Post by The Gangsta on Jan 14, 2015 17:01:01 GMT -5
Ante Whitner RP
Blood Diamond
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The heart of a man’s body beats red blood. The lighter blood pumps through the red arteries. The darker blood pumps through the veins. The light blood pumps away from the heart. The dark blood pumps towards the heart. The more the man’s heart fills with dark blood, the darker is soul becomes. The light is escaping.
Move, Ante.
Move towards the light.
The signs are true, your mentality is just right.
Do it, move towards the light.
It’s in your reach!
How far? Not too far, look!
There is no light. There is no dark either. There is a void in between. A shade of blood with a piercing gray color. Dull and sickly, the smoke burns in the man’s heart. The concentrations of smoke fill his lungs, rotting it and making susceptible to any form of cancer. I think the old, wise Shawn Malakai of time’s past once said something about cancer. Hell, I doubt it was relevant in any form besides feeding his dimwitted fanbase.
The smoke is exhaled out of his mouth with the lies he’s told, the promises he made but couldn’t keep, his fellow teammates’ questionable attitude towards him. He puts his tightly rolled blunt down and looks for another lighter in the room because his just ran out of fuel. Ironic, huh? The grey smoke he let out of his mouth and the light he and I thought was apparent existed until now. This moment, a distance between the edge of space and reality all of us WFWF wrestlers live in.
This man needs no explanation. He’s a man seen behind the scenes and a man that stands in the center of the ring alongside the Dragon and the Midget. One third of the KoKaine Konspiracy.
Good morning Samael Ahriman, did I wake you up?
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A Warm Homecoming
July 29th, 2014
Frankie Pulitizi’s Household, Yonkers, NY
Frankie: Come in Ante. I really haven’t seen you in a while.
Ante: Yeah, I know. I was just in town for-
Frankie: For Battle at the Garden, right?
Ante: Ha, yeah. Right.
I walked into the house I lived two years of my life in and the house I escaped to when my douchebag father would go a little overboard with his alcohol.
I just had to remember one thing entering his house yet again. His mom always made us take off our shoes by the door, you know, not to get the house dirty as if it wasn’t already. I took off my laced Timberland boots and put them on the little tray. I looked up and saw Frankie sitting in his wheelchair smiling. Frankie has been paralyzed for a couple of years now, a tetraplegic.
Ante: How have you been moving? Feel anything in your legs yet?
Frankie: Well, I’d say a pretty big improvement from the last time you were in Yonkers.
Ante: When was that?
Frankie: When my mom died.
I felt like a complete bunghole. He was right; the last time I did see him or contact him was at his mother’s funeral. She died after a long fight with breast cancer about three years ago.
Ante: Sorry about that.
Frankie: Nah man, don’t worry about it. You wanna watch some TV or somethin’?
Ante: Yeah, sure, I guess.
I observed Frankie grab the remote and punched in the power button. I saw a little movement in his legs, whereas three years ago, he couldn’t feel them.
Frankie: What channel? Any preferences?
Ante: Nah, surprise me.
This was the guy who introduced me to the world of professional wrestling. Yet, he was the one who gave it all, physically and mentally. I mean, he is the one who is partially paralyzed, right?
He clicked on the channel. The sound of a large crowd noise was easily recognizable. Frankie was jumping in his seat.
Frankie: Ante, look! It’s you!
There I was. Apparently, he had Up the Garden Path on replay to watch and watch, over and over again. He was binging on the fact that I had made it this far. I could see a little tear roll down his cheek because that could have been him too, if it wasn’t for that incident a couple years back.
Ante: Well, would you look at that.
I looked down at the ground and imagined what could have happened.
Christina Adina: Making their way to the ring. Weighing at a combined weight of 435 pounds…the WFWF Tag-Team Champions, ANNNTTTEEE WHITTNNERRR and FRANNKIEEE WONNNDERRR!!
I let my trademark smirk stumble upon my face. Somewhere in the city, Axel Thornstowe and Justin North are eating their favorite pizzas, sipping down their favorite alcoholic concoctions, and attending the Flashdancer’s Gentlemen’s Clubs located just about everywhere in the city.
Frankie: What’s wrong?
I looked up at Frankie. I have to admit it, I did drop a tear.
Ante: Uh, nothin’. Just, nothin’.
Frankie: Did you take your Adderall this morning?
Ante: No, I didn’t.
Frankie: Why? Were you in a rush?
Ante: Yes. I hit the gym and immediately came here. But, it’s not just that.
Frankie: Then, what is it?
I sniffled a little and looked at the TV. I saw the smirk on my face as I just saw my hand raised, over the old veteran, Gabriel Black, and the red-painted, self-proclaimed, locker room leading, R.J Wilson. I smirked in response.
