Post by johnnyraike on May 4, 2016 4:35:40 GMT
April 30th. New York.
Johnny Raike lets himself in the door to his house, tosses down his very full gear bag, and collapses onto the couch. In the last two nights he'd fought in a ladder match and then a five on five before jumping a train to make it back to Queens. It had been a long few days, and the pain of losing his Titan of the Midway belt was lessened only slightly by being a part of the winning team in the Giant Sized Team Up. All the way home Johnny had reflected on his career, on the way things always seemed to work out for him. Just when it looked like he has firing on all cylinders, just when he begins to make it, always he gets knocked back down the line. Winning belts wasn't the hard part for Johnny Raike, keeping them was. This time the cycle would have to break.
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A standard black screen fades into the image of Johnny Raike, sitting bare chested on his porch, a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other.
Johnny: "Well, welcome back once more to the porch. I think by now you guys understand that porch vids are a bit different from the stuff I do in the garage. A little more reflective, a little less braggadocios. Which is a great word that you all either know or can infer from context. But I'm not up here to jump around and get all excited about the upcoming WARPED 100. I'd like to, but it's been an interesting last week. Once again I add to the list of belts I've won that I then couldn't defend. And I could blame the match format, but that's for another time. And I could wonder if I've been victimized, but I hate when people do that. The end result is for some reason I find taking so much easier than keeping. I'm not a choke artist, but perhaps I'm just too in love with the new and novel."
Johnny shrugs, clearly not having a real answer.
Johnny: "And, once you start noticing a curse, a pattern, a trend, it seems to get harder and harder to break it. At first, well, I was young, I was new, I needed the money, I didn't care too much that I couldn't keep a hold of things. My very first title in wrestling was a belt that could be fought for at any time a show was running, and it actually the one I defended successfully. The first time. Second time I won the belt only to get double teamed and lose it again less than a minute later. At least that time involved being pinned. A lot of my losses don't, and that bugs me, but that's also for another time."
The Sissyboy Savior signs whatever and soldiers on.
Johnny: "And all this dwelling isn't good for me or my career, isn't good for my mind and sense of self worth. I need to exorcise whatever demon in me keeps letting go of gold, I need to show it to myself that I can be a fighting champ, that I can be dominant. When the biggest prize I've defended has been my status as HoliCraze Hell victor, well, it's time to push harder. Don't get me wrong, I am still rightfully proud of myself for going back to back, for taking down new and notable names along the way. But it's not quite the same as being a belt holder. I look over at a guy like Treats, who's held onto the Evolution title for so long now that I can't really see it going to anyone else. And that's where I have to get to. In my own way, with my own belt, I need capital N, big bold letters need to be better than that. This one isn't about respect, though the world will know I deserve respect once I pull it off. This isn't about fame, or a legacy, money, sex, any of my usual reasons to fight. This is about me. This is about being happy with the man I see in my mirror every day. This is about being able to put my head down on my pillow and sleep, not stare at the walls as I recount my flaws and failures. Not that I do that too often, but when the curse hits, well, sleep goes bye-bye for a little bit. Even if I do then kick ass dressed as Emma Frost the next night."
A lusty smile from the American Wet Dream as he takes a drag off his cigarette, exhaling through his nose into the warm Queens spring air.
Johnny: "That corset is finding it's way into my regular rotation. But, for all that quiet contemplation is not my favorite nor default state, I found the answer pretty quickly. There is only one way to undo my curse, and that is to win the WARPED World title, and then to defend it. Nothing fancy, or elaborate, nothing ground breaking. To break my curse I merely have to go out and do. And with the WARPED world title on the line--well, that's just double motivation. Bowie knows I'll have my work cut out for me then. I've already got Hugo Strange, William Wallace and GRENDEL desperate to kick my ass because they can't stand the fact that Junior Heavyweights are selling more tickets. Add in being WARPED champion and I'll almost being daring the curse to come and get me. But that's just the way I like it. I could break, I could go inward, I could get pissed and I could brood, but I'd rather act. I'd rather do. And the beautiful thing is, I always get another chance to wipe the curse away. If, and I do mean if, I don't leave WARPED 100 as champion, then I'll just have to get it at WARPED 101, or whenever the next defense is. I may have hit a stumble, but anyone who's seen me stumble has also seen me recover, get better and push on. I wash the failure off of me, I go a little crazy with dancing and partying, and then I return, clear headed metaphorically if not literally, right back into my training one-hundred and ten percent, despite the mathematical impossibility."
