Post by Outcast on Jan 23, 2022 21:59:01 GMT -5
So, here I am standing face to face with my attacker who snuck in like a thief in the night to steal and to kill. What do I do you ask. Well, what I've always done in my adult life when in a fight or flight situation.
I fight.
I don't just fight, but I charge in head first. I roar into battle like a Viking with the knowledge that I will either defeat my opponent or die in a glorious manner. For men like me there is no surrender, and no retreat. I bare my teeth only when my ire is raised, and the teeth are only shown when it is time to consume flesh.
This is what separates me from people like Mario Macaroni & Cheese, Peter Vaughn, The Incredible One, Lissie Hope, or anyone else on the long list of names of who when things get tough, they tuck tail and run. F**k that, and f**k those weak willed, weak spirited cowards. I'd rather go through hell and know I went down fighting than to be a little cry baby b*tch quitter.
Yeah, you might get your ass kicked, and getting your ass kicked sucks. Embrace the sucks, take that ass kicking and use it to make yourself stronger. Because, do you know what sucks worse than getting your ass kicked?
Looking yourself in the mirror everyday and knowing you're a little b*tch who quit when things got tough. See, I don't fear death because everyone dies, but not everyone really lives. If you can't look yourself in the mirror, if you're buried without any scars, and without a legacy then you're already dead and just going through the motions.
So, as I was saying before I digressed on my tangent about Mario, and other "superstars and legends" being b*tchs, I charged head on at my attacker. I used the most basic move of them all, the tried and true bar fight brawl maneuver known as "the redneck lunge". A simple, but effective tackle, I use my body as a weapon thrusting my shoulder into his stomach and scooping his legs from under him.
He goes down easier then I imagined he would, but he doesn't stay down. His thumbs find my eye and his cold, hard voice echoes in my head as the words from Matthew 18:9 ring out.
And if your eye causes you to stumble, gouge it out and throw it away. It is better for you to enter life with one eye than to have two eyes and be thrown into the fire of hell.
As I feel the tip of his thumb slide into my eye socket I grab his wrist with both hands and pull his hand away before he renders me a cyclops. As I dislodge his thumb, I stand up holding my eye ensuring it is still snug and secure in its proper location. He rises to his feet quickly and I have no choice but to attack once more.
In my haste to strike first I don't see the empty PBR bottle he has grabbed off the floor. I may not have seen it, but I sure felt it as it smashed across the side of my head and dropped me to all fours. More stinging, more bleeding, more pain.
His voice cuts through the loud echoing in my head from what I'm sure is a concussion.
Whoever is slow to anger has great understanding, but he who has a hasty temper exalts folly, Proverbs fourteen and twenty-nine.
I shake my head slowly and spit out a mouth full of blood. Wait, there is a chunk in. I stare at the little off-white chunk that stands out against the red liquid. I move my tongue to the side of my mouth and fill the vacant spot my molar had inhabited a mere moment ago.
Alright you sanctimonious son of a b*tch, let's get this over with.
He chuckles with an air of confidence that only serves to anger me more, but he also stands back and lets me get to my feet. This reveals his true belief in himself. A belief I am about to shove up his ass.
I strike with a quick right, but he easily slips it. A hook and he ducks. A five punch combo, and he slips or blocks every shot. By the time I realize what he is doing, it's too late, it's already been done. He was letting me punch myself out, letting me put the pedal to the medal and drop my tank to E, he was Rope-a-doping me.
My hands feel like they weigh a hundred pounds, my arms feel like jello, my legs feel like they are stuck in mud, and my lungs burn like a gonorrhea piss as I try to catch my breath. In plain and simple English, I'm f**ked.
I stare at him and I feel him reading my body language of desperation, but he also sees the fight in my eyes. He waves me on, and as he does says, "I know you've got more in you".
He's right, I do.
One last attack, maybe the last attack of my life, I've got to make it count.
By this time we had fought our way to the kitchen. I turn and pull a knife from the butcher block and thrust, but like my punches he flips it. I try a slash, but he easily fades it and as he does swings a cabinet door open into my face. This knocks me off balance, but when he swings the door of the dishwasher open into my knee it drops me.
