The Grave Worm
Clinging to the past is a hardship that many people go through, usually, it’s a memory of an event that transpired that was either traumatic or euphoric or somewhere in between. There’s nothing wrong with reflection, everybody does it from time to time, but when you use it to make excuses and you use it as a crutch, that’s when people are less likely to sympathize with you. Even I am guilty of using the past as a spoiler. I’ve used it as a warning shot sent into the direction of whatever or whoever it may be based on the situation at hand, like a greasy motherfucker with a ski mask that tried oh so desperately to hijack my stash only to end up feasting on his own fingers after I chopped them off like a fucking sushi chef, or in the ring where I remind Elitists each and every time why I am somebody they just shouldn’t have fucked with. But I must remind myself that the past is exactly that, the past and there’s no use harping back onto these memories or wounds that still fester but some people are unchangeable, they’re so hooked on the past that no matter what they do in the present, the past still haunts them like an old spirit. The clouds above are head aren’t always by our own doing but to let them linger, to let the rain cascade down and create an everflowing stream of burdens is a life I don't want to live. How can you ever amass a future for yourself if the past is all you give a shit about? How could I ever win the Answers World Championship with my head stuck in the sand, dwelling on past grievances? You cannot change the past, you can only make your future. Don't waste your time convincing people who are stuck in yesterday that there’s a tomorrow because they’re lost causes at their roots fighting an unwinnable fight. You can’t lead the blind to see the blind so what options are left? If you’re a natural helper at heart, then you could try to nurse them back to 100%, even if they are decrepit mental peons without an ounce of self-respect residing in their system or you can do what I would do in such a situation. Push them to the brink, make them suffer, make them bleed, make them dig crop circles into their fucking flesh with a razor until nothing remains but vacant dead eyes as it’s best to just prolong their misery and then pull the plug as you see fit. They can’t help themselves anyway, it’s like telling a paraplegic to play hopscotch. So let them dwell, hold their hands while they burst into tears and tell them that the world is better off without their presence. If I were in that dilemma, I’d only wish that somebody would do the same to me. It’s the right thing to do.
That person I just described is Jamie fucking O’Hara at his very core. A star-chaser with skeletons still rattling away in his closet. This fuck is still and always will be an emotional cripple who, since his return for the first time ever, has worn his emotions on his sleeve for the world to witness. How can you perpetuate the idea that you’re primed and ready to go, that you’ve never felt fresher and that your future is so fucking bright yet you can’t let go of the past? I mean, you directly told Theron in one breath that your past failures do not stick and that your past shortcomings do not stagger Jamie O’Hara, and in the next you insinuated that unless you win the Answers World Championship, the demons that you have will still linger; it’s time to make up your fucking mind. The past is where your triumphs were made, were your legacy was created, where all your memories lie, where Jamie O’Hara ruled the fucking wrestling world with an iron fist, where he retired many-a-men that thought they were the motherfucking measuring stick to which Jamie O’Hara would abide by but then Pain for Pride happened and heartbreak ensued. Misery would condemn him back into his self-loathing desolate hellhole while Cameron brought home the bacon. You couldn’t even motivate yourself to get out of bed in the morning, how many rubber piss sheets did you go through anyway? Fuck, the bags under your eyes told the story. Impact drove a fucking stake into your heart and now just by sheer will power, you’re back into the fray huh? Well, that’s where I come in to play, this is where you get the memo that a new gunslinger is in town and he’s here to rob you fucking blind. I don’t want your money though, I want your dreams, your newfound passion and everything else rolled up into one fucking ball only to spike it down back into the abyss that you once inhabited while I ascend my throne in my kingdom of hell as you remain haunted.
By your very own self.
Look in the mirror Jamie and tell me what you see.
Is it the Jamie O’Hara of the past, the depressive slob, bed-ridden and fucking useless or is it the Jamie O’Hara of the 'present', the one with hellfire burning in his eyes and a passion like no other?
You have two choices.
The one you want to see.
And the one who’s actually there.
Mirror mirror on the wall who's the saddest of them all?
You are motherfucker.
