The following is a column that was posted on whirlybirdz.com
Hey Kids!
You know, if there is one word that has ever been ruined by the internet, it’s the word ‘epic’. Originally, the word was used to defined something of enormous magnitude, a grand scale that dwarfed mankind’s usual perception of the norm. But now, thanks to bloggers and bulletin board posters who toss the word out every other freakin’ post, the concept of ‘epic’ has been watered-down significantly. Just one of the casualties of the technological revolution, I guess.
As such, I dont really like to use the word. I’m not one for cliches, and lets face it, ninety-five percent of the time, tossing that word out there just makes you look like one of the losers who spend their entire lives on 4chan. You know, the types who’s ultimate goal in life is to find an exception to Rule 34. Or prove it. I don’t fuckin’ know.
But once in a rare while, the term actually becomes appropriate. Something so big, so powerful, so unbelievable, that there really is no other term to describe it. Something, that can actually, honest-to-God, be described as EPIC.
And kids, the ending of Shatterpoint 16 was one of those.
Now before we go any further, let me make something clear. When I squashed Kristi Hughes flatter than she was before her obvious enhancement surgery, I didn’t actually really mean to hurt her. Send a message? Yeah. Knock the wind out of her? Definitely. Break three ribs and collapse a lung? Not really.
Ah, couldn’t have happened to a nicer girl, right?
So Kristi Hughes, if you’re able to read this, I’m very very sorry, and I hope you make a quick, and relatively painless recovery, to return to the side of your man soon.
But in all fairness, you did attack me first. And, quite frankly, you’ve really had something like this coming to you for a while.
Besides, just how injured are you really?
You see, it was mentioned recently that Hughes was holed up in the ICU of the Mayo Clinic. Now, admittedly, the Mayo Clinic is one of the finest hospitals in the world, and I could be lucky to get such treatment should I ever have need of it. But there’s just one little catch here. Mayo Clinic has facilities in the cities of Rochester, Minnesota; Scottsdale, Arizona; and Jacksonville, Florida. I turned Kristi into pate in Seattle, Washington.
Now maybe its just me, but it seems that transporting someone with three broken ribs and a collapsed lung a couple thousand miles to another ICU would be a rather unnecessary and costly risk, especially considering that Harborview Medical Center in Seattle, just a mile or so from Key Arena, would be more than adequate to treat Kristi’s injuries.
So what’s going on? I don’t know. Maybe they’re faking it, trying to make me feel bad for what I’ve done. Maybe they’re planning some sort of rouse. Maybe they really did risk Kristi Hughes life to fly her to Minnesota. Maybe Kevin thinks that all hospitals in America are run by the Mayo Clinic. I don’t fuckin’ know.
What I do know, is that as a result of all this, I now face Kevin Flynn at the next Shatterpoint I actually tried to get out of the match, but Wendy’s insisting that I compete. Something about being held accountable for my actions, or some bullshit like that. She might act all indignant and shit, but I know she loved every second of it.
Especially the part where both Kevin and Kristi had little drops of water leaking out of their eyes. Yeah, Kevin was chemically aided, and I’d probably tear up too if I just jumped on myself, but the fact is, yours truly, a mere wrestling manager, made Kevin Flynn and Kristi Hughes cry on national television. And after all that shit they talked about my client, too.
So you know what? To hell with it. I’ll suit up, walk down to the ring, and fight Kevin Flynn. Flynn probably thinks he’s getting the easiest win on the planet. All he’s gotta do is show up, kick yours truly’s ass, and revenge will be his.
Here’s the catch: I’m hardly as helpless as Kevin thinks I am. There’s some serious power underneath all this blubber, and I just need one good punch ot the jaw and Kevin’s lying on the mat, cold. Or maybe a good kick to the gut, and it’s all ready for the Lycan Drop. It may not be much of a chance, but I have one, and I fully intend to make Kevin’s day as miserable as possible.
It may not be much of one, but I got a chance, and I’m not going to back down. And let’s think for a second... what happens if I win? What happens if I crack one right into Kevin Flynn’s jaw, and he drops for the three count? Can you imagine the horrors then? Of the number one contender losing a match to a freaking MANAGER? How could the Powers that be survived when their top guy, the guy that’s going to bring them the world championship, can’t even beat me?
So you know what, Flynn? Bring it on. Step in the ring with the Pollaskinator, and show me exactly what you got. The way I see it, I’m playing with house money? Losing might hurt a bit, but all the world knows is that you can beat up a manager. And if I win? Well, your career is going to drop faster than Kristi’s panties in a Motel 6.
Just keep in mind, when my fist shatters your face, and you’re left lying in a broken little heap, that had you not tried to attack me last week, none of this would have happened.
Polla the fuck out. Bitch.
