EVERYBODY IS STRIKING A POSE
May 7, 2019 21:37:38 GMT -5
Guillotine (QDT), Lissie Hope, and 2 more like this
Post by Ryan Elias on May 7, 2019 21:37:38 GMT -5
MAY 5TH
Frank the cameraman takes up his post, looks around, checks his notes and confirms this is where he is supposed to be. Shaking his head and rolling his eyes, Frank hefts the camera onto his shoulder and focuses in on the front door of the fancy modernized plantation home in rural South Carolina. A light breeze kicked up and across the camera some leaves danced, the door slowly opening and onto the porch stepped Ryan Elias, perfectly tailored suit, perfect tie, and in a perfect motion he stepped down the step and reached the bottom step as the door shut behind him.
Things are changing, maybe for the better, maybe for the worst, depends on what side of the aisle you are on.
With a subtle wave of his left hand Ryan led the cameraman away from the house and down a dirt path towards the fields of trees. Frank struggled to keep up, stepping over branches, and rocks; all the while marveling as Ryan simply glided past them, his walk almost resembling a man floating along the ground.
I was born in that house, grew up in that house, watched my parents die in their beds in that house. Old age is a cruel woman; she takes without mercy, and punishes the wicked and righteous alike.
Ryan walked on in silence, gliding down the path, slipping past the rocks and debris, while Frank struggled, stumbled and nearly fell face first in the dirt. Finally Ryan came to a stop, a small crash of thunder in the distance giving Frank a sense of alarm, to his left he panned and he could see the clouds moving along the fields, swallowing the trees.
What you are looking at right now is one of the largest Peach orchards in the country, for nearly 300 years my family has owned this land, worked this land, and profited from this land. My father? A farmer like his father before him, like his father before him, and like his father before him, and so on. In a way my father always saw me as a disappointment, because at a young age he knew this wasn’t going to be the life for me. How many eight year olds do you know that have a room that is perfectly organized, everything in the perfect location, a spotless floor, and a bed always made to perfection?
From the moment I was born, perfection was all I cared about. The earliest memory I have is of me working all night on a rope swing, getting the hang of it down to the point that I could go from one platform to the other with the grace of a lion leaping down to kill its prey. When the servants kids became that good, I shifted to the next level, learning how to do it one handed, how to swing in wide sweeps, always doing what was needed to be one step ahead of them, and always doing it perfectly.
So when the plantation became mine, when I inherited the orchards, I did what anyone with my level of perfection would do, I found a way to make it even more profitable. You see the federal government has programs that will pay people like me to reduce my production of food, all for money. That’s right the Government pays me to sell less of my crops, so I donate the rest, and right it off of my taxes. In the end I make 10% more than I would if I just sold my entire crop.
But you aren’t here for an agriculture lesson, no you have something else in mind, you have a desire in your belly, a hunger that you need to have fed, and that is why you are here. The voices in your head are asking you, who is Ryan Elias, what does he bring to the table? If you haven’t figured it out yet, then you are denser than a San Francisco morning fog, and as smart two year old eating crayons.
Ryan paused for a moment as the sky lit up from a flash of lightning and then the Earth shook from the crash of thunder that followed it. The camera shook as Frank was startled, but Ryan didn’t flinch, he just stood there staring out at the orchard before him, a smile on his face. Then he started gliding again, taking the camera man into the orchard, and into the storm, the rain beginning to fall slow at first, then harder as they walked. Frank struggled with the mud, but Ryan seemed to leave no footprints in the mud as he walked. Then he stopped and turned to look into the camera.
Why Action Wrestling, why now? Why not? The truth is at 37 I am in better shape than 22 year olds. I’m faster, stronger, smarter, and best of all, I’m better. Now I don’t expect you to take my word for it, you can see it like everyone else for yourself. Sadly you won’t get the front row seat like Nathanial Bowman and Roger Payton Jr, but then maybe that isn’t all that sad for you. While you get to see my perfection in action, they get to feel it; get to experience it in a way that no one can truly be told.
