Adam Allocco vs. Hairless Penguin
#1
2 RP Limit for singles matches

3500 word max per RP

Deadline: 11:59:59 pm ET Wednesday, May 18, 2022
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I love AJ Allmendinger.
#2
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[Image: ASrTaiG.jpeg]
#3
Day 0

After a certain point, amnesia becomes a blessing for an alcoholic like me. And what are blackouts other than self-fulfill amnesiac episodes? You kinda want to forget all those bad thoughts swirling around your head, especially those that meet the criteria of regret and require guilt. So why not crack open another can, and drink the cringe that your drunk ass created the night before under the table. Wake up and watch the cycle starts anew. Around and around, I go, an endless blur, a spin cycle of spewing my radioactive pollution into the world and pissing my pants along the way. Where you stop, I never did know! The next thing I knew, I jumped from that deep slumber with a start.

There’s a point where your liver and your brain level up, and the blackouts become rarer. The puking stops. But for a man with half a liver, that was just a teenage memory, but what memories I had of those glory days. Hell, I could argue that back then, Jack Daniels gave me enough liquid courage to show my true self to the world. Shush, shush my insecurities, listen to those drunken lullabies while I go out and be king with that temporary confidence. Of course, as a young buck, you start to feed off the fact you’re the life of the God damn party. Oh yeah, don’t forget the drunk, sloppy, yet fantastically wild sex that serves as your after party. For a boy with the napoleon complex, the body count gave y height a few extra itches. So many partners that I can’t even make out their faces; don’t even bother asking me for their names. All the same, that body count buried my insecurities deep into the Earth.

Regardless, I kept drinking. I kept partying. My drunken arrogance materialized in the sober realm. The lines blurred between those dimensions until I became whole. But I kept drinking.

Have I become a cliché? Another CHBK? Another wrestler suffering from substance abuse and crippling addiction. I don’t know what’s going on with my old rival. I don’t know how his story ended or if he continued to suffer. Why? Because why bother? I know so many wrestlers who were alcoholics, druggies, or both. Why is it such a surprise? After all, we live the rockstar lifestyle, but their bodies don’t sustain the physical punishment ours do in that ring. So yeah, we pop some pills and down them with a swig of vodka. Let’s stay up and forget how brains were shaken but not stirred, our muscles pulverized into mush, and our will stretched things like the arms of Reed Richards. If moving sucks, numb the pain. There, problem solved. Then go out into the night, open up the flood gates and cling onto the tiny slice of bliss before entering the pit again.

And tell me, what’s so wrong with that? What’s so wrong with a bit of bit self-medication. Okay, maybe in my case, a heavy dosage of self-medication. Don’t forget, I always played by the mantra: you work hard, you play hard. Where did I go wrong then? What’s wrong with me? Come on, there’s nothing wrong with you, Adam. Stop thinking that way. That’s impossible. Avoid thinking about that insidious presence living within, an infection so deep; why bother trying to sanitize. Let’s look away instead. Let’s ignore bland ugliness. There’s no fun fixating on what could be. Let’s grab a nice mound of ass, suck on big fat titties, and then down another shot of tequila. That’s the miracle cure.

That worked so well for so long. Or did it?

Something changed. Or had it always been this way?

I failed to shake off the feeling that something within the past year had changed. I couldn’t put a finger on what that change was. I didn’t know when, where, or how that change occurred. Only that there was something I missed, and now I dealt with its aftereffects. The writing was always on the wall, I supposed. Hindsight 20/20. When you’re stubborn like me, you don’t want to change. The writing was Chinese as far as I was concerned. The notion was revolting. But you know what’s worse than change? Especially for a narcissist like myself? Losing. I might be many things but let me tell you one thing. I wasn’t born a loser. I’m sure am not going to die as one.

