Post by Ace Anderson on Mar 25, 2006 12:16:05 GMT -5
..For the first time in my entire life, including when I was a pathetic sack of shit, I felt sorry for myself. Over the years I've learned regret doesn't get you anywhere, so I won't say that I regret the things I've done, but I wish I would have at least gone about them differently. That's the same thing, isn't it? I don't even know anymore. There isn't much that I do know. My comfort zone has been compromised, that is, my perch atop the proverbial mountain of the Pure Class Wrestling locker room. All used to be well, before the wave. That's what I like to call the influx of wrestlers coming into the business. Within that wave was Dominion...oooo...the mighty tag team who wouldn't take answers from anybody. They both have their problems, but don't we all? Lantlas, he still doesn't get it. I run this business. It lives and dies by my decisions. I am Pure Class Wrestling's franchise player. The Paul Pierce of PCW. Without The Truth, the Celts would fail. Without Ace Anderson, Pure Class Wrestling will crash and burn.
Everyone is probably still wondering why I, for the second time in my career, did not make a public appearance last week. It's because I was planning something much more important than wrestling against Lantlas, a man who isn't worthy of my presence just yet. He has to pick up a few more victories not against Brass and Byrd before he can stand in the ring with me, and have my respect. I'm actually totally past the "I'm an elf" thing, because I get it. However, just because I get it, doesn't mean I'm going to respect it, because he doesn't respect the fact that I'm the best champion this business has seen.
Let's recap, shall we? Kyle Cross held the belt for almost a month..what an excuse for a wrestler. Rest in peace, you worthless son of a bitch. After that, the belt was handed to Landon Divine, who held it for half a month until he was defeated by the real paper champion of Pure Class Wrestling, Slither. Then after some more gay shit, Slither managed to pick up the belt once more by beating the biggest idiot the world has ever seen, in Sean Hunter, and somehow beating Pegasus, who is twice the wrestler, twice the champion that Slither is, and still, Pegasus isn't even half of what I am. I took the belt from Slither, and now, for the last three months it has been where it should be, with the best wrestler in the company. Yet they all still spew the same horrid words. "Paper champion."
I've shed more blood, and damnit, if I could cry, I'd have shed more tears over this belt than anyone else. But Lantlas, he is the least of my concerns. Grimm, believe it or not, is not my top priority right now. Pure Class Wrestling is not my top priority. There is something bigger than that right now. I have to give back. I've taken so much, that it's only fair. I'm not even sure where to start.
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March 18, 2006 7:41 P.M.
I exhaled slightly, you would almost mistake it for a sigh of relief. It isn't relief, however, I was just trying to clear my mind. It's not often that I sit hear in my home office, at this very desk, and try to figure out how I'm to go about saving lives. Oh wait, it is actually never. I haven't worried about anyone but myself in so long, it's refreshing to think about others, even if it's just for a few hours a night. I run my finger down a page in my address book. I know who I'm looking for, but for some reason I just can't find it. I was never organized, and my biggest mistake was to not alphabetize my address book. I slowly bring my finger to a halt as I locate the number that I was looking for.
Mike Schultz - Publicist
I decided to give Mike a ring last night while I was in bed, during that time that everyone always has to themselves before they fall asleep. There is no sound but the rhythmic beating of your own heart, and the echoes of your own thoughts in your head. Many a revelation have shown themselves during this time, for many people. I believe that it is the only time you really think clearly. It's all about being relaxed. When you're relaxed, you think straight.
I pick up my cordless phone, and I dial Mike's number. I don't know him that well, I mean, we're on a first name basis, but people are on a first name basis with other people's pets, so that doesn't say much for a first name basis. The telephone is a test of my patience. I hate letting it ring more than five times. I figure that's all it should take for people to realize that somebody is calling, and maybe it's somebody important, like myself. It should only take five rings for somebody to answer their phone, because, contrary to popular belief, maybe that important person won't call back. People say "well if it's important, they'll call back." However, they don't realize that "if THEY'RE important, they'll just call somebody else."
Mike, thankfully, picked up after four rings. A relief to my system. "Hello, Mike here." he shouts into the receiver. I hate that, when people feel they have to speak up when they answer the phone, as if modern technology requires a shout for clarity. They have microchips that can transfer data in seconds but they treat a telephone like they're looking for a megaphone effect. I pull the phone away from my ear and cover it with my hand. I regain my composure, and then I return the phone to my ear.
