Post by Wade Moor on Feb 10, 2019 18:26:14 GMT -5
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Jared Holmes, Ryan Lockhart, and Alexander Pasternak stood outside the open VolkSWAGGIN door, almost is if they were contemplating going inside. They knew what they were going to see on the other side as it had become an all too familiar sight since WAR GAMES had come and gone. Jared looked to Ryan, who nodded, then to Alex, who also nodded in affirmation. They stepped into the bus and stepped on board, that forlorn sight greeting them as they did.
Wade Moor, The Leviathan, Godnilla himself...sat upon a bean bag chair, greasy controller in his hand, half a Digornio pizza that had gone cold on his right, a near empty twelve pack of warm Yoo-hoo to his left. He was fully submerged in the game on the TV screen that he didn’t even acknowledge the rest of #beachkrew when they came inside. Jared scoffed, Ryan pursed his lips looking downtrodden, and Pasternak did all he could to hold back the tears, though one silently slid down his gopnik cheek. This wasn’t the Wade Moor they knew and loved.
They say that War changes a man, but after such a grueling battle, they did have something a little different in mind.
“Wade...” Ryan chimed, but he didn’t look away from the screen.
“бродить ты тупой укол!”, Pasternak shouted, but to no avail.
Jared had seen enough. He lifted his foot off the ground and kicked the controller out of Wade’s hand. Finally, Wade had snapped from his stupor.
“What the hell...man?”, Wade asked.
Jared began to pace back and forth, Ryan and Alex just stood there like kids in the middle of a nasty divorce.
“What the fucks going on with you, bruh?” Jared asked, “We just won the biggest match of our Action Wrestling career so far and you’ve been sitting around like some slovenly neckbeard who can’t get a date!”
Ryan stepped forward and put his foot down.
“Yeah man, we just don’t get it...”, Ryan added, “We have Action Wrestling at our beck and call, a snap of our fingers and you could have a shot at the United States Championship. A UCI Championship shot is just a phone call away. Instead you’re mainlining flamin hot Cheeto dust and shotgunning Dr. Peppers? Is it about this?”
Ryan lifted the World Championship and it gleamed ever so slightly in the sunlight shining through the blinds. Wade looked from the belt, to Ryan, to Jared, to Pasternak.”
“And you, Pasternak?” Wade asked.
“Мы очень переживаем за тебя, брат”, Pasternak said, “Так было со времен WAR GAMES. Ваше психическое и физическое здоровье являются приоритетом здесь.”
The words hung in the stale air for a moment until Jared asked again.
“What the fuck is going on?”
“Fellas, I think it’s finally happened”, Wade replied, “I’m broken. I’m bored. Where does a man whose done everything there is to do in Action Wrestling go next? My man Lockhart is the World Champion, no disrespect but I ain’t even need that thing anymore. I can’t just settle for the United States Championship or UCI Championship, those belts are where talent goes to die. The Television Championship? Beating L Verez up is just too easy. I’ve already won the Havoc Rumble and the Wrestler of the Year Tournament. Maybe...”
The air grows thick, nearly pregnant, with that maybe.
“Maybe what?!” Jared asked.
“Maybe it’s time...”
A sense of dread washes over The VolkSWAGGIN.
“It’s time what?” Lockhart asks.
“Maybe it’s time that I retire, boys”, Wade finally answered.
Gasps. Shock. Awe.
“I’ve done everything there is to do, and then some. There isn’t a realistic challenge left for me anymore. Nobody can catch this smoke, dudes. I’ve shown up and shown out every week. They can’t touch me. Nobody outside of #beachkrew is even close to being on my level. I’ve climbed to the top of the mountain...they just never told me how lonely it would be at the top.”
Them boys in #beachkrew hung their heads low for their comrade. He was really and truly going through it. They didn’t even fathom that he was at the top of his game so bad that he hit the bottom of the barrel. The more they thought about it though, the more they came in tune with his depression feels. In that moment, they wanted to hug their brother and let him know they did indeed understand, but he was covered in a thick layer of chicken grease and the smell was something else. Instead, they threw him them mental hugs and snugs, hoping he would catch them.
“Soz bruh”, Jared replied, “I had no idea.”
