Post by Applesauce on Oct 10, 2022 21:01:07 GMT -5
~~~~~
When the body decomposes.
The rope remains.
~~~~~
~~~~~
THE SECOND ROPE
Addiction is a psychological disease more than a physiological one. I don’t know if you’ve ever had the misfortune, but I hope not. People with bona fide addiction can’t just have one drink and move on. Abstinence is the only preventative measure that works. Even then, addiction never goes away.
When you’re hitting someone in the face, you tend to forget about how sad and lonely you are. You just want to destroy something. “I’ve been drinking Red Bulls all god damn day. And you’re gonna bring the devil out in me?!” I politely suggest to the trashy young lady as I slap her lips off her face.
It’s time for full scorched earth. Demolish the buildings. Burn the fields. Clear the trees. Salt the earth. Until there isn’t anything left to hold on to.
A guy in a Patagonia quarter-zip throws an embarrassing punch at me. Nothing behind it. So, I slap him too. He made me do it. “I just wanted to be left alone! I just wanted to sit here and enjoy endless boneless wings for $13.99, and you want to come at me like a spider monkey?! Is there anybody else in the room that wants to take a trip to Slap Mountain?!”
In a few minutes, the Indian River County Police Department will arrive at the Vero Beach location of Applebee’s. Which happens to be my favorite restaurant. Normally, if I just wanted a brewski, I’d swing by the local watering hole, Merv’s Burger Joint and Tavern, but I can’t. Nobody can. It got shut down when the hurricane blew through here last week. That bitch of a storm flooded half the damn town. Not like, gather-two-of-every-animal-type flooding, but just enough that every beach front property is now moister than an oyster.
I scan the lounge area for more assailants and lock eyes with the bartender who’s probably on the phone with Johnny Law. She hits the deck behind the U-shaped bar like bullets are being fired. “Check please.”
It's not my fault this time. You see, I get very opinionated when I drink. The thought filter kind of just goes away. So, I found a hill to die on and climbed that fucker. These stupid people, taking stupid pictures, of their stupid food, for their stupid followers, need to be stopped. Nobody does anything about it, so I had a few drinks and said a few things and then everyone got all offended about it. They tried to put their hands on me. So, I put some guy in a choke hold, just to deescalate the situation. Everything would have been fine and ended right there, but then some other asshole came up and punched me in the back of the head and my PTSD kicked in. Did I, in turn, slap him into the future? Hell yeh, I did. But he earned it. Do I regret doing it in front of his kids? NO! LET THEM WATCH!
Doing the right thing never feels good enough. Because even when you’re doing it, it still feels like you haven’t done enough. So why bother? Once in a while, you should just do something, for YOU, that just makes YOU feel good. So, if that means drinking until you forget the pain, go ahead. If that means drinking until you remember the good times, go ahead. Just don’t ever let someone else take the bottle out of your hand.
Nobody else wants a taste. So, I gather up my keys and phone, drop a Schrute Buck on the counter, and careen out the entrance doors. There are flashing lights outside. I can’t hear anything over the sound of how fucking awesome I feel right now. I’m electricity. I can breathe smoke. Bullets are my only weakness now. I open the doors and play it cool. Finger pistols stay in their holsters. Everything is fine. And who’s in denial? 👉 Not this guy. 👈
Tazer, tazer, tazer!
You don’t win fans, just by doing good
Say my name three times, and you knock on wood
From the deep blue sea, to the dark blue sky
‘Cause I'm the baddest man alive…
THE MOST DANGEROUS ROPE
Buster steps into the blinding sunlight. A dusty red pick-up truck is waiting out front, engine running, clear coat peeling from its hood. Inside, is a disappointed father. His knuckles are disappointed. His mustache is disappointed. Even his NASCAR hat looks disappointed. Buster Gloves peeks into the passenger side window and opens the door. The manila envelope in his swollen hand possesses discharge papers. He plops down and slams the door shut without as much as a word.
“Hey, Pop.”
“Hey, William.”
“No Emily?”
“She took off. Said she was going back to California.”
“That’s… uhhh… that’s good.”
