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Mr. H · **04-02-2016, 09:15 PM**

We begin in darkness.

“Can I get those lights back, please?”

The ring lights click on, illuminating Mr. H who is seated comfortably at the big black desk in the center of the ring, big ass ol' timey microphone clutched in his hand.

“...yeah, I wasn't done. You flip those lights off on me again and I'll bite your lips off, slappy.
Righto, so back to bizzzzz....
...so there's this thing they say is the definition of insanity...maybe it was Einstein, maybe it was Abe Lincoln, maybe it was Marylin Monroe, it was that faceless 'they' for sure...
...insanity is doing the same thing over and over but expecting a different result.
Insanity.
Woooeeeewoooowooo...being bananas and all that.
See, ok, so you X-treme Wrestling Federation folks, you don't know me and the...uh, reputation...that I've got...
...yeah, ok, so I have this reputation for being a little...off kilter, shall we say.
Now hold on, I'm not here to say, 'Hey guys, I'm crazy! I'm so nutty! Oh you need to know that I'm bonkers and react accordingly!'
Noooo....that'd be silly.
No, I'm just telling you that over the course of my time doing this thing that we do, I've come to be known as a bit of a whackjob.
So what my point is, is that I'm talking about insanity because when it comes to good ol' Mr. H, it's a word that often comes around.
So this definition, this doing the same thing over and over...
...I mean, ok, I'm not going to tell you I'm nuts but I am going to tell you that for the past decade and a half, I've been living this definition.
Because from the first fed to the last fed and the dozen in between, I did the same thing, again and again...
...I signed up, I showed up, and I worked hard.
Fucking lunatic right here, am I right?
Over and over, again and again...
...I'd be the first person to sign on the line, eager to evolve and improve, eager to get in the ring, out in front of the crowd, and bust my ass for the good of the business.
Every time I did the same damn thing: try to be the best wrestler walking the planet.
Goddamn lunatic.
Because the crazy thing was, the crazy thing was that I expected a different result...
...I expected that company to succeed, to stay, to not just survive but to thrive.
Not just because of me but certainly in part because of my contributions.
YeahyeahyeahyeahYEAH...this time, oh yeah, this time, THIS TIME...will be the time where everything goes up and up!
That's what I'd hope, that's what all the boys in the back, all the top dogs running the show, they'd all give a hearty fist-pump of positivity because oh man, we're gonna really give it a good go this time around and this one's gonna be the one that really takes off!
Yeah..
...yeah, takes off...
...sputters..
...and nosedives into the dirt...
...gurgles...
...gasps...
...and is gone.
But oh, crazy me, oh batshit Mr. H keeps coming back for more...
...slinks back to his humble abode in Parts Unknown soon as the doors close to prepare himself for the next door that opens.
Like a certifiable nut...
...or maybe...
...maybe that's not the definition of insanity...
...maybe it's the definition of stupidity?”

He jumps out of the chair and walks around in front of the desk.

“That's the thing about passion...
...it can make you do some pretty dumb things.
Like dedicate every fiber of your being to professional wrestling.
Like climb out of the ashes of the last fed's pyre just so you can crawl to the birth of the next one.
Just so you can sign your name on a contract...
...because they know you're coming, they know you'll always be coming, they might as well sign your name for you...
...because they know this business owns your soul.
Because you are the goddamn BACKBONE, Mr. H.
You absolute BATSHIT MORON.”

He slaps himself across the face.

“Yeah, see, yeah, see I wasn't done earlier...I was just getting started...
Because I really want you to know me, X-treme Wrestling Federation, I really want you to understand who I am and where I've come from...
...I've come from DEATH, boys and girls, I've come from funeral after funeral.
My dad got things started when I was twelve.
My girlfreind got run down by some drunk just before I laced up my first pair of wrestling boots.
My mom and my brother..dead and dead.
But oh ho, no need to shed a tear for yours truly because I had this lovely business, this fantastic industry we call professional wrestling...
...but oh wait, no wait, that's right: every fed I worked for went and found itself six feet under, too.
Oh hey! Here's a thing I can sink my teeth into and feel a sense of purpose!
DEAD.
Oh but here's a new one, this one's going to be better!
DEAD.
Ah, but here I have become the champion!
DEAD.
DEAD DEAD DEAD FUCKING DEAD YOU STUPID CRAZY BASTARD.”

He slaps himself across the face again. And again.

“See folks, see why I might think I'm a little toxic? A little poisonous?
See why I might've thought I was a cancer to everything I've ever held dear?
Yeah, thoughts like that kind of JACK UP your brain.
But you know, you know what I did, I, heh, I WRESTLED with them, heh, you know, really grappled with those thoughts...
...and I made them tap the fuck out.
Because no, no, no, I am not the problem.
No, what I am is not what's killing anything.
I am pretty terrific, let's be honest, I'm pretty fantastic.
I mean, let's take a second and just assess what we're dealing with here:
Sharp dresser.
Gifted artist.
Lovely facepaint.
I mean this whole look is marketable as all hell.
Solid athlete.
Damn good wrestler.
Charismatic as a mofo.
And a champion several times over, including a couple of World titles that I literally will never lose.
Ok, right, so yeah, clearly I'm pretty alright, not to toot my own horn...aw hell, yes, to toot my own horn, toot it long and hard, mmmhmmm.
Sssssooooo...

