Post by Ace Anderson on Jan 31, 2006 17:03:58 GMT -5
The dark open road. A proven escape. An escape from the world that I live, in which I am king. Why would anyone want to escape being a king? That's a good question. I don't want to escape it forever, just for a few minutes. After that ridiculous photo shoot that I did, I'm starting to think that maybe Ace Anderson is going soft. That's not something that can happen. All of my strength is based on ruthlessness, based on hate. The hatred that I feel toward each and every person alive in this world. Sometimes, I just need to get out, clear my head, and contemplate my next move. My next victory, my next appearance. Each one has to be more ferocious than the next, otherwise they'll start pointing their fingers. They'll start saying "What happened to you Ace? You used to be such an asshole and now I'm actually starting to like you." That's the last thing I need. People to like me. Fans are a weakness. You start trying to please them more than you please yourself, and I can't have that, now can I? When you're looking out for number one, there is hardly room for anybody else in the first place. I can only care about myself, Ace Anderson only cares about Ace Anderson. The fans can love me, or they can hate me, it doesn't matter, because at the end of the night I'll still love myself. The reason for that, is because for the rest of my career, I'm going to be the king. What kind of king doesn't think that he is the best? Not a very good one. Kings have empires to run, just as I have PCW to carry on my back. Not because I want to help the company succeed, it's just that they give me solace. Provide me with competition. Some of the newer competition is better than I ever thought they would be, but still I stand the test. Can a king stand the test of time, that is a commonly used saying. I know I can stand the test of time, but I'm not sure if I can stand the test of fighting the temptations that accompany being on top for certain intervals of time. Pure Class Wrestling Magazine was just a start. Ace Anderson can't sell out. The people who care sell out. The next time PCW Magazine comes to Ace Anderson, he's going to take out his pimp glove, slap those fuckers across the face, and tell them to go find a wrestler who works for nickels and dimes, such as Non Compos Mentis, or Grimm to put on the cover. They need the publicity, not me. Showing my face in public doesn't win the matches for me, doing the same thing that I do every week wins the matches for me. At Mass Destruction, it is no different, just another face ripe for the crushing.
Justin "Stormm" Michaels seems to be making quite the impression here in Pure Class Wrestling. Too bad he has already lost to me a couple of times. His record against Ace Anderson isn't very good, and it doesn't stand to improve. Tag Team matches and Singles matches are much different for Ace Anderson, and it's a whole new ballpark once my most prized possession is on the line. No, I'm not talking about my World Title. I'm talking about my ego. If I lose to Justin Michaels, what will they think about me? Wait, that doesn't matter...what will I think about me? Will I be ashamed? Will I be embarrassed? Will I be angry? I'm not saying it's going to happen, but this is just another reason why I cannot be defeated. My confidence is what fuels my fire, and if I am defeated at my first Pay Per View since winning the World Title, my second defense, I don't know what I would do. The first defense hardly counts, as it was against the ill-equipped David Van Dam. They all say he pushed me to my limits, that doesn't matter. I came out on top. Nobody will remember that in a year, nobody will really remember that in two months. They won't say, remember when David Van Dam almost beat Ace Anderson? They'll just see the victory on the paper, and say, that must have been a good match. Truthfully, it was a good match. David put up a good fight, but to bring the words limit and Ace Anderson together in a sentence, that is almost a sin.
So I left to clear my head, and all I end up doing is thinking even more about what is at stake. When pride is on the line, I know I'm not going to fall anything short of spectacular...hell, I'm not going to fall anything short of Greatness.
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It started when I was in my living room, watching old tapes of Justin Michaels, and a few tapes of my own matches, trying to find my weaknesses. As if there were any. Just in case though, just in case there was something that Justin Michaels might be able to spot that I had overlooked, anything about my in-ring approach. I began to grow sick of the tapes after a while, they were becoming boring and repetitive. A lot of me defeating people, a lot of Justin defeating people. He is a bit slower in his PCW tapes than his older tapes, that is one thing I noticed, so his speed may be something I will have to exploit on Sunday. After I finished watching the ninth tape in a row, I decided that I would go out and get some fresh air. Well, the air is never fresh in Boston, but whatever. I wanted to go for a drive, get my mind off of anything wrestling for a while. Obviously that didn't work, so there I was, driving down the dark, open road. I needed to get away from that city, and the nearest exit was pretty close.
I took the exit, and turned out onto the highway. Driving away from the sounds of Boston, I began to think of life before Greatness in the Flesh. Before I changed myself. When frequent visits to mom were made, to check up on her. She still hasn't really gotten over dad's passing, and neither have I, but I choose to not think about it. Even though sometimes I do, when it's late, when I'm up watching a match, I'll remember all of the times that we used to sit down and watch and discuss match after match. I wouldn't be so analytical if it weren't for him. He gave me that skill. I always told her, he's not really gone, he's still in our hearts. It sounds cliche, but it couldn't be more true...
