Head Trip 309 - The Personal Blogs of Russ

Because I don't want to open too many windows.

2010-05-10T15:09:00.000-07:00

I already have Fireworks, multiple Dreamweaver windows, and Firefox open. Can you blame me for not wanting to open Word for proofreading?

I can't say it has been a crazy couple of weeks, and that could be my problem. Okay, that's definitely my problem. I'm broke. I don't have anyone I can relate to in the Peoria area (not to say anyone can), and no way to meet new people. I can affirm that after my accidental credit slip up on Zoosk.

It feels like I'm on a countdown to extinction. If I can't make something work by the end of the year, it'll be two years of worthlessness, and even with all the drama I've experienced, I've never had two consecutive years of being fucked. I'd say the dead-pun-line is 12/31 because I don't want to be one of those assholes who do the died at age 30, 1980-2011.

If anything that is reason enough to jail Michael Jackson's doctor. I'd show leniency if he would have postponed the OD a couple of months, so that MJ would have been 51 (1948-2009). Maybe that's why the obsessive compulsive shouldn't pass judgment.

Then again, that would make this website the ultimate hypocrisy. Suppose I better get to the blog then, and skip discussing the kitty suicide notes and the depressed chick hair cut I nearly gave myself. Do pawn shops take beard trimmers?

I cannot say truckers have more sense than headless poets (see Part 1). From my experience, they have less. Unless the human torch of Tazewell's lungs were instantly filled with smoke and his wandering around the parking lot was a 120 second long involuntary twitch, I think Kurt Cobain maintains the title of the wiser.

I would like to say truck drivers have more common sense than the right wing daddy sods who bothered me on the "five hundred" block, but I had heard to many political speeches of how messed up the liberals had made things from those with CDLs. Sadly, these weren't debates and I even heard the occasional "the Confederates were far more honorable and better than you yanks" rants.

This would be an easy transition to tell my Facebook friends how voting for Republicans is immoral, but I still want to rip on our title's sods. Perhaps truck drivers do not have a greater amount of sense than these not quite Ivy League turds (who were Cardinals fans to boot), but they may more common courtesy. I have heard that Tejano truckers are a ball to booze with and I am fairly certain they do not talk politics or religion. Of course, with all the Virgin Mary stamps on their skin, you should know what faith not to piss on.

That's what the T-shirt I wear was, a statement. You may not get the message, but you understand the words "Destroy Popular Culture." My fault was my willingness to explain the shirt to a couple of closet cases.

Another reason why you do not talk to patrons of the same gender at a strip club. Am I suppose to think that a guy is straight if you want to talk me about politics instead of Polly's tits?

No one has the nerve to care

2010-04-22T23:32:00.000-07:00

I own a cynical T-shirt (imagine that) that mocks Twitter with the blue birt spouting out, "Nobody Cares." It's ironic in a sense because I love to tweet, and for the most part believed to to be a true statement based on the lack of constructive feedback from my 300 friends on the Internet.

My seemingly pessimistic (I'll still stand by realistic) outlook may not be unjust, but it leaves me pondering when my cat will let an A&E camera crew into the apartment while I'm at work for a surprise intervention. The little furball is sneaky like that.

Check out the blog at HARSHSIDE.COM

Do you think the Nazis want to claim a tattooed turd?

2010-04-10T12:34:00.000-07:00

I will like to take this as a chance to promote my new website Harshside.com, otherwise this is my way of typing up homework without at Affina blocking my communications with my home computer.

“The Soup” is the ultimate source of covering the irreverent. I’d like to say it is the “Onion,” but I want a formal apology for any part of their film that did not feature Steven Segal.

Perhaps I don’t watch enough real news, but it has been fairly free about stuff that pisses me off. It isn’t 2012 yet, so I’m not going to take Sarah Palin seriously for a while. My optimistic view of world affairs may actually come from moving out of a house where my mom watched nothing but Fox News.

Maybe I just have a lot of deep issues with anger, so I need to find stuff to get angry about when I write, and thankfully my DVR allows me to keep track of the decadence of this consumption based society. Something that may need to be explained after my experience with the limp wrested strip club assholes I met weeks back, but that is another story (last weeks to be precise).

Since the stuff I’m watching is irreverent, one can argue that there is no need to be pissed about it. I guess I’m angry at the fact we cover ridiculous, water skiing squirrel free stories. People watch this coverage and want to get involved with it, and that’s wrong.

No one wanted to water ski after the squirrel, so why do they want to prove that Jesse James is a Nazi makes no sense. Thus, we got to get angry, and slap some sense into those who are satisfied despite not owning a digital cable box.

Pedophiles vs. War Criminals

2010-04-01T12:22:00.000-07:00

So...the editors at the Harbinger, Illinois Central College's newspaper, expects their contributing clolumnist to walk by their office that is two stories above the only class he's attending this semester. It's funny because he's only had to enter the office once in his three semesters of contributing.