Yet one cold ass day in January, I woke up a loser. I didn’t wake up in a bed. I was freezing. I knew instantly I must have passed outside somewhere. I leaned up. I groaned at the sight that greeted me. Some of my clothes bled out from an opened suitcase onto the cracked cement of the alleyway I found myself in. I crawled over. I couldn’t find any valuables in my bag or on my person. No airplane tickets. No wallet. No money. Fuck. I always did hate Chicago.

I held my head. I didn’t know I had a concussion or a hangover. Either way, the bright sun mocked me with its sunny deposition. Fuck off, Sun. Not today.

“Yo dude, you- you okay?” A voice addressed me from behind. I turned around and made eye contact with a homeless person. He happened to be the typical fare too. He laid on his side atop a thin piece of shipping foam like a bizarro pin-up model. His bottom half disappeared into a large cardboard box, so who knew if he had any pants on. I really didn’t want to find out.

“Do I look okay?”

“Chill, dude. Chill,” Hobo Playgirl Model said.

He then slithered out from his den. He indeed had pants on, my sweatpants to be exact. I clenched my fists. I walked over to him, intending to take back my belonging, but a gust of Chicago wind came roaring through the alleyway. I suddenly felt vulnerable. I had no pants on. That’s right, in broad daylight, I seemed to have lost my pants, and my dick now flapped freely like a flag in the wind. If this had happened in the darkness of night, I wouldn’t have been so concerned. I couldn’t count the number of times I pranced through the night, putting my magnificent body on display. But in board daylight? There were a lot more people around. That was how you ended up on a sex offender list. The thought of being on that list struck me hard with gear. Enough so, I dropped to my knees in a praying position. I really hated Chicago.

“Alright, buddy. Give my pants back. I promise I won’t hurt you. I promise I won’t call the cops on you. Just give me my pants.”

“I found these pants, fair and squire. Hell, can you even prove they’re your pants?”

“My name is on the legs. That’s my merch!”

“Prove it! Show me some ID, and I’ll give it back.”

“You probably have my wallet too!”

“Nah, dude, I don’t believe in that conspiracy called currency. I don’t believe that any government body should track you with identification. That’s sheer madness, man! Don’t even get me started about those cancer boxes called cellphones. I am out here living free!” Hobo Joe explained. Growing up, they said many mentally ill individuals ended up on the streets when the mental asylums shuttered their doors. Nowadays, many fell through the cracks of an inadequate safety net, or they simply couldn’t afford treatment. I have seen it with my own two eyes. Fellow wrestlers lost control of their lives and crashed until they ODed or washed right out of the business. And in Hobo Joe’s eyes, I saw crazy, but I also discerned he was telling the truth about the wallet... and his unfortunate beliefs.

“I get it. You live out here, eating out of dumpster cuisine to stick it to the man. You’re a real rebel, you know. You’re the one man who will bring down the entire establishment so we can live in an anarchist paradise,” I said. Do you blame me for mocking this man? I woke up without pants. My belongings have been taken. It’s fucking Chicago. Of course, I was going to be the cynical asshole

“Fuck you, dude. Fuck you. It ain’t as bad as you upper crust assholes make it out to be. And I know I’m not changing the world by living this way. I’m not trying to. I’m living my life my way. What’s wrong with that?” I opened my mouth to jump on Hobo Joe’s personal statement but stopped myself. If that was how he felt, who was I to argue? He had a choice to live his life his way. Joe continued, “There are homeless shelters for when the nights get too cold. There are always places that let you have lukewarm table scrapes before they get composted or tossed in a dumpster. Do I look starved to you?”

Now that I thought I could jump on, so I did. “You’re living it up on other people’s charity, huh? How does that make you a good guy?”

“True. I get by mostly through handouts. But most I eat what was only going to get tossed anyway. Most of what I wear was destined for a landfill.”

“Except my sweatpants right there. Ah-ha! I just poke a muthafucking hole in your logic, right there!”

