Knuckles Up in Boston RP - Make Or Break
Aug 6, 2022 21:53:15 GMT -5
Swarm and Johnny Mason like this
Post by Deleted on Aug 6, 2022 21:53:15 GMT -5
Two years and three months.
That’s how long I’ve been in Foreclosure.
For almost half of that time, my home hasn’t felt mine. It hasn’t felt like my father’s. It hasn’t felt like my great-grandfather’s. It hasn’t felt like my great-great-grandfather’s. It’s felt like it’s been stolen from me.
I thought it couldn’t get any worse, then the WFWF came calling back again.
The company that hasn’t always portrayed me in the best light. The company that has always portrayed me like a joke.
I win my first match in a long time at the biggest show of the year against that whoopee cushion. I was going to beat that masked freak Fantoomuch then the company goes under.
I scratch and crawl and work my a** off to improve my image and fighting to keep my home. I found honest work; making water filters, being a janitor, working at a call center for beanbag support.
Hell, some of those jobs might’ve been a bit over my head but by the end, I ended up up earning everyone’s respect. It helps when you’re a public figure with my kind of resume.
My co-workers would come up to me and say, “Hey, aren’t you that guy on TV?” and they would immediately respect me.
More respect that I had for myself.
So why is it that when they called me for this tour, I answered and ultimately, agreed?
Because I need money. Badly.
I make less than minimum wage at the factory. The janitor gig isn’t “official” or anything, so I get paid under the table and the call center? Well, let’s say most people aren’t very well versed in what goes into the making of beanbags. If they are too soft, the maybe you should’ve chosen a firmer bag so it wouldn’t cause your joints to hurt from sitting in it for too long, Kyle.
At one point, I thought I was at the top and I was going hard and I was living fast but somewhere along the way, I stumbled and I got too greedy. All that art collecting, partying and memorabilia caught up to me. I fell behind on mortgage payments. Everything I’ve earned and everything that was passed down to me.
That’s what you call rock bottom.
I thought there was nowhere to go but up because if I went any lower, I don’t know what I’d be doing. Probably making some softcore adult videos attempting to cash in on my wrestling success.
Napoleon Weisgarber in SuperHard: Revenge.
Napoleon Weisgarber is…..The Dong.
Napoleon Weisgarber stars in….French Tickle Her.
Like every Weisgarber before me, I picked myself up and dusted myself off.
I went back to the gym and put in as much work in as I possibly could. I keep running out of alias for the two-month free trials though so it hasn’t been as consistent as I would like.
I sent emails to the other wrestling promotions to see if there was any interest to sign a well-established and universally recognized name to their brand.
Promotions such as EEW, OOW, WAP, HSIOW, IYDKMIGTHTKY all received correspondence.
But the calls never came.
I was never given an explanation.
We all know what happened afterwards with the WFWF.
And I now know what it next for me. That’s when I realized something.
In reality, I need the WFWF.
Napoleon awaits his name to be called as he takes a seat in the old chair next to Sanford Quarternickel, his loyal butler. He chose the oldest, most beat-up chair in the small office space as the cushion is usually the softest on older chairs. His body starts to shiver due to the cold air that’s blowing from the air duct. He rubs his biceps to warm up as to not freeze to death due to the cold air. Sanford notices this and wraps his tuxedo jacket over the broad, muscular shoulders of the many time world champion.
“Thanks” he says. Sanford nodding his head before going back to reading his book in silence.
His eyes look at some of the objects on the wall across from him.
A small painting of a maid on a night out, winding a grandfather’s clock with her left hand. It appears to be Gérald Bourreau original. He wasn’t very well-known for his art during his lifetime but like most artists, the value of his expressionist pieces skyrocketed after his death. They are now worth a fortune.
“What a masterpiece”, he whispers to Sanford who directs his attention to the painting ahead.
“Phooey” the butler simply responds. As a former collector of art, Sanford has a good eye for what it is valuable and what is not.
The old Napoleon would’ve asked the receptionist how much it would cost him to buy such a magnificent piece of art. Followed by asking for her phone number.
The scenario plays out in his head like a movie.
“hell-o”
The young receptionist looks up at the chiseled man from France standing in front of her. His purple button-up shirt fitting very snuggly, causing his pecs to almost burst through. The top of the shirt is unbuttoned.
“Yes, can I help you?” she says, looking at the man directly in the eyes. She’s cute. Redhead with freckles. Green eyes. Hair in a ponytail. Napoleon uses that French charm.
“let me tell u sumting, bootyful. now I am a man of gr8t taste and i noticed that ur office is in possession of one gérald bourreau over thurr.”
“Excuse me?”
Napoleon smacks his lips. He elegantly points to the piece in question, causing the receptionist to sit up slightly from her chair.
“u wuldn’t no. anyway eye wanted 2 c wut it would cost meh?”
“Excuse me?”
“ur art. eye want 2 buy ur art over thurr”
He elegantly points to the piece in question, causing the receptionist to sit up slightly from her chair again. She looks confused, looking for her manager or direct leadership because she has no idea what to make of such a request.
“eye have stacks of billz on me rite now, redy 2 buy ur art.”
He lays out a few hundreds on top of the desk to show his intentions.
“That's quite the request," she says, chuckling, "Let me go see if I can find my supervisor.”
She gets up from her chair and heads to the back, disappearing. With a smirk on his face, Napoleon struts over to the framed piece and admires it. He looks around to see if anyone is around before grabbing the frame and lifting it from the wall.
The many time world champion casually carries the framed art out of the office as the rest of the people in the lobby notice, all following him with their eyes.
He cringes at his old self back when he had the speech impediment.
"Napleon Weisgarten?"
"Napleon Weisgarten?"
Like an alarm clock that wakes you up following a dream where a slip-n-slide and a ferret was involved, the ravenous caws amidst the silence is enough to cause him to bolt out of his chair and take a bump onto the ground. Sanford puts his book down to help Napoleon to his feet. The calling of his name could only mean one thing.
“It’s Weisgarber. Napoleon Weisgarber.”
“Okay. Dr. Bendova is almost ready for you. I’ll come back and get you when he is available.”
Oh.
He nods his head as the assistant walks out.
Johnny Mason. We meet again.
Don’t think I forgot about our little dance two years ago. Back when you had that tub of lard speaking for you. After the match was over and you got your hand raised, I wanted to exact my revenge on you.
I came down to that ring to prove something to everyone once and for all and you only made things worse. I have been wanting my revenge for two years now and at Knuckles Up in Boston, I will avenge that travesty that has befell my name.
I bet you don’t have any royalty in your bloodline which is why I will win this fight against you.
I hate to have to kick a guy who’s going through an existential crisis.
But Mason, it’s simple.
I have something to prove.
I need this win.
I’m not underestimating you.
I’m not disrespecting you.
This is personal.
I do not step into that ring for fun.
I hate fun.
I’m afraid if you don’t, at the end of this match the fans are just going to know you as the melted popsicle on a hot summer’s day.
All runny and gross.
