Post by THE Tristan Slater on Dec 29, 2022 8:11:58 GMT -5
Over the last four months the WGWF has taken the wrestling world by storm. I think it’s pretty safe to say that nobody expected us to come back and become a powerhouse in such a short period; almost nobody, because I did. As one of the few legacy talents on this roster I was around for the highest of highs and the lowest of lows over the decade plus the WGWF was a thing. Trust me when I tell you that while at points in time the roster was thick it has never been as talented as it is right now, and never has there been a West Coast Rumble that could break so many different ways at any given time.
… this Rumble is special.
… this Rumble is for the World Heavyweight Championship.
It’s been a long time since I wore that strap of gold proudly around my waist. The sense of pride, the lineage, the legacy, and the notoriety it brings is something nobody but I can attest to. Knowing that there are roughly twenty pieces of talent standing in my way means that I have roughly twenty different opponents to prepare for in what is arguably going to be one big cluster fuck. Let’s take a few minutes and talk about the nature of the Rumble in general. Nobody knows when they’re going to be called until the music hits the speakers which means you have to be ready at all times but what makes this even more difficult rests with the unpredictable nature that comes along with multi-man matches because anyone can throw someone over the top rope if the opportunity presents itself. This truly is the only match type on the planet that talent, or being a top guy in the industry means jackshit because John Doe can sneak an elimination at the drop of a dime and you can find yourself sailing over the top rope and crashing down to the floor. Naturally, the number randomly given to you does increase your odds of survival if it’s on the higher side of the equation… but this year I don’t think numbers play as pivotal role as they have in years past because this year is about half as full has previous, and that’s not a knock because my understanding is people have turned away until after this event takes place so that those that helped build the brand have the first crack at left with the big boy belt.
We all know that fast friends and alliances are made and broken at a moment's notice if someone’s back is against the wall, self-preservation is everything until it isn’t.
With a snap of the fingers, it is all over.
Nobody remembers who enters, they only remember who wins.
At some point, everyone is going to have to decide on how badly they truly want to be the WGWF World Heavyweight Champion. The questions you have to ask yourselves are you willing to stab your friends in the back if they stand in your way? Can you look yourself in the mirror knowing the levels you are going to HAVE to stoop to ensure that you are left with all the spoils? But more importantly… Can you look your friends in the eyes afterward with your head held up?
… I know the answers for me, and they might surprise you.
__________
“I just want to know if I can go.” The scene opens inside a patient room at an undisclosed medical facility in Miami, Florida. It’s a bit chillier than usual for the Sunshine State, and with Christmas in the rearview and a New Year on deck all eyes have now shifted to the WGWF’s West Coast Rumble. We see a doctor cutting off the cast on the right wrist of THE Tristan Slater who sits on the edge of the bed.
DOCTOR: We are about to find out once I get this thing cut off and we grab a few X-Rays to see how the healing process is going.
Let’s recap why I have found myself in the position I am in. November 21st, it’s a day that many people might not draw any significant correspondence with- but to me, it’s one that I won’t forget anytime soon because it was the night that Mark Flynn, Peter Vaughn, and Fred Debonair took the liberties that resulted in the hairline fracture to my wrist at CCPE Arena in Las Vegas. The same group of boys that complain about Holden Ross laying them out is the same people who on the SAME night did the SAME thing to me.
I guess they’re a little butt-hurt that Holden’s arrival outshined their attack.
Over the last several weeks I’ve seen you, Mark.
I’ve witnessed you try so feverishly to embarrass me, I’ve seen the desperate attempts on Dark, and for all extensive purposes, it appears like you want to fight. Why haven’t you grown the nuts and accepted the challenge, hmmm? The truth is you have and will always fear me because I’m the guy that’s always seen through your smoke and mirrors while leaving you left holding your dick. Congratulations on finally having a breakout year by the way. It only took a decade.
DOCTOR: Have you stayed out of the ring?
THE TRISTAN SLATER: As hard as it’s been to sit on the sidelines that’s exactly what I’ve done all in the hopes that I can head into the West Coast Rumble at one hundred percent. The Doctor cracks the cast open and removes it from the right wrist and thumb of THE Tristan Slater as he tosses it in the trash. Slater holds his right wrist with his left hand while slowly starting to rotate it from right to left.
