Destruction Wrestling Association

Come down from the mountain, you have been gone so long.

The world is a fucked up and down place, especially with money. Now money fuels fame (or infamy). Money fuels entertainment. Money is fuel. But when your money ain't right, your world ain't right. Call it how you want it, because money surely is the fucking devil. A perfect world would be a place without money and materials. A perfect world wouldn't have earthquakes, hurricanes, crooked politicians, Glenn Beck, and Jamie Peirce shoots. But fuck it, we have to deal with what we have. What we've made. What we've ruined. What we're going to miss. We have to deal with it.

Here's what goes on:

A man works his ass off for years, puts other people over, steps on people, and deals with some of the most underhanded shit you'll ever see. He sees backroom deals, and is sometimes part of it. He makes his world a better place, or at least attempts to. But there are so many factors out there. Factors that have money at the root of it all. Those dollar signs hinder us. They hinder the pure, kill the innocence. They ruin ethics. All those promoters, all those failed businesses, all those loyal guys who put the business over themselves, they all paid the price. So let's close the chapter on MSN, at least for me, let's close it.

A man works his ass off, and sees his work evaporate in front of his eyes. He disappears. In fact, this man, he left the business altogether. He watched the business sputter and fail, and he sees these HTML and other networks trying their best to spawn a phoenix. But they have the same issues as that dead ol' bird of yore. All these cockbags with ego complexes have ruined this business. Blame Jericho. Blame American egotism. Blame everyone. Someone will eventually be held accountable. Until then, don't let the idiots like Jamie Peirce run this shit into the ground. You want a second go around to work, push these assholes out.

Here's what goes on:

A simple backdrop, probably in the ruins of the old empire. And sitting in front of that simple backdrop is one of the Kings of that old empire. A man who worked day in and day out, only to see the pragmatic fucks ruin it. A man that defeated the stagnancy that was so prevalant. A Muddy Waters' tune plays off somewhere in the background. It echoes off the high ceiling, and down a hallway. The man's eyes tell the story of the pinnacle of the business, and the sharp decline. They report that there will never be another time like the last, whenever that was. The man is Robert Turner, silver-tongue sharp, Rot.

"It's a thing of beauty, the future is. A beauty that shifts appearances along with the mountain-face. A gorgeous catch 22. Back when the show was over, and the camera's ended their feeds, it wasn't uncommon for us to keep the show going. In those independent promotions, it didn't matter if you were a heel or a face. The show was for the fans. And when the camera's stopped, all the nonsense did too. Or at least we hoped so. But it didn't. Once you went back behind those curtains, after the fans were gone, after the trash was picked up. You'd have to deal with your boss, the schmuck unlucky enough to share the ride to the next venue with you. Sometimes the on-camera drama wasn't any different than the off-camera variety. In fact, the whole fucking business had become Days of Our Lives. Mostly every writer was trying his best to keep it new, snappy, and fucking relevant. But what was relevant? As far as I know, it was relevant to toss around a catheter as the World strap. And the storylines, they'd get worse and worse. And the off-camera relations would get worse and worse. The relations with the massive failure known as the MSN Network that obviously had no need for synapses would get worse and worse. And that wasn't all our fault. MSN was doomed to fail, like NBC. But there were plenty of chances to save it. But the drive for instant gratification literally sent us off a cliff somewhere back in 2005, and we rode that damn wave right into the Earth's core."

Oscar Wilde once said, "We're all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars". Is this promotion, Destruction Wrestling Association, is it looking at the stars? Or is it another extension of the filth we've been mucking around in for years?

"To be honest, I haven't watched a single promo in this place. You all bore me to death with the same shit that ruined this thing in the first place. No one is ever going to be the greatest in the world. Stop taking yourself so seriously. Learn your craft, instead of bullshitting yourself up a fable. Being a good wrestler or an entertainer is one part skill, one part story-telling, and one part work ethic. To be great, you can't have two-thirds. Jamie Peirce, Xtreme 3:16, Xtreme V2, Alexander Blends-In-Well, and whomever else, none of you have what it takes. Xtreme 3:16 is the only person out of that group that's even close to having two-thirds of it. The rest still have a way to go. And one more thing, Jamie Peirce, Mark McGuire recently admitted to using steroids. Now I know this may have been used against you before, but it doesn't make it any less true. I think it's about time you owned up to the Anabolics. A guy like you could go the Jose Conseco route. You'd make millions, I'm almost twelve percent sure. But I'm almost ninety-nine percent positive that idiots like you are the needle in the arm in this business."

And I see the damage done.