Carlton Bank$
Jan 7, 2016 8:15:08 GMT -5
Post by pimp on Jan 7, 2016 8:15:08 GMT -5
Carlton Bank$
January 6, 2016
Miami, FL
Location: Dade county
“Aye shawty lemme holla!” Rich Dice, from down the block, shouted at these light skinned black women standing outside the corner store. Both were draped in designer clothing with Michael Kors handbags.
“Nigga gon’ somewhere with all’at…” The taller of the two said.
Richie, with his hands in his pockets, walked up closer. He raised an eyebrow and rubbed his hands together as he looked them up and down. “Damn shawty don’t I know you from somewhere?”
“Yeah yo dreams witcha fat ass now gon’ she said!” The shorter broad started popping off at Rich but he ignored her. Keeping his eyes on her friend, he laughed.
“Yeah I know you from somewhere. Candice right?” She looks at her girl then back at Richie confused.
“How the fuck do you kn—“ Suddenly from around the corner two masked up men run up on the girls, one with a 30 cocked and loaded. He pointed it at Candice and snatched her purse as Richie gagged her mouth and dragged her into the alley way. Candice’s friend tries to run down the block to get help until the second masked man grabs her by the waist and follows. He keeps a hold of her as Richie and the armed robber unmasks. It’s Bank$quiat.
“Lil bitch you think we stupid? We seen yo ass at the chicken shack posted up…mhmm…that same nigga ran up in the trap last week. You ain’t think folks nem was gon’ catch on? Mmm mmm mmm….” Bank$ and company were out here doing the dirty of Sunshine Tony. Months ago, one of his former hos ran away with a substantial amount of cash. It was suspected that she had a male accomplice. Tony doesn’t dwell on these situations. That’s what the Rich Homiez are for.
The second robber is struggling with the girl he’s holding and finally releases her. However he knocks her out with a right hook. “YOU DIRTY ASS LIL’ BOY DON’T TOUCH HER!” Candice yelped out before Bank$ smacked her across the face with the pistol.
“Now I’m a ask one more time. Who the nigga and where he stay at?” Bank$ calmly uttered as he pointed the pistol down at Candice. Breathing heavily ,and crying she spits out some blood on the ground.
“Donald.” She says somberly.
Bank$quiat looked behind him to Richie. “Ain’t Duski name Donald bruh? His name Donald ain’t it Flex?” The masked robber and Richie both nodded at the same time. Bank$ smiled and started laughing while shaking his head. “Knew it. Grab the whip Dice.” Richie left the alley way. He turned back to Candice and fired twice in her temple, precisely in the same spot. He walked off, shooting Candice’s friend in the back of her head before she could scream.
Richie pulled up to the curb and both Bank$ and Flex ran into the car. “Damn bro how you learn to shoot like that?”
Bank$quiat laughed. “Santos hahaha. Mhmm…lil bitch! But that nigga Duski gotta go now.”
“Shit’s crazy” Richie said as he dipped around the corner. “I was just starting to like the lil homie.”
As Bank$ wiped down his pistol, he smirked at Flex who chuckled at the whole situation. “Can’t trust these fuck niggas man.” He said under his breath. Bank$quiat nodded in agreement.
“Ya’ll act like that nigga ain’t been plottin’ since day one. Only was a matter of time…mhmm.”
And he was right.
Flashback
December 13, 2015
Miami, FL
Location: Parking lot of Sunshine Tony's condo
Bank$quiat and I were in the parking lot of my condo complex. He had Duski in the car waiting for him as he dropped a package off to me. This had become a typical Friday morning since I got in “trouble.” I had recruited some of my street soldiers to go out and collect any outstanding debts from around the city. It was only of the best ways to come up with cash quickly without getting my hands dirty. Win win.
“Sooo…any word on that situation?” I asked Bank$ before he could get back in the car.
He raised an eyebrow. “What the ummm...50K shit?”
“Yes what else? I’m trying to figure out how I lost that much cash out the safe. No one knew the combination…not even Fran. Besides I change it every month to be safe.”
