No More Parties In LA
Mar 31, 2016 19:55:05 GMT -5
Post by The Last Real Man on Mar 31, 2016 19:55:05 GMT -5
“Johnny…”
I hear a familiar voice calling my name, yet for some reason I’m unable to discern the identity of whoever it is that has summoned me - the voice is distorted, thanks in part to the malicious, downright malignant migraine that’s assaulting my noggin. My head feels like someone treated it like a snow globe and shook it furiously, like a middle school bully shaking some sorry sap down for loose change right before he tosses him into a locker.
Despite every fiber in my being screaming at me to do otherwise, I slowly open my eyes, the light immediately blinding me, and aggravating what is already a hangover for the ages. From my limited vantage point, I begin to assess the damages; but to no avail, as the image remains all fuzzy.
“Really…”
I can start to make out that voice amidst the wave of disorientation, whilst the landscape begins to clear as if the blinders are slowly being opened - except the sun's not shining rays of hope into my home; it’s merely mocking me, and behind the sound of the bells continuously tolling in my head, I can faintly hear Goodrich telling me “I Told You So” in his most condescending tone. Fucking prick.
“Are you fucking serious right now…”
With a deep breath I close my eyes, just for a moment to mentally and physically prepare myself for the road ahead - that being the arduous task of lifting my near forty-year old bag of bones off the cold floor of my lavish LA loft. With a sigh, my eyes re-open to a brave new world full of undesirable circumstances. With my head lying on booze stained marble tiles, my eyes lay captivated by the sight of a pair of long, smooth, slender legs sneaking out of the bottom of a skin tight maxi dress. At the feet of this monolith, rests a pair of Michael Kors’ and another - well, let’s just say this item is much more peculiar.
“Never again, Johnny… never again…”
With his bosom firmly planted on the floor, and his hands wrapped around an empty bottle of Tequila, is none other than the sole heir of my drunken estate.
William Richards.
What a start to the morning.
No More Parties In LA
March 17th, 2016
Los Angeles, California
“Let’s go William,” she says angrily, as she scoops him up from the wasteland, holding him in slight rage, and slight peril as I peel my carcass from the floor. Immediately as I reach a stand does my equilibrium flip me the bird, as my usually impeccable sense of balance is thrown off as if the Earth itself has undergone a seismic shift.
“Where are you goi-” before I can even finish the sentence the nausea begins to set in, as all the beer, smokes and women I’ve consumed in the past twenty-four hours rushes to the surface. But I hold it back, suppressing it like a woman does her anger, knowing at any moment I’ll explode like a atom bomb. That’s fine. Combusting isn’t on the schedule today.
“You asked for another chance John, and look, I knew it… I knew it and you proved me right AGAIN!” she started, not even taking my current health into account, just yelling and screaming with reckless abandon. The nerve of this woman.
“I said I’d take him today, so what’s the problem,” I replied, placing a fist over my mouth to fight back another wave of vomit, “I’m up, so leave his things and go about your business.”
“Leave him here, and with YOU, pfft.” She scoffed. “Are you trying to piss me off?”
“And what’s wrong with my place?”
“Look around, you jackass!” She fired, forcing me to acknowledge my surroundings. I was drawn back by the sight, as my humble abode had been reduced to a zoo of lifeless bodies, empty bottles, and discarded clothes. Couches were turned over, artwork on the wall left hanging askew, and someone must have decided it would look cool if we hung a brasserie on the ceiling fan like a hood ornament.
“So I redecorated the place. I think it looks livelier to be honest.”
“Oh you just think this is one big fucking joke, don’t you,” she said, chomping at the bit as the steam blew out her ear and nostrils. I couldn’t hop of the tracks this time. I had to face this train.
“Listen, let’s keep cool and not blow the situation out of proportion, okay,” I began, taking a step toward her, only to be stopped by the debilitating shockwave of pain running throughout my body. Despite the agony, I kept my poker face, “so, I had a party. What’s the big deal?”
“You said you were turning over a new leaf, and that you wanted to make an effort, but you’re still doing the same old shit.”
“That was last night,” I joked, “today though, today I’m a new man.” I declared, pumping my chest.
“You’re full of shit is what you are…”
“Just give me a second to get cleaned up, and I’ll take the little heartbreaker off your hands,” I said, as I playfully grabbed at his little Doc. Marten shoes.
“I gave you a whole morning to get your shit together, John.”
