One step. Two step. Three step. Four.
The further I walk, the further I’ll crawl.
But I’ll walk. I’ll keep walking until I can’t. I chose my path and I’ll be damned if anybody will make me turn around and go back to the last fork in the road. It doesn’t work like that. There’s no room to turn around. One slip of the foot and there’s nothing there. I don’t want to fall into that. I’ve been there once before and it took everything I had to pull myself up. I’m not going back there. I won’t do it.
One step. Two step. Three step. Four.
The further I walk, the further I’ll crawl.
But I’m not crawling. I’m walking upright. I’m walking flatfooted across the tightrope drawn across the nothingness. Across the abyss. I feel like I’m in an Indiana Jones movie, because this life is an adventure. It’s full of danger. Full of loss. But most importantly it’s full of hope. And that hope is what I clutch in my hands. It’s what keeps me balanced. There is no twenty foot pole that somehow keeps me standing, despite seeming like it should be cause for my downfall. There are no ropes within arms reach that I can brush my hands across and can snatch up if need be. And most importantly of all, there is no safety net below me. I’ve fallen before and all that’s down there is… well… picture your worst fear. That’s what awaits you. It’s like in Stephen King’s novel It. What you see down there is merely interpreted by your brain as the worst thing you could imagine. Hell, I think even Harry Potter has something along those lines. But this time I am assisted. Like I already said… this time I clutch at hope.
Hope is a powerful tool. Hope is what I found when first I clawed my way back up from the darkness. Hope is what has guided me to the path I now walk. Hope is what shines a dim, blurry light ahead of me to lead me through the fog. I trust in hope. I trust in my hope. Because this is mine and mine alone. I will not share it I will not let others use its light. I will walk my path alone. Nobody’s will join with mine. Nobody’s will run parallel to me. Every time I intersect with another, I will always take the high road. I will always be in the position to see further into the distance. Further into the unknown. Because although I do walk through the unknown, my destination remains perfectly clear. And I don’t use the word “perfect” very often.
One step. Two step. Three step. Four.
The further I walk, the further I’ll crawl.
The hope motivates me. It tells me that there is nothing to worry about. I feel safe in its glow. I feel like it’s actually me who is glowing. For the first time in what seems like an eternity I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. It’s a refreshing gust of wind; a new chance at life… it’s everything it’s cracked up to be. It is my new faith. It is my new drug. I found it today at the bottom of a bottle. And I promise, never again will I let hope go.
We all fear the unknown. It’s a natural human reaction. Whether it’s the kid who is too scared to let down the wall he’s built up around himself, or the old woman who feels alone now that her husband has died. It crosses the boundaries of gender. It crosses the boundaries of age. It crosses the boundaries of race. It is a universal emotion. But the unknown always lies ahead of us, and that’s what I’m coming to realize. That’s what I’m coming to accept. Because only with hope can we hope to find sanity. We have no choice but to hope that the choices we’ve made will lead to our own personal sanctum. And I see mine.
It takes me a while to convince myself. Every time that I get to thinking of this sort of thing, it takes time to find exactly what I’m doing. But I’ve found it. I’ve seen it. I am it. Finally, twenty-seven years after taking my first hit of oxygen, I’ve come to love its taste. I can look in the mirror and smile. I know it won’t shatter or break. I know that my reflection will always be standing there. And until the day that reflection leaves me, until the day my shadow is no longer joined to my feet… I won’t shatter. I won’t break.
One step. Two step. Three step. Four.
The further I walk, the further I’ll crawl.
Because the further I walk, the closer I get. And when my legs finally falter, I won’t give up. I will remember what I’ve done to get here and I won’t go back. I will keep going after the third step. And the fourth movement will take me home.
Thursday, 19 October, 2006 – Hamilton, New Zealand
First step. Stagger. Second step. Swagger. Third step. Pause. Vomit? No. I’m good. Keep walking. The kid needs this. I need this. I gotta keep going. I am close but I’m so far away still. At least I know where to go. At least I know how to get there. So many others would kill to be in a position like myself. But it’s mine. All mine.
I walk from the pool tables in The Outback nightclub, past the agglomeration of teenagers around the slot machines, past the bar and then I stop. The corner that I was being watched from is now empty. An empty bottle rests where the man must’ve sat, but I can’t read the label. Shrugging, I glance into the neon blue of the dance section of the nightclub. I must say, I’ve always been a fan of the set-up of this place. Bowing my head, I now head through the ranch-like entrance to the bitter air outside. So much for fucking Spring, eh?
