Behind him walks an old friend, Staff Member Russo. Sitting next to his side at the table he looks over at the man whose face was puffed up beyond recognition, bootlegged botox injections from street pharmacies in Tijuana.
“How ya doin, Nicolas? You ok?” The acclaimed mind behind the Attitude Era and highest drawing angle in the history of WWFG asks the man that he once managed. “47.” The spray tanned superman answers, referring to the age that the Hardcore Legend was when he had his last match at the 2012 Royal Rumble.
“He was a ******** kid. Me, I’m an old man.” The blonde looks down at his whiskey glass, continuing. “I’d like to do it all again, boy lemme tell ya—I ******** compromised everything.“
Russo interjects, turning in his chair to look at his fellow New Yorker with a look of confusion and concern: “Nah what are you talking about?!—“
“20 years inside the ring. And for what?” The spite in his voice rising as smoke from his uncashed cigarettes clouds the room, years of pent up resentment coming to light as patrons of the bar chatter on in the background blissfully unaware of what went on up front. “To put over the likes of Matt ******** Shanahan? Mike Landry?!”
“You’re a man now, bro.” Narrowing his eyes at his business partner, the most forward thinking writer in the history of WCW watching closely at the reaction of the aging legend. Trying to reassure him of his worth, his value and masculinity in a world that was rapidly changing: “That’s saying a lot these days.”
Shaking his head, the Hall of Famer looks back at the architect of wrestlings boom period. “That c**k sucking piece of s**t, Jake Frato’s create-a-wrestler, I can’t even say his name, murdered the ******** industry. And what did I do about it?” Sighing, looking forward as he massages his shot glass contemplating life. Existence. Possibilities. “My weakness. Sometimes I think it’s in my DNA. Pre-existing properties took s**t from original content the second WIF and KANJOKU closed.”
Russo looks dead at his drinking buddy, not understanding a single one of these references that he was making. In complete and utter confusion he asks him— “Come on, the ******** you talking about?!”
“Freakshow.” He spits out the name, like it was made of dirt. A man who could never be who he truly wanted to be, who could never take the mask off, who could never be himself, who could never be real. “That’s my ******** legacy.” The WWFG Grand Slam Champion mutters, voice dripping with regret as he stares up at the wall in front of him once more. Shaking his head with finality, he takes a sip of his Tequila, putting the glass back down an 808 cowbell starts pounding in the background. “No more of this, Russo. No more of this.”
The bloody cops are bloody keen
To bloody keep it bloody clean
The bloody chief's a bloody swine
Who bloody draws a bloody line
At bloody fun and bloody games
The bloody kids he bloody blames
Are nowehere to be bloody found
Anywhere in chicken town
The camera cuts to the wall in front of the two gentleman, scanning across the pictures on the wall. All of notable licensed properties who had made their names outside of CWF. Former PAW World Heavyweight Champion Jeff Hardy. Former DCW X-Treme Champion The Big Show. And finally, former WWFG World Champion John Cena. The camera lingers on these images before fading into text.
COMING TO CWF, 2022.
