Post by coolrifletk47 on Sept 16, 2020 20:13:30 GMT -5
Ladies and Gentlemen, your winner, and still the coolest so and so this side of the rainbow bridge and the last man drinking in Valhalla, the OPW X-Core champion of all the worlds, “Too Cool” Tommy Kain.
And that’s exactly how he or she better say it when it is all said and done. When that battle stops and the smoke clears, there are gonna be more than seven Spanish angels at the altar of the sun boys and girls. Or at least a few thousand live and a few more million watching on good ol PPV.
Outlaw Professional Wrestling, Stair way to Heaven, four fools will enter. Four fighters will bleed, they will sweat, they might cry, and at least one will probably throw up, then the drunkest one will leave as the OPW X-Core Champeen. Now as I sit here sipping on my cold, crisp, first Zima of the day, the wrestling world may very well be asking themselves….
“Tommy, how on earth can you be filled with so much confidence, so much sure of yourselfism, so much no way you can looseness.”
Well that’s not nearly as complicated as you all may think.
Let’s start with the obvious stuff first.
One of the challengers is a giant, greasy haired Japanese Anime villain, with Hot Topic contact lenses and a manager who buys her outfits at Halloween Town. See Blacko Gato or Tigress Noche, or Darkness Von Kitty Litter. You are irrelevancy on two legs.
And that’s just me being polite.
Like I want to be respectful. Because you are a veteran. You have served your time in the wrasslin business but unfortunately you weren’t smart enough to know when to hang it up.
Or at the very least go hit up a territory where you don’t stick out like a sixth toe with a corn on top of a blister on top of an ingrown toenail.
I mean I get it, you are huge. Almost seven foot tall. You are strong, you probably lift weights in a junkyard with rusted out Buicks while wearing a weighted Fanny Pack. But at the end of the day, and the end of the week, and the end of the decade you will still just be another big dude with a million dollar frame but a ten cent brain.
Because if you weren’t slower than a bronze medalist in the Special Olympics you would already know that you are just lucky to be here.
And I am a Magic Johnson level of positive that you probably have watched the film of our last encounter and are just gobsmacked at how I can fix my mouth to talk to you and about you this way.
After you bounced me up, down, and across that four cornered ring. After you picked me up and put me down hard more times than a Power Lifter with no opposable thumbs.
But see sport, none of that mattered because when it was over, it was your shoulders that got counted down for that three second ciesta. Just know this Mittens, at Stairway you are leaving out the same way you came in, with nothing and liking it.
Now, let’s move on, let’s spend some time on the president, secretary, and treasurer of the Tommy Kain fan club, Ms. Lee Lee Fury.
Now if I am being honest, like one hundred percent opposite of cubic zirconium authentic, Ms. Fury, I do not really understand what all your anger is about. Like I don’t think we know each other that well.
Like every time there is a camera around, I feel like you are throwing shade at good ol’ TK like a beach umbrella at noon on the equator and I don’t really know why exactly.
Like if it is just about this X-Core title or me taking the last six teriyaki wings at the catering table or some unpaid bar tab at that Hooters your ex with the neck tattoo that says “Olny god can juge me” used to manage…………then look, I am sorry. Like I can’t help but feel like a drunken Thanos sitting on the battlefield looking at you with all that pent-up hatred and anger in your eyes because.
I don’t even know who you are.
I mean like I KNOW you are Lee Ann Rimes Fury
And I KNOW you are a talented competitor.
But damn, you would think I spoiled the ending of your favorite TV show or Movie or something. By the way, rosebud is a sled, Bruce Willis was dead the whole time, the wheelchair kid is the king in Game of Thrones, and Nobody has a fucking clue what happened on Lost.
But all that being said, all that anger and aggression aside, at Stair way Lee Lee Harvey Oswald Fury you are gonna have as many X-Core titles as you do today.
And that is zero, zilch, one less than one.
