Post by Kyle Shane on Aug 27, 2018 18:39:42 GMT -5
It starts inauspiciously, as a pair of tiny black eyes stare hungrily into the paradise arrayed before it. Before, it had been hungrily regarding the prize on the cobblestone walkway before it, the tiny red acorn that had rolled over from the tree in the park. But there, across the road, past the gauntlet of gigantic metal beasts on rubber treads that would flatten a miniscule creature like the squirrel voraciously. The bigthings were just an obstacle, it was in the space between that the squirrel glimpsed flashes of it's heart's desire, the large stand containing barrels of nuts that put the acorn to shame. Some inner cogs were working, some growing sensation of basest desire was forming and driving this tiny thing to a frenzy. This squirrel needed one of those nuts, especially - and it almost had a tiny squirrel heart-attack here - the ginormous, hairy shelled monstrosity set in a tray, three strange holes like eyes staring, giving it a come hither attraction.
This squirrel had to go get that nut.
Passing by, on the sidewalk, the wind from a tractor trailer going by kicked his scarf up against his face as Kyle extracted a handful of nuts from the basket at the farmer's market, and he looked sidelong at his companion with a mixture of dubious curiousity and annoyance. "So what I've never understood with Alastair is... they're making what amounts to a Kyle Shane movie, and I've never even gotten a cut of it? How the fuck did that happen?"
Hiro simply sighed, and he took a sip from his latte. Meeting with Kyle these days was always a mixed bag for Hiro. And he could never figure how to approach these meetings. Part of him wanted to approach it the way they did when they were eighteen of course, Game On, Noobs, Runescape references and photoshopping dicks into someone's mouth. But as of now, Hiro could only check his watch impatiently as they stood on the crosswalk by the farmer's market, oblivious to the activity behind them.
"Don't you remember when you told Chad all those stories that time you got super stoned, the crazy shit about going into the future and seeing yourself as an old man running a corporation that sponsored robot combat wrestling? Or the story about the world breaking and you battling the Elder Gods or some shit?"
"Yeaahh," Kyle didn't. "But that can't be legal. It's MY intellectual property rights." His outrage was palpable. All those months ago he had remembered it was Hiro who pointed the script out as it was being shopped around, about a video game nerd from a Boston college who spends all his nights getting stoned before the psychotic half-brother he never knew he had kidnaps his girlfriend and uses her to complete evil rituals. Army of Darkness meets Pineapple Express, the producers were quoted as saying at the panel at the SXSW festival, and everybody was very excited as production started.
Except the basis for the main character, devoid of his motherfucking movie check.
Not noticing the tiny furry figure crawling up the leg of the table, slowly, it's heart still racing from a near-death experience, Kyle stared at the bushels of peaches, perturbed.
Hiro gave Kyle a tiny shrug meant to be reassuring. "Maybe you can take some solace in the fact that this kid, with no Hollywood experience, was able to sell a screenplay based on your life because it's a really interesting story? I mean this is some Diablo Cody shit."
The squirrel had attained the top of the mountain, and it's hungry eyes played lovingly over the hairy, hard surface of the coconuts, stacked like pellets in a food dish. It salivated, and those three round eyes of the coconut looked up, invitingly, telling it to go ahead, store it for the winter, it didn't mind. Feast on it for as long as it liked.
The problem came when it tried to bite into the coconut.
"I mean, does NOBODY have a problem with this?" Kyle flung his arms around him, and a few people stopped and stared. Hiro was looking through his tablet, a slight frown crinkling his forehead. "Well yeah, some people do..."
He turned the tablet to face Kyle, and Kyle got a glimpse of a header titled News and Rumors Board with a thread started under the title "KYLE SHANE TO GET MOVIE IN 2019"
And then a spate of angry responses as Hiro scrolled down, and as he read, Kyle got increasingly more angry.
Justin Michaels posted, 8/25/2018 8:47 am, "This is ridiculous. I'm the king of this fed, and I am the International Champion. THE INTERNATIONAL CHAMPION, DAMMIT. Never mind that that belt was discontinued. I'm the biggest threat to Seromine also, Kyle is only handling my sloppy seconds. Why does Kyle Shane get handed a movie? He's such a bitch."