Bank$quiat shook his head. “Shit ain’t makin’ sense. I ain’t heard shit, what bout you Dus?” Hanging out the passenger’s seat, Duski sucked his teeth and shook his head. I noticed he didn’t seem too interested in the conversation. I’ve known Duski for about three years, but we’ve never actually hung out much. That’s Bank$ and Flex’s friend, but he’s done some work for me before. I point to Duski while still looking at Bank$.
“Nah bro…nah.” Duski hit the blunt and blew it out towards me. I kind of rolled my eyes.
“What the hell would he know?” Not whispering, I went on to say. “He’s never even been inside of my house.”
“Fuck you mean? All them parties you be thrown…I’m in there.” Duski said with a little hostility. “Who you think be in the cut with them hammers and ratchets while you be having them mixers and shit. All that money needs protection, pimp.” Talking condescendingly, I finally give him my attention.
Walking up to him on the passenger’s side, I smile. “Yes and I appreciate that, but don’t think you’ve earned the right to speak to me in that kind of tone. You JUST earned the right to address me directly.” Look over to Bank$ I roll my eyes again. “Next time when you come see me keep your corner thugs away. This fool reeks of malt liquor and a black & mild, and I’m not so sure I like his energy.”
Duski starts laughing. “Shit Pretty Tony, you know I’m fuckin’ witcha. We out here sniffing out the scene and all’at. We gon’ get that bread.”
Chuckling as I smile. “Aww now that’s the spirit hun!”
“Aye Tone. What bout that bitch that ran away?”
“Who Candice?” One of my most loyal hos ran off a few weeks ago. Right around that time is when I went into the safe and noticed over 50,000 bucks stolen out of my safe.
I never really thought to put two and two together. “Mhmm…where that bitch been at?”
“Fucking bitch is probably back in Dade County where I found her.” Suddenly a light bulb went off in my head. Duski was looking a bit nervous in the passenger’s seat as he smoked but I didn’t pay attention. “Well at least if she knows what good for her she won’t show up around here again. Enough of that for right now because it’s just going to get me pissed. Any word on the China shop?”
I had Bank$ going out to the business still under the Moltisanti Coalition, collecting debts. E.Rose and I used to do this before things got crazy. With this debt still lingering over my head, I needed every cent I could get my hands on. Bank$ grabbed the blunt from Duski. “Yeah got Dice out there rippin’ and runnin’ now.”
“Dice? Richie’s back in Miami?” Kenny’s brother Rich Dice had all but fallen off the face of the Earth. Last I heard from him he was living with three bitches in Philly who treated him like King Tut.
“Mhmm…them lil hos he had wasn’t bout nun.” He took a hit and offered it to me but I politely declined. “One homie down we all down my nigga. We all outchea trying to get Kucci that bread. We know what’s gon’ happen if you don’t”
I laughed. “Oh is that right? Well as long as you know that I can’t see any of that money. Give it directly to Kenny, Rikichet or Kitasumi or it’s my ass.”
“Mhmm…copy. Them niggas been following me around hella lately bruh what the fuck?”
“They’re just trying make sure everyone who’s on the team is actually on the team. Plus they’re looking for those boys that ran off with the three missing kilos.” I tried to talk lighter, because I didn’t want Duski to hear this part of the convo.
“Wait you mean them chickens you had stashed at the Salon? Thought ya’ll nosed all’at shit.”
I shook my head. “No that’s just what I told Kenny so he wouldn’t do his own investigation. I truthfully didn’t know what happened until Chauncey disappeared from the salon. Then it all started to make sense.” Long story.
“Awww shit. So what you got the drop?” Bank$ was asking if I had any more information on the boys who ran off with Kenny’s coke. I knew who it was, but it was personal and something I would have to take care of on my own.
“Yes don't worry. I’ll handle that though hun. Trust.” I twirled my hair at the thought, smiling and looking down as if I was thinking about what Fran was wearing last night. Sex. Revenge. Money. All give me the same pleasure. “I just want you to check out that Candice situation. I know you guys are in the hood more than I am because I won’t be caught dead in that filth unless completely necessary."
“Mhmm…lil bitch.” Bank$quiat dapped me up then got in the car and drove off.
Duski grabbed the blunt from Bank$. “That fruity ass nigga gon’ chill with all’at honey boo boo sweetie shit. On Foenem…”
Bank$ laughed. “Chillout. That’s just him, and he like when that shit get under yo skin. That’s why he be doing it.”
