Post by Nate Harris on May 26, 2018 2:28:26 GMT
“What up IWF, It’s Nate Harris. You ready for this? Shit? You hyped up? You got your tickets? You subscribed to the network? You called into work tomorrow because ya gonna need some time to recover. We’re gonna blow yer damn minds. Trust.”
“Alright, let’s put the fucking cards on the table, shall we? Me and Nick? Nigh of The Immortals. Biggest show of the fucking year? Fuck yeah.”
“Saying fucking yeah. Because this shit? We earned this shit. We earned this shit with nothing but our blood sweat and mother fucking tears.”
“No special powers, no mythical influence, no extra money, no long careers, nah. Me and Nick, we cut it with the hard won skills we been working on since we were teenagers. We the only legit tag team in this goddamn tournament. What kind of teams we beat since we got here? Oh, let me rewind the goddamned clock for y’all. Spencer family was our first match. Big fuck off dudes full of the Holy Spirit. Knock them back to redneck heaven. That’s before this game even hit the ground running.”
“Then we get into the grind of this. We have the roulette. Me and Nick worked together in that shit and made a splash. First team we faced in this shit? TnT, shit no one proud of beating those motherfuckers. My little sister pinned Todd Williams on the way to get pop tarts this morning, that how easy that boy is to handle in the ring. Eight-year-olds can do it.”
“And yeah, Mike and Bob took us out. There aint a shame in losing when a team working. We lost. That shit happens. But we got back in, didn’t we?”
“And how did we fucking do that? Oh that’s right, we did that by dealing with three other goddamn teams. Former champions and shit. Master of a thousand holds? Done. The Pack? Done. TnT round two? Smoked like a goddamn pack of kools. You can talk that good shit but you can’t deny we get shit done. We handled all those boys.”
“And what we do next? We took out the Viking and that fucking asshole Harper. I may have bled but we still ended their shit good. They talked that good shit. But we handed them their asses.”
“We bounced in this company month’s back. In December. We got booked as a hometown boys for the holiday show. We impressed. Nick and me? We come from the bottom. The goddamn gutter and here we are the final of the Tag team tournament. Do you know what this mean?”
“Let me educate you in case you missed it.”
“We came from the bottom but look where we fucking are now. That’s some rag to riches Cinderella shit. Who did that? We did that. Two ‘over-entitled millennials’ boys. Two ‘undertrained’ boys. Two ‘future but it ain't your time’ boys. We did that. Me and Nick don’t have miscommunication. We don’t have a difference in morals. We don’t have different goals. We want this. We gonna win this.”
“You think that’s a joke? Nah.”
“I want this victory. I want this victory because what it means. It isn’t just another tally on the bedpost. I want this victory because it proved to every kid who doesn’t look pale that they can make it if they try. They know that working our ass off means something. I got two sisters at home, I told em that they gonna hear my name called out and ya gonna need to put me in the goddamned ground before I disappoint those girls. Trust.”
“I want to win this. I’m hungry for this victory. I’m hungry like having three bucks in your bank account and you just got paid. I’m hungry like knowing you got to make one pot of pasta last the week. I’m hungry like every kid from my neighborhood hungry. This is our goddamn shot to make the imprint on this company. This is our glory. This is the moment that every kid is gonna talk about at school. Because two boys from nothing are going to beat the goddamned Age of Gods. Yeah, you heard me.”
“This shit is gonna scar.” Nate leaned over the bathroom counter looking at his face where Dean Harper threw him into the turnbuckle. “That shifty little fuck.”
“It is not.” Nick was standing behind him, leaning against the wall.
“Look at this shit.” Nate gestured at his reflection.
“I see your face every fucking day, hooker.”
“And this shit is gonna be a part of my face.” Nate groaned.
“Didn’t stop you from going clubbin’ with stormcrow.”
“Course not. Boy needs to loosen up. I will put aside my personal crisis for bro time.”
“Is that what we’re calling it now?”
“Boy.” Nate glared over his shoulder at Nick. “What that tone?”
“Does Riley know is all I’m sayin.” Nick shrugged.
Nate sighed. “It ain’t like that. He’s all alone with no friends. What am I meant to do? Just sit by and let that happen? Was gonna see if he’d want to hit the buffet with us tomorrow but if you gonna act like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m a ho.”
