Post by Graham Clauson (Rob Budai) on Oct 21, 2022 22:31:40 GMT -5
“To answer that, let Papa here tell you a little story…”
Graham stops, smiling softly for a moment before continuing.
“Back in 2008, there was a man who ran a wrestling promotion called Evolution Wrestling. Business was booming; he just assumed the top role backstage and was clearly feeling the power he attained…
Now, throughout the next few years, he proved himself to be a manipulative carny; a tragic meatsuit who would gladly lead people to Hell for his own jollies. He did some pretty nasty shit to a lot of people, and used me as an instrument to execute his Empirical Decree until I was of no use to him anymore.
Some details of what he did to me, specifically, will be hard for me to talk about like this openly… But for you to understand why I would love the opportunity to rip the jaw off of the person I’m about to speak about, you deserve further context. I need you to understand some of the pathological, sociopathic bullshit that others endured, as well as myself, by this person.
For those of you who know me, you know I spent a good part of my earlier career sitting behind the color commentary desk. I have this guy in my ear for two hours a week, standard fare… Until one night, I’m calling a match featuring the late Ariel Shadows. I’m about to dole out some well-deserved praise…
Instead, I’ve got this voice in my ear…”
Graham speaks in his best British accent, mocking the person he is discussing.
‘Call her a whore.’
Graham looks around, aghast.
“McRepeat that bullshit?”
‘Call the fucking bird a whore, Graham!’
Huffing aloud, Graham shrugs.
“Yes, sir? Next thing I know, Madman Szalinski is chucking a fan’s prosthetic leg at my head. What do I hear in the headset after? Uncontrollable laughter, while declaring ‘that’ll spike ratings’.”
Graham sighs, scratching his head.
“And that was just the tip. Fast forward a few months later, I found out about his meth problem. To my own horror, I walked into his office while he was unstrapping a tourniquet from his arm.”
A short breath forcefully interjects between Graham’s words.
“I…just couldn’t let the man spiral out. Despite my gruff exterior, I’m actually a big teddy bear deep down. And that’s my first mistake…”
Graham stammers a moment, appearing embarrassed.
“Now, in this moment…this man took my attempt to be a good human being, and he pretty much sexually assaulted me. And…I kinda…enjoyed it, in a sick way? This was the first time anyone showed any interest in me sexually, let alone any romantic inclination. If you read between these lines, you’ll get what I’m admitting here. Remember, this was 2009. Being gay was still a capital offense in this business. I couldn’t let this get out. The implications… My anxiety…”
The look upon Graham’s face is saturated in fear.
“God, my Dad…”
Graham’s uneasy chuckle somewhat breaks this, and he retains his ability to articulate.
“So, this twisted little man and I dated in total secrecy, playing the ‘roommate’ set-up in public. I began to let myself go. I was unkempt and in the worst physical shape of my career. I poured all of my extra energy into him instead of myself, thinking I could change him. Obviously, it got worse. His drug use continued to escalate to the point where his blood may have been half meth. He kept trying to get me to join in. Nope! I kept refusing and talking him into throwing out whatever stash he had. My naive ass let this happen repeatedly…hoping he'd just...stop...”
Graham stops briefly, raising a finger for a moment.
“I was just his play toy. I was supposed to have a plastic little body that never got hurt, never broke down. Little did I know, he was the mastermind behind every word I said and everything I did. I was, without my own knowledge, this man’s slave. Not only was I his employee, he had me under his roof. I was his financial and sexual property.”
Graham seems to choke up a slight bit as he finishes his sentence. Only after taking a breath and exhaling very deeply does he attempt to continue.
“Inevitably, he finally turned his rage to me. Bear with me, this is the first time I’m admitting these details openly… One night, post-show… back in our hotel room… I walked in, found him…he found some shit, and was higher than the Hindenburg…”
A chuckle escapes, a sniffle following. Continuing to speak, the emotions overwhelm Graham slightly.
“I…couldn’t stay quiet any longer. The guy that everyone in the crowd would soon know as ‘The Shoot King’ came out. The kid who could read a man down to their cheap-ass white boxers before making you wonder if it was the words or the flesh that took their head off. The person I thought I loved…was killing themself in front of me and my presence wasn’t enough to stop it. So, after all the time he kept feeding me that I had a tongue that slices throats, I thought it was time to make him understand the pain he was making me go through.”
A tear rolls down Graham’s cheek, his speech still clear as he appears to be reliving his anger in real time.
“I told him that if I ever caught him like the way I did, I was going to not only put him in rehab, I would make sure all the boys in the back knew what secret we were keeping! Hell, let alone he looked like a damn lizard all the time! His eyes…darting around all the time and constantly licking his lips because they were more chapped than the patrons who frequent The Eagle in Philadelphia. I turned around, declaring that his constant lies were causing me to feel the worst pain I thought I could ever feel…”
Graham stutters briefly.