"Are you trying to make me deaf? Do you know how many deaf wrestlers there are? Zero. So cut it out." I tell him, as serious as can be. He'll take it as a joke. It's funny how people take very serious matters lightly. As if being able to hear isn't near the top of my things I would like to be able to do until I die list, right next to seeing. He knew it was me right away.
"Oh, hey Jason. How ya doin'?" he inquires, his tone down fifty decibels.
"Not bad, especially now that you're not yelling at me." I say back, trying to stay cheery. Talking to this guy makes me angry most of the time. I would swear he has down syndrome or wants to or something.
"Well, what can I do for ya?" he asks politely. That's why I hate him. He's too damn polite. He talks to me like he's meeting me for the first time and he's trying to sell me something useless. I don't bother trying to change it, I'll just live with hating the guy. He's good at what he does, so that's good, though.
"I want you to spread the word. I plan on opening in non-profit organization in my father's name. I plan on donating quite a bit of money to it, but I want you to call some people, see what they can do about it. I know you can do this for me, Mike." I get straight to the point. No use beating around the bush.
"A what? You've gotta be kidding me." he says, with a chuckle at the end.
"Nope, not joking." I say, although what I wanna say is 'I wouldn't be calling you if I didn't have to, you dumb mother fucker.' If only people said what they thought. A lot of people would be upset at a lot of people, or at least upset with me.
"Well, what kind of organization is this? I'm sure these kind benefactors would like to know." I'm glad he's not beating around the bush either.
"It's going to be a program that gets homeless people off of their feet and back into the world. Get them real homes, and jobs and stuff. Offer rehab if necessary. Something like that. I have the basic principles down, but I wanna see what other people think about it first." I tell him, trying to stay on point, makes me think of oral presentations in fifth grade.
"Alright then, simple as that. I'll call some people and get back to you with their input." he tells me, and he hangs up before I can even say goodbye. All the better for me. I hang up my phone, and set it down as well. I immediately look up at the ceiling, and I think. Lantlas. Ah well, I'll just go in there and do my job. If it gets boring, I'll crack him with the World title. Closest he is going to get to it. Win loss records are over-rated anyway.
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Present Day
So now, here I am once more, in my home office, but this time I'm not thinking about saving lives. I'm thinking about Phinehas Grimm. I'm thinking about my last encounter with the self-proclaimed "Abomination of Desolation." It occurs to me, that this match will be nothing. A squash match, with me running through him like a hot knife through butter, if over-used sayings are appropriate in the confines of my own mind. Similes are a powerful tool of the English language, but they are also misunderstood by most humans. I can't help but grin to myself. For a split second I wondered if elves understood them. It's about time Pure Class Wrestling hears my voice, before they all panic and start running around screaming like the victims of 9/11. I grab a personal video camera, and set it up on my desk. I don't care about the lighting, or the camera angle, and all the rest of the stuff that the camera crew goes through. I just want to talk, not shoot a feature presentation. Once I turn the LCD viewfinder of the camcorder around so I can see what the camera sees, I press the record button. I immediately go into what I like to call "Ace Anderson mode."
I look right into the camera, trying to keep a straight face. A poker face, if you will. All of those hours at the table come in handy. "Hello, Pure Class Wrestling. So called superstars. Fans. All of you that hate Greatness in the Flesh. He is aware that it has been a week or more since he has graced you with his voice, but there was some business that needed attending to last week. Business more important than talking about a match with Lantlas. A match that meant nothing to Ace Anderson on paper, and meant nothing to Ace Anderson in the ring. Now they've booked a grand rematch. Greatness in the Flesh, versus the Abomination of Desolation. Two of the most impressive wrestlers in the business to go head to head, and yet, we all foresee the outcome. Ace Anderson will come out on top, just like the last time the two met. Grimm will say that "Ace Anderson cheated", hell, Ace Anderson wouldn't deny it. So he cheated? Mr. Anderson does what it takes to be the victor. Ace Anderson doesn't care if he wrestles an honorable match or not, and neither do you, Grimm." I pause. A slight chuckle emanates from the pit of my stomach. I'm not sure why, but it just came out. I continue.
"Phinehas. It seems you have undergone some changes. You are not the same man that you were when Ace Anderson exchanged blows with you, those many weeks ago. You have gained an ego. The one thing that set you aside from the rest of the competition. You were the man with no ego, and now, you are the man who must fight his own ego as well as his opponent. You don't like it, but you can't help it. You're the International Champion now. You defeated Mr. Showtime. The Mid-Card Machine, as Ace Anderson likes to call him. You defeated Pegasus. You defeated Melissa Malone. Congratulations. Now welcome back to the real world, where Ace Anderson is God. Step into the ring on Tuesday, and prepare to have that new-found ego of yours checked at the outcome."
