I don’t even know what the fuck is going on in HOW anymore. It’s like we’ve blurred reality with all of this bullshit. I hear people week after week talk about other people’s “promos” and fuckin’ word counts. Like, what the fuck are we even talking about anymore? Since when do you assholes word count anything anyway? Half of you fuckin’ idiots couldn’t count to one if I put a middle finger in your face…and I know none of you would do a fuckin’ thing about it if I did.
“BRO, I SAWZ YER PROMOZ, AND DEY WERR SOOPAR LAYME! IZ DAT TEE BEST U GOT!?”
Like what the fuck? Really? I remember when HOW was a place that I aspired to be in. I remember when motherfuckers were real about their careers in WRESTLING and didn’t pander to all of this bullshit promo crap. The wrestlers in HOW back then knew what they were doing and why they were doing it. Half of you bitches want to act like your fuckin’ Mike Best, but you’re nowhere near it. He’s got his own schtick and the rest of you pussies keep trying to emulate it by constantly acting like you’re being edgy by trying to continuously break the fourth wall. But none of you are cool, none of you are edgy. You’re all carbon copies of Mike Best, except you didn’t push hard enough when writing and everything is illegible and messy.
Some of you think that you can run the gauntlet and start spittin’ like you’re on some kind of second-rate roast touring for tens of people. The only problem is that none of your fuckin’ jokes work and your trash talk is even worse. Y’all are not funny, so stop pretending to be and quit trying to force it, for fuck’s sake! Making jokes about dumb shit and trying to peer behind the curtain like you think you fuckin’ know something. Let me fuckin’ tell you pricks something…you don’t know shit! You just think you do and you try to use it, but when your jokes fall flat, you want to send a passive-aggressive text message to certain people on Sunday morning to cry about shit. Fuckin’ pussies, get over yourselves and get your heads back in the game.
My head is in the game. I’m all about this War Games life, and I really believe that I can do well this year. Win it? That my be setting my sights a little to high, but fuck it…I beleive it. I can win it. Especially against the likes of these nine pricks. Don’t believe me? That’s fine, that shit just motivates and inspires me more. One day you’ll realize that not everything comes easy, some of this shit has to be earned. Over years and years of work.
Then I see motherfuckers that are jealous that I got inducted into the HOW Hall of Fame. Like fuckin’ clockwork some of you fucksticks immediately leaned into that bullshit to try and make it seem like my induction was not as prestigious as other people’s inductions and try to devalue the shit that I have done across eleven years in HOW. I’m a fuckin’ mainstay, and not once have I ever been caught up in some bullshit drama like the rest of you assclowns. So be jealous, be sad, and cry yourself to sleep while screamin’ into the pillow on your race car bed you overgrown children. And for those of you that do have a problem, I just have one question for you miserable fucks…where’s your Hall of Fame ring? Your Hall of Fame watch? Or even your fucking Hall of Fame t-shirt? You ain’t got one and that’s exactly what I fuckin’ thought. So eat a fat baby’s dick, and step your fuckin’ game up. I paid my dues and did the work that was needed to get inducted, so I was. All you feeble bitches ever seem to do is cry in your fuckin’ cereal every Sunday morning and whine about how shit didn’t go your way in some lame ass chat room online.
So, with all of that said…I am proud of the team that I am on this year. This year is the year that The Best Alliance wins. This is the year that every piece of gold entering the match, leaves with The Best Alliance. Last year, I wasn’t able to compete…thanks a lot RAY McAvay via Joe Bergman. That bugs me a bit, it really does…but this team makes up for that. These are the man’s men of HOW. We have more Hall of Fame inductions than Conor Fuse has women he’s banged. We have more testosterone than Dan Ryan gets in the mail from his Get Roman prescription. It’s cool Dan, you’re old…you have an excuse. You diaper wearin’ fuck. We have more stability and loyalty than Lindsay Troy’s uterus. Oh, and Zeb Martin listens to Florida Georgia Line.
Anyway, let’s get back to the task at hand. Kutter has been in my fuckin’ business…see, now I’m all worked up with the fuck word. Fuck you guys man.
We did it.
We have a match.
We don’t want to see her anymore.
These are the phrases that keep me up at night right now. Why does Shawn Kutter think we are doing everything together? Have I lost my sense of self? Will I be able to function in a War Games match without Shawn Kutter in my ear or at ringside even? I just don’t know. What I do know, is that I have a fucking match to prepare for. With or without Shawn Kutter, I can win this match. I can be the savior of The Best Alliance. If there was only a way for me to realize that, without seeking attention from Shawn. I need to do this alone, but I don’t think he’ll let me. We have to win, that’s what he says. That’s what we’ll do.
