- Event: Chaos 031
A loud yawn is heard as we see the LSD Champion seated at a kitchen table. The sun shines, the birds chirp, and there is a steaming mug full of coffee in his hand.
“I love that thing you do, Mike. Where you give someone feedback on how they are doing in one of these HOFC deals. And then like an idiot, they completely change course and fall right into your trap.”
“Classic.”
Jace shakes his head and takes a sip from the mug.
“Appreciate the feedback, but I’m not playing your little game. Xander or Zion might fall for the old ‘I got TONS of messages about what you said and none of them are good’ ploy. However, I’ll give you an A for effort.”
“Here… allow me to humor you.”
Jace clears his throat.
“Oh noes… people have messaged Michael about me and it’s bad news.”
“How will I ever go on?”
“Pfffft, I’ve been on the internet before. I know how it works.”
“There are two options here that are legit. One, this was a desperate attempt by you to make me ‘say mean things about you’ just like you wanted because the anxiety has set in. Or two, legit a bunch of fucking people viewed these promos I’m doing and decided to message you specifically about one sentence in my previous piece.”
“Either way, it’s hilarious to me.”
“Tell all my fans… I mean haters… that I said hello.”
The LSD Champion rubbed his fingers through his hair and took another sip.
“Michael, all the feedback in the world, all the mindless ass kissers you can find. None of them are going to make me stop being me. And that’s the thing, isn’t it? I am unapologetically me and that rubs people the wrong way. This is why you can’t ‘co-sign’ me on Twitter anymore. This is why I get flack because I choose to ignore Brennan Devlin. The man in a war with himself to be your biggest dick rider. And this is why Lee goes around telling everyone how he has to oversee anything I say or do on the shows.”
“Can’t let Jace have a hot mic, it’s DANGEROUS.”
“You want honesty? Let’s talk about you, the ghost of Michael Lee Best. You’re here and you’re ‘engaged’ because of that thing in the pit of your stomach that keeps twisting into knots. That voice in your head that keeps telling you to go jump off the nearest bridge.”
“For all of the bullshit and bravado you like to broadcast, your self-loathing is constant. You hate yourself, so you became an expert at making everyone else feel like you do using your words. That’s why you can set the seasons to another attempted resurrection of HOFC.”
“The reality is that 96% of us, you fucks don’t deserve me saying the other number, have achieved better. We don’t sit in the dark at 3 am in a bedroom, phone in hand, hammering out 750 words of mean girl poetry so that wee bit of dopamine kicks in that helps you sleep at night.”
“However, don’t think that I’ve forgotten about the whole fight me under any stipulation thing. Do you think I’m going to fall for that? YOU might think you still have that kind of pull here. Your Father, on the other hand, isn’t going to pull you out of your wheelhouse against me of all people.”
“You were SO EXCITED for this but HOFC is just your lonely little sandbox that you have to sweet talk people to play in. This shit isn’t even the main event of the show, bruh. Can’t be my fault. I’m the workhorse of this place and a current Champion. And you…”
“You aren’t THAT GUY anymore.”
“For all your insults about me being in every federation ever. Somewhere locked deep in your phone is an angry manifesto about Battlemania, or whatever the fuck it was called. Right beside the nude pictures you saved of Lindsay Troy, for those last resort moments.”
“I’m sure that somewhere on YouTube is the recorded audio of your meltdown that one year you didn’t get into the Hall of Fame. Or that time you were defeated in less than ten minutes by Farthington. Or even the one right after that when you crapped your diaper that Farthington didn’t win the title at ICONIC that year.”
A noise is heard in the background.
“Oh, my waffles are done. Uno memento, Por Favor.”