Post by Deleted on Apr 18, 2013 13:45:50 GMT -6
Flying to Vegas on a casino junket made the most sense for many reasons. The first of those reasons being financially. This trip was not planned therefore not in the budget. Considering the expenses coming out of the bank each month for child support and various other payments due to moral indecency, money was tight. The only cash coming in was the pay check from New Edge. This left little money and each trip had to be budgeted wisely. This came about last second with the World Title match with Inkt.
My career was all there was to keep me going. That is not anything but fact. Each time a life other people would see as normal was attempted the passion for the wrestling business had brought me back. This cost me three marriages and relationships with children that feel the same way as the rest of the people associated with New Edge feel. They cannot stand the man that has become the most hated entity in wrestling history.
People legitimately hate my guts. Nothing would please them more than to see me fail against everyone’s favorite child Inkt at the Five Year Anniversary of New Edge Wrestling. My failure would cause them great joy and this is understood. Walking into my own hometown would be considered an advantage to some. Some might say in a person’s hometown he would have an advantage. The fact of the matter is no advantage whatsoever is felt.
Inkt is a world class fighter. This is not him being put over or anything but indisputable fact. Not one person on this Earth expects an outcome other than a dominating Inkt victory. In reality, it would not be a surprise if that was exactly what happened. All of the advantages enjoyed in other situations would be neutralized. There is a reason why he is called the Man of War. Two men were going to war and only one man would come out on top. Not one person expects that person to be The Myth Killer.
For the last week this is an opportunity to be relished and the opportunity that has been requested for the better part of three years. Now that it is upon the New Edge Wrestling community, it leads me to the final conclusion. The Myth Killer will die at the end of this. Either one of two outcomes will kill him. Either he will be victorious and all of the acclaim that comes with it. Then there would be nothing to complain about because my ass would be proven right. Or defeat is the companion that follows me around like the plague. Then my ass would be no better than Valora or Nocturnal who are constantly berated for their failures. To become Nocturnal or Valora is a fate that is not worth being pondered.
The flight went well as the nerd attire was sported once again to avoid people from knowing the person underneath. It is not out of fear of having to sign autographs or time spent schmoozing with them. The fear is someone will attempt to kill me. Death threats and Hunter Valentyne go together like peanut butter and jelly. It is the path that was chosen to avoid the pitfalls of life on the road. One hand can count the autographs signed to adoring fans. Generally they want my blood. This is nothing new from the rest of the fans of New Edge or the jackasses who doubt me each and every week.
Once the flight had touched down with anonymity secured, it was time to get on the casino van. The driver is one of those idiots trying to be everyone’s best friend as if a van driver being likable will make up for the cash they are going to lose. The man and his ramblings went largely ignored. He seemed unaffected by the apathy towards his affirming commentary.
As the death of the myth killer draws near, the question is how to spend the next few hours. It probably would not kill me to make a few friends here and reaffirm the love of a home. OF course this was not to be the path as the cell phone in my pocket vibrated. It was Johnny. The vibrations were ignored and his message placed on ignore. This is the same thing done to messages from Jesse Styles, Hazard, and KOP. This week had nothing to do with them and everything to do with me.
The first thought was to find a blackjack table to play but they were all full or close to it other than the high roller tables. The plan was not to spend an ass load of money here that was not owned so that option was out. Besides that meant more people that hate my damned guts and positive vibes are needed. Not one person in the entire world believes in me and all that would be heard was how bad Inkt was going to beat my ass. With my delicate psyche that was the last damned thing that was needed right now.
Then my destination was made sure. Lights and buzzers were going off around a set of machines. This was the Las Vegas way of getting people to play. The machines were built on an island layout which meant the slot person was actually inside of the island with an oval of games surrounding them. Only these machines got their jackpot payout. With the familiar song playing, it was made sure were my little amount of cash would be going.
