Post by huntertheantichrist on Jul 8, 2022 17:29:44 GMT -5
This is the most difficult match of my life. That has zero to do with Scotty Adams, who is a man that deserves zero respect from anyone in this business. This has everything to do with the situation that has presented itself. The issues with Outlaw Professional Wrestling and the trash that has taken place. The way I see it, there are two ways to handle this shit.
The first is to do exactly what I have done to the past twenty years and beat the fucking dog shit out of a useless piece of shit like Scotty Adams. Tell him everything that is going on in my mind about him. Tell him he is outmatched. Tell him that Hunter Valentyne is no Eion O'Rourke. Take the mindset of business as usual. Unfortunately, this is no ordinary situation.
The second is to speak my mind on the issues that are plaguing Outlaw Professional Wrestling. To point out what is going on and to take a stand. That causes a few issues for me because it will mean calling out people and starting a war in which nobody wins, including me. Is it worth it to be the man that I have always been? The man who speaks it like it is and states fact? Honestly, there is some doubt about that.
The easy thing it to step inside of that ring in Madison Square Garden and beat the fucking shit out of that crybaby bitch in the middle of the ring and create a curtain call of my own. Walk into that ring and do what the fuck has made me famous for twenty years. Call the little shit out on his bullshit like I did with my little informercial at the Barclay Center this past week. Continue with my reign as The Mother Fucking God of X-Core. Do I allow Johnny to play his little fucking games that I have seen a hundred times in the past that nothing good ever comes from?
The games of even putting me in the X-Core division in the first place. He wants me tucked in a little corner where the truth cannot be stated. To have me holding this strap with zero hope of moving forward to the spot where I belong. The truth may come forward, and it may not. The one thing that is definitely going to happen is Scotty Adams and myself stepping into a ring at Madison Square Garden.
My conflicted mood continues to envelope me as the doorbell rings at the crib. It took several rings before it was noticed. My house is not exactly known for entertaining guests. This is my sanctuary from the outside ridiculous that the world likes to claim is society. The doorbell keeps ringing even as my path to the door is being made. Whoever this is needs an ass kicking and might just get it.
A look out the window shows a young man in a fancy business suit with the starched shirt and red tie. Most people know the mother fucker that we are talking about. It took several minutes for the decision to be made to even open the fucking door.
"Good Morning, Mister Valentyne. My name is Jonas and I work for the Outlaw Professional Wrestling Organization. My superiors have assigned me to you."
"How nice of them to do that. Now I am only going to ask these questions once and I better get a good fucking answer. Who the fuck are these superiors you speak of? Why in the fuck do they feel the need to assign some dipshit to me? How did you know where I live?"
The young man seems very nervous. Something tells me these so called superiors did not warn him who the fuck he was dealing with. He is adjusting his tie and straightening up his ridiculous suit. He is almost looking for the words to say. This automatically makes me think he is full of shit. It sure would be a shame to get blood on those nice clothes.
"Mister Valentyne, my superiors are Mister Johnny Stylez and Mister Thomas Kane. They both feel like you are going to do something that could harm their business. I was assigned to make sure you did not do that. Mister Stylez gave me the address. He told me to tell you hello."
"Somehow I fucking doubt J send me a greeting. You bet your fucking ass I am going to harm his business. How in the fuck did he actually think he was going to send some nerd from business school to come and try to stop me from doing anything? He knows me and he knows who the fuck I am. But just in case your little ass needs an introduction, my name is Hunter Valentyne. I am the most violent man in the history of this business. I do horrible things to worse people. I am the mother fucking King of X-Core. I put the fucking belt on the map. Oh and Tommy Kain can shut his fucking mouth about putting it on the map. If he wants, i can beat the fuck out of him with his own goat to prove that mother fucking point. If you piss me off, bad shit gonna happen."
The little J-Brone pulls out his phone and is fiddling with it for a minute. It is not clear what he is doing other than asking for a beating like I gave to John Reaper last week at Barclays. Or the one I gave Necra Octavian Kane at the Hammerstain Ballroom. Or the other thousands I have given out. You get the fucking point.
"Mister Valentyne, Mister Styles pre-recorded a message for you because he knew you would not listen to him in person. He took a lot of time putting this together so I would suggest you listen carefully."
"Let me make this perfectly clear, moron. You do not suggest I fucking do anything unless you want to be talking out of the other side of your mouth. You drop that fucking attitude or I am going to redecorate this house in your fucking blood. Have I made myself clear, bitch?"
