Post by Corey Black on Apr 26, 2020 12:41:22 GMT -5
The day is sunny, seemingly a bit chilly. There's a slight breeze sending the treeline i the distance swaying a bit. Some buildings litter the view and in comes Corey Black standing in a parking lot. He looks up and to his left. A ramshackle building is connecting to this parking lot with faded green lettering. Corey has his Alpha Pro Tag Team Title and Action Wrestling Hardcore Title on each shoulder, gold glistening in the sunlight.
"When I came to Alpha Pro it was for one purpose. One. Tag Team Titles. Frank was already here winning giant matches and challenging for the big one. If there's one thing about me, it's that I am a one company man. But I made a special arrangement to make it to Alpha Pro to compete in the tag division. I'm very appreciative of that opportunity, it doesn't seem feesible at present time where I am at otherwise. Now naturally, I had to take a little detour to the Bahamas and help a Coked Up Madman destroy a couple of no-brain jackoffs with mouths faster than the quickest draw in the west, but skills that are about as good as the dead man falling in front of that quick draw cowboy.
Now, I say all that because for the majority of my career I was that one company man. Everyone else I competed with had side gigs and wouldn't fully commit. I didn't have those issues. There was one time where I left to prove to myself that I could still climb the ranks from the bottom but as soon as I was satiated I went back home.
Home. Not many people can claim they had a home, but me? I helped build mine. I am part of the foundation, the walls, the roof and the furnishings. I put my life on hold for more than eighteen years of my life for Wrestling Championship Federation because I am a loyal man. I went through hoops day in and day out, had to deal with the next new flavor of the month all while the man that ran the place put me through the paced simply because he didn't like me.
He didn't like having a marketable talent that could run through anyone he put in front of him.
He didn't like having a man loyal to the brand, a man that wouldn't shit on the name WCF just because something went sideways.
I had to earn my spot over and over again and when I did, I was always met with some kind of resistance. Some kind of bullshit swerve to try to take me down a peg.
It's because I wasn't hand picked. I wasn't deemed the name of the company by the brass, that went to someone else. Someone else that would do nothing but cause issue and panic among everyone involved from management, through the locker room and out into the crowd.
I wasn't a stooge. I'll never be a stooge for anyone. I'm Corey fucking Black and I have never once had the favor of anyone in charge. I have always done what is best for me. And that is compete. I was given a platform to wrestle and by God I did it.
That platform was provided by a man that never once saw me as anything more than a nuisance. A guy that had someone new every time I turned around but never once was I that shiny toy. Logan, PC Cradle, Torture, Logan again, Rick Mad, Bobby Cairo, Jack of Blades, Skyler Striker, Hector Rodriguez, Logan again, ICE Beckman, Thomas fucking Bates, Sydney Warwick and the list goes on and on and on.
Nowhere is the man that stuck around. That brought in the fans, helped make sure everyone was comfortable and kicked the shit out of those that weren't worth their spot.
You're an addict, Lerch. It isn't alcohol, it never was. You used to to suppress the real addiction you have and that is fucking attention.
You couldn't ever not be in the limelight. Run things from the background without getting your hands dirty. Since day one you were out there in front of the camera soaking it up. You joined the T.O.T. and cemented your lips around Logan's dick. You had matches, you terrorized men like me. All because it was an ego trip, that's all WCF was until the day you finally gave it up. You couldn't fucking stand that I was the biggest name in the place.
And what happened once I took over, Seth?
I sat back and let the wrestlers be wrestlers.
Now granted, I couldn't keep it afloat. Not because I didn't want to, because I didn't have anyone in my back pocket helping keep the bitch going. I didn't have stooges and a roster full of inflated jackasses. I had WRESTLERS. Men and women going out there to do battle and see who came out on top. An owner that didn't have to pick and choose who he did or didn't like and make sure they got chance after chance to beat the top of the food chain.
And that's why you're here now, isn't it? You saw me flourish yet again. You saw me becoming more than I ever was with the green and black flag and you have to put a stop to that because I am not a Seth Lerch creation.
