"Core Hard"
So, how is everybody liking this so far? As you can tell, we finally found a place to get it done, albeit the Holiday Inn across the Xcel Energy Center, the place where Rampage is being held this very Friday night. Karl was a great sport about the whole thing, both agreeing to let us damage certain pieces of property and use the under-construction 8th floor for later parts of the short. Oh, wait, I don't think I was supposed to say that. But you can look forward to more action in the second and third parts, as well as an announcement as to what the next short will be. It could be an original, it could be another re-imagining of a classic film, but who knows. Price needs to get back to me about what some of the writers are brainstorming, but enjoy "Core Hard" until then.

Malicious
True to your word, Mal, you had my back. And just as true to mine, I showed you just how a REAL champion takes care of business. While you were busy with the fulfilling of some inconsequential, petty grudge between yourself and Alex Wilkie, I was taking care of that big lug Project X in the center of the ring. And then what happened? Well, we traded opponents. You saved my ass, true, but then it was all up to me to take care of business. And that's EXACTLY what I did. Grade A Stunner...NOPE! Mercury fucking Driver. BAM! Wilkie's talent is proven to be a lie as he's dropped right on his head, 1-2-3, and the finals of the PWA Intercontinental title contendership tournament are to be settled this Friday night between the two of us. But that's what everybody knows. When you get around to what the masses are thinking, to what the average PWA fan has running through their head regarding who gets to go on and face Riona Langly for the PWA Intercontinental title at Genesis 9, then things become a little more interesting. You begin to see the level of intelligence most of these poor saps have, their complete ineptitude as to what constitutes a tremendous wrestler shining through.
For instance, Malicious, you hide yourself behind a mask, and this is something I've said before. To paraphrase a popular stand-up comedian who has, I believe, spent a little bit of time in the squared circle, there are only 2 reasons as to why somebody would wear a mask. Either 1) they are hideously ugly, or 2) they are Batman. And you, sir, are no Batman. You are not the symbol of hope for an entire city, a popular culture icon so massive that anything and everything that can be made in their image has already happened, and you are certainly no hero of the people, one that does everything they themselves wish they could do while being what they've always wanted to be. No, you're rather like the imitators from The Dark Knight, the ones that Batman himself goes after for not doing it the right way. You put on your little costume, you take a few bumps, and, yes, you even learn how to make it appear as though you know the in's and out's of this sport. But that's when you're in the shadows, boy. For when you step into the light, for when you encounter somebody who understands true greatness, who grasps the concept of sheer ability and raw talent, you turn into the fraud that you always were and the pretender that you never wanted to be. "But Laz," you'll say, "you're an actor, somebody who is paid to be a pretender, and your latest short film, 'Core Hard,' is proof positive of that." And, to a degree, you'd be right. Given my ability in front of a camera and with a microphone, and now even with a laptop so long as I'm somewhere that my Wi-Fi card actually gets a signal, it would be foolish of me, downright retarded even, to assume nobody would doubt me, that I would be filling the airwaves and the Internet with mere bravado rather than evidence of my status as the only true Living Icon in this sport. It's part of being the best, kids: to take the shit in stride, and prove any and all detractors wrong every chance you get. And, to a degree, I did that with even that brief melee called a match we had against X and Wilkie this past Friday. Who got the win? Me. Whose music was played in victory? Mine. Who showed a glimpse of just what was to occur both the following Friday night AND at Genesis 9? I did.
But, of course, you can just disregard everything you've just read. I mean, you should. You're fucking CRAZY, remember? Insane. Psychotic. Sociopathic. And every other word that's even slightly synonymous. One who lacks sanity doesn't acknowledge it, which I've said before. The only ones who do? Pretenders. Hey, there's that word again. People who want to size up any and all competition through intimidation factors rather than results. I'm not going to detract from what you've done thus far in the Pioneer Wrestling Association, Mal. You became the PWA Television champion within the span of two months of joining the company, which is no small feat. What is, however, is who you've beaten to get this far in the company. Gezza. Pohatu. El Rey de Corazones. Jacob Collins. While I will freely admit that El Rey and Pohatu have both been solid fighters in the PWA, or at least Pohatu (Potato) was at one time, not a single one of these four have meant anything to the company as a whole. And then when you're stacked up against those that even resemble real competition, be it in the form of the now-retired Aeolous Wrath or my eternal bitch Kyle Stevenson or even that flash-in-the-pan Mike Anigma, you choked, and you choked hard. This isn't your fault though, Mal. You are, for all intents and purposes, a rookie. At least to the PWA you are. And compared to the PWA? Most other companies mean Jack and shit, with Jack leaving town a long time ago.
So now that any air of confusion has been lifted regarding who is the better wrestler between the two of us - due to my reigns with the Grizzly Beer and Hardcore and World Heavyweight titles completely overshadowing your little excuse of a Television title - I think it may be time to add a little insult to everything, just because I'm feeling a little pissed over what shoddy room service I'm receiving tonight. (Fuck Minnesota. It's freezing cold, and the food sucks.) Let's take a look at your name: "Malicious." Now, under normal circumstances, that's not too bad of a name. It invokes images of intensity, of violence, and that is what you claim to be all about. Filled with malice, malevolence, spite, just itching to let it all be unleashed upon any and all unsuspecting opponents. But what have you done thus far to earn a name like that? Nothing. The closest you've come has been bloodying Wilkie with your bare hands, and even that's easy to do since it's well-known that Wilkie's a bleeder. If anything? I think I deserve that moniker much more than you do. I've shed more blood and caused more career-threatening, and even some career-ending, injuries than you ever will. So look at my name, that of "Lazarus." In the Bible, he was the brother of Martha and Mary, the beggar who died and was brought back to life. Well, I don't have a sister named Martha, nor one named Mary, and I was never a beggar. But whenever all have decided that my career was over, that the match was entirely won by the man or the team standing across the ring from me, I've come back from the depths of Purgatory, from fucking Hell itself, and I've brought the fire with me. You, Malicious, are standing in my way while I return to my Path of Greatness. Move.