“You kinda a ho.”
“Bro time is what I call us hanging out.” Nate crossed his arms and leaned against the counter. “Am I cheating on Riley with you too?”
“That different.”
“It’s the same.” Nate rolled his eyes.
“Why the narcissist shit all of a sudden anyway?”
“Fuck off.” Nate looked back at his face and frowned. “Riley wants a selfie to see how bad the damage is and I am not sure this is gonna go well.”
“Demon boy threw you into a turnbuckle. You lucky it’s not worse.”
“Yeah. We’re facing fucking bloodplay next week. It’s gonna be worse.” Nate reapplied the bandage.
“They ain’t shit.”
“I know that. We’re gonna kick their collective manifest destiny spewing asses.” Nate shrugged. “But they are gonna hit me all up in my pretty.”
“So you’ll just have to send Riley pics of your abs. The horror.”
“Bitch.” Nate shook his head. “They fuck people up. We need to be aware of that.”
“I am.” Nick put a hand on Nate’s shoulder. “We’re gonna be smart.”
“Damn right.”
“This about our moment. This is Bourbon Street Saints time. We gonna rock this shit out. But yeah, yeah, I hear you. I should address the bullshit across the ring, right? Yeah, yeah.”
“Let’s talk ‘Blood God’ or Michael or Spike. What are you motherfucking? Yezzy? Puff Daddy? You feeling the public’s attention slipping so you got to add another nickname to your collection to get your shit back? Motherfucker, you a thirsty ass bitch.”
“Yeah, Spike you heard me. I don’t give a shit what tragic ass backstory you selling this week you thirst for the fan’s attention as anyone. You act like an edgy teenager who don’t give a shit if you get asked to prom but your ass shitting by the phone all the same. You want the attention. You want the boos or the cheers. You want people to tell ya just how much they love you. You thrive on that shit.”
“You go out of the way to get that cheap reaction. Going after Gilmore. Going after Nighthawk. You know they won’t come back at you. You know they don’t have the kind of fire to hit you in your goddamn mouth so you get away with it. You talk that good shit to people who can’t or won’t fight dirty with dirty. That don’t make you big, son, that makes clear how fragile your ego. Because you got the weakest ego I ever seen.”
“Ever occur to you that people tired of seeing your ass? That your ass been taking up space on that stage all last year and you choked so often it’s almost like no one taught you how to do it. You’re done, old man. You boring. We know what coming. Your DC darkness ass gonna try and intimidate with your age and your matches. Gonna bring up the bad shit you done as if that meant to scare me. Bitch, I ain't scared of you. Aint nobody scared of you.”
“But sure, let’s address the archangel in the room while we here. Michael. The good son, right? Raised by the old ways so excuse me if I don’t know all the special terms for your shit. What I know from popular culture the good boy. Always does what Daddy tells you, right? But weren’t you winged motherfuckers meant to like, I don’t know, watch after humanity? Weren’t you shits meant to keep creation safe or whatever?”
Nate slow claps.
“Grade A job ya doing Mikey. Just fucking gold star work. The amount of white devil around this place you clearly shit at your job. Way to fucking go.”
“But here the question of the hour I got for ya Mikey. You an angel, right? You the angel. So humans got that sweet, sweet free will, didn’t they? Yall three-headed, wheel full of eyes having motherfuckers didn’t get that expansion pack, did ya? So you a prisoner in this shit, right? You do what he wants you to do, right? What that like not to have a choice? Because Lucifer was the fun bus and you got parental controls. Shame.”
Nate clears his throat.
“This shit? I don’t know how to address this shit.”
“What do I call you? Angel? God? Do you prefer Yahweh? Fuck if I know. I’m gonna be real. If you are who you say you are that likely blows people’s mind. You think the pope had a crisis of faith? I mean shit, their god is real and what’s he doing? Knocking mother fuckers around on TV.”
“Like I said, I don’t buy into your crap. Christens raped, pillaged and made my people’s faith illegal ‘Cuz brown people dancing freaked them the fuck out. Land of the free am I right? Remember to say merry fucking Christmas or your oppressing their religion—sorry, your religion. You get that sweet, sweet collection plate money? I feel like the answer is no.”