“Let me keep them, man. These are nice. I’ll help you out. I promise. I’ll earn these bad boys.”

“How do you plan on doing that? You have nothing to offer me.”

Hobo Joe stood up. He strolled past me. Yes, I was still immobilized because my bottom half remained fully nude. Passersby ignored me for now. They must have figured I was another homeless nutcase. Hobo Joe reached into the wreckage of my suitcase to put out a pair of shorts. He tossed the golden ticket out of this mess over to me. The shorts would do. I leaned forward to see if there were any other options, but my suitcase had been emptied as I thought.

“I expect more than that.” What a fool he was! He made a critical mistake in giving me clothing. Now mobilized, I thought I could waltz right up to him and give him a good uppercut. I walked up to him, sizing the lanky homeless man. I felt my entire body shaking. Was it with the outrage this man stole from me and then taunted me with his loot?

“Listen, dude. You’re shaking. REALLY shaking. We need to get your soft ass warmed up. You don’t have a phone, man! You don’t have money, man! You have no identification, man! How ya’ll gonna get yourself out of this mess? I can keep you alive until you figure this shit out, even if it’s one night. You can’t say that’s not enough to earn these lovely sweatpants,” Hobo Joe said. Warm sounded wonderful. I needed to account for the fact that hypothermia existed. Hypothermia kills. I experienced a fantastic high once from flirting with hypothermia. I walked miles from school once without a jacket in subzero temperatures. Luckily, a classmate’s mom drove by and whisked me back to my house in time. Let me tell you about that euphoria of sudden temperature change when you enter your house. Almost beats an orgasm on ecstasy.

Besides, I didn’t have a game plan other than punching this man square in the face. And then what? I wanted to believe that someone would put in a missing person report after I didn’t show up for my flight or didn’t show up at the next SCW event; however, SCW and my own crew oozed with incompetence. They probably mistook this crisis as ‘another one of my so-called benders.’ Fuck that. I needed to act smart to survive these mean streets.

“You win.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“Now, Joe, where do we go so I can stop freezing my ass off?” I asked.

“It’s Maximilian, but you can call me Max.”

“Joe, let’s not get personal. We don’t need to use our real names. Our friendship is only temporary. I don’t want any attachments.”

“Adam, you can be a real asshole sometimes. Are you aware of that fact, dude?” Joe responded.

“I’ve been told--- wait, did you use my name?”

“What? No, dude. No. You’re one paranoid guy.” He had to be fucking with me. I knew I was stupid for trusting him. He did have my wallet. All I needed was to find a police officer on the streets or get a hold of a cellphone. Call 9-1-1, report a robbery, and I can back drinking screwdrivers on the flight to the next city.

“You definitely called out my name. I definitely heard Adam.”

“No, man. Dude, chill… I clear my voice. Ah-HEM. Not Adam. But since the secret is out, nice to meet you, ADAM. I’m Maximilian; you can call me Max,” Max explained. I swore that I caught him in the lie; however, I started to second guess myself. My headspace struggled with a coherent thought process, either from the hangover or the head wound. I shook violently from my low body temperature. My top priority became heating my core body temperature up.

“Okay, Max. Where do we go to get me warm again?”

“It’s obvious. We go to the soup kitchen. Waiting in line will warm you up, and a bowl of soup, regardless of how bland that soup might be, will also help.”

“I’m not going to a soup kitchen.”

“Why not, dude? It’s the only way until the shelters open up for the night. By then, you’ll be a frostbitten dickisicle.”

“What if someone recognizes me? Then what! They’d mistake me for some penny-pinching scumbag trying to take from the poor,” I protested. I did have to protect my public image, after all. I didn’t want the ladies to think that I would go all cheap on our nights out. I dropped mad money on the ladies I keep around for company. Except for the Russians because they were both bitches. Speaking of Anastasia and Natalya, I needed to get a hold of them. They’d get me where I needed to be.

