Post by Gerard Angelo on Jun 28, 2018 20:17:43 GMT -5
(These series of tweets were posted to Gerard Angelo’s twitter account (@hollywoodhero) the night of June 21, 2018)
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The whiskey burns a bit as it goes down. Nothing Gerry wasn’t used to as he drained his third glass of the evening, which had started twenty some minutes. His brother Sean looked on with a look of slight concern.
“Aye, bro, you might wanna go a little easy on the drinks.”
Gerry turned an shot his younger brother an evil look.
“Are you the one getting screwed over in both of your careers?” Gerry snarled as he poured another glass of Jim Beam for himself. “PCW won’t let me win a damn match. Every single production company is telling me there isn’t enough interest in baseball to support Iron Horse. I deserve this drink.”
He quickly sucked up half of the fire water from the rocks glass as Sean chewed his lip. He hadn’t seen his brother this upset since his wife left him. Hell Sean didn’t even think it was that big of a deal he got counted out. Sure, it looked like Gerry had slide into the ring just before he reached the ten count, but still. Sean never even saw Gerard act like this when he lost World Championships. Maybe he really thought PCW had a conspiracy against him. Sean turned and looked out at the setting sun that was streaking red, orange, and purple across the sky. They were in the well manicured backyard of Gerard’s estate in Beverly Hills, seated on some metal chairs by the pool.
“How many times does a ref have to screw me before actions are taken?” Gerard asked, not really to Sean but to himself. “I’ve done nothing but good for this company. I go to every meet and great. I go to every talk show and radio appearance they send me to. I don’t even make outrageous demands like I did years ago.”
Gerry grumbles to himself as he lights a cigarette, taking a deep drag of nicotine before blowing it out. Did Gerard really think there was a conspiracy against him? It was sure starting to look like it. Then again, it’s a lot easier to blame others, then oneself. Gabriel put up a fucking fight. Gerard rubbed his neck, still feeling sore despite nearly a week passing of the match. He took another drag as he mulled over his thoughts, staring into space. Gerry could take a loss. He’s lost plenty times before and will in the future. It was the nature of his losses. He beat this count. He got his shoulder up against Stacy Jones. The fact some random dude with fresh ink on his contract eliminated him from the Last Chance battle royal. As unlikely as it was that Pure Class would have it out for him, Gerard just couldn’t shake the paranoia.
Sean looked back over at his brother. He’s been staring into space for about fifteen minutes now.
“Gerry,” said Sean, snapping the Hollywood Hero out of his trance, “Who are you wrestling this week?”
Gerard turned to his brother and snorted. “HighTide…” Gerard stands up and flicks his cigarette into his pool.
“Yes, the mighty old Pirate. That’s what this damn place thinks of me. I go from Gabriel to Johnny Depp’s fuckin’ stunt double.”
“Dude, you really shouldn’t take the dude lightly. I watched the PPV and he beat that big ass sumo dude and then he beat that Arsen dude last week. The man is coming in hot.” Sean takes a sip of his drink as the older Angelo turns around and surprises him with a grin.
“Oh, I’m not taking him lightly. Last thing I need right now is to get beaten by a man dressed in a four year old’s Halloween costume. It’s just more things adding up for me. Did you know I got fined for the tweets I sent out? Yep, pretty hefty fine for critiquing officiating. Now they try to embarrass me with a pirate.” Gerard laughs and run a hand through his dark brown hair as Sean gives his brother a wide eyed look that goes unnoticed.
“This is how it works in the business, Sean. They want to teach me a lesson to keep my mouth shut, and do my job. Unfortunately, I’m going to take out all my frustrations on poor Mister Tide.” Gerard keeps a grin on his face, thinking of all the things he’s going to do to HighTide to send a message to everyone in PCW. Sean still looks a bit concerned. His brother has been different ever seen he made the trip across country to visit their father. Sean had asked his brother what their dad wanted but he just brushed it off and made a stupid joke about their father. Gerard seemed to be more angry after the trip, and was growing more and more toxic. Not only in his wrestling career, but in his acting as well. Sean had talked to Jimmy, and he said Gerry had turned down several big offers from studios who wanted the Gehrig picture. It seemed he thought he was being slighted at every turn. Sean was kind of taking it hard because he was the one who begged his brother to go on the trip. He had just wanted to make sure their dad was okay but it seemed to have set Gerard off on this spiral. Sean could only hope Gerry could right the ship before anything more serious happens.
