Post by Reece Stapleton-Shaw on Mar 6, 2018 17:38:23 GMT -5
“Wrestling? Are you being fucking serious with me right now?”
A pause.
“Yes Dad, I-”
A slap.
Silence.
“You think you’re a big man now. Is that it? Come on big man, you want to be a tough guy. I have put my neck on the line for you, you little shit. I vouched for you to John McClellan. My son is brilliant I told him; he’s perfect for our graduate programme. I got John to sign off on you. Now you go and do this?”
Silence.
“Nothing to say? Come on big mouth.”
Silence.
“Billy big bollocks over here, eh? You’re going to do this to me? After everything I’ve done for you, everything I’ve sacrificed?”
The most deafening silence yet.
“Yes.”
“Get out of my sight. Get out of my house. You aren’t welcome here anymore.”
A scuffle, the sound of commotion.
“Dad please, I love you.”
“That is the last time you are ever going to use that word. Goodbye so-
Goodbye Reece.”
The slam of a door.
Tears.
“Reece Shaw debuts on Action Wrestling Revolution and DESTROYS Lincoln Kuechly”
Views: 1,455,123
Thumbs up: 4000 / Thumbs down: 12k
Top comments: Does anyone else think that Torture looks like Barry Chuckle from The Chuckle Brothers? (521)
Reece Shaw looks like what would happen if Kanye West fucked Kanye West and out came this fucking idiot. (488)
Last time I was this early I watched a Camilla Gonzales match. (431)
Reece Shaw closed the YouTube app and scrolled through the phone for a moment as he propped himself up in bed. It was mid morning, Reece had a fun night. Kicked the shit out of a wasteman on his Action Wrestling debut and shagged a fat bird. Not bad knockings really.
A ding.
“Hey Reece I had a great time last ni-”
Too fat to be seen in public with though. Block, delete.
He opened Twitch and hit the button to begin a live stream.
ArchbishopOfBanterbury is current broadcasting!
He focused the camera onto his face, a gleaming wide ivory smile spread from ear to ear as he adjusted the thick brimmed spectacles that were accentuating his warm brown eyes. He saw the viewer count beginning to creep upward.
“Wagwan fambo! How the fuck are we doing today? How’s everyone doing here? I’m doing fucking peng boys. I only went and made my debut last night! Did you see how I shined that little bitch up? It was fuckin’ beautiful man he took such a savage beating I’m surprised he could even work his fingers again to type another limp insult at me on social media. He managed it though, what a good little wankstain. I absolutely annihilated him didn’t I boys? Yeeeees!
I’m at one and a half million views, on YouTube. Fucking stunning. The million view man. That’s me, easy. So yeah. I’m happy to finally step foot in that ring guys, it’s been a long time coming I know you’ve all been checking me out on my professional wrestling journey well it’s all coming together isn’t it. Check the Patreon out for new options to support my career development at www.patreon.com/HEADBOI thanks for all the support so far I’m gonna do my best to try keep up with quality videos like this one I’m giving you right this very moment.
Hey Lincoln Kweewee, how did it feel to get fucking boshed man? You were all trying to be cool and taking your first win like a boss but you got shown who the real Mr Bignuts is didn’t ya? I already hold a victory over you mate, you were fucking sparko. It was hilarious! You fell like a sack of shit when BOOM that fucking knee mate. Night night. Nap time.
So my first official match has been booked, pretty fucking special isn’t it fam? I get to savage Kweewee a second week in a row and apparently some ugly fat masked twat as well. It couldn’t really get better could it? Well maybe I could get to slap a woman or two around for no reason before the match then get a blowie from Brooke Bell. DM me girl @roastmastergeneral on twitter and insta, I’ll give you my number Queen.
Max Masked...what the fuck are you? You are literally the stupidest wrestler on this entire roster and this is with a fella who thinks he’s chosen by Tony the pissing Tiger and imbued by that wanker CoCo the Monkey with powers and shit. This is how stupid you are. Your gimmick is essentially ‘tough thug with heart of gold’ - what am I even supposed to do with that? Come on creative throw this talented boy a bone here rather than a plateful of grease and offal. You look like you’re about to ultimately destroy something son...likely your heart with several obesity related diseases. You’re probably Gravedigger in a mask.
