Posted on July 20, 2023 at 9:41 am by Conor Fuse


Predictable. Cute. Fun. What a great direction I have this week. Funny, two months ago I looked at the calendar and legitimately penciled myself in for a “tag team match” on July 23 with a “partner I don’t know” against “Mike Best” and either “Stronk Godson” or “Dan Ryan”. Did I nail that bud or what?

I get it. Oh no Lee, I do. Lee Best hates Conor Fuse so he will always make life hard on Conor Fuse. What did I actually do to you other than exist, help ratings, and throw my body on the line every single week. Go balls to the walls 24/7. Man, I am doing you and your dipshit family a favour by being in High Octane. I am exactly the type of wrestler fans come to see. I’ve lined your pockets with money and I’ve helped carry your company over these past three years when your son weaves in and out and your grandson, god knows what he’s up to. I mean at this point… whatever. No disrespect to Charles de Lacy but what the hell does this newcomer know about navigating HOW? At least give me a teammate like Jace.

Sorry, Charles. I’m really not in the mood. It’s nothing personal. See, I just pounced my friend’s skull into fucking oblivion and made that bitch pour more blood than her monthly rag time. 97 times MOAR. So I’m not in the mindset to help be your High Octane tour guide on Sunday. I watched my friend Zion get fed and now I walk into a dick measuring tag team contest.

Mike, Stronk, here’s what I have to say to both of you…


























Absolutely nothing.













I won’t speak a DIRECT smack word to either of you until I see you one-on-one because it’s not worth my time or energy. I’d be an idiot to take this further. Stronk is literally no match for me, he’s a comedy dweeb who hinders the prestige of the World Championship more than I ever could imagine in my most annoying states. And do I even need to pound sunshine up Mike’s ass? Hard pass.

Naa, Lee, what a quaint lil’ contest you got me going into this weekend. It ain’t gonna matter. I’ll get my shots in, I’ll have some fun, I’ll soften up Mike… and win or lose I send another message.

I’m not backing down from your shit.

Your son’s, either.

Now boss please tell me… should I pencil Stevens or Hollywood as my future tag team partner for the go-home show to Rumble at the Rock?

Oh wait, we got rid of Alcatraz, didn’t we? Lol makes sense. Might be pretty triggering for your current world champion, considering what I did to him there last year.

Either way, Imma just jot down Stevens as my future teammate versus Mike and Dan Ryan at the go-home show to the next premium live television experience. You know what would’ve been MOAR fun, though? If Mike was my teammate. If Stronk and I had to share a ring ON the same side. You wanna really torture me? You’re going about it all wrong, man. Put me with the people I can’t stand the most. Let me breathe the same air they do.

But hey, don’t let a dipshit tell you how to run your company. You’re obviously doing something right. The roster is solid. It’s next level in the HOW. It’s why I continue to sign on the dotted line, year after year and don’t take my talents to south beach.

Not one… not two… not three… not four…

I digress. Guess I just expected the exact bullshit I received. Conor Fuse and newbie (no offense again Charles, we’re cool) vs. World Champion Until Conor Fuse Faces Him and the God of Ditch Digging Trash Talk.


And people think Zion is too predictable…

— — — — —

I really don’t know what to make of the last two weeks. Not only did I beat Bobbinette Carey until the point she bled uncontrollably but I wanted to do it. She took the nice route, eh. She thought we’d still be friends and begrudgingly wrestle. As a result, I proceeded to tear her from the outside looking in. I said things you can’t walk back. I called her my friend, I said we’d get through this.

I also said I was so glad it was her, the person in front of me, the one I was tasked with wrecking.

I was happy with her as my opponent. I wanted to lay into her. And in conclusion, all fucks are out the window. Seeing PWA fall apart from off in the distance has further made my panties curl in a bunch. I was supposed to be building something special with Cancer Jiles. We were going to have another war. A trilogy, you see. Something I have died for since the moment I became a wrestler.

Real. Honest. Escalation.

A regular match. An extreme match. And then, in round number three, hopefully we kill each other.

The scary thing is I think I’m serious about that.

Regardless, we were always set to battle each other. But now… now my fun relies on Mike Best. And while there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that… it’s a kick in the balls to know once again, Conor Fuse doesn’t get exactly what he wants. PWA down the drain. But not all hope is lost. Because when you screw with a Best, you’re really playing with fire. I knew exactly what I was doing after Mike wiped the floor with El Hombre. I better be ready for the ultimate challenge and I’ve already crossed the line of no return. I’ve talked a big game but deep down I know I can follow through. Almost two years ago, Mike crucified me and I electrocuted him. What fun memories when you look back years later, huh? It’s not like he took me down easily. I slipped up at the end and I cost myself the match. Regardless, here we are, and I have the biggest test in front of me. It’s not about the LSD Title, it’s who’s holding onto it. It’s always who holds on. I’m ready to back up my words. I’m in the mindset to begin HOFC right this very second.

