February 12th, 1987
There was an individual spot that a majority of local officers chose to use as a regular hangout. It was a bar located directly across from the courthouse appropriately named “Black & Blues”. During their hours away from active duty, officers and detectives would gather inside of the bar to share and compare war stories while enjoying the minimal fruits of their labor. No matter what type of obstacles he was demanded to overcome during his hours of employment, Gerald would always manage to take time out of his schedule to stop by the tavern for a few drinks with the officers. To the unsuspecting police, he was nothing more than another fellow patron looking for a way to relax at the end of the day. For Gerald Kessler, it was a way to keep tabs on police activity with the help of booze and idle conversation. His polite, well-mannered personality granted him the ability to blend into the crowd as if he were truly one of them. What appeared to be the development of a valuable friendship to others was nothing more to Kessler but another aspect of his deviated fantasy life. People who frequented the bar enjoyed the company of Gerald and admired him for his surprising intellect. At times, they would share information with him that would later compromise their involvement in various investigations. Following his trial rumors began to spread involving a variety of officers supplying Kessler with handcuffs, ammunition and a police radio for his vehicle. Quite often, the owner of the establishment would allow Gerald to stand behind the bar and serve drinks to the officers.
A few days after starting his new job as a janitor at the butcher shop Gerald received an anonymous phone call. It was an older man that was claiming to have vital information regarding the whereabouts of Kessler’s parents. At first, he considered the call as some kind of joke and hung up on the man. A few hours later, the man called back with a woman on the line encouraging his original claims regarding Gerald’s birth parents. In an effort to humor the two strangers, Gerald agrees to meet with them the next day to inspect their supposed proof. He was given directions to a trailer park located two hours south of his location. Using a pickup truck borrowed from one of his co-workers, Gerald begins to drive south. When he arrived at the trailer park he was disgusted upon sight of the resident’s inhumane living conditions. For someone with a history as chaotic as Gerald Kessler, it was clear he was entering a den manufactured by an overly vile society. He passed by a dumpster being used by a pack of neglected children as a makeshift playground. Instead of burying their deceased canines the residents would morbidly display the carcasses throughout the park like Christmas ornaments. Finally, he stops the truck in the driveway of his destination while gaining sight of a gruesome appearing woman wearing nothing but a tattered robe and slippers. Most of her teeth were missing or crooked and one of her eyes had been replaced with a plastic fixture of some kind. She invited Kessler in and told him to wait in the living room of the barely inhabitable trailer. A few seconds later, a man entered the room and took a seat across from Kessler.
He was balding, wrinkled, scarred and obviously in a state of malnourishment. He had a box placed on the floor by his feet. He began to pull out an assortment of items and put them in front of Kessler. He began to look through a few photographs the couple claimed to be his baby pictures. To establish further proof, he revealed a birth certificate to Kessler which had two names signed at the bottom.
“Kessler, Temple Allen”
“Kessler, Josephine Leigh”
Despite what he wanted to believe, the couple had more than enough evidence to establish their position as Kessler’s birth parents. Eventually, he accepted the truth and decided to thank them for coming forward. A few hours after leaving the couple with what appeared to be high regards, Kessler returned to the trailer park in his friend’s truck. Using a .38 revolver handgun he discovered in the glove compartment he makes an exit from the truck and carefully approaches the trailer of Temple and Josephine Kessler. He used a switchblade to quietly break into the trailer while the couple slept. Not wasting any time, Kessler removed the gun from his pants and moved towards the bedroom. He forced his way through the door and before either one of them had time to react; Gerald began to fire an assortment of shots into the couple while they lay in bed. The crime is discovered by the couple’s neighbors several minutes after Gerald is able to make his escape from the trailer park. A few days later, police arrive at the butcher shop to inform him of the crime. When he claims he knows nothing about it they question him about a phone call he received from the trailer where his birth parents were living. He informs police that he wasn’t home during the time of the call and they begin to dismiss him as a possible suspect. A few weeks later the case makes local headlines with police claiming the murders to be the result of an expired narcotics arrangement. In order to erase his participation in the crime, Kessler takes the gun apart and buries the pieces throughout a selection of remote locations.
