Post by Prophet of Ash on Dec 22, 2014 18:45:42 GMT -5
10/11/14
Are you here to talk about my title shot?
I made sure to make this meeting in a public place because frankly, I don't trust Phil in private places any more. Not when the last two times he was in front of a camera on a globally televised program he attempted to murder people and assaulted me personally. This is a coffee shop in the center of town but most importantly to me, right next to a police station so if he goes off the rails again, he can be detained fairly quickly. It's bad that I now think of my best friend this way, but he's not the same person any more.
No, I'm not here to talk about your title shot. I'm here to talk about you.
Unless you're here with a contract for me to face Drakz, for the WFWF World Heavyweight championship, I don't think we have anything to talk about Percy. That's what I need out of WFWF and without that, we don't have any business IN the WFWF. All or nothing
What makes him think he's my only business in WFWF?
Even if I had been going through the motions to get you that match, what makes you think you're even eligible?
Because I'm Phillip Schneider? Because I held that title longer than anyone ever has? Because I am the baddest mother
er who's ever lived?You're two and one in your last three competitive matches, and those matches have been spread over eighteen months. And one of those is a loss to Drakz.
And it took him over an hour to beat me. There's reasonable doubt in his win.
Why would the WFWF reward you anyhow? You hijacked their television program, with a firearm and threatened Drakz' life. That's not reward worthy behavior. I'd have fired you, if it was up to me.
It's not up to you.
No, it was up to me to get you calmed down and out of there because the people running the show figured I could talk some sense into you. Instead you kicked me in the back and elbowed me in the head. Now ask yourself, if someone kicked YOU in the back and elbowed you in the head, would you be ready to do them any favors? I don't care if you get a title shot, frankly. You want one, earn it.
I narrowly dodge as Phil chucks a still steaming cup of coffee or tea at me. I'm not sure what it was. I know it was very hot. I know it was thrown with malice, and I seen it about to fly and was smart enough to side step. I'm leaving him before he can do anything else.
Phillip Schneider.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
If there's one thing I'm absolutely terrible at, it's parking. I'm a good driver. I can handle my car for the most part, but parking lots? My demise. Especially tight fit awkward parking lots. One of my favorite diners in Chicago has side lot parking on a one way street and to say this parking lot is screwed up is an understatement. As I struggle to find a spot to park my average sized Chevy Cobalt, I wonder why these ass holes feel the need to be driving hummers and there's a dude driving a van that he's turned into a monster truck, seriously, what the hell is the point? There'd be so much more parking if it wasn't for these idiots. I find a spot that I think I can park in. My car goes in the hole.. and it's like rough anal with a virgin. It's in but it doesn't fit. I'm not in straight. I know it's going to be a pain in the ass (pun) to get it back out of here. I turn the wheel to start getting it back out.. I'm getting close to this red car.. I pull forwards and try again.. I'm backing up.. I'm not going to make it. I hear a grind. I just ran into this red car next to me. I pull forwards. I'm going to try to back out again. And I just rammed this car again. This time I hit with the side of my car and I take out my own mirror.
. I gas it. It's like ripping off a bandaid. Get free. And I slam into the building. God damn it! And there's the girl from McDonalds.[/color]Did you hit my car!?
.You hit my car! What the
?I slowly hop out of the car. I feel like a deflated balloon. The most beautiful girl I've ever seen, who my charm and guile did nothing for before.. and I've just hit her car. And the building. I get out, slowly putting my now broken mirror back in place as I trudge towards her.[/color]
You!? The wrestler goof?! You hit my car!? I thought you ran everywhere, mister athlete, what the
are you hitting my car for?!I'm so sorry, I was parking and I..
You hit my car! This is brand new, well, new to me and my mom. We ain't never had a new car. This is so f**cked up, man.
I quickly survey the damage. It's really not that bad. Some minor paint damage. My car's pretty jacked up, but her's isn't so bad.
I'll pay for it. I have insurance. I've got money.
I reach into my pocket, pulling out my wallet and fumbling behind a few cards to find my car insurance. 1-800-Safe-Auto. Safe Auto!
You're damn right you will..
She takes the card from my hand.
Phillip Schneider.
I've got a pen and paper in the car, if you want to copy that information down.
