Post by Prophet of Ash on Jun 9, 2017 20:31:31 GMT -5
“It's good to be back”
Percy says as he shoves a forkful of.. something.. into his mouth. The catering has certainly changed in my absence, but not a whole lot else has. All around me I see familiar faces, worn out faces, worn out faces.. And when I look in the mirror, I see the same tired eyes looking back at me. I'm realizing that look isn't going away, that look is just mine now. The road's hard. I look down at Percy as he's shoveling another forkful of green and yellow mush into his mouth. He's a prime example of how hard the road is.
“You want some man? Like, you want a plate?”
And how messed up am I, that a dude in a wheelchair is offering to fix a plate for me in a catered meal. I can't even respond. Being back here, it's kindling old emotions. I love wrestling like an ex girlfriend, but being around her just makes me want to set fire to the world. It makes me want to wreck stuff. It brings out the absolute worst in me and I know that. I'm fighting those demons being back here. I'm staring the demons in dante's inferno face to face here. I know being here is going to change me. It's going to bring me back to the place I fought so hard to get away from. And in the process, it's going to destroy anyone who gets in my path. That kid Hugh Jass. I know they're judging me for what I did at the Pay Per View. I feel the people staring at me and Percy as they enter catering. I know they're judging me for what I did to him. Like these people who've been here a while are looking at me and expecting me to apologize for ending the kid's career. Like who do they even think I am? And what did they think was going to happen? It wasn't a match, it was a lamb led to slaughter.
Grabbing a can of Rockstar out of the giant ice tube that's set up in the corner, I have a seat near Percy. I pop the can open and take a long sip. Percy continues gobbling down whatever has been provided. This kind of looks like rice that's been cooked too long. I've never been much for the live event catering. I usually just order something in, bring something with me, or have someone fetch something for me. Years ago, I had Jimmy Johns delivered to the backdoor of the building and picked it up still covered in blood and broken glass. I'm sure that driver wondered what the hell had happened. Percy swallows, then feels the need to break the silence.
“So.. how long are you back this time?”
“Hm?”
“You never come to stay any more. It's always this disappearing act, until you get bored. You returned, won the title, lost the title. Disappeared. Came back, faced Drakz, disappeared. Faced Dean, disappeared. Faced Drakz again and diappeared..”
“I had to. Stipulations on the match.”
“And how'd those stipulations come about? Was it an alibi for you? You disappeared this time before ever having a return match! You showed up, talked, then never did anything until the Pay Per View.”
“I know where the money's at, Percy”
“Do you? Because you've done this over the years even when it costs us money. You did it how many times when we were teaming? Just decided you weren't going to wrestle any more? Or when you decided for us that we were jumping ship to Alex Sean's upstart because you didn't like management here. How long did that last? Look Phil, I'm just wondering if I actually need to quit my 9-5, or if this is going to be done before I use all of my vacation time.”
“How much vacation time could you have possibly acquired in two years?”
Percy just stares at me, judging me, and shovels a forkful of rice and mush in his mouth. He reaches into the side pocket of his wheelchair and pulls out his phone, texting someone.
“Look dude, I've got bills to pay and the Lloyds of London insurance policy only pays out so much. I appreciate that you've always found work for me in your entourage, but I need to know that my apartment is paid for, that my doctor bills are paid for, and that there's food in my refrigerator every week and if you're going to pull this disappearing s**t again, have the common decency to give me fair warning so that I can get a new resume up on Monster or something.”
I rise from the table, taking a big chug of my energy drink before tossing it in the trash.
“Percy, if you're done with this pity party, I've gotta go do what we came to Canada to do. One of us can still perform, you know.”
"Shadows" by Yelawolf hits over the P/A system, bringing the entrance of Phillip Schneider as lights flash and smoke billows through the entrance way. Through the smoke walks Schneider, black shorts and a They Live t-shirt, his hair neatly tucked under a black backwards baseball cap. Schneider makes his way to the ring with a certain swagger and smirk about him, rolling in under the bottom rope and demanding a microphone from the ringside attendant. He's handed one as his music cuts off.
Alecia Matthews: It looks like we're opening the show tonight with the appearance of Phillip Schneider. He's not scheduled to be out here tonight, but then again, there isn't a whole lot that IS scheduled.
Schneider taps the microphone a couple of times before beginning to speak.
Phillip Schneider: I feel the need to come out here and apologize. Not to Hugh Jass. He deserved everything he got. I feel the need to apologize to each and every one of you fans. Because as we make our way out of Ultimate Supremacy and move forward, I'm realizing I was very wrong. Now here tonight, in Canada, I'd like to make this right.
Daniel Knight: What's he talking about?
Phillip Schneider: Ante Whitner, if you've got any balls between your legs, get your ass out here right now.
There's a collective "OOOOHHH" from the crowd.
Alecia Matthews: Ante Whitner, not here tonight, as he's nursing injuries sustained at Ultimate Supremacy and I think Schneider knows that.
Daniel Knight: Of course he knows that. Why else would he be out here? He's a master manipulator first and foremost.
"Gangster's Paradise" by Like A Storm hits the PA system to everyone's surprise, igniting a massive cheer from the crowd.. Bluish-colored smoke plumes out from the stage. Then it fades into the ether. And the music sort of trails off. As quickly as the crowd erupted in cheers, they begin to boo as they realize they've been had.
