The Hunt For Self: VI

January 18th 2009
Tan Tan, Morocco
The Hunt For Self: Episode 6

..:: The sweltering heat of the Moroccan sun seeped through the windows of the tavern and saved it from an otherwise gloomy existence. The locals were men of few words, preferring to do their talking with the universal code of body language; arched eyebrows, frequent lip curls and the occasional grin if things were going their way. Still, they had been far more hospitable than their counterparts just down the coastline in Senegal. Upon reaching the rather quaint port of Tan-Tan, Johnny Styles realized that he was almost penniless in a foreign land and had to think of a way of getting some quick cash ::..

..:: That’s why his eyes lit up when he stumbled across a small saloon named “The Panther’s Retreat” ::..

..:: The saloon itself was typical of the city; condensed, grubby and ripe with the fresh smell of sea salt. Most of its inhabitants were retired veterans of sailing adventures, or at least claimed to be, with a penchant for games of chance. Cards, specifically. SBK had seized his opportunity no sooner had he walked through the door, striking up a deal to enter a poker game with a local man of Spanish descent named Pablo ::..

..:: Now, watching the movements of his opponents with close scrutiny, SB leered over his hand carefully and stared on at the moss colored table cloth below ::..

† Johnny Styles †
“Check”

..::: Anxious eyes moved across the table as the other three men tried to read SB’s thought process. It had been a long time since his last scam on the poker table, but deception was something that he had always been good at; the ace in his jacket pocket grinned at its role in Style’s dealings ::..

..:: Pablo eyeballed SB afar. Of the four men that occupied the seats at the table, the rather stout Spaniard was the one least likely to reach for the switch marked ‘berserk’ if everything went wrong. Johnny knew this and that’s why he approached him in the first place. Pablo was one of those dependable, middle aged types with a fearsome loyalty to his family and no desire to endanger the comfort of his auto-piloting life journey ::..

- Pablo -
“You know why this place is called ‘The Panther’s Retreat’, my friend’?”

..:: Quipped Pablo as he rocked backwards into his chair lazily. He puffed on a cigarette and continued ::..

- Pablo -
“It’s because of the first world war. The Germans sent a gun ship called ‘The Panther’ over to Morocco in 1911 and this nearly kicked things off right there and then. Eventually, they backed down and retreated. The Moroccan people as well as the Allied forces considered it somewhat of a victory: hence the name of this place. The retreat of the German Panther was a great moment for this country. It’s part of our heritage.”

† Johnny Styles †
“Cool story”

..:: Mused Styles, not paying too much attention to the spiel and instead continuing to stare at the man on his right ::..

..:: The man to Pablo’s right was an entirely different prospect to the jovial, happy-go-lucky character of the stout Spaniard: he was a large, bulky black man with intimidating brown eyes that seemed soulless and empty. Johnny was having a hard time in reading him due to the vacant vibe he was giving out. He seldom spoke and when he did, he employed the same monotonic drone that seemed detached from all emotion ::..

- Soulless Man -
“Check”

..:: The third patron to line the table was a thin weasel of a man with a thick walrus mustache that made him look like a maths teacher from the 1980s. He gnawed away at the end of a long cigar and looked as if he had been raised solely on a diet of nothing but nicotine; his brown teeth were encased in tar and his complexion had decayed to a soggy, frail yellow color, but despite his personal appearance, he was clearly the biggest fish of the three. Pablo spoke to him with widened, worried eyes and made sure to guard his mouth with his hand before doing so. Johnny thought he had heard Pablo refer to him as Apollo but he couldn’t be certain. Either way, the mysterious man continued to tap his fingers on the table in front of him, burning holes in SB’s chest with an obsessive stare ::..

- Apollo -
“All in”

..:: He announced, startling SB and catching him off guard ::..

Let’s roll the dice then, thought SB

† Johnny Styles †
“All in”

- Pablo -
“I’m out”

..:: Sighed Pablo, throwing his cards down with an air of resignation ::..

- Soulless Man -
“Out”

..:: Apollo smirked as he turned his cards over and tossed him across the table. Speaking with careful poise and clarity, he delivered the verdict ::..

