Post by Jaice Wilds on Nov 17, 2023 6:46:44 GMT -5
The following is a letter addressed to Joey Scala, intercepted and published to the Action Wrestling website.
I go by many names.
The Xtreme Aerialist.
The Final General.
The God of Horrorkore.
The Past, Present and Future.
The Emperor of Hell Dorado.
Inevitable.
But last week, I added another title to the list that, in the interim, supersedes all others- CBS Champion.
Yes, Joseph; despite being the card-carrying face of CruiserClash, I am currently Clash's Brightest Star. I walked into your house, took a big ol’ boot to your ass, and planted myself in the chair you fashioned for yourself. And all the while, I was simply coming to teach you not to start shit unless you have every intention of finishing the job.
Well, Joseph: here's your chance. Here is your chance to show the world that you might be more than just some glorified indy darling with a chip on his shoulder. Here is your opportunity to prove that you can do something when your opponent is actually staring you in the face. Because, yes. EVERYONE has noticed that this is the second time in our short history that you had to attack someone from behind to make yourself look like a badass. Here's the worst kept secret in the business, Joe: if the only time you can get the upper hand is by jumping your opponents from behind? You're not nearly as dangerous as you think you are.
Leading up to XIII, I gave you the chance to shut up and walk away. I gave you the opportunity to understand the mistake you were making in trying to call me out. I gave you time to look over the tape and see exactly who it is you were trying to get involved with.
Then, mere weeks ago, I gave you the beating of your life. I used those chairs not just to batter and bruise your body, but to give you the chance to sit your ego the fuck down. Again, there is an asterisk in my win column thanks to the former CBS Champion's involvement; but I would have thought you smart enough to realize where things were going long before said interruption and walk away with a modicum of integrity.
Two weeks ago, you were a punching bag. You weren't the breakout star in that triple threat match. You were barely a deciding factor. You were a barely noticeable third wheel whose only contribution was aiding Raja in making sure I didn't walk away as CBS Champion sooner. And even after that... even after being the irrelevant third party who played virtually zero part in a match that was done a thousand times better the following week… you still have this chip on your shoulder.
Joseph, I want you to pay very close attention right now. Call your mommy, or your tutor, or your legal counsel; and have them read this part real, real slow for you. I don't want you misreading anything or finding context clues that aren't there. You ready?
You.
Are.
NOT.
On.
My.
Level.
Pissant.
I am the goddamn Emperor of Hell Dorado. I stole the fucking headline at the company's BIGGEST FUCKING SHOW OF THE YEAR. I have competed against the likes of Corey Black, Teo Blaze, Zombie McMorris... do you honestly... in your pathetic, egotistical, pea-sized brain… do you seriously think you hold a fucking candle to the laundry list of household names I have faced, took to the limits and- yes, sometimes even defeated- in the ring?
You are a fucking nobody. You are lower than nobody. I am the cream of the goddamn crop, the name by which all others are measured, the fucking epitome of what cockroaches like you could only dream to be in this business. You are the Make-A-Wish kid who should have made a better wish. You're some terminally ill patient who has chosen a violent, bloody suicide over what would surely be a merciful death by comparison. And all because your mother went and swallowed the part of your daddy's nut that had the rest of your fucking dick.
I'm done mincing words, you pathetic, loathsome peon. I've got much bigger fish to fry; and considering you only got this match because your ego is too inflated to stop you from doing stupid shit, I'm going to do you a favor. I'm giving you two choices on how I end you this week, Joey; take your pick. Either
I fucking break enough bones in your body so you never pull this bullshit again.
Or
I bash your head until it caves in, making sure your ego doesn't shrink- it completely dissolves with the rest of your fucking brain cells.
I've only had to deal with your stupid ass for a month now, and I'm already done. Of all the uppity shitheads I've had the displeasure of sharing the ring with, you take the fucking cake. You miserable, microdick-having sorry excuse for a human being. You got lucky one time and made someone drink piss, and suddenly you think you're King Shit up in here.
Bitch, you're the sorry fuck that gets a call when someone else calls in sick.
You're the sad little shit that gets a ring when we need a victim for a fucking squash match.
You're the glorified stuntman who gets a text when we need someone to play an official or bodyguard who gets thrown into a crowd barrier.
I am Jaice. FUCKING. Wilds. And you had better hope and pray that, when the dust settles and they pull your lifeless corpse from the ring on Monday, you have just enough brain matter left to remember that much.
