Post by John William Kingsley on Sept 8, 2015 18:34:33 GMT -5
Good ‘morrow ladies and gentlemen readers. Please allow me to introduce myself as both the butler of our young buck, John William Kingsley, and the narrater of this literary piece of which shall be considered the serial writings of his ongoing successes within the hummock of an American wrestling establishment known recently as New Generation Wrestling. I, Mr. Walter Alfie Cromwell, known as Mr. Cromwell to the fine citizens of this country, and the peasants of England. To all, except the rich elite of the oil industry within Texas, and known as ‘Alf’ by John William Kingsley, a man of three names and three you will call him by for he is the champion, a man of noble blood and has earned the right by birth to be addressed with the full length of his name.
Do not confuse the cheerful nature of my greeting with the tone of the program to come. Before I am done, there will be several revelations, lies and truths unearthed. For one, to help you understand my position, long ago, when John William Kingsley was just a wee lad of age ten, he met a little boy from Bristol. Now, Bristol is where John William Kingsley is from, but growing up we always told him it was his town, his territory and he named it after himself, JohnWilliamKingsleyshire. The child was not one of the many prestigious kids of England from the well established boarding schools, but a mere common boy from down the street that had somehow wandered from town and found his way onto our estate.
Today, Kingsley would have had the boy beaten and sent on his way without any assistance back into town. Then, he was more friendly and invited the child in to play with, into the stables to enjoy the company of our furred companions and by the time I had caught on, the child had been there for nearly two hours. The child spewed a lot of information that Kingsley was most curious about and I had to spend a lot of time on damage control that night, mostly upon the topic of his father, of whom had always been conveniently absent.
One thing that foul mouthed peasant rambled on was that nobody could see the queen because she was impossible to reach. Actually, there was a man that broke into Buckingham Palace twice. The first time, he was bored, the second time, he snuck into the Queen’s room and had spent nearly twenty minutes conversing with her before being taken away.
This man, however, is not Kingsley’s father, for that time would have been much longer and more profound. No, I’m afraid that secret is much darker than anyone is ready to know.
So, for all I have done to protect the man I have served since he was a child, I’m the original back hand that smacked the world away, turned down all of his friends, made sure he got the best education and even booked the flight that lead us here and now! This brings me to a pissed off little prick, Alioth Starre, the midget that likes to throw up rhymes like uptown girls throw all their meals, and throw fits so big even his home fed couldn’t handle it!
Look at you, you’re not even British! Living in the states and speaking their slang like you were born here, bitch! We bend the queen over and slap it, even our teeth know how to bang and mash! Look at that makeup you need to walk out with, are you gay, or trying to be pussier version of the man that beat you? What’s your record against Galveston’s biggest hater?
You’re out of practice! Boy, the insults are coming hot, firing you down like a blue coat, Mr. Washington, you can’t stand up to half the size of John William Kingsley, and adding his lowly butler, that’s another man more you’ll never be!
With due apologies to my readers, but this old man is passionate about insuring things go well for a man that has worked hard to rise up and all of this is being brought down by a hissy fitting bitch that dances around in women’s pants! By a kid that tantalized Kingsley with the prospect of being a champion of the world, but he’s already got that title, wait in line, Starre, cause that’s another championship you can’t get.
We came with a noble cause to bring the civilized people of this country the concept of legitimacy and and civility to those that rebel in the streets because they can’t pay anything without government assistance. That’s like trying to make a movie look real with actors made of special effects. Step inside the screen now, screaming your tag team name, hash tag it and spread it around, but you didn’t even check to realize that we’re not even from London! Kingsley is from Bristol and has kicked more ass than Chuck Norris, while you can’t even beat a scrawny queer that just cries about everyone not liking him for being a cheater!
You want to marry two greats into one perfect conglomerate, but you can’t even keep a marriage alive, let alone the bitch you fucked! When I was younger, I kicked punks like you off the estate, so bring it on, bitch! I’m Walter Cromwell and I can smell the stain of you, sucking up our energy and success like a douche that just came out of the panties of Margaret Thatcher on a hot July night!
