Post by Dean Wolf on Oct 21, 2018 9:59:54 GMT -5
DW Wolf drives his 1989 Dodge Viper Concept VM-02 into a big open field in Centereach, NY. It’s a farm down the road from where Oxhead Road Elementary School, where he attended kindergarten to fifth grade. It’s the only place he could think of that didn’t have any lights and nobody could see what he was doing. However, in just a little while, there’d be some light.
Before that happened, though, he turned off the ignition and picked up his iPhone. He resumed a video he started watching when he left his apartment. It was Stephen Singh’s most recent promo- and Wolf was the main topic.
That’s when DW realizes that his Wolf still wasn’t enough, all that hate, all that anger and potential and pent up frustration with your own shortcomings and failures...just lead you out into the open where I’m sitting in the side of a fucking helicopter effortlessly gunning you down. Because while you hunt and seek, I just do what comes natural to me: shoot.
Wolf still had his left hand on the steering wheel. His grip was so tight from trying to contain his anger that he was about to rip off the steering wheel. Singh’s words cut deep. He wouldn’t admit that publicly, but inside, the anger over Singh’s insults was consuming him.
DW Wolf: Shooting is natural to him, huh? Well, I can shoot, too. Maybe he can open up his mouth and I’ll shoot a load down his fucking throat. Fucking cocksucker.
He throws the phone violently to the side. It crashes up against the passenger side door and falls between the door and the seat. Wolf continues to stare out the windshield, looking out into the dark as if Stephen Singh was standing right in front of him. He finally snaps out of his trance of rage and looks in the passenger, where he sees everything that he had with him the night that he left the Core Institute for good: his suit, his leather shoes, his Rolex watch. The only thing that he planned on keeping from that night was the money he had in his pocket. Wolf gives all the possessions and the rest of the car one more good look over.
DW Wolf: Let’s do it.
He exits the car and pulls a rag and lighter out of his pocket. He opens the gas door, unscrews the cap, lights the rag on fire, and sticks it into the gas tank. He runs across the streets and into the woods, where he’s at a safe distance away and nobody can see him. He watches the flames quickly overtake the car that cost him $400,000.
DW Wolf: There burns everything that I have that reminds me of The Core Institute. And with that burns the lifestyle I lived as a member of The Core Institute: the private wing in the Core mansion, thousands of dollars in custom-made Italian suits, vacations to private islands, five-star meals at the most exclusive restaurants, an exorbitant salary. I thought all of those things were what made me a success. I thought all of those things made me happy. I look back on it now and I realize that all that “happiness” was just superficial. I was never really happy as a member of the Core Institute.
Don’t get me wrong. I give credit where credit is due. Bernard Core saved me certain death from drug and alcohol addiction and took me in. Believe me, I was very grateful. I would have taken a bullet for that man if it ever came down for that, and the way he was, it probably would have; but then he started taking advantage of how grateful I was, and there’s no amount of money or things to make up for that.
No, I realized that what truly made me happy was wrestling, and I had denied myself that happiness for three years.
Yes, I do have the capacity to be happy, by the way, and I can say that shedding myself of the artificial life I was living for almost three years makes me feel a little bit of happiness in this life of anger that I’ve built.
Stephen Singh believes that he needs all the fancy things to make himself happy. More importantly than that, he thinks he needs all the fancy things to project an image of success. I don’t know why. The guy’s actions speak for themselves. Hardcore Champion. Ultimate Showdown winner. Trios Tournament winner. Trios Champion. Tag Team Champion. Internet Champion. Two time World Champion. His wealth doesn’t make him great. His accomplishments make him great.
It’s amazing to me that a guy that prolific is so insecure that he thinks he needs to spend all of his money buying expensive clothing and drinking high priced liquid shit. The things he has done in the biggest wrestling company in the world are not enough for him. He has to keep chasing possessions, the latest new toys. Believe me, Singh, that’s a race that never ends. You’ll keep that it up the rest of your life, and eventually, it will exhaust you.