Early Warning Signs
February 21st, 1987
A week following his move into the new residence Gerald became thoroughly interested in the mass amounts of land that he had inherited from his employer. Despite the fact that the area was ripe with wildlife potential for game hunting, he lacked the initial knowledge that was required to attain a hunting license. The only experience he could recall dated back to the moment when he was arrested for assault with a deadly weapon. And although his tendencies of violence made him vulnerable towards the concept of murder, Gerald had no intentions of learning how to trap and kill animals for sport. He did however have an extensive interest in firearms and was well aware the rights when he was granted upon acceptance of the property. Gerald decided to purchase a handgun without the consent of the local authorities. He was directed to a local gunsmith that was located one hour south of his property. Upon his arrival of the unorthodox operation, Gerald was greeted by an older man smashing out a strip of iron. Jerry could tell the old man didn’t have his wits about him, and was more than likely carrying a gun or two under concealment. He began to approach an old trailer that was designed to look like a makeshift tank. The appearance of corrosion overlapped the camouflage paint while a triad of pit bulls surrounded the old man like a gang of correctional officers. Jerry approached the man’s yard with as much caution as he could muster, unaware if his torso was about to be leveled with lead and shrapnel.
“Excuse me.”
Jerry called out, making sure to reveal his empty hands to the old codger.
“Colonel?”
When he hears the sound of his former title for the first time in almost twenty years, the old man and his ugly pack of pits direct their attention towards Jerry.
“Are you the colonel?”
Jerry asked while keeping a remotely far distance from the dogs.
“That depends.”
He places the steel hammer down on the anvil positioned in front of him. He removes his gloves and stuffs them both into the back pocket of his apron.
“Is your name Jerry?”
“Uh-huh.”
Jerry slowly brings his hands down to his side.
Colonel: Good thing.
Jerry: What do you mean?
The old man moves away from the anvil and motions for Jerry to move across the yard.
Colonel: The way I see the situation, it means you aren’t the person that’ll be getting an ass full of lead.
Jerry: What situation?
Jerry clears the yard and inches a few feet onto the gravel pavement in front of the trailer.
Colonel: Tell me something. Are you a married man?
Jerry: I am. Just recently, in fact.
Colonel: That’s good to hear. Do you love her?
Jerry: I don’t think I would have married her if I didn’t.
Colonel: Fair enough. You trust her?
Jerry: Sure. But I don’t get what any of that has to do—
Colonel: Just hear me out, Jerry. I was like you a long time ago. I trusted my wife. I put everything I had into what I thought was a bond of trust between two people. Fast forward one year and that’s when I realized there was trouble in paradise. To skip through all the bullshit and get to the point, she lied to me. It was all bullshit from the start and I was too damn naive to see it coming. She ####ed my brother. ####ed my cousin and she tried to #### my oldest boy. So you know what I did?
Jerry: Spray her with holy water and watch her turn to dust?
The old man laughs out loud and places his hand on Jerry’s shoulder.
Colonel: I took the b###h for everything she was worth and left her stranded in the middle of the ####ing desert. I told her we were going on a road trip to Vegas I and left her at some dingy rest stop in New Mexico.
Jerry shares a laugh with the old man as they begin to move towards the entrance of the trailer.
Colonel: But back to what I was saying before, I’m expecting to see two people today. You obviously had no problems finding the place so we can mark your name off the list. The other person I’m expecting is a pig faced piece of dog shit with a fancy law degree.
Jerry: Divorce attorney?
Colonel: You guessed it, bud. He said he was gonna stop by sometime this afternoon. I can’t wait to see his reaction when I jam this baby in his face and tell him to stick those papers up his ####ing ass.
