Oh boy, another match for the Locker Room Leader against The Final/Best Alliance. Done this more than Dan Ryan has daughters. You’d think for a man who loves Chaos, booking the same shit every month would be the antithesis of chaos, since I know what’s coming.
News flash: my opponents aren’t going to end me, this isn’t going to soften me up for Mike. It doesn’t matter who I team with, it’s the same old shit in a pointless upcoming contest.
Other than, you know, allowing me to flex and display my earth shattering skills.
Boys, you might be wondering where #97 is. I put it in safe keeping and you will not see it at ringside. In fact, later this week I might hand it to Matt Boettcher or whomever is going to ref the title match at the pay-per-view because, after all, that’s the only place where the World Title matters. Until then, I work my way through nonsense.
A clear note to Lee: it doesn’t always work out, dude. These matches you place me in… well, my team won the last time. Bobbie, Jace and Conor were victorious over a bunch of the same men you just selected to face me. Can you really rely on this group forever? Going to the well so frequently eventually leaves you dry, Lee.
Last time I faced this pack of hooligans, Solex thought I was proud of the fact I took Mike Best to the limit at HOFC. He was screaming at me for how pathetic I sounded for boasting about being ONE SECOND OFF. Clearly the moron didn’t listen to a word I said. That couldn’t have been further from the truth. It was nothing to be proud of. One or one-thousand seconds, it don’t matter. The result will read Conor Fuse lost.
I’m going to skim over whatever Solex says this week. It ain’t worth my breath to engage with a massively under achieving talent. He should’ve been World Champion by now. He has the look, skills and ability. He’s just fucking lazy.
Mailing in that effort. Lee, you’re right when you say half these morons don’t deserve a contract renewal come December. Maybe look under your own roof first, though. There’s a lot of dead weight there.
Speaking of dead weight, Jatt has been the most loyal Alliance soldier since the day I walked into this company. Aren’t you tired of his shit? C’mon, the man has consistently fallen short of expectations over the past two years. Time and time again he shows glimpses of his old self but he’s clearly not motivated anymore.
Then there’s Dan Ryan. Oof, Dan Ryan. A different kind of oof, though. Because outside the performance enhancing drugs, he took ownership and sucked it up like a big boy. I got a lot of respect for that.
I don’t have a lot of respect for how he’s treated me.
At one point we were the Tag Team Champions. But this isn’t a cry me a river kind of promo, oh no. Other than Mike Best, make no mistake, I have been itching to let loose on Dan for over two years and I will hold back everything else I have to say until I GET WHAT I WANT.
Sensing a theme, Lee. You hear me?
See, yours truly can evolve. The owner and operator of this company absolutely cannot. It’s painful. While I have given up video games, Lee continues to hand pick the same minions for his disposal. Over and over it’s the bEsT aLLiAnCe (minus the fucking guy’s own son – dunno what that tells you) versus those who are smart enough to know better.
It’s always the same dudes on the same sides.
No worries, no bother. Un-yawn because most recently, I sent Lee’s ultimate favourite packing. Packing AKA killing himself since he couldn’t handle reality.
Everybody pumped this powerlifter’s tires to the point his overblown ego and underdeveloped brain couldn’t comprehend the truth.
Conor Fuse is the pinnacle of HOW.
I didn’t have to stop Godson’s heart from beating two weeks ago. He merely did it on his own terms.
How’s that, Lee? Hope you can sleep at night. I took Stronk’s World Title and now I hold it hostage. Guess you should’ve picked the gamer for your team. Should’ve hand selected the human manchild to be your stooge. I’d have made the BEST posterboy and I would’ve had the mental capacity to manage my losses. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again…
Never confuse a single defeat with a final defeat.
Conor always gets redemption.
So I, the current World Champion, walk into a tag team match with the odds once again against me. Go ahead, place your bets, watch me lose, who the hell cares. Nobody’s knocking me out for good. However, pray I don’t send anyone else down the suicidal path.
As for Stronk Godson ever coming back?
Don’t hold your breath.
— — — — —
RIP Bobbinette Carey.
Meh. I’ll remind everyone I’ve washed my hands of absolutely EVERYTHING. Friends. Games. Specifically games. The World Title, too. I am an In Name Only Champion until October 29th. Then I am a double champion and I’ll carry those titles everywhere.
Pffft, I’ve never experienced boredom like this before and yet the achievements I’ve unlocked by living the vanilla life… it means the boring and mundane has to continue.
RIP Stronk Godson while we’re at it. I’ll never get tired of saying it.
Yes, this week I’ll see the death of my former friend, Nettie, while fighting off my own potential DOA in a lopsided tag match and ultimately remembering the person who I recently killed by proxy.
…Last point brings a smile to my face.