What would even make you an interesting opponent to face? Could you be an alien? A demon? A transdimensional cosmic god? Spin the wheel, let’s see what I end up with...oh so sorry the wheel landed on ‘Useless fatty’. I’m going to beat the snot out of you, this is going to look like someone tied up a tranquilised masked Kyle Gas and just let someone whale away on him with a baseball bat for ten minutes. I think what I’ve safely established mate is that you are essentially a no factor in this contest. If I were a cynical professional wrestling IWC nerd, no offense my loyal FAMBO - I would say that you’re in this match just to eat the pin.
I’m not a cynical professional wrestling IWC nerd, but I have no decorum either, so yeh, you’re eating the pin you fucking dunce. I might even fuck around and pull your mask off at the end of the match. What’s your secret identity? Surprise! It’s not a fat loser at all. It’s an ugly fat loser. You are at an interesting position in this match though mate, not gonna lie. You are going to be witness the birth of something amazing. One of the men you’re going to step through the ropes with is going to dominate this federation for the foreseeable future, systematically dismantling everyone in his wake. The other is Lincoln. Listen Max lad, try not to get too beat up about it...mentally I mean, because physically I’m going to abuse you to the point of you pissing blood. But still, it’s a learning experience isn’t it? Stay in your lane, lose more matches than you win and be the ‘funny’ guy at the bottom of the card who always shows up but never wins shit. That looks like it would probably fit your mandate in life pretty well.
Max Masked. You have a shite gimmick, a shite name, a shite moveset, shite music and look essentially like a reconstituted mess of human shite. I really hope you’re one of those ‘one and done’ type of wrestlers who get smashed and then fuck off. Do me that favour at least.
Please?”
A man named Reece Shaw
His life had been mapped out since he was old enough to take his first steps and utter his first. Reece Shaw was to read Political Science at Oxford as his father had before him. He had been the chair at the Young Labour society and was being groomed to take a place on the bench on Richard Shaw’s Bethnal Green bench with the high potential of being the next young face of the party. He had the look, charisma, oratory skills and personable nature that many had already earmarked him to go far in Parliament.
As young Reece’s potential grew, so did the gnawing growing monster within him. By day he would study, smile and debate. By night he would go nose deep in the cheapest nastiest china in Soho and soar on wings of intoxicated courage into the closest bar. While others his age were looking to get drunk, make memories, friends and get their fill of waist low carnality, Reece Shaw just wanted to fight. It didn’t matter if someone took exception to him unblinkingly staring at them across the pub or someone just smiled at him as they walked past.
‘What are you looking at, fucking nigger?’
‘Y’alright mate?’
It didn't matter.
A shattering half full Carlsberg left hand of glass, boots on the ground.
‘STOP!’ There would be screams.
‘You’re going to kill him!’
Clasping protective female nails raking across his face. The sound of police sirens.
Happiness.
Sleep.
Repeat.
What was a whisper in his mind during adolescence was now a thousand deafening thundering drums. This was not an urge he could resist any longer. Boxing was too restrictive, Mixed Martial Arts was not violent enough. What was left for a man like Reece Shaw? The sport of men. The sport of champions. The sport of kings. Wrestling. Yes. He was completely fucking serious.
With the patriarchal banishment came renewed hope for Reece Shaw, he was no longer bound by the wills of others. He would step out at twenty three years old and secure his own place in this world. The last of his savings were spent on the plane ride to the States where he sought out the best training and performance centre he could find, just so happened that he lucked out and with that Reece found himself beginning his journey to the Action Wrestling roster.
His first day felt like the first day of a fresh meat inmate thrown to the lions of a high risk violent crimes wing, he took it as a personal challenge. Reece licked his lips as he paced back and forth watching people begin their workouts, his eyes darted across the physiques and faces as he assessed the threat level like a Saiyan scouter.
Slow, no threat.
Too small.
Oh...now this one. He strode through the sweat, tearing muscles and testosterone as his eyes were fixed on a tall man wearing an ill fitting suit who was stood by the water cooler selecting a plastic cup to fill as Reece rested his hand on the man's shoulder.
“Now then mate” he said.
The man turned and Reece fired a right hand toward the man’s stubbled jaw. Reece expected the crack of bone on bone, and the satisfying slump of another man onto the floor. Reece heard the crack, then fell into darkness.
