Post by Everyday Heroes on May 28, 2017 23:25:29 GMT
I
Oshawa, Ontario, Canada
May 25, 2017 11.45PM
'Fuck!'
'Corey...'
'Fuck!'
'Corey...'
'FuckfuckfuckfuckFUCK!'
'COREY!!!'
'WHAT?!' I love Cass, but man can she be annoying sometimes!
'Your mom's on the phone.'
She's giving me that look she always gives me when she thinks I'm being dumb, but this time, I'm not about to back down. This time, I have a right to act however the fuck I want. I've just had everything, the entire past year of my life, taken away from me. I didn't do anything I said I would, or followed through with any of my promises, or even lived up to anybody's expectations. I looked like just as much of a chump out there as James Edwards did. Hell, I didn't even make that motherfucker break a sweat. I told him he'd have to throw me in the hospital to get that pin over me, and the fucker nails me with a common-ass move. I didn't even get the goddamn crucifix driver in. I stole his move, and couldn't even hit it right. I looked like just exactly what I am – a goddamn Target employee cosplaying as a professional wrestler.
Then again, why the fuck did I have to go in as Corey Madison?! I knew Corey Madison was a burnout. It's Corey Cruelty who's the stone cold killer. So it makes a ton of sense that, of all times to take off the fucking make-up and go in as my chump self, I do it on the most important night of my life, right?
Dumbass.
Fucking dumbass!
But you know what? That's it. I'm done. I'm out. I've had it with this shit. I've had it with people telling me I'm a lucky fluke, management hyping up two-match rookies over me, fans giving me shit for things other people get a free pass on...the whole thing. I've had enough of it. The only reason I was sticking around was to get to that belt, and seeing as I'm wrestling's equivalent of the fucking Atlanta Falcons, I guess I might as well call it quits. Guess I might as well just go. There's nothing left for me here. I'll just go back home, regroup, ask Caleb to hire me back, and then---
'COREY!!!
Cassie's raised tone makes me start, and I realize I've gone so deep inside my own thoughts I zoned out.
'Sorry...my mom, right?'
'Yeah. And she's calling collect.'
The message in her tone is hard to miss, but I really don't want to put up with it right now. I don't want to put up with anything right now.
'Tell her to call back later. I don't want to talk to her right now.'
'Corey.' There's that tone again; this time, it drives me over the edge.
'Jesus fuck, Cass! When did you start sounding like my mom?'
She glares at me again. How does she not see it? How can she not see it?!
'Look at me, Cass,' I plead. 'I'm a fucking mess right now. I can't talk to my Mom like this! Could you please just tell her I'll call her when we get back to the hotel?'
Cassie sighs.
'Fine.'
She unmutes the phone and tells my mom exactly what I just said. Then, after a series of 'uh-huh''s and 'okay's, she turns back towards me.
'Your mom says happy birthday. And that there's a cake waiting for you.'
Give it to someone who deserves it, I think, but can't bring myself to say it. Instead, in a rare case of me mincing my words, I simply tell Cassie to tell her I said thanks.
Once the message has been delivered, and I'm feeling slightly less worthless than before, I start shoving my things into my training bag, every which way, not caring what goes where. I don't give a shit about that at the best of times, and I definitely don't give a shit about it now. Then, just as I am throwing the wad of papers I got given by an angry staff member on top of the dirty clothes, I get a text message:
'u ok? mom worried. me too.'
My sister. I guess she was there when I told my mom to call back later. I forgot they're attached at the hip.
'not ok,' I type back
. 'angry af.'
It doesn't take more than a few seconds for my phone to ping again.
'y? want 2 talk?'
What is it with everybody wanting to talk all the time?! Don't they get that sometimes talking makes it worse? Don't they get that sometimes a person needs to just be left alone with their own goddamn thoughts until they feel like facing the fucking world again? What is it with society's obsession with fucking talking?
Once again, I think all this, but don't say it – which makes it twice I've held back in the space of less than five minutes. That's got to be a new fucking world record. Or maybe I'm getting soft. Maybe I've stopped giving zero fucks and never noticed it. Maybe that's why I couldn't rattle Cutlass. Maybe that's why I'm not the King of Lions right now...
'Don't go there again,' I tell myself. 'You'll only get mad again. Move on.'
It takes all of my concentration and willpower to follow my own advice. Every fiber of my being wants to go back to feeling sorry for myself, on the one night of the fucking year when I'm allowed to. But something deep down inside of me – the same niggling part of my brain that turns my frustrations with the human race into wins inside a wrestling ring – tells me being emo is not the way to go; that what I have to do is move on with my life, and vent this frustration the same way I've vented every other frustration for the past year. By verbally annihilating someone.
To even my own surprise, I try to fight it; try to tell whatever it is that's inside my brain that this time it's different, that this time it's bigger, that this time just making a video won't be enough. But every argument I come up with, that part of my brain shuts down; every excuse I try to make, it rejects; and all the while it keeps pushing on, telling me to get out, to go back to the hotel, to put this all behind me and let off some steam the best way I know how. And deep down inside, I know it's right; deep down inside, I know the only way to get over a shitty situation is to make sure you put yourself into a better one, and that sitting here moaning like everyone likes to tell me I do is not going to solve anything. I need to rant at someone.