“What’re you going on about now woman,” I said, furrowing my brow as I relinquished Will’s boot.
“It’s fucking 2 AM.”
Shit.
“Right,” she said, the look on my face conveying the story of a man defeated boxer, having danced around for round upon round until that one haymaker caught him and rung his fucking bell. “I’ve been calling you for hours. I knew I shouldn’t have come over, but I didn’t want to deprive William of his last chance to see his father. It was fun, but the jokes not funny anymore. It’s sad.”
I’ve been beaten to a pull with steel chairs, thrown to tables, and fought in cages, yet the damage inflicted upon me in those instances paled in comparison to the punishment she was dishing out. There’s a reason they say there’s nothing like a woman scorned. They have a way with words where they can be so precise with the malice that you’re left begging to be put out of your misery. She was cutting so deep that I felt the blades pierce the bone.
“I’m done trying to force you to be something you’re not. You don’t want to be in your son’s life, don’t.” With a cold glare she lit my world on fire. I could smell my flesh burning.
“Kharissa-”
“No don’t Kharissa me. I’m done, John. We’re done.”
As she turned away and made her way to the door I could feel it all slipping away like sand falling through my fingertips. I felt the wall kiss my back as she pressed me up against it. I was running options. The only choice I had was to play the only card I had left.
“She left me…”
I could hear the conversation between her mind and her heart, as the former was begging her not to fall for the trap, but the latter couldn’t help but feel for me. And just as quickly as she grabbed the doorknob, ready to my son and walk out of my life for the last time did she release it.
Thank God for the sympathy card.
You see, when somebody loves you, no matter what you’ve done to them, they can never truly give up on you. Ans because of that I was reeling her back in. She was taking the bait.
“That’s all this has been about. I know it’s not an excuse. You don’t have to tell me that. Listen… I just- I told you I was going to get my shit together and I meant it. I just- I just needed to get her out of my head, and out of my system. I didn’t think I would be this torn up after we split. I haven’t felt like this since when you left.”
Hook. Line. Sinker.
With a deep breath, her anger dissolved into sympathy and compassion. All I needed to do was flip everything on her, and make her feel like the perpetrator and not the victim.
“Okay, John,” she said, succumbing to my spell, “just, go get yourself cleaned up, and fix the place up. I’ll take him out for some lunch, and I’ll bring him back in an hour.”
“Alright.” I said, smiling beneath the mask, “I promise you this is the end Kharissa. No more excuses. No more problems. No more parties. I know what’s important. You, William… family. I know that now.”
“I’ll see you in an hour.” She said, unable to fathom how she got pulled into the dark hole. She had one foot out the door too.
I bought myself a little more time.
And that’s all I need.
As the scene begins we open up to what appears to be a lavish house party. On the guest list, a lot of expensive booze, and a lot of half-dressed women of all different ethnicities. As we navigate past the party-goers, past the empty bottles strewn and assortment of lingerie strewn about on the marble floor, and through the smoke clouds filled with God knows what, we end up on a rooftop, stories above the busy streets of LA. Immediately, we focus our eyes on a large swimming pool, glistening under the stars in the night sky. As we get closer, we can hear laughs and banter coming from the poolside. And it’s not long before we uncover the source of said noise - the incomparable Johnny Cannon, who of course isn’t alone. With his feet dancing in the chlorine, the Brit watches as a woman works on her backstroke, while he no doubt thinks about using a technique of the same name on her.
“Beautiful isn’t she,” starts the British Mamba, not even looking at the camera as he pulls hard on a cigar, towel wrapped around his neck, while water cascades from his naked torso, seemingly having just finishing swimming. “Despite how grim, and how bad things seem to get for me, life always has it’s way of balancing itself out. No matter the debt I’ve amassed, no matter the magnitude of the mistakes I’ve made, I always find a way to bounce back and return to moment’s like these.” He rambles on, taking a pull in between his spiel, his eyes still fixated on the fish in the sea. “I’m starting to realize that it’s all the work of a higher power. It’s a sign, a sign from God, Buddha, or whoever I pray to when I think I’m having a heart attack from the poison I’ve polluted my body with only for it to turn out to be flatulence,” he laughs.
