- Event: Chaos 050
“Top of the morning to ya!”
Holy fuck, what a month.
“Top of the morning to ya!”
It’s been soooo much fun!
“Top of the morning to ya!”
Man, I am feeling pop’n’fresh, prolly the best pop’n’fresh I’ve ever felt!
“Top of the morning to ya!”
It’s the biggest high. October. That’s my time to shine, I tell ya. It’s where all the relevant shit happens and the pluff goes poof! Oh yeah, what a part of the season. It gets darker, the clocks go back and Conor Fuse faces the most awesomeness shit in the world. My first real big loss in HOW was to Jatt Starr four years ago which I took rather swimmingly if I do say so myself-
Oh wait, hold on a second, another dude is walking by.
“Top of the morning to ya!”
That’s right! It’s me, Conor Fuse, out for a quaint skip and a hop around LEE BEST’s hometown of Chicago. Not my hometown or anything, here the Best name gets you the fans, the W, the ladies, the fame, the fortune, the everything possible because being a Best is just so-
“Top of the morning to ya!”
Jeesh, people walking by. There’s are a lot of ‘em. Guess I am marching through a park right now. Oh, don’t mind me. Out for a typical Sunday morning stroll in the fields right across-
“Top of the morning to ya!”
-from the Dearness Living Community, where my best fucking friend of ninety-seven years died because I-
“Top of the morning to ya!”
-wasn’t there for him when he needed me. I was selfish and I thought growing up was a good thing. I thought leaving video games behind was paramount. I thought cutting loose the ties to the FUNNY SHIT I had going on in my life was supposed to be vital because then I could-
“Top of the morning to ya!”
-destroy Mike Best like how Mike Best destroys everrrybody but I realized-
“Top of the morning to ya!”
-that you don’t get to fuck with Bests. Like listen, hear me out, okay? How does this work. Daddy gets son to attack me from behind and beat me to a pulp. Okay, neat. Then the NEXT FUCKING WEEK we’re back on TV and daddy is like “son u need 2 join me right meow or else, or else or else oh man Imma hurt you”-
“Top of the morning to ya!”
What a fucking joke store. Nothing makes sense.
“Top of the morning to ya!”
At this point in time, I dunno if I’m even saying hi to people anymore. I just like randomly saying:
“Top of the morning to ya!”
Because it’s so fucking fun, yeah. God damn my life is sweet. Wreck a World Title and you are PUNISHED significantly. Like the God’s fucking Son hasn’t done shit before-
“Top of the morning to ya!”
Prolly my cue to get off that topic. Listen, I lost and it’s all good. And right now I have-
“DIVERT YOUR FUCKING EYES, MOTHER FUCKER!”
Okay, I shouted at that dude. Bitched him out good. Wanna know why? Well, I am carrying the LSD Championship Title with me but we gotta keep it protected at all costs. GOD only knows how soft ownership is. What a piece of trash person. What a gutless organization. You’d think after so many people have walked away from him, he’d learn to get the singular message.
Sexual orientation cowboy comments are cool but belt breaking is baddd.
“Top of the morning to ya!”
There we go. Back on track. Didn’t feel threatened by the mofo who passed by. So, see, I’m all over the place. But the LSD Title is right beside me… wrapped in bubbles! Bubble wrap, hell yeah, so good, buddy. See, I don’t trust myself right now. I LOST MY BEST FRIEND. I lost the World Title when technically I didn’t feel like I was the champion to begin with but I digress. I lost to Mike again. In OCTOBER. Oh, yeah, I was going on about that shit, eh. I was going on about it HARD. So I lose to Jatt Starr in October of 2020. Then I lose the title to Mike in October of 2021. Then I kill a man in 2022. And oh, hello there 2023.
What happens here?
“Top of the morning to ya!”
That’s what happens.
I am at the top of my game and I am feeling so happy and go lucky. God damn, what a time to be alive. I am so respected in this company. Because anyone other than a Best is respected, oh yep that’s for sure.
HIGH OCTANE CULT.
HOC.
Ohhhh I enjoy this.
Motherfuckers gaslighting me. I ain’t stable. I dunno what’s coming outta my mouth ATM, sounds like a Hughie Freeman promo.
“Top of the morning to ya!”
I miss Teddy. I miss Zeb. I miss Lindsay. I miss Ray.
“Top of the morning to ya!”
I miss Sutler, he was my boy.
“Top of the morning to ya!”
I miss Cecilworth.
I CAN’T SAY THAT ONE BUT OTHERS CAN.
