house n. a building for human habitation
Do you know what’s sad? After all these years of using the damn words, I still had to go to the dictionary to define those two words above. But I don’t think I can be blamed. After all, I’m just trying to get this ‘right’, whatever the fuck that means. If I had been left to my own free mind I’d have written the definitions a tad differently, especially “home”. You see, my reliable Oxford dictionary hasn’t placed much difference between the two words. They’re synonyms, sure, anybody who knew how to spell “synonyms” could tell you that. But according to this dictionary, they’re synonymic in the sense that say “house” and “crib” would be thanks to street hoodlums and that damn MTV. To me, they’re not that closely related. I’d say they’re more like “rat” and “mouse”. Either way it’s still a furry fucking rodent that makes little girls and T Money scream, but if you happen to catch a rat pumping his juice into a mouse, the resulting offspring would probably be infertile (if I’ve taken a shot at T already, Steve Jason would get jealous if he didn’t get the same treatment, so use your imagination on this one) and therefore completely incompatible. Make sense? Probably not, but I’ll try to clarify as I go. The XWF has always been my home. If you can’t see where I’m going with this now, go drown yourself. What I’m getting at, is that I sure as hell haven’t had the XWF as my fixed residence – or my house. That’s kind of impossible considering all the ri-god-damn-diculous places you wind up going to as a member of the roster. Not very “fixed” by my standards. Yet when I was active, there was nowhere I felt more comfortable than in an XWF ring, or sitting in my hotel room paid for by the XWF and getting absolutely hammered, but please forget about that part for a moment. I’ve been clean and sober for three months. Go me! The point is that the XWF… it’s my home. So without further ado: Honey! I’m home! Now with that long-winded introduction out of the way, let me ask one question of you imps. Did you miss me? I can’t help but grin at the thought of what some of your faces must’ve looked like when my beautiful image appeared on your television sets. T Money would probably be jumping up and down getting ready to ‘pistol whip’ me, when sadly the day will come when he realises he just wants to get whipped, and that’s just plain weird. Steve Jason would be readying a speech about how I’m untrustworthy and not a reliable leader of the company. Mr. Amazing will be blurting out comments about how he beat The V.I.P on his own, completely ignoring the possibility that had I not eliminated my own partner, I would have never gotten into the handicap situation which I actually won, but led to me being too damn tired to beat three people that night. And chances are, Blizzard is getting ready to talk about how scared I am to face him, just because anytime we’ve been in the fed at the same time over the past four years, I’ve been too far up the fucking card for him to even get a sniff of the dog crap on the bottom of my sneakers that I picked up after leaving Mrs. Collins’s house last night. Oh wait, maybe Bliz’s mum was the dog. I get confused about that sort of thing. … … … Aw man, that wasn’t even a good joke. I’m sorry. I’ve always kind of pissed people off around here though. It’s no biggie. It’s actually pretty fucking typical for me to piss people off anywhere I go, so I’m not surprised at all. I don’t even get hurt by the fact that I don’t get to play dress up with all the other girls. I’ve always been the guy on the fringes of this place. I’m the last to hear about things. I’m the last to get asked to help out with anything. I don’t exactly have the luxury of friends in this place. I can count them on one hand. But that doesn’t bother me either. It never has and it never will. My idea of home doesn’t involve slumber parties and pillow fights. I don’t feel very comfortable when I have to worry about what other people think of me, and if I’m not comfortable then I’m not home. When everything is said and done, I just flat out don’t care. When I’m in that ring, I get to do what I do better than anybody else. I get to do what I’m comfortable doing. I get to wrestle. But there’s a catch. I’m only home for Thanksgiving so to speak. Now I may be foreign and all that, but I do know it ain’t Thanksgiving right now, I’m just using it as an example more or less to say that I’m not coming back… Yet. This is just a one off match against Jem Williams to appease the masses and make up for the God fucking awful showing we put on last time. I felt dirty getting that “legend” tag in that manner. So here I am, trying to right the wrongs. But I’ll get to that later on. Right now I want to make sure all you fucktards know that I am not going to be letting you off lightly. Lee Stone is watching you and Lee Stone will be gracing you with his presence sooner or later. I personally hope that it’s sooner. I haven’t explained myself though, have I? Surely a man of my reputation has an agenda of my own. Surely I’m not thinking of the fans before myself. Well if you paid attention, you’d have already heard that I don’t care what the fans think. So often they wind up on my side of things, because they appreciate what I do. They appreciate the fact that I put more effort into one single match than most people put into their lives. They appreciate that this is my life. They appreciate that the sense of morality and justice that I live this life by is unconditionally unwavering. They appreciate me and in turn I appreciate that, but I ain’t here to suck up to them. I ain’t here to suck on their nuts or even have them suck on mine. So some one thousand words later, you’re still in the same spot. You’re still in my home. You’re still wherever the fuck I want you to be. And maybe, just maybe, that’s why I’m here. If you catch The Lee’s drift. (Fuck you Brand. You ain’t got that copyrighted.) Some of you might follow that, some of you might not. But this is my life, and these are my experiences. I can’t conform to telling them in your way, because then they’d be yours. So with that being said, onwards to victory! Or something like that. Sunday, 10 June 2007 – Matangi, New Zealand So here we are in the mighty Waikato! Unless you assholes actually paid attention to every last god damn word I’ve said in the past, then chances are you wouldn’t have a clue was to who/what/when/where/why/how the Waikato is. In short, it’s the mightiest province in New Zealand. Very, very mighty. The current Air New Zealand Cup champions for the domestic rugby union scene just so happen to wear the red, black and gold of Waikato as well, although you’d be forgiven for thinking the German flag was printed on the shirts. The