Post by Mike Laszlo on May 25, 2014 17:23:12 GMT
Here I am…sitting in a chair, alone. As my arms rest over the back of the chair, my head, my eyes, aimed at the cement floor beneath me in the locker room area.
Can you imagine what it’s like to be me?
No, I don’t mean that in a pretentious “I’m better than you” sort of way. I’m serious. Can you imagine what it’s like to be reminded of your every failure over and over and over again; to carry a stigma about you that sickens you from the moment you wake up until the moment you fall asleep?
Raising my head so that my eyes connect with the audience, I take a subtle breath.
I don’t think you can.
Sitting up straight I grab hold of the back of the chair.
It’s because of that, that I think that you can’t possibly understand the pressure put on my shoulders at Night of the Immortals. You can’t feel that pressure in your veins, ready to burst at the slightest flinch. While others have their reasons for wanting to win this match, that is all it is to them…a want. I MUST win.
I extend my arm and point to the right as if pointing to the other five competitors in the match.
While others want to win this match for glory, or redemption…
I then bring that same arm in and point it into my chest.
I must win for salvation.
Regrasping the chair, I reflect a bit on my career.
For too long now have I buoyed myself on my abilities to merely keep myself afloat around the title picture, hell to keep myself relevant at all. For too long I have put on this grandioso show, only to subject myself to failure. I have put up with this failure for long enough and it is simply something that I can’t endure any longer. The pain, the anger, it wells up inside, it fills my body with hate to the point where if I were to lash out on somebody, I would fear for their life.
The time of suffering and squandering opportunity has come and passed and it is now time to take what is mine. It is time to ascend to that brass ring as five of the best stars this company has to offer watch me transcend them. They will be beaten, some bloodied, all bruised as their weary eyes settle on me atop the ladder, grabbing the contract, making my mark at Night of the Immortals, effectively squashing their opportunity as all but one have done mine so many times before.
Standing from the chair, extending my finger out to the side again I run down the opponents.
Whether its Spike Kane and all the times I haven’t beaten him or Alex Jones, denying me of that last shot at Roberto Verona in NCW; or Xavier Cross, winning the Heavyweight Title during IWF’s inception or the vampire freak himself, beating me for the Man of Steel Title, all of you have done me an injustice, and while I look at myself in a mirror, each of you in your own way has forced me to stare for a long, long time and wonder if I was cut out for this. You made me doubt myself. Do you understand the repercussions of that?
Grabbing hold of the steel folding chair, I whip it across the room, sending it crashing into a set of lockers before its quick decent to the floor as I breathe heavy, a fiery fit of rage, there is no talking…only a violent scream.
DO YOU!? DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU’VE ALL DONE TO ME!? YOU’VE TAKEN A MAN WITH CONVICTION…A MAN WITH A PURPOSE…
I look away for a moment, something clicks, the mood quickly changes and I’m steady, calm again.
And you turned him into a man who seems lost. You took that pride beaming son of a bitch down to the deepest and darkest of places. You beat him down until it seemed like there was nothing left. You took his goals and his admirations and you thought you obliterated them.
Walking over, I pick the chair back up and set it up, having a seat on the other side of the room.
Little did you know, that you didn’t finish the job. You didn’t obliterate those dreams and admirations after all. You merely made me rethink them and work them into something a little more plausible. You knocked me from the high horse I rode in on, thinking I was king shit, and you made me start from scratch and for that…
I thank you.
I glide my hand over the top of the chair, signifying the laying of a foundation.
As I lied there, beaten and battered, I was laying the foundation for what was to come…what is to come at Night of the Immortals. I scratched and I clawed and brick by brick that foundation grew into the building you see before you, and when I grab that contract, the construction will almost be complete. That contract is the rafters of the roof with one defining moment left…winning the Imperial Championship.
This is what you started. You made this monster and now you have to deal with the consequences. Each failure by your hands has given me the motivation and the desire to come out on top and watch the looks on all your faces as you realize what you’ve done. The defeats have given me the fuel needed to excel not only up to but shatter the glass ceiling that has kept me down for so long. I will then take the shards of glass and I will cut you deep, rip out your desires and ambitions, and I will squash them…simply returning the favor. Then and only then…will you finally understand where it is I’m coming from.
The scene abruptly cuts to static.
