Well, that was lovely even if I have to say so myself. Of course I am referring to my match against the Dark Messiah, Thirteen. It was a match that was hyped for the entire evening. The fans were clamoring for it. They wanted to see two former World Champions go at it in a first time ever match. They wanted to see who would win in a battle pitting two of the absolute best technical wrestlers to ever step into the halls of Supreme Championship Wrestling.
They got a match and the fans were completely invested in it, but it didn’t end the way the fans wanted. I treated Thirteen like I did Dillusion a decade ago, driving my foot into his legs before I put him out of my misery. Yes, the crowd booed but it was nothing short of music to my fucking ears. I loved every single second of it. I didn’t give a damn what the crowd wanted or what they thought. That still stands as these thoughts enter and exit my mind.
I don’t owe the people a goddamn thing. I do not care for their opinions. The fans believe their opinions matter, like they know the ins and the outs of this business. The so called smart fans have absolutely no fucking clue what they are talking about. They expected a classic between Thirteen and I, but at the end of the day, I have put on enough classics in my time that the fans don’t deserve another one from me. I could care less if I give them a classic match, which is why I ended things the way that I did.
I already knew going into the match that I was the better wrestler out of myself and Thirteen. I didn’t really need a match to prove that. It was fun, throwing him around and locking him in submissions, letting him know that I would always be one step ahead of him. He wanted to know which Josh Hudson he was going to get once the bell rang. Well, he got the Josh Hudson that has always been here, the Josh Hudson that will enjoy hurting others and taking from them without a single fucking care in the world. And I took from Thirteen, just as I took from the fans.
I kicked Thirteen in his balls and watched him drop to his knees. It was symbolic to me, as he was showing his appreciation for his one true king, the God of all things professional wrestling. He belonged down there shining my boots. The fans may choose to not believe in that, but that’s fine. As I said, they don’t know nearly as much as they think they do. And boy, does that sound fucking familiar. It reminds me a lot of someone else I know. A certain queen if you will.
You see this Queen seems to think she has me figured out, but she really has no idea. She knows nothing about me. She only knows what I allow her to see, the same things that the fans see on the big screen or from their seat in the stands. This Queen will start off by talking about how the people deserve her at her best, and to see her win, because she represents what is right with the SCW. She will say that the people demand it and that they believe in her, even if she has been losing her battles against Past, Present, and Future.
This Queen will move on from talking about all of that, giving you some inspirational speech to get the fans rallying behind her, before she will begin to address me. She will talk about my strengths and my weaknesses. She will more than likely talk about how I’ve been in the background and she will waste my time by calling me an idiot, as this has happened before.
She will talk about how I robbed the fans of an amazing match against Thirteen. She will talk about how I tried to cripple her a few months back. I, along with her moronic fans, know all of this already. I was there, during the match with Thirteen. I was there when I tried to cripple her a few months back. She will use that and say that I basically couldn’t get the job done then, just as I will more than likely not be able to get it done this go round either. That is all well and good. Just as well and good as this Queen resorting to the same song and dance. She will probably fill the peoples’ ears with tales of how I am unable to win without help from Past, Present, and Future, or some other underhanded tactic.
All of these things occur on television, so that is all she knows when it comes to the multiple choice of yours truly. Just as I don’t owe the fans a damn thing, I don’t owe this Queen anything either. I won’t believe in her and even if she manages to beat me, it won’t make me a true believer, which is something she labels the opponents who have fallen before her, like some sort of arrogant cunt. That seems like something Regan Helms would do, because she can be a bitch like that. But I believe in Regan and I know what she can do. This Queen I do not believe in, nor will I ever.
This Queen may state that I have my head up my ass, but once again, it is the way she perceives things. If anyone has their head up their ass, it is this Queen that I am going to have to deal with. She claims those she defeats are True Believers, yet as mentioned before, none of them believe in her. They take their losses and move on, not really giving it a second thought. If anything she is doing all that she can to make sure she believes in herself. She is always in need of gratification, but just as I robbed the fans and Thirteen of something a few weeks, I will take from her as well.
The only thing gratifying will be when I leave her lying in the ring, rolling around in agony and defeat, as I walk away victorious.