Justin Michaels posted, 8/25/2018 8:53 am "What do you mean I have to defend my North American Title once in a while? Don't you know who I am? Fuck this, I'm quitting and joining Johnny again."
Justin Michaels posted, 8/25/2018 8:55 am "When can I get my title shot again?"
Seromine posted, 8/25/2018 5:13 pm, "Kyle Shane is a weak, ridiculous little pretender who does not deserve the adulation and good will of the blasphemous sinners of Pure Class Wrestling. I am the light, the truth and the way. I have spread my influence so far and brought my acolytes to the top of the mountain, have shown them a way to prosper and grow into strong competitors that Kyle Shane will never be able to equal in wrestling prowess. Kyle Shane is a pretender to my throne."
Seromine posted, 8/25/2018 7:48 pm, "...What do you mean Tyler Scott tapped out cleanly to Kyle Shane?!! I sent Holden Ross out there to give him the advantage. How much more do I have to give these idiots incentive to cheat before they can do something right?"
Seromine posted, 08/25/2018 7:50 pm, "That is quite alright, because I am sending Holden Ross as an instrument of my divine wrath. Holden Ross will use my teachings against Kyle Shane and... What do you mean Holden Ross tapped out to Kyle Shane?!!"
Seromine posted 8/25/2018 7:55 pm, "A title shot? Uh... no... no, I'm... too busy to face Kyle Shane just now, uh... busy spreading my gospel. Also I have an upcoming match with um... Derek... Cosmos. Yeah. That's going to take up my time. Sorry no time to face Kyle Shane this cycle logging off now."
Grimm posted 8/26/2018 11:19 pm, "Kyul Shan haz 2 talk lot becuz he fills spaces with lotz of wordz. LOLZ! I dont need 2 face Kyul Shan to pruv miself, I haz beatun Kyul Shan befor. Kyul Shan is not a gud wrastlre. I am so smrat and everybdy fears me."
Dominator replied 8/26/2018 11:21 pm, "I may not like you Grimm, but we're such a good team. In fact, I HATE YOU, Grimm, but we're so awesome together. Kyle Shane doesn't deserve a movie based on him because he's the second best Underground Champion, after me. I am the Anachronism. The Lord of Time. The Chronological Order. A member of the Black Hand. The -."
Dominator replied 8/26/2018 11:43 pm, "Shit... shit, shit, shit. I need a new nickname to think of to call myself right now, because having all these nicknames is how I convince people I'm special when I'm defending a title against the Hiroshi Yukios and High Tides of the federation. If I don't think up something to make me sound meticulous and worldly, people are gonna think I'm just a shitty giant that needs a crutch to survive. Shit. Shit. Um... the Watchmaker? Yes! Call me the Watchmaker of Pure Class Wrestling."
Dominator replied 8/26/2018 11:51 pm, "...Can I have a title match against somebody that isn't friends with Razor Blade this week?"
Grimm replied 8/26/2018 11:53 pm, "I will show Kyul Shan the tru meeneng of FEAR. SNAP CRAKUL POP!"
Dominator replied 8/26/2018 11:53 pm, "Grimm, it's okay, buddy, let's step away from the keyboard now, how about we go get you some Rice Krispies?"
Grimm replied 8/26/2018 11:54 pm, "YAAAAAY!"
Kyle put the tablet down with a perturbed expression on his face, not noticing the small figure beneath their feet pushing a coconut with a herculean effort down the street. Kyle chewed on his lip, looking thoughtfully at the tablet and the message board containing all the haters. He wanted to stomp on it, elbow drop it, burn in. Instead, he whispered, "I'm gonna kill all those fucks." Hiro readjusted his glasses and chastised his former roomie, "Eh, let it go, man. Nothing you can do about it now. Anytime anybody tries something different, there will be idiots on the internet throwing bricks at it. They're just dumbass haters."
"Nothing I can do, huh?" Kyle was stroking his chin thoughtfully.