“I bet those passive aggressive white suburb moms with the ‘speak to ya manager’ haircut call you a heretic, huh? Shit, that like your son, right? No one bought him except the crazies. So maybe you the real deal. Who knows, right? I don’t give a shit.”
“But let’s talk about you the wrestler. You the wrestler. You can’t beat AJ by your damn self. You, this great and powerful mystical being couldn’t take out a white boy from the Midwest on ya own. Nah, had to have backup from your boy to knock him down. He couldn’t take him in a fair fight. You talk that shit how you everybody should call you daddy and get on their goddamn knees.”
“you claim to put the boot to the throat of this company. But I got to ask…”
“BITCH WHERE?!”
“Nah, you answer. For all your dirty what you done? You beat up AJ? Fukcer, I beat up AJ. My boy Pax beat up AJ. That ain't shit. Some bland action figure ain't my role model so you need to try that sell again. What you done? What you done? You picked on two boys who don’t got the spine to fight back. I walked my hot ass home from the strip club to my apartment every morning. I ain't scared to scrap if you come at me from the back. Fucking fight me, edgelord.”
“Yet. Yet man it seems like nobody scared of you, The Great I AM. Aint no one wetting themselves. No one but weak-willed boy and a bunch of girls who share your boy’s DNA coming to your cause, are they? Nah. For all your bluster people see you and roll their eyes.”
“You hit hard. You bury motherfuckers. Sure, sure. But you don’t got the spooky shit to scare me. I grew up in New Orleans. I know you got to believe in the spooky shit in order for it to hurt you. And I don’t believe in you. Even if you are what you say you are. Don’t believe in your brand of organized religion. I ain't your people and your shit weak.”
“Maybe once upon a time, you scared people. Maybe once upon a time. Spike and You got that history. That hall of fame. That old cred. But time past. This is the year 2018. Atheism on the goddamned rise. Aint nobody scared of the divine no more. Trust.”
“And me and nick? We the Bourbon Street Saints. We got that name because our gospel learned on the backstreet and we give out those old-school beating to washed up has-beens who think they got manifest destiny on their side. Nah, get fucked. It's show time boys. A thing I’ve learned, regardless of what you got in your corner you still drop on your head. God or man, we gonna win this match. Trust.”
“Alright, let’s put the fucking cards on the table, shall we? Me and Nick? Nigh of The Immortals. Biggest show of the fucking year? Fuck yeah.”
“Saying fucking yeah. Because this shit? We earned this shit. We earned this shit with nothing but our blood sweat and mother fucking tears.”
“No special powers, no mythical influence, no extra money, no long careers, nah. Me and Nick, we cut it with the hard won skills we been working on since we were teenagers. We the only legit tag team in this goddamn tournament. What kind of teams we beat since we got here? Oh, let me rewind the goddamned clock for y’all. Spencer family was our first match. Big fuck off dudes full of the Holy Spirit. Knock them back to redneck heaven. That’s before this game even hit the ground running.”
“Then we get into the grind of this. We have the roulette. Me and Nick worked together in that shit and made a splash. First team we faced in this shit? TnT, shit no one proud of beating those motherfuckers. My little sister pinned Todd Williams on the way to get pop tarts this morning, that how easy that boy is to handle in the ring. Eight-year-olds can do it.”
“And yeah, Mike and Bob took us out. There aint a shame in losing when a team working. We lost. That shit happens. But we got back in, didn’t we?”
“And how did we fucking do that? Oh that’s right, we did that by dealing with three other goddamn teams. Former champions and shit. Master of a thousand holds? Done. The Pack? Done. TnT round two? Smoked like a goddamn pack of kools. You can talk that good shit but you can’t deny we get shit done. We handled all those boys.”
“And what we do next? We took out the Viking and that fucking asshole Harper. I may have bled but we still ended their shit good. They talked that good shit. But we handed them their asses.”
“We bounced in this company month’s back. In December. We got booked as a hometown boys for the holiday show. We impressed. Nick and me? We come from the bottom. The goddamn gutter and here we are the final of the Tag team tournament. Do you know what this mean?”
“Let me educate you in case you missed it.”
