Post by fowler on Mar 30, 2023 10:14:18 GMT -5
Billy Fowler places his pen down on the solid mahogany writing desk at which he sits, next to the piece of paper on which he has just put down his thoughts. He sinks back into his chair looking out of his study window at the green lawn and newly blossoming trees outside.
He’s aware that the film crew who he refused to cut a promo for earlier are still lurking in the background of the room, wondering what they should do. He takes a breath, knowing that he war of words with Reese isn’t over he begins to speak.
“PAR. I admire your guts.”
As Fowler speaks out into the room, still looking out of the window the director hand signals the crew to start filming and they start shooting the star from behind. Only the back of his head visible over the top of his chair.
“It takes balls of steel to walk into The Bastards’ show and start flapping your dick about like you’re the man, whether you are or not.
I’ll be honest and go so far as to say it was refreshing. You’re the first person in a long time who managed to catch my attention. And I can’t deny that it takes some special talent to grab my attention.
However grabbing the attention of The Bastards always seems like a good idea at the time. I can’t list all those who previously had the same idea and thought that they could make themselves legends overnight by calling us out and beating us. The problem is it never goes that simply.
You see me, Rob and Frank, we are legends. Not because we challenged the biggest name we could find and won, but because we’ve spent close to 70 years combined beating every name that crossed our path!
People don’t make a name for themselves at our expense Preston, they make a name for themselves by our association.
People look at them in the street and say, hey that’s the kid who lost to Riot and Windsor the other week, or maybe if they are lucky they might say, that’s the kid who went toe to toe with Billy Fowler and managed to steal a win.
The question is how lucky do you feel Preston? Do you count your luck that you might stand even the slimmest chance of stealing a win over me?
Well shit, clearly you do! I can tell just how cock sure you are from the tone of that whiney little voice of yours. I admire a dumb cunt who still bets on themselves when the odds are stacked. And trust me Preston, they are truly stacked. You see this 7 foot tall “old man” is far from a washed up has been who needs to be carried by anyone! Just look at the title history of this company who decided to hire you to realise that. Just because your friend Wesley managed to beat me, don’t go getting ahead of yourself, and don’t take my bad days as a sign of incompetence.
You dared to talk about my family and my son, or at least what you perceive that family to look like. I’ve always kept them as far away from this business as possible. Not because of the perverse and egotistical reasons that you tried to plaster on it, I can guarantee to you that I have never touched a ring rat. Frank has had load though, including one which looked a lot like you.
How old are you again?
Maybe I’ll book a DNA test for you.
But no, I kept them away because I didn’t want them to see the real me that steps between those ropes. The Bastard Billy Fowler, the one who you’ve all unleashed that alongside Riot and Windsor is about to tear your lives apart, one at a time.
You question my abilities as a father.
Well you know nothing about my son or his mother, but maybe just this once I’ll divulge a little.
My ex-wife was a bi-polar mess who made living with her impossible. I fought my hardest battles trying to keep our marriage alive, but you reach a point where the fight simply isn’t worth it any more and you have to walk away. My son, was the saving grace of that period of my life and although I’m far from the perfect father, I am and will always be his father.
Will he look up at me and say “Dad, I’m a High Roller”?
No.”
There is a sudden change in the atmosphere in the room as Fowler slumps forward onto the desk and a grinding sound is heard. The crew look over to see a letter opener in the shape of a dagger in Fowler’s hand, being used to carve deep gashes into the desktop.
“He will never say those words Preston, because I’m going to make a mockery of you.
I’m going to ruin those looks that you treasure with my fists. I’ll crush your scrawny little throat with the heel of my boot until you voice goes down 4 decibels and octaves.
I will break every joint and ligament in your body until PAR is nothing but a cripple fuck head that needs to wheeled to ringside by his High Roller Club buddies, just so you can rock back and forth and clap for them. The only member of the High Roller fan club .
Let’s see who thinks its cool to be a High fucking Roller then shall we?
Being a Bastard is fun, it’s easy, and it’s always been cool. That is why we are loved no matter how much the world wants to hate us.
Welcome to our world PAR. It’s a mean one, where being strong doesn’t grant survival. Only The Bastards survive.”
