Post by Odin Balfore on Dec 16, 2023 20:00:55 GMT -5
Kingdom Come I
Cipher and Vespertine,
Please understand that this is fucking personal. Understand that business is business and while I do in fact feel as though you are beneath me - know that I fight anyone and everyone. No ones too low to get these fucking hands. You wanted to box God and you got crushed for it. Do good to remember that in the future cuz this right here, it aint anything new. Not my fault you aint seen this shit before.
Just know that you won’t see anything like it again in your life. Odin Balfore outworks everybody. You two, Sitcom, fuckin Downfall. Everyone loses in the end.
All these would-be greats in Action Wrestling - gettin fuckin bodied by time and ego. Pathetic.
Odin Balfore has a job to do and a Culture to change.
Don’t call that shit a comeback.
I didnt do this to be rich or famous. I don’t need either one. I’m not building or repairing a legacy. Nah, fuck that. I’m repairing the industry, the Culture, Action fucking Wrestling.
This week, it’s the US Championship.
Then its the world title.
I am the most decorated, most accomplished, the most IMPORTANT man in this companies history.
Downfall, Sitcom. If’n you boys disagree and you think its you, then go shit in your hands and tell me how ignorance tastes.
Who know whos coming for you.
_________________________
Frogman of the Baja
We can see the small figures of Odin and Keanu on the beach, somewhere in the Baja, dragging a dead body toward a freshly dug hole in the remote Baja sands. We zoom in to get closer to see Odin muscle the body up and drops him in the hole.
“The dead weight, never gets easier to carry, no matter how many times I do it.” Says Odin with a sigh of relief.
“Better you than me. I’d rather dig the stupid hole.” Says Keanu, laboring to get a shovel full of sand. “ These crazy ex-pats think that they can hide down here in the Baja. They think they got a free pass from Mexico. You gotta start doing government jobs, Odin. Get you out of that assassin junk.”
“I tried that once.”
“Yah, I heard. Codename: Regulator, under Biden. That's trash. That's too high. If he knows about it then you don’t want it. You’re one tweet away from some Twitter patriot used-car salesmen digging nonsense up then suddenly you’re on the moon pile driving Moonmen on Mars. Elon Musk quote-tweeting with tenth-grade remarks like he knows something. These people don’t know anything and you owe them even less. Now get that other shovel."
[ some time later ]
Devils Beach. The Baja.
The Baja, Schiavone, a tropical paradise this side of the Gulf of Tokin. I live 19 hours from any sort of human interaction and yet these two sons of bitches found me.
Keanu Reeves, an old surf buddy from back in the day. We met on the set of the hit summer blockbuster, “Speed,” I was called in as a demolitions expert and a historian for the TDH-5303 style bus they used on set. They paid me in Shrilankin funeral coins. I’m a collector; the biggest collection in the north-western hemis-flat. The world isnt round, Shiavone, do your research. The truth is out there.
Odin Balfore I met in the spring 1997 just before my gubernatorial run; it was for a failed pilot called “Wings of the Sun.” It was set in Guam, on an aircraft carrier at the height of the Cold War. I’d like to think I inspired him to become a pro wrestler.
Now, unfortunately, even though I’m 700 miles from the nearest Reagan Death Camp, these two sons of bitches found me. What they don’t know is that I got a favor to ask them.
I could hear them approach, talking to each other, going over the game plan in their head. I could see in my mind's eye the Glock sticking out of Keanu’s waistband, just off his right hip. My Chakras were perfectly aligned. I could smell the arthritis rattling around Odin’s knees like the BB in a can of Mattalic mint green spray paint circa 2011. A fine vintage. I could also connect the dots on the triple double-cross that they were planning, just in case this went down the way things go in Tiawanna.
They knocked on the door and I was ready with a glock of my own, hidden away in a can of Cervaza; that's Spanish for ‘beer’ with two more in peace offering.
“Come in” I answered them as I sat on a couch made from an old coral reef that I hauled off the coast. They came in, single file. Keanu was first. Odin was second. That's how I knew there was at least a shallow depth to their sincerity. I greeted them with open arms and open cans of cervezas. “Boys!” I exclaimed. “ So good to see you both.”
“You’re not exactly an easy man to find, Jesse. This would have been much easier if you had just picked up the phone.”
“I don’t have a phone in the conventional sense that you know it. I have a satellite phone. I hacked into old Blockbuster Satilites with a shot glass filled with Gobi desert sea water and one of those old can opener pins I found on a rusted can of sardines.”
