Post by Deleted on May 9, 2011 0:21:11 GMT -5
(A tape recorder is clicked on.)
"What in the world is going on in the world of Phillip Baines? I have been absent from WCF television since my awesome victory in the finals of the WCF Classic at Explosion and it seems like the WCF Universe is going mad as a result. Sure I did my promotional circuit for a week or so following the Classic, but that wasn't enough for me and it damn sure wasn't enough for the voracious "Baines Backers", as they've been dubbed by the media. Everybody wants to get their fix of "The Young Lion". Every chick wants my dick and every dude wants my Daze. How the fuck should I feel about all of that? In short, I feel magnificent! I feel like the splendiferous realization of a mad genius's greatest dream, a surrealist ambition that many thought was like shooting for the stars, but then you miss and hit the sun and your wax wings melt and you fall to the earth and die, but this mad genius's ambition didn't hit the sun, it hit those goddamn stars. That's Phillip Baines in a nutshell!
"It has been a whirlwind six weeks in the life of Phillip Baines, from the day that I debuted in WCF to this very moment in time. As I tape this message for future WCF broadcast I am sitting here on a couch in front of the fireplace in my brand-spanking-new Connecticut townhouse. The ink on the deed is barely dry and I couldn't be more excited. The house is beautiful but more importantly I am living with the woman of my dreams. My girlfriend Gina is my greatest joy and my greatest motivation in this world. With her I know that anything is possible. They say that behind every great man is a great woman. I would like to amend that by stating that behind every great man is a greater woman. Unlike some men I appreciate my woman and I never take my relationship for granted. I know that the world has seen me grow up over these past six weeks in WCF, but the life that you've seen me build is not just the life that I'm building for myself, it's the life that Gina and I are building together, much like the immigrant hands that built America.
"Although I am enjoying the fruits of a wonderful relationship with my girlfriend, I don't want anyone to think that I've been resting on my laurels. Just because you haven't seen me in front of the WCF camera for a couple of weeks, that doesn't mean that I'm slacking. See the great thing about having a training partner for a girlfriend is that you can bust your asses together in the gym all day and then hit that ass at the end of the day."
(Phil clears his throat.)
"I'm winking at the tape recorder, but I guess you guys and gals can't see that. Oh well. You people who know me, you people who know what I'm all about, you know that I've been working like a mofo to improve myself every damn day in the gym. I gotta say, I had a fun time down in México during WCF's South of the Border tour, but it feels damn good to be back at my home gym in Hartford. It feels damn good to be back at Crimson House Dojo with Bolts Quackenbush! Yeah I trained with Bolts down in México, but it wasn't quite the same down there. I was a stranger in a strange land down there. I never knew when I was going to be caught in a hail of gunfire between rival drug cartels. Conversely, here in Connecticut, in Hartford, I have firm footing on stable ground. I've been working with Bolts to make sure that I'm in peak physical condition. We've also been working together to add new moves into my arsenal.
"I'm talking about moves that nobody has seen from Phillip Baines before. Maybe you've seen them in video games, but you've never seen them in a WCF ring! I think that it's important for me to keep my opponents guessing every time I step into the ring. Sure, I'm more talented than them and more athletically gifted, but it never hurts to have the element of surprise. You can't scout for something if you don't know what you're scouting for, right? As good as it feels to be back in Hartford for my training with Bolts, I gotta say that I'm glad I don't live in that place. Chad Evans did a great job back in the day of illustrating what a shithole Hartford is, and unfortunately it doesn't seem like things are getting any better there. How is it better than México? All I can say is "better the devil you know than the devil you don't." Fortunately, Gina and I are living far away from all that noise here in Farmington. We're in the same neighborhood as 50 Cent, who bought Mike Tyson's old crib a few years back. I heard that 50's looking to sell the place. I might buy it after I win the World Title and I have a little extra cashflow.
"For now though I'm cool with where we are. It really is a nice house. We're even thinking about buying a dog, maybe a pitbull or a Rottweiler. We want something that can be vicious when a burglar is breaking in, but playful and loving the rest of the time. I like to think that I'm that way. Vicious when I'm in the ring with the Greenfever's and Jason Kash's of the world, and playful and loving when I'm with Gina or even just hanging out with the homies. I thought about using "The Pitbull" as a nickname, but it's kinda played out at this point. There have been like seven-thousand "Pitbulls" between pro wrestling and mixed martial arts. Me? I'm "The Young Lion" and I'm the one and only. That's a nickname that bears great responsibility. When you're a young cat with swagger and the tools of the trade you've got a bull's-eye on your chest from Day One. I've quickly gone from being unknown to being the Big Man On Campus here in WCF, the mutha'fuckin' B.M.O.C.! Even the great Logan felt compelled to give me a shout-out at the end of his latest masturbation-piece of a wrestling promo.
"Should I be offended that Logan talked trash about how he deserves a World Title shot before I do? Nah, that don't bother me none. Logan's been out of the spotlight for a hot minute and he wants to get his swerve on now that he's preparing to meet Jay Price in their hour-long Ironman orgy live on pay-per-view from Des Moines, Iowa at the show known only by Roman numerals... XIII. I hope Logan keeps talking shit about me, it only gives me more hype, more publicity. Hell, I hope Logan's thinking about me when Jay Price is grinding Logan's face under his wrestling boots. "I remember when I was a future World Champion like Phillip Baines! Now I'm just an old bag of bones who can't keep from getting his shit stomped the fuck out by Jay Price!" Yeah, growing old sucks, man. Fortunately I never will. I'm going to be young forever. I'm going to have long-flowing, black hair forever. I'm going to satisfy my girlfriend's every sexual desire forever.