DOCTOR: Come on. He states as he gets up from his stool on rollers. Let’s go find out what’s going on with the wrist. The Doctor leads THE Tristan Slater out of his room and down an interior hallway. You mentioned something about a West Coast Rumble. What’s that all about?
THE TRISTAN SLATER: It’s just a wrestling Pay-Per-View Event with an organization I’m under a short-term contract with. It’s a pretty pivotal event for the federation.
DOCTOR: What’s your role in it?
THE TRISTAN SLATER: I’m involved in a big battle royal to crown the new World Champion. THE Tristan Slater states as nonchalantly as possible.
DOCTOR: That’s a pretty big opportunity. I’d imagine you want to be as close to one hundred percent as possible.
I guess that would depend on what your motives are when it comes to what you plan on accomplishing in the confines of this event. Most eyes are on leaving with the strap first and foremost; but would it shock you to find out that isn’t my driving force? I’ve been to the top of the WGWF on more than one occasion, so that isn’t my desire. What I’m looking for is something a bit more life-changing. Mark Flynn wants to stake claim to another World Title and well… I want to be the guy that stops that from happening.
I can care less if I am thrown over the top rope because as long as it happens after I stop the leader of the lollipop guild then I’ll consider it a fucking win.
I bet that’s the last thing you’d expect to hear coming from my mouth.
THE TRISTAN SLATER: I guess that would depend on what you want out of it. I didn’t enter to win, I entered to stop someone else. The Doctor leads THE Tristan Slater into an X-Ray room. The Doctor motions for Tristan to have a seat on the bed. now and then you have to put your interests aside if it means doing something else for the greater good.
The last thing I ever professed to be is a “good guy”. I have plenty of flaws, I’ve made a plethora of mistakes throughout my time in this industry while doing a lot of shitty things along the way. I am a by-any-means-necessary kind of dude that doesn’t mind fighting fire with fire if it means I get my point across. When it comes to the West Coast Rumble I have two goals. The first, do everything in my power to make sure Flynn isn’t left standing, and the second is to throw caution to the wind at Peter Vaughn.
Mr. Number One Wrestler in the world.
I have to clutch my pearls because I’m in such a state of awe just to be in your presence.
Mr. Clean went and made something of himself as he finds himself back on top of the world, am I right? TPW relaunches and reinstates their Champions, who is on top? Peter Vaughn. You are the other mark that my sights are officially locked on. Collectively, you and Flynn can be the most dangerous force in this entire Rumble. There isn’t another pair of guys that CAN stand up to you other than THE Tristan Slater and John Cable. We don’t give a fuck about anything but your downfall, and now that you’ve got that number one moniker attached to your name I don’t mind being the guy that beat Peter Vaughn; even if it means throwing you over that top rope like the trash you once took out.
THE TRISTAN SLATER: Call me crazy, Doc, but as I’ve gotten older the hills worth dying on have become less and less… but when you come up on one it pushes you to do things you wouldn’t normally do. The Doctor wheels an armrest over to the side of the bed, He positions THE Tristan Slater’s on it before setting him up for the X-Ray.
DOCTOR: Sometimes the noble route is the only route. The Doctor positions the X-Ray Machine over THE Tristan Slater’s wrist. He flips a switch turning on the machine itself. Don’t move. The Doctor takes off around the corner into a booth of sorts where he snaps the X-Ray. He pokes back around the corner and repositions THE Tristan Slater’s wrist. One more time. The Doctor darts back off into the booth and takes the second X-Ray before coming back around the corner where he flips on the light as he reaches the bedside he turns off the machine, and slides it out of the way.
THE TRISTAN SLATER: Quick and painless.
Words that will not have any merit when the bell sounds for the West Coast Rumble. With my eyes firmly on Peter and Flynn, the only thing that I have to wait on is my number to be called. Being able to multitask is invaluable when it comes to environments that invoke opportunistic timing and precision to execute any type of formidable game plan. Last time I checked nobody had eyes in the back of their heads which means anyone is susceptible to being taken advantage of if the time calls for it. What happens after I accomplish my short-term goals with this rumble? What other purpose do I have? Should I just climb over the top, hop on down to the floor and talk my leave? Fuck no! The next step would be to do whatever in my power to make sure that chode-monkey Fred Debonair isn’t far behind them.
