Post by The Anarchist on Jul 13, 2017 0:14:05 GMT -5
[OOC: I absolutely hate my first RP. So I wrote this one to fix that. Not as long. But one I’m happier about. Having a problem with stress in my life right now, so yeah. This perspective is easier for me to do. I hope you enjoy].
As I sit here at my desk typing this, I can hear the sounds of my children laughing at something on television. Or maybe they are looking at some stupid memes on the internet. I don’t know. Like a match involving Razor Blade, this won’t be long.
Time is undefeated. It is a fact that we will all die someday. That can also be applied to the world of professional wrestling. Not a single one of us will forever compete inside of the squared circle. Oh sure, our names may live on in the annals of history from our accomplishments, but our bodies go through hell because of what we do.
I am staring down thirty-nine years of age. I first broke into the business at twenty-two. Competed all over the world. For nearly my entire career, I’ve been a heel. I love playing that side of the alignment coin and am glad the fans have a good time razzing me. I have been fortunate enough to have been in the ring with some tremendous talent, from the multiple organizations I have worked for in my career. Some of whom were the perfect foil to my plans.
I’ve never been one to chase titles down, but lucky enough to hold all the major ones at one point or another. Not only that, someone thought I merited a place in the Hall of Fame with my best friend and long time tag team partner. I would write the letters of which Hall it is, but then I’m sure a “cease and desist” letter would find a way to my mailbox.
PCW.
Pacific Coast Wrestling. They can truly go fuck themselves.
Now where was I...with all that has happened recently, I’m lucky I can even form sentences, let alone remember what I want to type.
After I was carried off the battlefield and returned home, I was left to confront my very soul and ask what the fuck was I doing?
My family and I didn’t belong in that fictitious realm any longer. I wasn’t under obligation to remain. Fuck that. Seromine is a character I play for the cameras after all. Not who I am as a person. Not a way of life. More importantly, I told my children we were going back to our rightful home in Anaheim, California! A city that my daughters longed to see again. A city that my wife longed to call home again. Because it IS our home. Their happiness means the world to me.
When I returned from the sidelines as Seromine, I led a cult that dressed as creepy, grotesque versions of well known characters from Disney and immediately targeted Nathan Saniti to make a statement with. They were fun looks and a direct nod to being from Anaheim.
But they were replaced with the look seen up to the pay per view. Well, except the whole religious preacher shtick. That didn’t happen until fall of last year. In fact, religion was never part of my original plan. I don’t like the subject, but somehow I got it in my head that it could work for the cultist gimmick.
And it did. Not only that, I’ve thoroughly enjoyed doing it. But things change for a reason and is about to happen once more.
After Living A Legacy, things just completely fell apart. I never liked hardcore matches. Ironically, when I first broke into the business, I used to make scaffold matches my specialty and thankfully, never took a tumble off one. The damn structure was wrapped with barb wire and lit on fire at the sides. Oh the errors of youth. But our feud called for something dramatic to cap things off. So, there you go and you’re welcome, you savages. Getting impaled with those hatpins sucks!
There are a few in the company older than I am, but we all must decide for ourselves when enough is enough. While the sun is setting on my career, I know in my heart that the place will continue to flourish with a bright future.
As an example, Kyle Shane has future World Champion written all over him. I think it’s only a matter of time. Hopefully he sends me a thank you note for walking out of our Battlebowl match, because now he can ascend to the highest level of Pure Class Wrestling. Or as I’ll forever call it, PCW.
There I go again. Off topic.
Whitey Ford should be my topic. The current World Champion and future Hall of Famer. How the fuck that hasn’t happened yet, I don’t know. But he’s way past due. This is going to be our first ever meeting and a match I personally requested. He’s damn lucky that the magician took my International Title, because I was getting closer to his record for holding it the longest. Sort of.
I am well aware of his accomplishments however and wanted to cross this off my wrasslin’ bucket list. If I had one that is. So HOPEFULLY we can go out there and give the fans one for the ages. Because I plan on kicking his drunk ass and ruining people's nights in the process!