“Yeah I didn’t even think about it like that”, Ryan added.
“Da, vy byli tol'ko pyatym prokhozhdeniyem SKYRIM, i my ne znali, chto s etim delat'”, Pasternak chimed in.
Wade didn’t reply, he didn’t know what to say. He kept that thousand yard stare before turning back to the tv, picking up his controller, and continuing his game. Jared, Ryan, and Alex shook their heads and walked out of The VolkSWAGGIN.
“I’ve never seen him like that before”, Lockhart announced, “Jared, you’ve known him the longest...what do we do?”
Pasternak looked like he was about to shred them crocodile tears. Not the animal, that mongoloid heroin that eats your flesh. It’s real shit, look it up. Jared just shook his head and swiped furiously on his phone.
“I honestly have no fucking clue”, Jared replied, “Maybe he needs to get laid? I’ve never seen him like that either.”
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“I honestly have no idea what I’m doing here anymore. I’m more alive than I’ve ever been, but for some reason, I feel...dead? Has it finally happened? Has Wade Moor lost his sense of purpose? His spot in the Action Wrestling pecking order? I - rightfully, truthfully - have no motherfucking clue, my children, my utter disappointments. You know, most of you are going to be quick to point the finger of judgement towards me, but in reality - this is all your fault. When I came to Action Wrestling, I wanted nothing but to face the absolute best this industry had to offer. Every man with thick dick or woman with ample bosom willing to stand toe to toe with Gawdnilla - it didn’t matter, I’d face them all...
“...I just didn’t think their best would be that easy. Are you following me? They offered up THE BEST talent, THE ULTIMATE in competition, and I’ve put every single one of them down for the three count. Alone. With #beachkrew. It doesn’t fucking matter where or when, if your name is opposite the card from Wade Moor, you have a 99.9% chance of getting your shit pushed in. That’s just nature when you ARE the tippy top of the Action Wrestling food chain. The Apex. The alpha and omega and all that jazz. I show up. Cut promo. Decimate opponent. Repeat. It’s all become so monotonous. So cut and dry.
“Copy pasta.”
Wade laughs in the back of his throat.
“Speaking of copy pasta, Zombie McMorris, my nilla, what’s good? I feel like we would have crossed paths sooner, but I did ask for THE BEST competition, so I’m sure your name never entered the arena. I mean, come on ZMAC, this ain’t 2013 when Ol Z actually meant and stood for something. This is 2019 and you’re struggling to keep pace. What’s this ‘climbing divisions’ shit? World Championship caliber competitors don’t fuck around in the 201 muck and mire. I know you’re trying to catch that World Tour ‘69 lightning in a bottle but you just don’t have the same oomph. At this point it’s all regurgitated nonsense and quotes from movies with scores on rotten tomatoes lower than 41%. ‘American Classics’ you call em, just like Ol Z. Fucking relics, man.
“There used to be a day where I could learn a thing or two from you, but nowadays the only thing you have to teach me is how to hit a meth pipe, crack pipe, and a bong at the time while simultaneously contracting hepatitis B or Zika. The variations are honestly limitless, but at the end of the day, it ain’t gonna help you in the wrestling ring. Thinking about it, I don’t think you ever really had it in that ring. You boast a monstrous win-loss ratio, the best in Action Wrestling barring myself, but it’s padded. You’ve been fighting below your station, playing it safe. Sounds like after all these years, honey badger finally do give a fuck.
“Protecting your image like some four week rookie on the indie circuit. Even in WCF, you were the welcome wagon for all the young bucks looking to ply their wrestling trade to a larger American audience. Sometimes, they would beat Ol Z. Sometimes you curb stomped the holy fuck out of them. Snapped them out of existence with that THICK-UH-NEZZ, right? Thirty six careers ended and Doc Henry is the biggest name you have on that list, but by your own admission, that nilla ain’t worth dick so...I don’t know what that means, Z! I can’t figure you out everything for you! Between FLAAAGH-GAGH jabs and the inordinate amount of time you spend on GIPHY, use your one last brain cell and get a fucking clue between now and Monday.