An electronic instrumental of Beat the Devil’s Tattoo was playing to attract customers to the progressive Man of War slots. These were electronic versions of the old slot machines with the reels. This one had all of the bells and whistles with free games possibilities and a special bonus game if the right combination of symbols fell in the right place. Seeing as my luck was where it was that did not seem to be a possibility. Willing to try anything once, a crisp twenty dollar bill was placed into the tray. With a whir of gears, the twenty was gone and that familiar phrase was heard. The machine was asking if ‘UMADBRO?”
Is there no way of escaping that shitty phrase? Oh well it is too late to back out now. As the seat was taken a damned good looking woman wearing a very revealing skirt and low cut top came to me. Of course she was fuckable but with my current popularity not really attainable.
“Want a drink, sugar?”
“Anything that is not Pugh Juice. Let’s start with a Bud Light.”
“Coming right up, honey.”
Why do women fucking do that shit? What is the deal with all of the sweet names and shit? Just speak to me like I am not some desperate asshole trying to get on your damned pants? For fuck sakes all of the sweetie and honey shit irritates me. Then it came. That god damned voice that makes me want to break shit. The redneck fucking drawl surrounded by a condescending tone. It could only be one person. The smoke has dissipated and he was sitting on my shoulder in a red costume with a glass in his hand.
“Hunter, are you ready for the ass kicking of a lifetime? Inkt is going to beat you down because no one likes you. He is doing the world a damned favor and beating your ass will only add to the legacy of Inkt. You have no shot of doing anything other than what you always do and that is fail. Maybe now we do not have to hear you whine all the damned time.”
Seriously what the fuck did I do wrong to get Pugh as the devil on my damned shoulder? It could have been any of a number of people who hate my damned guts. Hell it could have been Matt Slater. We all know how he looks down his nose at anyone associated with the growth of New Edge. It could have been Valora Salinas who hates me with a damned passion. Even that would have been better than Ryan Fucking Pugh with horns.
It was decided to play the damned game. The reels spin and from short study it was taught to me that if a person got the dirty needle three times in a row a free game icon was chosen. You get to choose between a red, green, and blue cock. Then it tells you how many free games you win. IF you get the Dull Needle Icon then you get to enter a gay male porn set. You choose the dudes and they reveal prixes. Some of them are more spins on the bonus game. Some are better multipliers. Some are simply money to add to the final tally. Only when you get the UMADBRO symbol do the spins begin.
The first spin of the reels shows off three Pugh and Inkt signs. The win was one hundred twenty five credits on a fifty credit bet. Not a bad start at all. The devil comes up once again. Much like the real one he will not shut the fuck up.
“Way to go, Hunter. You got the symbols of the greatest tag team to ever live. I mean do you think me and Inkt would have lost to that chump Slater and his bitch Kronin?”
With silence, the reels are spun once again this time revealing only random cards like aces, kings, queens, jacks, and tens. None of those lines up so nothing was won and the fifty credits were forfeit. Again this southern idiot had to run his fucking mouth. If he was not a figment of my imagination I would beat his ass.
“You lost! You tried you best and got nothing for it. The same thing is going to happen around the corner when Inkt fucks you up in his own club for the World Title. Then we don’t have to hear your mouth any longer about the title shots you think you deserve. Now it will only be about your failures which all of us know is going to happen.”
He might be right about me shutting up but the only thing really needed was for him to shut his damned mouth for once. Suddenly it happened with a poof of white smoke and a trumpet it appeared. This had to be the fucking angel. With a double take it proved to be the one person that being an angle did not equate with.
“What the phuck? I am sitting here smoking a phucking bowl and now I am here? What the phuck is fat ass doing here? Must be a vision of him getting his ass kicked for the X Core Title. That shit was funny when Haz smacked him the phuck up.”
“Shut up Johnny I fucking hate you.”
“Let ya know when I give a shit Tons of Fun! As usual Pugh here is only speaking in half truths. He is talking about Inkt kicking your ass like it is a forgone conclusion. What if he wins fat ass?”
“He won’t because he is Hunter Valentyne and losing is what he is.”