colours of the same but the stripes go in a different way. But I’m going a little off topic here (what else is new?). Aside from a rugby playing style that The Incredible Hulk would be proud of, complete with some of the hardest hits you will see in any sport in the world, the Waikato is known for two things. The first is the longest river in New Zealand, the Waikato River, running from Lake Taupo in the central North Island (conveniently north of the South Island, funny that) to Port Waikato on the west coast of the country. The second notable feature is vast, undulating, green land. New Zealand is notorious for being ‘clean and green’ but ultimately that image is a crock of shit. But looking at the Waikato, you’d be forgiven for thinking it was true. Small towns are scattered over the landscape, largely revolving around the central city of Hamilton. It’s a small city by anybody’s scale, but it has all you need in life. Our current location of Matangi, is about ten minutes drive from Hamilton. It’s situated in the “back roads” alternate route from one of the fastest growing towns in the country, Cambridge, to Hamilton. It just so happens that one particular former Universal Champion was brought up in Cambridge, no prizes for guessing who. Leroy Bruce Stone is not driving however. The “green land” description wasn’t one of the meaningless rambles I’m prone to going into. It was in fact, a description of the scenery behind me. As I stand on the side of the road, gravel sliding slightly under his feet thanks to an incredibly under-funded national transit system, those same green hills roll off towards the horizon. I don’t look behind me though. I don’t need to look there to tell you its description. I’ve seen it a million times, and that might not even be an exaggeration. The view is the same across the region. There’s probably a herd of cows in visible sight behind me as well. There always is, because despite my country’s reputation as a sheep-dominated landscape, we have a shit load of cattle as well, especially here on the alluvial, well-drained plains of the Waikato. The effluent emissions of the cows in New Zealand are worse than that of their human counterparts. We have four million people, but the cattle produce effluent of the equivalent of about forty million people. There’s some nice trivia for you. Anywho, it’s not what’s behind me that matters. I’ll probably see that a million times again before I die. Maybe even two. But right now, in this very moment, as my mind wanders off into all different directions, my eyes are entirely fixated on one thing: My new mansion. Oh hell yes. Lee Stone hasn’t been sitting around with his thumb up his ass, I’ll leave that to Raziel. Work has finally been completed on my nine bedroom, nine bathroom, three lounge house. Actually, scratch that, this place is a fucking castle! Or at least it is to me. It’s my own little sanctuary. Sure it’s over-the-top and completely unnecessary, but that’s the way I work. You could probably cut out half the words in every sentence I speak to get to the point of what I’m trying to say, but I’ll go ahead and say the other words just for shits and giggles. I smile. I’m proud of this place. Lee Stone: king. It’s got a nice little ring to it. Jumping on the back of my four-wheel ATV motorbike, I rev the engine and tear down the long driveway. Palm trees and a whole variety of other vegetation fly past me too quickly for me to even recognise what they are. To be fair though, I wouldn’t even able to tell you what most of them are if I studied them for three weeks straight. I don’t slow down one bit as I narrowly squeeze through a small gate and out onto the field that wraps around the sides and back of Stone Manor. The grass retreats away from me as I hit a dirty path. I have a strange urge to turn around, wave my hand in front of my face and yell “You can’t see me” to whoever may be trying to look on through the brown cloud getting thicker and thicker as dust flies up behind me. Then of course I remember that I’m uncoordinated enough when I’m looking forward. If I turn around I’ll probably be launched off the cliff edge that rises to my left. I rise with it, this path leading me up to the top of the hill. My hill. My land. I’ve given a big “fuck you” to the city life. I’ve given a big “fuck you” to order. Here, I do what I want. Here, I am king. Here, I am God. I guess it’s pretty easy to figure out why I chose to buy this place if it can make me feel like this. I feel in control, and that’s what I need at this point in the life. I ain’t talking about the XWF either, more on that later (seems to be a trend doesn’t it?). The bike’s motor dies out with a splutter, and I climb off my makeshift steed. I squash an ant as I make my first steps onto the peak. I creep forward towards the edge, each movement filling me with a rush I can’t explain. I co-own a chain of nightclubs scattered across the globe, from California to New York, Costa Rica to Tokyo, Amsterdam to my very own Auckland, New Zealand. Sure I own them with Justin “Raziel” Jones, who last time I actually saw face to face, I kind of beat the fuck out of him, but the fact is, this isn’t the first time I’ve owned land. But it just feels so… empowering. It’s like a new beginning. I step forward, still creeping, still inching towards the aforementioned cliff. I stop before going over. Not a breath of wind is felt as I look down. I own fifty acres of untouched nature, centred around this hill and my dominating obelisk. My therapist said that I needed something else in my life. Apparently when you’re a multi-millionaire, sitting in a small, crummy apartment all day and watching countless episodes of Family Guy, Scrubs, South Park, etc. isn’t exactly worthwhile. It’s not like I need to go out there and work though. But I think I’ve taken his advice. Don’t you? Surely this arena of elements can keep me busy. I guess we’ll discuss that when we meet tomorrow morning. For now though, I’m perfectly content to breathe in my chilled winter cologne. I will wrap myself in the green robe of wilderness and admire my three-storied shield. A smile crosses over my rocky face. And there I stand… the ‘king of the hill’. The crown. I wonder how long it’ll take for me to drop from my current metaphorical height. I don’t want to know how long it’ll take to drop from my literal one. Been there, done that, got the hospital bill. But I kind of want to get down from this rush as soon as possible. I want to get comfortable. I want to be home. Tuesday, 19 June, 2007 – New Orleans, Louisiana The following is a recorded promotion produced by The World’s Greatest Production Company in association with the Xtreme Wrestling Federation. “Okay children, let’s get this preliminary crap out of the way.