Before you get all worked up and say people like you have come and gone, I will remind you that NO ONE like me has ever come and gone from Action Wrestling. People like Nathaniel Bowman may show up, strut around like hot shit, maybe throw some money around, and then poof they are gone. Why? Because someone like me is in Action Wrestling, and people can’t handle what I bring. After Clash you can ask Roger what he thinks, not that you will care, no you will want to know what I think, because Clash is where you get to see perfection.
Another flash of lightning, and the immediate response of Thunder caused Frank to drop the camera, and everything went black.
MAY 6TH
Denise rolled over in the bed, head to the mirror and caught a glimpse of Ryan’s well textured abs as he slid his shirt on. “You look good.” Denise said as Ryan turned to walk back to the bed.
“I know.” Ryan said taking a seat on the edge of the bed. “You need to get up and leave.” His tone was cold and unforgiving and he was standing back up and already moving to the door.
“You’re an asshole you know.” Denise said as she jumped out of bed and searched for her clothes.
“Yeah.” Ryan quipped back. “Cab will be here in five minutes, might want to get going.” Ryan exited the room with that final statement and made his way down the hall. There was a time when Ryan tried to love, tried to care about someone other than himself, and all he learned was that no one was as perfect as him. Everyone lacked something, lacked that thing that made them, special.
“FUCK YOU DICK!” Denise yelled as she stormed past Ryan who was cracking eggs into the skillet with one hand.
“We have already done that, I’ll pass on the offer this time around.” Ryan said, never turning to look at her, only scrambling his eggs in the skillet with the precision of a surgeon performing a heart massage.
“UGH!!!!!!!” Denise yelled before the front door slammed shut.
“Another happy customer.” A man’s voice floated to Ryan from the front door. “I see you haven’t lost your touch.”
Finished with his eggs, Ryan moved them to a plate in one swift smooth motion, set the skillet down and circled around the island in the kitchen to enter the living room. There at the door stood a small man, maybe five and half feet tall. Not paying any mind to the man, Ryan slipped down into his arm chair, crossed his right leg over his left and motioned for the man to have a seat. Silence filled the room for a painful 5 minutes as neither man spoke.
Finally finished with his eggs, Ryan set the plate down on the table next to the chair and stared at the man. “I would ask who you are, but I don’t care.” Ryan said as he continued to stare at the man.
“If you knew what was good for you, you would.” The man held his composure standing at the door.
Ryan let a smirk cross his face before responding. “Oh well you must tell me now. Don’t keep me in suspense any longer.” His tone was so flat it was almost impossible to know if he was being serious or sarcastic.
“Let me just say that those who I represent don’t take kindly to some of the things you have done.” The short man quipped right back, trying to match the same dry and dull tone of Ryan.
In one motion Ryan rose to his feet and picked up his plate, gliding to the kitchen. His walk made it seem like he was gliding on air. “Put your cards on the table.” Ryan said as he slipped the plate into the sink and gave it a quick wash, the skillet following it.
“What I have to say will require your full attention Ryan.” The man shot back with a grin on his face.
“You have it.” Ryan said casually as he put the plate and skillet away after drying them off. He glided over to the chair and sat back down, crossing his left leg over right and relaxing.
“A court order forced you to retire from wrestling, I am here to serve you a cease and desist order.” The man stood up and moved towards Ryan, pulling an envelope from his back pocket and dropping it on the table in front of Ryan.
“Want to take a picture?” Ryan asked as he picked up the envelope, held it up and posed for the camera that the man produced.
“Thank you.” The man said with a nod and moved for the door, as he grabbed it and pulled it wouldn’t budge.
“That is the problem with coming into another man’s house uninvited, sometimes you can’t get out.” Ryan winked as he stood up and dropped the letter, it gliding sideways into the fireplace, catching fire, and burning into ash. “Now tell me who knows you are here?” Ryan asked as he slipped over to the man and now stood right behind him.