====================
Title: The Need To Fix
Location: Dallas, Texas
Time: 1:22 PM Local Time
After a bit of convincing after her “reveal” that she had been fighting this battle with her subconscious for a while, Alexis and I were at the same therapist she had run from a month or so back. It’s been going good, and some of the issues had been worked through. Thankfully, through my wealthy persuasions, this therapist was on retainer, and as long as I called ahead, would accept a flight out to wherever we were at the time, right now being Dallas, Texas. Usually I would give him a week’s notice, but after the dream Alexis had last night, I felt that she should talk it out. Without hesitation Dr. Goldman was there, and ready to listen. After a session with Alexis, she took a break and got up from the room, heading out to the hall to grab a few things from the vending machine. As the two of us waited, my attention was drawn by his voice.
Dr. Goldman: And what about you?
I looked over with a raised eyebrow.
Mike Laszlo: What about be?
Dr. Goldman: Are you ready to come clean?
Mike Laszlo: Come clean? Me? About what?
Dr. Goldman: May I speak freely?
Mike Laszlo: Go on.
Dr. Goldman: You seem to have an issue of your own.
Mike Laszlo: Oh?
Dr. Goldman: You have what is known as “The Need to Fix”.
Mike Laszlo: The need to fix?
Dr. Goldman: I’ve noticed from what you’ve told me that whenever someone close to you is in need of something you jump to their rescue. Sound familiar?
As I sat there for a moment and pondered what he was saying, I started to nod in agreement.
Mike Laszlo: Sounds right. I am there for a lot of people.
Dr. Goldman: Is it because they need you, or you feel that they need you.
Mike Laszlo: Uh…both?
Dr. Goldman: You like to be the white knight in shining armor. You like to be the one with all the answers. How does that make you feel in Alexis’ situation? How does it make you feel to know you have no control, that there’s nothing you can really do?
Mike Laszlo: It makes me feel like shit. I want so badly to help her, but I don’t know what to do.
Dr. Goldman: Mike…there’s nothing you can do to speed up the process of her getting over this ordeal. All you can do is be supportive of her. Be there when she needs you, yet suppress your own desire to be the rescuer. Instead, try to be the comforter instead.
I took a second and processed what he had to say. How could I simply flip a switch and stop trying to be the hero? How could I resist every urge in my body to help her along this process a bit quicker?
Mike Laszlo: How do I stop caring?
Dr. Goldman: That’s not what I’m saying. You can care all you want. Some things though take time. You can’t just snap your fingers and be over something as traumatizing as what she’s been through. Don’t stop caring. It’s obvious you love her. All you have to do is be there. All you have to do is what I do…listen and observe. Be her outlet for frustration, for sadness, for rage, the whole range of emotions. What I ask of you is to not try and make it better. Nothing is perfect in this world, especially not human beings…no matter how hard you try to make it that way.
I sat there a bit confused, yet understanding if that makes any sense. Before I could go on, the sound of the door silenced me as Alexis came walking in from the hall with some snacks.
Alexis Caffrey: What were you guys talking about?
Mike Laszlo: Nothing.
Dr. Goldman: Mike…don’t try and make it better.
I rolled my eyes as she looked down at me, handing me a water.
Alexis Caffrey: Make what better? Were you talking about me?
Mike Laszlo: Kind of. Doc here says I have a penchant to try and make everything and everyone in my life better…be their knight in shining armor.
Alexis Caffrey: He’s right.
Mike Laszlo: I know. It’s like I can’t help it though. I want so hard to make things right, and especially lately, it’s all blown up in my face.
Alexis Caffrey: That’s because you can’t make everything better. Sometimes it’s simply up to the individual.
We looked over at Dr. Goldman who simply smiled and nodded. They were both right. Maybe I try too hard to be there for everybody else. Maybe I concentrate on so many others that I forget about myself in the process? Where could things go if I focused on numero uno? The possibilities are endless.
====================
The static appears again and cuts to me throwing punches as a large, swaying red punching bag.
There’s Sephiroth Du Lac.
Punch.
Xavier Cross.
Punch.
Falcon.
Punch.
Alex Jones.
Kick! Kick!
and Spike Kane.
Punch, kick, punch, punch, kick!
Along with myself and you have six of the fiercest competitors to ever grace a squared circle. Everyone in this match knows of their own successes and their own failures. I don’t need to elaborate because like myself with my own failures, I’ve heard it all before and all too often.
There’s another punch, kick, spinning elbow combination before stepping back and taking a few breaths.
