Jimmy's. (100th Post Spectacular)
Jan 1, 2023 10:08:31 GMT -5
Spencer Adams, Addy A, and 2 more like this
Post by Gerard Angelo on Jan 1, 2023 10:08:31 GMT -5
Gerard let out a breath, vapor floating out and getting swept away by the cold breeze. He pulled the collar of his jacket tighter around his neck with gloved hands as he looked up at an old neon sign saying JIMMY’S. This was the place where they had agreed to meet. Gerard had called in a lot of favors to get this meeting. So many that he was signed up for several movies in the next few years, had to show public support for certain politicians and possibly owed some espionage favors at the end of all this. He couldn’t have bothered Amelia with this, he would’ve just gotten a lecture about how foolish he was. Meeting with them probably was foolish but he didn’t care at this point. He had been so close to finding answers, to finding the truth about what happened to his mother only to just come up short. He needed the truth and they were the only ones that could give him that.
Gerard reached into his pocket and pulled out his iPhone, checking the time. They told him to meet here at nine-thirty, it was nine-nineteen. Gerard stood on the sidewalk in front of the bar, looking around at the foggy street. He reached into his jacket pocket and produced a vape which he hit, blowing the fruity flavored smoke out. He could really use an actual cigarette right now. The time was just ticking away, heading full speed towards a new year. A time of new beginnings, or at least that’s the idea, but he was still here dealing with the demons of his past. He closed his eyes as he let out another exhale of vapor through his nose before looking at his phone again. It was time to meet.
Before I start, I want to say something.
Alexander Pasternak you a whole BITCH. You won’t have your daddy out at ringside to stick up for you, you walking definition of nepotism. So if you try and go into business for yourself trying to fuck me over, I will make your face even uglier than it already is.
You’ve had it out for me since I signed my name on that ADub contract and I don’t know why. I’ve done nothing but make the show you run better. Higher ratings, more money, making your father beam with fucking pride at the “great” job you do. And yet when I was US champ you did your damnedest to get the strap off me by booking me against a bunch of undeserving lowlifes in a title match. You were giddy to do it, too.
And now you booked me in a triple-threat match in an attempt to pry my title away. A thinly veiled plot to overthrow the Emperor. One that I will stomp out and leave you with egg on your face once again.
I still wanna know why everyone is acting so “disappointed” in my actions. Because being smarter than everyone is a crime now? I can name a bunch of shit that other people did that was more heinous than pushing a referee that was met with silence from Pasta Mack and his daddy.
Serenity Holmes attempted murder on live television. Did she get told by anyone “that’s not how we act around here”? Fucking nope.
Downfall has tried to literally cripple and maim Corey Black on multiple occasions and he only gets “we can’t book this match on CBS”. Hmmm.
Jill Park might’ve actually murdered Dandy on Paramount+. How disappointed in her are you, Pasternak?
Don’t think I forgot about you, “Ew” Jill. I see you lurking in the background with your briefcase like the scarecrow you model your physique off of. I’m sure you’re rubbing your grubby little hands together looking at this match thinking “nows the time” and why not? Look at all those pretty little awards you won, eh? Might as well cap it all off by holding up the World title to start the year.
Except you forget that no matter how many empty awards you win, you’re still not on my level. So if you don’t want to get embarrassed in front of the world with the second-ever failed All-In, I’d sit on that dented case a bit longer, sweetheart. I wouldn’t want you to lose any more ratings for that tanking reality show that jumped the shark after episode one.
Gerry pushed open the metal door and stepped inside, looking around. This place was a typical dive bar. Random sports memorabilia nailed to the walls along with other items. It was quite empty for one of the biggest drinking days of the year but he chalked that up to who the patrons of this establishment were. Gerard stood at the entrance and looked around for the man he was supposed to meet. He avoided eye contact with a few rough looking men sitting at the bar. It wouldn’t do him any good to get into an altercation tonight. He needed his information. Not to mention getting jumped would put him at a disadvantage for the upcoming title match (though it might be good practice considering both his opponents weren’t his biggest fans). He looked down towards the area of the bar with tables, his eyes scanning. Two men sat to the left with pints while a group of four sat to the right, all having a hearty laugh over some beverages.
