No. He's not Bucky Skyler.
"The Enigmatic Party of the United States of America Headquarters" were the words stretched out across the campaign banner situated at the top of what was normally a bingo hall in a small town in New Jersey. In the parkinglot, a few sparse cars were scattered about, despite the baloons and streamers that decorated the outside of the building with such pageantry it seemed almost like someone's birthday was ongoing within.
Yet, on the inside of the building, it was far from a celebration... the members of the party were sitting about in the giant hall upon steel chairs, their heads lowered in shame at the sheer sight of the massive, empty room. Cookies had been ordered, placed neatly across tables throughout the building, and a large bowl of punch sat in the middle, untouched by those who'd came to attend.
All three of them.
"We'll... get them next year, Bucky. Don't get discouraged." said the trusted advisor of the former presidential hopeful, "People just haven't heard your message loud enough yet is all."
Lifting his head slowly, Bucky looked back at his advisor, an aged sense of pain in his eyes as a sigh escaped his lips. As far as Bucky was concerned, this was his last year of bothering to try... after-all, who would want to continue on into their fourth attempt at presidential election without even being noticed by less than one percent of the population in the country?
"I can't keep going, man... this was supposed to be our year. I'd came back stronger than ever, I had a new message meant to bring the people of this country together, and... we've got no-one. For fuck's sake, man, there's a homeless vagrant over there trying to bathe in the punch bowl, and I don't even have the heart to stop them because they're the only guest we have!"
The vagrant stopped for a moment, glancing back at the man close to sobbing into the arms of the man beside him. Cocking an eyebrow, the vagrant wondered what the man in the suit had to cry about... failures come about all throughout life-- and he would know-- the important thing about those failures was to try and bounce back from them.
Just a shame the man had gone so long without seeing the inherent failures that came with him everywhere he walked; after all...
... he never really was meant for greatness, that was just his own little misguided dream.
How's it going, Buck? It's been a long time. You're looking... decent, about the same as you did the last time I saw you anyway, which I suppose isn't really saying all too much.
Of course, these days, it looks like you're more concerned about moaning about the injustice of your sister's boyfriend not asking you first for her hand in marriage.
Loving the logic behind that one, kid... "I love my sister, and this guy's marrying her without asking? Let me emotionally traumatize her by beating the shit out of him right in front of her on live television."
That wasn't one of your brightest moments, now, was it? Still, I suppose that's what we've all came to expect from you, Bucky... you never were the one meant for the main event scene, not since you took what potential you had to get there in the first place and trashed it in favor of some trite bullshit that wound up getting you an undeserved title reign because there was no-one legit there to take your ass on for it in the first place.
Of course, the soap-opera dramatic bullshit that surrounds your stupid ass nearly rivals your obsession with being remembered as a hardcore legend. I mean, I guess with that last one there, you are going to be remembered as a legendary failure at hardcore matches, considering all the ones I've seen you in around here either resulted in your failure or weren't much to be bragged about in the first place.
But, yeah, that soap-opera bullshit... really? Blood tests revealed you to be related to your ol'friend Sean Galen's... wife? She's his wife, right?
No, seriously, I don't fucking remember. I don't think anyone remembers, truth be told... it wasn't exactly a huge focal point of the NLCW to know what the hell they were with each other, but... whatever, okay, let's assume she was his wife. So, you're her half-brother, are you? And then Rein... Rein was the sister you never knew you had?
And you're actually pissed that her boyfriend didn't go to you about marrying her? Really?
... you'll do just about anything for a little on-screen attention, won't you BucK? No, really, I... there is nothing logical about something as batshit stupid as doing that. Did you really develop protective feelings for your sister that fucking quickly, that you'd beat the ass of any guy who showed her affection without asking your permission? No, I sincerely doubt that, Buck... your desperate little ass just wanted to beat his so it'd get covered by the cameras and you'd have your fifteen minutes of fame back in the NLCW.
And now, somehow, you've managed to stumble your way into the main event this Sunday. You've entered such star-studded ranks as the likes of Cole Marr and Carmine Vestieri, and... and...
... wow, the first half of this match really is the amateur-hour showdown, isn't it?
See, in the honesty of it, Buck... you really aren't the legend you'd always wanted to be around here. You had a few decent low-tier title runs and two mediocre, undeserved, untested title reigns at the top that lasted all of a few seconds both times before people moved on to the next flavor of the week in Chris Logan and Carmine Vestieri. If nothing else, kid, you could call yourself the placeholder champion of placeholder champions, and if you think that shit's getting you in the history books? If you think the experience you earned from going through all of that is going to win you the match this Sunday?
Yeah, no, you'd better guess again.
How's it going, Buck? It's been a long time. You're looking... decent, about the same as you did the last time I saw you anyway, which I suppose isn't really saying all too much.
Of course, these days, it looks like you're more concerned about moaning about the injustice of your sister's boyfriend not asking you first for her hand in marriage.
Loving the logic behind that one, kid... "I love my sister, and this guy's marrying her without asking? Let me emotionally traumatize her by beating the shit out of him right in front of her on live television."
That wasn't one of your brightest moments, now, was it? Still, I suppose that's what we've all came to expect from you, Bucky... you never were the one meant for the main event scene, not since you took what potential you had to get there in the first place and trashed it in favor of some trite bullshit that wound up getting you an undeserved title reign because there was no-one legit there to take your ass on for it in the first place.
Of course, the soap-opera dramatic bullshit that surrounds your stupid ass nearly rivals your obsession with being remembered as a hardcore legend. I mean, I guess with that last one there, you are going to be remembered as a legendary failure at hardcore matches, considering all the ones I've seen you in around here either resulted in your failure or weren't much to be bragged about in the first place.
But, yeah, that soap-opera bullshit... really? Blood tests revealed you to be related to your ol'friend Sean Galen's... wife? She's his wife, right?
No, seriously, I don't fucking remember. I don't think anyone remembers, truth be told... it wasn't exactly a huge focal point of the NLCW to know what the hell they were with each other, but... whatever, okay, let's assume she was his wife. So, you're her half-brother, are you? And then Rein... Rein was the sister you never knew you had?
And you're actually pissed that her boyfriend didn't go to you about marrying her? Really?
... you'll do just about anything for a little on-screen attention, won't you BucK? No, really, I... there is nothing logical about something as batshit stupid as doing that. Did you really develop protective feelings for your sister that fucking quickly, that you'd beat the ass of any guy who showed her affection without asking your permission? No, I sincerely doubt that, Buck... your desperate little ass just wanted to beat his so it'd get covered by the cameras and you'd have your fifteen minutes of fame back in the NLCW.
And now, somehow, you've managed to stumble your way into the main event this Sunday. You've entered such star-studded ranks as the likes of Cole Marr and Carmine Vestieri, and... and...
... wow, the first half of this match really is the amateur-hour showdown, isn't it?
See, in the honesty of it, Buck... you really aren't the legend you'd always wanted to be around here. You had a few decent low-tier title runs and two mediocre, undeserved, untested title reigns at the top that lasted all of a few seconds both times before people moved on to the next flavor of the week in Chris Logan and Carmine Vestieri. If nothing else, kid, you could call yourself the placeholder champion of placeholder champions, and if you think that shit's getting you in the history books? If you think the experience you earned from going through all of that is going to win you the match this Sunday?
Yeah, no, you'd better guess again.