WEDNESDAY 10-3-07 11:50PM
Mood: Reflective

Everything is always simpler in black and white.

Good and evil.

Light and dark.

Life and death.

Choice: live or die?

Questions like this are made light in a rhetorical sense; that answer you are so certain to be true, that you just have to scoff when people ask because they should know just as much as you do. "Why the fuck would you ask me such a stupid question?"

It all comes down to life, right? What can you do to be affective in a world filled with one-trick ponies? What precautions do you need to take to make sure you stand out in the crowd? Whatever you may say to that, it’s all easier than doing nothing.

Why not say ‘die’? What’s the harm that could follow? It’s so much easier to sit on your ass and let the world happen. To sit, watch, wait and die. To accept that what you have is what there is, tossing aside any notions that insinuates just a little bit more hard work to amount to anything

In death comes a certain acceptance of bleakness and mediocrity that wouldn’t come at any other time. In the choice of sitting idle, doing nothing, and letting change occur out of its’ own will; one is making the choice in death.

Some people can sit content in waiting for death. I call these people Catholics. That was never the lifestyle for me though. I didn’t like letting things happen, especially when shit never "came to me," if you know what I’m saying. Life wasn’t exactly rewarding, sitting by as a spectator in a sport filled with action. It was time to make moves; put plans in motion.

Picture this: You’re in a world of seven-foot-something, three-hundred-pound giants, and you’re barely breaking the six-foot mark. You’re limbs are compared to toothpicks on national television when standing next to these guys. You wear a slapstick mask and cape, go by a stupid moniker because you hope you’ll turn a few heads. And when no one’s looking, you hit him in the place where they’d least expect it.

That isn’t sitting idly and letting the world happen.

That’s, what I like to call, GETTING SHIT DONE.

If you’ll hear me out, I’d like to explain. It all relates back to this very basic ideal my father has had instilled in me since day one. My mother was never there to combat his notions, because�well, quite frankly, I don’t even remember my mother. All I do remember was my father caring for me. Daddy would tell me bedtime stories or quotes from famous and smart people. Little anecdotes. Old scriptures. Fables. Family history. All designed to mold my frame of mind to revolve around a certain concept;

Survival of the fittest. It’s a way of life that is, in essence, very chameleonic in how it is addressed. Most people have often found it paraphrased as "Be the best you can be," or "Sink or swim," or "Do or do not, there is no try." Many cultures’ foundations are based on this simple concept of hard work. Others often adopt the ideal as one of their own, once witnessing the progress that such standards yield.

Most commonly referred to as the theory of Natural Selection, it is an order that has been seen time and time again. At first it was regarded to economics; and how the free market system leaves only enough breathing room for those able to fight for breath. But later it was commonly referred to the progression of humankind through Darwin’s Theory of Evolution. It doesn’t matter whether you believe in Darwinism or not, I’m not about to get into any argument over God or creation or any of that babble. History has taught us; through the Holocaust, struggles over the state of Palestine, and the "modernization" of Africa, that if there’s one thing on the human race’s mind, it’s proving that you’re the best. And if there are no UFOs attacking major cities or gigantic alien threats of global destruction to keep the people united, they’re going to start feeling the need to prove ‘who’s best’ to each other.

"White power."

"Black pride."

"Arriba la raza."

"Go Go Jew-Jew Juice!"

"Whatever the hell Muslims say?"

They all have this nationalistic pride that keeps them from respecting anyone but themselves. Whether you’re blowing someone’s church up or gatting up the north side of Crenshaw Boulevard, it all goes back to the basic concept of showing everyone else exactly who the fucking boss is.

My dad told me, that’s what ‘Survival of the fittest’ meant. And he told me to live by these guidelines in everything I did. He taught me to understand that the weak do not prosper from letting things happen. Destiny is a silver-lined curtain to distract your eye and make you fall. It raises false hope. It is the strong who grab the moment and make it their own.

Trust me; these ideals aren’t the easiest to live by. There’s the constant need of always staying on your toes and always sticking to your convictions. Everyone else has to recognize you for what you are; a death-bringer of maximum destruction and eternal hell-fire, forever raining an evil upon their soul until their will to live is no more! I try to display this ideal in my everyday life. The way I walk and talk, the things I say, the activities I choose to partake in. Everything adds up to create the entity you see before you; the Cult Icon.

I’d like to think there are two sides of my personality, however blended they may be. Even when I’m out living my day-to-day life during the week as Shawn Christopher, my standards do not change. It’s either kill or be killed in my world. Take aim and go for the throat. I find out that bitches are jocking my dick, I’m going to be all over that shit. It’s how I’ve always been; able to make the best of any situation.