“E..e..everyone.” The man managed to stutter out. “M..mm..my phone has GPS.”
“Not here.” Ryan said with a smile and a wave for the man to follow. They strode down the hallway that led to the back of the house in silence. “Did you really think I didn’t know my situation, and that you would be able to just walk into my house and walk out?” They slipped out the back door onto the back porch. Ryan motioned for the man to have a seat, then grabbed a bear out of a cooler and handed it to him.
“I’m good.” The man tried to wave it off, but Ryan popped the top and put it in his hand.
“No, I insist, no man should pass on his final beer.” Ryan said with a wry smile.
“You…” The man’s voice trailed off as he swallowed air before taking a drink of the beer. “But how?”
“You just did.” Ryan gave the man a nod and walked back into the house. That’s when the man realized the mistake, his chest lit up with fire and began to convulse, then fell forward out of the chair onto the deck.
The short man sat up with a hard breath and the sound of a blaring horn going off. He looked around and saw a tree sticking out of the front of his car. Quickly he spied the time and it was five hours after his arrival at the Elias farm. “What the hell happened?” He asked.
“You hit that tree!” A voice announced to him from the window of his car. “Are you ok buddy?” The man asked.
“Where am I?” The man asked.
“Just outside of Ulmer on SR301.” The fire fighter responded as he helped the man out of the car. The man thought and realized he was four hours away from the Elias farm. She the firefighter helped the man to the ambulance, the man checked his camera, there was no picture, checked his notepad and it stated no one home, in his own writing. Finally he checked his pocket and there, low and behold was the cease and desist order. “What the hell?”
“Don’t worry we will get you all taken care of.” The firefighter said as he motioned to a State Trooper that the man may have been drinking.
MAY 7TH
Some people will tell you that you need money, some will tell you that you need aggression, and others will tell you that you need to have an edge to get ahead in this industry. The reality is that if you want to get ahead in anything you need to be smart. See any fool can kill a man, it really doesn’t take much, a hint of rage, a weapon, hell just plain old desire. But it takes a smart man to ruin another man, to destroy the very being of that man, ruin a career and that has more of an impact than killing them.
In my lifetime I have seen a multitude of men come and go, strong men, quick men, big men, small men, and men who could sell fire to the devil himself. But the men who survive, thrive, and reach greatness are the men who are smart. If you took a minute, and that’s all you really need to take, a whole damn minute you could look up Roger Payton and Nathaniel Bowman, and you know what you would learn? Probably not much. Unless you are me.
Let us start with Nathaniel, he has good size at six foot two and weighing in at 229. He’s cocky, arrogant, flashy, and pretentious, all traits I can get on board with. He started wrestling training at 15 and hit the indie scene when he was 20. If it takes you five years to get into the indie scene, then son, this business isn’t for you. I could tell you I didn’t train, but I did, for two whole days before getting into the ring for the first time on an indie card. For five years you withered away trying to get better, and never getting good enough to get an indie contract. Now you want to step into the ring with this? I’d tell you to get a clue, but then you probably couldn’t follow it.
While you think you are a peacock, spreading your feathers and attracting the ladies, the reality is you are the emu of wrestling, that guy that is around so long training that some give them a pity contract. Sadly that pity match you have is against me, the man you want to be, the man you want the world to think you are, a man who can tell someone what he is going to do, then do it, no matter how hard that person tries to prevent him from doing it. I’ve slept with more women today then you have in your life, and I don’t say that to make you jealous, I just want you to understand where you rank in the hierarchy.
Now don’t get all upset, you can still puff your chest and strut, just realize you are not he alpha, hell you are not even the beta in this business, no son you are the…well shit you are not even a greek fucking letter, you don’t make the list, so let’s make one up for you. How about the shitsilon. Now before you get all puffed and open your mouth I beg you think before you speak, because none of us have time for fart jokes, sexual preference jokes, or repetitive statements of your greatness.
