- Event: Chaos 011
Sometime during the Main Event of Chaos 010.
Cleveland, Ohio.
I sat down alone in my dressing room. I hadn’t paid much attention to the show after my Tag Team match. I came straight back here to stew in my anger in privacy. I was hunched over and had a white towel that completely covered my head. I still had on my gear from the match, but my mind was muddled with varying thoughts.
Disappointment was the one that was prevalent at the time.
Here I was the HOW LSD Champion. The last ever HOW ICON Champion and I got beat out there tonight. Sure, it might have been close in some people’s eyes and opinions. But to me? I got embarrassed out there tonight in the ring. I was teamed with GREAT SCOTT, and I got my ass handed to me by Steve Harrison and Conor Fuse.
Did Conor Fuse have my number? Was I underestimating Steve Harrison?
I could have chalked it up to a bad night. I could easily say that I was off of my game. I could throw GREAT SCOTT under the bus but none of that would be the truth. Sure, there were distractions. Everything that was going on with Madison, worrying about Hurricane Ian hitting Florida, and to top it all off my deadbeat biological father just decided to show up at my house unannounced. That motherfucker had the nerve to stand up and call me his son. The audacity to smile and expect me to just roll over come running into his warm embrace.
You’re a fucking stranger and you’ll stay that fucking way.
I rose to my feet slowly and walked over to a nearby metal locker that was placed against the wall. I balled my hand into the fist and punched the locker once. Not satisfied, I punched it a second time placing a dent in the door of it. I reared back and punched it a third time as hard as I possibly could. I pulled back my hand and looked down at my knuckles which were sore and red. A small trickle of blood ran like a slow, leaky faucet down my fingers. I took a deep breath then grabbed a hold of the towel covering my head. I used it to clean up the blood from my hand before tossing the towel down to the floor.
I pulled open the dented door of the locker and started to remove my items from inside of it.
This was just one week, granted, but it’s not an acceptable result. I had to be better, I needed to be better especially with Rumble at the Rock getting closer and closer. That was then, a week from now I must step into the ring with a man I have never faced before. A man representing PRIME and was a Champion just like I am. He was coming to HOW and into the Best Arena of all places in Chicago to try and prove a point. Not only that, but he was also trying to prove that he was better than me and that PRIME was the best federation in PWA.
I had the pride of High Octane Wrestling on my shoulders.
Anything less than absolute victory would bring shame to the history and legacy of this great company. I couldn’t let some idiot in a mask slip by and prove that ‘McKenna Blue’ is better than ‘97red’ on any day of the week. I needed to study, I needed to train, and I needed to get the fuck out of Cleveland, Ohio. I walked over and shoved my items into my duffle bag then grabbed a hold of the LSD and ICON Championship belts. I stood there for a moment and glared at my reflection in the golden plates of those belts. Was the face looking back up at me still capable of showing up and showing out? Was father time creeping up on me? Did I have way too many distractions in my life?
More importantly, am I still worthy of being called a Champion?
Tough questions but a win next week in Chicago would go a long way to some positive answers.
—–
PRIME vs. HOW
That is what the marquee is going to say and that’s going to be the rally cry for fans of the blue brand and fans of the red brand. For fans of the red brand, allow me to tell you a few things about PRIME.
They’re a company run by Lindsey Troy. If that name sounds familiar it’s because the so-called ‘Queen of the Ring’ is a former HOW wrestler. I know that’s an obscure thing to bring up since she didn’t exactly have a lasting impression on the company. Lindsey Troy’s only major accomplishment in HOW was making Lee Best drool for YEARS over the thought of having her as a member of the HOW roster.
Okay, fair enough, Lindsey Troy is also a former HOW LSD Champion. A title belt that she held for a grand total of 20 days with zero successful defenses. She was only a LSD Champion for almost 3 weeks because she beat some guy that called himself a ‘Pikey’ or something. Yeah, I know it’s fucking weird, but shit happens. As the story goes, I came back to HOW and beat Lindz in a one-on-one match. Eliminated her from War Games 2021. Then the very next show was booked against her in yet another one-on-one match.