"What's more? I'm going to be a champion in WCF forever. I'm going to be THE CHAMPION in WCF forever. It's just a matter of time until I upgrade my Hardcore Championship to the World Championship. I'm in the most advantageous position that any WCF superstar has ever been in. Never before has a man been able to hold all of the cards the way that I do now. I can have the WCF World Championship whenever I want it. Jay Williams? I feel sorry for you, man. Not really, but almost. I almost fucking feel sorry for a cat who puts so much misguided faith into his own abilities. I almost feel sorry for a man who thinks that his mediocre, fluky run to the championship is really something to write home about. Williams fails to realize the First Noble Truth: Jay Williams is a flash in the pan, while Phillip Baines is forever. If you were Jason Kash I would tell you to smoke on that, but you're not a stoner you're a gamer nerd so go play with your joystick, bitch, while you pray that I don't exercise my World Title shot and pin your ass in the bed where you and your wife sleep.
"Fuck, man... I get tired of motherfuckers selling me short. I can do shit that nobody in WCF can do. Let's be honest about something: There are no Slickie T's in the WCF right now. There are no Torture's. There are no Skyler Striker's, Jack of Blades' or Steve Carr's. Yeah, you got some legendary cats coming back for one night only at XIII, but that doesn't count for shit. WCF needs a superstar who can carry this company for years to come. Phillip Baines IS that superstar! The timing is perfect, is it not? All of the stars have aligned. Even WCF management seems to recognize this. They know that I'm not some young cat who's going to get overwhelmed by the spotlight or distracted by new-found material wealth. Let's look at simple facts: I have two matches on my horizon for this coming week. The match that awaits me at XIII is a match that most men would shudder to even think about. I am preparing to set my considerable feet into the ring against Omega Greenfever in the world's first ever Flatliner match. "What exactly is a Flatliner match?" you might be asking yourself right now. Near as I can tell there's only one objective in a Flatliner match: Make your opponent's heart stop beating.
"Yeah, that means exactly what it sounds like it means. Someone is going to die inside of the ring at Water Works Park in Des Moines on Friday night. I can't say that I wanted things to end this way between Greenie and I. I don't have the pedigree of a serial killer. I'm not a maggot with the dream of becoming a man. What you see when you look at Baines is the real deal. It's genuine. It's the authentic article. I am a young man who overcame seemingly impossible obstacles to achieve his dreams. I'm not a wastoid or a burn-out. I'm not a degenerate scoundrel. My life is the American dream, it's not just a mad man's gimmick that I'm living, like some people. When I see sociopathic riff-raff like Greenfever and Oblivion I ask myself "What's the point of their existence? Who wants to be like them? Who wants to live the way that they're living?" Fortunately for Greenie, he ain't gonna be living that way much longer. Unfortunately for Greenie, he ain't gonna be living much longer... PERIOD.
"Like I said, I didn't want it to end this way between us, but it wasn't my choice. This entire match was Greenie's idea. I'm honestly a little surprised that Greenfever is so insecure about losing to me. I would've thought he would be proud of a young man who could step up to the plate in his debut match and show enough courage and tenacity to beat Greenie at his own game. He could have had himself stretchered over to me after the match by the EMT's and said "Phillip Baines, you're an impressive young man! Congratulations on your victory! You deserve it!" Then he could have shook my hand, like a man. Sadly, Greenie did not do any of that. I guess that showing ambition and taking initiative around these parts gets a bounty placed upon a young man's head. So be it. Greenfever has an axe to grind against me for defeating him, eliminating him from the WCF Classic and taking the WCF Hardcore Championship from him. I'm going to rip that axe from Greenfever's puny, little, girlish hands and grind that sum bitch in his back.
"Back to my point. Mark Markman knows that I have this Flatliner match against Greenfever at XIII, a match that could technically mark the end of my career and indeed my life, yet Markman decided to book me in the main event of Monday Night Slam. What does that tell us about Markman? What does that tell us about how Markman views Baines? Maybe Markman figures that I'm his workhorse. He can load me up with big money match after big money match and I'm going to stand and deliver every single time, because I am the superstar that I claim to be. Or maybe Markman just wants to get one last main event out of me in case I'm killed at XIII. Whatever Markman's logic might be, I cannot disagree with it. Markman is morbidly obese, slow-witted and possesses exceedingly poor hygiene, but he is an intelligent businessman. Markman gives the fans what they want and the fans want Baines.
"And so... I find myself in a position that is so typical of an American dog, fighting the odds with my back against the wall. Boo-hoo for Baines, right? Nah, fuck that. This shit is funny to me. Markman could book me in seven matches in seven nights and I'll win every single one of them. Y'all saw what the UConn Huskies did this year? Five wins in five nights in the Big East tournament, then another six straight wins in the NCAA tournament to bring the National Championship home to Storrs. That was all because of my homie Kemba Walker. I'm a lot like Kemba. See, I'm not a dog, but I am a Husky. I'm not a workhorse, but I am a thoroughbred. I'm not a chicken, but I am a rooster. "A rooster? What do you mean by that, Baines?" I mean I ain't gonna die, motherfucker! Go get some Alice In Chains up in your stereo if you don't know what I'm speaking about on that! Most of all, BUT MOST OF ALL, I am "The Young Lion". Don't ever forget it, motherfuckers, because it will be the worst mistake that you ever make."
