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"Se7enteen Thousand Leagues Under the Dead Sea" - Felix Braddock - 06-21-2016
Of Coverups and Deception
By Felix Braddock
By Felix Braddock
F. Scott Fitzgerald once wrote: 'show me a hero and I will write you a tragedy'. Now, call me presumptuous if you must, but facts and figures don't lie. Even now, at the beginning of my professional wrestling career, I'm looked at as a hero in my home country. A crusader, standing up to a corrupt system; ready, willing, and able to break the oppressive chains that bind the downtrodden masses of infinitely talented English wrestlers. Now, I don't think I'm a hero, just a man doing what's right by me and my own. Meanwhile, however, the powers that be in the XWF seem to have made it their personal mission to screw us over with every step we take.
First, we had our tag titles stolen from us by an incompetent guest referee who disregarded two of the most basic tenets in all of professional wrestling. One: Outside interference results in a disqualification, and two: unless otherwise noted (which of course it wasn't), championships do not change hands on a disqualification. But of course, those rules were ignored, flagrantly brushed aside to promote the XWF's jingoistic, Amerocentric agenda. Hardly befitting of a company that broadcasts all over the world, attracts. A company that attracts talent from all over the world. But, that isn't the only crime the powers that be have committed against England's greatest exports.
Look ahead one Warfare. One bloody show later! A gratuitous fast count to end my good friend Chris Macbeth's best two out of three falls match for the Hart Championship. See, the fact of the matter is Chris Macbeth pinned Ghost Tank in the center of the ring for the first fall. He pinned that goofy looking, wannabe cultured whiny fucking gimp for the three count. What did Ghost Tank do to 'earn' his victory, to 'earn' the Hart Championship? He threw Chris over the top rope. Then he 'knocked Chris out' for the quickest ten seconds I've ever seen.
Right, he did it. Give me a fucking break.
Then, when the XWF's English fans called them out on their blatant attempts at protecting their American-born 'talent' at the extent of more talented, better looking, more marketable English-born stars, they try to bury that too. They send in their lovable
detective to claim that the #BoycottXWF movement never existed. Look at how quickly our esteemed owner Vinnie Lane jumped on board that cover-up and gave his little pet gimp a pat on the head for spouting the corporate approved bullshit.And somehow through all of this, The Union are the bad guys. Us, the victims here! Remember the quote I began this with? 'Show me a hero and I will write you a tragedy,' well if The Union are the heroes, then this is our fucking tragedy. These dumb Americunts run around thinking the mass shooting in Orlando is a tragedy. No: the XWF's treatment of The Union, that's a fucking tragedy. That's a disgrace. An affront to the entire sport of wrestling, to its very nature: the best men win. The best men didn't win the tag titles. The best man didn't win the Hart title.
The tragedy, the injustice we've faced cuts deeper than fifty dead
. It'd cut deeper than one hundred dead . It especially should in the hearts of you backwards ass American-born, American-proud bigots. You bible-thumping, gun-toting inbred motherfuckers droning on about it being 'Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve' while face deep in your thirteen-year-old sister's cunt. But we're English. We talk different. Your women want us and you want to be us but you never could, not in a million years. So you petty, dumbshit hicks lash out in envy.
Guess what: not even that can keep us down.
Despite all the odds, there were no crooked officials in the world that could keep Scully from having his moment. From decimating that hypocritical coward Ghost Tank and winning the gauntlet. From beating Peter Gilmour and Unknown Soldier, avenging the tag title screwjob almost entirely in one fell swoop.
As much as the powers that be wanted to stop it: Scully is your number one contender for the Universal Championship. Far be it for me to make a prediction, but if I were a betting man, my money's on him walking out the next Universal Champion. By hook or by crook, because if the powers that be want to play dirty, we'll show them that we're better than them there too.
This Warfare, though, I have a thousand pound weight wrapped around my neck. No doubt a present left for me by the powers that be for working with Steve Sayors to bring the #BoycottXWF movement to the forefront. God only knows how they're punishing him. Anyway, they've decided to team me up with Ophelia McVeigh, a man right up there with Peter Gilmour and Ghost Tank when it comes to being a fucking disgrace to an XWF Championship. A fucking disgrace who's also proven himself to have a low opinion of The Union in the first place. And who have they teamed us up against?
Peter Gilmour and Michael McBride.
Oh, Peter.
Petey.
How I've missed you, friend. How does it feel, knowing that yet again you've been carried to another championship? This time though, it wasn't even by your partner! No, by the crooked shadowy corporate giants behind the scenes. Probably the same people you've bitched and bitched about prior, and now they're on your side so I guess you're on their side? Isn't that as deep as your convictions run, to whoever benefits you the most? Flip-flopping fat little
. Or, are you skinny this week? I can hardly keep track. Are you fucking Maria Brink, or have you gone back to Jessica Johnson or god forbid, Rose Smith? What are you, Peter? A man, or a walking mess of cliches with a severe talent deficit? Made in a laboratory somewhere alongside all the Maria Brink clones, who survives solely on a diet of Chicken Parm. I would ask you to stop me when I'm right, but then I wouldn't have even made it out of the starting gates.
I'm not lying, Peter. I don't understand you. I can hardly keep up with you. Shit, shouldn't you have opened your mouth already, first words bitching about being teamed with McBitch #3 (since that's your go nickname for anyone with a surname starting with Mc/Mac) since you can't stand the pot-licking terrorist? Or maybe this week since he's your ally you'll shower him with praise and backhanded threats. Tell him he should bring his A game or you'll make him regret it.
You know, the shit that wins you so many friends. Like Unknown Soldier. Hey Pete! How does it feel knowing you drove away one of the few people who can put up with your inanity for more than five seconds? He's the only one of those around now who could've protected you from the big bad bullies and now he's gone and fucked you up.
Just like everyone else.
This time though, Peter, there isn't an incompetent official.
And there aren't any rules stopping me from stomping the shit out of your cowardly ass. The days on your sham title reign are numbered you massive blubbering vagina, and you're too stupid to see it.
And we have the terrorist.
Hello, Michael. Oh, sorry about the terrorist crack, I know you uncultured, backward fucking savages prefer the term 'freedom fighter'. You know who else preferred that term? Osama bin Laden, of course. After all, isn't that what those Americunts called him when he was attacking the Soviets? And now here you are in all of your IRA remnant, Irish pride shilling (as if there's anything to be proud about on that fucking shithole of a colony), 'glory'.
Yes, colony. Does it make you mad when I talk about your homeland like that? Are you going to put a bomb in my car, blow me to fucking bits then go to Mass on Sunday like there isn't some glaring issue with that?
Oh, you've moved past that now, haven't you? Moved on to running guns, selling whatever to the highest bidder. No allegiance to any country. No flag to fly, except the green and red flag of the blood money you've made your fortune with. You make me sick, you cocksucker. Maybe it isn't your fault; maybe when Father McDrunkMickCunt had his way with you (one of those Cathloic rite of passage things, us Protestants wouldn't understand), he crossed a few wires in your brain and instead of becoming a batty boy queer, you became a fucking whore, willing to trade your sense of duty for more money.
See, I could've had a begrudging respect for you if only for your devotion to your country but you don't even have that.
Guess what, Michael:
Ireland is still our bitch.
And Wednesday night, I'm going to continue what Chris started when he eliminated you from the gauntlet, and make you the Union's bitch.
#EnglishLivesMatter