Post by John Cavanagh on May 9, 2021 18:59:18 GMT -5
There he sat, deep in thought with no expression on his face. John Cavanagh had been overcome by a near catatonic look as the scene focused in on the leader of The Celtic Club. John’s mind hand been racing, a mile a second, as his brain tried to rap itself around the events that had transpired in The Celtic Club’s world recently. Suffice to say things hadn’t been going perfectly according to plan in John’s life—had that been the case this near vegetated glare may not been present. John showed his first signs of life as he shook his head back and forth, his eyes blinking for the first time since the scene opened.
Life can be one hell of a cunt from time to time. Yeah, that’s right…I used the word that my mother always told me was the most vile slur in the English language. You walk into a situation—head held high, on Cloud Nine as the expression goes and what does life do? That miserable, wretched cunt does nothing but shovel shit on you. You bust your ass training so that you enter The Rumble in what might have been the best shape of my life and the life throws number one at me? Are you fucking shitting me?!?
Cavanagh continued to shake his head back and forth. The disbelief when he drew that number, it was if the entire Universe itself was trying to say “FUCK YOU JOHN!” He had been trying to be patient, trying to plot for the right moment to strike, trying to be the man in the shadows that always seemed to succeed in the world he had come from BUT it seemed that just wasn’t going to be enough.
You know. All of those “competitors” that were left in the ring after I found myself on the arena floor—yeah, that’s right, all seven of you—you know what Johnnie Cav has to say? Not one of you pieces of shit could have held your own with me if you entered at number two with me. You wouldn’t have made it half as long in that clusterfuck of a match as I did. Shit, I don’t think one of you even lasted half as long as I did even though you might have went out after me. So what does that tell anyone in Northern Pro or the XHF that has an IQ higher than that of a fucking banana?
A smile broke out across John’s face. John had been known to show a smug, cocky grin from time to time but this…this was different, this was a toothy, ear to ear grin as if John was doing his best Joker impersonation.
That I’m better than each and every single one of you. On any other night—you’re looking at your X*Crown Champion. Johnnie draws number ten instead of number one and all of a sudden all of you late entrants are looking at a much fresher, much stronger and much more dangerous John Cavanagh to contest with at the last moment. Jesse Jamester—he was probably the smartest one out of all of you schmucks by deciding to work hand and hand with me for a bit. Congratulations Jesse, you have an IQ higher than a banana—let’s see if the rest of the shit eating douche bags can start to catch up as far as their intellectual level is concerned. I will state this now with one hundred percent confidence—not one of the forty-nine other members of The Rumble could beat me in a one on one match…I’m pretty sure my performance made all of that abundantly clear.
John looked up towards the ceiling of his current surroundings. He paused momentarily as he continued to let the thoughts flood his mental processes. He wasn’t really sure where his train of thought may take him but one thing he knew for certain was…
And then there’s that Openweight Tournament. Andy fucking Donahue—what the fuck did I tell that meathead? You have got to be on your toes when it comes to triple threat matches. You can’t walk in there thinking you’ve got a ten inch cock when you don’t have to be pinned to lose the fucking match. Stupid, naive mistakes he made led him to lose that match and led The Celtic Club to STILL being without championship gold…what a fucking crime that is. Let me tell each and every single member of the Northern Pro Wrestling locker room this—Andy Donahue may not have sunk his teeth into his first ever singles championship but I’m sure all of you already realize that Andy’s day as a champion in the NPW isn’t very far away. As soon as he gets over this “I’ve got bigger muscles so I’ll overpower you” bullshit and starts to actually use his brain he will be more than any of you will be able to deal with inside of the squared circle.
John raised his left hand and ran his fingers through his blonde hair. He had become accustom to people failing—the problem here was he hadn’t become accustom to someone he had billed as the next big thing in this industry failing him. Andy had always been able to take care of business as far as John was concerned whether that was inside of the ring or in the streets…Andy never disappointed. Now that had to change…Andy seldom disappointed…but that was enough to fill John with a little extra rage.
I guess Andy and Trigger will just have to go ahead and show what they’re both made of when they face off against Gordon Carlson and a mystery partner. Now, I know what some of you are thinking—mystery partners always make it hard to prepare…maybe you should cut Andy and Trig a little slack…FUCK THAT! I’m done with waiting for people to get the god damned job done…do that you need to do and what is that? To take the competition and make them realize that they aren’t fucking competition!
John let out an evil cackle that reverberated through the empty warehouse. John’s shoulder muscles moving up and down exposing the definition within his muscular frame.