“All that aside though, you’re still pretty dangerous. So is a tweaked out bum but the principle is still the same. You didn’t get to be tag team champions from nothing, brudder. No Diablo Calzone or Kaz Mazy to hold your hand this time. This time you got yourself a clinger in Beau Blaze, backpacking motherfucker. He’s the reason red, white, and bruised put their foot in your asses last week and you know it. Ol Z is only loyal to a select few and something tells me ‘Cowboys From Hell’ ain’t gonna make the cut. I’m expecting you to put this motherfucker in a wheelchair by the end of the month or I’ll be personally offended.
“Beau Blaze, you hunk of shit. I watched your last promo and you went from zero to one hundred right god dayum quick. Fucking weirdo Luke Bryan motherfucker trying to be Rob Zombie. Like if you’re going for the good Ol boy, cousin fucker persona, you probably shouldn’t turn into a Quentin Tarantino movie when you’re cutting a promo. Maybe that’s the thing, though...the real you always slips out. You’re not fooling anyone with your ‘nice guy’ act, especially me. I have that inspectovision THIRD EYE shiz going on, I see right through you and let me tell ya somethin, kiddo...I don’t like what I see.
“Just more fodder for Action Wrestling to sling my way. Taking the tag team championships from you two isn’t at the top of my to-do list bruh, but it sure as shit beats being bored. My guess is it will probably be entirely too easy though, like pushing a child down. There’s just nothing to fear. No edge. What have the Cowboys From Hell done that #beachkrew haven’t? Especially you, Beau. If you can honestly answer that question for me then I’ll lay down for you on Monday Night Clash and hand you the biggest victory of your career...but you couldn’t even handle the Television Championship for an entire month, but what do you expect from someone who probably doesn’t even know what a television is, let alone own one.
“I don’t really know how you’re expecting this match to go down. We’re hot off of one of the most violent matches in our careers to the day, this match is just a cool down for us. A little calm before the next storm blows through. This is the CFH’s one and only opportunity to batten down the hatches before #beachkrews #EFFINRAGER, to buckle down on those Tag Team Championship belts before we rent them from your unconscious hands. One last opportunity to appreciate the fact that you were once a champion before Wade Moor and Alexander Pasternak came along and decided they’d rather have them.”
Wade Moor motions for ya to come closer, he’s got a little secret to whisper to ya, cupping his hand to the right of his mouth as he spills the beans.
“Hey yuh...If you wanted to be like your boy ZMAC, you’re well on your way. If you’re half the man that Ol Z is than you’re already halfway to being a fucking perennial loser.”
Wade laughs again, soaking it all in.
“Speaking of fucking losers - Jaice Wilds, hows it going you midget piece of shit? Must’ve been pretty cozy down there in the undercard for a while. You’re the only thirteen year veteran I’ve known that had to go cut their teeth in a lower vision. Definitely the only one I’ve known that had to do some flaccid unmasking ceremony in an attempt to get over. How that transpired pretty much sums up and defines your career though. Roll tape.
“Dark Spectre was Jaice Wilds all along and the audience cared about as much as they would about paint drying. Every once in a while some uppity midcarder like you thinks they fully understand the ins and outs of this business because ‘shit, why not I’ve been at it almost two decades’ but fuck me, man. This is the best you have after nearly twenty years in the wrestling business? If I were in your boots, i would have fucking retired to Florida already. Get eaten by some gators. Who fucking cares right? They’d catch the headline on bleacher report. Roll headline.
“Your career in a god damn nutshell, my duder. Now you think you have what it takes to go for the World Championship? L Verez is leaps and bounds ahead of you in that ring and when her opportunity came, she choked harder than every Guardian has in any title match ever. It’s pretty fitting that you ended up in The Guardians now that I think about it, they’re all a bunch of low life midcarders anyways. The only reason they stood out in UCI is because that was a company full of midcarders and it’s probably why they fucking shut down. The only dimes they drew were in the hallway vending machines. Pathetic, man. Truly. Sadly. Deeply.
“But yeah you want to hurl insults at us on Twitters because of all the ‘great stuff’ you’ve accomplished and we’re a bunch of cheaters, etcetera etcetera. This is probably why nobody likes you, Jaice. It isn’t because you’re an ‘asshole’ or whatever stupid fucking reason you’ve come up with. It’s because you’re a bitter, cantankerous, whiney old shit who just doesn’t know when to quit. It’s going to be an absolute joy watching Ryan Lockhart systematically dismantle you at #EFFINRAGER, but it’s going to be even better being able to get my hands on you before that this Monday.
