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Post by Admin on Jan 23, 2020 10:37:09 GMT -6
I was just sitting there in the dirt. Leaned up against that cold, cold gravestone. Man, it was cold. And you know exactly who's grave it was....
No?
Me neither. I was really hoping you knew.
Gregory H. Demars
I hope he doesn't mind me using his resting place for my.... resting place. Its just.... it's been a while since I've been around. And the last few times I came around, I didn't do too well in that squared circle. They say the facepaint always did the job, but maybe it just wasn't doing it anymore.
So I came here. To Gregory's grave. Whoever Gregory was.
I came here to maybe rediscover myself. Find my inner Snakebite. Because "OLD MAN rob" wasnt going to do the job if Tyke Index really showed up on February 2. Because Tyke Index is one of the greatest in that ring...
You know, Tyke said I was never keen fighting him. I don't even know what "keen" means. I dropped out of school in like... fourth grade. But I have an idea. And if my idea is right..... well then, he's wrong.
I LOVED to fight people like you, Tyke. Because I felt like I could never beat you. So it would push me to my limits. It would make me give my all and more.
But did we ever really fight, Tyke? Did we ever really have that "one on one match" we deserved? I'm literally asking you, because I dont remember. I've been living under a rock for over a year. My brain cells are even worse than before.
So you might show up in London?
Good...
Tyke, you are one of the greatest wrestlers to ever live. I mean sure... you did not succeed in winning that MHW Ultimate Championship, but if MHW was going on for another year, and you stopped living under a rock like me, you would have. That I know.
But that's the thing, Tyke. You've been living under a rock like me.
As a matter of fact... you've done a lot of things like me.
Wait...
You're a ripoff of me.
Snakebite. You're a Snakebite ripoff.
Think about it. They say I'm random, throwed off, no boundaries, limitless, unprofessional, crazy, all those things. And when you left HcW and came to MHW, what did you become?
Minus the facepaint, you were me.
But hell, if you count all the powder hanging out your fucking nose all over your stupid face, it's all the same, right?
I left HcW when I was burnt out and then you left MHW when you were burnt out. "I cleaned up my image", and opened MHW. You cleaned up and opened Heart Sweats.
Dude..... you want to be me so bad.
Let's even rewind to our good ol HcW days. You wanted to be my friend, remember? And when Samantha Hamilton had a Crush on me like an orange soda, you started to poke at the Titaness so you could get that same attention from her. I started falling for her, and then you started falling for her.
You want to be me so bad....
Wow.
And it's crazy, Tyke. Because as much as it feels disgusting to say..... you're better than me. So why would you wanna be me? You had it good...
I never won the HcW World Title. You did. And of course I'm talking about when it was actually a respected title. You had it long before Lance Mikes came in and turned HcW Hell into the gayest show in sports entertainment.
And you know... you should actually thank me for that last title reign you had, anyways. Because if I didn't stand up and call Lance Mikes out on his bullshit, if I didn't turn my back and walk away causing Hell to freeze over, Lance Mikes would've never gave that belt up. He would have kept paying people to lose to him. I tied his hands.
So you're welcome, by the way.
You ungrateful human being.
But I was glad to see you make that belt important again, Tyke. And I was inspired when I watched you fight every week while that place tried so hard to come out of the ashes that The Human Hype burned it down to.
You never gave up. You kept going. Until that very last day...
That's why I say you've always been one of the greatest. And maybe that's why you're better than me.
Because I threw in the towel, Tyke. I took another path.
But I have no regrets.
None.
Tyke, I've seen you on that Twitter, tweet tweeting about how you aren't pretending to be a drug addict anymore and how you're clean and.....this and....that.
Good.
Great.
Bring that "you" on February 2. Don't bring that Snakebite ripoff.
Bring YOU.
Tyke motherfucking Index.
So I can slap the fuck out ya.
Cause bitches get stitches.
Oh... and I almost forgot....
You asked me to change the facepaint for the occasion. And I said I was going to go bigger.
You want something different? They want something special.
Well.... I know a guy who's going to work on something for me, buddy. If you really show up.... I'ma bring Snakebite like you've never seen him before...
Just for "you".
Whoever you are.
And that's just how it is!
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Jan 31, 2020 9:26:22 GMT -6
No scene, no location, no budget.
Just....
Fuck it.