"Not unless you stop the movie from getting made," Hiro said matter of factly, momentarily distracted by what appeared to be a squirrel pushing a small bowling ball, or- but then Kyle lightly slapped him across the face. "Then that's exactly what the fuck I'ma do."
Kyle turned on his heel and made his way down the street. Unseen, the squirrel had a mad, desperate look in it's eye. The coconut stared inscrutably down at it, it's sweet inner meat beckoning to it from within.
It knew the secret now.
It knew the way to gain the satisfaction of it's intended meal.
And it began, slowly, inexorably, to push the coconut up the flight of steps.
You wanna know what the biggest influence on my psyche has been since I was just a skinny little geek living in a trailer park? Before I'd even reached the lofty stages of adolescence, before I'd even begun to think about Hannah Montana or Kim Possible awakening my burgeoning identity, when I was just a lonely little kid that grew up with a television as a parental figure in my life, and I'd be plunked down in front of that while my father got his drink on in the next room. It was this little cartoon I watched at 4 in the morning on some local, static-fuzzed channel, and it instilled in me an almost totemic fixation, a realization of the merits of grit and temerity amid the never-ending slog of bullshit that comes your way. In a way this cartoon, more than any video game I've selected as my totem, has come to define the grind to me. The grind of rising above challenges. The grind of being the best.
Squirrels and coconuts.
See, there was this squirrel. He passes by this outdoor fruit stand, and this dumb little animal starts salivating because he sees all of these nuts. Of every kind he could ever want, right? So much meatier than his precious acorns, he saw almonds, he saw Brazil nuts, and then what do his little eyes happen upon but the biggest nut that he's ever seen. To his eyes, this is a super nut, the biggest evolution of the acorn, and if he can bring it to his hidey hole he'd be set for the entire winter. There would be no need to gather any more food. Perhaps there was even an inkling that this nut would increase his status among other squirrels, if they saw him feasting on this mighty super nut, they would surely be envious, right? So, the squirrel pushed this nut out of the bin, expecting that it would fall, thinking it might break.
It doesn't.
The squirrel is taken aback of course, so the only thing he can think to do is try harder to break it. This stupid squirrel ends up using a jackhammer... pushing it down a flight of steps, even pushing this nut into oncoming traffic. Nothing. It will not break. This squirrel has surely found a demon nut, now in his mind. The holes of the coconut look like smirking eyes, watching, judging and laughing at him. This is squirrel hell.
This little idiot ends up pushing the coconut up a gazillion stairs to the top of the Empire State Building, and he heaves it off. He sends this thing like a guided missile, sailing all those stories down to smash into the pavement, and he rushes back down in a cartoony way, thinking that it's been dashed to pieces, thinking he's triumphed over the demon nut. But to ithe squirrel's shock... it's still whole. Until... he gets close, and it begins.
Crack.
Slowly the shell peels back. And the squirrel leans in, expectant, salivating... and do you know what is inside once the shell falls away?
Another shell.
The squirrel's season in hell continues, and it faints comically, finally realizing the depth of it's plight. It did everything it could, only to break through, only finding no satisfaction, no feast of the sweetest coconut meat, but torture and backbreak and labor.
You might think this metaphor is me as the squirrel. That that is what the pressure of being the World Champion of Pure Class Wrestling is, that this lesson imparted on me when I was a ten year old kid eating Cocoa Puffs in my jammies parked in front of the tube stuck with me for that reason, to teach me perserverance. And it would bear out because perserverance is what my tenure here has taken. But no... no.
I'm the coconut.
You're the squirrels.
Seromine, Gabriel... you keep trying. You have tried every single thing you can to split my shell but I have dug down deep and found my core, I am unbreakable. Unfuckwithable. You cannot, even if you take a jackhammer, even if you try the stairs. I know that's an odd thing to think when I left the pay-per-view unable to even stand, but you all try to point failures and weaknesses in my face like they mean something when you miss the message behind what actually happened. Can nobody in this fed take me down WITHOUT cheating or bullshit? It seems it's truly so hard to beat one 218 pound wet noodle without having the assistance of a weapon or a stable. I BEAT Tyler Scott, again, and I don't care if he put up such a good show that it took everything I had, I BEAT him.