You know that what I’m saying is true. You and I are both addicts. We have experience in chasing something that’s not substantial: the next high. When I got mixed up in that stuff, I forgot about everything else. My wrestling career? Pshh. I needed to get a prescription of Oxy from some dirtbag doctor who made millions being nothing more than a drug dealer. Training and going to the gym? No, I had an appointment down at the bar where I’d be doing bicep curls by downing shot after shot after shot. My life was a constant race to get to the next thing that could alter my mind and help me forget about how shitty my life was at the time. What did that do for me? Nights where I was vomiting all over myself. Missing shows. Embarrassing myself on live TV. Lying about my condition. Not even being booked to wrestle because I was so unreliable. Those were the real things that I acquired as a result of going after temporary relief from the pain of life. You did the same exact thing after you lost the World Title to John Rabid. Maybe you were able to function better than I could, but the fact remains that you were still an addict chasing after a false sense of pleasure.
You and I both fought off our addictions, but it seems like only one of us is keeping our recovery intact. You may not be addicted to any alcohol anymore, but you’ve just replaced that substance with a different substance: opulence. You’ve replaced it with the need to be ahead in the competition of stuff. Those are the things that you think make you happy. Those are the things that you think will make everyone believe that you have it together. All it’s going to do is unravel you. Nobody gets to overindulge forever. There is a limit, and you will hit that limit; and knowing people like you, you will try to break through that limit and it’s going to come at a cost. It’s going to come at a cost to one of the things in your life that’s actually real, like your wrestling career. You are going to ruin this great legacy you’ve built up by trying to supplement it with money, cars, clothing, devices, whatever it is that you think you need to spend your money on to show all of us that you have achieved the American Dream.
This pursuit that you’re on is just as false as the person you claim to be. Self-made? Self-reliant? Disciplined? Bullshit. One difference between you and I is that I’m no longer trying to hide who I really am. I’m a fuck-up. I had a promising career ahead of me and fucked it up with addiction and then got hooked up with possibly the biggest asshole in the world fighting for a cause that I could really give two shits about. I come from an insignificant suburb on Long Island. I got the shit kicked out of me for the first 15 years of my life by my classmates, some of those ass kickings happening in the school right down the road from here. I haven’t spoken to my father in three years and my mother died in the interim. I was so angry at him that I didn’t go to her funeral and it’s the biggest regret that I will ever have in my life. I’m a big, piece of shit fuck-up and I have finally tired of trying to cover it up with luxury. Now that I embrace who I am, I don’t really need to think about how I’m going to distract people from that. I can once again set my mind to the goal that I set for myself a long time ago and one that I have renewed ever since I quit The Core Institute- becoming one of the greats in professional wrestling.
You, on the other hand, try to hide your weaknesses and insecurities. Who try to hide who you really are. You try to hide your upbringing. You try to hide your mistakes. You try to hide the fact that you're human and instead want everyone to believe that you are truly a "Golden God." And you don't just hide all these things you don't like about yourself with the possessions you buy, but also by surrounding yourself with people who will make you seem important and not really expose you to the truth about yourself. That's Bernard Core level shit right there. Part of the reasons he needed a lackey like me around was so that I could stoke his ego and tell him how great he was. He couldn't handle criticism. He couldn't handle that maybe he wasn't everything he said he was,or that he might falter here and there. He couldn't take that he was absolutely perfect and the greatest American, nay, greatest human being on the face of the earth. He was like you. Being a man wasn't good enough for him. He needed to be a god, and in the end, his ignorance and lack of self-confidence brought him crashing back down to reality. You claim to be a “self” made man but are never actually by yourSELF. Your tenure in the WCF is associated with the vision of you always being accompanied by someone. First, it was your personal assistant. Then it was the Church of Singh. Now it’s your mom. You need these people by your side telling you how great you are. You need these people by your side, doing your dirty work for you. You need these people to make you feel more important than you really are, and you depend on these people so much that every time one of these people leaves you, you fall apart. You have to replace them with someone else. You can’t be on your own for very long because then you might not feel as strong as you do. You might not feel as confident as you do. Jesus, when Erica Baringer left you, you became an alcoholic. When the Church of Singh broke up, you felt directionless. Once your mom is gone, who knows what’s going to happen to you? You can’t stand on your own two feet. You always need someone propping you up because you’re too scared to do it yourself.
And I don’t believe this whole conflict you have going on with your mom right now about you not wanting her help. Maybe you think you don’t want her to help you right now, but you’re Thevin’ Steven. You will always resort to the quickest way to win. You’ll always go back to cutting corners. It’s in your nature. It’s who you are. As soon as you see the first sign of trouble, as soon as your Hardcore Title reign is in real danger, you’ll be embracing Mommy’s help. You won’t fight it. You won’t yell at her. You’ll let her do what she wants and give her a big hug after the match is over.
