January 14th, 2016
En Route to Las Vegas
I look out of my passenger window, in the back of my rented limousine that I am pretty sure I paid for using what could equal half of what I would probably owe Katelyn Buehler for three or four years of back pay on child support. It is decked out. I have all kinds of alcohol. The guy that I know who knows another guy who knows another guy got me like half a pound of Pineapple Express…yes it’s a real thing…and a shit load of munchie food. There is too many too list. Also, I have a flat screen TV in front of me with the Dark Knight trilogy playing. Yeah, simple things like that are what I need in my life. I am pretty sure Dr. Draper would be proud to know that I am having a good time.
Except for the fact that it appears, and feels, like the limo is traveling ninety miles per hour below speed limit. I am pretty sure a fucking moped could zip by us. I asked for something that would give Han fucking Solo a run for his money in the Millennium Falcon. But it feels like I’m riding fucking Jabba the goddamn Hutt. I want to be in Vegas before the big Violence in Vegas festivities begin, which are tomorrow. It’s Thursday and yours truly would like to be able to enjoy the night life in Vegas. I didn’t bring any friends along because as I told Draper, I don’t fucking have any. I plan on meeting some people and making friends with them, at least for a night or two before going out and kicking the shit out of Autumn Valentine and Gable Winchester before taking the tag titles home with me. Jake Starr can go fuck himself as well as the familiar pussy that belongs to his wife. I probably would have cheated by now but that’s just me.
I reach forward, pausing the Dark Knight, before grabbing the limo phone and placing it to my ear as a voice comes through from the other end.
???: “Yes Mr. Evans?”
James Evans: “What is your name, again?”
I typically don’t remember who aren’t that important to me. I am sure the driver should be important due to the fact that he is carrying precious cargo such as myself, but right now, I have bigger concerns.
???: “Thomas, sir. Is there a problem?”
James Evans: “Actually yes. I am looking out of the window, watching all of these other cars speed by us. I don’t know about you, but it feels like we are driving slower than old people fuck. It would be nice if we could pick up the pace, Thomas. I’d like to be in Vegas sometime in the near future, not in the next fucking century.”
Thomas: “Yes sir. Sorry sir. I didn’t want you make you uneasy with my driving which is why I have been going a little under the speed limit.”
James Evans: “Well as long as we’re not Paul Walker trying to bring Fast and the Furious to life then we should be good.”
Thomas: “You got it sir…I will get right on that.”
I hang up the phone and lean back in my seat. I proceed to roll up a joint, place it to my lips and light it up, taking a nice long toke, closing my eyes for a brief moment or several. The Pineapple Express hits my lungs as I inhale, holding it for a few seconds before slowly exhaling. I open my eyes and look out the window to see that we have picked up the pace somewhat. Thomas is probably a good kid, trying his best to make a good impression on anyone and everyone he comes into contact with. I, on the other hand, don’t care at all. I have never really tried to make any sort of impression. It has typically been what you see is what you get with me.
Maybe I should change that, but I am not sure if it’s fucking possible. But then again, I haven’t really put in a lot of effort. Dr. Draper said that I need to lighten up and have fun. Hopefully going to Vegas will open some doors for me. I am not going to lose my mind if it doesn’t. I will have plenty of weed and alcohol to get me through.
I take another toke before reaching into my bag and pulling out a notepad as well as a pen. I flip it open to find a blank sheet of paper. I press the pen to the top of the paper and write:
WHO AM I????
I have been trying to do this little homework assignment Draper gave to me. Despite my numerous sabbaticals from the SCW, I have never been a quitter. I have at least tried, even if I have failed. That is how I was raised and it is an attitude that has never quite left me. I take another toke while keeping my eyes on the paper, pressing the pen to the paper, waiting for a thought to hit me. I could say that it is the weed that is blocking my thought process, but it always helped me when it came to school. I would be lying if I said that I didn’t think it would help inspire me.
The phone rings.
James Evans: “Yes, Thomas?”
Thomas: “I believe we will be in Vegas close to an hour. Does that work for you? Is there anything I can to make this experience even better?”
James Evans: “Get us there in forty five minutes or less Thomas and I’ll throw in an extra tip. If not then I guess you’ll go home empty handed.”
There is a brief pause. A smirk forms on my face as I tell myself that money is the root of all evil, yet everyone gets excited and will jump through fiery hoops if you present them with the possibility of extra money.
Thomas: “I can get us there in forty minutes.”
James Evans: “Sounds good. I’m going to hold you to it, Thomas.”
I hang up the phone and take another toke before looking down at the notepad and release a sigh, before writing something.