So it doesn't, in the final analysis, give Seromine's teaching the benefit of showing Tyler the way to succeed. Because this is his newest star, his great pupil and Tyler left out of Return To Glory openly moping to the camera, hanging his head in an emo way and pouting "Maybe Seromine can't save me. Maybe nothing can save me."
One more squirrel hops off the Sisyphus cycle of pushing that coconut up the steps, one more realizes that he can only break one layer of an infinite number of layers on this God damn nut. Tyler Scott realized that joining with Seromine got him nothing. Who will it be next as the rest of his squirrels try their luck? Holden Ross?... Gabriel?
Holden Ross followed the exact same God damn pattern as Tyler Scott did, he was a mediocre, waste of nothing who traded wins with nobody important, who couldn't even claim the Underground title on his first try (something I did, back in January of last year) and who previously to the devilish Seromine putting a bug in his ear at Return To Glory engaged in an opening contest nobody cared about against an opponent who didn't even show up. About as far from main event level push as you can get. But Seromine promised him support, and glory... and Holden Ross, talentless, gym rat douche bro musclehead, didn't give it a second thought. But his first act as a disciple of the Messiah was to interfere in the main event and make SURE Tyler Scott walked away with the World Title. An act he botched. Twice.
Not a scratch on the coconut. But the squirrel is left laying supine, panting, spent.
And Gabriel.
A perennial also ran. A stern rebuke to anyone thinking that just joining Seromine will help your career, in fact a mocking testimonial to the exact opposite of that. Gabriel hasn't done shit. And even when he somehow does manage to squeeze by, he invalidates his own forward momentum the very next week by attributing his success to his Lord, only his Lord. I've written sermons on Gabriel and I've pasted him from pillar to post time and again. But put these two chuckleheads together. They think they've got a plan.
They think they'll come up with a winning combination. They think they've got the perfect device that can split through shells and break into the meat inside.
But even if they smash Mr. Pure, even if they throw me down and toss me from a height to smash me into the pavement, I am still going to be whole, my eyes staring into their souls, laughing and mocking them for their inability, no matter what, to get the job done. For all of their supposed power gifted to them, even if they cheat and cut every corner they still can't break me. Because they aren't reaching the Promised, Holy Lands of Heaven when they walk with Seromine. They're in squirrel hell.
And I can be the God damn Devil.
When I want to be.
This squirrel had to go get that nut.
Passing by, on the sidewalk, the wind from a tractor trailer going by kicked his scarf up against his face as Kyle extracted a handful of nuts from the basket at the farmer's market, and he looked sidelong at his companion with a mixture of dubious curiousity and annoyance. "So what I've never understood with Alastair is... they're making what amounts to a Kyle Shane movie, and I've never even gotten a cut of it? How the fuck did that happen?"
Hiro simply sighed, and he took a sip from his latte. Meeting with Kyle these days was always a mixed bag for Hiro. And he could never figure how to approach these meetings. Part of him wanted to approach it the way they did when they were eighteen of course, Game On, Noobs, Runescape references and photoshopping dicks into someone's mouth. But as of now, Hiro could only check his watch impatiently as they stood on the crosswalk by the farmer's market, oblivious to the activity behind them.
"Don't you remember when you told Chad all those stories that time you got super stoned, the crazy shit about going into the future and seeing yourself as an old man running a corporation that sponsored robot combat wrestling? Or the story about the world breaking and you battling the Elder Gods or some shit?"
"Yeaahh," Kyle didn't. "But that can't be legal. It's MY intellectual property rights." His outrage was palpable. All those months ago he had remembered it was Hiro who pointed the script out as it was being shopped around, about a video game nerd from a Boston college who spends all his nights getting stoned before the psychotic half-brother he never knew he had kidnaps his girlfriend and uses her to complete evil rituals. Army of Darkness meets Pineapple Express, the producers were quoted as saying at the panel at the SXSW festival, and everybody was very excited as production started.