Directly in the back sat three men, all taking shots out of a bottle of whiskey. Gerard recognized them immediately. The two mountain-sized men, not wearing their red and black demon masks this time, Aubrey and Dano. The man in the middle was dressed in another oversized white suit, his dark hair hanging in his face as he sat leaned back in his chair, both feet of the table. The bored man clenched a cigarette in his thin lips, smoke gliding lazily up into the air. Gerry rubbed his jaw, remembering that punch he received weeks ago. He steeled his nerves and strode up to the table, standing right across from the bored man.
“Wow. This looks like a fun guy’s night, fellas. Mind if I join?”
Both of the meatheads go to get to their feet with snarls on their faces but the bored man motions for them to sit down as he stares up at Gerry.
“Well when they said you were the one paying, I almost couldn’t believe it.”
He took a drag of his cigarette and made a motion for Gerard to sit. He pulled a chair from a near-by table over and plopped down on it. Bored man reached into his jacket and produced a pack of cigarettes. He opened it with a finger and held them out to Gerard who looked at him with apprehension.
“I know you want a cigarette, you’ve been staring at mine since you walked up.”
Gerard was still hesitant.
“Listen, if I wanted to kill you, a poison cigarette wouldn’t be my style,” he stared at Gerard, who noticed he seemed slightly less bored talking about this. He reached out and took a cigarette. Bored man slid a lighter across the table to him. Gerard lit his cigarette and blew out a cloud of smoke.
“I was thinking more along the lines of an exploding one.”
His joke fell of deaf ears as the three men just continued to stare at him, the two goons more of a glower. Gerard dragged on his heater again, blowing blue-grey smoke out of his nose.
“I know the names of your two sidekicks,” Gerard said, staring back at the man in the white suit, “So, what do I call you?”
To his surprise, the bored man gave a small laugh before he went back to his stoic look.
“You can call me Jimmy.”
“So this is your place?
“Every establishment I enter is my place.”
Gerry just smirked and ashed his cigarette.
“Let’s stop all the small talk, Jimmy,” Gerry says, blowing out another cloud before putting his boge out in the plastic ashtray, “You got my information?”
“You have our money?”
“One text message and it’ll be transferred into whatever dummy account you want.”
“I have what you want right here,” Jimmy said, patting the left breast of his jacket, “But just know. If you try to fuck us, in anyway, we’ll send you your pretty, little, girlfriend’s head to in in a box.”
Gerry felt his jaw get tight as he and Jimmy stared at each other for a bit. Gerard forced a smirk.”
“Don’t worry, Jimbo. I just want to know what you know and after that we can go our separate ways.”
This seems to satisfy the assassin and he snaps his fingers. Dano reaches into his pocket and slides a piece of paper over to Gerard. The actor looks at it and pulls out his phone, punching in information before sending the text. A few moments later there is a chime from Aubery’s pocket. He checks his phone and looks over at Jimmy, giving a nod. Jimmy flicks his head to the side to move his hair but it just falls back into his face. He reaches into his jacket and pulls his hand out, flicking his wrist. A flashdrive bounces and lands in front of Gerry on the table.
“That has everything you’d want to know on there. I will say, some stones are better left unturned.”
Gerard barely heard the words as he picked up the drive, looking down at it in his hand. After all this time, after all of the searching, this was what he was looking for all this time. The secret files on who wanted his mother out of the way. He felt his breath getting heavy. Jimmy clearing his throat took reclaimed Gerard’s attention.
“Now if there’s nothing else. We’re gonna celebrate the new year,” he said, picking up his shot glass. Gerry nodded and stood up, slipping the flashdrive into his pocket. He didn’t want to push his luck anymore than he’s already done. As he was getting up to leave, Angelo stopped.
“Thanks.”
Jimmy just waved him off before downing a shot. Gerry made his way through the dive, exiting out onto the cold street. He made a turn and started down the sidewalk, the fog having cleared up. The street lamps casted long shadows as he walked, his hand in his pocket, fingers gripping the drive like it was a lump of gold. It was time to find out the truth.
This does bring me to everyone's favorite charity case. How you doing, Dionysus? You still mad at me? Your face was so red at the end of the show it matched your stupid beard. I’ll be honest with you, Dion, because I only speak truths. You put up one hell of a fight and you caught me slipping. You should’ve found a way to finish the job because that ain’t ever gonna happen twice.