“I HAVE NO FUCKING CLUE…”
We arrive exactly forty minutes after Thomas said he’d get to me Vegas in forty. I hand him a few hundreds, placing them in his hand as he goes to shake mine. I hold my bags as I stand near the entrance of my hotel and I look around, away from the hotel, but my eyes are pointed at the rest of the city.
James Evans: “Thomas…what is there to do in this town?”
He begins to cackle. It annoys me so I look at him. I hate beating around the bush and all of that annoying teenager shit. Just answer my goddamn question.
James Evans: “What’s so funny, Thomas?”
His laughter stops and he returns to sad, scared little puppy dog mode.
Thomas: “Sorry…um, have you never been to Vegas before? You can do all kinds of stuff. You can gamble. You can go to some of the finest restaurants.”
I nod my head, trying to refrain from calling him Captain Obvious.
James Evans: “What do you and your friends do, Thomas?”
He begins to ramble on and on about playing video games and going to see movies. Everything that comes out of his mouth sounds nothing short of boring. I reach over, grabbing his hand, removing one of the hundreds before nodding my head and walking into the hotel. While checking in, I am thinking about Thomas and all of the stupid things he said. Is that what people do for fun? Do they just sit at home, playing video games or going out to see movies? I love movies, but I don’t do well in theatres. I have been known to tell annoying kids to shut the fuck up on several occasions. I get into my movies so when someone fucks that up, I have a short fuse. Video games bore me and give me headaches. I knew people who would play them for hours straight. They never amounted to anything do to that or dying of a drug overdose. I didn’t want to go that route, but then again, experimenting with drugs sounds like my best course of action if things don’t pick up.
I reach my room and step inside. I have a minibar which is a plus and loved ten times over. My mini-fridge is stocked full of beer. I paid a little extra to have things my way. I drop my bags and I look around, wondering what in the bluest of hells I am going to do. My buzz from getting high has worn off due to Thomas’ driving. At one point, I figured that Paul Walker crack was going to come back and bite me in the ass, but luckily for me, it didn’t. I ask myself…what do people do these days? Especially athletes such as myself…I let out a sigh before reaching into my bag, grabbing some gym clothes and changing into them before heading downstairs. I have always been pretty athletically gifted, as in I have never really had to work hard to look as good as I do. It was like I was born in shape. I start out with some cardio, before moving to some free weights. I do this for an hour or so before returning to my room, feeling a little tired, but more importantly, feeling very unfulfilled to say the least.
I take a shower and just stand there letting the warm hit me. I stand here for the longest time, not washing or anything, just getting soaked while my mind wanders. Do people enjoy this? I tell myself that they probably do enjoy it because they enjoy it together. I have never been a people person, let alone great with relationships. But there is a part of me that says that I would give anything to have Katelyn and the girls here. Or Dawn and her daughter, may they rest in peace. I then think of Kennedy and the two of standing in the shower, letting the warm bounce off of our bodies as they collide, as we engage our tongues in battle, her wrapping her long legs around me. But then I tell myself that more than likely, Katelyn…Dawn…Kennedy…I would get my jollies off only to get bored and wish that they would leave me in peace and quiet. I tell myself to make a mental note to put down on my list that I am never fucking satisfied. It is nothing to really brag about and it is not something that I can really help. When you are raised hearing that the world will be yours, yet you never really receive the world, you’re always left wanting more than what you have.
After what feels like an eternity of self-loathing, I finish my shower and get dressed. I tell myself that I am not going to let anything ruin my time here. I head downstairs. I tell the hotel receptionist that I want a wake-up call for 8am because I have a press conference to attend in the morning. I then step outside where I have a limo waiting for me. I take a moment to thank God that it isn’t Thomas. I tell the driver that I want to hit the casinos and off we go.
I find myself at a blackjack table. I place my bet and the dealer does her duty, dealing the cards. I ask to be hit so she does. We then flip and I have twenty to her 18. I win. I place another bet, going a little higher. I smirk at the dealer before speaking.
James Evans: “I don’t know if I should mention this or not, but blackjack is my game. You may get me once or twice, but after that, you’ll beg me to stop the beating…unless…”
I wink at her, as she is pretty cute.
James Evans: “You’re into that sort of thing.”
She flashes a grin my way before we go back to playing. I get nineteen to her 18. I win again, and another bet is made. Someone else steps over and places a bet. He and his wife nod in my direction. I scoff and shake my head. I tell myself that right now, I am here to make money, not be friends or show respect. I will be friends with the dealer depending on what the benefits are but that can be another story for another time. The deal is made. We have nineteen and the dealer has 20. I lose. I tell her that was once which means I can only lose one more time.