What I will ask though is what happens afterwards? What happens when not if I grab that contract from the top of that ladder? What happens when not if I finally fulfill my potential that all the rest have talked about for so long? What happens to your dreams and aspirations?
Do they go up in smoke?
Does the idolization of Spike Kane wear off that much more than it already has? You try and you try to stay relevant since your loss to Ortega and you have done a good job of doing so. You take your hand and swear your allegiance to Angel…more so grab onto his coattails and ride him like so many did you in the Empire. I thought you were better than that Spike, I really did. So what will you do when someone finally does put you down?
I execute a spin kick on the bag, leaping in the air and hitting the mark I made with swift precision.
Is the return of Falcon rendered to a “Who gives a shit?” moment? Will people see this great return as a mere ploy for a legend to make his name known once more? Is it one last hurrah to reach up at the spotlight and turn it down on yourself so that you can smile brightly to all who admired you once upon a time?
I tear off the gloves and throw them to the mat below, leaving the heavy bag swaying from side to side. Walking over to a weight bench I lie down and grip the bar, lifting it over the rack and beginning to press it up and down.
Speaking of returns, we have Alex Jones, and I have to wonder how much you even really care about the outcome of this match. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not stupid, everyone wants to be champion, but I have to ask you to look deep down inside yourself Alex. I have to wonder if the revenge on your mind toward Spike, for what he ordered to have done to you, the mangling of your knee, will cloud your judgment. Will the rage that burns inside overtake the competitive flame that we all know you have? Will you look more toward taking out Spike Kane than you will ascending that ladder and claiming the prize. Perhaps the sacrifice is worth it…perhaps.
Lifting the bar up one final time, I place it back on the rack and set it in place before reaching down to grab a water I had placed on the ground earlier. Taking a swig, I twist the cap back on before setting it back on the floor.
Then we look to the shadows. We look in the places where the night is forever and we find the man who beat me for the Man of Steel Title, Sephiroth Du Lac. Since your win over me, you formed your little Tag Team and you accomplished…nothing. All you’ve done since means as much as you do…nothing. The last time we went at it, we beat the holy hell out of each other…no pun intended. We took each other’s bodies to physical limits that some thought wasn’t possible and when it was all said and done, you won. I beg you to not take me lightly just based on that one match. I beg you to bring your best because since then, I’ve gotten better. Since then I’ve been honing my craft. Like a few others in this match, I look for relevance, I look for the grandeur that I had coming into this place. I look to take it as my bitch and bend it to my every whim. Not a single one of you is going to stop me…living or dead.
As I scoot to the end of the bench and reach down for the dumbbells, I stop for a moment and stare at my outstretched hand. I rotate it from palm to back and go back the other way.
That’s right…almost forgot the holy one…and I don’t mean spiritually. You, the man who is a former two time Heavyweight Champion. You the man who stood up against Spike Kane and the Empire only to have him string you up, or, well, in your case, nail you up against a piece of wood. Now look at you. You’re not in this match for yourself. Talk all you want and proclaim that you’re in it to win it all you’d like, but we all know why you’re truly here and it sickens me for your purpose is the weakest of them all. All you are Xavier, is insurance. You’re here to make sure Spike Kane wins.
You are in this match to make sure Spike wins, just like I’m sure you’ll be there to make sure Angel wins because all you people want is an Age of X main event somewhere down the line. You want to see Spike versus Angel for your own selfish reasons. Would it be a good match? No doubt. As much as I hate the two of them, they are both physically and mentally skilled for this profession and the amount of brutality would rival the apocalypse itself.
There’s one problem…
I set the dumbbells down and stand from the bench, pointing at myself with both index fingers.
Me.
I walk toward the door as my workout is complete.
I’m done playing second fiddle to all these old rivalries. I’m done standing on the sidelines as others fight for what I should have. It was believed once upon a time, but not now. No longer am I simply praised for my athletic ability, and ability to wrestle in that ring like no other. Now I am run down. Now I am criticized for not reaching the lofty expectations that the rest of the world has set out for me.
At Night of the Immortals, I plan on doing more than meeting these lofty expectations. When there is one person left, holding that contract high overhead, it will be me. I won’t just meet your expectations, I will exceed them by leaps and bounds. No longer will I be held down by a glass ceiling, no longer will I be shackled by the ball and chain known as morality.
You have created an uncontrollable beast with your slights and your digs at me…now you suffer the consequences.
