Tuesday, 26 June 2007 – Miami, Florida I’m usually not one to believe in any kind of spiritual jibber-jabber of any nature, but you’ll have to forgive me for making reference to the old theory that people are reborn in a new body, be it animal or human again, after they die. One thing that keeps me going in this world is the knowledge that in one hundred lifetimes, some people will never get to experience everything that I’ve been fortunate enough to experience in my own. What I’ve seen, what I’ve heard, smelt, tasted, touched, what I’ve felt, what I’ve missed, what I’ve hated or loved, what I’ve done… as good of a liar as I am, I couldn’t look you in the eye and tell you that it doesn’t overwhelm me at times. You know you’ve had led a full life when you can look back and lose count of the amount of absolutely breath-taking moments you’ve had. Be it extreme joy, fear, sadness, surprise… any emotion that is simply far too powerful for any human to withstand, even the ‘strong’ ones. I’ve experienced them all, and I can’t count them. The most astonishing thing about all this though, is that I’m only 29. I’m young. Back in my hometown, I’ve done some voluntary work trying to help teenagers find their way. In short, I berate them mentally and emotionally until they break down. Then I rebuild them. It’s not the kindest way of doing things, but it’s effective, and it’s the only way I know how to teach. I don’t have the experience of their high school teachers. Like I said: I’m young. But because I’ve experienced so much already, I feel like I can relate to anybody in any given circumstance. I’m young, but I feel so damn old. These shoulders get so heavy to hold sometimes. It feels like it ain’t just this one world that I’m holding on them. I’m supposed to be some sort of superman. A hero. I’m not supposed to show any sign of weakness because people look up to me. And I’ve been stupid enough to convince myself that the people of this world need somebody strong to look up to. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to portray myself as some kind of role model for everybody to follow. Lord knows I have my own fucking issues. Hell, probably more than most individuals in the developed world. But lately… lately I’ve come to realize that the type of role model people need isn’t a hero. They don’t need an invincible saviour who will fly in whenever they’re in trouble and rescue them from their demons. If that were the case then nobody else would ever ‘save the day’. Nobody else would step up to the god damn plate and smack that shit out of the park. I wouldn’t be a role model then. I wouldn’t be somebody that they could want to be like. I’d be a crutch. I’d be the person they leaned on, the person they ran to at the slightest hint of trouble. I’d be their shield. People don’t need shields. Children do. But we can’t have an entire fucking world of children, especially not when the ‘father figure’ is only 29. I’m too young. Six billion kids? Fuck that. I ain’t no god damn hero anyway, so I think it’s about time I stopped trying to act like one. I’m no fucking saviour, I’m no martyr. I’m just plain old Leroy Bruce Stone. I’m human. I really can’t stress that enough. I’m just a young human. I’m no immortal as much as I may act otherwise. I’m no “Unkillable”. Nobody is. Nobody. All I am is some dude with a fat bank account, fancy clothes, fancy cars, a fancy home and a walk in-wardrobe full of skeletons. I’ve made so many mistakes in my life, but to be honest, that’s what I’m more proud of than everything ‘good’ that I’ve accomplished. At the time, winning the Universal Title meant the world to me. I won’t ever forget that moment. That’s one of those breath-taking experiences I mentioned earlier. But as I stand here today, I look at that moment in the same way that I look at this very one. It was a culmination. It was a turning point. Every mistake that I make, leads to moments like these. If I save a life, it’s just a repayment of the lives I’ve been responsible for losing, directly or indirectly. If I win a title, it’s because I’ve failed before and since that opportunity, I’ve righted all wrongs. It’s a circle that I’m bound to. Destined to fail in order to achieve success. I need the failure. I can’t live without it. And that’s what brings me to now. In this very moment, I stand a failure. I couldn’t beat Jem Williams on Sunday. That night, he was better than I am. But I’m okay with that. I’m so not used to losing, that the other four Ls on my record since the rebirth of the XWF have led to anger, rage, drinking and then depression. But I feel nothing but calm now. This is the serenity I know so well. Everything moves so slowly around me. I feel powerful. Invincible again. Simply for being human, I feel like a hero. This is what I want people to see. I want people to know that it’s perfectly acceptable to be human. You don’t need to be Superman all the time. Sometimes it’s okay to be regular old Clark Kent. It’s been a while since I’ve felt like this - since I’ve had a cause. The last time was in early February, 2006. Over a year ago now as Christian Connolly and myself prepared ourselves to face Jem Williams and Tyger Lilly in a tag team match, only