“Top of the morning to ya!”
“TOP OF THE MORNING TO YA!”
“TOP OF THE MORNING TO YA!”
Stop.
Breathe.
Fucking chill, Conor, chill.
One loss ain’t the end of the world, dude. Even if you’ve lost to Mike like a bazillion times.
And I get that, I do. I even get that he destroyed me. He jumped me from behind, it’s all good. Hell, I get breaking the World Title isn’t the greatest thing in the world, either.
Still don’t think leadership should’ve gotten so CyberPunk about it.
Eh, is what it is. I think we all need to chill. I’m back on video games, I’m upping my meds – wait, am I on any medication? Like, I don’t think so. That’s kinda scary, knowing I’m all natural and in public. On TV. A role model for kids. Da Locker Room Leader.
I just can’t get over one tiny, mini, almost microscopic detail.
MY BEST FRIEND IS FUCKING DEAD AND IT’S ALL MY FAULT.
Should I beat these idiots over the head with it?
No. Guess I just gotta promo MOAR.
Bahahaha that’s what I’ll do. My dead best friend old man, the guy who helped teach me right from wrong and guide me throughout my wrestling career.
I wouldn’t have met him if it wasn’t for the one who drove me to live in the DLC to begin with.
Come to think of it… he’s my opponent this week.
Hey Jatt Starr.
Wanna join Walter six feet fucking under?
— — — — —
Okay, I’m dope now. I’m at home. Let’s get going with some additional GROUNDED thoughts.
Imagine winning the LSD Title by hide and seek rules.
Guess I’m coming in hotter than intended.
I thought HOW was supposed to be the hardest hitting, take-no-prisoners organization in the entire world. But this is how I won a historic title. No pinfall or submission. No climbing a ladder. I got pinned but then I was dragged to find a title in a holding cell or whatever, yadda, yadda, I don’t remember shit at the end. That burial leg drop Mike delivers sure does knock you the F out.
Or the Elite out.
Imagine if this was anyone else who won a title by this kinda means. I wonder how they would’ve handle it.
Makes me almost want to damage this belt. What a joke.
Wait, went down that route. Management got softtttttt. Then I got soft. Then we all got fucking soft. And that’s why the LSD Title is not only in bubble wrap but I’ve also now placed it in a glass protective case.
OoOoOoOoOo.
Always thinking, Conor Fuse I am. I gots the solutions.
Anyway, I own my actions. I own Mike beating me. Destroying me. Mercilessly crushing me. Congrats to the champion, I’ve never had one problem with you. No sarcasm. Our battles come to a close for now. Perhaps, forever. But I can hold my head high knowing I tried my very hardest. I also attempted to PUSH the envelope, as they say. Because that’s what I am. I am a pusher. I do not believe in doing the status quo. I believe in taking risks. BIG RISKS, with huge rewards but in a few of our most recent cases…
It has cost me, dearly.
And I’m not even talking about losing the World Title. Like I said, I wasn’t the true #97 until I beat Mike and that didn’t MFing happen.
I’m talking about my best friend passing away, a situation lost completely in translation. A circumstance that LEAD ME to BREAKING a title since I was so frustrated and pissed off.
But hey, management has never been frustrated and pissed off. They’ve never taken something out on someone they don’t regret. They’ve never acted on a whim and made examples out of people or situations. They’ve never used their status to reach further than intended in an attempt to trigger an audience that really doesn’t care and isn’t fucking watching to begin with.
My family is watching, though. The Fuse family is here.
Tyler Fuse. Mommy Fuse. Sister-in-law Fuse. Nephew Fuse.
A potential new High Octane army.
Maybe if HOW just focused on its fucking family instead of sour graps.
I said graps. Graps is wrestling. Grapes makes wine. I don’t drink.
I digress. There I am, laying on the floor, being pummeled by Mike after beaten black and BLUE, and I have to hear about awards that were handed out months ago.
Great. Congrats to the winners.
Clown shoes.
Ha.
Now I sound like Cancer Jiles.
Kinda miss him, too.
Listen, I like Weapon Getting moves. I like Weapon Getting demeanors. I miss a lot of my old battles. If the fans can’t handle listening to it, watch a diff channel.
Anywaaaaaaaaaay, I’m cool with being knocked down. Go ahead, make an example out of Conor. Completely spit in my fucking face for all the god damn work I’ve done here.
The effort I’ve put in.
The energy.
The commitment to take on anyone at any time in any place and never go less than 100%.