“I don’t think she’s coming back.”
“No… I don’t suppose she is.”
“Where do you want me to take you?”
“My truck. It’s at the Applebee’s. You know how to get there?”
“I know where it is. So, what’s the plan?”
“I don’t know anymore. I… just can’t do right.”
“Mmmhmmm."
There’s a long awkward silence as the father and son drive through the beach town of Vero Beach, Florida. They pass remnants of the damage from the recent hurricanes. People taking measure of their losses. Some attempting to rebuild. Some just closing up shop forever.
“Thank you, Pop. For bailing me out. Picking me up. It means a lot to me.”
“Listen Son. This feeling sucks. You’re dealing with a lot of stuff right now and you’re not handling it well. What you need to know is that it’s ok to fail. It’s ok to make mistakes. And it’s ok to feel sorry for yourself. But it’s not ok to make THIS the new normal. If you need to hit bottom, just make sure you bounce high. I’m not letting you sit there and rot. It’s time for you to focus, make changes in your life, and push harder next time. Do you understand?"
“Yeh.”
“Don’t bullshit me, William. I’m your father. I may have been a no-good piece of shit father when you were growing up, but I’m here now and I’m not letting this go. You’re going to get your affairs in order and get back on the right track. DO… YOU… UNDERSTAND ME?"
“Yes. I hear you. I’ll figure it out.”
“The boys need to come stay with me for a while. They can bring their video games or whatever. They’ll be fine.”
“No. You don’t have to do that. They’re my responsibility.”
“A responsibility that you can’t handle right now. You can’t even handle yourself. I’m sorry, but it’s true. Even if this whole thing didn’t happen last night, you’ve still been going through a bad time. They need to be somewhere stable. When you gave me that $10,000 from the Velveeta people, I got a nice little place in Orlando. It’s a gated community. It’s safe. The heat with Jason Ryan is getting too hot and it’s only a matter of time before he goes after your children.”
“I don’t know. This is ripping my heart out. I just lost my house, my girlfriend, and now you want to take away my kids? What else can be taken away from me?!”
“You’re looking at this all wrong. You’re still healthy. You’re still much younger than you think you are. You shouldn’t be looking at what you have to lose. You should be looking at what you have to gain. Most people would kill for a chance to start over and rebuild themselves the way they wish they always had been. The kids are taken care of. Emily will be ok without you for a while. And she will eventually get over this, because she loves you. But you need to get right. Whatever it takes. Rehab. Vacation. Change of setting. You have an opportunity. You just have to figure out what you want and go get it.”
“I just feel like I’ve let so many people down who have been counting on me. I don’t think I have the ability to continue living like this.”
“You’re stronger than you think.”
“I hope you’re right.”
I’m the man who stole the golden fleece
And I tongue kissed Beauty right in front of the Beast
When the grim reaper comes, I’ll look him in the eye
‘Cause I'm the baddest man alive…
A FOREIGN OBJECT
Almost nothing is salvageable. The storm didn’t hit his part of the Florida coast, but it was still enough to flood the first floor of the beach house. It’s shocking just how many important things in your life are that close to the ground. And once the mold, rot, decay sets in, it never stops. The stains, the smell, the damage stays forever. Staying in the hotel isn’t bad. But you start to miss your own things. Working in the pro wrestling business you get used to staying in hotels, but it loses all of its charm very quickly.
Most of the furniture has already been removed and is piled up on the curb in front of the house. To compound issues, the month-to-month lease was just terminated. What that means now is that Buster has 30 days to evacuate the property before it’s either condemned or sold to the highest bidder. Living on the beach is fun. Everybody should do it once. But just until they survive their first big storm.
The first thing Buster did when he got out of jail was contact Emily Simms. He texted her. Called her. Messaged her. No response. It’s pretty obvious what’s going on. She’s out. He knows this because she told him this would happen. She gave him a second chance to get his life together and he oversteered into a tree. By the time he got out of jail, her things were already packed, and she was already on an airplane. She was willing to stay overnight in a house with water damage, but she wasn’t willing to spend one more night with HIM after THIS screw up.