to get the call that the XWF had closed down. I was the Universal Champion. I had purpose. Every time I stepped into that ring, I was fighting against every person who ever doubted that I was as good as I knew I was. Since the day I got unceremoniously stripped of the title that I still claim is rightfully mine, I’ve tried to fight the same battle, but I’ve had no opposition staring across from me. That battle is over, and only now I can realize that I won it. I won. I should thank Jem for this. This one loss means more to me than nearly every win I’ve ever had combined. I don’t need to prove that I’m the best. I’m a fucking legend for Christ’s sake! Instead, Jem has given me a completely new purpose in life. I will step into the ring this week and fight for one reason. Because this is what I love to do. Now I see why Jem calls himself the Realization. This realization is empowering for me. As headlights scream towards me, I’m not frozen like a deer. I keep my feet firmly planted out of my own free will. I cock my head to the side slightly, not afraid. I don’t have any kind of a fucking death wish, I just know that I will win this battle. The car will stop inches in front of me. I’m sure of it. The car yells at me through its horn. I stay standing motionless, picture perfect like a photograph, with my white cap tilted just slightly down over my eyes. My hands are driven deep into my brown jacket’s pockets, but they don’t dig. They wait. I wait. The car squeals as its breaks get slammed. It’s afraid now. I can a slight wobble in its tail. If it spun now, it would be relatively safe, unless of course it hit a wall. That never ends well. If it spun towards its left – my right – it’d be fine though. There’s nothing but open concrete there. At this time of the morning, the parking building is relatively vacant of cars. Even more so when you consider that I’m standing on the first floor. My own car is two stories above me, in the first available parking space after scaling the three floors of “Reserved” parking spaces. The car skids. Still coming towards me. For a brief moment I consider the possibility of it not stopping in time. No… it’ll stop. I can feel it. In the state that I’m in, I just feel so damn sure. Everything feels right. It screeches again. A high pitch alert designed to warn off predators like me. No luck buddy. I ain’t moving. I can see it slowing. It’s nearly at me now. As slow as everything seems to be moving, I’m not quite sure if I could get out of its way were I to have misjudged this whole situation. More screeching. Smoke – a visual warning signal. It’s nearly stopped. Inches from me now… and it stops. Just like I said it would. The car makes all kinds of muffled noises now. As its door is opened, the noises become much clearer and easier to comprehend. “What the hell are you doing? You’re crazy!” The driver yells in rage as he steps out onto the same concrete that supports my feet. I tip my hat up so he can see my entire face, just as I see his. “Lee Stone! What the hell is wrong with you?”
“I want to talk,” I say, eerily quiet towards Doctor Samuel Connolly, the same man who threw me out of his office last week for being, well… for being me.
“If you don’t get out of my damn way this moment, I’m going to call security!” He screams at me, his face livid behind his furry, unshaven cheeks and scrunched up, bushy eyebrows. Nodding at him, I take three steps backwards. Looking to my left now – his right – I gaze upon the sign that reads “Reserved for Dr. Samuel Connolly.”
“After the way I acted, I can’t say I blame you.” I don’t bait him. It would be easy for me, but it would be entirely counterproductive. To be honest, I don’t think I need all his psycho-bibble-babble-treatment. I’m quite confident that I can treat myself. But sometimes it’s good to just have a wall you can bounce ideas off of. You always hear that people with depression or whatever should never stop seeking somebody to talk to about it. This is like that in a way. “But I really need to talk.”
“What on earth makes you think that you can just barge in here, nearly make me run you over, and then demand that I waste my time on a lost cause such as yourself?” He continues to walk, barely even looking at me. I know what I’ve got to do, but it’s going to be so damn hard on me. Regardless, it must be done. I swoop in front of him, stopping him dead in his tracks. He looks worried. “W…What are you doing?”
“Look,” I say firmly. My throat trembles a little. “What would you do if every person that you went to for help, every person that you relied on to keep you standing, the legs to your fucking table, all of a sudden cracked? You’re the only person that I have left to talk to dude. Please…
I’m scared.”
He looks at me and I don’t dare break his gaze. I just spoke the most honest words that I’ve said in a very long time. I feel him probing my mind, as if some sort of psychic finger was flipping through the pages of my book. I don’t like the feeling, but I think it’s something that I’ve got to get used to. I’ve been presented with a problem. After my “realization”, I now have a means by which I can solve that problem. And I have every intention of doing exactly that.