DOCTOR: Come on. Let’s go back to your room and the film should be ready in a few minutes. THE Tristan Slater hops off the bed and starts to follow the doctor back out into the interior hallways taking them back down to Tristan’s room. The Doctor allows Slater to enter first and follows him inside. So what happens if these come back clean?
THE TRISTAN SLATER: Then you will play a large part in me rectifying a larger picture.
DOCTOR: Let’s be fair. You’re going to compete regardless of what the film says. THE Tristan Slater nods his head.
THE TRISTAN SLATER: Well, yes. I mean, there are three people responsible for that cast and this Rumble is probably the only chance I’ll get to get three rats in one place at one time.
How does it feel to be the man that’s won bigger matches yet plays third fiddle in your triforce, Fred? What’s crazy to me is how nobody knew who you were six months ago while you floundered in IIW. You leached on Chris Page because he has what you aspire to have; the notoriety, the fame, the following that you got all wide-eyed over. Do you see anyone running around predicting Debonair to leave with the strap? Nah, and that shit eats your pretentious ass up.
Everyone has a string of luck from time to time, but the thing with luck is that eventually, it all runs out.
Fred, you are just as guilty as Vaughn and Flynn… for that, you will be held accountable when the stakes couldn’t be any higher. Guys like you and your Village People thrive on accolades. They’re what drive you into thinking that in the grand scheme of things you are some sort of big deal when the truth is you haven’t been about shit since Pre-Covid and have been fighting and clawing to mean something since. You are the single biggest bitch I’ve ever seen. I’d be willing to bet that in a single situation you aren’t nearly as confident as you want us all to believe.
DOCTOR: If you already have your mind made up then why are you here? Why didn’t you just cut the cast off yourself?
THE TRISTAN SLATER: That’s a very valid question. THE Tristan Slater then states. I guess it all falls back on knowing what I’m going to be capable of versus rolling the dice and possibly fucking it up more. I might be vindictive but I’m not a fucking idiot.
DOCTOR: Good point. There is a knock heard from the door to the private room where a nurse hands the doctor a large file containing the film from the X-Ray handing it to the doctor. Let’s see what these have to say. The Doctor takes one of the films out and swings over to a holder on the wall. He puts the film on the holder and flips a switch. It lights up displaying the X-Ray which the Doctor studies intently for a few minutes before switching the film.
THE TRISTAN SLATER: What do you see?
DOCTOR: Well, from what I’m looking at you’re damn near healed up. I wouldn’t say it’s one hundred percent but there isn’t any reason to put it back in a cast. My suggestion is going to be to take it easy for another week or two… but something tells me that advice won’t be adhered to.
THE TRISTAN SLATER: All I needed to know was whether it was good to go. Now that I know, good news for me… bad news for them. THE Tristan Slater hops back off the bed as he shakes hands with the Doctor. I appreciate you.
DOCTOR: Good luck. With a head nod from THE Tristan Slater they release the handshake. THE Tristan Slater takes his exit and we fade outside the undisclosed medical facility to see John Cable kicked back against a white limo. He shouts out to Slater who is on the approach.
JOHN CABLE: What did they say?
THE TRISTAN: He said Flynn and company are fucked.
__________
I hate to be the bearer of bad news for the rest of you but my fucks given are at an all-time low. I can care less about your involvement or what you want to try to accomplish. Hell, I’m rooting for you to grab that brass ring while showing the world that you belong. In Bam Miller’s case, he’s got a long way to go if he plans on ever being taken seriously as a threat to anything outside of putting the masses to sleep whenever he opens his mouth. We got ourselves a Mecca of Manhood that can’t seem to get an edge on Cholo if his life depended on it, or what about the three mystery entrants? It takes a lot of balls to enter a Battle Royal while hiding who you are. The only reason fuckboys do that kind of shit is that if they announce themselves they never live up to the anticipation.
Is that the case here?
I mean, nothing makes them more special. If anything it makes them look weak. I can give two fucks who you are or what you’ve accomplished. You’re stepping into the ring with a group of talent that have fought and clawed their way to this point since the WGWF relaunched for them to step to the side for a group of peeps that can’t even give their name over the fear of being laughed out of the ring. It’s disappointment after disappointment when you look at Samantha Vox. How many breaks has she been given only to squander them all? Every match she’s a part of is another match that should have gone to someone else that truly has the passion and the desire to WANT to be the best. This roster is filled to the brim with talents just itching to have the chance to pick their spot in the Rumble, and I’m pretty sure they would have put the time to properly promote it.