For guys like you, the hustle never ends. You live a life that’s false. You preach a narrative about yourself that’s false. You extol values that you don’t truly live yourself. You give yourself 100 different nicknames and say them over and over again with the hopes of brainwashing people into thinking that you are all of those things.
And the sad thing is, you need need to do any of those things. You are one of the best wrestlers in the WCF. Your name is mentioned in the same breath as Dune and Flash and Balfore and all the other greats that have stepped into a WCF ring. Eventually, this obsession you have with portraying the image of success is going to bring you down and bring your legacy with it.
I hope that happens this Monday, because I have a lot of baggage to unload, and it has to do specifically with you. I take issue with the fact that you achieved all of your accolades in my absence. I firmly believe that if I had still been in the WCF when you debuted two years ago, you would have never gotten off the ground.
The upper echelon of the WCF has limited reservations. It’s a space that only a few people can occupy at any one time, and the only way to get in is to take somebody else’s place. Those who have a place don’t give it up willingly.
I’ve had a lot of time to think lately and my mind constantly wanders to the “what if’s” of life. Lately, I’ve been thinking about the “what if’s” of my wrestling career, like what if I hadn’t become a drug addict and alcoholic after War XIV? I know what would have happened. My record would have shown main event matches and title victories. I would have been dining with wrestling gods while you would just be a scrappy young rookie sitting at my feet, begging for a seat at the table.
But it didn’t go down like that.
I DID leave the WCF.
I DID join The Core Institute.
You DID debut.
You DID become a rising star.
You DID become a main event player.
You DID write your name into immortality.
And now here we are, in October of 2018, with you enjoying your full plate of accomplishments and asking for seconds while I’m the one at your feet, holding out my hands and saying “Please, sir, I want some more.”
“More?” What the fuck am I saying?
“Please, sir, I want...anything.”
And the fact that that is where you and I fall in the pecking order pisses me off to no end because I was in the WCF first, and I relinquished whatever possibilities I had to be the best in the business and handed them over to guys like you.
And what do I get for it? I have to listen to you take a shit all over me while you wear your fruity little loafers.
I guess that comes with the territory. I mean, if you’re driving by in an expensive car and you look on the side of the road and see a homeless person, you’re probably going to judge that person and sum up his life in about two seconds. Most people would. It’s human nature. “He’s lazy. He’s a drunk. He’s an addict. He’s mentally ill. He’s a dreg of society. He should be shipped up and sent away.” And you can think all of that because he’s a loser and you’re successful. You contribute to society and he leeches off of it. Your position in life gives you the right to look down on that person and cast aspersions.
But what if you ended up in a dark alley one night and were encountered by that same bum? And he wanted something you had and was ready to hit you over the side of the head with a fucking brick? What then? At that point, it doesn’t matter who you are. It doesn’t matter what you have and he doesn’t have. You’re on equal footing now and you better fight or prepare to get seriously hurt.
Stephen, right now I’m the bum and you’re the the first-class guy. You can sit there and denigrate me all you want because I’m on the bottom of the pile and you’re right at the top. You have that solace.
Just don’t indulge that solace too much because just like that bum in the alley, you have no idea what I’m capable of doing. You can study all the tapes you want. You can run down my career and how I choose to motivate myself all you want. The fact remains that you have never once stepped into a ring with me.
You want an idea of what I’m like in that ring? Go find Cletus T. Clyde somewhere and ask him how his head’s feeling. Talk to BiffBot 69 and ask him how hard it was to breathe with bruised ribs. See if you can track down Ded Memry and ask him to describe the tour he and I took around the Sixth Dimension Arena that ended with him looking up at the lights. Ask Ultimate Destroyer how hard I slammed his face to the mat or ask Jazzy John about being almost decapitated by The Kill. Hell, you can even ask Cliff of Doom what it was like being backdropped from the top rope and through a broadcast table on the outside. And yeah, I lost to Cliff, but when it was over, he knew he was in a fight. That’s exactly what it’s going to be like for you. Win or lose, you will know that you were in a goddamn fight.