However, she peace’d out of the match and HOW altogether to the point her spot in the match was filled by a ‘replacement pussy.’ The name of said person isn’t something that needs to be mentioned since they were less than impressive also.
Then bibbity, bobbity, fucking boo PRIME reopens.
You fucksticks are welcome for having a job. If I didn’t put the fear of GOD into Lindsey Troy, then your whole roster would be over in OCW right now curtain jerking against ‘enhancement talent’ on Monday nights. But what makes PRIME special? What makes the members of their roster truly believe that they are better than High Octane Wrestling? Is it because of the fact that they are on the Ace Network? You know that network that only has two federations broadcasted on it? Maybe it’s the sheer number of people that they have on their roster?
Fuck it, give me one second. I’m going to pull up the PRIME website here on my phone and find out.
Alright, let’s take a look at this ‘stacked’ roster, shall we?
Hmmmm, the guy that TAL beat at their last PPV named ‘Balaam the Mask of Malice.’ Jesus’ fuck, I still have no idea what the fuck that thing is supposed to be. Then we got ‘Coral Avalon’ on the roster. Please, tell me that’s just a ring name. I mean how ugly was this baby that they decided to name it, Coral, if it’s not just a gimmick name. Next up on the roster is someone named ‘Dusk’ and wow. Like from dusk till dawn? I’m shaking in my boots over that one. The name ‘Dusk’ sounds like a failed German cologne. Thanks guy, really looking forward to smelling like Dolph Lundgren’s armpits after filming wrapped on Rocky IV.
Fuck outta here with that shit.
El Hijo Del Super Cool Guy… why? Why do you people hate your ring announcer? Fuck me sideways, I’m pretty sure you guys don’t say this man’s full name. If you do then you’re a fucking nerd. Also, has Cancer Jiles sued this man yet? Mortimer Kjedelig… okay, I draw the line here. That is not a name, that’s just a bunch of letters Rubik’s Cubed together and you’re waiting for someone to solve the puzzle. Again, if I was PRIME’s ring announcer and I saw that guy’s name on the card I would walk the fuck out. I would take my ball and go home. I mean since it’s PRIME, I’d do that anyway, but you get my point.
Mushigihara? That sounds like a cuisine that you buy on the street in a 3rd world country that would make you die from dysentery. Reina Raspberry and King Blueberry? Are you a wrestling promotion or Baskin fuckin’ Robbins? Ben and Jerry are on line #1 and they want the name of their ice cream back.
And finally, we have Tristan-Crispin Gladhappy. Seriously? That’s this person’s real name? That’s what is printed on his driver’s license? And this Luchadork has the fucking nerve to make fun of MY name?
That’s not even getting into their tag teams.
2become1… okay, Spice Girls.
Blue Live Crew… yeah, that’s a great 90’s parody name. The 90’s were 30 some odd years ago, just saying.
Fighting for Nora… who the fuck is Nora?! Let that bitch fight for herself!
Kings of Popsicles & Lunch Time… you guys just let Bobby Dean name these tag teams, didn’t you?
The Masters of the Multiverse B Team… da fuck? Are you these two Wong and Madisynn? If you’re not Wongers and Madisynn, then I will be highly upset.
PRIME is the fantasyland that birthed all of Noah Hanson’s bright ideas come to life. Yet, they wonder why no one in HOW or anywhere else in the industry takes them seriously. High Octane Wrestling, sure it had its share of silly people, but they are the minority. We major in professional wrestling. There are no hidden KFC kitchens or time travel anymore. Xander Azula toyed with the Multiverse, and you know what happened? He got his ass beat and he kept getting his ass beat until he decided to stop doing dumb shit like copying Marvel movie storylines.