“Meet me up at my office in two hours. You remember where that is?” I nod to him and he smiles. I think this is actually the first time I’ve seen him smile. It’s actually quite a nice thing to receive. For a moment I almost lost my calm. It’s back now though. With a pat on my shoulder, he passes by me.
I guess I should explain. Let me take you back a few days.
Friday, 22 June 2007 – Springfield, Ohio
It’s been so long since I had been here in Springfield. For at least three years, this served as my home. Now it seems as alien as a trip to Mars would be. Somewhere here the familiarity I once knew still exists, surely. That’s actually kind of what brings me here. Familiarity and its companion: the fear of the unknown. That same old ‘what if’ question. My life is filled with those fucking things. I really really need to learn to move past all that and just accept what’s fucking happened. Again, that’s kind of why I’m here.
My first visit with Doctor Connolly didn’t go well. Not at all. But he got me thinking on the nature of relationships. You see, relationships are so very, very fragile. All it takes is for one thing to slip, one thing to break, and from there everything else crumbles. It’s like a chain reaction. Dominos. So often we take for granted our relationships. On the odd occasion, even someone like me gets a little down so-to-speak when people talk about how annoying their father is. I brush it off though, but it still gets to me every now and then. The people who really shake me down are the ones who talk about how great their father is. Those people actually warm my heart if such a thing is possible. It’s because they understand the relationship and they’re appreciating it. We need that more often in this world.
I walk on cobblestones. They are my islands in a sea of green. Protection from the elements. But these elements are exactly what I’m here to confront.
Stone by stone I hop. Larger, more intimidating stones cry out at me for attention. I must avoid them though. Those demons are too frightening for me to confront yet. Those demons belong to somebody else. I must not take on more than I can handle. I must fight my own battle. This is what I’m here for. These are my demons:
Joseph Anthony Moore and Conner Leroy Stone.
My sons.
I break. Falling to my knees in front of them, unable to remove my eyes from their point of fixation. Two large, grey headlights that I’m frozen in.
One year ago today they were born. One year ago today they died. One freaking year… so much can happen. About fifty feet away from me, hidden behind a band of small trees, the body of my best friend Token Fisher rests underground. He died nine days after these two. That’s just another battle I’ll have to fight, another demon for me to confront. But like this one, I did not think I’d have to fight it alone. Conner took my name, while Joseph came from his mother, Shelly Moore. Her father’s name is Anthony. Was. I fought that battle with her, yet she cannot be here to fight with me? Something… something just doesn’t feel right about that. I’ll check on her when I leave here. I hope she’s still living in my house here. I still get power bills. But for now, I’m content with being here in the moment.
This is what I brought into the world. Two concrete fucking slabs. They don’t breathe. They don’t grow. Yet these two concrete slabs are everything I’ve ever known about my children. I love them. Is that normal? The world never got the opportunity to know how incredible these two men would have been. I never got to know. Yet they define who I am. Is that weird?
Shelly told me that she wanted me to meet her here every year. I promised I would. I had almost forgotten, but here I am. Like I said. I can’t even think straight. She’s in my head now. She probably never left. I love her like I love them. Skeletons in my closet. At least she’s alive… as far as I know. But I can’t be here. I’ve spent an entire year without thinking about Shelly. Everything the two of us went through together has come rushing back into my head so fucking fast that I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to focus on. Her name just bounces around my head over and over again, driving me fucking insane! I’ve got to get out of here!
I’m sorry Joseph, I’m sorry Conner. I love you.
I scramble to my feet, oblivious to the dirt on the legs of my jeans. I turn, and I quickly pace away. I don’t run. I don’t want them to see my fear. They need me to be strong. And I need them to mean something to me. And they do… yes… they do. I stop power walking. I now turn back around and stare into my headlights. And they stop. They stop shining in my damn eyes and I see things clearly again. Joseph, Conner, I’ll be back. Don’t you worry one little bit. I’ll be back because I love you. But right now, somebody else needs my help. They don’t need me to save them, it’s too late for that. They just need to know that it’s okay.
I walk again, at my normal pace. I cast a thought back to my kids. Joseph, Conner, its okay.
Token, it’s okay.
That thought I cast forwards. Not worrying about falling into that green ocean, I glide across behind those aforementioned trees. I see his grave from the wrong side, and now wrap around to approach it front on. To approach it how Token deserves to be approached after everything he has done for me.