The music fades behind me as the bouncers keep a watchful eye on me. I’m Maori, big and intoxicated. That’s cause for suspicion in any club throughout New Zealand. Other clubs surround me as I make my way through the alleyway that bursts at the seams with people at night time. Well, at least it does on Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays. Some people look at me, some people don’t. It’s all the same to me. They don’t matter. I matter.
Stepping out onto the pavement of Alexandra Street, the nightlife centre for Hamilton, I ponder my next move. Next to me I see the Axcess club, one of the three biggest in the area. Across the road a few smaller ones are still pumping. The Bahama Hut’s outside area is quite full. Monkey Feather is practically empty, as is usually the case. Outside Chalmers I can pretty much guess why the bouncer watched me like a hawk. Rowdy, drunk Maoris. That’s Chalmers for you. I heard a story once about a guy being turned down there for being too white. It’d be funny to go there, but no. I’m tired. I just want to sit down. FireCats isn’t far, and who can say no to strippers? Eh… I actually can. It’s been a long time since I’ve been there, but the standards were slipping a lot back then. Considering they’re still in business I’d say they must’ve come out of the slump, but I’ll still pass. In the other direction the movie theatre isn’t too far. I could certainly fall asleep there with the crap that comes out on film these days. Seriously, can just about anybody become an actor? You know what… fuck it. I’m going back to my brother’s place where a bed beckons.
The walk is long. I’ve got to cross the Waikato River and then wander my way down the long street that follows until I reach my brothers road, and then I need to head all the way down there to find myself by the river again. But the reason that I’ve decided to spend my night there is in part due to not wanting to take a cab, and also due to actually finding a passion for walking alone lately. It sounds a bit melancholic, but it’s just so peaceful to get lost in your own thoughts. Peace in insanity… heh, that’s a new one.
The biggest reason I wanted to walk is because I miss my brother. That’s sweet isn’t it? If I said that out loud I’d probably be mocked. What a cruel world we live in when love between brothers is criticised. Of course, if anybody actually had the balls to criticise me for that then they’d find themselves on the receiving end of a fist to the face. The they’d have something else to whine about.
I tuck my hands into my pockets as I walk. Seriously, what the hell kind of weather is this? One summer day each week isn’t enough for me. Where’s the blossoming? Where’s the new life? Only the first of the foals of the new season have been born. It’s not enough yet. I had the thought that the season will match my own attitude, but I really hope not right now. I don’t want to wait anymore. I want to move forward now. I don’t want to sleep anymore. I want to move forward now. I refuse to believe that one step backwards can ever equal two steps forward.
“Hey…” I hear from the shadows the streetlights cause on the trees. Whoa… trees. Wait a minute… I’ve already crossed the bridge? It’s amazing how little you pay attention to when you’ve been drinking. You think that you are, but everything just kind of floats on by. And when you wake in the morning, all you remember are fragments like this where you suddenly get snapped into focus. “I said hey.”
“Wha…” I say, spinning around. The voice is husky, but not threatening. So why is a chill running down my spine? It’s not the cold that’s causing it. The blood has just begun to pump harder and faster around my body, warming me. Okay Lee, search the shadows. Nothing, nothing, nothing. Hang on there… searching the sources of the shadows would make more sense. Nothing, nothing, something! A man. A trench coat. No other visible signs though. A question mark. A question. “Who’s in there?”
“How quickly they forget. Is it the alcohol that blinds your eyes or the memories that blind your mind?” He coughs as he steps forward. His pale face now reflects the same streetlights responsible for hiding him earlier. He is illuminated. My angel? My hope?
“Do I know you?” He stays quiet as I study his face. The brown eyes are wild. The black hair is fierce. But his stance and posture suggest no hostility. His complexion is flawless and his mouth is even curved in the remnants of a smile.
“I hope so.” God damn it, he’s not making this very easy. At the very least he could drop some clues.
He is!
He is dropping clues!
Speaking with his eyes, I find my answer. I know him.
“Kiano.” The name rolls off my tongue like poetry. The Setsujoku-Kai ninja nods. “You’ll have to forgive me. It’s been a while and your attire is a little misleading.”
“I’ve been looking for you.” He ignores my comments in regards to him no longer wearing the sash, mask and other items you’d expect of a ninja. The trench coat of his covers a standard black button-up shirt and black pants. I don’t know which outfit would be the creepiest to see in my state.
