| AirCroft | Date: Tuesday, 2011/06/28, 5:00 PM | Message # 1 |
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Development
Group: EWA Roster
Messages: 16
Status: Offline
| Why
Our backs are now against the wall?
Listen all y'all, it's a sabotage
Listen all y'all, it's a sabotage
Listen all y'all, it's a sabotage
Listen all y'all, it's a sabotage
I can't stand it, I know you planned it
I'm gonna set it straight, this Watergate
Lord, I can't stand rockin' when I'm in this place
Because I feel disgrace because you're all in my face
But make no mistakes and switch up my channel
I'm Buddy Rich when I fly off the handle
What could it be, it's a mirage
You're scheming on a thing, that's sabotage
"Sabotage by Beastie Boys"
The One Where I Respect You...
The radiant beauty of life is on hand; as I tenderly fold the sheets I was resting upon on a beautiful Friday afternoon. I was relieved from CZW duties for months now and enjoyed being at home with my lover Sarah Hyatt. But it wasn’t like I had expected and I since longed for the exuberating feeling of being in a squared circle. Resting on my loins as the wind cooled my beautiful brown hair upon my skull. Still as a cougar about to kill its prey I was. It’s a beautiful day and I have no care in the word to attempt to move or stir. No one has rung me in over two months about wrestling a match and that made me feel worthless. The truth is my ankle was fractured during a CZW house show months prior to its closure and I haven’t been the same. I can still wrestle up a god forbidden storm but it’s a moderate pace slightly oozing of lost charisma and prowess. People say Edward Croft is a washed up shell of his former self and I wish there was some way to prove them wrong. WWE and TNA were the two household names but I’ve settled for less considering CZW was just as a threat in the mainstream as those two companies. So I longed for competition until I sought for a new Ring of Honor deal. I called Trevor Hyatt and he exclaimed the board was not too keen on seeing me back due to my lack of entertainment. Basically they thought I was a lazy fuck, with a bummed ankle and looking for a big paycheck to lie on all day. I wasn’t lazy and until a few months prior the word active was in everyone’s vocabulary. You see Edward Croft was CZW’s hottest new superstar leaving bodies in his wake day in and out. Even teaming with the vulgar giant people call Big Nasty, a real likable veteran and my best friend. He’s Big & Nasty storming through opponents while I step in and dust them off for a heartwarming finish. Surfing channels looking for something interesting to draw my eyes on, hey is this any good …. No it’s a failure of existence. Gazing out the window with a sudden stare with eyes watering of boredom until I pass out flat on my face until Sarah comes home for an orgasm or four. My stamina is at its peak as I’m doing the whole Gym, Tan, Rest routine which is differential to G.T.W since I’m not doing much wrestling these days. I can do chin ups all I want but it’s not my passion, so I go out Saturday night and cause a bar fight. I’m just sitting there minding my own business until smack dab in the middle of an intense confrontation I’m shouting out you’re a fucking faggot! So the guy tries to tackle me I’m all ready for war on his tall ass and wail on him. I mean brutal fist reigning downward into the guy’s skull, it’s exciting as a box of playboy and I’m talking about the good ones not the WWE™ diva ones either. It was intense but the fun landed me in a holding cell almost but it was a fan of mines and I was let go to roam Manhattan with a huge blood alcohol level. I pissed on my Father’s grave, I was told by my Sister Hannah & my Mother who were delivering flowers and I was upset.