Meanwhile, Gerry had lit up another cigarette and was drinking the whiskey straight from the bottle. He wasn’t gonna let himself be slighted anymore. Gerard Angelo deserved some respect. He was living legend for Christ’s sake. Film or wrestling, it didn’t matter. Gerard wasn’t gonna let anyone hold him back. Maybe, his father was right. Maybe it was time the old Gerard Angelo made an appearance.
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Bill McGrogan was a good man by any account. A great man if you knew him. He was served his country as a Marine, and had earned the Purple Heart serving in Vietnam. He was a proud father of three and had just recently become a proud grandfather. After serving his country for twenty some odd years he had settled back into his community in the Bronx and opened a luncheonette, where you could get the best chicken sandwich in the city, according to the regulars. Bill also became involved with his community. He made so much of a difference in the city that, with pressure from his family and friends, he was running for senator. Man had a damn good chance to win too.
Bill had retired from running McGrogan’s, the luncheonette, about three years ago. He had given it to his oldest son Tommy to run. Bill was damn proud of all his kids, but he had a special place in his heart for his oldest taking over the business he’s worked so hard for. But he still stopped in every week to get a sliced turkey club with bacon, but don’t tell his wife or cardiologist. He was just leaving McGrogan’s around eleven o’clock. He had stayed to help Tom clean and spend some time with him.
Bill never felt threatened walking this late through the Bronx, even at his advanced age. He knew he should be with someone, due to the business of politics he was getting into, but sometimes you just wanted to walk around and due your own thing. Not to mention he was pretty much a shoe in to win the senate seat. Bill was gonna make real change, he thought to himself. He wanted to make the country he loved one to be proud of again. To help it once again become a shining beacon of hope in a world that was becoming increasingly darker. He was saddened by the state of his country and the world, so he wanted to make a difference.
Bill was so deep into his thoughts that he didn’t notice the man in the hoodie exit the alley behind him as he walked. The man had the black hoodie pulled low over his face and one hand in the pocket.
“Are you Bill McGrogan?” The hooded man asked with an accent that could’ve been Russian, or at least Eastern European. Bill turned cautiously to the man and presented him with a smile though.
“Why yes I am, friend.” Bill said, smiling but still a bit wary of the strange man, thinking he was a mugger. “What can I do you for?”
The man in the hoodie didn’t say anything but just pulled a Glock out of the deep pocket of the hoodie and pointed it at Bill. He put his hands up slowly.
“Take it easy, friend.” Said Bill, not nervous but very wary of this man. “I don’t want any trouble. You can just have my wallet.” The hooded man gives a laugh.
“Что посе́ешь, то и пожнёшь.” The hooded man said before he pulled the trigger. Bill gasps as the Glock bangs. The hoodie man fires off another shot and then another. Bill grips his stomach as he collapses down onto the side walk. The hoodie man walks over and moves Bill a bit with a gloves hand and pulls his wallet from his back pocket. Bill looks up and sees blue eyes as the man turns and takes off running down the block.
Is this how it ends, he asked himself as the stares up at the buildings and stars about the city he loves. Bill pulls his hand from his stomach as its covered in blood. His last thoughts are about his family as he fades out, life water leaking onto the streets of New York.
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Tony Angelo sits in his home office. It’s dark and the only light is the soft blue glow from his computer. He takes a sip from his glass of scotch as he stares off into the dark. Suddenly, a basic ring tone plays, breaking the tranquillity of the dark. It’s slightly muffled as it rings a bit. Tony opens the drawer of his desk, the ringing growing louder as he pulls a basic flip phone out. A burner phone if you will. Tony answers it.
“Hello?” asks the powerful business man. There is a second of silence before a man answers.
“It is done.” Says a deep voice with a Russian accent before the phone clicks and hangs up. Tony closes the phone and replaces it back in the desk and shuts it. He takes another sip of his scotch. The patriarch of the Angelo family lets a small smile split his lips.
He always got what he wanted.
I’m getting really tired of getting screwed over by #PCW officials whenever they get the chance. Like really fuckin’ tired of it, man.
I had the ten count beat. Clearly anyone with half a brain can see I was in the ring before that idiot reached ten. I had Gabriel beat. Ray Charles could’ve seen that.
But clearly this is a conspiracy against me. I finally figured it out. I finally figured out why I keep getting screwed over left and right. Once I realized it, it was quite obvious. I feel foolish for not figuring it out sooner.