I try to get up, but I'm completely exhausted. I have nothing left. As I try to get up I see his war-torn hand pick up the knife. As I try to sit up he assists me by grabbing my hair and shoving me back against the island. I sit vulnerable and ripe for the taking.
As he places the stainless steel knife to my throat I look into the cold, hard eyes of the only man who could ever kill me. The man I thought I had buried under guilt, shame, and humiliation.
Christian Cain.
As I slowly gulp I feel the blade touch my Adams-apple, there is no fear in our eyes, we both knew if we ever met again only one of us would walk away.
You're gonna kill me? After all I've done for you. I beat Xavier Lux and made you the OCW champion. All the success and fame you've ever had… it was me.
He shakes his head and presses the knife closer.
No, that was me. I beat Lux, I beat Zybala, I beat addiction, I made me the man I am today and I'll be damned if I let you ruin me again. All you have ever done is bring me pain and suffering. You cost me my marriage MY CHILD!!!
I DID…
Before he can spew anymore lies I slide the knife across his throat. He opens like a zipper and instead of lies that spew from him it is blood.
I stand over him and watch as the last bit of fight leaves eyes, followed by the last bit of life. I sink down into the floor beside the slayen demon and take the first deep breath as a free man. I lean against the island and close my eyes.
When I reopen them, it is morning. A ray of sun pierces through the window above the kitchen sink and brings me back to life. As I awake I find no dead body, as it was a demon slayed in my mind, heart, and soul. Still the house is torn asunder, displaying evidence of a battle of epic proportion.
As I stand and look out that kitchen window at the sun my mind is already on my next battle.
Mario, I have some good news for you, and I have some bad news for you. The good news is you won't have to face the Outcast. The Outcast that had trouble putting away Zybala. The Outcast that lost to Peter Vaughn. The Outcast who has been a wallowing addict since his life long goal was taken away as soon as he got it. That Outcast is dead and gone.
The bad news is you are going to have to face the Christian Cain version of Outcast. The Outcast who went nearly two years never losing a singles match. The Outcast who climbed out of the gutter to the top of the GCWA. The Outcast who nearly won the prison yard match. The Outcast who nearly killed Xavier Lux to become OCW champion.
THAT!... Is the Outcast that is coming to Detroit for Access Denied.
To quote Dr. Drew, "you'll done f**ked around and turned me back to the old me.".
And this old me is much more dangerous. Much more driven, much more deadly, and to spite all that the old me has done, still has a big chip on his shoulder.
I close my eyes and lift my head. I let the sun shine onto my neck and chest and feel the vitamin D recharging me.
I may be considered in the top ten OCW champions of all time, and I may be classified as a tier one all time competitor in OCW. But, I'm not satisfied with that.
No.
I won't be satisfied until my name is above Mack O'Connor, above Lurr, above Scott Syren, and yes, even above Matt Meyhu. I want my name to be more than synonymous with OCW, I want it to be symbiotic. I want OCW and Outcast to become one and the same. I want people to know that when they sign an OCW contract they are signing up to be nothing more than lambs led to slaughter, they they are nothing more than sacrifices to the legacy of Outcast.
That is exactly what you are Mario, a sacrifice to my legacy. I know you have a legacy of your own, but to build upon my own legacy I will shatter yours to splinters and scatter it to the wind.
That is exactly what I am going to do Mario. I am going to sacrifice you and your legacy to my own. And inside of that barbed wire cage you better d@mn well know that it is going to be a blood sacrifice.
I grab a pack of Newports from the window sill and pull one out, the last smoke of the pack, the one for good luck. It gives me pause to think about that and I laugh as I lite the cigarette, because I know I won't need luck.
I turn as I take a deep inhale and slowly exhale as I lean against the sink.
Mario, for you, and the OCW championship scene, your access will be denied. Like the great pyramids of Egypt, my OCW championship reign will be one of the MARVELOUS wonders of the world.
I fight.
I don't just fight, but I charge in head first. I roar into battle like a Viking with the knowledge that I will either defeat my opponent or die in a glorious manner. For men like me there is no surrender, and no retreat. I bare my teeth only when my ire is raised, and the teeth are only shown when it is time to consume flesh.