Enough of this 3rd Person bullocks, makes me feel like those right wing twats who were offended at my "Destroy Popular Culture, Rebuild, Repeat" shirt...at a strip club. Did one of the girls pay them off just, so I'd plead for one of them to take me back for a dance?

The editor had told me, if they could pay me for my reviews and my opinion pieces, they would. Personally, I like not having the hastles of showing up to meetings, and if that cost me a few bucks, that no big deal. All I expect is an e-mail telling me when I have to get my shit finished.

Maybe it just slipped their mind, maybe the A&E editor saw a flick and wants my space, or the editor-in-chief didn't like Ghosting my last opinion piece. Whatever the reason, I feel a little put out by a newspaper that hardly updates its website.

Yes, I guess I maybe taking the inevitable "sorry, we were so busy e-mail" to hard, but I have an ego, and when I don't do too many things well, failing to get published hurts.

After receiving the e-mail, it was a reality check. The staff simply had college things to do, the stuff that will further careers. Writing for a college newspaper is kind of a secondary thing in comparison. Like it or not, that is pretty accurate.

C'est la vie, I guess. With a Polanski movie review, that seems appropriate. As long as my works weren't published for making an observation about pedophilia in this critique, everything will work out fine. I bought a domain for a reason right?

Check out the review at my new website Harshside.com - Satire, Movies, and Anarchy

Please offer a fucking clue.

2010-03-23T01:27:00.000-07:00

Where/how am I suppose to develop a relationship with a girl? I offer nothing that is appreciated, and fuckin douches seem to get rewarded for being what they are.

Can't stand bars. Online is shit, and college...fuck the only interesting chick from class is helping out the MassCom Reverend with his Christian online radio.

I am not trying to take a shot at you, but Stef, you were trying to set me up with Sam. Not exactly and ego boost. Am I really that hopeless? honestly?

And please be solution oriented with your response.

I guess I've just become the ultimate douche. But fuck, at least I'm honest.

I got a person for each finger on one hand who really truly give a shit if I'm gone. Look where I'm at. Right now, my only hope is to get famous with my writing. Fuck. You didn't believe in the wrestling, this isn't any better.

I had my window to get my shit straight, and no one has said anything otherwise. They just hope it will change for me.

Fuck, Hope is for the terminal. I'm inevitably going to off myself. Sorry to drop this e-mail on you. I don't know when, "the GREEN scissors" aren't sharp enough, so I have no clue. I don't see any reason why shit will end well for me.

I am through with hoping.

What needs to be changed?

2010-01-26T17:52:00.000-08:00

Obviously my environment? I can't justify developing my next website idea while I only have a week left before moving out.

Attitude towards my job? Only in the idea that I should just say, "If you don't think I'm working out, fire me now, and I'll respect you for it sense." With ideas that are coming to mind for my extreme leftist blog, it would be best to handle me this way instead of waiting till I'm stuck with a fucking lease.

My abrasive nature...really? People still have a sense of humor right, or is everything taken personally? Am I just a shitty guy to introduce to people?

Or am I just shitty looking? With the baby-face there are times when I think I look too much like Private Pile from "Full Metal Jacket." I'm to the point where I'd appreciate an Am-16 for my birthday.

Again, the abrasive attitude. Again, I swear no one has a sense of humor anymore. How many people find the last paragraph creepy? What? Can't make jokes about D'Onofrio myself?

Also feel like I may need a change in friends. Come on. I've been a bit more optimistic of late, but I've been left high and dry on feedback. Fuck, it really feels like I've been abandoned to a fate that no one has a set to tell me I'm about to face.

Right now, my life maybe moving a step forward, but that may only be a step closer to a ledge. I'm an offbeat immature freak, and there isn't going to much left for me after this next step. And I'm still not sure if that ledge will crumble beneath me.

Hope = Death, a bleak observation

2010-01-02T20:31:00.000-08:00

The problem with last night's blog was that it was too repetitive. A struggle to figure out what more can be said about how shitty my existence is. After plenty of calling God a sadistic bastard and thoughts to Frank Miller's "Sin City," I think I may have received a divine answer.

It doesn't get that douche bag Iehova off the shit list, but it is a lesson that I think all should learn and the sooner the better.

Nothing good can come from hope. There has got to be a fucking game plan and the knowledge that the game will end.

This is probably why the Cubs never amount to champions. Cubs "fans" are too busy hoping that this will be the year they will end a century (it's still early in this one, so I'm rounding down) without a championship instead of figuring out how the Cubs can win it.

I think I went over this in my Harbinger article "Why are Chicago Sports Fans Restricted to Hoping." Of course, they have a shitty web adviser, so finding it on their website isn't going to happen. No worries, I'll post it tomorrow on http://harshside309.blogspot.com

Back to the bitching about God failing to give us a reach around. If you are restricted to hoping something good will happen in a situation, it won't. Name one person you've hoped from their death bed?