- Apollo -
“Three of a kind”

..:: He bragged, moving his eager hands towards the chips in the middle of the table ::..

† Johnny Styles †
“Not so fast”

..:: Interrupted Johnny, slapping his hand and forcing him backwards ::..

† Johnny Styles †
“Let’s just see what the God of chance has dealt me today.”

..:: Tossing the cards into the air, SB watched as they seemed to take an age to hit the table. Finally, they tumbled down facing upwards as Apollo’s face whitened uncontrollably ::..

† Johnny Styles †
“Ten. Jack. Queen. King. Ace. Five card straight”

..:: Said SB, with a robust smugness about him that almost dared Apollo to swing at him ::..

† Johnny Styles †
"Unlucky, my good man.”

..:: A seething rage brewed beneath the thin man’s exterior as he tried to hold onto his temper... ::..

..:: He failed ::..

..:: Slamming his fist down into the table and firing Styles a look of content, Apollo’s eyes bulged like blood diamonds as he turned on his heels to face down the door of the tavern. ::..

- Apollo -
“You are one lucky fuck, American”

..:: He added pronouncedly ::..

- Apollo -
“Enjoy it while it lasts.”

..:: Collecting his money with a sense of satisfaction, Styles bidded farewell to Pablo and the soulless man and marched towards the bathroom at the other end of the saloon. Pushing through the weary wooden door, he took a moment to compose himself in the mirror, wiping the excess sweat from his brow and dousing his face with water from the tap. He exhaled with a sense of relief; his card trick had worked. Usually, SB would have felt bad about cheating his way to such a tidy sum, but he knew that the sort of people he’d conned would have done just the same if they were in his position. ::..

..:: Suddenly, his nostrils caught hold of something putrid as they flared up violently, begging with him to cover his nose. He replied in kind. The smell of day old shit clouded the bathroom and forced a spluttering cough out of SBK. He wrapped his hand around his nose and winced awkwardly as he caught sight of the offending culprit; a dry, slightly reddened mound of turd sat on the edge of the toilet seat like the unwanted remains of a raw rump steak. Johnny sympathized with whoever had pushed such a monstrosity out and imagined them doing it with vice-like clenching buttocks and one hell of a push. ::..

- Soulless -
“Looks like someone else is in the shit too”

..:: Said the soulless man, catching SB unaware and jamming the barrel of a SIG P226 into his back. ::..

- Soulless Man -
“Now then, have you any other card tricks or are you still waiting to graduate from clown school?”

..:: SB quickly pulled his hands up above his head and sighed dejectedly as he was led out of the bathroom at gun point. ::..

Out of the frying pan and into the fire, thought SBK.

..:: Out of the frying pan and into the fucking fire ::..



Moment's before Last Week's Epic Main-Event
Making that Walk ... Once again

..:: Sometimes in life a man has to stand up and be counted ::..

..:: Wrapping my large brown leather jacket over my shoulders and rising up from the chair, I took a few moments to contemplate the enormity of the task at hand. Would Neil Armstrong bother to travel to the moon again? Did Sir Edmund Hillary ever think about venturing up Everest again? Of course, the answers to both of these questions is… irrelevant ::..

..:: Johnny Styles is his own person and will continue to chase his own destiny, regardless of what has gone before him ::..

..:: Carefully brushing a long strand of hair out of my eye line, I gazed out of my bedroom window towards the horizon. The sun seemed to offer it seal of approval to my quest with a faint nod in my direction as it bobbed just above the hillside backdrop. Cupping my face away from its golden glow momentarily, I felt my skin warm to its presence. My cheeks began to bubble with a healthy vibrancy about them and I realized that this was the first time I’d actually felt alive in a long time ::..

..:: Too long ::..

† Johnny Styles †
“I was born to do this”

..:: As I walked through the door and down the stairs, I nurtured each step with careful consideration. After all, this simply wasn’t a case of achieving a mission objective. No. This entire ordeal was about achieving a mission objective… and doing it with style ::..