I reach across and shut off the camera. I'll send the tape in later. Right now, it's time to sleep. I always look forward to sleeping. Not for the fact of rest, but for the time that occurs before you fall asleep. There is no sound but the rhythmic beating of your own heart, and the echoes of your own thoughts in your head. A grand time, indeed.
Everyone is probably still wondering why I, for the second time in my career, did not make a public appearance last week. It's because I was planning something much more important than wrestling against Lantlas, a man who isn't worthy of my presence just yet. He has to pick up a few more victories not against Brass and Byrd before he can stand in the ring with me, and have my respect. I'm actually totally past the "I'm an elf" thing, because I get it. However, just because I get it, doesn't mean I'm going to respect it, because he doesn't respect the fact that I'm the best champion this business has seen.
Let's recap, shall we? Kyle Cross held the belt for almost a month..what an excuse for a wrestler. Rest in peace, you worthless son of a bitch. After that, the belt was handed to Landon Divine, who held it for half a month until he was defeated by the real paper champion of Pure Class Wrestling, Slither. Then after some more gay shit, Slither managed to pick up the belt once more by beating the biggest idiot the world has ever seen, in Sean Hunter, and somehow beating Pegasus, who is twice the wrestler, twice the champion that Slither is, and still, Pegasus isn't even half of what I am. I took the belt from Slither, and now, for the last three months it has been where it should be, with the best wrestler in the company. Yet they all still spew the same horrid words. "Paper champion."
I've shed more blood, and damnit, if I could cry, I'd have shed more tears over this belt than anyone else. But Lantlas, he is the least of my concerns. Grimm, believe it or not, is not my top priority right now. Pure Class Wrestling is not my top priority. There is something bigger than that right now. I have to give back. I've taken so much, that it's only fair. I'm not even sure where to start.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
March 18, 2006 7:41 P.M.
I exhaled slightly, you would almost mistake it for a sigh of relief. It isn't relief, however, I was just trying to clear my mind. It's not often that I sit hear in my home office, at this very desk, and try to figure out how I'm to go about saving lives. Oh wait, it is actually never. I haven't worried about anyone but myself in so long, it's refreshing to think about others, even if it's just for a few hours a night. I run my finger down a page in my address book. I know who I'm looking for, but for some reason I just can't find it. I was never organized, and my biggest mistake was to not alphabetize my address book. I slowly bring my finger to a halt as I locate the number that I was looking for.
Mike Schultz - Publicist
I decided to give Mike a ring last night while I was in bed, during that time that everyone always has to themselves before they fall asleep. There is no sound but the rhythmic beating of your own heart, and the echoes of your own thoughts in your head. Many a revelation have shown themselves during this time, for many people. I believe that it is the only time you really think clearly. It's all about being relaxed. When you're relaxed, you think straight.
I pick up my cordless phone, and I dial Mike's number. I don't know him that well, I mean, we're on a first name basis, but people are on a first name basis with other people's pets, so that doesn't say much for a first name basis. The telephone is a test of my patience. I hate letting it ring more than five times. I figure that's all it should take for people to realize that somebody is calling, and maybe it's somebody important, like myself. It should only take five rings for somebody to answer their phone, because, contrary to popular belief, maybe that important person won't call back. People say "well if it's important, they'll call back." However, they don't realize that "if THEY'RE important, they'll just call somebody else."
Mike, thankfully, picked up after four rings. A relief to my system. "Hello, Mike here." he shouts into the receiver. I hate that, when people feel they have to speak up when they answer the phone, as if modern technology requires a shout for clarity. They have microchips that can transfer data in seconds but they treat a telephone like they're looking for a megaphone effect. I pull the phone away from my ear and cover it with my hand. I regain my composure, and then I return the phone to my ear.
"Are you trying to make me deaf? Do you know how many deaf wrestlers there are? Zero. So cut it out." I tell him, as serious as can be. He'll take it as a joke. It's funny how people take very serious matters lightly. As if being able to hear isn't near the top of my things I would like to be able to do until I die list, right next to seeing. He knew it was me right away.
"Oh, hey Jason. How ya doin'?" he inquires, his tone down fifty decibels.
"Not bad, especially now that you're not yelling at me." I say back, trying to stay cheery. Talking to this guy makes me angry most of the time. I would swear he has down syndrome or wants to or something.