Well damn, I have grown perverse in my anger. Dear apologies to the readers about the images you have found in the deep web of your mind. This match is an exploitation of childhood tragedy and I am ashamed and traumatized to watch like a passive waste as this prick steals Kingsley away and to think he could then lead with a title over his shoulder is sickening.
Not on my watch!
John William Kingsley sat alone in a wooden chair in an empty room. He sat with his hands on his knees and eyes to the only window in the room. His hair was down and he waited.
“Come in.”
He answered a knock at the door and turned to see who it was.
“Cromwell, enter.”
He stood and moved toward the window to look out over Columbus, Ohio.
“Did you know, Cromwell, that Christopher Columbus didn’t actually discover this land of the brave? The vikings were the first travelers to come during the rise of civilization, and before them, aboriginals travelled over on ice sheets when the land was still connected to Eurasia. To think, this country is filled with people that believe they did everything first, and best.”
“How are you doing this evening, John William Kingsley?”
Kingsley glanced back at Cromwell with a cold stare and walked with a slow pace toward him, hands behind his back and head high to look down at him.
“I’ll never find someone quite like you again, Cromwell. To have taken care of me since my youth, like no one else did. Not even my parents. The staff at the estate never took as big an interest in me as you did and that is the only reason why I brought you with me. My confidant, my friend, my servant.”
“It is my duty, my life, Kingsley.”
“However, only now, when we come to the home of the free and the land of the brave do I begin to find the cracks in the walls you have built to surround me in.”
Kingsley paced around Cromwell and then stopped behind him, over his shoulder and looked toward the window.
“I understand the match I have is a daunting one. Alioth Starre is well known for his accomplishments in Texas, where I was shunned. He has a growing list of accomplishments here that could very well begin with the title and starting a team so dominant that the rest of the wrestling world will bend to our every demands. Ours, Walter, not his. There is no leader of the London Boys, but I fear you think that this match is more than just a fair competition. I will not bow for him and let him take the title, and he will not hold back either. If we cannot contest one another, than how can we contest the rest of the independent circuit?”
“I do not approve of this, Kingsley. You are a sole proprietor of your own success and others are merely leeching off of that. You will find that when success grows. People want to be part of it, to seize what you have for themselves. I’ve tried my whole life to keep you from that, so that all of your victories were yours and yours alone.”
Kingsley took Cromwell’s shoulder and turned him around. He held out his hand, pieces of his mother’s watch laid out in his palm.
“Much like this, Cromwell? Explain how this is protecting me from others? My own knowledge does not hurt others, only my boots.”
“Kingsley, I–”
John William Kingsley kicked Cromwell in the knees and sent him down before him in a kneeling position. John looked down at his butler and let the pieces fall over the man’s bald head.
“How many of my memories lay dead on this journey I’ve been on? I’m going in a new direction, Walter, and I don’t think you can be part of it anymore. I thought I needed you at my side, but I guess I’ve found someone else to take your place.”
“Alioth will do nothing but ruin you, Kingsley! Please, let me explain!”
“No, Cromwell. No him. Me.”
Kingsley turned away and stood behind the chair and stared down Cromwell, leaning on it with his hands on the back rest. Cromwell, tears forming in his eyes, looked back to the man he had served for the entirety of the boy’s life.
“Why ruin this for me? How many of her things have you taken from me? How many lies have I lived under? Now is the time to speak, before I do something that will leave you without a throat to speak with.”
Kingsley lifted the chair and slammed it down in anger and waited for Cromwell to answer.
“Victory and Honor, it is what I am striving for. Civility and Regality. I am the only man in this industry with the ability to change it, and yet I cannot even see the deception of my own butler before my eyes? How do you think that’s going to look?”
“How do you think your eyes will look when you have learned the truth? I destroyed it, because you cannot know.”
“I really don’t care what it is at this point, but it must be important enough for you to betray me. I want to know, because you ask that I believe it isn’t so. Not a day goes by that I haven’t compromised my own pride to walk this path I’ve chosen. So many things I’ve lost that I ignore with my chin held high. All I ask is for the truth and we can go on our way together.”
Cromwell crawled toward Kingsley at the chair and looked up at him, kneeling back and reached into his coat pocket to produce a silver ring with diamond at its center.
“My father’s. Another thing you take from me?”
“John William Kingsley, I am your father.”
