Post by The Nickleman on Sept 8, 2023 22:52:07 GMT -5
Starving wolves howl in anguish as we open to a shot of a moonlit forest canopy. The camera pans the treetops of the lively yet serene forest, capturing a shot of two lovebirds flying out of their nest. All goes quiet until a deafening screech pierces the air of this tranquil forest: perhaps the wolves finally caught their prey, or perhaps there is something more sinister lurking about. The camera carefully drops through the canopy as a gruff whisper scurries between the trees.
A black dog left out to dry on the weather vane. Left for dead with my neck chained to the proverbial post, that draft came and went but all I got was a pat on the back and a kick to the gut. Greatness was snatched out of my hands before I could even grasp it! The humiliation, the degradation, the debasement: did they think I would just let it stand?
The camera begins following the trail of a burly man hacking his way through the brush with a machete. The shirtless man is covered in sweat, causing his skin to shine under the moonlight. His back is scarred beyond belief: a proud legacy of broken glass and barbed-wire worn on his skin. He traverses this darkness alone, blazing a trail on his own with no one to hold his hand or to hold him back. He slashes out wildly with his machete, cutting through a troupe of overgrown vines as he carves his own way along the path least traveled.
The brute cuts through another batch of bushes, this time revealing a small clearing nestled deep within the woods. He steps over the thicket of vegetation and into the sanctuary, pausing briefly to investigate this dark haven from afar. He sees three burning crosses forming a circle around a massive cauldron. Between the crosses and the cauldron lay three wolves: one white, two black. The man nods silently to himself before sheathing his machete.
After all I’ve been through, after all I’ve sacrificed, I thought I was a guaranteed first round draft pick! But I’ve never been the type to give up on shattered dreams…I was willing to sacrifice anything to put the pieces of my dream back together again. That TRIAD would be mine, one way or the other.
The wolves cock their heads in unison as the man approaches their campsite. The wolves stand in alert as the brute raises his hands up with peaceful intention. A thunderous rumbling is heard from within the stomach of the white wolf. The white wolf grins as it steps forward, baring bloody fangs at the intruder. It looks back at the two black wolves, who flash their own fangs in response before they all leap towards the shirtless intruder!
Back in that same clearing, we see the shirtless brute sparking up a fat blunt with the flames from a burning cross. Once lit, he places it between his lips with a satisfied smirk. The camera pans out to reveal that the man’s body is covered in fresh blood, but none of it is his. The camera pans out further to reveal that the three wolves had been decapitated, with each head mounted to the top of a cross. Inside the boiling cauldron we see boiling wolf carcasses, quickly decomposing inside the bubbling stew.
A fucking joke, that’s what TRIAD became. You do know that, right?
This brutal son of a bitch eyes the camera up and down with rage as he blows a puff of hot smoke directly at the lens.
You let talentless sons of bitches like “L.C. Stinkston” and “Thaddeus Puke” waste your air time with empty promos. They all mail in their audio blurbs, fuck more like they all mail it in for the check and the exposure, that’s all this pissant roster does. These twitterbirds are running amok in this little mudshow, and now the dipshits who ‘forgot’ to draft me are calling my line, begging me to show up for this battle royale so I can bail their asses out in season 2.
He rolls his eyes as he ashes the blunt over the bubbling, wolf-filled cauldron.
This mudshow was put together by pussies who couldn’t deal with a full-time touring schedule. This TRIAD is nothing but a vanity project, a cheap hype machine meant to generate buzz and line pockets. It’s not about finding the best wrestlers in the world and letting them go all out for their piece of glory: nah nah!
If that’s what this was about, TRIAD wouldn’t be a laughingstock behind the scenes, in all of the secret chats. If this was about cutting the bullshit and figuring out who’s the best of the best, that ship fucking sailed when the only wrestler in history to hold OCW, XWF, and IIW gold at the same damn time was somehow left off the fucking roster.
The blood-drenched brute was clearly stewing with rage.
Marcus Welsch once cried and pleaded with me to ditch my XWF contract and come to OCW. I still have voicemails from him, begging me to bring Them No Good Bastards with me to resurrect his failed federation. WELL GUESS WHAT? We didn’t need THEM, because I came through like a one-man demolition crew and wrecked everything in my sight!
I was the hottest OCW signing of all time, hell, even my first promo made OCW history! I was making that dying federation relevant again, with hard work, blood, sweat and tears: and boy oh boy did I work up a sweat making all these little twitterbitches bleed and cry over my words! I won the OCW Savage Championship and the OCW tag-team Championships in record time. I beat The Big Bifford- twice- under two different regimes! What more could you fucking ask of the man you refused to draft? The man who sacrificed EVERYTHING for you, coming over to OCW in the heat of my XWF run, all because you needed a megastar like me to rejuvenate your fading brand. At one time Marcus Welsch was licking my boots, he once told everyone I was on my way to a “legendary OCW career”.
The madman chuckles to himself as he holds up his bloody-bottom boots for the camera to see.
I guess Marcus lost his love for me when he lost his love for OCW.
He takes another puff of his blunt as he stares into the camera.
