from raping your will to live one more time. Since the moment I stepped foot back in this company, you've been nagging at me to shut the fuck up, but it's all been so circular that everything can be turned right back onto you.
I'm a one-hit wonder?
I'm feeding people the same lines over and over?
Do you see where I'm going with this?
Back when we both made our returns on the same night, you admitted that I had gotten into your head, but then you also said that wasn't going to be the case anymore. So... what changed, brah? What caused you to keep on coming out, week after week, to interrupt me? What caused you to first volunteer to lead your lambs Manny and Joey to the slaughter, only to opt them out as close as possible to match-time, so you can get up-close-and-personal with me? I think I already know the answer, Davey.
You're infatuated with me.
Not only can this not be healthy for you, but from my perspective, it's fucking gross, dude. I understand how drop-dead gorgeous I am, and I understand that the highest point of your career was the loss to me, so you forever want to entwine yourself in my history to live vicariously off my greatness... but if you could go ahead and knock it off sometime soon, that'd be much appreciated, because you're making me feel uncomfortable.
I think I get it though, Davey. You have a death wish. You actually want me to murder you. What other possible explanation could there be? If you had any respect for your own life, you'd head on back to the military and start following orders again, because it's pretty fucking evident that leaving you to hatch your own plans is just going to result in a shit-ton of casualties to your people.
What's that little Satan-spawn that your pet demon-woman is carrying, going to do without a father, huh? Did you think about that while you were sitting on your cloud of judgement looking down your nose at me? Did the thought cross your mind, even if just for a second, that if I am nearly as bad a person as you would make me out to be, then I'd have no qualms about taking that child's father away from him, permanently? I'm talking about killing you, Davey. It's not usually my style to do this, since I don't go for that dark, ominous and retarded Peter Gilmour approach, but I really need you to have some perspective before you get into that ring with me. You are not a good wrestler, Davey. Once upon a time you had the makings of a future star, but you flushed it all away and now all that's left is a broken man. Do you think I want to be the man who finally puts you out of your misery? No, I don't. It's like salting another human being, you just don't want to have to go through it. Hell, I hear Drake Komodo is going to be in the building on Sunday night, so I'd much rather give him the kick in the dick that I owe him than put the final nail into your embarrassingly cheap coffin. But if you don't think very carefully about what you're doing, Davey, well... let's just say that I warned you, alright?
This isn't just how it's going to be Davey, it's how it's got to be. I know what I'm getting myself into. I'm using up my contract on your bitch-ass, and afterwards there's nothing stopping me from getting thrown in with the rest of the useless and the worthless – the faded and jaded characters subjected to the ebs and flows of normality. But I'm about to switch things up, cause shit seriously needs changing around here, and I'm just the man for the job.
I'm back for revenge and I've never even lost a fucking battle. I've been screwed over once, and I'm not going to let it happen again. This time, I've got to be proactive. I've drawn up a list, and written all you fuckers down on it in pencil. From Davey Dunham to Jayzon Williamz, Centurion to RJ Palmer. One by one I will get the opportunity to erase you from the list, and from history. You see... I haven't even begun to get angry yet. I've got an unscratched surface that's just waiting to get peeled back. Underneath that surface is a man whose words are more acidic than the pH scale allows for. Right now, I'm still going the fucking scenic route and premeditated slaughter is still being brought into the equation. Think about that for a second, will you?
I'm under two hundred pounds and less than six feet tall, so it's not like I'm trying to be intimidating here. I just feel like I've got to warn you that a fire is about to start and you're all out of water and sand. So Davey Dunham, put your ass on display and keep giving me fuel. Keep giving me reasons to take you back to school. You wanted this, and now you've got it. I'm getting set to blow the roof off of this motherfucking joint. These aren't just words, this is a warning.
I, Kieran King, have never lost a straight up, one-on-one match, in my entire life - since we all know that Drake Komodo bullshit doesn't count. What the fuck makes you think you're going to be the exception to the rule, Davey? As a matter of fact, what the fuck makes you think you're going to be the exception to your own rule? You're a flake. That's who you are. You're a little fucking pussy that's never even been close to being on my level, and never will because every second match you're too busy painting your toenails to actually show up. You can't even give a good excuse for it either. At least when I don't show up, I let people know that I'm too good for them. Heh... we're polar opposites there. I'm too good, while you're not good enough.
I'm the man that they're too scared to put near the Universal Title. I'm the man who has had the single biggest impact on this company this year. I've changed everything, and I'm not even close to being finished yet. It's like I told you on Anarchy, Davey... you're a virus. Just like the Steve Jasons and the Ace Vincents of this world – the Peter Gilmours and the Nick Ryans. You're the plague, and I've got the antidote.
I am Kieran King.
You are fucking dead".
Point B: Jayzon, you are not entertaining.
Point C: Jayzon, you are not talented.
Point D: Jayzon, you are not worthy of oxygen.
Point E: Jayzon, you are a nigger.