This is what separates me from people like Mario Macaroni & Cheese, Peter Vaughn, The Incredible One, Lissie Hope, or anyone else on the long list of names of who when things get tough, they tuck tail and run. F**k that, and f**k those weak willed, weak spirited cowards. I'd rather go through hell and know I went down fighting than to be a little cry baby b*tch quitter.
Yeah, you might get your ass kicked, and getting your ass kicked sucks. Embrace the sucks, take that ass kicking and use it to make yourself stronger. Because, do you know what sucks worse than getting your ass kicked?
Looking yourself in the mirror everyday and knowing you're a little b*tch who quit when things got tough. See, I don't fear death because everyone dies, but not everyone really lives. If you can't look yourself in the mirror, if you're buried without any scars, and without a legacy then you're already dead and just going through the motions.
Sh*t, when I die just bury me with a fifth, a pack of Newports, and my old .45
Bury me with my guns on
So when I reach the other side
I can show him what it feels like to die
Bury me with my guns on
So when Im cast out of the sky
I can shoot the devil right between the eyes
So when I reach the other side
I can show him what it feels like to die
Bury me with my guns on
So when Im cast out of the sky
I can shoot the devil right between the eyes
So, as I was saying before I digressed on my tangent about Mario, and other "superstars and legends" being b*tchs, I charged head on at my attacker. I used the most basic move of them all, the tried and true bar fight brawl maneuver known as "the redneck lunge". A simple, but effective tackle, I use my body as a weapon thrusting my shoulder into his stomach and scooping his legs from under him.
He goes down easier then I imagined he would, but he doesn't stay down. His thumbs find my eye and his cold, hard voice echoes in my head as the words from Matthew 18:9 ring out.
And if your eye causes you to stumble, gouge it out and throw it away. It is better for you to enter life with one eye than to have two eyes and be thrown into the fire of hell.
As I feel the tip of his thumb slide into my eye socket I grab his wrist with both hands and pull his hand away before he renders me a cyclops. As I dislodge his thumb, I stand up holding my eye ensuring it is still snug and secure in its proper location. He rises to his feet quickly and I have no choice but to attack once more.
In my haste to strike first I don't see the empty PBR bottle he has grabbed off the floor. I may not have seen it, but I sure felt it as it smashed across the side of my head and dropped me to all fours. More stinging, more bleeding, more pain.
His voice cuts through the loud echoing in my head from what I'm sure is a concussion.
Whoever is slow to anger has great understanding, but he who has a hasty temper exalts folly, Proverbs fourteen and twenty-nine.
I shake my head slowly and spit out a mouth full of blood. Wait, there is a chunk in. I stare at the little off-white chunk that stands out against the red liquid. I move my tongue to the side of my mouth and fill the vacant spot my molar had inhabited a mere moment ago.
Alright you sanctimonious son of a b*tch, let's get this over with.
He chuckles with an air of confidence that only serves to anger me more, but he also stands back and lets me get to my feet. This reveals his true belief in himself. A belief I am about to shove up his ass.
I strike with a quick right, but he easily slips it. A hook and he ducks. A five punch combo, and he slips or blocks every shot. By the time I realize what he is doing, it's too late, it's already been done. He was letting me punch myself out, letting me put the pedal to the medal and drop my tank to E, he was Rope-a-doping me.
My hands feel like they weigh a hundred pounds, my arms feel like jello, my legs feel like they are stuck in mud, and my lungs burn like a gonorrhea piss as I try to catch my breath. In plain and simple English, I'm f**ked.
I stare at him and I feel him reading my body language of desperation, but he also sees the fight in my eyes. He waves me on, and as he does says, "I know you've got more in you".
He's right, I do.
One last attack, maybe the last attack of my life, I've got to make it count.
By this time we had fought our way to the kitchen. I turn and pull a knife from the butcher block and thrust, but like my punches he flips it. I try a slash, but he easily fades it and as he does swings a cabinet door open into my face. This knocks me off balance, but when he swings the door of the dishwasher open into my knee it drops me.