And I guess that brings us to the major topic of the hour, right? Johnnie Cavanagh’s return to the ring in Northern Pro Wrestling? Of course its going to be in some shit show of a tag team match. Never mind the fact that I just dealt with that clusterfuck of a battle royal…never mind the fact that I have two perfectly capable allies who could be in my corner as my partner. Let’s just take all of these facts and ignore all of that. Let’s take Johnnie Cav and make him team up with Jesse Jamester. Shit man, I can see that old senile man, Gus Arnold, sitting there with a pen and a piece of paper right now plotting out his show….
John let out a low chuckle. John, while a very serious individual, always had a thing for picking apart another person’s thought process—especially when it didn’t align with what John thought was right.
”Well, these two boys represented us mighty fine in that there Rumble…and they worked together for a tenth of a second pretty good…let’s have them team up. Let’s have them face these two guys that they both have problems with.”
John shook his head back and forth while rolling his eyes. He just couldn’t believe that every promoter across the annals of history has always thought the same thing—let’s have two feuds intersect in one tag match…it will be a shit show and the crowd will eat it up!
OK, old timer, I’ll bite on this one—oldest booking trick in the fucking book. I don’t know why I’d expect anything different—why would someone who booked King Tut’s assassination deviate from the standard path of booking in this industry. Oh, whatever, like I give a fuck. Johnnie Cav and Jesse Jamester on the same team? I guess it ain’t the worst teammate I could get so I shouldn’t be too pissed. At least Jesse and I both kind of have that hostile takeover mentality going—I’ll tell ya what Jesse, we can work together and be the team that beats the ever loving piss out of Lord Dominicus and Eron Hunter. We both have a mean streak and I see us using that to our advantages—especially since we both have reasons to hate at least one of the flaming piles of donkey shit that share the ring with us. You and I act as if we were partners from the word go and we can dominate this match—I’ll teach Lord Dominicus a less or two and you teach Eron Hunter as many lessons as that goody two shoes needs in your opinion and we can both leave the next show happy men. Then, after that? Go back to your fucking locker room and be happy I don’t take your god damned head off. Johnnie Cav doesn’t usually play well with others—it ain’t nothing against you Jesse, I just don’t like most people. I got my brother Trigger, I got my buddy Andy—anyone else is going to have to endear themselves to The Celtic Club before I even think of not looking at them as if they’re the enemy.
John looked down from the camera for a moment. He nodded his head up and down before bringing his piercing blue eyes back to the camera one last time
I’ve had enough shit shoveled on me lately. Johnnie Cav and The Celtic Club…we don’t get the respect we deserve for a group of professional wrestlers who are leaps and bounds better than anyone else out there…and I think I made that pretty fucking clear. You guys wanted the most ruthless, sadistic version of Johnnie Cav you could find—you just might have it.
John’s signature smirk developed upon the right side of his face as the scene cut to static.
Life can be one hell of a cunt from time to time. Yeah, that’s right…I used the word that my mother always told me was the most vile slur in the English language. You walk into a situation—head held high, on Cloud Nine as the expression goes and what does life do? That miserable, wretched cunt does nothing but shovel shit on you. You bust your ass training so that you enter The Rumble in what might have been the best shape of my life and the life throws number one at me? Are you fucking shitting me?!?
Cavanagh continued to shake his head back and forth. The disbelief when he drew that number, it was if the entire Universe itself was trying to say “FUCK YOU JOHN!” He had been trying to be patient, trying to plot for the right moment to strike, trying to be the man in the shadows that always seemed to succeed in the world he had come from BUT it seemed that just wasn’t going to be enough.
You know. All of those “competitors” that were left in the ring after I found myself on the arena floor—yeah, that’s right, all seven of you—you know what Johnnie Cav has to say? Not one of you pieces of shit could have held your own with me if you entered at number two with me. You wouldn’t have made it half as long in that clusterfuck of a match as I did. Shit, I don’t think one of you even lasted half as long as I did even though you might have went out after me. So what does that tell anyone in Northern Pro or the XHF that has an IQ higher than that of a fucking banana?
A smile broke out across John’s face. John had been known to show a smug, cocky grin from time to time but this…this was different, this was a toothy, ear to ear grin as if John was doing his best Joker impersonation.
That I’m better than each and every single one of you. On any other night—you’re looking at your X*Crown Champion. Johnnie draws number ten instead of number one and all of a sudden all of you late entrants are looking at a much fresher, much stronger and much more dangerous John Cavanagh to contest with at the last moment. Jesse Jamester—he was probably the smartest one out of all of you schmucks by deciding to work hand and hand with me for a bit. Congratulations Jesse, you have an IQ higher than a banana—let’s see if the rest of the shit eating douche bags can start to catch up as far as their intellectual level is concerned. I will state this now with one hundred percent confidence—not one of the forty-nine other members of The Rumble could beat me in a one on one match…I’m pretty sure my performance made all of that abundantly clear.