The last thing my dad told me was to be myself and make him proud as the bad ass I was born to be. But the peppermint flavored vodka was a little intense for my Canadian brain to actually comprehend by god. The issue was hot on my ass like a branding iron, you know the intense pain shooting inside your anus and you want it gone permanently. I was trapped in a closet filled with minuscule bull shit of me actually being able to be somebody other than al lowlife drunk in front of my loving family. Knowingly not justifying my actions but tipping my hat on the subjects that aren’t really much of a matter to me. Do you honestly think it’s worth mentioning to anyone? I mean it’s a world filled with nonsense and false sense of bravery. A world that’s meaningless to the slightest itty bitty person who doesn’t know shit about what a real wrestler looks like. A wrestler stands up and faces his demons without being susceptible to the falsies and the illusions. You’re not Criss Angel, so why pretend to wave that magic wand around my poor little face. My poor little face that was kicked in by Big Nasty on my final CZW Overdrive appearance. Come on don’t stand there and act like you understand the brass amount of bullshit that gets shoved down your throat on a regular basis. You watch big shot wrestling companies with kiddy soap opera action heroes whose boss is a cunt stain of a promoter. I’ve busted my ass for too long to give up now but it’s not worth being in my state of disillusionment filled with people who hardly even know I ever existed. Except for a cop who recognized my face on a CZW house show a few months prior after my loss with Big Nasty it was my last day on the job. It wasn’t shown on television but I kicked in the teeth of that whiny Canadian jack ass Tim Timmons for a bland Cincinnati, Ohio crowd. My final CZW appearance and months later it falls off the face of the earth where it remains and I ponder at why? Why did they drop into oblivion when they had a talented roster and a huge following? It’s because they didn’t know how to properly applaud or praise their talent when they gave their all. Hell Crimson Blaze was fed to a bunch of giants one night and took a huge beating for what? It was entertaining but there wasn’t a pay raise for that night he still got his lousy paycheck and I asked him what your motivation is. He told me that it’s about pleasing the fans only and my health/ pay check is the least of CZW’s concern. So Alan Fiscus I’m glad you are not wrestling in any promotion as you didn’t deserve the glory even in defeat you were still a prick. Eddie Rowan got you at your worst as I saw it in your performance it was done wasn’t it? When I signed to CZW and shook your hand and said I respected your hard work despite your bad antics. It wasn’t a lie but in my mind it’s still there the bitterness of your scowl. I can’t stop thinking it is one thing to speak but the thoughts in my head are amazing. The kinks and the cobwebs are getting exterminated for a new fresher and vigorous feeling. Damn, it’s actually starting to feel definite and fresher to me as well as exciting as the cat is not out the bag just yet. When do you ever sleep mind? Always thinking about what life will bring you next well even through the hellish of moments I stand here. I stand here thinking with my entire mind and all the people watching as the sky seems like it’s falling into the abyss of a subtle moment. A quiet aisle where nothing is subtle and or safe but it’s filled with a touch of the good old glory days. You know the days where it was simple to breathe and not be polluted by the mainstream populated, money grubbing society. Turn on the television and let them spin their lies like charlotte once did before she croaked and her children, oh she had a bunch of them sons of bitches.
Her children spun webs as I sit now sobering up on this beautiful Sunday morning there isn’t much to do but ponder and wait to once feel a new fresh and vigorous feeling. The feeling I once had when I ruled the CZW arena while the masses greeted me with you are fucking sick. Delivering MOTY type performances despite not fitting in with the extreme demands of that cluster fuck we call CZW programming. Don’t applaud my thoughts but soon applaud my words as I will speak out soon enough. You see there’s not a promotion on this Sunday morning that’s calling me but it’s only a matter of time. They all will call me in for a performance quite like any other but it is June 26th, 2011 and no one has offered me any chance at redeeming what’s lost. My life isn’t some video game with kick ass features on display for the mass of pro wrestling fans to control. I control my own destiny and it’s time I start controlling in with a huge deliberate impact (pun intended). I wanted to congratulate you on the award winning shocker of calling me EWA as it brought me great joy. Pleasures all mine to showcase an athletic performance with my more awes than you get at an acrobatic strip club. So it’s set this coming Shatter Point in my hometown of