Rising Son: I Am The 1%

Look at me. I’m the captain now. 

We may as well just rip the bandaid off, kids, I’m running the ship now. The ink is dry, the paperwork is filed, and I am officially the 51% owner of… everything. Of the company you work for, of the network you wrestle on, and of the accounting department that cuts your checks. I make the matches, I decide the contenders, and I choose the venues– I am the deciding vote and the last word on all of it. And while you’re going to be hearing a lot of my thoughts, opinions, and edicts over the coming weeks, there is one thing I want to stomp the fuck out right out of the starting gate.

I am NOT burning HOW to the fucking ground.

Under the eMpire of the Son, High Octane Wrestling is going to flourish. It’s going to make more money, fill more seats, and break more records than it has at any point during this era. It’s going to thrive. Along with my father, the 49% minority shareholder, I am going to make this is Final Era of HOW a long, profitable one, and the number of you low-reading-comprehension Twitter goblins screeching into the social media sphere about the death of HOW is giving me a big fat migraine.

“Oh, Cecilworth Farthington wants HOW to die, it makes no sense for him to care about his belt but want the company to diiiiiieeeeeeee.” – A whiny piss baby, 2019


“There are a lot of famous people named Scott.” – Scott Stevens, 2019

I recruited a team of wrestlers for War Games who believed what I believed– the this era of HOW lacked what truly made High Octane Wrestling great. It had become numbers and metrics and a big game of “Who Can Sign The Biggest Free Agent”. And hey, I’ll be the first to admit it, the acquisitions of MJF, Dan Ryan, Lindsay Troy and High Flyer have been phenomenal for business. Ticket sales are up. Ratings are up.

Yes, you too, Eric Dane– but I bet your blood boiled when you read that paragraph. I’m sorry for your loss. #RIPLordFarthington

But HOW has felt hollow. Manufactured. Like a cheap plastic version of what used to be a cast iron product. This is the HOW that Cecilworth Farthington believes in. The HOW that Scottywood, and Halitosis, and John Sektor believe in. Max Kael? Well, my brother wants it all to burn and die, but he is also a known murderer, North Korean exile, and chainsaw wielding bag of bones and cybernetic biology that I hold very near and dear to my heart. The point is that the chaos is over. The good guys won. HOW doesn’t need to die, because it has gotten the transplant it so desperately needed, and this will end that confusion once and for all. We used to bleed #97Red. We used to inspire fear in the outside world. We used to be the hottest thing on the market.

This is the HOW that I will bring back to the masses.

A little bit of old, and a little bit of the new. This week at Refueled VIII, things are going to change– EVERYTHING is going to change. High Octane Wrestling is getting a facelift, and I promise each and every one of you that if you treat me and this company with the respect that they deserve, it’s going to be a great place to work. That you’re going to get opportunities and fair shakes. That the new boss isn’t going to be the same as the old boss. And I also promise EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU that you’re either on the bus or you’re getting left behind.

Lots of news and content coming up– tomorrow, I will be announcing some of a very stacked card for Refueled IX, live on an episode of HOT TAKES. We’ll be announcing some matches for Rumble at the Rock in the coming weeks, as well as some changes to the way things work around here. Stick around, and be mindful of who the new boss is, because for as much as I want this to be an agreeable workplace, I also really, really love being a petty motherfucker.

From this moment on, we all start at a clean slate. It’s up to you what you want to do with it.

I’ll see you all at Refueled.



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