The rest of these idiots and fans can be disappointed in me. I don’t give a flying fuck. I’ve never claimed to be a good guy or a role model. I got myself disqualified because all that matters is staying champion. In this business, you can either make friends or make money. It’s a lot easier to count your money alone in your big house at the end of the night than having a bunch of friends you can share a case of Miller High Life with. It’s about checks and championships and no one cashes bigger checks than the champ.
Let’s be honest, Dion. Action Wrestling is better with me as champ than you. Ever since I solidified myself as the top guy around here, ADub has been making record profits. Every single show is sold out. I made a business decision at the end of that match and if one ginger had to get his feelings hurt then so be it. I did what I did for Action Wrestling because you don’t have what it takes to carry this place on your back, Dion. I’m sorry if the truth hurts.
Skillwise, you’re damn good Dion. But you’re not the main character, you’re not a leading man. You’re a supporting actor here and a damn good one. And every place needs those guys, the solid B-plus players. These fans root for you, they want you to succeed.
But you know what happens if you win the big one, Dion? You get put in the brightest spotlight and it exposes all your flaws. You lose your novelty with the fans and they get bored. Because you’re a niche guy, Dion. You wanna be the nice, funny guy that everyone likes. That’s not the person you build a company around. You’re an accessory, not a focal point. Nobody paying to see you, Dion. I did you a favor by not letting you win. You should thank me.
You think you can be the top guy around here, Red? You’ve never held a singles title here and you want to be the World Champion. You ain’t ready for what goes into being the face of the company. The pressure this brings has no equal. You sure ain’t gonna be prepared for it by being the Courage Champion of whatever that geek videogame federation you were in. The only reason you became Tag champion was that Downfall brought something to the table that you’re severely lacking. The drive to be the absolute best.
You don’t have a claim to this title simply by your tenure here, Dion. You have to fucking earn this. The fact is, you’re only in this match because Tort and Pasternak were in their feelings about you and were under fan pressure. It should be me and Spencer one on one because you blew your chance like you always do. You’re the third and extremely squeaky wheel in this affair. At the season premiere, I’m gonna silence the squeaky wheel by not oiling it but putting it down for good.
I don’t get why everyone keeps talking about me facing Bozo over and over again. Oh no, I fought a creepy clown for a month. I did what no one else was able to do and I got rid of the Joker wannabe. You wanna bring up who I’ve faced over my reign for the strap like everyone else? Here’s a little secret. I don’t book the fucking matches, moron. Babbling about strength of schedule like you’re Nick Saban embarrassing yourself on ESPN.
Don’t expect anything like last time. You won’t catch me on an off day again. I learn from my mistakes, it’s why I’ve taken the company by storm. I adapt and survive. At Clash, Dion, you will lose. You will watch your roses wilt and your wine turn to vinegar. When this is all over you can go back to your comfortable, little, niche being the comic relief.
Gerard sat on the bed in his hotel room, his laptop on the sheets. He took a sip from his glass of scotch, the TV in the background murmuring as the Ohio State and Georgia semi-final played. Here he was, in the middle of bumfuck nowhere on New Year’s Eve, drinking alone. He should’ve been at some NYE party in Miami, grinding on scantily clad women. He sighed and looked at his phone. He had gotten various, obligatory, “Happy New Year” from friends and acquantences. Kara had sent one while he was in the bar but it was a let down as it was in the Starsmore Wrestling Academy group text. He drained the rest of his glass and set it down on the nightstand. Gerry reached into his pocket and produced the flashdrive. His heart started to race as he plugged it into the port on his laptop.
Gerry scrolled through files, most if it was just background on his mother and her habits at the time she was alive. He had paid a pretty penny for this and the Ronin had thoroughly delivered. There seemed to be every bit of information involving the whole situation. He opened another file, scrolling down with his mouse. His eyes scanned the words when he finally saw it and his eyes went wide.
“That son of a bitch!”
Oh, Spenny. This is a match I’ve been waiting for a long time to happen. I wish it could be one on one like it was supposed to be until that fire crotch got thrown in the mix. It was supposed to be The Last Action Hero versus Mister Action Wrestling. Though, Spencer, I don’t know if anyone has told you this but liking the wrestling company you work for isn’t a gimmick. I dunno how many times I can listen about how you bleed blue and yellow repeated like clockwork until I crash my car into a telephone pole to make the pain stop. Try something else. Be a racecar driver or an ice cream man. Just something because your current schtick is so boring it got outlawed by the Geneva Convention as a form of torture. The most interesting thing about you is you knocked up our ring announcer.