Except the basis for the main character, devoid of his motherfucking movie check.
Not noticing the tiny furry figure crawling up the leg of the table, slowly, it's heart still racing from a near-death experience, Kyle stared at the bushels of peaches, perturbed.
Hiro gave Kyle a tiny shrug meant to be reassuring. "Maybe you can take some solace in the fact that this kid, with no Hollywood experience, was able to sell a screenplay based on your life because it's a really interesting story? I mean this is some Diablo Cody shit."
The squirrel had attained the top of the mountain, and it's hungry eyes played lovingly over the hairy, hard surface of the coconuts, stacked like pellets in a food dish. It salivated, and those three round eyes of the coconut looked up, invitingly, telling it to go ahead, store it for the winter, it didn't mind. Feast on it for as long as it liked.
The problem came when it tried to bite into the coconut.
"I mean, does NOBODY have a problem with this?" Kyle flung his arms around him, and a few people stopped and stared. Hiro was looking through his tablet, a slight frown crinkling his forehead. "Well yeah, some people do..."
He turned the tablet to face Kyle, and Kyle got a glimpse of a header titled News and Rumors Board with a thread started under the title "KYLE SHANE TO GET MOVIE IN 2019"
And then a spate of angry responses as Hiro scrolled down, and as he read, Kyle got increasingly more angry.
Justin Michaels posted, 8/25/2018 8:47 am, "This is ridiculous. I'm the king of this fed, and I am the International Champion. THE INTERNATIONAL CHAMPION, DAMMIT. Never mind that that belt was discontinued. I'm the biggest threat to Seromine also, Kyle is only handling my sloppy seconds. Why does Kyle Shane get handed a movie? He's such a bitch."
Justin Michaels posted, 8/25/2018 8:53 am "What do you mean I have to defend my North American Title once in a while? Don't you know who I am? Fuck this, I'm quitting and joining Johnny again."
Justin Michaels posted, 8/25/2018 8:55 am "When can I get my title shot again?"
Seromine posted, 8/25/2018 5:13 pm, "Kyle Shane is a weak, ridiculous little pretender who does not deserve the adulation and good will of the blasphemous sinners of Pure Class Wrestling. I am the light, the truth and the way. I have spread my influence so far and brought my acolytes to the top of the mountain, have shown them a way to prosper and grow into strong competitors that Kyle Shane will never be able to equal in wrestling prowess. Kyle Shane is a pretender to my throne."
Seromine posted, 8/25/2018 7:48 pm, "...What do you mean Tyler Scott tapped out cleanly to Kyle Shane?!! I sent Holden Ross out there to give him the advantage. How much more do I have to give these idiots incentive to cheat before they can do something right?"
Seromine posted, 08/25/2018 7:50 pm, "That is quite alright, because I am sending Holden Ross as an instrument of my divine wrath. Holden Ross will use my teachings against Kyle Shane and... What do you mean Holden Ross tapped out to Kyle Shane?!!"
Seromine posted 8/25/2018 7:55 pm, "A title shot? Uh... no... no, I'm... too busy to face Kyle Shane just now, uh... busy spreading my gospel. Also I have an upcoming match with um... Derek... Cosmos. Yeah. That's going to take up my time. Sorry no time to face Kyle Shane this cycle logging off now."
Grimm posted 8/26/2018 11:19 pm, "Kyul Shan haz 2 talk lot becuz he fills spaces with lotz of wordz. LOLZ! I dont need 2 face Kyul Shan to pruv miself, I haz beatun Kyul Shan befor. Kyul Shan is not a gud wrastlre. I am so smrat and everybdy fears me."
Dominator replied 8/26/2018 11:21 pm, "I may not like you Grimm, but we're such a good team. In fact, I HATE YOU, Grimm, but we're so awesome together. Kyle Shane doesn't deserve a movie based on him because he's the second best Underground Champion, after me. I am the Anachronism. The Lord of Time. The Chronological Order. A member of the Black Hand. The -."