PRIME is a variety show, like a loosely wrestling based Saturday Night Live. While HOW is a combat zone so brutal it would make the fights in Bloodsport blush.
You’ll see the difference on October 2nd.
—–
Thursday afternoon.
Las Vegas, Nevada.
From the moment that I left Cleveland and made it to Vegas, I have done nothing but spent time with Samantha Tolson and trained. She offered to put me through some rigorous training routines that she swore by. To have the body like Sam has, then it had to be something that would at least kick my ass back into gear. At the moment we were inside one of Sam’s favorite gyms in the area.
*Thump*
*Thump*
*Thump*
The sound of my legs kicking a heavy bag being held by Samantha echoes throughout the gym. Samantha wore a tight sports bra and a tiny pair of workout shorts. Any time she caught me slacking off and looking at her body, she added another 100 kicks to my set. A good portion of my moveset required leg strength and Samantha thought that is exactly where my focus needed to be.
What would be the point of stomping the back of someone’s head into the canvas if I didn’t have the strongest legs on the roster?
I hated when she was right, especially now that the sweat was pouring off of me like I was in the shower and not kicking this hanging bag of sand. I looked away from Samantha’s distracting body and focused on TAL and my biological father. Each kick was measured and thrown with their skulls in mind as the target. The whole living situation with Madison and my real father’s appearance would be hard to resolve but TAL? One stomp to the back of that ugly fucking mask and he goes away. Three seconds with his shoulders pinned to the canvas and he sulks his way back over to the Ace Network trying to pretend that he didn’t shame an entire company.
I wasn’t an idiot. I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep up with him speed wise. I would need to focus on getting my hands on him and hitting him hard when I did. Heavy blows and high impact moves were my ticket to getting my hand raised in Chicago on Sunday night. I alternated legs with each kick to the bag until the sound of “STRONKER” started to play from my pocket. The look I got from Samantha was pretty judgmental as I pulled my phone out of my pocket and answered it.
“Hello?” I grabbed a towel and wiped the sweat from my face.
“Where are you?” The voice of my sister Bailey came through the phone.
“I’m training” Was my response.
“That doesn’t tell me where you are.” The annoyance in Bailey’s voice was prominent.
“What do you want?” I said with a sigh.
“For you to answer my question but since that isn’t happening, I wanted to fill you in on the status of the house. Miami didn’t get hit by Hurricane Ian as hard as I had feared. There is damage done to it surely.” Bailey paused for a moment to gather her thoughts. “But I don’t think it’ll be anything that’ll take an extensive repair effort or that we’ll have to have the house condemned.”
“Good to know, talk to you later.” I go to hang up the phone but Bailey interrupts.
“Wait a damn minute, jackass!” Bailey shouts. “I also wanted to tell you that we all made it out of Florida in one piece and that we’re here in Chicago. Since you know, that’s where I thought you’d be at the moment.”
“You know what they say happens when you assume things.” I was getting the evil eye from Samantha.
“Cut the shit. You’ve been M.I.A for a long time and then the first time you decide to come home you immediately leave because your biological father showed up. What is your problem?!” Bailey was always pushing boundaries.
“First of all, just because some strange man shows up at my house and decides to call me his son, does not mean he is my biological father.” I growled in a matter-of-fact tone. “Secondly, I don’t know who raised you, but you need to stop letting strangers into my house just because they tell you that they may or may not be related to me. There is no telling what the hell this stranger wants out of me or any of you. Do better, Bailey.”
“You can be in denial all you want.” Bailey said with sarcasm. “But that wasn’t the first time your father has stopped by the house. You’d know that if you were ever there. I know this is an issue for you, but you need to get your shit together about it and everything else. You should see the way that Madison is looking at and flirting with your father. I can only get in-between the two of them for so long.”
