Post by Gerard Angelo on Jan 7, 2024 14:58:05 GMT -5
The holidays weren't a good time of the year for Gerard Angelo. They always reminded him of his father being on a “business trip” with one of his secretaries in the Caribbean during Christmas. It was usually just Sean, his mother, and him at that time of year. Sometimes they’d travel back to New Jersey to see his grandparents but that was few and far between. She always made it special for her kids to the point they barely missed their father. When she passed that time of year just became less special to him. Everything felt so hollow and dull now. Usually, he went and took himself a vacation somewhere tropical with a bunch of nubile women for the holidays. This year, however, he spent the downtime from Action Wrestling taking care of his father. Tony was still in the coma, the doctors saying he could wake up in either a day or in ten years. Gerard spent most of the break sitting in the room with his father, making small talk in the slimmest chance he would just answer him one day and they could end this nightmare.
He spent Christmas Day with Jonathan and his family, along with some of the students who had no one else. It was a nice little getaway from everything. His father’s clone had extended an invitation to him, likely to keep up appearances. Gerard just informed his publicist to tell him that he was spending Christmas and New Year's in the Maldives. He didn’t trust himself to be around that thing living his father’s life and not doing something. And with no proof and the history between Gerard and Tony, he didn’t know if Katia would believe him. And even that made him feel terrible. He didn’t want to leave her and AJ in danger but he didn’t have a fully formulated plan.
Gerard stopped and took a deep breath. As uncomfortable as it was, his dad’s wife and the baby were safer not knowing what was going on for now. He looked over from the chair to his father in the bed of his guest room. The sound of the ventilator was loud, Gerard attempted to drown it out with the football game playing on the wall-mounted TV. Anthony Angelo looked like he had aged ten years from being in that vat. His face seemed to have more lines in it, face looked sullen. His once thick, dark, hair was now thinner and lighter. It felt like they got to him just in the nick of time. He shuddered to think what the crazy doctor would’ve done if left unchecked.
But Tony was safe now. He will get healthy soon. Then Gerry and his dad will be at each other’s throats again, just like old times. He looked back at the television, watching the Houston Texans drive down the field. He would have to head back to work Monday. He hated leaving his father before he was awake. He wanted to feel like he had some semblance of control of the situation. Usually, wrestling was where he had the most control of his life but with that power-drunk dipshit, Brady Bolt running around, it was no longer a safe space for him. First, the curly-haired idiot had him defend his All-In briefcase for some stupid fucking reason, then he put a one-month ban on him being able to cash it in. Since when had any All-In briefcase holder been subjected to anything of the sort? Why was there always some sort of damn conspiracy trying to hold him down in this place?
To make matters worse, Brady Dolt decided to book him in a tag match on Clash against the Tag Team Champions. Normally, he would love a chance to get his revenge on those two goofs in the New Brotherhood who stole the titles from him and Cedrone. But of course, he gets partnered up with Tatiana Jolee because strange bedfellows is the only way to book a tag team main event. Like more drama is needed before a six-person Hell in a Cell match later this month, right?
Gerry let out a sigh. He would ask G to watch over Tony while he was gone. Make sure the nurses and doctors are doing a proper job. He would fly into Charlotte and be back on the plane here as soon as he was done bumping the Clash viewership as only the Hollywood Hero could.
Not to mention showing The Brotherhood and TJ why their victories over him were simple flukes. He looked over at his father again and patted Tony’s hand with his.
Well well. Looks like it’s finally time to return to work after a long winter’s nap. Did you all have a nice Christmas? Did you all get what you wanted?
Well, I fucking didn’t. That douchebag Brady Bolt ruined my holiday with all his dumb fucking ideas. I’ll tell ya, when you make Pasternak look like a genius, it doesn’t reflect well on ya, you fucking dipshit. Aside from all his stupid shit with my All-In briefcase, did everyone see the tag match he made? Sure, let's team up the most important wrestler on your roster (me) with the new spoiled brat of the roster (TJ) against the tag team champions in the hopes that the team implodes.
How fucking original, Brady, you dumb bitch.
However, what’s done is done and now it’s the Living Legend having to team up with the woman who has the personality of gravel in a dryer against the two men who took those tag tiles from me. Kevin and Cipher, you two better be thanking whoever you pray to that this match isn’t for those Tag titles because Gerard Angelo would be walking out a two-time champion with yet another random partner. I’ve seen you two dumb fucks running around here, flexing those tiny, little, muscles like you’ve done something around here despite only beating up Jon Cedrone and the Sons of Anarchy rejects for a few months. But look at you guys! In the main event facing off with two former world champions. Hopefully, you do something of note with this rub I’m giving you again because you sure as shit ain’t did anything with the one I gave you at XIII.