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May 2018
New York City, New York
Wrestling is a sport that so many people are passionate about. I am referring to the little people. Yes, those who work mindless jobs, breaking their backs for little to no money, just so they can come home, or save up enough to buy a ticket, so they can watch professional wrestling. They are so passionate that they never miss a fucking show. If they do then their entire world comes unglued. The shit cracks me up. It’s not like I wasn’t like that growing up, but then again, I was a teenager when I’d get mad and yell at the screen when my favorite wrestler lost a match.
Being a professional wrestler, the hatred I get is outrageous. Those on the inside refer to that as ‘heat’. When I returned and rang Syren’s bell a few times, revealing myself to be the culprit of her near retirement, I received an extreme amount of heat. When I beat the shit out of CHBK, I received ‘heat’. Anytime I walk out to the ring with Past, Present, and Future the heat we receive is damn near monumental. Just like the heat I received when I kicked Thirteen in the balls I didn’t believe he had, and trust me, I still question that whole scenario to this day…but when I kicked him and pinned him for the three count, the heat I received was damn near monumental.
It was like I slapped someone’s grandmother on live television, which is something I’ve done. The bitch had it coming, what can I say? All I can say is the truth and the truth is, the heat that I receive, I absolutely adore. I enjoy pissing people off, especially the fans. The fans cheer and boo people they see on television, wishing that they were us and it is nothing short of fucking pathetic. That is why I look at all of them in absolute disgust. They work those mindless jobs just so they can give us ratings or purchase a ticket. It is like they believe that gives them some sort of power over me, like they have the right to share their opinions with me.
I found myself walking away from the ring, embracing the chorus of boos, when I heard a teenager shout, “Fuck you! You’re a piece of shit!”
I kindly smirked at him and said, “I bet you kiss your mother with that mouth. I know I’ve kissed her with mine, plus a whole lot more,” before making my way through the curtain.
I honestly cannot stand people. I love my wife and my son, Alex. I sort of have a love for Regan. Sienna, I’m still on the fence, but we are making progress. But all in all, I hate people. The human race is filled with nothing but idiots. This life is on a long supply of morons. And the majority of them are wrestling fans. They cheer the likes of Alexis Quinne, even though not too long ago, they booed the ever loving shit out of her. They boo Syren, despite cheering for her up until the last two months or so. Hell, I know that they have cheered me and that they have booed. I can’t help but look down upon them and shake my head. I can’t help but insult them every single chance that I get.
And maybe I am a bad person. Wait, who the fuck am I kidding? I am a terrible human being and I am not afraid to admit that. I’ve never been afraid to say so. I do not care for the people who watch our show. It’s not like I can’t find work in this business if the SCW were to fold. It isn’t like I even really need to work due to the fact that I am me, which equals a fucking legend in every single aspect of the word.
You want to boo me? I’ve got nine World Championships to my credit, so go fuck yourself. I was a work horse for my entire SCW career and I helped build this place. I don’t have to take shit from some low-life who will never amount to anything. Someone who is nothing more than a fucking fickle groupie for their favorite superstar, until another flavor of the month shows up.
They will love Selena Frost today, but when she becomes boring and stale, which she’s not far from, they will find someone else to love. It is the nature of this business and I get that, which is why I don’t concern myself with it.
That is why as I make my way through this fucking airport, I ignore everyone as they race towards the rest of the roster who are arriving in New York City. James Evans, my protégé is there. People still flock to him sort of, despite his psychopathic tendencies. Then, there is Beard, the lovable doofus who the people cheer for now, despite the fact he made fun of AJ Helms and Shaun Cruze with his domestic violence history. As I said, people are fucking fickle.
As I continue to make my way through the lobby, the fans turn their attention to me. I begin to get heat and while they say things like, “You screwed Thirteen! You deserved to lose!” Or my personal favorite now, “Die Hudson Die!”
It cracks me up, knowing that they want my head on a stick. I want that hate. I love it. It is like I crave it much more than Rachel Foxx craved heroin, or Ace Marshall in his need for attention, the sad little sad sack that he is.
The mob follows me as I continue to make my way through the airport. I reach outside to find my limo driver, Riley standing with a sign. I motion to him and he opens the limo door. Once inside, the sound of hands pounding against the roof of the limo enters my ears. I can’t help but cackle loudly, seeing these snot nosed teens and their pictures of their so called heroes, telling me that I will never be them.