“Correction Ton of Fun. If he wins then he gets to shove that world title belt in your fat face and tell you he was right and you will have no choice but to accept that. Inkt is under no pressure here. Everyone expects him to win. Not one person in this company wants Hunter Valentyne as the World Champion. He is going to win that match and rub it in any and every chance he gets.”
“ENOUGH!!!!!!”
People were staring at me all around as my voice even drowned out the sounds in the casino. Anger was starting to take over and for me that has always been a good sign. The machines were chosen to avoid this shit but this little scene was playing out in my mind. Now it was time to end it.
“Ryan, Johnny this is not about you. This is not about Jesse and trying to screw over Inkt for his time with his wife. This is not about the Mafia. This is not about Kief and his fake title belt. This is about two men stepping into a strip club. They are going to fight for what they believe in. Ryan you will not be there to help him out. Johnny won’t be there and neither will Jesse to Hype kick Inkt and screw him. Kief won’t be there to be insane and a moron I always said he was. It will be two men and the best man will walk out with the most coveted prize in this business today. Two men who will fight for what they believe in and two men who have a lot in common.”
“But…”
“Shut the fuck up Pugh I am not done. Inkt and I have traveled the same road using different vehicles. Each of us has been over shadowed by egomaniac tag team partners. Each of us has been called a side kick. Each of us has been accused of having to be carried by a partner. This match is about the damned spotlight. This match is about me! The Styles Mafia will be in another state and so will your fat ass. You can try to spin it however you want but Inkt and I have the spotlight and you two do not. We are going to walk in and spill buckets upon buckets of blood for what we believe in. It has not one thing to do with Domestik Disturbance or Tat N Fat. He is going to have to step in and beat me. No count outs and no DQ means he has to beat me. No chance of him beating me on a technicality. There will be a fucking winner. The end of the Myth Killer is at hand. Now both of you get the fuck out of here.”
With a poof both of them are gone as it should be. There are a few things Inkt does not get as the reels spin once again. The luck is turning around money wise as three dirty needle signs comes up in a row. The win is ten times the bet plus the free spins. What Inkt does not get is Tat N Fat beating Domestik Disturbance three years ago means nothing. Me kicking his ass each time we stepped into the ring one on one does mean something. The fact that each time he has walked into a match with me for a belt my ass has been the one walking out with it. Trans Atlantic Title? Me Return to New Edge as Brother Hunter? ME! A month ago for the tag straps with 8 Bit? ME!
Ryan Pugh cannot help him now. He can speak of Pugh Juice all he wants and Kief’s idiotic rants. What he needs to do is not overlook me as he has wished for others to overlook him. If he continues to disrespect my chances he will lose. IF he thinks this is about the Styles Mafia and Jesse he will lose. He better know he is stepping into the ring with a man who is on a mission and who will stop at fucking nothing to get the World Title to prove himself right. Johnny is part right though.
Holding that World Title belt in the air and shoving it in the faces of all of the haters would be sweet. Showing each person who ever doubted me that my words were the truth would be better than sex with that cocktail waitress. Las Vegas is a town where adults can play out their dreams. That is the exact thing that I will do in two days. The dream has been to win the World Title belt. That dream will come true.
He does not need a special task force to prevent me from stealing the World Title belt. He does not need fat ass 1 and 2 to protect the belt. I am coming for that damned belt but I plan to walk over his bloody corpse and prying it out of his cold dead hands to get it. Being the man that I am, there is no other chosen way to do it. That is the only way for the title to mean something again. Inkt better be ready for the fight of his fucking life. If he is not he will be a scourge of the wrestling planet.
If he is the man who loses the World Title to me and starts the reign of terror the likes of which the NEW has never seen people will blame him for it. They will revile him as I am currently reviled. In the end if he loses he becomes me and from experience that is not something to wish on your worst enemy. The pressure is all on him. He has been carefree and careless for his entire career. Now he has to care about something. Now he has pressure whether he admits to it or not. If he loses and the reign of Hunter starts he will lose respect of his best friend. Pugh would never forgive him. The world of the NEW would never forgive him. They expect him to win. If he loses he will fall from grace further than anyone in recent memory. Enjoy the pressure bitch.