Jamie Flynn
I guess I'll have to agree with the general consensus of all of the boys in the back, be they on the side of the L-A-Z or in his crosshairs, and say that you, sir, are an amazing talent on the microphone. Without doing much, without wearing flashy outfits or shooting clever quip after clever quip out from behind your lips, you can do so much with just simple, mundane sentences. However, Jimmie-Jack, you still got some of the facts wrong. Were Viktor, Price, and myself celebrating just because we'd gotten one over on you? No. We were celebrating because we took your words, the very ones you put such effort into proving true at Unsanctioned, and force fed them to you with a big dose of ACTUAL reality. You've claimed yourself that you always bring forth your best, no matter if the opponent is somebody as magnificent as I am or even as much of a passover as Scottie Snow, whereas I've admitted that I don't always put forth everything I have into a match. Now what's more tremendous: somebody trying their hardest week in and week out and then losing when it matters the most, or somebody who takes it easy during exhibitions (and still has a star that shines brighter than anybody else's) but makes it count when it needs to? Sure, Jamie. I'm betting you may bring up your win/loss record. I'll even do it for you! 21 wins. 5 losses. 2 draws. That's much more impressive than mine, and I'll even admit it. 16 wins. 12 losses. 3 draws. But let's look at the names that you've beaten: Nick Matthews, Larcen Tyler, Derek Stephen Taylor, and many more in this virtual cornucopia of "who the fuck are these guys?" Me? Phoenix. Mark McNasty. Lex Demise. All main-event calibre talent (well, Phoenix is questionable, but considering he's the boss and puts himself last on the card, I guess he counts).
What's my point? That you can talk all you want about being the greatest, about being truly better than I am, but it will never be true. Controlled Violence's celebration was about you eating crow (and not my friend Andrew), about proving to the world that there's weaknesses you won't admit to, and that both "The Premiere Attraction" and "The Beast" can take the best in the world beyond their limit and come out victorious. So good luck against Riona, Flynn. You're going to need it, as you damn well know. And should you manage to get one over on her? Good luck with Robinson. You've already proven you can barely compete with the cream of the crop, so I certainly hope you can watch your back against that son of a bitch.