It’s odd that it seems your whole existence is to champion the fed even though they’ve never invested in you as the guy. Sure you’ve been champion before and won nearly every single title here but you’ve never been the guy Action has given the ball to and let you run with it. You’ve always been there, still positioned well but in the background. You’ve never put the company on your shoulders to support it. That’s always been someone else while you’re just behind them with fingertips on the weight acting like you helped.
Though that whole schtick about being the guy around here helped you gain a couple of spineless yes-men like CJ and Cedrone. CJ I get the partnership. He was one of the hottest acts going when y’all linked up. You’ve always been able to attach yourself to something good so you can get that rub though. Even though you were Tag Champs as time went on CJ started to cool off while CringeShit became all about Spencer Adams. Cedrone’s gotten his ass beat so many times that he was probably open for anything to make him relevant. Even if it’s just being the guy to carry Spenny’s bags to and from the car. But when you finally achieved your dream of winning WOTY, where were they? Cast aside because you didn’t need them anymore. How many teams and partners does this make, Badmon?
You were undefeated in 2022. I feel like I’ve heard you say that almost as much as you give the company a verbal handjob in every promo. Undefeated is cool but when you’re facing the Painkillers and the dregs of the Tag division for most of the year, does it really count?
And people wanna talk about who I’ve faced. The hypocrisy is staggering. I need to shut you the fuck up. I’m tired of Spencer Adams being cast in this light as the man who keeps the lights on here when I’ve been the guy on top for most of the goddamn year. I’m the one who helped Action Wrestling become better, not you. I’m the guy who champions this place. You know how many times I’ve been approached to have a match elsewhere and declined because I eat, sleep, and breathe Action Wrestling? A lot, ya boy is the biggest star on the damn planet. I’m in high demand. I held this damn place up alone while you and the rest of the so-called pillars fucked off before deciding you needed some more of that ADub rub.
Every opportunity I’ve gotten here, I earned every single damn thing. I built myself up as the face of the franchise with my own two hands. For every title I’ve won, I had to scratch and claw until my fingers were bleeding to get the chance. You can talk about my reign all you want but every single person they’ve put against me has failed to get the job done. That’s why they needed to make this a triple threat because no one man can usurp me from my throne.
Also so when you fail yet again at being the guy, you can have a built-in excuse. Can’t have Spencer Adams just get clobbered by the Rookie of the Year one on one. Because while they never gave you the keys to the kingdom, Spenny, this place goes out of its way to make you feel like a star. They give you every opportunity to succeed. Like how CringeShit got a tag title match after beating accountants and garbagemen moonlighting as pro wrestlers. Paying off John Thomas to act like you’re the Tom Brady of wrestling. You get all the bells and whistles to make sure you seem special.
That’s the difference between you and me. Everyone knew I was special the first time I set foot in an Action Wrestling ring. I was a bonafide star from day one. I gave ADub the shot in the arm it needed to hit previously unreachable highs. I put asses in seats. I sit on the top of the mountain because I am the biggest star in this game. And I didn’t have to deepthroat the company logo to get there.
Spencer, whether you like it or not, you’re gonna pass the torch to me at Clash. Even if I have to pry it from your cold, dead, fingers. It’s time for Action Wrestling to stop living in the past and look toward the future. And I’m at the damn helm of the ship, baby. Your “baby” will be in good hands. Maybe you can go and have another real baby with Adilene instead of jerking off to a picture of my world title. No disrespect but I wouldn’t pull out either, my guy. The recoil on that ass must be like an AK.
Usually, in a triple-threat, you only have a thirty-three and a third chance of winning. But I’m a Living Legend so that brings me up to a sixty-six percent chance. Not to mention I’m the best in the fucking world so that brings me up to eighty percent. Add in the fact that my only goal is to walk out of Clash as the World Champion, just put it at a hundred percent. You two doofuses will have to kill me to take my World Heavyweight Championship. I’m prepared to do whatever it takes. I don’t think either of you have that dawg in you to do it.
I don’t give a fuck if it’s the year of wine and roses or if anyone fancies themselves the Ace of the company. This is still the Era of Angelo and that doesn’t end until I say it does. Pressure makes fucking diamonds and I’m dripping right now.
