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John_Black · (06-19-2022)

[Opens to a dining room in his new townhouse, where he had a part time maid named Rolle cleaning up the area for him. Then he pays off Rolle for a job well done, and escorts her to the door and waves goodbye to her, then he looks at his place being spotless and grabs a can of Sprite out of his fridge, and goes to his newly built deck outside where there was a table with an umbrella attached to sit underneath it. As he pours it in a tall iced glass, he takes a sip as he thinks to himself.]

JB: Do I truly care about this wrestling shit? I ask myself this question almost every time I do these shows, book these flights and hotels, rental cars and the whole nine yards. I think to myself, I put myself out so much for the fed I don’t seek any enlightenment when I get those phone calls to either be a backstage producer for shows, or being involved with ring stuff like title matches and other misc things that have been told to me. Ever since the day I started to wrestle in Brooklyn, I had just beat some cases and had to take a whole year off from NYU in order to get my life together. When I had told my grandparents who paid for my education, they cut me off and reported it to my mother, who then in turn basically wanted nothing to do with me.

As I was struggling to find ends meet, I had taken a liking to this pro wrestling shit, it helped me get my life back in order from the street life. While I was slinging dope, and jacking fools for their cars to sell back to shady car people for money, I always came home from hard days to watch some wrestling on my shitty CRT TV in my one bedroom apartment, dirty and full of coach roaches. I had this random assortment of tapes of wrestling I had found in a garbage bin around the area, and I had to check them out.

While most of the tapes weren’t working, I found one that was titled “NWA:Harlem Greatest Moments and matches” and I watched it until I passed out in the middle of the morning. But one day after I was done dealing crack in the seedy world of Brooklyn, I saw this wrestler who looked just like me, and we went by “Sweet Baby G” and he had this motto of not giving a shit about what’s going on today, but looking forward to the future. He didn’t win a lot matches, but he sure did go out of his way to straight up beat the shit out of his opponents he fought, and I pretty much ended up wanting to become like him, and get into the wrestling business.

A turning point was when I was involved with armed robbery at a Bank with a few goons who needed me to help them move about 30 million, and I only got cut off half of that. Then about six months later, I ended up going to prison upstate for the crime, but I got off with parole and good behavior after about 80 days or so. Not long for a once criminal, but it was something to think about for me as I wasn’t well liked in the place, and even someone I knew wanted to kill me for not giving up my money to them. By the time I was released, I pretty much said “fuck this street shit, I need to make a real honest living” and worked in this retail job, I lasted all the way towards the beginning of early 2004 and said fuck it, and quit.

Truthfully, I don’t regret that when I was trying to get reinstated back to NYU, it was long ass journey and I had managed to convince my grandparents and one of my aunties to help me get back on track. By the summer, I had received my bachelors and masters in Comp Sci, and I pretty much felt like I had made it. But after that graduation phase died down, that’s when reality set in when I had to look for work within my field, about eighty places said no due to my criminal record, so I was pretty much stuck until I saw this add for a training school in Harlem, and I had signed up with little to no money to my name I had saved up. It was a struggle, it was painful, but it was worth every fucking penny i invested in myself to train all the way up.

[Then JB goes back inside, and sees a box of old things, and finds an old picture of himself in black trunks, knee pads, and boots during his rookie years when he had braids on his hair. He then smiles, and brings it outside to look at it, as he takes a sip of his sprite in his poured glass.]

JB: Fuck, this picture brings me good old days when I was coming up in this shit, my family thought I wouldn’t make it in this business, said it was a waste of the Blackstone name. Even though all my step siblings on my mom’s side thought I wasn’t going to even have an income, when I first had that check from NWA Harlem, which was about 500 dollars in late 2004, that was how I knew that this shit was for me. I still held a regular cubicle job in a tech company, but they didn’t want me around. So I stayed as long as I could, until they laid me off, which was a bitter moment, but it gave me a new perspective as time came for me to take this wrestling shit seriously.