Ante: It’s just that I past the lot of my house on the way here.
Frankie: Try not to remember that Ante. I get it, it is hard without your pills to try and focus when you are so used to them.
Ante: I know what you mean man. How is-
Frankie: Have you talked to your brother?
I froze. My eyes locked with his. He had mentioned Charlie, a person I haven’t thought about in years. Long story short, during the time running our little promotion in downtown Yonkers, he completely abandoned the project, taking his drugs and our money with him. I don’t know where he went, nor care if he is alive and healthy. In fact, I wish Charlie was dead.
Ante: No.
Frankie: Why not? You can reconcile or-
Ante: No, Frankie. It doesn’t work like that, especially when he committed a sin so horrible like that. That money could’ve paid for your medical bills and sh*t.
Frankie: Ante, don’t worry about me. People will betray you from time to time and you just gotta roll with it and trust em’. And, if you cut communication, it lets you know you are your own person, not dependent on others. But, if you ignore it, then there is no relationship between yourself and the conscience that succumbs you with this disorder. You would be a walking zombie.
Ante: Sh*t man, did I cut communication with Charlie?
Frankie: No, Ante. He cut it with you and you ignore it. Somewhere in the world, Charlie may be thinking about you and your being in the WFWF.
Ante: You think he knows about it?
Frankie: For sure. I bet he admires you and wish he hadn’t f*cked up a couple years back. You can’t forget; he is still your brother. He shares the same blood you carry.
I look back at the TV and so does he. There, we see Dave Demento and Josh Dean looking to battle it out.
Frankie: Now, do you think that Demento guy is the future of this business?
Ante: Look, I don’t know nor do I care. He looks like a selfish asshat.
Frankie: I see what the problem is now.
He moves his chair more closely to me.
Frankie: You are a bit too judgmental.
Ante: Judgmental? Why do you say that?
Frankie: You don’t remember that whole hassle you gave Dr. Travis a few years ago? You were such a pain in the ass that it almost came to the point where he would recommend a real psychiatric exam.
Ante: I was good.
Frankie: Yeah, towards the end of your treatment. You refused to tell him what happened at the Ghost’s Den until the final weeks.
Damn, the Ghost’s Den. I wasn’t sure Frankie would remember that god damn sh*thole.
Ante: I wanted to keep it a secret.
I felt like I saw an apparition of someone familiar lurking behind Frankie. Who is he? What does he want? Why Frankie?
Then, I realized who it truly was. It was my father. He smirked with a dagger in one hand and a beer bottle in the other. Wouldn’t be surprised about that.
I saw him reach over Frankie. He is abuse. He is tyranny.
He is death.
Ante: Frankie, move!
Frankie: Why?
Ante: Just, move!
Frankie wheeled backwards into the arm of the sofa as the light bulb ahead suddenly fell down. If it hit Frankie, it may have electrocuted him and may have killed him.
Frankie: Jesus, what the f*ck was that?
Ante: I don’t know. I just felt something coming.
Frankie: You should probably stick around then, haha. You could protect me from the toils of this rotten house.
Ante: Haha, yeah. I should probably get going because I have to pack up my bags in the hotel. I have to check-out by 6:00.
Frankie: Okay, man. Keep safe. Feel free to call me when you have the time.
Ante: Thanks, keep safe man.
I walked out of the house and saw him wheel himself to the door. He looked out as he saw me drive off. He waved and I smiled. He is a true brother, not some phony who shoots up heroin and steals sh*tall the time. I always think, what is that was me? Do I have to fight in every match as if it was my last? Hell, if I was paralyzed like him, I probably would’ve ran over the face of my opponents and make them beg for mercy. That would be kinda fun.
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Samael is back to his usual morning routine. Brushes his teeth with a nice minty toothpaste and eats a little toast, with budder if he’s feeling extra special today. Maybe he picks up his cellphone, shoots DMK with a text asking if they were hitting the gym today. He lights a cigarette, smokes it, and lets even more lies spill out.
But, what he doesn’t know is that DMK laces some of Samael’s “special” cigarettes with crystals of meth and a little extra THC. He feels the hallucinations coming. He feels the beat of his heart slowly start talking. He feels the carbon dioxide coming out of his mouth suddenly jump back in to his dying body.
Your heart is playing charades, Samael. The hormones and the gases within your blood want to come out and try to guess what it is.
Oxygen: Um, Michael Kyzer!
Carbon Dioxide: No, you dumbass. That’s obviously Tugarin Zmey.
Heart: I’m not a person guys.
Oxygen: Hey, that’s f*ckin’ cheating!
Heart: You think I give a f*ck? What am I now?