Bitches and gentlefucks…
God it feels strange to say that again. It feels… you know… like I’m home. Chances are that by the end of this promo, I’ll have reused that analogy over and over and over and over and over and overandoverandoverandover and…”
Deep breath.
“…over again. But there’s a reason for that. Because I literally feel like I am in fact… back home.
See what I mean?
Things have changed a lot since I’ve been gone. And yet somehow it all seems more familiar than anything else I could possibly have to deal with. I mean, sure we have champions that I’ve never even heard of. Sure we have contenders that I could never even imagine being in the main event. But when we really break this whole place down into tiny little XWF pieces, it’s still the XWF. And that’s what really matters.
But regardless of all that, regardless of how “at home” I feel back here - sorry for using that once again – there are just way too many domestic issues going on. I mean seriously, have you fucking turds done anything productive while I’ve been gone? And rest assured assholes, I am really not joking here. Daniel Malcolm still thinks he’s God’s gift, Raziel is still not stepping up and doing anything about anything anyone has ever done to him, and Hardcore Smitty, well he still hasn’t defended that precious little title of mine.
Oops, did I say “mine”? Please, you all saw me on Massacre. So by now you all know my thoughts on our “great” champion. In short, I don’t think that he is in fact a champion. Not now not ever. Never ever. Point made? If not I can continue on by repeating “never” one thousand gazillion more times, but I’m afraid that I’ve already used that technique for emphasizing the word “over”, so what to do, what to do? Look fuckers, here’s the deal, I’ve been around this place for longer than well over half the roster. Hell, I’ve been around for longer than a significant amount of those crackas returning for this ‘Bash from the Past’. Now why it’s called the Bash from the Past instead of the Blast from the Past is absolutely beyond me, but again that’s just my mind going off on a tangent. In all my years I have never seen the Universal Title actually retired. That’s what this is all about, and Smitty, if I may drop the abuse for a moment and get a little serious, quite frankly you disgust me.
Not exactly the kind of strong, emphatic statement you would’ve been expecting, eh? I’m trying to smash expectations out the fucking window right now though, because what I’ve made a name for myself by doing, doesn’t exactly live up to this legend status that I’ve been given. But can you even comprehend that you arrogant prick?
You should probably take note kid, because when Lee Stone of all people calls you arrogant, you know something is wrong. I’m the one person on the Bad Medicine card that is likely to understand the importance and even benefits of arrogance and ego, but dude, you just take it to a completely unnecessary and undeserved level.
So I want you to take a step back right now. I want you to chill the fuck out for a moment. And before you get ready to march towards the steps of my parliament, I’m asking you to actually think about what the fuck you’re doing. Do you really think you’re as good as you seem to say you are? Even if you stand toe to toe with me and look me straight in my delightfully intoxicating eyes and tell me that you do, without so much as a “You know, maybe I don’t want to lose my virginity to Outsider” hint of doubt, believe you are the greatest thing since whatever was the greatest thing before sliced bread was, effectively making you greater than sliced bread itself, well then I still wouldn’t believe you homie. You don’t register in the top ten in the XWF’s history. In many people’s minds, Lee Stone does. Hell, Lee Stone registers at the very top of the top ten in the world, nay, in the universe! While you are not in the top one hundred. And dude, that’s not me being arrogant, it’s me being realistic.
So Smits, that’s a lot for your pea-sized brain to handle, I know. But don’t get it twisted, I am throwing full support behind you this week kid. Hell, if you make it worth my while I’ll even make damn sure that you’ll be walking out of Bad Medicine with another W in the bank. Of course, I have more money than you so paying me off won’t be necessary. And I’m not going to be returning to the active roster so you can’t use your pull as the managing director to give me any favours. So short of humiliating yourself to the point of spooning with me on national television, you got nothing to persuade me with. But I’m sure you’ll be fine wrestling the perennial underachiever KoRe and Cyren Version 2.0. At least I hope you will be dude, because I want you to keep on winning until the day that I step back into that ring for good. And then, once you’ve beaten whatever other C Team players have been thrown at you, you’ll be standing across the ring from one of the all time greats. The one, true Universal Champion. And Lee Stone will take back his title.
That ain’t a threat either buddy, it’s just some straight precognition shit. It’s going to be reality.
