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Gospel
Topic Started: Jan 5 2016, 12:20 AM (93 Views)
SaviourSelf
Seasoned Professional
-Sitting back in a rocking chair on the deck of a Mount Pleasant, Michigan home, a heather-fabriced Detroit Red Wings fitted on his head and a big LRG sweater on his body to protect him from the cold, Alex LeBlanc is laughing to himself and smoking a cigarette. The smoke billows out and in contrast with the cold air, it's easily visible. The frost still visible on the hand rail and the grass in front of him, the PRW cameraman is going to have to suffer if he wants his segment. Regardless, shivering and turning blue, he films away as Alex just leans back into the rocking chair.-

Alex: You know, John Steinbeck once said, "Socialism never took root in America because the poor see themselves not as an exploited proletariat, but as temporarily embarrassed millionaires."

-Alex takes another drag from his cigarette and lets the smoke fill his lungs before letting it trickle out slowly, as if the time spent is being used to formulate a point, or much more likely to let the words sink in.-

Alex: The point of that statement, and it really rings true today, is that in our little society, in our lives, there are people out there who believe they've been given a rough hand in life. They refuse to accept facts because ultimately they believe they're a special snowflake who got a rough break or a shit hand from God.

Rather than try to do something about their lot, they'll gripe and bitch, and they'll tell anybody that things are going to turn around. That they one day can be successful too. That they've been held down and besmirched. It can't possibly be factual that they're struggling do to a lack of talent, success or dare I say, "drive". No, it has to be everyone else's fault, because as you know, "special snowflake" and all that.

-Alex laughs a bit and looks right at the camera.-

Alex: You know how you can tell someone is a bag of wasted potential living off maybes, possibilities and happenstance?

-Coldly, LeBlanc looks right at the camera, pointing his cigarette at it.-

Alex: Don't worry, they'll tell you.

-Alex shrugs and flicks the end of his cigarette a bit, getting the ash of it so it'll burn more evenly, the Benson & Hedges brand cigarette glowing an orange ember, contrasting against the grey sky and landscape of Central Michigan and it's quaint suburban atmosphere.-

Alex: See, that's what we have in PRW nowadays; a bunch of nobodies who gripe and bitch about their lot but who are unwilling to do anything about it. You'll get your John Banes and your Canary Kids, your Carlos Cruz, and most notably, your Jesse Drive and they'll come in front of these cameras, recently here in some sort of Party City-bought goth makeup and claim that we're going to rue the day we ever underestimated them, and that they're going to change things starting tomorrow and bring PRW down to its knees...

And then?

They walk into the ring, get dropped on their heads and it's the same ol' bullshit again until next month when they change their look, make another ill-fated return, put on some different makeup, but try to sell people on the same fuckin' sermon. They're like the Holy Roller Church Tent Evangelical who comes to town once a year in a different suit but tries his damnedest to sell you on some bullshit miracle when you know damn well he ain't curing little Jimmy of his blindness and there ain't no way in hell anything he says is anything but smoke and fuckin' mirrors.

-Alex laughs to himself and finally ashes his cigarette on the wood rocking chair, flicking it onto the porch.-

Alex: Honestly, nobody goes out and does shit anymore. Everyone just wants to talk about it, but nobody really goes out and does a damn thing anymore. I'm sitting here as the only guy who really walks the fuckin' walk these days and I got a kid like Jesse Drive trying his damnedest to hit me with some sort of budget Freddy Kruger impression. I got a dude like Jesse, who hasn't ever proved shit in this company, watching Kevin Sullivan videos and gettin' hype when he knows damn well he can't beat me if I was drunk, had the gout, no legs and gotten diagnosed with Mono two days before.

But there's this motherfucker, doing the like cool thing nowadays, joining JR Judy in a "The Killing Joke" remake, donning some film noir rhetoric with a mix of "End of Days" cult leader/hack bullshit, claiming that he's going to make me pay and be some sort of example for the "BRAND NEW WORLD" and the "BRAND NEW PATH" he's setting out to navigate.

-Jittery, Alex fixes the cuff of his sweatshirt, tugging at it a bit before rolling his neck, as if he was aggrieved just by Drive even considering that a thought.-

Alex: Seriously, bro? Like really? The last dude who came around proclaiming a "Brave New World" and saying that things have changed got his skull punted off and left for dead as the Onslaught came to pick up the rest of the pieces of his legacy.

"New World", same "Natural Selection". I was the Extinction Level Event that dude hadn't anticipated, and not only did I clean his clock, but I'm pretty damn sure that you're not half the talent Patrick Slaughter is.

-Alex sighs and looks at the camera pained, as if it's beneath him to even give this kid the time of day.-

Alex: The question posed by you a few days ago was, "How are we different?"

Well, Jesse? 3 Undisputed Titles, Tag Titles that alone rival anything you've ever done in PRW, a Hall of Fame plaque and the distinction of arguably being the GOAT makes us not only different, but from different worlds.

-Alex laughs and puts out his hands, trying to break this down slowly.-

Alex: Let me put this in terms you can understand, since in a past-life, before you went all Evanescene on me, you were a bit of a party boy:

We can walk down the same aisle, but we have on very different shoes. You're rocking Payless brand, and I got on the Lucchese boots that are worth more than your monthly paycheck.

We stay in the same hotels, but we have different views. You get a room with no windows, and I'm staying in a suite that takes up a whole floor with a view of the skyline.

You drive a Ford Fiesta, and I'm driving a Mayonnaise-colored Benz because I push the Miracle Whips.

You aren't on my damn level, and you never will be, because while you spend your time talking about what you could do, I deal in facts and production, outcomes and figures, numbers...and well, numbers. I started as a businessman, but somewhere along the line, I became the epitome of the godamn business, man.

I don't leave my home to lose to kids like you, and my dick doesn't get hard for matches with people of your level. If this were a plane, you'd be coach, and I'm certifiable First-Class with the extra-leg room, bitch. I've got my credentials.

Still, you're the means to an end, and while I don't get out of bed for anything less than top-billing, and I don't leave my fucking kids for anything less than what I deem worth it; driving your head into the mat gets me one step closer to Razer and beating the bricks off that Brit to finally get my fucking belt back and solidify my claims, my point and my well-publicized bank account.

-Alex chuckles one more time before standing up.-

Alex: Am I arrogant? Sure, but what's "God" without a little O.D.?

I'm the best to ever do this shit.

I'm the fucking Rainmaker, Okada be damned. I'm the Alpha & the Omega in this joint and the only thing missing is the fucking belt. Razer is keeping it warm, but Jesse, you're the means to an end and all your proselytizing and chest-puffing is going to end in a manner no different than any of the other jamokes they've put in front of me recently.

-Turning to go back into the house, Alex stops and leaves Jesse with one last quip.-

Conveniently, you're wearing all black now.

That's fitting, because at Salvation?

It's your funeral.
Edited by SaviourSelf, Jan 5 2016, 12:23 AM.
- 4x PRW Undisputed Champion
- 2x World Tag Team Champion
- 8x Cyanide Champion
- PRW Intercontinental Champion
- PRW Triple Crown Champion
- PRW Grand Slam Champion
- PRW Hall of Famer
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