Don’t worry though, you are not the only skid mark in a fat man’s trousers who is getting into the ring with me. No, there is Roger Payton, a pretty boy who prides himself on his professionalism. But then ask yourself, just where does professionalism get you? That’s right, not a damn place, professionalism gets you stepped on and crawled over while someone else moves to the top. Well ant, meet boot, because you are about to get squashed like a fly under a swatter. I know what to expect, you will talk all professional and then try and channel your inner big shot side, but all you will do is put us to sleep.
Before we get too into it, let’s talk about your accolades, I typed your name into the internet and you know what I saw? That’s right, a big guy rolling around on the matt with a bunch of smaller guys. But then there really aren’t too many 270 pound men in the heavyweight wrestling division are there? I mean you might be the best collegiate wrestler in history, at least your accolades say so. But son this isn’t collegiate wrestling, this isn’t even Olympic wrestling, this is professional wrestling, and like NCAA football players moving to the NFL, there is a learning curve boy, and I set the damn curve.
Let’s just get real about what Clash means for us. It means that I get to step into the ring, kick a couple clowns around, maybe break a sweat, but I doubt that. Then I get to listen to my music play for a second time and have a man with Zebra stripes raise my hand. That is the gist of what Clash is going to bring for us. Now you guys can squabble over who gets to finish second, hell if you want I will let you guys rock paper scissors before the match to determine who doesn’t get pinned by me.
Ryan gives the camera a wink and smirk before turning on his heel and walking away. Frank let’s out a deep breath. “Can I go now?” He manages to ask.
“Sure.” Ryan disappears out of the room and Frank packs the camera up, makes his way down the hall to the front door. He swings it open and makes a mad dash for his van. “Want your keys?” Ryan asks as Frank tries to open the side door of his van.
Ryan glides down the walkway, slips the key into the van’s sliding door and unlocks it. “You really should keep track of those, they are kind of important.” With a wink Ryan moves back to the house, and steps through the door, it shutting smoothly with little to no sound. Frank gabs the keys tosses his equipment in the back and rushes for the driver seat, he climbs in fires the van up and tears out of the driveway, rocks flying every which way.
Frank the cameraman takes up his post, looks around, checks his notes and confirms this is where he is supposed to be. Shaking his head and rolling his eyes, Frank hefts the camera onto his shoulder and focuses in on the front door of the fancy modernized plantation home in rural South Carolina. A light breeze kicked up and across the camera some leaves danced, the door slowly opening and onto the porch stepped Ryan Elias, perfectly tailored suit, perfect tie, and in a perfect motion he stepped down the step and reached the bottom step as the door shut behind him.
Things are changing, maybe for the better, maybe for the worst, depends on what side of the aisle you are on.
With a subtle wave of his left hand Ryan led the cameraman away from the house and down a dirt path towards the fields of trees. Frank struggled to keep up, stepping over branches, and rocks; all the while marveling as Ryan simply glided past them, his walk almost resembling a man floating along the ground.
I was born in that house, grew up in that house, watched my parents die in their beds in that house. Old age is a cruel woman; she takes without mercy, and punishes the wicked and righteous alike.
Ryan walked on in silence, gliding down the path, slipping past the rocks and debris, while Frank struggled, stumbled and nearly fell face first in the dirt. Finally Ryan came to a stop, a small crash of thunder in the distance giving Frank a sense of alarm, to his left he panned and he could see the clouds moving along the fields, swallowing the trees.
What you are looking at right now is one of the largest Peach orchards in the country, for nearly 300 years my family has owned this land, worked this land, and profited from this land. My father? A farmer like his father before him, like his father before him, and like his father before him, and so on. In a way my father always saw me as a disappointment, because at a young age he knew this wasn’t going to be the life for me. How many eight year olds do you know that have a room that is perfectly organized, everything in the perfect location, a spotless floor, and a bed always made to perfection?
