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X-treme Wrestling Federation »   » Archives » Relentless Day 3 RP Boards 2022
BUSTER GLOVES - THE APPETIZER
Author Message
Buster Gloves Offline
Registered but either hasn't added self to a roster yet or doesn't RP



XWF FanBase:
Traditionalists

(has an old school wrestling mentality; no nonsense; less appealing to some younger fans)


#1
09-14-2022, 07:01 PM

[Image: highlight-video-b.png]

THE APPETIZER

OFF CAM
 
“I’m gonna wrestle for another company.” Says the dad-bro sitting in a booth inside a Florida Applebee’s. He takes a bite of his boneless buffalo wing while the two teenage boys in front of him digest what he just said. Some people say you shouldn’t eat boneless buffalo wings with a fork, that it takes away from the experience. But the truth is that the quality of a boneless buffalo wing is determined by the sauce, not by the delivery system.
 
“Did you get fired?” Asks one kid.
 
“Did you say the r-word? Says the awkward tween in the booth.
 
“What?! No. God no. Not since I saw Carlos Mencia at the DC Improv. Anyway, I went to the money guys at Level Up and asked to restructure my deal.”
 
“You quit?”
 
“No, I didn’t quit. I’m still gonna work there. But now I also get to work for other feds. I negotiated it as part of my contract extension. It’s more respectful.”
 
“Sounds like quitting with extra steps.”
 
Buster has to pause for a moment. His children are becoming too powerful. A combination of dank memes and TikTok challenges have turned them into hardened trolls. He may have to release them into the sewers before they deadname the family dog.
 
“Look. I’m not quitting Level Up. I’m just not going to be an exclusive Level Up guy anymore.”
 
“What does that mean?” Says one brother.
 
“It means he’s cheating on his employer.” Says the other brother.
 
The 35-year father of two takes an angry bite of another boneless wing. The crispy breaded pieces of tender boneless chicken are tossed in one of several wing sauces. There is, of course, the classic buffalo flavor, but it’s only a gateway flavor to adult palettes. The Extra Hot Buffalo is a fuller flavor experience, but still lacks the kick of its moniker. When unsure which flavor of boneless wings to enjoy, honey BBQ is a tried-and-true method. Sweet and spicy. Savory and delicious. It’s available as part of the Applebee’s classic combo or standalone in a plentiful dish of poultry perfection.
 
“I’m not cheating! I was their champion for a while. And I never once wrestled for anyone else while I retained that belt. I promised to represent the company for as long as I was their champion. And now that I’m not, I’m free to seek opportunities elsewhere. I know I’m kind of an asshole, but I’m not a dickhead.”

“So where are you wrestling now?” says the younger brother.
 
“Well, aside from the appearances at Level Up, I’m going to be working for XWF. It’s kind of a pay-per-performance deal, but the amount of exposure I’ll get is a big deal.”
“Are you in their main event?” says the older brother.
 
“Main event?! Dalton, are you on the reefer? Do you guys even watch my matches?”
 
“I would if they were on YouTube.” Says Swayze.
 
“You’re killing me, Smalls… The answer to your question is NO. I’m not in the main event. I’m what you call ‘Mid-Card Talent. You guys understand what that means?”
 
“I think we can figure that one out.”
 
“When do you wrestle?”
 
“I’m appearing on XWF’s next pay-per-view. They have me slotted as the first match on the third card. It’s kind of a crappy booking, but I’m staying optimistic about it. It’s a great chance to get the crowd going on the final night of the 3-day event.
 
Both of the children have a good laugh. Since 1980, millions of families, just like this, have share happy moments, just like this. Originally started as a small single location in Atlanta Georgia, Applebee’s was the passion project of culinary wizards Bill and TJ Palmer. A lot has changed since then, with almost 2,000 locations in the U.S. and around the world, Applebee’s has brought the family back to the dinner table. Inside their walls, you will always be their guest for delicious food, in a neighborhood setting, with attentive service, at a great value.
 
“What happened? I thought you were elite, Dad. I thought you won all your matches.” Says the older brother.
 
“No. I WAS winning all my matches. I haven’t won anything in like 2 months. You guys need to cut me some slack. You know this job is really hard, right? The other guys are actually trying to beat me.”
 
“To be honest, I have no idea what the rules are.” Says the younger brother while keeping his eyes locked on the succulent appetizer sampler. As soon as his father stops stress eating and relinquishes the dish, he’ll shoot for the quesadilla. Or maybe the fried cheese stick.
 
“Can we get back on topic, please? What I’m telling you is that I’m kind of over Level Up. I appreciate all that they did for me, giving me my first big contract. But I’ve hit the ceiling over there. I’ve outgrown the place.”
 
“K.” Says the older brother Dalton.
 
“So, you hate working there?” Says the younger brother Swayze.
 