..:: Years from now, when the next wave of fresh faced rookies look to the past for inspiration, the chances are that all they will see is a list of names. History only ever manages to capture the facts, the solids, and the absolutes of an individual. It is, indeed, a very rare occurrence that history actually manages to capture the heart and soul of a person ::..

..:: I’m determined to make sure that my name goes down in history that people actually remember as an individual, maybe even as a visionary that brought about a new way of thinking, but certainly more than just a mere name ::..

..:: The blood that runs through my veins is, after all, worth more than mere letters alone ::..

..:: And so, letting out a heavy sigh and exhaling deeply, I lifted the weight of the world upon my shoulders and strode towards the outside world once again. Battle Grounds was calling my name. This Sport was once again calling my name ::..

..:: This time there would be no slip ups. This time there would be no distractions. This time… ::..

..:: It was time ::..



James Shark did what he said he would do last week. He dropped two white boy's with a breath taking move.

But I wasn't one of them

You can sit there and put the blame on Shadow all you want Home slice, but it was this old dog that brought the fight to you! That's right folks, Mr. UFC looked like a one handed bitch against this here dinosaur. Smell that, Jimmy? That's Dana White shitting himself after watching his retard pit-bull get neutered!

I can stand here and say with confidence that you will not leave 'From the Ashes' as the IWF World Champion. Don't get it twisted Shark-Dick I'm not planning a bitch move to cost you the belt, Your just not worthy to be called a World Champion

A fact I made perfectly clear last week

Don’t you feel it? Do you feel the swing of power now? Stripping you of your accomplishments, stripping you of that comfort you had with the limelight? How do you focus when you know you’re just another one of the forgotten? It’s actually pretty simple to figure out, a bigger name came in and now it’s time to destroy all the new foundation that you’ve all built.

I'm a wrestling superstar and your nothing but a glorified porn-star Jimmy. Now run off and go play house with ENTER SHARK'S GIRL NAME HERE

#NowThatsSwag

This is actually a great thing for this two legged horse. Did you all miss me? Now it’ll be easy for you all to figure out an idea of how to be successful. I’m sure you’ll be ripping my work, using it as your own. I’ve always been imitated; I guess I’m just used to it by now.

That’s the highest for of flattery correct?

I feel you though, because if the shoe was on the other foot, and I was one of you I’d surely be watching good ol' SBK for pointers.

It’s a fucking given

Tim Patrick is a prime example, from the mind games with Carmine at 'Heroes Also Die' to being the president of the Corey Casey Fan Club.

What makes you think that you’ve earned some respect around here, Timmy? Besides the public hard on you have for Cory, what have you done to be considered a decent match for someone like CC?

This week I serve your head on a platter to him

Timmy, when you were still wetting the bed, I was running shows, changing the game for the better. I started stables, I trained future champions, and I demolished legends. You’re a piece of shit compared to them.

You’re neither edgy, nor cool

I’ve seen you before, too many times. I’ve watched the likes of you try to run with the big dogs. Hyped up on whatever they had done prior. But you haven’t done shit to even warrant such an ego. Why do you think CC isn't dealing with you himself? Because he's to busy wrestling in the main-event while your content at entertaining the mid-card!

I’ve done this long enough where this can be the last run. Win or lose with you, and I CAN forecast that W, I’m finishing my career. So you want to be that stepping stone, it’s fine with me. We’ll make this quick, and hopefully painful

Timmy, I've been in this game long enough to tell you that you're in my house, now, Dick, and whether you think I deserve it or not, or whether you think you're above paying it....I am due a certain amount of respect in my house. But I can tell right off the bat that you're just arrogant enough to deserve having that respect taken from you by force.

And that suits me fine

I'm Johnny Styles, motherfucker. I rule, in case you hadn't heard. I'm the measuring stick, not anyone else. Not only in IWF, but in this industry. Period. and I'm going to fuck.you.up. It's time you got that much needed wake up call, motherfucker, so here it comes. And now, Timmy, as surely as I'm going to wipe Battle Grounds with that speed bump you call a fucking nose, I'm going to verbally rape you.