Look at Baby Dax. We were hoping he wasn't going to cash it in. We hoped a miracle would save his butt.

We hope when something is impossible. We got to stop doing that.

Look at "Sin City". Bruce Willis's character says it best after telling Jessica Alba justice will prevail and tells her to run off:

And after I pull off that miracle, maybe I'll go punch out God.

Our hero then promptly blows his brains out because the game is over.

It can even be traced back to "Fight Club".

First you have to give up, first you have to *know*... not fear... *know*... that someday you're gonna die.

Characters occassionally get lucky like Clive Owen in "Sin City," but in the end, "City of Men" found a way to make a downer flick even more depressing.

Perhaps this is why writing has been difficult for me right now. What I write is creationism. If you don't love god, how can you play one. This is killing my fiction, my screenplay, and my return to the wrestling scene.

God is a dick, but I'll give him credit to his wisdom. He gave his detractor some of it to try to get me over him.

But I'm a fucking Cubs fan, and like the trade of Lou Brock, I don't get over shit.

Let it be 2010 because 2012 is too far away.

2010-01-01T20:47:00.000-08:00

No, it's not a resolution. With my depressed mood, I'd like it to be a documentation till extinction. Saves on writing a suicide not.

So I've been assigned my work station which is pretty much out on it's own. Yes, this should be a good thing when you dislike most people, but when you don't have any friends and positive social interaction is a necessity I'm plenty fucked.

A lot of you may interpret this as a fuck you, but it's more of a compliment. Why would anyone want to hang out with this downer? This isn't a blame either. I put myself in a position where I have no real connections. Still, there is kind of a feeling that I've been given up on by those who can actually hang out with, but that ain't right since all of you have moved on to better things.

Right now, I'm stuck in a house where socialism is a cuss word for the next month. By the time I move out, it'll be coming up on my 30th birthday. So the future is alone and dealing with my impotence as a human being that has ruled my life since adolescence.

All I got are stories, but there is absolutely no one to tell them to. It is about time to get canceled.

It now makes me think why the fuck am I even writing when the audience has gone. I'm the definition of insanity. And since nobody will read this, no one will be kind enough to get me committed.

I do have to ask, "Am I no longer the lovable loser?" because that would explain the abandonment. I can't even be hopeful for this world. If I've been written of for it, the Cubs will surely follow.

Fuck this Soxciety.

Your beautiful and your god is an asshole

2009-12-22T20:37:00.000-08:00

So things once again have hints of improvement in my life, but lord know I ain't sold on it. Why? Because the last couple things I've written have just been plain angry. Not satirical, no humor, just pissed off because I think it's a load of bull shit that I'm suppose to hope. When do I get something to hope about? After I get pissed.

Faith, fuck that.

I'm sorry, but it feels like I've been awarded for passive aggressive behavior. Even if I'm in the right by telling all my friends to grow a fucking backbone [and it's only inadvertently passive because so many phone numbers have changed and I don't have many tangible relationships (and some could say I have zero in that category)], anger was the prevalent emotion.

Perhaps too much Eastern pinches of philosophy, knowing that the poser named Jesus (not the piercer but the pierce one known as the messiah) never got angry (he just got tough in the temple), and Stacia making sure that I would never get angry (and if I took her lead, I can only be angry if I was cute about it), but it is the one emotion I cannot tolerate.

Unless it's about the fucking White Sox, I am out to be the mother fucking Jedi master. Fear is something I have enough problems dealing with. Do you think I can really handle anger...let alone hate and suffering?

What I am getting to is that the power that be is an asshole, and lets face it is really undeserving of anyone....

Just pausing because I am confused where to place this blog. Should be on this personal blog one because I am talking about the ways of my fucked up maze? Should be on http://harshside309.blogspot.com because I am attacking the fabric of the most hypocritical of society? Or should be on http://rohmobile.com because despite the flaws that almost make it as bad as "Pirate Radio," watching "Persepolis" fuels my discontent with the big guy.

He is either rewarding me for being a prick or he is keeping up with his sick sense of humor. If putting me in a house where I can't have a cat and a racist mother who doesn't want me to leave weren't torture enough.

Either way, God is an asshole. Never reward the cunts, tax the fuck out of them. And if someone tells me to lay off certain jokes, I'll go out of the way to knock that shit off (no guarantees of course).

So, I'm confused, and I need some fucking guidance, and I do not want to take it from anyone who wants to put God in their bibliography. Can somebody please step up?

If you are pissy about how I'm acting towards the big fella, helping me out may be God's will.

I guess it would be nice.

Thanks for the abandonment assholes

2009-12-19T21:00:00.000-08:00

I thought I had written in my last blog that I need people to just accept the fact that I am fucking hopeless. To tell me just to fuck off. I forgot that I'm so much easier to just fucking ignore.