Because you need to understand that I did not fight this hard for this long with this group of people to have you walk in and just take it from me because of some she girl Cool Rifle haters club bulljive. Look around, look at all of the people in the OPW right now. All of these people who have spent the better part of more than a decade kicking, fighting and scratching to make a name in this biznass. They have all fought with or against each other at some point. They know each other’s name and they know what each other is all about. Their hopes, their dreams, their favorite pizza topping.
But more than that, they all respect each other. And in this sport, that is more precious than all the gold in them thar hills.
And I am not the type of guy who waits for people to give me any respect I am due.
I take it.
And after Stairway, when people see this belt is still laying nice and neat across my drunk ass shoulders……………….They won’t have any choice but to give me what is mine.
You will fight at Stairway, you will fight hard. You will prove to the world that you belong in the conversation.
But you won’t win, because I can’t let you.
Well, now all that has been said brings us to this…..The Biggs Riggs himself, Good ol’ JR.
Jason Riggs, with all due respect……
Now I know, in most cases when someone starts by saying “With all due respect” they are getting ready to say some fairly disrespectful things……
And in this case that is absolutely the case. But there will be layers to this here Complisult, I promise.
Jason, Riggs, Murtaugh, Mister J, JR Puffnstuff, I gotta believe there are a number of reasons you have been put into this contest. You have name recognition, people know you, they know your family.
You have paid your dues in full, with interest in this world we call professional wrasslin. Your picture on a flyer or you name on a match card practically guarantees a bump in the PPV buyrate.
And above all that, you beat me.
And that one, that last one there is the one I am having one hell of a time with man.
Now I could load you down with clichés and talk about how our last match could have gone either way. The wrestling purists will say that maybe if I spent as much time training to beat you as I did drinking and talking about beating you, I might have pulled it out. And to be fair, that might be true.
But you don’t ask a snake to run, you don’t ask Blair Buchanan Stylez to wear turtleneck sweaters, and you don’t preach sobriety to the Cool Rifle.
At the end of the day, I gotta be me Jason. It has worked out pretty well so far.
You see I didn’t lose to you last time because I was drunk or had been drinking. I didn’t lose to you because I didn’t train hard enough. I lost to you because that’s how wrasslin works man. Any given night it can go either way. Unless you are fighting that Maddox guy or El Gato Loco. Then it is an easy ninety to ten split.
But I don’t want to get off track.
See you beat me last time because you were better. You earned it and you deserved it. You didn’t win because you were a member of the famous Riggs family or because you are some sort of centerpiece in wrasslin royalty.
And at Stairway my friend, you won’t win because of any of that either.
As a matter of fact, you won’t win at all.
Because just like I told the other two in the Menage’ a trois of pain plus one,
I am on a mission and I can’t let you stop me either.
There is too much at stake Jason. And unlike you, I don’t have a family name to fall back on, I don’t have a family legacy to pull me out of the muck like Artex from the NeverEnding story.
That god damned horse, he fought so hard *sniffle*
Anyhow, Jason, Mr. Riggs I did a little digging and I know you that you and I have a little bit in common. While you are the black sheep of your family, I am the black sheep of the entire wrestling industry. I am wrestling’s dirty little secret. The business wants guys like you and your family.
Talented, tough, stern, witty like John Wayne minus the Nazi preferences. More like Keanu I suppose. John Wick, not Ted “Theodore” Logan. In a perfect wrestling world, a guy like you would definitely be the odds on favorite to become the X-Core Champion.
And me?
Well I would be working the PPV preshow in a beer chugging contest full of fart and diarrhea jokes.
But the world ain’t perfect is it?
So I took advantage of the situation. I am the X-Core champion and after Stairway I will still be the X-Core champion. And when that is all said and done some people will be shocked, others will be pissed, and some, some will raise their glass while I whoop that ass.
I need this Jason, and this ain’t some tough guy rhetoric but you are gonna have to damn near kill me to take this belt from me. And I know death smiles at us all someday, but I heard that cool little chick on Game of Thrones one time say something that stuck.