She won’t be coming back either. They talked about it. She won’t tolerate drinking in her life anymore. There was a time when she liked to party, but that ended when a drunk driver took away the love of her life. It took away her heart. And now, she can’t seem to escape it. ‘Lips that touch liquor will never touch hers’, she said. Ironically, she seems to be exclusively drawn to men who are drawn to the bottle. First Duncan Ryder and now William Glover. Both excellent wrestlers and shitty partners. Alcohol. Good for the engine, bad for the engineer.
On the counter are two things. An old nylon battle rope. The kind you slam on the floor with your personal trainer. Black and frayed at the ends where it’s wrapped with electrical tape. Next to the rope is a cracked cell phone. Way too many generations older than it should be. The rope in one hand, the phone in the other, Buster figures out exactly what to do with the rope and dials “WORK” on his phone.
“Yeh, hi. Can you hear me? Yeh It’s Buster. I’m just calling to let you know that I quit.”
I'll grab a serpent by its tail
Handcuff the judge, put the cops in jail
Make a pack of wolves, break down and cry
‘Cause I'm the baddest man alive…
STEEL RESOLVE
<Knock, knock, knock, on the metal door frame.>
“Entrez-vous.”
Sitting behind a cocobolo rosewood desk, in a corporate office, on the 88th floor of the Blue Blood International Building in New York City, is a wealthy yet misunderstood executive by the name of Trent Steel. The office is finely decorated with corporate artwork, a fine view of central park, and a life sized ‘Dry Bones’ fossil sculpture on the wall. Trent Steel, leans forward in his chair, with his elbows posted onto his mostly vacant desk. The wounds on his face taped up with bandages. His fingers are interlaced behind a massive black and green ring resembling the Green Lantern’s ring if it were carved out of dark matter.
An awestruck Buster Gloves stands at the entranceway and forgets his rehearsed lines. He turns back around and points to the hallway. “Would you like me to close the door?”
“If you don’t mind.”
Buster gently takes the door handle into his hand and silently latches it shut, careful not to wake any sleeping babies in the building.
“Why don’t you have a seat?”
“Sure.”
“To what, do I owe the pleasure of this impromptu meeting just before my lunch hour?”
“I apologize for showing up like this. I thought that we should sit down and make sure we’re on the same page.”
"A face-to-face conversation between us is way overdue, but I know there’s a catch. This is either about a problem you want me to fix or this is about money. So, which is it?"
“Honestly, it’s a little bit of both, Mr. Steel.”
“Fine. Let’s get it over with. Just don't try to throw me through the window if you don’t like what I have to say. It’ll be bad for the pedestrians down below.” He smirks a bit and winks at Buster, trying to show that the boss also has a sense of humor.
“So, let me start by saying, ‘Thank you’. That bonus check from the cheese people went a long way towards helping me and my family. You didn’t have to do that, and it’s appreciated. The bad news is that outside of the money, which again, is great, I’m incredibly unhappy.”
“What's the problem?”
“I’m at the end of my rope and most of it’s my fault. I mixed personal stuff with business stuff and that never ends well.”
“How is your relationship with a co-worker MY problem?”
“Oh, it’s not. I just wanted to acknowledge that I’m responsible for that situation. Where you can help me is with all the other stuff. It seems like the more I try to do the right thing, the more I get screwed over in this company. You have guys breaking the rules. One of them went to my house and beat up my father, he kidnapped my girlfriend, and then he left me for dead in a swamp. As someone who recently has been the victim of a felony assault, I would think that you’d want to do something about this kind of criminal behavior.”
"Have there been charges filed? Because really...I can't do anything unless you do that. Is that all you came here to talk about?”
“Actually, no. But now’s probably a good time to tell you that I was just released from jail… again, a couple days ago. The dirt sheets probably already know about it, but your PR department may want to prepare some kind of statement just in case.”
