Post by Ace Anderson on Mar 27, 2006 22:22:00 GMT -5
The tone of the barn door sliding across startled me. I didn't expect it to make that sound. Especially since it was just built. I recently made orders for a custom ring to be built on my property. For training purposes. Although tonight in particular, I had something else in mind. Some people would tell me I throw my money away. It comes in so fast I don't know what to do with it half the time. That's why the foundation is a good idea. Put it somewhere.
That is not my concern at the moment, however. Ace has something to say. Over the last few weeks, Ace Anderson and Jason McDonald have become to separate entities. They used to be the same person, but now it's as if, by day I'm mild-mannered, normal guy with a bit of coin Jason McDonald, and whenever I step into that ring, or get in front of that camera, I'm the egotistical, ruthless machine that so many love to hate. Kind of like my own make-shift Superman.
I walked into the barn, and kicked the lights. Not literally kicked, of course. They were bright. Fluorescent. The room lit up like the Fourth of July, and stayed that way. A bit more monotonous, however. Just plain bright. No fancy colors. I grabbed onto the ropes, and was glad to see that the PCW camera crew was close behind. I needed to get this off my chest, and a wrestling ring seemed as fit a place as any. Not exactly Pure Class Arena, but that's also a point I need to make.
I inhale and exhale in a good, constant rhythm. I always do this before a promo. I collect my thoughts, organize my words, to make sure I know exactly what I'm going to say. I've never had to do more than one take, and I want to keep it that way. It took them a few minutes to get set up in one of the corners. While they were doing this, I was testing out the ring. The mat had a decent spring to it, but not so much give that it was disgusting. Reminds me of the ring in Pure Class Arena. That's my fit. I wanted to recreate it the best I could. The ropes worked well too. A cameraman then signalled to me that it was time, so I went over to the opposite corner and made some final preparations.
I was decked out in full wrestling gear...well, just my track pants and my Vicks. I have so many pairs of these it's not even funny. I just love the way they look. So sleek yet powerful. Silky smooth. Just like Vick. Just like Ace Anderson. One guy began a countdown. I exhaled a few more times, and got my "Greatness Face" on. It makes even me disgusted. It's like looking into the eyes of a guy who believes he can do no wrong. Trust me, I know what it's like. It took a lot of practice in the mirror to get it down pat. Might sound silly, to practice a face, to practice a gaze, but it's half of the reason why I'm so damn intimidated and hated. If eyes themselves could be arrogant, mine would be the fuhrer of arrogant eyes.
He finished his count, and a split second after I saw the red light, I started to speak. In that voice. That hateful voice. That arrogant voice. The voice that, inside my own head, makes me tingle. It's a tingle of excitement, a tingle of anticipation, knowing that so many people will react to it. Knowing it pierces them as much, if not more than it pierces my own self. "It seems that the wrestlers of HHW have a LOT of time on their hands." I say, as I walk to the other corner, following the ropes with my left hand, "a news show, basically dedicated to the public defilement of Greatness in the Flesh? You cannot debase the excellence of Ace Anderson, not with words. Definitely not with words." I stop in the middle of the ropes, and I arch my back across them. I look back to the camera, which remains still, awaiting my next words, like a child anticipating Christmas morning, and what will be in store for them.
"Lantlas may have scored the victory over Ace Anderson, but what you are all refusing to mention is the fact that Lantlas one the match due to Ace Anderson's own boredom. Twenty minutes in the ring with you, Lantlas, and Ace Anderson was bored. He could have finished you off, but he felt that you deserved to touch the World Title once more, because you will never remove it from his hands. Ever." I continue to walk in front of the ropes, still following them with my fingertips, until I reach the other corner. I lift myself up, and sit down on the top turnbuckle, "Al Laiman, you happen to be the biggest piece of scum from the HHW universe." I change my facial expression to a disgusted one. I can only imagine what it looks like. I struggle not to let out a hint of laughter, or a smug grin.