New York City, well it’s going to be damn brutal to face off against this Christopher Dyson guy. I mean what’s an Imperial Introduction I’m already royalty in NYC unbeknownst to EWA management. Circling the date and marking my calendar, then off to the gym to work out my Gluteus Maximus and to properly deliver a smack down on Dyson’s bitch ass. He wasn’t ready to face such a brilliant specimen such as myself and it showed with his lack of not even being relevant. Relevant to the sport of professional wrestling and or being relevant to my knowledge. I started giving my all to be in the kind of shape I was back during my first run in the big leagues of professional wrestling. The idea was to get my body in a key point of being revered and being a respected S.O.B at all costs. Then out comes all the forward presentation into a new look into my inner consciousness. Sitting near the Gym floor eying those people who are wrestling fans mold themselves into something they’re not, you can be in the best shape of your life and still be a shitty wrestler. I saw a guy 480lbs show up a high fast agile little son of a gun without reverting into the clichéd move set of a big man. The guy even suicide dived onto the little guy crushing him before finishing off with a dynamic shoulder tackle with beautiful technique. So for one it wasn’t really about winners or losers but it was being the total package big or small, skinny or hefty and that’s saying something. I wanted to establish myself as a multi-talented athlete and to deliver a shocking scandal proof performance day in and out. But you know what? It’s hard to downplay all of the little people who want to watch you fall. It’s hard to downplay all of the idiots who call you worthless and not worth the price of the god damn admission. You see the game’s changed and the hero isn’t much like he once was. I’ve lost grasp on reality and the life I see now is just a giant fantasy and it’s touted by the people who can’t get a grip on who’s the best. Do you know why? The people are fed false information through huge conglomerate family owned businesses.
Well call those the all American good ole boys who don’t know who they are and what they’re made of. Particularly not even giving a damn about the present & future of the wrestling business as a whole piece of the pie. They view us as minor pieces of the equation functioning like puppets to a less than intelligent fan base rolling around with each other for inbred rednecks just like NASCAR™. And I’m saying professional race car drivers aren’t worthy of being in the same category but they aren’t even a damn match. Mixed Marital Arts is popular but it’s still looked down upon in most states and it’s not allowed in most countries. It’s basically a human cock fight where no one and I mean no one is that much of a clear winner. I mean the mind state of a man whose best moment was destroying a lower form athlete with a 450 leg drop is beyond me. But that further points out that some wrestling companies are to blame on the sheer fact that wrestling is nothing more than entertainment. But I’ll explain to you and the entire world soon enough by speaking, instead of letting you inside my thoughts of my brilliant mind and give you a taste of my mortal speech. I hate being quiet but it’s just that I’m busy with issues beyond repair in a world filled with leeches and rotting out prostitutes needing a quick buck. I take the high road while most trek down the lowest crack and crevice never surfacing again with an ounce of dignity or pride. Not going to pack my bags up and leave you wanting more, but I’m going to bless you with a metaphor for apocalyptic justice. Not befitting just anyone no but it’s befitting the scum of the earth who think that they mean something to the dying world around them. Little do they know that the world isn’t listening slowly unhinging itself beneath it and struggling to survive its injustices? Picket fences in your gaze never fading but its shadows etched into your feeble minds with impurities of past indiscretions for once you don’t know what will happen to you and those around you. For you have never entered the private sanctum of insanity and you have never met the devil himself with a grin upon his face. To know who is lurking, and who is trying to rid you of your suffering, is to reach inside the magician’s hat to pull out a rabbit. A rabbit that’s lurking to undue you from the cold spell you so happen to have endured. It’s going to take out all of the nonsensical explanations you have brought forward into the light. It shall stay in the dark for you have no right to call your life a meaningful one. Dear desire fueled rags upon me wanting to claim the top prize in the EWA while they mock me yet. But they won’t mock me when the tormentor awakens form his deep undisturbed slumber. I sit at the bench before slowly making my way to exit the gym and I stand near my red corvette with a smirk. Before pronouncing who’s who is getting the wrong end of the shaft come this edition of Shatter Point.