Phillip Schneider: See, no Ante. Percy pushed the music button. And you all thought there was going to be a big showdown. Not from Ante. Because Ante is into the spirit of intergender wrestling the WFWF has embraced. Ante Whitner has a vagina. And that's where I, Phillip Schneider, the greatest wrestler that's ever stepped foot in the WFWF, feel the need to apologize to each and every one of you. You see, I gave you all false hope. I led the proverbial sheep to slaughter. I told you Ante was good. Then he got punked out by David Brennan. David “Last Call” Brennan. You know, the number three man in the New Epoch. Punked. Him. Out. But you know what, I'll look past that. I wasn't even going to call him out. Figured he'd bounce back. Then he really made me look like a fool at Ultimate Supremacy. He TAPPED OUT to Frank Lynn.
The crowd's disgust for the situation is growing into more than a spattering of boos, an outright rumbling of boos echoing through the arena as Schneider pauses, looking around with a smirk.
Phillip Schneider: Now I've lost a few matches in my time. I'll never be one to say I haven't. But to tap out? To say uncle? To beg off like a little pansy? To pound the mat and say “no, please, stop, I can't take it any more”? That's absolutely pathetic. Ante Whitner, I got behind you. You were the new hope for the WFWF. You're the kid who followed in my footsteps. You beat Michael Kyzer for god's sake, and even though it's been a couple of years you won't let people forget that. But I was first. But you were supposed to be something special. And you tapped out. I don't have to tell you how disappointed in you I am, Ante. I don't have to tell you how atrociously sick you make me right now. I know you were shook before, because you didn't know my motivations. My motivations were to get behind you. My motivations were “this kid's a badass. I can wreck s**t by his side.”. Just like The Deville. But just like Pierce Deville, you went and blasted your load before you even achieved penetration. You're a one pump chump, Ante, and you've created a hell of a mess here.
Alecia Matthews: I feel like this should be flashed across the screen before he's handed a microphone, but the WFWF would like to apologize for the words of Phillip Schneider..
Phillip Schneider: Ante, you should be afraid of me now. Because I am here to fix the WFWF. And you're the next problem that needs fixed. You wanna be a contender when you're nothing more than a pretender. The facade's over, Ante. You're going back to the opening match, if there's anything to salvage of you when I'm done. Heal up, Ante. I want you at 100% when you step in the ring with me. Cause you're gonna step up to the table, stick your last quarter in the machine, and step up to face the final boss of the WFWF. You ready for this, kid?
"Shadows" by Yelawolf hits again, Schneider making his way out of the ring and to the backstage area as we cut to an advertisement for next week's program.
As I come back through the curtain, I see Percy at the bottom of the stairs. Because it wouldn't make sense for a person in a wheelchair to be at the top of the stairs and the WFWF gorilla position isn't handy-capable.
“So, Ante huh?”
“What do you mean, Percy?”
I look at my associate as I grab a towel from a loyal minion and wipe my face. People don't understand just how hot it is under TV lights. I quickly peel off my t-shirt and throw it aside in an effort to cool back down.
“You're going after Ante now? Officially?”
“That's sure what I said out there.”
“He's hungry.”
“I'm hungry.”
“Are you, Phil?”
“I am.”
“Are you?”
“I am, Percy. I'm going to f**k that kid up.”
“Or he's going to f**k you up. Look, I stared into his eyes. Looking past the fact he's six years your junior and doesn't have the last fifteen years of in ring combat riding on his back, he's hungry. He's got something to prove. He's in the gym every day, building his body, toning and honing. What are you doing? Playing Nintendo Switch, hooking up with girls off of Craigslist, and watching horror movies?”
“Something like that..”
“It showed when you faced Jass. You've got ring rust. Your cardio is shot. And banging chubby eighteen year old girls with self esteem issues isn't going to bring your cardio back. You want to make a go at this, you've got to get serious. Why weren't you working on this show?”
“Why wasn't anyone else?”
“You're gonna make excuses? There's a locker room full of guys who'd have jumped at the chance to knock your block off and you know what, I think any number of them could've. You know Joe Bishop, the guy you couldn't pick out of a line up for years? That guy who always sat in the back of the locker room, unnoticed? Yeah, he's the Heavyweight Champion now. You know why, Phil? Because he's been here week in, week out, honing his craft, perfecting his performance and making himself the best wrestler in the world. While you've been cumming inside of welfare sluts, he's been out there busting his ass and making himself the best wrestler in the world. The same as Ante. You beat Ganon. Ante beat Kyzer.”
“I beat Kyzer...”
“Years ago. How many years ago, Phil? How many years ago was that? Was Ante even WRESTLING when you beat Kyzer? Because this relying on past achievements game that you've been playing for the past six years isn't going to work on me. I don't have Daddy issues, I'm not going to let you piss on me, and I'm not impressed by your two Hall of Fame rings. You want to be back, you want to make these threats, you want to F**KING DO SOMETHING WITH YOUR LIFE? Just do it.”
Percy turns his wheels and wheels away. It loses some effect of storming away when you have to slowly wheel yourself away, but his point stands.
“You're saying some really sick stuff, Dad”
Sam looks over her glasses at me with judgmental eyes. She cut all of her hair off a couple of weeks ago and it just isn't sinking in for me. That and the glasses, she looks like a completely different person. She doesn't look like my little girl any more. I guess she's not. She celebrated her eighteenth birthday with friends while I was in Canada publicly castrating Ante Whitner.
“What does having a vagina or a penis have to do with pro wrestling, Dad? And why does having a vagina make someone inferior?”
“Look, Sam. This might be hard for you to grasp, but the thing you need to understand is...”
“Hard for me to grasp, because I have a vagina?”
“Hard for you to grasp because you're not in the biz. You're an outsider.”
