May 22nd, 2022
Madison Square Garden
So I didn’t get the technical win over Clay… in fact it was technically a loss in the books for be at Refueled ninety-nine. A number that has been so important to be growing up as a child for reasons if you can’t figure out then serious what the fuck? At a show in The World Most Famous Arena… the mecca of all fucking arenas for me, a New York Rangers fan.
But I took my ounce of flesh from the skull of Clay Byrd and for the second straight match, I reminded everyone just what I am capable of doing in that cell come War Games. I can beat the best names on their team, two of their Hall of Famers, FKA-Jatt and Carey have both fallen to me in the last six months. Then I busted that store-brand redneck Clay wide open with something that I’ll be stealing bushels of from the battlefields of Kiev to bring into War Games… barbed wire.
Don’t get all pissy though… I’ll steal it from the Russians.
What I didn’t succeed in though was break the well kept till now, nineteen year secret to Frankie that… he has a kid. Not only a kid, but a monster of a kid who could be the future of wrestling. I knew it would never go smoothly. I mean how the fuck could it? Imagine that news being dropped on your ass one day out of the fucking blue? Life changing.
Yeah, I seriously just had a pretty bad anxiety trip about this after just thinking about it. Fuck this shit hits too close to home sometimes. Even if it is completely irrational. This is what happens when you are alone for a few hours and get too deep into your own fucking mine.
That’s not what I need to get hung up on though… I need to channel the Lee Motherfucking asshole that is Scottywood. The man that will do anything… and survive anything to win War Games. All these fucker in this match… they don’t know what it means to actually survive in HOW. They have either only been here for a cup of motherfucking coffee… or stumbled back in after taking years off. I really don’t care if you are on my team, or against me. I am the most reliable… I am the toughest… I am the most High Octane mother fucker in this fucking match!
Though HOW doesn’t seem to appreciate that. Why is it everyone else getting the fancy fucking promo videos and I’m barley even featured. Seems like Lee Best and the fuckers in the graphics department have forgotten just who the fuck I am! THE HARDCORE FUCKING ARTIST!!!
Yes, Ben Reeves is the future… but I am not dead yet. Even if I have already been written off by everyone. By the other team… who just looks at me as filler. Or my own team, who also looks at me as filler, a disposable piece on the way to victory for someone like America, Tyler or even Stonk. I know, they are my teammates. Sorry… “teammates”, lemme add the fucking air quotes, because my real teammate is on the other side. I know she isn’t gonna win, I know my team will blow the Fuse out at War Games. But she’s the only real person I trust right now here in HOW. Lee Best? He’s someone great to team with… but I trust him as much as the hair on his head is long.
Says the man with the shaved head too…
I know in reality, I’m a longshot. Someone that no one would ever expect to finish War Games… to walk away the World Champion. But to win it all and take that title off Conor Fuse after our fight years ago at ICONIC. How perfect would that shit be?
Can I say I need a miracle? Or did Steve Harrison trademark that shit? Cause that fucker is gonna need one of his own to even have a hope of hanging onto his title when Carey whoops his ass at the start of War Games… or whatever the fuck we have decided to call that shit. Cause this match seems to be changing every single fucking day. A fact I know Lee Best is loving every minute of… keeping everyone on their toes. It’s a fucking rollercoaster and it is one of the things I love most about wrestling. You can’t ever predict shit… but please, try and do so on DraftKings for War Games. Use promo code 97GOFUCKYOURSELF for a free entry into a pool for $97 dollars.
But Frankie… yes, the whole point of this. Frankie was nowhere to be found after my match on Refueled. Said nothing to Ben… nothing to anyone and just disappeared into Manhattan. Which is concerning because he is terrified of the Subways, can’t use Uber or Lyft and pretty sure he won’t get close enough to a curb on his own to try and hail a cab. So where the fuck would he wander off to?
May 22nd, 2003 – 10:48 AM
Manhattan, New York
We can all imagine for ourselves what happened between Frankie and Vivian at the Out Cold after party a few days… or some nineteen years ago… depending where in the multiverse you are looking at this from. But I’m not gonna go much further into it than that… I don’t wanna mentally scare people like Carey did with her fanfic horror bullshit. I know you didn’t create any of it Carey, but why did you need to share it with everyone else? Why did we all need to suffer with you? HOW is a family fucking show Carey!
Now someone get past me a fucking beer while I try to track down this bitch and coathanger out the abomination growing inside of her.
Sorry Ben… but that is how I felt back then.
It’s not even noon and I already accumulated three empty Budweiser bottles on my desk. My black Motorola RAZR V3 flip phone pressed so hard up against my face that I’m nearly about to snap it in half. The muffled sound of a voice on the other end can be heard in the office as I take my free and rub my opposite temple as I close my eyes and try to keep calm.
“So let me get this shit straight Dallas. She got Frankie drunk and fucked him at the after party… and now she wants a very lucrative NGW contract to be apart of a storyline about a possible child with Frankie? Or else she will go to the police and claim she was drugged and raped? Is that the fucking gist of her dumbass fucking plan she hatched against us?” I question Dallas, trying to sum up what he has been angrily ranting on about for the last ten minutes now. He’s not scared… he’s just fucking pissed. He’s looking to take a break… and all this bullshit falls on top of him.