I don’t care if you don't fear me, the fact that you acknowledged me will suffice. As long as I’m on your radar and I know I am, I have you right where I want you. In the palm of my hands and I could blow you away as if you were a seed head on a fucking dandelion at a moment’s notice. Don’t give me that regurgitated horse shit in that I don’t belong with the top stars of this company in the upper echelon of EAW and then completely turn around and credit me with a great season 12. Remember while I was at the top of the card, defending the Answers World Championship and cunt punting your wife and pinning your better, Impact, you were sulking in no man’s land contemplating retirement and drowning your sorrows with a ball gag in your mouth, tears in your eyes and Cam’s dildo up your ass, but even she can’t fuck you harder than your own self. That’s such a weak argument yet insipid fucks like you, try to draw me out of the woods with that bait, it’s boring and you call me unoriginal? Yeah okay pal, do away with the standard ammunition and bring out the heavy machinery next time you want to lock horns with me which is the last thing you want to do. I don’t claim to be evil for shits and giggles or to waltz around town as an edgelord. I’m evil because I take mental cripples like you and expose them for what they really are. Fucking Zoloft poster boys that pop those suckers down like grapes. I reduce these piss-poor save-the-day false heroes into your everyday pedestrian, standard, humbled down dweebs with no superhuman white knight powers under their belt, I take the heroes that children all around the world fucking worship as role models and turn them into fucking junkies that inject themselves with god knows what and end up bobbing their head on a ripped up couch in some shithole project, drooling out of their mouth with their eyes rolled into the back of their fucking head like Chris Elite’s mother. I take lionhearts like Jamie O’Hara and I turn them into self-deprecating hermit crabs who spend months away isolated from humanity cursing the idiot sun and waiting to die, oh wait, somebody already did that for me. Thanks, Impact.
But I’ll show you.
That your journey isn’t a step beyond greatness.
It’s south of hell.
If you thought your days away from this company were bad. I’ll take it one step further. If by the end of Pain for Pride you’re not back on the run to Aussie land, I’ll rent us a private plane and we’ll fly over there, while you’re bound bloody and gagged in the back of the plane in the bite-sized shitter. I’ll rent us a car, I’ll drop your carcass in the trunk. I’ll take a pit stop or two for a piss and a bite to eat, we’ll then head off to the middle of a scorching Great Victoria desert and I’ll bury you neck deep in sand while I hold up the Answers World Championship right up in your fucking face as you fight back tears and through those very tears, I will be the last thing you ever see, besides the fire ants tearing away at your fucking flesh you fucking cunt. I want you to take your own advice, savor this week in all its glory, savor the legacy you’ve built for yourself through blood sweat and tears, savor the rush from eighty thousand strong. Because this little comeback quest of yours from the days that you were suffocating away in darkness, to I-Robot himself, Syncon, to your illustrious return at Road to Redemption, to the subsequent cringe-worthy loss at King of Elite, to your glorious Grand Rampage victory, to your inevitable Pain for Pride defeat will be impaled by my fucking sword. Savor the taste of the blade. Cherish the blood seeping from your heart and realize that evil has risen.
And I’ve come to take what is mine.
Cornerstone? The greatest fucking wrestler of the modern age? Perhaps, but none of that means anything to me and that really grinds the fuck out of your gears doesn’t it? That I won’t sit with my hands folded in my lap as you rear back and blurt out a bunch of I did this’ and I did thats. Boring, monotonous tripe that would further soon put me to sleep than make my jaw drop. What’s been said, has been said about your legacy and to those who stick their tongue up your ass and worship the very ground you stand on? Their hearts will fucking shatter, just like they did last year at Pain for Pride. They’ll tear down their Jamie O’Hara posters on the wall and stuff them into a fucking trash can, they’ll burn their skid-marked Jamie O’Hara Kingslayer undies that they won on an eBay auction and they’ll fucking scream to the heavens above whenever Kashmir appears on their Spotify playlist. All in all? They’re just memories. You, Jamie, are a memory. Wouldn’t it be just the damndest thing if the so-called weakest link, pinned The Ace one, two, three in the center of the ring? You’d never show your fucking mug in EAW again, but that’s the reality that my three adversaries face. I don’t care who I fucking pin, as long as I stand tall with the Answers World Championship sparkling around this pathetic, ungrateful and delusional dirtbag’s face.
Delusions seem to be the running theme here where Theron Nikolas yanks rehashed Game of Thrones quotes out of his bag to emphasize the importance of his reign and to minimize other’s ambitions. It’s the same song and dance he’s been singing for months on end. He’s good at what he does but it’s reached the point where nobody cares anymore. You’re a tired act that was played out long ago but here you are, like a tape recorder going on and on incessantly with that same formulaic drivel that’s been hammered into the minds of these zombified elitists that toe the line and kneel before The God Em.. I can’t even fucking finish it. You’re not worth the trouble anymore Theron. The only thing that you have going for you and the only thing you seem to harp on is that you’re the longest reigning Answers World Champion in EAW history and yes that’s one hell of an accomplishment *IF* it wasn’t riddled with asterisks. Fuck, your whole namesake is riddled with asterisks and controversy. It isn’t clean, it isn’t pure, it isn’t free of parasites. They still crawl all over your reign and taint it with their nasty musk. The Answers World Championship is indeed the most important title in this business but it isn’t due to Theron Nikolas and anybody who believes so is full of shit, you could get any plug-and-play one-hit-wonder to serve as champion and it’d still be the most important prize in this company. It’s due to the names surrounding it. Mr. DEDEDE, Jamie O’Hara and Darkane. To get a fuckface like Jamie O’Hara to praise your reign is downright fucking laughable. Even the Ace himself is under your fucking spell, add that to the laundry list of reasons as to why he isn’t a suitable fucking champion. You don’t deserve to be praised, you don’t even deserve to be scolded, you deserve to be forgotten; left for dead. Maybe you can join Jamie O’Hara in the middle of the desert while you hold hands under the fucking sand and spit out the tails of scorpions for all I care.