“No one cares about you, man. You’re nobody.” Ouch.

“I’m a celebrity. People will recognize me.”

“You are?”

“Yes!”

“You must be very low on the list because I don’t know who you are! I don’t recognize you, Adam!” Max said. Once again, I didn’t know whether or not he was joking. He had to know that I was on television. He was fucking with me. Max had to be. He probably was lying about the soup kitchen being the only viable option.

“I’m a star. I’m on television almost every week.”

“I don’t have a TV, Adam. They watch you from the other side. Don’t they teach anyone anything in school anymore? Dude, wake the fuck up,” Max responded. Max started towards the alleyway. I followed, hanging my head low in shame. I really did mess up this time. I’m stuck with this looney-toon as my only lifeline in this city. I really thought God enjoyed taking a big piss on top of my shaved head. For now, I decided to follow this plan. Maybe help would be sent if I was recognized, and then I’d be rescued.

That was how I ended up at the soup kitchen. The line slithered through the path cordoned off by the fabric rails. The pace seemed precisely slow. I pressed myself against the person before him. I received elbows back, but I didn’t care. My teeth chattered uncontrollably from the cold. I needed to get as far from that door as possible. Eventually, I progressed in the queue far enough that the cold air entering the building didn’t noticeably affect me. In fact, cuddling with the stranger before me helped warm my body above the waist. I debated taking my molestation further and climbing into the person’s jacket.

The soup wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. If someone told me that this was Campbell’s, I wouldn’t be terribly surprised. The scarcity of hefty components floating in the chicken broth reminded me of such. The soup did do the trick about my body shaking. I was grateful for the help and carried my and Max’s trays to the drop-off point. I noticed an unattended cellphone hooked up to the wall outlet and resting on the floor. I quickly scanned to see if anyone was paying any attention to little ol’ me.

Then I darted, snatching up the cellphone quickly. I spun away, knocking my shoulder into the kitchen, where the giant bubbling cauldrons spit out a steady steam. My, oh my, how lucky can one man be! I thought I only needed to put one call in, and the rest would work itself out. My thumbs hovered over the phone’s keypad, but no number ever came to mine. He had all that nonsense saved elsewhere. I stood there, staring at the phone like some sort of alien weaponry had fallen from space. Then the cell went off with whole vibration and a Taylor Swift song. I panicked, throwing my arms up. The phone slipped out of my hand and landed into one of the pots. I knew then I should have notified someone of the colossal blunder, but that would be too embarrassing.

“I was looking for you. Where have you been, dude? Never mind, none of my business. You ready to leave?”

“Let’s go.” I said.

As we entered the phone, I heard an alamed woman call out: “Has anyone seen my phone?”
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Record:
67-53-5


-14th SCW Supreme Champion in SCW History
-SCW Adrenaline Champion (10/19/23 - ??/??/??, ?? Days, 0 Successful Defenses)
-SCW World Champion (07/31/22 - 09/08/22, 39 Days, 0 Successful Defenses, Let's Not Talk About It....)
- 2022 Taking Hold of the Flame Battle Royal Winner
- 2022 SCW Co-Male Wrestler of the Year (shared with that ungrateful asshole...)
- 2022 SCW Shocking Moment of the Year (because aforementioned asshole punked me...)
- 2022 SCW Return of the Year (because I came back from death to win it all..)
-2009 SCW Top Stable of the Year (Greaternity)
-2009 Feud of the Year (Infection vs. Greaternity vs. CHBK/Greg Cherry/David Miller/Asher Hayes)
- SCW United States Championship (10/28/21-02/20/2013, 115 days, 3 Successful Defenses, Unbeaten)
- SCW Televison Championship (03/09/2021-04/22/2021, 49 Days, 3 Succesful Defenses)
- SCW Tag Team Championship (05/02/2021-06/13/2021, Days, 0 Successful Defenses)