Newcomers like Paul Montuori or even Ace Sky have thrown their names into the hat. I’ll be the first to admit that even I was a little shocked to see your arrival, P-Mont. I haven’t seen you since the Tara Fenix show where you pulled the biggest bitch move by changing partners moments before you and Michelle were slated to take on me and John. Don’t fool yourself into thinking I’m faulting you for it, I mean, it was the only way you left with a win but it’s funny that now we come full circle where you think that you’re going to sneak in the backdoor to pick up the pieces? Nah, bro, there are fifteen other mother fuckers that will show you the door before I make time for you.
… and Ace? Dude, what in the blue hell is up with you?
You’re one step away from being that dude driving a black van with dark-tinted windows and pounds of candy in the backseat, weirdo. Nonetheless, you’re here.
I could go on and on with the rest of these cool cats and kittens that have thrown their names into the respective hat but the truth is this boils down to a mere handful of names that can carry the weight of the WGWF on their backs. Now more than ever this has turned into us versus them mentality. I’ve made it clear that my role in this isn’t to be the last man standing but to stop Flynn, Vaughn, and Fred from securing that slot. The eyes of this Rumble need to shift toward John Cable and Raion Kido. It ever two names stand for the epitome of good it’s them, and in John’s case I know he is salivating to get his hands on anyone that stands in his way, I know Raion is prepared to sacrifice himself for the greater good if need be, and we got Holden Ross who is just dead set on Chokeslamming Fred again, I mean who doesn’t want to see that? There isn’t anything that sounds sweeter than a group of hypocrites whining and crying because they’ve been bested at their own game. Sometimes you don’t have to lower your standards to fight fire with fire, you just find people that don’t fight that morale battle with themselves. The West Coast Rumble is the first major battle of power and supremacy. Your friends matter until they don’t. My friends matter until the final breath has left my lungs.
Loyalty is something that the world is lacking.
Mine isn’t questioned, it doesn’t have to be.
This doesn’t boil down to who wants it the most. It boils down to who is lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time. I don’t care which one of you it is… as long as it’s not Mark Flynn, Peter Vaughn, or Fred Debonair because none of them deserve the honor that comes with being able to call yourself the WGWF World Heavyweight Champion. My wrist is close to perfect, my intentions are now well known, and the only thing left is to sit back and wait for your number to be called.
It's time to go time.
[/b][/div]… this Rumble is special.
… this Rumble is for the World Heavyweight Championship.
It’s been a long time since I wore that strap of gold proudly around my waist. The sense of pride, the lineage, the legacy, and the notoriety it brings is something nobody but I can attest to. Knowing that there are roughly twenty pieces of talent standing in my way means that I have roughly twenty different opponents to prepare for in what is arguably going to be one big cluster fuck. Let’s take a few minutes and talk about the nature of the Rumble in general. Nobody knows when they’re going to be called until the music hits the speakers which means you have to be ready at all times but what makes this even more difficult rests with the unpredictable nature that comes along with multi-man matches because anyone can throw someone over the top rope if the opportunity presents itself. This truly is the only match type on the planet that talent, or being a top guy in the industry means jackshit because John Doe can sneak an elimination at the drop of a dime and you can find yourself sailing over the top rope and crashing down to the floor. Naturally, the number randomly given to you does increase your odds of survival if it’s on the higher side of the equation… but this year I don’t think numbers play as pivotal role as they have in years past because this year is about half as full has previous, and that’s not a knock because my understanding is people have turned away until after this event takes place so that those that helped build the brand have the first crack at left with the big boy belt.
We all know that fast friends and alliances are made and broken at a moment's notice if someone’s back is against the wall, self-preservation is everything until it isn’t.
With a snap of the fingers, it is all over.
Nobody remembers who enters, they only remember who wins.
At some point, everyone is going to have to decide on how badly they truly want to be the WGWF World Heavyweight Champion. The questions you have to ask yourselves are you willing to stab your friends in the back if they stand in your way? Can you look yourself in the mirror knowing the levels you are going to HAVE to stoop to ensure that you are left with all the spoils? But more importantly… Can you look your friends in the eyes afterward with your head held up?
… I know the answers for me, and they might surprise you.