"As you can tell, Ace Anderson does not care what you have done, and you do not care what Ace Anderson has done. So maybe, you should shut your fucking mouth, stop spewing all the things you HAVE done, and start actually doing something now. You are not impressed by Ace Anderson's nickname? Maybe you should consider everything that Greatness in the Flesh means. It means that he, without a shadow of a doubt, is better than you, he is worth more than you, and everyone else for that matter. Who is the loser with a lot of free time when you and your so-called superstars create a whole television show about how much you hate Ace Anderson? He took four minutes to write a response to an e-mail, and you got to such extreme lengths to try to set Ace Anderson off his mind-set? You may think that because Mr. Anderson is speaking out, you have suceeded, yet nobody can silence Greatness, and so he shall say what he wants. He knows that you all will say what you want, so why not spice things up a bit? Laiman, you say Ace Anderson cannot defeat the "Elven one", which says a lot for your boy Lantlas, next time Lantlas steps in the ring with Ace Anderson, he shall be taken to the proverbial learning grounds, and taught a lesson he will never forget. You do not FUCK with a man whose very name, whose very image, sends chills through your vertebrae. You know the feeling, you cannot deny it. Before you make another news special quoting all of this, which you most likely will, think about the fact that nobody gives a fuck, and what you have to say doesn't matter to anyone, especially Ace Anderson." I was actually starting to get fired up as I spewed those words. These are the moments I love. When Ace and Jason become one, entirely one. Jason feels what Ace feels. Ace cannot possible feel what Jason feels, because Ace doesn't feel much of anything besides hatred. I have created a split personality that I am entirely in control of. Neat little trick if I do say so myself.
"Whoever you are, saying you are the true Greatness in the Flesh, HHW pile of fucking shit...second highest winning percentage, mother fucker you could pick up fifty out of sixty matches by forfeit victories, but that doesn't make you good. Laiman you could have two billion title defences against retards, children, and homeless people like Non Compos Mentis, but that doesn't make you Great. Being Great is going out there, and putting it all on the line, not for yourself, not for the thrill of victory, but for the sake of bringing another man down to his weakest. As if he has just been removed from the womb, and you are smacking his bottom to get him to breathe, or in this case, to slap the very life from his lungs, to tear down his morals, make him wonder when the line was crossed and it became more than just man versus man, and was man, versus machine. Graphic? That's what you have to live for to match up with Greatness in the Flesh." the words are coming out of my mouth with a hint of violence now, like the flow from the Nile after a raging storm. Uncontrollable. I slow down, and catch my breath. I jump down from the turnbuckle, and walk toward the camera, slowly.
"Grimm. The path of Greatness has been set. Total chaos. A path that would put your trials and tribulations in this company to shame. Ace Anderson has to silence the non-believers, the ignorant, foolhardy men who believe Ace Anderson is less than anything he says that he is. The only way to do that, in the mind of Mr. Anderson, is to shatter the hopes, dreams, and most importantly, the bodies of all of the HHW wrestlers. Too bad for you, Grimm, that you are the first man Ace Anderson must step into the ring with. At Trauma, it will be unfortunate for you, that you will have to meet this. If you don't feel you can handle it, you don't have to come down to the ring. You can stay in the back. Greatness would understand. He knows you are better than a coward, Grimm. You just have to ask yourself one question. When do you draw the line, and transverse from cowardice, to intelligence?" the final words leave my lips, as my mouth is dry from talking so much. I am just a few feet from the camera, looking down, as the red recording light goes off. They knew I was done. What a way to end it. I basically said everything that I felt I needed to say, with an added twist.
In a few short minutes, I changed my Superman into a Supervillain. It's not that bad. Ace is supposed to be a villain. I'm just going to have to become more ruthless, more cold, more brutal. Well, Jason isn't going to have to, but Ace is. That is something that he is definitely capable of. I'm even afraid of Ace, because I, unlike everyone else, know that he is capable of anything. Anything.
I climb out of the ring, and I walk out of the barn as I look back at the camera crew. "Just lock it up when you're done, and don't forget to shut off the lights." I tell them, as if they didn't know. Still, I felt obliged to say it. It's funny how people feel that they are obliged to do things. Whether it be react to pain the way that they do, or react to other people's words the way that they do. Every action has a reaction. According to physics, every action has an equal reaction. That's not the case with people. You can act against Ace Anderson, and he will react ten fold anything you could imagine. Ace Anderson acts, and you cannot react to match it. He is beyond anything anyone could ever comprehend.
This belief in Ace is what gets me through every match. No matter how much I believe that Ace and I are two different people, which we are in essence, I can never forget that we share the same body. It is this body that experiences the pain, shoves that pain aside. Focuses on the common goal of Ace, and of myself. Inflicting upon others what was inflicted on me, innocent Jason McDonald, for the first half of my life. Two wrongs don't make a right, but a wrong to counter-act a wrong sure as hell does make you feel good about yourself. That goes along with victory, of course. Proving to myself that I have what it takes to conquer anything. Like a modern day Alexander the Great, I won't stop until the world, or in this case, Pure Class Wrestling, is completely mine.