I can’t seem to shake this feeling that Shawn knows something that I don’t. I think he knows that I’m a good hand to have in this match, but I feel like…for some weird reason…he’s trying to replace me. He’s trying to get my War Games spot. Lee would never let that happen. Kutter doesn’t have too much of a wrestling background; he’s a bar room brawler at heart, but he did once compete in UTAH, and for a while there…he did pretty fuckin’ good. But this is HOW, not UTAH and it’s been proven time and again, with the exception of Mike Best, that UTAH Residents don’t fare too well in HOW. But maybe I’m not giving Shawn enough credit. As much as I am annoyed with him right this second, he has been like a brother to me these last few months…but I feel like I’ve known him much longer. I feel like he’s always been with me. It’s a weird feeling, and it’s impossible to shake. Time and again I’ve tried to convince myself that he’s only looking out for me, but I can’t seem to get past the fact that he continuously refers to me – as in the singular, Steve Solex – as we. It’s odd. But I think that’s just his way.
I head down to the lobby of our hotel room. I’m rockin’ a hoody and some RayBan sunglasses, I don’t feel like getting mobbed by a shit ton of wrestling crazies right this minute. The Japanese love wrestlers, I feel like I’m more famous here than in Chicago sometimes. I get a lot of fan mail from Japan…which is weird, cause the assholes in the States only do the Twitter thing these days. And they never show appreciation, unlike the Japanese. Americans will spend hours analyzing footage so that they expose the holes in your game to an internet audience full of overweight asspickin’ shitbags who have nothing better to do with their lives than to try and mock you online. Japanese fans on the other hand will spend hours watching your footage out of appreciation for the sport of wrestling.
“What’s up, dick?” Fuck me, the unmistakable voice of Shawn Kutter. I thought I got out of the hotel in time. Guess not. I tell him I’m going for a coffee and that he should just stay back while I do. He doesn’t listen, not one fuckin’ bit. Before I know it he’s right at my side as we walk down the downtown street. I ask him if he knows if there’s a Starbucks nearby. He raises a back hand at me, with a half-smile on his face.
“Why are you such a bitch? Starbucks? Really? Drink the hotel coffee, asshole. And drink it black.” He’s always got something smart to say, never anything nice though. In all the time I’ve known Shawn, I don’t think I’ve gotten one compliment. I’ve gotten enough insults for a lifetime though, that’s for sure.
“Seriously though, pull out your phone and fuckin’ Google it, dude. It’s 2021.”
He’s right and that’s what I do. I tell him there’s one just around the corner; so we go. I start to vent to him about the shit I’ve been through this last year, but I can tell right away he’s not listening. He doesn’t care about my personal shit, only about my professional life. He only cares if I’m wrestling or not.
“So, here’s what we do. We grab that bitch Lindsay Troy by her disease infested lips and we pop her right in the mouth. Then poke her eye out with our thumb. Get the queen bitch out of the match as soon as you possible can. That’s what we do. That’s the strategy.”
More unsolicited advice in the form of we. I tell him that I’m not overly concered with LT, but he doesn’t buy it and scoffs at me. He shouldn’t buy it, not one bit. She beat me not to long ago, and in impressive fashion. But this is a new day. This is motherfuckin’ War Games. This is where I get my shit together and finally give her the ass whoopin’ she deserves.
“Dude, I don’t even think we’re on her radar. She’s got bigger fish to fry that us. That’s why it’s imperative that we get her when she’s not fuckin’ lookin’. Once we’ve got her out of the way, we go after that human bottle of glue, Conor Fuse and we break his thumbs. That bitch will never play MarioCart again when we’re done with him.”
This is just word salad. I don’t know what the fuck he’s talking about, but it’s easier at this point to just smile and nod. We finally make it around the other side of the block and there’s no Starbucks. I put my head down and shake it. Shawn smacks me in the back of the head…I don’t even flinch.
“Good, we don’t need that shit anyway. We’ve got the biggest match of our life in just a few days. We need to be in the best shape of our life.”
He’s right, but I don’t agree with him out loud. I’d never do that. We start heading back to the hotel and almost immediately Shawn is stopped.
“Are you that wrestler?” Shawn shakes his head yes. They must be UTA fans. Weird for such an obscure wrestler like Shawn to get recognized, but this is Japan. And they love wrestling in Japan. Shawn signs a few autographs while I turn away, and try not to be recognized. They never asked me anything. They never really looked in my direction at all. Fuckin’ weird.
“Let’s go, dick. Time to go get some rest. We’ve got the biggest match over our life in a few days, we need to rest up. It’s our time, Steve. We will be the winner. We will be the World Champion. Best Alliance or not. Our time is now.”
He’s right. We will win.