Post by Graham Baker on Jan 10, 2021 14:36:00 GMT -5
Let's just get this out of the way.
It's nothing against the Man Made Gods. In a way, Black and Venable are the only threads keeping me from tearing this place to fucking pieces, gathering all the trash and setting it alight in a witch-burning that would make Salem quiver. I know if I go too far it'll inevitably come back on them, so I'll hold my tongue and keep my place...for the moment.
It has everything to do with every single other member of this roster, every individual member of the backstage staff, ever suit in the office, and every ass in every seat in every arena we've ever been to.
Everyone is complicit.
When I was laid up in a hospital bed, courtesy of my good friends at Philidor, I was incensed when I tuned into Action Wrestling to watch someone like Carter Shaw win the award for Rookie of the Year. Why? Because he won a fancy fuckin' briefcase by climbing a ladder? Because he won his match at Evolution-a match, mind you, that he wouldn't have gotten were I not feeling so generous as to accept a challenge from him and that sycophant, Cranley. Let us not forget that Shaw never beat me. He still owes me something for not contesting that Television Title win, he still owes me something for not coming after him like the most blood-hungry revenant, he still owes me something for dragging Carter Shaw out of the lump of losers and lames, the most deep and dour swamp, and holding him up to the sun, giving him The Rub that so many desire.
He'd never get that now, though, considering he's traded his testicles for a taste of gold. Shaw might as well trade that briefcase for a new pair of balls, considering he's about to let someone like Blake step on his to walk over him on her way to challenging Corey Black. Carter Shaw could have been much more, had he not saddled up with the sorriest squad of losers I've seen in my short time in this fucking company.
But I digress. Because this isn't about Carter Shaw, is it? Nor is it about Yoel Romero, or Max Daemon, or the Man Made Gods.
Hell, it's not even really about Dionysus.
What it is about is the corruption ravaging its way through this company. You had an MMA flunkie fighting one of our champions, and luckily-luckily-Max Daemon proved why none of us need to step into that fuckin' cage to prove our worth, but Daemon even accepting a challenge like that was nearly a death knell to everything i've stood for in my short few months here. Pasternak even allowing something as foolish as that to happen, that's a fucking disgrace. But it didn't even really start here, it started when we all wasted time honoring someone like Raging Dead, who might as well've invited his own death to his company by volunteering for a fucking Buried Alive match. It started when we slapped his face on a championship, said he was World Champ for a Day, and gave his ol' pal Vayden an opportunity to hold gold, only for him to run for the fuckin' hills the moment that things started to go pear shaped.
It started when a child-a fucking talentless child-won the highest level belt on our secondary division, a division I put sweat and blood into, carried on my fucking back. From Jim Mud bringing in an entire fucking hardware store to no officials clearing those stupid cunts away from ringside, that entire rumble was a disgrace to me, to QDT, to anyone who put a modicum of fucking time into CruiserClash.
What happened to this company?
Take my opponent, for example. The so-called long awaited return of Dionysus flopping out like a fart in a fucking church as he went from amnesiac wanderer to bear-warrior at Evolution. A man so renowned couldn't get anyone to come swinging for him, so he instead opted to go to war with a wild animal. What is this, the territories? The sport that I came into had long-since evolved past such attractions, allowing for someone like me, so gratuitous and so violent, to become king, reverting back to its earliest days. How shameful, for a company like WCF to have someone like you as part of its legacy. It's honestly grand that Corey Black managed to retire as the final WCF Champion, considering that said legacy is lain to rest before you can do any more damage to it by suffering the way that you will, come Monday.
Dion, the punishment you're going to receive is going to be violent, it's going to be brutal, it will change you at your fucking core, because I'm going to beat you half to death in the center of that ring. I'm going to choke the life out of you, to show that there isn't a single fucking person on this roster that isn't in my line of sight, isn't in my fucking crosshairs. But, you can take some solace. It's really nothing you did that's the cause of this, save for, y'know, agreeing to the bear fight.
It's more of a precedent setting thing.
A necessary evil, so to speak.
If I let you slip away, let you make your way out into the world to proliferate the bullshit that's been happening here, then where does it stop? Where do we draw the line? I feel like we're well past that point, and when an audience is so willingly, so easily able to forget someone like me, I need to set a line down and remind them where I've come from, remind them who the fuck I am. I'm not Carter Shaw, I've still got a pair of testes between my legs. I'm not Max Daemon, I'm sure as shit not going to accept a fight from a UFC Washout. And I'm certainly not Dionysus, because I don't waste my time fighting animals, I've damn well become one in my pursuit of glory, and I won't stop until I've driven out any of the sickness I've found in this fucking company.
...
Heh, that's kinda funny, isn't it?
Maybe fighting that bear was a good choice after all, Dion.
Maybe you'll have a slightly better chance ot survival.