“I've been on this ride with you for the last fourteen years. I've watched my Dad and his best friend constantly beat up and hurt. I watched Mom superglue both of your heads after you did something dumb. I've watched doctors pull barbed wire out of you on three different continents. I'm not “in the biz”? You're an bunghole.”
“Watch your tone.”
“What, you gonna hit me? You have to tie girls up before you hit them, isn't that right, Daddy?”
Thin walls are a bitch.
“You don't even know who you're offending when you say this sort of stuff. There's a demographic out there that really do have the wrong sexual organ or were born into the wrong body type, but because their DNA assignment has formed them in a certain way, society expects them to be a “man” or a “woman”. Hormones don't work that way and there are shades of gray in between. Women aren't these weak, inferior little things, that just sit behind a sewing machine all day while the men do the real jobs. Our trash collector? She's a woman. I went and got my oil changed this morning. You know who did it? A woman. This idea that women are inferior and someone has become a woman and that makes them weak is antiquated.”
Well then..
“You go out there and become this super villain on TV. When the light goes on, so do you. “Big Match Phil”, right? I've heard people say it. “Big Match Phil delivers”. Guess what Dad? I'm every day Sam. Every day Sam deals with the collateral damage of Big Match Phil. Big Match Phil is sleeping it off in a hotel room or traveling some interstate or flying across the country. Every Day Sam has to look at the people around her and live with the actions of Big Match Phil. Every day Sam deals with the people at school who think her father is a monster, a xenophobe and a homophobic dangerous criminal. Every Day Sam has to look at the neighbors and their looks of disgust that they live next to a freak show serial killer. Big Match Phil is towing the moonlight and in a town every day. Every Day Sam pumps gas right here and has to dela with the same judgmental eyes every day. Dad, go out there, perform. Nothing's going to stop you. Because you're selfish. But know you've ruined my life. There's no going back. You're stuck with this and so am I. I'm Daddy's Darling Daughter, afterall. You've ruined my life, you've ruined your marriage, you've crippled your best friend. But you're still Big Match Phil. Lace'em up tight, Big Match Phil. It's gonna be a rough ride.”
And with that, Samantha storms away. I don't know where this came from or how to react to it, beyond a slack jawed stunned silence.
“This what you had in mind when you said “do something”, Percy?”
Percy is managing to push this funny shaped Canadian grocery cart from his electric wheelchair. It's quite the impressive feat, though his straining to grab the handlebar is a contortion effect to say the least. I've been eating clean, though it's a lot harder in Montreal where I can't read half of the packaging. I throw some pasta in the cart as Percy looks around the cart.
“Brennan? That's something.”
“Something?”
“It's certainly something Phil. When was the last time you held the International title?”
“2006?”
“So eleven years ago.”
“Yeah, something like that.”
“And you haven't challenged for it since losing it, right?”
“What's your point?”
“Point is, yeah, Brennan is a step in the right direction from Hugh Jass, but what's the mission here? What are you looking to prove going after the International title?”
I grab what I think is just plain marinara sauce, but inspecting it further, I see stuff floating in it. Sauce aux champignons, the sauce for the champion.
''For me Perce, it isn't about the International title. And I'm still just as focused on what I have been. I'm focused on Ante.''
''Going after Brennan?”
“Ante has that Golden Opportunity. I'm insuring all signs point to Schneider/Ante''
I grab a can puree de pomme de terre. It's got potatoes on it. Pure potatoes. We're good.
“Look Percy, I'm going to beat the f***ing f*** out of this kid. And I'm going to rock his entire god damn world in the process. He's got that Golden Opportunity. If he wants the International title, he's going to have to go through me. It's not about the title. It was never about the title. It's about Ante.”
“You've never truthfully explained this obsession with him.”
“He let me down. He hurt my feelings.”
The last hotel we were in had rats everywhere, so I grab a few cans of poisson and throw it on the cart. Not sure why it has an extra s in Montreal, but we're rolling forwards.
“I don't expect you to understand Percy. But to me, this new run is about fixing everything my last few go rounds have let down. You think The Decaying Society played out like I wanted it to? Tommy Staxx should be the Heavyweight Champion of the World right now and I should be his puppetmaster. But I lost the title, he fell off the Psycho Circus, and he was never heard from again. The minions I had following me were scabs until the true believers came along. Ante? I could've made him into a star. Bigger than he could ever dream of. See Perce, I understand what he's missing. He doesn't even understand what he's missing, but I see it. I see that missing element keeping him from being a star. He's missing the killer instinct. He's got a box ticked for human compassion still. When I stand across the ring from someone, I genuinely don't give a f*** about them. I don't care what they've got going on in their lives. I don't care if they've got a family. I don't care where they're at in their career. They signed the contract to face a killer and that's what they get. I know some of the things I've done in a pro wrestling ring could be construed as criminal assault and you know what, I'm okay with that. Cause when I'm in there, I don't care. That's Ante's problem. He cares. I walk in there and I don't care if I cripple a motherf***er.”
I was helping guide the cart along, mostly to ensure Percy didn't go crashing through a store display, but there's suddenly resistance. Percy's locked up the breaks on his wheel chair. He's staring at me with a mix of anger and just hurt in his eyes.
“You know that's not what I meant, Perce.”
“F*** you man.”
He storms off. And by storms off, I mean he slowly rolls away as the motor on his chair goes “vrooooooooo”.
“Percy, where are you even going? I've got the keys.”
“Home. F*** you.”
“How are you going to get there?”
“Flying, a**hole.”