But I ain’t done yet, hell naw. Let’s reach into the hat and draw out lucky number two, ArchAngel… Boondock Saint… Daniel freaking Malcolm. You’ve had a bad couple of weeks I know, and I am oh so sorry to hear it. But when you’re flapping your jaws like that, did you not expect Steve Jason to pop out and smack you like your parents should’ve and would’ve done had they not been busy crying about why their baby is uglier than the Smiths’ baby from down the street. And better yet, did you think I’d let you get away with everything you’ve been doing and saying without you feeling any repercussions? I mean really genius, you have spent time with me haven’t you? You do know what kind of person I am, right? If so, well then you’d know that I’m just not the kind of guy to bow my head and take my spanking like a good little biatch.
So Danny Boy, it’s time to face your judgement. Because here I am, the embodiment of what you worship. I got money man, I’m still Fully Loaded – but that was before your time. The fact of the matter is Dan, you haven’t become some sort of saviour, all you are is a stubborn, self-righteous jackass who refuses to accept the possibility that you could be wrong.
For years now dude, you’ve been talking about trying to find that inner devil. You wanted the violence, the rage, the anger and the intensity that I criticised you for not having during our first two battles. And now here you are, firing off your own brand of psycho on anybody who would listen. Well I’m listening dude, and believe it or not I can relate to you. Because you see, I’ve been where you are. I came into this place at the very fucking bottom. I complained, I caused a stir, but one day I beat the same man that I face this Sunday - Jem Williams - and everything opened up for me. I shattered that fucking glass ceiling. And then it clicked in my mind. I need to work for what I get. So from there on, everything I got I did work for. I died for this place you fucking idiot. So let me ask you this, why the fuck should I hand over the spotlight when I have it!? You do have to kill me to take it from me, but even when T Money succeeded at that, I still wound up with my name in the lights! So now tell me asshole, would you hand over the spotlight if it God-forbid, ever shines on you? I sure as hell wouldn’t give it up. The spotlight shines on whoever deserves it. You think I’m in control of lighting? You think me and Stevie J are collaborating to book the shows? Steven and I couldn’t decide on what to have for dinner if we were trapped on a desert island and had the choice between just coconut and fish. And you think we’re trying to organize you getting kept down the card? For fuck’s sake nigga! Why is it that when neither of us are even in the god damn company, you’re still stuck in the fucking Canadian Division?
I don’t book the shows assface, and neither does Stevie J, so any problems you’ve got have been brought onto yourself by one person and that’s you! But why Danielle, why do you insist on lumping me in the same category as all the other little girls who have wronged you? What in the blue hell did I ever do to you, aside from beating you every time we’ve had a one on one match. You want to call me evil? The pot calls the kettle black. Think about this partner, if things went your way, somebody like me would never get any opportunities, right? Well uh… isn’t that exactly what you’re accusing me of doing to you? Maybe I’m crazy, but I feel an overwhelming desire to throwback towards my battles with the Blood Hounds and call you a giant fucking HYPOCRITE!
Look douchebag, you want to talk about having beaten me, well I want to talk about that being a giant crock of shit.
You have never beaten me.
If in your mind, watching somebody – oh hell I’ll say it – watching somebody attempt suicide…
…that’s actually the first time I’ve said that in public…
…so if in your mind, watching somebody attempt suicide, and then covering them so you can then go on to lose your XWC World Title, and all you get out of the motherfucking exchange is the X-Treme Title… if you count that as a win, then congratu-fucking-lations wanker, you beat me. But even with your extremely skewed moral standings, I’m sure you don’t count that. Or maybe I’ve just developed into an optimist somewhere along the way. Stranger things have happened.
Daniel, let’s go ahead and delve into the specifics. Let me bring up the fact that no matter how often you’ve tried, you’ve never beaten Lee Stone one-on-one. Just a couple of weeks before that fateful night in autumn that you so fondly recall, I whipped your ass just like I did at back to back Pay Per Views in 2005 and 2006. You said, and I quote, “I am going to beat him because I have done it before”. So how does that stack up against the real facts? I’ll answer that for you, it doesn’t.
You’ve been saying that you’re the future of this place for a long ass time now Dan. When are you going to start living up to that name? When are you going to quit with the fucking bullshit? If you’ve figured me out, then I hope you stick around. I hope you’re still stuck in the Canadian division when I come back to take my Universal Title back. And then, I’ll take my Canadian Title back too. I feel naked without a belt around my waist, so I’m going to have to overcompensate. Until then Dan, keep the words flowing. Lord knows you ain’t going to fucking act upon anything you’ve said.
And that immediately leads me to one more name: Justin “Raziel” Jones.
How have you been buddy? Your head okay? Boy I’m awful sorry for what I did to you. You understand though, don’t you? Ha ha… of course you do. You’re just as much of an asshole as I am, maybe even more so. You know all about what it’s like to be untrustworthy. I mean come on dawg, I couldn’t trust you to be there for me, be it in matches or just in real life. I had to step in for you to take a match against Hunter Ryan just because you said “I can’t wrestle this week”. You didn’t even give a good reason, scratch that, you didn’t even give a reason to me, but I stepped in anyway. Let me guess how you spent that week… drunk, right? It’s how I spent that night. It’s how I spent every night, and when I got told to slow down, you encouraged me to keep going. And yeah… I was in the wrong, wasn’t I?
