A good hour later, she was showered and changed and ready for her recording to the media. She had watched the ppv over again, and Butch’s match with Michael James more than a few times already. Listening to James run his mouth over the last few days, had actually brought a smile to her face. A first when it comes to her thoughts of him.
(Wisdom): Oh Michael…Michael…Michael. You’re in the wrong profession. You belong in broadcast journalism not wrestling. No one can fabricate, manipulate, and perpetuate a story like you. Perhaps Butch gave you a concussion because you obviously have no fuking idea what match you even “think” you were in at Road to Ruin. Granted you’re a talented man, but this inflated landscape of your superior abilities over those of my husband’s is sheer lunacy.
You’ll never be World Heavyweight Champion, because you don’t know how. It’s more than carrying a belt, it’s carrying yourself and Butch epitomizes “champion.” He took your ass to the mat and every time reality set in where you felt the limitations of your skills… you took a cheap way out. You resorted to using brass knuckles, hitting him in the balls, poking his eyes, etc. Those aren’t abilities Michael James, a kid from the front row can do them. Hell our daughter Evina could do it, and she’s an infant. You can go around all you want gloating about you winning, so what…on the pieces of paper and scoreboards it will say you did, but fewer times in this business has a win meant less than yours does. Butch had you beaten and when all hope had left your limbs you had a bunch of guys come out and attack him.
Wisdom scoffs shaking her head in irony.
(Wisdom): What did you tell them? “I’m gonna fight this on my own for a bit, but I know he’s gonna get me at some point…so just when it looks like he is about to finish me off…I want you to hurry down, jump in and keep him busy while I catch my breath for a few minutes.” No one knew I was even there, and I promised Butch to stay in the back…and I would have honored my husband’s wishes but this wasn’t one-on-one anymore, and I wasn’t going to sit back and watch him get jumped by some little pussies from the Michael James fan club.
I watched the replay and Mia said it best and true. You didn’t beat Butch, you and four other guys did. Four guys who you have so conveniently left out of your fantastical story of triumph, just like your cheating the whole damn match. You’re the one with the fantasies. Fried shit at the county fair still fuking stinks, no matter how you dish it up. In your world of make-believe you dominated, and embarrassed Butch in the ring. In the real world none of that happened. The only thing you proved in the ring is that you can’t go the distance on your own. You merely showed how desperate you are to stay on that teeny-tiny pedestal you built by yourself. How low you’ll go to maintain your own fantasy world.
Wisdom suddenly cracks up laughing, and has to stop herself.
(Wisdom): The best part….Oh God…the best part is that now everyone can see just how full of it you are. The biggest match of your career and you belly-flopped. All your bravado, and you punked out on the big stage. It must be nice to be delusional, you’re never wrong and you’re opinion of yourself is always high. Even in defeat you think you’ve won, and you can put a spin a lie to yourself so fast you believe it before you even finish coming up with it.
Wisdom leans in and looks straight into the camera.
(Wisdom): The next time you meet my husband in the ring, he’s going to shatter that fantasy land of yours because now, now he knows exactly what he’s dealing with. A punk ass b###h who is truly all talk. A sleazy bastard that will pull out any cheap trick to compensate for his lack of skills. A cowardly motherfuker who will slip behind a wall of hired help the moment he senses imminent danger. That’s who you are, and that’s how you’ll be remembered when he puts your ass down and “you” are the one who leaves HWA, and wrestling. Maybe in another ten years you’ll come back to the wrestling world when you think people have forgotten all about you. You’ll talk about how you faced and beat the great Butch Parker and people will Ohhh and Ahhh and you’ll pull the wool over the eyes of others until whoever you piss off then puts you in your place.
You can think what you want, say what you want, but the fans know, the critics know, and anyone who hasn’t been sipping too much of the Sake knows you’re just a fuking dog whose bark is far worse than his itty-bitty bite. So congratulations Michael, enjoy that little piece of paper you call a “win,”…Butch and I call it toilet tissue. Oh and by the way… “This”…
Wisdom points to her cheek that shows discoloring since she hasn’t put any make-up on yet.
(Wisdom): This isn’t shit. Butch fuks harder than you can kick!
Wisdom smiles and raises her eyebrow in her vixen style and the scene fades to black.
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