“Whatever. I’m chasing this bread too Ski, can’t be risking getting killed or locked for some other nigga.” Duski said as he coughed from the smoke.
“Mhmm…I hear that. But it ain’t no us if ain’t no him. Balee that shit bro.” Bank$ retorted as he sped out of the complex.
People don’t get it by now. After my actions last Vertigo all I hear is why? Why this why that. Why did I pummel Noelle to the ground after buttering her up? Why didn’t I compete in my match last week? Everyone wants to know why, when I’ve spent my entire time in FGA answering the questions.
I’m Sunshine Scandalous Tony Carmine.
Rules don’t apply to me. Wrestlers like to follow some bullshit called a moral code. They don’t want to win, as long as they have the respect of the masses. For some reason that’s worth more to them than accomplishments. For some reason it’s frowned upon to dance to the beat of your own drum. It’s looked down upon to treat this business as A BUSINESS and doing what it takes to make the best profit.
Isn’t that why we’re all here? People have different methods, but the same ulterior motives. Noelle Smith may have a beautiful smile, but I know she has some viciousness inside of her. I know that if I push the right button, she can turn as ugly as the rest of you hideous women in FGA. She has it in her to wipe that smile off of her face and I’d like to see what the bitch looks like when she isn’t trying so hard to put on a fake smile for you bastards.
That’s what it’s all about. Fake it until you make it. Look at your FGA world champion. He was so sick of being himself that he disappeared and came back a new man. That new man has gotten him farther than he’d ever get on his own. To a lesser extent, Karma and Cannon have followed suit. Sick of being disappointments so they’ll fly under the radar until they find a chance to pick up some steam.
Unfortunately, the Scandalous One doesn’t have any of these luxuries. What you see is what you’ll always get. There’s no different side of me that comes out in the rare occasion that I lose. I don’t drop off the face of the earth after getting my chin checked like Chandler Scott, hiding behind bullshit injuries when really I’ve just lost my smile. The Scandalous One has been the same Scandalous One always and forever. There’s no changing me. There’s no digging deep into the warm depths of my heart. There’s no stopping the sun from shining. Even the clouds that have been in my way, fade away eventually.
So when Salem Cartier says there’s no one like me, honey, you better believe it. She knows just like everyone else that when it comes to FGA, I’m the judge, jury and executioner. Which makes me laugh that management would even tease yours truly with the threat of taking his title away. Take my title? Really? Because I refused to get in the ring with someone who didn’t deserve it? The Scandalous One started from the bottom in FGA. While the now irrelevant fuck Jimmy Page was terrorizing this locker room, I was wasting my time with Pierre J Harris.
Cindy was my friend, but she had her own shit going on and I didn’t want to come in riding her coattails like Cordy did. I’m my own man that’s established his own legacy in this sport all by himself. Every championship in this company will be mine, I knew it then and I know it now. Doesn’t matter who I screw along the way. It doesn’t matter who’s on my side or who’s against me. None of it changes the inevitable. None of it changes the fact that I’m the King AND Queen of FGA. The Last Star you’ll see in your lifetime is Sunshine Scandalous Tony Carmine. So Salem can you handle that?
You’re just like the rest of these pathetic dipshits until proven otherwise. You just won’t be proving a damn thing in the ring against the Scandalous One. This is why I didn’t want to fight you sweetie. It has nothing to do with me being holier than thou. It damn sure isn’t because I’m scared of you. Salem has had people in her ear for weeks telling her about me. Giving her tips on what to do in the ring with me. Telling her to grow eyes in the back of head, because I can’t be trusted. You’re being misguided.
None of your friends can beat me, so really what good is their advice? No one you look up to in FGA can even compare to the Scandalous One, so really what kind of example are your idols setting? And every week I up my game just a little bit more, learning from mistakes even in matches I dominate, so really what good is any of that tape you’ve been studying? Beating the Scandalous One is more than a biology test. It’s the Bar exam. Make or break. I literally make or break careers.
