Post by nickyd on Jul 5, 2019 7:45:47 GMT -5
Just another day. Another boring ass day in this world, where the only silver lining, the only grace, the only reward is that I am Duncan Aries, of course.
I don’t wake up to talk about stupid shit, like salt and vinegar potato chips and Mountain Dew, or how it seems my group of idiots and I, hi, Solomon, seem to be sponsored by every piss poor fucking soft drink in the world. Jesus H. Christ, man, doesn’t anybody just wake up, have a goddamn cup of coffee and look out their window all pensive and shit?
Pensive, Solomon. Look that shit up.
So here we are, my kitchen window, a cup of hearty shut the fuck up in my hand, ready to solve all the wrestling world’s problems, because that’s just what I do.
That’s just who I am, man.
“I’m getting this out of the way quick. Don’t you worry, Solomon. Don’t you sweat it. Don’t you work yourself into some caffeinated binge like a fucking middle school kid before the big play, because I, and I alone, plan on leading this team to victory and proving to the world that nobody, and I mean nobody, gives a shit about Trinity Wrestling. You know, until I capture their big championship and put asses in the seats, but that’s another story for another day. But seriously, Sucky Sol, don’t you worry. I’ve got this all under control, like I always seem to do.”
I scratch my head. I don’t look at this pairing as God punishing me. I look at it like the guy has a sense of humor, you know, on account of Solomon Graham still being the biggest joke in professional wrestling, and I guess life. Poor guy. But I’m also confused by our opponents. I guess I should address them, huh? Yawn.
“I guess you can call me old fashioned. I’m been doing this gig for like 18 years now, and at 41 with a plethora of accolades behind me, it still baffles me how these boring, bland, cookie cutter assholes still manage to make it in this business. Like if I was a director, and these pieces of shit were in my movie, I would expect it to tank. What’s my motivation to care about a silver spoon motherfucker and some anorexic bitch with a potty mouth trying to play the bad girl? Anybody got anything for me? No?”
I shrug.
“Well let me give you both some free sage advice, from THE wrestling sage these days. Go home. Not now. After I stomp mudholes in both your pitiful, pathetic asses. Go home and figure out just why, in 2019, anybody, any wrestling fan, any opponent, should care about you. Care that you’re filthy rich or a supposed tough girl with an edge. Because right now that shit isn’t just invisible, it is nonexistent. I do admire your ability to stand there, look stupid, and get your asses beat willingly while collecting a meager paycheck and then going home to your palatial mansion and Claire’s store respectively.”
I shake my head. You can’t make this shit up.
“I may very well have the absolute worst tag team partner in history, the weakest link on any planet, but what I am quite sure of, is my own innate ability to fuck people up at will. So I encourage you both, grab all the false bravado you can, all the self pep talks, all the swagger, or however the fuck you kids say that shit nowadays, because the plan for me is simple.”
“One, make Solomon Graham look presentable, which requires him to stand there, drink his soft drink of choice, and do abso-fucking-lutely nothing. Respect my in ring abilities, Sucky Sol? I’m glad, because that means you’re totally okay with not fucking this up for us.”
Don’t fuck this up, don’t fuck this up. I repeat it in my head, like the asshole has clairvoyance or some shit.
“And lastly, reminding these two idiots that indeed the wrestling world at large doesn’t care who they are or what they represent. In my mind, until that championship is mine, anything with the words Trinity Wrestling attached to it, can get bent and/or fucked by a stolen koala dick. I mean, koalas are cute and shit, but fuck this place and its brand of unimpressive weird specimens. I don’t give a damn if FWA looks superior. I just know I am superior, and why?”
A long sip of coffee. A hearty morning nod.
“Because I’m Duncan Aries, that’s why!”
Off to do my morning shit, like, um, maybe taking a morning shit? Eh, whatever.
I don’t wake up to talk about stupid shit, like salt and vinegar potato chips and Mountain Dew, or how it seems my group of idiots and I, hi, Solomon, seem to be sponsored by every piss poor fucking soft drink in the world. Jesus H. Christ, man, doesn’t anybody just wake up, have a goddamn cup of coffee and look out their window all pensive and shit?
Pensive, Solomon. Look that shit up.
So here we are, my kitchen window, a cup of hearty shut the fuck up in my hand, ready to solve all the wrestling world’s problems, because that’s just what I do.
That’s just who I am, man.
“I’m getting this out of the way quick. Don’t you worry, Solomon. Don’t you sweat it. Don’t you work yourself into some caffeinated binge like a fucking middle school kid before the big play, because I, and I alone, plan on leading this team to victory and proving to the world that nobody, and I mean nobody, gives a shit about Trinity Wrestling. You know, until I capture their big championship and put asses in the seats, but that’s another story for another day. But seriously, Sucky Sol, don’t you worry. I’ve got this all under control, like I always seem to do.”
I scratch my head. I don’t look at this pairing as God punishing me. I look at it like the guy has a sense of humor, you know, on account of Solomon Graham still being the biggest joke in professional wrestling, and I guess life. Poor guy. But I’m also confused by our opponents. I guess I should address them, huh? Yawn.
“I guess you can call me old fashioned. I’m been doing this gig for like 18 years now, and at 41 with a plethora of accolades behind me, it still baffles me how these boring, bland, cookie cutter assholes still manage to make it in this business. Like if I was a director, and these pieces of shit were in my movie, I would expect it to tank. What’s my motivation to care about a silver spoon motherfucker and some anorexic bitch with a potty mouth trying to play the bad girl? Anybody got anything for me? No?”
I shrug.
“Well let me give you both some free sage advice, from THE wrestling sage these days. Go home. Not now. After I stomp mudholes in both your pitiful, pathetic asses. Go home and figure out just why, in 2019, anybody, any wrestling fan, any opponent, should care about you. Care that you’re filthy rich or a supposed tough girl with an edge. Because right now that shit isn’t just invisible, it is nonexistent. I do admire your ability to stand there, look stupid, and get your asses beat willingly while collecting a meager paycheck and then going home to your palatial mansion and Claire’s store respectively.”
I shake my head. You can’t make this shit up.
“I may very well have the absolute worst tag team partner in history, the weakest link on any planet, but what I am quite sure of, is my own innate ability to fuck people up at will. So I encourage you both, grab all the false bravado you can, all the self pep talks, all the swagger, or however the fuck you kids say that shit nowadays, because the plan for me is simple.”
“One, make Solomon Graham look presentable, which requires him to stand there, drink his soft drink of choice, and do abso-fucking-lutely nothing. Respect my in ring abilities, Sucky Sol? I’m glad, because that means you’re totally okay with not fucking this up for us.”
Don’t fuck this up, don’t fuck this up. I repeat it in my head, like the asshole has clairvoyance or some shit.
“And lastly, reminding these two idiots that indeed the wrestling world at large doesn’t care who they are or what they represent. In my mind, until that championship is mine, anything with the words Trinity Wrestling attached to it, can get bent and/or fucked by a stolen koala dick. I mean, koalas are cute and shit, but fuck this place and its brand of unimpressive weird specimens. I don’t give a damn if FWA looks superior. I just know I am superior, and why?”
A long sip of coffee. A hearty morning nod.
“Because I’m Duncan Aries, that’s why!”
Off to do my morning shit, like, um, maybe taking a morning shit? Eh, whatever.