And with that, Percy's tour of the Great White North comes to an abrupt close. I'm not entirely sure where he went from the grocery store, how he got anywhere, or if he's made it home yet. I didn't follow him. I figure, he's a grown ass man and even if he's a gimp, if he's made the decision he's going home, he can figure it out. Let him go pout at home and feel sorry for himself. F*** him. I don't need him with me. I can handle this myself. And I've got this Brennan situation under control. And f*** Ante too.
Hi, I'm Sam Schneider and you're not. I figured I'd be cute and try to say something catchy to open the Vlog today, because it's going to be a relatively boring one to the people who only follow my channel for the adventures and the celebrity gossip, but I really hope you stick around until the end of the video and listen to what I've got to say.
I know most of my fame and followers come from who my father is. I know that for everything I do in my life, I'll always be my the offspring of Phillip Schneider, famous pro wrestler. I've come to grips with the fact that nothing I do will ever set me apart as Samantha Schneider, short of going on a killing spree in a mall with a machete, but even then, it'd probably be “Child of famous pro wrestler slaughters dozens, more at ten”.
I get a lot of backlash from my father, because of my father. People look at the things he says on television and they take them seriously and they think that's who I am too. People have seen me and relate me to him even if I'm nothing like him, and want nothing to do with him. Recently my father has been making some very bigoted remarks that have caught me heat within the LGBT community and specifically the transgendered communities.
….Here's why I opened light. Because we're gonna get heavy.
I catch heat around a lot of people within the transgendered communities because that's the communities I typically am involved in. Since puberty, I've known I wasn't like most girls. I wasn't into girlie things, I've never understood the idea of “being pretty” and I don't like guys. I always thought I was a lesbian, until the idea of asexuality came about. And I relate to asexuality. But I also think girls are pretty. But I don't see myself as a girl. I don't know if it's because of who my father is, the fact that he wanted a son that he could raise as the second generation wrestling Schneider, if he sees me as weak, or whatever. It's so typical to blame your parents for your dispositions, but in my situation, with my overly masculine aggressive pro wrestler father being the only person in my life for the last eight years because my alcoholic drug addict mother has disappeared again.. Yeah, that lends to the idea of “being a tom boy”.
But there's more than that. I don't like women's clothes. The cut is all wrong. They're tight in the wrong places and they have that stupid hourglass form that no women actually have now. Women's jeans are tight and never have pockets. Skirts are for whores. I've been cut loose with cash or a credit card and told to buy my own wardrobe from an unacceptably young age, and when left to my own devices, I'd much rather “dress like a boy” than “like a girl”.
Even down to my name. Even my freakin' name. I go by Sam. Everyone calls me Sam. No one calls me Samantha. I'm Sam. I've always been Sam. I was supposed to be Sam. But something in my junkie mother's body went haywire while she was pregnant with me and Sam became Samantha, except the wiring was all wrong and TADA! I'm Sam, living in Samantha's body. And I am your stereotype “I'm uncomfortable in the gender identity I was born with”. So there, now hopefully you people who follow me to make disgusting remarks to me about my father, or want to troll my comments second about pro wrestling, or leave stupid remarks about WFWF memes, now you have firepower. Troll me. Because now you have something to remember me for, beyond whatever stupid s**t my father has done this week. You can remember me for who I am.
Cause I'm Sam Schneider and you're not.
There is nothing you can do that I have not already done to myself, Brennan. I'm not scared of you. I'm not scared of this mystique that you've built around yourself. You're the man behind the curtain to me, not the great and powerful Oz. You fooled some of the people, some of the time.. But in Montreal, I'm coming for the title.
You've walked around here for the last eighteen months or so like you're the big man on campus and you know what, you probably have been. Especially once Drakz and Kyzer had their little lover's quarrel and all of a sudden the third in charge has become the president. That's what happened here, Bren. The president and vice president got into a gun fight and all of a sudden, Speaker of the House Brennan is left in charge. But you're not in charge. You've been walking around like it's your ring. It's my building. You've been walking around like it's your country. It's my world. David Brennan, you're the face of evil, I'm the mother f***ing devil himself and come that faithful night in Montreal, you can step up to the plate and we'll see just which one of us is truly a bad, bad dude.
How's that gonna play into your psyche, Dave? When you walk out there in Montreal and the fans cheer you? How much of a mindf*** is that gonna be, when all of a sudden for the first time in your career.. for the first time in your LIFE, you're wearing the white hat. Cause you see Dave, the thing that you fail to understand, when you walk around with your pity party and the bottle of fire that goes with it is, I don't need a crutch. I don't need a vice. You Epoch homosexuals think you're these bad dudes because you smoke and drink and spit. I see you for what you are. You're the little kids leaning against the wall trying to look hard. I am hard, David. And in Montreal, I'm going to beat the holy f*** out of you.
I wish I could say it wasn't personal, I really do. But you're f***ing with my money here. By beating the piss out of you and exposing you for the farce you are. By grabbing you by the neck and shaking you until everyone realizes that I am the pit bull of the WFWF and you're just a little puppy.. By taking that championship belt... I'm worth more money. That's why it's personal, Dave. The money. I don't compete for the love of competition. I sure as hell don't compete to impress or entertain the fans, because each and every one of the fans that attends WFWF live events makes me absolutely sick. I compete for the money. I walk out there in the times that I do, and I compete for the money. New era of the WFWF, Bren. This is the start. No more little shows, they're all big fight feel. Big money matches. Dream Matches. With dream match paydays. You want to see Phillip Schneider around, WFWF management? Sign that paycheck with the adequate amount of zeroes.