Carbon Dioxide: Easy. You’re DMK’s bitch.
Heart: What? No, I am not.
Oxygen: Then, what the hell are you?
Too bad no one will ever know what your heart truly is. The THC and meth are a bit late to the party, but it’s only just getting started.
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The Eagle’s Nest
Whitner Household, Miami, FL
November 14th, 2014
Ante: Ah, the f*ckin’ stress they put into one f*ckin’ piece of paper.
I sat down at my kitchen table, writing out checks to pay the various bills I owe. Citi Bank, Verizon, you name it and I am paying it at this moment. Then, I hear the phone ring nearby. I answer it.
Ante: Hello?
??: Is this Ante Whitner?
Ante: Yes, that’s me. Who are you?
??: It's Ben Harvey, your travel agent.
??: It's Ben Harvey, your travel agent.
Ante: Oh, hey Ben. Your I.D didn’t pop up. Are you calling from a payphone or somethin’?
Ben: Yeah, I am. Listen, we have to talk.
Ante: I’m kinda paying some of my overdue taxes and bills right now. Talk later?
Ben: No Ante. We need to talk now.
What the hell does my travel agent really want? Is he in trouble or something?
Ante: Okay, what is it?
Ben: Look, you are facing Daniel Kirkbride at Black Friday, right?
Ante: Yeah, why?
Ben: I just got word that Donnie Monty Kint and Samael Ahriman are going to be commentators on the show.
Ante: Okay, why does this concern me?
Ben: They want me to give them your number so they can call you.
Ante: For what? An autograph.
Ben: Don’t be stupid Ante.
Ante: Then why do they want my number for?
Ben: I don’t know, probably-
I hear a beep, meaning that there is another phone trying to contact me at the same time.
Ante: I have another call incoming, hold on.
I answer to the other call.
Ante: Hello?
DMK: Hello Ante. This Donnie Monty Kint from the Kokaine Konspiracy.
Ante: What do you want?
DMK: If you haven’t heard already, we are on the commentary for Black Friday and Samael and I will be calling your match with Kirkbride.
Ante: Okay, why are you calling me then? I already know that.
DMK: Samael and I have been interested in your in-ring work and your overall capabilities. We have noticed that you have a little distaste for the SOS as of late.
Ante: Yeah, so…
DMK: Get it Ante? I’m just letting you know that if you need help somewhere down the road, you know who to call.
Ante: What, Ghostbusters?
DMK: Don’t act like a dipcrap on me Ante. Just, call us if you are in trouble, okay?
Ante: Yeah, sure.
He hangs up. I don’t think the KKK has ever contacted someone if they need help or not. I call back Ben.
Ante: Ben, you still there?
Ben: Yeah man. What did they say?
Ante: They said if I needed help in dealing with the SOS that they’d be the guys to call.
Ben: That’s weird. They would never do something like that to another wrestler.
Ante: Yeah, it is. Hey, listen, I gotta finish up the bills.
Ben: Okay, call me if you need anything.
I hang up and head back to the table. I look at the bills and just can’t fathom the fact that Michael Kyzer’s dealer just called me on the phone, asking if I need any help with the SOS. They have calmed down a bit and seems as if the KKK are looking to take the Tag-Team titles off of Jayson Garrett and Chase Landon.
As I’m writing these bills, my brain is fried. I fall asleep, laying my head on the table. I think I hear a knock on the door, but I just nod off.
I’m back in Yonkers. I’m walking on the sidewalk and see the remains of the Ghost’s Den stare at me. I stop, look, and chuckle a bit. My past is gone, there’s no time to think about that.
I keep walking I start to see others walking. I feel like I have seen many of them somewhere. I see Drakz with the World Heavyweight title on his shoulder. I see Dex spitting out blood. I see the Jew, Phillip Schineider right behind him, holding a barbed-wire stick. I see the Saviors of Salvation; Josh Dean, Dave Demento, Nikki Dean, and Penny Shannon, all walking together. I see Jayson Garrett and Chase Landon with the Tag-Team titles on their shoulders. I see the Final Revolution; Trace Demon, Joe Bishop, and Kyle Matthews. I see Shapiro, Axel Thornstowe, and Daniel Kirkbride. Then, I stop in the middle of the street and look at the sky. The sky turns into an ash black color with three figures dominating the picture. It’s the Kokaine Konspiracy; Tugarin Zmey, Samael Ahriman and DMK. Everyone on the sidewalk stops and looks at the sky. Their titles disappear, as so does mine. A big figure then walks out with them.
It’s Michael Kyzer.
Everyone fades to dust as I’m being dragged to certain death. I yell and curse at him, but I soon wake up. Noticeably, I’m in my bed, whereas I fell asleep at my table. Someone walks into the room.