Every time an FGA fan feels nostalgic and thinks of the Riley Blowens’ and Malcolm Drakes, they see it was the Scandalous One that erased them from relevance. Every time Cami D. Magna is about to get fired she points at the fact that she’s beaten me. It’s no coincidence why she’s still around to act as the gatekeeper for noobs like Salem. I’ve allowed it. So really Salem, you should be thanking me for making this opportunity in FGA happen for you. My success has paved the way for every new talent from this point on to be a given a chance. A chance at greatness. FGA wants another Sunshine Tony, but there’s only one. They’re waiting for the next big thing, but they all fall sooner or later. If not by me, by someone way less talented before they earn the right to be in the same conversation as yours truly. This is a system, and Salem Cartier could’ve just fell in line like everyone else. Moved on to a Fujiko or an Izzy after I didn’t want to fight her, but no. The same friends who she clings to on social media has convinced her that she has a chance to beat. That somehow my walk out the week before gives an opening of hope. That somehow my walk out validates the fact that Salem Cartier is a threat to take notice. Instead of racking up guaranteed wins, picking up momentum and contending for a title like a real superstar, this bitch thinks she’s going to get lucky and hotshot up a few slots.
I call it the McHannon Syndrome. Zero has these talentless fucks believing they can hit the lottery in the FGA rankings. Salem isn’t making any headlines off my name; so if I have to break her in fucking half to maintain my place at the top of the food chain, so be it. I hope the black cat witch has some PEDs in that magic potion she’s been drinking, it’ll make her delusional side effects more worth while. That’s the only you’ll beat me. Cast a spell on yourself.
Make yourself strong to the point where you no longer need peer acceptance for gratification. Make yourself smart to the point where you can actually match wits with the Scandalous One. Make yourself interesting to the point where I’m not sleeping when you speak.
Make yourself a star by proving me wrong.
Then pinch yourself and wake up to reality. There’s not a fucking thing you can do to get one over on me. Check the scoreboard. I’ve been Steph Currying the competition all throughout 2015 and this year is when I collect the plaques to show for it. You’re not even a stepping stone, you’re the warm up before the workout. The appetizer before the main course. Just a little dead star in a sea of sky as this side of the world waits for my sunshine. For it’s the sun that helps the plants grow. It’s the sun that brings light to FGA,
One thing about the sun. It doesn’t avoid anyone, but if it helps you get through the nervousness to tell yourself the Scandalous One is running scared…so bet it. Whatever gets rid of the jitters. Whatever keeps you from hyperventilating at the notion that your entire career could be over once that bell rings. If telling yourself that I’m scared to lose my Pride title helps you in any way, I’m all for it. I like beating my opponents excuse-free. I don’t want you to blame the butterflies or intimidation when you lose to me. I don’t want people treating you like the Scandalous One’s next piece of freshman meat.
I actually want you to succeed, believe it or not. There’s talent there. There’s potential for future stardom in almost any one, but if they aren’t given chance it’s all for naught. If a wrestler doesn’t get a chance to gain proper footing in a new company, it’ll take them forever to get traction…if they ever get it at all. Salem won’t get this chance at the next Vertigo. She won’t get the opportunity to generate buzz because any and all hype she’s had leading up to our match will be diminished. That’s what the fuck I do around here, sweet pea. I take the superstar that everyone has high hopes for and I beat them to the ground. You should the look on these moronic fans’ faces when a pretty little girl steps out from the curtain. They couldn’t dare think of someone who looks so sweet and innocent get ravaged and corrupted by a man like Sunshine Tony.
If I don’t break you physically, I’ll more than likely force you to drop that facade. I’ll beat the self respect out of you and take it for myself. You’ll have no choice but to realize why I’m where I am on the totem pole. Then you’ll have no choice but to respect me. Bow to me as you reevaluate your own strategies. You’ll listen to your loser Twitter friends less and less when you see that even they couldn’t give you enough willpower and confidence to beat me. I warned you not to look me directly in the eyes, for the sun will blind you. But no, you’re too stubborn just like any fucking woman…a lesbian no less. You would’ve had a bright future in FGA if you just followed my light and played your position. This will be more than a blemish on your record, this a certification that the days of your career are numbered. I won’t hold back from hurting you to win. You’ve see what I’ve done to the people I actually had respect for once upon a time. What do you think will happen to a fucking nobody like you when you step to me? I just hope you didn’t think too far ahead when you signed the dotted line. My wrath is the deadliest of witches brew, but you asked for it.
