Post by Odin Balfore on Sept 16, 2022 22:29:00 GMT -5
Knife in the Back Part VII
Odin sits on the porch of the main house of his Ranch in Texas. He sits there on a bench, slowly sharpening a knife against a whetstone. The September sun is still hot. The Penance has
yet to be accepted. To get into Valhalla, he will have to continue his quest.
“John Black and Kano. Two down, Cashe; how many more do I have to get through before come back. Are you going to cost me, distract me or face me like a man- pft! A novel concept for you, no doubt. A morose set of circumstances, that could have been but now I anticipate what comes next. When we meet in that ring, will you take my offer and apologies and we embrace as friends, allies and equals once more or do you make a mortal enemy out of my undying hatred for the pretenders? It didn’t have to be this way, Cashe but deep down we both knew that it would. Who knows, maybe you’ll even bring that Anarchy Championship over here or maybe I’ll just go and take that from you too.”
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“How many of youout there in the back do I gotta make with these violent hands before you realize that this weathered Marble Monolith that you see before aint here to crack and no matter how many of you take shots at me I’m still standing. TJ, babygirl, how you doing out there realizing that Action Wrestling aint for people like you. Everyone around you wants that quick pop and rise to the top. Retire into the sunset for the ink on the contract extension is dry. I’m sure that shift baffles your mind because you cant comprehend why you aint the one climbing the ranks. You keep asking yourself Why it’s always me. How many times do Old Dirty gotta stand in your way until you get the fucking hint. Trust me when I tell you - its you. In the strictest, most restrictive, and compromising of terms in your career. You are the fucking problem in that calculus. It is you who is going to get clean rocked and dropped this Clash because YOU are up against me and the new Cursed Idol. They hand you to me, the same as everyone else. I gotta make something out of this lump of shit you call a career in wrestling tights. It’s not personal, babygirl. Its just business and I’m the best thing going and I'm about to put a full stop on your fucking career. Tell the Heritage I say 'Omelette Du Fromage' or how ever you say ' suck my cock ' in your surrender language."
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Hawaii.
In a black Suburban, Odin sits outside the Hilton, Waikiki Beach. He has a set of binoculars in one hand and occasionally lifts them up to the tenth floor towards a room that he suspects Jason Cashe is using for his match at XWF’s Anarchy. Odin gets out of the car and heads inside the hotel with a small gift box in hand. He approaches the desk and hands the receptionist the box.
“Hi, I’m with Fast Times Delivery. XWF contracted me out, I believe some of their performers are staying in your hotel. I was told to deliver this to Jason Cashe.”
“Of course. I can take it and Make sure that he gets it.”
“That would be great,” Odin replies with a smile.
As he’s dealing with the receptionist, Jason Cashe hurries past him on the phone.
“Joss, you ok? Are you in France? What do you mean he was there? Did he hurt you?”
“That’ll be just great. Thanks,” Says Odin as he backs away and follows Jason out of the hotel.
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“ Ah. TJ Greymore,
I look around to your most recent body of work and you are exactly where I left you and exactly where I knew you would be. TJ Greymore in all her years in this business has not realized that you are the problem. When the stings have stung, the Springs looks a bit different now, don’t it; that Cursed Idol lures you in like a blonde-haired tart fiending for her uncle but in your case, a forty-year-old woman pounding down Coors Light in an Applebees just before closing.
You called someone a Bozo and a basic ass bitch but that’s you, babygirl. That’s you all day. Same day, Prime shipping to Goof Town. No wonder the TV title is jacked up, No wonder Addy A has it in her Twitch Subscription clutches. I’m sure you feel good about defeating
*checks notes*
Calloway
I’m sure there is a lot of cathartic response from you but what did they give you in that dominant win.
What’s that?
*cups the metaphorical hand to the ear *
*Lauren Hill vocals whisper on in as the surf walk takes over *
Is that Old Dirty Balfore, bein a fuckin’ O.G. Brand New CBS Championship on his shoulder cuz he clapped his friend of fifteen years upside the skull joint and Ragnarok’d his broke ass through a table and kicked off a hawt joint in the process; nah, bbygirl. Couldn’t be him. Couldn’t be the best man over three. Couldn’t be the best TV Champion in AW history. You talk about being put the fuck down and held the fuck back. BAH! Couldn’t be the man who pursue the Mongrel for two whole god damned years. You talked about Devito ducking you and the office protecting him. Go back and watch my dogged pursuit of the Pup.
