Post by Kancer on Mar 25, 2021 6:56:59 GMT -5
*Staring up at light fixtures and beginning to come to terms with what it will feel like to be back inside a ring. It has been almost a year since we last seen our unintentional hero, Kancer, even step foot in front of a camera to speak, let alone wrestle. Many thing have changed since he left, many names have gone and came and he ponders over whether or not he can keep up with the many new names that he sees on the PPV card. On second thought, he doesn’t see why he should worry one bit. Thus far in his career, everyone, at the very least, has been three steps behind him. Still, his injury and the resulting addiction fiasco has slowed him down a couple of those steps. By his own admission he is not quite who he used to be and that eats at the very core of his soul every fucking day in his life. He knows he can’t perform as well as he had in the past so he has to compensate skill for ability. Now you may say the two are one in the same, but believe me, they’re not.
Abilities are what you are capable of doing, the level of your physical performance. Skill on the other hand, is how precise you can be implementing the tools that you do possess. There is nobody that even comes to close to the level of expertise shown in the field of professional wrestling by Tristan Kancer. The accuracy of the previous statement, though factually true, is still deluded by creeping shadows in the hindermost reaches of his mind. His body had been hurt, and he began to excogitate whether or not it could stand up to the punishment delivered to it on a regular basis, without the use of a needle.
When he was hurt almost a year ago to this date he thought he would return to the sport he loved rather quick, but his injury didn’t quite heal right and he was forced to take a back seat to the action. The pain was excruciating and the pills were not quite killing both the body and the mind enough. At first he would just do a line and be alright, then not very long after came the spoon, the flame and the syringe. Shooting up was sick and he knew that, but he didn’t give a fuck, he’d do anything to not feel anything.
His sister, Rayne tried to help him out of the hole he was digging, but he just kept digging, deeper and deeper. He would not pay attention to all of the indications that he seriously had a problem, that was until one cold night in December. He had drawn up a shot and it looked a little different than anything he had ever used before, but he wanted to get high, so he took it. The next thing he knew he was waking up in a hospital bed with tubes running every which way, he had been comatose for three days. The doctor explained to him that the shot he took was laced with Fentanyl and that he was lucky to be alive.
Tristan saw this as a new lease on life and he has been clean now for almost four months. He has been writing in a journal everyday, something that he began doing in his short rehab stint after the overdose. He would like to one day speak at schools and youth centers about the importance of saying no to peer pressure and to the drugs. He has a ways to go but he feels he will get there some day. Kancer has been hitting the gym every day trying to get back to peak shape for his return and to keep negative thoughts from entering his mind. He has worked hard to get back to this point of return to action.
So here he is, laying dead center of the squared circle just a few days ahead of Timebomb. He wanted to “feel” back in the environment, so he rises to his feet and lights a cigarette right there in the arena. He walks over and begins to knead the turnbuckles, then he coasts his hand down the ropes burning his bare palms. He perches himself upon the upper left-hand corner’s post and gives an emotionless expression to the camera. He proceeds to speak after taking a deep inhale off of his carcinogen laced “best” friend.*
Kancer: 11 months. Sitting alone in despair, not knowing if I was going to pass out from the pain or the heroin. On the brink of suicide from the depression of not being able to compete in front of the people that I love the most. In a pit of sorrow because I couldn’t provide for myself and Rayne. The compensation that I received while I was gone was nothing compared to the winner’s purse that I have been awarded so many times before. Tied off with a tourniquet, feeling like a miscreant. 11 months. Feels like forever, right?
I know, “Kancer, things have changed, this ain’t the same AW it was when you left.”. Yeah, I heard them say. New faces, new champions, a plethora of things have changed but there is one thing that always stays the same, and that is my superiority. A few of the old faces are still around, from “Red, White and Bruised” and Matthias Mintzel; I destroyed both by the way, to Lissie Hope and Dandy Divito, but I still see the same shit… Undeserving mid-carders that couldn’t pack my lunch… It’s good to see that management is the same, how can you tell? I am booked toward the front of the card…. Someone with my pedigree, guys, come on.
The world title match is a fucking joke, you got NO name value, I don’t understand how you expect people to pay 50 bucks a pop for this shit. I do understand and admit that here, in AW, those are the best that you got, I respect it. Still, I really can’t grasp the fact that Ash Blake is the World Champion or that Trey Bouchet’s job is anything other than putting other, better, wrestlers over. I can’t even begin to grasp the notion that NATE is booked higher than ANYONE else on the card. He should be booked against Wade Brilliant he’s so fucking bad. I know bad and you two were made for each other with both of yours grammar. Matter of a fact, book NATE against ANYONE of even Mintzel’s talent and he couldn’t win… I’m just pissed that I am not seen as an immediate threat here in AW and everyone just kind-of sees me as a “dark horse” of sorts. I’m not a dark horse, I’ve been bright for 17 long years.