“That’s impossible!”
“You asked that I tell the truth, now I ask you to believe.”
This was too much to take in for the young buck. He raised the chair high over his head and brought it down crashing over Cromwell, then kicked the man down onto his back with his big black boot.
“You know it to be true!”
Cromwell cried out as Kingsley walked across the room to the door. John looked back one more time.
“You're dismissed.”
Do not confuse the cheerful nature of my greeting with the tone of the program to come. Before I am done, there will be several revelations, lies and truths unearthed. For one, to help you understand my position, long ago, when John William Kingsley was just a wee lad of age ten, he met a little boy from Bristol. Now, Bristol is where John William Kingsley is from, but growing up we always told him it was his town, his territory and he named it after himself, JohnWilliamKingsleyshire. The child was not one of the many prestigious kids of England from the well established boarding schools, but a mere common boy from down the street that had somehow wandered from town and found his way onto our estate.
Today, Kingsley would have had the boy beaten and sent on his way without any assistance back into town. Then, he was more friendly and invited the child in to play with, into the stables to enjoy the company of our furred companions and by the time I had caught on, the child had been there for nearly two hours. The child spewed a lot of information that Kingsley was most curious about and I had to spend a lot of time on damage control that night, mostly upon the topic of his father, of whom had always been conveniently absent.
One thing that foul mouthed peasant rambled on was that nobody could see the queen because she was impossible to reach. Actually, there was a man that broke into Buckingham Palace twice. The first time, he was bored, the second time, he snuck into the Queen’s room and had spent nearly twenty minutes conversing with her before being taken away.
This man, however, is not Kingsley’s father, for that time would have been much longer and more profound. No, I’m afraid that secret is much darker than anyone is ready to know.
So, for all I have done to protect the man I have served since he was a child, I’m the original back hand that smacked the world away, turned down all of his friends, made sure he got the best education and even booked the flight that lead us here and now! This brings me to a pissed off little prick, Alioth Starre, the midget that likes to throw up rhymes like uptown girls throw all their meals, and throw fits so big even his home fed couldn’t handle it!
Look at you, you’re not even British! Living in the states and speaking their slang like you were born here, bitch! We bend the queen over and slap it, even our teeth know how to bang and mash! Look at that makeup you need to walk out with, are you gay, or trying to be pussier version of the man that beat you? What’s your record against Galveston’s biggest hater?
You’re out of practice! Boy, the insults are coming hot, firing you down like a blue coat, Mr. Washington, you can’t stand up to half the size of John William Kingsley, and adding his lowly butler, that’s another man more you’ll never be!
With due apologies to my readers, but this old man is passionate about insuring things go well for a man that has worked hard to rise up and all of this is being brought down by a hissy fitting bitch that dances around in women’s pants! By a kid that tantalized Kingsley with the prospect of being a champion of the world, but he’s already got that title, wait in line, Starre, cause that’s another championship you can’t get.
We came with a noble cause to bring the civilized people of this country the concept of legitimacy and and civility to those that rebel in the streets because they can’t pay anything without government assistance. That’s like trying to make a movie look real with actors made of special effects. Step inside the screen now, screaming your tag team name, hash tag it and spread it around, but you didn’t even check to realize that we’re not even from London! Kingsley is from Bristol and has kicked more ass than Chuck Norris, while you can’t even beat a scrawny queer that just cries about everyone not liking him for being a cheater!
You want to marry two greats into one perfect conglomerate, but you can’t even keep a marriage alive, let alone the bitch you fucked! When I was younger, I kicked punks like you off the estate, so bring it on, bitch! I’m Walter Cromwell and I can smell the stain of you, sucking up our energy and success like a douche that just came out of the panties of Margaret Thatcher on a hot July night!
Well damn, I have grown perverse in my anger. Dear apologies to the readers about the images you have found in the deep web of your mind. This match is an exploitation of childhood tragedy and I am ashamed and traumatized to watch like a passive waste as this prick steals Kingsley away and to think he could then lead with a title over his shoulder is sickening.
Not on my watch!
John William Kingsley sat alone in a wooden chair in an empty room. He sat with his hands on his knees and eyes to the only window in the room. His hair was down and he waited.
“Come in.”
