Post by Jesse Jamester on Sept 24, 2021 0:07:49 GMT -5
“There are no friends when you’re in a Rumble, just people you use to get to the finish line.”
Echoing throughout a dungy dark basement style room, where a light flickered above a chair in the middle. The floor stained with red blood marks and a stench of sweat and death. Everything about the room screamed abandoned cellar, but in the corner a stack of wrestling mats were set aside, and on the wall were old posters of Canadian wrestling promotion events, both worn and faded from time.
“I’m not saying I won’t help someone, but you can bet your ass I’ll have eyes in the back of my head. Eric Dane, he entered this shindig too. I expect we’ll have our moment under the sun, grabbing some unlucky fuck by the neck, and throwing him over the top rope into tim-buck-too. Dashing dreams, that’s what this Rumble is going to result in. Make no mistake about it though, if I end up in that ring standing opposite Eric Dane as one of the final two men; he knows our business dealings don’t reach XHF… he knows, it’s every man for himself. I’ll do what I have to, in order to secure my glory. I expect the same from him. No honor among thieves, that's a fact. One of us will steal this show, I promise you that.”
Coming from the left side of the room, a barn door slides on a rusty rail, creaking and grinding as it moves. The voice gets louder, exposing the Canadian Nightmare Jesse Jamester in his tights, dried blood on his hands, and the mask - that evil lizard like mask he had become famous for. Imagery of an unhinged lumbering man, with all the scars and tattoos littering his upper torso.
“Oh this?”
Raising his hands, he looks at them for a moment, and drops them to his side.
“Training people comes at a price. I’m sure you’ve heard of chops, well, I’m the one who breaks young talent with them. Sometimes, it gets a little, ahem, bloody. Kids gotta learn this business isn’t for the soft hearted, or chested for that matter.”
Spinning the chair around, Jesse takes a seat. The light flickering in the room gives the ambience of a horror documentary with the way the room appears. Zooming into the frame, the shot catches Jesse Jamester from the waist up, sitting in the chair, leaning back as he rubs his beard with a blood stained hand.
“Where was I? Ah, yes, the Rumble… but before I get too far into that topic, let’s start with why I really joined this thing. You see, Northern Pro Wrestling offers me a land of opportunity, one I’ll forever be grateful for. In the Northern hemisphere, I have begun a reign of terror on a roster of talented stars. They learned fast and hard what The Syndicate was all about. I don’t need to dress up the history of our accomplishments, or what we did to Northern Pro in our short time as a team. Every member of our group has obtained gold, and every opponent we have faced has left a match with us worse for wear - all of them know, we backup what we say.
However, Xtreme Hardcore Federation - the X-H-F on the other hand, is still learning why they need to respect us. Why they need to respect me. I may have taken an L at Fireside’s Fuel for the Fire, but you heard it from Caffrey's own mouth on his podcast. He found out first hand what the Nightmare was all about. Twenty-five years of tactical expertise, bottled up and shelled for maximum effect, released with a trigger hair warning, and precisely delivered at the target it was aimed at. Anthony Caffrey survived by the hair on his chinny chin chin, on that night.
Caffrey and I, we aren’t done yet. When he knocked me off the apron and secured his victory, he woke up the beast in me. Not some metaphorical beast either, no, he woke up the devil in me! So keep your head on a swivel Caffrey, because I promise, this won’t be your night at the Rumble. When I see you in that ring, I’m coming for you, and you can hide behind Subject 42 all night - I guarantee you, he will be but a bump in the road to me running you over and picking you apart! I will hear you scream before this show is over on April 25th, and the only person you have to blame for that, is yourself.
Now, as for the rest of the XHF, they have a lesson to learn. One I am ready to educate them on. I have been seething to bring them to class for this. You see, the XHF is a house of lies. Every last man and some women, and maybe animals - I’m not quite sure what that thing was last Rumble, but the point is, they have all been goaded to believing they are something special. As I have come to find out, from interactions here in Canada, as I face these ‘special’ men of the network that everyone praises, the reality of this has finally dawned on me.”