“I guess you could say I’ve had a bone to pick with you for a while. You’re fucking lazy, Wilds. Even when I was sitting in on those late night Guardians meetings in that shit hole pub of Richards, I managed to contribute more to the whole of Guardians than you ever have. I’d look over at you and watch your body language. Dismissive. Inattentive. Two qualities I absolutely abhor in a teammate and you embodied both of them. They’d let you slide because they’re too nice to say anything and shit, it wasn’t my place. They didn’t realize that every decision they made let to failure after bitter failure and it was mostly, entirely your fault.
“I mean gah damn man, you’re thirteen years in the business should have made you the instant favorite for leadership as soon as Bonnie up and quit y’all because she got tired of losing too...but that spot went to L Verez immediately. A two year greenhorn, still short in the teeth. I guess you could say she’s doing a good job - a good job at being absolutely average, but a good job none the less. You, though? You were gifted a nice World Championship match after riding the ‘future endeavored’ bread line for the last three months. You can’t even get a coherent story on TV with a satisfying payoff. If I have to watch one more masked man beat the shit out of you this week I might just render my resignation. I’d rather watch that sixteen year old fuck you up again for the 201 Championship. That’s always a lot of fun.“
Wade sighs.
“I digress though. After pummeling #fightsmart within an inch of their lives inside a steel cage, there isn’t really much for me to look forward to these days, so I guess snorkeling you plebeians is going to have to do for now while I formulate my next move. Maybe one of you schmucks will step up to the plate and offer me a legitimate challenge, but I’m not going to hold my breath - even though I can and for a really long time. Shine my shit up. Polish the leather. Yeah yeah all that shit because we’re comin for them belts and them scalps on some straight up og #beachklub ish.”
Jared Holmes, Ryan Lockhart, and Alexander Pasternak stood outside the open VolkSWAGGIN door, almost is if they were contemplating going inside. They knew what they were going to see on the other side as it had become an all too familiar sight since WAR GAMES had come and gone. Jared looked to Ryan, who nodded, then to Alex, who also nodded in affirmation. They stepped into the bus and stepped on board, that forlorn sight greeting them as they did.
Wade Moor, The Leviathan, Godnilla himself...sat upon a bean bag chair, greasy controller in his hand, half a Digornio pizza that had gone cold on his right, a near empty twelve pack of warm Yoo-hoo to his left. He was fully submerged in the game on the TV screen that he didn’t even acknowledge the rest of #beachkrew when they came inside. Jared scoffed, Ryan pursed his lips looking downtrodden, and Pasternak did all he could to hold back the tears, though one silently slid down his gopnik cheek. This wasn’t the Wade Moor they knew and loved.
They say that War changes a man, but after such a grueling battle, they did have something a little different in mind.
“Wade...” Ryan chimed, but he didn’t look away from the screen.
“бродить ты тупой укол!”, Pasternak shouted, but to no avail.
Jared had seen enough. He lifted his foot off the ground and kicked the controller out of Wade’s hand. Finally, Wade had snapped from his stupor.
“What the hell...man?”, Wade asked.
Jared began to pace back and forth, Ryan and Alex just stood there like kids in the middle of a nasty divorce.
“What the fucks going on with you, bruh?” Jared asked, “We just won the biggest match of our Action Wrestling career so far and you’ve been sitting around like some slovenly neckbeard who can’t get a date!”
Ryan stepped forward and put his foot down.
“Yeah man, we just don’t get it...”, Ryan added, “We have Action Wrestling at our beck and call, a snap of our fingers and you could have a shot at the United States Championship. A UCI Championship shot is just a phone call away. Instead you’re mainlining flamin hot Cheeto dust and shotgunning Dr. Peppers? Is it about this?”
Ryan lifted the World Championship and it gleamed ever so slightly in the sunlight shining through the blinds. Wade looked from the belt, to Ryan, to Jared, to Pasternak.”
