Post by nickyd on Jul 17, 2019 15:23:15 GMT -5
What it all boils down to, my friends, my foes, is a complete and utter lack of originality.
What it comes down to is a whole bunch of untalented assholes, reaching, reaching with everything they have, only to have to come to grips with their glaring shortcomings.
I’m not from around here, and when you take a moment to really get a glimpse of all the sad little loons around here, who talk a good talk and, well, that’s about it, you realize it’s not just a good but a great thing that you don’t come from around here.
I have done this too long to care, too long to worry about stepping on toes or knocking down doors that aren’t meant for me. Because for me these are just baby steps.
I’m the motherfucker who burns bridges, burns empires, all of it, to the ground. I don’t just enjoy controversy, words that were better left unsaid, or leaving well enough alone, I seek out that shit in every turn I take.
So should I apologize for my apathy? Should I say I’m sorry because I’m just here in San Diego, my hometown, soaking up the sunshine and just thanking whoever is in charge of this spinning ball of energy that I wake up everyday still Duncan Aries?
No. Not now. Not ever. I’m the guy who is never impressed. I am the guy who does this shit in his sleep and wonders how anybody else struggles, how anybody else doesn’t just do us all a favor and quits while they are ahead.
I struggle to find out what makes Trinity Wrestling so special anyways.
So here I am, front and center in my backyard, overlooking the beaches of my sunny state.
“They say that the quickest, easiest way to get noticed, is just by pissing off everybody in front of you. Everybody on Twitter, everybody backstage, everybody within a 5 mile radius of you and the excellence you exude.”
“You see, folks, I don’t do that shit because it’s easy, or because you’re all a bunch of pansy ass weak sons of bitches, but to get you all to wake the fuck up and realize you’re not even mediocre. You’re just barely hanging on. Just barely staying relevant.”
I laugh to myself. Some of these idiots actually think they’re intimidating or some shit.
“You’ve got a guy like Cody Larson, the first dumb motherfucker to drop my name, like it means something to call yourself “The Belt Hunter.” You see Cody, I know all about you, man, the trials, the tribulations, the clawing and scratching, but the fact is, for a guy who uses such a stupid fucking moniker, you’ve got very little belts after all that hunting, and finding only your failures and shortcomings as a professional wrestler AND a human being. I think, perhaps, if you just stop all the hunting for belts you’ll never get, accolades you’ll never achieve, and go buy yourself a fucking clue instead of dropping my name in some hope that attaching my name to your piss poor excuse for a career is going to mean something, maybe then, just maybe, you’ll become something more than just a small notch above a curtain jerker.”
“I’m not going to go any further without saying what’s necessary. Solomon Graham still sucks monkey balls. You heard it here first folks. A stupid ass motherfucker who wasted the chance to bring prominence and victory to FWA. But hey, now I get to stomp your head in and toss you out of ever getting anywhere near the Trinity Championship custom made for me.”
That’s right, I am the custom made Trinity Champion. It’s like destiny and a hearty bowl of eat all your fucking hearts out. A balanced breakfast of Trinity Wrestling blows without Duncan Aries.
“If you stop, if you truly stop and take a good look around Trinity Wrestling, you realize quickly that what you’re dealing with is a collection of freaks, basement LARPs, and some supposed “tough guys” and “tough gals”. And for a guy like me, a guy who lived and fought to live on the streets before finding any kind of fortune and fame, any kind of formula for letting out so much pent up aggression from a fucked up childhood where I stood on Death’s door more times than I care to count, well this idea of anybody being tough, anybody knowing what tough times is, coupled with elven looking chicks who must run a sex slave brothel, is amusing shit.”
“Fun fact, once I was talked to by Trinity officials to go onto the website and actually read the bios of all those competing in this battle royal, in order to get to know them instead of merely attacking them for their looks. Fair enough, chief, but even after doing so, for a majority of those unfortunate enough to be standing across the ring from me, I still have little to no clue who they are, so instead, I guess, I will tell them who I think they are, while reminding them before I even take one fist to their faces, just who the hell I am.”
My wife, the saint of a woman she is, for dealing with my wrestling bullshit all these years, steps into the scene in a pair of red shorts and matching tanktop. Oh, Mrs Taylor. Aries, you complete me. Or some shit.