But Token is not alone. I crack a smile. Even dead the dude still knows how to pull the ladies.
Hold on a sec…
Jesus fucking Christ.
Shelly, what have you done?
Her beautiful body lies on the grave with a needle in her arm.
Tuesday, 26 June 2007 – Miami, Florida
“So what did you do then?” Doctor Connolly asks after I recount my story to him. Sitting in his office, a cool breeze blowing in through the window, I finally feel comfortable talking about this kind of shit. I feel like this is the right thing to do. It is.
“I took her to the hospital,” I reply. “And then I left.”
“You left straight away?” he asks.
“Straight away,” I confirm. “I was scared.”
“In this setting… not very hard at all. Although I still don’t think I fully understand what I mean by it.” He doesn’t say anything to that, just sits there behind his desk and nods. Most importantly, he understands. Or at least I hope he does.
“Was she still alive?” is the question that finally comes.
“When I left, yes, she was. Barely, but still hanging in there.” The sudden weight of what I’m saying only finally clicks into my brain. I think Dr. Connolly sees it through my eyes. I almost lost another of my nearest and dearest. For all I know, I could have lost her! I mutter under my breath. “How?”
“How what?” he asks, although I suspect he knows the answer already.
“How did I get into that ring against Jem as if nothing had happened? As if nothing was wrong?” My eyes and mouth show shock. What kind of fucking person am I?
“I was just about to ask you the same question.” His voice is monotonous, showing no emotion. “We both know the answer though Lee. You’re a professional. You entertain people. You have the distinct displeasure of being forced to keep your private life as far away from your personal life as possible. It wouldn’t be very entertaining if you hadn’t done what you did.”
“I ditched her and ran,” I say, still in shock. “And you’re trying to advocate my actions? You’re trying to condone them just because I’m an entertainer? That’s fucking bullshit! I’m a god damn monster!”
“I’m not condoning that,” he corrects me. “I’m trying to tell you that when you’re in that ring, it’s okay to block all that out of your mind. The fact of the matter is, you shouldn’t have just left her like that when she needed your help. I’d like to think that I wouldn’t do that were the situations reversed, and I’d also like to think that you wouldn’t do it again if it came up. But to entertain people, you need to be focused only on that moment. Don’t beat yourself up about that okay? When you’re entertaining people, it keeps them from doing stupid things like what Shelly did. In that ring, you are helping people.”
“That’s all well and good,” I say, half-accepting what he said. “But I need to see Shelly.”
“Yeah, you do,” he agrees. “And I’m glad that you’ve realised that.”
“So what do I do?” I feel helpless. I’ve opened up but all I want to do is close that hole right back up. I can’t do it though. I’m fucking lost. Everything I know, every way of coping that I’ve ever used, has just been thrown out the fucking window. And I’m the one who threw it. I should feel proud, but like I’ve already said, I tend to feel proudest about my mistakes. I’m sure we’ll work on that department another day.
“You already said it...” I nod without him finishing his sentence.
I know.
Thursday, 28 June 2007 – Boston, Massachusetts
The following is a recorded promotion produced by The World’s Greatest Production Company in association with the X-treme Wrestling Federation.
Lights are all good, my face looks real good – and I mean real good, camera’s about to start rolling, alright here we go again. Action!
“I’m going to break the supposed character that I’ve built up over the years here, and say something a little unexpected. Jem Williams…
Congratulations.
A meteor is probably gonna crash down into everybody now and cause the end of the motherfucking world, but I still managed to congratulate somebody with as much sincerity as I could possibly manage without treading into the realm of bullshit. I’d be happy going out now.
But I ain’t going nowhere.
You’ve done something Jem. I can’t even remember the last time anybody ever did that to me. You’ve made history and not just by becoming a legend. Jem, you beat me, one-on-one, nothing else to it. There was no other man involved in the match, there was no other man who interfered in the match, there was no possible reason I could have wanted to lose. Even if I were interested in making an excuse, I would fail miserably and become nothing more than a laughing stock.
Congratulations Jem, you’ve done what so many people, including myself, thought impossible. You outwrestled me.
On that night.
I concede defeat Jem, but that’s a far cry from me saying that you are better than me. I know you wouldn’t want me to tell you that anyway. We will meet again and you can rest assured that when that happens, I will be doing everything in my fucking power to make sure that I come out with the win. But that will have to wait.