What do we say when we see Mr. Death?
Not Today.
(A decent amount of time later)
Pierre, did you see him?
Thomas I combed a twenty two and a half block radius and there is nothing. It is like he has vanished.
(Suddenly a scream is heard in a nearby alley)
No fucking way.
(TK and Pierre sprint toward a nearby alley to find a young woman sitting down next to a dumpster. Her eyes look as if she had seen not just a ghost but a ghost fucking Charlie Sheen who happened to be wearing red stilleto heels and sporting a Martha Stewart mask……so bad folks, real bad.)
Hey are you okay young lady.
I.……..I think so. I fell and bumped my head a bit but I am okay.
What happened?
Honestly it all happened so fast. I had just gotten off of work down at the Beaver Dam and I was walking home. I went to rest for a minute on a park bench and when I sit down……well I don’t wear any underwear at work and next thing you know there was a whole lot of meat barreling into taco town if ya get me.
Beaver Dam, I know the place. These clues are falling together
Beaver Dam P?
Yes Thomas, an exotic dancing establishment a few miles south. A home to a number of ladies who might not just be of ill repute but also non discriminant in all things genitalia related.
Blair Buchanan, then stripper crackwhores, god damn GOAT can pick em.
So anyways, I figured it was already in there so I decided to finish and when I got up to ask the stallion his name, I will be good and god damned if it wasn’t a fucking Goat. I mean I am a lady. Donkey’s sure, Goat’s good lord boys, I had found my new favorite hobby.
God damnit, I am gonna throw up.
Okay, but then what happened, how did you wind up concussed in an alley? Did he hurt you.
Fuck no honey, I went here to sleep off this Black Tar that I spiked right after I fell in love with a four legged sex god. Nodded off and fell on my ass. It ain’t a new thing for me sweetheart.
Well did ya see where he went?
No, can’t say I did. But if you see him, tell him to call Skiii with three I's, the one with the Marge Simpson Tramp Stamp. He will know who you are talking about.
Mannnnnn, we have got to find GOAT and get him some penicillin before he ends up pissing fire like a flamethrower.
(To be continued)
And that’s exactly how he or she better say it when it is all said and done. When that battle stops and the smoke clears, there are gonna be more than seven Spanish angels at the altar of the sun boys and girls. Or at least a few thousand live and a few more million watching on good ol PPV.
Outlaw Professional Wrestling, Stair way to Heaven, four fools will enter. Four fighters will bleed, they will sweat, they might cry, and at least one will probably throw up, then the drunkest one will leave as the OPW X-Core Champeen. Now as I sit here sipping on my cold, crisp, first Zima of the day, the wrestling world may very well be asking themselves….
“Tommy, how on earth can you be filled with so much confidence, so much sure of yourselfism, so much no way you can looseness.”
Well that’s not nearly as complicated as you all may think.
Let’s start with the obvious stuff first.
One of the challengers is a giant, greasy haired Japanese Anime villain, with Hot Topic contact lenses and a manager who buys her outfits at Halloween Town. See Blacko Gato or Tigress Noche, or Darkness Von Kitty Litter. You are irrelevancy on two legs.
And that’s just me being polite.
Like I want to be respectful. Because you are a veteran. You have served your time in the wrasslin business but unfortunately you weren’t smart enough to know when to hang it up.
Or at the very least go hit up a territory where you don’t stick out like a sixth toe with a corn on top of a blister on top of an ingrown toenail.
I mean I get it, you are huge. Almost seven foot tall. You are strong, you probably lift weights in a junkyard with rusted out Buicks while wearing a weighted Fanny Pack. But at the end of the day, and the end of the week, and the end of the decade you will still just be another big dude with a million dollar frame but a ten cent brain.
Because if you weren’t slower than a bronze medalist in the Special Olympics you would already know that you are just lucky to be here.
And I am a Magic Johnson level of positive that you probably have watched the film of our last encounter and are just gobsmacked at how I can fix my mouth to talk to you and about you this way.