Dominator replied 8/26/2018 11:43 pm, "Shit... shit, shit, shit. I need a new nickname to think of to call myself right now, because having all these nicknames is how I convince people I'm special when I'm defending a title against the Hiroshi Yukios and High Tides of the federation. If I don't think up something to make me sound meticulous and worldly, people are gonna think I'm just a shitty giant that needs a crutch to survive. Shit. Shit. Um... the Watchmaker? Yes! Call me the Watchmaker of Pure Class Wrestling."
Dominator replied 8/26/2018 11:51 pm, "...Can I have a title match against somebody that isn't friends with Razor Blade this week?"
Grimm replied 8/26/2018 11:53 pm, "I will show Kyul Shan the tru meeneng of FEAR. SNAP CRAKUL POP!"
Dominator replied 8/26/2018 11:53 pm, "Grimm, it's okay, buddy, let's step away from the keyboard now, how about we go get you some Rice Krispies?"
Grimm replied 8/26/2018 11:54 pm, "YAAAAAY!"
Kyle put the tablet down with a perturbed expression on his face, not noticing the small figure beneath their feet pushing a coconut with a herculean effort down the street. Kyle chewed on his lip, looking thoughtfully at the tablet and the message board containing all the haters. He wanted to stomp on it, elbow drop it, burn in. Instead, he whispered, "I'm gonna kill all those fucks." Hiro readjusted his glasses and chastised his former roomie, "Eh, let it go, man. Nothing you can do about it now. Anytime anybody tries something different, there will be idiots on the internet throwing bricks at it. They're just dumbass haters."
"Nothing I can do, huh?" Kyle was stroking his chin thoughtfully.
"Not unless you stop the movie from getting made," Hiro said matter of factly, momentarily distracted by what appeared to be a squirrel pushing a small bowling ball, or- but then Kyle lightly slapped him across the face. "Then that's exactly what the fuck I'ma do."
Kyle turned on his heel and made his way down the street. Unseen, the squirrel had a mad, desperate look in it's eye. The coconut stared inscrutably down at it, it's sweet inner meat beckoning to it from within.
It knew the secret now.
It knew the way to gain the satisfaction of it's intended meal.
And it began, slowly, inexorably, to push the coconut up the flight of steps.
You wanna know what the biggest influence on my psyche has been since I was just a skinny little geek living in a trailer park? Before I'd even reached the lofty stages of adolescence, before I'd even begun to think about Hannah Montana or Kim Possible awakening my burgeoning identity, when I was just a lonely little kid that grew up with a television as a parental figure in my life, and I'd be plunked down in front of that while my father got his drink on in the next room. It was this little cartoon I watched at 4 in the morning on some local, static-fuzzed channel, and it instilled in me an almost totemic fixation, a realization of the merits of grit and temerity amid the never-ending slog of bullshit that comes your way. In a way this cartoon, more than any video game I've selected as my totem, has come to define the grind to me. The grind of rising above challenges. The grind of being the best.
Squirrels and coconuts.
See, there was this squirrel. He passes by this outdoor fruit stand, and this dumb little animal starts salivating because he sees all of these nuts. Of every kind he could ever want, right? So much meatier than his precious acorns, he saw almonds, he saw Brazil nuts, and then what do his little eyes happen upon but the biggest nut that he's ever seen. To his eyes, this is a super nut, the biggest evolution of the acorn, and if he can bring it to his hidey hole he'd be set for the entire winter. There would be no need to gather any more food. Perhaps there was even an inkling that this nut would increase his status among other squirrels, if they saw him feasting on this mighty super nut, they would surely be envious, right? So, the squirrel pushed this nut out of the bin, expecting that it would fall, thinking it might break.
It doesn't.
The squirrel is taken aback of course, so the only thing he can think to do is try harder to break it. This stupid squirrel ends up using a jackhammer... pushing it down a flight of steps, even pushing this nut into oncoming traffic. Nothing. It will not break. This squirrel has surely found a demon nut, now in his mind. The holes of the coconut look like smirking eyes, watching, judging and laughing at him. This is squirrel hell.