PCW isn’t a land of opportunity like one might think. Well, that’s not true, it is a place of opportunity, but only for the select few deemed worthy by #PCW brass. I had the man who was in the Icemann finals beat. I 110% had that count beat. Ask anybody who was in attendance, or watching at home.
Every single one of these refs should be forced to relearn the rule book and have mandatory training on how to be a proper official or they should be fired. #JusticeForGerard
I’m gonna peel back the curtain for all of you a little bit right now. THEY obviously didn’t want the new guy going over on a #PCW main stay. I guess I haven’t “paid my dues” enough for THEM.
I’m not fuckin’ done with Gabriel by any stretch of the imagination, either.
The whiskey burns a bit as it goes down. Nothing Gerry wasn’t used to as he drained his third glass of the evening, which had started twenty some minutes. His brother Sean looked on with a look of slight concern.
“Aye, bro, you might wanna go a little easy on the drinks.”
Gerry turned an shot his younger brother an evil look.
“Are you the one getting screwed over in both of your careers?” Gerry snarled as he poured another glass of Jim Beam for himself. “PCW won’t let me win a damn match. Every single production company is telling me there isn’t enough interest in baseball to support Iron Horse. I deserve this drink.”
He quickly sucked up half of the fire water from the rocks glass as Sean chewed his lip. He hadn’t seen his brother this upset since his wife left him. Hell Sean didn’t even think it was that big of a deal he got counted out. Sure, it looked like Gerry had slide into the ring just before he reached the ten count, but still. Sean never even saw Gerard act like this when he lost World Championships. Maybe he really thought PCW had a conspiracy against him. Sean turned and looked out at the setting sun that was streaking red, orange, and purple across the sky. They were in the well manicured backyard of Gerard’s estate in Beverly Hills, seated on some metal chairs by the pool.
“How many times does a ref have to screw me before actions are taken?” Gerard asked, not really to Sean but to himself. “I’ve done nothing but good for this company. I go to every meet and great. I go to every talk show and radio appearance they send me to. I don’t even make outrageous demands like I did years ago.”
Gerry grumbles to himself as he lights a cigarette, taking a deep drag of nicotine before blowing it out. Did Gerard really think there was a conspiracy against him? It was sure starting to look like it. Then again, it’s a lot easier to blame others, then oneself. Gabriel put up a fucking fight. Gerard rubbed his neck, still feeling sore despite nearly a week passing of the match. He took another drag as he mulled over his thoughts, staring into space. Gerry could take a loss. He’s lost plenty times before and will in the future. It was the nature of his losses. He beat this count. He got his shoulder up against Stacy Jones. The fact some random dude with fresh ink on his contract eliminated him from the Last Chance battle royal. As unlikely as it was that Pure Class would have it out for him, Gerard just couldn’t shake the paranoia.
Sean looked back over at his brother. He’s been staring into space for about fifteen minutes now.
“Gerry,” said Sean, snapping the Hollywood Hero out of his trance, “Who are you wrestling this week?”
Gerard turned to his brother and snorted. “HighTide…” Gerard stands up and flicks his cigarette into his pool.
“Yes, the mighty old Pirate. That’s what this damn place thinks of me. I go from Gabriel to Johnny Depp’s fuckin’ stunt double.”
“Dude, you really shouldn’t take the dude lightly. I watched the PPV and he beat that big ass sumo dude and then he beat that Arsen dude last week. The man is coming in hot.” Sean takes a sip of his drink as the older Angelo turns around and surprises him with a grin.
“Oh, I’m not taking him lightly. Last thing I need right now is to get beaten by a man dressed in a four year old’s Halloween costume. It’s just more things adding up for me. Did you know I got fined for the tweets I sent out? Yep, pretty hefty fine for critiquing officiating. Now they try to embarrass me with a pirate.” Gerard laughs and run a hand through his dark brown hair as Sean gives his brother a wide eyed look that goes unnoticed.
“This is how it works in the business, Sean. They want to teach me a lesson to keep my mouth shut, and do my job. Unfortunately, I’m going to take out all my frustrations on poor Mister Tide.” Gerard keeps a grin on his face, thinking of all the things he’s going to do to HighTide to send a message to everyone in PCW. Sean still looks a bit concerned. His brother has been different ever seen he made the trip across country to visit their father. Sean had asked his brother what their dad wanted but he just brushed it off and made a stupid joke about their father. Gerard seemed to be more angry after the trip, and was growing more and more toxic. Not only in his wrestling career, but in his acting as well. Sean had talked to Jimmy, and he said Gerry had turned down several big offers from studios who wanted the Gehrig picture. It seemed he thought he was being slighted at every turn. Sean was kind of taking it hard because he was the one who begged his brother to go on the trip. He had just wanted to make sure their dad was okay but it seemed to have set Gerard off on this spiral. Sean could only hope Gerry could right the ship before anything more serious happens.