“While I appreciate you being honest, it stands to reason I should be honest in return. I don't have a problem with you. I know it may not seem that way because I don't even acknowledge your existence. But trust me. My ambivalence is a gift. You don't want me angry… or friendly. They both end badly. Now you're a good worker and every federation needs that. You've were good for business, but not recently. Now this whole red blooded American, blue-collar, bro-dad thing you have going on might have worked anywhere else, but this is Level Up. Our main audience is people who watch women play videogames in bikinis, in hot tubs, and then go on to play D&D live. It's more of a progressive product, sad to say, which means they see you as a flavorless good guy. These people demand violence, and people like Jason Ryan get more attention, because they are violent people."
“...I don’t know what to say.”
“No offense intended, but we already have other boy scouts like Paul Freedom and Eli Goode. And they do it better than you. Your moral superiority has the opposite of the desired effect. Hell, to some people, YOU’RE the bad guy, just because you stole someone's girl.”
“I haven’t really thought about it that way before.”
“I know. Listen, Buster, you and I don’t talk much because you’re one of the ‘safe’ guys. It’s actually much better if management doesn’t micromanage people like you. You deserve a second shot, and it was my idea to grant you a rematch for the Wisdom Title. But what you really need isn't a belt. You should let me send you to rehab until you're a hundred percent, and your career will be waiting here for you when you get back."
“With all due respect Mr. Steel, I think time off is just about the last thing I need. When I get alone in my thoughts, I tend to do stupid things. I need to keep my head and my hands busy. I need to keep fighting. That brings me to my next reason for being here. My contract is up after EXP. I don’t want to be a free agent. I want to restructure my deal, without an agent or legal department involved this time. And I want it done today.”
“Oh, do you, now? Listen, rehab will be on the table when you decide you need it." Trent reached into his desk and pulled out a legal pad and a black pen. "Now, what kind of contract did you have in mind?”
“Well, I’ve been thinking about it a lot and have some conditions to request.”
“I’m listening.”
“I want a 6-month deal, with an option for a 6-month continuation.”
“Ok. What else?”
“I want a raise. On par with what the other champions are making. People always find out about salaries, and I want them to see me as an equal.”
“Fair enough. One second." Trent pulls out a calculator and quickly types in some figures. Trent shows the figure on the calculator. "I can accommodate this much. Does that work for you?"
Buster nods and Trent writes down the number on the pad.
"Anything else?"
“Just a couple more things. And I’m not saying these are deal breakers, but I sure would feel a whole lot better about my work if you said ‘yes.’”
“Just tell me what would make you happy, the worst I can say is ‘no.’”
“Ok. Here goes. I want a non-exclusive deal. I need to be able to work at any fed, any time I want. It’s the only thing that will keep me out of trouble. And it won’t affect your bottom line. I promise.”
“Let me share MY truth, Buster. There was a year I worked in four federations at once. It was the best year of my career. I have no doubt an experience like that will help you too. Approved.”
“Ok. Great. I want a match with Duncan Ryder, because I don’t like that guy, and I also want a match with Jason Ryan, both in the next six months. Furthermore, I want to set the stipulations for that Jason Ryan match. That son of a bitch has to pay for what he’s done to me. And I need you to sanction it.”
“...Fine, but I won’t guarantee either will be for a title. Anything else?”
“One last thing. I want one of those private dressing rooms, stocked with snacks and Pepsi products, before every one of my matches. I don’t mind sharing it with a couple other folks like me. It’s just something I need to keep sober. You know what I mean? Call it the ‘Dry Room’ or whatever you want, but the more I’m around the drinking in the locker room and all that, the harder it will be for me to give it up cold turkey.”
Trent puts a finger to his face and closes his eyes for an uncomfortably long time without making a noise. Then he slowly blinks them open. “I’ll have to run those ideas by my staff and just make sure there are no issues, but I think we can come to an arrangement. I can have legal draft up some paperwork and get you to sign it before the next EXP.”
“No, Sir. You misunderstand. I want this to be a gentleman’s agreement. Where I come from, you look a man in his eyes, and you shake hands on a deal. You say you’re gonna give me those things, and I’ll take your word for it.”
“Well alright then. Have it your way. That’s what we will do. But first… I have a few conditions for you too.”
“I would lose respect for you if you didn’t.”