__________
“I just want to know if I can go.” The scene opens inside a patient room at an undisclosed medical facility in Miami, Florida. It’s a bit chillier than usual for the Sunshine State, and with Christmas in the rearview and a New Year on deck all eyes have now shifted to the WGWF’s West Coast Rumble. We see a doctor cutting off the cast on the right wrist of THE Tristan Slater who sits on the edge of the bed.
DOCTOR: We are about to find out once I get this thing cut off and we grab a few X-Rays to see how the healing process is going.
Let’s recap why I have found myself in the position I am in. November 21st, it’s a day that many people might not draw any significant correspondence with- but to me, it’s one that I won’t forget anytime soon because it was the night that Mark Flynn, Peter Vaughn, and Fred Debonair took the liberties that resulted in the hairline fracture to my wrist at CCPE Arena in Las Vegas. The same group of boys that complain about Holden Ross laying them out is the same people who on the SAME night did the SAME thing to me.
I guess they’re a little butt-hurt that Holden’s arrival outshined their attack.
Over the last several weeks I’ve seen you, Mark.
I’ve witnessed you try so feverishly to embarrass me, I’ve seen the desperate attempts on Dark, and for all extensive purposes, it appears like you want to fight. Why haven’t you grown the nuts and accepted the challenge, hmmm? The truth is you have and will always fear me because I’m the guy that’s always seen through your smoke and mirrors while leaving you left holding your dick. Congratulations on finally having a breakout year by the way. It only took a decade.
DOCTOR: Have you stayed out of the ring?
THE TRISTAN SLATER: As hard as it’s been to sit on the sidelines that’s exactly what I’ve done all in the hopes that I can head into the West Coast Rumble at one hundred percent. The Doctor cracks the cast open and removes it from the right wrist and thumb of THE Tristan Slater as he tosses it in the trash. Slater holds his right wrist with his left hand while slowly starting to rotate it from right to left.
DOCTOR: Come on. He states as he gets up from his stool on rollers. Let’s go find out what’s going on with the wrist. The Doctor leads THE Tristan Slater out of his room and down an interior hallway. You mentioned something about a West Coast Rumble. What’s that all about?
THE TRISTAN SLATER: It’s just a wrestling Pay-Per-View Event with an organization I’m under a short-term contract with. It’s a pretty pivotal event for the federation.
DOCTOR: What’s your role in it?
THE TRISTAN SLATER: I’m involved in a big battle royal to crown the new World Champion. THE Tristan Slater states as nonchalantly as possible.
DOCTOR: That’s a pretty big opportunity. I’d imagine you want to be as close to one hundred percent as possible.
I guess that would depend on what your motives are when it comes to what you plan on accomplishing in the confines of this event. Most eyes are on leaving with the strap first and foremost; but would it shock you to find out that isn’t my driving force? I’ve been to the top of the WGWF on more than one occasion, so that isn’t my desire. What I’m looking for is something a bit more life-changing. Mark Flynn wants to stake claim to another World Title and well… I want to be the guy that stops that from happening.
I can care less if I am thrown over the top rope because as long as it happens after I stop the leader of the lollipop guild then I’ll consider it a fucking win.
I bet that’s the last thing you’d expect to hear coming from my mouth.
THE TRISTAN SLATER: I guess that would depend on what you want out of it. I didn’t enter to win, I entered to stop someone else. The Doctor leads THE Tristan Slater into an X-Ray room. The Doctor motions for Tristan to have a seat on the bed. now and then you have to put your interests aside if it means doing something else for the greater good.
The last thing I ever professed to be is a “good guy”. I have plenty of flaws, I’ve made a plethora of mistakes throughout my time in this industry while doing a lot of shitty things along the way. I am a by-any-means-necessary kind of dude that doesn’t mind fighting fire with fire if it means I get my point across. When it comes to the West Coast Rumble I have two goals. The first, do everything in my power to make sure Flynn isn’t left standing, and the second is to throw caution to the wind at Peter Vaughn.
Mr. Number One Wrestler in the world.
I have to clutch my pearls because I’m in such a state of awe just to be in your presence.
Mr. Clean went and made something of himself as he finds himself back on top of the world, am I right? TPW relaunches and reinstates their Champions, who is on top? Peter Vaughn. You are the other mark that my sights are officially locked on. Collectively, you and Flynn can be the most dangerous force in this entire Rumble. There isn’t another pair of guys that CAN stand up to you other than THE Tristan Slater and John Cable. We don’t give a fuck about anything but your downfall, and now that you’ve got that number one moniker attached to your name I don’t mind being the guy that beat Peter Vaughn; even if it means throwing you over that top rope like the trash you once took out.