The enigma that is Tristan Kancer, the riddle that is my talent, can not be vanquished by mere mortals. My soul is pure and can not be captured by one with the soiled sword. What does that mean? Simply put, I am something that only comes along once in a lifetime and I will not be stopped by some ”center of the road” female. What is it about this company and promoting females within the male ranks. I got to say, AW has main-event women, too bad I can’t say that about the men. Main-event women can easily beat mid-card men; but ladies, I am a Main Event man and I ain’t about to play second chair to no bitch.
*Kancer hops down from his previously mentioned position and throws his spent cigarette to the concrete floor outside the ring. He pulls another from a pack out of his jacket and lights it up, then he says.*
So I hold no real, ill will, to my opposition this week, but there is something that I want her to come to terms with. Claire; honey, you’re fake. You try all this cosmetic stuff to appear Gothic when you’re really a beauty queen with parental issues, don’t you think it’s time to stop ACTING out? For one thing it really pisses me off when you talk about pain because you don’t even know the half of it. Do you know what it’s like to have a father who beats you, who sexually abuses you and your two year old sister and then runs out on your family? Then you got an alcoholic mother who would rather be your friend than a parent and who dies when you’re fifteen leaving you and your young sister homeless and on the streets. And then you have the weird feeling that you miss the both of them and you have to go through therapy because you have hallucinations brought on by the fucked up shit that you’ve witnessed?
You don’t know pain. Have you ever slit your wrists, have you ever overdosed, have you ever lied awake at night wishing you would die? Have you ever seen your kid sister with so much pain in her eyes, the likes of which you can’t describe. Pain. Is it the last thing you see before you go to bed, is it the first thing you see when you wake up? Pain. It’s the reason I get up in the morning, it’s what I kiss goodbye whenever I go to work in that ring. Pain. You can’t hurt me, Claire, pain is beautiful, Claire. Pain is my one of my oldest and dearest friends.
I’ve lost before in my career Claire, so yeah, it can happen, but; I’ve never lost to a female and I’ve never lost to a fake and I’ve never lost to someone with the last name Hawkins. Allow me to free up some of your schedule for the rest of 2021, you won’t have nothing to do once I put you out of your so-called, “pain’. You can rest assured that I will be sleeping again while you are up all night wondering what you could have done to stop me and about what you will do the next time that we meet in the ring. If there ever will be a “next time”. Go ahead bitch, ramble off your accomplishments like the good little grappler you are.
Yeah, you can brag about how you beat this guy or that girl or this Sasquatch, I really don’t care, Claire. At the end of the day, I am the one that you have to beat and I really don’t think that that is even remotely possible. If you truly believe in your heart of hearts that you could defeat me, take this to that heart… Not even a miracle from Jesus Christ himself could keep me from winning. I’ve said before and I’ll say it again, I am the Jesus Christ of professional wrestling. I am your savior, Claire and you are the sacrifice that the management has placed before me, don’t take it personally kid, sorry I will have to hurt you. I am the Kancer of professional wrestling and Claire, it’s terminal.
*Kancer throws his cigarette down before exiting the ring and walking up that entrance ramp. The camera does not follow him but instead, fades to black.*
Abilities are what you are capable of doing, the level of your physical performance. Skill on the other hand, is how precise you can be implementing the tools that you do possess. There is nobody that even comes to close to the level of expertise shown in the field of professional wrestling by Tristan Kancer. The accuracy of the previous statement, though factually true, is still deluded by creeping shadows in the hindermost reaches of his mind. His body had been hurt, and he began to excogitate whether or not it could stand up to the punishment delivered to it on a regular basis, without the use of a needle.
When he was hurt almost a year ago to this date he thought he would return to the sport he loved rather quick, but his injury didn’t quite heal right and he was forced to take a back seat to the action. The pain was excruciating and the pills were not quite killing both the body and the mind enough. At first he would just do a line and be alright, then not very long after came the spoon, the flame and the syringe. Shooting up was sick and he knew that, but he didn’t give a fuck, he’d do anything to not feel anything.
His sister, Rayne tried to help him out of the hole he was digging, but he just kept digging, deeper and deeper. He would not pay attention to all of the indications that he seriously had a problem, that was until one cold night in December. He had drawn up a shot and it looked a little different than anything he had ever used before, but he wanted to get high, so he took it. The next thing he knew he was waking up in a hospital bed with tubes running every which way, he had been comatose for three days. The doctor explained to him that the shot he took was laced with Fentanyl and that he was lucky to be alive.
Tristan saw this as a new lease on life and he has been clean now for almost four months. He has been writing in a journal everyday, something that he began doing in his short rehab stint after the overdose. He would like to one day speak at schools and youth centers about the importance of saying no to peer pressure and to the drugs. He has a ways to go but he feels he will get there some day. Kancer has been hitting the gym every day trying to get back to peak shape for his return and to keep negative thoughts from entering his mind. He has worked hard to get back to this point of return to action.