I will never be Thomas Valentine or Gable Winchester. I will never be Amy Chastaine or Selena Frost. I hear these things and all I can think is thank fucking God! Gable and Thomas have never amounted to much despite the fact that I pushed them to elevate themselves. They are both one hit wonders and that is on them. There is nothing really interesting about Amy. She is as bland as paint drying, despite all of the bullshit drama surrounding her. She likes to drink. So, fucking what? We’re adults. We can drink. You should be able to handle your goddamn liquor. If not, then you should be ashamed of yourself.
“Josh, are you alright man?” I hear Riley call out to me, “These people seem pretty pissed off. Did you say something racist or sexist to them?”
I chuckle and shake my head, “No, I didn’t do either of those things. I pissed them off the other night during my match, but this,” I say, pointing to the barrage of angry fans as we start to move away from the airport and the mob, “This is nothing more than part of the territory. I guess you could say that I’m used to it.”
“I guess doing what you do…you’d have to develop a thick skin. Am I right?”
I nod, “Yes you are right. But now that we are away from those pieces of shit, I’d like some peace and quiet if you don’t mind. Just take me home.”
“You got it,” Riley says, and then we are surrounded by quiet.
People say that I will never be like Selena Frost. Good. I don’t need some sort of kiddie fucking T-shirt, or some terrible catchphrase. I do not need to cater to the fans before coming off like a complete asshole, trying to show that I think I’m better than everyone but in a nice, subtle way. I am an asshole and I show it proudly. You can put it on a T-shirt and watch it sell out, just because there are those who can’t stand a two faced trickster like Selena.
And hell, I hate them too.
But what I hate right now, is being back in New York City. It is my home, but like every home I have ever had. It contains ghosts. My home with Rachel is fine. She is perfect. She puts up with my shit and still sticks with me. But there are ghosts out there that I am going to have to work extra hard to get rid of. That I have to confront.
_____________________________
April 2018
New York City, New York
Hello…my son…
As I stare down at you resting in your little room, needles piercing your skin, tubes in your nose, monitors surrounding you as they keep a look out on your breathing as well as the amount of fluids being pumped into your body, I can’t help but feel anything less than numb. I am telling you this through a little microphone attached to the headphones around your head, as it rests comfortably I hope, on the pillow the hospital has provided for you. It is hard for me to imagine the events that led us to this destination, especially for you. Right now you are seven years old. Up until this point, it seemed you had your entire life ahead of you, son. Things seemed to be going perfect, not only for you, but for us as a family, including your mother. I hope that you remember her, little man because I know that she loved you and wanted nothing but the best for you. And whether or not you would ever care to acknowledge it, I would have always wanted the best for you. I would have always loved you. I just never knew that you were my son, but you are. You are of my flesh and blood. You could have been the one to carry on the legacy I have created, had I known from the get go.
When I say legacy, I am sure you would remember the fact that I am in the wrestling business. I have been an wrestler a lot longer than you’ve been alive.. I have been appearing in wrestling rings on the big stage as well as small. My legacy has been built upon a foundation of hard work and dedication. Each brick represents a layer of my success and the layers seem to be endless. I became champion in wrestling. But back to this legacy, my success…well, it doesn’t seem to be ending anytime soon. The possibilities and the opportunities, they are endless, son. That is something I would have wanted you to see, something that I would have wanted you to experience firsthand. But right now, it seems that may or may not happen due to your current status.
I hope that you are able to make it out of this situation and return better, harder, faster, stronger. Haha, sorry son. I can’t help but laugh at that. Saying that reminded me of the time I hung out with Kanye West, which is something that I wouldn’t highly recommend ever and I mean, ever. I hope you are able to wake up to find me here with you. I want you to be able to smile at me while I smile back at you, sharing an experience between you and I for the first time. I want you to see that smile and realize that I can love you. I want our eyes to lock and in the instance they meet, I want both of us to know that everything will be okay. Your mother would want that. And I am sure your brain may be trying to string together what happened and what I mean by the statement I made about your mother. I will tell you everything, son. I will bring you up to speed on the little world I’ve created for all of us. But before I get to all of that, I want to tell you the story of how your mother and I met. It was quite some time ago, just a little after the turn of the century as we left one of the greatest decades in my mind, which was the 2000s, and entered the 2010’s. You may be wondering why I would want to tell you about all of that, and trust me, as you always should especially since I am your father and I’d never lie to you, that there is a reason behind this information. The reason is because I want you to know the sort of person I was and who I am today. I also want you to know your mother and the sort of person that she ultimately became.
