The Hardcore Artist: The Final Act – Part 666
10/7/2019 – 9:59 pm
In the middle of the Alcatraz prison yard, Scotty sits back in an Adirondack chair as he drinks a Double Dry Hopped General Sherman IPA by Tioga-Sequoia Brewing as he enjoys the silence that will be drowned out by the screams of wrestlers as they go through some of the most violent matches of the year in HOW.
This has always been his favorite event in HOW… so much so be “bought” the island in a something that was probably a massive governmental violation if it wasn’t just one big lie by HOW and Scottywood.
None the less… the island has always felt like a second home to him. So much so that instead of getting a hotel in San Francisco, he decided he is just going to chill here until his match. I mean he just bought a fucking wrestling company… he can’t afford to get raped in the wallet for a hotel in this over priced fuck hole.
“Just forty-six hours to go. Forty-six hours until Rumble at the Rock. Forty-six painful hours until the most gruesome and horrifying matches of my career. Not because it is a Crucifixion match… where someone is going to have a nailed through their fucking hand. No… that is the part of the match I’m fucking looking forward to. The part I am dreading… the part that has been keeping up at night and staring back at me from the bottle of every bottle of beer… is that this is my final match in HOW.”
You can almost hear the screams of horror… or maybe those are the real screams of Christopher America… if we hadn’t forgot to feed him at some point in his two… three… fucking long ass time in solitary.
He takes another long sip of his beer as shakes his head… maybe debating if he has made the right decision here. But what is done is done and in just forty six hours… his wrestling career will come to an end and his soulless corporate side will take over.
“There is a part of me that fucking hates it. I love wrestling. I love the fight. I love the violence and bloodshed. My opponents and mine. But there is a part of me that is ready to be done. That is tired… spent… not fully invested in it. The Refueled Era has been fun… but it hasn’t been the same. Maybe it was some of the outsiders that were signed who I’ve detested since day one. Maybe it was the fact I’ve crossed that line into my fucking forties. But whatever the truth is… I can’t argue that my heart hasn’t been in to it as much as it should.”
Finishing his beer and tosses the empty to the side and it shatters alongside a few others he has had tonight. Hopefully someone in the prison yard match finds the shards of glass. Maybe someone will slice MJ fucking Flairs throat and… ok we’re heading off on a little tangent here.
“Don’t get me wrong… I have the most fun of the Refueled Era over the past month fucking with Stevens… but that is because I have zero fucks left to give. I’m not trying to press for a title. I’m not giving a shit what people think or if I’m gonna score a win this week. I’m just going out there and having fun. Which for me was tying Stevens’ wife up to a bed and making him loses his shit as he watches from half way across the fucking country. But that is something that would have never gotten to happen if I decided to stay on as a wrestler.”
Looking around the prison yard he imagines the brutality that will occur here during the LSD Title match and he smiles.
“Maybe I would have been competing for the LSD Title… but after two losses to MJ Flair… I doubt it. Plus look at the three who will be in that match… Flair, Kael, Flyer… ya… Evan Ward is checked the fuck out too. I think Austin Bishop’s corpse could even beat him at this point.”
Smiling back at the camera he knows he took a lot of shit after people found out he was pulling the strings for the go-home Chaos and Brenton Cross… with out any… ANY… help from Scottywood stole the corpse of Austin Bishop and… well everyone has seen the video.
“Fuck… maybe I can find a coffee can before the show starts and we can… well Graystone the motherfucker. Then well see how many fucking people are happy with me after the show. HOW is… and has always been a brutal fucking fed and with me in charge… that shit will only get “worse”.
“I mean… we are going to crucify someone on live TV. I can already hear the Catholic Conservative Cunts crying over this match. So offended by something that they are never going to watch. That no one is fucking force fucking their eyes to watch. Don’t like it? Switch the fucking channel to Fox News and live in your bullshit bubble. Keep sending your hate mail and I’ll keep laughing my fucking ass off as I read it and nail each of them to the same fucking cross I will nail Stevens too.”
Scott laughs as he cracks open a new beer, maybe the last of his wrestling promo career. Fuck… could be the last beer we see Scotty drink on anything HOW related. Mister Woodson doesn’t seem to be much of a beer drinker. Fuck that guy.
“Time is counting down Stevens… the hours… minutes… seconds… until a fucking war explodes here on this island between two of HOW’s most talked about wrestlers. I know most of it is never good. We both have been victims to the gang style fuckery that those assholes feed on. But I can see the jealousy about this match. Not that they wished I tied up their loved ones… but for the heat we have going into Rumble at the Rock. Despite a month break… that fire is still burning like a fucker. We are going to steal the fucking show at Alcatraz.”
“Like I said last week Stevens… everything is being laid out on the line here and you will see the passion of The Anti-Christ in full affect as I pour every last ounce of wrestling life I have left into this match. A match I know you are going to bring everything you have too. That I wanted you bring everything too. Why else would I attack your fucking family? Yes… it was fun. But I wanted to force The Scorpion to Alcatraz. That sadistic fuck who if I am going to loses… will put me down in spectacular fashion. And if I win… will be an iconic ending to my HOW career. Either way this match will go down in HOW fucking history and it will not be forgotten for a very long time.”
Getting up from the Adirondack chair he peers around the prison yard. The giant shipping container catches his eye as he knows the three competitors in the LSD fight are going to have one hell of a time with what is inside.
And by one hell of a time… he means it will be fucking hell for them and one good time for everyone watching.
“So that’s it Stevens… that’s all I fucking got. All we have left is a fight… a war… a fucking mutually assured destruction that will likely happen to the delight of bitches on the twatsphere. So see ya here Stevens… I’ll have a shitty Texan beer cracked open for you when you get here and then I’ll smash the fucker over your head. Spilling the first drops of what will be quarts of fucking blood here at Alcatraz. Bloodbath will be an understatement when we are done. So have your family start donating now. Cause you’re gonna need a keg of fucking transfusions after we are done. So cheers Stevens… see you soon at The Rock.”
Scotty smiles at Stevens as he raises his beer bottle and downs the remainder of the beer before tossing the bottle into his empty pile as it shatters into beautiful shards on the concrete.