The script has been written and it’s time for us to play our roles. You wanna know how it ends for the main character?
A Hollywood Ending.
Anthony Angelo stared out the window of his master bedroom, looking out at the night sky. He sipped from a rocks glass. It had just become the new year and he had many things to be excited for. His company was on an upswing, he was richer than ever. He turned and looked at his wife in bed, her hand on her growing baby bump. He smiled as she slept, snoring gently. His life was perfect. He had made it perfect. He was in control.
Gerard reached into his pocket and pulled out his iPhone, checking the time. They told him to meet here at nine-thirty, it was nine-nineteen. Gerard stood on the sidewalk in front of the bar, looking around at the foggy street. He reached into his jacket pocket and produced a vape which he hit, blowing the fruity flavored smoke out. He could really use an actual cigarette right now. The time was just ticking away, heading full speed towards a new year. A time of new beginnings, or at least that’s the idea, but he was still here dealing with the demons of his past. He closed his eyes as he let out another exhale of vapor through his nose before looking at his phone again. It was time to meet.
Before I start, I want to say something.
Alexander Pasternak you a whole BITCH. You won’t have your daddy out at ringside to stick up for you, you walking definition of nepotism. So if you try and go into business for yourself trying to fuck me over, I will make your face even uglier than it already is.
You’ve had it out for me since I signed my name on that ADub contract and I don’t know why. I’ve done nothing but make the show you run better. Higher ratings, more money, making your father beam with fucking pride at the “great” job you do. And yet when I was US champ you did your damnedest to get the strap off me by booking me against a bunch of undeserving lowlifes in a title match. You were giddy to do it, too.
And now you booked me in a triple-threat match in an attempt to pry my title away. A thinly veiled plot to overthrow the Emperor. One that I will stomp out and leave you with egg on your face once again.
I still wanna know why everyone is acting so “disappointed” in my actions. Because being smarter than everyone is a crime now? I can name a bunch of shit that other people did that was more heinous than pushing a referee that was met with silence from Pasta Mack and his daddy.
Serenity Holmes attempted murder on live television. Did she get told by anyone “that’s not how we act around here”? Fucking nope.
Downfall has tried to literally cripple and maim Corey Black on multiple occasions and he only gets “we can’t book this match on CBS”. Hmmm.
Jill Park might’ve actually murdered Dandy on Paramount+. How disappointed in her are you, Pasternak?
Don’t think I forgot about you, “Ew” Jill. I see you lurking in the background with your briefcase like the scarecrow you model your physique off of. I’m sure you’re rubbing your grubby little hands together looking at this match thinking “nows the time” and why not? Look at all those pretty little awards you won, eh? Might as well cap it all off by holding up the World title to start the year.
Except you forget that no matter how many empty awards you win, you’re still not on my level. So if you don’t want to get embarrassed in front of the world with the second-ever failed All-In, I’d sit on that dented case a bit longer, sweetheart. I wouldn’t want you to lose any more ratings for that tanking reality show that jumped the shark after episode one.
Gerry pushed open the metal door and stepped inside, looking around. This place was a typical dive bar. Random sports memorabilia nailed to the walls along with other items. It was quite empty for one of the biggest drinking days of the year but he chalked that up to who the patrons of this establishment were. Gerard stood at the entrance and looked around for the man he was supposed to meet. He avoided eye contact with a few rough looking men sitting at the bar. It wouldn’t do him any good to get into an altercation tonight. He needed his information. Not to mention getting jumped would put him at a disadvantage for the upcoming title match (though it might be good practice considering both his opponents weren’t his biggest fans). He looked down towards the area of the bar with tables, his eyes scanning. Two men sat to the left with pints while a group of four sat to the right, all having a hearty laugh over some beverages.
Directly in the back sat three men, all taking shots out of a bottle of whiskey. Gerard recognized them immediately. The two mountain-sized men, not wearing their red and black demon masks this time, Aubrey and Dano. The man in the middle was dressed in another oversized white suit, his dark hair hanging in his face as he sat leaned back in his chair, both feet of the table. The bored man clenched a cigarette in his thin lips, smoke gliding lazily up into the air. Gerry rubbed his jaw, remembering that punch he received weeks ago. He steeled his nerves and strode up to the table, standing right across from the bored man.
“Wow. This looks like a fun guy’s night, fellas. Mind if I join?”