The old man reaches towards his hip and removes a refurbished Luger model handgun from its holster. He grips the handle of the gun while keeping his index finger on the trigger. According to prior interviews that were conducted with Colonel Emmet Kaide regarding his relationship with Kessler, the two wasted no time becoming close friends. He described Gerald as man that was impossible to dislike. In order to take advantage of his connection with an active arms dealer, Gerald would invite Kaide to test the firearms on his property in what they referred to as “camping”. In reality, the men were using a section of Kessler’s property to store a variety of weapons and ammunition that were stolen property of the military. In order to properly conceal their activities, Kaide helped Kessler construct a large shed with access to a makeshift bunker located underground. Over a period of six months Gerald Kessler and Emmet Kaide devoted all of their free time towards the construction of the bunker. They placed the shed directly on top of a large hole in the ground that would act as the space of the bunker. They lined the floor and walls with layers of solid concrete. In order to supply electricity in the middle of Kessler’s property, they installed a generator inside of the shed and lined the ceilings of the bunker with strip lights. As for security, Kessler and Kaide welded a reinforced lock on the access door of the bunker so no one would be able to enter without the proper key.
Unbeknownst to Gerald during his first year as a homeowner, there were areas of his vast property that were easily discovered by the general public. Before the previous owner had taken control of the land it was rumored to have been an area used for mass marijuana cultivation. Despite the fact that there were no active plants on the entire property, the reputation was considered to an urban myth amongst hippies and people looking for profit from the sale of cannabis. On the third night of his two week vacation, Gerald began to grow suspicious when heard voices coming from the backwoods. He took his .45 handgun and decided to inspect the wilderness for what he assumed to be rabid coyotes. After using a four wheeler to travel towards the source of the noise he gradually came within inches of the intruder. Instead of it being a coyote like he expected Gerald made visual contact with a young couple making love on top of a blanket. The woman was an attractive blonde in her mid twenties that reminded him of the young girls he would masturbate to in the orphanage. A stream of sweat suddenly ran from the top of his brow. For the first time in several years Jerry was beginning to recall the nightmares he tried to leave in his past. Watching the couple compete with sexual exchanges ignited something in his brain that was too violent to keep inside. He pulled the .45 from its holster and secured his grip around the handle of the gun.
With no type of warning or acknowledgement he moved towards the couple and opened fire. The first three shots were directed towards the young male. The first bullet landed in his bicep and ripped through the other side of his arm. The second one made its mark in the base of the man’s collar bone. Unfortunately, the third bullet manages to pass through the front of his skull and become embedded inside of his brain, killing him instantly. Gerald released the remaining shots into the young woman in an effort to empty the clip. Unlike her deceased suitor the vicious assault on the woman fails to cause a fatality due to his miscalculation of two bullets. As she lies motionless next to the bloodied man with two bullets lodged into her shoulder, the women tries her best to fake her own death. Curious about the outcome of his attack, Gerald approaches the couple and looks down at them with use of a flashlight. He removes the clip from his .45 and drops the empty casings on top of the blanket. Jerry reaches into his pocket and loads an additional clip of ammunition into the gun. Identical to the attack from seconds before, he carelessly unloads on the couple with multiple shots to the head. Afterwards, the sudden rush that Jerry felt before gradually morphed into a pit of nothingness. Despite the fact that it wasn’t the first time he had committed murder he was overwhelmed with a sense of sheer panic. He wrapped the couple in the blanket and placed them on the back of his four-wheeler. Gerald drove into the wilderness until coming to a stop in front of the tool shed. In order to temporary hide the evidence until he could took further action, Jerry secured the blanket with layers of duct tape and left them on the floor of the underground bunker.