#4
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[Image: ASrTaiG.jpeg]
#5
Having hair on my head felt strange. For most of my life, I shaved my head bald. No, I didn't fall in with far-right neo-Nazis; I admit that I did so out of laziness. Looking in the mirror now, I will admit that I look a lot better with hair if I partake in ritual grooming every morning. If I didn't wash my hair, put a little promenade in it, and comb it, my hair became intrinsically confused and spiked out every which way. I hadn't shaved my head since I last drank. I didn't intentionally decide to forego the tough bald guy lifestyle, popularized by Vin Diesel, Mr. Clean, and most of all, Mahatma fucking Gandhi. By the time I decided to keep the hair, I already had a few inches. I also started to notice some greying in the sides.

Perhaps my mid-life crisis, compared to everyone else's, seemed to be inverted, a polar opposite. Every man leaped to excess, trying to fill every moment with dopamine-inducing pleasures. Fast sports cars, big titty women, Rolexes, and what not. But I had access to all that for most of my adult life. What could I turn to? What would you use to ward off the existential dread summoned by the realization you might only have ten or twenty years left of bittersweet consciousness? After that point, you were expected to keel over at any moment when one of your many critical components finally stopped working. Worse if you're someone like me who pumped so many toxins into his body that you're higher risk than anyone for stroke, heart attacks, cancer, yadda yadda. Add in being a male, and damn, you and me are fuuuuucked.

So how do I come to peace with that?

What's my answer to this crisis I am currently experiencing?

I can't fall back on my bad habits, no matter how tempting it might be. I need an actual path forward. I need a reason to live. My philosophy on why retirees die so soon is that they don't know what the fuck to do with themselves. They spent forty-plus years trying to save away a nest egg to enjoy the world, but their bodies are too used up to take full advantage of their hoarded treasures. The habits they formed during their working lives are hard to kill. Worse of all, they're directionless. I don't want to be like that at age forty, and I definitely don't want to be like that at age seventy… if I even live that long.

I want to live in the now, in the present. I want to take full advantage of that while I still, by the grace of God, have control over all of my bodily functions. But how to live in the now without destroying my future? How do I seize the moment mean in this new chapter of my life? First, I had to throw out all notions of what I considered fun. I had to rewrite the code. I had to undo years of brainwashing perpetrated by those little devils called insecurities.

Then I needed to ask the difficult questions: what was a fundamentally extraordinary man made of? Fuck, what did it mean to be a modern man? Once upon a time, I thought the answer was to live like a rockstar, have hundreds of one-night stands under my belt, and drop mad money on everything. I placed that trashy romanticism into the shredder;  I'm not going to hire an army of impoverished Asian children to paste those thin paper stripes together to regain that corrupted viewpoint. It's gone forever.

Now I had a new image to strive for.

I'm no longer going to be the butt of the joke. I'll still laugh when I get egg on my face, but I will live with some dignity. I'm no longer trying to be everyone's friend, to get everyone to like me. I'm done bowing before people. I'm done self-deprecating. Everyone's going to see a whole new me, and they will hate it. And I am going to love their hate. If there's one thing I learned about myself these past three, four months of sobriety: I will hate them too.

And that became apparent on my first day back in the office. I had flown all the way to Toronto to meet with corporate. They didn't even want me remotely close to any SCW shows, fearing that I would pose either a health hazard for the other wrestlers or become an insurance liability. I traveled alone. Of course, I did. I became a loner. I no longer could trust anyone. Paranoid? Maybe. When I started to look back on my life, professionally and personally,  I had been stabbed in the back so many times. Granted, what goes around comes around in a perfect circle is gospel. I've done the stabbing more times than not. Over the years, I forgot how many people I betrayed. I don't remember how many enemies I have made. Hell, there are probably plenty of people out there I didn't realize I was wrong.  