After you bounced me up, down, and across that four cornered ring. After you picked me up and put me down hard more times than a Power Lifter with no opposable thumbs.
But see sport, none of that mattered because when it was over, it was your shoulders that got counted down for that three second ciesta. Just know this Mittens, at Stairway you are leaving out the same way you came in, with nothing and liking it.
Now, let’s move on, let’s spend some time on the president, secretary, and treasurer of the Tommy Kain fan club, Ms. Lee Lee Fury.
Now if I am being honest, like one hundred percent opposite of cubic zirconium authentic, Ms. Fury, I do not really understand what all your anger is about. Like I don’t think we know each other that well.
Like every time there is a camera around, I feel like you are throwing shade at good ol’ TK like a beach umbrella at noon on the equator and I don’t really know why exactly.
Like if it is just about this X-Core title or me taking the last six teriyaki wings at the catering table or some unpaid bar tab at that Hooters your ex with the neck tattoo that says “Olny god can juge me” used to manage…………then look, I am sorry. Like I can’t help but feel like a drunken Thanos sitting on the battlefield looking at you with all that pent-up hatred and anger in your eyes because.
I don’t even know who you are.
I mean like I KNOW you are Lee Ann Rimes Fury
And I KNOW you are a talented competitor.
But damn, you would think I spoiled the ending of your favorite TV show or Movie or something. By the way, rosebud is a sled, Bruce Willis was dead the whole time, the wheelchair kid is the king in Game of Thrones, and Nobody has a fucking clue what happened on Lost.
But all that being said, all that anger and aggression aside, at Stair way Lee Lee Harvey Oswald Fury you are gonna have as many X-Core titles as you do today.
And that is zero, zilch, one less than one.
Because you need to understand that I did not fight this hard for this long with this group of people to have you walk in and just take it from me because of some she girl Cool Rifle haters club bulljive. Look around, look at all of the people in the OPW right now. All of these people who have spent the better part of more than a decade kicking, fighting and scratching to make a name in this biznass. They have all fought with or against each other at some point. They know each other’s name and they know what each other is all about. Their hopes, their dreams, their favorite pizza topping.
But more than that, they all respect each other. And in this sport, that is more precious than all the gold in them thar hills.
And I am not the type of guy who waits for people to give me any respect I am due.
I take it.
And after Stairway, when people see this belt is still laying nice and neat across my drunk ass shoulders……………….They won’t have any choice but to give me what is mine.
You will fight at Stairway, you will fight hard. You will prove to the world that you belong in the conversation.
But you won’t win, because I can’t let you.
Well, now all that has been said brings us to this…..The Biggs Riggs himself, Good ol’ JR.
Jason Riggs, with all due respect……
Now I know, in most cases when someone starts by saying “With all due respect” they are getting ready to say some fairly disrespectful things……
And in this case that is absolutely the case. But there will be layers to this here Complisult, I promise.
Jason, Riggs, Murtaugh, Mister J, JR Puffnstuff, I gotta believe there are a number of reasons you have been put into this contest. You have name recognition, people know you, they know your family.
You have paid your dues in full, with interest in this world we call professional wrasslin. Your picture on a flyer or you name on a match card practically guarantees a bump in the PPV buyrate.
And above all that, you beat me.
And that one, that last one there is the one I am having one hell of a time with man.
Now I could load you down with clichés and talk about how our last match could have gone either way. The wrestling purists will say that maybe if I spent as much time training to beat you as I did drinking and talking about beating you, I might have pulled it out. And to be fair, that might be true.
But you don’t ask a snake to run, you don’t ask Blair Buchanan Stylez to wear turtleneck sweaters, and you don’t preach sobriety to the Cool Rifle.
At the end of the day, I gotta be me Jason. It has worked out pretty well so far.