I used your platform to boost my name but for damn sure you didn't make it easy. Even to the dying day, I appreciate all you did but within that are the moments in time frozen. They stick out like a sore thumb. At Endgame I gave you the thrashing you deserved and I even had the decency to leave you in the ring alone. WCF was your creation. You made it, you maintained it and you deserve all the credit for its lasting legacy. That is something I will never take away from you. Even though I had to pick up the pieces every time you decided to leave, you deserve the credit.
You also have a lot of debt to pay.
Coming here and attacking Frank for the sole purpose of trying to kill that which you couldn't when you ran things?
Oh Seth.
You're just one of the boys now. You have no power here. You have nothing to show except a new found sobriety and a 'friend.' You're in for a rude awakening, man, you've NEVER done anything like this before. You always have sat behind your desk, barked orders and shown up simply to get your face on camera next to legends of the sport.
As of the moment you and Price stepped in and did what you did to Frank, you gave up all that prestige and lawfulness. No longer do I have to worry about repercussions of driving my elbow through your face because there will be none. It's fair game, Lerch, you're in the fucking lion's den with the King of All Wrestlers and for the first time in our lives, you can't make my life hell after I destroy you. You can't book me against Bates a week after getting put through a stage. You can't give me a one on five gauntlet match. You can't do a goddamn thing Lerch except hope and pray.
Your Thirteenth Step, fucking apt, isn't it? Step thirteen is the one where your world breaks apart. The ground beneath your foot falls out revealing an endless plummet into the ether. There is no surface to land on. Your thirteenth step is the fucking reckoning of the Man Made Gods, two men that have been scorned by you two for the last time.
It's a name you once went under, Price. You were a Man Made God at one point. Luckily Frank has proven himself worthy of the moniker, you took it for granted. You thought it was your right. I bestow such names upon men deserving of the recognition. Even before Pantheon, Man Made Gods was a name that rung through history as the premier in tag team wrestling. Just as it does now. Frank and I, we're old. We're old as fuck. But damnit if we aren't the very best.
Where have you even been, Price? I feel like the last time I saw you - you were shoulder deep in a Mustache. You disgusting filth. I am appalled to even have my name next to yours in any capacity, let alone being the one to grant you the right to call yourself a Man Made God or member of Pantheon. You have proven me wrong, you are a one trick pony. You're a fucking gimmick, Price, through and through. You can't get ti done as a wrestler do to get yourself over you have to do these outlandish stunts to somehow get people to care, which backfires every time in the end.
Alien clone? Check.
Penis based tag team with a black man? Check.
Fucking an old fat bitch and being her pussy whipped slave? Check.
Look at you, pathetic waste. You've got so many wins under your belt, so many titles, and you're entire existence is defined by how stupid you are.
When I look at you Jayson, I don't see the legendary figure you think you are. I see a scared boy that once again got the courage to step up to the King. You won our first contest, again, nothing I can take away. But since then, Jay - you've been my bitch. The Corey Black you kenw couldn't defend a title to save his life. The Corey Black standing in front of you has been Hardcore Champion in Action Wrestling for over two hundred and fifty days. A place you couldn't fucking cut it in because the talent level surpasses you at the bottom of the card.
So you're here in Alpha Pro, another company that has such a high bar even you couldn't order a drink at. Which explains your sobriety. No longer can you two coast through life getting the kind of spotlight you crave while also drowning your sorrow in a bottle.
God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change. You cannot change the past, boys, no matter how hard you try. You've both filled my life with transgressions and backstabbing to the point where frankly - I'm not even worried about these Tag Titles leaving our waists, I'm worried about the dry cleaning bill to get your blood out of my fucking gear.
The courage to change the things I can. It takes a lot of balls to come in and think you're deserving of our Tag Titles. We plowed through a tournament of the top wrestlers to assure out first reign and I'll be damned if I let my past continue to haunt my future.
And the wisdom to know the difference. Which is where you two failed miserably. The past is the past, a place where you should have been left. The difference is my future is still being defined. Yours both stopped years ago. You have no future, just a past. Just a past overflowing with depression and guilt. Anger and misery. Sins you'll finally be able to pay without the guise of authority or friendship.
You've got about as good of chance as the WCF Classic 2020.
See ya out there, marks."
Corey smiles and takes a few steps toward the dilapidated structure he was standing in front of. The faded green letters spell out WCF HQ, the base of operations for decades of the company linking these men in this match. Corey walks up to the door and kneels, placing the titles from other companies against the door.
