| You Can't Always Get What You Want...; ... But I do... | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Dec 31 2016, 03:55 PM (110 Views) | |
| Silver Eagle | Dec 31 2016, 03:55 PM Post #1 |
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I saw her today at the reception A glass of wine in her hand I knew she would meet her connection At her feet was a footloose man No, you can't always get what you want You can't always get what you want You can't always get what you want But if you try sometime you find You get what you need == “It’s time.” ![]() The murmuring voices increased in number if not volume, the group of black robe clad individuals were not a familiar sight in Las Vegas anymore, not like they’d once been at the height of Doug E Fresh’s Sinistry movement. Based out of the Luxor and a fixture on national TV they had long outlived their usefulness to the man that had gathered them and then the man that had tried to shape them into something else, the mute monster Marko Flins. The Sinistry Citadel had been burned to the ground, and some of them whispered that the ground had been salted as well. They were homeless, without focus, without purpose, and with no leader. Doug, Sabra, Flins, even Hearst were gone. One stepped up from that flock, one who whispered the loudest that there would be a new hope for them in the future. That all they needed to do was destroy the coming threat, and they could taste power again, be influential again, regain what was lost. They’d clamoured and they’d cried, tell us tell us and he had held up a huge one sheet poster for a special promotional show that FGA had put on, emblazoned across it at the top were the pictures of two very particular tag teams, and one man was given the place of prominence at the top. “REMEMBER HIS FACE! REMEMBER HIS NAME!” The whispering had grown as the grubby and worn fingers of the former Sinistry acolytes touched the paper with reverence and awe. “Who is he? Who is this Andreas Lasiewicz…?” “FOOLS! Do not speak his name aloud lest he smite us!” The whispering increased, the tones filled with dread. “So what are we supposed to do? Worship him? Avoid him? Run and hide! Run and hide!” The leader rolled his eyes. “No, we must find this antichrist, and stop him. Then surely our King will return!” == want verb 1. have a desire to possess or do (something); wish for. 2. informal should or need to do something. Want. It is such an interesting word, don’t you think? And it is a word I have used on many an occasion in the lead up to this tournament. I have placed it time and time again in the same question, over and over again in an endless cycle. Why do you want this, Andreas? Why do you want it? For the most part, I have been at my most inactive within the squared circle. I can barely recall a time I have had so few competitive matches within a calendar year. But at the same time, I cannot recall a year I have spent more time in the ring in. Training the next generation in Hard Knox RISE was not a path I ever believed I would take, but none the less, it is one that I have truly wanted. Having a forceful hand in moulding the new wave of stars within the industry is something that I have become quite proud of, and seeing some of those stars emerge on the world stage already and take what they want, what they truly want is something that I have guided them towards. But what do I want? In the few matches I have had this year, I have been undefeated, as I was the year before that. When Trouble came calling and the opportunity arose to reunite The Turks, it was something I wanted. So I took it, as well as victory. When Issac Solo was running through competition like it was water from a spout, to silence him and his gloating was something I wanted, so I did just that. And when the offer was made to finally, after so many years of talk, face Laurel Ann Hardy one on one… I wanted that as well. So I took that, I beat her and claimed the victory I always said I would earn. Truthfully, if anything, it was that match that set me on this path. You may thank her for that. So here I am, with a sudden and bright new surge of energy. Stepping through the ropes of one of the few federations that my name has not been sung in before, entering one of the most fabled and esteemed tournaments in wrestling history, coming to claim what I want… And that is victory. But the reasoning? The reasoning behind following such a path brings up many, many questions. Do I want to win this tournament in the name of redemption? After being fired from GDW many moons ago and the political hell that was EXODUS Pro, is this the means I will use to redeem my infamous name and stamp it back down onto the wrestling world? Reminding everyone within the industry just how dangerous, how powerful and just how damn good I am? Do I want to win this tournament in the name of forgiveness? Lifting that golden chalice to make up for the wrongs I have committed in the past? Putting myself through hell itself in order to apologize for all my hideous actions? The bones I have broken, the careers I have ended, the lives I have ruined? Do I want to win this tournament in the name of remembrance? Do I put on the black armband, point a single digit to the sky and do it for all those that have been lost along the way? All those that fell by the wayside, all those that came before? All those that helped me find my way, whether for a day, a week, a month, a year, a lifetime? Do I do it for them? Do I win this tournament in honour of my greatest student, Isaac Bongartz? One of my closest friends. A protégé, a brother, a son, a friend. Do I win this for the late, great Weathers Brothers? A tag team so fierce that even now, decades since they last drew breath their names are still called out. Do I win this in the name of my mentor, Priest Samuels, the man who took a young, naïve yet violent boy and truly showed him the artistry of this barbaric industry. Do I do this for him as he looks down for heaven? Do I dedicate this upcoming victory to him? Do I want to win this tournament in the name of the old guard? Do I do this for all those veterans out there that are still going? Do I go through all this new, young and exciting competition for what I regard was the ‘Golden Generation’? Do I win this to show that we can still go? That we haven’t lost any steam? Do I want to win this tournament in the name of silence? To silence those that whined and moaned about EXODUS Pro. Those that tried to badmouth any and all who ever competed there because of one man’s folly, tried to bring it