I didn't forget about that Blumhouse Smokehouse Sugarsteak Strap match or whatever the fuck it was called. You boys stole my championship because Cedrone couldn't get his fucking head in the game. You are lucky I never got my rematch because it would be curtains for you two Hot Topic managers.
But of course, I don’t get it because this place loves to treat its biggest fucking draw like shit. But I digress.
Oh, Tatiana. Look how the mighty have fallen. Not that long ago you were on the top of the world! Strutting around here with the World title. Pretending that the last year of you absolutely shitting on Action Wrestling never happened. Yelling to whoever would listen about how you finally proved yourself to be the best by beating a broken and burned-out Jill Park.
And look at you now. Fucking standing there empty-handed because your luck finally ran the fuck out against Downfall. I told you the last few months of your career was a fucking fluke. Your victory over Jill was a fluke. Your win over me was a fluke. But hey! A broken clock works twice a day, right? Hopefully someday soon you and I match up again so I can prove to you just how right I am.
I’m not gonna lie, TJ. I fucking despise you. I think you’re fucking overrated. I don't get why ADub constantly bends over backward to make sure you are appeased. There are a thousand and two pro wrestlers that can do what you do, and better that don’t have a shitty fucking entitled attitude you have. If I was in charge when you threatened to quit, I would’ve changed the locks so fucking fast.
But this is a conversation for another day. Right now, we have a tag match to win because I am not losing to two guys who look like they work at Spencer’s Gifts again. So do yourself a favor and listen to me, the former tag champ. Also, the guy who held the World title for longer than a month.
Because I’m going to give us a Hollywood Ending.
G was sprawled out on the couch at Gerard’s place, watching the Game Show Network on his massive television. He didn’t know why but for some reason, he loved watch game shows. They were playing a rerun of Jeopardy, Alex Trebek (R.I.P) looking dapper in his suit. He took another swing from the expensive bottle of Gerry’s scotch, making a face. He wondered why his doppelganger drank the foul liquid when there were so many better options. The landline phone started to ring and G reached over as someone picked “Sports on Film” for six hundred.
“Hello?” G asked, paying attention to the television more than the phone call.
“Rust,” said the voice on the other end. G furrowed his brow but the voice continued.
“Eleven. Marlin. Engine. Midnight. Solstice.”
G went to say what but that’s when his eyes glazed over and rolled back.
“What are your orders, doctor?” G asked in a monotone voice.
“It’s time.”
He spent Christmas Day with Jonathan and his family, along with some of the students who had no one else. It was a nice little getaway from everything. His father’s clone had extended an invitation to him, likely to keep up appearances. Gerard just informed his publicist to tell him that he was spending Christmas and New Year's in the Maldives. He didn’t trust himself to be around that thing living his father’s life and not doing something. And with no proof and the history between Gerard and Tony, he didn’t know if Katia would believe him. And even that made him feel terrible. He didn’t want to leave her and AJ in danger but he didn’t have a fully formulated plan.
Gerard stopped and took a deep breath. As uncomfortable as it was, his dad’s wife and the baby were safer not knowing what was going on for now. He looked over from the chair to his father in the bed of his guest room. The sound of the ventilator was loud, Gerard attempted to drown it out with the football game playing on the wall-mounted TV. Anthony Angelo looked like he had aged ten years from being in that vat. His face seemed to have more lines in it, face looked sullen. His once thick, dark, hair was now thinner and lighter. It felt like they got to him just in the nick of time. He shuddered to think what the crazy doctor would’ve done if left unchecked.
But Tony was safe now. He will get healthy soon. Then Gerry and his dad will be at each other’s throats again, just like old times. He looked back at the television, watching the Houston Texans drive down the field. He would have to head back to work Monday. He hated leaving his father before he was awake. He wanted to feel like he had some semblance of control of the situation. Usually, wrestling was where he had the most control of his life but with that power-drunk dipshit, Brady Bolt running around, it was no longer a safe space for him. First, the curly-haired idiot had him defend his All-In briefcase for some stupid fucking reason, then he put a one-month ban on him being able to cash it in. Since when had any All-In briefcase holder been subjected to anything of the sort? Why was there always some sort of damn conspiracy trying to hold him down in this place?