“But what happened a month ago, that was a sign from God too. And if you weren’t paying attention, allow me to share the revelation He passed down to me,” he says, staring up at the sky, as if to be looking up to the heavens. “When the sands of time reach the bottom of my hour glass and the lease runs out on this bag of bones I’ve rented, they’ll be no place in the pearly gates for me. Men like me, we don’t get to sip wine, and run through fields of rainbows with all the other prunes up there on the top floor who let the fear of damnation stop them from grabbing life by the horns,” he says, with a smile.
“We inherited this Earth, because this is our Paradise. This is heaven for the sinners, a place
where the women are too easy, the drinks are too strong, and the cigars taste too fucking good. And because I’ve been equipped with that knowledge, I’m forced to live my life by a different set of rules, and by a different standard. That is what’s allowed me to experience so much success in so little time. You see, I’ve only been at this for a handful of years. But I’ve more than made my mark. I was able to acoomplish that because I seized opportunities, and made calculated decisions to solidify my place in the future. But lately I’ve gone astray from that.”
“And now I hear them,” he says, cupping a hand around his ear. “If you listen closely, you can hear them too. It’s the sound of everyone who didn’t make a fucking peep when I was kicking ass and taking names earlier this year coming from out of hiding, voicing their collective opinions through their microphones while they stare at me through rose tinted frames.” He scoffs.
“It wouldn’t be the first time you all kicked me while I was down, and wrote my eulogy while I was still breathing. But reports of my demise are being greatly exaggerated. But you know something, I’ll concede this,” says Cannon, slowly grabbing at his neck as he stares into the camera. “For once I agree with what’s being said about me, to a degree. I am indeed spiraling out of control, well, more specifically I have. I’m no longer the wrecking ball that I once was when I first stepped foot in FGA. That is something that I cannot deny. You all know me to be a man to shoot it straight, regardless of how you feel about me I always speak what’s true, and tell the facts as they are, and not how I want them to be.”
“I can blame my recent troubles on a multitude of things, but as I’ve said many times in the past, a real man doesn’t make excuses. I don’t blame anyone else for my lack of success. I blame this guy.” He says, candidly. “I blame myself for getting in my own way, because let’s be honest, I was the biggest thing in FGA this summer. I turned the locker room on it’s head the second I stepped foot in that motherfucker. And my momentum grew with every performance I put on out there. Despite the character flaws, and the demons I deal with, none of that mattered because when I stepped out in that ring I became somebody else. I became something else.” He stresses.
“I was a phenom.”
“Notice how I refer to all of that in past tense, like it was twenty years ago, when in fact it really wasn’t that long ago. It almost feels like it was yesterday when I was ripping through this roster, taking on all comers and knocking them down one after the other,” he goes on, “I was building something here, not just a name, but a legacy. And that’s what it’s all been about, and what I keep bringing it back to. Legacy.”
“That’s the only thing that’s important in this game. What you do today determines how you’ll be remembered tomorrow. And that’s why the three of us did what we did. That’s why the three of us, three men who have amassed enough success, and have captured enough championships and accolades to give to charity - three men who have proven they can stand on their own two feet as individuals decided to come together as a unit. It’s because we see the bigger picture. And for a moment there, I thought you did too, Ricky,’ he says, shaking his head. “But I’ve been wrong about people before. Tony is the biggest example of that. Here’s a guy I found to be nothing but all show and no substance, even before we wrestled, and long after that. But when he came to me, a man he had already moved on from career wise, when he sat me down alongside Diego Diamond I realized something.”
“We were the same.” He confesses.
“It’s rare that you find another individual who has his eye on the prize, a man who can see the forest from the trees, a man who understands the importance of building something much bigger than himself. And that’s what we’re doing. You see, we understand the fragility of this life. We rented our space on Earth, and none of us know how much time we’ve got, we just know we have to make the best use of that time by making every fucking second count. The difference between the three of us, and the rest of you, is that while you are all enamored with living in the moment, living in the now, we’re only trying to live forever!” He says with conviction. “We’re trying to build something that won’t be forgotten in a day or two, and that’s what you don’t get Ricky.”