One loss to you Jem, has inspired me. It’s brought me clarity, it’s brought me reality. But it wasn’t thanks to you that this clarity was achieved Jem. One man is responsible and one man alone. The mystery. The enigma.
Cranberry Juice.
I’m not going to delve into the specifics about him, despite how much I know you’d at least like to know who he is. I’m not at liberty to identify at him. He’ll reveal himself to you commoners on his own time. When he’s ready. Right now all I can really tell you about Cranberry Juice is that he wants me to be ready.
He has made me ready.
I’m ready to take back what is fucking mine. I’m ready to take back not just my dominance, not just my legacy which sadly has a slight chip out of it after the weekend’s events, but I’m ready to take back MY Universal Title.
I’m ready to take back the whole fucking XWF.
Mr. Juice has kindly reminded me of a time where I ruled this place. Jonathyn Brown got knocked fucking silly, and then thought he was Nicole bloody Ritchie, we had incompetent fools like Ch(censored) as General Managers, and there I was sitting as king of the god damn mountain. This place was in my hands with just the right people standing below me to pick up whatever spilled over the side. I put those people there. I fucking chose to have Steve Jason watching my every damn move, just waiting for me to drop the ball. I chose to have Christian Connolly chomping at the bit to get his chance. There was no power hungry asshole running everything from his steel tower. That’s how it needs to be again.
The power needs to come back.
Not just to me, but to the damn roster members. Without us, people like Jonathyn Brown and Hardcore Smitty would be nothing. We make them! All they need to do is book the damn matches, because from the moment Cranberry Juice called me, he had me convinced. It’s time to bring about our own brand of justice in this hellhole. He wishes for us to govern ourselves within the limits that Jon and Smitty set for us. But that ain’t going to happen as long as those limits are unreasonable.
One solid positive aspect has come from Jon and Smitty’s little deal. The Universal Title has been freed. I suppose that’s good. But Famine of the Vile and possibly KoRe going for it again? How is it that the people who lose get the shot at the big belt? It’s fucking ridiculous. That’s going to change.
The change starts this week. This week I’m being fed Famine of the Vile, the same man who should not be in the main event at Leap of Faith. Am I saying that I should be in that match? Well I’d sure as fucking hell like to. And I have a hell of a lot more claim to get into that match than either Famine or KoRe do. After this week though, that’s going to be crystal fucking clear.
Let me ask you something Famine, let me ask you the same damn thing that I asked Jem Williams:
Are you ready?
This is a big match for you buttplug. This is what some people dream of. Stepping into the ring with a legend like Lee Stone and hoping to God that he doesn’t spank you all over that fucking canvas like the little bitch that you are. Now quit fucking jumping around and whatnot cracka, cause I know you’ve faced some big names before. I know you squeaked out a win in that Helldome match against legends like Steve Jason, Andrew Gibson and Trent Gein. Well done. But let me ask you this, how many other legends have you beaten? The only one that I can think of is KoRe. So that really puts you in an awkward position coming into this match dawg. You don’t got anywhere near the experience of Lee Stone. And I’m willing to flat out tell you that you ain’t got anywhere near the skill either.
Big words? You bet your fucking ass they are. I’m not one to ever do anything small. There ain’t anything small about me. So with a gigantic ego like the one I’m so well-known for having, you shouldn’t expect me to tell you anything other than “fuck you, you ain’t gonna beat me”. And as far as I’m concerned partner, it’s the damn truth. Fuck you Famine, you ain’t gonna beat me.
I look at you and I think, okay, so this dude’s okay. But you don’t stand out to me dude. You don’t stand out as anything special. You don’t stand out as a champion. I ain’t going to stand here and tell you that just because you haven’t held any of the big titles that you ain’t worthy, because going into my match against T Money I was in the same damn predicament. I’m just going to tell you that when you compare your needs to mine, any weight advantage you naturally have over me is swung so very heavily in my advantage.
I need to win this match. And so I will.
That’s the way it’s always gone for me. I’m not talking just about my history in this business either, I’m talking about my whole fucking livelihood. I do what I need to do. And I always come out smelling better than roses. My shit smells like roses! That’s what you’re dealing with here Famine. You’re dealing with every single fibre that makes up my entire motherfucking existence. And you can’t handle that.