Maybe you'll see your International championship again.
Percy says as he shoves a forkful of.. something.. into his mouth. The catering has certainly changed in my absence, but not a whole lot else has. All around me I see familiar faces, worn out faces, worn out faces.. And when I look in the mirror, I see the same tired eyes looking back at me. I'm realizing that look isn't going away, that look is just mine now. The road's hard. I look down at Percy as he's shoveling another forkful of green and yellow mush into his mouth. He's a prime example of how hard the road is.
“You want some man? Like, you want a plate?”
And how messed up am I, that a dude in a wheelchair is offering to fix a plate for me in a catered meal. I can't even respond. Being back here, it's kindling old emotions. I love wrestling like an ex girlfriend, but being around her just makes me want to set fire to the world. It makes me want to wreck stuff. It brings out the absolute worst in me and I know that. I'm fighting those demons being back here. I'm staring the demons in dante's inferno face to face here. I know being here is going to change me. It's going to bring me back to the place I fought so hard to get away from. And in the process, it's going to destroy anyone who gets in my path. That kid Hugh Jass. I know they're judging me for what I did at the Pay Per View. I feel the people staring at me and Percy as they enter catering. I know they're judging me for what I did to him. Like these people who've been here a while are looking at me and expecting me to apologize for ending the kid's career. Like who do they even think I am? And what did they think was going to happen? It wasn't a match, it was a lamb led to slaughter.
Grabbing a can of Rockstar out of the giant ice tube that's set up in the corner, I have a seat near Percy. I pop the can open and take a long sip. Percy continues gobbling down whatever has been provided. This kind of looks like rice that's been cooked too long. I've never been much for the live event catering. I usually just order something in, bring something with me, or have someone fetch something for me. Years ago, I had Jimmy Johns delivered to the backdoor of the building and picked it up still covered in blood and broken glass. I'm sure that driver wondered what the hell had happened. Percy swallows, then feels the need to break the silence.
“So.. how long are you back this time?”
“Hm?”
“You never come to stay any more. It's always this disappearing act, until you get bored. You returned, won the title, lost the title. Disappeared. Came back, faced Drakz, disappeared. Faced Dean, disappeared. Faced Drakz again and diappeared..”
“I had to. Stipulations on the match.”
“And how'd those stipulations come about? Was it an alibi for you? You disappeared this time before ever having a return match! You showed up, talked, then never did anything until the Pay Per View.”
“I know where the money's at, Percy”
“Do you? Because you've done this over the years even when it costs us money. You did it how many times when we were teaming? Just decided you weren't going to wrestle any more? Or when you decided for us that we were jumping ship to Alex Sean's upstart because you didn't like management here. How long did that last? Look Phil, I'm just wondering if I actually need to quit my 9-5, or if this is going to be done before I use all of my vacation time.”
“How much vacation time could you have possibly acquired in two years?”
Percy just stares at me, judging me, and shovels a forkful of rice and mush in his mouth. He reaches into the side pocket of his wheelchair and pulls out his phone, texting someone.
“Look dude, I've got bills to pay and the Lloyds of London insurance policy only pays out so much. I appreciate that you've always found work for me in your entourage, but I need to know that my apartment is paid for, that my doctor bills are paid for, and that there's food in my refrigerator every week and if you're going to pull this disappearing s**t again, have the common decency to give me fair warning so that I can get a new resume up on Monster or something.”
I rise from the table, taking a big chug of my energy drink before tossing it in the trash.
“Percy, if you're done with this pity party, I've gotta go do what we came to Canada to do. One of us can still perform, you know.”
________________
"Shadows" by Yelawolf hits over the P/A system, bringing the entrance of Phillip Schneider as lights flash and smoke billows through the entrance way. Through the smoke walks Schneider, black shorts and a They Live t-shirt, his hair neatly tucked under a black backwards baseball cap. Schneider makes his way to the ring with a certain swagger and smirk about him, rolling in under the bottom rope and demanding a microphone from the ringside attendant. He's handed one as his music cuts off.
Alecia Matthews: It looks like we're opening the show tonight with the appearance of Phillip Schneider. He's not scheduled to be out here tonight, but then again, there isn't a whole lot that IS scheduled.
Schneider taps the microphone a couple of times before beginning to speak.
Phillip Schneider: I feel the need to come out here and apologize. Not to Hugh Jass. He deserved everything he got. I feel the need to apologize to each and every one of you fans. Because as we make our way out of Ultimate Supremacy and move forward, I'm realizing I was very wrong. Now here tonight, in Canada, I'd like to make this right.
Daniel Knight: What's he talking about?
Phillip Schneider: Ante Whitner, if you've got any balls between your legs, get your ass out here right now.
There's a collective "OOOOHHH" from the crowd.
Alecia Matthews: Ante Whitner, not here tonight, as he's nursing injuries sustained at Ultimate Supremacy and I think Schneider knows that.
Daniel Knight: Of course he knows that. Why else would he be out here? He's a master manipulator first and foremost.
"Gangster's Paradise" by Like A Storm hits the PA system to everyone's surprise, igniting a massive cheer from the crowd.. Bluish-colored smoke plumes out from the stage. Then it fades into the ether. And the music sort of trails off. As quickly as the crowd erupted in cheers, they begin to boo as they realize they've been had.