“Your comments speak volumes to your naivety. The recycled jokes and insults I’ve heard a thousand times, they tell the story of a man who isn’t aware of the world around him. For all your success and fame, you speak like a kid who’s still wet behind the ears. You and Luke, you’re so happy to be Tag Team Champions in a dead division comprised of two teams and a bunch of guys who don’t even get air time on Vertigo, and you have the nerve to talk down to me as if I’m some rookie who just learned how to run the ropes? But I understand it. It’s your youth shining through. You come from the generation of putting every moment of your life online, sending updates about the trivial things you do like any of us give a damn. It’s a generational disconnect, because where I come from you never needed to list all your triumphs in your little social media bio, your resume simply spoke for itself. I guess yours doesn’t speak loudly enough, so that’s why you have to make up for it by constantly opening that gaping hole in your pretty little face, spewing your bullshit, and your buzzwords, getting all hyped up like the rest of the whippersnappers who follow all the trends to stay popular.” He says in disgust.
“You’re like the guy who brags about how many hoes he has. That’s a guy who’s just happy that an actual living woman let’s him touch her. You’re just happy to be here, happy that you and that little suicidal soap box of a partner finally have something to cheer about. But if you’re as great as you think you are Ricky, you’d be acting like you’ve been here before.”
“But you haven’t though. There were no Johnny Cannons in New Kingdom Puro, or any of those other companies we never heard of that you wrestled for in empty high school gyms, or overseas for fish sticks while you slept in your mother’s car. I’m BIG time. And don’t for a second think because I’ve been on a losing streak that I’ve lost a step. All that really means is that I've been learning how to win again. I’ve been ironing out the kinks, and sharpening the blade, and after what I let happen a fortnight ago, how I let myself and my associates down, my Excalibur's ready to chop you down to size, and your heads gotten too big for you own body so let me do you a favor by kicking it off your fucking shoulders.” He says harshly. “You see, you think you can dance, Ricky, and you can, I won’t sell you short there. You’ve got talent. Raw talent. You have the tools to be something special in FGA if you play your cards right. But the thing is, despite where you bought your shoes, and where you got your lesson from, you can’t out dance me. NOBODY can when I’m firing on ALL cylinders because I’ve got something NOBODY else has and that’s SOUL!” He boasts.
“Ricky… I’m Superbad… in fact, I’m the BADDEST MAN ON THE PLANET… and the most dangerous man in FGA, because with these hands,” he says, holding them out, “I hold your fate like a palm reader, and this weekend in Philadelphia when I ball them into fists, your world will crumble to dust. And from the sand made of your shattered dreams, I will build a castle that will kiss the sky with Tony and Diego, one meant for KINGS… the NEW KINGS of FGA.” He says, making his way to the pool as we fade to black.
I hear a familiar voice calling my name, yet for some reason I’m unable to discern the identity of whoever it is that has summoned me - the voice is distorted, thanks in part to the malicious, downright malignant migraine that’s assaulting my noggin. My head feels like someone treated it like a snow globe and shook it furiously, like a middle school bully shaking some sorry sap down for loose change right before he tosses him into a locker.
Despite every fiber in my being screaming at me to do otherwise, I slowly open my eyes, the light immediately blinding me, and aggravating what is already a hangover for the ages. From my limited vantage point, I begin to assess the damages; but to no avail, as the image remains all fuzzy.
“Really…”
I can start to make out that voice amidst the wave of disorientation, whilst the landscape begins to clear as if the blinders are slowly being opened - except the sun's not shining rays of hope into my home; it’s merely mocking me, and behind the sound of the bells continuously tolling in my head, I can faintly hear Goodrich telling me “I Told You So” in his most condescending tone. Fucking prick.
“Are you fucking serious right now…”
With a deep breath I close my eyes, just for a moment to mentally and physically prepare myself for the road ahead - that being the arduous task of lifting my near forty-year old bag of bones off the cold floor of my lavish LA loft. With a sigh, my eyes re-open to a brave new world full of undesirable circumstances. With my head lying on booze stained marble tiles, my eyes lay captivated by the sight of a pair of long, smooth, slender legs sneaking out of the bottom of a skin tight maxi dress. At the feet of this monolith, rests a pair of Michael Kors’ and another - well, let’s just say this item is much more peculiar.
“Never again, Johnny… never again…”
With his bosom firmly planted on the floor, and his hands wrapped around an empty bottle of Tequila, is none other than the sole heir of my drunken estate.
William Richards.
What a start to the morning.
No More Parties In LA
March 17th, 2016
Los Angeles, California
“Let’s go William,” she says angrily, as she scoops him up from the wasteland, holding him in slight rage, and slight peril as I peel my carcass from the floor. Immediately as I reach a stand does my equilibrium flip me the bird, as my usually impeccable sense of balance is thrown off as if the Earth itself has undergone a seismic shift.