Odin looks at Keanu. Keanu looks at Odin, “Is this your friend?” They ask each other as I burst out laughing.
“Boys, relax, it’s solar. I harness the infinite energy of the biggest nuclear reactor on Earth. The sun. I have solar panels ALL OVER the Baja. Come on out back, I’ll show ya.”
I get up from the antique couch hand-crafted by Napoleon himself with the Glock beer and the two for my friends, handing it to them as I walk past. “ Come on, it’s just out this way.” I lead them around back, to two empty graves, each marked for them that I dug back for them in 1987 while I was having a vision quest at a La Quinta in Davenport Iowa.
“Theres no solar panels out here.” Says Keanu as I put the gun to his head.
“Never was.” I replied. Keanu stayed as cool as a cucumber in Alaska.
“Jesse, put the gun down,” Keanu started. “I know Gun Fu. I’m a fully trained expert marksman. You don’t want to do this.”
“Yah, well I’m an expert, too, Charles. I was on the grassy knoll. I was the magic bullet that killed JFK. You think your gun fu means anything out here in the Baja? The laws of physics work differently out there. You see that up there, the faint outline of the moon. The moon isn't real -”
“Keanu, give me the word and I’ll put a bullet in this man's grey matter right fuckin now.” Says Odin reaching for his gun.
“No. Let's hear what he has to say.”
“It's a government moon base to make you think there's a moon. How does the moon glow in the dark at night without the sun? It cant. I went up there, Charles. I have moon rocks. They don't glow at night. It’s just a mat painting of a big CGI reflection. Swamp gas reflected from Venus. I built the prototypes for Stanley Kubrick when he wrote the original script for the Apollo -11 mission. I know, I was there. What I want to know is why the two of you are here?”
Keanu spoke first. “ Odin broke into my house. Stole my gun. Then I found him. Said you had a favor that you needed. Then we found you.”
I un-cock my gun and put it away.
“Will Sasso.” I replied. “He keeps claiming that I have one hundred and fifty wild dogs and that's a filthy lie. I have over two hundred and fifty and he won’t apologize.”
“I have a United States Championship Match this week, so if it gets you to shut the fuck up about the moon, I’ll Murder Will Sasso on his kids Birthday. I don’t even care.”
“You gotta admit, Odin. He brings up a good point about the moon.”
“Are you fucking kidding me right now?”
“Hey, I’m just asking questions.”
“Christ. I traded Cedrone for this.”
___________________________________
Kingdom Come
Holiday,
Not only did I rinse you and show you up at the start of the Turmoil torment but I exposed you as the weak and ineffectual wrestler that you really are. As the third-ranked wrestler in a third-rate stable - whew - I’d tell you that I didn't have to try to hard; yet here you are. Neither one of us can control that but you’ll be the one to tell the world that it’s by your design. Allow me once again to be the architect of your sheepish and woeful demise. Another man preparing for WAR yet does not know its meaning. You look like a snack in this match of two behemoths. The only thing that you had going for you was a quickie dissolving faction. TFK, huh - go figure. If the sarcasm was any heavier it’d be my dick.
You are just another midcard act meant to prop up another hot shot that’ll come and be done with it faster than you can blink. You’ll tout yourself the hero, too. That's the fuckin sad part about it.
I’m interested in the WAR. I want to hear about the men you killed. I want to know what the fear looked like. What the sorrow tasted like. How it smelled when they pissed themselves begging for you not to do it.
Every man bleeds, Holiday, you’re the only foolish enough to think it aint ever gonna be your blood but it’s been yours the whole time. This week aint gonna be no different.
The U.S. Championship is the number two belt in this company. It’s been flip-flopped around the rankings and we can all agree that, that has to end. The only disagreement is which one of us three is the man to do it.
Sitcom over here, thinks I’m afraid of him. The vet verse the rookie. Funny thing is, we both know Natty ICE and the ICE is going to tell him the harsh truth and the evil demons about Odin Balfore. Aint that I’m scared of you young cats. It's just you young cats come in here like you know what's going on. I could sign over all of my legacy to Sitcom.
- every world title
- every tournament
I’ll give 23 three of my 25 years and he still could not be me.
There is a flavor, an attitude, a swagger - a culture, about me that I instill within this industry as a worldwide phenomenon that he could never match.
