Episode Two: When Doves Cry

For as long as I could remember I’ve held onto this.. Contempt for the guy I thought was my brother my entire life. You all know the guy, PWE’s very own Impulse Champ, Joe Montuori. Yeah that dick. See, growing up as his little brother was as miserable as you would imagine it to be. Having to constantly live in his shadow was the epitome of basura. A horrible experience, having to go through life being compared to your older brother. Especially when your brother is trash like Joe Montuori. Constantly being reminded how great he was at everything, constantly being reminded how much better he was than me. From the people I thought were my parents, to the neighborhood kids, to my classmates.

Joe’s so amazing!

OMG you think you can give him my number?

How awesome is it being Joe’s brother?

He’s fucking overrated!

No bitch I won’t give him your number!

And I hated every single fucking moment of it!

Every..

Single..

Moment..

Not for a lack of trying. My earliest memories of Joe were actually good ones. Flashes of him being a great older brother. But something happened, something changed. Somewhere from being a toddler to being school-aged, those early memories of being loved turned into memories of being suffocated. Suffocated by the constant reminder that I wasn’t Joe Montuori. Suffocated by the constant reminder that I needed to be more like Joe. I needed to act more like Joe. I needed to carry myself more like Joe. I needed to get good grades like Joe. And join sports teams like Joe. Have friends and girlfriends like Joe had. Had to make my parents proud like Joe did.

Joe..

Joe..

Fucking Joe..

But it wasn’t the constant criticism that started to derail our relationship. Around the same time I started school, I started to see Joe for who he really was. Even if most didn’t. See, growing up it seemed Joe had this super power where he was able to fool everyone into thinking he was this swell guy. But his powers never worked on me, I always saw right through him. Saw him for who he really was. A conniving, backstabbing, self-centered asshole. And it drove me crazy that no one else saw the real side of Joe I saw growing up. Everyone just thought I was being the jealous little brother..

As I grew into adolescence, homelife became unbearable. No matter how hard I tried to ignore it, I just couldn’t live in a house that praised Joe like he was a Gawd. He was untouchable. The Golden Child. So on my 16th birthday, after a fight with my Uncle over something I said about his precious Joe, I ran away from the only home I never knew. From the only family I ever knew. The only life I ever knew. With one goal in mind. To prove everyone who ever thought Joe was better than me wrong.

So I joined the circus we call professional wrestling. A punk ass kid with zero experience stepping in the ring with grown ass men. Man I had to take the shittiest bookings. Which usually meant stepping in the ring with guys way past their prime. I tried to hide who I was, but they always found out. And they always made me pay for it. See, my Uncle, the legendary George “The Animal” Montuori used to take a lot of liberties in the ring. He was such a big name he didn’t care about anyone but himself. A conniving, backstabbing, self-centered asshole. Guess the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. And with my luck, of course, the majority of my opponents that first year or so were guys that at one point had the displeasure of getting in the ring with my Uncle. They all got their receipts in the end.

At my expense..

But that’s life right? Those first couple of miserable years, paying my dues, shaped me into the professional wrestler today. Or at least who I was before falling into this recent episode of the Twilight Zone. Who would’ve thought Wraith would’ve ended up standing tall after that throwaway Exhibition Match. Guy belongs bagging groceries, not in the same ring as a KING..

Those dues I paid those first years, I wouldn’t reap those gems for years. Instead, those first couple of years turned me into someone I never want to see again. Someone I never want to be again. Such darkness, such anger, depression, hatred, contempt. All the fucked up synonyms you’d do anything never to experience.. Looking back on those years, I could never iMaGiNe having to relive that period of time. As that person..

To Joe’s credit, he was able to bring me out of that darkness. Not on purpose. Gawd no. Why would Joe do anything nice for anyone else? At least not without getting something in return. See, I decided to join a promotion Joe was booking. Thought I’d come in and show him how good I’d gotten so quickly. I was a fucking natural in the ring. Deep down I thought somehow he’d grow this love and respect for me. As his little brother I’d be lying if I said I never wanted his love and respect. And it started off as I hoped it would. I scooped up his version of the hardcore title and earned an opportunity for a Title vs Title Match against someone you might’ve heard of, Stephen Stratford. But he came into the match sick as fuck. Looking back I wonder if he was using and was going through withdrawals during that match.. I came out with both titles, which later came to find out infuriated Joe. See he had this grand plan to have Stratford be his Next Big Thing. Stratford losing fucked up those plans. So Joe, in his conniving, backstabbing, self-centered asshole way, talked me into giving up one title and trading the other for a shot at his Champ Champ. I stood no chance, I wasn’t ready..