Riona Langly
What else do I have to say? You, Riona, shouldn't be nearly as high up on the card as you are. You shouldn't have as many wins as you do. You're not an amazing wrestler. You're not particular strong, and there's plenty of people on this very roster that are more technically sound than you are, faster than you are, and more experienced than you. Despite all of these truths, though, you get by, and you get by perfectly. Take this little paragraph as you will, but you better hope you lose to Jamie this Friday night. Why? Because if you have to go up against both myself and Phoenix, our imbecillic boss who is, of course, going to stack all of the odds against you so he keeps the PWA World Heavyweight title around his waist, then you're going to walk away with no gold whatsoever. And it won't be due to lack of talent, it won't be due to injury, and it won't be due to gender inequality, but rather because of a lack of focus and general exhaustion. Good luck, chica. Train hard. I'll see you at Genesis.

Dustin "Thunderwolf" Kelser
Welcome back, Dustin. And I sincerely mean that: welcome back. You've been away from this ring for a very long time, outside of a week or two last year, and now it appears as though you're willing to return. But why on Earth did you decide to make it known world-wide by blindsiding me? The last I knew, Dusty, we both agreed to just leave each other be, to go our separate ways and forget the other man even existed. But then, well, I guess I said a couple of things about a woman who you still hold near and dear to your cold, black heart. A gaping-ass whore whose entire family wants me dead. A bukkake bull's eye that lives for nothing more than to fill any and all desires her nymphomania may yearn for. Another woman, Dustin, who left your arms to come to mine, crying on my shoulder about how they can't let you go, let you out of their lives, and yet know that you're the complete equivalent of an abusive boyfriend. But you still have feelings for her. How fucking adorable.
So where the FUCK do you get off coming back into MY company and trying to rough me up, huh? Where the MOTHERFUCK did you come up with this harebrained scheme to get some sort of vengeance on me, as if I didn't take the higher road and just completely cut you out of my life? You lousy son of a bitch. For everything I've ever done, that I've ever achieved in this sport, there's always been this shadow looming over me of a giant trapped in a body that makes Matt Roloff look like the Incredible Hulk, of a man who spent the first 5 years of this millenium by my side and the last 4 wanting my blood, of somebody whose legendary status is unquestioned and was, at one point, the very lifeblood of each and every company ever affiliated with the AOWF. And now? Look at you. You're a fucking has-been, Dustin. A washed up pile of shit with more kids than I have bowel movements in a week, some yours and others not, who claims this industry is dead. Is that why you've come back, Dustin? Because you watch Rampage and Chaos each and every week, and see the one man you've never beaten, that you've never even fought, ruling the company? Then fuck you, asshole. You've re-lit the fuse to a powder keg that's been set to cause an explosion more powerful than Hiroshima and Nagasaki combined for the last 4 years. If you want a war, Dustin, if you want bloodshed, massacres, and more pain than you've ever experienced in your entire life...
...then you've got one. Game on.

Raizzor
Stay the fuck out of my face, old man. Yeah, you've been at every single Genesis, and you're the only man to do so, so it makes sense that you'd want to show up and get your major paycheck, but you know what? Fuck you. You quit on this company months ago, this company that's fed you and yours, that's put the clothes on your back for the last 10 years, and now you want to suck some more life out of it? Fuck you. Eat shit and die, you uptight son of a bitch.

Catchphrase
And now we come to the end of another exciting edition of the Rush. An emokid's blog? Really? Sorry, folks, but considering I don't cry about personal issues, and have never done so publicly (unlike SOME people, *cough*Kelser*cough*), this is the furthest thing FROM an emokid blog. It's just a blog, much like anybody else who would rather write something down - quick and easy so long as you've been to high school in the last 20 years and know basic HTML - than have to code and recode something on videotape, but I guess you all would rather just keep trying the same routine on everybody than come up with something ORIGINAL. And that's fine with me. You all continue trying to put me down in any way, shape, or form, and I'll just sit back here with a smile on my face, ready to smack you all away from the true greatness known as the Hollywood Kid, and SOON to be known as the greatest PWA Grand Slam champion of all-time. But hey, that's life. Deal with it. Rock n' roll, plebians.