Sometimes it doesn’t work out. I don’t have the skills to win every fucking match.
Nor should I.
But I don’t like getting slighted. When I put in countless hours building to a match and then I hear on commentary thereafter we gotta use our stance to take pissing shots elsewhere.
Kinda makes me wonder WTF I’m doing here.
Maybe I am soft.
Prolly.
Here’s another way to view Conor Soft AF Fuse: I have busted my ass for three and a half years and I still get no respect from Lee. He’s had his son attack me from behind to start the World Title match I was really looking forward to. It’s taken me a long time to realize it, but I realize it.
This place is only about Leeeeeee.
It’s not about Conor’s journey, or anyone else.
And you wonder why a bunch of my friends have walked out the door.
Dying company?
Thriving with me and some others, sure.
Boy I’ve been throwing a lot of things around and this is therapeutic. I think I’m doing okay. I didn’t complain when Lee showed up randomly before WarGames, belittled me even though I was totally showing characteristics he should’ve enjoyed at the time. He also spat in my face, walked off and the show ended.
No worries.
Imagine if he did that with his own son.
No, Mike just gets a scolding.
And Darin Zion as a partner.
Okay fine, that’s almost like being spit on.
See? I’m not against calling out my own shit. I own it. I broke a title and it was dumb. Dumb. Dumb. Dumb. And Dumber.
THAT’S A LOVELY ACCENT YOU HAVE. NEW JERSEY?
NO, IT’S A CARDIGAN BUT THANKS FOR NOTICING!
WE GOT NO FOOD, WE GOT NO JOBS… OUR PETS’ HEADS ARE FALLING OFF!!
But I’m cool with a beating. I’m fine with a loss. And I can ALWAYS come back from it.
But then I dig a little deeper. Then I find something else to get pissed about.
Walter was one thing. In fact, he was everything but for the specific match at hand, I hate shenanigans. It’s a wrestling company and a PROVE IT feud, why we gotta do shenanigans?
Then it WASN’T shenanigans after all. Mike wins by pinning me (fair, totally).
But it WAS shenanigans for the LSD Title.
Is the owner trying to trick me into breaking this title, too? Because I’ll do it, if that’s what it means.
Hypocrite I tell ya.
So as the holder of the current strap, I’m going to make some new rules.
AND NEWWWWWWWW!!!
SCOTT STEVENS, probably my only fan listening to me at the moment, get ready to rub one out bud ‘cause this is gonna go one of two ways and we’ll find out in POST…
The new unwritten WRITTEN rules of the LSD Title.
From now on, this title, since it is meaningless, will be defended by schoolyard stipulations.
Playground Rules!!
Games at recess are totally on.
Hide and seek (already done it), duck duck goose (should be a fun one), hopscotch (this is my wheelhouse), four square, capture the flag, tag (the true go-to default match), freeze tag (the step up from go-to), jump rope, tug of war, bean bag toss, Simon Says (or Simon Sparrow Says teehee), dodgeball (if you can dodge a wrench), monkey in the middle, THE FLOOR IS LAVA (the best one), musical chairs, tetherball, double dutch, tic-tac-toe, blind man’s bluff (Lee get that eyepatch back on bro) and then your regular sporting games like basketball, kickball, soccer baseball, mini sticks (oh Canada, my home and native land), touch football (go Bears) and whatever else Conor can decide in the moment.
OH, plus red rover.
Because I want my fucking rubber match so I call JATT STARR over!
Heh.
And the most important thing.
LSD = Literally Silliest Division.
Boom.
Done.
I love the new direction.
How y’all feeling about it?
It’s not a bad list, Imma be honest. Not a bad title name, either. Because if you wanna get the LSD Title over to yours truly, The Ultimate Gamer, after being punked non stop on pay-per-view by Mike Best, this was the way to do it.
Couldn’t give me an inch, huh? Lee knew what belt was in that bag.
If I was me, watching me, entering the next Chaos with the LSD Title over my arm, bubble wrapped and glass case enclosed, I would honestly say the following:
WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO TO DESERVE THAT?
I didn’t.
I had a couple men drag me to find it in a sEcUrE LoCaTiOn.
Maybe I should break this belt.
But I’ve learned my lesson, I’m a good little soldier.
Or am I?
Time, my friends, will tell.
Guess I got a lot of THINKING to do.
— — — — —
Jatt Starr,
TOP OF THE MORNING TO YA!
Smiley face.
You. You are the most loyal one here. Not even Mike is as loyal as you.