But I ain’t trying to ask for your forgiveness. Nor am I trying to make you feel guilty, although you could be excused for thinking otherwise. I’m not even trying to explain myself to you. Maybe I was too fucking self-absorbed to see the flaws in you and help you. Maybe I’m just as guilty as you. But I ain’t trying to do anything to you here dude. I’m trying to explain myself, to myself. And I apologize if that sounds too corny for you to handle. I apologize if that’s not what you were imagining me saying to you, or what you were wanting me to say to you. But I’m not a nice guy Justin, and you know that.
So you have two options. One, we continue to ignore each other and run V.I.P by having my people tell the middle people to tell your people whatever the fuck you need to know. Or you can come at me this Sunday, ruin what should be a legendary showdown between Jem and myself. Your choice sport star.
And now… last, but definitely not least, The Self Made Ace himself, Jem motherfucking Williams…”
Monday, 11 June, 2007 – Hamilton, New Zealand
“So how was your week?” I scrunch my face up, partially in annoyance, partially in protest, and partially just for the sake of rebelling against what this fuckhead wants. This is how I amuse myself sadly. I take common fools who have no idea how to have an intellectual conversation, and I engage them in a situation in which they must actually use their brains. Every now and again, I misread people though.
“I’ve been coming to these therapy sessions for what, three months now? And after all that, the best you can ask me is how the fuck my day is going?” A slight chuckle escapes my mouth as I stare across the desk at Doctor Mark Cameron. He’s older than me, I’d guess around the mid-forties for his exact age, but that could be a result of stress aging him more than he should be. I know for a fact that he’s a smoker, and I can’t exactly imagine psychiatry as an unstressful job, so for all I know he could be not too much older than me, just with very unflattering physical features.
He sits in his black swivel chair, with his brown eyes peering out from under bushy, dusty blonde eyebrows. His hair, the same colour as those eyebrows, melds against the equally dusty wall paper. Crimson curtains, not fully drawn back send a slight red glow into areas of the room, while the sun beams directly through the open window at the same time. The armchair I lean back in matches the curtains, and an identical chair is situated only a few feet away to my left.
Dr. Cameron shifts in his chair, but his gaze is fixed. I know what he’s trying to do. Like I told him, I’ve been coming here for three months and basically we’ve made very little progress. So every now and then the good doctor and I engage in a staring contest that would put many other wrestlers to shame. I ain’t really in the mood to play these fucking games though. I have a fifty acre wilderness to get home and explore. I really can’t be bothered with all this shit. I guess I need to suck it up and get this over with as quick as possible.
“I took your advice you know,” I say, catching his attention. The look on his face gives me a sense of amusement. “I know, I know, I actually listened for once. How about we go hire a marching band, build a couple of floats and get some fat shit to put on a white beard and a jolly old red fucking costume and throw candy to all the kiddies in your celebratory parade.”
“What advice did you take?” he asks, ignoring the fit of incessant rambling that I’m prone to going into. It must be quite a mission for him to remain calm when dealing with me. I like to think that I push people to rise above and beyond their boundaries. Of course, I also like to think that one day I’ll be able to slice off somebody’s nipples with my very own custom built lightsaber, so who knows whether or not that’s true.
“You told me that I needed something fresh, new and exciting in my life,” I offer up in response to his question.
“I told you that a couple of weeks after we first met, and it’s taken you this long to actually listen?” He asks sceptically. I guess he must presume I’ve got a little sarcastic quip in mind to fire off as soon as he falls into my trap. I can’t blame him for thinking that way.
“Yep,” I say, flashing my pearly smile. “So in a little over two months, I’ll be willing to tell you how my week went.”
“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” Dr. Cameron says, brushing off my comments.
“In my experience, writing things down makes them much easier to remember.” Again with the smile. “And you do have a big ol’ piece of paper there that must be looking awfully white considering I haven’t given you a hell of a lot of other things to jot down in these little sessions of ours.”
“Actually,” he says, cocking his head down at his paper, “every piece of paper from the third week onwards have little drawings on them. This one for example has a picture of me choking you while you slowly bleed to death from a butcher’s knife driven into your heart.”
“I don’t believe you.” I call his bluff.
“Oh really?” And he lifts up the sheet of paper and turns it around, revealing a vividly detailed image of exactly what he drew.
“Wow…” I’m actually quite speechless. The most disturbing aspect of this is the fact that he’s the one who is supposed to be offering assistance and help to me. Hardly seems like a fitting career. Although credit is given where it is deserved, and he definitely deserves it. “To be fair, you’re actually quite a talented artist. I especially like the detail into which you’ve gone in order to show the extent of the agony on my face.”
“I liked that part too,” he says with a proud smirk. “But somehow you’ve managed to distract yourself from the original point that in fact, you brought up.”
“Oh right, the whole “doing something new” deal.” I nod a couple of times. “I suppose you’d like to focus on that for a little bit? Keep your ego on the high and whatnot.”
