08-13-2014, 10:43 AM
Hey Maddy.
God, it’s been a while since we’ve done this bullshit back-and-forth talking dance, hasn’t it?
I’m getting all nostalgic and shit just thinking about it.
You’ve been the longest reigning King of the XWF of all-time, a string of never-ending successes.
And I’ve been dead in a ditch somewhere, after being lobotomized by you and your lackeys… I still occasionally find a clump of graveyard dirt in a pocket of my suit... And smile, thinking about the good old days...
Remember, Maddy?
Do you?
June 2013?
Vying for an opportunity to take you on for the chance to be called King of the XWF.
Taking on Steve Davids with my spot in a #1 contender's elimination match on the line.
I won the match. Kept my stake in the five man dance to go after your title…
And took a brutal beating to the skull post-contest.
Sure, I’d been assaulted before that point…Quite a few times.
But, probably by accident, I’m sure there was no ill intent to what you were going for… One of those shots… Hit me funny.
After the show, you announced that Peter Gilmour and I had been injured and would have to miss out on the big match.
Peter was furious, denying his injuries...
I was silent.
My consciousness left to visit the other side of existence. Hellfire, eternal damnation, a torrent of never-ending suffering and agony.
Etcetera, you get the gist.
And my body stuck around. Still fulfilling the last few weeks of a binding human contract to carry out a small number of appearances in a wrestling company.
What resulted… Created a list of things I had to correct when I came back.
Getting ambushed by NAZI back at Gauntlet City? Righted.
Getting beaten by Eli James? Fixed that.
Pinned by Peter Gilmour? Trying to kill two birds with one stone tonight actually.
Y’know, I could keep blaming them for the Hell I found myself in all those months ago…
The Hell I spent over a year in… Gritting… Gnashing my teeth as a wall of all-consuming fire… consumed me. As all-consuming fire tends to do…
If I so felt the inclination, I could even target Steve Davids for being in the ring with me just before I was mentally executed like Cyren with a fucking guillotine…
But why would I?
When my target from the beginning finally caught a whiff of the bait that I laid out for him...
Is finally going to step onto the lever...
And get his mousy neck snapped.
We both know the truth don’t we, Maddy?
Sure, they beat me.
But you killed me.
You murdered me in the center of a wrestling ring.
And now I’ve got you right where I want you…
The Title shot for the tag titles? I don’t really give a shit about them.
Beating Peter Gilmour? Been there, done that.
Putting a belt around John Black’s waist? C’mon Maddy. You didn’t believe that I gave a shit about another human being, did you? Let alone John Fucking Black?
‘Oh he beat Eric Lewis and won a handicap match against Cyren.’ C’mon, Maddy, did you believe any of that shit?
Did you believe I wanted to follow in your footsteps and lead some garbage no one to victory just to prove that I could?
No, Maddy.
This was about you.
This was about getting my hands around your throat.
But, as we’ve learned this week, you don’t seem to be in the business of picking up your phone for some matches.
The whole, answering all challengers business style? More my game than yours.
I wanted you in the ring. More than anything. My every action leading up to this point, my every motivation, every subtle move focused on getting you in the ring…
But I figured that’d require an even longer waiting period than the 45 days it took to get this match scheduled.
Now? I’m guaranteed to see you. Now? A John Madison appearance in my match on Warfare is more fucking certain than the Sun setting in the West…
Now? I know that just before Petey and Dim are about to lose. Just before they deliver a performance worthy of the Special Olympics wrestling team they belong on. Just as they’ve been completely overwhelmed on an offensive front.
Both bleeding from the skull, helpless. Formerly two XWF Tag Team Champins, now two screaming piles of non-functioning body parts that also happen to be tag team champions.
Right before the pin…
…WHAT?!?!
WHAT’S GOING ON!?!?!?
OH NO!!!!! HERE COMES THE BLACK CIRCLE!!! DAMN THEM!!!!!!!
LED…
By John Madison.
John… Madison.
Oh, I can’t wait, Johnny.
I’m salivating thinking about it.
You strolling down to the ring with your goons and that fucking cattle prod…
That prod I’m going to stick into your fucking gut…
You with your sweet arms.
The right one? The one I tried to snap off at War Games almost two years ago.
Tyler Decker was there to stop me then.
Now he’s as dead as I was.
Now, I’ve got you.
The only thing separating you and I is Petey, Dim and whoever the fuck you still have following you.
And let’s face it, Maddy.
What we have, you and I?
Is fucking destiny.
A bunch of mortal men simple enough to fall for your sales pitch? Probably lack the intestinal fortitude to stop a fucking rampaging madman, from skewering through them like a javelin through a man’s chest…
To get to what I really want.
You.
You killed me, John.
And you know why you did?
Because I could beat you.
Because I can beat you.
Because I have beaten you.
Carrying Neonero on my fucking back like a toddler.
I took on you and an at-the-time-in-his-prime Raymond Hatcher.
And I beat you.
Handily. Easily.
Not only that, I out-gamed you.
Do you remember that night, Maddy?
You were ready to take on the week, all smiles and confidence, trashing Neonero for being eliminated first from that insipid three team contest, War Games or some such.
Hell, you were ready to take on the world.