Now which cock do I pick? Damn you Inkt!
My career was all there was to keep me going. That is not anything but fact. Each time a life other people would see as normal was attempted the passion for the wrestling business had brought me back. This cost me three marriages and relationships with children that feel the same way as the rest of the people associated with New Edge feel. They cannot stand the man that has become the most hated entity in wrestling history.
People legitimately hate my guts. Nothing would please them more than to see me fail against everyone’s favorite child Inkt at the Five Year Anniversary of New Edge Wrestling. My failure would cause them great joy and this is understood. Walking into my own hometown would be considered an advantage to some. Some might say in a person’s hometown he would have an advantage. The fact of the matter is no advantage whatsoever is felt.
Inkt is a world class fighter. This is not him being put over or anything but indisputable fact. Not one person on this Earth expects an outcome other than a dominating Inkt victory. In reality, it would not be a surprise if that was exactly what happened. All of the advantages enjoyed in other situations would be neutralized. There is a reason why he is called the Man of War. Two men were going to war and only one man would come out on top. Not one person expects that person to be The Myth Killer.
For the last week this is an opportunity to be relished and the opportunity that has been requested for the better part of three years. Now that it is upon the New Edge Wrestling community, it leads me to the final conclusion. The Myth Killer will die at the end of this. Either one of two outcomes will kill him. Either he will be victorious and all of the acclaim that comes with it. Then there would be nothing to complain about because my ass would be proven right. Or defeat is the companion that follows me around like the plague. Then my ass would be no better than Valora or Nocturnal who are constantly berated for their failures. To become Nocturnal or Valora is a fate that is not worth being pondered.
The flight went well as the nerd attire was sported once again to avoid people from knowing the person underneath. It is not out of fear of having to sign autographs or time spent schmoozing with them. The fear is someone will attempt to kill me. Death threats and Hunter Valentyne go together like peanut butter and jelly. It is the path that was chosen to avoid the pitfalls of life on the road. One hand can count the autographs signed to adoring fans. Generally they want my blood. This is nothing new from the rest of the fans of New Edge or the jackasses who doubt me each and every week.
Once the flight had touched down with anonymity secured, it was time to get on the casino van. The driver is one of those idiots trying to be everyone’s best friend as if a van driver being likable will make up for the cash they are going to lose. The man and his ramblings went largely ignored. He seemed unaffected by the apathy towards his affirming commentary.
As the death of the myth killer draws near, the question is how to spend the next few hours. It probably would not kill me to make a few friends here and reaffirm the love of a home. OF course this was not to be the path as the cell phone in my pocket vibrated. It was Johnny. The vibrations were ignored and his message placed on ignore. This is the same thing done to messages from Jesse Styles, Hazard, and KOP. This week had nothing to do with them and everything to do with me.
The first thought was to find a blackjack table to play but they were all full or close to it other than the high roller tables. The plan was not to spend an ass load of money here that was not owned so that option was out. Besides that meant more people that hate my damned guts and positive vibes are needed. Not one person in the entire world believes in me and all that would be heard was how bad Inkt was going to beat my ass. With my delicate psyche that was the last damned thing that was needed right now.
Then my destination was made sure. Lights and buzzers were going off around a set of machines. This was the Las Vegas way of getting people to play. The machines were built on an island layout which meant the slot person was actually inside of the island with an oval of games surrounding them. Only these machines got their jackpot payout. With the familiar song playing, it was made sure were my little amount of cash would be going.
An electronic instrumental of Beat the Devil’s Tattoo was playing to attract customers to the progressive Man of War slots. These were electronic versions of the old slot machines with the reels. This one had all of the bells and whistles with free games possibilities and a special bonus game if the right combination of symbols fell in the right place. Seeing as my luck was where it was that did not seem to be a possibility. Willing to try anything once, a crisp twenty dollar bill was placed into the tray. With a whir of gears, the twenty was gone and that familiar phrase was heard. The machine was asking if ‘UMADBRO?”