The carving sound stops and the letter opener falls onto the desktop.
“One last thing PAR.
You can keep any mention of my son out of your fucking mouth.”
He’s aware that the film crew who he refused to cut a promo for earlier are still lurking in the background of the room, wondering what they should do. He takes a breath, knowing that he war of words with Reese isn’t over he begins to speak.
“PAR. I admire your guts.”
As Fowler speaks out into the room, still looking out of the window the director hand signals the crew to start filming and they start shooting the star from behind. Only the back of his head visible over the top of his chair.
“It takes balls of steel to walk into The Bastards’ show and start flapping your dick about like you’re the man, whether you are or not.
I’ll be honest and go so far as to say it was refreshing. You’re the first person in a long time who managed to catch my attention. And I can’t deny that it takes some special talent to grab my attention.
However grabbing the attention of The Bastards always seems like a good idea at the time. I can’t list all those who previously had the same idea and thought that they could make themselves legends overnight by calling us out and beating us. The problem is it never goes that simply.
You see me, Rob and Frank, we are legends. Not because we challenged the biggest name we could find and won, but because we’ve spent close to 70 years combined beating every name that crossed our path!
People don’t make a name for themselves at our expense Preston, they make a name for themselves by our association.
People look at them in the street and say, hey that’s the kid who lost to Riot and Windsor the other week, or maybe if they are lucky they might say, that’s the kid who went toe to toe with Billy Fowler and managed to steal a win.
The question is how lucky do you feel Preston? Do you count your luck that you might stand even the slimmest chance of stealing a win over me?
Well shit, clearly you do! I can tell just how cock sure you are from the tone of that whiney little voice of yours. I admire a dumb cunt who still bets on themselves when the odds are stacked. And trust me Preston, they are truly stacked. You see this 7 foot tall “old man” is far from a washed up has been who needs to be carried by anyone! Just look at the title history of this company who decided to hire you to realise that. Just because your friend Wesley managed to beat me, don’t go getting ahead of yourself, and don’t take my bad days as a sign of incompetence.
You dared to talk about my family and my son, or at least what you perceive that family to look like. I’ve always kept them as far away from this business as possible. Not because of the perverse and egotistical reasons that you tried to plaster on it, I can guarantee to you that I have never touched a ring rat. Frank has had load though, including one which looked a lot like you.
How old are you again?
Maybe I’ll book a DNA test for you.
But no, I kept them away because I didn’t want them to see the real me that steps between those ropes. The Bastard Billy Fowler, the one who you’ve all unleashed that alongside Riot and Windsor is about to tear your lives apart, one at a time.
You question my abilities as a father.
Well you know nothing about my son or his mother, but maybe just this once I’ll divulge a little.
My ex-wife was a bi-polar mess who made living with her impossible. I fought my hardest battles trying to keep our marriage alive, but you reach a point where the fight simply isn’t worth it any more and you have to walk away. My son, was the saving grace of that period of my life and although I’m far from the perfect father, I am and will always be his father.
Will he look up at me and say “Dad, I’m a High Roller”?
No.”
There is a sudden change in the atmosphere in the room as Fowler slumps forward onto the desk and a grinding sound is heard. The crew look over to see a letter opener in the shape of a dagger in Fowler’s hand, being used to carve deep gashes into the desktop.
“He will never say those words Preston, because I’m going to make a mockery of you.
I’m going to ruin those looks that you treasure with my fists. I’ll crush your scrawny little throat with the heel of my boot until you voice goes down 4 decibels and octaves.
I will break every joint and ligament in your body until PAR is nothing but a cripple fuck head that needs to wheeled to ringside by his High Roller Club buddies, just so you can rock back and forth and clap for them. The only member of the High Roller fan club .
Let’s see who thinks its cool to be a High fucking Roller then shall we?
Being a Bastard is fun, it’s easy, and it’s always been cool. That is why we are loved no matter how much the world wants to hate us.
Welcome to our world PAR. It’s a mean one, where being strong doesn’t grant survival. Only The Bastards survive.”
The carving sound stops and the letter opener falls onto the desktop.
“One last thing PAR.
You can keep any mention of my son out of your fucking mouth.”
