Dean Wolf's Apology Tour, Part III-A

It’s a little stalker-ish, what he’s doing, but it’s all for a good reason.



Dean Wolf is sitting outside Joe Simpson’s house. Even though Joe is at the bottom of the Apology List, Wolf knew where he lived, so he’s starting with him. There aren’t any cars in the driveway, leading Wolf to believe that nobody’s home. It’s fine. He’s got time today to wait, and time to wait means time for thoughts.



Of course, his thoughts only lead him to one person, the only person that’s been on his mind these last few weeks: Zombie McMorris.



Wolf wishes that he could free up his mind to think about different things, but ZMAC’s words prove to be penetrable weapons.



Wolf needs his mamas titty to suck…



I'm sure mama wolf would love to set her titties on the table for you…



I'll bring yo mamas tits and a tall glass. We can fill it up with her milk and your tears.



Wolf, I’mma let you finish jerkin your cock to ya moms...



The words play in his head like a song he’d memorized. They’re like a mantra or a chant sung by Gregorian monks. He doesn’t know how to stop hearing them. He doesn’t know how to stop thinking about them.



The only way to exorcise ZMACs disgusting words is the only way he knows how.



Revenge through violence.



His mother wouldn’t approve. His father would only approve of violence if it was done in self-defense, but now his dad could care less what he did.



Wolf looks down at his Apology List and sees Katie’s name. She certainly wouldn’t have approved.



That’s why he wants ZMAC to be the last one he hurts. Maybe Spartan if he doesn’t know what’s good for him, but it’s a guarantee that ZMAC will go through the reckoning that Wolf has planned for him.



And after that, he’ll change for good.



For now, he needs to pass the time in a more productive way. He turns on his phone’s video app and presses record.



Dean Wolf: One of the things my mom tried to teach me when I was younger was that when kids were picking on me and saying fucked-up shit to me, I just had to ignore them. If I ignored them and they saw they couldn’t get a rise out of me, they eventually would stop.



It worked. Kids would say shit to me, call me names, and I would ignore them, and they’d persist, but after a while, they saw that I wasn’t gonna react to what they were saying, and soon enough they’d quit. That is until they found something new to say to me and the process would start all over again. That’s just the way it was.



The problem with that strategy is that when you’re someone like me who can’t just let shit go, the words people say just eat away at you. I always wished that I had shut those kids up from the start, not just ignored them and let them continue until they decided they wanted to stop. I always wished that I had some witty comeback or some insult in my back pocket that I could throw at them and stun them into shutting the fuck up and leaving me alone. I didn’t, and the words they said to me would eat at me. My inaction, my passivity would eat at me. It wasn’t good enough that I ignored them and they stopped. No, I wished that I’d reacted at that moment and stopped them right away. If I’d done that, maybe it wouldn’t have gone on so long.



Everybody, parents, teachers, the big purple dinosaur on the TV, always said to use your words and not your actions. Well, after a while, that seemed to be horseshit to me. At some point, after allowing these kids to say what they wanted to say to me and just going through the motions, I decided to use my fucking actions. No longer was I going to allow these kids to decide when THEY were going to stop. Allowing them to decide gave them all the power. Uh-uh. Now, I was going to decide when they were going to stop. I was going to take the power back.



For you, ZMAC, I’ve tried to use my mother’s strategy. I’m seeing and hearing all this shit that you’re saying about me and her and I’m trying to ignore it. I’m not going back and forth on social media about it, but as much as I try to block you out, you keep going. You don’t quit. You keep coming at me.



But you know what? Unlike all those kids who bothered me back in the day, I kind of like having you in my head. I kind of like that I can’t stop thinking about the words that you say. I like how upset it makes me. I like how enraged I get when I see your stupid fucking face in my mind. It gives me the motivation I need to crush your head with my fucking foot this Monday at Alpha Showdown. It makes me feel less guilty about the horrible things I want to do to you in that ring. It prepares me to be less human when that bell rings and I come straight at you. I want you to keep going. I want you to give me more bullshit to listen to. You’ve occupied a space in my brain. You’re living here now, 24/7. I’m addicted to your words. I need them. I need to mainline them right into my fucking vains. Please, keep going.