But it wasn’t all for nothing. Paul Montuori was born after that match. As a big fuck you to Joe and to his Father and Mother. Where this outlandish and ridiculous persona was born out of. I wanted to embarrass the Montuori name while at the same time working my way to become the greatest Montuori this business has ever seen.

How am I doing?

My relationship with Joe has always been a rollercoaster. There’s been moments in my career where I was running alongside him. But for the majority of my life, the contempt, the hatred I have for him always bubbled up to the surface. Outweighing any possibility of us ever having a normal relationship. And with the recent events of me finding out I was really his cousin, and that his parents who raised me faked their death and were really alive, well let’s just say this is the part of the rollercoaster where it plummets to its fiery death.

I’ve been pretty vocal about how much I hate Joe. It’s no fucking secret. I tell anyone who will listen how much I despise him. Shouting that shit from the mountain tops. Look I just spent a third of my allotted promo time talking about Joe. Everyone should know by now, right? So it came as a surprise, more like a fucking shock, when I find out that in my second match here in PWE I get to team with the one person I would never want to team with again.

Joe motherfucking Montuori..

Here I fucking am, a fucking KING relegated to having to team with the biggest piece of shit this business has ever seen. Tossed in a match to team with the one person I fucking hate on this planet. Have any of you been paying attention to a fucking word I’ve been saying?

I fucking hate Joe Montuori!

Why the fuck am I having to team with him?!

Add insult to injury, against two fucking broads that have zero business sharing a ring with me!

What the fuck PWE?!

Are you fucking with me on purpose? Trying to elicit some response? Create buzz?

Paul Montuori teams with his bitter rival and “brother” Joe Montuori!

Not needed. I move the needle. Without all the extra bullshit. Save the gimmicky shit for OP Dub..

Third match, opening match, Main Event, don’t matter!

Don’t matter where you put me on the card. Who you team me with. Who you put across the ring from me. All eyes are always on their KING! All they talk about is their KING. No one cares about anyone else. No one’s there to see anyone else. But me. Always me.

Not even your beloved Champion.

Who couldn’t lace Vhodka Marie’s boots with the help of all his cock sucking fanatics.

Save him the indignity of having to face me.

Haven’t you heard?

I’m Professional Wrestling’s Dopest Jobber!

I gots no problem tearing your insecure Paper Champion to shreds and have a big ol’ fucking smile on my face while I stare up at the fucking lights.

Pay me bitch!

Fucking joke.

Ha ha ha..

Get it..

Comedian’s new reign is in town..

Pro Wrestling has become a fucking joke.

The business I spent almost two decades putting every ounce of blood, sweat, tears and plenty of cum filled nights has turned into one big fucking joke. A piece of shit Comedian who’s only true love he’s ever had is with a fucking cat. That’s your Guy. Speaks volumes.

And speaks volumes that you’d let in some..

Dare I say, ungrateful ass bitches into this promotion.

One broad who sits in front of her little camera with her little social media influencer light and talks down upon everyone in this fucking business. Talks down upon people like me who’ve put everything into this fucking business. Who’s entire existence is this business. Have the audacity to sit there, tryna look all cute and come spew fucking bullshit..

Oh I’m rich. I don’t need this business. I’m so loaded with all my side hustles.

Bitch fuck you and the fairy tale unicorn you rode in on. Thinking this is some kind of game for you to get one up on. Trying to gain some fucking clout? Nah homegirl, not against me. Not when I gots zero fucks. Nothing to lose.

PWE, you wanna job me out?

You want me to put over some more of your mediocre talent?

Fine.

But my checks better clear.

Best believe I’m pulling extensions on my way out. And by the look of Peaches, there’s plenty of Dollar Store weave to leave on the mat along with any hope those two ever had of getting a win against someone worth a fuck.