This goes on for only God knows how long. I lose more than once or twice, but I win way more. After some time passes, people are crowding around me, cheering me on. At first this bothers me because I want to tell them to fuck off and go else, but then I remember how lonely and bored I felt in the hotel room, so a pretty big part of me embraces it and welcomes it. This makes me feel cocky and arrogant so I go all in. Dealer flips. She has twenty and I have blackjack. I have quadrupled my money so I take my earnings, telling the dealer where I am staying at if she needs me to lick her wounds before going over and cashing in. I go to the bar and order myself a drink. I sit, alone at the bar, and the warm open embrace I had at the blackjack table has vanished. I feel myself yearn for it. I down my drink before heading back over to the table, but as I turn around, I am stopped by the dealer. She flashes me an even bigger grin.
James Evans: “You throwing in the towel already? I was just getting warmed up. Thought I’d come back for another round, give you a shot at redemption…”
Dealer: “My name’s Beth and my shift is over.”
James Evans: “I’m James…James Evans.”
Beth: “Well, James…what do you do for fun?”
I smirk at the irony.
James Evans: “I’m open to suggestions…”
[[What the Fuck Happened…]]
January 15th, 2016
The sound of knocking doesn’t really wake me up because I can sleep through the Second coming of Christ more than likely. But if Christ came back on a day like today, where I have an absolutely painful side splitting headache due to only God knows what I did last night then knocking will wake you up from anything. Each knock sounds like an atom bomb going off and for a split second or two I feel like 1942 Japan, unaware of what is coming. I don’t remember anything really from last night. All I know right now is that it is hard to walk. I am stumbling around, after pushing myself off of the floor. I look around the hotel room and it looks like the Second Coming did occur, yet I slept through it. After slipping on an oversized pink bunny, I reach the door and I open it to a crack, to find what appears to be a member of hotel staff standing before me. He has a Justin Bieber haircut and his suit is way too fucking tight. People these days…
James Evans: “Yes…?”
Hotel Staff Guy: “This is your wake-up call Mr. Evans. It is 8:36 in the morning. We’ve been trying for over the last half hour to reach you. Are the phones working?”
I shrug my shoulders.
James Evans: “Fuck if I know…and can you please not talk so loud? I believe I have an intense migraine coming on.”
He looks at me confused, but I shrug it off and wave him off.
James Evans: “Alright man, thanks. Have a good day. I’ll let you know if anything needs to be fixed. And hey…no house keeping today.”
He goes to say something but I close the door. I have to get ready for this fucking press conference. I’ve never been to one but I am sure I already hate them. Just something about it. But I signed up for the shit because well…I am trying to be a normal wrestler and I know people like David Helms, Syren, and countless others including Ace have done these damn things. It seems like it is part of the deal when you become a professional athlete. I never knew you had to make appearances. Or maybe I did, but I just never really gave a shit. I am going to go with the second option.
The shower does nothing to help the pain I am experiencing upstairs. I feel like I was involved in an orgy with Matt Auclair, Rachel McGraw, and Red Rayne with Mary Beth Mallory in a referee shirt to oversee the whole thing. I am ready and downstairs in fifteen minutes. I know that I look like I feel which is one hundred percent Grade A shit ladies and gents. Along the way, there are horns being blown, loud music…well if that is what you want to call it…blaring from other cars. Every single bump in the road causes a tidal wave of pain to course through my body, starting from the back of my skull all the way down to the tips of my toes.
And I still can’t remember a fucking thing.
I reach the venue for the press conference. I have no idea how late I am, but fuck it. I get out of the limo, doing my best to maintain my balance. I feel like a gimp like good old Mr. D as I make my way through the backstage area. There are fans that don’t seem to be interested in me. I don’t care either way. What I do care about is the feeling in the pit of my stomach and all I can think about is that I need to find a trashcan. I need to find a trashcan. I need to find a fucking trashcan. I reach the curtain just outside the main stage and I see the champions all standing around, parading off their titles, sharing their smiles. I hear the fans asking the questions. I hear the answers. Every single time someone speaks into the microphone it sounds like God’s so called booming voice. At least that is what I believe it sounds like but I’m not a goddamn psychic or King James despite the name. The smell of coffee and bagels rises into my nostrils but tickles my stomach but not in a good way. The same phrase repeats over in my mind but I don’t see any fucking trashcans around.
My phone vibrates and it scares me at first. I regain my cool before grabbing my phone. One of the stagehands gives me a not so nice look. I take a glance around to see if Merrick Wiseman is anywhere to be found but he isn’t so I give the stagehand the finger. I grab my phone and look up to find Gable and Autumn walking off of the stage, holding hands. It’s so cute I could puke I tell myself. I can’t wait to bash their skulls in with a chair. I hear a name called that I can’t really make out due to the consistent ringing in my head and ears. I look down at my phone to see that I have a text message from Beth. Okay I tell myself, I remember her because I whipped that ass in blackjack last night.
