Post by Odin Balfore on Jun 22, 2023 14:42:30 GMT -5
~ Ascension ~
( And other buzzwords )
This is it, boys, the height of your *ahem* Ascension. The pinnacle calling of your career puts you against the two behemoths in Action Wrestling. You wanted to make the noise, make that statement, and rattle that cage, but you forgot to lock the door behind you. Now you can’t leave. Before last week, this was just going through the motions but now you’re gonna be going through some things. Allister is fucking trying to make something, anything work for him. You came in hot. You won two tournaments and the CBS belt. Then you scooted down to the Cruiserweight limit to rally friends and for what - this.
You latched yourself on to two names that no one heard of. Least of all now you want to make an impact in that Tag Team Division. Just be careful about what you wish for. So far it’s a knocked-kneed response - the same one you’ve given every other time in life. I’d be feeling pretty good too if I was you, having come up in a worldwide career where nobody knows your name. Honestly, truthfully, if I had your career, I’d have got in my rented Chevy and driven my ass into Lake Ponchatrain decades ago. A watery grave is almost too good for dudes like you.
You got a whole troop of misfits. Guys you can trust or run with. Maybe it’s guys you feel that you shouldn't cross. Well, then if that's the case, that just makes you the biggest bitch in this company.
Carter Shaw is gonna so jealous of you, let me tell you. But I get it. You’re here to make a statement. Just too bad that up till now, aint nobody has been watchin. You’re gonna get your teeth kicked in at Evolution and I got the boot heel that's gonna do it.
~ Alch-Ketamist ~
Roll up with the big man, in that six foh. Only to see a bunch of sweats larping in the park.
A sweaty fat man in fur pelts and his shorter, skinner hide-clad compatriot with a lute on his back stand in the parking lot, on the side of the brick restroom building.
It's kinda like that but less heterosexual life partners and more hetrosexual lifæ partnē̆r. Only god can judge but like.. Immolation is a bitch.
Odin cruises around the parking lot and spots the two. He parks his car, gets out, and walks over to greet them.
“Are you the guys?”
“compatriot luteboy, didst thee heareth something?”
Odin groans. The regret already settling in.
~ No Doctors for Old Men ~
We cut to Odin with a bruised face, back, and arm, sitting in an examination room while a doctor looks over his MRI results.
“Well Odin, seems you partially tore your trap and tricep muscles.”
“So, a six-pack and some Soma’s?”
“God no. We don’t give Soma’s anymore. Heat, ice and a steroid pack. How did this happen anyway?”
* cut to a flashback of Odin getting wiff kicked in the jawbone by some jay-brone off the top rope. *
* Odin hesitates *
“I fell down some stairs.”
“Well, it looks like ya jawbone got wiff kicked by some jaybrone with..”
* The doctor analyzes Odin's jaw for a moment*
“A woman size eight and some feeble arches. Did an old woman with gout kick you?”
* Heh, classic Marcus Collins. *
“Old ladies, they eat cat food like you wouldn't believe. A lot of grounded-up hickory-smoked horse butt-holes in that cat food. Drives the old crones crazy. Gives them gout. Happens way more than you think.”
*Marcus Collins sweats both with nerves that he’s been found out and in anticipation that it comes with a side of hickory smoked horse butt-holes.*
“I’m sure you’re still gonna wrestle but you know.. Don’t.. But then again, the feeble old ladies with gout and horse butthole addictions may just win and we don’t want that."
* The doctor scribbles on the pad and hands it to Odin. *
“This Tuesday, go to the park around the corner. You’ll see a bunch of grown men playing like Lord of Ring or something. Two guys will be standing by the restrooms. Tell them that Doctor Tran sent you; they might give you a discount.”
~ Alch-Ketamist II ~
Meanwhile, back in the park..
“Dr. Tran sent me,” Says Odin, almost too embarrassed to say it in plain. “He said you have something for me.”
“Thous-ist boy, we’st hav-est the finest apothecary in all of the land. What is it thou need-ist?” Asks the alchemist.
“ a few soma’s or a baggy of coke will do me straight.”
The alchemist turns and laughs with his lute boy as if to mock in jest at Odin's request.
“Cocaine? What are thoust a peasant, feeble of foot and gout?”
“Meth?”
“Too much algebra.”
“What do you got then?”
The alchemist leans in and speaks normally in hushed tones.