The cars were becoming less and less frequent as I got farther away from the city. It was late, not many people traveling. I decided to open it up a little bit. I began to pick up speed in my Mustang, really started to feel the power. I let off the gas a little, listening to the engine's roar die down. I stepped on the gas, and the roar picked up once more, like a vicious lion, after pouncing out of the brush at an unsuspecting gazelle. The gazelle had no chance. I hardly noticed that I was going over the speed limit. Way over the speed limit actually. I was too busy listening to the soothing sound, well soothing in my opinion, of my Mustang's engine. I was going about one hundred thirty miles per hour, with the speed limit being about forty miles less than that, it was safe to say I'd be in pretty big trouble if an enforcer of the law came along.
That's why, whenever the sirens came on, I couldn't help but feel the slightest bit afraid. Ace Anderson doesn't usually get afraid, but there are a lot of people in jail who don't take too kindly to some of the things I've probably said about them. I began to slow down as the police officer on the bike approached my rear. He pulled up along side me, and pointed to the side of the road. I nodded my head slightly, and I began to slow down more, until eventually I rolled to a stop on the shoulder. He pulled his bike to a stop, and parked it behind me. He got off, with a pad of paper and a pen in hand. He came to my window, and I pressed the button to roll it down.
"Excuse me sir, do you realize how fast you were just going?" he asked me, almost annoyed, as though he knew that I knew how fast I was going.
"Well, not really, it was mostly a blur." I replied, immediately realizing that exact statement wasn't exactly the best possible answer. I didn't really wanna tell him that I knew how fast I was going, because that would make it seem intentional. It wasn't really, I didn't mean to go forty miles over the speed limit, it just kind of happened.
"Oh really? A blur...is that some kind of joke?" he said, right at my face, almost spitting the words like venom from the teeth of a snake. It was then that all of my hatred toward other human beings began to boil up inside me, the smell of his breath, the ridiculous look on his ugly face, it all made me hate him even more than I already did for him pulling me over. I know laws are laws, but it's not like anybody got hurt. If somebody was going to randomly wander across the highway, they deserve to die.
"It wasn't intended to sound like a joke officer, even though it probably did. Ace Anderson is deeply sorry." I said, half meaning it, not wanting to show weakness.
"Who is sorry?" he shot back at me, his eyebrow raised, not quite getting it.
"Ace Anderson sir, Pure Class Wrestling World Heavyweight Champion. You're looking at him." I said in a slick voice, hoping that maybe he was a fan and I could get off with a reduced something or other. The one time I wanted fans. I just hoped that he wasn't one of the ones that hate me.
"I've seen you a few times, you're just as cocky in real life as you are on television," he said to me, while writing down something on his notepad., "now, you were going one hundred and thirty miles per hour, in case you didn't realize, the speed limit on this highway is ninety miles per hour. That is forty miles over the limit. Do you have any idea what that ticket is going to cost you? Do you have any idea how much time you ought to spend in prison for that?" These words cut me like a knife. Prison. The one thing I didn't want to hear during that conversation. I was to defend the World Heavyweight Title in less than a week, and he was talking to me about prison. Just great.
"Well, Greatness is glad to see that you're a fan. To answer your question, Mr. Anderson was not aware that he was going forty miles over the speed limit, but if he was, he probably would have slowed down." I said to him, still as smug as ever. Greatness cannot show weakness, not even in the presence of the law. What if a paparazzi was hiding in the bus or he had a camera on his shoulder. Ace Anderson can't afford to be seen bumbling and crying on national television. That would ruin him. That would ruin me.
"I'm going to write you a ticket son, but I'll tell you this. You're lucky I'm in a good mood. Your attitude isn't doing anything for me either. I just want to see you lose your title at Mass Destruction. I'm giving you a five hundred dollar fine, and you're going to have to do two hours of community service in Boston. Next offense, it's going to be scissors to your license and maybe even a night in jail." he told me, sternly, handing me a ticket.
"Well, Ace Anderson isn't sure whether to say thank you, or spit in your face." I let out, immediately wishing I could take it back.
"You got some mouth on you boy, it's going to get you in trouble someday. I'm letting you drive home tonight, and I'm going to trust that you go straight home and call it a night." he told me, his voice not losing the authority that it had shown the entire time he was talking to me. These officers of the law truly are brave, not even afraid of Greatness in the Flesh.