“Where are you goi-” before I can even finish the sentence the nausea begins to set in, as all the beer, smokes and women I’ve consumed in the past twenty-four hours rushes to the surface. But I hold it back, suppressing it like a woman does her anger, knowing at any moment I’ll explode like a atom bomb. That’s fine. Combusting isn’t on the schedule today.
“You asked for another chance John, and look, I knew it… I knew it and you proved me right AGAIN!” she started, not even taking my current health into account, just yelling and screaming with reckless abandon. The nerve of this woman.
“I said I’d take him today, so what’s the problem,” I replied, placing a fist over my mouth to fight back another wave of vomit, “I’m up, so leave his things and go about your business.”
“Leave him here, and with YOU, pfft.” She scoffed. “Are you trying to piss me off?”
“And what’s wrong with my place?”
“Look around, you jackass!” She fired, forcing me to acknowledge my surroundings. I was drawn back by the sight, as my humble abode had been reduced to a zoo of lifeless bodies, empty bottles, and discarded clothes. Couches were turned over, artwork on the wall left hanging askew, and someone must have decided it would look cool if we hung a brasserie on the ceiling fan like a hood ornament.
“So I redecorated the place. I think it looks livelier to be honest.”
“Oh you just think this is one big fucking joke, don’t you,” she said, chomping at the bit as the steam blew out her ear and nostrils. I couldn’t hop of the tracks this time. I had to face this train.
“Listen, let’s keep cool and not blow the situation out of proportion, okay,” I began, taking a step toward her, only to be stopped by the debilitating shockwave of pain running throughout my body. Despite the agony, I kept my poker face, “so, I had a party. What’s the big deal?”
“You said you were turning over a new leaf, and that you wanted to make an effort, but you’re still doing the same old shit.”
“That was last night,” I joked, “today though, today I’m a new man.” I declared, pumping my chest.
“You’re full of shit is what you are…”
“Just give me a second to get cleaned up, and I’ll take the little heartbreaker off your hands,” I said, as I playfully grabbed at his little Doc. Marten shoes.
“I gave you a whole morning to get your shit together, John.”
“What’re you going on about now woman,” I said, furrowing my brow as I relinquished Will’s boot.
“It’s fucking 2 AM.”
Shit.
“Right,” she said, the look on my face conveying the story of a man defeated boxer, having danced around for round upon round until that one haymaker caught him and rung his fucking bell. “I’ve been calling you for hours. I knew I shouldn’t have come over, but I didn’t want to deprive William of his last chance to see his father. It was fun, but the jokes not funny anymore. It’s sad.”
I’ve been beaten to a pull with steel chairs, thrown to tables, and fought in cages, yet the damage inflicted upon me in those instances paled in comparison to the punishment she was dishing out. There’s a reason they say there’s nothing like a woman scorned. They have a way with words where they can be so precise with the malice that you’re left begging to be put out of your misery. She was cutting so deep that I felt the blades pierce the bone.
“I’m done trying to force you to be something you’re not. You don’t want to be in your son’s life, don’t.” With a cold glare she lit my world on fire. I could smell my flesh burning.
“Kharissa-”
“No don’t Kharissa me. I’m done, John. We’re done.”
As she turned away and made her way to the door I could feel it all slipping away like sand falling through my fingertips. I felt the wall kiss my back as she pressed me up against it. I was running options. The only choice I had was to play the only card I had left.
“She left me…”
I could hear the conversation between her mind and her heart, as the former was begging her not to fall for the trap, but the latter couldn’t help but feel for me. And just as quickly as she grabbed the doorknob, ready to my son and walk out of my life for the last time did she release it.
Thank God for the sympathy card.
You see, when somebody loves you, no matter what you’ve done to them, they can never truly give up on you. Ans because of that I was reeling her back in. She was taking the bait.
“That’s all this has been about. I know it’s not an excuse. You don’t have to tell me that. Listen… I just- I told you I was going to get my shit together and I meant it. I just- I just needed to get her out of my head, and out of my system. I didn’t think I would be this torn up after we split. I haven’t felt like this since when you left.”
Hook. Line. Sinker.
With a deep breath, her anger dissolved into sympathy and compassion. All I needed to do was flip everything on her, and make her feel like the perpetrator and not the victim.
“Okay, John,” she said, succumbing to my spell, “just, go get yourself cleaned up, and fix the place up. I’ll take him out for some lunch, and I’ll bring him back in an hour.”