“I haven’t exactly been hiding,” I retort. “You’ll have to forgive me for the state I’m in right now though.”
“Twice now you’ve asked me to forgive you, but I don’t need to.” He steps even closer to me. “You have done no wrong by me. That is in fact, why I’m here.”
“Umm… okay.” Quite obviously, I don’t really know what to say.
“I know where you’re going, so walk with me.” And given my past history with Kiano, I have no problem believing that.
“So what’s the deal?” I force out, as we begin to continue my walk.
“I watched you tonight. Playing pool with that kid.” He keeps his eyes facing forwards as I look at him. Ah! He was the guy looking at me! It wasn’t some queerbo. That’s both a relief and a disappointment. If you hadn’t noticed, I kind of enjoy attention.
“I saw you,” I acknowledge.
“I know you did, but it took too long for you to notice me, and so that makes me a little hesitant right now.” What the hell is he babbling about?
“Hesitant about what?” I ask, trying to understand a little more.
“The Setsujoku-Kai has once again taken interest in the XWF. You would’ve noticed that when Shuriken returned. He, however, is working for a side group called the Kaihou Institute.” I believe he’s forgetting the state that I’m in. How the hell is this supposed to do anything other than go over my head? “Basically they’re a more active foot-soldier version of the Setsujoku-Kai ninja,” he explains, clearing some of my questions. “Just as organised, but a little more willing to go to extremes to achieve their purpose.”
“And where do you fit in?” Somehow I get the feeling I’ll be asking a few more questions by the time the night is out.
“I’m an ambassador for a new operation. Our numbers are fewer but more cohesive. The communications between partners is more effective, as are our methods.” He delivers this speech convincingly. It shouldn’t take much to convince me of anything right now, but even sober this could very well be enough to sway me.
“Okay, then where do I fit in?” Turns out I was right about the question thing.
“I’ve told you enough for now.” He stops dead in his tracks, while I stumble a little as I notice that. Looking up, I see a street sign reading “Brookfield Street”. Hey! My brother lives there! I turn to face Kiano who stares right into my eyes. “You’ve changed.”
“For the better!” I say proudly.
“I’m not sure about that.” He circles me, studying me. It’s an uncomfortable situation. I feel like a dog on show. “You’re more determined, which is a powerful thing for me to say about you. But you’re misled into thinking you know what you want. Tell me Lee… what do you want?”
“I want to be happy.” I smile, I’m a little happy right now. But he knows what I mean. He knows I want that inner peace kind of happiness. More importantly, I know that’s what I want.
“But that’s too vague. Happiness is adjustable. After going through traumatic situations, smaller things cause happiness… or maybe you just notice it earlier. After observing your interactions with the boy in the club, I’ve got the answer for you Lee.” His eyes see through me. They see beyond the clothing and skin. Beyond the muscles and bones. They see my thoughts. My very soul if you believe in that sort of thing. “Don’t look to the horizon for your goal. Look right in front of you. Don’t look at the ultimate happiness. Look at the first step to reaching it.”
“Super,” I say, raising my thumb up to Kiano. Oh crap, the alcohol is taking more and more of a hold on me. My ability to stay coherent while under the influence has always been one of my strong points, but my ability to create magic with words is starting to evade me.
“I’ll tell you what Lee,” he stops his movement right in front of me and places a heavy hand on my shoulder. “You’re going to walk down there to your brothers house on your own. And if when you wake, you remember this conversation, then I shall discuss things further with you.”
“But how will you know?” I ask him as I sway on the spot.
“I’ll find you.” I recall him saying that once before, and today was the first time since then that I have seen him. Is that a sign of things to come? I don’t know. I don’t really know what’s going on at all. I see Kiano leave, and then force myself to walk down the street.
I don’t see others on the path. I don’t see much at all, because I’m not looking for anything else. I have my eyes locked exactly where they need to be on the vision of my brother’s flat. I push through the darkness and turn down the long driveway I know to be his. The slope forces me off balance. Where’s my hope? Where’s my light in the dark? Why am I stumbling this much?
One step. Two step. Three step. Floor.
When I can no longer walk, I begin to crawl.