"As of this moment.. I am free from your curse."
Corey stands up and adjusts the belts back to his shoulders. He breathes in deep, exhaling into the sky, a new man.
"When I came to Alpha Pro it was for one purpose. One. Tag Team Titles. Frank was already here winning giant matches and challenging for the big one. If there's one thing about me, it's that I am a one company man. But I made a special arrangement to make it to Alpha Pro to compete in the tag division. I'm very appreciative of that opportunity, it doesn't seem feesible at present time where I am at otherwise. Now naturally, I had to take a little detour to the Bahamas and help a Coked Up Madman destroy a couple of no-brain jackoffs with mouths faster than the quickest draw in the west, but skills that are about as good as the dead man falling in front of that quick draw cowboy.
Now, I say all that because for the majority of my career I was that one company man. Everyone else I competed with had side gigs and wouldn't fully commit. I didn't have those issues. There was one time where I left to prove to myself that I could still climb the ranks from the bottom but as soon as I was satiated I went back home.
Home. Not many people can claim they had a home, but me? I helped build mine. I am part of the foundation, the walls, the roof and the furnishings. I put my life on hold for more than eighteen years of my life for Wrestling Championship Federation because I am a loyal man. I went through hoops day in and day out, had to deal with the next new flavor of the month all while the man that ran the place put me through the paced simply because he didn't like me.
He didn't like having a marketable talent that could run through anyone he put in front of him.
He didn't like having a man loyal to the brand, a man that wouldn't shit on the name WCF just because something went sideways.
I had to earn my spot over and over again and when I did, I was always met with some kind of resistance. Some kind of bullshit swerve to try to take me down a peg.
It's because I wasn't hand picked. I wasn't deemed the name of the company by the brass, that went to someone else. Someone else that would do nothing but cause issue and panic among everyone involved from management, through the locker room and out into the crowd.
I wasn't a stooge. I'll never be a stooge for anyone. I'm Corey fucking Black and I have never once had the favor of anyone in charge. I have always done what is best for me. And that is compete. I was given a platform to wrestle and by God I did it.
That platform was provided by a man that never once saw me as anything more than a nuisance. A guy that had someone new every time I turned around but never once was I that shiny toy. Logan, PC Cradle, Torture, Logan again, Rick Mad, Bobby Cairo, Jack of Blades, Skyler Striker, Hector Rodriguez, Logan again, ICE Beckman, Thomas fucking Bates, Sydney Warwick and the list goes on and on and on.
Nowhere is the man that stuck around. That brought in the fans, helped make sure everyone was comfortable and kicked the shit out of those that weren't worth their spot.
You're an addict, Lerch. It isn't alcohol, it never was. You used to to suppress the real addiction you have and that is fucking attention.
You couldn't ever not be in the limelight. Run things from the background without getting your hands dirty. Since day one you were out there in front of the camera soaking it up. You joined the T.O.T. and cemented your lips around Logan's dick. You had matches, you terrorized men like me. All because it was an ego trip, that's all WCF was until the day you finally gave it up. You couldn't fucking stand that I was the biggest name in the place.
And what happened once I took over, Seth?
I sat back and let the wrestlers be wrestlers.
Now granted, I couldn't keep it afloat. Not because I didn't want to, because I didn't have anyone in my back pocket helping keep the bitch going. I didn't have stooges and a roster full of inflated jackasses. I had WRESTLERS. Men and women going out there to do battle and see who came out on top. An owner that didn't have to pick and choose who he did or didn't like and make sure they got chance after chance to beat the top of the food chain.
And that's why you're here now, isn't it? You saw me flourish yet again. You saw me becoming more than I ever was with the green and black flag and you have to put a stop to that because I am not a Seth Lerch creation.
I used your platform to boost my name but for damn sure you didn't make it easy. Even to the dying day, I appreciate all you did but within that are the moments in time frozen. They stick out like a sore thumb. At Endgame I gave you the thrashing you deserved and I even had the decency to leave you in the ring alone. WCF was your creation. You made it, you maintained it and you deserve all the credit for its lasting legacy. That is something I will never take away from you. Even though I had to pick up the pieces every time you decided to leave, you deserve the credit.