"I meant no disrespect, Mister Valentyne. With your permission, may I play the recording?"
"If it gets you the fuck out of my house, knock yourself out before I do."
"Hunter, it has been too long. Who the phuck are we kidding? It hasn't been long f'n enough. I am going to give you some good advice, cuz. Just do what the phuck needs to be done with Scotty Adams. Beat the hell out of everyone you face and keep that strap. DO shit the easy way for once. We do not need to do this thing again. You stay the phuck out of my business and i stay the phuck outta yours.
Look, I gave you everything you asked for. I gave you the contract you wanted. I gave you the phucking dates you wanted. You asked for an X-Kore title match to put the belt back where it should be. I gave you that. You wanted Scotty Adams and I handed you to him on a silver platter at my own expense. I could have made you wait for a pay per view and made money from it but i gave it to you now. I get it. You do not understand and see things only from the outside of this thing.
This shit is personal with me and Stratford. This is not simply about the belt. These people held me down and held me back. These people and their egos held the business hostage. That is the reason for us doing what we ended up doing. Not just us but Pugh, Roger, and the rest. We worked years to fix the shit they destroyed. I am not spending 20 more years rebuilding it back the phuck up. Just give me this and you take care of your business with Adams. I never ask you for anything. Give me phucking this asshat."
By this time I am seated listening to him. I cannot say that he does not have a point. He has several points and it annoys me that he does. Maybe I can do what is right for me for a change and not worry about a company that has less talent than a Wolves family reunion. Maybe I can do this shit and not cause World War 3 for a change.
"Mister Valentyne, why are all of these things so personal to both of you? I do not understand why it has to be like that? Your issue with Adams, I mean?"
"I have worked my ass off for this business. I left body parts in that ring. I left my sanity in that ring. I have had surgeries to fix the results of these matches that the human body was never meant to endure. Only to have some second class bitch ass mother fucker try to piss all over it. He tried to make a statement about what we do and the blood we gave in the name of this title. Not just for me, but others who no longer are in the physical shape to compete. He spit all over what we created years ago. He and I will never see eye to eye because of that alone."
Even discussing these things gets my blood boiling. Just the smarmy look on his face when he defeated me pisses me the fuck off. Yes Scotty Adams took that belt from me two years ago or whatever it was. I could accept the defeat. Fuck, I have been beaten before and came back stronger, faster, and better. Losing matches is part of this business. You accept it and move the fuck on. But pissing all over what we created is not something that can be accepted.
"The other issue is that fact that he is a lying piece of shit. I have never been the most popular person in the world. I have always been real about who the fuck i am. I am violent. I am a prick. I do say shit about people when they are proven to be full of shit. But for someone to claim they are some sort of scientific god of a wrestler, which i told you all was bullshit, and then come back two years later after faking death and lying to people makes you worthless. Add to that, this fucking jack off is putting people through tables and hitting people with objects makes him the biggest fucking hypocrite the world has ever seen. It is time the world sees him for being the full of shit bitch that I always said he was. He thinks he can out hardcore the king? Bitch bring your table and whatever else you think you need. I will use all of that shit and more. I will smack the fucking shit out of you like I should have done two years ago. You are going to take your ass to Madison Square Garden and get bitch slapped like only the God of X-Core can. When I am done fucking kicking your ass, I will make my own curtain call over your bloody, limp body."
The kid sees my change in attitude and looks at me with fear in his eyes. I have no desire to hurt an innocent kid but he does not need to know that. I am not a dipshit like Chris Gibson or Christian Rivers. The world already knows what I can do. Madison Square Garden is going to be no fun for Adams and a lot of fun for me.
"Kid, give me that phone. I need to touch base with an old friend of mine."
The kid's hands are trembling as he puts the phone in my hand. I have no idea why my brother sent this little kid here but he probably thought it was funny when he did it. His sense of humor has not changed in ten years.
"Bro listen up and don't say shit. Handle your mother fucking business and I will handle mine. It might be time for an old school garden party, cuz. You have a deal!!"
With a simple motion, the phone is cut off and handed back to the trembling kid. He is looking at me, unaware of the new world he is finding himself in. I walk to him and speak directly into his face.
"Listen up, kid. The violence is about to get insane. Not a good idea to be in the cross hairs. Now, get the fuck out of my house before I start playing Scotty Adams games on your ass. Let the Garden Party commence."