John looked up towards the ceiling of his current surroundings. He paused momentarily as he continued to let the thoughts flood his mental processes. He wasn’t really sure where his train of thought may take him but one thing he knew for certain was…
And then there’s that Openweight Tournament. Andy fucking Donahue—what the fuck did I tell that meathead? You have got to be on your toes when it comes to triple threat matches. You can’t walk in there thinking you’ve got a ten inch cock when you don’t have to be pinned to lose the fucking match. Stupid, naive mistakes he made led him to lose that match and led The Celtic Club to STILL being without championship gold…what a fucking crime that is. Let me tell each and every single member of the Northern Pro Wrestling locker room this—Andy Donahue may not have sunk his teeth into his first ever singles championship but I’m sure all of you already realize that Andy’s day as a champion in the NPW isn’t very far away. As soon as he gets over this “I’ve got bigger muscles so I’ll overpower you” bullshit and starts to actually use his brain he will be more than any of you will be able to deal with inside of the squared circle.
John raised his left hand and ran his fingers through his blonde hair. He had become accustom to people failing—the problem here was he hadn’t become accustom to someone he had billed as the next big thing in this industry failing him. Andy had always been able to take care of business as far as John was concerned whether that was inside of the ring or in the streets…Andy never disappointed. Now that had to change…Andy seldom disappointed…but that was enough to fill John with a little extra rage.
I guess Andy and Trigger will just have to go ahead and show what they’re both made of when they face off against Gordon Carlson and a mystery partner. Now, I know what some of you are thinking—mystery partners always make it hard to prepare…maybe you should cut Andy and Trig a little slack…FUCK THAT! I’m done with waiting for people to get the god damned job done…do that you need to do and what is that? To take the competition and make them realize that they aren’t fucking competition!
John let out an evil cackle that reverberated through the empty warehouse. John’s shoulder muscles moving up and down exposing the definition within his muscular frame.
And I guess that brings us to the major topic of the hour, right? Johnnie Cavanagh’s return to the ring in Northern Pro Wrestling? Of course its going to be in some shit show of a tag team match. Never mind the fact that I just dealt with that clusterfuck of a battle royal…never mind the fact that I have two perfectly capable allies who could be in my corner as my partner. Let’s just take all of these facts and ignore all of that. Let’s take Johnnie Cav and make him team up with Jesse Jamester. Shit man, I can see that old senile man, Gus Arnold, sitting there with a pen and a piece of paper right now plotting out his show….
John let out a low chuckle. John, while a very serious individual, always had a thing for picking apart another person’s thought process—especially when it didn’t align with what John thought was right.
”Well, these two boys represented us mighty fine in that there Rumble…and they worked together for a tenth of a second pretty good…let’s have them team up. Let’s have them face these two guys that they both have problems with.”
John shook his head back and forth while rolling his eyes. He just couldn’t believe that every promoter across the annals of history has always thought the same thing—let’s have two feuds intersect in one tag match…it will be a shit show and the crowd will eat it up!
OK, old timer, I’ll bite on this one—oldest booking trick in the fucking book. I don’t know why I’d expect anything different—why would someone who booked King Tut’s assassination deviate from the standard path of booking in this industry. Oh, whatever, like I give a fuck. Johnnie Cav and Jesse Jamester on the same team? I guess it ain’t the worst teammate I could get so I shouldn’t be too pissed. At least Jesse and I both kind of have that hostile takeover mentality going—I’ll tell ya what Jesse, we can work together and be the team that beats the ever loving piss out of Lord Dominicus and Eron Hunter. We both have a mean streak and I see us using that to our advantages—especially since we both have reasons to hate at least one of the flaming piles of donkey shit that share the ring with us. You and I act as if we were partners from the word go and we can dominate this match—I’ll teach Lord Dominicus a less or two and you teach Eron Hunter as many lessons as that goody two shoes needs in your opinion and we can both leave the next show happy men. Then, after that? Go back to your fucking locker room and be happy I don’t take your god damned head off. Johnnie Cav doesn’t usually play well with others—it ain’t nothing against you Jesse, I just don’t like most people. I got my brother Trigger, I got my buddy Andy—anyone else is going to have to endear themselves to The Celtic Club before I even think of not looking at them as if they’re the enemy.
John looked down from the camera for a moment. He nodded his head up and down before bringing his piercing blue eyes back to the camera one last time
I’ve had enough shit shoveled on me lately. Johnnie Cav and The Celtic Club…we don’t get the respect we deserve for a group of professional wrestlers who are leaps and bounds better than anyone else out there…and I think I made that pretty fucking clear. You guys wanted the most ruthless, sadistic version of Johnnie Cav you could find—you just might have it.
John’s signature smirk developed upon the right side of his face as the scene cut to static.