I turn around, climbing back into my car to grab my pen and paper. I can see her out of the back of my eyes, surveying the damage herself now for the first time. The paint wear in particular seems to irritate her.
If there's anything I can do to make this whole deal easier for you, just let me know.
I take my car insurance card back from her, quickly copying down the information myself. I add my phone number at the bottom of it.
If you need anything, give me a call on this line. I may not be in or around Chicago, but whenever I'm back in town I can get a hold of you. Again, I'm really sorry for hitting you..
Yeah, whatever.
She turns around, hopping into her car with note information in tow.
I didn't get your information, or even your name.
My name's Lilly. And you can eat a dick.
She whips the car out of the parking lot and speeds away. There's no way that specific line could be an ironic twist of fate, is there? She's got to know. Why THAT particular line? She's GOT to know.. she's a fan. She's got to be.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am scum.
A scummy person does scummy things, sometimes without rhyme or reason. Me? I'm a liar. In my real life, I'll often lie for no reason what so ever. I'll hide things from people just because it's an intellectual challenge for me, to keep the lies straight. Hi, I'm Phillip Schneider, I'm a comic book artist. Hi, I'm P. Thomas Green, I do horror movie special effects. Hi, I'm Tom Smith, I work part time as a video editor. No, I didn't eat that donut. What are you talking about? Why would I just eat a donut while walking through the store, that's craziness.
There's a balance to just being bad, though. There's a control. There's keeping a balance to the mayhem so that everyone around you is effected by the mayhem, and you stay in the eye of the storm. You watch the world spin in a vortex around you and you just keep things spinning. You keep the mayhem spinning and then disappear before the rotations stop, leaving everyone around you to wonder what exactly caused the world they know to change forever. That's what I've become a master of. No matter what my manipulation is, people are talking about me and looking at exactly what I'm doing. Superbrawl? It was me. I was the talk. Not Drakz. Not the title match. Who was in the title match at Superbrawl, you can't name it off the top of your head. Drakz and Phillip Schneider, the show is stolen. How about Battle at the Garden? The near decapitation of Josh Dean is all anyone's buzzing about, from the people directly involved to the newcomer. I see you, bible thumper. I'd like to introduce you to some of my views and beliefs and perhaps you can come to worship the only true messiah.
Me.
I'm the most important person. I am the center of the universe. I'm more important than anyone around me or anyone who watches me. I am the twitch behind your eye, the ringing in your ear, the feeling in the bottom of your stomach that something just isn't right. That sudden chill that runs from the top of your head down your spine.
I am evil.
You're not as attractive without that piece of jailbait arm candy. You know that, right?
All great men need a few good men behind them. And all evil men need a few bad men behind them.
I was sour on you for a while, up and leaving me high and dry, I was. But I've had a bit of a change of heart. The money's nice too.
And sometimes, you've got to grease the wheel.
But
it man. We're done. Ride or die, right?Right.
Where's the fat slob, Percy?
Don't know. He's been giving the strong silent treatment since I showed him a bit of tough love. Like a pouting dog hiding in a cage.
That why you want me? Strength in numbers?
Seems like a good idea. There's a midget with a giant, everyone's got a stablemate.. I've got knives. You can only stab one person at a time, you know? Two maybe. Groups of three, I'm
ed.So you call The Deville.
Who's more evil than The Deville?
He laughs.
I
ing love it, Philly boy. I ing love it. You desert me and leave me for dead with the bum and the intellectually- disabled person, you leave me stranded to be a referee, and you come waltzing back in here when you decide you need me, because you've pissed off too many people and you beat up your only friend. ing classic, man. ing classic.You turning me down? Cause that check can come out of your pocket just as quick as it went in.
He clinches at the pocket he slipped his check in, turning away like a baby with a toy.
When I was in Tokyo breaking Michael Kyzer, I met with a few yakuza. I'm sure I could make a few calls and get some hired goons on loan. Probably more skilled hired goons.
I could destroy anyone in this company.
Could being a past tense term.
What are you insinuating?
I'm not insinuating sh.t. I'm saying point blank, you haven't had a match in almost seven years. They're getting faster, stronger, more dangerous by the day. I'm not even sure you're the right man, to watch my back. There's a lot of heat in the fryer, you know? Maybe the Yakuza would be better off.