Hiro greeted me at the door. I don't know why a road agent wasn't on the road with the troops. Perhaps they thought a familiar face would be a courtesy for me, but I guess Hiro asked to be the one to greet me. I knew I did him dirty. He had a reason to screw me off. After all, not only did I fuck the girl of his dreams while still his manager, but I also convinced her to jump him. Yes, that's right. I needed to keep my eye out for him. If he hadn't forgiven me, I wouldn't blame him. I never apologized. And I won't know because it probably would only drum up bad feelings for him and would only be selfish on my part.  

"Hiro."

"Asshole."

"That's not very professional of you right now. I'm an employee and expect some respect."

"You're not an employee yet."

"True, but---"

"Listen, I'm hoping this is a real short lesson in futility. Then after 30 minutes, I'm throwing you out that door,"  Hiro responded. See, I told you so. He had it out for me. He wanted to be the one to give me the boot. He even brought his ass-kicking boots to him today, even though he wore a suit. I wore a suit that day too. A sharp red tie hung down from my neck. Everything ironed perfectly. No one could argue that I didn't look sharp. I appeared to be a man who underwent a full recovery.

"Alright. Alright. Fair points. I'll play nice and ignore all your mean words."

"Let's go."

"You're the captain, Hiro. Lead the way," I said.  

We entered the elevator. I expected us to go to the very top floor, but I guessed I wasn't going to meet Mr. D. Of course not; Mr. D never did well negotiating with me in the past. I was his partner when SCW took over Oblivion despite the fact I ran that company into the ground. He kept signing me to bloated contracts, overpaying me despite being a drunk. He learned his lesson now. Let someone else deal with me. Even when you get older, you pick up a thing or two.  

Hiro didn't utter another taunt. He solemnly led me to a conference room. I did a double take. A sense of deja vu dazed me for a second. Shaun Cruze was waiting for me in the room, along with a medical technician armed with a wide assortment of goodies. I noticed a few ladies sitting at the table. I assumed they were from HR. They wanted me to negotiate with Shaun Cruze? Like Hiro, Shaun had every right to hate me. I have made it my personal vendetta to shit on the Cruze family name. I might have tastelessly brought up his dead brother. Unlike Hiro, I hated Shaun back because he bested me a few times, and I never really got over it. And now that Owen forsook the Cruze name, I almost felt bad for the bastard. I doubted he had anyone in his life. I expected a dead bedroom if he was still with that one woman. Even now, I saw that he was stuck in a position that wasn't rewarding.  

"Adam, we've decided to give you one last chance with the company," Shaun said. Did I see the corner of his lip curl towards a smirk? I stopped feeling sorry for the asshole. He enjoyed every second of this hold over me.

"I'm happy to hear that. Where do I sign?"

"Funny. There are a number of conditions you must meet and maintain while you're employed by SCW. The most obvious is that you can not be under the influence of any drugs except those prescribed by an SCW-approved physician," Shaun revealed. I expected as much. I prepared myself for what came next though the following condition didn't really bother me that much. "During your employment, you must continue following your lifestyle plan mapped out by the clinic. You will begin attending AA meetings remotely with a group we partnered up with. Suppose any evidence arises that you have partaken in the consumption of alcohol or any other controlled substances. In that case, you will be obliged to reenter rehab or be terminated."

"So basically, don't drink."

"I wanted that to be so simple, but I've been told that it's not supportive for the alcoholic to have a black-and-white ultimatum. In our combined interests, you get the treatment you need."

"How kind of you to care."

Shaun ignored my quips. "We, Supreme Championship Wrestling, have the right to conduct a test at any point without any moment to detect any substances in your system. Failure to agree to such a test or a positive test will result in your immediate termination."

"So don't piss hot."

"And I'm going to make sure Hiro's going to be standing in the stall making sure it's your piss going into that cup."

"It would be my pleasure," Hiro said.  