My therapist – one of them anyway – told me that it’s essential for me to separate who I am in that ring from who I am outside of it. I’m an entertainer when I’m in front of that camera… this camera. Away from it I’m a recovering alcoholic with a tendency to push away anybody he cares about. But you know what, I ain’t ever been very good at listening to people’s advice. So in that ring, you have no fucking idea what I could throw at you. Because I can throw anything at you Famine, including the kitchen sink. You’re just going to have to play it by ear. But sadly, nobody will ever beat me if they rely solely on improvisation. Basically Famine, you’re stuck between a Stone and a hard place – the plywood ring floor.
It’s a ballsy move of me to say that beyond a shadow of a doubt I’ll be winning this match. But homie, even if you were somehow able to amplify the ability of your pea-sized brain and fully comprehend what it means to be Lee Stone this week, you’d know for damn certain that there is no stopping it. It’s like the Gods themselves wrote this play. For me it’s a classic literary comedy – always has a happy ending. For you, it’s a fucking tragedy. And you ain’t even the tragic hero, you ain’t the damn protagonist. You’re sitting there with some sort of fucking horseshit title opportunity handed to you for doing absolutely fucking nothing, but still this is my story. This is my play. I’m the leading man. You’re just a fucking bit part.
But I suppose it needs to be asked why I think everything that makes up Lee Stone is more than everything that makes up Famine of the Vile. Why is it that I think I’m not going to have to face everything you could possibly throw, just the same way as you’re going to have to face everything that I could throw. Well dude, I hope to fucking God that I am. I hope that you’re going to come into that damn ring with all your guns blazing and looking for blood. Looking for my blood. I want you to think that this is the biggest match of your life, bigger than that crock of shit at the PPV. This isn’t Mr. Underachiever KoRe. This isn’t Mr. Nobody Hardcore Smitty. This is Lee motherfucking Stone.
This is the World’s Greatest.
That’s what I’ve got going for me Famine. That’s what tells me that I’ve got this in the bag. The last time I was in this mood, the last time I was in this mode, I was labelled unstoppable. Fuck, I was unstoppable. Killing me wouldn’t even fucking stop me, cause I’d be back a month later and whooping your god damn ass. That’s who you’re fucking facing! Lee Stone, the CURRENT Universal Champion, with two more damn years experience on his name. Two years of life experience. Two years of struggles, of battles, of fucking wars that I’ve been confronted with, fought, won, and then added to my arsenal of anger. New skills, new strategies, new motivations, all thrown on top of every other fucking thing that ever drove me to do anything productive with my life ever! You comprehending this asshole? This is Lee Stone, the revised version. New and improved, yet still the same old pure and simple fighter. And I’m getting set to fucking explode.
You’re in my damn way Famine. You’re a road block. And the thing about Lee Stone, is that in the same way he never makes small statements, he never slows down either. That’s why I’ve been able to carry this damn company on my back when I’ve needed to. I’ve managed to keep the action from ever slowing down because I’m the kind of guy who sets the pace for the action to follow. I lead by example, and I’m about to make an example of you.
I don’t care about your story. I don’t care about why you’re in this match, what you have to gain from it, where you’ll be heading towards after it. All I care about is seeing you in my damn path, and then crashing full speed into you, knocking you flat on your fucking ass.
Listen to me, I’m swearing more than ever right now. Fuck fuckity fuck fuck! Some people would have the audacity to call me inarticulate. They’d call me immature because I swear excessively. But me, I call this passion. I call this anger. I call this me being me. Are you ready to beat me Famine? Hell no!
But I ain’t done yet! There’s another piece to this puzzle. One man who I know so well.
Psyko Stevo, it’s been a very long time. Shit, I think it’s been over two years or some crazy number since last time we were in that ring together. Back then I was in line to face Dynamic Dynamite for the Universal Title, a match that I’d ultimately lose thanks to that fucking reject Rick Lacey sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. But you Stevo, you questioned whether or not I deserved to be in the main event at that Pay Per View. As a result, I whooped your ass! But that wasn’t the first time we had thrown down now was it? It was December 2003, in the first round of the X-Mas X-Treme Tournament: Lee Stone vs. Psyko Stevo. Student vs. Teacher. We got overshadowed a little by Jon Page’s epic clash with Trent Gein on the same night, but the two of us still put on a hell of a show. We were the surprise hit. I mean sure, you had your name already built thanks to DW, but who the hell was Lee Stone? Well Lee Stone was the guy who beat you. Lee Stone was the guy who had heads turn in his direction. I knocked off Confusion next and got thrown up against Jon Page. I was riding a high. Sure I lose to Page, but beating you and Confusion was just incredible for me. I guess I should thank you dude. Out of you and Page, it was you who saw something in me. Hell, it was you who was sacrificed in order to show myself that I’ve got what it takes. So thanks Stevo, thanks for giving me a head start in the right direction.