So, I stayed and worked in NWA Harlem, up until late 2007 while I had my first title which was the Hardcore Firefight Championship I won in a Hardcore tournament of sixteen other people. When I heard that one of the promoters ex flame had the hots for me, I was kinda indifferent on that until that night. I basically told the promoter, “fuck it, here’s the strap.. I’m gone, because this got too far” when the whole locker room heard that me and the ho were sleeping together. The only thing I was sleeping with was with my hand, which I ain't afraid to admit until I met my wife and child, but they had pretty much come and gone.

Fastfowrd now, I am sitting in his nice townhome, with all the money I've gotten in the fed and now I am contemplating to leave it all. What more do I have left? Tommy already is getting that exposure on Anarchy in that pigeon shit tournament, while Reggie is slowly building a name for himself within Savage. Would I have to tell them that the show is over for the THUGS?...

Nahh, it anit gonna happen like that, we thuggin until we have to leave the fed.

[Then he goes back inside, and he sees another box full of old things, and he see’s a rustic, metal mask that he once had worn in the past. Then he wears the mask, and it still fits on his face, and he looks into a mirror adjacent to the bathroom, and he’s shocked it still fits.]

JB: If it’s not for anything, something tells me to keep on coming to the show, keep up with all the bullshit politics that plague the wrestling business in general. I never was the type to buy in the whole notion of being an “it factor” even when I made my debut here. I was pretty much your standard bearer of a welcoming committee in this company, I had more L’s then W’s in my storied time here in the federation. Hell, I had title shots that led me into this false sense of me making it, when in reality it meant that it wasn’t my turn.

You see, now i’m in another thing where I am taking on three other people for a shot at the Super Continental Strap that one time Universal Champ Peter Vaughn claims now, what a step down if you ask me, at least I didn’t go out into space with that space heroine junkie (still fuck with you Alias, please don’t beam me up!) and other things like that. I am involved with three over wrestlers that aren’t me, shit I am pretty much the guy in the room of a club full of rich people and i’m just the lowly unrich person invited as a charity case. I know I won’t advance in this match, so I am expecting the least of a chance I'll face the Space Junkie’s supplier of failures.

Take a look at Dolly, i’ve fought her more times then not, even up to facing off with her one off partner who claims they anit fuckin. Not dissin on they modius operandi, but fuck who they lyin too. But, it wasn’t like a Chris Chaos/Jenny Myst thing either, Dolly was on her own dominating shit from post to pillar. Hell, she got a shot right out of the gate against Vaughn. Dolly, as much I praise you, you know full well that I am going to beat the youth out of you, until you turn yourself into a poster child of a spoiled child who needs their asses kicked. Dolly, I promise I will not go easy on you, we still got somethin goin on.

That Joe Biden fucker, backstabbin, overrated hickenbottom of a Bastard, Burbon. Hey Grand Poo Butt, how’s that paper crown going for you? I hope it fits well, because you anit nothing more then a goddamn piece of shit down Knuckles shoes. Who knows? I might bust out that Thunderfoot DDT and break a bone or two, and have you limp yourself back to Charlie’s rented RV after the show is over. I still hate ya guts, and want your head on a plate for that maggot of a former promoter who shall not be named, be the one to skull fuck you. I guess you live up to the bastard name, because you should have been left in the trash bin as a bastard child for jesus sake. Bourbon, you best drink yourself to death once you realize you don’t win a shot at Vaughn’s strap.

Who the fuck is Claypso?.... Fuck him too!

So now, I got a fire lit in my ass, that now I want to fight back more harder now, I know that I will not win this match nor care to get my hands on that janitor who thinks he’s above it all. This Warfare, i’m coming with vengeance and with vigor that these people in Ohio will be shocked to see me back in the ring. I might not be young adult protegee, a bastard alcoholic drink, or a no name guy who basically claimed fame over something that happened over a fucking decade ago!

This will be my new hustle.....

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[Image: giphy.gif?cid=790b7611bb209e8ba0deb4f638...y.gif&ct=g]

[The scene fades from there….]

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