He awoke to find himself propped up against the wall, a towel rolled up and laid across the back of his neck to keep his head supported. Stood in front of him, drinking a cup of water was the tall man in the ill fitting suit.
“How did that feel?” the man asked, a smile crossing his face. Shit.
“Shit” Reece replied as he opened his mouth wide and clenched his jaw a couple of times.
“Word of advice kid. You might have been the biggest, the strongest, hell even the toughest guy from shitfuck England but here? You’re nothing.” The man said.
The man threw his plastic cup at the seething Reece.
“Oh, and you ever try to sneak me again - I’m going to snuff you the fuck out. Do you understand?” the man told Reece, his joviality fading. “Now...maybe learn how take a fucking bump. Fucking idiot.”
With that, the man left. Reece sat on the floor and draped the towel over his head. He had never been so emasculated and embarrassed in his life. He felt his fists naturally ball and he beat his right fist against the concrete floor with a whispered ‘fuck’. What Reece came to find out was the man that just did this to him wasn’t a wrestling legend, nor a champion in the making. He was a curtain jerking journeyman who simply stopped by for a workout before he was due to perform at an outlaw show later that night. It was at that moment Reece realised the monumental task he had before him, how arrogant and conceited he had been. He didn’t have any business calling himself a wrestler; the gap between fighter and professional was made all too clear. A gap that Reece bit down on his gum shield for the next six months and vowed to try and bridge.
For the six months following that, Reece Shaw was awake before the birds putting in road work until the gym opened. He would step into the ring at the point of exhaustion and drill with instructors until he was coughing up the bile from the very pit of his stomach. It was a long hard road filled with pain, hurt and sacrifice but on the 1st of March Reece Shaw got the nod from the trainers and was offered an entry level contract with Action Wrestling’s main roster. Josh Harrison - a heavy set man with thinning mousey brown hair, one of the men who had been taking care of his training for the past six months told him plainly.
“This is your one shot. I get that you might be nervous. I get you might be anxious but let me tell you something...you have physicals gifts and athletic talent that no one else on this roster has.” Josh pointed his two index fingers at his temples. “Don’t let this ruin you Reece. Do not fuck this chance up. I don’t want to see you back here.”
“Well that’s not going to happen. I’ll be back here for sure.” Reece said with a smile. “I’ll be back in another six months to show you the World Title.”
March 6th 2018
Reece Shaw continued with his Twitch stream.
“Now then! Let’s have some questions from the FAMBO! What you gadges wanna hear from your boy today?”
QUESTION: What is your motivation to become a wrestler?
“Cos I’m a fucking beast mate. Stupid question. I’m gonna fuck all these weak niggas up, simple and plain mate. Do we not have any good questions, I want interesting stuff not generic in house reporter type shite.”
QUESTION: How big is your dick?
“That’s more like it! Nine and a bit give or take if I shave my pubes or do the thing where I push the skin and flesh at the bottom of my shaft down when I take a picture to make it look even more impressive, ya feel me fam?”
Question: would you fuck bonnie blue?
“Who the fuck is that?"
Question: a wrestler
“Is she white?”
Question: yes
“Then yeah, she can taste this for sure. Hey Bonnie hit me up @roastmastergeneral on twitter and insta. Let’s do a lil something.”
Question: WHaT DoeS iT FeEL LiKE to Be iN aW?
“What does it feel to type like you have a permanent Sunday Night Heat font fam? Uhh I guess it’s good I got to beat a silly bitch up for mouthing off and now I’m getting to talk to you guys so shit goes well doesn’t it?”
Question: What do you think of Lincoln Kuechly, have you bitten off more than you can chew in this man? He might sell the world, but he will no sell your finish and then pin you looser!!!!
“First off mate, I said no more stupid shitty questions, second, I don’t have a ‘finish’ - I just knock cunts out don’t I? Third - I’m going to beat the ever loving shit out of this guy. Again. I’m gonna remind him how those fresh Yeezy’s in his grill felt, boom, bam, pow! Straight in the fuckin’ kisser mate and you’re slumped again. You know, this is all your fault.
