Thursday, July 19, 2007 - Indianapolis, Indiana “You mind telling me what the fuck that business on Massacre was about?” I speak into my headset, keeping a close eye on the road as it winds in front of me. One look at me and it’d be pretty fucking clear as to who I’m speaking to on the other end.
His name is Cranberry Juice.
That’s all we’ve been told. Or perhaps I should be more specific here: that’s all that you have been told.
You see, to me, Cranberry Juice is nothing more than a small kid playing with puppets. He pulls their strings and they dance accordingly. They are his Barbie dolls. Unless he lets them out, they reside in the darkness of his toy box.
You are his toys.
Think about it. He dresses in a white fucking cloak, that anybody could easily mistake for a Ku Klux Klan costume if the hood was spiked just a little more. He speaks in ri-god-damn-diculous poems that I’d be surprised would make any sense to anyone, himself included. And all the while, all you can do is merely guess as to who he is. He could be anybody. We both have heard names thrown around: Shane Carver, Cooper, hell it could be Jonathyn Brown! It could be Hardcore Smitty. It could be me! It could be you. I’m not even sworn to secrecy here. If I wanted to I could climb to the peak of the highest mountain, hold a megaphone up to my mouth and then proceed to scream his name out, echoing it throughout the valleys below. I know who he is, so I would know how to counteract any retaliatory response he could make towards me. But I guess that’s why he approached me to assist him. He knows that out of anybody in the entire federation, Lee Stone is the one man who would be amused enough by all of this to keep his lips zipped. It’s an act of mutualism. Mutual amusement.
But there are times when I wonder just what is the purpose of some of the things he does. Take for instance, what happened after my triumphant match on Massacre. It almost seemed like the dude was giving me of all people a warning. As you could imagine, that would be pretty unnecessary. Regardless, the action still happened. I think the most intelligent thing to do would be to decipher what he said. Surely it’s not all just some meaningless mumbo-jumbo. You’d expect some form of sense in it all. Let’s see, shall we?
“Revelations in blood do not amount to much.
OMG! Lee Stone just filled out his promo with something from a show! OMG! OMG! OMG! He should lose!
Blow me.
I know how some idiots have a habit of taping Massacre so they can hit that fast forward button whenever they feel like it, so I just want to make sure everybody got this part. After all, we all know Lee Stone is one of the most watched names in the XWF. Everybody watches my shit! And as if you weren’t captivated enough by me, there’s some dude reading poems? That’s classic! But then I’d still hear that old beaten line “I fell asleep watching a Lee Stone promo”. And well… you might see where I’m going here. In a round about way, I’m pretty much just saying fuck you. Back to the issue at hand though, look at that bloody poem!
The hell does that mean?
Well using my sleuth-like abilities, I’ma try to break this shit down for you to get to the crux of the matter. Here we go: Lee Stone’s Literary Paraphrasing, Take One:
“Beating the crap out of somebody proves nothing.
So how did I do? I know it doesn’t have rhyme or rhythm but I still feel that I interpreted the point pretty well. But the fact of the matter is, I still have no bloody clue what it means. Hence the question I’ve already asked.
“What is the one issue, most prevalent in the minds of XWF fans?” The voice responds in my ear, more crackled and distorted than usual. Fucking bad reception. Apparently Mr. Juice couldn’t fork out the money for cream-of-the-crop, top-quality equipment. Jackass.
“Why Lee Stone isn’t in the main event at Leap of Faith.” That ain’t a question. If for some reason a fan doesn’t think that, then they deserve to live almost as little as Famine of the Vile deserves a shot at MY Universal Title. This whole fucking situation gets more and more ridiculous.
Chill Lee. You know how it all works by now. Save it for a long-winded, seemingly pointless rant in the middle of a promo, where all of a sudden you bring all back it in and prove anything that anybody ever says about you wrong. Oh it’s good to be me.
“No, Lee Stone.” The answer is stern, leaving no room for me to wiggle out and back into my self-centered paradise. Bastard. “You need to place your ego to the side for as long as you can. You will get what is coming to you.”