I've killed for you, and you're going to stand here and insult me? I could cut your throat where you stand.
He pulls a knife out, putting the blade to my throat.
You could?
You wanna try me?
Do it. Kill me. Kill me like you killed CBT. Kill me.
He laughs
You're
ing crazy, you know that? I love you man.He stuffs the blade back into his pocket, hugging me in a firm embrace. At this point, if I was him, I'd have stabbed me in the back. That's why I'm Phillip Schneider, and he's Pierce Deville.
The somber sterility of a hospital. It's something I've grown used to over the years, the late night emergency room visits to correct broken bones, repair wounds, and fix other wrestling related injuries, both on myself and more commonly on Phil. But tonight's hospital visit is to a ward we're not familiar with and for a scene we're not familiar with. It's neither injury nor near death that's brought us to this scene, and it's not a somber silence, but a hushed thickness in the air as we await life.
Within this waiting room, we're surrounded by an entire entourage of people I do not know. I've tried to make it a point to introduce myself to as many of them as I can. I know I've met the mother's father and his wife, the mother's mother and her son, and his girlfriend.. There's an auntie floating around somewhere “who's not really an auntie but is close enough and is called auntie” and her husband, who I would assume would be close enough and called uncle. Then over in the corner, with his feet up and his nose buried in his phone, his hood up and a stocking cap covering most of his face, the father to be.
It's a normal occasion for the father to be to be at the mother of his child's side along the way, holding her hand and shouting words of encouragement, but Phil hasn't even seen the woman carrying the child he sowed the seeds of. I have. She's definitely pregnant, despite the adamant claims roughly eight months ago. The family who knew neither Phil nor I assumed I was the father of this pending birth, mostly due to how disconnected Phil has been from the entire situation.
Amanda, the young girl who I knew only as “New Kylie” who did bear a striking resemblance to the “Old Kylie” is the center of attention here and her family eagerly awaits and anticipates the pending arrival to their family. In the short time we've been here, I've learned that Amanda is an only child and has no previous children. It's bad that I was around her for several months and had no idea if she had children or not.
A doctor emerges. The child's heartbeat is erratic, dropping low with each contraction, and an emergency C-section is necessary. He has a set of scrubs in hand, inviting one person to join the mother to be in the operating room. When no one steps forwards, he suggests the father. Everyone looks at Phil and at this point, he's bothered enough to actually remove his headphones. The doctor repeats most things again, but halfway through, Phil waves him off. Amanda's mother accepts the scrubs and is escorted away. We see her heading with the doctor towards the operating room through a wide glass window, shortly after wards followed by a parade of nurses and doctors pushing the very legitimately pregnant Amanda. I nudge Phil to look up. He shoves me off.
Around twenty minutes pass by, the silence in the room thick as everyone awaits the news. Except Phil. He's reading Walking Dead comics on his phone and bobbing his head to music. A doctor emerges, a spattering of blood decorating his scrubs resembling Phil's ring gear following one of his butcherings. The doctor is a small man, possibly of Asian descent. He speaks with a quiet voice that a hush falls over the room to hear, as to not miss a single word.
“Despite being three weeks premature, the baby is healthy. Amanda is healing. You will be able to visit both her and the baby momentarily. She's still coming out of the anesthetic, but please don't try to converse with her. She needs her rest. Is the father present?”
Again, the room parts and all eyes are on Phil. After a few moments, he realizes, plucking one headphone from his ear. Not even bothering to remove both, just one. The doctor repeats himself briefly.
“Are you the father?”
That's what she says. I have my doubts.
“Um.. Uh.. Would you like to see your son?”
The doctor leads Phil out of the room. I'm now left with a room of strangers and I feel like I have to explain Phil's bad behavior and in essence, raining on their parade as a whole, but for the life of me, I can't come up with words. Attempted murders, abusing women, the nastiest words possible.. This might've been his worst behavior offense. And I'm left in a room to try to explain away his words to the family of the offended..
When New Kylie told me she was pregnant, I said she was lying.
My life. I'm done with you.
The fuck you talkin' bout?
I don't want to fuck you any more, I don't want to see you any more, get out of my house, get out of my life. Pretty clean and dry there.
I'm pregnant.
No you're not.
Yes I am. I'm pregnant with your baby.