Phillip Schneider: See, no Ante. Percy pushed the music button. And you all thought there was going to be a big showdown. Not from Ante. Because Ante is into the spirit of intergender wrestling the WFWF has embraced. Ante Whitner has a vagina. And that's where I, Phillip Schneider, the greatest wrestler that's ever stepped foot in the WFWF, feel the need to apologize to each and every one of you. You see, I gave you all false hope. I led the proverbial sheep to slaughter. I told you Ante was good. Then he got punked out by David Brennan. David “Last Call” Brennan. You know, the number three man in the New Epoch. Punked. Him. Out. But you know what, I'll look past that. I wasn't even going to call him out. Figured he'd bounce back. Then he really made me look like a fool at Ultimate Supremacy. He TAPPED OUT to Frank Lynn.
The crowd's disgust for the situation is growing into more than a spattering of boos, an outright rumbling of boos echoing through the arena as Schneider pauses, looking around with a smirk.
Phillip Schneider: Now I've lost a few matches in my time. I'll never be one to say I haven't. But to tap out? To say uncle? To beg off like a little pansy? To pound the mat and say “no, please, stop, I can't take it any more”? That's absolutely pathetic. Ante Whitner, I got behind you. You were the new hope for the WFWF. You're the kid who followed in my footsteps. You beat Michael Kyzer for god's sake, and even though it's been a couple of years you won't let people forget that. But I was first. But you were supposed to be something special. And you tapped out. I don't have to tell you how disappointed in you I am, Ante. I don't have to tell you how atrociously sick you make me right now. I know you were shook before, because you didn't know my motivations. My motivations were to get behind you. My motivations were “this kid's a badass. I can wreck s**t by his side.”. Just like The Deville. But just like Pierce Deville, you went and blasted your load before you even achieved penetration. You're a one pump chump, Ante, and you've created a hell of a mess here.
Alecia Matthews: I feel like this should be flashed across the screen before he's handed a microphone, but the WFWF would like to apologize for the words of Phillip Schneider..
Phillip Schneider: Ante, you should be afraid of me now. Because I am here to fix the WFWF. And you're the next problem that needs fixed. You wanna be a contender when you're nothing more than a pretender. The facade's over, Ante. You're going back to the opening match, if there's anything to salvage of you when I'm done. Heal up, Ante. I want you at 100% when you step in the ring with me. Cause you're gonna step up to the table, stick your last quarter in the machine, and step up to face the final boss of the WFWF. You ready for this, kid?
"Shadows" by Yelawolf hits again, Schneider making his way out of the ring and to the backstage area as we cut to an advertisement for next week's program.
________________
As I come back through the curtain, I see Percy at the bottom of the stairs. Because it wouldn't make sense for a person in a wheelchair to be at the top of the stairs and the WFWF gorilla position isn't handy-capable.
“So, Ante huh?”
“What do you mean, Percy?”
I look at my associate as I grab a towel from a loyal minion and wipe my face. People don't understand just how hot it is under TV lights. I quickly peel off my t-shirt and throw it aside in an effort to cool back down.
“You're going after Ante now? Officially?”
“That's sure what I said out there.”
“He's hungry.”
“I'm hungry.”
“Are you, Phil?”
“I am.”
“Are you?”
“I am, Percy. I'm going to f**k that kid up.”
“Or he's going to f**k you up. Look, I stared into his eyes. Looking past the fact he's six years your junior and doesn't have the last fifteen years of in ring combat riding on his back, he's hungry. He's got something to prove. He's in the gym every day, building his body, toning and honing. What are you doing? Playing Nintendo Switch, hooking up with girls off of Craigslist, and watching horror movies?”
“Something like that..”
“It showed when you faced Jass. You've got ring rust. Your cardio is shot. And banging chubby eighteen year old girls with self esteem issues isn't going to bring your cardio back. You want to make a go at this, you've got to get serious. Why weren't you working on this show?”
“Why wasn't anyone else?”
“You're gonna make excuses? There's a locker room full of guys who'd have jumped at the chance to knock your block off and you know what, I think any number of them could've. You know Joe Bishop, the guy you couldn't pick out of a line up for years? That guy who always sat in the back of the locker room, unnoticed? Yeah, he's the Heavyweight Champion now. You know why, Phil? Because he's been here week in, week out, honing his craft, perfecting his performance and making himself the best wrestler in the world. While you've been cumming inside of welfare sluts, he's been out there busting his ass and making himself the best wrestler in the world. The same as Ante. You beat Ganon. Ante beat Kyzer.”
“I beat Kyzer...”
“Years ago. How many years ago, Phil? How many years ago was that? Was Ante even WRESTLING when you beat Kyzer? Because this relying on past achievements game that you've been playing for the past six years isn't going to work on me. I don't have Daddy issues, I'm not going to let you piss on me, and I'm not impressed by your two Hall of Fame rings. You want to be back, you want to make these threats, you want to F**KING DO SOMETHING WITH YOUR LIFE? Just do it.”
Percy turns his wheels and wheels away. It loses some effect of storming away when you have to slowly wheel yourself away, but his point stands.
________________
“You're saying some really sick stuff, Dad”
Sam looks over her glasses at me with judgmental eyes. She cut all of her hair off a couple of weeks ago and it just isn't sinking in for me. That and the glasses, she looks like a completely different person. She doesn't look like my little girl any more. I guess she's not. She celebrated her eighteenth birthday with friends while I was in Canada publicly castrating Ante Whitner.
“What does having a vagina or a penis have to do with pro wrestling, Dad? And why does having a vagina make someone inferior?”
“Look, Sam. This might be hard for you to grasp, but the thing you need to understand is...”
“Hard for me to grasp, because I have a vagina?”
“Hard for you to grasp because you're not in the biz. You're an outsider.”