...so is it crazy? Am I crazy?
Because a few months ago I was standing at the side of a ring, holding a contract for a match in my hand, staring up at a guy who was looking for an opponent, begging him to sign it, in an arena built by Travis McCoy, ready to give it one last go...
...and...
...and FUCK ALL.
Because that's it, that was the end of it.

And the months went by.

The months went by and it didn't matter how many times I rolled my eyes and muttered 'Here we go again'...it didn't matter how many doors I'd seen closed...
...it didn't matter how much of my efforts ultimately amounted to a great big pile of dirt.
I spent those months thinking about this.
Thinking about this moment.
Thinking about the paint I'd have on my face, the shirt, the tie, the tights, the boots...
Thinking about where I could put on this gear and perform, thinking about where I could be who I am and do what I do NEXT.
Because, i guess according to Morgan Freeman or the Dhali Lama or whoever coined that stupid phrase...
...I'm fucking insane.

Call me crazy for living this business.
But this is who I am and this is what I bleed.
And like I said before, you can take it from me, again and again...
...you can jam your hand down my throat, get a nice firm grasp, wrench my still-beating heart out, throw it on the ground and stomp it to a pulp...
...but I swear you'll find it still beating under your boot.
And you'll turn and see me, grinning blood, with a twinkle in my eye...
...ready for another match.
Ready for the arena, the crowd, the lights, the bell...
Ready to return the favor.
But I wonder...
..I wonder if I were to pull your heart from your chest...
..if I were to grind it under my heel...
...I'm asking you Austin Fernando, Luca Arzegotti, Fontanna, Marvellous Keith, Prince Richie, Chris Macbeth, and Scully...
..if I were to rip your heart out and grind it into the groud...
...not once...
...not twice...
...but again and again and again and AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN...
...for OVER A DECADE...
...would it still beat?
Would it even so much as twitch?

I aim to find out.

Wednesday Night Warfare.
Mr. H arrives in the X-treme Wrestling Federation.
But he doesn't arrive alone.
Because by my side is going to be a man...
...a man who's heart would still beat.
I know because I've seen it with my own two eyes.
Because while my heart was under one boot, his was under the other.
Every time.
Because half the time we were the ones ripping it out of each other.
But every time, every fed, every funeral...there was me and there was Travis.
And every time I would Rise From The Pyre, so would he.
And so...
...and so when I was...heh, 'between jobs'...and I get a little word from Travis about this place called the X-treme Wrestling Federation...
...my ground up little bloody crazy idiot heart did a dance 'round the ol' ribcage.
Because I was ready.
Because I'm always ready.
Because this is my world.
This is my life.
This is me.
Always and forever.
And until I'm food for worms, I'm gonna be a motherfucking wrestling superstar.
And I will fight with everything I've got...and believe you me, I've got it to spare.
I'll wrestle you with a single pinkie joint if that's all that's left.
And I'll probably beat you.
Heh.

Ssssssooooo...
...so how am I doing, hm?
Am I laying everything out nice and clear for you folks?
Everyone following along ok? Everyone grasping the material, yes?
You in the back, you get what I'm putting out? Don't make me come back there and give you some one on one.
Or do.
Yeah, do.

Alright, groovy.
So right...
...so right, so, here I am.
Same mega talented, reasonably handsome, hard working me.
Still stinking of the corpse of the last failed fed.
Same as always.
Doing the same thing I always do: showing up, sleeves rolled up, full of fire, ready to bust my ass and be the best.
Same ol', same ol'.
But see...
...see, this time...
...this time I'm going to make it different.

Because Travis and I...
...we locked that reaper up.
And we watched him burn.
...but even so, he might try to come for us, for this place, as he always does...
...but hey, we are Risen From The Pyre.
And that won't stop us, it'll just make us angry.

Heh.
Heheh heh.
You know...
...it's funny.
It's funny that almost every fed we've been in, just about every one, had that one asshole, maybe a pair of them together...
...always promising they were going to 'burn the place to the ground'.
Oooh, I'm dark and chaotic and a loose cannon and cynical and ABBER-BLABBER-BLABBER.
You know how many of them followed through?
Big fat goose egg.
Not a single one, and remember, I can't name or count them all, but I can tell you with complete certainty that not a single solitary one of the companies I have ever wrestled for was ever burned to the ground.
Heh.
No, no, their demises were always spectacularly underwhelming...
...there were no arson's blazes, no grand finales, no celebratory final farewell shows...
...no, no, it was more like death by suffocation, starvation, exhaustion...
...it was slow, it was sad, it was...
...it was a withered, ravaged, comatose vegetable where someone quietly kicks the plug out of the wall.
Nothing ended with a bang.
Nothing ended in flames.
Everything ended with a near-silent wheezing exhale from something that was in most respects already dead.

Over the last fifteen years there was only one fire burning bright: the funural pyre.
Well fed by a continuous, seemingly endless supply of wrestling companies.

And we, Risen From The Pyre, we reckon it's time that fire did a little dying of its own.

So what I'm going to do now is I'm going to go ahead and wrap this up...
...and I'm going to go do the same thing I've been doing for the past fifteen years...
...I'm going to get ready for my match...
...and you can call me crazy, you can call me an idiot, you can call me whatever the hell you want...
...my name's Mr. H...
I am one half of Risen From The Pyre...
...and pretty soon, you will call me one half of the X-treme Wrestling Federation Tag Team Champions.

Now for real, you can hit that switch.”

And hit it someone does, as the lights click off and we return to darkness.

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