Post by Nick Hunter on Aug 28, 2021 0:05:43 GMT
Aight, I'ma get the easy reference outta the way for y'all.
Legacy. What is a legacy? It's planting seeds in a garden you never get to see.
Now, normally I'd make a joke about Jimmy's ass not being able to see shit anyway, but you know what? Fuck him. I've been listening to every single bit of bitching you've ever done about my boy Pax on Twitter. You still, STILL don't get it. You don't get it because you want the redemption, you want the adulation, but you don't wanna look at the ugly shit festering in your soul in the mirror and actually do the open-heart surgery to scrape that motherfucker clean. You wanna marry a girl from Eastern Europe, pump yourself out a couple of babies, and then act like that means you ain't ever done nothing wrong.
Fuck that and fuck you.
Legacy is flying a banner that's come to symbolize every single piece of dread people have felt for years, doing it with a smirk on your face. Legacy is naming your kids after symbols of hope and then symbols of fucking terror and privilege. Legacy is getting to inflict your politics on the next generation to spite the last. Legacy is an outrage machine fueled on the idea that people who don't look like you, pray like you, love like you are getting a piece of the pie finally when y'all asses too used to the whole thing. Legacy is pretending that you weren't doing all of that to troll the libs, hoping that little Luke and Leia grow up and think just like you, act just like you, that they never look at those middle names as anything but a blessing, 'cause if they don't, it means you gotta answer some questions about yourself you don't want to even think about.
Legacy is being a two-time World Champion, beating Hall of Famers, and still gettin' no respect because you got some top-shelf foot-in-mouth disease. Legacy is getting into the most dangerous environments in this gotdamn business without flinching, getting your ass pounded into the dirt, walking out of a motherfucking DEATH CAGE with a title around your waist, and still not being able to get ninety fuckin' percent of the locker room to give you the time of day. On paper, Jimmy? You're a fuckin' legend. You should be someone that people look at in AWE. But we point and we laugh, or we cuss you out, because instead of all of that, instead of lettin' the miracle that is what you have done in this business despite FAMOUSLY coming in with nothing but a love for the game and a heart the size of your home state speak for itself? You speak. And you speak. And you flood the air and you choke your own legacy until the seeds are starved and the soil is barren. That's the legacy you're sowing for yourself, man.
I did that thing where I come in on fire and I let the venom out again, I know. I know. Y'all don't want me running the dozens on Gilmore, you want me running the grosses, the tons. End of the day...fuck, man, maybe I'm getting soft. Maybe I ain't got it in me to piss on a man's soul when I genuinely think he just doesn't get half the shit he does. Do I empathize with any of that shit? Absolutely fucking not, I think he stands for a lot of vile shit and just knows how to hide it better now. But I see it. I get it. Even if I ain't about what he's about, I know where it comes from. And motherfucker, I wish I lived in a world where I could afford to look past the shit you say. But you don't just leave it in the back. It's in the ring, it's in your promos, it's everywhere. You wanna talk shit about Pax Stormcrow, a man who was literally gonna represent his country, OUR country, in the motherfucking Olympics, because he don't like Reagan or Melania? You wanna shit-talk a PATRIOT like Pax Stormcrow? Boy.
And you got Nick Danger running at your side. You got this boy, this boy with all the talent in the world, and you told him you could make him a star. But how do you teach what you got, Jimmy? How do you teach heart? How do you teach endurance? How do you teach the bond of a tag team? Ya don't. You don't get to force this. You gotta earn it. You gotta let it come naturally. You ain't earned it, you ain't earned this. Nick, you've taken some beatings to fuck and back, and I gotta salute the grit. But Jimmy? Jimmy ain't your ticket to the top. Jimmy's selling magic beans, he's selling you MJ's Special Stuff, he's sellin' you SHIT YOU ALREADY OWN. It's the ultimate hustle: you already quick, you already got heart, you already got the stuff to do some shit leave our mouths hanging. You just gotta knuckle down and make. It. Happen.
What's that mean? How do you "just knuckle down"? You find your voice. You find the things that make Nick Danger love this shit, keep coming back to this shit. This was just a gig for me and Nate at first, ya know? It was just a paycheck. But hearing your hometown cheer your name, tens of thousands of people, your friends and family, getting to feel that electricity? And then, on top of it all, getting to be triumphant on the biggest night of the wrestling calendar, after a second chance, proving we belong? That's what did it for us. That's what made us realize the fuckin' magic. You find that magic? Son, you just might be something. Until then, you keep looking, and you remember you ain't ever gotta answer to some white boy who thinks he's a sensei.
Happy Suffering? Ya basic bitches. Ya always been basic bitches. Moving. On.
Then we got the frozen boys themselves. Vendetta. You want to talk about earning it? You wanna shit-talk us? Funny how it took us sayin' something for y'all to find your spines. Funny. Funny. I'ma slap that taste out of your mouth, comprendez-vous? Yeah, bet y'all forgot they teach us French au sud. I'ma make both of you eat every word you got about us not deserving shit, not being worthy. Maybe you wouldn't have any reason to throw a goddamn tantrum if you'd found a way to stand out. Nighthawk oughta taught you boys a lesson: it ain't enough to have talent. You gotta have some motherfucking style.
This is wrestling, motherfuckers. You wanna get noticed? Make some noise. Raise up, take the camera by the fuckin' balls, make it so they can't not notice you. Boys, you good. You real good. I know you good, 'cause I got eyes and I have EVER seen you wrestle. But being good ain't enough, not here. You can't find a place in the world of combat sports where just being good is enough. Some of the greatest champions in mixed martial arts history had the system fighting their asses the whole way 'cause they weren't marketable enough. Make the people care. Fucking make Fowler care, or Eddie, whoever puts your name on the dotted line. But nah, you just gonna bitch. You wanna prove you got the set to go at Violent Tendencies? You wanna pretend you got more of a right to it than we do just 'cause y'all ain't stepped up and had your dicks kicked in? Do you want to know where I've been the last month? Rehab. Fixing my fucking knee, because there was some real fucking danger after Bloody Assizes that I wasn't ever gonna walk right again. And there's a couple of Boomer-ass sadists I owe a fucking receipt for that.
Motherfucking Stephen Terrella punched me in the balls before that bell even rang. Motherfucking Chris Diamond tried to put me in a wheelchair for the rest of my life. These motherfuckers looked the wrong way at Justine Harris, the goddamn most precious girl on the planet, Chromedome flipped off a child because he's soooooo badass, made her cry. I owe them fucking blood. I owe them a whoopin' they ain't ever seen even in their combined century on this fucking planet. Nah, this is more important than y'all getting sick of fucking catering. If I have to throw one of you into the fuckin' stands and paint the seats red to get our chance at revenge? I will take. My. Fucking. CHANCE.
Nothing personal.
'bow on up, boys. Climb that fucking ladder. And answer me a question.
Y'all ready to play some football?
Let's. Go.