Wednesday, 25 October 2006 – Oklahoma City, Oklahoma
“Ha ha!” My laughter echoes around wherever the fuck I am. For the life of me, I don’t actually know where I am. It’s kind of like a carpark, but no cars and no lines showing where to park the cars. But that echo multiplies my laugh. It’s not a laugh at something funny. Nor is it a laugh that’s mocking. It’s something else. I don’t really know how to describe it. It’s angry and happy at the same time. My smile matches it.
“I tell you what children, I’m going to go out and but six shovels. Then I’ll have one waiting for each of The Hounds and The Legacy at St. Louis so you guys can turn the metaphor of digging your own grave, into a literal image. Because ladies, that’s what you’re doing each time you speak. You’re taking a metaphorical shovel and digging through the ground below you to make your own grave. Some of you are digging bigger graves than others, for example Juggalo for obvious reasons. Others like BoonDock Saint are digging them just as big, without any physical requirement for them.
Boony, Boony, Boony… what are we going to do with you? Scratch that actually. I know exactly what I’m gonna do with you and trust me, it won’t be pretty. But playa, you’ve brought it on yourself. You just keep talking, but you never listen. I’m begging you though BoonDock Saint. Yes… I said that I, Lee Stone, am begging you, Daniel Malcolm. I’m not begging you to go easy on me though because homie, I’ve experienced you at your best three times and shrugged it off. BoonDock, I’m begging you to…
PLEASE FUCKING LISTEN!
Listen to the words coming out of your mouth and truly be honest with yourself. Truly ask whether or not what you’re saying makes you sound like a moron. But more importantly than that, before you even think about talking I want you to actually listen to the words that are coming out of my mouth. Here they are at the beginning of the promo. You don’t have to sit through me breaking down other people’s self confidence to get to them. I’m taking care of you first. So listen up right now.
Point one: wrestling is a profession. My verdict? For you… yes it is. Because you have no other talents to fall back on. Dynamic Dynamite doesn’t have to wrestle because he has other avenues in which he can make money from. Steve Jason doesn’t have to wrestle because with the success he’s had, he has enough money stashed away to have retired comfortably a year ago. I don’t have to wrestle because I sat on my ass and leached off the finances of Fully Loaded, and used them to make my own fortune that the bottom of which has yet to be seen. What I’m getting at here is that people like the three of us, don’t have to wrestle. But we still do. I wrestle every now and then, when my otherwise preoccupied mind allows me to. Steve Jason has come out of retirement to wrestle once again. Dynamic Dynamite came from a loss to T Money, to being on T Money’s side. And the reason for all three of our decisions, is because it doesn’t matter what happens, as long as we get to do what we love… and that’s wrestle. For us Dan, wrestling isn’t a profession. Wrestling is life.
You want to be a legend? In that case, remember that point. Don’t let a title belt consume your thoughts, let this whole business. Don’t let a belt that you have had mediocre competition for, cheapen what should be a never-ending quest for perfection. I’m not perfect, I know that. But I’m willing to bet that in that ring, I’m closer to it than anybody else. But I’m still not where I want to be, so I keep going. I’ve been suspended for the past week, but I’m still going to be in the main event this weekend because I still have more to prove. You’ve stopped Dan. And you haven’t even stopped while you’re in front of the pack. I lead the pack. I’m at the front of the queue. And as I showed a couple of weeks ago… you’re a few places behind me. You’re not close enough that you can jump up past me when I’m not looking. You are behind me. You are below me. And I just wish that you push me. I wish for your sake that you’d try to get me out of that line. So tell me, can you do that? Not for me, but for you?
Point two: You’re hardly one to criticise somebody about using the same promo they used two years ago. First of all, two years ago I didn’t know who the fuck Dan Malcolm was. Two years ago I had never won an XWF title, despite having been in the company for at least a year. Had I used a promo from 2004, I’d be whining about how I think I deserve better than what I’m getting. Come to think of it… I’d sound like you. And I’d even have Christian Connolly right by my side while I did it.
That’s kind of creepy.
But Dan, you’ve said this to me before. You’ve said that every Lee Stone promo is the same. Well allow me to humour you for a moment and say that even if that is the case, could there not be a reason? Could I not still have everything I do be overshadowed by somebody like Steve Jason? Could I not still hear you coming up with the same crap, over and over and over and over and over and over and over again?
Well let me tell you something Dan. I’m not sitting down now. Look around me.