“When?” I demand. I know the deal, you have to wait around and earn your stripes. If anybody tries to preach that shit to me again, I’ll puke. The same people preaching to me wouldn’t have a fucking clue how the system around here operates. I became a fucking legend in this system, and all of a sudden I don’t know how it works? That’s a crock of shit. But I’m sick of waiting while less deserving people get shots in front of me. Why the fuck are Famine of the Vile and Brad Pierce getting rematches without cashing in points, when there are a long list of guys just itching to get a shot at those belts. Why is it that Default could return straight into a number one contenders spot for a title that belongs to a guy that come this Monday, I’ll have beaten twice in a month? That ain’t how the system works. I’m how the system works.
>“The moment I get what is coming to me”. Right. Because that’s a completely normal answer to my question. It’s vague as all hell, which coincidently, must be very vague for that analogy to work. The next question, or should I say questions off my lips should be obvious.
“And when will that be? More importantly, what is it that is “coming to you”?” That’s the million dollar question right there.
“Justice”.
Surely I can’t be the only noticing a pattern here. Is there no such thing as a straight answer anymore?
“Look dude,” I begin. “You know I’m behind you. Viva la revolution and all that jazz. I got that “Fuck Authority” spirit going like that Pennywise song. I’ll pimp slap the hell out of anybody who gets in the way. But judging from what you’ve told me, you want to cut out the politics in the top office. You want management that we can trust. We want the same bloody thing in that category. But if you’ve got some sort of ulterior motive going on, it might just be an intelligent move to let The Lee know, that way, when shit hits the fan, he can have your back. And even if you’re the most stubborn asswipe in the entire damn world, having Lee Stone backing you up will always be helpful. So let’s clear the fucking air right now. What is your ulterior motive?”
“Order”.
Motherfucker.
It’s amazing how much effect one word can have on people. Justice. Order. So many words along those lines can invoke such strong reactions in people. These are social constructs. Ideas imprinted on our minds from the very first moment we could possibly be aware of them.
Order: arrangement; method; relative position; sequence; an undisturbed condition; tidiness; rules of procedure; en efficient state; a class, group, or sort; a religious fraternity; a style of architecture; an honor or decoration; an instruction or command; a rule or regulation; a state or condition.
I don’t think that even covers every possible definition. It certainly doesn’t do so in relation to the XWF, as many people will attest to.
The Black Order.
The Brown Order.
The White Order.
The Order.
In a man such as myself, having “heard it all, seen it all and done it all” as I’ve become quite fond of saying, only one reaction is appropriate in this situation.
“Oh hell no!” I exclaim. “Motherfucker, are you crazy? Do we really need the fifty-billionth incarnation of that freak show running around? I was in the White Order! It fell within a few weeks.”
“I am not bringing about the second-coming Lee Stone,” he tries to reassure me, unsuccessfully.
“It wouldn’t be the second-coming,” I correct him. “Like I said, it’d be the fifty-billionth, and that’s only exaggerating slightly.”
“Relax. You have nothing to worry about. Continue as we have planned.”
“So Jem’s expecting me?” I double-check, bringing the topic to the reason I stand on the sidewalk outside of the Bloody Rose club, infamous for its connection with fellow XWF Legend Jem Williams. It’s easy to lose your focus with Juice around. You get so caught up in trying to figure out his cryptic crap that you lose track of things. But if I’m to continue as planned, (which is actually a pretty good move, not that I’d ever admit that to him), I need to keep my head in line. Situations like this can explode, implode or “plode” in ways we have never seen before. Despite everything that I say and do, I do in fact hear what people say. I generally just choose to ignore it and go with whatever my whacked out mind tells me to. So with that being said, I did in fact hear what Cranberry Juice was talking about earlier in regards to the foremost issue in the XWF right now. I know what it is.
The New Dawn and Steve Jason.
“Yes”. That’s all I need to hear, and I step inside.
I recall the layout of the place as best as I can. I think I’ve been here before, but I wouldn’t have been paying a lot of attention. The first floor, ground level, is general a business floor. Suited jerkoffs trying to buy the pants off each other. That’s pretty much the only description I could possibly give to it. I don’t stay here long enough for any other worthy piece of information to seep into my consciousness. I hit the stairs as quick as possible. The most significant aspect of the Bloody Rose is in these very staircases. You see, the general trend for a hotspot of XWF superstars is a high-rise nightclub. Steve Jason’s Club Paramount fits this mould, as does the entire V.I.P franchise that Raziel and I own. Jem’s favorite bar though, moves downwards into the basements.