I’m planning on doing a lot to you in that match. This year’s DW Wolf is much more pissed off than he’s ever been. I use my painful memories, my failures, the relationships that I’ve ruined, my self-loathing to guide me in that ring. I use my anger as a weapon. My fists, my feet, the chairs I’m going to use to cave your head in are just an extension of my weapon, like putting a bump stock on a semi-automatic gun. I use my anger to my advantage. I control it and use it when the time is right, and son, the big man that owns this company has given me the keys to the armory. He’s putting me in a position to use whatever weapons I want, just like he’s given you that opportunity. Plainly spoken, I will rip your shit up.
You talked on and on about how I live too much in the past. Maybe you should forget about my past and think more about your future, because here’s what I have in story for Monday: I plan on hitting you as hard as I can with whatever I can get my hands on. And every time I hit you with something, I’m going to think about something you’ve achieved that should have been mine first.
Ultimate Showdown victory?
I fracture your skull with a chair shot.
Tag Team Titles?
I cause you to herniate a disc when I put you through a table.
Internet Title?
I stab you in the forehead with a screwdriver and you bleed like a stuck pig all over the mat.
Trios Tournament victory?
I break your nose and bust your eye sockets with a ladder.
Two World Titles?
I throw you off a balcony.
Hardcore Championship?
That’s easy. I do the one thing that I know for certain could happen.
I just fucking pin you and take it from you.
He sits down on the ground and watches the car continue to burn with all his former possessions inside. Hours pass. People pull over. Fire trucks and police come. The car is extinguished and hauled away. Once everyone leaves, it’s almost time for the sun to rise. While there is still a few minutes of darkness left, he walks back across the street and over to where the care was burning. He find some ashes on the ground and takes a piss on them.
DW Wolf: This moment of relief is in honor of two legacies.
One is the legacy of The Core Institute.
The other is the legacy of Stephen Singh.
I’ve already ended the former.
I’m going to do everything in my power to end the latter.
He looks up at the moon.
DW Wolf: AWOOOOO! AWOOOOOO!
He laughs at his own stupidity. He laughs at the delight of finally being free of his former life. He laughs at the thought that his life can only get better from here. For a brief moment, all the anger inside of him is forgotten and all he truly feels is happiness. He caps his long night by screaming into the nothingness.
DW Wolf: SEEK THE WOLF IN THYSEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLFFFFFF!
He laughs some more before he finally calms down. He goes back to being pensive and contemplative. He looks back one more time at the pile of ash he pissed on before looking straight ahead and walking back home.
Before that happened, though, he turned off the ignition and picked up his iPhone. He resumed a video he started watching when he left his apartment. It was Stephen Singh’s most recent promo- and Wolf was the main topic.
That’s when DW realizes that his Wolf still wasn’t enough, all that hate, all that anger and potential and pent up frustration with your own shortcomings and failures...just lead you out into the open where I’m sitting in the side of a fucking helicopter effortlessly gunning you down. Because while you hunt and seek, I just do what comes natural to me: shoot.
Wolf still had his left hand on the steering wheel. His grip was so tight from trying to contain his anger that he was about to rip off the steering wheel. Singh’s words cut deep. He wouldn’t admit that publicly, but inside, the anger over Singh’s insults was consuming him.
DW Wolf: Shooting is natural to him, huh? Well, I can shoot, too. Maybe he can open up his mouth and I’ll shoot a load down his fucking throat. Fucking cocksucker.
He throws the phone violently to the side. It crashes up against the passenger side door and falls between the door and the seat. Wolf continues to stare out the windshield, looking out into the dark as if Stephen Singh was standing right in front of him. He finally snaps out of his trance of rage and looks in the passenger, where he sees everything that he had with him the night that he left the Core Institute for good: his suit, his leather shoes, his Rolex watch. The only thing that he planned on keeping from that night was the money he had in his pocket. Wolf gives all the possessions and the rest of the car one more good look over.
DW Wolf: Let’s do it.
He exits the car and pulls a rag and lighter out of his pocket. He opens the gas door, unscrews the cap, lights the rag on fire, and sticks it into the gas tank. He runs across the streets and into the woods, where he’s at a safe distance away and nobody can see him. He watches the flames quickly overtake the car that cost him $400,000.
DW Wolf: There burns everything that I have that reminds me of The Core Institute. And with that burns the lifestyle I lived as a member of The Core Institute: the private wing in the Core mansion, thousands of dollars in custom-made Italian suits, vacations to private islands, five-star meals at the most exclusive restaurants, an exorbitant salary. I thought all of those things were what made me a success. I thought all of those things made me happy. I look back on it now and I realize that all that “happiness” was just superficial. I was never really happy as a member of the Core Institute.