“Condition number one. I need you to stop worrying about what other people think. I don’t care if you follow the rules anymore. Put on a show and have fun. You’ll drive yourself crazy trying to please everyone.”
“Totally agree.”
“Condition two. I want you to rebrand yourself. That blandness needs to go. Your steak needs some sizzle if you know what I mean. In fact, one of the most common comments we get on our surveys is ‘What is a Bull of The North?’ Drop the moniker and come up with something else.”
“Ok. I can do that too.”
Trent grabs a business card and writes on the back of it while speaking. “Final condition. This is the most important, so listen carefully. Somebody took something of mine. A pocket watch that has incredible sentimental value. It’s irreplaceable. None of this other shit we talked about means half as much to me as that watch. You help me get it back and I’ll give you any damn thing you want. A Final Boss match. A date with Duncan Ryder’s mother. A lifetime BJ’s membership, the store, not the sexual favor. You help me and I’ll give you that contract, plus a $50,000 bonus.” Trent slides the business card across the very wide table and aligns it in front of Buster. “Do we have a deal?”
Buster scoops the card and reads the words and numbers on the back. He rubs the top of his own bald head while trying to understand what it means. “You just want me to talk to him and then what?”
“I just need you to gather information about the whereabouts of my watch and then get back to me. Or you can pack up your locker after EXP and go wrestle bears at the Wanker County fairgrounds for a living. I don’t care. You wanted an opportunity to better your position. This is it. Do we have a deal, or not?” Trent extends an open hand.
Buster considers the implications of the gentlemen's agreement. The risks. The rewards. Then he grabs Trent’s hand like a loaded revolver. “It’s a deal Mr. Steel. I promise you, we will get your pocket watch back. Thank you for the opportunity. You won’t regret it.”
They let go of hands and Buster gets up out of his seat. Trent also stands up and puts his fingertips down on his cocobolo desk. “That’s great. Glad we could come to an agreement.”
Buster turns and reaches for the door handle to leave, but Trent interrupts him one final time. “Oh and one more thing. If you ever come to my office without an appointment again, I’ll put you through my fucking desk and take the damages out of your paycheck.”
I snatch food from the mouth of a tiger
Take a gasoline bath, then walk through fire
Drink the honey, straight from the hive
‘Cause I’m the baddest man alive…
THE TOP ROPE
Tact is the knack for making a point without making an enemy.
A meaty thumb presses the digital doorbell inside the atrium of a fancy New York apartment building. A high camera records as the man holding a pink box with a silken white ribbon waves and smiles. Then, a pregnant pause as the air leaves the room. Then a voice on the other end.
“Just leave the delivery in the atrium. We will send someone down to pick it up.”
“Yeh no, actually, I’m looking for somebody. Does Larry Tact live here?”
“That depends on who is looking for him.”
“Tell him it’s Buster. Buster Gloves. From Level Up. He should know who I am.”
“Is he expecting you?”
“Uh… no. I don’t think he would ever expect me.”
“Just a moment, let me see if he’s in.”
Then an audible and startling buzz and the front door clicks open. Buster hates elevators. Too much time to be alone in his thoughts. Uncomfortable small talk. Inescapable body odors. The brass doors of the elevator part like beaded curtains revealing a hallway with three doors. Buster knows the apartment number because Trent Steel knew the apartment number. So, he relaxes his shoulders and gets over the inevitable by knocking on the door.
A young professional woman greets him. “Mr. Gloves? Right this way.” She leads Buster into what used to be a well decorated apartment. “You’ll have to pardon the mess.”
Buster says nothing, he just gathers information. Locates the emergency exits and possible threat points. The large living area is complete with floor-to-ceiling curtainwall glass. On a couch sits the Former Level Up Power Champion, Lawrence Tact, in all his former glory.
“Of all the weird things that have happened to me lately, this may be the weirdest. Buster Gloves… in MY house… breathing up MY air.”
“Hi Larry.” Buster says with a non-threatening wave of two fingers and a thumb.
“Have you come here to laugh at me? You want to kick me while I’m down?”