“I've been on this ride with you for the last fourteen years. I've watched my Dad and his best friend constantly beat up and hurt. I watched Mom superglue both of your heads after you did something dumb. I've watched doctors pull barbed wire out of you on three different continents. I'm not “in the biz”? You're an bunghole.”
“Watch your tone.”
“What, you gonna hit me? You have to tie girls up before you hit them, isn't that right, Daddy?”
Thin walls are a bitch.
“You don't even know who you're offending when you say this sort of stuff. There's a demographic out there that really do have the wrong sexual organ or were born into the wrong body type, but because their DNA assignment has formed them in a certain way, society expects them to be a “man” or a “woman”. Hormones don't work that way and there are shades of gray in between. Women aren't these weak, inferior little things, that just sit behind a sewing machine all day while the men do the real jobs. Our trash collector? She's a woman. I went and got my oil changed this morning. You know who did it? A woman. This idea that women are inferior and someone has become a woman and that makes them weak is antiquated.”
Well then..
“You go out there and become this super villain on TV. When the light goes on, so do you. “Big Match Phil”, right? I've heard people say it. “Big Match Phil delivers”. Guess what Dad? I'm every day Sam. Every day Sam deals with the collateral damage of Big Match Phil. Big Match Phil is sleeping it off in a hotel room or traveling some interstate or flying across the country. Every Day Sam has to look at the people around her and live with the actions of Big Match Phil. Every day Sam deals with the people at school who think her father is a monster, a xenophobe and a homophobic dangerous criminal. Every Day Sam has to look at the neighbors and their looks of disgust that they live next to a freak show serial killer. Big Match Phil is towing the moonlight and in a town every day. Every Day Sam pumps gas right here and has to dela with the same judgmental eyes every day. Dad, go out there, perform. Nothing's going to stop you. Because you're selfish. But know you've ruined my life. There's no going back. You're stuck with this and so am I. I'm Daddy's Darling Daughter, afterall. You've ruined my life, you've ruined your marriage, you've crippled your best friend. But you're still Big Match Phil. Lace'em up tight, Big Match Phil. It's gonna be a rough ride.”
And with that, Samantha storms away. I don't know where this came from or how to react to it, beyond a slack jawed stunned silence.
________________
“This what you had in mind when you said “do something”, Percy?”
Percy is managing to push this funny shaped Canadian grocery cart from his electric wheelchair. It's quite the impressive feat, though his straining to grab the handlebar is a contortion effect to say the least. I've been eating clean, though it's a lot harder in Montreal where I can't read half of the packaging. I throw some pasta in the cart as Percy looks around the cart.
“Brennan? That's something.”
“Something?”
“It's certainly something Phil. When was the last time you held the International title?”
“2006?”
“So eleven years ago.”
“Yeah, something like that.”
“And you haven't challenged for it since losing it, right?”
“What's your point?”
“Point is, yeah, Brennan is a step in the right direction from Hugh Jass, but what's the mission here? What are you looking to prove going after the International title?”
I grab what I think is just plain marinara sauce, but inspecting it further, I see stuff floating in it. Sauce aux champignons, the sauce for the champion.
''For me Perce, it isn't about the International title. And I'm still just as focused on what I have been. I'm focused on Ante.''
''Going after Brennan?”
“Ante has that Golden Opportunity. I'm insuring all signs point to Schneider/Ante''
I grab a can puree de pomme de terre. It's got potatoes on it. Pure potatoes. We're good.
“Look Percy, I'm going to beat the f***ing f*** out of this kid. And I'm going to rock his entire god damn world in the process. He's got that Golden Opportunity. If he wants the International title, he's going to have to go through me. It's not about the title. It was never about the title. It's about Ante.”
“You've never truthfully explained this obsession with him.”
“He let me down. He hurt my feelings.”
The last hotel we were in had rats everywhere, so I grab a few cans of poisson and throw it on the cart. Not sure why it has an extra s in Montreal, but we're rolling forwards.
“I don't expect you to understand Percy. But to me, this new run is about fixing everything my last few go rounds have let down. You think The Decaying Society played out like I wanted it to? Tommy Staxx should be the Heavyweight Champion of the World right now and I should be his puppetmaster. But I lost the title, he fell off the Psycho Circus, and he was never heard from again. The minions I had following me were scabs until the true believers came along. Ante? I could've made him into a star. Bigger than he could ever dream of. See Perce, I understand what he's missing. He doesn't even understand what he's missing, but I see it. I see that missing element keeping him from being a star. He's missing the killer instinct. He's got a box ticked for human compassion still. When I stand across the ring from someone, I genuinely don't give a f*** about them. I don't care what they've got going on in their lives. I don't care if they've got a family. I don't care where they're at in their career. They signed the contract to face a killer and that's what they get. I know some of the things I've done in a pro wrestling ring could be construed as criminal assault and you know what, I'm okay with that. Cause when I'm in there, I don't care. That's Ante's problem. He cares. I walk in there and I don't care if I cripple a motherf***er.”
I was helping guide the cart along, mostly to ensure Percy didn't go crashing through a store display, but there's suddenly resistance. Percy's locked up the breaks on his wheel chair. He's staring at me with a mix of anger and just hurt in his eyes.
“You know that's not what I meant, Perce.”
“F*** you man.”
He storms off. And by storms off, I mean he slowly rolls away as the motor on his chair goes “vrooooooooo”.
“Percy, where are you even going? I've got the keys.”
“Home. F*** you.”
“How are you going to get there?”
“Flying, a**hole.”
