Post by paulmontuori on Jan 14, 2023 19:36:08 GMT -5
Dear Diary..
There’s so many emotions running through me right now.
Jealousy..
Resentment..
Anger..
Utter fucking RAGE!
So, as you might’ve guessed, the West Coast Rumble didn’t go as I planned.
Ya know, the more I sit and think about the last few moments of the West Coast Rumble, the more those feelings completely engulf me.
Suffocating me..
I’ve had my share of losses in 2022, but this one was fucking personal..
My ears are still ringing from the roar of the crowd as I lean back in the booth at the Vegas Rabbit, closing my eyes.
There I am, back in the arena.
Back in the ring.
Reliving my last few moments in the Rumble.
That feeling of utter.. Glee filled me as I picked up that lame fuck John Cable from behind, throwing him over the top rope. Even after losing to me and Dane at the Fenix Charity Event, Cable’s still been running his mouth. Still trying to act like he’s superior to me. It felt good embarrassing him for a second time. I can still feel that rush of adrenaline from looking down at his goofy face, the look of shock and anger that was plastered on his face fills me with such joy..
With the adrenaline pulsing through me, I picked up that Goth and dropped him with a textbook suplex. I remember thinki.. Knowing that he was going to be the next dood to get tossed over the top rope. I felt it. The roar of the crowd egged me on..
I didn’t realize it at that moment, but it was the beginning of the end..
See, at that moment is when I saw Joe, the dood I called my brother for most of my life, hop over the barricade and run up the steel steps. I turned to face him. I remember being confused. Was he the surprise entrant? I tried to do a quick head count. There were five of us left in the ring. How many people were there going to be total? How many were eliminated?
Before I can even start to count the number of people I saw in the ring I feel someone grab me from behind..
Then I’m up in the air.
Time seemed to almost slow down to a standstill..
I remember trying to grab at whoever had me in their grip..
I remember trying to grab the top rope..
I felt a sharp pain in my hip as it hit the apron..
I remember trying one last time to grab at the ropes. Grab at anything..
I remember landing on the ground with a thud..
Being in shock.
The smirk on Kido’s face as he looked down at me.
The shock turned to anger as I saw Joe hopping back over the barricade. He turned to look at me with that fucking smirk on his face before disappearing into the crowd.
Without thinking I was on my feet, hopping the barricade.
I remember the feeling of anger pulsing through me. The thought of fucking Joe up consumed me as I bolted through the crowd in the general direction I saw Joe go in. Pushing anyone and everyone out of my way..
I’m in the concession area of the arena. The few fans that were lollygagging around came running over, sticking their phones in my face. I shoved them out of the way as I stomped around aimlessly.
“Where the fuck is Joe?!” I remember screaming out as some fans pointed down the hall.
Again I was off in a blind rage..
That’s when I found myself backstage. Most of the roster were huddled around screens that were setup, watching the janitor celebrate in the ring. The sight of him, again, being on top, again, while I was barely runner up, again, was too much for me to handle. I didn’t mean to flip out. I didn’t mean to smash one of the screens..
“Where the fuck is Joe at?!” I remember screaming at a producer who points down the hall. I’m breaking everything I can get my hands on as I scream out for Joe. That’s when I hear Page’s voice coming from inside a room. I push my way through the security standing outside the room to find Page sitting behind a table, addressing the press that’s come out to cover the Rumble.
“Is this why you signed me, Page?! To have your fucking bitch boy embarrass me?!” I scream as everyone turns their attention to me, including Page who looks annoyed/embarrassed.
“I’m in the middle of something here, Paul. If you want to have a conversation I’ll be more than happy to talk to you after I’m done,” Page replies as he turns his attention back to the press. “I’m sorry about that, where were we?”
“Where were we?!” I say as I shove the closest reporter off his chair and pick it up. Before I can chuck it at Page I’m grabbed by security. “Page you fuck! This isn’t over yet! You and my bitch ass brot.. Gawd dammit! Fucking cousin piece of shit got a receipt coming you’re way!”
I’m shoved out of the room as security stands between me and the door. I unload a barrage of insults at them, motherfucking their slut ass moms and heaux ass grandmas. Bitches stay taking out their fucking teeth to suck dick. Gummin to the fucking max!
That’s when I remember seeing all of the phones in my face. Realizing my tantrum would be viewed by the masses in just a few moments I took off like the crowd bolts to concessions during a John Cable match.
I somehow ended up here, in the main room of the Velvet Rabbit. Crazy enough, this was my first time here in the Vegas joint. I practically lived at the New York location for a while. But I’m all growed up now..
“Ladies and gentlemen, WGWF’s NEW World Champion!”
That’s when I look towards the main stage and see that fucking custodian walk out, holding MY fucking belt with a huge grin on his face. The rage, the anger, the jealousy instantly comes washing back over me..
I feel a sharp pain in my hand. I look down to see blood starting to trickle through my closed fist. As I open my fist, chunks of glass fall onto the table, the remnants of the glass I was drinking from.
“Fuck!” I cry out as I jump up. I walk over to the bar and reach over, grabbing a rag. I start to wrap my hand when I hear someone cry out.
“Aye!” I turn around to see a gorilla of a man with a security shirt come barrelling over. “You can’t reach over the bar like that!”
“It’s all good man, I cut my ha,” I start to say as he grabs my arm. Instinctively I push him away, ready for what I know is coming next. “Bruh, you must be out of your fucking mind putting your paws on me! Do you know who I am?!”
“I don’t care who you are. You’re out of here,” the gorilla says as he tries to put his mitts on me again.
“Bear, it’s OK,” I hear from behind the bar. I know that voice. I turn to see the beautiful owner of the Rabbit leaning against the bar.
“You sure?” The fucker asks as Voo nods her head.
“That’s what I thought,” I say to buddy, acting all hard. But deep down I’m glad Voo saved the day. I’m fucking beat. I turn back to Voo. “Thanks.”
“Where’s Michelle?” I shrug. Ah shit, Michelle. The kids. I reach for my phone. I have no pockets. I’m still in my wrestling gear. “Heard about tonight. Tough break.”
“Yeah,” I reply sheepishly as she makes me a drink. “I don’t know..”
“Don’t know what?” She asks as she slides the drink in front of me. I just shrug, not knowing what to say. “You’re all bleh over a loss?”
“Yeah, I mean,” I start to reply as she starts to laugh. “Wha?”
“Who cares if you lost? You’re Paul Montuori,” she says. “Half the people in here would trade shoes with you in a second. You got a gorgeous fiance and beautiful kids. So you lost, who cares? You’re still Paul Montuori.”
“Message,” I reply as I take a swig from my drink. I look down at it, letting everything she just said sink it. Wow. “That’s some profound shit.”
“What is?” I hear as I look up to see a barback staring at me. I look around, Voo’s vanished. Gone as quickly as she appeared.
Damn, she’s right. She’s always right.
Let the custodian have his moment, for now. Lawd knows he needs his She’s All That moment in the spotlight. Once all the hype dies down they’ll realize he’s just the girl in glasses and a ponytail with paint stains on her clothes.
Until then, ol’ Paul Montuori is looking ahead, looking to the next thang.
Gotta be some more gold ripe for the picking..
☠️💀☠️💀☠️💀☠️💀☠️💀☠️💀
Fuck the pleasantries.
Finn Khun, you fucking cunt.
Who’d you fuck over to draw the short stick and end up against me?
Karma out here fucking you over. Fucking you over worse than Joe fucked me at the West Coast Rumble.
But it's not the time for that. Nah, unfortunately for you kid, this time is devoted to you..
Poor guy, bet you saw you were in the Tournament, in the Main Event and got all excited.
Finally my luck has changed! An opportunity to prove I belong! Finally a chance at some gold!
Let me just stop you right there before you get your hopes up.
There’s a zero percent chance you advance in the Tournament. I don’t give a fuck how many people hop on a podcast and pick you to win.
Yeah I fucking heard what each of you said and best believe you’re all going to eat your fucking words.
Doubting me?
Against the King of fucking Rags?!
Nah bitches!
Ya’ll gonna learn.
Just like you’re going to learn, Finn ya fuck.
You’re going to learn real quick that you don’t belong in the same ring as me.
You’re going to learn real quick that practicing new moves isn’t going to help you. Coming up with a new finisher isn’t going to make a difference. You can be the Man of 1008 Holds and it still won’t change anything. Not when it comes to facing Paul Montuori. I’m fucking Tom Hanks, I’m in a League of My Own. I’m unlike anyone you’ve ever faced in that terrible promotion you’re so proud of being from. The same promotion where you’ve been floundering. Twice in your career.. Silly rabbit, ya think by coming here, coming to a new promotion it’ll change anything? Think a change of scenery will make a fucking bit of difference?
Sorry to break it to ya, but It won’t..
At least not when you’re stepping in the ring with someone as dope as me.
Paul Montuori.
Remember?
Come on, keep up..
I’m on a different level of competition you’ve never seen before.
Never experienced.
I’m one of a kind.
The dood your girl wishes you were while you're jabbing her with your small dick.
Chubbs was right, it’s all in your hips.
I’m going to make you feel like your Pops must’ve felt as he watched you starve every night because he was a shitty Dad.
Helpless..
Helpless to stop me from putting on a fucking clinic.
Helpless to keep me from moving on in the Tournament.
You’re not the only one that’s come up with a gameplan, a strategy. See, I’m going to make you feel like you're a kid again..
Make ya feel POWERLESS..
Powerless to stop me.
Powerless to keep me from embarrassing you.
Embarrass ya so bad that you’re gonna pack up your fucking lederhosen and your Aryan Stormtrooper costume and go back to your motherland.
See, the odds of your survival are higher going back to Deutschland and facing the mob your deadbeat dad had to borrow money from than actually getting in the ring with me.
Don’t blame me Finn. It’s not my fault you had terrible parents that had to smuggle you across the pond in a potato sack. It’s not my fault that they fucked you up so bad and gave you this weird complex where you had to use pro wrestling as a means to satisfy whatever urge your childhood trauma craves.
Brawl won’t be the time or place to try and work out whatever childhood issues ya got. Especially not against me. Not with gold at stake.
I’m fucking hungry Finn.
Starving!
Starving for some fucking gold.
And yo, if you’re one of the doods I gotta gobble up like Pac Man to snatch up some gold..
So be it..
I’ll have no problem making an example out of you.
As a precaution, you might as well up your dosage of Lexaprol. You should probably have your Doc go ahead and hook you up with some Zoloft too. Just double up. Wouldn’t want to send you down back into a depressive spiral. Lawd knows you’ve worked so hard to be this mediocre..
At best..
Are you getting the gist of this shoot?
No?
OK, let me spell it out even further..
You can write as many fucking strategies as you want in that little notebook. Scribble page after page of First I’ll lock up with him. If he’s stronger than me, I’ll try to go for a fireman’s carry. Or maybe a low single. Fill that sumbitch up on as much college ruled paper that notebook will hold. Write your heart out until that pencil turns into a nub. Cause at the end of the day, honestly..
It won’t matter!
You barely beat some broad at the Rumble and you think you’re going to be able to box with Wrestling’s Gawd?!
Pft.. Get real.
Wait..
Am I being set up?
Is this just another ploy to try and embarrass me again? Tarnish my name and reputation even more? I know Joe was desperate to be remembered as the greatest Montuori, but would he stoop this low? Fuck am I talking about, of course he would.
What’s the plan, Page? Is Joe going to come out again and distract me?! Try and cost me the match? Cost me gold AGAIN?! All to elevate Finn? Over me? Putting the kid in the ring with me is enough of a rub. He’ll be able to go tour the conventions and sell his little gimmicks for a few bucks. Isn’t that enough?
Finn, bruh.. I’m telling you right now. If you’re in on any fucking shenanigans. If you help either one of those sneaky motherfuckers.. Now’s your chance to denounce those two. Denounce their wicked ways. For come Brawl if I find out you're in cahoots with them, you’re going to turn this personal. And I’m one spiteful fuck, I do not let shit go. That self-inflicted Glasgow Smile will seem like what that creep Elmo feels whenever he’s tickled compared to the fury I’d rain down on ya.
Just be cool Finn and it’ll be all over before you know it.
I’ll be moving on in the Tournament, one step closer to being the Intercontinental Campeon. Being the only Campeon that matters in WGWF. And you’ll go back to uh.. I mean being you I guess. Back to irrelevancy and mediocrity. Which I guess isn’t too bad seeing as that pretty much sums up your wrestling career at this point. And I know you think palling around with Busted Gloves in your crusade to end Page and his crew of wrestling’s misfits will somehow change that, but you’re sadly mistaken. It won’t. And I’m not sure if it’s because you’re basura or he’s basura.
Probably both..
But look on the bright side, you get to step in the ring with Paul Montuori. How fucking lucky are you? My greatness will surely rub off on you in some form, right? Well, let’s not get too hopeful. How about shooting to learn a thing or two? Surely you’ll be able to pick up some pointers watching a master of his craft at work. Lawd knows that chick you got training you ain’t helping one bit. Might be time to move on from that one Finn. Or grow some balls and finally make your move. That’s why you’re keeping her around right? Cause you’re too scared to make a move? Why else would you pretend she’s your trainer or mentor or whatever the fuck?
Gross, the last thing I want to do in delve into whatever the fuck mommy issues you got thats keeping you from banging that chick.
Nah, I’m keeping this strictly bidness..
Finn, I’m done fucking yapping..
At the end of Brawl, I’m the one that’s going to be standing over you, shouting Sieg Heil!
See ya in the Arena ya fuck..
Peace & Love.