Post by duncanaries on Sept 20, 2020 20:01:37 GMT -5
Static.
For nigh on two decades, this man has done exactly this. Been raw. Been authentic. Been unapologetic in his words fueled with conviction.
Duncan Aries stands before us under a single street light, somewhere in America, somewhere that fall has more than begun to take hold. In a bomber jacket covering a simple gray t-shirt, stonewash jeans, and boots, Aries takes a breath in of the night. The not so faint shimmer of his newly minted Spades version of the FWA Professional Wrestling Championship.
In his ever present smugness, Aries faces us, the street light illuminating his face, his eyes piercing, focused.
"Ladies and gentlemen, assholes and asshats, I implore you on this day to take out a calendar and speak these words into existence with me. Two hundred and ten days. That's right, you have all basked in the glow of your certified wrestling god and resident asshole as YOUR beloved champion for two hundred and ten days. Nobody, not one single soul put in front of me has been able to hold a candle to me in that ring. Over time they have just become another sacrifice to your god, and hey, your god is happy with you, FWA. I mean sure, you did abso-fucking-lutley nothing when your championship was stolen and smashed to bits by a fucking man child who then got his ass kicked by me, but that's fine, I upgraded anyways, so thank you for nothing, FWA. As always, you're welcome for the relevancy."
"But you know, speaking of upgrades, can I, as the face of your company and THE REASON asses are in seats, make a suggestion on maybe, just maybe, upgrading how people get title shots around here? I know, I know, here goes the 40 something veteran being old fashioned and logical again, but last time I checked debuting on a show and providing further proof that Mama Swann was a loose whore doesn't make you the #1 contender to anything but being an inbred fuck with a delusion about being a king. A king of what really? Stinking up the wrestling ring? Eating paste with your siblings? Being the one Mama Swann decided not to abort? I just don't see what's so special about you, King Asshat. Or is it Lord Asshat? I don't know."
Aries ponders, tapping his right temple with an index finger.
"I do know one thing though, dingus, a delusional king, who probably foolishly believes he's the king of a sport that has never really heard of him, doesn't match up well with a CERTIFIABLE WRESTLING GOD and an icon in the sport of professional wrestling. And let me be crystal clear about this so it sinks into whatever lies underneath whatever was once covered by a Burger King paper heart and started this whole fucking bullshit. I'm fucking done with the Swann brood. The whole goddamn gang of you inbred dumb motherfuckers. Seriously. You want to live in some fantasy world of exemplary bullshit, do it somewhere else, like out of MY ring. I mean, do I even get anything cool for beating the shit out of every dumb son of a bitch with the last name Swann? A king's ransom maybe? Or do you just sit the fuck down, come back down to Earth, and be just another humbled piece of fucking garbage humiliated at the hands of Duncan Aries?"
"Because King Dipshit you've earned nothing. You don't deserve a shot at The Wild Card and this damn sexy championship belt I created because unfortunately I work for a company of braindead morons who can't come up with a simple goddamn ranking system! This isn't rocket science people, but what's next, huh? Whoever the 346th Canadian who takes a piss during a Sucky Sol match becomes the next #1 contender? Whoever can drink the most milk in a fucking bag in 10 minutes? I swear to fucking god I'm a grown ass man working for a bunch of fucking children! Fuck!"
Aries shakes his head in disbelief.
"It's fine. Obviously his friends, his family, and his psychiatrist haven't been able to bring the fake king back to reality, so it is up to yours truly to get it done. Just remember this Swann Fuck #44, all you're getting, all you truly deserve, is my foot so far up your ass you won't be able to fake knight anyone for a whole week. You are an embarrassment, but luckily for this company and this sport I love oh so dear, there is an eraser for shit like this, and his name, "your highness" is Duncan Aries!"
"Ciao, ya delusional fucktard."
With a scoff, Aries saunters off into the night, as we slowly fade out.
For nigh on two decades, this man has done exactly this. Been raw. Been authentic. Been unapologetic in his words fueled with conviction.
Duncan Aries stands before us under a single street light, somewhere in America, somewhere that fall has more than begun to take hold. In a bomber jacket covering a simple gray t-shirt, stonewash jeans, and boots, Aries takes a breath in of the night. The not so faint shimmer of his newly minted Spades version of the FWA Professional Wrestling Championship.
In his ever present smugness, Aries faces us, the street light illuminating his face, his eyes piercing, focused.
"Ladies and gentlemen, assholes and asshats, I implore you on this day to take out a calendar and speak these words into existence with me. Two hundred and ten days. That's right, you have all basked in the glow of your certified wrestling god and resident asshole as YOUR beloved champion for two hundred and ten days. Nobody, not one single soul put in front of me has been able to hold a candle to me in that ring. Over time they have just become another sacrifice to your god, and hey, your god is happy with you, FWA. I mean sure, you did abso-fucking-lutley nothing when your championship was stolen and smashed to bits by a fucking man child who then got his ass kicked by me, but that's fine, I upgraded anyways, so thank you for nothing, FWA. As always, you're welcome for the relevancy."
"But you know, speaking of upgrades, can I, as the face of your company and THE REASON asses are in seats, make a suggestion on maybe, just maybe, upgrading how people get title shots around here? I know, I know, here goes the 40 something veteran being old fashioned and logical again, but last time I checked debuting on a show and providing further proof that Mama Swann was a loose whore doesn't make you the #1 contender to anything but being an inbred fuck with a delusion about being a king. A king of what really? Stinking up the wrestling ring? Eating paste with your siblings? Being the one Mama Swann decided not to abort? I just don't see what's so special about you, King Asshat. Or is it Lord Asshat? I don't know."
Aries ponders, tapping his right temple with an index finger.
"I do know one thing though, dingus, a delusional king, who probably foolishly believes he's the king of a sport that has never really heard of him, doesn't match up well with a CERTIFIABLE WRESTLING GOD and an icon in the sport of professional wrestling. And let me be crystal clear about this so it sinks into whatever lies underneath whatever was once covered by a Burger King paper heart and started this whole fucking bullshit. I'm fucking done with the Swann brood. The whole goddamn gang of you inbred dumb motherfuckers. Seriously. You want to live in some fantasy world of exemplary bullshit, do it somewhere else, like out of MY ring. I mean, do I even get anything cool for beating the shit out of every dumb son of a bitch with the last name Swann? A king's ransom maybe? Or do you just sit the fuck down, come back down to Earth, and be just another humbled piece of fucking garbage humiliated at the hands of Duncan Aries?"
"Because King Dipshit you've earned nothing. You don't deserve a shot at The Wild Card and this damn sexy championship belt I created because unfortunately I work for a company of braindead morons who can't come up with a simple goddamn ranking system! This isn't rocket science people, but what's next, huh? Whoever the 346th Canadian who takes a piss during a Sucky Sol match becomes the next #1 contender? Whoever can drink the most milk in a fucking bag in 10 minutes? I swear to fucking god I'm a grown ass man working for a bunch of fucking children! Fuck!"
Aries shakes his head in disbelief.
"It's fine. Obviously his friends, his family, and his psychiatrist haven't been able to bring the fake king back to reality, so it is up to yours truly to get it done. Just remember this Swann Fuck #44, all you're getting, all you truly deserve, is my foot so far up your ass you won't be able to fake knight anyone for a whole week. You are an embarrassment, but luckily for this company and this sport I love oh so dear, there is an eraser for shit like this, and his name, "your highness" is Duncan Aries!"
"Ciao, ya delusional fucktard."
With a scoff, Aries saunters off into the night, as we slowly fade out.