Hey, I'm sorry that most of the shit I blog about is how shitty my life is. Sorry you won't take the time to accept that this is more than a pity trip. Just fuck me for my opinion pieces being dedicated to ICC's school newspaper that won't fucking help itself.

The world is fed up with me, I should get that, but again I hate relying on fucking implications.

Sorry if it fucking pains you to say it, but just say it. You can even apologize with it.

We are sorry that this is true, but you are a fucking loser, and we can't stand you bitching about it.

What the fuck? Three years of this shit, and you keep fucking lying to yourselves. Fuck, you keep lying to me.

I'm sorry I can't please all of you and fucking lie to myself. I'm an asshole, I've accepted that, so I may as well be a self righteous one.

Is it that hard to say fuck off?

2009-12-18T22:05:00.000-08:00

Been popping more ativan and it isn't just because of the new job. It is just because hope keeps trying to prove that it exist. I'm not saying it doesn't exist, but to me it is nothing more than a cruel mistress. Like I need anymore of them.

Perhaps things are turning around for me. I can move out of the cell that my parents and older sister provide me with, I can finally have a cat of my own, but in the end the inevitable question is what is next.

Does anyone really see me making friends at a call center? Everyone who doesn't understand that the cog in the in a functioning machine doesn't get to tell the operator shit just seem to sensitive. The training class turned on me for being a true Cubs fan (which demands an abandonment of the Southside) and being a gentlemen.

<---I have a feminist rant that popped in here, you can view it at Harshside309.blogspot.com

All the friends I had from local wrestling have abandoned me. My best friends seem to have just grown up. Others have wisely moved beyond Peoria, so every time I go out, I'm alone.

It was Soul Asylum who said "Nothing attracts a crowd, like another crowd"

So without a crowd of young tuffs to accompany me, making new friends doesn't seem to be in the picture. Unless bartenders start directing people my way. Too bad I'm too broke to support anyone else's alcoholism.

Even when I had guys to hang out with, meeting...fuck...I'll just say it girls didn't happen. I'm just the awkward friend (who happens to be knowledgable and more understanding). A girl may become my best friend, but that is all they can be. I'm just a fuck up who always gets passed over, never given a chance to prove that I'm out to be the better man.

I guess I can't really relate the girl issue to just the crowd shit. Fuck, I just can't get any where. If I try to show interest, I'm politely ignored.

I don't work on fucking implications alright. If you want to set fucking rules, tell me. If you want me to just stay out.

TELL ME TO FUCK OFF!!!

Don't play fucking games, I am sure as hell not going to do that to you.

Of course, I got to hold on to hope. This to the world, just do me a fucking favor and stop trying to make me feel hopeful. The past 6 years have been hell because no matter what I do to get over my shit, I'm told or given reasons to be hopeful. And all during all this time, nothing ever works out, hope is for not.

Just fucking acknowledge I am hopeless, so I finally figure out how it's going to end.

A week off unemployment. Another week of zero production.

2009-12-04T16:51:00.000-08:00

I just can't do this day shit. Work 8.5 and then go to bed to do it again? It isn't like that gives me time for fun since older sister is territorial as long as she's awake. I just need that second shift, bar, bed.

Which I won't be getting till freaking January. Five weeks of training at Affina/Ryder, two of which are orientation. I like getting paid to do nothing, but it is painful when we nothing is produced from it.

With how things are shaping up, I can't get the fuck out of the folk's place till February. Since we will just are training till January 4 (at the earliest) we can't get paid for the holidays, so I'll have one check as a deposit from this month and the rest goes towards bills. If Mom gets a piece of this as rent for living here (thanks big sis for setting that standard), I'll be lucky to move out by March.

Oh yeah, China's a no go. That clears me to beat the crap out of Maris right^_- Can I at least air freight his butt back to the Soviet block? I'll put holes in the box. Or maybe I can use his accent and knowledge of five languages to accuse him of being an Al Qaeda recruiter.

So when it comes to transferring to U of I, well that's gotta wait till 2011. At least till my lease or I run up. Let the countdown to extinction begin. I see myself either ending up as the crazy cat person, or like Tommy from "Trainspotting". Hell, I may start breeding kitties for the toxoplasmosis. Better that than ending up in "Dog Soldiers"

This is my life, and it is ending one day at a time. Any suggestions on speeding it up.

An Effort to Steer Wrestlers Away from Peoria

2009-11-24T07:27:00.000-08:00

The promoter of NGW, Alex Larson, has barred me from their shows until June (2006) for my attempt to shoot on him (tell the truth to the fans) at the last show.

NGW to me was just my friends and I trying to improve our wrestling skill. For me, wrestling was my adrenaline fix. I need to go out and get the shit kicked out of me just to feel well.