Both of the meatheads go to get to their feet with snarls on their faces but the bored man motions for them to sit down as he stares up at Gerry.
“Well when they said you were the one paying, I almost couldn’t believe it.”
He took a drag of his cigarette and made a motion for Gerard to sit. He pulled a chair from a near-by table over and plopped down on it. Bored man reached into his jacket and produced a pack of cigarettes. He opened it with a finger and held them out to Gerard who looked at him with apprehension.
“I know you want a cigarette, you’ve been staring at mine since you walked up.”
Gerard was still hesitant.
“Listen, if I wanted to kill you, a poison cigarette wouldn’t be my style,” he stared at Gerard, who noticed he seemed slightly less bored talking about this. He reached out and took a cigarette. Bored man slid a lighter across the table to him. Gerard lit his cigarette and blew out a cloud of smoke.
“I was thinking more along the lines of an exploding one.”
His joke fell of deaf ears as the three men just continued to stare at him, the two goons more of a glower. Gerard dragged on his heater again, blowing blue-grey smoke out of his nose.
“I know the names of your two sidekicks,” Gerard said, staring back at the man in the white suit, “So, what do I call you?”
To his surprise, the bored man gave a small laugh before he went back to his stoic look.
“You can call me Jimmy.”
“So this is your place?
“Every establishment I enter is my place.”
Gerry just smirked and ashed his cigarette.
“Let’s stop all the small talk, Jimmy,” Gerry says, blowing out another cloud before putting his boge out in the plastic ashtray, “You got my information?”
“You have our money?”
“One text message and it’ll be transferred into whatever dummy account you want.”
“I have what you want right here,” Jimmy said, patting the left breast of his jacket, “But just know. If you try to fuck us, in anyway, we’ll send you your pretty, little, girlfriend’s head to in in a box.”
Gerry felt his jaw get tight as he and Jimmy stared at each other for a bit. Gerard forced a smirk.”
“Don’t worry, Jimbo. I just want to know what you know and after that we can go our separate ways.”
This seems to satisfy the assassin and he snaps his fingers. Dano reaches into his pocket and slides a piece of paper over to Gerard. The actor looks at it and pulls out his phone, punching in information before sending the text. A few moments later there is a chime from Aubery’s pocket. He checks his phone and looks over at Jimmy, giving a nod. Jimmy flicks his head to the side to move his hair but it just falls back into his face. He reaches into his jacket and pulls his hand out, flicking his wrist. A flashdrive bounces and lands in front of Gerry on the table.
“That has everything you’d want to know on there. I will say, some stones are better left unturned.”
Gerard barely heard the words as he picked up the drive, looking down at it in his hand. After all this time, after all of the searching, this was what he was looking for all this time. The secret files on who wanted his mother out of the way. He felt his breath getting heavy. Jimmy clearing his throat took reclaimed Gerard’s attention.
“Now if there’s nothing else. We’re gonna celebrate the new year,” he said, picking up his shot glass. Gerry nodded and stood up, slipping the flashdrive into his pocket. He didn’t want to push his luck anymore than he’s already done. As he was getting up to leave, Angelo stopped.
“Thanks.”
Jimmy just waved him off before downing a shot. Gerry made his way through the dive, exiting out onto the cold street. He made a turn and started down the sidewalk, the fog having cleared up. The street lamps casted long shadows as he walked, his hand in his pocket, fingers gripping the drive like it was a lump of gold. It was time to find out the truth.
This does bring me to everyone's favorite charity case. How you doing, Dionysus? You still mad at me? Your face was so red at the end of the show it matched your stupid beard. I’ll be honest with you, Dion, because I only speak truths. You put up one hell of a fight and you caught me slipping. You should’ve found a way to finish the job because that ain’t ever gonna happen twice.
The rest of these idiots and fans can be disappointed in me. I don’t give a flying fuck. I’ve never claimed to be a good guy or a role model. I got myself disqualified because all that matters is staying champion. In this business, you can either make friends or make money. It’s a lot easier to count your money alone in your big house at the end of the night than having a bunch of friends you can share a case of Miller High Life with. It’s about checks and championships and no one cashes bigger checks than the champ.