So here he is, laying dead center of the squared circle just a few days ahead of Timebomb. He wanted to “feel” back in the environment, so he rises to his feet and lights a cigarette right there in the arena. He walks over and begins to knead the turnbuckles, then he coasts his hand down the ropes burning his bare palms. He perches himself upon the upper left-hand corner’s post and gives an emotionless expression to the camera. He proceeds to speak after taking a deep inhale off of his carcinogen laced “best” friend.*
Kancer: 11 months. Sitting alone in despair, not knowing if I was going to pass out from the pain or the heroin. On the brink of suicide from the depression of not being able to compete in front of the people that I love the most. In a pit of sorrow because I couldn’t provide for myself and Rayne. The compensation that I received while I was gone was nothing compared to the winner’s purse that I have been awarded so many times before. Tied off with a tourniquet, feeling like a miscreant. 11 months. Feels like forever, right?
I know, “Kancer, things have changed, this ain’t the same AW it was when you left.”. Yeah, I heard them say. New faces, new champions, a plethora of things have changed but there is one thing that always stays the same, and that is my superiority. A few of the old faces are still around, from “Red, White and Bruised” and Matthias Mintzel; I destroyed both by the way, to Lissie Hope and Dandy Divito, but I still see the same shit… Undeserving mid-carders that couldn’t pack my lunch… It’s good to see that management is the same, how can you tell? I am booked toward the front of the card…. Someone with my pedigree, guys, come on.
The world title match is a fucking joke, you got NO name value, I don’t understand how you expect people to pay 50 bucks a pop for this shit. I do understand and admit that here, in AW, those are the best that you got, I respect it. Still, I really can’t grasp the fact that Ash Blake is the World Champion or that Trey Bouchet’s job is anything other than putting other, better, wrestlers over. I can’t even begin to grasp the notion that NATE is booked higher than ANYONE else on the card. He should be booked against Wade Brilliant he’s so fucking bad. I know bad and you two were made for each other with both of yours grammar. Matter of a fact, book NATE against ANYONE of even Mintzel’s talent and he couldn’t win… I’m just pissed that I am not seen as an immediate threat here in AW and everyone just kind-of sees me as a “dark horse” of sorts. I’m not a dark horse, I’ve been bright for 17 long years.
The enigma that is Tristan Kancer, the riddle that is my talent, can not be vanquished by mere mortals. My soul is pure and can not be captured by one with the soiled sword. What does that mean? Simply put, I am something that only comes along once in a lifetime and I will not be stopped by some ”center of the road” female. What is it about this company and promoting females within the male ranks. I got to say, AW has main-event women, too bad I can’t say that about the men. Main-event women can easily beat mid-card men; but ladies, I am a Main Event man and I ain’t about to play second chair to no bitch.
*Kancer hops down from his previously mentioned position and throws his spent cigarette to the concrete floor outside the ring. He pulls another from a pack out of his jacket and lights it up, then he says.*
So I hold no real, ill will, to my opposition this week, but there is something that I want her to come to terms with. Claire; honey, you’re fake. You try all this cosmetic stuff to appear Gothic when you’re really a beauty queen with parental issues, don’t you think it’s time to stop ACTING out? For one thing it really pisses me off when you talk about pain because you don’t even know the half of it. Do you know what it’s like to have a father who beats you, who sexually abuses you and your two year old sister and then runs out on your family? Then you got an alcoholic mother who would rather be your friend than a parent and who dies when you’re fifteen leaving you and your young sister homeless and on the streets. And then you have the weird feeling that you miss the both of them and you have to go through therapy because you have hallucinations brought on by the fucked up shit that you’ve witnessed?
You don’t know pain. Have you ever slit your wrists, have you ever overdosed, have you ever lied awake at night wishing you would die? Have you ever seen your kid sister with so much pain in her eyes, the likes of which you can’t describe. Pain. Is it the last thing you see before you go to bed, is it the first thing you see when you wake up? Pain. It’s the reason I get up in the morning, it’s what I kiss goodbye whenever I go to work in that ring. Pain. You can’t hurt me, Claire, pain is beautiful, Claire. Pain is my one of my oldest and dearest friends.
I’ve lost before in my career Claire, so yeah, it can happen, but; I’ve never lost to a female and I’ve never lost to a fake and I’ve never lost to someone with the last name Hawkins. Allow me to free up some of your schedule for the rest of 2021, you won’t have nothing to do once I put you out of your so-called, “pain’. You can rest assured that I will be sleeping again while you are up all night wondering what you could have done to stop me and about what you will do the next time that we meet in the ring. If there ever will be a “next time”. Go ahead bitch, ramble off your accomplishments like the good little grappler you are.
Yeah, you can brag about how you beat this guy or that girl or this Sasquatch, I really don’t care, Claire. At the end of the day, I am the one that you have to beat and I really don’t think that that is even remotely possible. If you truly believe in your heart of hearts that you could defeat me, take this to that heart… Not even a miracle from Jesus Christ himself could keep me from winning. I’ve said before and I’ll say it again, I am the Jesus Christ of professional wrestling. I am your savior, Claire and you are the sacrifice that the management has placed before me, don’t take it personally kid, sorry I will have to hurt you. I am the Kancer of professional wrestling and Claire, it’s terminal.
*Kancer throws his cigarette down before exiting the ring and walking up that entrance ramp. The camera does not follow him but instead, fades to black.*