I gallop down the stairs, finding myself in front of a door that will lead into what would generally be described as a rave. Strobe lights, dance music, the whole deal. Basement number one. That’s the thing about Jem, he’s not the most outgoing person there is. I’d expect to find him hauled up in a hole somewhere, hiding from the world. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a good enough dude, and a brilliant wrestler – hell, he’s one of the few people who can say they actually outwrestled me – but he’s hardly the life of a party. Hence my movement down the stairs once again, exploring even further what is below the surface. Jem won’t be shaking his groove thing with the peons undoubtedly tripping on E on that dance floor. He’ll be down here. Basement number two.
I open the door and enter a much more tolerable environment. Small, more private booths litter the sides of the rooms, tables scattered across the floors. Throw in the mandatory atmosphere music, and you’ve got all the ingredients for a fairly decent chillaxing spot. In one corner, I see Jem sitting with two people I only know through acquaintance, Xavious and Katrina. Not sure where Eve is. Doesn’t really matter either. I gracefully move across the floor, ducking and diving between tables and chairs until I reach them. All three look up at me with fairly expressionless faces.
“I think I’ll leave you guys to it,” Xavious says unexcitedly. “I’ve got busy-work to do.”
“And I think I’m going to go find Eve up on that dance floor,” Katrina mentions. Both leave simultaneous, barely even acknowledging me as they pass.
“Well at least they don’t feel awkward around me,” I say sarcastically. A small, barely noticeable smirk crosses onto Jem’s face, but I notice it. I always notice the small things.
“Don’t blame them,” Jem consoles me. Or at least that’s what it seems like to begin with. That changes. “Blame yourself. People don’t really know how to act around you.”
“Last I checked,” I begin with my retort. “You were a person. That hasn’t changed has it?”
“Nah, that hasn’t changed”. He sips from the drink in front of him. I’d be willing to guess that vodka is somehow involved in it. “I just don’t care that much”.
“Charming…” I smirk now as I take a seat at a ninety degree angle to Jem, both of us able to look out into the room. “Have you ever noticed that all XWF superstars seem to like having their own special nightclubs that they hang out in?”
“It seems to be a trend,” he agrees. “Have you ever noticed that all XWF superstars seem to have an entourage of sorts that follows them around nearly anywhere they go?”
“It seems to be a trend,” I copy his previous words. But I’ve got my own little spice to add to the discussion. “Except me.”
“Except you…” Jem snorts out a slight chuckle as he sips again. A glass of cranberry juice is brought over to me by a member of the staff.
“Guess I don’t even need to ask anymore, do I?” I snort out a slight chuckle as I sip from the juice. “I’ve actually developed quite a liking to this stuff.”
“I can’t say the same,” he says quietly. He’s not trying to hide his thoughts from me though. I know him just as he knows me. He knows he doesn’t have to hide them, because I’m probably already thinking what he is. That’s how my relationship has almost always been with Jem. Minimal words need be used. Minimal effort to be all nice and crap need be exercised. We are who we are. We don’t care if the other doesn’t like that. “That him in your ear?”
“The one and only,” I confirm for him. Cranberry Juice is silent, but I know he’s listening. Just because you don’t see him, just because you don’t hear him, it doesn’t mean that he’s not there. It doesn’t mean that he doesn’t hear you. It doesn’t mean that he doesn’t see you. That’s one of the things people need to start picking up on. He is watching every move that anybody makes. He knows what is happening, often before it even happens.
“And you’re not going to tell me who he is, are you?” He doesn’t look hopeful, for good reason.
“I think I should print up a t-shirt that will answer that question for me so I don’t have to waste precious oxygen,” I reply.
“A simple no would have been sufficient,” he says with another sip.
“But it wouldn’t have been as fun,” I say, sipping. Move for move, action for action, we meet each other. It’s the same dance we did leading up to our match.
A stalemate.
“So what’s Mr. Juice wanting from me?” There it is. The straight-forward, direct, Jem Williams approach. I’m more prone to diving head first into near-meaningless rants to get my point across. Jem just says the damn point. He doesn’t lose his head and get sidetracked easily. He’s a calculating machine. He’s one of the best, ever.
“Nothing in particular,” I respond as honest as I can. Forget the poems, this is one of the most confusing aspects about our resident enigma Cranberry Juice. He talks about gathering forces and having an army, and then he sends me out to chat to people, but not to sway them to joining this so-called “army”. I hope he doesn’t think Lee Stone is an entire army, because while I may have the guns to be considered as such, I doubt I’d fare well up in a battle with another “army”. Methinks pain would play a factor.