Do you remember me telling you just a little while ago that I have been a professional wrestler? At the time of the first meeting between your mother and I, I had been in the wrestling business for about six years, having started in 1995 at the age of 18. I was a long way away from achieving the status of Hall of Famer and multiple World Champion that I have today, but I was on the right path to becoming known as one of the very best that the sport would ever witness. I was with this little promotion that had formed in Europe but had migrated over to the States to do a few shows. We were in your hometown of Los Angeles, California on this particular night doing a pretty big event entitled “Living and Dying in LA” or something along those lines. I had been working pretty hard for the promotion to get some really good exposure at the time. I was seen as a hell of a hand, which at the time wasn’t a bad thing. Through that hard work, months of busting my ass, I was scheduled to compete for the promotion’s second tier title which was their Television Championship. I was told to job, which means lose the match, but that was only because the owner had bigger plans for me. He wanted me to chase down the champion, resulting in a big match at the promotion’s biggest event where I would win the title. More on that later son, so stay put. Haha, sorry once again. That is just my sick sense of humor.
I wrestled this guy who had been playing the game for a few years longer than me. I believe he went by the moniker of the Tower of London or T.O.L for short. Yes, I know the man is quite a tool for using it, but that is just my opinion. He also had nearly two hundred pounds on me at the time and he was a stiff worker, which means that he put all of weight and mass into every kick, punch, head butt, or splash. He nailed me a few good times, giving your dear old Dad a nice shiner for a souvenir. I gave him a good run, making him a lot better than what he truly was, which was an egotistical yet fat and lazy bastard. And once again, trust me when I say that I ran circles around the prick when we had our next match up. I mean, come on…you know me. I have never had an issue with bringing out the best in people, but also making them look their worst when and if they try to fuck me over. That is knowledge that I would have tried to instill in you as you’ve gotten older. Hopefully hearing this story will help you accepting the sort of knowledge I am trying to pass along to you.
Well, the lazy prick beat me one, two, three after nailing me with a kick to my man parts when the referee wasn’t looking. After the match was over, I received a standing ovation of cheers and applause from the people in the crowd. I then made my way through the curtain where the owner met me and gave me a hug. The champion had shit to say to me because he knew he wasn’t two squirts of piss. After the show ended, a few of us stuck around to push our merch, which is short for merchandise. I am not sure if you know what that means. I was pushing my T-shirts and 8X10’s. I did that sort of thing in order to get a little extra cash but there shirt I gave away for free that night.
And who was the lucky customer? Don’t worry. I won’t keep you in suspense…It was your mother.
Yes, the one and only…
She was gorgeous then just as she was the last time you saw her. Just different circumstances of course. I’d say the only difference was that her mocha colored hair was instead blonde, glowing like rays from the sun. She stepped up to the table, with a big smile on her face. I could tell she was nervous, like she had been dared to come up to talk to me. She seemed excited about it but not sure how to approach the situation. When she reached the table, she just stood there, awestruck more than likely because she was in the presence of somebody that was famous. I can’t blame her, son. I am sure I would have been the same way if the shoe were on the other foot.
We stood there, staring one another in the eyes before I finally said something to break the awkward silence we found ourselves entrenched in. It wasn’t anything special. I went with the causal approach by saying, “Hello.”
Her cheeks, which were tan like the rest of her body seemed to be, became very flushed, turning a pink color like a medium rare sirloin fresh off of the grill. I remember her twisting from side to side for a few moments before finally responding, “Hi…” She said with a very Californian surfer girl accent. I liked it almost instantly, though I detested most of the burnt out, stoner personalities that seemed to be all around us in those days, son. There was something about your mother that made me forget all of that, however. She seemed different. I cracked a grin, speaking with my Southern drawl that I inherited from your grandparents from North Carolina, “What can I help you with on this fine evening?”
