Post by Lochlyn Cade on Aug 21, 2021 6:35:49 GMT
"Rhodes in Heist of Revolution 1"
Rebellion cannot exist without a strange form of love. - Albert Camus
Los Angeles, CA the bank robbery capital of the world. Money stolen with a scribbled note and the wrong end of a gun. It’s a nickname that stuck with a city and the people living within it’s boundaries. The bank heist and those who perpetrated them have become fabled myths of the city and a country.
December 8th 2020
It’s the date marked on a calendar where “The Bad Seed” Dorian Rhodes will perpetrate a heist of his own. A heist within the boundaries of four corners, some taped ropes, and Toronto Canada. The prize is a chance to be included in the Hardcore gauntlet. It will only be his second match within Rev1 and he’s already handcuffing the dreams of those in the locker room. It will become his own version of Norco ‘80.
I’m sitting here in my recliner, feet kicked back, looking straight into this camera as the guy behind it gives me a funny look and now a smirk of annoyance.
He’s stood behind that camera watching firsthand as those words and actions happen week in and week out. He probably thinks that he’s seen it all.
Predictable? That’s probably how he sees things if I had to venture a guess. Well, I’ll predict something.
You might as well call me… Champ…
Everyone should get use to that in the next few days and the next few weeks. At the end of the day and at the end of a gauntlet that’s exactly what I’ll be, the Champ.
This HorrorCore Championship was customized day one for the Rhodes family progeny. The first ceremonial Champion was a Madman in both name and his narky petulance for anything, everything.
Madman Szalinski may have been the first champion. I’ll potentially be the last. Why you ask? It’s the belt that will be retired when I finally hang up my boots. This kid doesn’t plan on losing that title once it’s around my waist. That’s the cocky thing to say anyway, right?
Truth be told I might have a bad attitude and a chip on my shoulder. We’ll call it a dreadful arrogance that comes across in my behavior. It’s something most can recognize within thirty seconds of watching any promo I’ve ever cut in this business. With that arrogance is an entitled vision that I’ve got a standing legacy simply because of my wrestling family.
All of these words simply to say I’m not dumb enough to think I’ll retire that belt. There are those that would do anything in hopes to take it from me. I know eventually someone may end up lucky enough to get the job done.
That’s not going to happen anytime soon. I’m too hungry. I’m too focused. I’m too adamant in my desire. I have a prevailing attitude and the wisdom to get the job done. It’s a Rhode’s map to victory and the girl’s voice behind that Google GPS knows the final destination is on the left.
Brother Zeke and his family of inadequate broods can’t envision this as anything more than a libidinous family reunion. Yes, I’m talking about you Anya Coyle, Pasha, Ginger Snaps, and Taysia Lattimore. None of you have that pedigree of championship blood.
It simply doesn’t run through your veins and you don’t bleed the blood of a champions aspiration. It’s not something you’re going to run down to the corner gas station and pickup. Each and every single one of my opponents are a plain bag of lays and I’m a can of pringles. You’re filled with half air and I’m rising to the top.
You have got to like metaphors, huh? Here’s one for you.
Success is like a fart. Nobody likes it unless it’s their own – Unknown
That’s exactly what each of you are, hot air. Get it? We keep coming back to that whole air thing. Which is exactly where each of your blah blahs and boo hoos is going to end up. In the air falling on deaf ears.
I don’t see any Einsteins here but I think you can figure out the message I’m sending. It’s like the equation X22+5X+6. The math just doesn’t add up and you’re left scratching your head. Except you’ll all be scratching your @s… That’s exactly what you’re all going to end up falling on.
You know ol’ Dorian’s got to keep it PG13 for the boys and girls watching.
I’m a little smarter than your average wrestler. I don’t need the normal expletives that all of these guys and girls find themselves using. It’s a case of simple minds using the easy words. All in an attempt to show how cool they are. They only feeling of cool that any of you are going to have is standing outside in that Canadian air after a losing effort.
Anya, Pasha, Ginger, Taysia, and Zeke I got something you don’t. An emotional and a hot-blooded passion for this business. It’s a love that even cupid can’t give. It’s earned. It’s the blood I’ve spilled and the sweat I’ve left on the canvas between those ropes. It’s a love for the art I’ve created inside that ring.
It’s a strange love that not many can grasp or understand. It’s a rebellion of self mixed in with a veil of disobedience. I’m the one man regime of change. The coup détat of Revolution One.
It’s going to be a sudden and violent seizure of the hardcore affairs of Revolutions little gauntlet of heathens. When it’s all said and done Toronto will be the dust bowl of Canada as I lay waste between the ring ropes of Revolution.
I’m arrogant and a little disrespectful in the words and phrases I use to humiliate my opponents. It’s always the first step within the plan to secure a victory. Step two is when I physically embarrass my opponents inside that ring.