“Well, no. It’s kind of the opposite. It’s hard to explain. Management hasn’t really been taking my calls lately. It might just be a case of ‘If they were upset with me, I’d know it’, but it low-key feels like they hate me. Like I’m not part of the inner circle anymore now that I’m not a champion. I’m not even upset about it. If I were them, I’d hate dealing with me. I overstep. I can’t stay in my lane. It’s unreasonable to expect your employer to sing you to sleep every night.”
 
“So, you’re leaving because they don’t give you enough attention?”
 
“When you put it that way, it sounds like a really pathetic excuse for distancing myself. But for the last few months, I get sick every time I leave you guys here, in Florida, while I get on an uncomfortable airplane, and I fly to some random city in the Midwest. I freaking hate flying.
 
The original Atlanta location of Applebee’s was established in 1980 under the name T.J. Applebee’s Edibles and Elixirs. It was labelled as a casual family diner, open and affordable to the public, but urban legends and conspiracy theories claim a darker secret is held within its walls. A number of unconfirmed stories have stated that the establishment has, at times, been tied to the Illuminati, underground fight clubs, Essential Oils pyramid schemes, and Satan worshipping pizza parties. Curiously enough, during its 42-year history, over 60 people have died just at this one location. And to this day, they continue offering an authentic American dining experience, featuring bottomless refills and all-you-can-eat boneless buffalo wings for just $12.99 (plus tax and tip).
 
“Why do you hate flying? Are you afraid of heights?” Asks Swayze.
 
“Show me on the doll where the airplane touched you.” Suggests Dalton.
 
Buster burps cherry cola.
 
“Airplanes, even the dope ones from Kayfabe Airlines, are just awful. Yes, I am a bit afraid of heights, but that’s not what I hate about flying. It’s being forced to sit with random people. I’m a big guy. It’s always uncomfortable. They always sit me between a Chatting Kathy and a guy wearing Chicken Tikka Masala.
 
“I bet you’d like them more if they had hookers and blackjack.”
 
Buster has a couple long blinks and a deep breath as Jesus takes the wheel.
 
Dalton continues. “So anyway, you’re a quitter now? Are we just allowed to quit stuff when it starts to suck?”
 
“Dally, I just can’t do it. I can’t be married to that place anymore. I need to spread my wings. I need to meet some new people in this industry. I’m tired of people thinking I’m a joke.”
 
Swayze pulls the classic combo of Applebee’s delicious appetizers directly in front of him. Shielding it from the dad-tears. He scarfs the mozzarella sticks and patronizes his father. “It’s ok, Dad. You shouldn’t work a bad job if you don’t like it.”
 
“It’s not even like that. It’s a great company, but something there hasn’t been right for a little while. I can’t put my finger on it. The timing has been wrong. I made some mistakes. My head is all screwed up. I’m talking to my AA sponsor about working through some of those issues.”
 
Through melty fried cheese and savory marinara, Swayze opines. “Just sounds like you’re giving up too easily.”
 
“Ok, let me put it this way. You probably have a girl in school that you like. She’s pretty. Nice hair. Lots of followers. She even likes Video Games.”
 
Both boys speak in unison. “Becky Berkhart.”
 
“Sure. Becky Berkhart.  So, let’s say you start dating Becky.”
 
“Me maybe. Not Humperfart over here.” Says Dalton as Swayze glared back with the fire of a thousand suns.
 
“Can you guys, just… not, for a minute?”
 
Tense…silence…
 
“So, you’re dating Becky Berkhart. And it’s great at first. All your friends are impressed because you landed one of the hottest chicks in your grade.”
 
“You can’t say chicks.” Says Swayze.
 
“Fuck off! I can’t?” Buster says.
 
“No. It’s offensive.”
 
“Well, what am I supposed to call them?”
 
“Nothing. You can’t say anything anymore.”
 
“What do you say to girls?”
 
“Nothing. We’re terrified of them.”
 
“That… that’s fair. Ok, so let’s enter the magical land of unicorns and non-threatening boy-girl interactions, where you and your girlfriend, Becky Berkhart, are going steady. You’re hanging out. You’re kissing under the bleachers. And one day you find out that she’s giving squeezers to the entire soccer team under the bleachers. Not only that. But she’s also saying some unflattering things about you. To be fair to her, most of what she’s saying is true, but it still hurts. You know what I mean?”
 
In unison. “No.”
 
“God. You two are giving me a mild stroke. If your girlfriend was shitty to you, would you continue dating her?”
 
“I don’t know.” Says Dalton.
 
“He’d stay with her because he likes her boobs.”
 
“I feel you there, bro. But let’s not forget that Becky Berkhart is a dirty cheater.”
 
This gathers the unwanted attention of other guests who may be related to dirty cheater Becky Berkhart or may just be the nosy neighbors in the hood. If only these kitschy walls could talk, what stories, what curiosities, what horrors would they speak of. The depths of the human experience drip from layers of regional flair.
 