Look in the mirror Theron and tell me what you see.
Is it the Theron Nikolas of the past, the championship driven rookie Elitist with the willingness to overcome insurmountable odds or is it the Theron Nikolas of the future the lethargic hook-nosed piece of shit without a pot to piss in and a championship to hold, who knows in his heart of hearts that this is an unwinnable fight?
You have two choices.
The one you want to see.
And the one who’s actually there.
Mirror mirror on the wall who’s the worst of them all?
You are motherfucker.
This shithead expects a roar of applause and thank yous like he’s at the head of his own banquet. Fuck it, sure, why not? Thank you, Theron, for being the absolute antithesis of what a champion is supposed to be. Thank you, Theron, for dragging the Answers World Championship through the fucking mudd by desecrating its image and prestige as soon as you got your hands on it. Thank you, Theron, for displaying truly sackless acts of cowardice whenever you were pushed to the brink. Thank you, Theron, for pussying out on Donovan Cross, a non-entity who isn’t even in this fucking company anymore. Thank you, Theron, for spraying mist into the eyes of Cameron Ella Ava, since she’s used to taking it on the chin anyway. Thank you, Theron, for calling in the cavalry when you were at my disposal at Operation: Doomsday. Thank you, Theron, for winning King of Elite back in the day over yours truly and that other disaster. Thank you, Theron, for slipping past Jamie O’Hara the following year by the skin of your fucking teeth. Thank you, Theron, for getting royally fucked by Tiberius. Thank you, Theron, for Ares Vendetta sacrificing himself for some ungodly reason to send you further in the King of Elite tournament. Thank you, Theron, for sending Jack Ripley my way as a test dummy only to be discarded with ease. Thank you, Theron, for stabbing Mr. DEDEDE in the back when he least expected it. Thank you, Theron, for reminding everybody why you’re the God Emperor. Thank you for, Theron, for being you Theron but most of all.
Thank you, Theron, for serving yourself up as the fall guy and embarrassing yourself at the greatest stage there fucking is when your luck finally runs the fuck out and your reign is dead and gone. Jamie O’Hara was right about one thing. You’re nothing without the Answers World Championship but a spectator and you’ve put every single egg you have in that basket. There is no turning back from this and you can ignore the inexorable all you want, but you know that is the absolute truth. I cannot wait to put my feet up on your carcass while you look up at me through bloodshot eyes with utter disdain. When it’s over, when the dust has settled and the crowd has filed out leaving nothing but an empty arena and an empty shell of Theron Nikolas holding his knees against his chest in the center of the ring, it will be a moment of reflection and it will be an epiphany; a divine intervention when Theron has nobody to blame but his fucking self. I’ll be right there alongside your shell, in spirit, to torment you as you drop into a mad shrine of laughter. Where you spiral into a seemingly endless void until you land onto the cracked grounds of my lair. It is there, you will starve, you will decay, and you will be reminded of the sins that you carried out at your own discretion which ultimately ended up biting you in the fucking ass. That is the fate that awaits you so you can either live with it or maybe bite the bullet pump action style and blow your brains all over your throne. The same throne you rode for months on end, the same throne that is slowly dissipating before your very eyes. The same throne you cherished, the same throne that the Answers World Championship once sat comfortably in. Yeah, that throne. It’s time for a new host, it’s time that everything that we’ve been through comes full circle. My Pain for Ride moment awaits, it’s beckoning my name and no God Emperor, nor Ace or Gawd can fucking stop me. Even if I’m deemed insignificant, even if I’m looked over, even if I don’t “belong”, even if I’m the fucking underdog; evil always finds a way into the hearts of man and I will latch on your hearts and suck your souls until there is nothing left but the shriveled remains of the fallen. Your motivation will die. Your dream cloud will evaporate. The Answers World Championship? It will find its way back home.
Mirror, mirror on the wall who's the greatest of them all?
I am motherfucker.