Is there no way of escaping that shitty phrase? Oh well it is too late to back out now. As the seat was taken a damned good looking woman wearing a very revealing skirt and low cut top came to me. Of course she was fuckable but with my current popularity not really attainable.
“Want a drink, sugar?”
“Anything that is not Pugh Juice. Let’s start with a Bud Light.”
“Coming right up, honey.”
Why do women fucking do that shit? What is the deal with all of the sweet names and shit? Just speak to me like I am not some desperate asshole trying to get on your damned pants? For fuck sakes all of the sweetie and honey shit irritates me. Then it came. That god damned voice that makes me want to break shit. The redneck fucking drawl surrounded by a condescending tone. It could only be one person. The smoke has dissipated and he was sitting on my shoulder in a red costume with a glass in his hand.
“Hunter, are you ready for the ass kicking of a lifetime? Inkt is going to beat you down because no one likes you. He is doing the world a damned favor and beating your ass will only add to the legacy of Inkt. You have no shot of doing anything other than what you always do and that is fail. Maybe now we do not have to hear you whine all the damned time.”
Seriously what the fuck did I do wrong to get Pugh as the devil on my damned shoulder? It could have been any of a number of people who hate my damned guts. Hell it could have been Matt Slater. We all know how he looks down his nose at anyone associated with the growth of New Edge. It could have been Valora Salinas who hates me with a damned passion. Even that would have been better than Ryan Fucking Pugh with horns.
It was decided to play the damned game. The reels spin and from short study it was taught to me that if a person got the dirty needle three times in a row a free game icon was chosen. You get to choose between a red, green, and blue cock. Then it tells you how many free games you win. IF you get the Dull Needle Icon then you get to enter a gay male porn set. You choose the dudes and they reveal prixes. Some of them are more spins on the bonus game. Some are better multipliers. Some are simply money to add to the final tally. Only when you get the UMADBRO symbol do the spins begin.
The first spin of the reels shows off three Pugh and Inkt signs. The win was one hundred twenty five credits on a fifty credit bet. Not a bad start at all. The devil comes up once again. Much like the real one he will not shut the fuck up.
“Way to go, Hunter. You got the symbols of the greatest tag team to ever live. I mean do you think me and Inkt would have lost to that chump Slater and his bitch Kronin?”
With silence, the reels are spun once again this time revealing only random cards like aces, kings, queens, jacks, and tens. None of those lines up so nothing was won and the fifty credits were forfeit. Again this southern idiot had to run his fucking mouth. If he was not a figment of my imagination I would beat his ass.
“You lost! You tried you best and got nothing for it. The same thing is going to happen around the corner when Inkt fucks you up in his own club for the World Title. Then we don’t have to hear your mouth any longer about the title shots you think you deserve. Now it will only be about your failures which all of us know is going to happen.”
He might be right about me shutting up but the only thing really needed was for him to shut his damned mouth for once. Suddenly it happened with a poof of white smoke and a trumpet it appeared. This had to be the fucking angel. With a double take it proved to be the one person that being an angle did not equate with.
“What the phuck? I am sitting here smoking a phucking bowl and now I am here? What the phuck is fat ass doing here? Must be a vision of him getting his ass kicked for the X Core Title. That shit was funny when Haz smacked him the phuck up.”
“Shut up Johnny I fucking hate you.”
“Let ya know when I give a shit Tons of Fun! As usual Pugh here is only speaking in half truths. He is talking about Inkt kicking your ass like it is a forgone conclusion. What if he wins fat ass?”
“He won’t because he is Hunter Valentyne and losing is what he is.”
“Correction Ton of Fun. If he wins then he gets to shove that world title belt in your fat face and tell you he was right and you will have no choice but to accept that. Inkt is under no pressure here. Everyone expects him to win. Not one person in this company wants Hunter Valentyne as the World Champion. He is going to win that match and rub it in any and every chance he gets.”