(A glugging sound is now audible, which is most likely the sound of Baines indulging in one of his favorite pastimes...)
"Sorry about that, I had to wet my whistle with a little bit of pure Russian spring water. I speak of vodka, of course. I ask you, WCF Universe, what mistakes have I made? What am I guilty of? What are my crimes against WCF? What crimes have I committed against The Omega Greenfever? As far as I can tell I'm only guilty of having the guts to stand tall against Greenfever without succumbing to his mind games, without succumbing to the means of fear and intimidation that Greenie has so often used to psyche out and defeat his past opponents. Should I have been afraid to stand tall against Greenfever? And if so, why exactly? Why should I be afraid of that stark social outcast, that unruly psychopath? What is the worst that he could ever do to me? Oh wow... he can kill me. Well, so what? So nothing... sew buttons. Any living creature can be killed, with or without said creature's consent. Does Greenfever think that he's special just because he's killed? Does he think that he's special because he desires to kill me?
"Oh, no... I know what makes Greenie special. See, Greenfever isn't just your average Ted Bundy or John Wayne Gacy. No, sir. Greenfever has a computer chip implanted in his brain that tells him how and when to kill. He doesn't have to follow a pattern or a protocol like all of those flawed, homicidal deviants that came before him. No, Greenie is programmed to adapt to any circumstance. He's programmed to use his surroundings to his full advantage when impugning his victim's means of living, or in other words murdering them. I guess that means that I have no chance at XIII. I should just kiss my girlfriend's snatch goodbye before I go to bed on Thursday night and prepare to meet my maker, right? My fate is written on the men's room mirror at the last trucker dive before we get off the highway to the Des Moines Water Works. I just... I should slap a pair of handcuffs on my wrists right now. The very essence of my soul has been arrested by ONE Omega Greenfever. Sigh, sigh, sigh... sigh."
(Phil lets out a long, hard sigh. He sounds for all the world like a man who was just denied the opportunity to bust a nut inside of a pretty, young thing.)
"What are my options now? Do I have any options? I cannot back out of the match. If I do that then Greenie will just come after me on the streets or in my home. He knows where I live now that I've blabbed about that, right? So... shit. I should start getting my final arrangements in order. For one thing, I would like to have a marble headstone in my family's burial plot. I wonder if my contract with WCF covers a marble headstone? Shit... I should have Drew Rosenhaus check into that for me. You know what? I'll just let Drew handle all of the arrangements for me. That's what I'm paying him three-percent for, right? Damn... only three-percent. That's a damn good deal, but back to Greenie killing me. Now if I am killed inside of the ring at XIII, it will basically turn me into a legend, right?
"Seriously, let's think about this. How many men have died inside of a wrestling ring? I know that Ted DiBiase's father "Iron" Mike DiBiase died from a heart attack that he suffered during a match. He's a legend, right? I mean I know I've heard his name a lot through the years... but maybe that's just because his son became a famous wrestler? Ok, well how about the legendary luchadore Oro? He died after suffering a serious injury during a match. Yeah, I said Oro... what he's not a legend? Well, he's pretty famous down in México... I think. Of course there is Owen Hart, the King of Hearts, an unquestionable wrestling legend. His death left a hole in the hearts of countless wrestlers and wrestling fans that will never be filled. If I join those men, those great, brave men who helped pave the way for future generations of superstars on Friday, May the 13th, 2011 then it will be a truly prideful time for my family and friends. I am just sad that I will not be around to enjoy it.
"Hmm... how much of that pure Russian spring water have I been drinking? I'm not the one who's going to die at XIII. Hey, Greenfever. GREEN FEVER!!! Listen to me, you asshole. I know that you're listening because YOU HAVE TO listen and I want you to listen good. I have done nothing wrong. NOTHING!!! Do you understand me? I beat you in the Classic. I defeated you with my own two hands and my own two feet and all of the other stuff that constitutes my body. You should have just accepted that and moved on with your career and your life. You could have enjoyed a lengthy run as one half of the WCF Tag Team Champions along with Oblivion. You guys could have reigned from Explosion until the point when I decided to grab a tag team partner and join the tag ranks. You could have been living a good life, a fortuitous life. Instead you did everything wrong. You decided to hold a grudge against me... and for what? What did I do to you that was so grievous? I beat you? Big deal. I would tell you to get over it, but you won't have the chance to get over it because in five nights you are going to die. At least you have a chance to make peace with your impending demise, unlike the countless innocents that you've butchered and mutilated through the years.
"You see, I don't play the same game that Greenie plays. Omega Greenfever and Phillip Baines are two very different men. Greenie kills people for the sake of killing. It's all he knows. All he's ever known. All that he will ever know because he doesn't have the heart and the guts to lay it all on the line. Greenfever doesn't have what it takes to drop to his knees and pour his heart out to a women. To plead his case in front of glaring eyes, big eyes, eyes as big as pizza pies in the sky. It doesn't matter for one goddamn minute what I think or say. I'm sitting here wearing a checkerboard short and blue jeans. Greenfever wears the blood and brain matter of his victims. I don't care about any of that. I'm not playing a game of psychological warfare. I'm not trying to be the biggest, baddest man on the planet. I just am the biggest, baddest man on the planet. I've proven it. I don't have to wear blood and brains as symbols of my dominance. I have the WCF Hardcore Championship. I have a shot at the WCF World Championship that I can cash in at any time. My success is written in gold and leather. I don't kill for the thrill, I don't kill because it gets my rocks off, I kill because some stupid son of a bitch had the misfortune of being booked against me.