"Well, what can I do for ya?" he asks politely. That's why I hate him. He's too damn polite. He talks to me like he's meeting me for the first time and he's trying to sell me something useless. I don't bother trying to change it, I'll just live with hating the guy. He's good at what he does, so that's good, though.
"I want you to spread the word. I plan on opening in non-profit organization in my father's name. I plan on donating quite a bit of money to it, but I want you to call some people, see what they can do about it. I know you can do this for me, Mike." I get straight to the point. No use beating around the bush.
"A what? You've gotta be kidding me." he says, with a chuckle at the end.
"Nope, not joking." I say, although what I wanna say is 'I wouldn't be calling you if I didn't have to, you dumb mother fucker.' If only people said what they thought. A lot of people would be upset at a lot of people, or at least upset with me.
"Well, what kind of organization is this? I'm sure these kind benefactors would like to know." I'm glad he's not beating around the bush either.
"It's going to be a program that gets homeless people off of their feet and back into the world. Get them real homes, and jobs and stuff. Offer rehab if necessary. Something like that. I have the basic principles down, but I wanna see what other people think about it first." I tell him, trying to stay on point, makes me think of oral presentations in fifth grade.
"Alright then, simple as that. I'll call some people and get back to you with their input." he tells me, and he hangs up before I can even say goodbye. All the better for me. I hang up my phone, and set it down as well. I immediately look up at the ceiling, and I think. Lantlas. Ah well, I'll just go in there and do my job. If it gets boring, I'll crack him with the World title. Closest he is going to get to it. Win loss records are over-rated anyway.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Present Day
So now, here I am once more, in my home office, but this time I'm not thinking about saving lives. I'm thinking about Phinehas Grimm. I'm thinking about my last encounter with the self-proclaimed "Abomination of Desolation." It occurs to me, that this match will be nothing. A squash match, with me running through him like a hot knife through butter, if over-used sayings are appropriate in the confines of my own mind. Similes are a powerful tool of the English language, but they are also misunderstood by most humans. I can't help but grin to myself. For a split second I wondered if elves understood them. It's about time Pure Class Wrestling hears my voice, before they all panic and start running around screaming like the victims of 9/11. I grab a personal video camera, and set it up on my desk. I don't care about the lighting, or the camera angle, and all the rest of the stuff that the camera crew goes through. I just want to talk, not shoot a feature presentation. Once I turn the LCD viewfinder of the camcorder around so I can see what the camera sees, I press the record button. I immediately go into what I like to call "Ace Anderson mode."
I look right into the camera, trying to keep a straight face. A poker face, if you will. All of those hours at the table come in handy. "Hello, Pure Class Wrestling. So called superstars. Fans. All of you that hate Greatness in the Flesh. He is aware that it has been a week or more since he has graced you with his voice, but there was some business that needed attending to last week. Business more important than talking about a match with Lantlas. A match that meant nothing to Ace Anderson on paper, and meant nothing to Ace Anderson in the ring. Now they've booked a grand rematch. Greatness in the Flesh, versus the Abomination of Desolation. Two of the most impressive wrestlers in the business to go head to head, and yet, we all foresee the outcome. Ace Anderson will come out on top, just like the last time the two met. Grimm will say that "Ace Anderson cheated", hell, Ace Anderson wouldn't deny it. So he cheated? Mr. Anderson does what it takes to be the victor. Ace Anderson doesn't care if he wrestles an honorable match or not, and neither do you, Grimm." I pause. A slight chuckle emanates from the pit of my stomach. I'm not sure why, but it just came out. I continue.
"Phinehas. It seems you have undergone some changes. You are not the same man that you were when Ace Anderson exchanged blows with you, those many weeks ago. You have gained an ego. The one thing that set you aside from the rest of the competition. You were the man with no ego, and now, you are the man who must fight his own ego as well as his opponent. You don't like it, but you can't help it. You're the International Champion now. You defeated Mr. Showtime. The Mid-Card Machine, as Ace Anderson likes to call him. You defeated Pegasus. You defeated Melissa Malone. Congratulations. Now welcome back to the real world, where Ace Anderson is God. Step into the ring on Tuesday, and prepare to have that new-found ego of yours checked at the outcome."
I reach across and shut off the camera. I'll send the tape in later. Right now, it's time to sleep. I always look forward to sleeping. Not for the fact of rest, but for the time that occurs before you fall asleep. There is no sound but the rhythmic beating of your own heart, and the echoes of your own thoughts in your head. A grand time, indeed.