And what has that got ya, bro?
Fucking one World Title in your entire history and a handful of shots or less than.
Main event of ICONIC is a nice present to throw at you. But Lee was begging for his son to join the Alliance.
Maybe he wouldn’t have to beg if he had sufficient enough results with the people he consistently employed on a day-to-day basis.
I’m talking about YOU, ya fucking simp.
So hey let’s have this little rubber match. Let’s finally find out what happens. You beat me in Alcatraz and I am so thankful you did. That’s no joke. I wouldn’t have found my best friend if I didn’t.
Ya wanna join him?
Said that already, Fuse. Don’t beat a dead horse.
Just beat a dead man.
Jatt, I both love you and hate you. I owe you everything and also nothing. You will always have a special place in my heart and your career is winding down. I wanted this match on pay-per-view so I could spend a proper amount of time with you but I know High Octane Wrestling ain’t for me.
It’s for Lee.
Oh, that rhymes.
Dial up DJ Tristy, I bet I could write with him.
If you don’t know who that is, don’t worry about it.
Jatt, back on track.
I’d love to know we could do this forever. I literally think my best work is against you and it’s not in either of our singles matches, it’s when we wrestled at my first WarGames. That’s where it all clicked for me and it was because you lived rent free in my head.
I’m sad to say you don’t reside there anymore. Well, not ONLY you. There’s too many residents. It’s too tough to handle.
You’re a brother to me. You’re a father. I wish we could’ve made the Argonauts of Awesome work but sometimes it’s not in the campaign. Mario didn’t have a lot left in him and Jace was legitimately sick.
Shit happens.
It’s wrestling.
Not everything can go my way.
Please know come this Monday I will look forward to making you scream, cry and beg. Because even though the title is being defended by playground rules…
The playground is a nasty fucking place, man.
And I gotta secure an actual pinfall to win this thing.
I wish you wouldn’t grow old. I wish I wouldn’t, either. But you’re years ahead of me, just like Walter was and he’s already dropped dead.
I will look forward to, perhaps, my final battle with you. It sucks it’s on free television but I don’t get a say.
I do get a say soon, though. Which leads me to another major point I will go ahead and make. Don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll speak to you directly again. I have a lot more to get off my chest but for now…
Top of the morning to ya.
— — — — —
As for my announcement.
My HOW contract is up on December 31st, 2023. Lee and his people have not resigned me yet.
And I don’t intend to sign, either.
That doesn’t mean I’m gonna take the LSD Title and drop it into a BLUE recycling bin. It doesn’t mean I am going to disrespect this place when I leave.
Hell.
Honestly.
It doesn’t mean I ain’t coming back.
I could resign. I could run forever. I dunno. I honestly don’t. But I know I’m burnt out and I know I’m not happy. I know it’s been tough to see friends of mine leave this place. It’s been tougher to see enemies leave.
I wanted to fight Mike Best forever but I got pasted. Owned it. Totally. It can’t happen again for a while.
Fine by me.
But I’m gonna make this company WANT me. I’m gonna have Lee Best get down on his knees and beg for me.
And if he doesn’t, Conor, you may be asking.
I’ll leave.
Goodbye.
Because Fuse has gone soft.
Let this company die a slow and painful death. It was never built on me and nor should it. If you think this is what I mean, you’re missing the point completely.
And I can’t help you with that.
The bottomline is Conor Fuse isn’t having a whole lot of fun anymore.
It’s nobody’s fault. Period.
So I’m gonna take my time. One week AT a time. I’ll defend the LSD Title. If I successfully beat Jatt it means I’m always the better man (winky face) and then I’ll see what tomorrow brings.
I will not disrespect the Literally Silliest Division, not after I get to implement my own set of rules for it. I am grateful for the opportunities and chances I have received here. It might not sound like it but Conor Fuse is a much better wrestler today than he was in 2020.
Still doesn’t mean I won’t leave.
Still doesn’t mean I’m not pissed.
Still doesn’t mean this entire disposition I find myself in is stupid.
I want my friends back.
But they ain’t coming back, are they?
Guess I’m gonna have to make new ones.
EH, effort. Vomit.
Jatt Starr, I’d be very sorry for what ends up coming your way. Not only am I diving into exactly what made me the success I am today but you happen to be opponent #1 in my crosshairs.
I’m not going to demoralize you like I did Stronk. I won’t break your heart like I did Walter.
Just gonna beat you.
And then move the fuck on.
The floor is lava, after all.