“Fine evening?” She asked, sort of mocking the previously mentioned Southern drawl. It was a cute attempt. I had to give her that, “You are not from around here, are you?”
I fired back, giving my best impression of a so called surfer dude, “What makes you say that…brah?” As soon as the word escaped my mouth, I couldn’t help but laugh. It made me feel ten times better when your mother joined in on the laughter. A few moments later, the laughter ended and I remember letting out a sigh because I knew I had to follow that up, “Sorry. I couldn’t resist. But no, I am definitely not from around here. I am from a little place out of North Carolina that I am sure no one up here has ever heard of.”
Your mother retained her smile, “Try me.”
I nodded, “Alright. I’m from Morganton, North Carolina. Born and raised.”
I watched as your mother twisted her upper body once again, keeping her hands in the little dark green coat she had on over her white tank-top embroidered with a yellow, pink, and blue peace sign with an orange sun hanging up in the corner of the shirt that dangled a little bit over her blue jean skirt before she confessed, “You’re right. I have no idea where that is. Are you sure you’re not making all of that up? I know North Carolina is real but Morganton…I don’t believe it’s an actual place.”
I cracked a grin myself as your mother was pretty charming, especially back in those days, “No, trust me. It’s real. I couldn’t make that up if I tried. I’d show you if you ever wanted actual proof.”
Her smile then faded, “There is a slight chance, if we grew to know one another better, that I’d like that. I’d also like getting to know you better.”
Curiosity struck me big time, Alex. She was winning me over, but I was also a little hesitant. At least I did my best to appear so, “You don’t know me now. I don’t even believe we’ve properly introduced ourselves. I believe that is the first thing that should happen.”
Your mother rolled those beautiful hazel eyes of hers before cackling, “What is the fun in that? It takes away all of the mystery. Besides, I know who you are. I watched your match. That is one of the reasons I’m here. I wanted to tell you that I was sorry that you lost. You did a hell of a lot better than that tub of lard you had to wrestle.”
Her words gave me the big head and don’t worry, I am talking about the one resting on the top of my shoulders. I remember a small smirk appearing on my face. It was only small because I was doing my best to fight it, but your mother caused my ego to grow a little bit more than it already was at that moment, “Well thank you. I appreciate that. I am sure I will get another shot at him and I will outdo him even more next go round. So,” I said, looking down the spread of merchandise I had between us, “Would you like anything? I got T shirts for ten bucks. A 8×10 photo of yours truly,” I said, lifting the picture up to my face and striking a similar pose, “These are five bucks.”
She looked at the shirts and the picture in my hand before looking back at me. Her eyes then began to dart back and forth, appearing to me like she was thinking about it, you know…weighing her options before your mother responded with, “What if I give you my number? Do I get a shirt for free?”
I laughed, “Are you trying to bribe me?”
“Definitely not. I am bartering with you, brah…” She said with a laugh of her own, “I mean, I believe that my number is worth something.”
I looked at the shirts before returning my gaze to hers, “You think your number is worth ten bucks? I mean, this is part of my livelihood. You’d have to give me something more than that.”
She then stepped forward, seducing me with her eyes and I know you wouldn’t want to hear me say that, but son it is the God’s honest truth. Your mother reached me, taking the picture from my hand. She used the pen on the table and wrote something on the back of the 8X10. I did nothing. I was just amazed by her for reasons I couldn’t explain. She then reached over and grabbed a shirt off of the table then said something that I am sure I will never forget, “Maybe if you use that number, you’ll realize how much more I’m worth…” She said before blowing me a kiss and walking off, rejoining a group of friends. I could not take my eyes off of her. All I could do was watch as she walked away. She even gave me another look before disappearing from my view. She flashed that warm smile that made you feel right at home. I am sure if you were awake you wouldn’t hesitate to agree with me.
Damn it, boy…I wish you were okay. I’d like to know what you are thinking. I’d like to know if you could hear me or if you could remember anything from before the accident. Hell, I wonder what your mother would say to you if she had the strength to be around you.
Before I say anything else, I remove the microphone from my lips. I take the headphones off of my…son’s head. For a few moments, I contemplate placing a pillow over his face, or injecting an air bubble into one of the tubes pumping fluids into his body, but I don’t. Repeating to him over and over that he was my son has brought nothing to me but disgust. Absolute fucking disgust. This shouldn’t even be happening, but the reality is that it is. Just as the reality is that he is my son.