From the moment I was born, perfection was all I cared about. The earliest memory I have is of me working all night on a rope swing, getting the hang of it down to the point that I could go from one platform to the other with the grace of a lion leaping down to kill its prey. When the servants kids became that good, I shifted to the next level, learning how to do it one handed, how to swing in wide sweeps, always doing what was needed to be one step ahead of them, and always doing it perfectly.
So when the plantation became mine, when I inherited the orchards, I did what anyone with my level of perfection would do, I found a way to make it even more profitable. You see the federal government has programs that will pay people like me to reduce my production of food, all for money. That’s right the Government pays me to sell less of my crops, so I donate the rest, and right it off of my taxes. In the end I make 10% more than I would if I just sold my entire crop.
But you aren’t here for an agriculture lesson, no you have something else in mind, you have a desire in your belly, a hunger that you need to have fed, and that is why you are here. The voices in your head are asking you, who is Ryan Elias, what does he bring to the table? If you haven’t figured it out yet, then you are denser than a San Francisco morning fog, and as smart two year old eating crayons.
Ryan paused for a moment as the sky lit up from a flash of lightning and then the Earth shook from the crash of thunder that followed it. The camera shook as Frank was startled, but Ryan didn’t flinch, he just stood there staring out at the orchard before him, a smile on his face. Then he started gliding again, taking the camera man into the orchard, and into the storm, the rain beginning to fall slow at first, then harder as they walked. Frank struggled with the mud, but Ryan seemed to leave no footprints in the mud as he walked. Then he stopped and turned to look into the camera.
Why Action Wrestling, why now? Why not? The truth is at 37 I am in better shape than 22 year olds. I’m faster, stronger, smarter, and best of all, I’m better. Now I don’t expect you to take my word for it, you can see it like everyone else for yourself. Sadly you won’t get the front row seat like Nathanial Bowman and Roger Payton Jr, but then maybe that isn’t all that sad for you. While you get to see my perfection in action, they get to feel it; get to experience it in a way that no one can truly be told.
Before you get all worked up and say people like you have come and gone, I will remind you that NO ONE like me has ever come and gone from Action Wrestling. People like Nathaniel Bowman may show up, strut around like hot shit, maybe throw some money around, and then poof they are gone. Why? Because someone like me is in Action Wrestling, and people can’t handle what I bring. After Clash you can ask Roger what he thinks, not that you will care, no you will want to know what I think, because Clash is where you get to see perfection.
Another flash of lightning, and the immediate response of Thunder caused Frank to drop the camera, and everything went black.
MAY 6TH
Denise rolled over in the bed, head to the mirror and caught a glimpse of Ryan’s well textured abs as he slid his shirt on. “You look good.” Denise said as Ryan turned to walk back to the bed.
“I know.” Ryan said taking a seat on the edge of the bed. “You need to get up and leave.” His tone was cold and unforgiving and he was standing back up and already moving to the door.
“You’re an asshole you know.” Denise said as she jumped out of bed and searched for her clothes.
“Yeah.” Ryan quipped back. “Cab will be here in five minutes, might want to get going.” Ryan exited the room with that final statement and made his way down the hall. There was a time when Ryan tried to love, tried to care about someone other than himself, and all he learned was that no one was as perfect as him. Everyone lacked something, lacked that thing that made them, special.
“FUCK YOU DICK!” Denise yelled as she stormed past Ryan who was cracking eggs into the skillet with one hand.
“We have already done that, I’ll pass on the offer this time around.” Ryan said, never turning to look at her, only scrambling his eggs in the skillet with the precision of a surgeon performing a heart massage.
“UGH!!!!!!!” Denise yelled before the front door slammed shut.
“Another happy customer.” A man’s voice floated to Ryan from the front door. “I see you haven’t lost your touch.”
Finished with his eggs, Ryan moved them to a plate in one swift smooth motion, set the skillet down and circled around the island in the kitchen to enter the living room. There at the door stood a small man, maybe five and half feet tall. Not paying any mind to the man, Ryan slipped down into his arm chair, crossed his right leg over his left and motioned for the man to have a seat. Silence filled the room for a painful 5 minutes as neither man spoke.