“Then what the hell are we doing here, Lee?” he asks justly.
“Correspondence,” I say after a quick search of my mind to find the right description. “We’re touching base on plans.”
“We’re not fucking pen pals or anything like that, we’re grown-ups,” Jem reminds me.
“You think you have to remind me of that?” I query. “I’ve got more on my fucking plate than a kid could comprehend. There are a lot of other things that I’d prefer to be doing right now than watching a man that I have damn near no emotions for or against drink. But apparently this is important.”
“You sound like you don’t actually know,” Jem remarks.
“What am I supposed to know?” I demand an answer. “Who Cranberry Juice is? Sure, I know that. What he wants to do? We all know that. How about what you want to do? That’s what I’m supposed to find out dude. That’s why I’m here. You and I, of all people, know that Steve Jason was always ready to jump into any justified fight to save the day. Juice sent me to him to have a chat, but now Stevie J done got himself a serious case of the beat downs. So Juice has sent me to you. You’re out for revenge. You’re out for blood. Good for you dawg. But perhaps some form of structure could be appropriate.”
“And Juice wants to offer me this?” Jem sips from his drink as he raises his eyebrows a little in curiosity. I don’t sip from mine.
“No. He doesn’t want to offer you anything except a free pass when it comes to the inevitable ass-whoopings that will be handed out left, right and centre.” I stare at him, not touching my drink. “Like you said Jem, we’re grown-ups. That means you need to sort your fucking structure out for yourself. Don’t go into battle against four or more people on your own, no matter how pathetic they may each be on their own. I don’t like the New Dawn. In one way or another, they’re responsible as a collective unit, sharing the blame of the other group members, for ruining my one chance to settle the score with Steven. You know how big of a no-no that is to me. But Stevie J fell, what’s to say you can’t as well? Use your fucking head.”
“Juice wanted you to tell me that?” he sounds a little skeptical, but I know he listened. He heard every word.
“Something along those lines,” I admit. “But generally speaking, that came straight from me. Don’t be a fucking idiot.”
“So where is your interest in all of this?”
“When it comes down to it dude, we’re fighting the same battle.” I finally take another drink. “We have an honor system that all these clowns don’t seem to understand. From Dan and his cronies, to Famine of the Vile, to Hardcore Smitty and my impersonator. We made this place for them, and they don’t seem to realize or appreciate that. They think we want rewards. They think we want thanks. All we want is not to be persecuted just because we’ve actually been successful long before they were even thought of in the “maybe he’ll make it” pile.”
“That’s very diplomatic of you,” he says with a stifled laugh.
“You know it’s the truth man.” I know he does. “So do what you’ve got to do, but remember that your actions will affect us all. And when the battle comes, Juice… scratch that… I don’t want to have to go through you to clean this place up.”
I see his mind working. That’s all I needed to do. I don’t need to excuse myself. I don’t need to say goodbye to Jem. We’re not that formal. We’re not that close. I get to my feet, and with a quick glance back, and a slight nod of the head, I pace across the room. With Jem’s mind mulling over what I’ve told him, it’s a great relief for Cranberry Juice.
“Do you mind picking up some blue jellybeans on the way back?” I hear him crackle over the earpiece. What the fuck? I didn’t get as much as a thank you from him, no acknowledgement of a job well done. Just a request for some bloody blue jellybeans? I repeat: what the fuck?
“Yeah… sure.” I mutter, turning off the earpiece as I bound up the stairs once again. Reaching the higher basement level, I can peer in through the doorway to see Katrina trying to pull a very enthusiastic Eve off the dance floor. I stand and watch for a while, not in a creepy way or anything. I just see the look on Eve’s face. She’s happy. Jem, despite his very nonchalant attitude, was happy. There’s so much talk in this place about the difference between respecting a wrestler and respecting a man. Nobody ever respects Lee Stone the man, but Jem… he’s got his shit sorted. I wonder… why can’t I be like that?
You know what, fuck it.
I bounce back down to the second basement, and in no time am standing in front of a rather puzzled Jem once again. This time I don’t sit.
“Eve…” I pant, having flown over here so quickly. I see his face turn. He’s worried.