Fatal Consequences
December 5th, 2014
It had been close to ten years since we last spoke. I had no clue what he was thinking by calling me out of the blue for a random visitation, but I was still interested to understand his intentions. He was originally charged with the kidnapping and murder of close to nine different women in four separate states over a course of three years. Many times throughout the trial I could hear whispers of his appending doom from various people in attendance. The victim’s families were cursing his name while weeping and crying at the mere sight of Jerry, while the eager prosecutors were already claiming victory due to the overwhelming evidence they had against him. His crimes earned him the title of a serial killer, placing his ominous conviction in comparison with people like Ted Bundy, Jeffrey Dahmer and John Wayne Gacy. But anyone that knew Jerry had the same thing to say about him. He wasn’t a violent person. He didn’t have an ounce of hatred in his blood. Unfortunately, the jury didn’t see it that way. They mocked his plea of insanity and went straight for the jugular, granting him a sentence of life behind bars with no possibility of parole. I still don’t know what he was thinking or where it all came from. I knew he was a little off but I would never imagine he was capable of the things he did to those girls.
I arrived outside of the prison gate an hour prior to our meeting. I had to travel on a transfer shuttle from the front lot with everyone else in order to reach the actual guardhouse in order to be allowed inside. People were patted down before passing through the security checkpoint as a part of their standard procedure for visitations. The women more so than the men, being poked and prodded like guinea pigs before passing inside of the correctional institution. Two officers were found waiting upon our initial entry, forcing the crowd into a single file line while spouting off the rules in a dominant fashion. I was escorted away from the others by what appeared to a guard with higher ranking, most likely positioned in maximum security where the real shit went down.
“You’re here for Kessler, right?”
He asked me without an ounce of color in his tone. I could tell this guy was probably going to piss me off somehow.
“That’s right.”
I showed him the pass I was given along with an envelope containing the request from Jerry. He took it from me and casually began to read the letter and told me to follow him down the narrow corridor.
“Talking to the guy is kind of like having a slug crawl across your face. I hope you know what you’re doing, Mr. James.”
I had no ####ing clue what I was doing. This wasn’t a world I was familiar with. This wasn’t the HWA and Jerry Kessler wasn’t someone I wanted to #### with. He stood over seven feet tall and was easily recognized as the rarest form of psychopath throughout the American Midwest. He spent six years of his life managing the same butcher shop where police discovered human remains mixed into the meat, serving as a slight example of Jerry’s morbid sense of creativity.
Officer: We pulled him out of exercise a few minutes early and got him waiting for you in here.
Michael James: Is he going to be restrained?”
The officer laughs.
Officer: With a case like Kessler we’re required to keep him under lock and key twenty four hours a day. Why? You worried he’s going to try something?
Michael James: No. I think we both know he’s smarter than that.
Officer: Yea, he’s a sharp one for sure. Maybe too damn sharp.
Michael James: What do you mean?
Officer: I don’t know what he was like the last time you saw him but these days Kessler has a bad habit of writing checks that his ass can’t cash. He’s usually in solitary close to six months out of the year and when he isn’t there he’s constantly b###hing about his lack of appeals.
Michael James: Is he trying to claim a mistrial?
Officer: Shit. Been there, done that. Now he says he was represented by a fraud and had his rights violated or some bullshit.
Michael James: So, why isn’t he in solitary now?
Officer: This is what we call a good week for Jerry. He’s pretty much kept to himself for the last few days so it’s hard to tell when he’s going to snap. Usually these guys give us some kind of warning signs before flipping their shit but Kessler is a special kind of asshole that likes to keep us on our toes.
Michael James: Do you ever have any problems controlling him?
Officer: Not that I know of. The first couple years were rough but Jerry got through it after having his ass handed to him a few hundred times.
Michael James: How often did that occur?
Officer: Every two or three days depending on whatever the #### was going through his head at the time. We haven’t had any recorded incidents in almost a year so I think he’s getting used to being here.
He guides me through a door that has to be opened from the other size. A loud BUZZ rings out like a siren and the entrance to the detention area shifts open. After walking through, the first thing I noticed was the nauseating odor of sour urine and fecal matter.
Michael James: Does it always smell like this?
Officer: You haven’t spent much time in lockup, have you?
Michael James: Can’t say I’ve had the pleasure.
