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~~Ronnie Cage~~ · (11-11-2016)

We find ourselves in Peters Park in South Boston. It's one of those deceivingly beautiful days. Very sunny, but under 60F so not exceptionally warm...and yet, everyone and their mother is out walking a dog, or having a picnic. Except Ronnie Cage. We have no idea why the hell Ronnie Cage is out in a park in the middle of the afternoon surrounded by people having a great time. Actually, wait. That's a lie. We know exactly why Ronnie is in Peters Park. He's there to ruin everyone's good time. He's wearing a pair of jeans, his confederate converse all-stars and a black t-shirt covered up by a plain black hoodie. He's also wearing his trademark Stetson cowboy hat and aviator sunglasses. Ronnie walks deep into the park and leans against a tree.

"Ah fucking hate Boston. It is the worst city in the entire fucking country. Everyone here is just so full of shit. They think they're entitled tew whatever they want. They think they're the greatest. Well, the only person here that's entitled tew anything, is me. Ah'm the greatest. In fact, mah shits are entitled tew more respect than anyone here. Ah bet yew that people come intew this park here and go 'Oh, look at all the cute dogs!" NO! Dogs aren't fuckin cute! They think they're entitled tew! They shit and they piss and they eat. What a nice life! Fuck that."

A Rottweiler approaches Ronnie and begins to growl at him. But Ronnie just turns towards it, rips his sunglasses off revealing his crazy-looking piercing green eyes, and growls right back at the dog, who's growl immediately turns into a whimper, as it turns around and runs away.

"Stupid fucking dog, yew think Ah'm scared of yew? Ah have never known fear, because Ah am fear."

A young boy, maybe eight years old, approaches Ronnie. His parents and their golden retriever stand a few feet away. The boy's smile is quite possibly brighter than the sun, which is shining pretty brightly today. What he doesn't know, is that Ronnie is about to permanently remove that smile from the poor boy's face.

"You're Ronnie Cage, right? You're my favourite wrestler! My dad and I used to watch all your fights. Can't wait to see you win tonight! Can I have your autograph?"

Ronnie takes one look at the kid and grins. He takes the printed photo that the kid has of him, and then without a second thought rips it into several pieces. The boy immediately bursts into tears as he runs back towards his parents.

"Aww, quit yore crying yew stupid fucking brat! Did yew honestly think Ah would sign yore stupid picture of me? Ah ain't yore friend and Ah ain't yore hero. Ah'm Ronnie Cage, bitch! And Ah need a drink."

As Ronnie begins to walk towards the exit of the park, he passes a couple walking their Chihuahua. Without warning, he kicks it as hard as he can. Alright, it was more of a punt than a kick. The dog goes flying. The man, not knowing who Ronnie is, screams and grabs Ronnie by the shoulder. But Ronnie whirls around, grabs the man by the throat and lifts him off the ground. He shakes his head slowly, then throws the man back a few inches and continues walking. He passes a woman sitting on a blanket eating some cheese and crackers. Her wiener dog sits near her, as she feeds it. Again without warning, Ronnie scoops the dog up, he brings the dog in close to his chest, takes a few steps back and turns while bringing the dog up above his head and then throws the dog like one would throw a football. The woman is awestruck. Obviously Ronnie has drawn attention to himself, but everyone is too terrified to go near him. Ronnie leaves the park and walks down the street to a local pub called J.J. Foley's Cafe. It's a family-owned and operated Irish pub that's been in Boston's South End since 1909. Ronnie pulls up a seat at the bar, and is greeted by one of the Foley brothers. In the corner, a young Irish-American plays a guitar and sings.

"Greetings friend, what can I do you for?"

"Shot of bourbon and a couple bud lights."

"Sorry pal, no bourbon here, only Jameson."

"Sorry? Yore sorry? That's nice. But Ah didn't ask yew tew be sorry. Ah asked yew fore a shot of bourbon. So if yew don't have none, go and fuckin' get some. But first, bring me mah fuckin' beer."

The other bartender brings two bottles of bud light for Ronnie. Ronnie smiles an obviously fake smile, and slams a hundred dollar bill on the bar. The first bartender nods and takes the money, before leaving the bar in search of some bourbon.

"Tonight Ah get back intew the ring fore the first time in tew years. Ah am scared? Absolutely fuckin not. Firstly, because Ah could probably beat that pirate bitch slut, Nami, and that fat fuck, Barney 'The Dinosaur" Green with my eyes closed and one arm tied behind mah back. Secondly, because Ah have mah best friend, David Stone bah mah side, and together, we are the greatest fucking tag team this world has ever seen. Ah cannot wait tew beat Barney in his hometown. Tew make him bleed in front of the people who care about him."

Ronnie takes a large swig of his beer and continues speaking.

"Ah've got a question fore yew, Barney. Dew yew like the beach? Ah bet yew don't dew yew, yew pasty motherfucker? Well tonight, David and Ah are gonna toss yew around like a fuckin' beach ball, and when we're done, yore gonna be like a beached fucking whale. All that'll be missing from the ring will be some fucking sand. Now, Nami, whatever the fuck kind of name that is, don't think we're gonna forget about yew. Remember what Ah did tew those dogs at Peters Park? Yore gonna wish that was yew at the end of tonight's match. This is just the beginning. XWF has no fucking clue what they welcomed intew their company with open arms. David and Ah are destruction at its very core. We are pain, and suffering, and tonight, Barney Green and Nami the fucking pirate, we are coming fore yew. So when yore ready tew throw in the towel, yew remember these instructions. Ah want yew tew look right, and then look left, like yore about tew cross the fucking street, because BAM! Yew'll get the Alabama-Rama. This is fucking Anarchy, bitches, and yew'd better be fucking ready fore it!"

Just as Ronnie finishes his speech, the bartender comes back with a bottle of bourbon. Ronnie quickly finishes his beers, pops the cap off the bourbon and takes a large swig of that. He then walks over to the irishman playing guitar, and with one hand pushes the man up against the wall, while the other hand wrenches the guitar away from him.

"Yore voice sucks, yore playing sucks, and yore content sucks. Mah turds can dew a better job than yew. Find a new profession."

He then slams the guitar over the poor man's head. As he heads towards the door, smiling, he takes another hundred dollar bill and slams it on the bar, before taking the bottle of bourbon and leaving the bar to go prepare for his match.

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