“No. Not at all. I was in the city, and I’ve been meaning to talk to you, so I thought I’d stop by and see if you were in. I brought you bagels from the Jewish Deli on the corner.”
“Lies… You ensnare people with your promise of ‘pure values’ and integrity. It's no less of a game than what people accuse ME of. Meanwhile, you show up here with the sole intent of making a request– No. A demand. But these painkillers have me feeling fine, so you tote those bagels this way, and you can have a seat."
As Buster approaches, Larry holds up a hand. In it is a remote looking device with a bright red button. Through his overgrown blonde beard, we see a toothy sneer.
"Security responds fast. Hand over the bagels or the button gets it."
Buster hands the box to Larry, who eyes the decorative top, then eyes Buster suspiciously. Larry pulls the end of the bow like disarming a bomb, then smiles for the first time since EXP. “I’m impressed. This is the tactful kind. You bought yourself 5 minutes, so get talking." Larry plucks out an everything bagel and unceremoniously tears a piece off.
Buster speaks quickly, “Yeh… ok… so first of all, I just want to say that I’m sorry. When Emily Simms was kidnapped a while back, I unjustly accused you of doing it. I threatened you and I paid for it.”
“HA! That was particularly amusing to me. Word is that you hit the clink for that?”
“The charges were dismissed. But that’s water under the bridge now. Anyway, we had that trios match and you cashed in a receipt. Remember? I deserved it. I know that now.”
Larry laughs harder. "That was a fun night. Every one of us got our licks in. Truly a top 5 Game Changers' memory.”
“You deserved that moment, Larry. And it taught me that you and me aren’t all that different after all.”
Tact immediately scoffs, “Oh, I don’t think so. We're NOTHING alike.”
“I’m serious. We’re much more alike than you think. Behind this tough guy stuff. The money. The arrogance. I know it’s all a show. Deep down, you’re a family man, just like me. All of this is just to provide them a better life. And the harder you try to do what you think you’re justified in doing, the more it seems to hurt the people you’re doing it for.”
Larry destroys another chunk of New York’s best bagel. “Choose your next words more wisely than your wedding vows.”
It takes Buster a few seconds to understand that third degree burn, but once he restarts his operating system, he no-sells it and attempts to remember what point he was trying to make. “Yeh… Ok… In addition to that…Your title was unjustly taken away from you. You put in all the work. You made that division. And then just before you reached your goal, they pulled the rug out from underneath. All of it feels like it meant nothing. Am I right?"
“You're wasting precious time if you want an admission. Wrap it up. The clock is running out."
“See, that’s my point. You keep it together so much better than I do. I lost a match, and I went into a deep depression. Then I lost my belt and completely fell off the wagon. Now I can’t do anything right at all. How do you do it Larry? How do you keep it together?"
“Easy. Just have lots of money. Money buys all sorts of things that can make you happy.."
“I don’t know if I believe that. See, I thought that you might be the type to take out your frustrations on somebody else. Perhaps, someone who signs our paychecks?”
“Steel? I’m flattered that you think I'd be so gentle. But no, I didn't do that. I had my hands full with the Cheese Succubus at the time.”
“So, if it wasn’t you, then who do you think it was?” Buster inquires.
Larry is about to pop the last piece of the bagel into his mouth but stops and cocks an unkempt eyebrow. “Why do you care so much?”
“I don’t. He probably deserved it. I just want to make sure that things don’t start to unravel. I like working at Level Up.”
“Buster, I’m going to tell you something… and on my oath to my children, if you repeat this, I’ll hunt you down and destroy you.”
“I’m listening.”
Larry swipes up the bag of bagels, and takes out a Pumpernickel, taking a bite, and speaking with his mouth full. “Since you've arrived in Level Up, I've thought you were worthy of respect. I can only say that about a very exclusive group. But you’re a real wrestler who reminds me of a young, naïve wrestler named, Larry Tact." He pauses a beat, chewing on the bagel. Swallows. "I keep certain criteria for wrestlers who pass through. I keep them for review. You fit the criteria…" Bite. Chew. Swallow. "…to mint a Game Changer.”