To make matters worse, Brady Dolt decided to book him in a tag match on Clash against the Tag Team Champions. Normally, he would love a chance to get his revenge on those two goofs in the New Brotherhood who stole the titles from him and Cedrone. But of course, he gets partnered up with Tatiana Jolee because strange bedfellows is the only way to book a tag team main event. Like more drama is needed before a six-person Hell in a Cell match later this month, right?
Gerry let out a sigh. He would ask G to watch over Tony while he was gone. Make sure the nurses and doctors are doing a proper job. He would fly into Charlotte and be back on the plane here as soon as he was done bumping the Clash viewership as only the Hollywood Hero could.
Not to mention showing The Brotherhood and TJ why their victories over him were simple flukes. He looked over at his father again and patted Tony’s hand with his.
Well well. Looks like it’s finally time to return to work after a long winter’s nap. Did you all have a nice Christmas? Did you all get what you wanted?
Well, I fucking didn’t. That douchebag Brady Bolt ruined my holiday with all his dumb fucking ideas. I’ll tell ya, when you make Pasternak look like a genius, it doesn’t reflect well on ya, you fucking dipshit. Aside from all his stupid shit with my All-In briefcase, did everyone see the tag match he made? Sure, let's team up the most important wrestler on your roster (me) with the new spoiled brat of the roster (TJ) against the tag team champions in the hopes that the team implodes.
How fucking original, Brady, you dumb bitch.
However, what’s done is done and now it’s the Living Legend having to team up with the woman who has the personality of gravel in a dryer against the two men who took those tag tiles from me. Kevin and Cipher, you two better be thanking whoever you pray to that this match isn’t for those Tag titles because Gerard Angelo would be walking out a two-time champion with yet another random partner. I’ve seen you two dumb fucks running around here, flexing those tiny, little, muscles like you’ve done something around here despite only beating up Jon Cedrone and the Sons of Anarchy rejects for a few months. But look at you guys! In the main event facing off with two former world champions. Hopefully, you do something of note with this rub I’m giving you again because you sure as shit ain’t did anything with the one I gave you at XIII.
I didn't forget about that Blumhouse Smokehouse Sugarsteak Strap match or whatever the fuck it was called. You boys stole my championship because Cedrone couldn't get his fucking head in the game. You are lucky I never got my rematch because it would be curtains for you two Hot Topic managers.
But of course, I don’t get it because this place loves to treat its biggest fucking draw like shit. But I digress.
Oh, Tatiana. Look how the mighty have fallen. Not that long ago you were on the top of the world! Strutting around here with the World title. Pretending that the last year of you absolutely shitting on Action Wrestling never happened. Yelling to whoever would listen about how you finally proved yourself to be the best by beating a broken and burned-out Jill Park.
And look at you now. Fucking standing there empty-handed because your luck finally ran the fuck out against Downfall. I told you the last few months of your career was a fucking fluke. Your victory over Jill was a fluke. Your win over me was a fluke. But hey! A broken clock works twice a day, right? Hopefully someday soon you and I match up again so I can prove to you just how right I am.
I’m not gonna lie, TJ. I fucking despise you. I think you’re fucking overrated. I don't get why ADub constantly bends over backward to make sure you are appeased. There are a thousand and two pro wrestlers that can do what you do, and better that don’t have a shitty fucking entitled attitude you have. If I was in charge when you threatened to quit, I would’ve changed the locks so fucking fast.
But this is a conversation for another day. Right now, we have a tag match to win because I am not losing to two guys who look like they work at Spencer’s Gifts again. So do yourself a favor and listen to me, the former tag champ. Also, the guy who held the World title for longer than a month.
Because I’m going to give us a Hollywood Ending.
G was sprawled out on the couch at Gerard’s place, watching the Game Show Network on his massive television. He didn’t know why but for some reason, he loved watch game shows. They were playing a rerun of Jeopardy, Alex Trebek (R.I.P) looking dapper in his suit. He took another swing from the expensive bottle of Gerry’s scotch, making a face. He wondered why his doppelganger drank the foul liquid when there were so many better options. The landline phone started to ring and G reached over as someone picked “Sports on Film” for six hundred.
“Hello?” G asked, paying attention to the television more than the phone call.
“Rust,” said the voice on the other end. G furrowed his brow but the voice continued.
“Eleven. Marlin. Engine. Midnight. Solstice.”
G went to say what but that’s when his eyes glazed over and rolled back.
“What are your orders, doctor?” G asked in a monotone voice.
“It’s time.”