Fortunately, as shitty as they've made everything else for me this past couple of weeks, the wrestling gods were at least cool enough to give me the perfect opportunity to do just that - the GOL Falcon Cup quarter finals – and the perfect opponent to do it to.
Sorry, Princess Powderpuff.
You're about to feel the Wrath of Corey.
I stand up and grab my bag.
'Come on, Cass,' I call out, not once looking behind me to see if she's following me. 'I've got better things to do than hang out in this place all night.'
With that, and without the slightest bit of hesitation or regret, I stride through the open door, and walk out of a Lions' Road locker room for the last time.
II
Oshawa, Ontario, Canada
May 26, 2017 01:02PM
'Why do I always get the smiley ones?'
The latest video uploaded to the Lions' Road website opens to a dark-haired young man sitting in semi-obscurity in what appears to be a mid-range hotel room. Hunched over in a chair by the window, the youngster blatantly disregards hotel regulations as he puffs away at a cigarette. Then, after a moment's silence, he continues:
'I mean that. Everywhere I turn in this goddamn business, all I see are powder puff pony princesses. And somehow, I always seem to keep stumbling across them. Why?! Is it 'cause promotions get their kicks out of putting them against a guy who looks like me?! Or is it just dumb luck?! I don't get it...!'
The youngster shrugs, taking another pull from his cigarette as he continues:
'Either way...one particular powder puff pony princess just drew the short straw. Because on Sunday, she's going to find herself in the ring with a fire-breathing dragon. One that happens to be fucking pissed.'
The youth's shoulders quiver with repressed tension as he turns his gaze up towards the camera, his eyes revealing a mixture of anger and wounded pride.
'Honey...I feel sorry for you. You never asked for this. The only thing you probably wanted when you signed up to this cup was to compete. To have a few good matches. Test yourself. All that good shit. You never asked to be put in the ring against someone like me. You never asked to be put in the ring against someone who's just had the biggest setback of his career, and needs someone to take his frustrations out on. But see, Honey, sometimes, when you take risks like that...life throws you a curveball. And on Sunday...you're about to strike out.'
The intensity of the youngster's glare intensifies.
'Honey....I know what you're thinking right now. You're sitting in your pink fucking room playing with your pink fucking ponies, and you're thinking this Corey guy needs to lighten up and have chocolate-sprinkle cupcakes or some shit. You're thinking on Sunday, you're gonna show me it doesn't pay to be grumpy, or whatever Dr Seuss bullshit people like you call a mental outlook. But Honey...I'm gonna tell you right now...don't. Don't think you stand a chance. Don't think you're going to show me anything. You're not going to show me shit. The only thing you're going to show me is that at least I've still got what it takes to beat a bimbo ditz like you.'
The glower grows, if possible, even more intense.
'Honey...on Sunday, at Chapter Uno! Dos! Tres!, you're going to be nothing but a target. A punching bag. Someone for me to tear apart so I can feel better about choking my big chance away. The sooner you realize that, the better. The sooner you stop thinking this is going to be an even fight, or that you're going to come anywhere close to an upset, the easier it will be for everyone on Sunday. This won't be an even fight. It won't even be a fair one. And the way I feel right now, I'd be surprised if you got more than a few shots in before I knock your lights out and drop you on your head.'
The speaker leans in closer to the camera.
'So face it, Honey, Embrace it. Stop kidding yourself. Embrace the fact that there is such a thing as being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and that this time, it happened to you. Admit that to yourself. Don't build up your expectations. Don't build up your hopes. Just admit that, on Sunday, it'll be the end of the road for you. Just admit you got dealt the worst possible opponent, at the worst possible time, and that on Sunday, you're going to suffer the consequences. It's unfortunate, but shit happens. Embrace that, and it'll all be over before you know it.
But if you don't embrace it...'
The youngster scorches the lens with a glare once more.
'...if you don't embrace it, Honey...if you keep thinking you have a shot, you have a chance, if you just stay positive...then it's gonna hurt. It's gonna hurt a lot. If you go in that ring on Sunday thinking you have a snowflake's hope in Hell of beating me and advancing in the Cup...I'm going to make you wish you had followed my advice. I'm going to make you wish you'd never sign up for this Cup. And above all...'
The speaker smiles for the first time, a deranged, unsettling smile.
'….above all, Honey, I'm going to make sure you remember the name of the man who crippled you.
I'm going to make you remember the name Corey Madison.'
The grin widens.
'Honey...I know, on Sunday, you were hoping to move on up. You were hoping to pick up another win. But Honey...life dealt you a bad hand. Life put you in the ring with one of the most dominant rookies in modern professional wrestling, after he's had the worst week of his career. And do you know what that means for you, Honey?'
Corey leans into the camera again.
'It means, on Sunday, you're not moving on up.
On Sunday, when you get in the ring with me, the only direction you're going...is down.
Down...
….into...
...Oblivion.'
With that, and yet another slasher grin from the youngster, the video ends.
III
Oshawa, Ontario, Canada
May 25, 2017 01:20AM
Much better.