(Butch): Wow, and just when I thought you couldn't sink any lower.
Butch shakes his head; still reeling in disgust at just witnessing Michael James' heinous, vicious and unprovoked assault on Ken Shamrock.
(Butch): Whether it's fabricating a shitty remake of American History X or you and a group your thugs beating a mixed martial arts legend within an inch of his life, there really is no low you won't stoop to either make a warped point of view seem palatable to the rest of the world or to get your own pathetic kicks.
Butch's face is still riddled with contempt for what James did to Shamrock; an old training partner and family friend of Butch's.
(Butch): And I take it by doing what you did to Ken gave you some sort of kick? You and your Yakuza thugs beating up an innocent man just trying to make his way in the world. Fifty-one, James. Ken Shamrock is fifty-one years old. I know he's returned to MMA recently but can you honestly condone a gangland-style beating on a fifty-one year old man? Hold that thought, of course you do, this is Michael James we're talking about here, a man who gets a hard-on only when making other people's lives miserable.
Speaking of gangland-style attacks, I'm sure that's happened to someone before when you've been in the ring with them, but who could it be?
Butch brings a hand up to his chin, running his thumb and index finger up and down the accumulated facial hair on his jawline in mock contemplation. Then, as if a light bulb has gone off, he adopts a mock "Eureka"-esque expression.
(Butch): Oh yes, I remember! Our first in-ring match. Do you remember that, Michael? What am I talking about? Of course you do, you beat me. Humiliate me though?
Butch snorts with derision at the thought of Michael James humiliating him.
(Butch): If memory serves me correctly, I was on the verge of inflicting a first-ever defeat on your oh-so-precious undefeated record here in HWA. I had beaten you to a pulp until you were nothing more than an unconscious sushi platter. But what did I do? I let my hubris and pride get in the way of getting the job done and I pulled your pathetic carcass off the mat before the referee could count to three and why? Because I wanted to hurt you some more, after all you had just spent the last God knows how many months launching unprovoked, slanderous and reprehensible comments against my family. To say I was more focused on rearranging your face to look more like a Picasso painting would be a bit of an understatement. And then what did you do? You brought your back-up in to even the odds because you knew, Michael, didn't you? You knew that at that point, you didn't have what it would take to take me down. You need outside help and that, coupled with my own selfish need to beat the shit out of you, were the only reasons you picked up a "victory" that night. And before you go trying to play the "whining, b***ching, moaning" card against me, these aren't excuses, these are nothing more than the cold hard facts. And no amount of distortion or smokes and mirrors from you Michael James can change the facts. The record books may state you were a winner that night but we all know that you didn't have what it took to beat me by yourself.
Our Tapei Deathmatch I'll concede to you though, Michael. We threw everything we had at one another in one of the most barbaric matches the wrestling world has ever seen and in the end I came up short. If I remember though, you certainly didn't leave smelling like a bed of roses. But you know what, Michael? I simply don't care anymore because as I said before, a true warrior learns more in the grace of defeat than he does in revelling in victory and even at thirty-seven years old and being a twenty-year veteran of the squared circle, I still learned more in my loss to you than I've had after most of my victories. You on the other hand haven't changed; you're the same sycophantic #### grovelling up Senester's arse, you're the same self-obsessed prick who doesn't grow tired of hearing his own voice and you're own warped perceptions of the world. Speaking of which, I would absolutely love for you to point when you made me tap out, really, when was that exactly? Or is this you at your truth-distorting, reality-exaggerating best in another dire attempt to make everyone else apart from you believe I'm not relevant anymore.
You are forgetting one vital piece of information, Michael, one teensy-weensy pivotal iota you're allowing to escape you. I'm Butch f***ing Parker. That name in the professional wrestling world means something for the right reasons, Michael. It dis synonymous with courage, pride, integrity, perserverence, fortitude, I could go on all day Michael but these are just some of the adjectives that have been used to describe me over the years, not my own words. I'm not some over-the-hill reality star, Michael James, I've paid my dues ten-fold and then some. I came from a two-bedroom council house in a small Scottish village and travelled across to America when I was fifteen years-old to pursue a career as a professional wrestling. I cleaned the wrestling boots, helped build the rings, set up the pyro. I scratched and scraped and clawed my way until I got given the chance to show what I could do. I kept training when everyone else went home.
Every championship I've won, every match I've won, every plaudit I've earned, I deserve Michael. After twenty years in this business, busting my arse to prove myself I finally earned my stripes here in HWA. I have earned the respect of my peers the world over. Remember my interview with Piers Morgan? Remember the names of the great men in this business who were so kind as to bestow their kind words upon me? Bryan "The American Dragon" Danielson, Bret "The Hitman" Hart, "The Icon" Sting - these were just some of the great names of professional wrestling who know how good I am.