Nevertheless… I have to revisit Bobbie. It’s why I sit here, on the edge of my sofa, silently. Alone. Not a friend in the world. Two weeks ago I made the call to end all friendships whatsoever. One month earlier I made the call to kick games to the side. The Video Game Kid is on pause.

Conor Fuse, the person, the flesh, remains. No gimmicks. No nonsense. No talking in gamer code. Maybe I slip up here and there. After all, I couldn’t blame myself if I did, but I’m marching down a new journey and I’m blazing my own trails.

In the end I guess it really doesn’t matter. Charles de Lacy or Jace Parker Davidson. Christ, put Dan Ryan on my side. I’m not going to reach out and make a new friend. Additionally, on Sunday I said goodbye to Darin Zion, too. I gave him a pat on the back, told him he did well against Mike… and I have zero intentions of interacting with him again.

No. I am choosing this new, singular path and it’s more isolated than I’ve ever felt. This coming after I locked myself in a homemade cell for over six months. I still had more support than what’s in front of me now. Walter would check up on me three times a day, bringing my breakfast, lunch and dinner. Game Boy would escort me to and from my cell and throw away the key when I’m inside. Even Bobbie would reach out, clearly worried about my mental well being.

Those days are POOF.

I look around my room. I don’t hear a peep from anyone else. I never told any of the aforementioned where I’ve moved.

And I don’t plan to.

I have one more goodbye to make. Then I’ll be all set.

— — — — —

What does it mean to take a life?

At first glance, only Mike can speak to this. But I fall into this category, too. Don’t I, Stronk Godson?

At that time, however, I was weak. I was tormented. I was destroyed at the notion I could’ve done what I thought I did. Place a weight on a fallen man’s chest and proceed to stomp a hole into it. What did I think was going to happen?

Consciously, I didn’t think much. I thought I could crack a few ribs, add insult to injury. The typical wrestling mindset. Subconsciously? Well, I honestly hope I subconsciously wanted to kill you.

And I’m starting to think, Stronk… I’m starting to think I really did.

See, if I could go back in time, if SRK’s time travel technology or my warp whistles formulas were real, I think I’d do the exact same thing all over again. Except I’d use double the weights. Really make sure your heart stops this time LOL. Look at the mental state I’m in. I literally said ten minutes ago I wouldn’t talk smack and yet HERE WE ARE.

I never was the smartest guy, was I?

I’ll hold back, though. I’ll limit myself to a snippet. I am dying to cave your chest in one MOAR time. Just looking at you on the website with that stupid bullshit dog… and all the “photoshoots” you go through, you handsome fucking man.


Where’s my video game shoot!?

Where’s Conor Fuse riding on his buffalo!?

I’m gonna make Lee so sorry he ever chose you. After our feud is finished, Lee will wish he drafted Arthur Pleasant instead. This weekend, it’s just a soft walk down the Conor Fuse vs. Stronk Godson path. A tiny nudge in this direction.

Don’t worry, though. You’re protected. You got Mike by your side. Nothing to worry about.

‘Cause hey, who the fuck can touch that prick, right?

; )

— — — — —

“I’m sorry, Bobbie.”

I really am.

I can’t sleep. Haven’t slept in days. My eyes have heavy bags over them. I’m barely eating. Hardly moving.

And yet I feel so… alive.

This is the mindset. This is the way. The path to get me through Mike Best. The time I finally shut everyone up and for them to take real, serious, notice.

Cancer Jiles joined the Best Alliance after he won the World Championship and stopped Mike’s incredible reign. It’s what grabbed Lee’s attention. It took him by the balls. Maybe popped a stiffy. “mY sOn defeated inside steel cage????”




“Gotta have Jiles on my side!”

Now, I’m not some dick trolling bandit who is craving for the boss to NOTICE ME. I’m not Darin Zion. I’m cool with the side I’ve chosen. I have the fans. My name is known within other circles. I’m a sought after athlete.


I want my respect.

I want my spot amongst the best.

And I want to have a say in my future direction.

I guess, in some ways, I have had a say recently. I wanted to take down Mike. Even if I knew El Hombre was his son, I’d still have made that save. What kind of savage asshole wrecks his own kid like that?

Or sends him to PRIME?

You see, Lee? I’m PRO High Octane.

But here’s the middle finger, anyway.

Back to my point. In order to defeat Mike, I also have to defeat my friends. Get rid of them, think about me and me only. It doesn’t mean I won’t circle back, Bobbie. It doesn’t mean I’m going to deprive myself of sleep forever, or always put Conor Fuse first. The world isn’t black and white, there’s not one singular path to walk down.