“We came from the bottom but look where we fucking are now. That’s some rag to riches Cinderella shit. Who did that? We did that. Two ‘over-entitled millennials’ boys. Two ‘undertrained’ boys. Two ‘future but it ain't your time’ boys. We did that. Me and Nick don’t have miscommunication. We don’t have a difference in morals. We don’t have different goals. We want this. We gonna win this.”
“You think that’s a joke? Nah.”
“I want this victory. I want this victory because what it means. It isn’t just another tally on the bedpost. I want this victory because it proved to every kid who doesn’t look pale that they can make it if they try. They know that working our ass off means something. I got two sisters at home, I told em that they gonna hear my name called out and ya gonna need to put me in the goddamned ground before I disappoint those girls. Trust.”
“I want to win this. I’m hungry for this victory. I’m hungry like having three bucks in your bank account and you just got paid. I’m hungry like knowing you got to make one pot of pasta last the week. I’m hungry like every kid from my neighborhood hungry. This is our goddamn shot to make the imprint on this company. This is our glory. This is the moment that every kid is gonna talk about at school. Because two boys from nothing are going to beat the goddamned Age of Gods. Yeah, you heard me.”
“This shit is gonna scar.” Nate leaned over the bathroom counter looking at his face where Dean Harper threw him into the turnbuckle. “That shifty little fuck.”
“It is not.” Nick was standing behind him, leaning against the wall.
“Look at this shit.” Nate gestured at his reflection.
“I see your face every fucking day, hooker.”
“And this shit is gonna be a part of my face.” Nate groaned.
“Didn’t stop you from going clubbin’ with stormcrow.”
“Course not. Boy needs to loosen up. I will put aside my personal crisis for bro time.”
“Is that what we’re calling it now?”
“Boy.” Nate glared over his shoulder at Nick. “What that tone?”
“Does Riley know is all I’m sayin.” Nick shrugged.
Nate sighed. “It ain’t like that. He’s all alone with no friends. What am I meant to do? Just sit by and let that happen? Was gonna see if he’d want to hit the buffet with us tomorrow but if you gonna act like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m a ho.”
“You kinda a ho.”
“Bro time is what I call us hanging out.” Nate crossed his arms and leaned against the counter. “Am I cheating on Riley with you too?”
“That different.”
“It’s the same.” Nate rolled his eyes.
“Why the narcissist shit all of a sudden anyway?”
“Fuck off.” Nate looked back at his face and frowned. “Riley wants a selfie to see how bad the damage is and I am not sure this is gonna go well.”
“Demon boy threw you into a turnbuckle. You lucky it’s not worse.”
“Yeah. We’re facing fucking bloodplay next week. It’s gonna be worse.” Nate reapplied the bandage.
“They ain’t shit.”
“I know that. We’re gonna kick their collective manifest destiny spewing asses.” Nate shrugged. “But they are gonna hit me all up in my pretty.”
“So you’ll just have to send Riley pics of your abs. The horror.”
“Bitch.” Nate shook his head. “They fuck people up. We need to be aware of that.”
“I am.” Nick put a hand on Nate’s shoulder. “We’re gonna be smart.”
“Damn right.”
“This about our moment. This is Bourbon Street Saints time. We gonna rock this shit out. But yeah, yeah, I hear you. I should address the bullshit across the ring, right? Yeah, yeah.”
“Let’s talk ‘Blood God’ or Michael or Spike. What are you motherfucking? Yezzy? Puff Daddy? You feeling the public’s attention slipping so you got to add another nickname to your collection to get your shit back? Motherfucker, you a thirsty ass bitch.”
“Yeah, Spike you heard me. I don’t give a shit what tragic ass backstory you selling this week you thirst for the fan’s attention as anyone. You act like an edgy teenager who don’t give a shit if you get asked to prom but your ass shitting by the phone all the same. You want the attention. You want the boos or the cheers. You want people to tell ya just how much they love you. You thrive on that shit.”
“You go out of the way to get that cheap reaction. Going after Gilmore. Going after Nighthawk. You know they won’t come back at you. You know they don’t have the kind of fire to hit you in your goddamn mouth so you get away with it. You talk that good shit to people who can’t or won’t fight dirty with dirty. That don’t make you big, son, that makes clear how fragile your ego. Because you got the weakest ego I ever seen.”