That is not my concern at the moment, however. Ace has something to say. Over the last few weeks, Ace Anderson and Jason McDonald have become to separate entities. They used to be the same person, but now it's as if, by day I'm mild-mannered, normal guy with a bit of coin Jason McDonald, and whenever I step into that ring, or get in front of that camera, I'm the egotistical, ruthless machine that so many love to hate. Kind of like my own make-shift Superman.
I walked into the barn, and kicked the lights. Not literally kicked, of course. They were bright. Fluorescent. The room lit up like the Fourth of July, and stayed that way. A bit more monotonous, however. Just plain bright. No fancy colors. I grabbed onto the ropes, and was glad to see that the PCW camera crew was close behind. I needed to get this off my chest, and a wrestling ring seemed as fit a place as any. Not exactly Pure Class Arena, but that's also a point I need to make.
I inhale and exhale in a good, constant rhythm. I always do this before a promo. I collect my thoughts, organize my words, to make sure I know exactly what I'm going to say. I've never had to do more than one take, and I want to keep it that way. It took them a few minutes to get set up in one of the corners. While they were doing this, I was testing out the ring. The mat had a decent spring to it, but not so much give that it was disgusting. Reminds me of the ring in Pure Class Arena. That's my fit. I wanted to recreate it the best I could. The ropes worked well too. A cameraman then signalled to me that it was time, so I went over to the opposite corner and made some final preparations.
I was decked out in full wrestling gear...well, just my track pants and my Vicks. I have so many pairs of these it's not even funny. I just love the way they look. So sleek yet powerful. Silky smooth. Just like Vick. Just like Ace Anderson. One guy began a countdown. I exhaled a few more times, and got my "Greatness Face" on. It makes even me disgusted. It's like looking into the eyes of a guy who believes he can do no wrong. Trust me, I know what it's like. It took a lot of practice in the mirror to get it down pat. Might sound silly, to practice a face, to practice a gaze, but it's half of the reason why I'm so damn intimidated and hated. If eyes themselves could be arrogant, mine would be the fuhrer of arrogant eyes.
He finished his count, and a split second after I saw the red light, I started to speak. In that voice. That hateful voice. That arrogant voice. The voice that, inside my own head, makes me tingle. It's a tingle of excitement, a tingle of anticipation, knowing that so many people will react to it. Knowing it pierces them as much, if not more than it pierces my own self. "It seems that the wrestlers of HHW have a LOT of time on their hands." I say, as I walk to the other corner, following the ropes with my left hand, "a news show, basically dedicated to the public defilement of Greatness in the Flesh? You cannot debase the excellence of Ace Anderson, not with words. Definitely not with words." I stop in the middle of the ropes, and I arch my back across them. I look back to the camera, which remains still, awaiting my next words, like a child anticipating Christmas morning, and what will be in store for them.
"Lantlas may have scored the victory over Ace Anderson, but what you are all refusing to mention is the fact that Lantlas one the match due to Ace Anderson's own boredom. Twenty minutes in the ring with you, Lantlas, and Ace Anderson was bored. He could have finished you off, but he felt that you deserved to touch the World Title once more, because you will never remove it from his hands. Ever." I continue to walk in front of the ropes, still following them with my fingertips, until I reach the other corner. I lift myself up, and sit down on the top turnbuckle, "Al Laiman, you happen to be the biggest piece of scum from the HHW universe." I change my facial expression to a disgusted one. I can only imagine what it looks like. I struggle not to let out a hint of laughter, or a smug grin.