My own little bastard child.
Despite my words to him, I never would have wanted him. Hell, I don’t want him now. Had I learned the truth when his mother was first pregnant, I would have made sure she got an abortion. I would have done anything and everything to keep it quiet. That isn’t changing now, either. With him in the hospital and with the mother being where she needs to be, I know that I will have to keep this quiet and I will.
By any means necessary.
My wife, Rachel can never know. Regan can never know. Hell, the son that I claim, Alex…he can never know. This will be a secret I will have to bury. I know that can mean anything and I know with the right person for the right price, all of my secrets can stay buried. It’s not like I haven’t gone that route before. Taking care of Rachel’s uncle is a secret I will take with me to the grave. What happened to my sister Jalyn’s attacker is another secret that only I share with the attacker, but he isn’t exactly around to tell the tale.
And what a tale it is. My entire life is quite the tale. This is another chapter, adding another layer to peel away at my own psyche. I know the man my bastard child grew to know as his father will more than likely come after me. He and I have quite the history as well.
It is a history of violence, and that will never change. With this added layer to our own story, I have no doubt that this book will be closed in such a violent way, with one of us walking away, leaving the other for dead.
I walk out of my bastard’s room and I am immediately eye fucked by every single nurse walking by. They fumble through their charts, taking as many sideways glances at me that they can. I just give them a smirk and a nod of approval because I am used to this sort of thing. I have been in the public eye for years. I am past the age of 40, but even as the critics say, I am like a fine wine. I only get better with time. I can’t say argue with any of that. I mean, come on. Honestly. Why would I? The facts are facts and you can’t argue with facts.
I left the pro wrestling world back in 2013 and journeyed into the realm of film. It was something that I had always wanted to do. I got cleaned up in terms of my looks and began a serious training regimen to have the chiseled Greek God of a body that I have now. I got the lead in a show that is based upon an amazing book and if anyone ever gets a chance to read it, they fucking should.
The mentality was that a pro wrestler couldn’t make it anywhere else except a wrestling ring. I proved that to be bullshit.
I have always had talent and charisma. I played many roles and wore many hats during my pro wrestling career. I was the cocky individual. I was the angry young man who wanted to hurt people. I was the good guy who wore honor like a badge. I always prided myself on having the best match possible on any given night, no matter my position on the card. I brought that mentality to filming. It would be hard to argue when it comes to the amount of success that I have garnered for myself. I always push myself to do better. When it comes to anything that I do in this world, I push myself to get better.
I like to think that I can manipulate people to my will, playing any role on command. Yes, I am that damn good. And yes, it is a gift that I simply cannot control.
“How’s the kid?” My driver, Riley asks me. Even he is in tip top shape and dresses to impress, with his three piece suit and shades that cost over $1,000.00
I shrug my shoulders as he opens the door to my limo, “He’s…ya know…just lying around.”
Riley cracks a smile, “You’re a funny motherfucker, bro. You know that right?”
I smirk, “It’s part of my charm. What can I say?” I then climb into the limo and stretch out my arms and legs, getting myself comfortable.
“I bet it was good to be able to see him and talk to him,” I hear Riley call out from the front of the limo before he starts it up and merges into traffic.
I look outside of the window and see that New York is alive and well. The sun is hanging high above us all, beaming down upon us, letting those who truly shine bask in its flames of glory. I return my attention to Riley, “Yeah it was. I hate that he’s not able to talk but I have faith that he will return to full health.”
And then Riley’s next question follows, catching me completely off guard, “So what exactly happened, man. That is…if you don’t mind me asking of course.”
I let out a small scoff, feeling my face tighten up into a scowl but only at first. I am not someone who likes to constantly talk about my private life because that is exactly what it is. Fucking private, “Why do you ask?”
I watch as Riley shrugs before looking eyes with me as he stares in my direction into the rearview mirror, “Just curious, I guess you could say.”
“What makes you so curious, Riley?”
“It’s just that…you know…it’s like one day you see your kid running around, smiling and having a blast. And then the next thing you hear is that he is in a coma. It would just be a big surprise to me,” He states.