I’m on my feet! And I’m standing up because of you. I’m not relaxing back in a chair, because you’re no longer amusing me. The joke has gotten old. I swear if I hear you come up with another pathetic joke one more time I may actually hang myself so I don’t have to listen to another moronic word! You’re an amateur Dan! A motherfucking amateur! Every time you face me you say that I’ll fall. Every time you face me, you fall! Fuck you BoonDock Saint. There are only two emotions I feel, anger and humour. But like I said, the humour has gone. You don’t entertain me anymore. And that leaves only the rage.
Point Three: Jon Page was the cause for the XWF shutting down. You should know that, I mean, you were on the same side as Jonathyn Brown and Fran Damage in Dynasty Wrestling! But no, you’re too stupid to come up with a legitimate insult to me.
Point Four: You may not have tapped out to me, but isn’t getting what usually happens to you just as bad? I mean, I’d prefer a pinfall than the fate you received. All it takes to get a pin is to keep your opponent down for three seconds. Two out of the three times I’ve faced you, you have still been prone it that ring while I celebrated. You lost consciousness. You were in La-La land. I’m running out of different ways to say this, so I’ll put it nice and simply.
You got knocked the fuck out!
Point Five: How can I be one-dimensional if I’m not what I say I am? That’s you contradicting yourself. There would have to be at least two dimensions to me. The first being what I say I am and the second being what I really am. So here’s where I edit the tape to have the sound of thousands of screaming fans chanting one thing at you…”
“You fucked up! You fucked up! You fucked up!”
“Dumbass. I am what I say I am. Never have I once hid my ego. Never have I once hid my true thoughts. I don’t like my own partner in this match, Steve Jason, but I damn sure respect what he’s done. I don’t like T Money, but I damn sure respect the lengths he made me go to in order to beat me. I don’t like Dynamic Dynamite, but I damn sure respect the fact that he sticks to his guns. He doesn’t backtrack over statements he’s made previously. BoonDock Saint… I just plain don’t like you. There is no respect. You don’t deserve it. All you deserve is what The White Order and Lee Stone will be giving to you. You have not accomplished anything of importance, and that leads me to the next point. The final point.
Point Six: I don’t give a rats ass about you being the XWC World Champion! I’m the World’s Greatest Champion! I have the belt at home and I’ll bring it to the arena on Sunday just so you can see it. Dan, I’m going to say this once again, I don’t want your title handed to me. Hell, I wouldn’t even want your title if you weren’t so caught up in it. I wouldn’t want in this match. Trust me, I’ve been through this before. I’ve been through exactly what you’re saying you’re willing to go through.
I have died.
One year ago I died. My heart stopped. Now don’t you fucking dare try to diminish that. Don’t you fucking dare try to ignore that! You say none of us are willing to go to the lengths you are, well surprise motherfucker, five of us already have! Steve Jason has been in the Helldome. Alex Cutwright, while not being in the match, still leaped from the top of that motherfucker into some tables, which probably saved him from the fate that I suffered. Even Juggalo has been in the Helldome! Look to your right, yeah, Christian Connolly has too! And then look at me! Not only did I walk through Hell, but I died there! You cannot look down on any of us. You cannot even look down on Dynamic Dynamite or Arson. For God’s sake man, you can’t look down on Zach Rizza! You are all talk. And not even good talk.
Once again I say, “fuck you BoonDock Saint”. Everything you say is riddled with holes, and after I mesh you into those cage walls that define my very existence… your skin will match your words. They’ll both be fucked up.
Speaking of fucked up! Juggalo! I caught your little promo. I found it pretty cute. And I ain’t talking about you. I’m talking about your fascination with me. I’ll actually go against what most people would do here and I’ll start with your finish, because homie, please explain one of your last statements to me. Please explain how I’m a little obsessed with you? I guess maybe it was the fact that I barely mentioned you in my second promo. Yeah, that must be it! Fucking douche. That line was so silly it nearly cracked a smile on my face, but you’ll have to forgive me for not bursting out into a fit of laughter. The fact of the matter is, I watched your promo after I watched BoonDock Saint’s latest attempt, and he killed my smile. Well… the fact that you’re just not very funny probably contributed a bit to it as well, but that’s beside the point!
The point, Juggalo, is that it makes no sense for me to be obsessed with you. On the other hand though, you devoted an entire promo just to little old me! You do the math cockfag. And unless your IQ is as low as I am led to believe it is, you should come to the answer that you deserve an award for the most nonsensical thing ever said by an XWF superstar. And yes… you even beat out Dr. Badd, congratulations. Now in light of my treatment of BoonDock Saint, and in a throwback to the battle of words between myself and C2 against Kid and T one year ago, I shall now give you a pre-recorded message that sums up pretty much what I think of you.”