“Listen, dude. I have Keteamine. Ketamine and Ivermectin, it’s not just for horses anymore. Do you have gout? Cuz it looks like you got kicked in the face by somebody who got gout. That shit spreads on contact you know. It’s like leprosy, but fuckin’ lame."
* Heh, classic ascension. *
“For fifty bucks, I’ll hook you up. Dr. Trans been good for business.”
“The cops aren't going to try and tackle me as soon as I leave, like, you ain't the feds, are you?”
“My guy, it’s a hundred degrees out here and I’m dressed like a llama going to the north pole, and this dude, I think he’s on the spectrum. He doesn't even know what a lute is. And you think we’re cops; that old lady that kicked you give you a concussion?”
* Odin considers that path that leads him to the right here and now.”
“Probably,” he replies. “Could be a variety of factors.”
~ The factors ~
Ascension. The factors n my life that put me here in front of you now eclipse the three of you combined. You can take your scant world title, your shitty zero-sum promotions that you fucking larped in, pretending to be as big in this industry as Corey Black and myself and it still does not equate to the moment you have right now in front of you. However, for CD and I this is just another Premium Live Event where we smash some mark skulls in because they dared to get too close to the sun. Marcus Collins may have caught me crooked on the jaw with his grandma feet but I’ll be there in the ring to take any combination of you down hell - just give me all three. Busted trap. Busted Tricep. The bruising doesn't matter. The pain doesn't matter. That shooting twinge comes across from my neck, down to the shoulder, down to my elbow, and into my arm. You may count yourselves grateful and lucky but I still got one good one and Surtr will have his fucking satisfying revenge.
Jacob Hystaria, you’re one man who’s been oddly quiet. King of Hardcore with a face that too handsome to match. Some shit just aint adding up to me. I’m sure where ever you’re from, you were hardcore but you don’t know it like CD and myself. Hell, what you see here in AW aint even hardcore. We got the stories. We got the truth. All I see when I look at you is a man that never got his nose broken and we are going to change that this week. That is, if you are “hardcore” enough to enter the ring with the King of the Death Match. I got a funny feeling though, Jacob, you finally took somebodies advice and you aint gonna show your face. Why would you risk being found a fraud? Tout your three belts and your two tournaments. Be proud of what you got, sure but understand that with the legacy of the Ban Bros behind us, what you got aint nothin to be proud of. Because wait for it, your career peaked at 17. Thirty years and this is what you got to show for it; that's just fuckin same and a cryin shame. You stand in a trio of shit. In a world of shit, and it’s about to get the ban hammer dropped on it. This is supposed to be evolution and you boys, you Jacob, you just aint it. Know that whatever career you had. It never mattered to begin with.
That leads us to Mckissick. Strapped to losers like an infidel on 9/11. Your conviction will be your doom. But go saddle up with your boys. Talk about how you’re the future and this is your company. Even though Jacobs career peaked in 97’ and Marcus Collins peaked - never. Don’t worry though, he was an Indy darling. What's that even mean; I’ll tell you. It means that dude never sold shows, never sold tickets or merch and no one bought into the hype. All they did was feel bad for the guy. He’s got nine belts in his career. I walk into waffle house and they hand me more accolades than that.
So really, we have three scrubs who have very little, trying to take over the world like they were Osama Bin Ladin. Hysteria is fuckin seething right now at all the terrorist jokes. Dude was probably a short-order cook on a base in Germany talking about how he seen action.
And you know something - I think I know that is. I think when I was on the Euro-step part of my career, I walked into Berlin and my food order brought the King of Hashbrowns to fuckin tears. He dudes in the back, slicin his wrists with a cheese grater because he can’t handle a busy kitchen, let alone the squared circle.
Collins has nine belts, each one is foam and plastic that he bought on Craigslist. Which is exactly where Alister assembled this group from.
It’s all makin sense.
You're like three billionaires who want to go down to the bottom of the ocean and see the statistics but you don't even realize that you're about to become one. The Ban Bros are the greatest tag team in Action Wrestling and you're just history.
You're like three billionaires who want to go down to the bottom of the ocean and see the statistics but you don't even realize that you're about to become one. The Ban Bros are the greatest tag team in Action Wrestling and you're just history.
And your futures are about to be obliterated.
and just like 9/11.. you'll never be forgotten