For now, however, I am waiting on my counselling session. I’ve been attending for a couple of weeks; it’s my only real means of social support. I’m NOT doing the friendship stuff and considering I’ve given up video games, Conor Fuse has also quit the entire co-op experience. Fuck tag teams, forget multi-man matches. I may show up ready to go on Sunday and I may help mail in my experience. Guess we’ll see what side of the bed I wake up on. I don’t have anyone else in there with me, so I could wake up on the left OR the right.
“Mr. Fuse, I’m ready to see you,” she states as I walk through the hallway and enter the room. It’s not one of those stereotypical “shrink” offices, there’s no chaise to lay on as I stare into the ceiling. There’s a smaller two seat couch and then two separate chairs, one across from the other. I’ve been really feeling the chair for the last two sessions.
Once a week. Attending my sessions once a week for the past month. Gotta say, it’s really liberating.
“Conor, did you remember where we left off?” She always starts with this question and it’s not like she’s trying to jog my memory because, of course, I recall. I may have OCD and other mental challenges but I remember the finer details.
“Yeah, fo’ sho’,” I reply. “And listen, I’ve thought long and hard about it. The death of Stronk Godson is out of my hands.”
I feel a grin slowly finding its way onto my face. I try holding back because… well… because I don’t want to freak her out any further. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t think I’m right in the head but then again she’s never actually come out and said it.
Not that I’d expect her to.
Truth is… gun to my temple… being 100% transparent here… Conor Fuse didn’t kill Stronk Godson.
I just nudged him in that direction.
But it’s a great conversational piece in the wrestling world. It allows me to take a tape measure out and add a couple of inches to good ol’ Mr. Cyclops down there. I’ve learned this from Mike. You MARCH into a room, spill your accomplishments out on the table and proudly stand behind your work. It’s like a bucket of water. Burst into someone’s home and toss that shit on the floor. There’s nothing they can do but watch helplessly as they’re soaked in your accolades. It’s the home field advantage, baby. I murdered a man, indirectly.
But YOU don’t need to know that.
The counsellor, however… lol well she does. I don’t wanna be locked away in a real insane asylum, I prefer mine in dream sequences.
I realize I’ve wandered off on a little side piece but this counsellor is decent. She can see the wheels are spinning in my head so she’s given me space to think things through.
“It’s tough,” I state in a cold, hard manner. “On one hand I wanted him to suffer. I needed to show the world exactly who I am. I had to prove to myself that taking this ‘new direction’ in my life was vital and I couldn’t accept anything other than a victory.”
I’m thinking of putting on a little bit of a show so I lean back and uncomfortably fidget in my chair.
“I didn’t want it to escalate…”
But I DID want it to escalate. Side bar: two years ago I loved seeing Dan Ryan put Scott Stevens in a wheelchair. Fucking yum buddy, that cranks my gears. It made me wanna do something like that.
Dan Ryan, so badass. So god damn incredible.
Conor Fuse can’t be Dan Ryan. Conor Fuse can’t be Mike Best. Only recently have I learned to tell myself “screw that noise… you can be better.”
See, Imma work the psychological game. That’s why I’m in this counselling session. I can understand the psychological advantages. I didn’t simply kill a man… I demoralized him so hard…
He killed himself.
Tickles me with glee, I tell ya.
“It sounds like you’ve had a lot of time to reflect, Conor,” she says, scribbling down a note and putting her sheet of paper to the side.
“Oh, I have,” no truer words will come out of my mouth for the rest of the day. I literally don’t do anything other than watch wrestling matches, train for wrestling matches and then daydream about previous wrestling matches.
“NO MORE GAMES” Conor Fuse, in the flesh.
“It’s… it’s been an experience,” I say, shifting in my chair once more. I pretend to scratch my nose, although I’m likely trying to cover my face. I can feel a shit eating smile creep across my mouth. No mirrors in this office. Gotta protect myself at all costs, ya know.
Also RIP Bobbie.
Oh wait, I already said that…
— — — — —
It’s the end of September, so it’s colder outside. Thank god because this public pool has lots of children on its busy days.
Ain’t nobody here but me and a couple others in the deep end.
I only go shallow. Like I said, it’s freezing cold outside and I don’t want to risk being sick before this big six man tag.
Is that sarcasm? You tell me.
I don’t swim often but it’s a good way to get the blood flowing and my cardio on high alert. Seriously, a lot more athletes should swim. It works a shit ton of muscles in your body that are otherwise stagnant and it’s part of the reason I can fly around the ring so fast.
Guess I do have to immerse my entire body sooner than later. Doesn’t matter what side of the pool I’m in.
Today, however, I’m here for different reasons. After a few laps in the pool, I walk back to the shallow end and slowly start drifting to the other side.
