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Fuck Shooting, I'm Throwing Hand Grenades
Topic Started: Mar 25 2012, 05:18 PM (275 Views)
SaviourSelf
Seasoned Professional
This was sent to the PRW Offices by one, Alex LeBlanc. The contents of which are controversial to say the least. Reader discretion is advised. PRW and its liscences does not endorse, agree with, or uphold any of the views shared by Mr. LeBlanc, they are his own and his own alone.


To Whom It May Concern:

They say that you can't choose who your family is, but you can choose who your friends are. You see, normally that would be absolutely correct, but in my case, I was able to do both.

For years, I traveled up and down the road with Joseph Nox, starting with some no-name company in Jacksonville and working our way up to the pinnacle of this business at the current time, PRW.

We've shared blood, tears, success and failures, to the point that quite frankly, for the past seven years, I have been able to call him my brother. It's been a hell of ride.

Sadly, that ride ends and it's going to end violently.

You see, the fact of the matter is, you can sit there and you can follow me to the ring and you can watch while I don't even take shots, but rather, tell the truth about some of things happening within this company. You can stand and puff your chest out and nod your head to the things I'm saying, but it has to come pass that the minute I reference these fans, these fans who couldn't give a fuck-less about you, you tuck your tail, bow your head and trudge off up the porch steps like they own you.

That's fine and good, but don't expect me to sit back and answer your calls, send you a text or reply ilke some simpleton just because you want to be PRW's favorite "House Boy".

The truth of the matter, little brother, is they couldn't give a damn less about any one of us, and the minute you falter, is the minute you don't get those cheers, that publicity or that shred of love anymore.

Joey, you could leave tomorrow and within two weeks, those same fans who you think adore you, they'll be hitching their ride to Terry Bukowski, because god knows he's just as big, just as strong, and unfortunately for him, half as charismatic, but working with a bastion of hatred like Matthew Logan, just as likable.

They won't miss you any more than they've missed Hutton Brown, or JR Judy, or Lion Mertueil. They won't miss you any more than they've missed Serial or Timothy Kage. They won't miss you anymore than they've missed Gunnar Wuher.

You're expendable. These people don't give a damn about you. You think these people give a fuck about your bills? You think those fans that you bend over and spread your cheeks for give a shit about your health? Your finances? You think they give a damn about what jobs you have to moonlight at to make ends meet?

They don't care. Outside of that arena, you barely even exist to them.

Their cheers aren't out of respect, Joseph.

They cheer much like the citizens of Rome did when they saw a gladiator vanquish another, or a gladiator vanquish a lion. They aren't cheering you because of who you are, they're cheering you because of the brutality you bring, because inherently, they'll cheer anything that provides them with that sense of violence and brutality you crave.

The moment you cease falling on your head for them is the moment they'll stop cheering you.

You've admitted it yourself, they've booed you before. And why? Why did they boo you, Joey?

Because you were honest. Because you used to tell them how it was.

Now? You call them master and lay at their feet.

Do what you must, but realize that the minute you walk through those curtains, the music stops.

The cheers stop.

The admiration stops.

If you were to find one of those same fans on the street, he wouldn't even give you the decency or the respect you think you've earned.

Those same fans that you're propping up and putting up on a pedestal are merely an extension of a management that has brainwashed them into cheering whom they want the next star to be, whom they believe will bring in the most money.

You're the most talented guy in this company, Joey, so tell me, why'd it take a year for you to get another title shot?

Why were you buried beneath the likes of Chaos The Clown? Why were you buried underneath people like Canary Kid?

Why did someone like Sylvia Wrath, who doesn't hold a candle to you, get more cheers, louder cheers in every city we were in?

Why has the love for us, for YOU, faded?

I'll tell you why, litttle brother.

It's because management has those fans on a string, pulling at them like puppets and making them dance. Management controls everything and the moment you step out of line or say something the least bit out of order, you're going to find yourself the victim of the marionette strings, wishing you would have listened.

Those fans don't care, Joey. They follow the flock like the sheep they are.

Look at Wrath, look at Ace.

Management has done their best to cover up their inconsistencies, their flaws, shined them up and hidden their cracks, polished them up like the gold standard, and the fans ate it up when it was served.

We've continuously been better than all of them, and we've been getting booed, jeered, put at a lower pedestal.

Hell, Joey, I could even say you're starting to believe some of that management bullshit yourself.

You come out and openly say you got lucky versus Magic?

The Nox of old would have realized that the fact you rolled him up wasn't luck, it was experience, and it was a show of your talent that you reached into that wealth of knowledge and caught him off-guard.

But hey, whatever makes you the plucky Company Guy and gives the new guy the rub, right?

Stand behind me, stand next to me, or don't stand next to me at all, it matters not.

The fact is, I'm not going to be a slave to a system whose flaws are evident.

I rather die on my feet...than live on my knees.

You've made your choice, and I hope you're content with it.

But years from now, when we talk again, and I see you at some WrestleReunion show hawking merchandise from a table, not able to walk because of the shit you put yourself through for this company, wrestling in front of 23 people in a low-dimmed VFW hall for a promoter who doesn't even pay you...

I'm going to smile and ask if you if it was worth it.

If selling out your piece of mind for a bunch of marks who couldn't give a fuck less about you...was worth it.

I'm going to ask you whether looking back, the heaping plate of bullshit you were served after being a good little lapdog, an obedient little "House Boy"...really paid off.

Right now, you're flying high, you got that title belt, and lord knows, they're promising you the world.

Press, Publicity Tours, Photo Shoots...

What happens when Ninja Magic comes back and the Management tells you that they want to go in a different direction?

What happens when that press, that respect, everything you've EARNED...everything you MERIT...gets bestowed upon some clown who lost to you because of a School Boy?

What happens when your name stops getting chanted, and the Man In The Mask takes your fans?

What then, Joseph?

Are you going to keep bending at the waist, or is the pussy not going to be worth the squeeze at that point?

I know the answer to that.

I've known you for seven years.


The things we do for fame,

-Alex

- 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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