You dumb fucking whore, you just had your period last week. I seen the bloody tampon, you lying fuck. Get the fuck out of here. Send me a post card with your address, I'll mail you your shit.
Fed up with this whore. Get her out of my life, now. Trust is the foundation of any relationship and when I'm already tired of you, lying is the worst thing you could do. Especially lying about something like being pregnant. I grab her by the shoulders and am walking her to the door
The fuck you talkin' bout?
I don't want to fuck you any more, I don't want to see you any more, get out of my house, get out of my life. Pretty clean and dry there.
I'm pregnant.
No you're not.
Yes I am. I'm pregnant with your baby.
You dumb fucking whore, you just had your period last week. I seen the bloody tampon, you lying fuck. Get the fuck out of here. Send me a post card with your address, I'll mail you your shit.
Fed up with this whore. Get her out of my life, now. Trust is the foundation of any relationship and when I'm already tired of you, lying is the worst thing you could do. Especially lying about something like being pregnant. I grab her by the shoulders and am walking her to the door
Turns out that was probably Samantha's. Because that was March. Today is November first, and she's in a premature labor by a few weeks. I still have my doubts if it's mine despite the copious amounts of unprotected sex and internal ejaculation because she is a ho bag. How do I know I was the only one filling her biscuit with baby gravy? I'm led into a room. I see New Kylie in the distance, laying on her back, naked and covered in bodily fluids, drugged out of her mind, exactly as I remember her. A baby lays there in a small plastic cage thing. Thick black hair.
That's clearly not my baby. I have blonde hair. Both of my daughters have black hair. That baby looks part black. Like the daddy is black.
The mother does have very dark hair. It's normal for darker hair genes of one parent to overcome the genes of the other parent..
My youngest's mother has jet black hair. My baby's hair is as blonde as mine. And my oldest's mom was a natural redhead. Samantha's hair is almost white.
Hair color isn't a clear factor or paternity..
New Kylie is starting to wake up.
Hi Phil.
”Hi Phil” she spits out meekly before coughing, a nurse buying into her act and helping her sip water from a straw.
Who's baby is this?
It's your's.
Now without lying. Who's baby is it? Is it Percy's? Were you taking his dick on the side? Be truthful, I'm sitting here looking at a black haired baby that's clearly not mine. You have brown hair, I have blonde hair, that baby has black hair. Explain it, bitch.
Sir, hair color on newborns can be a real variable. Often times newborn hair falls out almost immediately and is replaced with an entirely different shade.
Your hair is awful dark, Doc. Were you hitting it? This your baby? Pro bono delivery today, friends and family discount?
Sir..
Phil.. *cough*
New Kylie, I don't have time for your games. I've got a title match with Drakz to focus on. It's coming up and I don't have time for your nonsense.
They say the baby can't have your last name unless you'll sign the birth certificate.
Now why on Earth would I sign the birth certificate, when it's not my baby? That's signing a slip of paper that says “yes, I'll give you free money and a percentage of my income for the next eighteen years because you got knocked up by some other dude's baby.
It's your's. I've only ever slept with one other guy, ever.
And how do you know it's not his?
I was 13. And he came on my butt.
Well that's a bombshell. Luckily, with impeccable timing, Percy knocks on the door. He mouths “is everything okay” or maybe “I'm ever so gay”. He kind of mumbles and can't even enunciate when mouthing words. Maybe he's trying to clear his name from this baby by publicly announcing he likes to see homos naked. I mouth back “my son”. I don't think he got it. If he was telling me he was gay, that was a really weird response.
Can I hold my son?
New Kylie starts crying. The pansy nurse cries too. I find a chair I like, quite uncomfortable and stinking of hospital. The nurse hands me the new born baby. I take a deep breath. He stinks of.. god knows what. He's all wrapped up tight in a blanket. He looks like a baby flavored breakfast burrito. I just stare down. And then I see it. I see it in his eyes. In his haunting eyes. His haunting blue eyes. He has the same three mile stare. It's the same look I have, and it's the same look Samantha has. They're my eyes.
Sup, big guy?
He's got nothing to say, but closes his eyes in a deep clutch.