“Well luckily Frankie has nearly no recollection of that ever happening… but I’m not gonna let some groupie ring-rat bitch blackmail my fucking company. She has no idea about Frankie’s… condition, does she? She wants to try and pull the rape card… then we can… no, fuck this bitch. I’m putting a call into the NYPD right now… and gonna have them the fucking book thrown at her. She is just lucky the age of consent in NY is 17… or else I’d make sure she never sees the fucking light of day again.” The annoyance now turns to anger as I rage back to Dallas who seems somewhat relieved that the situation might not turn into the shit show that he feared.
I mean it is still pretty bad… it won’t be an easy road by any means. But this Vivian… she isn’t going to get the upper hand. She isn’t gonna win… she certainly isn’t going to outsmart Scottywood.
I close the RAZR phone and end the call with Dallas as I shake my head, not believing someone would be so dumb to try this stunt… and try it with Frankie of all people. I wish this was the end of his shitty luck in the wrestling business, but we all know how Frankie’s story goes. Injured in my DUI wreck, stabbed in the eye by Lee Best and witness to more bloodshed than any director of the most gruesome horror movies.
Though there have been some amazing highs for him too. He technically held the HOW Tag Team Titles with Scotty when he “helped” defend them against the Faze brothers. That didn’t go over well with a lot of people. But we do crazy things for our children… even adopted ones. That and Frankie was inducted into the HOW Hall of Fame. Something many others can’t lay a claim to… like Conor, Clay, Xander, Zion and the soon to be ex-LSD champ Harrison. He’s the first son to be inducted… maybe the BEST son of HOW to be inducted into the HOF. I’m not here to trash talk Lee, Mike or even Tyler today though. I’ve done my fair share of that over the years and run that well dry.
Especially nineteen years ago… I had no idea who the Bests were back then and was only worried about protecting NGW… I mean protecting Frankie. Finding this Vivian and making sure she fucking pays for what she did… what she is trying to do.
I flip my phone back open and start to dial up the number for the NYPD. Vivian is going to regret what she did. She is going to rot in fucking jail… and if by some chance, she got what she wanted… then that child will be born behind bars with his crazy fucking mother. Oh trust me, I know how this ends and that bitch rots in prison for… fuck… how long did she go away for? Fuck, I think I lost track of that shit a handful of years ago. No way that bites me in the ass later on in this story. Right?
But the point is I thought I buried this back then. Frankie has no idea what really happened… and Vivian went away to prison for a very long time. She did end up having a kid… she decided to keep it and Ben Reeves was born at the hospital at Rikers Island Prison just over eighteen years ago. I tried to hide him too. Dallas’ brother adopted him, raised Ben as his own and tried to keep him away from wrestling.
But something called him to it. Frankie would call it The Force… but that is as dumb as any religion that has ever been dreamed up on this Earth. He found wrestling though… and he seems to be damn fucking good at it. I mean he has the size… and that is really half the fucking game, right? A big muscly dude… certain people go wild for that shit. He’s already taken Tyler Best to the limit in some shitty indy fed… he has talent. He is someone that Scotty can work with, someone that Scotty can make into the next star here in HOW. Not just some flash in the pan like 97 percent of the fucks Lee has signed during this refueled era.
We don’t need to go through the laundry list of names. You know them, I know them. Let’s all just fucking forget about them. It’s time for one last battle. One last chance at winning the big prize here in HOW. I likely won’t do it… I mean I believe I can… but I am a realist at heart. I don’t believe in dreams… I don’t believe in wild fucking stories that no one can prove.
I just believe in The Hardcore Artist… I believe in myself to do the best that I can in War Games. Will it be enough? Who fucking knows. I’m sure few are taking me in the DraftKings pool. But I’m always the underdog. Always discounted. Always… But they aren’t gonna be able to discount Ben… no… never.
May 23rd, 2022
Manhattan, New York
You wanna know the one spot Frankie would go when his whole world is crumbling upon him? When everything that he knew… that he thought he knew was turned upside down? Not Beverly Hills… he’s not some shitty fuck from Philadelphia who worships some orange abomination that somehow represents what the Broad Street Bullies used to be. No… Frankie would only go one place. He would go to his happy place in New York City.
The Rockefeller Center LEGO Store.
Everything is awesome there. Everything is awesome when you’re part of a team.
Part of a team…
Scotty’s teaming with Frankie may be ruined… and Scotty’s teaming with the Best family… it’s something that even he is struggling to accept at the moment. It feels good to be back in the good graces of Lee Best… but after so many years of battling against Mike, against Lee… it feel so fucking weird. I need to channel the past… not 2003 me… but 2008 Scottywood who debuted at War Games… just minus the sober part.
Where is my next beer?
So much to still tie up… and so little time. It’s time to head to Ukraine… and hope it somehow all works out. It always works out right? Or is that only for people who believe in fairy tales like religion? One way or another, I guess we will find out.