Don’t get me wrong. I give credit where credit is due. Bernard Core saved me certain death from drug and alcohol addiction and took me in. Believe me, I was very grateful. I would have taken a bullet for that man if it ever came down for that, and the way he was, it probably would have; but then he started taking advantage of how grateful I was, and there’s no amount of money or things to make up for that.
No, I realized that what truly made me happy was wrestling, and I had denied myself that happiness for three years.
Yes, I do have the capacity to be happy, by the way, and I can say that shedding myself of the artificial life I was living for almost three years makes me feel a little bit of happiness in this life of anger that I’ve built.
Stephen Singh believes that he needs all the fancy things to make himself happy. More importantly than that, he thinks he needs all the fancy things to project an image of success. I don’t know why. The guy’s actions speak for themselves. Hardcore Champion. Ultimate Showdown winner. Trios Tournament winner. Trios Champion. Tag Team Champion. Internet Champion. Two time World Champion. His wealth doesn’t make him great. His accomplishments make him great.
It’s amazing to me that a guy that prolific is so insecure that he thinks he needs to spend all of his money buying expensive clothing and drinking high priced liquid shit. The things he has done in the biggest wrestling company in the world are not enough for him. He has to keep chasing possessions, the latest new toys. Believe me, Singh, that’s a race that never ends. You’ll keep that it up the rest of your life, and eventually, it will exhaust you.
You know that what I’m saying is true. You and I are both addicts. We have experience in chasing something that’s not substantial: the next high. When I got mixed up in that stuff, I forgot about everything else. My wrestling career? Pshh. I needed to get a prescription of Oxy from some dirtbag doctor who made millions being nothing more than a drug dealer. Training and going to the gym? No, I had an appointment down at the bar where I’d be doing bicep curls by downing shot after shot after shot. My life was a constant race to get to the next thing that could alter my mind and help me forget about how shitty my life was at the time. What did that do for me? Nights where I was vomiting all over myself. Missing shows. Embarrassing myself on live TV. Lying about my condition. Not even being booked to wrestle because I was so unreliable. Those were the real things that I acquired as a result of going after temporary relief from the pain of life. You did the same exact thing after you lost the World Title to John Rabid. Maybe you were able to function better than I could, but the fact remains that you were still an addict chasing after a false sense of pleasure.
You and I both fought off our addictions, but it seems like only one of us is keeping our recovery intact. You may not be addicted to any alcohol anymore, but you’ve just replaced that substance with a different substance: opulence. You’ve replaced it with the need to be ahead in the competition of stuff. Those are the things that you think make you happy. Those are the things that you think will make everyone believe that you have it together. All it’s going to do is unravel you. Nobody gets to overindulge forever. There is a limit, and you will hit that limit; and knowing people like you, you will try to break through that limit and it’s going to come at a cost. It’s going to come at a cost to one of the things in your life that’s actually real, like your wrestling career. You are going to ruin this great legacy you’ve built up by trying to supplement it with money, cars, clothing, devices, whatever it is that you think you need to spend your money on to show all of us that you have achieved the American Dream.
This pursuit that you’re on is just as false as the person you claim to be. Self-made? Self-reliant? Disciplined? Bullshit. One difference between you and I is that I’m no longer trying to hide who I really am. I’m a fuck-up. I had a promising career ahead of me and fucked it up with addiction and then got hooked up with possibly the biggest asshole in the world fighting for a cause that I could really give two shits about. I come from an insignificant suburb on Long Island. I got the shit kicked out of me for the first 15 years of my life by my classmates, some of those ass kickings happening in the school right down the road from here. I haven’t spoken to my father in three years and my mother died in the interim. I was so angry at him that I didn’t go to her funeral and it’s the biggest regret that I will ever have in my life. I’m a big, piece of shit fuck-up and I have finally tired of trying to cover it up with luxury. Now that I embrace who I am, I don’t really need to think about how I’m going to distract people from that. I can once again set my mind to the goal that I set for myself a long time ago and one that I have renewed ever since I quit The Core Institute- becoming one of the greats in professional wrestling.