I shook my head slowly. This was a typical Madison tactic to try and get some form of revenge on me. Fucking the man that claims to be my biological father? Yeah, go right ahead. The man is still just a stranger to me and I have more important things on my mind.
“Hello? Are you still there?” Bailey asked.
“Yeah I am.” I said after getting out of my own head. “Look, let them two do whatever it is they want to do. I’m pretty busy and I’ve got no time for High School drama.”
“I also wanted to tell you that Madison has her first match coming up this Sunday in 5BW and–” Bailey was cut off by the fact that I ended the call and then turned my phone off.
I do not want or care to know about what kind of match that Madison would be having on Sunday. I had my own match on Sunday night that was way more important. So, if that meant that Madison would be out of my hair and way on Sunday night then I consider that a fucking win.
“Just for all that you’re going to do another 200 kicks.” Samantha commanded.
“What, why?!” I complained.
“One for the unpermitted break and two for all the crap your little manager has decided to talk on Twitter.” Samantha placed her hands on her hips. “We can make that 400 if you want to whine about it.”
I narrowed my eyes but decided an argument wasn’t in my best interest. I went back to kicking the heavy bag repeatedly like it was TAL hanging from the ceiling like a Pinata.
—–
Gather around kiddies, gather around.
Old Grandpa Anglo Luchador is going to tell you a story about the ancient times. About The Anglo Luchador’s ‘prime’ (fuck your capital letters) in places like A1E, Empire Pro Wrestling, CSWA, and TEAM. Boy, that PTC was the bee’s knees back in my day and–
HOLY SHIT, SHUT THE FUCK UP, MAN!
Literally, no one fucking cares except the decrepit fucking Mummies that you were buddy buddy with at the time in all those places 97 million years ago. I don’t want to sit here and listen to you reminisce about how gas was a nickel when you were relevant way back when. I care about right fucking now. I care about you being from PRIME, I care about you stepping into MY territory thinking you got what it takes to get respect out of me.
Hold up… let’s rewind a bit. Why is this match even happening?
Oh, I remember now. It’s because you were having a conversation with my good friend Garry ‘Ray-Ray’ Nelson on Twitter, and he happened to tag me into it. I honestly don’t even remember what I said. Probably something about calling you Senor Crayola Mask or something of that nature. Either way, you, being the grown ass human adult that you are, got BIG MAD on the internet about it and decided that you wanted to choose violence.
You didn’t appreciate my opinion of PRIME or of you personally and made the challenge to face me. Then made it a point to say that it HAD to happen here in High Octane Wrestling. Being the man that I am, I didn’t back down from your challenge and even decided to grace PRIME’s bi-weekly bullshit show, whatever it is called, and spice things up a little. I invited you to come watch me perform live in Miami in front of all of my fans.
However, I guess calendars aren’t a thing in PRIME because you showed up the week before that.
You stood in the crowd and yeah, I lost that week against Conor Fuse then when I saw you standing there. I decided to show you the same respect that you had shown me by stepping into sacred ground uninvited. Obviously, being that I had JUST wrestled a PPV quality match, you got the better of me then ran out of the arena like a scalded dog. Into an Uber that you had waiting for you outside of the building.
Cool, cool. No big deal.
But that week in Miami? When I beat Tyler Adrian Best to win the ICON Championship and keep the LSD Championship active. Where were you? You can show up unexpected but when I personally invited you, you were nowhere to be found. That’s quite the bitch move, pal. But none of that matters because you named a time and a place, and you want to go punch for punch with me in Chicago this Sunday night.
So, let’s get all the generic bullshit out of the way.
Yes, I lost last week in a tag team match against Steve Harrison and Conor Fuse. Yes, I was pinned in the middle of the ring. Yes, I’m a high sexual person or rather a ‘pervert’ as prudish wrestlers like to call me. Yes, I do spend a great deal of time on Twitter shooting the shit and keeping up with people I don’t get to see on a daily basis. Yes, I have a long name, and no I don’t give even a half of a fuck about anyone you might know that you compare me to thinking you’ve made a point. Yes, I do talk a whole lot of shit and respect isn’t something I give out easily.
