Post by Odin Balfore on Oct 8, 2022 23:12:11 GMT -5
Knife in The Back Part VIII
Houston Methodist Hospital. Houston, TX. The other week
Zoom and focus in on the purple and swollen hands of the All-Father as they are examined by the physician as he lifts and rolls them between his own fingers.
“Can you move any of these,” asks the doctor.
“No, I’m pretty sure they’re broken,” Odin replies.
The doctor hums to herself, mentally processing the situation. “It appears as though your pinky, ring, and middle fingers on your left hand are broken as well as your index and middle on your right. The left also exhibits major swelling. The X-ray will show more but it does seem as though the left hand is broken as well. They really did a number on you. And you said that you’re a pro wrestler; when your next fight because this is gonna take a good month.”
“I got about two weeks.”
“That's not enough time. You can barely feed yourself; let alone wrestle. However, I suppose nothing I can say will change your mind.”
“No. I’m fighting.”
“That's your prerogative. I would just say to wrap them as well and tight as you can. You’ll probably be good to go by Halloween, thanksgiving at the latest. It’s hard to tell recovery time. I heard stories of you wrestlers coming back from torn pecs and muscles in only a few weeks. I’ll give you pain meds if you want but ice will be your best friend.”
“Yeah, I mean, I’ll take a vike script.”
“Yah, Mr. Balfore, we don’t do that anymore. How about Advil eight hundred.”
Odin takes a deep breath and lets out a low, slow groan.
“I’ll send out a script just in case. You take your time. If anything worsens, come back. Do you need me to send this to your traveling physician, I’ll send that out too. Have a good day, Mr. Balfore."
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Odins Ranch. Edin, Texas.
Back at the main house on Odin's ranch, we can hear him rummaging through cabinets, boxes and drawers. Panel doors being shut, draws sliding open, the clanging of silverware on the tile. There's a break in the noise. A peaceful moment, nestled between the opening of one final drawer and its ever-soft closure. The distinct rattle of a pill bottle. The hollow POP of the lid is followed by a dry swallow. We slowly come into the small kitchen, disheveled and littered with its own unmentionable kitchenette contents. We stand behind Odin as he turns the kitchen faucet on and fills a glass with tap water. The slow ‘glug’ as he drinks it down as he places the bottle on the table. We cannot see what the pills were. We can only infer that they’ll help Odin with the pain of his broken hand and that they are in fact, not prescribed to him.
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“ Well ain't this a fucking who’s whos of named Hemorrhoids. Once again, people from all over the world flock to AW to fight me. All of these former world champions, tag champs, TV champions, some fuckin scrub named Kano, and the charity dyslexic Roman Gunn. That’s a lot of people coming for the crown on Super Clash. And is that -
* checks notes *
Brent ‘The Shine’ Alpine, come back for what I assume to be a long an accolade-filled career filled with buzzer beating banger after banger. Fuckin’ Christ, Alpine, it’s a shame the brain doesn’t alert when its empty like the stomach does. What were you doing before this, making a ‘shoot podcast’ on youtube. That seems to be the big thing for the washed up toils that could never tie a lace. But hey, you’re back. I’m fuckin’ happy for you. Happy I get to do this all over again.
Tony Savage returns too. Hiding that career high – like the rest of you – defeating me at some random point in your careers. So lets level this all right now.
Did most of ya’ll beat me at one point or another. Yah, you can go ahead and check that box.
Are all ya’ll gone say that ya gonna take this CBS title off my waist. Yah, check that box.
Maybe some of you be dumb enough to tell the world that I’m trash. That you need to put shine on belt that is currently in the middle of a fifteen-year blood feud. I can hear Lizzie Hope now. I’ve had notable feuds with half of you. I’ve quite literally made your careers. Yet you keep coming around because you cant quite get the job done. It don’t matter what belt I hold, what records I breaks. It’ll never be good enough because my shadow still looms large in not only Action Wrestling but the Wrestling world at large. If I hit too hard, ya’ll need to learn to hit hard back.
Brent Alpine still has a concussion from 2013 he needs to see a neurologist about because I mean tweeted him one time.
And right now, with what TJ did to my fingers, ya’ll better hope to fucking Roman Gawd that, that’s not enough to take you down collectively.
You all crumble in the face of mean tweets faster than my thumbs can click send and I don’t event tweet. I just come at you with fucking facts. So get all your puff pieces ready to hype yourself up inline as the next CBS Champion, let I’m the only mother fucker in this company collecting belts like Elvis collects gold records. Or MJ or even Tom Brady collects rings.