No wonder Stacia always asked me to get out of it after my broken wrist. Don't let the addiction get the best of you.

Alex said that everyone in NGW was a family. How exiling me for a month with no explanation was father-esque, I don't know. He at least always explained why he would do something with my involvement in the promotion.

Of course, when you tell the self righteous to listen to other views, their actions need no explanation. You are just wrong.

To give you a little insight about this asshole. Here is a conversation I had with another person who considered Alex to be a friend. The situation is about the same.

If Alex is reading this, I have to ask why? You aren't my friend and friends is what MySpace is about.

I never actually asked you why Alex ran you out of NGW.
We just got into an argument.
We were sick of each other's shit.
well, it's only a six month penalty now.
What do you mean?
I got suspended till june for telling him my opinion. Well, actually trying to air out his bull shit infront of everyone
lol Suspended until June?
You can grow out of NGW by then, Russ.
He said for trying to tell everyone how he fucks people over (I don't get the punishment, he cut my mic), and for bad mouthing NGW on the internet and telling people to go to other shows
I know I don't need NGW, I just got my friends there and like the weekly adrenaline rush
of course for bad mouthing the promoter and fans, I bad mouth the workers, so Alex claims everyone should hate me
Yeah. Freedom of Speech is a double edged sword.
Trust me... I know.
I just hate being pushed by a self ritous asshole. I might join back in six months just to hope to get the chance to beat the shit out of the coward. (Oh, Alex, the way to avoid it is not to book RC v. CCC. See we can still work through our differences.)
funny, i didn't say one insult to the guy when I plead my case.
I did.
I like to take advantage of situations like that.
What all did you say.
I said, "I was going to shoot because you wanted everyone to think I left on my own." I told him that you didn't book me for a month despite you know how much I love just getting in the ring. And the last time you didn't book me for a month, he at least told me why.
Alex said look at the bull shit on your website. You can't tell people to go to other shows like AAW and Shimmer. It puts down our roster. You attacked them.
He'll use what he can. You know that... You're supposed to know that by now.
And you gave it to him.
I responded with I attacked the fans and the promoter. then he just wouldn't get off his high horse and claimed there was 25 guys ready to shoot on me. I didn't get to say anything else. Until he said this was business and I said it was personal. Then he threatened to call the cops if I didn't leave.
*Cencored*
Alex and I have done worse things to each other. I figured we always talked through them before, so I thought this was no different
I left the PAC by responding to his, "I'm sick of this, you think you are better than everyone else attitude," with "it's not about thinking, it's about wanting to be better than everyone else. Like everyone should in this locker room."
Then he broke down and said come back in June.
Well at least you got that.
thanks for letting me vent

Mickey Rourke Ain't Got Shit on Me

2009-11-12T07:06:00.000-08:00

The last time I was out of Next Generation Wrestling (for reasons that were all business and were understood and made clear by all parties involved), I decided to see how I compared to everyone in 2004.

To motivate me to out perform. That was the goal. Of course, I realized that actual wrestling ability was not the promoter's concern since I was suppose to be in a comic angle and jobbing to those who the crowd thought was cool.

You cannot improve if no one wants to believe you can.

I guess I had my moments, in 2005 with the Kyle Rich feud, my return match against Brett Gakiya, and the Star Wars gimmick, but refusing to play the roles NGW wanted me to forced them to put me in a position of just putting me in meaningless matches. The win loss ratio made it so statistically that I was a push over, but when you are not in the premiership, how many limeys give a shit about what you do?

With the realization of this and my best friend trying to kill me, I admit, despite the great matches I had, it was not my best year. But when I look at why certain people got to where they are in my rankings, it was not much of a year in Peoria Wrestling.

1. Chris Hazard (NGW Heavyweight Champion) - Nobody can deny that Hazard is the best heavyweight in the Heart of Illinois. The build, the mic skills, and the storytelling ability are the best in NGW. It was fitting that he has gotten the chance to dominate as heavyweight Champion. Unfortunately, with storyline bull shit during the first reign of 05, you might not even be able to remember that he was the champion instead of Jester for that period of time.

2. Kyle Rich (Two time NGW Triple Threat Champion) - The most athletically gifted performer the promotion had seen. He lacks some of the dramatic elements like a Bret Hart prior to the Hart Foundation, but his bringing the strong style to NGW made him the person to watch. After his 20 minute draw with Chris Hazard, everyone knew he was going to be the star to watch. Too bad the Triple Threat Championship is downplayed to the Heavyweight Championship like the X-Division is the side show to Jarrett's title reign.

3. Ryan Phoenix (former Triple Threat and Tag Team Champion) - Phoenix was the ultimate utility player of 2005. With coming from the fan base, people would not mind seeing him in big matches. Unfortunately, he never got to win those matches. But he was there and that should count for something.