Bend over

What makes me better than everyone - and yeah, jackass, that includes you- is the fact that I have worked my ass off to make myself what I am, and continue to do so each and every day. Yow want proof? Each and every motherfucker I leave laying in a pool of blood, regret and broken dreams in my wake. The proof, as you should know, is in the work, TP. The proof is in not just the result, but the manner in which it is gained. And I'm going to provide that proof all over your fucking retarded-ass forehead after I leave you laying in the middle of the ring this week with a stick of barb-wire stuck up your ass. The proof is being the name on the lips of everyone when your match is over. But then, you wouldn't know a whole helluva lot about that in this game would you?

I don't expect you to bow down and serve me. Not in the least. What I expect is to have the joyous task of proving to you, just like I've proved to all who have come before you, that everything I've said about myself is the Absolute truth. I really am as good as I say I am. And hey, maybe you are, too. Maybe you're as good as you think you are. But in the end, monkey boy, if you think being on the ass end of a James Shark highlight makes you anything close to important, you're not only overestimating your in-ring ability, you're overestimating your ability to process thought

You're doing exactly one thing in this business; freezing your ass off in the cold, dark depths of the shadow that my greatness casts. You go ahead and tell yourself that you're going to be my biggest test. I've got a list so long, and full of names that carry more weight in this business than yours ever will!

I've been in the ring with the very best this business will ever see in my long, and ridiculously successful career! You're nothing special, Timmy, I've seen a shitload of guys who thought they were the one to finally put an end to me. You're one of many, Tim.

Many.

There's only one SBK, and regardless of who you've been in the ring with in the past, you've never experienced what it truly is to be in my ring. Well, just like that time at band camp, get ready to have your cherry popped, bitch. But unlike the cherry that you got popped t band camp -your anal cherry- the one that's getting popped at Battle Grounds is your 'Big Match" cherry.

You are one of my former opponents, wearing a new face and using a new name, you've never been in a math with ME. And by comparison, motherfucker, everything else simply pales.

And if you don't believe me now, you will later, once you're sporting my autograph. Once you're left lying in the ring, wondering what the fuck just happened. Once you're looking up at the lights, thinking "Ooo! Pretty!" as you hear that distant sound you'll mistake for thunder. In reality, that will be the thousands of people witnessing your exaction, Booing triumphantly as the referee declares me the winner. And once you're able to make it back to your locker room, and you see the gift I leave on that mountainous slope you refer to as your forehead, you'll know, that for all of the days in the future where you'll be smiling after being successful in the ring, this week is MY day. You'll know that for all of your previous in-ring experience, nothing could have prepared you for what you're going to go through at Battle Grounds

You hope to be able to claim a victory over the best wrestler alive one week after being on dropped in front of thousands by are paper champion. You think you're on my level. You think you could cripple me. You're sure you're going to beat me.

You're wrong

I'm the old guard. I own pretenders like other people draw breath. And for whatever you may become in the future, right now, a pretender is all you are. You're a myth that has gained credence simply because you haven't been disproved - yet. Call me Myth-Buster then. This week, you're going to get a full fucking dose of the Styles Experience, and I'll have to apologize up front if I do anything to tarnish my new reputation, because with all the things, and people working against me going into 'From The Ashes', I simply can't be bothered to give two squirts of piss about the 'how' of things getting done this week

You have your beliefs, Timmy, and that's a good thing. Believing in yourself never hurts

But this week, you're mine. And I mean that as in, like property, and that's exactly how I'm going to beat you.

Like you're property

Because let's face it, beating you alone simply isn't going to be enough. I'll be sending Shadow Demon ANOTHER message along the way, of what he can expect when I allow him to step to me on the biggest stage this promotion has to offer. So, I'm going to be my dominant Gladiator self, Timmy. I'm going to make you wish your mother had aborted you, or never let the wrinkled old penis of her daddy insider her in the first place, to make you. And once I'm done, you'll know beyond any doubt that you were beaten -thoroughly- by the very best you'll ever face. Because whether you believe it or not, it's the truth.

I'm Better.Than.You.

And that's something you really need to let sink in. After Battle Grounds, you'll understand the true magnitude of my words when I say

This old dog never loOoOoOoOked SoOoOoOoOo GoOoOoOoOd!