“If you must know, Riley, I will tell you. The little brat was fucking around, doing some dumb shit while he was at school. He was running around that place like a mad man before collapsing and falling down the stairs. He took a bad shot to the head and now he is where he is unfortunately. I hope when he wakes up, he will get the wakeup call that he needs.”
Riley nods, “Damn. I am sorry to hear all of that. I hope he realizes that the path he was going down wasn’t the best idea.”
“I’m glad you agree with me. I need as much support as I can get,” I say before removing my cell from my pocket. It had gone off so many times during my time with the bastard that I had lost count. All of the messages were from my wife, Rachel, “Jesus fucking Christ,” I whisper as to not draw Riley’s attention. The private life stays fucking private, I remind myself.
“What does the mother think about all of this?” I hear him ask as we continue down the highway.
I release a deep sigh, “I really have no clue as to what his mother thinks about it. Hell, I don’t know what she thinks about anything for that matter.”
We pull into the parking lot of the firm that represents me, ACC with my agent being Zeke Bannon. I lock eyes with Riley, “Riley, I love you and all but that is none of your fucking business, alright?” He says nothing. He just nods and I continue, “Now let me out me and park the limo. Are we clear?” Another nod before he brings the limo to a stop. I begin to read through all of my messages until my door opens. I place my phone back in my pocket and step outside. I grin and nod at Riley before making my entrance…
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– S H O O T –
There is this perception of me that I am a man who once fought for good. A man who would have stood alongside Team SCW when Blood Grove and so many other factions tried to burn the SCW down. That I am someone who cares for others, especially the fans. There is this perception of me that I have wanted the people to truly believe in me. There is also this perception that I am someone who is riding off of the coattails of two of the best wrestlers in this company today, two wrestlers who will reach Hall of Fame status.
I laugh at these perceptions. Just as I laughed at the perception that I was a bit disgruntled when I labeled SCW security for certain wrestlers leading up to Rise to Greatness in 2011. What I am is someone who doesn’t mince words when I speak. What I am is someone who doesn’t have to talk, but I am someone who has something to say and when I say something, those words are heard loud and clear. The people who hear my words hang off of every single noun and pronoun, clinging to each sentence like a Baptist preacher clings to a Bible verse.
I don’t give you a Royal Letter, or post a blog, because I feel that those are stupid. That is me being honest, and honest is always something that I am. If I don’t like you, I will let you know it. If I respect you then you will know it. If I wouldn’t piss on fire to put you out then you will know it. I have no issue in making it abundantly clear how feel about any given person or any given subject on any given day. When I state how I feel or give an opinion, I am not looking for someone to agree with me. My opinion is my own and that is all that I need when we get down to nitty gritty of it all.
I have no issue in stating that Xander Valentine isn’t as scary as this company makes him out to be. I have no issue in laughing at these ideas that Chad Evans and Damian Angel are God and the Devil walking amongst us. I have no issue in stating that Syren is nothing but a cancer to this company. I don’t care what any of them say to justify why I am wrong. It isn’t going to change a damn thing in regards to how I think and feel.
Just as there is nothing that someone like Selena can say to change the way I view myself in terms of fighting the good fight. Her good fight is to please all of you. She will state she is doing this all for you and that she is trying to make the SCW a better place. I don’t buy it, but that won’t stop her from preaching the same fucking message she preaches every single week. I believe that I fight the good fight. I have always fought the good fight when it comes to this industry.
My good fight was to get rid of what I deemed cancers in this company. People who were making this more about entertainment than sport. By entertainment I am referring to the cartoonish nicknames, the catchphrases, the stale faces in the same main event spots on every single card the SCW conjured up. I fought against that, because I believe it is more about ability than how much merchandise you manage to sell or how many nicknames you can rip off from a Disney movie, or how much you make it seem like you care for the fans, because the people who say they believe in you just you believe in them…are they helping the fans out?
No.
You true believers line my pockets by paying to see me. You line the pockets of everyone that competes for the SCW, by buying their merchandise, buying anything with their faces on it. What do you get in return? Oh you get a shout out in a Royal Letter, or a blog, or you are labeled as a true believer, or members of the Wonderland, or something idiotic.