“Hypocrite! Hypocrite! Hypocrite!”
“Point made.
Funny how you say I run my mouth about the past, when you’re the one who just listed off a lot of crap that I wonder whether or not even you give a crap about. X-Treme title? Please! I was once scheduled to be in an X-Treme Title match you know. It was going to be against Judas Iscariot. But destiny called and I was yanked out of it to be put in that now infamous Helldome match, which apparently you remember oh so well. Funny that, I guess the blood wasn’t blurring your vision as much as I thought it was.
Of course, it doesn’t change the outcome. For being associated with Dynamic Dynamite, and being notorious for attacking people from behind, you sure whine a lot about Alex’s involvement. But I stick by the same statement I had back then. We were smarter than you. We had numbers and we used them. Much like now though, you find yourself without many friends. But now I don’t even see the need to get a little upper hand. I already have it. My upper hand is Steve Jason. My upper hand is that same man who cost you kids that match a year ago, Alex Cutwright. My upper hand is me, Leroy Bruce Stone: The World’s Greatest.
List time!
Juggalo is whiter than me! I can’t believe he actually said that. He actually knowingly confirmed his idiocy with that one.
And here’s where I veer from course. Juggalo does not deliver a better DDT than me, and once again, Juggalo is not blacker than me. But now that I’ve finally had that little comment of Juggalo’s explained to me, I can see clearly! It was a comment about how I’m black and he’s not. Wow, I really missed a good one there didn’t I? I mean, I can’t believe that I never noticed that I was black, and he was white. So somewhere along the line, white became blacker than black, but that’s not the point. I finally now understand what Juggalo was saying.
Of course, with that being said, I still don’t understand why it matters what colour my skin is. Does it make me any less efficient in the ring? No. Does it make me any less of a person? No. In fact, all that I can gather from you saying that you’re blacker than me, is that in some way I don’t act like a black man. Well tell me Juggalo, how is a black man supposed to act? Like you? Doesn’t that make you a wigga? Or maybe they’re supposed to act like the original Blood Hounds? Are they the standard for which black people are judged these days? You do know that Psyko Stevo was an original Hound right? And he was white. Whatever happened to Martin Luther King’s dream? I guess it flew out the window, and now all we’re left with are racist Blood Hounds. You never thought you’d here that did you? But I said it. And I’ll say it again.
The Blood Hounds are racist.
I can jump up and down about that and cause a fuss now. I could sue you for everything you have. I won’t, because chances are I probably own one of everything you have to begin with, but hear me out.
Juggalo finds it important that I don’t act the way a black man should, meaning that a black man not shooting guns and slurring his words is abnormal. And even Dynamic Dynamite is jumping on the band wagon! KKK remarks? Damn, you’re really fishing for shit now aren’t you? Wait a minute… wasn’t Stevie J wearing a blue robe? Haven’t we only seen one member in a white robe? And he’s our surprise that I’m sure will get you a tad riled up. But that’s not the point. The point is you Dynamite. The point is, that I appear to have destroyed everything you have to say about me, so instead you are force to drop not so subtle hints about the fact that I’m a black man in a group called the White Order. Well you didn’t seem to mind being in the Black Order homie. Isn’t that the same thing? No, of course not! Dynamic Dynamite could never be proven wrong!
In a way, I’ve got to admire how much you keep the same mind frame. Others would consider it to be stubborn, but I can see how it can be beneficial. It means that unless you make the mandatory, rare slip up like you did with the weakness of the Hounds, I can never dance around and play the “You fucked up card” that I did with BoonDock Saint. Lucky you. Of course it also means that the moment I rebut everything you say, like I already have with the “Lee Stone knows I’m better than him” deal, you’ve got nothing. And that’s showing through loud and clear dude. Loud and freaking clear.
The truth is Dynamite, you have no idea what I’m capable of. You beat me well over a year ago, and if I can’t hold the Helldome over your buddy Juggalo’s head, then how the fuck are you going to hold that over mine? You can’t. The rules don’t change for you. I make the damn rules nigga. And here’s what they say in regards to the Blood Hounds.
One: The Blood Hounds sucked at last year’s Autumn in Hell.