"Alright officer, whatever you say. You ARE the higher power, of course." I choked out, not wanting to push my luck to far, but not wanting to show any weakness at all. I knew what could happen, what the consequences were for being a total dick to an officer, but I didn't quite think about that. My ego was too important for me to do anything but be Mr. Anderson. He quickly checked my license and registration, to make sure I was who I was and my car wasn't stolen and all of that jazz. He got back on his bike, and I drove off into the night, still clenching the ticket in my hand.
The ride home was a slow one, I didn't want to approach anything near over the speed limit, in case that bastard was following me. That would have put me in the slammer for sure. I pulled into my driveway in the quiet part of Boston, and I got out of the car. I opened up my wallet, and placed the ticket inside, just so I wouldn't forget it. I turned on my car alarm, and unlocked my front door. I opened it up, and stepped across the threshold, the familiar smell of my home entering my nostrils.
Here I am now, standing in my doorway, trying to come to terms with what just happened. Suddenly, like a wave of anything but water, preferably something toxic, almost sewage-like, it hits me. Community service...this will be worse than anything that I could possibly face in the wrestling ring.
Justin "Stormm" Michaels seems to be making quite the impression here in Pure Class Wrestling. Too bad he has already lost to me a couple of times. His record against Ace Anderson isn't very good, and it doesn't stand to improve. Tag Team matches and Singles matches are much different for Ace Anderson, and it's a whole new ballpark once my most prized possession is on the line. No, I'm not talking about my World Title. I'm talking about my ego. If I lose to Justin Michaels, what will they think about me? Wait, that doesn't matter...what will I think about me? Will I be ashamed? Will I be embarrassed? Will I be angry? I'm not saying it's going to happen, but this is just another reason why I cannot be defeated. My confidence is what fuels my fire, and if I am defeated at my first Pay Per View since winning the World Title, my second defense, I don't know what I would do. The first defense hardly counts, as it was against the ill-equipped David Van Dam. They all say he pushed me to my limits, that doesn't matter. I came out on top. Nobody will remember that in a year, nobody will really remember that in two months. They won't say, remember when David Van Dam almost beat Ace Anderson? They'll just see the victory on the paper, and say, that must have been a good match. Truthfully, it was a good match. David put up a good fight, but to bring the words limit and Ace Anderson together in a sentence, that is almost a sin.
So I left to clear my head, and all I end up doing is thinking even more about what is at stake. When pride is on the line, I know I'm not going to fall anything short of spectacular...hell, I'm not going to fall anything short of Greatness.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It started when I was in my living room, watching old tapes of Justin Michaels, and a few tapes of my own matches, trying to find my weaknesses. As if there were any. Just in case though, just in case there was something that Justin Michaels might be able to spot that I had overlooked, anything about my in-ring approach. I began to grow sick of the tapes after a while, they were becoming boring and repetitive. A lot of me defeating people, a lot of Justin defeating people. He is a bit slower in his PCW tapes than his older tapes, that is one thing I noticed, so his speed may be something I will have to exploit on Sunday. After I finished watching the ninth tape in a row, I decided that I would go out and get some fresh air. Well, the air is never fresh in Boston, but whatever. I wanted to go for a drive, get my mind off of anything wrestling for a while. Obviously that didn't work, so there I was, driving down the dark, open road. I needed to get away from that city, and the nearest exit was pretty close.
I took the exit, and turned out onto the highway. Driving away from the sounds of Boston, I began to think of life before Greatness in the Flesh. Before I changed myself. When frequent visits to mom were made, to check up on her. She still hasn't really gotten over dad's passing, and neither have I, but I choose to not think about it. Even though sometimes I do, when it's late, when I'm up watching a match, I'll remember all of the times that we used to sit down and watch and discuss match after match. I wouldn't be so analytical if it weren't for him. He gave me that skill. I always told her, he's not really gone, he's still in our hearts. It sounds cliche, but it couldn't be more true...
The cars were becoming less and less frequent as I got farther away from the city. It was late, not many people traveling. I decided to open it up a little bit. I began to pick up speed in my Mustang, really started to feel the power. I let off the gas a little, listening to the engine's roar die down. I stepped on the gas, and the roar picked up once more, like a vicious lion, after pouncing out of the brush at an unsuspecting gazelle. The gazelle had no chance. I hardly noticed that I was going over the speed limit. Way over the speed limit actually. I was too busy listening to the soothing sound, well soothing in my opinion, of my Mustang's engine. I was going about one hundred thirty miles per hour, with the speed limit being about forty miles less than that, it was safe to say I'd be in pretty big trouble if an enforcer of the law came along.