“And you, Pasternak?” Wade asked.
“Мы очень переживаем за тебя, брат”, Pasternak said, “Так было со времен WAR GAMES. Ваше психическое и физическое здоровье являются приоритетом здесь.”
The words hung in the stale air for a moment until Jared asked again.
“What the fuck is going on?”
“Fellas, I think it’s finally happened”, Wade replied, “I’m broken. I’m bored. Where does a man whose done everything there is to do in Action Wrestling go next? My man Lockhart is the World Champion, no disrespect but I ain’t even need that thing anymore. I can’t just settle for the United States Championship or UCI Championship, those belts are where talent goes to die. The Television Championship? Beating L Verez up is just too easy. I’ve already won the Havoc Rumble and the Wrestler of the Year Tournament. Maybe...”
The air grows thick, nearly pregnant, with that maybe.
“Maybe what?!” Jared asked.
“Maybe it’s time...”
A sense of dread washes over The VolkSWAGGIN.
“It’s time what?” Lockhart asks.
“Maybe it’s time that I retire, boys”, Wade finally answered.
Gasps. Shock. Awe.
“I’ve done everything there is to do, and then some. There isn’t a realistic challenge left for me anymore. Nobody can catch this smoke, dudes. I’ve shown up and shown out every week. They can’t touch me. Nobody outside of #beachkrew is even close to being on my level. I’ve climbed to the top of the mountain...they just never told me how lonely it would be at the top.”
Them boys in #beachkrew hung their heads low for their comrade. He was really and truly going through it. They didn’t even fathom that he was at the top of his game so bad that he hit the bottom of the barrel. The more they thought about it though, the more they came in tune with his depression feels. In that moment, they wanted to hug their brother and let him know they did indeed understand, but he was covered in a thick layer of chicken grease and the smell was something else. Instead, they threw him them mental hugs and snugs, hoping he would catch them.
“Soz bruh”, Jared replied, “I had no idea.”
“Yeah I didn’t even think about it like that”, Ryan added.
“Da, vy byli tol'ko pyatym prokhozhdeniyem SKYRIM, i my ne znali, chto s etim delat'”, Pasternak chimed in.
Wade didn’t reply, he didn’t know what to say. He kept that thousand yard stare before turning back to the tv, picking up his controller, and continuing his game. Jared, Ryan, and Alex shook their heads and walked out of The VolkSWAGGIN.
“I’ve never seen him like that before”, Lockhart announced, “Jared, you’ve known him the longest...what do we do?”
Pasternak looked like he was about to shred them crocodile tears. Not the animal, that mongoloid heroin that eats your flesh. It’s real shit, look it up. Jared just shook his head and swiped furiously on his phone.
“I honestly have no fucking clue”, Jared replied, “Maybe he needs to get laid? I’ve never seen him like that either.”
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“I honestly have no idea what I’m doing here anymore. I’m more alive than I’ve ever been, but for some reason, I feel...dead? Has it finally happened? Has Wade Moor lost his sense of purpose? His spot in the Action Wrestling pecking order? I - rightfully, truthfully - have no motherfucking clue, my children, my utter disappointments. You know, most of you are going to be quick to point the finger of judgement towards me, but in reality - this is all your fault. When I came to Action Wrestling, I wanted nothing but to face the absolute best this industry had to offer. Every man with thick dick or woman with ample bosom willing to stand toe to toe with Gawdnilla - it didn’t matter, I’d face them all...
“...I just didn’t think their best would be that easy. Are you following me? They offered up THE BEST talent, THE ULTIMATE in competition, and I’ve put every single one of them down for the three count. Alone. With #beachkrew. It doesn’t fucking matter where or when, if your name is opposite the card from Wade Moor, you have a 99.9% chance of getting your shit pushed in. That’s just nature when you ARE the tippy top of the Action Wrestling food chain. The Apex. The alpha and omega and all that jazz. I show up. Cut promo. Decimate opponent. Repeat. It’s all become so monotonous. So cut and dry.
“Copy pasta.”
Wade laughs in the back of his throat.