Their biggest hope in this match is Joe and I implode, going at each other instead of handling business. Which I’d bet the house that everyone else thinks we’re going to end up in blows. I haven’t been face to face with him anywhere since FIGHT closed. I don’t know what would happen if I ran into him. At least everywhere but inside the ring. Inside the ring it’s all business. I’m on a fucking mission. And I’m gonna be damned if I’m going to let a beef I’ve carried since childhood fuck with my money, fuck with my reputation, fuck with my legacy.

Not against two broads that have zero business even stepping into the ring with me. In all honesty, do you know who the fuck I am? Do you two have any idea who you’re getting in the ring with? Unlucky for you we’re living in strange fucking times. And in these strange times, two green ass TikTok broads get a chance to get in the ring with two guys that come from WRESTLING ROYALTY.

As much shit as I talk about Joe, Mia and Peaches couldn't even lace his boots..

See Mia, I get you’re trying to get famous. But there’s easier ways than that. Go shake your ass on TikTok. It’s where untalented broads like you belong. Not in a fucking ring. Not against me. Especially not with you coming straight out of whatever shitty wrestling school you came from. I see right through you. Your whole facade. You’re a typical social media chick. Putting on a front. An act. Staging photo ops every chance you get. Shouting to anyone that’ll hear how you’re flying first class. Bragging about sponsorship deals and zeros in your bank accounts. Typical fake ass bitch. You’re a dime a dozen. Pretending to be the white broad from Sex in the CIty. But this isn’t Instagram. This isn’t Twitter or Myspace. Fuck your Top Eight. There’s not enough staged videos of you running the ropes that's going to prepare you for stepping into the ring with a KING like me.

Definitely have zero fucking chance with you coming in with the spoiled, entitled, ditzy blonde of a partner.

You’re not ready Peaches.

You don’t get it in you. Not to outlast me. You’ve never had to fight for anything in your life. You’ve always had someone there, paid, to cater to your every whim. Everything’s been handed to you. You’ve never had to struggle. Never had to want for anything. I mean look at ya, you’re still living at home with Daddy in your cute little pink room with your insert your choice of relevant Pop Star here posters all over your wall. Sleeping all nice and comfy while you cuddle your Paul Montuori plush doll.

The fucking disrespect!

I’m not here to play!

So since PWE wants to play me, it’s fucking scorched Earth time.

And I’m salting the ground behind me. But on that Pink Himalayan Salt. Fucka Mortons..

I’m done trying to be this fucking nice guy who’s careful not to offend anyone. You fucking hired me, you knew what you were getting.

I’m about to expose Peach and Mia for the fake ass bitches they really are.

I’m going to put a stop to these wannabe influencers coming into my business trying to gain some quick clout. Off of my fucking name! Nah, I’m going to make an example of these two.

Ya hear that Mia?!

Ya hear that Peaches?!

This isn’t going to end in the kind of publicity you were looking for.

No amount of money or clout your daddy has is going to do you any good. Not when it involves me. I could give two fucks who he is or how many Fairfield deals he closes. None of that fucking matters. None of that is going to help you when you gotta throw hands with your KING. And only, it just comes off as another pathetic attempt by some broad with low self-esteem to make herself seem so glamorous. Pitiful attempt to try and paint an imaginary image of who you want everyone to think you are.

Think about it, within a minute of introducing the world to you ya mentioned your private jet, private masseuse, private chef, maid.. Do ya even wipe your own ass?

To think someone so catered to could think they could make it in the business. Sweetheart, you have no idea the fucked shit this business has to offer. This is real life shit. Not some staged publicity event that’s supposed to make you look good. Not some lame attempt at recreating the newest dance on TikTok. The audacity to think you’re going to go from rolling around in your bed with your Comedian plush doll to stepping in the ring with Paul Montuori and make a fucking go at it.. Bruh.. You have to know that nothing about what’s going to crack off in Orlando is going to make you look good. Either one of you.

And you two are expected to give me some kind of fucking challenge?!

Come on, the two of them don't even belong in my league.

Those three belong in a league of their own.

There’s no fucking crying in wrestling.

Twilight Zone!

But fuck it.

This is what PWE wants. So it’s what PWE is going to get.. A show, a real fucking exhibition on what your KING is truly capable of. I’m gonna put on a clinic, school them three bitches on what a real WRESTLING GAWD looks like..

WITNESS ME!

Witness as I trample three fake ass bitches beneath my almighty presence.

WITNESS ME!

Witness as I destroy two careers before they even start.

WITNESS ME!

Witness as I make these doves cry..