Post by Gerard Angelo on May 7, 2018 20:58:21 GMT -5
Success is really such a matter of view point. One might say being rich and famous is being successful. Others might say its raising a family and making sure you keep a roof over their heads and food on the table. When it comes to sports success is very debatable. Was it stats or championships that made you the best? Who was better? Manning or Brady? Messi or Ronaldo? LeBron or MJ?
Wrestling is even harder to figure out who the most successful ones are. Was it championships? Because then a man with golden hair and tear in his eye was the greatest. Was it the ability to to inspire an entire generation of kids to never give up, while still being the most polarizing? Was it a foul mouthed SOB creating sellout after sellout during the greatest era of the business?
Gerry clasped his hand behind his head as he pondered all these thoughts, staring up at the ceiling fan that lazily spun around in his hotel room. The Hollywood Hero turned his head slightly and looked at the blonde laying next to him in his large bed, the Egyptian cotton sheets pulled up over her large bust as she snored away. She was some model (or actress, he couldn’t remember) Gerry had brought home from the Met Gala. He didn’t even have to try hard. Gerry basically said hello and she could wait to take off his designer dress for a man who didn’t even know here name. It was something Russian, or Eastern European. It didn’t matter now, he through as he carefully pulled the sheets back and stood up out of bed. Angelo cracked his neck and quietly looked around for his suit jacket. He found it thrown hastily on the couch, digging into the inside pocket to pull out a pack of Parliaments and his Zippo.
The PCW Star went over to the sliding doors leading out to the balcony and opened them, walking out as he lit up a cigarette, a light breeze blowing on his naked body as he looked out over the New York City skyline. The man had a busy week. The Gala tonight. Tomorrow and Wednesday he was going to Yankees-Redsox while he was in town, then flying down to Carolina for Trauma, then back to Miami to finish filming the season Miami PD. It was non stop, but he was used to it. He even enjoyed it deep down, especially since he was back in wrestling.
“Wrestling.” He said aloud, his thoughts going back to his post coitus thoughts. Gerry wanted to be successful. Especially in PCW. He would never say it out loud, but the collection of talent assembled in this company rivaled any promotion he ever competed in. He wanted to go down as one of the greatest to ever walk the halls of the PCW Arena. He wanted his name and finger prints on every title and accolade Pure Class Wrestling offered. Hell, he wanted to win the Icemann, but Braddock had tried to take it away from him.
Gerard should’ve been used to it by now, it has been happening his entire life. Somebody saw him and his measure of success, and resented it, thinking he had been given and handed everything. Despite growing up pretty well off, Gerry had always worked for everything in his adult life. He flicked the ash off the end of his cigarette, which had grown in a long worm from slight neglect.
Braddock was becoming a detriment to The Hollywood Hero’s success. He should’ve advanced in the tournament, but now he had to try and win a battle royal to get a second chance to prove he deserved to be in the upper echelon of Pure Class. He had six other wrestlers to deal with. Tyler Scott was no slouch, the man took the North American Champion to his very limit, twice. Hell, even Razor Blade could get lucky and throw him out. Gerry shuddered.
And of course Braddock himself. This was finally Gerard’s chance to get his hands on the idiot clown with out getting jumped from behind. Hell, he’d be lying if he said making sure Braddock didn’t advance was as big as furthering his own career. It was becoming more and more obvious he wasn’t going to be able to move on with his career until he dealt with Braddock and his legion of rejects. His thoughts are interrupted as he hears the sliding door open.
“Gerard, are you coming back to bed?” Asks the gorgeous blonde in her thick Eastern European accent. Gerry turned around and couldn’t help but grin as the leggy model stood their in the door way, naked as the day she was born. His eyes involuntarily devoured her perfect, surgically enhanced body.
“Well, I can’t say no now, can I?” He asked as she looked at him slightly confused, but then smiled as she turned and gracefully walked back to the king sized bed in the hotel room. Gerry smirked and took one last drag from his cigarette, before flicking it into the night.
Wrestling is even harder to figure out who the most successful ones are. Was it championships? Because then a man with golden hair and tear in his eye was the greatest. Was it the ability to to inspire an entire generation of kids to never give up, while still being the most polarizing? Was it a foul mouthed SOB creating sellout after sellout during the greatest era of the business?
Gerry clasped his hand behind his head as he pondered all these thoughts, staring up at the ceiling fan that lazily spun around in his hotel room. The Hollywood Hero turned his head slightly and looked at the blonde laying next to him in his large bed, the Egyptian cotton sheets pulled up over her large bust as she snored away. She was some model (or actress, he couldn’t remember) Gerry had brought home from the Met Gala. He didn’t even have to try hard. Gerry basically said hello and she could wait to take off his designer dress for a man who didn’t even know here name. It was something Russian, or Eastern European. It didn’t matter now, he through as he carefully pulled the sheets back and stood up out of bed. Angelo cracked his neck and quietly looked around for his suit jacket. He found it thrown hastily on the couch, digging into the inside pocket to pull out a pack of Parliaments and his Zippo.
The PCW Star went over to the sliding doors leading out to the balcony and opened them, walking out as he lit up a cigarette, a light breeze blowing on his naked body as he looked out over the New York City skyline. The man had a busy week. The Gala tonight. Tomorrow and Wednesday he was going to Yankees-Redsox while he was in town, then flying down to Carolina for Trauma, then back to Miami to finish filming the season Miami PD. It was non stop, but he was used to it. He even enjoyed it deep down, especially since he was back in wrestling.
“Wrestling.” He said aloud, his thoughts going back to his post coitus thoughts. Gerry wanted to be successful. Especially in PCW. He would never say it out loud, but the collection of talent assembled in this company rivaled any promotion he ever competed in. He wanted to go down as one of the greatest to ever walk the halls of the PCW Arena. He wanted his name and finger prints on every title and accolade Pure Class Wrestling offered. Hell, he wanted to win the Icemann, but Braddock had tried to take it away from him.
Gerard should’ve been used to it by now, it has been happening his entire life. Somebody saw him and his measure of success, and resented it, thinking he had been given and handed everything. Despite growing up pretty well off, Gerry had always worked for everything in his adult life. He flicked the ash off the end of his cigarette, which had grown in a long worm from slight neglect.
Braddock was becoming a detriment to The Hollywood Hero’s success. He should’ve advanced in the tournament, but now he had to try and win a battle royal to get a second chance to prove he deserved to be in the upper echelon of Pure Class. He had six other wrestlers to deal with. Tyler Scott was no slouch, the man took the North American Champion to his very limit, twice. Hell, even Razor Blade could get lucky and throw him out. Gerry shuddered.
And of course Braddock himself. This was finally Gerard’s chance to get his hands on the idiot clown with out getting jumped from behind. Hell, he’d be lying if he said making sure Braddock didn’t advance was as big as furthering his own career. It was becoming more and more obvious he wasn’t going to be able to move on with his career until he dealt with Braddock and his legion of rejects. His thoughts are interrupted as he hears the sliding door open.
“Gerard, are you coming back to bed?” Asks the gorgeous blonde in her thick Eastern European accent. Gerry turned around and couldn’t help but grin as the leggy model stood their in the door way, naked as the day she was born. His eyes involuntarily devoured her perfect, surgically enhanced body.
“Well, I can’t say no now, can I?” He asked as she looked at him slightly confused, but then smiled as she turned and gracefully walked back to the king sized bed in the hotel room. Gerry smirked and took one last drag from his cigarette, before flicking it into the night.