You know, I remember being eighteen years old, sitting in my parents’ house, Glasgow, Scotland, two thousand and five, just like yesterday, just like an hour ago, fuck it, just like a few seconds ago. Avid wrestling fan, lip piercing, Blink 182 enthusiast, ink still drying from my first tattoo and a scar to match. I wanted to be someone, but I wasn’t even sure who I was yet, I wasn’t sure what my purpose was, but I was damn sure intent on finding one. My feet up, television on, I would watch my favourite wrestling, Hardcore Championship Wrestling, I would watch its flag ship show, Monday Night Hell. There was this guy on the screen, he wasn’t big like the bull dozer Taurus, he didn’t have the same accent that I had like Highlander and he didn’t own a corvette like Glen Greeney did, hell, he didn’t have a whole lot, just this mad, satanic like smile drenched in an absolute tonne of death defying face paint. Snakebite wasn’t the world champion, he wasn’t the main guy, but weirdly enough, he was my guy, I looked down at my chest bearing Snakebite t-shirt and I laughed as I turned the television up louder and louder until all I could hear was the snarling anxiety driven laughter of Snakebite dribble around our recently purchased Dolby Surround home cinema system.
That, that right there was the last time I wanted to be Snakebite.
So here we are, Rob, old MAN Rob, its two thousand and twenty, the roaring twenties. I’m not eighteen anymore and you’re not whatever age you were anymore. In fact, we are fifteen years older, supposed to be fifteen years wiser and you are still wearing silly looking face paints, prancing about your wives bed room sniffing her pants and closing down wrestling companies.
I guess we could talk about Tyke Index, that’s what you want me to do, though, isn’t it? Talk about how back in November I walked out on Mile High Wrestling, how I told the world what they already knew, that I deserved to beat Skrabz. I should have beaten Skrabz and in the minds of most wrestling fans, especially the smart fans I did beat your boy, I beat him for sixty minutes, but then I done what was asked of me. I lay down for your boy, I put my back on the canvas not once but twice, that’s how much I cared about the business. Despite the cries of ‘Tyke’ from the crowd, despite the trash being hurled towards the ring for hours afterwards, Rob, that trash wasn’t aimed at Skrabz, hell, I even quite like Skrabz, he’s one of the best in the business, he’s a great wrestler, entertaining on the mic, a good rapper, EVERYTHING you wanted to be and failed at, especially that last part.
That trash was metaphorically and symbolically aimed at you, Rob. Our fans never hated Skrabz, they just hated his direction, and they hated how you were living vicariously through Skrabz. You claim I want to be you, well yes, when I was eighteen I did want to be you, you were cool as fuck, bad ass, but in 2020? I would rather be anyone but you Rob, why would I want to be someone who wants to be someone else? For the past two years you have wanted to be Skrabz, you have given him the title reign you never had, you have given him the big rubs you always wanted and you have given him the adulation that you always desired, and hey, that’s fine, part of me admires how ruthless you have been in this full pelt vehicle you have been behind for the past two years.
See, you’ve been driving so fast that speed limits have been broken, gearboxes shaken and bodies were left lying on the overpass. Rob, you know who one of those bodies were? It was me, Rob, you left me lying, you left me broken, had I not somehow found the strength to walk away, you would have left me for dead. See, that’s all I ever was to you Rob, a sacrificial lamb in your journey to presenting the world with this massive lie that Skrabz was ever better than me. Nobody believed it, just look at the polls.
I’ll tell you what they do believe, though, they believe that Tyke Index and Snakebite have scores to settle, see, truth be told, as much as I wanted to be the bigger man and walk away, as much as I already seen the bigger picture that as much as I want to hate you, a part of me still admires you. I admire how ruthless you were and a part of me wants to see that close up. I want to put you over, Rob, I want to put our issues over, I want to put everything you have ever done over, because as much as you repetitively tell everyone how I am one of the best wrestlers on the planet, you, my friend, are not.
I can see it clearly, though, Rob, I can see what you are trying to do to me here; you are trying to pull the same wool over my eyes that you pulled over Skrabz. By associating with big names like Skrabz and Tyke Index, somehow that steals you some of the light, that’s what it has always been about with you in the first place, hasn’t it Rob? Stealing some of that light, those dazzling spotlights that shine so brightly, those same spotlights that in a few weeks will die out completely when Mile High Wrestling fades into a back drop of nothing.
It won’t drop into nothing, though, because, regardless of you, I actually love Mile High Wrestling, I love it more than I loved Haitch Cee Dub and considering how I was regarded over there, that’s a pretty lofty feat, but Mai Hai is there, it will always be there but it will never be there because of you, it will be there in spite of you. See, while, true, yes you did create the place and yes you did bring in every single face that passed through the doors of Mai Hai, nobody can ever take that away from you, but like every other time in your miserable and pathetic life, you needed dancers to bring your dance floor to life.
That’s where Man Like Skrabz came from, that’s where a Titaness came from, that’s where the Barf Queen came from, a seven foot monster like Reaper? He came from there to. Jansen Myrhh? Leah? Bullet? Bandit? I could go on and on and on, fuckin’ Dillion Daniels.