This little idiot ends up pushing the coconut up a gazillion stairs to the top of the Empire State Building, and he heaves it off. He sends this thing like a guided missile, sailing all those stories down to smash into the pavement, and he rushes back down in a cartoony way, thinking that it's been dashed to pieces, thinking he's triumphed over the demon nut. But to ithe squirrel's shock... it's still whole. Until... he gets close, and it begins.
Crack.
Slowly the shell peels back. And the squirrel leans in, expectant, salivating... and do you know what is inside once the shell falls away?
Another shell.
The squirrel's season in hell continues, and it faints comically, finally realizing the depth of it's plight. It did everything it could, only to break through, only finding no satisfaction, no feast of the sweetest coconut meat, but torture and backbreak and labor.
You might think this metaphor is me as the squirrel. That that is what the pressure of being the World Champion of Pure Class Wrestling is, that this lesson imparted on me when I was a ten year old kid eating Cocoa Puffs in my jammies parked in front of the tube stuck with me for that reason, to teach me perserverance. And it would bear out because perserverance is what my tenure here has taken. But no... no.
I'm the coconut.
You're the squirrels.
Seromine, Gabriel... you keep trying. You have tried every single thing you can to split my shell but I have dug down deep and found my core, I am unbreakable. Unfuckwithable. You cannot, even if you take a jackhammer, even if you try the stairs. I know that's an odd thing to think when I left the pay-per-view unable to even stand, but you all try to point failures and weaknesses in my face like they mean something when you miss the message behind what actually happened. Can nobody in this fed take me down WITHOUT cheating or bullshit? It seems it's truly so hard to beat one 218 pound wet noodle without having the assistance of a weapon or a stable. I BEAT Tyler Scott, again, and I don't care if he put up such a good show that it took everything I had, I BEAT him.
So it doesn't, in the final analysis, give Seromine's teaching the benefit of showing Tyler the way to succeed. Because this is his newest star, his great pupil and Tyler left out of Return To Glory openly moping to the camera, hanging his head in an emo way and pouting "Maybe Seromine can't save me. Maybe nothing can save me."
One more squirrel hops off the Sisyphus cycle of pushing that coconut up the steps, one more realizes that he can only break one layer of an infinite number of layers on this God damn nut. Tyler Scott realized that joining with Seromine got him nothing. Who will it be next as the rest of his squirrels try their luck? Holden Ross?... Gabriel?
Holden Ross followed the exact same God damn pattern as Tyler Scott did, he was a mediocre, waste of nothing who traded wins with nobody important, who couldn't even claim the Underground title on his first try (something I did, back in January of last year) and who previously to the devilish Seromine putting a bug in his ear at Return To Glory engaged in an opening contest nobody cared about against an opponent who didn't even show up. About as far from main event level push as you can get. But Seromine promised him support, and glory... and Holden Ross, talentless, gym rat douche bro musclehead, didn't give it a second thought. But his first act as a disciple of the Messiah was to interfere in the main event and make SURE Tyler Scott walked away with the World Title. An act he botched. Twice.
Not a scratch on the coconut. But the squirrel is left laying supine, panting, spent.
And Gabriel.
A perennial also ran. A stern rebuke to anyone thinking that just joining Seromine will help your career, in fact a mocking testimonial to the exact opposite of that. Gabriel hasn't done shit. And even when he somehow does manage to squeeze by, he invalidates his own forward momentum the very next week by attributing his success to his Lord, only his Lord. I've written sermons on Gabriel and I've pasted him from pillar to post time and again. But put these two chuckleheads together. They think they've got a plan.
They think they'll come up with a winning combination. They think they've got the perfect device that can split through shells and break into the meat inside.
But even if they smash Mr. Pure, even if they throw me down and toss me from a height to smash me into the pavement, I am still going to be whole, my eyes staring into their souls, laughing and mocking them for their inability, no matter what, to get the job done. For all of their supposed power gifted to them, even if they cheat and cut every corner they still can't break me. Because they aren't reaching the Promised, Holy Lands of Heaven when they walk with Seromine. They're in squirrel hell.
And I can be the God damn Devil.
When I want to be.
