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X-treme Wrestling Federation »   » Archives » Lethal Lottery 4 RP Board
RADICAL | 'SPE</3IALTY' | UNIVERSAL #5
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03-24-2017, 11:28 AM


S P E < / 3 I A L T Y

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RADICAL












yesterday, 08:32 PM

Post: #1





















RADICAL | 'SPECIALTY: THE BREAK UP' | XWF#047 ☆ LETHAL LOTTERY ☆ VERSUS CHRIS CHAOS FOR THE UNIVERSAL CHAMPIONSHIP ☆ #05

' S P E < / 3 I A L T Y '









Dear Chris,

I tried to call you last night to talk. I thought I would write to you, instead. Maybe you don't even wanna talk to me. Ya know, with our match coming up and everything. I get it. You're trying to hurt me. Lover's scorn. You forgot one thing, though. We aren't lovers.

"Reno said I was a jerk."
Would you stop crying?
"He said he wants to take my title."
Okay, please stop crying?
"Look at my empty title-less hands."
BE A MAN, Chris, stop crying.

"He wants to scatter my brains."
You wanted this.
"Eyeballs out of sockets."
YOU SIGNED UP.
"Torso split in half."
THAT'S RIGHT, CHRIS.

"I think I am so smart."
We know.
"A Champion for all to admire."
We all started out that way.
"What happened to me?"
You bought the wrong feminine products?


You want to use mental disability as a means to make fun of someone else? Because you're as sharp as a fucking razorblade, aren't you? But that's not what I wrote to say. I wanted to tell you... that I'm sorry. I'm sorry about how you've gotten soft around the edges. And sorry that, as special as you may think you are, that being unique does not make you special, or me. I'm sorry, because I've never seen someone go full like that before, so excuse me while I gather my thoughts. Right... and I'm sorry... oh yes, you don't know what gathering thoughts means, because yours are erratically unorganized. SHIT. OK, OK, Okay, it's like a child who makes a Christmas list who still believes in Santa, before being the age of knowing that their parents couldn't possible afford 40 toys. ARGHH, look who I'm writing to. You've never cared what was best for anyone else. Only you. You throw shit at the wall to see what sticks. I've never heard of that before... oh, yes! We both have, many times, haven't we? Outmatched and overplayed. Like you feel right now, don't you? Let the words escape from your lips, it's okay. You'll feel so much better after. "Universal Champion; 'The Radical' Gabe Reno"... wow, I just got chills. You did too, right? I mean, you wouldn't admit it right now, but it felt good, right? Well, that's what I do Chris. I make shit better. I say a little of this, say a little of that, get your attention on a tangent, sprinkle in some soap on a rope, then outperform everyone in the ring until poised to put another notch in my belt. I call it my specialty. I call it the way to go. You can call it Sir.



X marks the spot. Where I begin to find the pieces to unravel an opponent mentally, long before our feet ever touch the stage. Idiosyncrasies, that's how I do it. Why not share with you? It's the truth. I find every speech pattern, word usage, and I flip it into... where you are vulnerable, weak, about to collapse. I simply apply pressure. The posts shake. They can't hold up the tons of your sickly bullshit anymore. You find yourself unsure. Reacting to the point where you don't know how to prioritize what to do next. As is natural human tendency. It's not you, Chris... it's me.

I just... can't do this. The lies. The chair shots. The locker room walls baring creepy ominous bloody statements. Cries from the hoards of XWF fans for you to give that belt over to me. For the good of the brand. For more than... you. I wrote you to tell you we are breaking up. NO, CHRIS... NO. I don't want awkward text messages. Or my answering machine filled with endless "I Love You's" like the last time you lost. AND I DON'T WANT emails with pictures of us in Europe, or Australia. It reminds me of what can never be. You don't turn me on. You don't impress anybody. They see you as a fallen star. A tale of what not to let happen when they warn their kids about becoming a wrestler. You are the picture with the circle and line through it. The anti-hero. Congratulations.

I don't care what I am. As long as I beat you.

You have quit written all over your face.

Might wanna wash that off.

Chris. Oh, my sweet Chris. The time we went to Rome to find the missing bottle cap. Or, when we sailed the open ocean in search of the Whale of hope. We never found it, did we? But we found each other. With laughter and wrestling acumen we had a connection that could've lasted until the end of time. Strong like a man, but with the hair of angelica beings, we made the world sigh in adornment.

I used to pinch your little cheek. You'd laugh.

You used to trip tourist's at the park. I'd laugh.

It was a great as Sonny and Cher, or Penn and Teller. The sparks were there. Then, butchery. The stabbing of a friend, and for what? You're already at the top, you need to piss down hill? Alright, Chris. Piss. Because I will move out of the way with my cat like quickness, and you will hit someone unsuspecting, like Robbie Bourbon, in the face. You Hartless bastard. This is exactly why I saved Graves from the sure assault you and Kato had planned last week. I wasn't going to watch you two jerk each other off at the expense of someone who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Instead, it will be you who is in the wrong place, North Korea, at the wrong time, April 1st.

Don't cry.

You'll love again. The Universal Championship was never meant to stay in your arms forever. It has to move on. Find its own way with someone who's a... winner. And, ya know, deserves it.


"I think it's funny to use words like ' '."
Yeah, we get it.
"Sometimes you need tough love."
Leave the dominatrix in the bedroom, Chris.
"You don't want the responsibility of being Champion."
I'll find out for myself while you're off getting three finger fucked by JPP.

"Sometimes I wear boxing gloves."
Wooptie-do.
"I wrestled in Phoenix."
We all wrestle everywhere.
"I made a comeback with my second chance."
Oh, I forgot to stand and applaud?

"You are in this for you."
That's not the pot calling the kettle black...
"You wear helmets in public."
I like to be safe.
"I'm special too, but it's different..."
Is that what your mommy said before schooooool?


My specialty has already taken to you. The way you pounce like a cat backed into a corner, but don't really know what to say. Because you are. Passive aggressive, in the shadows of being a complete ghost half shell of yourself. Mmm, mmm, mmmm. Oh, Chris. Still retracing the aroma of where you were trying to find it? Crawling on your hands and knees, a legion of forgotten moments, secrets buried under the stench of surrender? Yeah. I smell it too. Rusted knives too heavy to lift. Separations of temptation and salvation, with temptation getting the nod. Didn't used to be that way, did it? Stomped out dreams. Slipping right on through the spaces between your now brittle fingers. Carved out. Hollow. So excuse me, for not cowering into a corner like you when I hear the word "Special". Because to me meaning comes from deep... thorough... guided... intelligent... manifestation of factors to draw an educated conclusion.

Not from letters by a bitch who is scared.

Because for the first time in a long time...

He knows he's going to lose.


Sincerely,



Gabe



xoxo









P.S. You're sucky.








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