Cracking his knuckles, Jesse Jamester stands up from the chair, turning to the right and pulling a string from the ceiling, revealing another wall. On it is a giant circle covered by a weathered black tarp with frayed ends.
“Men like Dylan Black, Adrien Cochrane, Anthony Caffrey, Deco, and Jason Long; these are just some of the names of false prophets that have been built up by the XHF executive committee, by their peers, and because of that the fans have become the sheep who follow the leaders wishes. Well, the time for your shepherds to meet their maker has come. XHF is on notice! There is no more Mister Nice Guy. You have sinned in the name of wrestling; in the name of my love, my world, and my ring!”
Ripping the tarp off, a list of the federations that make up the XHF network are pieced on a giant spinning wheel, all of them have a slice of the pie, including Northern Pro Wrestling. Written on the wall above the wheel is ‘Sinners’ in red spray paint, crudely, but bold enough that it’s visible. The wheel was made of wood planks, anchored to the wall by a set of bolts, engineered with various items from a wrestling ring - turnbuckle ties, a metal beam that had been cut up and shaped to form the bars separating the individual pizza like slices that one may see on Wheel of Fortune. The ring mat was cut up for the names of all the companies. Blood and sweat from feds all across the network.
“Now I get it, you think, 'oh this is a game show….' (a scratchy laugh bellows from his mouth) Oh no, this has nothing to do with games. This little piece here is the wheel of sins! You see, Dante’s Inferno was composed of nine circles of hell. As your resident devil, I, the Canadian Nightmare, am here to show you where each and every one of the companies that make up the XHF have come to fall in those circles. But - yes, there’s a but, let me be very clear here. This is the Nightmare of the Rumble to come, you are witnessing your judge, jury, and executioner, and the trial of XHF is on show for the world to see!
Echoing throughout a dungy dark basement style room, where a light flickered above a chair in the middle. The floor stained with red blood marks and a stench of sweat and death. Everything about the room screamed abandoned cellar, but in the corner a stack of wrestling mats were set aside, and on the wall were old posters of Canadian wrestling promotion events, both worn and faded from time.
“I’m not saying I won’t help someone, but you can bet your ass I’ll have eyes in the back of my head. Eric Dane, he entered this shindig too. I expect we’ll have our moment under the sun, grabbing some unlucky fuck by the neck, and throwing him over the top rope into tim-buck-too. Dashing dreams, that’s what this Rumble is going to result in. Make no mistake about it though, if I end up in that ring standing opposite Eric Dane as one of the final two men; he knows our business dealings don’t reach XHF… he knows, it’s every man for himself. I’ll do what I have to, in order to secure my glory. I expect the same from him. No honor among thieves, that's a fact. One of us will steal this show, I promise you that.”
Coming from the left side of the room, a barn door slides on a rusty rail, creaking and grinding as it moves. The voice gets louder, exposing the Canadian Nightmare Jesse Jamester in his tights, dried blood on his hands, and the mask - that evil lizard like mask he had become famous for. Imagery of an unhinged lumbering man, with all the scars and tattoos littering his upper torso.
“Oh this?”
Raising his hands, he looks at them for a moment, and drops them to his side.
“Training people comes at a price. I’m sure you’ve heard of chops, well, I’m the one who breaks young talent with them. Sometimes, it gets a little, ahem, bloody. Kids gotta learn this business isn’t for the soft hearted, or chested for that matter.”
Spinning the chair around, Jesse takes a seat. The light flickering in the room gives the ambience of a horror documentary with the way the room appears. Zooming into the frame, the shot catches Jesse Jamester from the waist up, sitting in the chair, leaning back as he rubs his beard with a blood stained hand.