“Only to take a lamp to the back of my head seconds later…”
Stopping, Graham holds up a finger as he looks away and grunts away a breakdown.
“Plus, several hard kicks to the face, ribs and hip…from steel-toed boots… He left me bruised and bloodied at the foot of the bed, and I was too in shock to fight back. He also took my wallet, and my cell phone… I was literally left for dead…a discarded toy…”
Turning away, Graham lowers the microphone and takes a few paces towards the back of the stage. After wiping his face with an open hand and a throat clearing later, he turns around with the microphone back up to his lips.
“And with all of this, I denied who I was out of self-preservation. I swore off getting close to anyone else. I didn’t want to be happy because I didn’t think I deserved it. It took my husband three months of persistently chasing me to commit to our first date because I kept running away from being actually happy.
Even to this day, I still can’t fully accept my sexuality with full pride. Why do you think I threw Austin Ramsey down a flight of stairs and called him the wrong kind of gay? It’s me lashing out at anything that even remotely resembles how that man acted. All the humor is a mask for the self-hatred I harbor - so I don’t lash out. The asshole made me think what he was is what all gay men were behind the bedroom door - sex-and-drug-obsessed, debaucherous pigs. Unfortunately for Austin, he is everything the asshole wanted, and every time I look at Austin… I see that man’s face instead of Austin’s…”
Closing his eyes and gritting his teeth, Graham is audibly seething and chuffing.
“Because of this person, I still can’t take people’s word for it when they are being honest and fair with me. Every time I’m told ‘don’t worry, this will never happen’...I’m always afraid in the middle of the night, in the middle of a match, that something I was worried about is going to happen. He made me believe that I was not worthy of anyone’s time, attention, or praise unless I was under their boot.”
Graham snorts, appearing to clear his sinuses.
“He put thoughts in my head that wound up being my defining characteristics…and I fight those same characteristics every single day. I relive his trauma every time I wake up! I don’t want to be the man he was and end up in Hell like him! Maybe I wouldn’t have had the idea that the only way to stop hurting was to run away from it all, to end my own life to make it stick…
The person I want to fight? My ex, former owner of EPW and X3W: Brydon Talinsdale. I want closure from that British bastard! Papa is nobody’s plaything!”
Anger is victorious as Graham tosses the microphone to the side with force, an audible thud following.
Graham stops, smiling softly for a moment before continuing.
“Back in 2008, there was a man who ran a wrestling promotion called Evolution Wrestling. Business was booming; he just assumed the top role backstage and was clearly feeling the power he attained…
Now, throughout the next few years, he proved himself to be a manipulative carny; a tragic meatsuit who would gladly lead people to Hell for his own jollies. He did some pretty nasty shit to a lot of people, and used me as an instrument to execute his Empirical Decree until I was of no use to him anymore.
Some details of what he did to me, specifically, will be hard for me to talk about like this openly… But for you to understand why I would love the opportunity to rip the jaw off of the person I’m about to speak about, you deserve further context. I need you to understand some of the pathological, sociopathic bullshit that others endured, as well as myself, by this person.
For those of you who know me, you know I spent a good part of my earlier career sitting behind the color commentary desk. I have this guy in my ear for two hours a week, standard fare… Until one night, I’m calling a match featuring the late Ariel Shadows. I’m about to dole out some well-deserved praise…
Instead, I’ve got this voice in my ear…”
Graham speaks in his best British accent, mocking the person he is discussing.
‘Call her a whore.’
Graham looks around, aghast.
“McRepeat that bullshit?”
‘Call the fucking bird a whore, Graham!’
Huffing aloud, Graham shrugs.
“Yes, sir? Next thing I know, Madman Szalinski is chucking a fan’s prosthetic leg at my head. What do I hear in the headset after? Uncontrollable laughter, while declaring ‘that’ll spike ratings’.”
Graham sighs, scratching his head.
“And that was just the tip. Fast forward a few months later, I found out about his meth problem. To my own horror, I walked into his office while he was unstrapping a tourniquet from his arm.”
A short breath forcefully interjects between Graham’s words.
“I…just couldn’t let the man spiral out. Despite my gruff exterior, I’m actually a big teddy bear deep down. And that’s my first mistake…”
Graham stammers a moment, appearing embarrassed.
“Now, in this moment…this man took my attempt to be a good human being, and he pretty much sexually assaulted me. And…I kinda…enjoyed it, in a sick way? This was the first time anyone showed any interest in me sexually, let alone any romantic inclination. If you read between these lines, you’ll get what I’m admitting here. Remember, this was 2009. Being gay was still a capital offense in this business. I couldn’t let this get out. The implications… My anxiety…”
The look upon Graham’s face is saturated in fear.