THE TRISTAN SLATER: Call me crazy, Doc, but as I’ve gotten older the hills worth dying on have become less and less… but when you come up on one it pushes you to do things you wouldn’t normally do. The Doctor wheels an armrest over to the side of the bed, He positions THE Tristan Slater’s on it before setting him up for the X-Ray.
DOCTOR: Sometimes the noble route is the only route. The Doctor positions the X-Ray Machine over THE Tristan Slater’s wrist. He flips a switch turning on the machine itself. Don’t move. The Doctor takes off around the corner into a booth of sorts where he snaps the X-Ray. He pokes back around the corner and repositions THE Tristan Slater’s wrist. One more time. The Doctor darts back off into the booth and takes the second X-Ray before coming back around the corner where he flips on the light as he reaches the bedside he turns off the machine, and slides it out of the way.
THE TRISTAN SLATER: Quick and painless.
Words that will not have any merit when the bell sounds for the West Coast Rumble. With my eyes firmly on Peter and Flynn, the only thing that I have to wait on is my number to be called. Being able to multitask is invaluable when it comes to environments that invoke opportunistic timing and precision to execute any type of formidable game plan. Last time I checked nobody had eyes in the back of their heads which means anyone is susceptible to being taken advantage of if the time calls for it. What happens after I accomplish my short-term goals with this rumble? What other purpose do I have? Should I just climb over the top, hop on down to the floor and talk my leave? Fuck no! The next step would be to do whatever in my power to make sure that chode-monkey Fred Debonair isn’t far behind them.
DOCTOR: Come on. Let’s go back to your room and the film should be ready in a few minutes. THE Tristan Slater hops off the bed and starts to follow the doctor back out into the interior hallways taking them back down to Tristan’s room. The Doctor allows Slater to enter first and follows him inside. So what happens if these come back clean?
THE TRISTAN SLATER: Then you will play a large part in me rectifying a larger picture.
DOCTOR: Let’s be fair. You’re going to compete regardless of what the film says. THE Tristan Slater nods his head.
THE TRISTAN SLATER: Well, yes. I mean, there are three people responsible for that cast and this Rumble is probably the only chance I’ll get to get three rats in one place at one time.
How does it feel to be the man that’s won bigger matches yet plays third fiddle in your triforce, Fred? What’s crazy to me is how nobody knew who you were six months ago while you floundered in IIW. You leached on Chris Page because he has what you aspire to have; the notoriety, the fame, the following that you got all wide-eyed over. Do you see anyone running around predicting Debonair to leave with the strap? Nah, and that shit eats your pretentious ass up.
Everyone has a string of luck from time to time, but the thing with luck is that eventually, it all runs out.
Fred, you are just as guilty as Vaughn and Flynn… for that, you will be held accountable when the stakes couldn’t be any higher. Guys like you and your Village People thrive on accolades. They’re what drive you into thinking that in the grand scheme of things you are some sort of big deal when the truth is you haven’t been about shit since Pre-Covid and have been fighting and clawing to mean something since. You are the single biggest bitch I’ve ever seen. I’d be willing to bet that in a single situation you aren’t nearly as confident as you want us all to believe.
DOCTOR: If you already have your mind made up then why are you here? Why didn’t you just cut the cast off yourself?
THE TRISTAN SLATER: That’s a very valid question. THE Tristan Slater then states. I guess it all falls back on knowing what I’m going to be capable of versus rolling the dice and possibly fucking it up more. I might be vindictive but I’m not a fucking idiot.
DOCTOR: Good point. There is a knock heard from the door to the private room where a nurse hands the doctor a large file containing the film from the X-Ray handing it to the doctor. Let’s see what these have to say. The Doctor takes one of the films out and swings over to a holder on the wall. He puts the film on the holder and flips a switch. It lights up displaying the X-Ray which the Doctor studies intently for a few minutes before switching the film.
THE TRISTAN SLATER: What do you see?
DOCTOR: Well, from what I’m looking at you’re damn near healed up. I wouldn’t say it’s one hundred percent but there isn’t any reason to put it back in a cast. My suggestion is going to be to take it easy for another week or two… but something tells me that advice won’t be adhered to.