We come to a stop in front of a large body scanner used for cavity searches and the officer begins removing equipment from his uniforms. I carefully empty my pockets into a small container, mostly loose change and pocket lint.
Officer: Well, don’t worry, Mr. James. You know what they say. There’s always a first time for everything.
He says with a cocky smile, patting me on the back.
Michael James: Not for me. My record is as clean as a whistle, and that’s not going to change anytime soon.
After passing through the security checkpoint we move into a small office constructed behind a wide two way mirror. The atmosphere was dark and looming; Lifeless. There was a table in the center of the room and an assortment of audio recording equipment stacked against the far wall. A set of handcuffs lay across the table top laced through a large steel ring welded into the center. The only viable sound was the blatant ticking of a clock ricocheting throughout the confined space, most likely a tactic used to intimidate suspects and attain possible convictions. A correctional officer enters the room accompanied by a large frustrated male in his mid-thirties. It was Gerald Kessler. They force him into a chair before the officer latches the handcuffs around his wrists.
Officer: He’s all yours.
The officer says with obvious sarcasm while nudging my arm. I swallowed the lump of phlegm sitting at the top of my throat and pass through the door. Kessler was apparently distracted and arguing with the officer about the handcuffs locked around his wrists. Although he didn’t notice me at first, Jerry quickly turned in my direction as I pulled out the chair from behind my side of the table. He greeted me with a smile and quickly turned his attention away from the officer. This was a much larger and aged man than I had seen ten years prior to my visitation. His jaw was chiseled similar to the rest of his face, revealing a crooked scar directly below his left cheekbone. His neck and biceps displayed a collection of individual tattoos, mostly faces of women both dead and alive. There was a design of a thick link chain around his neck covered in spots of simulated blood.
Gerald: Good to see you could make it. Especially when you probably have a million other things to worry about so don’t think I’m trying to take your time for granted.
Michael James:Well, I would say I’m happy to be here out of general respect but after getting a whiff of that hallway I think it’s safe to say this is the last place anyone would want to be.
Gerald turns away from me and laughs, twiddling the chains on attached to his cuffs.
Gerald: What the #### did you expect? It’s a prison for Christ’s sake. It ain’t the god damn Hilton, you know. If you asked me maximum security might as well be the same as sitting on death row. At least the food they get isn’t withered with freezer burn and maggots.
Michael James: Just without the constant hassle of worrying about a lethal injection.
Gerald: Heh. There’s some honest truth to that, brother.
He says under his breath while looking down at the table and scooting back in his chair. Lucky for Gerald, during the course of his anticipated capture he was booked in a jurisdiction that had abolished state executions in the mid 1980’s, making it impossible for a jury to place give him the death sentence.
Michael James: But aside from the rotten stink of this place, there were a lot of things in your letter that got me thinking.
Gerald: Thinking what?
Michael James: That I could the opportunity of an outside opinion when it comes to the question of my career. Sure, I could have just called up some random source and made an official statement, but I didn’t want to do that. I don’t have anything to prove to anyone at this point and I know you can understand exactly where I’m coming from. Unlike the rest of the dick bags of society trying to claim their stake in the world, we don’t require the acceptance of others to find personal gratification. We’re the type that were screwed from the start and had to earn everything we have instead of having it handed to us on a silver ####ing platter. So, when you mentioned the war I’m currently winning over the Parker family I knew there was only one person in the world that can truly understand my side of the story.
Gerald: Good ol’ Jerry the Butcher, huh?
Jerry says while rolling his eyes, sarcastically referring to the moniker he was given by the media during the time of his arrest.
Gerald: Honestly, brother, I really don’t know what you want to hear. I’m no wrestler so I’m just using what I know to form an opinion from what I’ve seen on TV.
Michael James: And that’s exactly why I came to see you in person. I want to hear what you have to say.
Gerald’s shoulders suddenly slump back and he leans back in the chair. He reaches up and scratches the scar under his cheek before releasing a deep breath.