"What can I say? Beating Greenfever put a price on my head. Winning the Classic put a price on my head. La-di-fucking-da. I'm a wanted man. Greenfever wants my skull on his mantel, but I already have his skull on my mantel and he's not getting it back. Greenfever wants to kill me, but I already took his blackened soul and his pride when I beat his ass and made him my bitch. Even if Greenfever does kill me at XIII, he cannot undo my legacy. He cannot erase my accomplishments here in WCF. In six weeks I have built a veritable empire here in WCF. Creeping Death gave Greenfever his choice of any opponent in any match at XIII. Greenie could have chosen literally anyone on the WCF roster, and any number of WCF legends who are returning to WCF for one night only at XIII. Greenfever chose me. He chose Baines. Why is that? Why did he choose to wrestle me in the most abominable of all matches that have ever been contested inside of a wrestling ring? He knows that I'm the legacy maker and Greenie is willing to bet his life that he can erase the loss that I handed him six weeks ago. He is wrong of course and he will pay with his life, but I suppose, after further alcohol-fueled consideration, that I cannot fault him for trying to right what he views as being an unfathomable wrong."
(A further glugging sound can be heard.)
"So... maybe I fibbed earlier. Maybe I told a lie when I said that I only kill because it's my job. I'm laughing out loud inside of my brain, because I pulled the wool over your eyes for a little while... but I'm not going to lie anymore. I got an erection from beating Greenfever. Yes, I had a legitimate hard-on and my girlfriend enjoyed every inch of it. I also got an erection from beating Creeping Death. Oh, my girlfriend LOVED that one. Her pussy swallowed my dick like it was sinking in quicksand. I got an erection from beating Jason Kash. That was an interesting one because I had the remnants of marijuana in my brain when I was fucking my girl that night. I... I didn't get so much of an erection from beating FPV, because FPV is not a man with any real bravado or clout. I did however gain a MASSIVE hard-on from the fact that I won the Classic. I fucked my girlfriend hard that night... harder than a solid, metal lamppost collapsing onto a human skull in a Walmart parking lot. Do you know what I mean? I can only imagine how hard my penis is going to be when I defeat Greenfever for the second time at XIII and end both his life and career in one fell swoop.
"Why am I talking about this? Am I obsessed with sexual intercourse? Of course I am, but there's more to it than that. I'm setting the trap and I want Greenfever to step right into it. I want him to tell me how he's tired of hearing about my whore girlfriend. I want him to tell me how after he kills me at XIII he's going to rape Gina with a knife and then disembowel her. I want him to tell me that he's going to decapitate Gina and mount her head on the front door of our Connecticut townhouse. I've come to expect that kind of rhetoric from Greenfever and frankly it gets me fired up. He ran his mouth with that BS the last time we wrestled and we all know what happened. So come on, Greenie... cut loose with your demented, little threats. I'm sure that you will. I'm sure that you'll mean every one of them, too. I'm sure that you'll do your God damnedest to deliver. The problem for you Greenfever, the life-threatening crisis that you face, is that I'm not my girlfriend. I'm not Club Cool. I'm not TnT. I'm not any of the poor bastards that you've mutilated and tortured inside of the wrestling ring or outside in the quote/unquote "real world". I'm certainly not a figment from one of Dr. Heill's computer programs.
"Greenfever, I'm the man who stepped into the ring with you in the first match of my wrestling career and put your ass through a flaming table for the ONE... TWO... THREE. I know that you remember that, Greenie. I know that you're obsessed with it. I know that it keeps you up at nights. I know that it burns your bridges. I know that it grinds your gears, motherfucker. I know that even capturing tag team gold at Explosion didn't erase the taste of defeat that's been in your mouth since I beat you. It didn't diminish the feeling of helplessness and despair that's been burnt into your psyche ever since you felt the wrath of Phillip Baines. Baines IS the bane of your existence, Greenfever. You say that you're God... well, what does that make me, Greenie? Am I Charles Darwin, the man who used logic and reason to dispel the myth of your supposed omnipotent powers?"
(The sound of Baines chuckling madly into the microphone of the tape recorder can be heard. His loud laughter and close proximity to the mike creates a distorted chorus of cacophony.)
"Ahhh... but I digress. The last time that we stood toe-to-toe in that ring my rapture trapped ya and I sent you straight to Hell, courtesy of the Halcyon Daze. I think this time I'm going to spare the table and just... set you on fire, Greenie. Why not? It's pay-per-view. We're in Iowa, the land of the lawless. President Obama chose not to show the gory and controversial images of a deceased, brain-splattered Osama Bin Laden. Will Mark Markman choose to show the gory and controversial images of a deceased, char-broiled Omega Greenfever? It will be a tough choice for Markman, kind of like choosing whether he wants the extra cheese or the extra bacon on his quadruple Whopper. Both have their upside but if he chooses wrong he could end up with a quadruple bypass. Hmmm..."
(Glug... glug... glug.)
"I am in high spirits, my friends. These are indeed Halcyon Days for Phillip Baines. Life could not be sweeter for me. I'm not worried about losing my life at XIII. I'm not even worried about losing my Hardcore Championship. I AM going to defeat Omega Greenfever once again, ending his life and career in the process. For most men that would be a full night's work, but not for this man... this "Young Lion". At XIII, I'm going to cash in my World Title shot against whoever survives the Falls Count Anywhere war between Jay Williams and Oblivion. I won't just be walking out of XIII... I'll be walking out of XIII as YOUR WCF WORLD Champion!"