4. Sinnister (Former People's Choice Champion) - I am not a fan of saying the little guys cannot win, but Sinnister was the only People Choice Champion you wanted to see the belt come off of. Unfortunately, wanting to stick to hardcore style matches meant the division was not about great wrestling. On the flip side, Sinnister was given the chance to show how he could carry any opponent into having an entertaining match. This probably did a lot to help Axis, someone who had a look, but lacks storytelling ability.

5. Axis (Former People's Choice Champion) - He was able to break open the PC division as being the most heel like of it's first three stars (the other being Brett Gakiya and Ray Hez). Not being a great (as in hate-able heel) made the division the most sports like which probably ended up keeping it buried in the eyes of the NGW fans, but his likability eventually gave the fans a face in the division when he faced Sinnister.

6. Brett Gakiya (Former People's Choice Champion) - With his non offensive appearance he should be the top face. He did not get a lot of chances to shine being in the gimmick division, but when he did, he excelled. Who wasn't talking about the Asian Deathmatch at Luck o' the Draw? His ladder match with Ryan Phoenix and Kyle Rich may have led to the dumbest move in NGW (making it so the Triple Threat Title a one-on-one belt), but his chance to take Rich on head to head can only help him climb to the top. That is if, the heavyweight title stops headlining.

7. Big Pappa (Former Heavyweight Champion) - For him being one of the original IAWF guys, I thought it was nice to see him get a title reign. Not to sound cynical, but he put the time in to wear the belt, but I did not mind it only being on his resume and that's all. Pappa ended up being the ultimate supporting figure. He was the guy who gave Kyle Rich a purpose to debut in NGW and he was a great contender against Hazard. Too bad NGW kept relying on him as the top contender. The repetitive use of his presence eventually over killed the concept of him playing the role.

8. Jester (Former NGW Heavyweight Champion) - With the poor writing at the beginning of the year, until he lost to Hazard at the Ace of Spades, he seemed like he was the champion. Too bad being put into a feud with the CCC kept him from ever getting a chance to regain that aura. He's a good storyteller, but no one want to see a CCC story. It's also sad that personal commitments prevented him from achieving this status as PC champ.

9. Ray Hez - His personality allowed him to get placed in some big matches, but he was never able to score the wins. He never got the chance to show his ability to wrestle because the personality did not require it. So, it was not expected.

10. CCC - (Ace of Spades contestant, former PC Champ) - In all honesty this should be my spot, or CJ Esparza's, or Kody Kash's, or Stumpy's, or even Doug Devore's. But he showed in 2005 that the show is about what he wants, so he gets to make his appearance here.

Oh, hear my 2004 list:

1. Jester --- 2. Chris Hazard --- 3. Ryan Phoenix --- 4. Axis ---

5. Brett Gakiya --- 6. Kyle Rich --- 7. Apocalypse --- 8. RC Stevens

9. Sinnister

03/16/2006 A Work of Fiction

2009-11-05T07:28:00.000-08:00

I sit back watching Chasing Amy, my favorite Kevin Smith film. When a film is one of my favorites it touches me and I can just feel fulfilled and not have to finish the film.

Over the past six months there has been a lotta drama in my life. Alex Larson, NGW's promoter, is surprisingly not the only source. Of course he did spend four months of it challenging me to survive Saturdays. Thank god for true friends who have always been there for me.

It's a correlation I guess. More drama, more thought. Brain damage would be bliss.

Supporting the bull shit that society finds acceptable and encourages would be bliss. Me, I just get pissed.

The point is dramas are depressing and comedies are fun. Do you really want to fully comprehend the details a Law and Order SVU episode. That's depressing, thus you should avoid thinking about drama, when you can wish you were as cool as Dane Cook.

Again what are true friends for. Drama from them is sucking my drive to make it through the weekend. If these friends read this, watch Chasing Amy. My sense of humor is justified.

My thoughts tonight. Why do I relate to every Smith film? Hell, I've yet to finish watching Jersey Girl. It got to me so quickly.

Actually, courtship in these films seem to parallel my life. Catch a girls interest with my personality (a side from my ass, I ain't much of a looker). Become best friends. Let it go to shit when Love comes around (fuck you BB King and that Irish save the poor fuck).

All of whom I love seem to follow this pattern. Except Stacia, but watch the "Original Love Story" deleted scene on the Amy disc, and she fits into that.

I stop and think about my journal. Stefanie wanted me to write it because I was like a comic book character. My last friend to read it said she could fall in love with the me that I write about.

My conclusion, I am a work of fiction. I exist for the dreams of the underweight/overweight shut in adolescents.

The inimitablerc and Russ Bradley are not too far apart. Fuck, I'm a super hero with an alter ego.

Maybe that's not too bad. But thinking that I live as Affleckian character and I'm not dick deep in pussy right now, oh the thoughts of suicide. Too quote a sound byte from a They Might be Giants track, "I don't want the world, I just want my half (Man, how bad did Stefanie fuck me up. Weren't the scars enough)."