“Speaking of copy pasta, Zombie McMorris, my nilla, what’s good? I feel like we would have crossed paths sooner, but I did ask for THE BEST competition, so I’m sure your name never entered the arena. I mean, come on ZMAC, this ain’t 2013 when Ol Z actually meant and stood for something. This is 2019 and you’re struggling to keep pace. What’s this ‘climbing divisions’ shit? World Championship caliber competitors don’t fuck around in the 201 muck and mire. I know you’re trying to catch that World Tour ‘69 lightning in a bottle but you just don’t have the same oomph. At this point it’s all regurgitated nonsense and quotes from movies with scores on rotten tomatoes lower than 41%. ‘American Classics’ you call em, just like Ol Z. Fucking relics, man.
“There used to be a day where I could learn a thing or two from you, but nowadays the only thing you have to teach me is how to hit a meth pipe, crack pipe, and a bong at the time while simultaneously contracting hepatitis B or Zika. The variations are honestly limitless, but at the end of the day, it ain’t gonna help you in the wrestling ring. Thinking about it, I don’t think you ever really had it in that ring. You boast a monstrous win-loss ratio, the best in Action Wrestling barring myself, but it’s padded. You’ve been fighting below your station, playing it safe. Sounds like after all these years, honey badger finally do give a fuck.
“Protecting your image like some four week rookie on the indie circuit. Even in WCF, you were the welcome wagon for all the young bucks looking to ply their wrestling trade to a larger American audience. Sometimes, they would beat Ol Z. Sometimes you curb stomped the holy fuck out of them. Snapped them out of existence with that THICK-UH-NEZZ, right? Thirty six careers ended and Doc Henry is the biggest name you have on that list, but by your own admission, that nilla ain’t worth dick so...I don’t know what that means, Z! I can’t figure you out everything for you! Between FLAAAGH-GAGH jabs and the inordinate amount of time you spend on GIPHY, use your one last brain cell and get a fucking clue between now and Monday.
“All that aside though, you’re still pretty dangerous. So is a tweaked out bum but the principle is still the same. You didn’t get to be tag team champions from nothing, brudder. No Diablo Calzone or Kaz Mazy to hold your hand this time. This time you got yourself a clinger in Beau Blaze, backpacking motherfucker. He’s the reason red, white, and bruised put their foot in your asses last week and you know it. Ol Z is only loyal to a select few and something tells me ‘Cowboys From Hell’ ain’t gonna make the cut. I’m expecting you to put this motherfucker in a wheelchair by the end of the month or I’ll be personally offended.
“Beau Blaze, you hunk of shit. I watched your last promo and you went from zero to one hundred right god dayum quick. Fucking weirdo Luke Bryan motherfucker trying to be Rob Zombie. Like if you’re going for the good Ol boy, cousin fucker persona, you probably shouldn’t turn into a Quentin Tarantino movie when you’re cutting a promo. Maybe that’s the thing, though...the real you always slips out. You’re not fooling anyone with your ‘nice guy’ act, especially me. I have that inspectovision THIRD EYE shiz going on, I see right through you and let me tell ya somethin, kiddo...I don’t like what I see.
“Just more fodder for Action Wrestling to sling my way. Taking the tag team championships from you two isn’t at the top of my to-do list bruh, but it sure as shit beats being bored. My guess is it will probably be entirely too easy though, like pushing a child down. There’s just nothing to fear. No edge. What have the Cowboys From Hell done that #beachkrew haven’t? Especially you, Beau. If you can honestly answer that question for me then I’ll lay down for you on Monday Night Clash and hand you the biggest victory of your career...but you couldn’t even handle the Television Championship for an entire month, but what do you expect from someone who probably doesn’t even know what a television is, let alone own one.
“I don’t really know how you’re expecting this match to go down. We’re hot off of one of the most violent matches in our careers to the day, this match is just a cool down for us. A little calm before the next storm blows through. This is the CFH’s one and only opportunity to batten down the hatches before #beachkrews #EFFINRAGER, to buckle down on those Tag Team Championship belts before we rent them from your unconscious hands. One last opportunity to appreciate the fact that you were once a champion before Wade Moor and Alexander Pasternak came along and decided they’d rather have them.”
Wade Moor motions for ya to come closer, he’s got a little secret to whisper to ya, cupping his hand to the right of his mouth as he spills the beans.