Edward Croft: “Hey all it’s a brand new day isn’t it sweet that I’ve arrived in the great yonder that is EWA. Don’t be shocked to know that I’m better now and I’m ready to endure a great amount of punishment for a great goal of being entertaining. And so I’m here to entertain you and the fans that can’t get enough of the man who built up his name on the independent circuit. My name is Edward Allen Croft and I’m here to give you a plethora of exciting gifts. You see foolish men and the people who make the village people look straight it’s not my first rodeo. You see a one trick pony and you can smell it from a mile away soon thereafter. So what is Christopher Dyson to me he’s a snot nosed kid who doesn’t belong in the wrestling business. I haven’t lost a beat and I’m not even in my thirties yet, so soak it all in. You say you can beat me? Well Chrissie Poo I don’t believe a word you say out your whiny brat mouth. Not that you’re a brat but it’s just I’m too good of a wrestler to lower down and be beaten by a guy so unknown to all of us. I know who I am and so does the millions of people who follow my every footstep and that is not even half of it. I was trained by Brent Hart & The Phunk Brothers who crafted me into one hell of a performer and showman. I can’t stress it enough how you present yourself as someone who has the ability to take me down a peg but fail to. You fail in that task because you aren’t exceptionally good. Hell you’re mediocre at best and it just isn’t worth my time to give you a tongue thrashing beat down. We can shoot ourselves in the foot like that by being outmatch in promos and in ring content. Don’t want the higher ups to know that I’m better than you and should be able to headline any event and at any time. Any time to one up the guy who isn’t very popular so he struts out to face me acting like he’s a legend but comes up short to a chorus of boos. You ever look in a mirror? I sure hope you see what I’m seeing and not just a loser. I honestly don’t see a loser but I do see a guy not ready to face me in such a high octane wrestling contest. If you fought anyone else it would have made your EWA debut a lot more memorable. But now you are going to be remembered as the guy who fell to my stellar advances and couldn’t even show superior skill.
I love the fact how they say you can’t have any better luck to get over with the fans. But you’re in my hometown with a snot nosed face and a stupid hair cut saying I can take you out! My best friend Trevor Hyatt said that when we were feuding before we became a team due to the whole you can’t beat him then join him crap. Before he was getting his face kicked in because he thought he was the Show Stopper of ROH but he found himself the curtain jerker before I left for the big leagues. Yes he’s my best friend and I’m with his sister but he was bested dozens and dozens of times not to mention he even quit a match. He said the words that will never grace out of my mouth and that’s say I quit. I don’t care if you smash a chair into my skull a freaking dozen times and make me spill blood all over the place. I don’t care if you shatter my bones with a lead pipe and they won’t ever heal making me paralyzed. I don’t care if you slaughter my whole family in front my own two blue eyes!!! You won’t ever have the satisfaction of hearing me shout into that microphone that I want to quit and that’s the bottom line. I don’t hate you Mister Dyson but it’s the problematic equation of how you’re in the wrong place at the wrong freaking time. Do you have any regrets other than facing the wrong guy at the most inconvenient moment s as my re-debut in a major wrestling promotion is at hand? So take one last look in that mirror before going over the entire situation in your little itty bitty brain. That you have the testicular fortitude to come up in New York Fucking City and pin me for the 1… 2… 3 without any known hesitation. The Scars on Broadway are a band but that’s also the name of a motion picture starring you getting kicked all over Staten Island to Manhattan. The obvious way of getting out of this match is to stay in the locker room or better yet don’t even show up like most cowards do. I do want you to come out because it’s been awhile since I’ve sunk my teeth into fresh meat. The hungriness of being a professional wrestler has been reborn unto me and that’s just saying something. Do you pride yourself on saying things you don’t mean Dyson? Is it the way you get off? You little punk it’s not that kind of party brother. Its smash mouth, in your face, balls to the wall action and it’s going to get a little extreme to say the least. I want to go out there and take you to your limit and afterwards shake your hand. I’m not being a dick with what I say to you it’s just a way of expressing my aggression. I can’t be a soft ass like a Wendy’s™ frosty just because you can’t lace up your boots well enough to face me. It’s just a first impression type deal it seems to endure punishment and do it for the fans enjoyment only. Don’t you want to be healthy and have a long career with titles & money? Or are you a corporate puppet facing me so I can look good in my debut match up? I want you to give me your A game kid and don’t hold back for even a pathetic second.