“Alright.” I said, smiling beneath the mask, “I promise you this is the end Kharissa. No more excuses. No more problems. No more parties. I know what’s important. You, William… family. I know that now.”
“I’ll see you in an hour.” She said, unable to fathom how she got pulled into the dark hole. She had one foot out the door too.
I bought myself a little more time.
And that’s all I need.
*************************************************************************
As the scene begins we open up to what appears to be a lavish house party. On the guest list, a lot of expensive booze, and a lot of half-dressed women of all different ethnicities. As we navigate past the party-goers, past the empty bottles strewn and assortment of lingerie strewn about on the marble floor, and through the smoke clouds filled with God knows what, we end up on a rooftop, stories above the busy streets of LA. Immediately, we focus our eyes on a large swimming pool, glistening under the stars in the night sky. As we get closer, we can hear laughs and banter coming from the poolside. And it’s not long before we uncover the source of said noise - the incomparable Johnny Cannon, who of course isn’t alone. With his feet dancing in the chlorine, the Brit watches as a woman works on her backstroke, while he no doubt thinks about using a technique of the same name on her.
“Beautiful isn’t she,” starts the British Mamba, not even looking at the camera as he pulls hard on a cigar, towel wrapped around his neck, while water cascades from his naked torso, seemingly having just finishing swimming. “Despite how grim, and how bad things seem to get for me, life always has it’s way of balancing itself out. No matter the debt I’ve amassed, no matter the magnitude of the mistakes I’ve made, I always find a way to bounce back and return to moment’s like these.” He rambles on, taking a pull in between his spiel, his eyes still fixated on the fish in the sea. “I’m starting to realize that it’s all the work of a higher power. It’s a sign, a sign from God, Buddha, or whoever I pray to when I think I’m having a heart attack from the poison I’ve polluted my body with only for it to turn out to be flatulence,” he laughs.
“But what happened a month ago, that was a sign from God too. And if you weren’t paying attention, allow me to share the revelation He passed down to me,” he says, staring up at the sky, as if to be looking up to the heavens. “When the sands of time reach the bottom of my hour glass and the lease runs out on this bag of bones I’ve rented, they’ll be no place in the pearly gates for me. Men like me, we don’t get to sip wine, and run through fields of rainbows with all the other prunes up there on the top floor who let the fear of damnation stop them from grabbing life by the horns,” he says, with a smile.
“We inherited this Earth, because this is our Paradise. This is heaven for the sinners, a place
where the women are too easy, the drinks are too strong, and the cigars taste too fucking good. And because I’ve been equipped with that knowledge, I’m forced to live my life by a different set of rules, and by a different standard. That is what’s allowed me to experience so much success in so little time. You see, I’ve only been at this for a handful of years. But I’ve more than made my mark. I was able to acoomplish that because I seized opportunities, and made calculated decisions to solidify my place in the future. But lately I’ve gone astray from that.”
“And now I hear them,” he says, cupping a hand around his ear. “If you listen closely, you can hear them too. It’s the sound of everyone who didn’t make a fucking peep when I was kicking ass and taking names earlier this year coming from out of hiding, voicing their collective opinions through their microphones while they stare at me through rose tinted frames.” He scoffs.
“It wouldn’t be the first time you all kicked me while I was down, and wrote my eulogy while I was still breathing. But reports of my demise are being greatly exaggerated. But you know something, I’ll concede this,” says Cannon, slowly grabbing at his neck as he stares into the camera. “For once I agree with what’s being said about me, to a degree. I am indeed spiraling out of control, well, more specifically I have. I’m no longer the wrecking ball that I once was when I first stepped foot in FGA. That is something that I cannot deny. You all know me to be a man to shoot it straight, regardless of how you feel about me I always speak what’s true, and tell the facts as they are, and not how I want them to be.”
“I can blame my recent troubles on a multitude of things, but as I’ve said many times in the past, a real man doesn’t make excuses. I don’t blame anyone else for my lack of success. I blame this guy.” He says, candidly. “I blame myself for getting in my own way, because let’s be honest, I was the biggest thing in FGA this summer. I turned the locker room on it’s head the second I stepped foot in that motherfucker. And my momentum grew with every performance I put on out there. Despite the character flaws, and the demons I deal with, none of that mattered because when I stepped out in that ring I became somebody else. I became something else.” He stresses.