Walking out of the door, the camera cuts to static with the slam of it.
Can you imagine what it’s like to be me?
No, I don’t mean that in a pretentious “I’m better than you” sort of way. I’m serious. Can you imagine what it’s like to be reminded of your every failure over and over and over again; to carry a stigma about you that sickens you from the moment you wake up until the moment you fall asleep?
Raising my head so that my eyes connect with the audience, I take a subtle breath.
I don’t think you can.
Sitting up straight I grab hold of the back of the chair.
It’s because of that, that I think that you can’t possibly understand the pressure put on my shoulders at Night of the Immortals. You can’t feel that pressure in your veins, ready to burst at the slightest flinch. While others have their reasons for wanting to win this match, that is all it is to them…a want. I MUST win.
I extend my arm and point to the right as if pointing to the other five competitors in the match.
While others want to win this match for glory, or redemption…
I then bring that same arm in and point it into my chest.
I must win for salvation.
Regrasping the chair, I reflect a bit on my career.
For too long now have I buoyed myself on my abilities to merely keep myself afloat around the title picture, hell to keep myself relevant at all. For too long I have put on this grandioso show, only to subject myself to failure. I have put up with this failure for long enough and it is simply something that I can’t endure any longer. The pain, the anger, it wells up inside, it fills my body with hate to the point where if I were to lash out on somebody, I would fear for their life.
The time of suffering and squandering opportunity has come and passed and it is now time to take what is mine. It is time to ascend to that brass ring as five of the best stars this company has to offer watch me transcend them. They will be beaten, some bloodied, all bruised as their weary eyes settle on me atop the ladder, grabbing the contract, making my mark at Night of the Immortals, effectively squashing their opportunity as all but one have done mine so many times before.
Standing from the chair, extending my finger out to the side again I run down the opponents.
Whether its Spike Kane and all the times I haven’t beaten him or Alex Jones, denying me of that last shot at Roberto Verona in NCW; or Xavier Cross, winning the Heavyweight Title during IWF’s inception or the vampire freak himself, beating me for the Man of Steel Title, all of you have done me an injustice, and while I look at myself in a mirror, each of you in your own way has forced me to stare for a long, long time and wonder if I was cut out for this. You made me doubt myself. Do you understand the repercussions of that?
Grabbing hold of the steel folding chair, I whip it across the room, sending it crashing into a set of lockers before its quick decent to the floor as I breathe heavy, a fiery fit of rage, there is no talking…only a violent scream.
DO YOU!? DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU’VE ALL DONE TO ME!? YOU’VE TAKEN A MAN WITH CONVICTION…A MAN WITH A PURPOSE…
I look away for a moment, something clicks, the mood quickly changes and I’m steady, calm again.
And you turned him into a man who seems lost. You took that pride beaming son of a bitch down to the deepest and darkest of places. You beat him down until it seemed like there was nothing left. You took his goals and his admirations and you thought you obliterated them.
Walking over, I pick the chair back up and set it up, having a seat on the other side of the room.
Little did you know, that you didn’t finish the job. You didn’t obliterate those dreams and admirations after all. You merely made me rethink them and work them into something a little more plausible. You knocked me from the high horse I rode in on, thinking I was king shit, and you made me start from scratch and for that…
I thank you.
I glide my hand over the top of the chair, signifying the laying of a foundation.
As I lied there, beaten and battered, I was laying the foundation for what was to come…what is to come at Night of the Immortals. I scratched and I clawed and brick by brick that foundation grew into the building you see before you, and when I grab that contract, the construction will almost be complete. That contract is the rafters of the roof with one defining moment left…winning the Imperial Championship.
This is what you started. You made this monster and now you have to deal with the consequences. Each failure by your hands has given me the motivation and the desire to come out on top and watch the looks on all your faces as you realize what you’ve done. The defeats have given me the fuel needed to excel not only up to but shatter the glass ceiling that has kept me down for so long. I will then take the shards of glass and I will cut you deep, rip out your desires and ambitions, and I will squash them…simply returning the favor. Then and only then…will you finally understand where it is I’m coming from.
The scene abruptly cuts to static.