January 6, 2016
Miami, FL
Location: Dade county
“Aye shawty lemme holla!” Rich Dice, from down the block, shouted at these light skinned black women standing outside the corner store. Both were draped in designer clothing with Michael Kors handbags.
“Nigga gon’ somewhere with all’at…” The taller of the two said.
Richie, with his hands in his pockets, walked up closer. He raised an eyebrow and rubbed his hands together as he looked them up and down. “Damn shawty don’t I know you from somewhere?”
“Yeah yo dreams witcha fat ass now gon’ she said!” The shorter broad started popping off at Rich but he ignored her. Keeping his eyes on her friend, he laughed.
“Yeah I know you from somewhere. Candice right?” She looks at her girl then back at Richie confused.
“How the fuck do you kn—“ Suddenly from around the corner two masked up men run up on the girls, one with a 30 cocked and loaded. He pointed it at Candice and snatched her purse as Richie gagged her mouth and dragged her into the alley way. Candice’s friend tries to run down the block to get help until the second masked man grabs her by the waist and follows. He keeps a hold of her as Richie and the armed robber unmasks. It’s Bank$quiat.
“Lil bitch you think we stupid? We seen yo ass at the chicken shack posted up…mhmm…that same nigga ran up in the trap last week. You ain’t think folks nem was gon’ catch on? Mmm mmm mmm….” Bank$ and company were out here doing the dirty of Sunshine Tony. Months ago, one of his former hos ran away with a substantial amount of cash. It was suspected that she had a male accomplice. Tony doesn’t dwell on these situations. That’s what the Rich Homiez are for.
The second robber is struggling with the girl he’s holding and finally releases her. However he knocks her out with a right hook. “YOU DIRTY ASS LIL’ BOY DON’T TOUCH HER!” Candice yelped out before Bank$ smacked her across the face with the pistol.
“Now I’m a ask one more time. Who the nigga and where he stay at?” Bank$ calmly uttered as he pointed the pistol down at Candice. Breathing heavily ,and crying she spits out some blood on the ground.
“Donald.” She says somberly.
Bank$quiat looked behind him to Richie. “Ain’t Duski name Donald bruh? His name Donald ain’t it Flex?” The masked robber and Richie both nodded at the same time. Bank$ smiled and started laughing while shaking his head. “Knew it. Grab the whip Dice.” Richie left the alley way. He turned back to Candice and fired twice in her temple, precisely in the same spot. He walked off, shooting Candice’s friend in the back of her head before she could scream.
Richie pulled up to the curb and both Bank$ and Flex ran into the car. “Damn bro how you learn to shoot like that?”
Bank$quiat laughed. “Santos hahaha. Mhmm…lil bitch! But that nigga Duski gotta go now.”
“Shit’s crazy” Richie said as he dipped around the corner. “I was just starting to like the lil homie.”
As Bank$ wiped down his pistol, he smirked at Flex who chuckled at the whole situation. “Can’t trust these fuck niggas man.” He said under his breath. Bank$quiat nodded in agreement.
“Ya’ll act like that nigga ain’t been plottin’ since day one. Only was a matter of time…mhmm.”
And he was right.
Flashback
December 13, 2015
Miami, FL
Location: Parking lot of Sunshine Tony's condo
Bank$quiat and I were in the parking lot of my condo complex. He had Duski in the car waiting for him as he dropped a package off to me. This had become a typical Friday morning since I got in “trouble.” I had recruited some of my street soldiers to go out and collect any outstanding debts from around the city. It was only of the best ways to come up with cash quickly without getting my hands dirty. Win win.
“Sooo…any word on that situation?” I asked Bank$ before he could get back in the car.
He raised an eyebrow. “What the ummm...50K shit?”
“Yes what else? I’m trying to figure out how I lost that much cash out the safe. No one knew the combination…not even Fran. Besides I change it every month to be safe.”
Bank$quiat shook his head. “Shit ain’t makin’ sense. I ain’t heard shit, what bout you Dus?” Hanging out the passenger’s seat, Duski sucked his teeth and shook his head. I noticed he didn’t seem too interested in the conversation. I’ve known Duski for about three years, but we’ve never actually hung out much. That’s Bank$ and Flex’s friend, but he’s done some work for me before. I point to Duski while still looking at Bank$.