Meanwhile, Gerry had lit up another cigarette and was drinking the whiskey straight from the bottle. He wasn’t gonna let himself be slighted anymore. Gerard Angelo deserved some respect. He was living legend for Christ’s sake. Film or wrestling, it didn’t matter. Gerard wasn’t gonna let anyone hold him back. Maybe, his father was right. Maybe it was time the old Gerard Angelo made an appearance.
===========
Bill McGrogan was a good man by any account. A great man if you knew him. He was served his country as a Marine, and had earned the Purple Heart serving in Vietnam. He was a proud father of three and had just recently become a proud grandfather. After serving his country for twenty some odd years he had settled back into his community in the Bronx and opened a luncheonette, where you could get the best chicken sandwich in the city, according to the regulars. Bill also became involved with his community. He made so much of a difference in the city that, with pressure from his family and friends, he was running for senator. Man had a damn good chance to win too.
Bill had retired from running McGrogan’s, the luncheonette, about three years ago. He had given it to his oldest son Tommy to run. Bill was damn proud of all his kids, but he had a special place in his heart for his oldest taking over the business he’s worked so hard for. But he still stopped in every week to get a sliced turkey club with bacon, but don’t tell his wife or cardiologist. He was just leaving McGrogan’s around eleven o’clock. He had stayed to help Tom clean and spend some time with him.
Bill never felt threatened walking this late through the Bronx, even at his advanced age. He knew he should be with someone, due to the business of politics he was getting into, but sometimes you just wanted to walk around and due your own thing. Not to mention he was pretty much a shoe in to win the senate seat. Bill was gonna make real change, he thought to himself. He wanted to make the country he loved one to be proud of again. To help it once again become a shining beacon of hope in a world that was becoming increasingly darker. He was saddened by the state of his country and the world, so he wanted to make a difference.
Bill was so deep into his thoughts that he didn’t notice the man in the hoodie exit the alley behind him as he walked. The man had the black hoodie pulled low over his face and one hand in the pocket.
“Are you Bill McGrogan?” The hooded man asked with an accent that could’ve been Russian, or at least Eastern European. Bill turned cautiously to the man and presented him with a smile though.
“Why yes I am, friend.” Bill said, smiling but still a bit wary of the strange man, thinking he was a mugger. “What can I do you for?”
The man in the hoodie didn’t say anything but just pulled a Glock out of the deep pocket of the hoodie and pointed it at Bill. He put his hands up slowly.
“Take it easy, friend.” Said Bill, not nervous but very wary of this man. “I don’t want any trouble. You can just have my wallet.” The hooded man gives a laugh.
“Что посе́ешь, то и пожнёшь.” The hooded man said before he pulled the trigger. Bill gasps as the Glock bangs. The hoodie man fires off another shot and then another. Bill grips his stomach as he collapses down onto the side walk. The hoodie man walks over and moves Bill a bit with a gloves hand and pulls his wallet from his back pocket. Bill looks up and sees blue eyes as the man turns and takes off running down the block.
Is this how it ends, he asked himself as the stares up at the buildings and stars about the city he loves. Bill pulls his hand from his stomach as its covered in blood. His last thoughts are about his family as he fades out, life water leaking onto the streets of New York.
======
Tony Angelo sits in his home office. It’s dark and the only light is the soft blue glow from his computer. He takes a sip from his glass of scotch as he stares off into the dark. Suddenly, a basic ring tone plays, breaking the tranquillity of the dark. It’s slightly muffled as it rings a bit. Tony opens the drawer of his desk, the ringing growing louder as he pulls a basic flip phone out. A burner phone if you will. Tony answers it.
“Hello?” asks the powerful business man. There is a second of silence before a man answers.
“It is done.” Says a deep voice with a Russian accent before the phone clicks and hangs up. Tony closes the phone and replaces it back in the desk and shuts it. He takes another sip of his scotch. The patriarch of the Angelo family lets a small smile split his lips.
He always got what he wanted.