Post by Old Line Jeff on Oct 18, 2021 22:56:54 GMT -5
When Daeriq Damien predicted that Ronnie Long would be in a bathroom trying to stare a hole in his soul through the mirror, he was wrong. As in, at this moment Ronnie Long is not brooding in front of his bathroom sink.
When Frank Windsor predicted that Ronnie Long would be sitting on his front porch rocking on a rocking chair, he wasn’t quite right.
Ronnie Long is sitting on his front porch, rocking on a porch swing.
It’s that time of year where the temperature drops hard when the sun goes down, and right now, the sun’s just dropped over the horizon, leaving the sky a faintly glowing navy blue, the leaves on the peach trees black against it, fluttering in the breeze.
He’d gotten the call from Gus Arnold about a day ago. Daeriq Damien, without his permission, had decided to cut a promo on his behalf.
“I thought I’d call and ask if you were alright with this airing, I know you don’t care for the guy.” Arnold had said on the phone.
“Ugh... “ Ronnie had sighed. “Look, just… just post the thing. Damien’s like a horse fly. Relentless. He’ll do this until he gets his bite, and I’d like to at least be looking at him so I’m ready for it.”
And Gus Arnold had posted it to the official EnPeeDub youtube channel.
Frank Windsor hadn’t responded to any of it.
Deanna sure had, though, and that’s why Ronnie was on the porch.
“Why in the FUCK did you let that creepy, gimpy-armed, SAW-wannabe do that?” She’d asked in a fury. And she hadn’t taken the thing about the horsefly as well as Gus Arnold had. Now she was letting her aggression out by having a rampage style house-cleaning, and the only help she wanted was for him to get the hell out from under foot.
Ronnie checked his phone. It was two minutes after the last time he’d checked it. His flight back to Canada couldn’t come soon enough.
“What the fuck is it about guys who’re cagey about their age ripping on me for not being cagey about mine?”
“No, seriously, two tries and that’s all you’ve got?”
“Look, first of all, it’s uninspired. It was uninspired when Nuwave Jayne Correia pulled it out against me the first match I had here, and it hasn’t gotten any more inspired when every single person I’ve matched up against since then has gone there like it really matters. Like they can’t tell the difference between 46 and 86. Like one of these days I’m going to throw the lariat and instead of making my opponent foam at the mouth, I’ll just snap my presumably fossilized arm clean off at the shoulder, and then… fall down and break my hip, I suppose. And then when I try to kick out of the pin my knee is going to shatter into splinters. Yep. Watching my nearly undefeated record, I think that’s exactly what everyone should suspect. I’m going to clothesline Frank Windsor and break my arm doing so, if I don’t break my hip stepping over the middle rope.”
“Well Frank, it’s my right to risk breaking my old man arm clotheslining your head off, and you shouldn’t be so ageist. Ageism is a thing, right? I’m pretty sure the millennials think so. Now, I don’t particularly want to go down that road, it’s just… ah, forget it, it’s points not worth scoring.”
“Frank… look… Franky… it doesn’t have to be like this. I know where you’re coming from, I really do. I’ve been that guy in the background overshadowed by my more vocal stablemates, and I know it’s hard to assert your individualism against them, especially if you’re trying to assert it without backstabbing them. It’s always tempting. But you’re not that bad a dude, right? You’re just normally bad. Generally disagreeable rather than evil. Honestly, and you won’t get the reference, but you come across as kinda bitter and surly.”
“So fuck it, right?”
“Yeah, fuck the fucking fuck the fuck out of that fuck, fuckkit. Fuck the fact that you’re underrated, fuck the fact that you’re overshadowed, you’re the fucking fucking best, you’re fucking gonna fucking show me in a hot fucking minute… Frank. Here’s the thing, Frank. I came to NPW alone. You came here as part of a group of seven. That’s okay man, just so long as you live with the consequences - which I suppose are being mad because you only got fourteen percent of the attention you could have. ITS OKAY. I did it too.”
“You know how I made it to the top, the time I won my singles World Championship? About half being in the right place at the right time. Jeff Andrews decided to backstab me because this guy named Eric Dane, whose presence in NPW you were lucky enough to miss, convinced him it was a good idea. Andrews is one of those people who’s in the World Title picture whenever he pops up. And because I wanted to hit him really hard, SO WAS I. The rest of it? That was me winning a number one contender’s match and subsequently winning the championship match.”
“See, I might be a stable guy, or a tag guy, but when the chips are down, I can win them singles bouts. And history’s gonna repeat itself here.”
“I’m not going to bullshit and act like you’re not good, because we both know you are. And you’re going to prove that you’re more than just a tag team specialist, anchor-holding member of the Bastards, because we are going to dazzle and awe and the fans are going to admire your gutsy performance.”
“Not your victory, though. You’re not winning. You’re not gonna beat me though.”