“Nah bro…nah.” Duski hit the blunt and blew it out towards me. I kind of rolled my eyes.
“What the hell would he know?” Not whispering, I went on to say. “He’s never even been inside of my house.”
“Fuck you mean? All them parties you be thrown…I’m in there.” Duski said with a little hostility. “Who you think be in the cut with them hammers and ratchets while you be having them mixers and shit. All that money needs protection, pimp.” Talking condescendingly, I finally give him my attention.
Walking up to him on the passenger’s side, I smile. “Yes and I appreciate that, but don’t think you’ve earned the right to speak to me in that kind of tone. You JUST earned the right to address me directly.” Look over to Bank$ I roll my eyes again. “Next time when you come see me keep your corner thugs away. This fool reeks of malt liquor and a black & mild, and I’m not so sure I like his energy.”
Duski starts laughing. “Shit Pretty Tony, you know I’m fuckin’ witcha. We out here sniffing out the scene and all’at. We gon’ get that bread.”
Chuckling as I smile. “Aww now that’s the spirit hun!”
“Aye Tone. What bout that bitch that ran away?”
“Who Candice?” One of my most loyal hos ran off a few weeks ago. Right around that time is when I went into the safe and noticed over 50,000 bucks stolen out of my safe.
I never really thought to put two and two together. “Mhmm…where that bitch been at?”
“Fucking bitch is probably back in Dade County where I found her.” Suddenly a light bulb went off in my head. Duski was looking a bit nervous in the passenger’s seat as he smoked but I didn’t pay attention. “Well at least if she knows what good for her she won’t show up around here again. Enough of that for right now because it’s just going to get me pissed. Any word on the China shop?”
I had Bank$ going out to the business still under the Moltisanti Coalition, collecting debts. E.Rose and I used to do this before things got crazy. With this debt still lingering over my head, I needed every cent I could get my hands on. Bank$ grabbed the blunt from Duski. “Yeah got Dice out there rippin’ and runnin’ now.”
“Dice? Richie’s back in Miami?” Kenny’s brother Rich Dice had all but fallen off the face of the Earth. Last I heard from him he was living with three bitches in Philly who treated him like King Tut.
“Mhmm…them lil hos he had wasn’t bout nun.” He took a hit and offered it to me but I politely declined. “One homie down we all down my nigga. We all outchea trying to get Kucci that bread. We know what’s gon’ happen if you don’t”
I laughed. “Oh is that right? Well as long as you know that I can’t see any of that money. Give it directly to Kenny, Rikichet or Kitasumi or it’s my ass.”
“Mhmm…copy. Them niggas been following me around hella lately bruh what the fuck?”
“They’re just trying make sure everyone who’s on the team is actually on the team. Plus they’re looking for those boys that ran off with the three missing kilos.” I tried to talk lighter, because I didn’t want Duski to hear this part of the convo.
“Wait you mean them chickens you had stashed at the Salon? Thought ya’ll nosed all’at shit.”
I shook my head. “No that’s just what I told Kenny so he wouldn’t do his own investigation. I truthfully didn’t know what happened until Chauncey disappeared from the salon. Then it all started to make sense.” Long story.
“Awww shit. So what you got the drop?” Bank$ was asking if I had any more information on the boys who ran off with Kenny’s coke. I knew who it was, but it was personal and something I would have to take care of on my own.
“Yes don't worry. I’ll handle that though hun. Trust.” I twirled my hair at the thought, smiling and looking down as if I was thinking about what Fran was wearing last night. Sex. Revenge. Money. All give me the same pleasure. “I just want you to check out that Candice situation. I know you guys are in the hood more than I am because I won’t be caught dead in that filth unless completely necessary."
“Mhmm…lil bitch.” Bank$quiat dapped me up then got in the car and drove off.
Duski grabbed the blunt from Bank$. “That fruity ass nigga gon’ chill with all’at honey boo boo sweetie shit. On Foenem…”
Bank$ laughed. “Chillout. That’s just him, and he like when that shit get under yo skin. That’s why he be doing it.”
