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 ||While in bed, Weezle lies awake, waiting for Ravyn to fall deep enough into sleep so she will not be disturbed by his movements.|| ||At approximately 1:45 am, Weezle leans over Ravyn. Ravyn doesn't move, so Weezle slips out of bed and changes into some clothes. He then places a pre-written note on the bed.|| Be back sometime. Michael ||Weezle then slips on his glasses, coat and shoes, grabs his key and wallet, and quietly exits the room.|| ||**click**|| SHIT! ||Weezle watches under the door for a light. After about thirty seconds, and no light, Weezle walks away.|| ||After almost half an hour of walking, Weezle finds himself in a park. He walks around trying to find a park bench that is lighted and not soiled. On his third bench, he decrees it to be clean enough to sit on, so long as there is no contact with exposed flesh.|| Once he has sat himself down, he pulls out a small leather bound book from his coat, and takes the pen out of its inside pocket. Weezle flips through the pages until he comes to the first clean page. He then clicks the top of the pen, and puts it to the paper.|| Saturday, August 10, 2002. I guess you could say that the shit is starting to hit the fan. Well, more like propeller. Or jet turbine. Yes, the shit has hit the jet-powered-turbine of life. Just when I finally got Keoki to place a decent amount of trust in Brendan, Ravyn goes off the deep end about Red. Big Red. The guy that tried to break my back for the TXT belts in a handicapped match. The man that tried to cave my skull in as he and his buddies pounded on me in a match where he won the number one contendership for the Canadian Title. The man that I have bitterly hated and fought against for the past several months is now my partner. And Ravyn wants me to get along. 'Get along.' Is this kindergarten? Are we sharing fingerpaints? NO! We're fighting for the TXT belts! We're fighting for the tag belts created from a year of hardship and spilt blood od Destruction! Keoki and I created those belts to serve justice to the hard fought tag battles we had gone through... and now they are become a cheap pawn for Sovereign to use against Brendan. It makes me sick to think of the TXT belts to be tossed around like a loading-dock whore for the sake of one-upping the other boss. This means that I have to swallow my pride, accept Big Red as a partner, and fight with him. Shit. Who am I kidding? ME swallow my pride? I admit it, I'm cocky and rarely admit to being wrong. I also never like to give up anything. ||Weezle looks up for a second and sees a group of young males all dressed in leather with lots of piercings and tattoos, and decides it would be best to move to a different part of the park.|| At least at the last Breakdown I got to mess with Sovereign by doing a lil' vandalism. That was fun and productive. I got to relieve some stress, have some fun, and help out Brendan with his toying around of Sovereign. ||Weezle stops writing suddenly and looks up.|| Oh, there is something I almost forgot about. It seems that there are some people now that think I've 'changed.' They think that because I am fighting with a 'good guy' I'm no longer 'good.' God, why can't I have a giant bitchslapping machine? Do I still push myself to the limits? Yes! Do I still take on all challenges? Yes! Do I still act like an arrogant ass, simply for the pleasure it brings myself? HELL FRICKIN' YES!! Just because I'm fighting alongside Brendan doesn't mean I've changed. If I started driving a Cavalier, listened to pop music, cried at Hugh Grant movies -- for reasons other than his bad acting, and introduced the openhand slap as my new finisher, then yes, I would say I've changed. But as long as I'm livin' it up every minute, whether it be in the ring or in my Camaro, I'm still the same old Weezle. You want change? Look around. Everyone has changed. Okay, I may have changed a little, but nothing major. I'm not pretending to be someone I'm not, I'm not out spending a fortune on stupid luxuries, and I'm not trying to be humanitarian of the year. For those that do, good for them. But it's just not my thing. I'm not a role model, I'm a wrestler. If your kid wants to look up to me, they have issues and need help. I do not go out on tv every week and think to myself, 'Is this going to represent our company and its sponsors in a positive manner?' No! I go out and wrestle. I go out and fight. I go out and cause destruction. So to people that want to tell me that I have either changed, or need to change, please do f**k off, as I'm not going to listen to you anyway. ||Weezle lifts his head up from the notepad, which now has a few more pages written on, and starts to lower his pen when...|| ||Beep-beep|| ||Beep-beep|| Uh-oh... 3:00 am!! Better go!! Well, that's it for now. Wish me luck at Breakdown, and let's all hope that Red and I can just avoid each other for everything except tagging in. ||Weezle tucks the pen into his journal, closes it, and slips it back into his jacket. He then stands up and starts to run back to his hotel.|| ||End|| |