====================
Title: The Need To Fix
Location: Dallas, Texas
Time: 1:22 PM Local Time
After a bit of convincing after her “reveal” that she had been fighting this battle with her subconscious for a while, Alexis and I were at the same therapist she had run from a month or so back. It’s been going good, and some of the issues had been worked through. Thankfully, through my wealthy persuasions, this therapist was on retainer, and as long as I called ahead, would accept a flight out to wherever we were at the time, right now being Dallas, Texas. Usually I would give him a week’s notice, but after the dream Alexis had last night, I felt that she should talk it out. Without hesitation Dr. Goldman was there, and ready to listen. After a session with Alexis, she took a break and got up from the room, heading out to the hall to grab a few things from the vending machine. As the two of us waited, my attention was drawn by his voice.
Dr. Goldman: And what about you?
I looked over with a raised eyebrow.
Mike Laszlo: What about be?
Dr. Goldman: Are you ready to come clean?
Mike Laszlo: Come clean? Me? About what?
Dr. Goldman: May I speak freely?
Mike Laszlo: Go on.
Dr. Goldman: You seem to have an issue of your own.
Mike Laszlo: Oh?
Dr. Goldman: You have what is known as “The Need to Fix”.
Mike Laszlo: The need to fix?
Dr. Goldman: I’ve noticed from what you’ve told me that whenever someone close to you is in need of something you jump to their rescue. Sound familiar?
As I sat there for a moment and pondered what he was saying, I started to nod in agreement.
Mike Laszlo: Sounds right. I am there for a lot of people.
Dr. Goldman: Is it because they need you, or you feel that they need you.
Mike Laszlo: Uh…both?
Dr. Goldman: You like to be the white knight in shining armor. You like to be the one with all the answers. How does that make you feel in Alexis’ situation? How does it make you feel to know you have no control, that there’s nothing you can really do?
Mike Laszlo: It makes me feel like shit. I want so badly to help her, but I don’t know what to do.
Dr. Goldman: Mike…there’s nothing you can do to speed up the process of her getting over this ordeal. All you can do is be supportive of her. Be there when she needs you, yet suppress your own desire to be the rescuer. Instead, try to be the comforter instead.
I took a second and processed what he had to say. How could I simply flip a switch and stop trying to be the hero? How could I resist every urge in my body to help her along this process a bit quicker?
Mike Laszlo: How do I stop caring?
Dr. Goldman: That’s not what I’m saying. You can care all you want. Some things though take time. You can’t just snap your fingers and be over something as traumatizing as what she’s been through. Don’t stop caring. It’s obvious you love her. All you have to do is be there. All you have to do is what I do…listen and observe. Be her outlet for frustration, for sadness, for rage, the whole range of emotions. What I ask of you is to not try and make it better. Nothing is perfect in this world, especially not human beings…no matter how hard you try to make it that way.
I sat there a bit confused, yet understanding if that makes any sense. Before I could go on, the sound of the door silenced me as Alexis came walking in from the hall with some snacks.
Alexis Caffrey: What were you guys talking about?
Mike Laszlo: Nothing.
Dr. Goldman: Mike…don’t try and make it better.
I rolled my eyes as she looked down at me, handing me a water.
Alexis Caffrey: Make what better? Were you talking about me?
Mike Laszlo: Kind of. Doc here says I have a penchant to try and make everything and everyone in my life better…be their knight in shining armor.
Alexis Caffrey: He’s right.
Mike Laszlo: I know. It’s like I can’t help it though. I want so hard to make things right, and especially lately, it’s all blown up in my face.
Alexis Caffrey: That’s because you can’t make everything better. Sometimes it’s simply up to the individual.
We looked over at Dr. Goldman who simply smiled and nodded. They were both right. Maybe I try too hard to be there for everybody else. Maybe I concentrate on so many others that I forget about myself in the process? Where could things go if I focused on numero uno? The possibilities are endless.
====================
The static appears again and cuts to me throwing punches as a large, swaying red punching bag.
There’s Sephiroth Du Lac.
Punch.
Xavier Cross.
Punch.
Falcon.
Punch.
Alex Jones.
Kick! Kick!
and Spike Kane.
Punch, kick, punch, punch, kick!
Along with myself and you have six of the fiercest competitors to ever grace a squared circle. Everyone in this match knows of their own successes and their own failures. I don’t need to elaborate because like myself with my own failures, I’ve heard it all before and all too often.
There’s another punch, kick, spinning elbow combination before stepping back and taking a few breaths.
What I will ask though is what happens afterwards? What happens when not if I grab that contract from the top of that ladder? What happens when not if I finally fulfill my potential that all the rest have talked about for so long? What happens to your dreams and aspirations?