Beth: “Hey where r u?”
I halfway roll my eyes because it hurts my head to fully roll them. I am also rolling them because I hate how people have gotten so lazy that they can’t fully spell words when it comes to texting. It’s not that fucking hard people.
James Evans: “I’m at this thing for work. Where ‘are you’?”
Beth: “I’m at ur hotel silly. I went out to get us breakfast. When I came back u were gone.”
I go to reply but I hear my name called. I want to tell God to chill the fuck out because my name is repeated while I give a small response, before putting my phone away and heading out on stage. I tell her I will call her later before stepping through the curtain. I expect a pretty decent reaction, but I nothing whatsoever. I look at the crowd while holding my hands in my pockets. I still need a fucking trashcan. Another stagehand appears out of nowhere, kind of startling me because everything is starting to shift into tunnel vision. Said stagehand gives me a microphone and I lift up to my lips. When I first speak into it, I feel like my goddamn eardrum comes close to exploding. I wince in pain at first. There are a few laughs followed by some groans. I tell myself to keep it together as this is my first ever SCW press conference. I go to speak again and the volume is turned down this time.
James Evans: “Alright, I’m James Evans. You all know me…especially you…lady with the amazing rack…”
I crack a grin at said lady. She gives me a “go to hell” look before grabbing her belongings and walking out.
James Evans: “Oh boy…I’ll probably get fined for that one. Hahaha…”
I get a laugh but it quickly dies down. I am starting to sweat and I really need to fucking puke. This is not going like I had hoped it would, which is irritating me.
James Evans: “Okay, who is first. I don’t have all day so let’s get this thing going, what do you say?”
I look around and no one is raising their hands. None of the fuckers in the crowd are even making eye contact. They are looking at one another, dumbfounded.
James Evans: “Are you kidding me? You can’t be serious. Not one question? I am going to be on the main show in a few days in a championship match. Surely you guys have some questions.”
James Evans: “I cannot believe this…”
I begin to move across the stage towards the exit side, because I feel the sickness rising into my chest and throat. I know that I am going to vomit. I don’t know when, but I know it’s coming. And then I hear a voice. A female voice. With a question.
Female: “What is your issue with females being on top these days?”
James Evans: “I don’t mind them being on top. I don’t like having to do all of the work. I get stomach cramps. Next question…”
She continues. It just dawned on me that I cut her off before she finished.
Female: “On top of the industry pervert.”
I can’t help but laugh so I do for a few moments. But I have to stop as the sickness rises to the top of my throat. I can feel it on the back of my tongue.
James Evans: “Because….because…they belong in my kitchen…will you excuse me?”
I go to make my exit but it’s too late. I stop and hunch over, vomit with all sorts of different ingredients exits my body. I spew chunks at least five times. It seems like it is never going to end. I hear shrieks and curses. I hear the sounds of folding chairs scraping and being dropped to the floor. I feel arms around my arms and I am being dragged across the stage. I lift the microphone to my lips to spew a message just because I want to be an asshole to certain people. I heard that some of the upper management feel that it doesn’t make sense to change one’s theme song over and over again. Well to them I say kiss my ass.
James Evans: “Just so you know…I changed my theme again…It’s ‘Ten Tonne Skeleton’ by Royal Blood…thank you and…”
Before I can finish, the microphone is removed from me rather violently before I am taken backstage. I am led down a hallway. I feel eyes on me but so be it. I feel so much fucking better now. I hear someone over the loud speaker apologize to the reporters and the fans, stating that there would be a twenty minute intermission so everything can be placed back under control.
I find myself in an office with some higher up shouting at me. I don’t know what he is saying. I feel like I am in a state of euphoria to be honest. I hear words like “fined”, “embarrassment and disgrace”, as well as “suspended.” I wait until the lips of the man before me stop moving and I say the only thing I can think of saying at this juncture.
James Evans: “I’m sorry, alright? It wasn’t my fault…”
He looks at me slightly confused. We sit for a few moments before he tells me to get the hell out of the office. I am ordered to go back to the hotel room and get myself together. I want to tell him that is one of my purposes for coming to Vegas, but I don’t. I make my way out of the venue, not stumbling quite as much. Once outside, the air washes over me and it feels fantastic compared to earlier. I reach into my pocket and grab my phone, before dialing Beth. The phone rings a few times before she answers, sounding extra frilly.
