Post by Rivers on Jun 23, 2022 15:34:25 GMT -5
(The following disclaimer rolls across the screen. What you are about to witness has been pre-recorded and is officially time stamped from OPW Video Production Thursday 1:41 PM June 23, 2022)
ONE WEEK EARLIER:
There was this quote from Samoa Joe that I always loved, and pretty such serves as a lesson for this business we should all follow. I'm not going to quote him exactly so please do me the service of not reclarifying it exactly. It goes something along the lines of if you want anything in this business you have to take it.
That's exactly what I did. I took the legacy of James Wolf. I took everything that was important, and then I buried the rest. Welcome your new champion of over eighty championships over a period of ten or so years. All of the good stuff without the shit that doesn't make sense. That's how you handle this business. You place your eye on the prize, and then take it!
I watch as the casket is lowered into the ground, and after it is placed, a back hoe drops more dirt than I have ever seen upon it, and it fills the hole rapidly. Say what you will, but I only did what was necessary. I then, turn and walk out of frame.
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2:02 PM
The camera is zoomed back, and looks to be mounted in area where we can follow Christian Rivers, and it looks like he is tracking somebody although we cannot see who it is. He is sitting inside of a beat up car so he is not easily recognizable. Which means whoever this person is must be pretty important to him.
"I'm not going to lie. That ladder match was hell, and I can't be down on myself after being gone for two years. Didn't go my way but such is life. More opportunities will arise, and I'll take them when they arise. There could be a lot of distractions in my midst, but for now they've been silenced."
The car follows the unknown person a few blocks, and immediately focuses in. We can immediately see that Simara is out with her mother Morrigan, and another big son of a bitch. Rivers is obviously doing surveillance in order to identify all parties involved before making any decisions on how to proceed. The beat up automobile stops, and then Rivers turns toward the camera to make some type of observation.
"This little mousey bitch Simara is one dangerous cunt! Don't like that word huh? Well, get the fuck over it, because I'm not the type to mince words. Whores like this are dangerous, because when they get the type of favors I procured for her there's usually more strings attached. I'm going to get ahead of it before she comes asking for another favor. Or before she leads somebody else to me. One legacy may have been finished off, but another may be on its way. I guess father time will have his say in that."
I let out a heavy sigh, and then turn back toward Simara, Morrigan, and that big son of bitch with them. Then it dawns on me I think I know that big bastard, but I have to be certain first. I then drive off slowly as to not arouse any suspicion.
When I arrive back to my hotel its one of the nicer ones. A Hyatt hotel. Johnny was never one to skimp on luxury, and we could at least all thank him for that. Arriving into my room I place the camera with the video footage onto the dresser, and fall back onto the bed. I then raise up, and take a moment for the next victim who has the displeasure of getting in the ring against me.
"Jedbidiah Crowley."
That name just didn't sound right at all to me, and it actually made me wonder whose parents would actually name them that. How far back into the hollers of Kentucky did you have to live to get a name like that. Also why would you walk around with a name like that, and be proud? These are all questions I'm sure would be answered in due time.
"Jeb, may I call you Jeb?" "Well, it doesn't really matter because that's what I'm going to call you."
"Jeb, let's just cut through all of the pleasantries shall we? See I'm a man who doesn't like his time wasted. When you waste my time I tend to make you pay for not only wasting my time but wasting the time of everybody else around here. You may get that with the likes of Jason Ryan, but I don't lower my standards that much. I'm sure you're sitting on some ratty couch in a cabin scratching your balls wondering what the city folk are talking about. When you don't have more important things to do like fucking your cousin at the annual moonshine festival. I'm officially here to tell you that you can go back to doing those things. Go back to the country. Where sport fucking means you're on to the next cousin. Because if you take your ass out of the country, and you stand in that ring against me the only thing that is going to happen is you getting your head kicked in. I'll get the win over you faster that toothless whore you banged behind the Cracker Barrel. Its easier to follow when I speak your language isn't it Jeb?"
I get up and look at the footage, and that's when I notice where I know that big bastard from. Years ago there use to be a fledgling wrestling company called Rampage Wrestling Association. Wolf had a cousin who had a short career. Why? His name sounded good but he was a jobber in the ring. So much so that I dare not speak his name. At least not yet. However, that will be a very fine place to start.
"Jeb, at this point you must be figuring that I'm making fun of you, but I assure you I'm not. Looking at your name just reminds me of one of those shitty wrong turn movies. Only I'd never envision you as a cannibal. Since we've all ready established you're nothing more than a backwoods cousin fucker looking to make the big time. Let me be the first to say that you're not going to make your name at my expense. Keep to your compound in the woods, or whatever white trash community you belong too. You'll save me, and everybody else here a lot of time if you know your place. If you choose not to know your place I'll happily send you back to your toothless cousin. Show your twelve kids that hunting down child support wasn't as easy as you envisioned. Friday will be another triumph for me. While you'll be forced to apologize to all of your baby momma's! Truth hurts, doesn't it cousin fucker? Go back to blacking out on moonshine, and forget we were ever placed in competition together, because day of the cousin fucker will not be trending any time soon!"
It was hot as fuck outside but I was happy to be inside where there was plenty of air condition. I'd previously thought of going out to eat tonight but instead opted for room service instead.
"The day is almost upon us cousin fucker, I meant Jeb. It's at this moment where I'm resting, and recovering from the match last week that I now must tell you to fuck off. Or, in this case to "fuck on" because honestly how can you not see child support ruling the rest of your life? I'm pretty sure you thought when I saw your name it would strike fear into every orifice of my body right? Well, it actually had the opposite affect rendering you nothing more than a goddamn joke of a human being, and one of the worst types too. You were looking for a rags to riches tale, and all you're going to get is to stay in those rags. I would say it was a pity but it's actually a delight. Rejoice in the fact that you actually scare no one. Go back to shanty town, and tell them you failed because a hillbilly like you will never make it here! I would say farewell Jeb but the truth is I'm sick of you all ready. Look for your first week here to be nothing short of failure because I will not let you succeed!"
As I pick up the phone to order room service the OPW feed then cuts to snow white static.