“Something like that,” the good doctor kicks back in his chair, and puts his feet up on the table. Folding his arms behind his head, he looks strangely casual. All the sessions I’ve had to be in here, he’s been very business-like in his approach to everything. I suppose that’s probably because this is his business. “So Lee, if you’re actually going to go ahead and talk for once, I’m here ready to listen. Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”
“I bought a house…” I think for a moment. “Err… I built a house. A really big one. You’d be surprised at how quickly you can get things built up when you just throw an extra few dollars in the direction of the workers. Promise them beer when they’re done, and everything falls into place. It’s got lots of land too. Gives me a new, fresh thing in my life. That’s what you wanted isn’t it?”
“Looking past the immediate problems associated with doing whatever somebody else tells you to,” he says with a breath, “it would take a good deal of time for you to have a house built regardless of how much money you give the construction workers. Especially if it’s as large as you claim it to be. So that would require you having listened to me about the time that I actually asked you to try adding something new to your life.”
“Okay! You caught me! I listened and I took your advice,” I admit. “But I hope you keep in mind that not only do you have to follow the old patient confidentiality law, but if you should happen to tell anybody about this ever, even if you don’t mention my name, then I will find you, and I will kill you.”
“Far-fetched death-threats aside, this is quite a big moment for me.” He rolls his shoulders around.
“I bet it is.” I don’t like it when someone else is made happy at my expense, especially when it’s at the expense of my ego. “So are we done here now?”
“Nice try Lee, but no, we’re not.” His arms drop down from their position behind his head.
“Aw come on man!” I protest. “What the fuck does a brother gotta do to get out of this bullshit therapy?”
“Lee, you’re legally required to be here.” He tries to put me in my place. Ha! As if that could ever happen.
“Until you see fit for me to no longer need to be here,” I conveniently point out.
“We haven’t even touched on why you’re here Lee,” he retorts. “You exposed yourself in public.”
“In my defence,” I begin, “I was with a chick.”
“You ejaculated on a police station.” Something tells me that he doesn’t find that as funny as I do.
“She moved!” I ain’t lying, so it’s okay.
“You’re ability to change the subject is quite incredible.” I nearly blush. “But it only serves to keep you here longer than both you and I want you to be.”
“What do you want from me buddy? You want me to sit here and tell you that behind the fucks, the shits, and whatever other insult pops into my brain, there’s a kind, caring, considerate man who gives a crap what all the morons in this world?” I lean forward and stare at him. “I’m not going to do that. I’ll tell you that I listened to what you said because I was bored and needed something to do. And that’s not even me trying to keep that oversized ego of mine in check. That’s the truth.”
“Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t. I’m not a mind reader. But tell me this…” His feet drop from the desk now. “…what are you going to do now? Are you going to become some sort of a jungle man? Are you going to hunt the three rabbits and one flock of magpies that are on your land? This will keep you busy for now, but why not look for something a little more permanent? Why don’t you go back to work?”
“Work?” Now there’s an interesting thought. Unfortunately there are a few problems associated with it. “Yeah, sure, I could go back to work and see who wants to kill me this time. I could travel around the world and get so fucking worn out that my body aches like an eighty-year-old’s arthritis. Real good idea.”
“That’s an exaggeration, isn’t it?” He calls me.
“A little bit, yeah.” I think for a moment, and recall back to what I saw just under a week ago when I watched Massacre and saw Jonathyn Brown pop up a week before he was announced. “You know, Jon Brown apparently wants me to face Jem Williams at Bad Medicine at the end of the month.”
“Well there’s a start,” he says approvingly. “You going to go through with it?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I shrug.
“Why not?” he inquires.
“Because I really doubt that Jem Williams would be able to be reached.” I know that if someone gets in touch with Jem, chances are he would probably be quite interested in the match. He respects himself and his legacy too much to not leap at the chance to right any losses he’s suffered. That’s the way that Jem is. But nobody has heard a single word from him since I last stomped his ass.
“But what if he was?” Ah… the old ‘what if’ question.
“What if I hit a flying spear tackle on you and drove you head first out the damn window? Hypothetical questions don’t help one little bit Doc.” If only I knew what was to come when Massacre aired when it finally struck Monday in the United States.
“Maybe not, but I’m the guy getting paid to probe your mind here, so it’d really be helpful if you would answer the question.” He lays it out pretty flat for me. “So what if Lee? What if?”
“I guess I’d at least be interested. I mean, that’s all I really know how to do with my life. I mean, sure I’ve got businesses and whatnot adding to my fortune, but I pay people to run those babies for me. Wrestling’s what I do. It’s what I’ve always done.”
“That’s a very ‘on-the-fence’ answer.” He’s right. It is.
“I guess I don’t really know. I can tell you this though, I’m sure as hell not interested in coming back full-time.” I don’t think I could handle that pressure. “If Jem’s in though, I’ll go ahead and say yeah, I’m in. But I ain’t making the first move.”
“So that’s a yes?” Apparently I haven’t been clear enough.
“Only if Jem makes the first move.” Now there’s a solid answer.
“Well then we’re done here today.”