Beth: “Hey Jamesy Boy…how’d it go?”
James Evans: “I got a standing ovation.”
Beth: “Awesome. So are you coming back to the hotel now? I need a repeat of last night.”
James Evans: “Speaking of last night, I need for you to tell me what the fuck happened…”
[[Time of Your Life…]]
“Okay, give me the rundown one more time…”
I am back in my hotel room. I’ve been here for an hour, trying to help Beth clean. I told her I’d pay her if she helped me clean the hotel suite so I didn’t get charged more than I wanted to spend. While cleaning, she has told me at least three or four times everything that happened last night. Her story doesn’t change which frightens me.
Beth: “You’re kidding me, right?”
Holding a trash bag in the kitchen, which contains things that I don’t want to share, I turn to look at her, as she stares at from the living room area looking rather annoyed and tired. I don’t say a word to her. I just lock eyes with Beth and I nod my head yes. She rolls her eyes before replying.
Beth: “We started off going back to the blackjack table where you won a shit load of money. While playing, you bought yourself a round of drinks before buying everyone at the table a round. You were then questioned by security due to the fact that they thought you were counting cards. You politely drank one more drink before flipping off the head of security and spitting alcohol in his face. You then grabbed me by the wrist and we hauled ass out of there. Once again, I am pretty sure I’m fired so thanks.”
James Evans: “Just in case I haven’t already, I do apologize.”
Beth: “Yeah we’ve been through this before. So after we left the casino, we went to a strip club where you bought lap dances for everyone, before we went into the VIP room. You got everyone high before buying the strippers for the night. We left, went to some hotel party the strippers knew about. You disappeared for about an hour before finding me and saying that you had done “X”.
James Evans: “I did ecstasy?”
Beth: “For the billionth time, yes you did. You drank some more while we were at the party but then we left and went to another strip club. You slipped some X into my drink but by that point I didn’t care. We were removed from the club due to the fact that we ended up on stage preparing to fuck. We met back up with the strippers and we came back here, where we partied. You downed a few Red Bulls before taking me into the room where we fucked more times than I can remember, before you rolled over, asked for a sandwich and passed out.”
I laugh at that last bit.
James Evans: “That sounds like something I’d say.”
Beth: “Yeah I had an amazing time. I don’t think I’ve partied that hard or been fucked like that in like…I don’t know…ever.”
Hearing her say those words makes me feel guilty even more. For some reason, I want to get in touch with Kennedy. Just to see how she is or what she is up to. I don’t recall the last time we spoke. I know I had mentioned flying out to the Hills last weekend, but I never made it. I just stayed home doing God knows what.
James Evans: “Well what can I say?”
Beth: “You could say that we are going to have a repeat of last night, or that we will top it.”
I lower the trash bag before releasing a sigh.
James Evans: “To be honest, I was going to have a simple night. I am going to this concert to see a band I don’t know if you’ve heard of them. The Guess Who?”
She looks at me confused. Kids today…
James Evans: “Never mind. But yeah I was going to do that tonight. I got an extra ticket if you’d like to go.”
I watch as she pulls out her cell and looks at it, her fingers moving wildly. She then places her phone back in her pants pocket before locking eyes with me, a sad puppy dog look appearing on her face.
Beth: “That was actually my boss…he wants me to work tonight so hey…I’ll take a raincheck if that’s alright. And at least I’m not fired, right?”
I crack a smile. A fake one, but a smile nonetheless.
James Evans: “So you had fun last night?”
Beth: “Oh yeah. Did you?”
You could cut the awkwardness with a knife.
James Evans: “What do you think? Do you think that I enjoyed myself last night? Did it seem like I actually had some fun while we are out? I can’t remember anything after we first met at the bar so just lay it on me. Did I have fun?”
Beth: “Yeah you looked like you were having the time of your life…”
I smirk and let out a little chuckle before leaning against the counter, crossing my arms, maintaining eye contact. She smiles then thanks me for the great time, before saying that she has to leave so she can get ready for work. I’ve used plenty of women before in my life and I know what that is code for. It means I am going to go out and find someone better so thanks for breaking me off of a piece of that. I give her a salute before she leaves, closing the door behind her.
I step out of the kitchen and into the living room, before taking a look around. It appears that nothing went down inside of this place. Like there is no sign of life here.
Time of my life, huh?