Look kiddo, I don't want to be here any more than you do. Your old home is cool. I used to keep a crib there. But it's not somewhere to live, trust me. I spent about as long in there as you did. Seems I left some of my stuff behind. Hence you. But look bud, it's nothing personal, but we got to talk. We gotta get straight, you know? See, I know you're going to be strong. Because you're a Schneider. And you're just like me. I can see that. And hopefully you'll remember this day. Not as the day you were born, cause that's cool too. But it's a little bit bigger. It's a day I remember in my life. I was five. Me and my ma' went out shopping for clothes for kindergarten and I had this talk over the phone. Last talk you'll ever have with your dad, you heard?
What are you saying?
Can it, cum dumpster. See bud, you got an uphill struggle. But what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. You're gonna have to fight with people for your whole life. People on the playground who hear your mom has sex for money. The football team in high school, as your mom clings to her youth.. Strippers, out of the question, cause they're all gonna know your mom. But check it out, bud. I was made stronger in life without a dad. I grew up without a dad and that made me the sociopath I am now. And I say that with glee and a six figure bank account. You're going to be changed by the world. Right now, you're a blank canvas. Consider our little talk today the first mark on that canvas. Shoot me a message in twenty years bud, whatever the social media is then. We can meet up for coffee or something.
I stand up, offering the baby to the nurse. She's stunned and New Kylie stands mouth agape. I'd jerk off into her mouth, but it's probably not appropriate right now. My hands are free of baby. I reach into my pocket and pull some money out, throwing it at New Kylie.
Name him Dean.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chicago born
Chicago bred
And when the time is right
I'll be Chicago dead.
How do you just “become” a pro wrestler? How does your life take you to this strange and unique world where grown men act out their wildest fantasies and can become whatever they want? Daddy issues? A trauma brought into your life that can only be remedied by fighting other grown men in your underpants? Just an unaccounted for extraordinarily active hormonal gland that causes an abundance of testosterone and rage?
Some people are naturally drawn to pro wrestling and it'd be hard to imagine them doing anything else in their lives. You know the type. You look at them and you say “of course you're a professional wrestler, why not?” the same way you'd say that to a strange man who has a balloon for a hat on the subway when he reveals the shocking revelation that he's a circus clown. Unfortunately, I lack a balloon hat.
Pro wrestling was far from my first choice. In fact, it's one of my last resorts, but it seems like an absolutely natural fit. I've always been a fun athletic guy. I played a lot of sports in school. I wasn't a stand out athlete, but I at least dabbled in everything. I played football in middle school, then played basketball through high school. I briefly got invested in the school's golf team where I shined the most, because I was a big fish in a small pond and with only a handful of other people interested in this extreme niche, the spotlight was shined on me. But no legitimate sport really stuck with me.
Part of the reason why I never stuck with a sport was because I always gravitated towards more geeky stuff. Horror movies, underground music that you've probably never heard of, manga, anime, gashapon toys.. Then I had this little issue that was a direct conflict to being a sports star. I like boys.
You can say “it's 2014” all you want, but it's 2014 now. I grew up in the 90s and being out was not okay. But to keep Genie in the bottle, not as easy as you'd think. Things slip. I've never been a pretty boy, or even the feminine type. I've always been a bigger guy. I got a severe allergic reaction to lobster when I was sixteen and I drastically altered my vocal cords to a gruff voice that sounds like I was a chain smoker for thirty years.
How do you break into wrestling? You can't just mail away from an instructional booklet and a kit like you're becoming a magician. I tried. Card tricks, sure, but pro wrestling? Not a chance. I asked around and the best I was told was “find a school”. I looked and looked. The Lincoln Dina Old School Academy was in my town, but when I went there, everything was covered in dust, there was no ring, and there was just a crazy guy standing yelling at a light bulb about how things aren't the same as they were in the 80s, so I considered that one a bust.
But I got a tip.
I got a tip that there might be an opportunity for me, with one of the best ever.
But to become something new, I have to change everything that I was. Because everything that I am, everything that I was? Makes me a hazard to myself.
I got an email late last week about a potential student for Phil. I had forgotten he even tried to launch a wrestling school following the crash and burn of Alexis Chavente and the fact that he went pretty halfhearted into it, but there was a website with an email and in 2014, that's all you need to be a credible wrestling school, apparently. I had sent this young man correspondence to tell him that this school probably wasn't the best option for him, what with Phil's complete and utter lunacy as of late and the fact that as a wrestling school he's yet to produce an actual student, but rather just beat up an already trained girl for a while. But I digress.