“I… uh… I don’t know what to say… Can I think about it?”
“That wasn’t an invitation, you Cretan, nor was I finished," Larry snarls. "You suffer from a terrible flaw. The opposite problem that I suffer from. I agree to violence, now, to leave a legacy for my family, later.”
Larry tousles his unwashed hair. "That philosophy will serve my family well, but the immediate benefits are all mine. The moment I allowed that scale to tip towards my family, my career began slipping in the same direction."
He jabs a finger directly in Buster’s direction.
"Now you, on the other hand, all you do is fight for others. You don’t love wrestling. You love people. You haven’t had a single match this year that you’ve done for yourself. You’re always trying to protect someone, or represent someone, or defend something. When is it time for Buster to do something for his own benefit?”
“You’re not wrong. I know that. In fact, I recently quit my job as a BJJ instructor just to focus on my own career. I’m doing things for myself now.”
“Go ahead and keep telling yourself that. But if you can't see this illusion you’ve built, regardless of how entertaining this encounter has been, we are at an impasse. You think about what I’ve said. When you want to really get your career off the ground, come see the Game Changers.”
Buster looks Larry square in the eyes. “There’s a lot to think about, but I’m humbled by your advice. I mean that.”
“Fantastic. Now, kindly remove yourself. I’m about to have my quarter-day fruit cup. I take them in absolute silence.”
“No problem, Larry. I’ll let myself out.” Buster turns to walk away but is stopped one las time.
“Oh, and Buster, do let Trent Steel know that I didn’t take his obnoxious, prickish pocket watch.”
I'll put my fist in the face of the witch of the east
Tell a great white shark to go and brush his teeth
I sleep in a barrel full of butcher knives
‘Cause I’m the baddest man alive…
JUSTIFIED
If you’re losing a tug of war with a tiger, let it have the rope. You can always buy a new one.
First of all, I want to apologize to those who believed in me. To the ones who helped me get here. To those who inspired me and especially those who loved me… To everyone else, the locker room, the executives, the fair-weather fans… I apologize for nothing.
It just boggles my mind, that no matter how hard I tried to do the right thing for you, I still walk back to the locker room, and you all still treat me like I’m a loser. Week after week I wrestle that scab-eater Sarah Wolf, even though you all know she’s a horrible person and an amateur wrestler, and you all still cheer for HER. She represents everything bad in the world, you still give her a free pass. Why? Because she’s some kind of victim? Let’s just say the quiet part out loud, none of you mouth breathers want to see Sarah wrestle, but you think if you defend her for long enough, you’ll get to see her box.
This bullshit didn’t just start with Sarah Wolf. It goes all the way back to Doom. When I won the Wisdom Championship from the immortal Ahmya, when that belt was put around my waist, it was finally where it belonged. I retired the most beloved wrestler in the history of this company, and it still wasn’t good enough to earn your adoration. You allowed her to steal from me a moment that was important in my life. You all hurt me, and you didn’t give a second thought about it.
What you NEED, is a champion, like me, who will destroy their body in the ring, for your entertainment. What you DESERVE, is a cosplay-champion, like Sarah Wolf, who will destroy her own body because she thinks shitty tattoos and stupid piercings makes her appear more interesting. She’s a soulless husk, pretending to be a fighter. And when she goes home, there’s nobody waiting for her, except for her toaster, in the bathtub.
I’m not just saying that Sarah Wolf doesn’t deserve to be a champion. I’m saying that her entire sub-human bloodline doesn’t deserve to hold a championship in this federation. All of them; Sarah, Stephen, Vhodka, Gmork. Pro-wrestling deserves better than these low life scumbags.
After I lost the Wisdom Championship, I had to reevaluate my life choices. I had to blow it up and start over. But redemption isn’t easy. It’s walking the wrong way up an escalator. I worked a match with Sarah Wolf as my partner. What happened? She walked out on me. She has such a disdain for the Level Up fans that she couldn’t even finish the match. She’s fucked me over again and again and again and none of you cared. I swear, I got half my brain eaten by wolves and came back smarter.