I wish I could remember what it was like…
I am standing in the Gordie Brown Showroom, just two days before Violence in Vegas and I am trying to keep my shit together. It has nothing to do with me being nervous for my upcoming Tag Title match. No, I think I am alright with things, even if I haven’t had the best of months. I am standing here waiting for the Guess Who to take stage. I see alcohol. I have weed out in the limo waiting for me. I can get fucked up anytime I damn well please, but after listening to Beth reveal what had happened the night before, I am surprised I am not fucking dead at this point. And the sad thing is that I don’t remember any of it. I guess when I told Beth that I wasn’t going to party she decided she was done with me, which is fine. Coming to a concert, something I’ve never done in my life, is more for me and me alone. I’d like to be able to experience it and stay sober just so I can remember the experience, just like I remember listening to classic rock with my dad when he was actually home.
I recall walking outside with him late one night. I think I was around six or seven. We climbed into this old beat up piece of shit Honda Accord that he bought. I would later find out it was for drug deals, just something that no one suspected. We climbed into the car just as a thunderstorm began. He put in a cassette tape version of Pink Floyd’s “Dark Side of the Moon” and he and I listened to the entire album during the course of the thunderstorm. I feel a smile appear on my face and I wipe away a tear from the corner of my eye as the memory replays over in my mind. I love grunge rock but there is something about classic rock that reminds me of the good times from my childhood.
The lights die down and the fans begin to cheer. I don’t move. For some reason, I am unable to share my excitement or appreciation for the music I am about to experience live. I see people clapping, jumping up and down, shouting and whistling. The sounds grow louder as I watch the band step up onto the stage, almost deafening. I tell myself that I will more than likely never hear sounds like that aimed towards me. I used to get those reactions, but I have changed so much since those days of playing the good guy. Now I just don’t give a fuck.
I am on the roller coaster through the good and the bad either way. My professional and personal lives will lock up at times, as I continue the search to find out who I am.
I’m not quite sure yet, but I tell myself that the journey may be one hell of a ride. In two nights, I am going to be beating a woman and her Negro man piece with chairs. It is going to be glorious. Tonight, I am going to lose myself in the music. Sunday, I will lose myself to the violence and the chaos that I am bound to create.
Enjoy the ride.
I am sitting in my hotel room, my feet stretched out onto another chair as I rest in the recliner. Across from me stands a remote controlled camcorder which is pointed right at me. I take a few breaths before slowly exhaling, slowly clearing my mind, before pointing the remote and pressing start.
Here we are again, counting down the time until Violence in Vegas appears on your television screens. The SCW will be live and in your face. I am sure there are so many of you who are dying to see this pay per view. But when you look at me, I am not thrilled about it. I am okay with the fact that I am on the card and that I am competing for the SCW World Tag Team Championship. I am not okay with the fact that Amy Chastaine is in the main event. I am not okay with the fact that I am not competing for the SCW World Heavyweight Championship. I am not. It eats me up inside. That is why I am trying to approach this tag title match with a positive mental state. I am telling myself that this match will only help me get better. I am going walk out to that ring and climb in between those ropes. I am going to look at Starr, at Autumn, as well as Gable before that bell rings. When it is go time, I will do what I always do and that is push myself to work harder, to be better and faster than those around me, en route to becoming a champion once more. And don't think that just because I am not competing for the World title, that doesn't mean I don't give a shit about the tag team championship. If that was the case then I wouldn't be here, with my face in the camera, preparing to address those involved. I wanted those titles and I made that point clear right before I demolished Simon Lyman late last year. But before I address the champions, I need to talk to my partner.
So I guess I should thank Jake Starr, right? I mean, I should consider myself lucky that he is allowing me to be in this match. Well, Jake you know what…here is some truth. I don’t consider myself lucky. There is nothing you’ve done that makes me feel lucky to be involved with this match. You have not allowed me to do a damn thing. Those who run this office, this company, they are allowing me to be involved. They booked the match. They made sure it was signed, not you. If anyone should consider themselves lucky, it should be you, Jake. And why is that? I thought you’d never ask.
You should consider yourself lucky that I am even showing up to this match. I could do what I have done for the last few years after a tough loss and that is take my ball before going home. But no, I am not doing. I am not going to give the fans and the office the satisfaction. I am still here and I will make sure that is known this Sunday. But consider yourself lucky, Jake. I could just decide to wipe my ass with my contract and bail, leaving you to fend for yourself. And no matter how good you are, no matter what you’ve done during your SCW career, you’re still not good enough to beat Gable and Autumn on your own. You can be cocky and arrogant. You can build yourself, saying that you don’t need me, that you have what it takes to take the straps from the champs on your own, but Jake, you and I know, just like the champs know, just the morons the SCW calls fans know, that you would be doing nothing more than lying to yourself.
And Jake, you do a lot of that.