Finally finished with his eggs, Ryan set the plate down on the table next to the chair and stared at the man. “I would ask who you are, but I don’t care.” Ryan said as he continued to stare at the man.
“If you knew what was good for you, you would.” The man held his composure standing at the door.
Ryan let a smirk cross his face before responding. “Oh well you must tell me now. Don’t keep me in suspense any longer.” His tone was so flat it was almost impossible to know if he was being serious or sarcastic.
“Let me just say that those who I represent don’t take kindly to some of the things you have done.” The short man quipped right back, trying to match the same dry and dull tone of Ryan.
In one motion Ryan rose to his feet and picked up his plate, gliding to the kitchen. His walk made it seem like he was gliding on air. “Put your cards on the table.” Ryan said as he slipped the plate into the sink and gave it a quick wash, the skillet following it.
“What I have to say will require your full attention Ryan.” The man shot back with a grin on his face.
“You have it.” Ryan said casually as he put the plate and skillet away after drying them off. He glided over to the chair and sat back down, crossing his left leg over right and relaxing.
“A court order forced you to retire from wrestling, I am here to serve you a cease and desist order.” The man stood up and moved towards Ryan, pulling an envelope from his back pocket and dropping it on the table in front of Ryan.
“Want to take a picture?” Ryan asked as he picked up the envelope, held it up and posed for the camera that the man produced.
“Thank you.” The man said with a nod and moved for the door, as he grabbed it and pulled it wouldn’t budge.
“That is the problem with coming into another man’s house uninvited, sometimes you can’t get out.” Ryan winked as he stood up and dropped the letter, it gliding sideways into the fireplace, catching fire, and burning into ash. “Now tell me who knows you are here?” Ryan asked as he slipped over to the man and now stood right behind him.
“E..e..everyone.” The man managed to stutter out. “M..mm..my phone has GPS.”
“Not here.” Ryan said with a smile and a wave for the man to follow. They strode down the hallway that led to the back of the house in silence. “Did you really think I didn’t know my situation, and that you would be able to just walk into my house and walk out?” They slipped out the back door onto the back porch. Ryan motioned for the man to have a seat, then grabbed a bear out of a cooler and handed it to him.
“I’m good.” The man tried to wave it off, but Ryan popped the top and put it in his hand.
“No, I insist, no man should pass on his final beer.” Ryan said with a wry smile.
“You…” The man’s voice trailed off as he swallowed air before taking a drink of the beer. “But how?”
“You just did.” Ryan gave the man a nod and walked back into the house. That’s when the man realized the mistake, his chest lit up with fire and began to convulse, then fell forward out of the chair onto the deck.
The short man sat up with a hard breath and the sound of a blaring horn going off. He looked around and saw a tree sticking out of the front of his car. Quickly he spied the time and it was five hours after his arrival at the Elias farm. “What the hell happened?” He asked.
“You hit that tree!” A voice announced to him from the window of his car. “Are you ok buddy?” The man asked.
“Where am I?” The man asked.
“Just outside of Ulmer on SR301.” The fire fighter responded as he helped the man out of the car. The man thought and realized he was four hours away from the Elias farm. She the firefighter helped the man to the ambulance, the man checked his camera, there was no picture, checked his notepad and it stated no one home, in his own writing. Finally he checked his pocket and there, low and behold was the cease and desist order. “What the hell?”
“Don’t worry we will get you all taken care of.” The firefighter said as he motioned to a State Trooper that the man may have been drinking.
MAY 7TH
Some people will tell you that you need money, some will tell you that you need aggression, and others will tell you that you need to have an edge to get ahead in this industry. The reality is that if you want to get ahead in anything you need to be smart. See any fool can kill a man, it really doesn’t take much, a hint of rage, a weapon, hell just plain old desire. But it takes a smart man to ruin another man, to destroy the very being of that man, ruin a career and that has more of an impact than killing them.