“ENOUGH!!!!!!”
People were staring at me all around as my voice even drowned out the sounds in the casino. Anger was starting to take over and for me that has always been a good sign. The machines were chosen to avoid this shit but this little scene was playing out in my mind. Now it was time to end it.
“Ryan, Johnny this is not about you. This is not about Jesse and trying to screw over Inkt for his time with his wife. This is not about the Mafia. This is not about Kief and his fake title belt. This is about two men stepping into a strip club. They are going to fight for what they believe in. Ryan you will not be there to help him out. Johnny won’t be there and neither will Jesse to Hype kick Inkt and screw him. Kief won’t be there to be insane and a moron I always said he was. It will be two men and the best man will walk out with the most coveted prize in this business today. Two men who will fight for what they believe in and two men who have a lot in common.”
“But…”
“Shut the fuck up Pugh I am not done. Inkt and I have traveled the same road using different vehicles. Each of us has been over shadowed by egomaniac tag team partners. Each of us has been called a side kick. Each of us has been accused of having to be carried by a partner. This match is about the damned spotlight. This match is about me! The Styles Mafia will be in another state and so will your fat ass. You can try to spin it however you want but Inkt and I have the spotlight and you two do not. We are going to walk in and spill buckets upon buckets of blood for what we believe in. It has not one thing to do with Domestik Disturbance or Tat N Fat. He is going to have to step in and beat me. No count outs and no DQ means he has to beat me. No chance of him beating me on a technicality. There will be a fucking winner. The end of the Myth Killer is at hand. Now both of you get the fuck out of here.”
With a poof both of them are gone as it should be. There are a few things Inkt does not get as the reels spin once again. The luck is turning around money wise as three dirty needle signs comes up in a row. The win is ten times the bet plus the free spins. What Inkt does not get is Tat N Fat beating Domestik Disturbance three years ago means nothing. Me kicking his ass each time we stepped into the ring one on one does mean something. The fact that each time he has walked into a match with me for a belt my ass has been the one walking out with it. Trans Atlantic Title? Me Return to New Edge as Brother Hunter? ME! A month ago for the tag straps with 8 Bit? ME!
Ryan Pugh cannot help him now. He can speak of Pugh Juice all he wants and Kief’s idiotic rants. What he needs to do is not overlook me as he has wished for others to overlook him. If he continues to disrespect my chances he will lose. IF he thinks this is about the Styles Mafia and Jesse he will lose. He better know he is stepping into the ring with a man who is on a mission and who will stop at fucking nothing to get the World Title to prove himself right. Johnny is part right though.
Holding that World Title belt in the air and shoving it in the faces of all of the haters would be sweet. Showing each person who ever doubted me that my words were the truth would be better than sex with that cocktail waitress. Las Vegas is a town where adults can play out their dreams. That is the exact thing that I will do in two days. The dream has been to win the World Title belt. That dream will come true.
He does not need a special task force to prevent me from stealing the World Title belt. He does not need fat ass 1 and 2 to protect the belt. I am coming for that damned belt but I plan to walk over his bloody corpse and prying it out of his cold dead hands to get it. Being the man that I am, there is no other chosen way to do it. That is the only way for the title to mean something again. Inkt better be ready for the fight of his fucking life. If he is not he will be a scourge of the wrestling planet.
If he is the man who loses the World Title to me and starts the reign of terror the likes of which the NEW has never seen people will blame him for it. They will revile him as I am currently reviled. In the end if he loses he becomes me and from experience that is not something to wish on your worst enemy. The pressure is all on him. He has been carefree and careless for his entire career. Now he has to care about something. Now he has pressure whether he admits to it or not. If he loses and the reign of Hunter starts he will lose respect of his best friend. Pugh would never forgive him. The world of the NEW would never forgive him. They expect him to win. If he loses he will fall from grace further than anyone in recent memory. Enjoy the pressure bitch.
Now which cock do I pick? Damn you Inkt!