“Is she…” he begins.
“She’s fine,” I interrupt, easing his fears. “She’s really fine. You’re really fine.”
“Are you hitting on me?” he asks as a joke. I ain’t joking here.
“No. I’m just…” I think. Words are usually my forte. They escape me right now. I stammer, I stutter, but I manage to squeeze something out. “How do you do it? How do you keep everything in line?”
He smiles at me. It’s not the smirk from earlier, nor is it amusement. It’s a genuine, warm smile. It’s been a long time since anybody genuinely smiled at me.
“When it's right, it’s right, man.”
“You make it sound so fucking easy,” I say sternly.
“It ain’t easy, believe that,” he says, correcting me. “But when it’s right, you want to face the hard stuff. You look forward to it, because you know that when you come out of that very low dip, you’ll hit a very high peak. The reward is worth it.”
I nod. His mind works again. I’m Lee Stone, and I’m asking for legitimate advice. I think Jem understands just what that means. I don’t embellish on anything for him. I just let him think.
I just think.
I turn, without a goodbye once more, and head to the stairs. I head to the exit. Hopefully I don’t have to bail on things too many times in the near future.
Friday, July 20, 2007 – Indianapolis, Indiana
The following is a recorded promotion produced by The World’s Greatest Production Company in association with the X-Treme Wrestling Federation.
“Bitches and gentlefucks, if you would take your preconceived judgments and flush them down the toilet right about now, that’d be swell, because this shit is important. So important that I’d love for it to be plastered over every fan website, every page of the official website, and drilled into every forum-goers signature on those wicked-cool boards.
Listen to me.
Will you idiots please, please, please stop bringing my name into your fucking petty disputes? I’m using my god damn manners here, which is rarer than a blue moon – which I’m quite sure never actually occurs!
Just stop it!
Don’t say my name!
Quite frankly, I don’t care about what is going on in your life. I don’t care about who you like, who you don’t like, whose dick you want to suck, whose mom you want to fuck. It just doesn’t matter. This little spiel goes out to anybody and everybody who feels the need to talk about a category of wrestlers or people, and wants to throw me in there. I could be talking to Jem Williams, who in turn, is talking about who the other legends in this company are. I could be talking to Brad Pierce and any other New Dawn member rattling off about how all these “old timers” are stealing “their” spotlight. I could be talking to Default, who wants to call me a “real hero of the XWF”. I don’t want to hear it.
I may very well be an “old timer”, despite the fact that I ain’t even thirty yet. A case could be made to describe me as a hero, although you’d have to argue very strongly because signs have always pointed in other directions. It could still be done though. And hell, we all know that I’m officially considered a “legend” here. But above anything else, there’s only one thing you can categorize me as:
I’m Lee Stone.
And I’m better than you.
It doesn’t matter who you are either. In the past month, I’ve made the number one contender to the Universal Title tap out. I’ve incapacitated the Canadian Champion for long enough that he couldn’t stop the previous statement from happening. I’ve gained a technical count out victory over one of the greatest of all time. And more recently, I’ve pinned the current World Champion, one, two, three. Theoretically, on paper, I’m the best in this company. Realistically, in life, I’m still the best.
Brad Pierce, I heard you on Massacre. I heard you say the same shit last time a microphone was held to your mouth as well. I heard it when Danny Boy Malcolm and Eric Anderson said it too. I probably would’ve heard it from Amy Vixen to, but my dick was so far down her mouth she couldn’t use her words like a big girl. She sure sucks dick like one though.
Oh yes, I went there.
Bradley, you say all this crap, over and over again. You sing the same tune to the same note, all of you do. And then you have the audacity to say that all you see from me is the same shit on a different day? Look in the motherfucking mirror! But I’ll admit, there’s at least an ounce of truth to what you say. I do offer the same thing, every time I’m in the ring. I’m always the odds on favorite to win. And guess what? I do win! Can’t exactly say the same about your circle-jerking buddies though. When was the last time that Dan won a match? Shit, I can’t even remember.
Nigga, you don’t even know me. We’ve had absolutely zero dealings with each other, ever. I haven’t stepped in and taken action against you clowns, nor had you done so towards me. Yet still I hear you flapping your jaws about me. Eric Anderson did it, Daniel Malcolm hasn’t stopped doing it for the past two years! That’s a compliment to me, but it’s getting fucking annoying.