Kanos out in these streets but he got fuckin’ swept. Tony Savage was supposed to be poised for greatness but he got shown the door so fast, I didn’t even know he left and came back.
Calloways branching out from the Cursed Idol to the New Hottness. So Allow me to tell you, in case you havnt guessed it. If any of you beat me, I go for another.
The Odin Balfore verse Steven Singh part five for the hardcore strap has more money stapled to its ass than any of you could draw against anyone else in this company. You all want to say I’m Washed up, but like a melanated mermaid, ya’ll are fuckin outraged. I’d say die fuckin mad about it but no; I want you to live with it. Live the rest of your cretinous fuckin lives with the fact that no matter how many times you fight me.
I keep coming back.
no matter how many times you pin my shoulders for the best three seconds of your career.
I keep coming back.
No matter how many titles and championships you win off me.
I keep coming back.
TJ Greymore broke my fingers and my hands, These Violent Fuckin’ Hands; thinking that it could stop me. It didn’t. I broke my hand on her fucking face, scrambling her brains so sad, she came back for more.
My friend, Jason Cashe, he stabbed me in the back. At least you buck tooth goons have the decency to toe up – unlike that coward. The difference between you and him though, is that he made his mark on this company.
Unlike the former worlds champion.
Unlike the former three time TV Champion.
Brent Alpine has a Micro pig and I’m sure that’ll have a more riveting back story than anything Tony Savage could catch us up on since his time in pathetic memorium.
Calloway wants to shoot around. Tell the world about the new Action Wrestling Hotness. Look around you, you fuckin’ geek. Every fish-eyed mother fucker in this match was you at one point or another because I made them into it. See, in your mind and in theirs, they are this great driving force, ready to move the needle in Action Wrestling. To a place, it’s never been before but in reality, it’s a place you ignorant mother fuckers have never been before.
This week I’m going to expose the frauds. Persecute the perpe-traitors and show you all what you really are: that make-a-wish Walmart champions, down in the bottom of the bin right next to the “Best Of” Chris Kattan SNL box set and that cross dressin’ football player with so much CTE, ya’ll cant help but laugh.
Ya’ll can give Tyler Perry my regards. His movies were shit. Just not as bad as your careers.
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Zoom in and focus back on Odin's hands both wrapped in tape. The anguish and frustration are palpable from both Odin and his hands as Odin sits on the porch of his ranch. Odin is still in the night as if he’s trying to listen close to some distant sound.
“Action Wrestling. There are eight people in the world right now, getting ready to get on their hands and knees to lick the clam trap of Tatiana Jolee. To suckle on her fuckin’ clit because they think she disabled those violent fucking hands, thus giving them a chance to take the CBS Championship away from Him. Away from Them. Away from Us(ssss). Those Violent hands, they will heal, however; you still have to contend with us(sss). Bone Breaking. Soul Crushing.
US(SSS).
Ya’ll about to get claptrapped in the middle of the fucking ring by this worndown god you hope and pray would just vanish from your fuckin lives and yet here he fucking is.
While those hands are out of commission, ya’ll aint out of the fuckin woods. Each of you about to get your slop tops re-a-fuckin-ranged for a championship that none of you are fit enough to do the heavy lifting for.
Us(sss) we’re not interested in your empty platitudes about your fictional conquests. These half-baked schemes that only make sense your melted grey matter about when you’re gonna be champ or how ya gonna fuckin do it because each of you stand at the cliffs of fate and not a soul among you know how to jump. Another chance at immortality given to you by Him. Another one that each of you will squander and vomit back up like the ungrateful baby birds that you are.
us(sss) we’ll make sure you fall so far fuckin down, John Black might actually get a fuckin win for once in his career. Baptize deez(zzz) nutz(zzz).You know whats coming for you, you just dont want to admit it to yourselves. You're not prepared for this. Aint none of you know what LIES ahead of you and the savagery just beneath the surface.We will take revenge but yet revenge is short sighted. No. We are taking over. you'll know us(sss) when we make contact. when we unhige your fuckin' jaws(sss) and obliterate the glimmer of hope that you cling too. we'll carry IT out.
This particular curs(sss)ed idol will drag you down and sink you beneath the waves.
you'll all float down here
Trust us(sss)
These vicious elbows(ssss) are coming for you.
Trust us(sss)
And die fuckin’ mad about it.
If we fuckin’ let you.
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