You lie to yourself after cracking your stupid jokes, thinking that you are funny. The whole New Year’s Resolutions bit…yeah I am sure you thought others were laughing, but they really weren’t. Your delivery was bullshit. Everything you did was forced. My relationship with Kennedy Street whatever it may be does not concern you. If it did, I would let you know. Porno Lad is nothing more than a fume. He was something in IWC and he is latching onto Kennedy to keep his career alive. I don’t need Kennedy to keep mine. I am not trying to ride her coattails to lead me to the main event promised land. I don’t need her or anyone else to do it for me. If I can’t get there on my own then I don’t need to be there and that is just honesty. Just like this is honesty…if anyone is latching onto anyone, it is you latching onto me. You need me, Jake whether you want to admit it or not. You need me. You and I hate one another, but we have goals that we want to obtain. Like you said, we have ideas that are alike and we have come together due to those goals and ideas. And those goals and ideas will lead us to becoming the SCW World Tag Team Champions this Sunday. I am dead serious, Jake. I am not here to amuse you. I am not amused by your moronic jokes. I want to become champion. Maybe I am greedy, but so are you. That greed is motivation, just as your words are motivation enough for me to crack you in the skull after our match just to prove a point. I am not someone you should fuck with Jake. You may have beaten me before, but I have evolved since then. You are stuck in the same fucking spot you’ve been in the last few years. Like I said, you need me but make no mistake, just as it is with Kennedy, I don’t need you.
I am here because I choose to be.
As you said to me, make sure you remember that.
I reposition myself, slowly putting my feet down on the floor, bringing my hands together, cupping them as my fingers intertwine, looking one big fist, as I glare into the camera, focusing my attention on Autumn Valentine.
I am sure you can tell that I am in a foul mood. I don’t like Jake Starr, but I dislike the fact that Autumn Valentine and Gable Winchester are tag champions. You see, to me, they stole those titles from Jake and I. He and I were in the match at Final Level because we were bullies apparently. We were attacking anyone and everyone that got in our way, making statement after statement, with the prime message being that we weren’t going to be overlooked or forgotten.
Autumn, you made the comment that Jake and I didn’t deserve to be in the match, that we bullied our way into it. I find that funny…the word deserve. What makes you the expert on who deserves what in all honesty? Have you followed my career? Have you listened to my promos? I have been through a lot. I have fought harder than most and still haven’t gotten jack for it. I deserve much more, Autumn. But getting what I deserve is something that gets overlooked. I have deserved more title shots. I have deserved more opportunities. Jake Starr may say that I drop the ball when I am awarded opportunity, yet he has made a career out of getting shit handed to him up until a year or so ago. You and Jake have that in common. You, along with Gable, were just placed in this match due to the fact that Jake was feuding with Gable. The SCW wanted to capitalize on that. Pretty much everyone in that match were involved thanks to Jake and I. We were the masters, holding all of the strings, and yet you come in and bite the hand that feeds you, Autumn? Is that what you do? You come in and steal from me, but add insult to injury by saying that I didn’t deserve to be there.
What a “bully” thing to say, wouldn’t you agree? Oh of course not. You’re used to playing the victim apparently. You’ve been bullied your whole life? Well from the looks of it, the SCW has made you out to be a world beater, Autumn. You’ve been gifted a superstar career in a short amount of time, while I have been with this company since 2010. I’ve had three title reigns. Just a few main event matches. Very few title shots when I am not holding one. You get to face top names, while I am being booked against people no one has ever even heard of. Who is being bullied here? I mean, let’s be fucking honest, Autumn. While you are on top of the ocean, floating by with not a care in the world, I am down below, swimming with sharks, fighting for fucking survival.
I have to do what I have to do, Autumn and if that makes beating someone senseless with a steel chair or whatever I can get my hands on then so be it. You say I get off on hurting people…well, we are wrestlers and this is a very violent sport. If we didn’t get off on hurting people then we would be playing tennis. You do things the respectable way because you don’t have to struggle like I do in this company. Jake has cracked you in the face with a chair, well I have been dealt the same, so stuff your sorrows in a sack and save them for someone who gives a shit because I don’t. What I care about is getting into that ring, beating you with a chair, before taking the belts home with me. I care about beating it into you that I deserve being in this match because I am that damn good when it comes to stepping in between the ropes and competing. I can and will attack others but when the bell rings, I fight with everything I have. Neither you nor anyone else, deny that. If you did then you would be taking a page from Jake’s book and lying to yourself.
I smirk, before continuing to speak.