10/5/2006 The Nipple Piercing Story

2009-11-03T08:11:00.000-08:00

Today, I thought I'd have gotten all of my head on straight. With one needle and a lot of booze, surely I'd have found all of the answers.

I have not had the adrenaline rush I've craved for 10 months. Ink or piercing. One of these must serve as a fix.

For the fourth day of October, the 14 gauge needle was to be my savior. I hope Raul gets some promotion from my choice.

My sisters were scared about my actions, and that's before they knew I wanted the kanji tat of "To die young", and showering unbeknown to a "boil order". I should have realized with every rush there is a crash.

I made my best efforts with a new girl at Al's. She was beyond totally cool. Hopefully my company didn't cost her too much. Again I receive the, "Hang in there, it will all work out," as she told me I was so much like her current boyfriend.

Oh for the age of chivalry. Kick the dude's ass and the "girl is mine."

This is what I got from a good friend Monday. This is what I've been getting from my best friends for 3 years.

That or, you gotta be an asshole.

I went and gave my all today, but no matter the needs I fulfill, I am still left craving more.

I just want to find someone who will give back as much as I put out, and after seeing all those I work harder than get that, I can't stand to put out my best without reward.

I do have to apologize to the girl tonight. For not knowing me at all, you gave a shit. You gave all you could to help me feel good. Thanks.

I just wish I could always count on that at the end of each day.

PHP 03/15/2007

2009-10-29T07:34:00.000-07:00

PHP: Soylent Green is Staley

My case manager says I'm convicting myself of being flawed. It seems to be based on circumstantial evidence, but I bet if Sam Waterston was the ADA, he would seal my fate.

In group therapy, a discussion about aggression and assertiveness led to a discussion about emotional needs.

You are trying to obtain your needs, and these are the polar opposite ways of obtaining them. One of those needs is a sense of purpose. How to work towards the future?You may not have a grand purpose.
You may not have a grand purpose.

That's good because after my broken wrist, I don't think I could be supported from a crucifix. But every moment has something that you should set your mind on accomplishing.

Maybe I'm suffering from delusions of grandeur. Probably not. This dilemma would have a simple conclusion if that was the case. It seems so much easier just to call myself crazy.

Then I would at least have a purpose. Surely there is a market for village idiots. I could have a monopoly on Central Illinois in that field if I can remove Willy York from the scene.

The delusion is that I have to accomplish something larger. Something to direct my life. Not to trivialize depression, but just waking up and going to therapy isn't an accomplishment. I've gotten pretty good at that, and I just find it pointless if there is nothing to build from that.

I wake up to accomplish something great. Make new friends, find out where I fit in to the world. Actually enjoy what I'm doing.

I think I've done everything I can possibly accomplish given my resources. I was officially part of the Chicago Cubs for one day (Thank you Milk Duds). I created a video game (Thank you, you fucking Japs who stole a 14 year-old's idea just because he wrote in pencil). I lost my virginity to the most beautiful girl in Peoria (24 years in the making).

Not too many international goals. I've seen England, I've tried sushi. All I can thing of is see Thailand, Japan, and Brazil. And to get a chance to piss on the Blarney Stone or shit in a boiler of Guinness. Santa. Are these request to difficult?

All those times I had passion beyond the ring. Now, with the futility of the ring. I'm going to lose my last resource. The only enjoyment.

Now I know why I get off on concussions. Just one step closer from dying in the name of passion. Now I have a reason to wrestle. Send the green guys my way.

That's all sarcasm. Please, please, please, book me. I promise not to die in your ring.

I am empty. I can't do anything anymore. I not useful. Can I please stop wasting everyone else oxygen?

I was just too dense. It would all pay off as long as I stayed true to myself. That's why I didn't get therapy when I was in pain. Now all it's done is showed me that life has passed me by. If it hasn't passed me by, then there has got to be some flaw in me that prevents me from obtaining what I need.

All I can do is stop believing this, and faith will reward me.

There is some flaw in me that won't let people give me a chance to be something more. To let me feel safe. To let me know where to go. This is out of my control.

Believing that I am OK is not going to meet my needs. Accepting that being a loser is OK won't make me feel better.

I have done all that I can do to accomplish something, so accept the idea of my becoming compost. Or being part of the fourth meal menu.

The future of Soylent and Green....that's my hope.

PHP 03/16/2007

2009-10-22T07:07:00.000-07:00

PHP 7: Acceptance (about me not the booze)

Suicide risk assessment at it's highest. To bad the scoring is like golf.

I ended up dominating my group therapy session today. Kind of an asshole thing to do when you are constantly being reassured that you are a good guy. How we got around to me I can't remember?

Either way, I'm going to blame my crying on being emasculated from the excess of estrogen in the group since I'm the only guy.