Except now.

Right now it IS black and white. LASER focused. I am gonna lay a beating on Mike and Stronk, regardless of who my tag team partner is. de Lacy, Hollywood or heaven forbid Eric Dane returns. I’ll tag with that filthy, disgusting ditchpig if I have to.

I am on the straight and narrow. One goal, one step I HAVE TO make.

Beat Mike at his own game.

I won’t let him get in my head. That narcissist can’t drag me down. He can win on Sunday. Stronk can win.


I still receive my HOFC match.

+ Stronk has another vintage receipt waiting.

It’s all gonna be within my grasp. It’s not like it vanishes after this week, win or lose.

Having said this, maybe I should’ve taken it easier with you, Bobbie. But I couldn’t, you see. It was a message I had to send. If I am willing to walk away from a friendship that really mattered to me… and tell everyone, even myself, that it didn’t…

To LIE to myself… to say I was using you at the start of our friendship when I wasn’t…

I guess I really want to beat Mike Best, don’t I?

So here I am, laying in my bed, eyes at the ceiling. Don’t think I’ve blinked in hours. Who knows what the night will bring. A part of me will be filled with regret, another part flooded with anger.

Sunday is the start of my new life, Bobbie. Like I said before, there’s no fucking games.

Goodbye my friend. See ya down the road.

‘Cause where I’m going, it’s one player only.

— — — — —

July 18, 2023

“Conor, I haven’t seen you in months!”

His greeting is genuine, it always is. We’ve had a friendship for almost three years now. Yet for a while there… I’ve totally forgotten about him.

About them.

About the entire building.

Despite the majority of the residents living with dementia, they still remember me.

The Dearness Living Community. It remains upright and although death is a common theme amongst the lot, good old Walter is still chugging along. Getting into his late nineties, his body is finally breaking down but his mind is still as sharp as ever. Dare I say, he’s smarter than I am.

Walter invites me into their 5th floor lobby. Ever since I had Game Boy destroy my boiler room cell, I never returned to these grounds. I told Walter I’d visit a week later, but called him to blow it off. I’ve been a poor friend recently. I can punch Bobbie in the head, tell Zion he’s back to being on his own, but if I had an ultimatum in front of me for Walter and the DLC…

“What brings you over for a visit, son?” Walter asks as we weave our way through the worst of the residents, in what I like to call the “wanderers section”. The ones who can’t remember what room they came from and will stroll the halls at a frantic speed of almost two steps per hour, before they’re ultimately guided back to the actual bedrooms they came from. Wally and I approach the living room. I pull out a seat for him and then I take the spot adjacent.

“Walt,” I begin, in a rather somber voice. I’ve learned not to cut corners. If I speak in riddles, he’ll call me out. He knows when I’m not being direct, so direct I have to be. “This will be the last time I come here for a while.”

I stop. Pause. There’s a lump in my throat but I have to send the dagger.

“And see you, too.”

I lean back. I’d like to vomit but I won’t go that far.

I study Walter’s face. To my surprise, it doesn’t look like he’s negatively affected. I think too highly of myself. Could he be thrilled?

Walter leans forward. His eyes study my face. Then he rests back in his chair…

And he smiles, albeit slightly.

“I knew this day would come. And I am proud of you for it.”

“I… don’t understand,” I add out loud.

Wally shuffles in his chair. Clearly, he struggles to sit, stand, or do just about anything. When I met him three years ago he wasn’t doing well. Now it’s on another level.

“You don’t need us,” Walter remarks. “You never did. Moving into this home didn’t make you world championship material. It’s not why you out-lasted everyone on your team at your very first WarGames. Today, this place holds you back.”

Walter takes a moment to slowly turn his body and look into the hallway. He stares at the lost souls, the ones who have been left here by their families. Dropped off and forgotten. The DLC is a void. A space between the world we live in and the afterworld everyone under this roof will soon buy a ticket for.

He moves back to face me.

“You need to be completely on your own. You need to explore your world with the gifts you’ve been given, during the time you can enjoy them.” Walter says these words as if it’s a matter of fact and in the past, he’s experienced something similar. “We will only hold you back. You need to find your way alone.”

It’s not often I’m at a loss for words… but there really is nothing left to say. I came here to say goodbye.

And goodbye this is.

I stand from the table and Walter stands from his (although of course it takes him much longer.)

I stick out my hand and we give each other a half-hug instead.

“It’s not forever, Walt,” I mention, already backtracking. “But it is goodbye for now.”

“At my rate, son,” he begins, “it might be goodbye forever. You have all the time in the world. Mine is running out.”

All the time in the world, huh Walter?

I like the sound of that.