"As you can tell, Ace Anderson does not care what you have done, and you do not care what Ace Anderson has done. So maybe, you should shut your fucking mouth, stop spewing all the things you HAVE done, and start actually doing something now. You are not impressed by Ace Anderson's nickname? Maybe you should consider everything that Greatness in the Flesh means. It means that he, without a shadow of a doubt, is better than you, he is worth more than you, and everyone else for that matter. Who is the loser with a lot of free time when you and your so-called superstars create a whole television show about how much you hate Ace Anderson? He took four minutes to write a response to an e-mail, and you got to such extreme lengths to try to set Ace Anderson off his mind-set? You may think that because Mr. Anderson is speaking out, you have suceeded, yet nobody can silence Greatness, and so he shall say what he wants. He knows that you all will say what you want, so why not spice things up a bit? Laiman, you say Ace Anderson cannot defeat the "Elven one", which says a lot for your boy Lantlas, next time Lantlas steps in the ring with Ace Anderson, he shall be taken to the proverbial learning grounds, and taught a lesson he will never forget. You do not FUCK with a man whose very name, whose very image, sends chills through your vertebrae. You know the feeling, you cannot deny it. Before you make another news special quoting all of this, which you most likely will, think about the fact that nobody gives a fuck, and what you have to say doesn't matter to anyone, especially Ace Anderson." I was actually starting to get fired up as I spewed those words. These are the moments I love. When Ace and Jason become one, entirely one. Jason feels what Ace feels. Ace cannot possible feel what Jason feels, because Ace doesn't feel much of anything besides hatred. I have created a split personality that I am entirely in control of. Neat little trick if I do say so myself.
"Whoever you are, saying you are the true Greatness in the Flesh, HHW pile of fucking shit...second highest winning percentage, mother fucker you could pick up fifty out of sixty matches by forfeit victories, but that doesn't make you good. Laiman you could have two billion title defences against retards, children, and homeless people like Non Compos Mentis, but that doesn't make you Great. Being Great is going out there, and putting it all on the line, not for yourself, not for the thrill of victory, but for the sake of bringing another man down to his weakest. As if he has just been removed from the womb, and you are smacking his bottom to get him to breathe, or in this case, to slap the very life from his lungs, to tear down his morals, make him wonder when the line was crossed and it became more than just man versus man, and was man, versus machine. Graphic? That's what you have to live for to match up with Greatness in the Flesh." the words are coming out of my mouth with a hint of violence now, like the flow from the Nile after a raging storm. Uncontrollable. I slow down, and catch my breath. I jump down from the turnbuckle, and walk toward the camera, slowly.
"Grimm. The path of Greatness has been set. Total chaos. A path that would put your trials and tribulations in this company to shame. Ace Anderson has to silence the non-believers, the ignorant, foolhardy men who believe Ace Anderson is less than anything he says that he is. The only way to do that, in the mind of Mr. Anderson, is to shatter the hopes, dreams, and most importantly, the bodies of all of the HHW wrestlers. Too bad for you, Grimm, that you are the first man Ace Anderson must step into the ring with. At Trauma, it will be unfortunate for you, that you will have to meet this. If you don't feel you can handle it, you don't have to come down to the ring. You can stay in the back. Greatness would understand. He knows you are better than a coward, Grimm. You just have to ask yourself one question. When do you draw the line, and transverse from cowardice, to intelligence?" the final words leave my lips, as my mouth is dry from talking so much. I am just a few feet from the camera, looking down, as the red recording light goes off. They knew I was done. What a way to end it. I basically said everything that I felt I needed to say, with an added twist.
In a few short minutes, I changed my Superman into a Supervillain. It's not that bad. Ace is supposed to be a villain. I'm just going to have to become more ruthless, more cold, more brutal. Well, Jason isn't going to have to, but Ace is. That is something that he is definitely capable of. I'm even afraid of Ace, because I, unlike everyone else, know that he is capable of anything. Anything.
I climb out of the ring, and I walk out of the barn as I look back at the camera crew. "Just lock it up when you're done, and don't forget to shut off the lights." I tell them, as if they didn't know. Still, I felt obliged to say it. It's funny how people feel that they are obliged to do things. Whether it be react to pain the way that they do, or react to other people's words the way that they do. Every action has a reaction. According to physics, every action has an equal reaction. That's not the case with people. You can act against Ace Anderson, and he will react ten fold anything you could imagine. Ace Anderson acts, and you cannot react to match it. He is beyond anything anyone could ever comprehend.
This belief in Ace is what gets me through every match. No matter how much I believe that Ace and I are two different people, which we are in essence, I can never forget that we share the same body. It is this body that experiences the pain, shoves that pain aside. Focuses on the common goal of Ace, and of myself. Inflicting upon others what was inflicted on me, innocent Jason McDonald, for the first half of my life. Two wrongs don't make a right, but a wrong to counter-act a wrong sure as hell does make you feel good about yourself. That goes along with victory, of course. Proving to myself that I have what it takes to conquer anything. Like a modern day Alexander the Great, I won't stop until the world, or in this case, Pure Class Wrestling, is completely mine.