In my lifetime I have seen a multitude of men come and go, strong men, quick men, big men, small men, and men who could sell fire to the devil himself. But the men who survive, thrive, and reach greatness are the men who are smart. If you took a minute, and that’s all you really need to take, a whole damn minute you could look up Roger Payton and Nathaniel Bowman, and you know what you would learn? Probably not much. Unless you are me.
Let us start with Nathaniel, he has good size at six foot two and weighing in at 229. He’s cocky, arrogant, flashy, and pretentious, all traits I can get on board with. He started wrestling training at 15 and hit the indie scene when he was 20. If it takes you five years to get into the indie scene, then son, this business isn’t for you. I could tell you I didn’t train, but I did, for two whole days before getting into the ring for the first time on an indie card. For five years you withered away trying to get better, and never getting good enough to get an indie contract. Now you want to step into the ring with this? I’d tell you to get a clue, but then you probably couldn’t follow it.
While you think you are a peacock, spreading your feathers and attracting the ladies, the reality is you are the emu of wrestling, that guy that is around so long training that some give them a pity contract. Sadly that pity match you have is against me, the man you want to be, the man you want the world to think you are, a man who can tell someone what he is going to do, then do it, no matter how hard that person tries to prevent him from doing it. I’ve slept with more women today then you have in your life, and I don’t say that to make you jealous, I just want you to understand where you rank in the hierarchy.
Now don’t get all upset, you can still puff your chest and strut, just realize you are not he alpha, hell you are not even the beta in this business, no son you are the…well shit you are not even a greek fucking letter, you don’t make the list, so let’s make one up for you. How about the shitsilon. Now before you get all puffed and open your mouth I beg you think before you speak, because none of us have time for fart jokes, sexual preference jokes, or repetitive statements of your greatness.
Don’t worry though, you are not the only skid mark in a fat man’s trousers who is getting into the ring with me. No, there is Roger Payton, a pretty boy who prides himself on his professionalism. But then ask yourself, just where does professionalism get you? That’s right, not a damn place, professionalism gets you stepped on and crawled over while someone else moves to the top. Well ant, meet boot, because you are about to get squashed like a fly under a swatter. I know what to expect, you will talk all professional and then try and channel your inner big shot side, but all you will do is put us to sleep.
Before we get too into it, let’s talk about your accolades, I typed your name into the internet and you know what I saw? That’s right, a big guy rolling around on the matt with a bunch of smaller guys. But then there really aren’t too many 270 pound men in the heavyweight wrestling division are there? I mean you might be the best collegiate wrestler in history, at least your accolades say so. But son this isn’t collegiate wrestling, this isn’t even Olympic wrestling, this is professional wrestling, and like NCAA football players moving to the NFL, there is a learning curve boy, and I set the damn curve.
Let’s just get real about what Clash means for us. It means that I get to step into the ring, kick a couple clowns around, maybe break a sweat, but I doubt that. Then I get to listen to my music play for a second time and have a man with Zebra stripes raise my hand. That is the gist of what Clash is going to bring for us. Now you guys can squabble over who gets to finish second, hell if you want I will let you guys rock paper scissors before the match to determine who doesn’t get pinned by me.
Ryan gives the camera a wink and smirk before turning on his heel and walking away. Frank let’s out a deep breath. “Can I go now?” He manages to ask.
“Sure.” Ryan disappears out of the room and Frank packs the camera up, makes his way down the hall to the front door. He swings it open and makes a mad dash for his van. “Want your keys?” Ryan asks as Frank tries to open the side door of his van.
Ryan glides down the walkway, slips the key into the van’s sliding door and unlocks it. “You really should keep track of those, they are kind of important.” With a wink Ryan moves back to the house, and steps through the door, it shutting smoothly with little to no sound. Frank gabs the keys tosses his equipment in the back and rushes for the driver seat, he climbs in fires the van up and tears out of the driveway, rocks flying every which way.
WORD COUNT
3251
3251