They came, we came, all of us came to dance, thanks for the dance floor Rob. That’s where your affiliation with the good times comes to an abrupt end, though, see, your intellect and wisdom was always going to prove a bigger problem than your ego. On the face of it, day to day you tried presenting yourself as “Robert Mack”, an astute business man who prided himself as a successful entrepreneur and business man, Christ, for a few months you even had me duped. Like, genuinely, you had me buying so badly into your “bigger picture” vision that Mile High Wrestling was going to become bigger than all those other companies. I bought into your blue sky thinking so badly that I allowed myself to be manipulated into playing a drug addict on camera in front of millions of viewers each and every week, I allowed you to fuck with my head so badly that I stopped questioning why I wasn’t the Ultimate Champion but instead putting over guys who had less than a third of the talent I had, that’s not fiction, that’s just facts.
Rob, you had me knock a female backstage commentator clean the fuck out, that’s where I blame myself. I should have questioned what the fuck was going on, why I was allowing myself to be portrayed in such a light, while I was involved with court cases, all I ever wanted to be was in the ring doing what I do best, kicking ten shades of shit out other people, but you stopped me doing that Rob. Instead you tried to bury me six foot under, you tried to have me hung alive, you tried to have me persecuted and convicted in front of a live crowd and television audience. What sort of sick fuck does that make you?
I’ll tell you what sort of sick fuck that makes you, it makes you the sort who hides behind face paint, the sort of guy who acts up to a bipolar split personality disorder, because, somewhere, deep down you hate who you are Rob, you hate what you created and you hate what you have become. If I had known fifteen years ago that the face paints were really an abomination of your faith, self-worth and an enlightenment of your hopelessness I would have found another idol, someone who didn’t hide, someone who never feared for his future.
Eventually, though, I found my own idol, I found Tyke Index. I found someone you never ever found and never ever will find, I found myself, I found hope, I found meaning, I found LIFE and by god I will keep living my life, I will keep breathing, I will keep fighting. Rob, you cannot kill what you did not create, so while you may be able to put a knife and trudge it straight through the heart of Mile High, you cannot kill the Shieldmaidens, you cannot kill the Coven, you cannot kill Skrabz, you cannot kill Solomon Cain, you cannot kill Azurine Vebbins, you cannot kill Reaper, Ripley, Ace Starr, Emily Falls, Chris Mosh, you motherfuckin’ cannot by damn kill Tyke Index.
If I’ve learned anything the past year or so it’s that hope cannot be destroyed, it cannot be maimed, it cannot be killed, it cannot be…compromised.
Mile High Wrestling has hope, it has Heart Sweats, I will make sure that when all else is lost, hope lives on, just like you ensured hope lived on after Hardcore Championship Wrestling, I will ensure that hope lives on after Mile High Wrestling. Rob, that’s not because I want to be you. Rob, that’s because I value hope over fear and I want to right your wrongs, not because I have to or feel some sort of obligation but because it’s the right thing to do. You talk about Tyke Index being the locker room leader; you want to know why that was? It’s because you didn’t have the boots big enough to fulfil that role, so I would constantly have to clean up your mess and explain to the boys and girls giving their all to YOUR cause that it was just the process, that those undeserved losses or angles weren’t their fault, it was just ‘paying some dues’, but then eventually I couldn’t look myself in the mirror, I couldn’t forgive myself for the amount of lies I was telling, at one point the sinful and uncompromising liar and creep I was playing ON SCREEN had become a sub ordinated version of the guy I felt like off screen, how do you explain to a person like Zombie that losing to the president of the Network at a Pay Per View is ‘good for business’, what did we get out that deal, Rob? Half hour less of Ammo; aye very fucking good, where it go pal? What good did that do anyone? How do you explain to the Shieldmaidens that they deserved to lose to the Coven? So, let’s just throw our most long standing stable under the bus to a bunch of new comers who one week into their faction lost their biggest member, Solomon Cain. Let’s go one better, let’s have a sex tape of Samantha Hamilton and that same lost child emerge. LET’S NOT, LET’S FUCKING NOT!
So on Sunday bring your facepaints, bring your cute little masks, hell auto cue your entrance sequence so you get five more minutes to make your entrance than when I come out, make it the Robert Mack show, live your dreams, get it all out your system. Get everything out, but just make sure that when the music fades out and reality hits, do me a favour, just one thing, look me square in the eyes, look at your future, because I am your future. After that, Rob? Reality is going to come crashing down on you, you’re going to feel things you’ve never felt, you’re going to hear things from that live passionate crowd in London that you have never heard before and most importantly you are going to see in front of your very own eyes that you made the biggest mistake of your life ever thinking you were in the same league as Tyke Index. On Sunday I am taking you to Coke Mountain and it’s a trip you are never ever returning from.
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