THE TRISTAN SLATER: All I needed to know was whether it was good to go. Now that I know, good news for me… bad news for them. THE Tristan Slater hops back off the bed as he shakes hands with the Doctor. I appreciate you.
DOCTOR: Good luck. With a head nod from THE Tristan Slater they release the handshake. THE Tristan Slater takes his exit and we fade outside the undisclosed medical facility to see John Cable kicked back against a white limo. He shouts out to Slater who is on the approach.
JOHN CABLE: What did they say?
THE TRISTAN: He said Flynn and company are fucked.
__________
I hate to be the bearer of bad news for the rest of you but my fucks given are at an all-time low. I can care less about your involvement or what you want to try to accomplish. Hell, I’m rooting for you to grab that brass ring while showing the world that you belong. In Bam Miller’s case, he’s got a long way to go if he plans on ever being taken seriously as a threat to anything outside of putting the masses to sleep whenever he opens his mouth. We got ourselves a Mecca of Manhood that can’t seem to get an edge on Cholo if his life depended on it, or what about the three mystery entrants? It takes a lot of balls to enter a Battle Royal while hiding who you are. The only reason fuckboys do that kind of shit is that if they announce themselves they never live up to the anticipation.
Is that the case here?
I mean, nothing makes them more special. If anything it makes them look weak. I can give two fucks who you are or what you’ve accomplished. You’re stepping into the ring with a group of talent that have fought and clawed their way to this point since the WGWF relaunched for them to step to the side for a group of peeps that can’t even give their name over the fear of being laughed out of the ring. It’s disappointment after disappointment when you look at Samantha Vox. How many breaks has she been given only to squander them all? Every match she’s a part of is another match that should have gone to someone else that truly has the passion and the desire to WANT to be the best. This roster is filled to the brim with talents just itching to have the chance to pick their spot in the Rumble, and I’m pretty sure they would have put the time to properly promote it.
Newcomers like Paul Montuori or even Ace Sky have thrown their names into the hat. I’ll be the first to admit that even I was a little shocked to see your arrival, P-Mont. I haven’t seen you since the Tara Fenix show where you pulled the biggest bitch move by changing partners moments before you and Michelle were slated to take on me and John. Don’t fool yourself into thinking I’m faulting you for it, I mean, it was the only way you left with a win but it’s funny that now we come full circle where you think that you’re going to sneak in the backdoor to pick up the pieces? Nah, bro, there are fifteen other mother fuckers that will show you the door before I make time for you.
… and Ace? Dude, what in the blue hell is up with you?
You’re one step away from being that dude driving a black van with dark-tinted windows and pounds of candy in the backseat, weirdo. Nonetheless, you’re here.
I could go on and on with the rest of these cool cats and kittens that have thrown their names into the respective hat but the truth is this boils down to a mere handful of names that can carry the weight of the WGWF on their backs. Now more than ever this has turned into us versus them mentality. I’ve made it clear that my role in this isn’t to be the last man standing but to stop Flynn, Vaughn, and Fred from securing that slot. The eyes of this Rumble need to shift toward John Cable and Raion Kido. It ever two names stand for the epitome of good it’s them, and in John’s case I know he is salivating to get his hands on anyone that stands in his way, I know Raion is prepared to sacrifice himself for the greater good if need be, and we got Holden Ross who is just dead set on Chokeslamming Fred again, I mean who doesn’t want to see that? There isn’t anything that sounds sweeter than a group of hypocrites whining and crying because they’ve been bested at their own game. Sometimes you don’t have to lower your standards to fight fire with fire, you just find people that don’t fight that morale battle with themselves. The West Coast Rumble is the first major battle of power and supremacy. Your friends matter until they don’t. My friends matter until the final breath has left my lungs.
Loyalty is something that the world is lacking.
Mine isn’t questioned, it doesn’t have to be.
This doesn’t boil down to who wants it the most. It boils down to who is lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time. I don’t care which one of you it is… as long as it’s not Mark Flynn, Peter Vaughn, or Fred Debonair because none of them deserve the honor that comes with being able to call yourself the WGWF World Heavyweight Champion. My wrist is close to perfect, my intentions are now well known, and the only thing left is to sit back and wait for your number to be called.
It's time to go time.