Ben: Is everything alright?
Ante: What are you doing in my house?!
Ben: I knocked on your door and saw you passed out on the table. You left a key under your mat, so I let myself in and dragged you into bed.
Ante: Damn, how long was I out for?
Ben: A couple of hours.
Ante: Why did you stay?
Ben: In case you got up and didn’t know what was wrong. Why did you just scream?
Ante: Bad dream. This business is f*ckin’ me in the head, as if my head wasn’t f*cked already.
Ben: Okay, just get some rest. I’ll leave and you can call me if you need anything.
I lay back in bed, staring at the blank, white ceiling. Why was everyone in my dream? Why were the KKK so dominant in my dream? Is this foreshadowing things to come? Why was Michael Kyzer there? What have I become?
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Samael angrily drives to DMK’s office for an explanation to the meth-infused cigarette he rolled for him. Samael arrives, only to be met with his tag-team partner, Tugarin Zmey. He welcomes you in, while the fiery breath that steams from him makes you cough a bit. You storm to DMK’s office when it feels like the floor boards underneath you seemingly fall from existence. You fall with them too.
Samael is in free fall now, nothing controlling him now. Or is there? Are the fruits of life too much to bear? He’s falling, falling, falling, until, BOOM! He hits the ground with a large thud.
You have no idea what’s going on, right? You’re enclosed in a tight space with walls that are impenetrable and you hear a voice guide you. Deep, familiar, and threatening, this voice tells you to admit your mistakes. It’s your Id. He’s turned against you once more.
You refuse and thus, Id disappears. The floor disappears again, until someone catches you. It’s Superego, who tells you everything will be fine if Id goes away. Id is a trustworthy guy, until you switch to the lighter side of life. Id reappears and argues with Superego. You fall onto the floor and see them arguing, until the smoke behind them reveals that Ego is here to settle things.
Ego banishes them both so it is now you and him. He tells you that your blood is thicker than the salt in the Dead Sea. There is war going on inside yourself that you don’t know what to do. The best option is to be forgiven by the big man in the sky himself. It’s not God, it’s Michael Kyzer.
Good ol’ Mike Kyzer will forgive you, right? After all of this commotion and battle inside your head, you realize you are still at home, smoking the same cigarette DMK gave you, and all of that was an illusion.
At Homecoming, there is no illusions. Straight-up beat downs and pain found in unknown parts in your body. The parts that drugs created inside of you. Tumors? I don’t know, but whatever they are, they will be hurt severely.
There is a reason this event is called Homecoming. Ante Whitner may not be coming home nor Samael Ahriman either. Your dignity and life with sins will be coming home. Same old, huh? I am a man of many words, as many know. But, at Homecoming one word that will describe me is dangerous.
Weapons will encase us in a valley of where kings fought and enemies died. A war zone, full of apparitions, spanning from Reverend Shadow’s to Alex Sean’s. There are tiny diamonds hidden in this valley of lost kings and the only way to retrieve them is by promising to Kyzer, DMK, and Zmey that you won’t f*ck up. It’s a blood diamond, a diamond only to help the KKK grow stronger. This diamond could be corrupt, but who the hell cares, it will do.
That diamond is corrupt Samael, because I touched it with my sinful past. My past is gone because it was absorbed into this blood diamond. Your thick blood will trickle over the diamond after I beat your skull in with it. It will then be called a “bloody blood diamond.”
I’m unpredictable and so are you. This Homecoming battle is one to be marked down in the history books. The day Ante Whitner reigns supreme over the KKK. The day Ante Whitner is seriously relevant in the WFWF. The day Samael Ahriman and the KKK fall short. The day Devilkiller realizes he f*cked with the wrong man.
I’m a mortal man, but in no time, I will become invincible. No one can make me shed blood, no one can lay a finger on me. I’ll be spoken of more highly then Michael Kyzer because who the hell knows where he is?
Death shall come to the KKK and lives will be sacrificed for me. I, Ante Whitner pledge to this battle with determined strength and commitment to not only end Samael Ahriman’s career but the ill-fated Kokaine Konspiracy altogether.
The valley, painted red in the many blood diamonds that make up of it, will be conquered by the Bloodied Eagle Ante Whitner, your National Champion. Say goodbye to a world with constant war. Say goodbye to the various stables that make up the WFWF as of now. Say goodbye to Samael Ahriman.
There is no proving ground and promises to be made. Because, everyone knows who will come out on top. The skulls of WFWF’s past, present and future will form a mountain with a throne on top and a rightful king sitting in it.
All hail to King Ante Whitner.
I dont know good luck 