And that brings me to this week and Hunter Ryan, or who I call the George Bush of wrestling... all talk, and no proof. He’s got a big fucking mouth, doesn’t he? He thinks he’s so great, but what has he done in the XWF? I’ll tell you what he’s done… absolutely nothing. If it weren’t for his "dead" brother, his punk ass probably wouldn’t even be in the federation right now. He’s horrible in the ring, and his promos leave me wanting to drink.

Hunter knows he’s not fooling anyone. He can talk all day about being the best, but when it comes down to it, he’s still doing promos with guys like Famine of the Vile. Come on, Hunter! You can’t be serious! You bust out a promo with Famine fucking Vile and expect me to believe you’re worthy of my time? What’s next, a promo of the Mid- Card Reunion, where Default, Dr. Badd, and Devlin Cross all make an appearance? You going to bring back the old Initiative and make a promo called “Original Initiative: Old School Jobbing For the New Generation?” You’ve been reduced to producing promos with has-beens and never-will-bes. This kind of shit makes me wonder if you used to be in the New Breed. For Christ’s sake, I’ve unloaded more charisma into a condom than we’ll ever see in one of your promos. If this is the work we can expect from you from now on, I might as well just have end your life and your career Thursday night.

Yeah, Hunter is the picture perfect symbol of cash and fame… the man that couldn’t even buy a girl a glass of water at a restaurant. You see, I think that you’re just another one of those fake ass wannabes. I’ve seen your kind. You’re the kind of man that’ll talk about all the paper in his wallet, but you’re still living in your mom’s basement with a black and white TV and a cot to sleep on. You’re the kind of man that’ll try to impress a 14-year- old with your ride, because you know that shit doesn’t impress anyone else. In short, you’re a phony that’s just trying to live in a false image. It’s just too bad that no one else is buying it but you.

Hell, I don’t even think he’s buying it. On a subconscious level, he just has to know that he’s a glorified jobber, just like he just has to know why he’s been attracted to Famine a little too much lately.

You want to talk about our positions on the card? If I’m not mistaken, you’ve been here longer than me and I passed you up on the card months ago. You still want to talk about our positions on the card? Oh with your mouth, I’m sure you do. Well allow me to be even more frank, trick. The only reason you’re even in the second-to-last match on the card is because you’re facing me. It’s got more to do with my entertaining promos than your charisma-lacking pieces of shit. It’s got more to do with my incredible fan base than the man whose own mother probably killed herself to get away from him. Do you seriously think that you would be that high on the card because of you? If that’s the case, then you must be more delusional that I thought.

Thursday night, Hunter… and it all ends. Your pride, your career, and your very existence will be shattered at the hands of the Cult Icon. You bitch all you want about the Cult Icon. You can complain about my tactics, and you can say I don’t deserve to be at the top. But the simple fact remains that I am at the top. You’re just mad that you can’t do the things I do. Don’t be angry about things that are out of your control. Sure, you and the rest of your crew can try to eclipse me. But even with the help of PETA, you can't eclipse me. That, bitch, is the cold hard truth… directly from the Chairman of Anarchy.

Cause see, I understand that this is it for you. This is your shot. Everyone in your group has done something remotely successful, except for you.

So what it comes down to, is a simple fact for you.

Do you have what it takes to swim?

Or am you going to be left sinking?

I’m afraid I don’t know the answer. I’m neither a mind-reader or a psychic nor am I blessed with the gift of foresight nor can I time-travel. Although I would really like to time-travel (Who the fuck wouldn’t?), I wouldn’t take any of these options even if I could. Because that means I’m just sitting back and watching what happens; knowing before hand if it’ll even be worth it to try.

I don’t want to do that. I’ll just wait until the struggle occurs, and then I’ll make sure that there can only be one outcome. VICTORY, for me. Because there is nothing else that can matter. It comes down to whether or not I have what it takes; and if I don’t, then shit, I don’t know. It’s sort of like wondering if there is a God, and if Heaven exists.

I’m counting on winning; I don’t know what lies waiting for me if I lose. Just like Christians, they go into this whole Jesus thing not knowing if he actually existed before hand. All we have are writings and records that say a man lived a life as Jesus, but there is nothing that can tell you for sure or not that he is the Son of God, the Saviour of Humanity. All that the Christians have to understand the concept of afterlife is faith.

They don’t know for sure, but there is this certainty that tells them no matter what the outcome, they’re going to be okay.

I guess you could say I have faith. Faith in myself that I am going to win. Faith in my abilities that they can carry me to victory. Because when it comes down to it, there is no one here but me. No one on this fucking earth shares a breath that is as valuable as my own.

It’s time to be the Jesus Christ of my own situation. Because if I can’t even save myself, who the fuck else will?