Anyways, she delivers a fish bowl containing a few slips of paper. That’s right, fuckers, I don’t have time in my life to run down and verbally bitch slap each and every one of you. So instead, a few of you “chosen ones” are going to have a rude awakening as I fish my hand around the bowl. I kiss her lips and she rolls her eyes before walking off to the house and out of this ever-growing heat.
Oh, this twat. Beautiful.
“You know, not too long ago, I was doing what I sometimes enjoy, and that’s pissing people off on the Internet. I mean, I’m nearly 42, so I don’t truly care about social media, but hey, it is a quick and easy way to send a hearty dose of reality without having to leave my house. During one of these such outings, a Miss Phoenix LeStrange who said about a week ago that I would be the one “getting the sword” while seemingly challenging me via hashtag of all such stupid shit to “play.”
“Now, Miss LeStrange, I did not wait a week to retort out of fear, certainly not, but I did decide to do as the good folks in charge encouraged me to do like a good little Aries and go to learn more about you past your brace faced senpai looking cam girl appearance you seem to be going for. Then again, since it appears you are some mystery girl wrapped up in some kind of Fifty Shades kind of crap, perhaps cam girl is your side gig. It’s 2019, and you can do as you wish, but perhaps, my dear, it is you that is getting the sword. Something tells me in the right place you might dig that sort of thing, which again, is none of my business what you do with “sexuality and darkness”, whatever the fuck that means. I would suggest, however, that perhaps its best you stop trying to get into the pants of some of the other female performers and employees of this promotion, and focus more on shining up those braces of yours…so at least your teeth will look clean before I kick them off your face.”
I flick the piece of paper away. A waste of my fucking time you are, Senpai Wendy. Fishing into the bowl, I pull out another name. Oh, the Nepotism Snow Fuck.
“Thomas Snow, a stupid punk ass kid who puts on quite the show, quite the spot monkey, flippity do da, nobody truly gives a shit, show. And it is a shit show, because I was clearly informed that Tommy Boy’s, father, Alex Snow Fuck, is going to use whatever mystical powers of persuasion and front office pull to somehow catapult his son to excellence instead of doing us all a favor and catapulting the skinny little twerp into the sun. Oooh, you’re an Ice Prince, so scary, so slippery, so dangerous. This is the future of industry? I hope Trinity folds tomorrow if that’s the case. Jesus H. Christ, man. I may enjoy whooping your pencil neck more than most, kid. Earn your place, tell your dad to get a fucking day job.”
I yawn. My hands manage to actually grab two pieces of paper at once. I shrug and open them both. I nearly burst out laughing and flick them both away. Yeah, I think, this is the perfect place to end this.
“You know what’s awesome? How much stupid, ridiculous, absurd, nonsensical bullshit can come flowing out of one man’s mouth without him even taking a breath or trying to think? Alex Scott, you can talk about things that are done and over with, you can talk about people who aren’t even in this battle royal, and you can slaughter Solomon Graham, yes Solomon Graham’s last name, all with some side bitch on your arm, but you sir are nothing more than a cookie cutter Times New Roman font heel with a need to run off at the mouth while truly saying nothing at all. But hey, swell catchphrase, Mike, er I mean, Alex.”
Fuck, were people laid off at the DQ and thought “Shit, wrasslin’ might be fun?”
Now , now, this last one is important. Or not.
“Newsflash all you stereotypical post Soviet wrestlers out there, Pasha, my dear comrades, is for losers. Big fat lazy slob losers. No really, it’s true, because in Mother Russia, Pasha fuck himself. So you’re a big, tall, fat Soviet Bunyan motherfucker. Good for you. As strong as bull and dumb as ox, right? But I heard you’ve been training for just this moment, loading up at the buffet table, and calling all your friends about how this will be greatest moment in life, yes?”
“Just too bad, here in North America, Duncan Aries boot kick you..in fat ass!”
Good luck, Tubby.
“In truth, Trinity Wrestling, I’m just a guy looking for some fun, looking for some action, and you, Trinity Wrestling, you need relevance, you need to shed that bad impression you’re making on the rest of the wrestling world. You need me, Trinity Wrestling, to represent you as your champion, and in thankfully, not much longer, I will gladly accept.”
“Later, fuckers!”