You want to point the finger at me and call me a bad guy? By all means, go ahead and do so. But don’t complain when I’m pointing the longest finger of them all right in your direction, just before I put you the fuck down like a household pet. You’re nothing to me dawg. It would be harder to do the flipping off at you, than it would be to actually knock you the fuck out. Apparently I’m “old”. That would mean I have a hell of a lot of experience dealing with jackasses like you.
Your move buddy boy. But don’t forget what I did to Dynamic Dynamite, the same man who stomped all over you to take the World Title in the first place. You may have beaten him as well, but that just places you as equals. I ain’t your equal though.
It’s like I said… I’m Lee Stone.
Maybe that’s the problem. I don’t get given all the opportunities or anything like that, just because I’m Lee Stone. I’m noticeably absent from the Leap of Faith card – which for the record, is the most ludicrous booking blunder in the vast history of this company – and my Universal Title shot went to Justin Jones and Famine of the Vile, both of whom I am vastly superior than. So management offers me no breaks, but it’s psychologically imprinted into the minds of all and sundry that I do. As much as this line that I’m about to say will make me seem like a little whiny girl, I’m still going to say it.
It’s just not fair.
So I’ve been raking my exceptionally infinite wisdom bank and I have tried to decipher just why it is that I’ve been labeled such. As I did my thang on Massacre, I heard my name getting dropped in speeches, and by hearing Default speak, it all of a sudden dawned on me just why these labels have so continuously been handed out to a man in my position. Default’s mind frame is exactly what causes this New Dawn crap to surge up and fail over and over again. Hell, I went through the exact same fucking phase, and I think that’s why I’m able to comprehend what’s going on a little better than what most people can do.
According to Default, the real “heroes” of this place are the guys like myself, Steve Jason, Jem Williams, T Money, KoRe, and no doubt I can safely assume he’d like to insert himself into that grandiose category. We are the category of “legends”. Immediately that goes against my wish to not be lumped in with other people, but then Default went ahead and threw some other names into the mix. Gravy, technically not a legend, but whatever. Raziel… what significant contribution has that fucker made to this place aside from be a weight for me to carry as the tag team champions? And get this… Shawn Matters was even thrown into that mix! Shawn fucking Matters! First of all, where the hell has that Welsh asslick been since last time I dickslapped one of his apprentices? Secondly, what the hell good has he done, in any aspect of his life, ever. All of a sudden, he’s some sort of “hero” because he and Default used to sacrifice goats together back in whatever incarnation of The Order was hip at that time, but last time I checked, The Order were not heroes. Quite the opposite, but that could all be a matter of perspective.
So Default, open up your taringa, which for you uncultured scumbags is the Maori word for “ears”. I want you to hear this. I want the New Dawn to hear this too. If you’re going to go ahead and say that anybody who has been around here for a few years is a “hero” or is “worthless” then you’re a fucking moron. People can’t be categorized by how long they’ve been here, they can only be categorized by talent. Something I happen to have.
In a way, this little rant of mine is leading me back to the most important focus of today’s session. I have a match with Psyko Stevo – again – in just a matter of days. Default has a match with Psyko Stevo in just a little over a week for the Canadian Title. And apparently Default is willing to class Shawn Matters as a “hero” because they used to be buddies, while Stevo, a former World Champion, one of the men responsible for me getting to where I am today, doesn’t make the cut. That’s a little ridiculous. How is it that I can be so respected as a wrestler, yet one of the men I learned from to help master my craft, isn’t?
This Default, is why people don’t like you.
I wouldn’t be willing to say that I like Psyko Stevo. I wouldn’t be willing to say that I like anyone in this place. But the one thing that Stevo has going for himself that you don’t, is that he makes sense. He doesn’t preach about greatness as if he were an expert on the subject, and then use your “expertise” to rag other people’s careers. Keep in mind dingleberry that you and Psyko Stevo both share the same highest accolade here. That hardly works to back up your statements.
You are not a hero, Default. Psyko Stevo is not a hero.
Lee Stone is not a hero.
Lee Stone is a wrestler. Psyko Stevo is a wrestler. Default is a wrestler, albeit a slightly stupid and far-too freakish one.
Brad Pierce is a wrestler. Dynamic Dynamite is a wrestler. Daniel Malcolm is a wrestler. We are all fucking wrestlers.
That’s it.