“Where was I? Ah, yes, the Rumble… but before I get too far into that topic, let’s start with why I really joined this thing. You see, Northern Pro Wrestling offers me a land of opportunity, one I’ll forever be grateful for. In the Northern hemisphere, I have begun a reign of terror on a roster of talented stars. They learned fast and hard what The Syndicate was all about. I don’t need to dress up the history of our accomplishments, or what we did to Northern Pro in our short time as a team. Every member of our group has obtained gold, and every opponent we have faced has left a match with us worse for wear - all of them know, we backup what we say.
However, Xtreme Hardcore Federation - the X-H-F on the other hand, is still learning why they need to respect us. Why they need to respect me. I may have taken an L at Fireside’s Fuel for the Fire, but you heard it from Caffrey's own mouth on his podcast. He found out first hand what the Nightmare was all about. Twenty-five years of tactical expertise, bottled up and shelled for maximum effect, released with a trigger hair warning, and precisely delivered at the target it was aimed at. Anthony Caffrey survived by the hair on his chinny chin chin, on that night.
Caffrey and I, we aren’t done yet. When he knocked me off the apron and secured his victory, he woke up the beast in me. Not some metaphorical beast either, no, he woke up the devil in me! So keep your head on a swivel Caffrey, because I promise, this won’t be your night at the Rumble. When I see you in that ring, I’m coming for you, and you can hide behind Subject 42 all night - I guarantee you, he will be but a bump in the road to me running you over and picking you apart! I will hear you scream before this show is over on April 25th, and the only person you have to blame for that, is yourself.
Now, as for the rest of the XHF, they have a lesson to learn. One I am ready to educate them on. I have been seething to bring them to class for this. You see, the XHF is a house of lies. Every last man and some women, and maybe animals - I’m not quite sure what that thing was last Rumble, but the point is, they have all been goaded to believing they are something special. As I have come to find out, from interactions here in Canada, as I face these ‘special’ men of the network that everyone praises, the reality of this has finally dawned on me.”
Cracking his knuckles, Jesse Jamester stands up from the chair, turning to the right and pulling a string from the ceiling, revealing another wall. On it is a giant circle covered by a weathered black tarp with frayed ends.
“Men like Dylan Black, Adrien Cochrane, Anthony Caffrey, Deco, and Jason Long; these are just some of the names of false prophets that have been built up by the XHF executive committee, by their peers, and because of that the fans have become the sheep who follow the leaders wishes. Well, the time for your shepherds to meet their maker has come. XHF is on notice! There is no more Mister Nice Guy. You have sinned in the name of wrestling; in the name of my love, my world, and my ring!”
Ripping the tarp off, a list of the federations that make up the XHF network are pieced on a giant spinning wheel, all of them have a slice of the pie, including Northern Pro Wrestling. Written on the wall above the wheel is ‘Sinners’ in red spray paint, crudely, but bold enough that it’s visible. The wheel was made of wood planks, anchored to the wall by a set of bolts, engineered with various items from a wrestling ring - turnbuckle ties, a metal beam that had been cut up and shaped to form the bars separating the individual pizza like slices that one may see on Wheel of Fortune. The ring mat was cut up for the names of all the companies. Blood and sweat from feds all across the network.
“Now I get it, you think, 'oh this is a game show….' (a scratchy laugh bellows from his mouth) Oh no, this has nothing to do with games. This little piece here is the wheel of sins! You see, Dante’s Inferno was composed of nine circles of hell. As your resident devil, I, the Canadian Nightmare, am here to show you where each and every one of the companies that make up the XHF have come to fall in those circles. But - yes, there’s a but, let me be very clear here. This is the Nightmare of the Rumble to come, you are witnessing your judge, jury, and executioner, and the trial of XHF is on show for the world to see!
For too long, we have been lied to.
For too long, you have been told you were someone.
It is my duty to bring you back to earth.
It is my responsibility, to rebrand the XHF…
Your dreams were an illusion.
It is time…
To realize the Nightmare!”