It’s about getting respect and earning it in a proper fashion without the travesties of faltering to the unanswered questions of whom you are and who I am. I lost my father awhile back and it changed my life forever yet I’m here with a smile on my face or the thrill of competition. It’s about pleasing the fans, titles and the money and for your case Dyson about getting laid after the show by a hot senorita. I don’t have much really left to say because I’m kind of at wits end being you haven’t really brought anything worth mentioning. I want you to know that whatever happens out there to leave it all in that squared circle. No carry overs of you wanting revenge for my rude and crude loud mouth behavior but it’s all said and done at that very unclear moment. You are a great man with heart and you don’t need me to beat you down any further. Don’t let my words harm you by any means this whole speech and what I’ve told you isn’t an ill will it’s a lesson. A lesson of knowing where you are in this business and if you fall short in this profession. I was told that I’d never make it in this business and that my stature and move set was that of a fan favorite jobber to go on to prove them wrong. Without a shadow of a doubt there’s a hidden message in all of motives and or speeches of deliverance. My hidden message was to inform you that you are so talented but the things hindering you are the challenges you haven’t yet faced. It’s sort of an eye open like a near death experience or a pep talk from your high school football coach. They say I’m a bad ass yet they don’t see much deeper than that. I’m a human being 1st with feelings then a bad ass with no soul for a unanimous 2nd, though you have all the time in the world to grow and you do. It’s not your time when we stand across from each other in that squared circle, for one it’s never enough to just say something you have to deliver a message of pure beauty and intelligence. You have to endure the fact that you won’t ever be able to deliver a message like me or any other veteran as you never experienced the great deal of hardship or loss. The greater strides of every undying moment are veiled by a black cloak and it’s hidden.
Hidden as it’s not ready to be seen by mortal eyes and not even my eyes shall see your true potential come full circle. All I can say is that it’s a privilege to talk crap about a guy who one day will be everything I say he isn’t and that’s a great wrestler. If I hadn’t told you all of this you would be molded into a cocky son of a bitch who thinks he’s’ the best but is nothing more than a sad little man. A sad little man deep inside who doesn’t have it in him to go against me and to take me on mano y mano. Never let the jeers and the misfortune of the fans not knowing what you’re about at first. If you are honorable you will be cheered and if you are good in ring and out but jeered for those traits. Then I must say you aren’t any body’s favorite but I’m a fan and I always will be. But in case you didn’t know I’m Canada’s Finest Bitch!!! And come Shatter Point it’s time to show you why it’s better to destroy an ego before it sprouts than to let it soar into a conglomerate of corporate bullshit. “
** I smirk before sliding my gym bag onto the passenger’s side and then sitting behind the wheel of my 2010 Red Corvette. Looking into the rearview mirror and putting on my black aviators Big Nasty gave me. I was ready for Shatter Point & it was going to be the best match of my career in terms of my point of view. I like Dyson but it’s a veteran who’s returning in his hometown against a guy who needs to be gut checked in order to have a future in professional wrestling. **
This is radio nowhere, is there anybody alive out there?
This is radio nowhere, is there anybody alive out there?
Is there anybody alive out there?
I just want to hear some rhythm
I just want to hear some rhythm
I just want to hear some rhythm
I just want to hear some rhythm
I want a thousand guitars
I want pounding drums
I want a million different voices speaking in tongues
This is radio nowhere, is there anybody alive out there?
This is radio nowhere, is there anybody alive out there?
Is there anybody alive out there?
"Radio Nowhere by Bruce Springsteen"
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