Let’s be honest, Dion. Action Wrestling is better with me as champ than you. Ever since I solidified myself as the top guy around here, ADub has been making record profits. Every single show is sold out. I made a business decision at the end of that match and if one ginger had to get his feelings hurt then so be it. I did what I did for Action Wrestling because you don’t have what it takes to carry this place on your back, Dion. I’m sorry if the truth hurts.
Skillwise, you’re damn good Dion. But you’re not the main character, you’re not a leading man. You’re a supporting actor here and a damn good one. And every place needs those guys, the solid B-plus players. These fans root for you, they want you to succeed.
But you know what happens if you win the big one, Dion? You get put in the brightest spotlight and it exposes all your flaws. You lose your novelty with the fans and they get bored. Because you’re a niche guy, Dion. You wanna be the nice, funny guy that everyone likes. That’s not the person you build a company around. You’re an accessory, not a focal point. Nobody paying to see you, Dion. I did you a favor by not letting you win. You should thank me.
You think you can be the top guy around here, Red? You’ve never held a singles title here and you want to be the World Champion. You ain’t ready for what goes into being the face of the company. The pressure this brings has no equal. You sure ain’t gonna be prepared for it by being the Courage Champion of whatever that geek videogame federation you were in. The only reason you became Tag champion was that Downfall brought something to the table that you’re severely lacking. The drive to be the absolute best.
You don’t have a claim to this title simply by your tenure here, Dion. You have to fucking earn this. The fact is, you’re only in this match because Tort and Pasternak were in their feelings about you and were under fan pressure. It should be me and Spencer one on one because you blew your chance like you always do. You’re the third and extremely squeaky wheel in this affair. At the season premiere, I’m gonna silence the squeaky wheel by not oiling it but putting it down for good.
I don’t get why everyone keeps talking about me facing Bozo over and over again. Oh no, I fought a creepy clown for a month. I did what no one else was able to do and I got rid of the Joker wannabe. You wanna bring up who I’ve faced over my reign for the strap like everyone else? Here’s a little secret. I don’t book the fucking matches, moron. Babbling about strength of schedule like you’re Nick Saban embarrassing yourself on ESPN.
Don’t expect anything like last time. You won’t catch me on an off day again. I learn from my mistakes, it’s why I’ve taken the company by storm. I adapt and survive. At Clash, Dion, you will lose. You will watch your roses wilt and your wine turn to vinegar. When this is all over you can go back to your comfortable, little, niche being the comic relief.
Gerard sat on the bed in his hotel room, his laptop on the sheets. He took a sip from his glass of scotch, the TV in the background murmuring as the Ohio State and Georgia semi-final played. Here he was, in the middle of bumfuck nowhere on New Year’s Eve, drinking alone. He should’ve been at some NYE party in Miami, grinding on scantily clad women. He sighed and looked at his phone. He had gotten various, obligatory, “Happy New Year” from friends and acquantences. Kara had sent one while he was in the bar but it was a let down as it was in the Starsmore Wrestling Academy group text. He drained the rest of his glass and set it down on the nightstand. Gerry reached into his pocket and produced the flashdrive. His heart started to race as he plugged it into the port on his laptop.
Gerry scrolled through files, most if it was just background on his mother and her habits at the time she was alive. He had paid a pretty penny for this and the Ronin had thoroughly delivered. There seemed to be every bit of information involving the whole situation. He opened another file, scrolling down with his mouse. His eyes scanned the words when he finally saw it and his eyes went wide.
“That son of a bitch!”
Oh, Spenny. This is a match I’ve been waiting for a long time to happen. I wish it could be one on one like it was supposed to be until that fire crotch got thrown in the mix. It was supposed to be The Last Action Hero versus Mister Action Wrestling. Though, Spencer, I don’t know if anyone has told you this but liking the wrestling company you work for isn’t a gimmick. I dunno how many times I can listen about how you bleed blue and yellow repeated like clockwork until I crash my car into a telephone pole to make the pain stop. Try something else. Be a racecar driver or an ice cream man. Just something because your current schtick is so boring it got outlawed by the Geneva Convention as a form of torture. The most interesting thing about you is you knocked up our ring announcer.
It’s odd that it seems your whole existence is to champion the fed even though they’ve never invested in you as the guy. Sure you’ve been champion before and won nearly every single title here but you’ve never been the guy Action has given the ball to and let you run with it. You’ve always been there, still positioned well but in the background. You’ve never put the company on your shoulders to support it. That’s always been someone else while you’re just behind them with fingertips on the weight acting like you helped.