Just as you are lying to yourself Gable if you think I am going to let you walk out with those titles this Sunday. You should give yourself the nick name of the Man of Steal. You have stolen from me at various points over the last year. You stole from me at the Best of the Best tournament. You stole from me at Final Level, and then you were out for awhile, unable to compete. That is taking away from me, Gable. With you being gone, I was unable to meet you in the center of the ring and fight you, punishing you for being the thief that you are. But now you’re back and I am not going to let you get away so easily, Gable. I have a pretty big bone to pick with you to be honest.
You see, word around the campfire was that you were doubting yourself leading up to the tag title match at Final Level. After Jake beat you at Supreme Saturday, word is that you didn’t think you had it in you anymore. You went from being the Man of Win to the Man of Doubt. And then boom, out of nowhere you managed to win the tag straps with your girlfriend. I am sure that boosted your confidence Gable. You can’t deny that it didn’t. I know it did. Good for you. You were able to get your mojo back, but you see, you should be worried. I have you all figured out, Gable. If you are worried, if you are thrown off of your game in terms of your confidence, then you are at your strongest. You become motivated to better yourself, to push forward. I can commend that , but you are pitted against the wrong man at Violence in Vegas.
I want you to be confident, Gable. I want you to be riding high, because just as you did with me at Final Level, you are going to think to yourself that you have this in the bag, that victory is yours and when those thoughts are running through your mind, I am going to come in and steal it away from you. You and Autumn are great wrestlers, but your win was a fluke. You took advantage at Final Level. It was a clusterfuck, but I won’t take that away from you. You took advantage of the opportunity and walked out champions. But you will be facing Jake and I, two on two, in a chairs match. We have the home field advantage. We love to hurt people remember, Gable? If you don’t, just ask your girlfriend. I am sure she can remind you of the beatings you’ve suffered at the hands of Jake and I. I just hope that she can prepare you for what you’re going to suffer in our match, which is coming up faster than you think. You’ve been out awhile and if you were out with an injury, how well is it holding up. I am sure it is at least ninety percent healed. If it is, I will change that.
You are going to do your best to protect the woman you love and you will push yourself beyond your means. That is where I come in. That is where I hurt you the most. You can call it giving away strategy. I call it being honest. You can keep your confidence level high knowing that, but it won’t stop me. It won’t stop the inevitable which is Jake Starr and James Evans becoming the new SCW World Tag Team Champions.
I grow silent for a few moments, looking down at the floor, my mind racing, the veins in my arms popped out and flared due to the rush of adrenaline and emotion I have coursing through me. I look up, the glare has returned to my face, as I speak one last time.
Before I go, I want to get something off of my chest. I am not someone who blows up Twitter every single time they take a step. I am not Ace Marshall. I am not Lucas Knight or Trinity Street. I am no one but James Evans. I am not here to have some out of this world personality. I am not here to get people to like me. I am not here to crack jokes. I will leave to Starr. To Marshall. I have been called way too serious or bland. That is fine. I am not everyone or anyone’s cup of tea, but that is the point. I am not here for anyone other than myself. Just as it will be when I walk to the ring for the tag title match, I am here because I choose to be.
I do this because I know that I am good at it. I am one of the very best. The SCW chooses to ignore it still to this day. If they didn’t, then I would be the next in line for a shot at the World title. I would face the winner of Amy and Reagan. The SCW may surprise me and give me that, but I doubt it. I am not a woman. I am not sleeping with a woman who is in the main event. I am not David Helms. I am not going to come out and bore you with a forty five minute promo. I am not going to come out and be flamboyant. That is not who I am. When I speak, I am serious. I speak from the heart. My words can be labeled incoherent and I have been told that I don’t have a clear message when I cut promos. That is fine. I know what I am saying and I know the point I am trying to get across. I gave up trying to impress Mr. D and the powers that be due to the glass ceiling he holds over certain people, myself included. I say what is on my mind when it is on my mind at all times. I don’t speak for him or anyone else. I speak for myself. Like I said, I am not here to impress because I realized a long time ago that Mr. D and Bob Tomlinson wouldn’t know talent if Bob fucked Mr. D in the ass before watching that Canadian gimp give birth to the entire SCW roster.
If my behavior at the press conference is any indication of what I think of Mr. D then you should know where I am coming from. That message should be coherent and understood perfectly. Just as what I do to Gable and Autumn this Sunday should be understood. Hell, I may even throw Starr in there as well. Win, lose, or draw, my presence will be felt this Sunday at Violence in Vegas. I will make sure the pay per view lives up to his name.
I told you all when I came back last April that I was not here to play games. Those in charge want to continue playing games with me and that means the roster will get hurt. Play your games. I will cut them short and make sure everyone goes home unhappy, except for yours truly.
You want to question my passion for this sport then I will make you eat my fist.
I lean in close so that my face takes up the entire camera angle.
Did you get that?