I’m not trying to walk quickly. Instead, I let my mind wander as the water level rises ever so slowly. I can feel the floor sinking lower and lower, and it allows my ankles to extend and exhaust themselves as far as possible. Soon, I run out of room to feel anything beneath my feet so I pull my entire body down.
Is this what Stronk felt? I’ve only heard rumours regarding how he killed himself but, apparently, this was how it happened. Sure, it’s no ocean. It’s a public pool but there’s water around me.
I can’t breathe but I can definitely think. What type of torment did he have to go through to willingly suffocate himself? It’s been ten seconds and I can barely stand another moment.
Am I evil? Is Conor Fuse like Mike Best? Mike’s killed before and shown no remorse. I killed before and then instantly regretted it.
Then loved it.
Then regretted it again.
And now, knowing Stronk Godson is never coming back, I assume there’s a world of hurt pending. An insurmountable target on my chest because of the hardship I caused Lee Best…
Maybe Conor Fuse should stay under water, too?
I might revisit this idea… if I don’t beat Mike. But I need to beat Mike. I want to. I have to.
I fucking can.
As for this week, I’ll survive the tag match. I’ll do what I always do. Put on a good show, try my hardest. Won’t take the L personally.
How long have I been down here? I’m feeling rather light headed. Holy shit, if I don’t pull myself up soon-
No, Conor. Stay. Stay down! You’ve always wanted to understand your opponents better. Stronk Godson was one of the best! Your feet are glued to the bottom of this pool. You cannot swim up for air and you’re not going to die! However, what you’re feeling right now… these confused thoughts running through your head… this is the feeling you bestowed on Stronk. Perhaps he was as baffled working through-
An arm wraps around me. It tightens across my chest as I am suddenly shot upwards. I want to keep my feet anchored to the floor but there’s no way I can! I try dropping my base but this man… and his grip… it’s tighter than a wrestler throwing me into a suplex.
I can breathe. Oh, I don’t want to but now that I’m out of the water, my body gasps for air!
I’m on the cement floor, where a man with red swim trunks hovers over me.
…the fucking lifeguard???
“Dude!” I shout, coughing up water in the process. “What are you doing!? I was thinking down there!”
The lifeguard is no older than eighteen or nineteen, although he’s built like a mack truck. He continues to stand over me, showing a look of concern.
“Are you- are you okay, sir?”
I seem to have rattled him.
“Man…” I spit out more water and sit forward. “I’m fine. I was down there on purpose.”
The boy clearly doesn’t register.
“I saved you. I- I thought you were drowning.”
This is definitely not how Stronk Godson felt.
“Whatever, kid,” I run a hand through my head, search the grounds for my bearings and locate my towel. “Thanks for the help.”
“You’re welcome, sir,” he replies.
Fuck it. Next time, I’m walking into the ocean.
— — — — —
Solex, Dan, Jatt,
It’s good to see you, I’m sure we’ll be interacting often. Hopefully not in bullshit tag team matches but with something of significance on the line.
I am the World Champion.
Dan, I’m not going to get ahead of myself. I understand the nearly impossible task of defeating the SON of GOD but I notice a potential future title shot has been dangled in front of your face. I would love nothing more than to battle you for the one property you’ve never achieved.
Jatt, we still haven’t had that heart-to-heart talk, have we? I remain unaware of what Bobbie wanted me to figure out about you. I ripped on you earlier… said you haven’t lived up to expectations recently. I think we both could assume this statement is accurate. What happened to the Jatt Starr I first came to know? The man who won titles and had a hell of a Tag Team Championship run with John Sektor? Is age actually catching up to you, or do you need something MOAR?
Solex, bro, all the potential in the world hidden behind anger and a piss poor attitude. Don’t mail it in for your team, the Alliance really needs ya. It’s a shame you and I never agreed on much. Would’ve made a better duo than those Highwaymen you swore by.
Lee, buddy, pal. I hope you don’t take me ripping on your booking too seriously. You gotta provide the fans a show, right? What better way to do it than stack the deck against the kid you can’t stand.
This kid killed your posterboy. He took the World Championship and now you’re left with the keys to an empty house.
I’d like you to sit back and contemplate. Seriously, look at all those saggy tits you got representing your company. I mean this in the Final Alliance… I mean this when you look at your ENTIRE damn roster.
As you said… some contracts will be renewed, others you’ll think about, and then… some will be asked to never come back.
You’re a decent judge of talent, I’ll give you credit. It’s typically a hell of a roster you put together.
But I’m your cornerstone. And you’re gonna start treating me like it very soon.
Give me the keys to your house. Don’t make me take them from you. ‘Cause before you know it, you might be the next one walking into the ocean.
All by your own free fucking will.