Though that whole schtick about being the guy around here helped you gain a couple of spineless yes-men like CJ and Cedrone. CJ I get the partnership. He was one of the hottest acts going when y’all linked up. You’ve always been able to attach yourself to something good so you can get that rub though. Even though you were Tag Champs as time went on CJ started to cool off while CringeShit became all about Spencer Adams. Cedrone’s gotten his ass beat so many times that he was probably open for anything to make him relevant. Even if it’s just being the guy to carry Spenny’s bags to and from the car. But when you finally achieved your dream of winning WOTY, where were they? Cast aside because you didn’t need them anymore. How many teams and partners does this make, Badmon?
You were undefeated in 2022. I feel like I’ve heard you say that almost as much as you give the company a verbal handjob in every promo. Undefeated is cool but when you’re facing the Painkillers and the dregs of the Tag division for most of the year, does it really count?
And people wanna talk about who I’ve faced. The hypocrisy is staggering. I need to shut you the fuck up. I’m tired of Spencer Adams being cast in this light as the man who keeps the lights on here when I’ve been the guy on top for most of the goddamn year. I’m the one who helped Action Wrestling become better, not you. I’m the guy who champions this place. You know how many times I’ve been approached to have a match elsewhere and declined because I eat, sleep, and breathe Action Wrestling? A lot, ya boy is the biggest star on the damn planet. I’m in high demand. I held this damn place up alone while you and the rest of the so-called pillars fucked off before deciding you needed some more of that ADub rub.
Every opportunity I’ve gotten here, I earned every single damn thing. I built myself up as the face of the franchise with my own two hands. For every title I’ve won, I had to scratch and claw until my fingers were bleeding to get the chance. You can talk about my reign all you want but every single person they’ve put against me has failed to get the job done. That’s why they needed to make this a triple threat because no one man can usurp me from my throne.
Also so when you fail yet again at being the guy, you can have a built-in excuse. Can’t have Spencer Adams just get clobbered by the Rookie of the Year one on one. Because while they never gave you the keys to the kingdom, Spenny, this place goes out of its way to make you feel like a star. They give you every opportunity to succeed. Like how CringeShit got a tag title match after beating accountants and garbagemen moonlighting as pro wrestlers. Paying off John Thomas to act like you’re the Tom Brady of wrestling. You get all the bells and whistles to make sure you seem special.
That’s the difference between you and me. Everyone knew I was special the first time I set foot in an Action Wrestling ring. I was a bonafide star from day one. I gave ADub the shot in the arm it needed to hit previously unreachable highs. I put asses in seats. I sit on the top of the mountain because I am the biggest star in this game. And I didn’t have to deepthroat the company logo to get there.
Spencer, whether you like it or not, you’re gonna pass the torch to me at Clash. Even if I have to pry it from your cold, dead, fingers. It’s time for Action Wrestling to stop living in the past and look toward the future. And I’m at the damn helm of the ship, baby. Your “baby” will be in good hands. Maybe you can go and have another real baby with Adilene instead of jerking off to a picture of my world title. No disrespect but I wouldn’t pull out either, my guy. The recoil on that ass must be like an AK.
Usually, in a triple-threat, you only have a thirty-three and a third chance of winning. But I’m a Living Legend so that brings me up to a sixty-six percent chance. Not to mention I’m the best in the fucking world so that brings me up to eighty percent. Add in the fact that my only goal is to walk out of Clash as the World Champion, just put it at a hundred percent. You two doofuses will have to kill me to take my World Heavyweight Championship. I’m prepared to do whatever it takes. I don’t think either of you have that dawg in you to do it.
I don’t give a fuck if it’s the year of wine and roses or if anyone fancies themselves the Ace of the company. This is still the Era of Angelo and that doesn’t end until I say it does. Pressure makes fucking diamonds and I’m dripping right now.
The script has been written and it’s time for us to play our roles. You wanna know how it ends for the main character?
A Hollywood Ending.
Anthony Angelo stared out the window of his master bedroom, looking out at the night sky. He sipped from a rocks glass. It had just become the new year and he had many things to be excited for. His company was on an upswing, he was richer than ever. He turned and looked at his wife in bed, her hand on her growing baby bump. He smiled as she slept, snoring gently. His life was perfect. He had made it perfect. He was in control.