See, Mr. Luchador. This isn’t just about PRIME or respect. It’s not just about your goofy fucking mask or anything like that.
This is about seeing how you react when I punch you square in your fucking face. I don’t give a shit about your journey to take a mask off of some other dude that has mystical powers. Fuck everything about that. I’m a wrestler, I’m a fighter, and here in HOW we don’t fucking L.A.R.P. Here in High Octane Wrestling people die. Chris Kostoff was the S tier member of HOW Hall of Fame and what did we do to him? He got his eye poked out with a goddamn pen then he was shot and set on fucking fire.
Cold blooded murder, live on worldwide television.
Every single time I step out into the ring in HOW, I am putting my life on the line.
This is what you’ve walked into. I think deep down you’re already realizing that fact. You were bold and showed up by yourself and had the nerve to attack me one week. But last week you came all the way to Cleveland to send a message, but you didn’t come alone. You brought backup with you in the form of Ria Lockhart, Rezin, and King Blueberry.
Whoa… hold up times two.
You and three other PRIME wrestlers came ALL THE WAY to Cleveland, and you didn’t even enter the arena? You stood in the parking lot of the Rocket Mortgage Fieldhouse just to cut a promo? L OH FUCKING L. What’s wrong? Was Vegas not a good enough place to cut a promo from? Or was this a failed intimidation tactic to show how much of a tough guy you and those other PRIME wrestlers are?
Rezin, The King, and Rainbow Rock… (does Griffin Hawkins know you stole his gimmick?) are the definition of PRIME but you’re too chicken shit to step inside of the arena. Good job, asshole.
Listen, bring anyone from the PRIME roster that you want. I fucking BEG you to bring Lindsey Troy with you. (Maybe then she can poach even more HOW talent *coughs* Adam Ellis *coughs*) It won’t fucking matter. If you studied me, like I know you have, then you’d realize no one has interfered on my behalf in my HOW matches. Not members of The Board or anyone else. Christopher America has more to worry about than PRIME wrestlers. STRONK won’t FUCKING listen to reason when it comes to Bobbinette Carey. Tyler and Mike Best wouldn’t dare sully their hands with Lindsey Troy’s playthings.
It will be me and me alone standing in that ring.
Come defend PRIME with everything you got. Lord knows, we’ve been waiting for this to happen since your McKenna Blue asses became a thing again. Maybe if Lindz unclenched her butt cheeks a little, we’d have the HOTv title and Tag Team titles defended between the two companies. But that is asking too much, right? I mean… you’re willing to have Cancer Jiles as your Universal Champion but can’t come play in our sandbox? Makes a hell of a lot of sense. BTW… how much did Lindsey have to pay Jiles not to bring that PRIME Universal title over to the HOTv Network like he promised he would?
Did she threaten to shove an Owl up his ass?
Is that what is going to happen to you if I beat you?
Either way, don’t worry too much. I’m not going to kill you in the middle of the ring. I’m not going to break a major bone or anything. I want to leave a good portion of you in one piece. Enough for you to tuck your tail between your legs and head back up to PRIME (your safe space) and have to look Lindsey in the eyes. And admit that just like her, you weren’t able to topple the force that is Jace Parker Davidson.
You can sit back and use your Luchador style. You can sit on your couch and cry to your wife about whether or not you’re a good husband. (You fucking beta male, go back to being a stay-at-home housewife.) Ask her if you’re living up to the code of a Tecnico (whatever the fuck that is) all day long. Cling to your morals if you must but they won’t do you much good when you step inside of Hell itself.
Lindz loves to call Lee Best by the name Leecifer.
That might be true but Sunday night in Chicago? You dance with the real Devil.
Say your prayers, Thomas.
Because one way or another, you’re going to end up on your knees.