“Hey yuh...If you wanted to be like your boy ZMAC, you’re well on your way. If you’re half the man that Ol Z is than you’re already halfway to being a fucking perennial loser.”
Wade laughs again, soaking it all in.
“Speaking of fucking losers - Jaice Wilds, hows it going you midget piece of shit? Must’ve been pretty cozy down there in the undercard for a while. You’re the only thirteen year veteran I’ve known that had to go cut their teeth in a lower vision. Definitely the only one I’ve known that had to do some flaccid unmasking ceremony in an attempt to get over. How that transpired pretty much sums up and defines your career though. Roll tape.
BILLY: ITS JAICE WILDS IN A MASK!
CROWD: WHOOOOOO?!
CROWD: WHOOOOOO?!
“Dark Spectre was Jaice Wilds all along and the audience cared about as much as they would about paint drying. Every once in a while some uppity midcarder like you thinks they fully understand the ins and outs of this business because ‘shit, why not I’ve been at it almost two decades’ but fuck me, man. This is the best you have after nearly twenty years in the wrestling business? If I were in your boots, i would have fucking retired to Florida already. Get eaten by some gators. Who fucking cares right? They’d catch the headline on bleacher report. Roll headline.
JAICE WILDS GETS EATEN BY SOME GATORS
CROWD: WHOOOOO?!
CROWD: WHOOOOO?!
“Your career in a god damn nutshell, my duder. Now you think you have what it takes to go for the World Championship? L Verez is leaps and bounds ahead of you in that ring and when her opportunity came, she choked harder than every Guardian has in any title match ever. It’s pretty fitting that you ended up in The Guardians now that I think about it, they’re all a bunch of low life midcarders anyways. The only reason they stood out in UCI is because that was a company full of midcarders and it’s probably why they fucking shut down. The only dimes they drew were in the hallway vending machines. Pathetic, man. Truly. Sadly. Deeply.
“But yeah you want to hurl insults at us on Twitters because of all the ‘great stuff’ you’ve accomplished and we’re a bunch of cheaters, etcetera etcetera. This is probably why nobody likes you, Jaice. It isn’t because you’re an ‘asshole’ or whatever stupid fucking reason you’ve come up with. It’s because you’re a bitter, cantankerous, whiney old shit who just doesn’t know when to quit. It’s going to be an absolute joy watching Ryan Lockhart systematically dismantle you at #EFFINRAGER, but it’s going to be even better being able to get my hands on you before that this Monday.
“I guess you could say I’ve had a bone to pick with you for a while. You’re fucking lazy, Wilds. Even when I was sitting in on those late night Guardians meetings in that shit hole pub of Richards, I managed to contribute more to the whole of Guardians than you ever have. I’d look over at you and watch your body language. Dismissive. Inattentive. Two qualities I absolutely abhor in a teammate and you embodied both of them. They’d let you slide because they’re too nice to say anything and shit, it wasn’t my place. They didn’t realize that every decision they made let to failure after bitter failure and it was mostly, entirely your fault.
“I mean gah damn man, you’re thirteen years in the business should have made you the instant favorite for leadership as soon as Bonnie up and quit y’all because she got tired of losing too...but that spot went to L Verez immediately. A two year greenhorn, still short in the teeth. I guess you could say she’s doing a good job - a good job at being absolutely average, but a good job none the less. You, though? You were gifted a nice World Championship match after riding the ‘future endeavored’ bread line for the last three months. You can’t even get a coherent story on TV with a satisfying payoff. If I have to watch one more masked man beat the shit out of you this week I might just render my resignation. I’d rather watch that sixteen year old fuck you up again for the 201 Championship. That’s always a lot of fun.“
Wade sighs.
“I digress though. After pummeling #fightsmart within an inch of their lives inside a steel cage, there isn’t really much for me to look forward to these days, so I guess snorkeling you plebeians is going to have to do for now while I formulate my next move. Maybe one of you schmucks will step up to the plate and offer me a legitimate challenge, but I’m not going to hold my breath - even though I can and for a really long time. Shine my shit up. Polish the leather. Yeah yeah all that shit because we’re comin for them belts and them scalps on some straight up og #beachklub ish.”