He answered a knock at the door and turned to see who it was.
“Cromwell, enter.”
He stood and moved toward the window to look out over Columbus, Ohio.
“Did you know, Cromwell, that Christopher Columbus didn’t actually discover this land of the brave? The vikings were the first travelers to come during the rise of civilization, and before them, aboriginals travelled over on ice sheets when the land was still connected to Eurasia. To think, this country is filled with people that believe they did everything first, and best.”
“How are you doing this evening, John William Kingsley?”
Kingsley glanced back at Cromwell with a cold stare and walked with a slow pace toward him, hands behind his back and head high to look down at him.
“I’ll never find someone quite like you again, Cromwell. To have taken care of me since my youth, like no one else did. Not even my parents. The staff at the estate never took as big an interest in me as you did and that is the only reason why I brought you with me. My confidant, my friend, my servant.”
“It is my duty, my life, Kingsley.”
“However, only now, when we come to the home of the free and the land of the brave do I begin to find the cracks in the walls you have built to surround me in.”
Kingsley paced around Cromwell and then stopped behind him, over his shoulder and looked toward the window.
“I understand the match I have is a daunting one. Alioth Starre is well known for his accomplishments in Texas, where I was shunned. He has a growing list of accomplishments here that could very well begin with the title and starting a team so dominant that the rest of the wrestling world will bend to our every demands. Ours, Walter, not his. There is no leader of the London Boys, but I fear you think that this match is more than just a fair competition. I will not bow for him and let him take the title, and he will not hold back either. If we cannot contest one another, than how can we contest the rest of the independent circuit?”
“I do not approve of this, Kingsley. You are a sole proprietor of your own success and others are merely leeching off of that. You will find that when success grows. People want to be part of it, to seize what you have for themselves. I’ve tried my whole life to keep you from that, so that all of your victories were yours and yours alone.”
Kingsley took Cromwell’s shoulder and turned him around. He held out his hand, pieces of his mother’s watch laid out in his palm.
“Much like this, Cromwell? Explain how this is protecting me from others? My own knowledge does not hurt others, only my boots.”
“Kingsley, I–”
John William Kingsley kicked Cromwell in the knees and sent him down before him in a kneeling position. John looked down at his butler and let the pieces fall over the man’s bald head.
“How many of my memories lay dead on this journey I’ve been on? I’m going in a new direction, Walter, and I don’t think you can be part of it anymore. I thought I needed you at my side, but I guess I’ve found someone else to take your place.”
“Alioth will do nothing but ruin you, Kingsley! Please, let me explain!”
“No, Cromwell. No him. Me.”
Kingsley turned away and stood behind the chair and stared down Cromwell, leaning on it with his hands on the back rest. Cromwell, tears forming in his eyes, looked back to the man he had served for the entirety of the boy’s life.
“Why ruin this for me? How many of her things have you taken from me? How many lies have I lived under? Now is the time to speak, before I do something that will leave you without a throat to speak with.”
Kingsley lifted the chair and slammed it down in anger and waited for Cromwell to answer.
“Victory and Honor, it is what I am striving for. Civility and Regality. I am the only man in this industry with the ability to change it, and yet I cannot even see the deception of my own butler before my eyes? How do you think that’s going to look?”
“How do you think your eyes will look when you have learned the truth? I destroyed it, because you cannot know.”
“I really don’t care what it is at this point, but it must be important enough for you to betray me. I want to know, because you ask that I believe it isn’t so. Not a day goes by that I haven’t compromised my own pride to walk this path I’ve chosen. So many things I’ve lost that I ignore with my chin held high. All I ask is for the truth and we can go on our way together.”
Cromwell crawled toward Kingsley at the chair and looked up at him, kneeling back and reached into his coat pocket to produce a silver ring with diamond at its center.
“My father’s. Another thing you take from me?”
“John William Kingsley, I am your father.”
“That’s impossible!”
“You asked that I tell the truth, now I ask you to believe.”
This was too much to take in for the young buck. He raised the chair high over his head and brought it down crashing over Cromwell, then kicked the man down onto his back with his big black boot.
“You know it to be true!”
Cromwell cried out as Kingsley walked across the room to the door. John looked back one more time.
“You're dismissed.”