Do they go up in smoke?
Does the idolization of Spike Kane wear off that much more than it already has? You try and you try to stay relevant since your loss to Ortega and you have done a good job of doing so. You take your hand and swear your allegiance to Angel…more so grab onto his coattails and ride him like so many did you in the Empire. I thought you were better than that Spike, I really did. So what will you do when someone finally does put you down?
I execute a spin kick on the bag, leaping in the air and hitting the mark I made with swift precision.
Is the return of Falcon rendered to a “Who gives a shit?” moment? Will people see this great return as a mere ploy for a legend to make his name known once more? Is it one last hurrah to reach up at the spotlight and turn it down on yourself so that you can smile brightly to all who admired you once upon a time?
I tear off the gloves and throw them to the mat below, leaving the heavy bag swaying from side to side. Walking over to a weight bench I lie down and grip the bar, lifting it over the rack and beginning to press it up and down.
Speaking of returns, we have Alex Jones, and I have to wonder how much you even really care about the outcome of this match. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not stupid, everyone wants to be champion, but I have to ask you to look deep down inside yourself Alex. I have to wonder if the revenge on your mind toward Spike, for what he ordered to have done to you, the mangling of your knee, will cloud your judgment. Will the rage that burns inside overtake the competitive flame that we all know you have? Will you look more toward taking out Spike Kane than you will ascending that ladder and claiming the prize. Perhaps the sacrifice is worth it…perhaps.
Lifting the bar up one final time, I place it back on the rack and set it in place before reaching down to grab a water I had placed on the ground earlier. Taking a swig, I twist the cap back on before setting it back on the floor.
Then we look to the shadows. We look in the places where the night is forever and we find the man who beat me for the Man of Steel Title, Sephiroth Du Lac. Since your win over me, you formed your little Tag Team and you accomplished…nothing. All you’ve done since means as much as you do…nothing. The last time we went at it, we beat the holy hell out of each other…no pun intended. We took each other’s bodies to physical limits that some thought wasn’t possible and when it was all said and done, you won. I beg you to not take me lightly just based on that one match. I beg you to bring your best because since then, I’ve gotten better. Since then I’ve been honing my craft. Like a few others in this match, I look for relevance, I look for the grandeur that I had coming into this place. I look to take it as my bitch and bend it to my every whim. Not a single one of you is going to stop me…living or dead.
As I scoot to the end of the bench and reach down for the dumbbells, I stop for a moment and stare at my outstretched hand. I rotate it from palm to back and go back the other way.
That’s right…almost forgot the holy one…and I don’t mean spiritually. You, the man who is a former two time Heavyweight Champion. You the man who stood up against Spike Kane and the Empire only to have him string you up, or, well, in your case, nail you up against a piece of wood. Now look at you. You’re not in this match for yourself. Talk all you want and proclaim that you’re in it to win it all you’d like, but we all know why you’re truly here and it sickens me for your purpose is the weakest of them all. All you are Xavier, is insurance. You’re here to make sure Spike Kane wins.
You are in this match to make sure Spike wins, just like I’m sure you’ll be there to make sure Angel wins because all you people want is an Age of X main event somewhere down the line. You want to see Spike versus Angel for your own selfish reasons. Would it be a good match? No doubt. As much as I hate the two of them, they are both physically and mentally skilled for this profession and the amount of brutality would rival the apocalypse itself.
There’s one problem…
I set the dumbbells down and stand from the bench, pointing at myself with both index fingers.
Me.
I walk toward the door as my workout is complete.
I’m done playing second fiddle to all these old rivalries. I’m done standing on the sidelines as others fight for what I should have. It was believed once upon a time, but not now. No longer am I simply praised for my athletic ability, and ability to wrestle in that ring like no other. Now I am run down. Now I am criticized for not reaching the lofty expectations that the rest of the world has set out for me.
At Night of the Immortals, I plan on doing more than meeting these lofty expectations. When there is one person left, holding that contract high overhead, it will be me. I won’t just meet your expectations, I will exceed them by leaps and bounds. No longer will I be held down by a glass ceiling, no longer will I be shackled by the ball and chain known as morality.
You have created an uncontrollable beast with your slights and your digs at me…now you suffer the consequences.
Walking out of the door, the camera cuts to static with the slam of it.
Well howdy there pardner.