"Hey now, don't get penis envy when you realize how far I can go," I joked. Hiro's fist seemed ready to be planted into my smug face. I realized only after the fact that my small dick jab might have been interpreted as a tasteless joke about Celeste. Even I wouldn't go that far. At least, this 'new' me. "

"You know there's a reason why everyone says they can't stand being around you," Cruze said.

I changed the subject. "This all sounds fair. I didn't expect to be dragged here without an offer laden with conditions. I get it. This is my last chance. One more fuck up, I'm gone forever. There's no one more motivated to stay clean than me."

"We'll see," Shaun said.  

Cruze stood up from the table to wave over to the medical staff that was about to take urine and blood samples. They would find nothing, of course. I didn't lie when I said I had been sober. The clinic didn't allow any other substances. And since I came straight from the clinic to here via an airplane, I didn't have the opportunity to fuck up. I caught what seemed to be a smile in the corner of my eye.

"I know you hate me now, Shaun. But wait, in a few months, you're going to walk off the job site, not able to oversee a product that features me as its biggest star. Call me a late bloomer, but my time is now. Your legacy is going to be caught up with my glory, and you're going to be overshadowed," I spouted. I didn't know where all that came from, but it came from deep within the soul. The speel might have sounded like a quick promo, yet I still meant it.

"Go ahead, Adam. Talk the talk. Until you walk the walk, we all will be doubters. You have to prove to me to even get remotely close to the limelight."

"Oh, before you leave. Where's the contract? I don't want to jump through all these hoops and see a terrible offer."

"Trust me, Adam. It's the shitty offer you have ever received in your life. We don't need you. Most of us don't want you. This was us covering our asses because we don't want to be blamed for your terrible decisions down the road. If you reject this offer, we'll be able to write you off, claiming you refused our help. Also, if you reject this offer, you'll never be able to become 'the biggest star," Shaun returned fire. He chuckled while leaving the room. One of the HR ladies slid the paperwork. I immediately spotted the salary. Shaun didn't lie. The contract was probably the lowest wage on the entire roster. I suspected some of the referees made better money. I knew ultimately I would sign this dreaded document, even though I would be physically sick doing so. I didn't have the time to waste anymore. I was 45. The window was narrow already, narrowing quicker by the day.

"Since you've seen the contract, let's take a stroll down to the bathroom," Hiro said. He stood immediately behind me with a cup in his hand.
------------------------------------

Look at this. An off-brand amusement park mascot and a skinny white dude have taken a lot of interest in me. I get it. I'm an interesting character, I'm sure most people will agree. I have always made things interesting, whether hanging out backstage or performing in the ring. I'm wrestling's equivalent to that Dos Equis guy, after all. So let me get this straight: these two hamsters are taking the time to comment on my life, struggles, and recovery; I feel honored. Absolutely honored. I am being honest and not sarcastic, I swear.

So you want to know why did I attack Ace? Boy Penguin, I want to understand why you lack body hair despite being past puberty. Did you shave it all off? Read a story once that a young man did that to avoid leaving DNA at a murder scene, believing his entire town wouldn't notice his complete makeover. I'm not saying you're like him, but you're definitely a bizarre fellow. Not odd like the furry you team with, because I'm accepting of most kinks, even some of the weirder ones, but strange in a creepy in plain sight sorta way like Jimmy Savile. I mean, you round up these children and spend time with them. Anyone who wants to spend time with a large group of children is messed up. Trust me, I'm a dad.

But let's switch topics; I don't want to insinuate or start baseless rumors during my first promo back. I'm trying to be a brand new me. For all I know you're really being sincere about caring about me. You're definitely not trying to get my guard down. You're not trying to look good to the camera. Sorry, I'm going hard again with the sarcasm. I don't know you. You don't know me. You think you know me. You and everyone in the entire world think they know the real me. You don't. You assuming a whole bunch of crap, jumping to conclusions just like I did a few minutes ago when I assumed the contents of Dancing Bear's browser history and that you're a child predator. It's all bullshit. There's no merit behind those words.
  