...Ok.Now my little darlings are hassling me. Which means they made it past Destiny. Crap. Maybe I won’t see Whitey at Trauma after all, haha. Guess I should go be Dad for awhile, in order to save myself!
As I sit here at my desk typing this, I can hear the sounds of my children laughing at something on television. Or maybe they are looking at some stupid memes on the internet. I don’t know. Like a match involving Razor Blade, this won’t be long.
Time is undefeated. It is a fact that we will all die someday. That can also be applied to the world of professional wrestling. Not a single one of us will forever compete inside of the squared circle. Oh sure, our names may live on in the annals of history from our accomplishments, but our bodies go through hell because of what we do.
I am staring down thirty-nine years of age. I first broke into the business at twenty-two. Competed all over the world. For nearly my entire career, I’ve been a heel. I love playing that side of the alignment coin and am glad the fans have a good time razzing me. I have been fortunate enough to have been in the ring with some tremendous talent, from the multiple organizations I have worked for in my career. Some of whom were the perfect foil to my plans.
I’ve never been one to chase titles down, but lucky enough to hold all the major ones at one point or another. Not only that, someone thought I merited a place in the Hall of Fame with my best friend and long time tag team partner. I would write the letters of which Hall it is, but then I’m sure a “cease and desist” letter would find a way to my mailbox.
PCW.
Pacific Coast Wrestling. They can truly go fuck themselves.
Now where was I...with all that has happened recently, I’m lucky I can even form sentences, let alone remember what I want to type.
After I was carried off the battlefield and returned home, I was left to confront my very soul and ask what the fuck was I doing?
My family and I didn’t belong in that fictitious realm any longer. I wasn’t under obligation to remain. Fuck that. Seromine is a character I play for the cameras after all. Not who I am as a person. Not a way of life. More importantly, I told my children we were going back to our rightful home in Anaheim, California! A city that my daughters longed to see again. A city that my wife longed to call home again. Because it IS our home. Their happiness means the world to me.
When I returned from the sidelines as Seromine, I led a cult that dressed as creepy, grotesque versions of well known characters from Disney and immediately targeted Nathan Saniti to make a statement with. They were fun looks and a direct nod to being from Anaheim.
But they were replaced with the look seen up to the pay per view. Well, except the whole religious preacher shtick. That didn’t happen until fall of last year. In fact, religion was never part of my original plan. I don’t like the subject, but somehow I got it in my head that it could work for the cultist gimmick.
And it did. Not only that, I’ve thoroughly enjoyed doing it. But things change for a reason and is about to happen once more.
After Living A Legacy, things just completely fell apart. I never liked hardcore matches. Ironically, when I first broke into the business, I used to make scaffold matches my specialty and thankfully, never took a tumble off one. The damn structure was wrapped with barb wire and lit on fire at the sides. Oh the errors of youth. But our feud called for something dramatic to cap things off. So, there you go and you’re welcome, you savages. Getting impaled with those hatpins sucks!
There are a few in the company older than I am, but we all must decide for ourselves when enough is enough. While the sun is setting on my career, I know in my heart that the place will continue to flourish with a bright future.
As an example, Kyle Shane has future World Champion written all over him. I think it’s only a matter of time. Hopefully he sends me a thank you note for walking out of our Battlebowl match, because now he can ascend to the highest level of Pure Class Wrestling. Or as I’ll forever call it, PCW.
There I go again. Off topic.
Whitey Ford should be my topic. The current World Champion and future Hall of Famer. How the fuck that hasn’t happened yet, I don’t know. But he’s way past due. This is going to be our first ever meeting and a match I personally requested. He’s damn lucky that the magician took my International Title, because I was getting closer to his record for holding it the longest. Sort of.
I am well aware of his accomplishments however and wanted to cross this off my wrasslin’ bucket list. If I had one that is. So HOPEFULLY we can go out there and give the fans one for the ages. Because I plan on kicking his drunk ass and ruining people's nights in the process!
...Ok.Now my little darlings are hassling me. Which means they made it past Destiny. Crap. Maybe I won’t see Whitey at Trauma after all, haha. Guess I should go be Dad for awhile, in order to save myself!