I have never needed any of that, because I knew I would reach the top simply based on my ability. I have always gotten to the top, I have always gotten over quietly. I’ve never needed to raise my voice or have a T-shirt. No, that shit is for the birds. To me, that is fake. I am not a friend of the people. I wouldn’t donate my money to any of the people in the crowd, because I worked hard for my money. If they want a better life for themselves then they need to go out and earn it. Hard work is something that they can truly believe in, not the lie that most of the so called good guys in the SCW preach.
Was that too much? Should I apologize? I’m not going to, because I stand by what I say. Just as someone like Selena Frost will stand by what she says. I don’t believe anything she says, and I can’t help but laugh at how she starts just about every single promo or Royal Letter about how she has been a victim of crushing lows, and how she has had to stand up to myself and the rest of Past, Present, and Future. I can’t help but laugh at how she presents herself as this genuinely good person, yet she will belittle anyone and everyone she competes against. Like Blake Mason said she would never be as good as he was in the ring, yet she brought up how she beat him weeks before Unflawed. An actual good person wouldn’t need to bring that up. An actual good person would shrug it off and keep going instead of participating in a high school argument.
I am not a good person. I have said some pretty terrible things and I have done some awful things to people. Stuff my family have shaken their heads at and condemned me for. Just like the people have. But I won’t apologize for any of that either. I am not a good person and I won’t act like it either. Selena is the exact opposite. She will make this presentation where she is the good guy, and the people buy it because they are too stupid to realize it. She gave them all a cute nickname so she is alright in their book. But Selena Frost is not a good person.
And yes, I am sure she has heard this before, but once again, this is my opinion and I am going to state it. When you look at how Selena talks to other wrestlers on Twitter, such Regan Helms or Sienna. They are able to manipulate her to the point where they can trash her and instead of shrugging it off, Selena will stand up for herself. She will trash them despite claiming she wants to make the SCW a better place, by riding the SCW of Past, Present, and Future. Selena plays write into our hands. She claims to never stoop down to our level, but she does each and every time she is insulted over social media. She becomes a snarky bitch, doing all that she can to come out on top, instead of being the so called bigger person and walking away.
We’ve made sure that her true colors shine, as Selena has to come off like the Alpha every single time. She is nice when people are praising her, but if you insult her, Selena comes off like a cheap imitation of Regan Helms. She ends up sounding like one of the so called bad guys that she is doing her best to fight. And then she will apologize for her actions so the fans don’t think differently of her. That is nothing more than a joke. Just like it is a joke that Selena calls those she gains a win as true believers. She holds victories over her so called friends, Amy Chastaine and Kennedy Street, but she egotistically calls them true believers.
But then again, it does work because that is what she calls her fans. True believers. She treats them as she does Amy and Kennedy. She treats the people like they are all friends and that she would do anything and everything in the world for them, yet there is a hidden truth. That hidden truth is that she knows she has beaten the fans. She has made believers out of them by having them buy into every single lie she has ever presented to them.
I can’t help but laugh about that. Oh, I know Selena will hear these words and it is going to turn her pale skin many different shades of red. Selena, I know that you are going to get mad. I know that you will stoop to levels you claim you don’t, and you will find a way to bury me, discrediting my accomplishments, calling me an idiot, but you will say that you say these things for the people. I know that you are going to lose sleep, trying to think of things to say in regards to a rebuttal, to somehow save face and make yourself appear respectable.
You will do all that you can to grab at the layers of yourself that I have exposed. Layers that have been easily exposed by so many people who don’t buy into your horseshit. You can try to change the perception I’ve presented, the perception that your true believers are hearing as they slowly start to question how they view you. You can try to change it, but I know the truth, and as I’ve said, you can’t change how I think or feel.
I know I will always be viewed as an asshole, as the villain. I embrace it because I know that telling the truth makes you out to be the asshole, because so many people hate hearing the truth. They don’t like having the truth exposed. Sorry to melt your igloo and burst your bubble, when it comes to the truth, I just can’t…let it go.
Just as I may not let go of a submission that I will surely place you in. I want to win, sure, but hurting you will give me just as much satisfaction. Breaking your bones, tearing ligaments, putting you on the shelf…that is truly satisfying. That is something that I can get behind. It is something that I can truly believe in.
Josh Hudson 