(There's more cacophonous laughter, then a pause... then the tape recorder is clicked off.)
"What in the world is going on in the world of Phillip Baines? I have been absent from WCF television since my awesome victory in the finals of the WCF Classic at Explosion and it seems like the WCF Universe is going mad as a result. Sure I did my promotional circuit for a week or so following the Classic, but that wasn't enough for me and it damn sure wasn't enough for the voracious "Baines Backers", as they've been dubbed by the media. Everybody wants to get their fix of "The Young Lion". Every chick wants my dick and every dude wants my Daze. How the fuck should I feel about all of that? In short, I feel magnificent! I feel like the splendiferous realization of a mad genius's greatest dream, a surrealist ambition that many thought was like shooting for the stars, but then you miss and hit the sun and your wax wings melt and you fall to the earth and die, but this mad genius's ambition didn't hit the sun, it hit those goddamn stars. That's Phillip Baines in a nutshell!
"It has been a whirlwind six weeks in the life of Phillip Baines, from the day that I debuted in WCF to this very moment in time. As I tape this message for future WCF broadcast I am sitting here on a couch in front of the fireplace in my brand-spanking-new Connecticut townhouse. The ink on the deed is barely dry and I couldn't be more excited. The house is beautiful but more importantly I am living with the woman of my dreams. My girlfriend Gina is my greatest joy and my greatest motivation in this world. With her I know that anything is possible. They say that behind every great man is a great woman. I would like to amend that by stating that behind every great man is a greater woman. Unlike some men I appreciate my woman and I never take my relationship for granted. I know that the world has seen me grow up over these past six weeks in WCF, but the life that you've seen me build is not just the life that I'm building for myself, it's the life that Gina and I are building together, much like the immigrant hands that built America.
"Although I am enjoying the fruits of a wonderful relationship with my girlfriend, I don't want anyone to think that I've been resting on my laurels. Just because you haven't seen me in front of the WCF camera for a couple of weeks, that doesn't mean that I'm slacking. See the great thing about having a training partner for a girlfriend is that you can bust your asses together in the gym all day and then hit that ass at the end of the day."
(Phil clears his throat.)
"I'm winking at the tape recorder, but I guess you guys and gals can't see that. Oh well. You people who know me, you people who know what I'm all about, you know that I've been working like a mofo to improve myself every damn day in the gym. I gotta say, I had a fun time down in México during WCF's South of the Border tour, but it feels damn good to be back at my home gym in Hartford. It feels damn good to be back at Crimson House Dojo with Bolts Quackenbush! Yeah I trained with Bolts down in México, but it wasn't quite the same down there. I was a stranger in a strange land down there. I never knew when I was going to be caught in a hail of gunfire between rival drug cartels. Conversely, here in Connecticut, in Hartford, I have firm footing on stable ground. I've been working with Bolts to make sure that I'm in peak physical condition. We've also been working together to add new moves into my arsenal.
"I'm talking about moves that nobody has seen from Phillip Baines before. Maybe you've seen them in video games, but you've never seen them in a WCF ring! I think that it's important for me to keep my opponents guessing every time I step into the ring. Sure, I'm more talented than them and more athletically gifted, but it never hurts to have the element of surprise. You can't scout for something if you don't know what you're scouting for, right? As good as it feels to be back in Hartford for my training with Bolts, I gotta say that I'm glad I don't live in that place. Chad Evans did a great job back in the day of illustrating what a shithole Hartford is, and unfortunately it doesn't seem like things are getting any better there. How is it better than México? All I can say is "better the devil you know than the devil you don't." Fortunately, Gina and I are living far away from all that noise here in Farmington. We're in the same neighborhood as 50 Cent, who bought Mike Tyson's old crib a few years back. I heard that 50's looking to sell the place. I might buy it after I win the World Title and I have a little extra cashflow.
"For now though I'm cool with where we are. It really is a nice house. We're even thinking about buying a dog, maybe a pitbull or a Rottweiler. We want something that can be vicious when a burglar is breaking in, but playful and loving the rest of the time. I like to think that I'm that way. Vicious when I'm in the ring with the Greenfever's and Jason Kash's of the world, and playful and loving when I'm with Gina or even just hanging out with the homies. I thought about using "The Pitbull" as a nickname, but it's kinda played out at this point. There have been like seven-thousand "Pitbulls" between pro wrestling and mixed martial arts. Me? I'm "The Young Lion" and I'm the one and only. That's a nickname that bears great responsibility. When you're a young cat with swagger and the tools of the trade you've got a bull's-eye on your chest from Day One. I've quickly gone from being unknown to being the Big Man On Campus here in WCF, the mutha'fuckin' B.M.O.C.! Even the great Logan felt compelled to give me a shout-out at the end of his latest masturbation-piece of a wrestling promo.
"Should I be offended that Logan talked trash about how he deserves a World Title shot before I do? Nah, that don't bother me none. Logan's been out of the spotlight for a hot minute and he wants to get his swerve on now that he's preparing to meet Jay Price in their hour-long Ironman orgy live on pay-per-view from Des Moines, Iowa at the show known only by Roman numerals... XIII. I hope Logan keeps talking shit about me, it only gives me more hype, more publicity. Hell, I hope Logan's thinking about me when Jay Price is grinding Logan's face under his wrestling boots. "I remember when I was a future World Champion like Phillip Baines! Now I'm just an old bag of bones who can't keep from getting his shit stomped the fuck out by Jay Price!" Yeah, growing old sucks, man. Fortunately I never will. I'm going to be young forever. I'm going to have long-flowing, black hair forever. I'm going to satisfy my girlfriend's every sexual desire forever.