Johnny takes a swig of his beer, still with a hint of a smile on.
Johnny: "I know there's a long way to go. I know that worrying about defenses when I haven't even gotten into round two yet may be a little premature. I usually pride myself on never being premature, but sometimes you're just excited. And, frankly, I'm the kidna guy who has to be looking ahead. I need something to always be pushing toward; best I can tell without a psych degree is that that little wrinkle is why I have such a hard time keeping what I've got. So for now, for the tourney, I'll keep doing it. I'll keep envisioning a world in which I am WARPED champion, and then I'll make it happen. And once I've done that, then break out the holy water, grab a copy of Song of Songs, tie me to the bedpost because the curse will end. You heard it here, straight from the fuckboi's mouth; Johnny Raike is done with curses. Done with mental blocks, done with maybe sorta secretly not feeling good enough. I think that's left over damage from my parents, but no therapist will see me who doesn't want me to drastically change my life so I'm not sure. I mean, blame the parents, it's always the parents, but... well, that's maybe something best worked out before the camera starts rolling. I'm touching on a lot this video I'll have to come back to. Maybe if I signed up for therapy an a fake name..."
Johnny stops for a moment to consider the idea, taking a sip of beer and swishing it around before shrugging, taking a drag from his cig, and letting his pretty face fall into a neutral expression.
Johnny: "I don't know exactly what WARPED 100 will shake out into. Who I might fight as the rounds go on, who I might face off with at the end of the night. I know there's too many variable to try and focus on any one person, that I have to prepare for just about anything, from submission specialist with less bulk than me, to the steroid billboards, and even a coward who won't fight me to a finish. But I know that WAPRED 100 is another try. Perhaps the most important try of my life, maybe the most important night. So, my faeries, freaks, and fuckbois, I ask you to spare a kind thought for me. I could use any pat on the back you want to give, or the eye rolling and chuckles of your poorly worded insults, should you be so inclined. But just be sure you're watching. It's time to make history. Now get out of my house!"
The last line is delivered with a big smile as the Thigh High Thriller puts his beer down to give a vigorous wave, the screen fading once more to black.
Johnny Raike lets himself in the door to his house, tosses down his very full gear bag, and collapses onto the couch. In the last two nights he'd fought in a ladder match and then a five on five before jumping a train to make it back to Queens. It had been a long few days, and the pain of losing his Titan of the Midway belt was lessened only slightly by being a part of the winning team in the Giant Sized Team Up. All the way home Johnny had reflected on his career, on the way things always seemed to work out for him. Just when it looked like he has firing on all cylinders, just when he begins to make it, always he gets knocked back down the line. Winning belts wasn't the hard part for Johnny Raike, keeping them was. This time the cycle would have to break.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
A standard black screen fades into the image of Johnny Raike, sitting bare chested on his porch, a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other.
Johnny: "Well, welcome back once more to the porch. I think by now you guys understand that porch vids are a bit different from the stuff I do in the garage. A little more reflective, a little less braggadocios. Which is a great word that you all either know or can infer from context. But I'm not up here to jump around and get all excited about the upcoming WARPED 100. I'd like to, but it's been an interesting last week. Once again I add to the list of belts I've won that I then couldn't defend. And I could blame the match format, but that's for another time. And I could wonder if I've been victimized, but I hate when people do that. The end result is for some reason I find taking so much easier than keeping. I'm not a choke artist, but perhaps I'm just too in love with the new and novel."
Johnny shrugs, clearly not having a real answer.
Johnny: "And, once you start noticing a curse, a pattern, a trend, it seems to get harder and harder to break it. At first, well, I was young, I was new, I needed the money, I didn't care too much that I couldn't keep a hold of things. My very first title in wrestling was a belt that could be fought for at any time a show was running, and it actually the one I defended successfully. The first time. Second time I won the belt only to get double teamed and lose it again less than a minute later. At least that time involved being pinned. A lot of my losses don't, and that bugs me, but that's also for another time."
The Sissyboy Savior signs whatever and soldiers on.