“So, here’s the deal, you break up with Becky Berkhart, but you do it on good terms. You keep her number in your phone and you wait for that booty call. You hang out in the glass case and one day soon, after a bottle of Moscato and a Bridget Jones movie, she calls you up, she cheats on her new boyfriend, and she goes all the way with you. You’ve already put up with her bullshit for a year, if you just keep your mouth shut, she’ll eventually give you that sympathy lay. Does that make any sense.”
 
“You realize I’m only 15 years old? And he’s 13. He probably doesn’t even understand half the stuff you just said.” Admits Dalton.
 
“No, no. I follow. Go on.” Speaks Swayze.
 
“Well, that, my friends, is what it’s like to have a job that you don’t enjoy. I called my boss at Level Up and we negotiated a new contract that allows me to work anywhere I want while still being booked over there. I can’t promise you I’m gonna win a lot of matches in the next year, but I’m gonna fight my ass off. I’m gonna be everywhere and people are gonna be sick of hearing my name.”
 
“Dad, can we order our own food now?”
 
“Not yet, Son. Half priced apps don’t start at Applebee’s until 9pm.”
 
Eat good in your neighborhood my friends. For the night is long and full of terrors.





ON-CAM
 
I’ve never really stopped to consider my own identity. What I am. What I represent. It’s not like anyone would actually care if I did.  
 
Sure, I’ve been a lot of different things over the years, a soldier, a fighter, a husband, a father. Some people have told me that I made a difference. They told me that I did something that matters.
 
I’m a professional wrestler now. The things that happen in the ring, these battles, stories written in blood and emotion, on a square canvas. There’s a story to every fight. Some are inspired by real life, but most of them are meaningless dribble. Like social media posts without a beginning or an ending.
 
Sometimes I tap into elements of my identity when I’m in a fight.  Sometimes I have something to fight for. But most of it is fake. Pretending to want to hurt people for fun. I fight because it’s a job. It gets me by. But it doesn’t define who I am. It isn’t my identity.
 
I’m a guy. No different than you. I wrestle for a living. It’s entertainment. It’s a job. Does that make sense? Have I lost you already?
 
I’ve been doing this a while now. I’ve met a lot of people in the business. There are all sorts. Big ones. Pretty ones. Weird ones. They’re all some mix of athlete/performer/ artist/entertainer. You can’t put any of them into categories. They’re not the heroes and villains that we imagine them to be. They’re just people.
 
The mistake people make who watching this sport is thinking that you can put wrestlers into categories. Like, “hey, this guy is a brawler. She’s a highflyer. That old man is a technical genius.” It’s all cliché. It’s cringe. You can’t put a person in a box. You can’t put labels on them. You don’t get to define their identities.
 
Why we wrestle is a very personal question. Usually, you get some bullshit story about having a troubled childhood. Or a quest for glory. But you never get the real answer. Most of us are here, wrestling in front of the world, because it’s a calling. It’s the only thing we know how to do. And the small window of time we spend between the bells is the only time we feel like what we’re doing something that matters.
 
I won’t tell you lies. In fact, I never lie. I love this world of wrestling. Wrestling is my forever. It’s everything and nothing at the same time. It’s humanity, condensed in a two-hour show. It’s Shakespeare in sport. Wrestling is a love letter and a middle finger. It’s everything. The highest form of art.
 
I never put much thought much into my accomplishments until I filled out a job application to work for a major wrestling promotion. For many years, I simply didn’t exist. Then I became a pro wrestler, and now I’m writing this and trying to figure out, like, who the hell am I? What’s my identity?
 
Let’s say, for arguments sake that you decide to call me one of you. A pro wrestler. The rest? That’s way up in the air. Sure, I done some great things. You might even be impressed by a couple of them. But you can’t take just the good without the bad. I’m socially challenged, recovering alcoholic, masochist, headcase redneck raise on a cow farm. I'm only human. Dust to dust.
 
Above all other things. I hope to be a good father. I know in my heart that I am, but your body of work as a father doesn’t end until your life does. You can’t retire from parenthood. There is no father hall of fame. My greatest fear is that I fail in my attempt at parental greatness.
 
So, who do we say has come to the XWF? Just say Buster. 'Cause that can mean everything. It’s all that shit I said before, all the shit I’ve forgotten, and all the shit that hasn’t happened yet. I make no apologies. I tell no lies. I don’t have the answers. I’ve just seen some things and been some places and made some observations along the way.
 
I want you to have fun when you watch my matches. And I sincerely hope that none of you take anything I say too seriously. I’m on the bad side of 35. Most veterans my age have already been to the summit and are dying on the way back down the mountain. I’m still on the climb. I’m still on my way and I want you to come with me.
 
I’m blessed to do what I love for a living, and I like to think I’m pretty good at it. Maybe I just got lucky. Maybe my life serves as a guide on what not to do. Regardless, I hope that in every match, I create something that people enjoy. I’ll bare my soul, I’ll open my veins for this business, just to entertain you.
 
Welcome to my story. You’re gonna love it.





[Image: buster-gloves-dojo-cropped.png]
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