Gerald: With what I’ve seen from this Butch guy you’re talking about, he seems like an arrogant dick that has no clue what the #### he’s doing. For close to two years you’ve been beating the shit out of him anytime he decides to open his mouth, yet he keeps asking for more. It’s like he’s begging you for death anytime you face off and you know what I think? Sooner or later you’re going to give it to him because that’s how it always ends. Someone always wants to play the hero but in the real world there are no heroes. It’s life or death, you know.
Michael James: See, that’s exactly what I said! But he had it have it his way and even thought bringing his family into the equation would be a step in the right direction.
Gerald: Wrong.
Michael James: And you saw what happened there. Everyone did.
The correctional officer standing against the wall nods his head up and down, trying his best to avoid paying mind to the conversation.
Michael James: Truthfully, I didn’t want to kick the shit out of his wife because I’m not that kind of champion. If Wisdom was smart she would have just taken my advice and went back to blowing strangers on the street for next to nothing. Instead, she wanted to make things difficult knowing she was fighting a war she couldn’t win. I don’t know if it was because of her shameless ego or just plain stupidity but it made no ####ing difference to me. I signed with the HWA to be the best and when Wisdom saw I was better than her incompetent husband something snapped inside of that b###h. The threat of new blood was too much for either one of them to handle and that’s when they had no choice to accept their time was coming at an end. I told them I was the future. I said I would be the next World Champion and surpass the rest because I was always a step ahead of everyone else. I did everything I said I would do. I passed every test I was given while leaving a trail of broken and mangled douche bags to suffocate on their own mistakes. Yet, here we have Butch and Wisdom claiming my flawless record to be nothing but a fluke simply because they refuse to acknowledge the obvious. So, in spite of that, I decided to turn both of their pointless lives into a living hell in order to show them how serious I was.
Gerald: And how did you do that?
Michael James: The same way I’ve managed to accomplish everything else. Instead of trying to win a war by spitting out empty promises and fraudulent bullshit, I used wit and brutal intelligence to mislead the brainless competition. Granted, manipulating a couple of thick headed racists like Butch and Wisdom didn’t take much effort on my part, but it still worked like a ####ing charm. It’s kind of like that old story about the race between the free thinking tortoise and the overzealous hare. Everyone saw the tortoise and took his imminent failure for granted simply because they wanted to believe the hare had every advantage. Sure, he had speed and agility working on his side but when it came to the matter of basic intelligence he always ended up on the short end of the stick. The tortoise however, didn’t have that problem because he took time to create a strategy and overcome the smug son of a b###h. When I arrived in the HWA I was given the same expectations as the tortoise simply because I wasn’t one of them. Next thing you know I’m winning championships and ending the careers of so called “legends” with less effort than it takes to make a ####ing sandwich. Butch Parker is just like the rabbit who thought his meaningless words and slipshod reputation would give him the edge in every situation. He told me I was nothing. He said I was delusional when I told the world I was destined to bring his career to a screeching halt. Unfortunately for Butch, he was wrong about everything. Not only did he lose the HWA World Championship to me but he was also forced to go into immediate hiding just to avoid the possibility of crossing my path.
Gerald: That reminds me. Did you happen to catch the bit Wisdom put up a few days ago? There’s a segment where she talks about some nightmarish flashback involving her own rape and it seemed kind of artificial.
Michael James: Of course it was artificial because everyone knows it’s impossible to rape the willing. Wisdom wants the world to believe she’s a constant victim and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what she’s trying to do. It’s just like when Scottie Pippen was accused of sexual assault for the sole purpose of public exposure. At the end of the day justice proved that a ##### will always be a ##### no matter what she tries to pull out of her ass. A lie will always be a lie no matter where it’s coming from and that’s why Wisdom has spent her entire life trying to compensate and conceal her own mistakes. I didn’t plan to transform her meaningless life into a case of her own disgrace but that’s what happens when you allow free speech to a ####ing crack #####. Wisdom wants the world to grant her pity for being a racist scumbag and it makes me ####ing sick. She lies to her own husband knowing exactly where he’s going to end up because it gets her off, Jerry. I don’t know about you but that doesn’t sound like the actions of a “caring and devoted” wife to me. It sounds like the work of a selfish douche rag that could care less about anything unless it benefits her own ####ed up agenda. So, to be honest with you I’m not surprised to see her shooting some imaginary rape out of her ass. Wisdom Parker has always been a predictable piece of shit and that isn’t going to change anytime soon.
