- Event: Chaos 040
Uh oh, it’s mad Conor Fuse.
This has got to be the most hilarious thing I’ve ever seen. Just because you’ve suddenly got yourself a bullshit attitude, don’t start to think you’re some kind of a tough guy. You were good at what you did. The face of the company, the locker room leader…all of that bullshit. It was annoying as fuck and it pissed everyone off; it was fucking perfect. So, stick to what you do best and leave the tough guy schtick to actual tough guys. Right now, all you sound like is my 14 year old son screaming muted obscenities at his TV and slamming his XBox controller against his cherry wood dresser repeatedly while tears well up in his eyes cause “this game isn’t fair!”
So, you almost beat Mike Best a couple weeks ago. Who gives a shit? You made the same mistake the rest of them made and Mike made you pay for it. Honestly, that shit never gets old to me. Instead of trying to get another World Title shot, why don’t you digging your tooth out of Mike’s fuckin’ knee.
You’re a petulant child that’s one bad hair day away from being Charles De Lacy’s fucking clone. You know him right? Of course you do…you called his height and weight out like you’re some kind of fuckin’ research savante, you fuckin’ fruit cake.
Charles de Lacy, the flavor of the fuckin’ week, I guess. I don’t see a fuckin’ thing special about you, like…at all. You look like Bobby Dean swallowed Connor Fuse whole and shit you out, robe and all. You haven’t done a goddamn thing to be in this match, Chuck. Your record is more padded than Brandon Youngblood’s bra. Scott Stevens, Xander Azula, Brian Hollywood…I’ll take Wrestlers That Haven’t Done Dick in 5 Years for 500 Alex. That’s the current legacy you hold in HOW.
You’re so irrelevant, you weren’t even in this summer’s throwaway pay-per-view. Which, I’m just gonna go ahead and assume was due to your absence, turned out to be a fucking banger of a show.
Shayne Reynolds, why the fuck are you still here? Bro…you’re a fuckin’ NERD and no one likes you. Please, find the exit and go back to whatever fucked up matinee showing of the Rocky Horror Picture Show that your crawled out of when Lee Best called you.
You got your revenge against Bobinette Carey…can you please go now? Holy fuck. If you win the HOW World Championship, I might just retire. I dislike you that much. Everything has to be some kind of eloquent, bullshit poetry with you and I’m fuckin’ over it already.
This match isn’t something that I asked for, but its something I’ve earned Asking me to fight for the right to get in the ring with STRONK! Is a big ask, and I think Lee knows that. Not only are we both varsity players in The Final Alliance, we’re good friends.
But the HOW World Championship is the ultimate goal for anyone in this business, and if it’s not…you need to see yourself the fuck out, right now.
August, 25th, 2023
0627hrs
Solex Ranch
Franklin, TN.
Solex rocks back and forth on a wooden rocking chair on the front porch of his Tennessee ranch home. His disheveled hair and unkempt beard match the heaviness of his demeanor – a blend of depression and unbridled rage. His eyes burn with an intense rage as he stares out in the expanse of the ranch in front of him, as he watches the sun begin to peak out over the rolling hills in the distance. In one hand, he clutches a half empty bottle of whiskey while the other plays host to a burning cigarette. The raspy voice of Solex’s dad suddenly rings out from behind him, breaking the silence.
“I thought you quit?” Dick asks, his tone tinged with a fatherly concern.
Solex peaks over his shoulder and peers over the top of his sunglasses. He locks eyes with his old man and scoffs. He takes a long, deep pull from the bottle of whiskey as he continues to stare his old man down. He pulls the bottle from his lips and wipes his mustache clean with his forearm. He draws a deliberate drag from the Marlboro red and in a defiant move, he blows smoke in his old man’s direction before turning back to the beautiful view in front of him.
“Eat all the dicks, you old fuck,” Solex fires back with a drunken slur.
Dick’s hands nervously fumble into his jean pockets as he traces the patterns of the freshly stained deck flooring with his foot.
“I know how you’re feeling, son. You feel like you’ve lost it all. You lost the HOTv Championship, you lost against Evan Ward,” Dick says with a touch of empathy, as he stares down at the floor.
Solex cackles at his old man’s attempt to play father as he pushes himself to his feet. With a drunken stumble, he walks over to his old man. He pauses, and takes another swig from the bottle of whiskey before pulling his sunglasses to the edge of his nose.
“Don’t try this bullshit with me, old man,” Solex says with a drunken slur. “I don’t give two fucks about Shane Reynolds, Evan Ward or any of that bullshit right now. The only thing that I care about is that I failed my mission. Christopher America might be dead, and it’s because I wasn’t able to find him before those cartel shitbags killed him,” he continues.
Dick avoids eye contact with his son as he continues to look down toward the floor.
“I understand that, but it’s not your fault and you have the opportunity to get another shot at the HOW World Championship. You have to focus, son!” Dick exclaims, his voice staying low but becoming more stern with each sentence.
“A shot? A fucking shot? Are we talking about shots?!” Solex shouts.
Startled, Dick backs up a few pages but his eyes show no fear as he they lock on Solex’s.
“Yes, son…a shot at the only world championship that has ever eluded you. Every single company you were in before HOW, you were the World Champion. EWF, LPW…too many to name. But HOW, that’s the one that you truly want. That’s the one that you deserve after all of these years,” Dick says, attempting to motivate his son.
“I’m sick to fucking death of talking about shots! I had my shot against Christopher America and I blew it. And do you actually think that I’m about to get in the ring against my fuckin’ swole-tegé, STRONK!? There’s nothing on God’s green Earth that could get me to try and take out that man,” Solex rants before taking a deep drag of his cigarette.
Solex casually flicks the cigarette over his shoulder before walking past his old man. Solex stares him down the whole way, and with a snarl he bumps his shoulder against his dad’s, forcing the old man to take a quarter turn.
“It’s over, old man. Let if fuckin’ go, so I can,” Solex says as takes another swig from the bottle of whisky and continues his path into the house as the scene fades to black.