And PIC? Don’t even get me started on that “pussy in check”, honestly I knew he would never draft me. Not only is he a “twitter justice warrior”, but the truth of the matter is he’s straight up scared of me! He saw firsthand how I ran through the OCW roster: so fuck, no wonder he never gave me a title shot! He’d rather give MY shot to Thunder Knuckles! I’ve won tag-team gold in the XWF, OCW, and the IIW: but PIC could never reduce me to a ‘tag-team star’, because everyone knows the damage I cause when left to my own devices. PIC dodged a match with me for my entire OCW tenure. He’s even scared of sharing a backstage area with me- because he knows that’s where I’m most dangerous! I’m a Certified Motherfucking Punk, and that means I’m liable to choke a motherfucker out anywhere!
He finished his blunt with one last bastardly puff before flicking the remnants into the cauldron.
So at the end of the day, I get it. I really do. My name just wasn’t worth the drama and the controversy. Marcus and PIC didn’t want to attach themselves to something so toxic. Everyone knows I spit hot acid, my words alone can burn bridges and end careers.
Noxious green fumes rise from the cauldron, small puffs of smoke releasing as the boiling bubbles burst.
But what about Their Little Suckboy? TLS? I thought he was above all the drama, all the twitter gossip, all the social media ‘wokeness’. I know Marcus got his pussy pounded online after I said the ‘R’ word on his program, but TLS told me that he personally LOVED it! He told me in private ‘to hell with the woke brigade’! But fuck, I guess he must have left his balls and his spine back in OCW because that piece of shit was too pussy to draft me! I guess he didn’t want the ‘controversy’ and the ‘heat’ that comes with a name like mine. It makes sense that TLS didn’t want this ‘heat’, though- because that pussy avoided having 'smoke' with me in OCW like it was the motherfucking plague! He knew what would happen to him if we ever squared off on the microphone or in the ring, and that’s why I thought he’d know better than to leave me off his team. Alas, he must have left his good senses back in Zybala’s playpen.
And now, after all this time, these pissants want to come crawling back to me? Without so much as an apology? Bloody hell, I’ll be damned if I let myself be exploited in a situation like this! You lot are nothing more than scumbag promoters, and I’m not about to be some cheap whore you play easy with. Everyone knows this little ‘second-chance’ battle royale is shaping up to be a barnyard snoozer unless I hitch my name to that ship. If anyone really thinks that a suicidal clown or a wallaby deserves to be in the running for ‘best wrestler on earth’, they need to take their head out of their ass! I know the people running this show don’t think any of those other bitches have what it takes to compete: that’s why they keep hitting my line, asking me to come wrestle, trying to sell me on the idea of a fucking ‘consolation’ draft pick.
Wrestle for them after being the conciliatory ‘sorry we fucked up’ draft pick…now why the hell would I want to do that? The meatloafs in charge of this place all overlooked my value in the first draft, they all thumbed their noses up at me in unison like I was some kind of sick and twisted freak that didn’t belong in this sport. Those three jackasses knew my championship pedigree, which stretches three federations wide and nearly ten title reigns deep- yet still, they wouldn’t even give me a chance.
They gave my spot to MERICA’ instead.
He spat a fat loogie onto the ground.
I’m not here to convince anyone that I’m going to win this battle royale. I’m just here to warn you: that ghost ship will become my bitch. If you thought I was a problem BEFORE…..just wait until you see the problems I cause you assholes AFTER I win this piece of shit consolation match!
The brute grins at the camera, clearly giddy with anticipation.
Now where the fuck is that witch and her two hags, I’ve got a deal to make…
The blood-covered figure walks away from the camera as he begins searching the clearing once more.
Two hideous hags and a wily witch gathered together deep in the woods, cackling in unison as they hoisted a man up over their cauldron. But not just any man: a Nickleman. THE Nickleman! The flames from three burning crosses illuminated the terror on his face. He thrashed around furiously, desperately trying to break free of the ropes. His struggle delighted the hags, who threw their heads back with hyena-like laughter.
Quiet down, you hags! I want to hear this piglet’s squeals!
The small, hooked-nose witch smacked the two colossal hags with her broomstick until they simmered down. At the same time, the boiling cauldron began to simmer with the dripping sweat of The Nickleman.
Just let me down! I came all the way out here to make a deal, not to become a meal!
You killed our familiars, and now, you will pay the price for it!
The camera quickly pans to showcase the heads of the wolves mounted to the tops of the burning crosses.
I didn’t know they were your familiars, I thought they were you!
That’s even worse! That means you wanted to kill US!
The Nickleman squirmed uncomfortably, unable to free himself from the ropes above the cauldron.
No, I wanted to make a deal- but they attacked me! I had no choice but to defend myself! Please, please if you’ll just hear me out- I came here with a deal you can’t refuse!
The witch cocked her eyebrow at The Nickleman as he begged and pleaded.
Now what kind of deal were you looking to make, petal? This had better be good!
I want to win the TRIAD, I want to become the greatest wrestler in history!
The witch leaned in close to the dangling man, allowing the steam from the cauldron to meet her wrinkled face. She ran her fingers across the brim of her hat, causing dust and grime to fall into the boiling stew.
But what are you willing to offer, petal? I already have your fat body strung up, what more could you offer a little old lady than sustenance and nutrients?
I’ll give you my family- two beautiful children and my lying whore of an ex-wife!
The witch looks between her two hungry hags, then back to her struggling piglet. A soft smirk spreads across her lips before the camera cuts to black. We hear a rope suddenly snap before our scene fades into the ether.