You see, I’ve been trying to get into the head of The Legacy, and with Christian’s silence, Zach’s preoccupation with Juggalo and Boony’s delirious approach to things… it seems to be working. But there’s only one way to deal with The Hounds. Beat them at their own game. And Dynamite, Juggalo, Arson… consider yourselves already beaten.
Now have a bad day.”
I turn and walk away to where the nearest light source seems to come from. God damn XWF cameramen taking me to a strange location for a promo. Seeing as how I’m not at home now, I guess they wanted to take advantage of me. I can’t blame them. As you stare at my ass while I walk away, I’m sure you want to take advantage of me too. The scene fades to black.
Juggalo is fatter than me! I can’t deny that point of is, and I’m sure it’ll be real relevant to the outcome of this match.
Juggalo is indeed phatter than me as well! Yeah, I said it. But the context in which I mean it, is that of a street car. He’s been done up more than I have. Me? I’m exactly what came out of the factory. But I’m like a Hummer compared to his Mini Cooper, figuratively speaking of course. Lord knows he guzzles more fuel than I do.
Juggalo is more Latino than I am! Good to know, considering he actually comes from the Americas.
Juggalo is taller than me! Wait… that’s a lie! The XWF website says we’re both 6’2”!
Juggalo is wider than me! Yep, tape two Lee Stone’s together and you get Juggalo.
Juggalo’s pits are hairier than mine! Fuckin’ Coca Cola. They wanted me to do that damn advertisement topless, and apparently body hair is a turn-off. Yeah, I shaved my pits, so what?
Juggalo’s gold handicap is better than mine! I gotta admit, my swing is about as straight as Juggalo is. Not very.
Juggalo’s whites are whiter than mine! Personally, my favourite colour is gold, although I do look really good in a blue Superman shirt. He can’t match my shoes whiteness though! But I don’t wash them, I just get sent new ones almost weekly.
Juggalo makes a better taco salad than I do! That’s because I don’t make taco salads. I just like taco, no tossing the salad for me. Now that’s how you make a play on words!
Juggalo is better in bed than me! I said it. He’s better at sleeping. He has obviously had a lot more practice than me in that department, as his previous comment about being fatter than me shows.
Juggalo always knows where his car keys are while I don’t! He’s actually got me on that one. Fuck.
Juggalo has better taste in music than I do! That’s why we both listen to ICP.
Juggalo is a better tea-bagger than me! I haven’t actually had a lot of practise to be honest, but I suppose that’s just me being a little reserved. Anal sex is a no-go-zone for me too. It just ain’t natural.
Juggalo’s friends are cooler than mine! Truth be told, I don’t really have a lot of friends. But that’s what I get for being a cynical bastard who prefers to boost his own ego at other people’s expenses. Ah well.
Juggalo can perform a better cartwheel than I can! I was never really a big fan of gymnastics though. The leotard makes me feel awkward. I guess Jugs feels right at home in it though.
Juggalo’s girlfriend is prettier than I am! I should fucking hope so. With all the money that he supposedly has, if he was dating a chick who looked like a dude then I’d be starting to question his sexuality more than I am after that cartwheel line.
Juggalo is a bigger leach than I am! Although in my time I’ve done my fair share of using other people’s reputation to further my own, Fully Loaded for example, Jugs is adamant about living in the present, so I guess you’ll have to see my first promo for information on that. However I will say that the leach comment was in regards to his reputation, which at this very moment is starting to make him into a little bitch, just like the people he now leaches off.
Juggalo sucks more than I do! Obvious opportunities for a shot at him aside, I don’t suck toes like he does. I find that gross.
Juggalo is better at Pac Man than I am! Personally, I’m a Mortal Kombat or Street Fighter fan. Pac Man is for pansies.
Juggalo is better than Madden than I am! It’s called American Football for a reason. It’s American! Give me one of EA Sports Rugby games though, and I’m set.
Juggalo’s balls are bigger than mine! Technicalities about how he or I know this aside, given his size advantage over me I wouldn’t rule it out. As for the fun stick… well look at my skin colour. ‘Nuff said.
Juggalo can chuck more wood than I can chuck if I can even chuck wood. He can also stroke more wood. He can also ride more wood. Rumour has it, anywhere Juggalo goes there is wood in his hand.
Two: The Blood Hounds will suck at this year’s Autumn in Hell.
Three: The Blood Hounds will suck at next year’s Autumn in Hell, if they even make it there.
Four: Fuck the Blood Hounds.