A wink goodbye to your mediocrity, before I say hello to glory.
‘
Fin.
What it comes down to is a whole bunch of untalented assholes, reaching, reaching with everything they have, only to have to come to grips with their glaring shortcomings.
I’m not from around here, and when you take a moment to really get a glimpse of all the sad little loons around here, who talk a good talk and, well, that’s about it, you realize it’s not just a good but a great thing that you don’t come from around here.
I have done this too long to care, too long to worry about stepping on toes or knocking down doors that aren’t meant for me. Because for me these are just baby steps.
I’m the motherfucker who burns bridges, burns empires, all of it, to the ground. I don’t just enjoy controversy, words that were better left unsaid, or leaving well enough alone, I seek out that shit in every turn I take.
So should I apologize for my apathy? Should I say I’m sorry because I’m just here in San Diego, my hometown, soaking up the sunshine and just thanking whoever is in charge of this spinning ball of energy that I wake up everyday still Duncan Aries?
No. Not now. Not ever. I’m the guy who is never impressed. I am the guy who does this shit in his sleep and wonders how anybody else struggles, how anybody else doesn’t just do us all a favor and quits while they are ahead.
I struggle to find out what makes Trinity Wrestling so special anyways.
So here I am, front and center in my backyard, overlooking the beaches of my sunny state.
“They say that the quickest, easiest way to get noticed, is just by pissing off everybody in front of you. Everybody on Twitter, everybody backstage, everybody within a 5 mile radius of you and the excellence you exude.”
“You see, folks, I don’t do that shit because it’s easy, or because you’re all a bunch of pansy ass weak sons of bitches, but to get you all to wake the fuck up and realize you’re not even mediocre. You’re just barely hanging on. Just barely staying relevant.”
I laugh to myself. Some of these idiots actually think they’re intimidating or some shit.
“You’ve got a guy like Cody Larson, the first dumb motherfucker to drop my name, like it means something to call yourself “The Belt Hunter.” You see Cody, I know all about you, man, the trials, the tribulations, the clawing and scratching, but the fact is, for a guy who uses such a stupid fucking moniker, you’ve got very little belts after all that hunting, and finding only your failures and shortcomings as a professional wrestler AND a human being. I think, perhaps, if you just stop all the hunting for belts you’ll never get, accolades you’ll never achieve, and go buy yourself a fucking clue instead of dropping my name in some hope that attaching my name to your piss poor excuse for a career is going to mean something, maybe then, just maybe, you’ll become something more than just a small notch above a curtain jerker.”
“I’m not going to go any further without saying what’s necessary. Solomon Graham still sucks monkey balls. You heard it here first folks. A stupid ass motherfucker who wasted the chance to bring prominence and victory to FWA. But hey, now I get to stomp your head in and toss you out of ever getting anywhere near the Trinity Championship custom made for me.”
That’s right, I am the custom made Trinity Champion. It’s like destiny and a hearty bowl of eat all your fucking hearts out. A balanced breakfast of Trinity Wrestling blows without Duncan Aries.
“If you stop, if you truly stop and take a good look around Trinity Wrestling, you realize quickly that what you’re dealing with is a collection of freaks, basement LARPs, and some supposed “tough guys” and “tough gals”. And for a guy like me, a guy who lived and fought to live on the streets before finding any kind of fortune and fame, any kind of formula for letting out so much pent up aggression from a fucked up childhood where I stood on Death’s door more times than I care to count, well this idea of anybody being tough, anybody knowing what tough times is, coupled with elven looking chicks who must run a sex slave brothel, is amusing shit.”
“Fun fact, once I was talked to by Trinity officials to go onto the website and actually read the bios of all those competing in this battle royal, in order to get to know them instead of merely attacking them for their looks. Fair enough, chief, but even after doing so, for a majority of those unfortunate enough to be standing across the ring from me, I still have little to no clue who they are, so instead, I guess, I will tell them who I think they are, while reminding them before I even take one fist to their faces, just who the hell I am.”
My wife, the saint of a woman she is, for dealing with my wrestling bullshit all these years, steps into the scene in a pair of red shorts and matching tanktop. Oh, Mrs Taylor. Aries, you complete me. Or some shit.