But this ain’t about all that is it?
We’ve come so far from them. Apparently I’m some kind of fucking legend now. What the hell is up with that? There you are, an icon, on the list with the likes of Andrew Gibson and Christian Connolly for being responsible for getting Lee Stone to the point he is at today, and I’m the legend of the two of us. Something’s a little fishy there. But I digress. I’m not about to complain about getting shown respect. It’s a compliment, and I’d have to be a complete moron to tell anybody to go blow it out their ass when all they’re doing is giving me what I do deserve. Because I truly believe that I deserve their respect. But do you?
I laugh at how I’m the legend of the two of us, but then I start to think, do you deserve to be called one? You’ve got yourself into some kind of tussle with Default, I don’t know what about, nor do I fucking care. He’s apparently a legend, and I know you’d love to be called one. But you’re not. That’s my conclusion. You’re not a legend Stevo. You’re biggest contribution to the XWF is a loss to Steve Jason in the Thin Ice match, and helping me become a legend. That ain’t enough dude. But thankfully, I can say that you’re well on your way to becoming one.
Christ it feels weird for me to be here talking down to you like you’re some kind of child, but after everything I’ve given for this place, I feel like I could walk up to anybody from the past, Cooper, The Brand, Jayzon Williamz, Mr. High Flyer STS, all of those names, and I could talk down to them. Because I’m a legend now. I’m in the same category as them, as much as it would kill some of them to say. They’d be so damn in touch with their old world of XWF that they’d refuse to even consider some of us ‘newer’ stars being on their level. I think I’ve gone a little off topic, so I’m going to bounce right back around and tell you something that after we fell out last time, I didn’t think I’d ever tell you.
I kind of admire what you’re doing Stevo. I heard your speech on Massacre. I wasn’t supposed to be there, but Cranberry Juice convinced me to stick around, and so I heard you speaking. It seems somehow the two of us have wound up on the same page in regards to our views. I think Jonathyn has lost his freaking mind, so do you. His idea of ‘fairness’ ain’t fair at all. How is it that giving Famine of the Vile another Universal Title shot when he lost on Sunday ‘fair’? We got guys like Zach Rizza who have been racking up win after win and surely qualify for the Universal Title, yet they don’t get their shot. A fucking loser does. And then we’ve got people like… well… like me! I don’t qualify, I lost at the Pay Per view, and I’ve only just returned to action, but I never got my fucking rematch for the title. I’m the hole in the credibility of the title. Nobody ever beat me for it. Nobody beat Smitty either, but he would never have won it if I was still around. Because I’d still be champ. And I should be.
So there’s one thing we agree on. Jonathyn is an idiot. But there’s a second point. We agree on the subject of ArchAngel, Daniel Malcolm, BoonDock Saint or whatever miscapitalized name he’s going by nowadays. I liked him too. When I first defended my Universal Title against him… twice… I was kind of pulling for him to win as well. But then by the time our third battle came around, he was just some whiny bitch who refused to even acknowledge the fact that I whooped his ass twice, and then a third time. He clings to the fact that he pinned me after I… jumped… from the Multi Man Metal Mayhem Match, as if that makes him better than me. It’s just fucking ridiculous. So I’m with you on that Stevo. I’m with you on quite a few issues. But what does that mean?
It means we’re pretty similar Stevo. We’re in the ring with a man who is considered one of the future stars of this company, but then there’s the two of us. I can’t use my old saying of The Past, The Present and The Future, because thanks to what you’ve done for me, I’m on the same level as you – or higher! Basically Stevo, it means that while I know that you’re not going to be the same man that I’ve beaten in the past, effectively rendering those past encounters null and void in terms of context for this match, I still know what to expect from you.
Stevo, I know I can expect a fight from you.
I welcome that.
I encourage you to try. Because like I told Famine, I refuse to walk away from this match with anything other than a win. I crave it. I need it. I need to get back onto that fucking horse. I’m a winner.
I’m Lee Stone.
You’re a deer on the same road that Famine of the Vile blocks. As for me, I’m the truck. I’m the headlights. You see me. You freeze. Game over. I win again.
I’m back.
Have a bad day everybody.”
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