Post by Jesse Jamester on Dec 13, 2020 23:58:13 GMT -5
“Falalalala lala la – BLAH!”
Ringing the proverbial holiday cheer in his rendition, Jesse Jamester is seen sitting in the balcony seats of the arena. In his gear, wrapping his fist, he looks down over the arena as the workers setup for the show about to take place that evening.
“All I’ve been hearing is the same regurgitated words spun from a different drummer boy, and I admit it, I’m fucking bored!”
Taking a moment to grab a new roll of tape from his bag in an empty seat next to him, Jesse begins on the other hand, getting the base layer of tape down, that will keep his punches tight.
“Everyone wants to win this battle royal. Loud and clear, I hear you all whining and complaining and making your cases for why you are the next best thing since oxygen! I have been accused of being a coat-tail rider, making myself acquaintances with Eric Dane and Scott Steel. Hell, I’ve been told I made a deal with the devil!”
Piercing the camera that appears to be propped up on a ledge, Jesse looks straight in the camera.
“Maybe I am the devil they chose to confide in, you ever think of it like that? Eric Dane is not the messiah, he is not this generation’s Charles Manson – but he sure the hell can make for a good case to make friends with him. Don’t get it twisted Eric, I know what this match comes down to, and when it does, you know what will happen.”
Winking at the camera, Jesse keeps wrapping, now up the wrist.
“The difference between everyone else in this match and I is, I don’t need to win; that’s not what I’m coming for… the Championship, is a consolation prize for what I am about to do to the Northern Pro Wrestling locker room. Every one of them boys wanna win this because they think the championship will make them great, validate them in a new light. As if they did a damn thing but get lucky they didn’t run up against ME.”
Finished wrapping, Jesse stands up, grabbing the camera, and walks down the aisle towards the front row of the balcony, looking over the edge down at the empty seats below. He pans the camera to show the viewers on his YouTube live stream.
“That’s a long fall, but not nearly as long as the one you feel when you think you own something you haven’t EARNED yet. When that swift kick to the gut and the momentum of your dreams escapes your lips in a final breath of air, as you pry to hold on and muster some come back—reaching DEEP inside yourselves to rise up! Yeah that feeling, you know what I’m talking about! Well when you feel that, just know, it’s the best it’s going to get because reality is going to blink with each flicker of the eye lids, and you’re going to realize your ass got power bombed into the first row by yours fucking truly!”
Refocusing the camera on himself, Jesse scratches his beard and cracks his neck.
“I warned you all that the Canadian Nightmare returned to the great North. I warned you that when I made myself a member of this roster that I was going to shake things up here so the stale viewership of this brand could wake up and see what an actual wrestler looks like! It’s not a surprise any more, you slept on it, and you will regret that dearly.”
Backing up, Jesse over looks the arena from this view.
“You can smell it, the history of this building. The fans who have been here to witness past events. You can feel the tension of all the losses that have been suffered at former rivals. It’s a resonating feeling for a lot of the guys I will see in that squared circle, to feel like they actually had a shot tonight – pure gullibility.
In the final hour, we’ll see who steps up and wants it, and who can survive the adversity of a storm that is coming. Northern Pro Wrestling, the fans, those watching at home, don’t turn off the television tonight, until the final confetti falls from the rafters. I promise you, it will be worth the wait!”
A grizzled beard and long hair as the blue piercing eyes slide the lizard man mask Scott Steel refers to all the time over his face. The stage is set, the hour is upon us.
Ringing the proverbial holiday cheer in his rendition, Jesse Jamester is seen sitting in the balcony seats of the arena. In his gear, wrapping his fist, he looks down over the arena as the workers setup for the show about to take place that evening.
“All I’ve been hearing is the same regurgitated words spun from a different drummer boy, and I admit it, I’m fucking bored!”
Taking a moment to grab a new roll of tape from his bag in an empty seat next to him, Jesse begins on the other hand, getting the base layer of tape down, that will keep his punches tight.
“Everyone wants to win this battle royal. Loud and clear, I hear you all whining and complaining and making your cases for why you are the next best thing since oxygen! I have been accused of being a coat-tail rider, making myself acquaintances with Eric Dane and Scott Steel. Hell, I’ve been told I made a deal with the devil!”
Piercing the camera that appears to be propped up on a ledge, Jesse looks straight in the camera.
“Maybe I am the devil they chose to confide in, you ever think of it like that? Eric Dane is not the messiah, he is not this generation’s Charles Manson – but he sure the hell can make for a good case to make friends with him. Don’t get it twisted Eric, I know what this match comes down to, and when it does, you know what will happen.”
Winking at the camera, Jesse keeps wrapping, now up the wrist.
“The difference between everyone else in this match and I is, I don’t need to win; that’s not what I’m coming for… the Championship, is a consolation prize for what I am about to do to the Northern Pro Wrestling locker room. Every one of them boys wanna win this because they think the championship will make them great, validate them in a new light. As if they did a damn thing but get lucky they didn’t run up against ME.”
Finished wrapping, Jesse stands up, grabbing the camera, and walks down the aisle towards the front row of the balcony, looking over the edge down at the empty seats below. He pans the camera to show the viewers on his YouTube live stream.
“That’s a long fall, but not nearly as long as the one you feel when you think you own something you haven’t EARNED yet. When that swift kick to the gut and the momentum of your dreams escapes your lips in a final breath of air, as you pry to hold on and muster some come back—reaching DEEP inside yourselves to rise up! Yeah that feeling, you know what I’m talking about! Well when you feel that, just know, it’s the best it’s going to get because reality is going to blink with each flicker of the eye lids, and you’re going to realize your ass got power bombed into the first row by yours fucking truly!”
Refocusing the camera on himself, Jesse scratches his beard and cracks his neck.
“I warned you all that the Canadian Nightmare returned to the great North. I warned you that when I made myself a member of this roster that I was going to shake things up here so the stale viewership of this brand could wake up and see what an actual wrestler looks like! It’s not a surprise any more, you slept on it, and you will regret that dearly.”
Backing up, Jesse over looks the arena from this view.
“You can smell it, the history of this building. The fans who have been here to witness past events. You can feel the tension of all the losses that have been suffered at former rivals. It’s a resonating feeling for a lot of the guys I will see in that squared circle, to feel like they actually had a shot tonight – pure gullibility.
In the final hour, we’ll see who steps up and wants it, and who can survive the adversity of a storm that is coming. Northern Pro Wrestling, the fans, those watching at home, don’t turn off the television tonight, until the final confetti falls from the rafters. I promise you, it will be worth the wait!”
A grizzled beard and long hair as the blue piercing eyes slide the lizard man mask Scott Steel refers to all the time over his face. The stage is set, the hour is upon us.