Every match is a chapter in the life story of a wrestler. And the story of Buster Gloves looks like this: Robbed, beaten, cheated, disrespected, cheated again, beaten again, forgotten, and walked out on. The mistake I made a long time ago was trying to tell my story, when I should have been just trying to tell a compelling story. From here on out, this story we’re telling can go two ways, but I promise that MY way is much much better than the other.
This Punch-Out match on EXP is my chance for satisfaction. It suits my tastes. I get to grab Sarah Wolf by the back of her peanut head and punch her face until she stops moving. I’m there for it. Come and see. You all thought I was dead and gone, but I’m back from the dead. Hyper masculine. And I’ve freed myself from the confines of my persona.
You people don’t realize that frauds like Sarah Wolf, Stephen Stratford, and Vhodka Black aren’t just abusing people like me and Eli Goode. They’re abusing each and every one of you. They’re insulting this sport. They break every rule that we’ve agreed to play by and then they accuse people like me of being a crybaby. If that’s who you want to consider your own personal heroes, fine. But just know that if you like trash, that doesn’t make you sophisticated, it just makes you a raccoon.
Who brought legitimacy to this Wisdom Championship? I DID. I defeated Ahmya. Donny Mason. Chelsea Skye. Jason Ryan. Despite all the attempts to suppress me, I WILL be champion again. And after it happens, you’ll come to me and say, “Hey Buster, even though you just won the title, you have to defend it right away because you’re a fighting champion.” Well fuck that too. Nobody gets to tell me what to do anymore.
I’m embarrassed to say, that only in an upside-down country like the United States of America, in 2022, a brainwashed fanbase can actually cheer for the bad guys to win. Sarah Wolf disrespects the purest championship belt in all of pro-wrestling, and you all cheer for her with thunderous applause. How do you all go to sleep at night? You should take a good look in the mirror and be ashamed of yourselves.
After being screwed over and abandoned by everybody in Level Up, I’ve decided that it’s still not time for me to leave yet. I have unfinished business. I’m taking this match with Sarah Wolf to victimize her. And I’m taking her title for a chance to get the fight that I actually want. After it’s over, she can continue gargling bird shit forever for all I care. Maybe she will finally get to literally suck Denzel’s dick and her life’s ambitions will finally be complete. I don’t care. I wish the worst for her.
So, when I punch her in the spaghetti house so hard her that her soul escapes her body, I know you’ll try to cheer her back to life. Because you’re the Pac-Man generation, sitting in dark rooms, munching magic pills, running from ghosts, and listening to repetitive music. Each of you feels validation in being abused. Just like she does. But you’re wasting your time. Unlike a mosquito, Sarah doesn’t stop sucking once you slap her.
Of all the companies I’ve been to… XWF, PRIME, WGWF, Action wrestling, the fans in Level Up have to be the worst. They have proven to possess the lowest morale fiber of all fanbases. And you wonder why you’re unhappy with your own meaningless lives. It’s because you have no respect for what is right or wrong. So why should I? You all make me sick.
It's time I turn my weaknesses into strengths. I don’t need to obsess anymore. I was promised a date with Sarah Wolf on EXP and I’m not leaving that arena until I’m satisfied with the emotional damage I’ve done to her. She belongs to me now. I’m going to break her down into pieces, and sell them for the scrap value. They say the only way to fix a blood stain on your carpet is to soak the whole thing in blood.
I know that when I speak in English, all you Level Up fans hear me in ‘stupid’ but try to listen to this last part carefully. I’ll speak slowly so that you can keep up. I’ve spent way too much time trying to please you. Never again. It’s my time now. You all owe me so much more than what you’ve given me. Sarah Wolf owes me. And I’m coming to collect.
YOU MADE ME DO THIS. I’M NEVER LETTING GO OF THE ROPE AGAIN. I AM THE BULL GOD AND I’M FREE TO FEED ON THE FORSAKEN. AND WHEN YOU FINALLY DECIDE THAT YOU DON’T LIKE WHO I’VE BECOME, JUST KNOW THAT I’M JUSTIFIED IN EVERYTHING I DO.