Anyways, she delivers a fish bowl containing a few slips of paper. That’s right, fuckers, I don’t have time in my life to run down and verbally bitch slap each and every one of you. So instead, a few of you “chosen ones” are going to have a rude awakening as I fish my hand around the bowl. I kiss her lips and she rolls her eyes before walking off to the house and out of this ever-growing heat.
Oh, this twat. Beautiful.
“You know, not too long ago, I was doing what I sometimes enjoy, and that’s pissing people off on the Internet. I mean, I’m nearly 42, so I don’t truly care about social media, but hey, it is a quick and easy way to send a hearty dose of reality without having to leave my house. During one of these such outings, a Miss Phoenix LeStrange who said about a week ago that I would be the one “getting the sword” while seemingly challenging me via hashtag of all such stupid shit to “play.”
“Now, Miss LeStrange, I did not wait a week to retort out of fear, certainly not, but I did decide to do as the good folks in charge encouraged me to do like a good little Aries and go to learn more about you past your brace faced senpai looking cam girl appearance you seem to be going for. Then again, since it appears you are some mystery girl wrapped up in some kind of Fifty Shades kind of crap, perhaps cam girl is your side gig. It’s 2019, and you can do as you wish, but perhaps, my dear, it is you that is getting the sword. Something tells me in the right place you might dig that sort of thing, which again, is none of my business what you do with “sexuality and darkness”, whatever the fuck that means. I would suggest, however, that perhaps its best you stop trying to get into the pants of some of the other female performers and employees of this promotion, and focus more on shining up those braces of yours…so at least your teeth will look clean before I kick them off your face.”
I flick the piece of paper away. A waste of my fucking time you are, Senpai Wendy. Fishing into the bowl, I pull out another name. Oh, the Nepotism Snow Fuck.
“Thomas Snow, a stupid punk ass kid who puts on quite the show, quite the spot monkey, flippity do da, nobody truly gives a shit, show. And it is a shit show, because I was clearly informed that Tommy Boy’s, father, Alex Snow Fuck, is going to use whatever mystical powers of persuasion and front office pull to somehow catapult his son to excellence instead of doing us all a favor and catapulting the skinny little twerp into the sun. Oooh, you’re an Ice Prince, so scary, so slippery, so dangerous. This is the future of industry? I hope Trinity folds tomorrow if that’s the case. Jesus H. Christ, man. I may enjoy whooping your pencil neck more than most, kid. Earn your place, tell your dad to get a fucking day job.”
I yawn. My hands manage to actually grab two pieces of paper at once. I shrug and open them both. I nearly burst out laughing and flick them both away. Yeah, I think, this is the perfect place to end this.
“You know what’s awesome? How much stupid, ridiculous, absurd, nonsensical bullshit can come flowing out of one man’s mouth without him even taking a breath or trying to think? Alex Scott, you can talk about things that are done and over with, you can talk about people who aren’t even in this battle royal, and you can slaughter Solomon Graham, yes Solomon Graham’s last name, all with some side bitch on your arm, but you sir are nothing more than a cookie cutter Times New Roman font heel with a need to run off at the mouth while truly saying nothing at all. But hey, swell catchphrase, Mike, er I mean, Alex.”
Fuck, were people laid off at the DQ and thought “Shit, wrasslin’ might be fun?”
Now , now, this last one is important. Or not.
“Newsflash all you stereotypical post Soviet wrestlers out there, Pasha, my dear comrades, is for losers. Big fat lazy slob losers. No really, it’s true, because in Mother Russia, Pasha fuck himself. So you’re a big, tall, fat Soviet Bunyan motherfucker. Good for you. As strong as bull and dumb as ox, right? But I heard you’ve been training for just this moment, loading up at the buffet table, and calling all your friends about how this will be greatest moment in life, yes?”
“Just too bad, here in North America, Duncan Aries boot kick you..in fat ass!”
Good luck, Tubby.
“In truth, Trinity Wrestling, I’m just a guy looking for some fun, looking for some action, and you, Trinity Wrestling, you need relevance, you need to shed that bad impression you’re making on the rest of the wrestling world. You need me, Trinity Wrestling, to represent you as your champion, and in thankfully, not much longer, I will gladly accept.”
“Later, fuckers!”
A wink goodbye to your mediocrity, before I say hello to glory.
‘
Fin.