You may have won the Crown making you King of the XWF at Gauntlet City, Maddy, but you were ready to wear it back in fucking November of 2012.
And in the same node of thought that you were dismissing Neonero for being eliminated first…
You attempted to mentally play me with an amateur opening.
A call to action.
An invitation to be used.
An acknowledgement of my skill.
I replied by bringing up the fact that I made you tap out.
That even while I was blinded by pepper spray, you still weren’t good enough to beat me in the center of a wrestling ring.
And that… wow, did that piss you off.
Suddenly, you weren’t all smiles.
Suddenly, the man who was preaching how meaningless it all was. The man who won a battle royal to obtain a contract for any match he could ever want…
And then set the briefcase on fire after winning…
Suddenly felt a twinge in his heart. Suddenly the man who apathetically told people how much he sucked and how he was still going to beat them.
Got mad.
Started throwing the bullshit he claimed was beneath him back at me.
Trying to rile me up. Trying to pull me by the foot, that I might fall into the same pit he was now waist-deep in and sinking…
In response?
I pointed.
And I laughed.
And I beat you and your team.
One week after you became the King of the XWF? The first time? Before it came with a crown and a spot on the title history page of xwf.com?
I beat you. Easily.
God, memories huh?
Memories of me outdoing you.
Memories of you desperately trying to come up with plans, with little goals and schemes you use to prove how powerful you are around here.
And then I just swing through like a feather duster through cobwebs… Like water poured onto an insect… dissolving the joints of an ant’s legs…
Look at you, Maddy.
It’s been 21 months.
And you haven’t changed a bit.
You’re still prideful. You’re still most pleased in your pseudo-accomplishments, managing a couple like Peter Gilmour and the Dimallisher to a tag title run that they’ve successfully maintained by never defending their tag titles…
Admitting that you’ve basically put together a team of two mentally challenged eight year olds and guided them like a blind horse into tag team success.
And now, here we are.
You’re showing off your skills in Microsoft Paint, putting together a nice little graphic to show off the different faces of Peter Gilmour.
You’re openly acknowledging that Peter Gilmour is a shit stain that just won’t wash out of the fabric after four fucking years in this company.
And you’re trying to piss people off, with your language choices.
Insisting that next time Peter has to defend the titles, it’ll be double the wait. 90 instead of 45.
It’s still adorable.
John, I don’t give a shit if you never let the tag titles get defended again.
Because after tonight, your clients aren’t going to have them anymore. The belts are going to a team that actually has wrestling ability and a pair of IQs that when added together have more than two digits.
Thanks for being able to see my fairly simple plan to negate the potential Gilmour factor and not doing anything about it by the way.
The whole, make Peter completely lose his fucking mind about some god-awful federation that no one has cared about for YEARS…
Thanks for keeping up, Maddy. Thanks for recognizing and making me a nice little piece of artwork to commemorate how successful my plan has gone this week.
Maybe when I get those belts, I’ll take off the ‘ECW’ acronym, whatever that means, scrub off Pete’s attempt to draw on ‘Tag Team Champs’ with Crayola markers…
And instead plaster on your Peter Meter.
So I can remember one more time that John Madison desperately tried to get a rise out of me.
And how once again, it was only amusing.
And ineffective.
John.
You spent a lot of this week talking.
And I don’t mean that in a Peter Gilmour sort of way.
I didn’t get bored listening, nor was I particularly reminded of any Kevin Costner movies while I watched you speak.
I actually found it all quite enjoyable.
Like a clown or a hack comedian.
Desperately recycling material.
Trying to keep his heart into it.
The poor quality of performance, the desperate tugging of your sleeve onto your forehead, so the audience doesn’t catch your flop sweat…
It’s a god-damned riot, Maddy.
But, again, as I said to Gilly just a few short minutes ago.
You seem ill-prepared for what you’re walking into.
I’m not going into Warfare looking to annihilate Gilmour and Dimallisher.
I figure that’ll just happen accidentally.
Sure, I’ll twist Gilmour’s fucking arm off.
I’ll drag him to the mat and yank his arm up into the air, popping out his shoulder blade further and further until I can dig my knuckles in and rip it out of his back with my bare hands…
But, let’s face it.
We’re both aware. Dim & Peter aren’t worth my time tonight.
You are, Maddy.
You’re the big genuine article to deal with on Wednesday.
You’re the one keeping those belts around their waists.
And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Because tonight, Maddy?
With a pair of gold bullshit belts on the line?
Taking on the special needs kids of the XWF with some guy I handpicked to piss off Peter Gilmour AND throw you off the trail of what I really wanted?
I’m going to wait…
Like a kid at fucking Christmas…
Usually, I get excited when the bell rings…
But all it’s gonna be it’s four or five minutes of me staring at the ramp…
Waiting…
Fingers twitching…
Biting my lip…
Are they gonna come…?
Please…
Pleeeeeeeeeeeeease….
…
…
And there it is.
What I’ve wanted all along.
My fucking revenge.
Against the man that sent me to Hell.
Against the arm that pointed out towards me from the ramp.
And ended my career from a fucking distance...
Thanks for making this one happen, Maddy.
I’ll see you at Warfare.
|
![[-]](https://xwf99.com/images/portal2/collapse.gif)
The following 3 users Like MarkFlynn's post:
