Oh... there's a Reason... Chapter 3
Jun 15, 2024 18:10:20 GMT -5
"Cholo" Giovanni Santana and Maxwell Mason Stone like this
Post by TheNewBreed on Jun 15, 2024 18:10:20 GMT -5
Well... well... well... Joseph.
I'm gonna skip the bullshit here, Joe. I don't think you deserve a chair.
Period.
I wouldn't give you a cheap ass fold out stool with spindly black plastic legs and a threadbare, sun-faded nylon seat made in China if I had a choice in it... but here we are, right?
To be honest... I think a nasty old yellowed toilet bowl missing the back cover AND the seat, with roaches crawling across it and huge chips and cracks leaking shitty water from the side is too good a throne for you.
Hell... I wouldn't sully the good virtues of a giant purple and white marbled Tenta-dildo with aquamarine suction cups mounted on a fluffy pink shag pillow-top bar stool bought from a Brazzers auction for you to even think about sitting on it.
You don't deserve a chair... you don't deserve a seat... you don't even deserve to LOOK at the fucking table... let alone sniff a chair that was pulled up to it.
THAT's real talk.
Real talk... just so I know you and I are both on the same page here, JMont... is when you speak the truth, with your whole chest, and then stand on it ten toes. What it isn't... is parading around this facade of greatness while using your wealth to subjugate, abuse, and oppress others.
What you are is a bully... a coward... an opportunistic weasel... and a piece of shit.
You're an embarrassment as a husband, and don't even get me started on your fatherhood.
For fuck sake.
The only reason you and Mia still have custody of your daughter is because you're rich enough to get away with being far and away the biggest threat to your daughters life in her tiny little existence... and it makes me sick. You use her like a prop in the sitcom that is your Truman Show lifestyle, and to you, she is just this thing you can use to further your exposure with... just like everything else in your life.
Image is everything, right, Joe?
Perfectly curated lives for social media clicks while behind closed doors your one of the biggest monsters on the planet, and the worst part? Everyone around you allows it to happen because either they think this is way people are supposed to behave, or their too scared to speak up and lose favor with the monster JMont... because we all know what happens when people around lose your favor, don't we, Joe?
To you, money is power, and power is to be used to stomp out others for fun.
FUCK....
You are everything that's wrong with the world rolled into one sorry sack of shit wasting good oxygen and air time... and DAMN... do you waste air time or what?
YOU are the only one who gives a fuck what kind of gaudy trash truck you show up in every night.
You are the only one who thinks hiring the less fortunate members of our society to shit all over a room at a venue owned by private businesses before you light them on fire and just paying the fines your levied to get away with arson and several other crimes is funny.
You're a danger to yourself and others... to your wife... to your daughter... to your teammates... to every single fan in attendance at every venue you show up to... to all of the crew and roster of the WGWF... and really... to the rest of the world... and it isn't because you are a threat or that you have any real power or have talent or can fight your way out of a wet paper bag... no...
No... It's because you are so self absorbed and self important that you can't tell how fucking stupid you are, and some day... you're going to do something so stupid that you aren't going to be able to pay your way out of it.
My only hope for you is that it doesn't cost your daughter her life... because she didn't ASK to have a fucking idiot as a daddy... she was CURSED with it.
You have so much to offer her... and your wife... and to the world... and yet you are the way you are.
Not that you would be able to invest on the scale that I do... but you could be making so many positive changes in communities around the world and helping others rise up out of squalor, but instead, you waste everything you gain on moments of frivolity... stunts and gags that are only amusing to yourself to flex this flawed idea that your over the top antics are impressive. You drag the spotlight back to yourself every time you have a chance because you know that the bullshit you pull is nothing more than parlor tricks and slight of hand to increase your relevance because behind the smoke and mirrors, there isn't enough substance to stand on your own.
You're a whole grown ass man that is little more than a front... and they say I'm the one wearing the mask, huh?
Everything about you is a lie, Joe... and the saddest part about it all is that you don't even recognize it. You lost who you were to the bright lights and glamour of the show a long time ago, and you didn't even know.
I had tried to preach about what you really were around here for a while... to the roster... to the office... to the fans... but no one listened, and no one did anything to stop you overtaking every single show for the last... Hell, I don't even know how long it's been since you've been strutting around like a glitter covered peacock.
It seems like it's been forever and three fucking days...
I got tired of sounding like a broken record.
Between trying to tell you that you were going too far and that someone was gonna put a stop to your bullshit, and trying to tell the office to take a stand against your antics and how to deal with you once and for all... I just stopped trying.
I heard all the vitriol you were spewing. Everyone did.
Damned near every show you'd drop my name in the middle of your rants.
You were just talking shit. You always are.
When it comes right down to it, you only fight when you have to.
You're a bitch.
You claim how great you are every time you open your mouth, but you don't climb in the ring to prove it unless you have the advantage, the numbers, the stipulation, the ace up your sleeve, and plans A through G on how you're gonna fuck over your opponent.
You're a cheater, and a coward... and the last thing you should ever be able to call yourself is a Champion.
Champions lift up the Titles they hold... they build the Legacy of the Title and at LEAST maintain the prestige of winning them for the next guy.
All the while, YOU... you're holding a Title you didn't beat me for and have NEVER defended against me... but call yourself a worthy Champion... but have yet to ever crawl into the ring with me one on one. Hell up until the last BRAWL, you had avoided getting into ANY ring with me like your life depended on it since you won the TIA Championship, and yet... with all that effort to stay clear of me up until now... it seems the turns have tabled, haven't they?
You know as well as I do that it's only a matter of time before I get my hands on you, JMont... and Monday is coming up pretty quick. Seconds are ticking JMont, and this time... your mouth wrote a check your ass can't cash... and you're up shit creek without a fucking boat.
I don't know what sort of degeneracy you grew up with in your house, Joe... but even when I was on the streets I knew better than to shit everywhere... especially where I ate... but it would seem you never learned that lesson... and now... Scotch Daniels has made sure to send a very clear message how he feels about your antics in his office.
Now... I know you think that there is some glimmer of hope here for you.
You think that Devlin, Max, and I are going to be focused on that IC Title you stole from Knight a few weeks ago. You think you might have a chance here of surviving this match with every single card in the deck stacked against you if we just focus on not letting anyone get pinned, right? You think your nose for an opportunity to fuck someone over will pull you through this pile of shit smelling like a rose... and you might have been right, JMont... maybe... if I gave a fuck about that Belt right now.
What you failed to figure into your plan here JMont is that I have already held that Title. I won it from Kyle Shane after he had maintained a strangle hold on it for what seemed like forever. He had put down Legends and a long line of the hottest up and comers in his defenses of that IC Title back in the day, and he was unstoppable.
The night I won that match for IC Title... it meant more to the WGWF Universe than the World Belt did... and that was because of what went into that match, who was fighting for that Belt, and what the two of us left in the ring afterwards.
On that night... we overshadowed the WGWF World Heavyweight Championship by a fucking country mile...
That Belt meant something.
It was important.
It hasn't been important since Cholo dumped it for the World Belt.
If I wanted to go for a WGWF Title, I would want it to be important... and anything you're wearing is just gaudy trash. If I had my eye on a Title here it would be on Cholo's World Title or the Smash Title that Enigma has in a death grip. Those Titles have legacy and a line of prestige you can never understand. The very fact that you have the WGWF IC Title makes it a trinket at best, and as long as you're the Champ... the belt might as well BE a trash can.
No... JMont... as far as I'm concerned... I have one purpose in that ring on Monday night. Just one.
Devlin and Max can figure out the winner of this match between themselves, honestly.
Finger poke of doom... circle jerk... rock paper scissor... I don't fucking care. If I DO end up with the IC Title... it'll only matter because then I know you can't sully the damned thing anymore than you already have by holding it.
No... you see... there aren't any rules in this four way dance JMont... no count outs... no holds barred... nothing is off the table. Daniels made sure to put a ref in the ring that will call it the way it should be called and an enforcer on the outside that will do anything in his power to make sure you get what you deserve. No... you dug this grave you son of a bitch... and now I'm gonna make sure you lie in it.
I'm not waiting on a bell... I'm not waiting for the other competitors... after everything you've done... to me... to the fans... to the roster... to the entire fucking WGWF... on sight I'm going to tear you limb from limb and bury what you call a career once and for all. That's my purpose... that's my goal... and that's my focus.
The utter annihilation of everything you are, everything you could have been, and everything you stand for is the only fate you have left, and you only have yourself to blame you dumb ass.
Yeah... what is about to happen to you is your own fault... your own hubris led you to think you were untouchable, and now... maybe finally... you might find out that sometimes... no matter how much money you have... you don't have enough power to save your own ass from the catastrophe you whipped up here.
Power is more than riches... but you'll never get that.
You can't see the bigger picture here because as far as you can tell... the entire cosmic background is just you, and that lack of awareness to your own limits is what is going to cost you everything you have ever had.
I was the wrong one JMont...
I was the wrong one and you knew it, but you let the idea that I hadn't responded to you or retaliated against you for all the bullshit you have pulled already blind you to a simple truth about a Beast at rest... they're sleeping... not DEAD.
The truth of the matter all along has been that you just aren't important enough to anyone but you for me to have wasted any more breath on you than I already had... but all that changed on BRAWL. It changed when you climbed your ass into the ring during my match and actually put your hands on me, JMont. Before that... I would have chalked you up to just being a blowhard asshole who was more self important than he deserved to be.
Now...
Now you're a target with a debt to pay and I don't intend on ASKING for my pound of flesh... I'm TAKING it!
** RIIIIIING **
** RIIIIIING **
“Hello... thank you for calling New Breed Foundation Acquisition's Department. My name is Susan. How can I help you today?” a cheery, melodious voice floats across the lobby from behind a tall stainless steel desk front curved away from the elevators on the opposite wall of the spacious room.
The dark cherry wood chairs stood around the room, empty as usual in the corner of the building. A couple of tables matching the deep red wood of the chairs were placed in the center of the room with fans of magazines spread across them covering several topics from wrestling, to fishing, to business news.
“Yes, Sir. One moment. I'll transfer you right over.” the woman cheerily rushes before pressing a few buttons on the phone and hanging up the receiver.
** BEEEEEEEP **
“Hey Crawford... John here. I know you're on vacation and that's why I didn't call you directly, but I needed to drop a project on you, and I figured when you got back you can call me and we can set up a meeting about it.” the gravely voice of Johnathan Cable explains casually to the voicemail recorder.
“I need you to put an account team on a new project for me. I want to find out every company and publicly traded business that has ever sponsored Joseph Montouri. Compile a list of them with a full portfolio write up and market research jacket, and have your office set up a meeting with the team lead and both of us to go over the project. Hope you had a good vacation... talk to you later.” John finishes before the call ends with a...
** BEEEEEEEEP **
* * * * *
Max... Devlin... I don't know where you're at on this whole thing, but I understand there is a lot at stake here pulling us in different directions... well... you two anyway.
Devlin, I know how you feel about losing the IC Title to JMont... and trust me... I understand how much you want to rip JMont a new one. We all do. It's not often anyone gets an opportunity like this just dropped in their laps... retribution... revenge... redemption... all in one little bag.
Max... returning to the WGWF so recently and having such a short history with the company and already having such a delectable opportunity to add a Championship to your resume is a pretty inciting thing to loo forward to... and... having JMont being the Champ going into this whole thing is just the icing on the cake... I know.
The thing is... we also have another match coming up in just a few weeks... and the Team has to be ready enter that cage. I know what this means to everyone involved... but there is a bigger picture here, and we need to keep our focus on the outcome of the War Games match before we set our sights on our little squabbles and aspirations. If we do that, and we take this opportunity to eliminate JMont from the equation all together... then we set ourselves one step closer to ending this whole thing with the Unfortunate Ones forever.
You both already know what my focus is... and it should be yours too.
We need to remember that on Monday. JMont is enemy number one... and as long as he doesn't walk out of that ring... then we have succeeded in our task. I trust we are all on the same page here, and War Games will be the culmination of the final destruction of the Unfortunate blight that has plagued the WGWF for far too long already.
We can see the horizon, men. Let's finish this.
I'm gonna skip the bullshit here, Joe. I don't think you deserve a chair.
Period.
I wouldn't give you a cheap ass fold out stool with spindly black plastic legs and a threadbare, sun-faded nylon seat made in China if I had a choice in it... but here we are, right?
To be honest... I think a nasty old yellowed toilet bowl missing the back cover AND the seat, with roaches crawling across it and huge chips and cracks leaking shitty water from the side is too good a throne for you.
Hell... I wouldn't sully the good virtues of a giant purple and white marbled Tenta-dildo with aquamarine suction cups mounted on a fluffy pink shag pillow-top bar stool bought from a Brazzers auction for you to even think about sitting on it.
You don't deserve a chair... you don't deserve a seat... you don't even deserve to LOOK at the fucking table... let alone sniff a chair that was pulled up to it.
THAT's real talk.
Real talk... just so I know you and I are both on the same page here, JMont... is when you speak the truth, with your whole chest, and then stand on it ten toes. What it isn't... is parading around this facade of greatness while using your wealth to subjugate, abuse, and oppress others.
What you are is a bully... a coward... an opportunistic weasel... and a piece of shit.
You're an embarrassment as a husband, and don't even get me started on your fatherhood.
For fuck sake.
The only reason you and Mia still have custody of your daughter is because you're rich enough to get away with being far and away the biggest threat to your daughters life in her tiny little existence... and it makes me sick. You use her like a prop in the sitcom that is your Truman Show lifestyle, and to you, she is just this thing you can use to further your exposure with... just like everything else in your life.
Image is everything, right, Joe?
Perfectly curated lives for social media clicks while behind closed doors your one of the biggest monsters on the planet, and the worst part? Everyone around you allows it to happen because either they think this is way people are supposed to behave, or their too scared to speak up and lose favor with the monster JMont... because we all know what happens when people around lose your favor, don't we, Joe?
To you, money is power, and power is to be used to stomp out others for fun.
FUCK....
You are everything that's wrong with the world rolled into one sorry sack of shit wasting good oxygen and air time... and DAMN... do you waste air time or what?
YOU are the only one who gives a fuck what kind of gaudy trash truck you show up in every night.
You are the only one who thinks hiring the less fortunate members of our society to shit all over a room at a venue owned by private businesses before you light them on fire and just paying the fines your levied to get away with arson and several other crimes is funny.
You're a danger to yourself and others... to your wife... to your daughter... to your teammates... to every single fan in attendance at every venue you show up to... to all of the crew and roster of the WGWF... and really... to the rest of the world... and it isn't because you are a threat or that you have any real power or have talent or can fight your way out of a wet paper bag... no...
No... It's because you are so self absorbed and self important that you can't tell how fucking stupid you are, and some day... you're going to do something so stupid that you aren't going to be able to pay your way out of it.
My only hope for you is that it doesn't cost your daughter her life... because she didn't ASK to have a fucking idiot as a daddy... she was CURSED with it.
You have so much to offer her... and your wife... and to the world... and yet you are the way you are.
Not that you would be able to invest on the scale that I do... but you could be making so many positive changes in communities around the world and helping others rise up out of squalor, but instead, you waste everything you gain on moments of frivolity... stunts and gags that are only amusing to yourself to flex this flawed idea that your over the top antics are impressive. You drag the spotlight back to yourself every time you have a chance because you know that the bullshit you pull is nothing more than parlor tricks and slight of hand to increase your relevance because behind the smoke and mirrors, there isn't enough substance to stand on your own.
You're a whole grown ass man that is little more than a front... and they say I'm the one wearing the mask, huh?
Everything about you is a lie, Joe... and the saddest part about it all is that you don't even recognize it. You lost who you were to the bright lights and glamour of the show a long time ago, and you didn't even know.
I had tried to preach about what you really were around here for a while... to the roster... to the office... to the fans... but no one listened, and no one did anything to stop you overtaking every single show for the last... Hell, I don't even know how long it's been since you've been strutting around like a glitter covered peacock.
It seems like it's been forever and three fucking days...
I got tired of sounding like a broken record.
Between trying to tell you that you were going too far and that someone was gonna put a stop to your bullshit, and trying to tell the office to take a stand against your antics and how to deal with you once and for all... I just stopped trying.
I heard all the vitriol you were spewing. Everyone did.
Damned near every show you'd drop my name in the middle of your rants.
You were just talking shit. You always are.
When it comes right down to it, you only fight when you have to.
You're a bitch.
You claim how great you are every time you open your mouth, but you don't climb in the ring to prove it unless you have the advantage, the numbers, the stipulation, the ace up your sleeve, and plans A through G on how you're gonna fuck over your opponent.
You're a cheater, and a coward... and the last thing you should ever be able to call yourself is a Champion.
Champions lift up the Titles they hold... they build the Legacy of the Title and at LEAST maintain the prestige of winning them for the next guy.
All the while, YOU... you're holding a Title you didn't beat me for and have NEVER defended against me... but call yourself a worthy Champion... but have yet to ever crawl into the ring with me one on one. Hell up until the last BRAWL, you had avoided getting into ANY ring with me like your life depended on it since you won the TIA Championship, and yet... with all that effort to stay clear of me up until now... it seems the turns have tabled, haven't they?
You know as well as I do that it's only a matter of time before I get my hands on you, JMont... and Monday is coming up pretty quick. Seconds are ticking JMont, and this time... your mouth wrote a check your ass can't cash... and you're up shit creek without a fucking boat.
I don't know what sort of degeneracy you grew up with in your house, Joe... but even when I was on the streets I knew better than to shit everywhere... especially where I ate... but it would seem you never learned that lesson... and now... Scotch Daniels has made sure to send a very clear message how he feels about your antics in his office.
Now... I know you think that there is some glimmer of hope here for you.
You think that Devlin, Max, and I are going to be focused on that IC Title you stole from Knight a few weeks ago. You think you might have a chance here of surviving this match with every single card in the deck stacked against you if we just focus on not letting anyone get pinned, right? You think your nose for an opportunity to fuck someone over will pull you through this pile of shit smelling like a rose... and you might have been right, JMont... maybe... if I gave a fuck about that Belt right now.
What you failed to figure into your plan here JMont is that I have already held that Title. I won it from Kyle Shane after he had maintained a strangle hold on it for what seemed like forever. He had put down Legends and a long line of the hottest up and comers in his defenses of that IC Title back in the day, and he was unstoppable.
The night I won that match for IC Title... it meant more to the WGWF Universe than the World Belt did... and that was because of what went into that match, who was fighting for that Belt, and what the two of us left in the ring afterwards.
On that night... we overshadowed the WGWF World Heavyweight Championship by a fucking country mile...
That Belt meant something.
It was important.
It hasn't been important since Cholo dumped it for the World Belt.
If I wanted to go for a WGWF Title, I would want it to be important... and anything you're wearing is just gaudy trash. If I had my eye on a Title here it would be on Cholo's World Title or the Smash Title that Enigma has in a death grip. Those Titles have legacy and a line of prestige you can never understand. The very fact that you have the WGWF IC Title makes it a trinket at best, and as long as you're the Champ... the belt might as well BE a trash can.
No... JMont... as far as I'm concerned... I have one purpose in that ring on Monday night. Just one.
Devlin and Max can figure out the winner of this match between themselves, honestly.
Finger poke of doom... circle jerk... rock paper scissor... I don't fucking care. If I DO end up with the IC Title... it'll only matter because then I know you can't sully the damned thing anymore than you already have by holding it.
No... you see... there aren't any rules in this four way dance JMont... no count outs... no holds barred... nothing is off the table. Daniels made sure to put a ref in the ring that will call it the way it should be called and an enforcer on the outside that will do anything in his power to make sure you get what you deserve. No... you dug this grave you son of a bitch... and now I'm gonna make sure you lie in it.
I'm not waiting on a bell... I'm not waiting for the other competitors... after everything you've done... to me... to the fans... to the roster... to the entire fucking WGWF... on sight I'm going to tear you limb from limb and bury what you call a career once and for all. That's my purpose... that's my goal... and that's my focus.
The utter annihilation of everything you are, everything you could have been, and everything you stand for is the only fate you have left, and you only have yourself to blame you dumb ass.
Yeah... what is about to happen to you is your own fault... your own hubris led you to think you were untouchable, and now... maybe finally... you might find out that sometimes... no matter how much money you have... you don't have enough power to save your own ass from the catastrophe you whipped up here.
Power is more than riches... but you'll never get that.
You can't see the bigger picture here because as far as you can tell... the entire cosmic background is just you, and that lack of awareness to your own limits is what is going to cost you everything you have ever had.
I was the wrong one JMont...
I was the wrong one and you knew it, but you let the idea that I hadn't responded to you or retaliated against you for all the bullshit you have pulled already blind you to a simple truth about a Beast at rest... they're sleeping... not DEAD.
The truth of the matter all along has been that you just aren't important enough to anyone but you for me to have wasted any more breath on you than I already had... but all that changed on BRAWL. It changed when you climbed your ass into the ring during my match and actually put your hands on me, JMont. Before that... I would have chalked you up to just being a blowhard asshole who was more self important than he deserved to be.
Now...
Now you're a target with a debt to pay and I don't intend on ASKING for my pound of flesh... I'm TAKING it!
* * * * *
** RIIIIIING **
** RIIIIIING **
“Hello... thank you for calling New Breed Foundation Acquisition's Department. My name is Susan. How can I help you today?” a cheery, melodious voice floats across the lobby from behind a tall stainless steel desk front curved away from the elevators on the opposite wall of the spacious room.
The dark cherry wood chairs stood around the room, empty as usual in the corner of the building. A couple of tables matching the deep red wood of the chairs were placed in the center of the room with fans of magazines spread across them covering several topics from wrestling, to fishing, to business news.
“Yes, Sir. One moment. I'll transfer you right over.” the woman cheerily rushes before pressing a few buttons on the phone and hanging up the receiver.
* * * * *
** BEEEEEEEP **
“Hey Crawford... John here. I know you're on vacation and that's why I didn't call you directly, but I needed to drop a project on you, and I figured when you got back you can call me and we can set up a meeting about it.” the gravely voice of Johnathan Cable explains casually to the voicemail recorder.
“I need you to put an account team on a new project for me. I want to find out every company and publicly traded business that has ever sponsored Joseph Montouri. Compile a list of them with a full portfolio write up and market research jacket, and have your office set up a meeting with the team lead and both of us to go over the project. Hope you had a good vacation... talk to you later.” John finishes before the call ends with a...
** BEEEEEEEEP **
* * * * *
Max... Devlin... I don't know where you're at on this whole thing, but I understand there is a lot at stake here pulling us in different directions... well... you two anyway.
Devlin, I know how you feel about losing the IC Title to JMont... and trust me... I understand how much you want to rip JMont a new one. We all do. It's not often anyone gets an opportunity like this just dropped in their laps... retribution... revenge... redemption... all in one little bag.
Max... returning to the WGWF so recently and having such a short history with the company and already having such a delectable opportunity to add a Championship to your resume is a pretty inciting thing to loo forward to... and... having JMont being the Champ going into this whole thing is just the icing on the cake... I know.
The thing is... we also have another match coming up in just a few weeks... and the Team has to be ready enter that cage. I know what this means to everyone involved... but there is a bigger picture here, and we need to keep our focus on the outcome of the War Games match before we set our sights on our little squabbles and aspirations. If we do that, and we take this opportunity to eliminate JMont from the equation all together... then we set ourselves one step closer to ending this whole thing with the Unfortunate Ones forever.
You both already know what my focus is... and it should be yours too.
We need to remember that on Monday. JMont is enemy number one... and as long as he doesn't walk out of that ring... then we have succeeded in our task. I trust we are all on the same page here, and War Games will be the culmination of the final destruction of the Unfortunate blight that has plagued the WGWF for far too long already.
We can see the horizon, men. Let's finish this.
* * * * *