I had been in correspondence with him for a week, back and forth emails and eventually a Skype call. The purpose was for me to learn more about him, make sure his heart is in the right place. If you're looking to get into pro wrestling for the money, there's a whole locker room of jaded veterans to tell you to go elsewhere. You think the Thunders of the locker room still pop in and out at will because of the massive paychecks? A very small percentage of the WFWF roster are making truly significant money, the type of money where a few years at it could be considered a legitimate career. I haven't looked within most of the roster's purses, but I know from what he's said Trace Demon is fairly financially stable. Drakz seems kosher with his finances, what with a year plus off without paydays not sending him to the gutter.. I talked to Zmaster briefly before his final bell and from what he said, through some outside licensing and some post-wrestling merchandising deals, he should be financially stable enough that he shouldn't have to go to a day job.. Then there's Phillip Schneider.
He's a guy who's finances I know pretty well. I am his book keeper, after all. I know that he could walk away at any time and have the money he needs to live the lifestyle he leads likely beyond the age he'll live to and leave a comfortable nest egg for his children. A few big money contracts he's done since returning have insured that. But for the most part, a lot of WFWF wrestlers don't have a lot of long term financial security. I've heard of lower card guys barely making north of $300 a week after gas, hotel, and consumable attire needs like wraps and tape. Considering this is a life dedication, you should really be making more than a minimum wage job for being a contracted television performer. But many don't. And that's the reality I tried to instill in this young man.
I met him at a local Starbucks. He looks the part at the very least. Young, fit, seemingly full of energy.
Scott?
He nods. I take a seat across from him. He's already made himself comfortable with a drink. Starbucks isn't really my style.
I'm glad to be meeting you. I understand your interest in wrestling training. It does seem like a glamorous job, but it's really not. When we were starting out, with Los Hobos, our gear legitimately came from Goodwill stores, not because it “looked the part” better, but because we couldn't spend much more than a few dollars on clothes to wrestle in at a time when we were both surviving off of canned green beans and store brand spam. It's a rock star life when you're hoping to run into a fan just so someone will pick up your tab for dinner. The days of traveling five deep in a hundred dollar rental car that smelled like wet feet, just to be able to put a few extra dollars in our pockets.. The ponzi scheme of getting our girlfriends on as managers, so that our minimum wage pay would be doubled to pay a managerial contract as well.. These are all the types of survival tactics we had to do in our days as scrappy youngsters. You ready to make those sacrifices?
He takes a sip of his coffee, gulping it down as he nods.
Are you prepared to sacrifice everything for this? Weddings, funerals, birthdays.. You have to consider them all a thing of the past, because you're going to be missing them all. You have kids? You married?
He shakes his head no.[/b]
That's good, because you'd never see them anyways. You've got to be prepared to sacrifice every part of your life before the physical aspect even starts. And the physical aspect... Are you prepared to hurt all the time? Every step you take for your knees to hurt? Are you prepared to have your neck make funny noises every time you look to the left? Are you prepared for scars that will mark your skin for the rest of your life? These are the sacrifices you're going to have to make. You ready for this?
Yes...
Then I'll introduce you to Phillip Schneider.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
People call me evil and have outright called me a heel within the WFWF. This is slander. I'm the good guy. I'm the white knight of the WFWF and I'm the savior of the WFWF, and I have been since I came back in late 2010. I returned with the purpose of correcting the wrongs within the WFWF and in the last four plus years, I've pretty much stayed the course.
When I returned, my first target was Trace Demon. I wanted to eliminate Trace. I still do. For my own selfish reasons? That's why he was number one, sure. But eliminating Trace is for the best of the WFWF as a whole, because Trace is cancer. Left on treated, Trace will continue to grow and eat away at the WFWF from the inside, evidence by his rise to power within this company and self-juxtaposition towards the championship when more rightful contenders exist. Namely a guy who's mauled him on three different occasions.