down not with violence, but childish little jibes. Those that tried to sway people’s opinions against us, those that wanted to wrong us in their own selfish need for attention. Do I want to win this tournament in the name of the Godfathers? The ReC? The Turks? Do I win this tournament in honour of the great wrestling factions that I have been apart of? Do I win this for them, the greatest of allies, the closest of friends? That we are the true hunters in this sport. That we are the elite, the very best there is? Do I want to win this tournament in the name of one who has helped me so much in such trying times… A thank you, maybe? Or maybe just to impress? For my loving wife, Heather. For my children. For my sister, my niece. For friends. For allies. For brothers in arms. Do I want to win this tournament to get all those babbling idiots on social media to shut the fuck up? Those that are throwing out mindless, idiotic challenges left right and centre? To I do this to show them that they made a fucking stupid mistake to even consider making such threats at one such as myself? They know who they are… Do I want to win this tournament for all of the latter? Or do I want to win this tournament just because I fucking can… These are all very interesting reasons, are they not. All have meaning, all have purpose, all are true and yet are not. But the simple matter at hand is as follows. I want to win The Iron King Tournament. Try and stop me, I fucking dare you… == “I don’t get it, he should be here!” More hissed whispers as the small group hiding behind the colorful mock circus tents and displays inside Circus Circus grew discontent, grew nervous. “I know the time is right, I made sure to write it on my wrist so I wouldn’t forget.” More muttering, as the one in charge of this group took the gym bag containing the items they’d brought to carry out their plan. Across from them was the press area set up, but no Andreas. In fact, no wrestlers or celebrities involved with Phoenix Wrestling’s Iron King were in evidence. “Where’s that damn flyer... “ A distinct pause. “DOUG DAMMIT.” There was a bit of nervous tittering, then finally someone was brave enough to ask what was wrong. “They’re not at Circus Circus today, they’re at the Luxor promoting the second night. We’ll have to try again later.” == Money! San Diego @LaniSanDiego Dec 19 Is anyone on here an expert at kicking the shit out of @SilverEagleGoW? The answer… is no... Have you ever reached out in desperation for a hand out, to beg for help in your hour of need for something, anything to guide you on your way? I have seen a certain layered sociopath by the name of Lani do such a thing recently. Shut out and turned down over the years by those they were closest to, they called out for advice and anyone who was willing to offer, to aid her in the uphill struggle that would be facing the Morning Star of Professional Wrestling. And someone answered said call, and then I watched in amusement. She took all of his advice, truly believing that the words spoken would aid her in battle and her confidence grew. Soon, she began to brag about what she would accomplish, known as the impossible, that she could vanquish the Thing That Should Not Be. So confident, she attempted to trade jibes, truly believing that she now held the key to the kingdom and glory was in her grasp. She reached out to Wulf Erikssen, taking so much time and effort to learn from this man the ways of defeating Andreas Lasiewicz. But truly, she was lost in her ways, in the same fashion she lost all those that were close to her. She reached out for the advice of a man who was bested by Andreas Lasiewicz six… whole… times. If anything at all, that sage like wisdom she has absorbed will allow her to lose in style. Money! San Diego @LaniSanDiego 10h Gonna write the book on kicking the shit out of Andreas Lasiewicz for you guys. My gift to the world. Heh… I would very much like to read that book. I do enjoy a good piece of amusing fiction sometimes. So please, bring your snark. Bring your bad habits, bring your rule breaking, bring your indifferences, your rejection and that ever so ‘sound advice’ you have been given. I will bring brutality. And I will bring myself victory. You will remember this day, Lani. You will remember your mistakes. You will remember your inadequacies. You will remember your failure. But most of all, you will remember me… when the world comes to take you… Dobranoc... == He sat on his throne; a glorious seat of power carved from the mightiest oak and styled in such a fashion as to represent each and every opponent he had put down in his tyrannical march towards victory. All that had stepped in his path, whether friend or foe, whether a worthy challenger or simply a deer in headlights, the good, the great, the unworthy. All that were set against him he ruthlessly had put down. He leaned back his head against the rich royal purple cushion, breathing out a thick haze of intoxicating smoke as he marveled at everything that had transpired over the past few months. From the ashes of a defeat he had been reborn a general, an Iron King of this realm. He had finally accomplished his goal, and he stared out across the majestic throne room at the prize. Upon his head was the twisted crown of iron, jagged with spikes as the blood of the glorious dead dripped down upon him … And God damn it all he had earned it! Through blood, sweat, tears and tragedy. Through broken promises, treacherous secrets and unholy fucking violence. Through untold skill, through the grit and dirt, through all the pain and suffering… He had done it. He had completed the quest, and though he had caused great pain to those names upon it… It was worth it. It was worth it all. The Morning Star reigned once more. He grinned maliciously as he stroked the greying wisps of his beard thoughtfully. His journey was complete. That final step into the hell of combat, showing one and all that he still had IT. That he was still IT. That not one man nor woman could compare to what he had. No one could take this away from him… NO ONE! Laid out before he rested thirteen fingers, thirteen fingers that defied the very name that he had brought forward and in that name he swore violent retribution. All quaked. All cried. All perished beneath his weight and his words and his will. None compared. None dared. This was a new world, lead by the old with an iron fist and an iron crown and a warhammer of terrible might and fury. Bow now. You don’t have a choice. |
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4:27 PM Jul 10