“God, my Dad…”
Graham’s uneasy chuckle somewhat breaks this, and he retains his ability to articulate.
“So, this twisted little man and I dated in total secrecy, playing the ‘roommate’ set-up in public. I began to let myself go. I was unkempt and in the worst physical shape of my career. I poured all of my extra energy into him instead of myself, thinking I could change him. Obviously, it got worse. His drug use continued to escalate to the point where his blood may have been half meth. He kept trying to get me to join in. Nope! I kept refusing and talking him into throwing out whatever stash he had. My naive ass let this happen repeatedly…hoping he'd just...stop...”
Graham stops briefly, raising a finger for a moment.
“I was just his play toy. I was supposed to have a plastic little body that never got hurt, never broke down. Little did I know, he was the mastermind behind every word I said and everything I did. I was, without my own knowledge, this man’s slave. Not only was I his employee, he had me under his roof. I was his financial and sexual property.”
Graham seems to choke up a slight bit as he finishes his sentence. Only after taking a breath and exhaling very deeply does he attempt to continue.
“Inevitably, he finally turned his rage to me. Bear with me, this is the first time I’m admitting these details openly… One night, post-show… back in our hotel room… I walked in, found him…he found some shit, and was higher than the Hindenburg…”
A chuckle escapes, a sniffle following. Continuing to speak, the emotions overwhelm Graham slightly.
“I…couldn’t stay quiet any longer. The guy that everyone in the crowd would soon know as ‘The Shoot King’ came out. The kid who could read a man down to their cheap-ass white boxers before making you wonder if it was the words or the flesh that took their head off. The person I thought I loved…was killing themself in front of me and my presence wasn’t enough to stop it. So, after all the time he kept feeding me that I had a tongue that slices throats, I thought it was time to make him understand the pain he was making me go through.”
A tear rolls down Graham’s cheek, his speech still clear as he appears to be reliving his anger in real time.
“I told him that if I ever caught him like the way I did, I was going to not only put him in rehab, I would make sure all the boys in the back knew what secret we were keeping! Hell, let alone he looked like a damn lizard all the time! His eyes…darting around all the time and constantly licking his lips because they were more chapped than the patrons who frequent The Eagle in Philadelphia. I turned around, declaring that his constant lies were causing me to feel the worst pain I thought I could ever feel…”
Graham stutters briefly.
“Only to take a lamp to the back of my head seconds later…”
Stopping, Graham holds up a finger as he looks away and grunts away a breakdown.
“Plus, several hard kicks to the face, ribs and hip…from steel-toed boots… He left me bruised and bloodied at the foot of the bed, and I was too in shock to fight back. He also took my wallet, and my cell phone… I was literally left for dead…a discarded toy…”
Turning away, Graham lowers the microphone and takes a few paces towards the back of the stage. After wiping his face with an open hand and a throat clearing later, he turns around with the microphone back up to his lips.
“And with all of this, I denied who I was out of self-preservation. I swore off getting close to anyone else. I didn’t want to be happy because I didn’t think I deserved it. It took my husband three months of persistently chasing me to commit to our first date because I kept running away from being actually happy.
Even to this day, I still can’t fully accept my sexuality with full pride. Why do you think I threw Austin Ramsey down a flight of stairs and called him the wrong kind of gay? It’s me lashing out at anything that even remotely resembles how that man acted. All the humor is a mask for the self-hatred I harbor - so I don’t lash out. The asshole made me think what he was is what all gay men were behind the bedroom door - sex-and-drug-obsessed, debaucherous pigs. Unfortunately for Austin, he is everything the asshole wanted, and every time I look at Austin… I see that man’s face instead of Austin’s…”
Closing his eyes and gritting his teeth, Graham is audibly seething and chuffing.
“Because of this person, I still can’t take people’s word for it when they are being honest and fair with me. Every time I’m told ‘don’t worry, this will never happen’...I’m always afraid in the middle of the night, in the middle of a match, that something I was worried about is going to happen. He made me believe that I was not worthy of anyone’s time, attention, or praise unless I was under their boot.”
Graham snorts, appearing to clear his sinuses.
“He put thoughts in my head that wound up being my defining characteristics…and I fight those same characteristics every single day. I relive his trauma every time I wake up! I don’t want to be the man he was and end up in Hell like him! Maybe I wouldn’t have had the idea that the only way to stop hurting was to run away from it all, to end my own life to make it stick…
The person I want to fight? My ex, former owner of EPW and X3W: Brydon Talinsdale. I want closure from that British bastard! Papa is nobody’s plaything!”
Anger is victorious as Graham tosses the microphone to the side with force, an audible thud following.
Word Count (per WordCounter.net): 1499/1500