Hutton Brown. Hutton Brown was never a flag waver for the WFWF. In fact, most of his time was dedicated to a rival organization TO the WFWF and with little care about the consequences to the federation, he left with the National title. Sure, others have done it since, most recently Nikki Dean, but none have been so foolish to return and specifically request their just dues. Hutton did. He walked into that ring strewn with barbed wire and it may as well have been a confessional booth. He looked me in the eyes and said “forgive me father, for I have sins” and I said “my son, you will die for your sins”.
Alexis Chavente wasn't fully dedicated to the WFWF either. Her aspirations were in acting and modeling. She wanted to use the WFWF as a springboard and when the sword was placed in my hands, I cut the head off of that beast before it became too big. You can call it an act of valor, even. What if Alexis had won Survival of the Fittest? What if Alexis HAD defeated me for the World Heavyweight championship? And what if, with our company's greatest championship accolade, Alexis Chavente left for the brighter lights and greener grasses of Hollywood? I'd be what Hutton did times ten, and Alexis should count her blessings that her punishment for her sins weren't equal to the sins about to be committed.
How about KYZER? Is he our Beetlejuice? Say his name three times and he appears? Michael Kyzer, Michael Kyzer, Michael Kyzer. See unlike most people, I'm not afraid of Michael Kyzer. If Michael Kyzer walked into that arena in England, I'd slap his square in the jaw and spit on him, and he'd look at me and request another, because Michael Kyzer fears Phillip Schneider. Michael Kyzer fears me because I solved his puzzle. I did what no one had previously done, not one victory, but two over “the unbreakable, the mythological, the godlike Michael Kyzer”. There's a difference between being godlike and being God and Michael Kyzer learned that. I eradicated him from the WFWF and took away all the nastiness that he's caused with him.
See, that's what I do. I defend the WFWF. When someone like Mason Dixon is running around, disrespecting people and the establishment, people look at me. They see his misbehavior and rather than dealing with it themselves, even management stops and says “what is Schneider going to do?”. There's been a lot of this over the last few years, a necessarily policemanship, the solving of minor problems for the greater good and you know what, that's my cross to bear. Because I protect the WFWF.
I protect this wretched whore of a federation because without her, there is no me. Because unlike the Alex Seans, the EBRs, the Hutton Browns, since 2003 I've been a loyal soldier towing the company line. Even when some of those people drove me away. I've never tried to spread my seeds elsewhere. I've been the flag bearer of the WFWF. People know if they want to see Phillip Schneider, they have to come to the WFWF. And thus, I am the protector. I have to protect the WFWF, because if the WFWF dies, so does my legacy. Everything I've built for the last ten years is in this company and if this company ceases to exist, so do I. Everything I've worked for, the WFWF World Heavyweight, International, Hardcore X, Tag Team titles.. Outside of these walls, a WFWF Grand Slam and two Hall of Fame inductions aren't worth a thing.
Penny Shannon is everything wrong with this company in a nutshell.
You don't cut down your opponent because when you say they're nothing, you beat them and you've beat nothing and if they beat you, you've been beaten by a nothing but the fact is, Penny Shannon is a 5'6” 127 pound woman in a man's world. Penny Shannon is as phony as a get well card from an undertaker.
You look at Penny Shannon and do you say “she's going to kick some ass?”, no, you say you've gotta see this
ing girl, because you want to see how it turns out. There's people who want to see what this girl can do, but then there's the darker side of pro wrestling and the cretins of the world who want to see this tiny woman get destroyed. I'm going to pander to those people. Penny Shannon, I hate your ing guts and I'm going to kill you.I'm going to destroy the only hope that this company has. The great hope, the shining beacon, the one who can bring change. The music will die on December 29th in London. The feminist movement ends once and for all because this is a man's world and men are bigger, stronger, faster, harder, and more dangerous and at the top of the heap, the most dangerous mother
er on the planet is named Phillip Schneider. 2014 is coming to a close and as we move into 2015, the WFWF will be one step closer to fixed because one more cancer will be eliminated, by the name of Penny Shannon.I don't like you, Penny. I don't respect you. I don't see you as someone I can make money with and I don't respect your right to exist in this business. I want to eliminate you. You can bring all the fans to London, England and they can all cheer “go Penny go” and all it sums up to is fuel onto my fire as I scorch earth. You
ed with the wrong mother er, Penny. And in the middle of that ring at The Clash, I eliminate you.Die Penny Die.