"What's more? I'm going to be a champion in WCF forever. I'm going to be THE CHAMPION in WCF forever. It's just a matter of time until I upgrade my Hardcore Championship to the World Championship. I'm in the most advantageous position that any WCF superstar has ever been in. Never before has a man been able to hold all of the cards the way that I do now. I can have the WCF World Championship whenever I want it. Jay Williams? I feel sorry for you, man. Not really, but almost. I almost fucking feel sorry for a cat who puts so much misguided faith into his own abilities. I almost feel sorry for a man who thinks that his mediocre, fluky run to the championship is really something to write home about. Williams fails to realize the First Noble Truth: Jay Williams is a flash in the pan, while Phillip Baines is forever. If you were Jason Kash I would tell you to smoke on that, but you're not a stoner you're a gamer nerd so go play with your joystick, bitch, while you pray that I don't exercise my World Title shot and pin your ass in the bed where you and your wife sleep.
"Fuck, man... I get tired of motherfuckers selling me short. I can do shit that nobody in WCF can do. Let's be honest about something: There are no Slickie T's in the WCF right now. There are no Torture's. There are no Skyler Striker's, Jack of Blades' or Steve Carr's. Yeah, you got some legendary cats coming back for one night only at XIII, but that doesn't count for shit. WCF needs a superstar who can carry this company for years to come. Phillip Baines IS that superstar! The timing is perfect, is it not? All of the stars have aligned. Even WCF management seems to recognize this. They know that I'm not some young cat who's going to get overwhelmed by the spotlight or distracted by new-found material wealth. Let's look at simple facts: I have two matches on my horizon for this coming week. The match that awaits me at XIII is a match that most men would shudder to even think about. I am preparing to set my considerable feet into the ring against Omega Greenfever in the world's first ever Flatliner match. "What exactly is a Flatliner match?" you might be asking yourself right now. Near as I can tell there's only one objective in a Flatliner match: Make your opponent's heart stop beating.
"Yeah, that means exactly what it sounds like it means. Someone is going to die inside of the ring at Water Works Park in Des Moines on Friday night. I can't say that I wanted things to end this way between Greenie and I. I don't have the pedigree of a serial killer. I'm not a maggot with the dream of becoming a man. What you see when you look at Baines is the real deal. It's genuine. It's the authentic article. I am a young man who overcame seemingly impossible obstacles to achieve his dreams. I'm not a wastoid or a burn-out. I'm not a degenerate scoundrel. My life is the American dream, it's not just a mad man's gimmick that I'm living, like some people. When I see sociopathic riff-raff like Greenfever and Oblivion I ask myself "What's the point of their existence? Who wants to be like them? Who wants to live the way that they're living?" Fortunately for Greenie, he ain't gonna be living that way much longer. Unfortunately for Greenie, he ain't gonna be living much longer... PERIOD.
"Like I said, I didn't want it to end this way between us, but it wasn't my choice. This entire match was Greenie's idea. I'm honestly a little surprised that Greenfever is so insecure about losing to me. I would've thought he would be proud of a young man who could step up to the plate in his debut match and show enough courage and tenacity to beat Greenie at his own game. He could have had himself stretchered over to me after the match by the EMT's and said "Phillip Baines, you're an impressive young man! Congratulations on your victory! You deserve it!" Then he could have shook my hand, like a man. Sadly, Greenie did not do any of that. I guess that showing ambition and taking initiative around these parts gets a bounty placed upon a young man's head. So be it. Greenfever has an axe to grind against me for defeating him, eliminating him from the WCF Classic and taking the WCF Hardcore Championship from him. I'm going to rip that axe from Greenfever's puny, little, girlish hands and grind that sum bitch in his back.
"Back to my point. Mark Markman knows that I have this Flatliner match against Greenfever at XIII, a match that could technically mark the end of my career and indeed my life, yet Markman decided to book me in the main event of Monday Night Slam. What does that tell us about Markman? What does that tell us about how Markman views Baines? Maybe Markman figures that I'm his workhorse. He can load me up with big money match after big money match and I'm going to stand and deliver every single time, because I am the superstar that I claim to be. Or maybe Markman just wants to get one last main event out of me in case I'm killed at XIII. Whatever Markman's logic might be, I cannot disagree with it. Markman is morbidly obese, slow-witted and possesses exceedingly poor hygiene, but he is an intelligent businessman. Markman gives the fans what they want and the fans want Baines.
"And so... I find myself in a position that is so typical of an American dog, fighting the odds with my back against the wall. Boo-hoo for Baines, right? Nah, fuck that. This shit is funny to me. Markman could book me in seven matches in seven nights and I'll win every single one of them. Y'all saw what the UConn Huskies did this year? Five wins in five nights in the Big East tournament, then another six straight wins in the NCAA tournament to bring the National Championship home to Storrs. That was all because of my homie Kemba Walker. I'm a lot like Kemba. See, I'm not a dog, but I am a Husky. I'm not a workhorse, but I am a thoroughbred. I'm not a chicken, but I am a rooster. "A rooster? What do you mean by that, Baines?" I mean I ain't gonna die, motherfucker! Go get some Alice In Chains up in your stereo if you don't know what I'm speaking about on that! Most of all, BUT MOST OF ALL, I am "The Young Lion". Don't ever forget it, motherfuckers, because it will be the worst mistake that you ever make."
(A glugging sound is now audible, which is most likely the sound of Baines indulging in one of his favorite pastimes...)