Everyone has yet to see the real me. Even those who I spent years on the road with, they don't know me. And all those assumptions and all you thought you knew; I'm going to blow them the hell up. If you hold onto those assumptions, then you're going to get run over by the Reissuance Man. I've been given a second chance, a rebirth of sorts, even though this was the me I kept hidden all along. I will see the day when the King of HARDstyle wears the crown despite all the odds.  
All the same, your words might have good intentions. I don't know. You might simply be naïve. But you cannot be naïve enough to think Ace is innocent in all of this. He knew more than he was letting on. He witnessed what transpired. If he was supposed to be my accountabilabuddy, then he failed me. It wasn't the other way. But I'll expose Ace as I exact my revenge. I'll express my true feelings about the situation when the time's right. When I'm ready.

Let's talk about what is really important this week. And that's me having to confront a very unsettling reality. A bleak reminder that I must have been my worst enemy. That I really did kneecap my success on the biggest wrestling stage, that is Supreme Championship Wrestling. I come back. I look at my gorgeous picture on the official SCW website and see the Happymeal Pals are listed as the SCW Tag Team Champions. I had never heard of them. And if I had, I quickly forgot both men. And because I didn't have access to the internet or cable, I failed to witness the chain of events that saw them not only win the belts shortly into their tenure here but also against legitimate competition.  
What the hell is going on?

I've labored for years and years. I've partnered with some of the brightest, most talented, most prolific wrestlers, and I only won the belts last year. And I only held it for a brief period. Now I look, and I see these two clowns that SCW pulled right off public access television, holding the title belts over their shoulders. What a slap to the face. That gets my blood boiling. And what a perfect splash of cold water it is to have to face the Hairless Penguin as my first match back. I needed someone to get the blood flowing. Damn, it feels good to have an opportunity right off the bat to prove to myself that I'm better than you.

And that is what all this is about for me. To prove to myself that I am better. And to do that, I have to put in the work. And if I'm physically upset that you won the Tag Team titles in my absence, I must do something about it? I can't stay idle and piss on your achievements from afar. I have to add merit to my words. And that's what I'm talking about, the Hairless Penguin. You can speak words of encouragement from afar. You can offer a helping hand. But if those words held merit, you would have gotten my cellphone number from someone in the locker room. You would have called me. If not before the match, after. Discuss these matters in private. But you didn't. You used as ammo to me with bullets, but you're not going to shoot down this rocket ship; all you succeeded was to make me think you're not really a good person behind the mask.  

But unlike you, the ring is where I can make my words ring true. To convince myself that I'm better than you, all I need is to pin you to the mat for the one, two, three.
[Image: scwforumbannerforadam.png]

Record:
67-53-5


-14th SCW Supreme Champion in SCW History
-SCW Adrenaline Champion (10/19/23 - ??/??/??, ?? Days, 0 Successful Defenses)
-SCW World Champion (07/31/22 - 09/08/22, 39 Days, 0 Successful Defenses, Let's Not Talk About It....)
- 2022 Taking Hold of the Flame Battle Royal Winner
- 2022 SCW Co-Male Wrestler of the Year (shared with that ungrateful asshole...)
- 2022 SCW Shocking Moment of the Year (because aforementioned asshole punked me...)
- 2022 SCW Return of the Year (because I came back from death to win it all..)
-2009 SCW Top Stable of the Year (Greaternity)
-2009 Feud of the Year (Infection vs. Greaternity vs. CHBK/Greg Cherry/David Miller/Asher Hayes)
- SCW United States Championship (10/28/21-02/20/2013, 115 days, 3 Successful Defenses, Unbeaten)
- SCW Televison Championship (03/09/2021-04/22/2021, 49 Days, 3 Succesful Defenses)
- SCW Tag Team Championship (05/02/2021-06/13/2021, Days, 0 Successful Defenses)









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