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John Raide · (01-08-2014)

[Image: tumblr_static_benedict-cumberbatch-smile.gif]

XWF is a wasteland.

A cursed existence.

There's so many egos and pretenders and wannabe martyrs here all struggling to get to the top.

It's all one big disease. Coughing. Convulsing. Choking.

Breaking under its own weight.

I'm here to bring order among the chaos.

My name is John Raide.

Nice to fuckin' make your acquaintance.

--

I watch the sun burn like a bonfire on the horizon line and strum an old guitar as it sits on my lap. I lean back in the lawn chair that I've brought to the roof of my hotel and bask in the orange glow as the sun begins its descent from the sky.

I used to love playing this old thing. I wasn't very good mind you. It was just a hobby to keep my mind distracted. What I really loved was going into old record stores and finding something I've never heard before and tossing it on the old player.

Shit, no better way to spend a Saturday night sometimes sitting back listening to some songs, getting a good buzz, and watching the room turn to a blur.

You ever get overwhelmed by the amount of content there is out there to consume?

So many books to read, albums to listen to, movies to watch, fuck my DVR is full and some nights I get back from sparring and instead of watching the next episode of Homeland I catch a re-run of Madness and fall asleep before I can even rub one out.

Side note here, who the fuck does Paul Heyman pay to get so many replays of Madness on TV?

Anyway, back to my point about consumption. Sometimes I get excited about the possibility of having a stack of records to listen to or a 'to read' stack, but then sometimes I get a little fatalistic and ask myself what the point of it all is.

I've read everything that Charles Dickens has done. Great. Give me a fucking medal already, but what does it mean? What does it matter? We're all going to die and unless there's a quiz on Great Expectations I think I'm going to be alright.

Here's a sobering thought -- we're all going to die.

Don't just say the words. Think about it for a moment.

Everything will end.

Hopefully not too painful. The goal is that you go in your sleep, right? One night you put your head down to rest and that's it -- ka-blam! -- thanks for fucking playing, you're in for the sleep of sleep now.

The sobering aspect of the thought is that it's all inevitable. We're all going to die one day and when time's up, time's up. Whatever you cared about, thought about, it won't matter anymore. It's over. Curtains close.

Hopefully you get to come back as a fucking tree.

When you're young it's like you got all this infinite time, but in reality you're playing with house money.

And as we all know, the house always wins.

--
Dr. Zero. Stevie. Gary. Voltron.

Whatever the hell you go by.

I just want you to know it won't matter.

I have to go through you like I've gone through every person that has stepped before me in my brief stint here in the XWF.

It's not going to be pretty, but that's business for you.

Eli James is a lot like this guitar.

Old, tired, out of tune and in dire need to be fucking retired.

I lived in New York for a stint and one evening I saw a dog dying in an alley way. Rats had already started to chew its intestines. I thought that was pathetic. Then I watched an Eli James Joint and realized what pathetic truly was.

Off topic, can someone tell me why this guy dresses like fucking Tommy Bahama with the tropical shirts and the hat? I thought this guy was a hillbilly, not a seabilly trying to captain a yacht.

Anyway ... here's where I realized how truly pathetic Eli is. Every time I see him speak, whether it's about me, his husband Mystica, or even that tool John Austin, it's the same old song and dance like the jukebox is broken.

We GET IT.

Retire your fucking diatribe and try to think up some new material.

I'll tell you for the last time, Eli, because apparently your thick skull has trouble understanding complex word structure, but you can keep calling me a coward all you want. If that is what helps you sleep at night on the gator farm with your kissing cousin Amos then good on you, partner.

I'm done trying to explain my methods to you and you can believe whatever the hell you want to believe.

But here's what I think...

I think you're scared, Eli.

I think you are starting to realize you're not as good as you think you are.

You may have all your sheep fooled, but you're not fooling me.

The school I come from, Eli, is when someone challenges you to a fight you do not back down. You don't make excuses. It's put up or shut-up. So, imagine my surprise when I challenge you to a fight and not only do you not accept, you try to tout yourself as some fucking high and mighty zealot who tells people that they're not worthy to take place in a match with you.

GIVE ME A FUCKING BREAK!

What the hell is that bullshit?

Seriously, I want to know.

Are you not a wrestler? Do you not get paid to fight? What makes you so damn important that you get to call the shots? And at the time I challenged you you were "champion". I hate to say it, but you deserved to get your title stripped from you by John Austin. Yeah, he fell on his face as champ, but at least the guy walked into a fight instead of hiding in the fucking shadows and trying to play cryptic puppet-master.

This is why you're pathetic, Eli.

This is why I'm going to put you down like the old dog you are.

Since you like to talk in circles to make yourself seem like you're this astute thinking man, let me do the opposite and make things crystal fucking clear for you.

You are a cancer.

I am here to snuff people like you out.

On Wednesday I will leave you as a shell of what you used to be.

So go pray to your invisible sky wizard. It won't do any good.

You have earned what is coming to you.

FULL DISCLOSURE: Things I did before I sent this out

1. Now in retrospect I'm curious if maybe Eli is raiding (no pun intended) Sid Feder's wardrobe.

2. Random thought, Gilmour looks like he's a big Phil Collins fan, circa No Jacket Required.

3. There's a nude guy running around the hotel right now wearing a chicken mask ... Dr. Zero...? Will investigate.

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