I try to get up, but I'm completely exhausted. I have nothing left. As I try to get up I see his war-torn hand pick up the knife. As I try to sit up he assists me by grabbing my hair and shoving me back against the island. I sit vulnerable and ripe for the taking.
As he places the stainless steel knife to my throat I look into the cold, hard eyes of the only man who could ever kill me. The man I thought I had buried under guilt, shame, and humiliation.
Christian Cain.
As I slowly gulp I feel the blade touch my Adams-apple, there is no fear in our eyes, we both knew if we ever met again only one of us would walk away.
You're gonna kill me? After all I've done for you. I beat Xavier Lux and made you the OCW champion. All the success and fame you've ever had… it was me.
He shakes his head and presses the knife closer.
No, that was me. I beat Lux, I beat Zybala, I beat addiction, I made me the man I am today and I'll be damned if I let you ruin me again. All you have ever done is bring me pain and suffering. You cost me my marriage MY CHILD!!!
I DID…
Before he can spew anymore lies I slide the knife across his throat. He opens like a zipper and instead of lies that spew from him it is blood.
I stand over him and watch as the last bit of fight leaves eyes, followed by the last bit of life. I sink down into the floor beside the slayen demon and take the first deep breath as a free man. I lean against the island and close my eyes.
When I reopen them, it is morning. A ray of sun pierces through the window above the kitchen sink and brings me back to life. As I awake I find no dead body, as it was a demon slayed in my mind, heart, and soul. Still the house is torn asunder, displaying evidence of a battle of epic proportion.
As I stand and look out that kitchen window at the sun my mind is already on my next battle.
Mario, I have some good news for you, and I have some bad news for you. The good news is you won't have to face the Outcast. The Outcast that had trouble putting away Zybala. The Outcast that lost to Peter Vaughn. The Outcast who has been a wallowing addict since his life long goal was taken away as soon as he got it. That Outcast is dead and gone.
The bad news is you are going to have to face the Christian Cain version of Outcast. The Outcast who went nearly two years never losing a singles match. The Outcast who climbed out of the gutter to the top of the GCWA. The Outcast who nearly won the prison yard match. The Outcast who nearly killed Xavier Lux to become OCW champion.
THAT!... Is the Outcast that is coming to Detroit for Access Denied.
To quote Dr. Drew, "you'll done f**ked around and turned me back to the old me.".
And this old me is much more dangerous. Much more driven, much more deadly, and to spite all that the old me has done, still has a big chip on his shoulder.
I close my eyes and lift my head. I let the sun shine onto my neck and chest and feel the vitamin D recharging me.
I may be considered in the top ten OCW champions of all time, and I may be classified as a tier one all time competitor in OCW. But, I'm not satisfied with that.
No.
I won't be satisfied until my name is above Mack O'Connor, above Lurr, above Scott Syren, and yes, even above Matt Meyhu. I want my name to be more than synonymous with OCW, I want it to be symbiotic. I want OCW and Outcast to become one and the same. I want people to know that when they sign an OCW contract they are signing up to be nothing more than lambs led to slaughter, they they are nothing more than sacrifices to the legacy of Outcast.
That is exactly what you are Mario, a sacrifice to my legacy. I know you have a legacy of your own, but to build upon my own legacy I will shatter yours to splinters and scatter it to the wind.
That is exactly what I am going to do Mario. I am going to sacrifice you and your legacy to my own. And inside of that barbed wire cage you better d@mn well know that it is going to be a blood sacrifice.
I grab a pack of Newports from the window sill and pull one out, the last smoke of the pack, the one for good luck. It gives me pause to think about that and I laugh as I lite the cigarette, because I know I won't need luck.
I turn as I take a deep inhale and slowly exhale as I lean against the sink.
Mario, for you, and the OCW championship scene, your access will be denied. Like the great pyramids of Egypt, my OCW championship reign will be one of the MARVELOUS wonders of the world.
Come Detroit, not ready to talk, not ready to hide behind Lurr. But come ready to fight, come ready to bleed, and come ready to lose. Because just like the city of Detroit, your legacy is nothing but crumbling rubble, and I'm the bulldozer come to demolish what is left and bring it to a merciful ending for you.
The End.