Johnny: "And all this dwelling isn't good for me or my career, isn't good for my mind and sense of self worth. I need to exorcise whatever demon in me keeps letting go of gold, I need to show it to myself that I can be a fighting champ, that I can be dominant. When the biggest prize I've defended has been my status as HoliCraze Hell victor, well, it's time to push harder. Don't get me wrong, I am still rightfully proud of myself for going back to back, for taking down new and notable names along the way. But it's not quite the same as being a belt holder. I look over at a guy like Treats, who's held onto the Evolution title for so long now that I can't really see it going to anyone else. And that's where I have to get to. In my own way, with my own belt, I need capital N, big bold letters need to be better than that. This one isn't about respect, though the world will know I deserve respect once I pull it off. This isn't about fame, or a legacy, money, sex, any of my usual reasons to fight. This is about me. This is about being happy with the man I see in my mirror every day. This is about being able to put my head down on my pillow and sleep, not stare at the walls as I recount my flaws and failures. Not that I do that too often, but when the curse hits, well, sleep goes bye-bye for a little bit. Even if I do then kick ass dressed as Emma Frost the next night."
A lusty smile from the American Wet Dream as he takes a drag off his cigarette, exhaling through his nose into the warm Queens spring air.
Johnny: "That corset is finding it's way into my regular rotation. But, for all that quiet contemplation is not my favorite nor default state, I found the answer pretty quickly. There is only one way to undo my curse, and that is to win the WARPED World title, and then to defend it. Nothing fancy, or elaborate, nothing ground breaking. To break my curse I merely have to go out and do. And with the WARPED world title on the line--well, that's just double motivation. Bowie knows I'll have my work cut out for me then. I've already got Hugo Strange, William Wallace and GRENDEL desperate to kick my ass because they can't stand the fact that Junior Heavyweights are selling more tickets. Add in being WARPED champion and I'll almost being daring the curse to come and get me. But that's just the way I like it. I could break, I could go inward, I could get pissed and I could brood, but I'd rather act. I'd rather do. And the beautiful thing is, I always get another chance to wipe the curse away. If, and I do mean if, I don't leave WARPED 100 as champion, then I'll just have to get it at WARPED 101, or whenever the next defense is. I may have hit a stumble, but anyone who's seen me stumble has also seen me recover, get better and push on. I wash the failure off of me, I go a little crazy with dancing and partying, and then I return, clear headed metaphorically if not literally, right back into my training one-hundred and ten percent, despite the mathematical impossibility."
Johnny takes a swig of his beer, still with a hint of a smile on.
Johnny: "I know there's a long way to go. I know that worrying about defenses when I haven't even gotten into round two yet may be a little premature. I usually pride myself on never being premature, but sometimes you're just excited. And, frankly, I'm the kidna guy who has to be looking ahead. I need something to always be pushing toward; best I can tell without a psych degree is that that little wrinkle is why I have such a hard time keeping what I've got. So for now, for the tourney, I'll keep doing it. I'll keep envisioning a world in which I am WARPED champion, and then I'll make it happen. And once I've done that, then break out the holy water, grab a copy of Song of Songs, tie me to the bedpost because the curse will end. You heard it here, straight from the fuckboi's mouth; Johnny Raike is done with curses. Done with mental blocks, done with maybe sorta secretly not feeling good enough. I think that's left over damage from my parents, but no therapist will see me who doesn't want me to drastically change my life so I'm not sure. I mean, blame the parents, it's always the parents, but... well, that's maybe something best worked out before the camera starts rolling. I'm touching on a lot this video I'll have to come back to. Maybe if I signed up for therapy an a fake name..."
Johnny stops for a moment to consider the idea, taking a sip of beer and swishing it around before shrugging, taking a drag from his cig, and letting his pretty face fall into a neutral expression.
Johnny: "I don't know exactly what WARPED 100 will shake out into. Who I might fight as the rounds go on, who I might face off with at the end of the night. I know there's too many variable to try and focus on any one person, that I have to prepare for just about anything, from submission specialist with less bulk than me, to the steroid billboards, and even a coward who won't fight me to a finish. But I know that WAPRED 100 is another try. Perhaps the most important try of my life, maybe the most important night. So, my faeries, freaks, and fuckbois, I ask you to spare a kind thought for me. I could use any pat on the back you want to give, or the eye rolling and chuckles of your poorly worded insults, should you be so inclined. But just be sure you're watching. It's time to make history. Now get out of my house!"
The last line is delivered with a big smile as the Thigh High Thriller puts his beer down to give a vigorous wave, the screen fading once more to black.