“Ever occur to you that people tired of seeing your ass? That your ass been taking up space on that stage all last year and you choked so often it’s almost like no one taught you how to do it. You’re done, old man. You boring. We know what coming. Your DC darkness ass gonna try and intimidate with your age and your matches. Gonna bring up the bad shit you done as if that meant to scare me. Bitch, I ain't scared of you. Aint nobody scared of you.”
“But sure, let’s address the archangel in the room while we here. Michael. The good son, right? Raised by the old ways so excuse me if I don’t know all the special terms for your shit. What I know from popular culture the good boy. Always does what Daddy tells you, right? But weren’t you winged motherfuckers meant to like, I don’t know, watch after humanity? Weren’t you shits meant to keep creation safe or whatever?”
Nate slow claps.
“Grade A job ya doing Mikey. Just fucking gold star work. The amount of white devil around this place you clearly shit at your job. Way to fucking go.”
“But here the question of the hour I got for ya Mikey. You an angel, right? You the angel. So humans got that sweet, sweet free will, didn’t they? Yall three-headed, wheel full of eyes having motherfuckers didn’t get that expansion pack, did ya? So you a prisoner in this shit, right? You do what he wants you to do, right? What that like not to have a choice? Because Lucifer was the fun bus and you got parental controls. Shame.”
Nate clears his throat.
“This shit? I don’t know how to address this shit.”
“What do I call you? Angel? God? Do you prefer Yahweh? Fuck if I know. I’m gonna be real. If you are who you say you are that likely blows people’s mind. You think the pope had a crisis of faith? I mean shit, their god is real and what’s he doing? Knocking mother fuckers around on TV.”
“Like I said, I don’t buy into your crap. Christens raped, pillaged and made my people’s faith illegal ‘Cuz brown people dancing freaked them the fuck out. Land of the free am I right? Remember to say merry fucking Christmas or your oppressing their religion—sorry, your religion. You get that sweet, sweet collection plate money? I feel like the answer is no.”
“I bet those passive aggressive white suburb moms with the ‘speak to ya manager’ haircut call you a heretic, huh? Shit, that like your son, right? No one bought him except the crazies. So maybe you the real deal. Who knows, right? I don’t give a shit.”
“But let’s talk about you the wrestler. You the wrestler. You can’t beat AJ by your damn self. You, this great and powerful mystical being couldn’t take out a white boy from the Midwest on ya own. Nah, had to have backup from your boy to knock him down. He couldn’t take him in a fair fight. You talk that shit how you everybody should call you daddy and get on their goddamn knees.”
“you claim to put the boot to the throat of this company. But I got to ask…”
“BITCH WHERE?!”
“Nah, you answer. For all your dirty what you done? You beat up AJ? Fukcer, I beat up AJ. My boy Pax beat up AJ. That ain't shit. Some bland action figure ain't my role model so you need to try that sell again. What you done? What you done? You picked on two boys who don’t got the spine to fight back. I walked my hot ass home from the strip club to my apartment every morning. I ain't scared to scrap if you come at me from the back. Fucking fight me, edgelord.”
“Yet. Yet man it seems like nobody scared of you, The Great I AM. Aint no one wetting themselves. No one but weak-willed boy and a bunch of girls who share your boy’s DNA coming to your cause, are they? Nah. For all your bluster people see you and roll their eyes.”
“You hit hard. You bury motherfuckers. Sure, sure. But you don’t got the spooky shit to scare me. I grew up in New Orleans. I know you got to believe in the spooky shit in order for it to hurt you. And I don’t believe in you. Even if you are what you say you are. Don’t believe in your brand of organized religion. I ain't your people and your shit weak.”
“Maybe once upon a time, you scared people. Maybe once upon a time. Spike and You got that history. That hall of fame. That old cred. But time past. This is the year 2018. Atheism on the goddamned rise. Aint nobody scared of the divine no more. Trust.”
“And me and nick? We the Bourbon Street Saints. We got that name because our gospel learned on the backstreet and we give out those old-school beating to washed up has-beens who think they got manifest destiny on their side. Nah, get fucked. It's show time boys. A thing I’ve learned, regardless of what you got in your corner you still drop on your head. God or man, we gonna win this match. Trust.”
Well howdy there pardner.