That's why, whenever the sirens came on, I couldn't help but feel the slightest bit afraid. Ace Anderson doesn't usually get afraid, but there are a lot of people in jail who don't take too kindly to some of the things I've probably said about them. I began to slow down as the police officer on the bike approached my rear. He pulled up along side me, and pointed to the side of the road. I nodded my head slightly, and I began to slow down more, until eventually I rolled to a stop on the shoulder. He pulled his bike to a stop, and parked it behind me. He got off, with a pad of paper and a pen in hand. He came to my window, and I pressed the button to roll it down.
"Excuse me sir, do you realize how fast you were just going?" he asked me, almost annoyed, as though he knew that I knew how fast I was going.
"Well, not really, it was mostly a blur." I replied, immediately realizing that exact statement wasn't exactly the best possible answer. I didn't really wanna tell him that I knew how fast I was going, because that would make it seem intentional. It wasn't really, I didn't mean to go forty miles over the speed limit, it just kind of happened.
"Oh really? A blur...is that some kind of joke?" he said, right at my face, almost spitting the words like venom from the teeth of a snake. It was then that all of my hatred toward other human beings began to boil up inside me, the smell of his breath, the ridiculous look on his ugly face, it all made me hate him even more than I already did for him pulling me over. I know laws are laws, but it's not like anybody got hurt. If somebody was going to randomly wander across the highway, they deserve to die.
"It wasn't intended to sound like a joke officer, even though it probably did. Ace Anderson is deeply sorry." I said, half meaning it, not wanting to show weakness.
"Who is sorry?" he shot back at me, his eyebrow raised, not quite getting it.
"Ace Anderson sir, Pure Class Wrestling World Heavyweight Champion. You're looking at him." I said in a slick voice, hoping that maybe he was a fan and I could get off with a reduced something or other. The one time I wanted fans. I just hoped that he wasn't one of the ones that hate me.
"I've seen you a few times, you're just as cocky in real life as you are on television," he said to me, while writing down something on his notepad., "now, you were going one hundred and thirty miles per hour, in case you didn't realize, the speed limit on this highway is ninety miles per hour. That is forty miles over the limit. Do you have any idea what that ticket is going to cost you? Do you have any idea how much time you ought to spend in prison for that?" These words cut me like a knife. Prison. The one thing I didn't want to hear during that conversation. I was to defend the World Heavyweight Title in less than a week, and he was talking to me about prison. Just great.
"Well, Greatness is glad to see that you're a fan. To answer your question, Mr. Anderson was not aware that he was going forty miles over the speed limit, but if he was, he probably would have slowed down." I said to him, still as smug as ever. Greatness cannot show weakness, not even in the presence of the law. What if a paparazzi was hiding in the bus or he had a camera on his shoulder. Ace Anderson can't afford to be seen bumbling and crying on national television. That would ruin him. That would ruin me.
"I'm going to write you a ticket son, but I'll tell you this. You're lucky I'm in a good mood. Your attitude isn't doing anything for me either. I just want to see you lose your title at Mass Destruction. I'm giving you a five hundred dollar fine, and you're going to have to do two hours of community service in Boston. Next offense, it's going to be scissors to your license and maybe even a night in jail." he told me, sternly, handing me a ticket.
"Well, Ace Anderson isn't sure whether to say thank you, or spit in your face." I let out, immediately wishing I could take it back.
"You got some mouth on you boy, it's going to get you in trouble someday. I'm letting you drive home tonight, and I'm going to trust that you go straight home and call it a night." he told me, his voice not losing the authority that it had shown the entire time he was talking to me. These officers of the law truly are brave, not even afraid of Greatness in the Flesh.
"Alright officer, whatever you say. You ARE the higher power, of course." I choked out, not wanting to push my luck to far, but not wanting to show any weakness at all. I knew what could happen, what the consequences were for being a total dick to an officer, but I didn't quite think about that. My ego was too important for me to do anything but be Mr. Anderson. He quickly checked my license and registration, to make sure I was who I was and my car wasn't stolen and all of that jazz. He got back on his bike, and I drove off into the night, still clenching the ticket in my hand.
The ride home was a slow one, I didn't want to approach anything near over the speed limit, in case that bastard was following me. That would have put me in the slammer for sure. I pulled into my driveway in the quiet part of Boston, and I got out of the car. I opened up my wallet, and placed the ticket inside, just so I wouldn't forget it. I turned on my car alarm, and unlocked my front door. I opened it up, and stepped across the threshold, the familiar smell of my home entering my nostrils.
Here I am now, standing in my doorway, trying to come to terms with what just happened. Suddenly, like a wave of anything but water, preferably something toxic, almost sewage-like, it hits me. Community service...this will be worse than anything that I could possibly face in the wrestling ring.
