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Ready for Anything.
Topic Started: Apr 3 2018, 11:21 PM (19 Views)
Rob Sharpe

Unless you wrestled in Cancun on Easter weekend, chances are my Spring Break kicked considerably more ass than yours.

I wrestled. I got nice and loaded with some of the craziest motherfuckers alive. I was on my toes all weekend waiting for someone to sneak attack me and try to take my Eternal Welfare title. And I had a blast. The resulting hangover I coulda done without, but hey, being a Jew on Easter Sunday meant I didn’t have to worry about making Jesus weep.

And now, as I prepare for the flight back to Japan, as I work out in the Philly Parks and Rec weight room near my house, I have a lot running through my mind. Last weekend was the time to cut loose and party. Now, though, it’s strictly business. Carnage Carnival is upon us. Twelve days of deathmatch action; two groups of twelve, hungry for blood. For violence. For glory.

Bench press machine. Maximum setting. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight.

Rest.

There’s a lot riding on this tournament. The Yamashi Cup. A shot at the World Champion. And of course, my Eternal Warfare title is on the line. All day, every day.

This won’t just be the biggest tournament I have ever been in. It’ll be the biggest test I’ve faced since I came out of retirement. I’m in a group with eleven people I would call up if I ever decided I was bored and wanted to conquer Hell, and not one of them is a pushover. Not one. Yeah. I’m friends with a lot of them.

But they know as well as I do, that this is the time when friendships and alliances are put aside, even if just for thirty minutes a night. Whether it’s Tiami Erickson, my ally in the Badd Breed. Whether it’s Josh Kennedy, one of the toughest human beings to ever set foot in a ring, and one of the best world champions professional wrestling has EVER seen. Whether it’s Masatake Kawamata, the first friend I made in this stage of my career, the man who brought me to Death Trip Wrestling in the first place. Whether it’s Kalinda Kriegsdottir, THE DTW World Champion, who I am ESPECIALLY looking forward to facing, seeing as I pinned both her Menagerie partners and I’m itching to get the complete set.

Speaking of sets. Next round of benches.

And even jackasses like Riddick. Dick Deveraux. And Johnny Vachon, who’s been hunting me and my belt like a jilted lover with the mother of all psychoactive substance addictions. And God’s Own Drunken Child, Father O’White.

Nah, he seems like fun.

Three. Four. What the—

“ONE!

“TWO!”

I grab the finger Pat Kelly placed on my chest before he started counting like he was pinning me for the title. He manages to break my grip and run away laughing, leaving me able only to shout…

“NOT FUNNY, ASSHOLE.”

Jesus. You tell people you’re a pro wrestler again and suddenly they think they’re a comedian. For fuck’s sake.

Back to it.

Five. Six. Seven. Eight.

Rest.

I know it’s not going to be easy. It never is. Ever. But I also know I can do it. I KNOW I can win Group B. I KNOW I can take on Kalinda Kriegsdottir the way I took down her partners. I KNOW I can out-tough Masatake and Riddick and Johnny Vachon and Dick Deveraux. I KNOW I can beat whoever in Group A is able to handle the field there, and raise that cup over my head. And then?

I know I will be World Champion. I feel it in my bones.

Final set.

Each push brings me closer to Valhalla. Closer to the glory that comes with wading in pools of blood, both my own and of those who stand in my way. Closer to immortality. Closer to being remembered as the man who looked the world in the eye and didn’t blink. Who took on dragons and won.

Six. Seven. Eight.

Who faced down the biggest and baddest the world had to offer.

And won.

I’m coming, Death Trip. And I am ready for anything.
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