"Sorry about that, I had to wet my whistle with a little bit of pure Russian spring water. I speak of vodka, of course. I ask you, WCF Universe, what mistakes have I made? What am I guilty of? What are my crimes against WCF? What crimes have I committed against The Omega Greenfever? As far as I can tell I'm only guilty of having the guts to stand tall against Greenfever without succumbing to his mind games, without succumbing to the means of fear and intimidation that Greenie has so often used to psyche out and defeat his past opponents. Should I have been afraid to stand tall against Greenfever? And if so, why exactly? Why should I be afraid of that stark social outcast, that unruly psychopath? What is the worst that he could ever do to me? Oh wow... he can kill me. Well, so what? So nothing... sew buttons. Any living creature can be killed, with or without said creature's consent. Does Greenfever think that he's special just because he's killed? Does he think that he's special because he desires to kill me?
"Oh, no... I know what makes Greenie special. See, Greenfever isn't just your average Ted Bundy or John Wayne Gacy. No, sir. Greenfever has a computer chip implanted in his brain that tells him how and when to kill. He doesn't have to follow a pattern or a protocol like all of those flawed, homicidal deviants that came before him. No, Greenie is programmed to adapt to any circumstance. He's programmed to use his surroundings to his full advantage when impugning his victim's means of living, or in other words murdering them. I guess that means that I have no chance at XIII. I should just kiss my girlfriend's snatch goodbye before I go to bed on Thursday night and prepare to meet my maker, right? My fate is written on the men's room mirror at the last trucker dive before we get off the highway to the Des Moines Water Works. I just... I should slap a pair of handcuffs on my wrists right now. The very essence of my soul has been arrested by ONE Omega Greenfever. Sigh, sigh, sigh... sigh."
(Phil lets out a long, hard sigh. He sounds for all the world like a man who was just denied the opportunity to bust a nut inside of a pretty, young thing.)
"What are my options now? Do I have any options? I cannot back out of the match. If I do that then Greenie will just come after me on the streets or in my home. He knows where I live now that I've blabbed about that, right? So... shit. I should start getting my final arrangements in order. For one thing, I would like to have a marble headstone in my family's burial plot. I wonder if my contract with WCF covers a marble headstone? Shit... I should have Drew Rosenhaus check into that for me. You know what? I'll just let Drew handle all of the arrangements for me. That's what I'm paying him three-percent for, right? Damn... only three-percent. That's a damn good deal, but back to Greenie killing me. Now if I am killed inside of the ring at XIII, it will basically turn me into a legend, right?
"Seriously, let's think about this. How many men have died inside of a wrestling ring? I know that Ted DiBiase's father "Iron" Mike DiBiase died from a heart attack that he suffered during a match. He's a legend, right? I mean I know I've heard his name a lot through the years... but maybe that's just because his son became a famous wrestler? Ok, well how about the legendary luchadore Oro? He died after suffering a serious injury during a match. Yeah, I said Oro... what he's not a legend? Well, he's pretty famous down in México... I think. Of course there is Owen Hart, the King of Hearts, an unquestionable wrestling legend. His death left a hole in the hearts of countless wrestlers and wrestling fans that will never be filled. If I join those men, those great, brave men who helped pave the way for future generations of superstars on Friday, May the 13th, 2011 then it will be a truly prideful time for my family and friends. I am just sad that I will not be around to enjoy it.
"Hmm... how much of that pure Russian spring water have I been drinking? I'm not the one who's going to die at XIII. Hey, Greenfever. GREEN FEVER!!! Listen to me, you asshole. I know that you're listening because YOU HAVE TO listen and I want you to listen good. I have done nothing wrong. NOTHING!!! Do you understand me? I beat you in the Classic. I defeated you with my own two hands and my own two feet and all of the other stuff that constitutes my body. You should have just accepted that and moved on with your career and your life. You could have enjoyed a lengthy run as one half of the WCF Tag Team Champions along with Oblivion. You guys could have reigned from Explosion until the point when I decided to grab a tag team partner and join the tag ranks. You could have been living a good life, a fortuitous life. Instead you did everything wrong. You decided to hold a grudge against me... and for what? What did I do to you that was so grievous? I beat you? Big deal. I would tell you to get over it, but you won't have the chance to get over it because in five nights you are going to die. At least you have a chance to make peace with your impending demise, unlike the countless innocents that you've butchered and mutilated through the years.
"You see, I don't play the same game that Greenie plays. Omega Greenfever and Phillip Baines are two very different men. Greenie kills people for the sake of killing. It's all he knows. All he's ever known. All that he will ever know because he doesn't have the heart and the guts to lay it all on the line. Greenfever doesn't have what it takes to drop to his knees and pour his heart out to a women. To plead his case in front of glaring eyes, big eyes, eyes as big as pizza pies in the sky. It doesn't matter for one goddamn minute what I think or say. I'm sitting here wearing a checkerboard short and blue jeans. Greenfever wears the blood and brain matter of his victims. I don't care about any of that. I'm not playing a game of psychological warfare. I'm not trying to be the biggest, baddest man on the planet. I just am the biggest, baddest man on the planet. I've proven it. I don't have to wear blood and brains as symbols of my dominance. I have the WCF Hardcore Championship. I have a shot at the WCF World Championship that I can cash in at any time. My success is written in gold and leather. I don't kill for the thrill, I don't kill because it gets my rocks off, I kill because some stupid son of a bitch had the misfortune of being booked against me.