Gerald: Do you think she’s going to try to get involved in your next match with Butch?
Michael James: Unless she can find someone desperate enough to help her make the month’s rent with a dirty sanchez. It’s like I said before. Wisdom is a predictable ##### so that means I already know what she has planned throughout every encounter. When she decided to get involved in the Taipei Deathmatch I made sure to give both her and Butch something to remember me by. Now, she can’t stop thinking about me. You know why, Jerry? Because she knows I’m a better man than Butch Parker. Wisdom knows that unlike her pathetic husband I refuse to accept failure as an option. When the going gets rough and the rest tuck their tails between their legs I have no problem rising to the occasion. Wisdom can see the exact same greatness in me that she saw in Butch before he decided to turn into a shameless coward. And you know something else, Jer? It’s ####ing killing her because she doesn’t want to feel this way about a man she is supposed to hate. Even if she refuses to admit it that bottom feeding b###h is obsessed with Michael James. Why else would she be blaming me for the tragic downfall of her entire family?
Gerald: Didn’t you have to file a restraining order against her for a while?
I release a frustrated sigh.
Michael James: As much I wanted to consider other options it was the only choice I had left. I had pushed Wisdom to a point where she was stalking me night and day no matter where I went. If I wanted to go to the hotel Wisdom would be there waiting for me. If I went to the strip club that stupid ##### would be sitting in the parking lot across the street with a set of ####ing binoculars. I can understand being a little frustrated with the constant losses I was handing her week in and week out but that still didn’t give her the right to invade my privacy. Finally, I had enough and took legal action to make sure the clueless b###h kept her distance. Don’t get me wrong, Jerry. I could have remedied the problem by stuffing a shotgun down her throat and let nature take its course, but the threat of permanent incarceration wasn’t a price I was willing to pay for a stupid #### like Wisdom Parker. Instead, I made sure she had a front row seat throughout the final annihilation of Butch Parker and his reign as the HWA World Champion. Watching Wisdom weep and moan at the sight of her decimated husband was the ultimate reward since there was nothing she could do to help him. Sometimes it’s the little things that prove to be most tragic and now thanks to me, Butch and Wisdom can relive that devastating moment for the rest of their lives. I’m sure they’re just going to deny it ever happened and try to convince people I’m full of shit like they always do. But then again, there isn’t much else what can expect from either one of them. It’s like I said before. A lying ##### will always be a lying ##### and that means Wisdom is shit out of luck.