And with that, Percy's tour of the Great White North comes to an abrupt close. I'm not entirely sure where he went from the grocery store, how he got anywhere, or if he's made it home yet. I didn't follow him. I figure, he's a grown ass man and even if he's a gimp, if he's made the decision he's going home, he can figure it out. Let him go pout at home and feel sorry for himself. F*** him. I don't need him with me. I can handle this myself. And I've got this Brennan situation under control. And f*** Ante too.
________________
Hi, I'm Sam Schneider and you're not. I figured I'd be cute and try to say something catchy to open the Vlog today, because it's going to be a relatively boring one to the people who only follow my channel for the adventures and the celebrity gossip, but I really hope you stick around until the end of the video and listen to what I've got to say.
I know most of my fame and followers come from who my father is. I know that for everything I do in my life, I'll always be my the offspring of Phillip Schneider, famous pro wrestler. I've come to grips with the fact that nothing I do will ever set me apart as Samantha Schneider, short of going on a killing spree in a mall with a machete, but even then, it'd probably be “Child of famous pro wrestler slaughters dozens, more at ten”.
I get a lot of backlash from my father, because of my father. People look at the things he says on television and they take them seriously and they think that's who I am too. People have seen me and relate me to him even if I'm nothing like him, and want nothing to do with him. Recently my father has been making some very bigoted remarks that have caught me heat within the LGBT community and specifically the transgendered communities.
….Here's why I opened light. Because we're gonna get heavy.
I catch heat around a lot of people within the transgendered communities because that's the communities I typically am involved in. Since puberty, I've known I wasn't like most girls. I wasn't into girlie things, I've never understood the idea of “being pretty” and I don't like guys. I always thought I was a lesbian, until the idea of asexuality came about. And I relate to asexuality. But I also think girls are pretty. But I don't see myself as a girl. I don't know if it's because of who my father is, the fact that he wanted a son that he could raise as the second generation wrestling Schneider, if he sees me as weak, or whatever. It's so typical to blame your parents for your dispositions, but in my situation, with my overly masculine aggressive pro wrestler father being the only person in my life for the last eight years because my alcoholic drug addict mother has disappeared again.. Yeah, that lends to the idea of “being a tom boy”.
But there's more than that. I don't like women's clothes. The cut is all wrong. They're tight in the wrong places and they have that stupid hourglass form that no women actually have now. Women's jeans are tight and never have pockets. Skirts are for whores. I've been cut loose with cash or a credit card and told to buy my own wardrobe from an unacceptably young age, and when left to my own devices, I'd much rather “dress like a boy” than “like a girl”.
Even down to my name. Even my freakin' name. I go by Sam. Everyone calls me Sam. No one calls me Samantha. I'm Sam. I've always been Sam. I was supposed to be Sam. But something in my junkie mother's body went haywire while she was pregnant with me and Sam became Samantha, except the wiring was all wrong and TADA! I'm Sam, living in Samantha's body. And I am your stereotype “I'm uncomfortable in the gender identity I was born with”. So there, now hopefully you people who follow me to make disgusting remarks to me about my father, or want to troll my comments second about pro wrestling, or leave stupid remarks about WFWF memes, now you have firepower. Troll me. Because now you have something to remember me for, beyond whatever stupid s**t my father has done this week. You can remember me for who I am.
Cause I'm Sam Schneider and you're not.
________________
There is nothing you can do that I have not already done to myself, Brennan. I'm not scared of you. I'm not scared of this mystique that you've built around yourself. You're the man behind the curtain to me, not the great and powerful Oz. You fooled some of the people, some of the time.. But in Montreal, I'm coming for the title.
You've walked around here for the last eighteen months or so like you're the big man on campus and you know what, you probably have been. Especially once Drakz and Kyzer had their little lover's quarrel and all of a sudden the third in charge has become the president. That's what happened here, Bren. The president and vice president got into a gun fight and all of a sudden, Speaker of the House Brennan is left in charge. But you're not in charge. You've been walking around like it's your ring. It's my building. You've been walking around like it's your country. It's my world. David Brennan, you're the face of evil, I'm the mother f***ing devil himself and come that faithful night in Montreal, you can step up to the plate and we'll see just which one of us is truly a bad, bad dude.
How's that gonna play into your psyche, Dave? When you walk out there in Montreal and the fans cheer you? How much of a mindf*** is that gonna be, when all of a sudden for the first time in your career.. for the first time in your LIFE, you're wearing the white hat. Cause you see Dave, the thing that you fail to understand, when you walk around with your pity party and the bottle of fire that goes with it is, I don't need a crutch. I don't need a vice. You Epoch homosexuals think you're these bad dudes because you smoke and drink and spit. I see you for what you are. You're the little kids leaning against the wall trying to look hard. I am hard, David. And in Montreal, I'm going to beat the holy f*** out of you.
I wish I could say it wasn't personal, I really do. But you're f***ing with my money here. By beating the piss out of you and exposing you for the farce you are. By grabbing you by the neck and shaking you until everyone realizes that I am the pit bull of the WFWF and you're just a little puppy.. By taking that championship belt... I'm worth more money. That's why it's personal, Dave. The money. I don't compete for the love of competition. I sure as hell don't compete to impress or entertain the fans, because each and every one of the fans that attends WFWF live events makes me absolutely sick. I compete for the money. I walk out there in the times that I do, and I compete for the money. New era of the WFWF, Bren. This is the start. No more little shows, they're all big fight feel. Big money matches. Dream Matches. With dream match paydays. You want to see Phillip Schneider around, WFWF management? Sign that paycheck with the adequate amount of zeroes.
Maybe you'll see your International championship again.
I dont know good luck 