“Whatever. I’m chasing this bread too Ski, can’t be risking getting killed or locked for some other nigga.” Duski said as he coughed from the smoke.
“Mhmm…I hear that. But it ain’t no us if ain’t no him. Balee that shit bro.” Bank$ retorted as he sped out of the complex.
People don’t get it by now. After my actions last Vertigo all I hear is why? Why this why that. Why did I pummel Noelle to the ground after buttering her up? Why didn’t I compete in my match last week? Everyone wants to know why, when I’ve spent my entire time in FGA answering the questions.
I’m Sunshine Scandalous Tony Carmine.
Rules don’t apply to me. Wrestlers like to follow some bullshit called a moral code. They don’t want to win, as long as they have the respect of the masses. For some reason that’s worth more to them than accomplishments. For some reason it’s frowned upon to dance to the beat of your own drum. It’s looked down upon to treat this business as A BUSINESS and doing what it takes to make the best profit.
Isn’t that why we’re all here? People have different methods, but the same ulterior motives. Noelle Smith may have a beautiful smile, but I know she has some viciousness inside of her. I know that if I push the right button, she can turn as ugly as the rest of you hideous women in FGA. She has it in her to wipe that smile off of her face and I’d like to see what the bitch looks like when she isn’t trying so hard to put on a fake smile for you bastards.
That’s what it’s all about. Fake it until you make it. Look at your FGA world champion. He was so sick of being himself that he disappeared and came back a new man. That new man has gotten him farther than he’d ever get on his own. To a lesser extent, Karma and Cannon have followed suit. Sick of being disappointments so they’ll fly under the radar until they find a chance to pick up some steam.
Unfortunately, the Scandalous One doesn’t have any of these luxuries. What you see is what you’ll always get. There’s no different side of me that comes out in the rare occasion that I lose. I don’t drop off the face of the earth after getting my chin checked like Chandler Scott, hiding behind bullshit injuries when really I’ve just lost my smile. The Scandalous One has been the same Scandalous One always and forever. There’s no changing me. There’s no digging deep into the warm depths of my heart. There’s no stopping the sun from shining. Even the clouds that have been in my way, fade away eventually.
So when Salem Cartier says there’s no one like me, honey, you better believe it. She knows just like everyone else that when it comes to FGA, I’m the judge, jury and executioner. Which makes me laugh that management would even tease yours truly with the threat of taking his title away. Take my title? Really? Because I refused to get in the ring with someone who didn’t deserve it? The Scandalous One started from the bottom in FGA. While the now irrelevant fuck Jimmy Page was terrorizing this locker room, I was wasting my time with Pierre J Harris.
Cindy was my friend, but she had her own shit going on and I didn’t want to come in riding her coattails like Cordy did. I’m my own man that’s established his own legacy in this sport all by himself. Every championship in this company will be mine, I knew it then and I know it now. Doesn’t matter who I screw along the way. It doesn’t matter who’s on my side or who’s against me. None of it changes the inevitable. None of it changes the fact that I’m the King AND Queen of FGA. The Last Star you’ll see in your lifetime is Sunshine Scandalous Tony Carmine. So Salem can you handle that?
You’re just like the rest of these pathetic dipshits until proven otherwise. You just won’t be proving a damn thing in the ring against the Scandalous One. This is why I didn’t want to fight you sweetie. It has nothing to do with me being holier than thou. It damn sure isn’t because I’m scared of you. Salem has had people in her ear for weeks telling her about me. Giving her tips on what to do in the ring with me. Telling her to grow eyes in the back of head, because I can’t be trusted. You’re being misguided.
None of your friends can beat me, so really what good is their advice? No one you look up to in FGA can even compare to the Scandalous One, so really what kind of example are your idols setting? And every week I up my game just a little bit more, learning from mistakes even in matches I dominate, so really what good is any of that tape you’ve been studying? Beating the Scandalous One is more than a biology test. It’s the Bar exam. Make or break. I literally make or break careers.