Jonas runs for the door and opens it as quickly as he can. He struggles with the handle as I walk toward him. He slides the latch and runs away before his imagination comes to pass. Standing in front of the door, I look into the camera with the last word on this situation.
"If a garden party is what you want, a garden party is what you are going to get."
The first is to do exactly what I have done to the past twenty years and beat the fucking dog shit out of a useless piece of shit like Scotty Adams. Tell him everything that is going on in my mind about him. Tell him he is outmatched. Tell him that Hunter Valentyne is no Eion O'Rourke. Take the mindset of business as usual. Unfortunately, this is no ordinary situation.
The second is to speak my mind on the issues that are plaguing Outlaw Professional Wrestling. To point out what is going on and to take a stand. That causes a few issues for me because it will mean calling out people and starting a war in which nobody wins, including me. Is it worth it to be the man that I have always been? The man who speaks it like it is and states fact? Honestly, there is some doubt about that.
The easy thing it to step inside of that ring in Madison Square Garden and beat the fucking shit out of that crybaby bitch in the middle of the ring and create a curtain call of my own. Walk into that ring and do what the fuck has made me famous for twenty years. Call the little shit out on his bullshit like I did with my little informercial at the Barclay Center this past week. Continue with my reign as The Mother Fucking God of X-Core. Do I allow Johnny to play his little fucking games that I have seen a hundred times in the past that nothing good ever comes from?
The games of even putting me in the X-Core division in the first place. He wants me tucked in a little corner where the truth cannot be stated. To have me holding this strap with zero hope of moving forward to the spot where I belong. The truth may come forward, and it may not. The one thing that is definitely going to happen is Scotty Adams and myself stepping into a ring at Madison Square Garden.
My conflicted mood continues to envelope me as the doorbell rings at the crib. It took several rings before it was noticed. My house is not exactly known for entertaining guests. This is my sanctuary from the outside ridiculous that the world likes to claim is society. The doorbell keeps ringing even as my path to the door is being made. Whoever this is needs an ass kicking and might just get it.
A look out the window shows a young man in a fancy business suit with the starched shirt and red tie. Most people know the mother fucker that we are talking about. It took several minutes for the decision to be made to even open the fucking door.
"Good Morning, Mister Valentyne. My name is Jonas and I work for the Outlaw Professional Wrestling Organization. My superiors have assigned me to you."
"How nice of them to do that. Now I am only going to ask these questions once and I better get a good fucking answer. Who the fuck are these superiors you speak of? Why in the fuck do they feel the need to assign some dipshit to me? How did you know where I live?"
The young man seems very nervous. Something tells me these so called superiors did not warn him who the fuck he was dealing with. He is adjusting his tie and straightening up his ridiculous suit. He is almost looking for the words to say. This automatically makes me think he is full of shit. It sure would be a shame to get blood on those nice clothes.
"Mister Valentyne, my superiors are Mister Johnny Stylez and Mister Thomas Kane. They both feel like you are going to do something that could harm their business. I was assigned to make sure you did not do that. Mister Stylez gave me the address. He told me to tell you hello."
"Somehow I fucking doubt J send me a greeting. You bet your fucking ass I am going to harm his business. How in the fuck did he actually think he was going to send some nerd from business school to come and try to stop me from doing anything? He knows me and he knows who the fuck I am. But just in case your little ass needs an introduction, my name is Hunter Valentyne. I am the most violent man in the history of this business. I do horrible things to worse people. I am the mother fucking King of X-Core. I put the fucking belt on the map. Oh and Tommy Kain can shut his fucking mouth about putting it on the map. If he wants, i can beat the fuck out of him with his own goat to prove that mother fucking point. If you piss me off, bad shit gonna happen."
The little J-Brone pulls out his phone and is fiddling with it for a minute. It is not clear what he is doing other than asking for a beating like I gave to John Reaper last week at Barclays. Or the one I gave Necra Octavian Kane at the Hammerstain Ballroom. Or the other thousands I have given out. You get the fucking point.
"Mister Valentyne, Mister Styles pre-recorded a message for you because he knew you would not listen to him in person. He took a lot of time putting this together so I would suggest you listen carefully."
"Let me make this perfectly clear, moron. You do not suggest I fucking do anything unless you want to be talking out of the other side of your mouth. You drop that fucking attitude or I am going to redecorate this house in your fucking blood. Have I made myself clear, bitch?"
"I meant no disrespect, Mister Valentyne. With your permission, may I play the recording?"
"If it gets you the fuck out of my house, knock yourself out before I do."