Monday, 18 June 2007 - New Orleans, Louisiana
“And now… last, but definitely not least, The Self Made Ace himself, Jem motherfucking Williams…
What do I say to you Jem? Where do I begin? How about the pride issue? Maybe we can return to the “Are you ready question?” Or perhaps we could discuss that little sucker punch you threw? You know what buddy? We’re going to throw all that crap into one big friendly “go fuck yourself, assface” speech. Sound like a plan? Swell, here we go.
Jem, go fuck yourself, assface.
Now don’t get me wrong, I got respect for you. Man, you were one of the top dogs here when I waltzed into this place, fresh off dominating a smaller federation and having absolutely no idea what I was getting myself into here. Quite frankly, the fact that I carry out that legendary status you so badly crave like you’re a pregnant woman in need of curly fries, well it’s in large due to people like you. In March 2005, I gained the biggest victory of my career to date, and that was over you Jem. You set the stage for me. You set the bar for me to go ahead and leap the fuck over. I guess I’m nearly grateful to you Jem. Nearly. In my opinion dude, it’s a travesty that you don’t wear that tag already, but that doesn’t mean for one second that I’m going to go easy on you. I know for a fact that you wouldn’t want that anyway. Your pride wouldn’t let you take it that way.
You know, I’m tempted to write “PRIDE” on a piece of paper and carry it around with me wherever I go. It would be symbolic of that piece that I took from you. And then on Sunday, I’d waltz on down to that ring with paper in hand, and right there in front of you, I’d screw it up, and I’d throw it away. Jem, if you think for one moment that a piece of missing pride from you matters to me, then you need to think again buddy. To me, it doesn’t matter why you’re going to be standing across the ring from me. It doesn’t matter whether or not you’re going to come full-strength into this with an apparent desire to knock me the fuck out and make up for that God-awful showing of yours last time, or if you’re here simple to get a fucking pay check. It flat out, doesn’t matter. I don’t care about what drives my opponent. I never have. Because in my heart of hearts, I have always known that no matter who they throw at me, no matter what they throw at me, I will always want to win more. I will always want to survive more. Now I know you’re one of the “unkillable” ones, but that doesn’t hold a candle to me. I got killed, and I came back to win the Universal Title. And there’s only one thing that I credit for that, and that’s my own pride.
Every victory I earn, every piece of another man’s pride that I take, it all adds to my own. Now pride can be a sin, and it’s probably responsible for the ego that I’m so often associated with having, but it’s because of my pride that I’ve ever been successful in anything I’ve done. I obsess over things to the point where it becomes unhealthy for anybody to be around me. I sabotage relationships all in order to keep my pride of being the greatest, of having no weaknesses, intact. If I started talking about Eve though, Jem, what would happen? There’s a good chance one of two things would happen. Either you’d have a fire lit up under your ass that only a man by the name of Leroy Bruce Stone could match, or you’d be so blinded with rage that I’d stomp your ass without breaking a sweat… again. Thank God for one thing though Jem. My pride doesn’t allow me to stoop to that level.
I don’t believe for one moment that I need to make my opponent weaker in order to easily secure a victory. I have so much pride that I’d much rather my opponent be the strongest he’s ever been, because that means when I beat him – and I will beat you Jem – it just builds me up oh so much more. I need the competition Jem. It’s my drug.
Above anything else, that’s why I’m here.
After Jon first proposed this match, I was sceptical you’d be able to be contacted about it. Not for one minute did I think you’d say no to it, I just didn’t know if the question would ever be asked to you in person. So I was going to plan on entering the Bash from the Past match. That’d be some interesting competition for me. I’d love to square off against the likes of Stevie J and Darkhan again. And then there’s the people such as Jet, Star, Tomoko Hanahara and Gravy who I’ve never stepped into the ring against. But when I saw your face dude, I couldn’t help but sign on the dotted line. There’s a list of about five people who I class as “competition”. Now that’s not meant to be an insult to the rest of the XWF’s vast roster, both past and present, but the guys on that list Jem, they’re the ones I know I can count on to give me a match that I will have to work for. They’re the ones I know I can count on to give me a match that I might not win. And they’re not going to do it just so they can get paid, they’re not going to do it just so they can win a title, they’re going to do it because it’s just what they do. They’re not trying to be the best, they already are. Jem, you’re on that list.
You want to earn back your pride Jem? I hate to say it, but this match won’t do that for you? And not because you will be losing it – even though you will be. But the pride up for grabs in this match, well it’s just a different piece. That piece you lost is long gone. It’s been absorbed into the ever-expanding egotism that is Lee Stone. On the unlikely chance that you scrape by with a victory on Sunday, the only piece of pride you will be getting… is mine. You can see why I’d have a problem with that.
It’s been too long for me. It’s been too long since last I was here and truly, ready to go. With the recent returns, it almost makes me want to stick around after our match Jem. I’ve got a lot of my own ‘pride extracting’ to take care of. There are four losses on my record that should never have occurred, but the beautiful thing about losing, is that it releases so much pressure. I’m no longer expected to be the undefeatable, untouchable monster that I was through 2005 and 2006. But you Jem, you’ve made it clear you’re coming back to reclaim your long since vacated throne. That puts pressure firmly on you. Now I know that’s the situation you thrive under, because it’s the same for me, but I hope you remember back to our first match Jem. Not the legend battle, but the match in 2005. Lee Stone had called out any Universal Champion to meet him in the ring the next week. I was expecting Bigg Rigg, Fred L, or whatever other pathetic cracka had held that title and needed to be punished for not living up to the expectations of what the title-holders should be. Instead I got you, in your return match, and I beat you then. Will history repeat itself?