“I was a phenom.”
“Notice how I refer to all of that in past tense, like it was twenty years ago, when in fact it really wasn’t that long ago. It almost feels like it was yesterday when I was ripping through this roster, taking on all comers and knocking them down one after the other,” he goes on, “I was building something here, not just a name, but a legacy. And that’s what it’s all been about, and what I keep bringing it back to. Legacy.”
“That’s the only thing that’s important in this game. What you do today determines how you’ll be remembered tomorrow. And that’s why the three of us did what we did. That’s why the three of us, three men who have amassed enough success, and have captured enough championships and accolades to give to charity - three men who have proven they can stand on their own two feet as individuals decided to come together as a unit. It’s because we see the bigger picture. And for a moment there, I thought you did too, Ricky,’ he says, shaking his head. “But I’ve been wrong about people before. Tony is the biggest example of that. Here’s a guy I found to be nothing but all show and no substance, even before we wrestled, and long after that. But when he came to me, a man he had already moved on from career wise, when he sat me down alongside Diego Diamond I realized something.”
“We were the same.” He confesses.
“It’s rare that you find another individual who has his eye on the prize, a man who can see the forest from the trees, a man who understands the importance of building something much bigger than himself. And that’s what we’re doing. You see, we understand the fragility of this life. We rented our space on Earth, and none of us know how much time we’ve got, we just know we have to make the best use of that time by making every fucking second count. The difference between the three of us, and the rest of you, is that while you are all enamored with living in the moment, living in the now, we’re only trying to live forever!” He says with conviction. “We’re trying to build something that won’t be forgotten in a day or two, and that’s what you don’t get Ricky.”
“Your comments speak volumes to your naivety. The recycled jokes and insults I’ve heard a thousand times, they tell the story of a man who isn’t aware of the world around him. For all your success and fame, you speak like a kid who’s still wet behind the ears. You and Luke, you’re so happy to be Tag Team Champions in a dead division comprised of two teams and a bunch of guys who don’t even get air time on Vertigo, and you have the nerve to talk down to me as if I’m some rookie who just learned how to run the ropes? But I understand it. It’s your youth shining through. You come from the generation of putting every moment of your life online, sending updates about the trivial things you do like any of us give a damn. It’s a generational disconnect, because where I come from you never needed to list all your triumphs in your little social media bio, your resume simply spoke for itself. I guess yours doesn’t speak loudly enough, so that’s why you have to make up for it by constantly opening that gaping hole in your pretty little face, spewing your bullshit, and your buzzwords, getting all hyped up like the rest of the whippersnappers who follow all the trends to stay popular.” He says in disgust.
“You’re like the guy who brags about how many hoes he has. That’s a guy who’s just happy that an actual living woman let’s him touch her. You’re just happy to be here, happy that you and that little suicidal soap box of a partner finally have something to cheer about. But if you’re as great as you think you are Ricky, you’d be acting like you’ve been here before.”
“But you haven’t though. There were no Johnny Cannons in New Kingdom Puro, or any of those other companies we never heard of that you wrestled for in empty high school gyms, or overseas for fish sticks while you slept in your mother’s car. I’m BIG time. And don’t for a second think because I’ve been on a losing streak that I’ve lost a step. All that really means is that I've been learning how to win again. I’ve been ironing out the kinks, and sharpening the blade, and after what I let happen a fortnight ago, how I let myself and my associates down, my Excalibur's ready to chop you down to size, and your heads gotten too big for you own body so let me do you a favor by kicking it off your fucking shoulders.” He says harshly. “You see, you think you can dance, Ricky, and you can, I won’t sell you short there. You’ve got talent. Raw talent. You have the tools to be something special in FGA if you play your cards right. But the thing is, despite where you bought your shoes, and where you got your lesson from, you can’t out dance me. NOBODY can when I’m firing on ALL cylinders because I’ve got something NOBODY else has and that’s SOUL!” He boasts.
“Ricky… I’m Superbad… in fact, I’m the BADDEST MAN ON THE PLANET… and the most dangerous man in FGA, because with these hands,” he says, holding them out, “I hold your fate like a palm reader, and this weekend in Philadelphia when I ball them into fists, your world will crumble to dust. And from the sand made of your shattered dreams, I will build a castle that will kiss the sky with Tony and Diego, one meant for KINGS… the NEW KINGS of FGA.” He says, making his way to the pool as we fade to black.
