Who am I? Petey Pablo motherf. I mean.. Why am I a wrestler?
Oct 4, 2022 16:01:40 GMT -5
Harvey Marx likes this
Post by paulmontuori on Oct 4, 2022 16:01:40 GMT -5
Why is Paul Montuori a professional wrestler?
None of your fucking beeswax!
Now scram!
Don’t give me those eyes..
Come on..
Ugh fine I’ll tell you..
It all started long ago when Paul Montuori was a fine little lad. He was your typical incredibly handsome and gifted child with a luscious mane of hair. A true delight, able to brighten any day. But unfortunately for him, life wasn't all sunshine and rainbows. For you see, our hero was raisd by a vicious wrestling legend George “The Animal” Montuori, who was the father of Joe.
I’m talking about Joe.
Joe Montuori.
That fuck who’s in this little.. Tournament?
Yeah that one.
Imagine growing up with him.
As your older brother.
Yeah, it’s worse than you’re thinking. Think he's bad meow? Should’ve seen him when he hit puberty. Socks in the house didn’t stand a chance..
Anyways, it’s his fault I got into this business. And his Dad’s fault too. The way they strutted around my entire childhood. Acting all high and mighty. It got worse when Joe got into the business. That’s all anyone talked about. One day I told them I wanted to get into the business too. Those fucking hyenas.
I can still hear them laughing..
They thought they were some gifts to the business of professional wrestling.
The Great George “The Animal” Montuori and his Son.
Nah, they weren’t ‘bout shit. Had nada on me.
I set out to prove to them they weren’t ‘bout shit. Prove to everyone. Set out to be the best Montuori. The bigger name. And not just in this business.
So I guess I can say I got into this business out of spite. All in a weird way to prove my Uncle wrong. Prove Joe wrong. Prove everyone that hated on me my entire childhood wrong. Prove I was better than them.
And for a while that’s what it was all about. I worked my ass off to make a name for myself. To prove to everyone that hated on me they were wrong. Including Joe and his Dad.
But somewhere along the way it became more than that. Proving Joe and his Dad wrong slowly stopped being my main motivation. It became more than spite. More than some washed up hack and his obnoxious son..
I discovered the adulation from the people.
The fame.
The notoriety that came with being Paul motherfuckin’ Montuori.
Going out there and being unapologetically me.
Being a WRESTLING GAWD!
Seeing the look of delight and excitement on people’s faces when I walk into a room.
Bitches know me.
And I fucking dig that.
Either love or hate. I’ll take it all. Attention is attention. Good or bad. As long as you’re talking about me.
Your KING!
There’s nothing like it. Stepping out in front of a crowd. 10 people or 10,000, don’t matter. That feeling. That rush. Outside of banging Michelle Riggs, there’s no better feeling. And to get paid for it? Pft.. No brainer.
A feeling that’s indescribable. Especially to peasants like yourself. Fuck have you ever done to ask me why I do what I do?
Cause it beats fucking on film wearing a sweaty mask.
It beats being unknown. Another cog in the wheel. Indiscernible from the next guy.
Fuck that.
I’m more than that. I’m more than being some fucking schlub working some bullshit 9-5 job he hates. I’m better than punching a clock, counting down the days until my retirement. Until my eventual death.
And lucky for all of you I realized this at a young age. Realized I was a WRESTLING GAWD meant to bring joy to all you lame fucks out there. Look up to your KING. Follow your KING and he will lead you to the promised land.
WITNESS ME!
None of your fucking beeswax!
Now scram!
Don’t give me those eyes..
Come on..
Ugh fine I’ll tell you..
It all started long ago when Paul Montuori was a fine little lad. He was your typical incredibly handsome and gifted child with a luscious mane of hair. A true delight, able to brighten any day. But unfortunately for him, life wasn't all sunshine and rainbows. For you see, our hero was raisd by a vicious wrestling legend George “The Animal” Montuori, who was the father of Joe.
I’m talking about Joe.
Joe Montuori.
That fuck who’s in this little.. Tournament?
Yeah that one.
Imagine growing up with him.
As your older brother.
Yeah, it’s worse than you’re thinking. Think he's bad meow? Should’ve seen him when he hit puberty. Socks in the house didn’t stand a chance..
Anyways, it’s his fault I got into this business. And his Dad’s fault too. The way they strutted around my entire childhood. Acting all high and mighty. It got worse when Joe got into the business. That’s all anyone talked about. One day I told them I wanted to get into the business too. Those fucking hyenas.
I can still hear them laughing..
They thought they were some gifts to the business of professional wrestling.
The Great George “The Animal” Montuori and his Son.
Nah, they weren’t ‘bout shit. Had nada on me.
I set out to prove to them they weren’t ‘bout shit. Prove to everyone. Set out to be the best Montuori. The bigger name. And not just in this business.
So I guess I can say I got into this business out of spite. All in a weird way to prove my Uncle wrong. Prove Joe wrong. Prove everyone that hated on me my entire childhood wrong. Prove I was better than them.
And for a while that’s what it was all about. I worked my ass off to make a name for myself. To prove to everyone that hated on me they were wrong. Including Joe and his Dad.
But somewhere along the way it became more than that. Proving Joe and his Dad wrong slowly stopped being my main motivation. It became more than spite. More than some washed up hack and his obnoxious son..
I discovered the adulation from the people.
The fame.
The notoriety that came with being Paul motherfuckin’ Montuori.
Going out there and being unapologetically me.
Being a WRESTLING GAWD!
Seeing the look of delight and excitement on people’s faces when I walk into a room.
Bitches know me.
And I fucking dig that.
Either love or hate. I’ll take it all. Attention is attention. Good or bad. As long as you’re talking about me.
Your KING!
There’s nothing like it. Stepping out in front of a crowd. 10 people or 10,000, don’t matter. That feeling. That rush. Outside of banging Michelle Riggs, there’s no better feeling. And to get paid for it? Pft.. No brainer.
A feeling that’s indescribable. Especially to peasants like yourself. Fuck have you ever done to ask me why I do what I do?
Cause it beats fucking on film wearing a sweaty mask.
It beats being unknown. Another cog in the wheel. Indiscernible from the next guy.
Fuck that.
I’m more than that. I’m more than being some fucking schlub working some bullshit 9-5 job he hates. I’m better than punching a clock, counting down the days until my retirement. Until my eventual death.
And lucky for all of you I realized this at a young age. Realized I was a WRESTLING GAWD meant to bring joy to all you lame fucks out there. Look up to your KING. Follow your KING and he will lead you to the promised land.
WITNESS ME!