“I age like a fine whiskey and you’re in a state of denial. I’m Russel’s Reserve, you’re basic fucking bitch Jim Beam. You’re too good to be my example. But you’re perfect for being my statement.”
When Frank Windsor predicted that Ronnie Long would be sitting on his front porch rocking on a rocking chair, he wasn’t quite right.
Ronnie Long is sitting on his front porch, rocking on a porch swing.
It’s that time of year where the temperature drops hard when the sun goes down, and right now, the sun’s just dropped over the horizon, leaving the sky a faintly glowing navy blue, the leaves on the peach trees black against it, fluttering in the breeze.
He’d gotten the call from Gus Arnold about a day ago. Daeriq Damien, without his permission, had decided to cut a promo on his behalf.
“I thought I’d call and ask if you were alright with this airing, I know you don’t care for the guy.” Arnold had said on the phone.
“Ugh... “ Ronnie had sighed. “Look, just… just post the thing. Damien’s like a horse fly. Relentless. He’ll do this until he gets his bite, and I’d like to at least be looking at him so I’m ready for it.”
And Gus Arnold had posted it to the official EnPeeDub youtube channel.
Frank Windsor hadn’t responded to any of it.
Deanna sure had, though, and that’s why Ronnie was on the porch.
“Why in the FUCK did you let that creepy, gimpy-armed, SAW-wannabe do that?” She’d asked in a fury. And she hadn’t taken the thing about the horsefly as well as Gus Arnold had. Now she was letting her aggression out by having a rampage style house-cleaning, and the only help she wanted was for him to get the hell out from under foot.
Ronnie checked his phone. It was two minutes after the last time he’d checked it. His flight back to Canada couldn’t come soon enough.
“What the fuck is it about guys who’re cagey about their age ripping on me for not being cagey about mine?”
“No, seriously, two tries and that’s all you’ve got?”
“Look, first of all, it’s uninspired. It was uninspired when Nuwave Jayne Correia pulled it out against me the first match I had here, and it hasn’t gotten any more inspired when every single person I’ve matched up against since then has gone there like it really matters. Like they can’t tell the difference between 46 and 86. Like one of these days I’m going to throw the lariat and instead of making my opponent foam at the mouth, I’ll just snap my presumably fossilized arm clean off at the shoulder, and then… fall down and break my hip, I suppose. And then when I try to kick out of the pin my knee is going to shatter into splinters. Yep. Watching my nearly undefeated record, I think that’s exactly what everyone should suspect. I’m going to clothesline Frank Windsor and break my arm doing so, if I don’t break my hip stepping over the middle rope.”
“Well Frank, it’s my right to risk breaking my old man arm clotheslining your head off, and you shouldn’t be so ageist. Ageism is a thing, right? I’m pretty sure the millennials think so. Now, I don’t particularly want to go down that road, it’s just… ah, forget it, it’s points not worth scoring.”
“Frank… look… Franky… it doesn’t have to be like this. I know where you’re coming from, I really do. I’ve been that guy in the background overshadowed by my more vocal stablemates, and I know it’s hard to assert your individualism against them, especially if you’re trying to assert it without backstabbing them. It’s always tempting. But you’re not that bad a dude, right? You’re just normally bad. Generally disagreeable rather than evil. Honestly, and you won’t get the reference, but you come across as kinda bitter and surly.”
“So fuck it, right?”
“Yeah, fuck the fucking fuck the fuck out of that fuck, fuckkit. Fuck the fact that you’re underrated, fuck the fact that you’re overshadowed, you’re the fucking fucking best, you’re fucking gonna fucking show me in a hot fucking minute… Frank. Here’s the thing, Frank. I came to NPW alone. You came here as part of a group of seven. That’s okay man, just so long as you live with the consequences - which I suppose are being mad because you only got fourteen percent of the attention you could have. ITS OKAY. I did it too.”
“You know how I made it to the top, the time I won my singles World Championship? About half being in the right place at the right time. Jeff Andrews decided to backstab me because this guy named Eric Dane, whose presence in NPW you were lucky enough to miss, convinced him it was a good idea. Andrews is one of those people who’s in the World Title picture whenever he pops up. And because I wanted to hit him really hard, SO WAS I. The rest of it? That was me winning a number one contender’s match and subsequently winning the championship match.”
“See, I might be a stable guy, or a tag guy, but when the chips are down, I can win them singles bouts. And history’s gonna repeat itself here.”
“I’m not going to bullshit and act like you’re not good, because we both know you are. And you’re going to prove that you’re more than just a tag team specialist, anchor-holding member of the Bastards, because we are going to dazzle and awe and the fans are going to admire your gutsy performance.”
“Not your victory, though. You’re not winning. You’re not gonna beat me though.”
“I age like a fine whiskey and you’re in a state of denial. I’m Russel’s Reserve, you’re basic fucking bitch Jim Beam. You’re too good to be my example. But you’re perfect for being my statement.”