You see I didn’t lose to you last time because I was drunk or had been drinking. I didn’t lose to you because I didn’t train hard enough. I lost to you because that’s how wrasslin works man. Any given night it can go either way. Unless you are fighting that Maddox guy or El Gato Loco. Then it is an easy ninety to ten split.
But I don’t want to get off track.
See you beat me last time because you were better. You earned it and you deserved it. You didn’t win because you were a member of the famous Riggs family or because you are some sort of centerpiece in wrasslin royalty.
And at Stairway my friend, you won’t win because of any of that either.
As a matter of fact, you won’t win at all.
Because just like I told the other two in the Menage’ a trois of pain plus one,
I am on a mission and I can’t let you stop me either.
There is too much at stake Jason. And unlike you, I don’t have a family name to fall back on, I don’t have a family legacy to pull me out of the muck like Artex from the NeverEnding story.
That god damned horse, he fought so hard *sniffle*
Anyhow, Jason, Mr. Riggs I did a little digging and I know you that you and I have a little bit in common. While you are the black sheep of your family, I am the black sheep of the entire wrestling industry. I am wrestling’s dirty little secret. The business wants guys like you and your family.
Talented, tough, stern, witty like John Wayne minus the Nazi preferences. More like Keanu I suppose. John Wick, not Ted “Theodore” Logan. In a perfect wrestling world, a guy like you would definitely be the odds on favorite to become the X-Core Champion.
And me?
Well I would be working the PPV preshow in a beer chugging contest full of fart and diarrhea jokes.
But the world ain’t perfect is it?
So I took advantage of the situation. I am the X-Core champion and after Stairway I will still be the X-Core champion. And when that is all said and done some people will be shocked, others will be pissed, and some, some will raise their glass while I whoop that ass.
I need this Jason, and this ain’t some tough guy rhetoric but you are gonna have to damn near kill me to take this belt from me. And I know death smiles at us all someday, but I heard that cool little chick on Game of Thrones one time say something that stuck.
What do we say when we see Mr. Death?
Not Today.
(A decent amount of time later)
Pierre, did you see him?
Thomas I combed a twenty two and a half block radius and there is nothing. It is like he has vanished.
(Suddenly a scream is heard in a nearby alley)
No fucking way.
(TK and Pierre sprint toward a nearby alley to find a young woman sitting down next to a dumpster. Her eyes look as if she had seen not just a ghost but a ghost fucking Charlie Sheen who happened to be wearing red stilleto heels and sporting a Martha Stewart mask……so bad folks, real bad.)
Hey are you okay young lady.
I.……..I think so. I fell and bumped my head a bit but I am okay.
What happened?
Honestly it all happened so fast. I had just gotten off of work down at the Beaver Dam and I was walking home. I went to rest for a minute on a park bench and when I sit down……well I don’t wear any underwear at work and next thing you know there was a whole lot of meat barreling into taco town if ya get me.
Beaver Dam, I know the place. These clues are falling together
Beaver Dam P?
Yes Thomas, an exotic dancing establishment a few miles south. A home to a number of ladies who might not just be of ill repute but also non discriminant in all things genitalia related.
Blair Buchanan, then stripper crackwhores, god damn GOAT can pick em.
So anyways, I figured it was already in there so I decided to finish and when I got up to ask the stallion his name, I will be good and god damned if it wasn’t a fucking Goat. I mean I am a lady. Donkey’s sure, Goat’s good lord boys, I had found my new favorite hobby.
God damnit, I am gonna throw up.
Okay, but then what happened, how did you wind up concussed in an alley? Did he hurt you.
Fuck no honey, I went here to sleep off this Black Tar that I spiked right after I fell in love with a four legged sex god. Nodded off and fell on my ass. It ain’t a new thing for me sweetheart.
Well did ya see where he went?
No, can’t say I did. But if you see him, tell him to call Skiii with three I's, the one with the Marge Simpson Tramp Stamp. He will know who you are talking about.
Mannnnnn, we have got to find GOAT and get him some penicillin before he ends up pissing fire like a flamethrower.
(To be continued)