* The video feed is suddenly interrupted by a frame filled with overlapping distortion. The image quality starts to cut in and out until locking with a time code test similar to the blue screen of death. A few seconds later the frame cuts to the wide angle shot of a plasma screen television displaying what appeared to be the character image of Michael James featured in a beta test game for Playstation 3. As the cameras move back, viewers gain sight of the HWA World Champion comfortably seated on an expensive leather couch. He has a Cuban cigar gripped between his teeth and a Playstation controller in his hands as he directs his attention towards the plasma screen *
* He pauses the game and places the controller down on the table in front of him. He moves forward to the edge of the couch and picks up a glass pipe filled with marijuana and uses a lighter to ignite a flame to the bowl. After inhaling the smoke into his lungs, James places the pipe down and removes the HWA World Championship from its spot on the table. He leans back on the couch and drapes the title across his chest while exhaling the smoke from his nostrils *
Michael James: About a week ago Butch Parker made a statement claiming that people were eager to hear what I had to say. And you know what, Butch? As much as it pains me to admit you being right about anything, this happens to be one of those times. But on the other hand you also made the mistake of confusing my temporary silence for weakness in a pathetic showing of wishful thinking. Personally, I don’t give two shits what you have to tell yourself in order to sleep at night because we both know what’s about to happen. You’re going to blow a bunch of pointless smoke out of your ass to do nothing more than claim another loss at the hands of the undefeated World Champion. We saw it happen before at two consecutive pay-per-views so what the #### makes you think the Lion’s Den is going to be any different? You and I both know when it comes to the question of Michael James versus Butch Parker there is only one possible outcome. You show up, get your ass kicked from pillar to post and then take the walk of shame all the way back to the trailer park. Do you honestly believe placing me in a MMA style match is going to throw me off in the slightest? I’m Michael James, you stupid son of a b###h. Unlike you, I can adapt to any environment I choose. I can defy the odds and achieve the impossible. Apparently the only thing you’ve done in the last year is get a few cheap pops on me while keeping the same track record as Stu-E Price. If that’s what you want to call a successful year then more power to you, Butch. If you want to brag about being a loser it’s your own business just as long as you don’t expect any sympathy from me.
* He says as he takes a drag from the cigar. The tip begins to glow bright red before he pulls it away from his mouth *
Michael James: I don’t feel sorry for you because you have always been the main source of your own destruction. It’s just like when you’re dealing with someone suffering from a mental illness. You can either help them comprehend the error of their confusion or you can allow them to ramble on like idiots for the sake or petty amusement. Butch is probably the worst of them all because he encourages his own allusions and false reality. He wants the world to believe his obvious bullshit and that’s why he relies on Wisdom to fight his battles for him. So far, it hasn’t done anything for him. Butch has yet to score a single victory over Michael James and despite what he might want to imagine, Road to Ruin is going to be yet another example of history repeating itself. He’s going to lose like he always does and fail to live up to his own expectations. I know it might seem like a whole lot of work for nothing but luckily Parker is the kind of loser that’s used to being a constant disappointment. He’s used to building up steam just to take a fall and stay down as long as possible. He makes a better coward than a champion, and he’s okay with that. I couldn’t live like Butch because I take pride in striving to be the best in the business. I love being a champion that people can idolize instead of being pushed aside like a piece of shit. Parker has no problem being the lowest on the totem pole because he knows he will never be anything more than he is right now. Wisdom has the same problem yet she would rather live in denial than face the harsh reality that caused her to become the laughing stock of the HWA. But it’s like I always said, sometimes you have to show people the source of their stupidity in order for them to learn from their mistakes.
* He leans forward and places the cigar on the ash tray. He looks into the camera lens while gripping the HWA World Championship with both hands *
Michael James: I have one job and that’s to be the best HWA World Champion without a shadow of a ####ing doubt. And so far I’ve been able to do it better than anyone else. The last time Butch was champion it was nothing more than a waiting period of when and where I would have my chance to take it from him. As far as I’m concerned Butch had no business being placed in championship matches because he isn’t worthy of anything past mid-card. I know he might be able to hold his own against Bryan Deas but what Butch fails to realize is I’m not some no talent has been loser looking for a way back to the top. I’m the man that kicked his ass off the map and made it my own domain. I’m the man that gave him more than he could handle without showing an ounce of mercy. I respect you Butch, but that doesn’t mean I like you or I’m going to cut you any breaks. It took me close to two years to earn my shot at this championship and I’m not about to let it go so you can have a chance at false redemption. I’m a better champion than you could ever dream to be so my time is far from over. It doesn’t matter what match you choose or what kind of stipulations you pull out of your ass because nothing is going to change the way things are meant to be. I’m the future and you’re the past. I’m right and you’re wrong. I’m the World Heavyweight Champion and you’re just another douche bag begging for an opportunity you haven’t earned. Take a hint and get in line, mother####er.
* The frame suddenly cuts to distortion before ending the transmission *
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