Post by fowler on Jul 16, 2019 8:01:29 GMT -5
There is no pleasant scene.
Nothing to describe or entice you with.
There is just a tired man sat on a folding chair with a spotlight illuminating him from above.
His red tights looking worn and dated. His white boots stained and blotted.
This is a man who shows the signs of being reluctant to don his wrestling gear again, and clearly someone with no desire to upgrade it something new.
“Why did I agree to do it? I agreed to take part in another stupid parody. I allowed you to enter my home and try to talk me into this spectacle.
I am a bigger fool than I realised.
Yet here I am, doing this again.
I could try and be cute and funny, I could try and submit you with laughter like Rob and Frank do to vary effect. But If I’m going to do this, if I’m really stepping out for that “One more match” then I’m going to do it the right way. See Rob and Frank like to shoot, they just cover it up with humour. Our entire time as The Bastards was just a display of our contempt for each other covered over with a veneer of humour and pseudo friendship.
So if you want to shoot guys lets go there. Hey Rob, how is retirement treating you? Business going well? From what I hear you’re back because you really need the money and some validation that you still mean something to someone.
Frank the only reason you are here is because you have nothing else to live for. You’ll be one of those sad old fuckers still doing this for an audience of 4 people, cutting yourself for a cheap pop whilst secretly hoping that the list drop of life will run out of you and set you free.
You both want to take cheap shots at Billy Fowler. Let me tell you about Billy Fowler.
I walked into your lives as a nobody. I fought for every inch of what I’ve achieved, and you think that I’ve achieved nothing, well why the hell did they come begging me to appear on this stupid fucking show then? You know like they know that Billy Fowler is money and without Billy Fowler there are no Bastards!
You keep asking if I ever held a world title, well no I fucking didn’t. How could I with the likes of Rob Riot and Shane Mitchell sucking so much cock out the back that there was no way of anyone else ever holding that spot.
You talk about a world title like it’s something to care about. I couldn’t give a fuck, because you wankers have shown me that the true prize isn’t a fake gold belt.
The true prize is this.
To beat the Bastards. Once and for all.
To leave you old cunts lying in a pool of your own bloody, desperately reaching out for each other’s hands hoping that you may be able to save each other, whilst I stand tall over you as the ultimate winner in this stupid game we’ve played for so long. A game of lies and deceit where we called each other “friend”.
We ruled the world, but what was the gain? Money, fame, women…we wasted it all. We used it and abused it throwing it down the drain like there was an endless supply. A fountain of youth that would never run dry. Well look at us now. I never asked for this, I never once entertained the thought of coming out of retirement, but you two begged and squeezed at me until I had no bloody choice. You know what, I might just put on that stupid face paint that you both love to mock so much just to shove it in your face.
There is no point rambling on. I could bore you all for hours with tales of Rob Riot’s selfishness or Frank Windsor’s cowardice, but it wouldn’t go anywhere near the humiliation that I plan to exact on them both at Anarchy 50. How will it feel “Friends” when I beat you and prove all along that I am everything I ever said I am. That I could have been everything that you ever said I couldn’t.
When I stand over your beaten bodies I want you to look up into my eyes and see the pleasure within them, knowing that my validation is complete and with it you will never, ever see my face again.”
Nothing to describe or entice you with.
There is just a tired man sat on a folding chair with a spotlight illuminating him from above.
His red tights looking worn and dated. His white boots stained and blotted.
This is a man who shows the signs of being reluctant to don his wrestling gear again, and clearly someone with no desire to upgrade it something new.
“Why did I agree to do it? I agreed to take part in another stupid parody. I allowed you to enter my home and try to talk me into this spectacle.
I am a bigger fool than I realised.
Yet here I am, doing this again.
I could try and be cute and funny, I could try and submit you with laughter like Rob and Frank do to vary effect. But If I’m going to do this, if I’m really stepping out for that “One more match” then I’m going to do it the right way. See Rob and Frank like to shoot, they just cover it up with humour. Our entire time as The Bastards was just a display of our contempt for each other covered over with a veneer of humour and pseudo friendship.
So if you want to shoot guys lets go there. Hey Rob, how is retirement treating you? Business going well? From what I hear you’re back because you really need the money and some validation that you still mean something to someone.
Frank the only reason you are here is because you have nothing else to live for. You’ll be one of those sad old fuckers still doing this for an audience of 4 people, cutting yourself for a cheap pop whilst secretly hoping that the list drop of life will run out of you and set you free.
You both want to take cheap shots at Billy Fowler. Let me tell you about Billy Fowler.
I walked into your lives as a nobody. I fought for every inch of what I’ve achieved, and you think that I’ve achieved nothing, well why the hell did they come begging me to appear on this stupid fucking show then? You know like they know that Billy Fowler is money and without Billy Fowler there are no Bastards!
You keep asking if I ever held a world title, well no I fucking didn’t. How could I with the likes of Rob Riot and Shane Mitchell sucking so much cock out the back that there was no way of anyone else ever holding that spot.
You talk about a world title like it’s something to care about. I couldn’t give a fuck, because you wankers have shown me that the true prize isn’t a fake gold belt.
The true prize is this.
To beat the Bastards. Once and for all.
To leave you old cunts lying in a pool of your own bloody, desperately reaching out for each other’s hands hoping that you may be able to save each other, whilst I stand tall over you as the ultimate winner in this stupid game we’ve played for so long. A game of lies and deceit where we called each other “friend”.
We ruled the world, but what was the gain? Money, fame, women…we wasted it all. We used it and abused it throwing it down the drain like there was an endless supply. A fountain of youth that would never run dry. Well look at us now. I never asked for this, I never once entertained the thought of coming out of retirement, but you two begged and squeezed at me until I had no bloody choice. You know what, I might just put on that stupid face paint that you both love to mock so much just to shove it in your face.
There is no point rambling on. I could bore you all for hours with tales of Rob Riot’s selfishness or Frank Windsor’s cowardice, but it wouldn’t go anywhere near the humiliation that I plan to exact on them both at Anarchy 50. How will it feel “Friends” when I beat you and prove all along that I am everything I ever said I am. That I could have been everything that you ever said I couldn’t.
When I stand over your beaten bodies I want you to look up into my eyes and see the pleasure within them, knowing that my validation is complete and with it you will never, ever see my face again.”