That’s all there is to it.
This isn’t about being a great man. I’m a horrible man. Psyko Stevo is a horrible man. You Default, are a horrible man.
This is about being a great wrestler.
And I’m The World’s Greatest.
And now I get another chance to prove it against The Best Around.
Back in the same position, eh Stevo? No Famine of the Vile this time though. It’s just me versus you. Wrestling.
Or at least that’s what I’m hoping. Maybe Default can give it but he can’t take it, so will be looking to give me a stern warning not to talk bad to him ever again. Maybe he’ll try and come to screw you over, weakening you before your match. Of course, that would be fucking hypocritical of him considering that he blasted the New Dawn, Dan Malcolm in particular, for jumping people outside of matches, but I’ve come to expect the worst from people so am not very hopeful about our friend whose name can act as a verb.
If all goes to plan though Stevo, this should be a hell of a match, and that’s what I’m looking forward to. So often I find myself debating over some underlying moral going into matches. I brought in salvation against Jem. I talked to Famine about earning your shots. I told Stevie J that he is no longer the pinnacle of righteousness around here. And just last week I told (and then showed) Dynamic Dynamite what being a legend is all about. But with you, I’ve got nothing, for now anyway.
I do want to say one thing in particular towards you though. I want to say thank you Stevo. During our three-way-dance with Famine of the Vile, you raised an interesting point to me. I made mention of what happened the first time that we stepped into that ring opposite each other, and you told me that it didn’t matter.
You were right.
Even with a match having technically occurred between us three weeks ago, this is my first match against you.
That’s my mentality Stevo. You’re a brand, spanking new opponent for The Lee, but one that I’ve done my homework on over and over again. I know The Best Around so well that I even used the move by the same name when I faced Jem. I know where you’re coming from and I know where you’re going. I know it before you’ve even done it, and I know that the same applies for you. I know that you know that. You know that I know that you know that I know that you know that I know it. It’s a fact like gravity. But there are always exceptions. How does an airplane stay up in the air, when one of the most concrete rules of physics says that it should be impossible? That’s the equivalent of what’s going to be needed between us dude. Who can bend the rules that govern us as people, just enough to squeak by with something a little different. I can tell you the answer already homie:
I am.
I feel a little upset that I have to be in this match to be honest. I don’t see the fucking point in us facing again. I don’t see the point in anything I’ve been doing in any matches. Why would Lee Stone vs. Steve Jason have been booked for a mere weekly show, when under normal circumstances – which sadly we did not get – the two of us would’ve done more than everything possible to win, even though that in itself seems to be an impossible thing. Why was Lee Stone and Dynamic Dynamite on a weekly show, and not in the main event, when the two of us have headlined a full Pay Per View card back when Dynamite was only on his second Universal Title reign, I hadn’t even had my one, and the Legend tag wasn’t being handed out like ass-whoopings courtesy of Leroy Bruce Stone. With the status that we’ve both been promoted to, and with his current position as the supposed king of the hill considering that my title is officially considered vacant, the two of us would have equaled high buy-rates for a Pay Per View, even if the rest of the show was filled up with the New Dawn wiping the tears from each others’ cheeks. It’s mindboggling.
With that being said though, I’m going to approach this the same way that I always do. This is a wrestling match. I win wrestling matches. That’s it all summed up for you, pure and simple. That’s how I roll.
But still I keep talking. That’s also how I roll. I talk, you respond, and then I fire back again. It’s the system. We can try to get into each others heads, but in this match, all I need to do is be out of my own.
I don’t think.
I just act.
It’s natural instinct. You can’t teach it. Many people have forms of it, especially when it comes to the violent actions that our brand of sport is so similar to. There are natural born warriors, natural born fighters, who just love to feel their knuckles cracking somebody in the jaw. In a way, we’re like that. I always hear that our business is fake. I hear the old line “he just knows how to fall”. That’s actually true. That’s our instinct. People like us, me and you Stevo – the naturals – know how to fall so we can get back up as often as possible.
I always get up Stevo.
Sooner or later, I always get up.
I know how to fall so I’m not on my back for three seconds. I know how to do that. It’s what I’ve always known. I’m never at anybody else’s mercy.
That’s why I win.
That’s why I will keep winning.
I have seen it all. I have heard it all. I have done it all.
But I have no problem doing it all again.
Have a bad day.”
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