You, on the other hand, try to hide your weaknesses and insecurities. Who try to hide who you really are. You try to hide your upbringing. You try to hide your mistakes. You try to hide the fact that you're human and instead want everyone to believe that you are truly a "Golden God." And you don't just hide all these things you don't like about yourself with the possessions you buy, but also by surrounding yourself with people who will make you seem important and not really expose you to the truth about yourself. That's Bernard Core level shit right there. Part of the reasons he needed a lackey like me around was so that I could stoke his ego and tell him how great he was. He couldn't handle criticism. He couldn't handle that maybe he wasn't everything he said he was,or that he might falter here and there. He couldn't take that he was absolutely perfect and the greatest American, nay, greatest human being on the face of the earth. He was like you. Being a man wasn't good enough for him. He needed to be a god, and in the end, his ignorance and lack of self-confidence brought him crashing back down to reality. You claim to be a “self” made man but are never actually by yourSELF. Your tenure in the WCF is associated with the vision of you always being accompanied by someone. First, it was your personal assistant. Then it was the Church of Singh. Now it’s your mom. You need these people by your side telling you how great you are. You need these people by your side, doing your dirty work for you. You need these people to make you feel more important than you really are, and you depend on these people so much that every time one of these people leaves you, you fall apart. You have to replace them with someone else. You can’t be on your own for very long because then you might not feel as strong as you do. You might not feel as confident as you do. Jesus, when Erica Baringer left you, you became an alcoholic. When the Church of Singh broke up, you felt directionless. Once your mom is gone, who knows what’s going to happen to you? You can’t stand on your own two feet. You always need someone propping you up because you’re too scared to do it yourself.
And I don’t believe this whole conflict you have going on with your mom right now about you not wanting her help. Maybe you think you don’t want her to help you right now, but you’re Thevin’ Steven. You will always resort to the quickest way to win. You’ll always go back to cutting corners. It’s in your nature. It’s who you are. As soon as you see the first sign of trouble, as soon as your Hardcore Title reign is in real danger, you’ll be embracing Mommy’s help. You won’t fight it. You won’t yell at her. You’ll let her do what she wants and give her a big hug after the match is over.
For guys like you, the hustle never ends. You live a life that’s false. You preach a narrative about yourself that’s false. You extol values that you don’t truly live yourself. You give yourself 100 different nicknames and say them over and over again with the hopes of brainwashing people into thinking that you are all of those things.
And the sad thing is, you need need to do any of those things. You are one of the best wrestlers in the WCF. Your name is mentioned in the same breath as Dune and Flash and Balfore and all the other greats that have stepped into a WCF ring. Eventually, this obsession you have with portraying the image of success is going to bring you down and bring your legacy with it.
I hope that happens this Monday, because I have a lot of baggage to unload, and it has to do specifically with you. I take issue with the fact that you achieved all of your accolades in my absence. I firmly believe that if I had still been in the WCF when you debuted two years ago, you would have never gotten off the ground.
The upper echelon of the WCF has limited reservations. It’s a space that only a few people can occupy at any one time, and the only way to get in is to take somebody else’s place. Those who have a place don’t give it up willingly.
I’ve had a lot of time to think lately and my mind constantly wanders to the “what if’s” of life. Lately, I’ve been thinking about the “what if’s” of my wrestling career, like what if I hadn’t become a drug addict and alcoholic after War XIV? I know what would have happened. My record would have shown main event matches and title victories. I would have been dining with wrestling gods while you would just be a scrappy young rookie sitting at my feet, begging for a seat at the table.
But it didn’t go down like that.
I DID leave the WCF.
I DID join The Core Institute.
You DID debut.
You DID become a rising star.
You DID become a main event player.
You DID write your name into immortality.
And now here we are, in October of 2018, with you enjoying your full plate of accomplishments and asking for seconds while I’m the one at your feet, holding out my hands and saying “Please, sir, I want some more.”
“More?” What the fuck am I saying?
“Please, sir, I want...anything.”
And the fact that that is where you and I fall in the pecking order pisses me off to no end because I was in the WCF first, and I relinquished whatever possibilities I had to be the best in the business and handed them over to guys like you.
And what do I get for it? I have to listen to you take a shit all over me while you wear your fruity little loafers.