I go by many names.
The Xtreme Aerialist.
The Final General.
The God of Horrorkore.
The Past, Present and Future.
The Emperor of Hell Dorado.
Inevitable.
But last week, I added another title to the list that, in the interim, supersedes all others- CBS Champion.
Yes, Joseph; despite being the card-carrying face of CruiserClash, I am currently Clash's Brightest Star. I walked into your house, took a big ol’ boot to your ass, and planted myself in the chair you fashioned for yourself. And all the while, I was simply coming to teach you not to start shit unless you have every intention of finishing the job.
Well, Joseph: here's your chance. Here is your chance to show the world that you might be more than just some glorified indy darling with a chip on his shoulder. Here is your opportunity to prove that you can do something when your opponent is actually staring you in the face. Because, yes. EVERYONE has noticed that this is the second time in our short history that you had to attack someone from behind to make yourself look like a badass. Here's the worst kept secret in the business, Joe: if the only time you can get the upper hand is by jumping your opponents from behind? You're not nearly as dangerous as you think you are.
Leading up to XIII, I gave you the chance to shut up and walk away. I gave you the opportunity to understand the mistake you were making in trying to call me out. I gave you time to look over the tape and see exactly who it is you were trying to get involved with.
Then, mere weeks ago, I gave you the beating of your life. I used those chairs not just to batter and bruise your body, but to give you the chance to sit your ego the fuck down. Again, there is an asterisk in my win column thanks to the former CBS Champion's involvement; but I would have thought you smart enough to realize where things were going long before said interruption and walk away with a modicum of integrity.
Two weeks ago, you were a punching bag. You weren't the breakout star in that triple threat match. You were barely a deciding factor. You were a barely noticeable third wheel whose only contribution was aiding Raja in making sure I didn't walk away as CBS Champion sooner. And even after that... even after being the irrelevant third party who played virtually zero part in a match that was done a thousand times better the following week… you still have this chip on your shoulder.
Joseph, I want you to pay very close attention right now. Call your mommy, or your tutor, or your legal counsel; and have them read this part real, real slow for you. I don't want you misreading anything or finding context clues that aren't there. You ready?
You.
Are.
NOT.
On.
My.
Level.
Pissant.
I am the goddamn Emperor of Hell Dorado. I stole the fucking headline at the company's BIGGEST FUCKING SHOW OF THE YEAR. I have competed against the likes of Corey Black, Teo Blaze, Zombie McMorris... do you honestly... in your pathetic, egotistical, pea-sized brain… do you seriously think you hold a fucking candle to the laundry list of household names I have faced, took to the limits and- yes, sometimes even defeated- in the ring?
You are a fucking nobody. You are lower than nobody. I am the cream of the goddamn crop, the name by which all others are measured, the fucking epitome of what cockroaches like you could only dream to be in this business. You are the Make-A-Wish kid who should have made a better wish. You're some terminally ill patient who has chosen a violent, bloody suicide over what would surely be a merciful death by comparison. And all because your mother went and swallowed the part of your daddy's nut that had the rest of your fucking dick.
I'm done mincing words, you pathetic, loathsome peon. I've got much bigger fish to fry; and considering you only got this match because your ego is too inflated to stop you from doing stupid shit, I'm going to do you a favor. I'm giving you two choices on how I end you this week, Joey; take your pick. Either
I fucking break enough bones in your body so you never pull this bullshit again.
Or
I bash your head until it caves in, making sure your ego doesn't shrink- it completely dissolves with the rest of your fucking brain cells.
I've only had to deal with your stupid ass for a month now, and I'm already done. Of all the uppity shitheads I've had the displeasure of sharing the ring with, you take the fucking cake. You miserable, microdick-having sorry excuse for a human being. You got lucky one time and made someone drink piss, and suddenly you think you're King Shit up in here.
Bitch, you're the sorry fuck that gets a call when someone else calls in sick.
You're the sad little shit that gets a ring when we need a victim for a fucking squash match.
You're the glorified stuntman who gets a text when we need someone to play an official or bodyguard who gets thrown into a crowd barrier.
I am Jaice. FUCKING. Wilds. And you had better hope and pray that, when the dust settles and they pull your lifeless corpse from the ring on Monday, you have just enough brain matter left to remember that much.