Approximately two years ago, around the time that I was wrapping up my time with HBWL/B&S (RIP), I was approached by Big Daddy BG Kid Leopard with yet another invitation to start wrestling for BG East. I of course jumped at the chance. On the day that I was set to return to the real world and my life outside of BGEast, a group picture of me sandwiched between Blaine Janus and Red Baron popped up on a blog that I had occasionally (ok, frequently) enjoyed.
This blog had the ability to push my buttons, to turn me on and titillate me with hot pictures and commentary on homoerotic wrestling releases from various companies (including, of course, WHAT ELSE?! my personal favorite: BG East.) I was often entranced at the skill of this wordsmith who knew exactly just what to say to encourage me to put my dick away and whip out my credit card and buy whatever he was hocking. (Notice my use of the word "had")
My mind buzzing with the compliments (albeit the disparaging ones about me needing fashion advice from Skip Vance? Pfft! I did win a Fashion Friday all on my own) from this blogger, I reached out with a particularly gushing email (that I thought would be discarded as a troll email) that said, with all the subtleties I possess, "OMFG! That's ME!"
A rapport was built. We traded many e-mails and built, what I thought at the time, was a friendship. I tend to be nice to my fans. He would prop me up and soothe my bruised ego when I hit one of the many speed bumps on my way to my first win over Ty "Jizzslapped" Alexander.
I had a match with Mason Brooks which, next to my near-fatal run in with Jonny Firestorm, is my most frustrating on-camera loss to date. Bard was so entranced by the entire DVD (Passion and Punishment Drake vs Mason, Skrapper vs Dixon, Lauden vs Axel) that he reached out to Mason and me for a 3-way interview. I readily accepted because, you know, that's what friends do.
And that's when the beautifully constructed house of cards came crashing down.
Around the midway mark, I noticed that Bard had quite the hard-on for my costar. He was a little too chummy. A little too deferential to the "magical nipples" of Mason Brooks and a little too flippant and dismissive of what was my, admittedly, lopsided win-loss record. He started bandying a word about like it was no big deal.
He kept calling me a "jobber".
But he always did it in a way that he obliviously thinks was complimentary or nice. Stuff like "handsome jobber" or "suffers prettily." I'm obviously paraphrasing here, but the point is, he thought that by playing to my vanity, I would stop listening and bask in the compliment and ignore the insult that was tacked on to it. Nuh uh. No way.
My ire towards my once favorite blogger continued to grow as he continued to joke about calling me a jobber. Like he hadn't just kicked sand in my face.
And then Christmas time came around and I decided to give him a taste of his own medicine. I sent him a Christmas card, with some sexy pictures, wishing him a merry Christmas, inciting people to visit BOTH of our blogs. And I promised him an ass-kicking in a pear tree, or something.
He continued to taunt me from the safety of a huge geographical distance and play keyboard warrior, saying he was going to give me a beatdown with Mason as referee. Nope.
Months went by, barbs were continually exchanged and then, I found out that he would be in vicinity of the BG ring...perfect. Time to cash in that IOU.
And then fucking D2 had to step in.
To be continued