I know there have been a lot of changes since then though Jem. I’ve developed from an arrogant, lying asshole, into an arrogant, lying legend. Somehow I’ve become respected for what I do. I don’t know how it happened, nor do I care. All I know is that the Lee Stone of today, is a completely different man to the Lee Stone of 2005. But has Jem Williams changed as well?
I may have said that I don’t need to know why you want to win this match Jem, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t need to know just who the fuck I’m facing. So who are you Jem? Who have you become? Fundamentally, you will always be the same person throughout your entire life. You will always be an intense, uncompromising, unapologetic kind of guy. Similarly, I will always be a guy that really can’t be trusted to be completely honest with you one hundred percent of the time. But it’s the little things in our lives that tip us in a certain direction on the pendulum of good and bad, right and wrong, worthy or unworthy.
Who am I facing, Jem?
Thankfully, I already know for the most part. Massacre last night showed me something about the man that you are now homie. It showed me, that I’m going to stepping into the ring with a guy so fucking consumed with proving himself, not to me, not to the rest of the roster members, crew, management or fans, but proving himself to himself, that he may very well be willing to throw every god damn thing I know about him out the window. I’m facing a man lacking in patience. I’m facing a man who is unpredictable. I’m facing a man who looks at himself in the mirror every day and sees one thing: failure.
Am I right? Am I at least halfway there? I think I’ve got you down to such an exact detail Jem, that I could sit back for the rest of the week and not say another damn word. It’s too bad that I love the sound of my own voice too much to even take that consideration seriously. But Jem, you have failed. The legacy that your own self-esteem requires, is just not what you wanted it to be. You screwed up your chance at glory. You screwed up your opportunity to transcend the level of wrestler, to transcend the level of icon, and become a legend. And I don’t think you’ll ever let yourself live that down, even if you beat me on Sunday.
You lost to me. I keep coming back to focus on that, but not to tell you that history will repeat itself. I’m not doing this in anyway to directly boost my own ego. I don’t need to. Other people boost my fucking ego for me. I’m trying to help you here Jem, I’m trying to make sure that you have fully come to terms with that loss. Because by the sounds of how you talked a week ago on Massacre, and by the looks of how you acted on last night’s edition, I don’t think you have. So here it comes assclown:
Are… you… ready?
The answer Jem, is no.
You’re not ready. You may be ready to tear that fucking arena to the ground on Sunday, but you’re not ready to beat me. You looked at me on Massacre as if I was a moron asking you that question. But rest assured Jem, that question was very much in need of being asked. I wanted to know who I was facing, and I got my answer. And that person is not ready to beat me.
The man I stood toe to toe with in the ring last night felt he had something to prove. Now that’s all well and good to begin with, but that man felt there was only one thing standing in his way of proving himself. He felt that that obstacle was me. That is where we went amiss. Jem, I feel a little fucking ridiculous standing here and telling this to a guy who has accomplished as much you have, but the one thing standing in your way of becoming a legend is YOU.
You felt compelled to hit me last night. I can live with that, trust me. It ain’t like I’m about to go crying to my mommy in order to get her to go and talk all angry-like to your mommy, ultimately with you winding up being grounded and unable to play in the marching band at the big gay parade at the end of the week. Lord knows I’ve been hit enough times in the head to consider any violent act taken against me as a sign that I’ve succeeded in doing whatever the hell I set out to do. Often people are jealous of me and so lash out. Even more often, what I initially set out to do was annoy somebody so by them lashing out, they were responsible for making me succeed. But Jem, you don’t fit into either of the two categories that I just mentioned. I didn’t set out to piss you the fuck off. Hell I’m not even sure if you were pissed off when you hit me. Signs point to no. And I don’t think that you’re jealous of me either. You want to be a legend sure, but you don’t want it at the expense of costing me my title. You think I deserve it as much as I think you deserve it, which is a hell of a lot. I think that’s one of the biggest problems with these legend matches, but who am I to judge? All I do is wrestle in them, and win them.
Jem, you hit me because I struck some deep insecurity embedded into your psyche. It didn’t anger you when I brought it up, instead it triggered an autonomous response to try and counteract it. When I asked if you were ready, I essentially doubted your abilities, I doubted your motivation, and above all, I doubted your character. That’s what triggered your actions. You needed a way to prove that you were ready, and what better way than to start a little pre-Pay Per View brawl? A good idea in theory, but sadly, the only subjects I excelled in during school were Gym and any of the Humanities papers. In short, I know people. I know their flaws. I know how they compensate for them and I know how they react when they’re touched upon. When you hit me Jem, I knew why. I’m not holding it against you, after all, I led you down that path like you’re a common sheep...
For the record, all jokes about New Zealanders and sheep, shall henceforth be labelled as ‘lame’.
…So Jem, I’m calling your bluff. I’m saying you’re no way near as ready as you’d like the rest of us to think that you are. Now I’m going to give you one final question to answer:
What the fuck are you going to do about it?
Have a bad day.”
END SCENE.
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