"What can I say? Beating Greenfever put a price on my head. Winning the Classic put a price on my head. La-di-fucking-da. I'm a wanted man. Greenfever wants my skull on his mantel, but I already have his skull on my mantel and he's not getting it back. Greenfever wants to kill me, but I already took his blackened soul and his pride when I beat his ass and made him my bitch. Even if Greenfever does kill me at XIII, he cannot undo my legacy. He cannot erase my accomplishments here in WCF. In six weeks I have built a veritable empire here in WCF. Creeping Death gave Greenfever his choice of any opponent in any match at XIII. Greenie could have chosen literally anyone on the WCF roster, and any number of WCF legends who are returning to WCF for one night only at XIII. Greenfever chose me. He chose Baines. Why is that? Why did he choose to wrestle me in the most abominable of all matches that have ever been contested inside of a wrestling ring? He knows that I'm the legacy maker and Greenie is willing to bet his life that he can erase the loss that I handed him six weeks ago. He is wrong of course and he will pay with his life, but I suppose, after further alcohol-fueled consideration, that I cannot fault him for trying to right what he views as being an unfathomable wrong."
(A further glugging sound can be heard.)
"So... maybe I fibbed earlier. Maybe I told a lie when I said that I only kill because it's my job. I'm laughing out loud inside of my brain, because I pulled the wool over your eyes for a little while... but I'm not going to lie anymore. I got an erection from beating Greenfever. Yes, I had a legitimate hard-on and my girlfriend enjoyed every inch of it. I also got an erection from beating Creeping Death. Oh, my girlfriend LOVED that one. Her pussy swallowed my dick like it was sinking in quicksand. I got an erection from beating Jason Kash. That was an interesting one because I had the remnants of marijuana in my brain when I was fucking my girl that night. I... I didn't get so much of an erection from beating FPV, because FPV is not a man with any real bravado or clout. I did however gain a MASSIVE hard-on from the fact that I won the Classic. I fucked my girlfriend hard that night... harder than a solid, metal lamppost collapsing onto a human skull in a Walmart parking lot. Do you know what I mean? I can only imagine how hard my penis is going to be when I defeat Greenfever for the second time at XIII and end both his life and career in one fell swoop.
"Why am I talking about this? Am I obsessed with sexual intercourse? Of course I am, but there's more to it than that. I'm setting the trap and I want Greenfever to step right into it. I want him to tell me how he's tired of hearing about my whore girlfriend. I want him to tell me how after he kills me at XIII he's going to rape Gina with a knife and then disembowel her. I want him to tell me that he's going to decapitate Gina and mount her head on the front door of our Connecticut townhouse. I've come to expect that kind of rhetoric from Greenfever and frankly it gets me fired up. He ran his mouth with that BS the last time we wrestled and we all know what happened. So come on, Greenie... cut loose with your demented, little threats. I'm sure that you will. I'm sure that you'll mean every one of them, too. I'm sure that you'll do your God damnedest to deliver. The problem for you Greenfever, the life-threatening crisis that you face, is that I'm not my girlfriend. I'm not Club Cool. I'm not TnT. I'm not any of the poor bastards that you've mutilated and tortured inside of the wrestling ring or outside in the quote/unquote "real world". I'm certainly not a figment from one of Dr. Heill's computer programs.
"Greenfever, I'm the man who stepped into the ring with you in the first match of my wrestling career and put your ass through a flaming table for the ONE... TWO... THREE. I know that you remember that, Greenie. I know that you're obsessed with it. I know that it keeps you up at nights. I know that it burns your bridges. I know that it grinds your gears, motherfucker. I know that even capturing tag team gold at Explosion didn't erase the taste of defeat that's been in your mouth since I beat you. It didn't diminish the feeling of helplessness and despair that's been burnt into your psyche ever since you felt the wrath of Phillip Baines. Baines IS the bane of your existence, Greenfever. You say that you're God... well, what does that make me, Greenie? Am I Charles Darwin, the man who used logic and reason to dispel the myth of your supposed omnipotent powers?"
(The sound of Baines chuckling madly into the microphone of the tape recorder can be heard. His loud laughter and close proximity to the mike creates a distorted chorus of cacophony.)
"Ahhh... but I digress. The last time that we stood toe-to-toe in that ring my rapture trapped ya and I sent you straight to Hell, courtesy of the Halcyon Daze. I think this time I'm going to spare the table and just... set you on fire, Greenie. Why not? It's pay-per-view. We're in Iowa, the land of the lawless. President Obama chose not to show the gory and controversial images of a deceased, brain-splattered Osama Bin Laden. Will Mark Markman choose to show the gory and controversial images of a deceased, char-broiled Omega Greenfever? It will be a tough choice for Markman, kind of like choosing whether he wants the extra cheese or the extra bacon on his quadruple Whopper. Both have their upside but if he chooses wrong he could end up with a quadruple bypass. Hmmm..."
(Glug... glug... glug.)
"I am in high spirits, my friends. These are indeed Halcyon Days for Phillip Baines. Life could not be sweeter for me. I'm not worried about losing my life at XIII. I'm not even worried about losing my Hardcore Championship. I AM going to defeat Omega Greenfever once again, ending his life and career in the process. For most men that would be a full night's work, but not for this man... this "Young Lion". At XIII, I'm going to cash in my World Title shot against whoever survives the Falls Count Anywhere war between Jay Williams and Oblivion. I won't just be walking out of XIII... I'll be walking out of XIII as YOUR WCF WORLD Champion!"
(There's more cacophonous laughter, then a pause... then the tape recorder is clicked off.)