People may think that I’m strange for saying that. I’m not dumb. I know that saying all this shit is strategy for you. You’re playing mind games. You say all this shit about my personal life and you bury yourself in my brain. Congratulations. You’ve done well.



And that’s fine, because the only thing that gives me consolation is that I’m in your fucking brain, too. If not, you wouldn’t be coming at me hard with all this personal shit. See, if you had confidence that you could beat me at Alpha Showdown, you wouldn’t need to try and get in my head.



You think I’m wrong? Let’s look at the facts.



You have been a hardcore legend everywhere you’ve gone. No matter the promotion, you’ve earned a reputation for being the most hardcore wrestler that there ever was. Then you rolled into APW and you tried to grab that distinction here. The problem is that I beat you to it. The match that you thought was all yours, that you thought you had locked up, that you had in the palm of your hand, slipped away from you when I pinned you. You thought you were going to be the king of this hardcore territory. You thought this was your throne, your division, your kingdom. I proved you wrong and you can’t handle it.



How do I know? Your bullshit gives you away. You see, the difference between you and me is that when I’m bested by someone, I take it in stride. I can’t stand her fucking guts, but when Lucy Sixx beat me three or four weeks ago, I didn’t sit here and say that I was better than her. I readily accepted that she beat me because she was the better fucking competitor. I didn’t go and try to re-write history and say that she was riding my coattails. I didn’t cut a promo the next week and treat her victory like it was a fucking fluke. I didn’t say that I was the king of the junior heavyweight division.



An honest man doesn’t distort or downplay the facts. An honest man handles failure honorably. If you could handle the thought of losing to me, you wouldn’t need to talk about my victory like it was some fluke. You’d say “You were the better man. You proved to be the best hardcore wrestler in APW.” Then you’d come out at Alpha Showdown, like Spartan is regrettably doing, and try to take that mantle away from me. That’s what a real man does. That’s what a real competitor does. They don’t cry and bitch and act like a petulant child. They get up, brush themselves off, and try again.



Maybe you just spew bullshit because you need to pass the time in your life. Maybe you’re so fucking bored that the only thing you know how to do to pass the time is to make up an alternate reality than the one everybody else is living in. Maybe you just don’t like the facts that are presented to you. Maybe you don’t like the actual reality that’s in your face. You’re like the political pundits on TV or the people who get woke on Twitter every minute of the day. You think that just because you believe something that it's a fact, and when you’re presented with actual facts, then everybody else must be wrong.



I’m here to tell you, son, what you see before you is reality.



I am the hardcore champion.



The hardcore division does not belong to you.



The hardcore division may have belonged to you everywhere else you’ve been, but not here. You complain about being school boy'd but in reality, you missed a stomp and I countered with The Kill, and you were looking up at the casino lights.



You wanted to be the first hardcore champion in APW. You wanted to be the first titleholder in APW history. You will never, ever have that distinction. It’s out of your grasp. It belongs to me, now and forever. It passed you by and you’ll never have a chance at it again. That fact is buried in your brain.



Let’s forget all the bullshit. Let’s forget all the claims that you make. Let’s worry about Alpha Showdown. That’s where you’re gonna have to prove that you’re better than me. Whatever the outcome is, that’s going to be the reality, and we’re going to have to accept it, no matter what.



That being said, I don't want to see you walking away with my title. I don't want to see you being able to walk at all. As much as I want to hold on to my title, I want to see you punished more. I want to see you broken. I want to see you being half, no, a quarter of the man that you used to be. Even if Spartan somehow gets in my way and doesn’t get bodied by me and walks away with my title, I’ll still don't want to see you leaving the ring of your own free will.



I’ve let you talk now long enough and I know you’ll never stop, no matter how long I try and ignore you. You’re the devil himself. You’re evil incarnate. And maybe I’ll never have you out of my life. Even after this match, you and I may be attached at the hip forever. This may be a struggle that only ends when one or both of us die, and even after we’re both gone, maybe it’ll continue in the afterlife. And if there is no afterlife, maybe our remains will find each other in the dirt and we’ll continue to go at it until our flesh is eaten by maggots or our bones turn to dust.



Whatever the case may be, I’ve used my words long enough.



Now it’s time for me to use my actions.



At the same time that he hits the red button to end the recording, he sees a car pull up in Joe Simpson’s driveway.