Every time an FGA fan feels nostalgic and thinks of the Riley Blowens’ and Malcolm Drakes, they see it was the Scandalous One that erased them from relevance. Every time Cami D. Magna is about to get fired she points at the fact that she’s beaten me. It’s no coincidence why she’s still around to act as the gatekeeper for noobs like Salem. I’ve allowed it. So really Salem, you should be thanking me for making this opportunity in FGA happen for you. My success has paved the way for every new talent from this point on to be a given a chance. A chance at greatness. FGA wants another Sunshine Tony, but there’s only one. They’re waiting for the next big thing, but they all fall sooner or later. If not by me, by someone way less talented before they earn the right to be in the same conversation as yours truly. This is a system, and Salem Cartier could’ve just fell in line like everyone else. Moved on to a Fujiko or an Izzy after I didn’t want to fight her, but no. The same friends who she clings to on social media has convinced her that she has a chance to beat. That somehow my walk out the week before gives an opening of hope. That somehow my walk out validates the fact that Salem Cartier is a threat to take notice. Instead of racking up guaranteed wins, picking up momentum and contending for a title like a real superstar, this bitch thinks she’s going to get lucky and hotshot up a few slots.
I call it the McHannon Syndrome. Zero has these talentless fucks believing they can hit the lottery in the FGA rankings. Salem isn’t making any headlines off my name; so if I have to break her in fucking half to maintain my place at the top of the food chain, so be it. I hope the black cat witch has some PEDs in that magic potion she’s been drinking, it’ll make her delusional side effects more worth while. That’s the only you’ll beat me. Cast a spell on yourself.
Make yourself strong to the point where you no longer need peer acceptance for gratification. Make yourself smart to the point where you can actually match wits with the Scandalous One. Make yourself interesting to the point where I’m not sleeping when you speak.
Make yourself a star by proving me wrong.
Then pinch yourself and wake up to reality. There’s not a fucking thing you can do to get one over on me. Check the scoreboard. I’ve been Steph Currying the competition all throughout 2015 and this year is when I collect the plaques to show for it. You’re not even a stepping stone, you’re the warm up before the workout. The appetizer before the main course. Just a little dead star in a sea of sky as this side of the world waits for my sunshine. For it’s the sun that helps the plants grow. It’s the sun that brings light to FGA,
One thing about the sun. It doesn’t avoid anyone, but if it helps you get through the nervousness to tell yourself the Scandalous One is running scared…so bet it. Whatever gets rid of the jitters. Whatever keeps you from hyperventilating at the notion that your entire career could be over once that bell rings. If telling yourself that I’m scared to lose my Pride title helps you in any way, I’m all for it. I like beating my opponents excuse-free. I don’t want you to blame the butterflies or intimidation when you lose to me. I don’t want people treating you like the Scandalous One’s next piece of freshman meat.
I actually want you to succeed, believe it or not. There’s talent there. There’s potential for future stardom in almost any one, but if they aren’t given chance it’s all for naught. If a wrestler doesn’t get a chance to gain proper footing in a new company, it’ll take them forever to get traction…if they ever get it at all. Salem won’t get this chance at the next Vertigo. She won’t get the opportunity to generate buzz because any and all hype she’s had leading up to our match will be diminished. That’s what the fuck I do around here, sweet pea. I take the superstar that everyone has high hopes for and I beat them to the ground. You should the look on these moronic fans’ faces when a pretty little girl steps out from the curtain. They couldn’t dare think of someone who looks so sweet and innocent get ravaged and corrupted by a man like Sunshine Tony.
If I don’t break you physically, I’ll more than likely force you to drop that facade. I’ll beat the self respect out of you and take it for myself. You’ll have no choice but to realize why I’m where I am on the totem pole. Then you’ll have no choice but to respect me. Bow to me as you reevaluate your own strategies. You’ll listen to your loser Twitter friends less and less when you see that even they couldn’t give you enough willpower and confidence to beat me. I warned you not to look me directly in the eyes, for the sun will blind you. But no, you’re too stubborn just like any fucking woman…a lesbian no less. You would’ve had a bright future in FGA if you just followed my light and played your position. This will be more than a blemish on your record, this a certification that the days of your career are numbered. I won’t hold back from hurting you to win. You’ve see what I’ve done to the people I actually had respect for once upon a time. What do you think will happen to a fucking nobody like you when you step to me? I just hope you didn’t think too far ahead when you signed the dotted line. My wrath is the deadliest of witches brew, but you asked for it.