I was minding my own business and having a laugh on Twitter when you had to hop in and pipe up acting tough. There was no need for that. No need at all, what you should have done is just ignored and gone about your day. Instead five small seemingly insignificant seconds in your life are going to be the ruin of you. I’m not playing with you. Not like that Max twat, he’s just an opponent to beat. You are an opponent to hurt. There is a big difference.
The thing that makes me a little vexed if I’m honest mate is that you’re doing this to me to begin with. Rather than hating on a countryman, nah, a fellow fucking Londoner you decided to start something where there was nothing. My eye wasn’t on you, it wasn’t on anyone in truth. You fucked up and made me focused and on Sunday you’re going to learn exactly how bad of a thing that is for you. I’m not like the other lads in the back, I’m not here for the fun of the sport. I ain’t a technician and I don’t give a fuck if you’re more skilled or more savvy than me. I’m bigger than you, tougher than you and stronger than you and believe me when I say this - I’m going to absolutely fuck you up. Again. You call yourself the ‘Hopeless Wanderer’ well I’m going to make you the ‘Lifeless Wanderer’ as I book you a one way ticket to the fucking morgue.
I’m just playing mate. Only bants isn’t it?
So to get into the mindset of you Linc, I peeped your promo last week and man shit. That was intense. Like super intense. One thing I didn’t quite get though, can you clarify it please, are you telling us...you’re a bad guy?
For fucks sake.
Could you BE more ham fisted? You sound like the shittest Bond villain ever. Your name would be Rimjob. No fucker would pick you in Goldeneye either. I can’t get over you man, if anything my dastardly deeds on Sunday should be fucking lauded! I just toppled the next world dictator. Fucking Pol Pot-head over here. Adolf Shitler. Ghengis Khant...mate I’m fucking roasting you by using shit puns of dictators names. First thing you did was establish what you want out of your time here. You want it all, what is it you actually think you are going to get in your time here? The World Title? More? You want to go down as the best wrestler in the world? What would that achieve for you?
You’re more hollow than a fucking Easter Egg. Not a single thing in this world is filling that void. Not the adulation of success, not the succor of fame because at the end of the day you’re going to be looking at Lincoln Kuechly in the mirror and falling asleep with Lincoln Kuechly whispering to you as you’re unable to sleep. No one trusts you, no one likes you, no one wants you, no one cares about you, no one looks up to you, no one loves you. Is a belt supposed to hold all those insecurities from falling down around you? Well good for you I’d say, if you weren’t a complete fucking knob. You’re not getting any solace in success while I’m standing in front of you mate, I’m going to be there at every turn one step before you rinsing you, roasting you and tossing your crumbling self esteem into the fucking wind. It’s a funny world really, you maybe could have gone on to bigger and better things in Action Wrestling; maybe we would have been seeing the name of The Man Who Sold The World in lights as World Champion. Instead we are going to be more than likely seeing him memorialised in the alumni page after I wreck his ego again...and again...and again. See, you’re not the sort of guy who will go silently into the night, whether its professional pride or simple pig headed stubborn ignorance you will continue to rage against the fate that lays before you before you get every last remaining drop of self worth ground out of you. Not going to lie...I will enjoy every fucking second of it.
The silly thing about this is you continue to do things that annoy me Lincoln. Like, I could have happily walked away from things and let it be after slumping you and putting the boots to you. I could have just walked away with beating you on Sunday yet after everything...after everything you did Lincoln you did one thing I could never forgive.
You wore sunglasses indoors.
For that, I’m gonna kick your fucking head in.”
Reece begins laughing.
“This match is the perfect debut for me really. I get an easy showcase against a no mark and a potentially ‘heated and personal’ touch. This is supposed to be a test for me and you Linc, see which of us is going to take the next step up the card and toward the hallowed ground at the top. I’m going to mop the floor with you mate. Fuck making the wasteman take the pin, I’m gunning for you. It’s not him I want to put down. It’s you. Getting the win over him is nothing for me, but murking you? That would be perfect. I could do with a good old English Sunday roast.
Let this come as a warning to anybody watching this. I’m fine with you being nice and cordial, even a nice little kind disagreement or some shit. But don’t come in with the big mouth like this fucking goon decided to do. Worst...mistake...ever.
One rule when dealing with Reece Shaw?
Chat shit? Get banged.”
Question: How big is Batista’s dick?
ArchbishopOfBanterbury has ceased streaming!