"Hunter, it has been too long. Who the phuck are we kidding? It hasn't been long f'n enough. I am going to give you some good advice, cuz. Just do what the phuck needs to be done with Scotty Adams. Beat the hell out of everyone you face and keep that strap. DO shit the easy way for once. We do not need to do this thing again. You stay the phuck out of my business and i stay the phuck outta yours.
Look, I gave you everything you asked for. I gave you the contract you wanted. I gave you the phucking dates you wanted. You asked for an X-Kore title match to put the belt back where it should be. I gave you that. You wanted Scotty Adams and I handed you to him on a silver platter at my own expense. I could have made you wait for a pay per view and made money from it but i gave it to you now. I get it. You do not understand and see things only from the outside of this thing.
This shit is personal with me and Stratford. This is not simply about the belt. These people held me down and held me back. These people and their egos held the business hostage. That is the reason for us doing what we ended up doing. Not just us but Pugh, Roger, and the rest. We worked years to fix the shit they destroyed. I am not spending 20 more years rebuilding it back the phuck up. Just give me this and you take care of your business with Adams. I never ask you for anything. Give me phucking this asshat."
By this time I am seated listening to him. I cannot say that he does not have a point. He has several points and it annoys me that he does. Maybe I can do what is right for me for a change and not worry about a company that has less talent than a Wolves family reunion. Maybe I can do this shit and not cause World War 3 for a change.
"Mister Valentyne, why are all of these things so personal to both of you? I do not understand why it has to be like that? Your issue with Adams, I mean?"
"I have worked my ass off for this business. I left body parts in that ring. I left my sanity in that ring. I have had surgeries to fix the results of these matches that the human body was never meant to endure. Only to have some second class bitch ass mother fucker try to piss all over it. He tried to make a statement about what we do and the blood we gave in the name of this title. Not just for me, but others who no longer are in the physical shape to compete. He spit all over what we created years ago. He and I will never see eye to eye because of that alone."
Even discussing these things gets my blood boiling. Just the smarmy look on his face when he defeated me pisses me the fuck off. Yes Scotty Adams took that belt from me two years ago or whatever it was. I could accept the defeat. Fuck, I have been beaten before and came back stronger, faster, and better. Losing matches is part of this business. You accept it and move the fuck on. But pissing all over what we created is not something that can be accepted.
"The other issue is that fact that he is a lying piece of shit. I have never been the most popular person in the world. I have always been real about who the fuck i am. I am violent. I am a prick. I do say shit about people when they are proven to be full of shit. But for someone to claim they are some sort of scientific god of a wrestler, which i told you all was bullshit, and then come back two years later after faking death and lying to people makes you worthless. Add to that, this fucking jack off is putting people through tables and hitting people with objects makes him the biggest fucking hypocrite the world has ever seen. It is time the world sees him for being the full of shit bitch that I always said he was. He thinks he can out hardcore the king? Bitch bring your table and whatever else you think you need. I will use all of that shit and more. I will smack the fucking shit out of you like I should have done two years ago. You are going to take your ass to Madison Square Garden and get bitch slapped like only the God of X-Core can. When I am done fucking kicking your ass, I will make my own curtain call over your bloody, limp body."
The kid sees my change in attitude and looks at me with fear in his eyes. I have no desire to hurt an innocent kid but he does not need to know that. I am not a dipshit like Chris Gibson or Christian Rivers. The world already knows what I can do. Madison Square Garden is going to be no fun for Adams and a lot of fun for me.
"Kid, give me that phone. I need to touch base with an old friend of mine."
The kid's hands are trembling as he puts the phone in my hand. I have no idea why my brother sent this little kid here but he probably thought it was funny when he did it. His sense of humor has not changed in ten years.
"Bro listen up and don't say shit. Handle your mother fucking business and I will handle mine. It might be time for an old school garden party, cuz. You have a deal!!"
With a simple motion, the phone is cut off and handed back to the trembling kid. He is looking at me, unaware of the new world he is finding himself in. I walk to him and speak directly into his face.
"Listen up, kid. The violence is about to get insane. Not a good idea to be in the cross hairs. Now, get the fuck out of my house before I start playing Scotty Adams games on your ass. Let the Garden Party commence."
Jonas runs for the door and opens it as quickly as he can. He struggles with the handle as I walk toward him. He slides the latch and runs away before his imagination comes to pass. Standing in front of the door, I look into the camera with the last word on this situation.
"If a garden party is what you want, a garden party is what you are going to get."