You can forget about your WWF Attitude Era or the 90s of WCW, the X-Division Era of TNA - I was part of the Wrestling Era in HWA; a time where arguably the greatest in-ring generals in wrestling history battled for superiority. Xtreme Jay, Embalmer, James, David Hollis, Punisher, Lucious Lenny, Thane Givens, the legendary Buff Bridges, Senester himself, Hans vin Richtoven, Maniac, Ronnie McNeil, AC James and Michael Dredge. These were the names to test yourself against if you wanted to be considered among the elite in this business. Everyone of those men have came and gone for their own reasons but we were all the best of the best and one time or another but I'm still here and I endured them all and managed to stand at the top of the HWA mountain three times as HWA World Champion, I won the Ring Master tournament in my first pay-per-view appearance, I hold winning records over Buff Bridges, Senester and Michael Dredge. I went undefeated for over a year before suffering my first defeat. Everything you're claiming as your own successes is nothing but a piss-poor version of what I did years ago, Michael. So don't f***ing tell me I don't know how to hold success! You had no career worthy of mentioning in professional wrestling until you stepped through the royal blue ropes of a HWA ring for the first time and now because of what you've done in the past two years, you think you're worthy of greatness? You're more naive and cynical than I took for you originally if you think that, Michael. Yes, whilst your achievements are noteworthy, winning two titles and being undefeated is nothing to be sniffed at but its old news, Michael. As I said already, it's been done, it's old news, I beat you to the punch when you were still getting arrested for arson and being responsible for closing down companies like PXW or forming the Hardcore Coalition for broadcasts in WWOI being recorded on cell phones and uploaded to YouTube, I was doing what you're now claiming to be newsworthy accomplishments in HWA that no one has ever done before. But who's here of note that you've defeated bar me that anyone in this profession should consider noteworthy?
Butch holds his hands out in a questioning manner.
(Butch):See, there's the difference to what I did and what you've done now. I defeated scores of world-class opposition to earn my status and the respect of those around me. You think defeating Freddie Styles, Stu-E Price and H&K over and over at HWA house shows and live events puts you in the same level as me? You're undefeated streak is almost as ridiculous as Goldberg's exaggerated one in WCW.
But for all those men I faced before, the one thing they all had, to a certain degree was longevity. They were the real deal at a time that was needed. Now I'm all that remains and in ten years I'll guarantee in some shape or form I'll still be here. Whether it's grooming the next generation of HWA World Champions in the Performance Centre, sitting behind the commentary booth with Mia and Jason or still taking care of business in the ring, I guarantee I'll still be here and I'll betcha you won't. Because that's what you lack, Michael. Longevity. No matter how many breaks I've had whether it's been injury, personal reflection, self-imposed exile, contractual disputes, I've always been there. Whether you choose to admit it or not, I am one of the best professional wrestlers in the world and that is a fact of life, Michael James. I didn't write my bio on the HWA's website so I don't proclaim to be a submission expert or the best technical wrestler or the hardest pound-for-pound striker in professional wrestling but they are the facts. There are men who have almost had their careers ended when locked in my submission holds or been on the wrong end of my suplexes, punches and kicks. That is the fate that awaits you at Road to Ruin inside the Lion's Den. You're pathetic perception that you have nothing to prove by facing me in this match just further cements how misguided and misanthropic you really are. You still have everything to prove in this match Michael and until you've established a legacy like mine, World a Title around your waist or not, you still have everything to prove.
The only person I have to prove anything to is myself because no one else needs proving wrong, least of all you. Because when you break it down, all you have that's worthy of mentioning is one genuine and legitimate pinfall victory, one tainted underhanded victory in a grudge match and two years of senseless verbs, tirades that everyone has grown sick and tired of.
You know, Hitler and the National Socialist Party were known for their intimidation, causing havoc, chaos and forcing their own ideals and warped ideologies, torturing innocents. And you have the gall to fabricate a scene where modern-day Nazis idolise me as an entity who embodies these ideals? If anyone I know is anywhere near akin to a Nazi, it's you Michael James. You can spout your verbal diarrhoea about being a consummate professional, trained in honour and respect but have none of these traits, you are neither honourable nor professional or respectful, only of yourself and those who share your twisted perception of the ways of the world.
World Champion. Undefeated. Skilled. Nothing. These are all you, Michael. Nothing in particular. You are nothing. Defeating me doesn't make you a better man and not even a better wrestler. In the grand scheme of things, you are simply nothing. In the years to come, people won't talk about your greatness, your accomplishments or your titles. They'll mention you in passing as one of the many who thought they got the best of Butch Parker. One of the many who thought they had him beat and on the ropes but who ultimately fell into obscurity, blinded by their own foolhardy thoughts and perceptions. After all, this is a marathon; not a sprint and I know your legs are beginning to give out, they're getting heavier because you ran too fast too soon. Your throat is dry, desperate for nourishment as you begin to flounder and flail, the finishing line growing ever more distant. But I'm on the home stretch now, James. I'm into my stride with plenty more left in the tank and I'm gaining traction.
When you step inside that eight-sided cage at Road to Ruin, you're entering the Lion's Den in every sense and permutation of the word. You're entering a domain that men like Ken Shamrock innovated and made it possible for men like me to make better. In the Lion's Den, the rules change, I change. My roar is louder when that meshed steel surrounds me. My senses sharpen, my vision clearer. I will take back what is my mine for my family, for Ken, for the rest of the wrestling world and for myself.
I'll see you soon.
The feed cuts and the scene fades to black.
Message Thread
« Back to index