I guess that comes with the territory. I mean, if you’re driving by in an expensive car and you look on the side of the road and see a homeless person, you’re probably going to judge that person and sum up his life in about two seconds. Most people would. It’s human nature. “He’s lazy. He’s a drunk. He’s an addict. He’s mentally ill. He’s a dreg of society. He should be shipped up and sent away.” And you can think all of that because he’s a loser and you’re successful. You contribute to society and he leeches off of it. Your position in life gives you the right to look down on that person and cast aspersions.
But what if you ended up in a dark alley one night and were encountered by that same bum? And he wanted something you had and was ready to hit you over the side of the head with a fucking brick? What then? At that point, it doesn’t matter who you are. It doesn’t matter what you have and he doesn’t have. You’re on equal footing now and you better fight or prepare to get seriously hurt.
Stephen, right now I’m the bum and you’re the the first-class guy. You can sit there and denigrate me all you want because I’m on the bottom of the pile and you’re right at the top. You have that solace.
Just don’t indulge that solace too much because just like that bum in the alley, you have no idea what I’m capable of doing. You can study all the tapes you want. You can run down my career and how I choose to motivate myself all you want. The fact remains that you have never once stepped into a ring with me.
You want an idea of what I’m like in that ring? Go find Cletus T. Clyde somewhere and ask him how his head’s feeling. Talk to BiffBot 69 and ask him how hard it was to breathe with bruised ribs. See if you can track down Ded Memry and ask him to describe the tour he and I took around the Sixth Dimension Arena that ended with him looking up at the lights. Ask Ultimate Destroyer how hard I slammed his face to the mat or ask Jazzy John about being almost decapitated by The Kill. Hell, you can even ask Cliff of Doom what it was like being backdropped from the top rope and through a broadcast table on the outside. And yeah, I lost to Cliff, but when it was over, he knew he was in a fight. That’s exactly what it’s going to be like for you. Win or lose, you will know that you were in a goddamn fight.
I’m planning on doing a lot to you in that match. This year’s DW Wolf is much more pissed off than he’s ever been. I use my painful memories, my failures, the relationships that I’ve ruined, my self-loathing to guide me in that ring. I use my anger as a weapon. My fists, my feet, the chairs I’m going to use to cave your head in are just an extension of my weapon, like putting a bump stock on a semi-automatic gun. I use my anger to my advantage. I control it and use it when the time is right, and son, the big man that owns this company has given me the keys to the armory. He’s putting me in a position to use whatever weapons I want, just like he’s given you that opportunity. Plainly spoken, I will rip your shit up.
You talked on and on about how I live too much in the past. Maybe you should forget about my past and think more about your future, because here’s what I have in story for Monday: I plan on hitting you as hard as I can with whatever I can get my hands on. And every time I hit you with something, I’m going to think about something you’ve achieved that should have been mine first.
Ultimate Showdown victory?
I fracture your skull with a chair shot.
Tag Team Titles?
I cause you to herniate a disc when I put you through a table.
Internet Title?
I stab you in the forehead with a screwdriver and you bleed like a stuck pig all over the mat.
Trios Tournament victory?
I break your nose and bust your eye sockets with a ladder.
Two World Titles?
I throw you off a balcony.
Hardcore Championship?
That’s easy. I do the one thing that I know for certain could happen.
I just fucking pin you and take it from you.
He sits down on the ground and watches the car continue to burn with all his former possessions inside. Hours pass. People pull over. Fire trucks and police come. The car is extinguished and hauled away. Once everyone leaves, it’s almost time for the sun to rise. While there is still a few minutes of darkness left, he walks back across the street and over to where the care was burning. He find some ashes on the ground and takes a piss on them.
DW Wolf: This moment of relief is in honor of two legacies.
One is the legacy of The Core Institute.
The other is the legacy of Stephen Singh.
I’ve already ended the former.
I’m going to do everything in my power to end the latter.
He looks up at the moon.
DW Wolf: AWOOOOO! AWOOOOOO!
He laughs at his own stupidity. He laughs at the delight of finally being free of his former life. He laughs at the thought that his life can only get better from here. For a brief moment, all the anger inside of him is forgotten and all he truly feels is happiness. He caps his long night by screaming into the nothingness.
DW Wolf: SEEK THE WOLF IN THYSEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLFFFFFF!
He laughs some more before he finally calms down. He goes back to being pensive and contemplative. He looks back one more time at the pile of ash he pissed on before looking straight ahead and walking back home.