Since you’ve been here, I’ve gone to multiple wars with John Black, fought you like a seasoned skillet, The Heritage, Zolton, and Kano. The problem, babygirl is that you aint interesting. You’re like watching black paint dry in the dark. So, if you haven’t figured out why you’re with me yet then maybe you need to think about what they don’t let you leave my side. When Odin Balfore is walking you tip and toe through your best matches. You’ve been in this industry just as long as I have -
* E-ledgedit-ly *
TJ, I’mma be honest with you. My back and hands are fuckin sore from carryin the dead weight of paper champions and shining up the Championships for which they used to carry, calling themselves Elite champions. I’ll be honest with your further still, I do it because aint no one, including you gonna put in the level of work that I do consistently for twenty-five years.
I do it for the Gold, for Valhalla and Respect. I do it to continue a legacy so that when I die, I go to MY heaven. If you want to continue to get clowned on so Dark Brandon can steal pennies from you on income tax, you be my guest. That Bozo dude prolly has a spare wig and face paint you can borrow.
If you wanna come out here and cry to the moon that some jack off with three years’ experience is getting a Hall of Fame nod – do it; maybe that’ll get you a refund. Now, refund me for wasting my time carrying you once against for Gold that you have neither EARNED nor DESERVED. Unfortunately, TJ, I don’t make those rules and I don’t make those matches. I don’t walk a mile in your shoes. I just know what they feel like when they’re toeing me in the kidney and your arms inconvenience my throat like post nasal drip as I carry you on my fucking back to another “TJ Greymore” Classic.
Look, Babygirl, its bright as day, in the blackest night charisma vacuum you call a face that our careers are different, to say the least, and to say the least – the very fucking least, you wouldn’t be fit to carry me even if you were the virgin mother. On the other hand, you know that I’m going balls deeps.
The very least.
You want this CBS Championship. You want to feel alive. I get chu. I understand the machinations of that mindset. Here’s what you do, babygirl.
Step 1: Connect to an internet source
Step 2. Download the Paramount+ app on your phone or other streaming device.
step 3. Create an account.
Step 4. Watch literally any of my matches from the past ten years.
OR
you can go home. Sip some wine and put that vibrator all the way up to
*E-11*
and know that you are good and fucked.
I mean, I get it. That’s sexist but god damn, is it true. You need to get clapped, you want to get clapped; you just don’t want it from no custy ass bitches so you come back to the only hands to ever make you feel alive. These violent hands. I’ll do it for you, TJ. I’ll give you what you want but be warned, you will not like the outcome. Another week of lickin wounds and Ben and Jerry whole Pints. Double fisting boxed wine and Cherry Garcia.
Let me tell you something. Allow me to clear the air.
This belt has one destiny. ME.
I have one destiny. Jason Cashe. If and when he ever decides to come back.
If not, then I’ll become the greatest CBS Champion in company history.
At the end of it, you’ll still be TJ Graymore, pounding her fist that she aint evah scared.
Alone.
in the dark.
To an audience of one.
And no one will remember you.
Don’t worry, I may think of you from time to time when I’m thirty years in – crushing world champions – still in my prime. That’s what this has always been about. You’re ten years past due and its hard for you to accept it. Don’t worry, Ragnarok comes for everyone. Valhalla will treat you well, even if the journey does not. Bah, who am I kidding, you’ll give another half-hearted attempt at that, too. You’re never satisfied but I’ll tell you what, TJ- ya gonna be.
You’ll come for me just as you’ve done before but only this time, this particular failure will hurt the worse because it’s a job that you cant get done because belt right here says that I’m the guy the Network fuckin’ chose and it eats you up inside. I’m sure you’ll have a lot to say after the Media scrum as you sit there empty handed, with another unfortunate loss that you have to eat like the half price apps to go with those Coors Lights you been suckin down your entire career.
Well, CM C*NT.
Die fuckin mad about it.
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