You also have a lot of debt to pay.
Coming here and attacking Frank for the sole purpose of trying to kill that which you couldn't when you ran things?
Oh Seth.
You're just one of the boys now. You have no power here. You have nothing to show except a new found sobriety and a 'friend.' You're in for a rude awakening, man, you've NEVER done anything like this before. You always have sat behind your desk, barked orders and shown up simply to get your face on camera next to legends of the sport.
As of the moment you and Price stepped in and did what you did to Frank, you gave up all that prestige and lawfulness. No longer do I have to worry about repercussions of driving my elbow through your face because there will be none. It's fair game, Lerch, you're in the fucking lion's den with the King of All Wrestlers and for the first time in our lives, you can't make my life hell after I destroy you. You can't book me against Bates a week after getting put through a stage. You can't give me a one on five gauntlet match. You can't do a goddamn thing Lerch except hope and pray.
Your Thirteenth Step, fucking apt, isn't it? Step thirteen is the one where your world breaks apart. The ground beneath your foot falls out revealing an endless plummet into the ether. There is no surface to land on. Your thirteenth step is the fucking reckoning of the Man Made Gods, two men that have been scorned by you two for the last time.
It's a name you once went under, Price. You were a Man Made God at one point. Luckily Frank has proven himself worthy of the moniker, you took it for granted. You thought it was your right. I bestow such names upon men deserving of the recognition. Even before Pantheon, Man Made Gods was a name that rung through history as the premier in tag team wrestling. Just as it does now. Frank and I, we're old. We're old as fuck. But damnit if we aren't the very best.
Where have you even been, Price? I feel like the last time I saw you - you were shoulder deep in a Mustache. You disgusting filth. I am appalled to even have my name next to yours in any capacity, let alone being the one to grant you the right to call yourself a Man Made God or member of Pantheon. You have proven me wrong, you are a one trick pony. You're a fucking gimmick, Price, through and through. You can't get ti done as a wrestler do to get yourself over you have to do these outlandish stunts to somehow get people to care, which backfires every time in the end.
Alien clone? Check.
Penis based tag team with a black man? Check.
Fucking an old fat bitch and being her pussy whipped slave? Check.
Look at you, pathetic waste. You've got so many wins under your belt, so many titles, and you're entire existence is defined by how stupid you are.
When I look at you Jayson, I don't see the legendary figure you think you are. I see a scared boy that once again got the courage to step up to the King. You won our first contest, again, nothing I can take away. But since then, Jay - you've been my bitch. The Corey Black you kenw couldn't defend a title to save his life. The Corey Black standing in front of you has been Hardcore Champion in Action Wrestling for over two hundred and fifty days. A place you couldn't fucking cut it in because the talent level surpasses you at the bottom of the card.
So you're here in Alpha Pro, another company that has such a high bar even you couldn't order a drink at. Which explains your sobriety. No longer can you two coast through life getting the kind of spotlight you crave while also drowning your sorrow in a bottle.
God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change. You cannot change the past, boys, no matter how hard you try. You've both filled my life with transgressions and backstabbing to the point where frankly - I'm not even worried about these Tag Titles leaving our waists, I'm worried about the dry cleaning bill to get your blood out of my fucking gear.
The courage to change the things I can. It takes a lot of balls to come in and think you're deserving of our Tag Titles. We plowed through a tournament of the top wrestlers to assure out first reign and I'll be damned if I let my past continue to haunt my future.
And the wisdom to know the difference. Which is where you two failed miserably. The past is the past, a place where you should have been left. The difference is my future is still being defined. Yours both stopped years ago. You have no future, just a past. Just a past overflowing with depression and guilt. Anger and misery. Sins you'll finally be able to pay without the guise of authority or friendship.
You've got about as good of chance as the WCF Classic 2020.
See ya out there, marks."
Corey smiles and takes a few steps toward the dilapidated structure he was standing in front of. The faded green letters spell out WCF HQ, the base of operations for decades of the company linking these men in this match. Corey walks up to the door and kneels, placing the titles from other companies against the door.
"As of this moment.. I am free from your curse."
Corey stands up and adjusts the belts back to his shoulders. He breathes in deep, exhaling into the sky, a new man.