20, 50, 100, 200, 1000 years.
I’ll give this guy the widest breath of the Roman Empire and he still couldn't imagine what I’ve done.
Call that shit “Historical Evidence”
We got a bunch of “famous” world champions that aint here no more. Cuz ya’ll ain't ever had to put the work in to make this- or any company growth, be worth a damn. You never had a craft to apply, let alone need to depend on that craft to feed you.
I remember when there was no guaranteed money. When there was no tour buses or five-star hotels.
You wrestle 10 times a year in a high school and suddenly you think your world beating talent.
That's why you ya’ll get here and you get one fucking idiot main event storyline, you think your untouchable then when you aint at in the spotlight you fuck off cuz you think you're better than the fucking system that I put in place here. Nah, you fucking daft cunts. You aint bigger than the system.. the culture.
I’d name the names but fuck them, they don’t deserve the recognition. You know who they are.
Doc - they bail.
Sitcom - they bounce.
The second-best title in this company - ya’ll wanna chump out on it. Which one of you gonna make that belt mean something? You aint a champion cuz you have the responsibility of carrying it through the airport.
Both of you broke ass, Bob Cratchet mother fuckers are havin sleep for fuckin dinner.
You both want the US title to make you. You want it so bad that Sitcom dared to call his run historic in the face of putting down the world champion.
Who did he beat - by his own words - fuckin nobody.
*golf clap *
Fuckin impressive.
It's fuckin wild that Sitcom sits on a throne of lies and calls himself an absolute truther.
Default isn't a win condition, it's the laziest that a man can be and from where I am standing, Sitcom is that lazy bitch.
You can hold that belt for 10 years and defend it against Doc Holiday every hour and I wouldn't be impressed.
Every so often I get called upon to put shine on the belts. Give them the reason for being.
I want Downfall.
I want that World title.
However, I’ll take this along the way, and I’ll battle a fat fuck to death and drown him in a pool of pudding if I have to if that means in five years people talk about that match.
I get it, too. Sitcom, you have tougher fights tying your shoes than what Action Wrestling can throw at you.
I understand that.
It must be frustrating but don't that let frustration morph into false dogma.
This right here, your match with me - this is your first real test. This is your first real match in Action Wrestling and I’m going to fucking beat the dog piss out of you for that piece of gold on your shoulder that you have to shuffle from airport to hotel every week, as IT nurses like like an Alzheimer patient.
You’re just a nobody, body man and I got body bags on deck for your fat ass for when this match is done. I’m coming for you and Ragnarok WILL be in my wake.
If you’re both sitting there, asking where the hard-hitting facts are, nothing hitting you harder than the abysmal nature of your ill-respected tenures here.
If you want conscious profundity, do something profound.
Sitcom, you wanted a challenge
and you got a rout.
and you got a rout.
You wanted a campaign to march against
and you got Napoleon in the Russian fucking Winter.
and you got Napoleon in the Russian fucking Winter.
This is the culture that neither of you understand.
Sitcom you’ve collected hollow victory by your utterance and Doc, you got losses at your very own desire and both of you admit to not putting the work in.
I’m not sure how a power vacuum comes in like it has recently and neither one of you can fill it. It’s a fucked up sign when the so-called “Action Wrestling savior” already needs saving utilizing lethal fucking injection.
To save action wrestling then be put down by its founding member in the span of two months - fucking tracks for the life span of this company, I can tell you that much.
How Doc Holiday can seize upon opportunity and cant come out with a participation trophy baffles the mind but this shit is par for the course.
Neither one of you wants to step up. You just want the comfortable mediocrity of being the big fish in the small pond
Or a one-man soldier in a war that he created and still can't win.
Delusional fucking spastics, screeching about nothing because even though you say it - challenge is something that you both fear.
and challenge is what you fail to pose to me this week or any week.
I’m going to body you both this week and it’s going to be fuckin easy.
When Doc Holiday feels the humiliating sting of another fuckin loss and Sitcom has to give up a ten-pound career-saving trinket and loses his reason for being - Christ, that shit gonna feel sweet.
To walk out as champion, coronated by your best efforts, blood, sweat, tears and anguish only emboldens my resolve to get Downfall and crush him.
Don’t worry, losing to me don’t make you bad. It just makes you like everybody else.
Bodybags on deck boys.
Your careers are on life support.
For the Culture.
After six long years, my kingdom come.
Ready or Not