When I think about it, it was probably me reassuring everyone else they could succeed while I was a lost cause. As I said I feel used up. There is a sense of completion in that. A justification for ending it all. That I'm in PHP to talk my self out of that.

You're afraid of failure. You're afraid of the world. Accusations the therapist threw at me, and the group backed up. Worst of all they tried to relate their problems to it.

All I want is someone to be supportive. Not to relate their problems to mine. Just to back me up.

I'm not the type of person to say, well at least I'm not that guy. The situation is different for everyone. If anything, I feel bad for this person because they are struggling too. They probably receive more sympathy from me than I give myself. But I've learned now that they just want to know you'll do what you can to get them through it.

For me they, all have or had the resources to pull through. Someone to love them. Someone to be responsible for. Even if all they got are pets.

Pets are like kids. They shit where/when they're not suppose to. Someone's has to bathe them.

I am afraid of the world, but I know I have to face it. Damn it, I do everything I can do to face it. Try to socialize. Sorry that I act like someone else when their is potential for serious spinal injury. Sorry I don't bully people around.

"Like the bully the therapy group was. Aah," the future ex-girlfriend observed. This was probably just regressed man hate.

When I wake up in the morning, it's time to kick the worlds ass.

Got to find a reason.
Reason things went wrong.
Got to find a reason why my money's all gone.
Oh how I now wish I had a dalmatian, or a line of China white. Thanks Sublime.

Unfortunately, I wake up not because I want to. I go to bed hoping I won't. I can't succeed anymore. I've done all I could. Will you stop making me try?

You have to change that belief, but you don't want to because it's comfortable. Bull shit. It isn't comfortable. I wouldn't be trying everything in my power to stop from offing myself if it was.

This is hell. I am suffering, but I'm healthy (no beer...vodka gut jokes please) so that I can keep suffering. Escape from the suffering is what I want. Something that hell prevents.

Now we see why I'm an Existentialist.

Russ "The Bus" is a good guy. He's always stayed true to himself. People want him around.

But this good guy can't meet his needs this way. And nobody seems to want to give me the love that he craves. No one will let him be one of the common people.

I lived to make unhealthy choices. Right or wrong. To me that's what a good person should do. It's idealism, but we all can act that way. Quit fucking people over. Common would be something undoubtedly good.

I guess I've been fucking myself over for this idealism. Trying to always succeed. Russ is a good guy. He hasn't done anything wrong. But what can he do to be all right?

What am I afraid of?
-Having to be the clown who demands attention.
-Being the asshole who will slit my throat to feel good.
-Maybe bears.

If I keep the faith, eventually it will all work out. Life will choose you. Not the other way around.

Fuck that. It's my life that God gave me knowing that I can fuck it up. I'm not going to sit back and tell myself to feel good because I am a good person.

He is a person who is worthwhile to others, and that's enough for them. He needs more, but there is a flaw that prevents that.

I can't make it on my own just because I'm a good guy. I need to be part of something that no one will let me in.

I'm sick of being pushed out because there isn't any space or because I'm not on the list. Please tell me how to tilt my hat the right way, so that I can get into this club...to dance and drink and screw because there´s nothing else to do.

PHP 03/13/2007

2009-10-08T06:54:00.000-07:00

Futility of Partial Hospitalization:

I hate to be pessimistic with any of my blogs. It just doesn't feel right to not have anything cynical or clever to entice the reader.

I'm the Silent Bob in my Kevin Smith inspired world, and I'm in need of a chuckle head to kick off the conversation. I can tell that Amy story forever after that.

I am learning from the program, and was able to apply the lessons...I should say display the lessons learned over the weekend, but these lessons also lead me into further reinforcement of my negative beliefs.

Having to deal with other people car troubles over the weekend. Picking up Skullkrusher to park two blocks away from the building, and not having a match kinda tested my patience.

Add a parking ticket to pick up Mexican food after the show slid a disc in this camels back (question: pain or paralysis?). For 30 dollars, thank god it was more authentic than Taco Bell.

I left for the road from PHP with the group saying that I need to change something to enter the main stream to get the relationships I need to carry on. Hoping that fate or chance has anything to do with it is pointless. Fit in the mainstream or be miserable.

Almost sounded like be a sheep to get laid. What? You don't expect me to trivialize my issues in the name of humor?

Not being in the AAW show (as a worker, not a pussy) left me feeling that I can't even accomplish anything in my only passion. Since wrestling is my passion, I want to excel at it. The fun is being lost.

So, I can't accomplish anything 24/7. Maybe the ba ba bull shit is worth it.

Of course, I realize that trying to demand attention and stepping on people throats in the name of success, ain't me.

I'm to mellow, why waste words? Just so I can seem like everyone else. And my principle of not fucking anyone over, well mister third jersey and pin stripes won't budge.

I had a one-on-one with my case manager, and told him that I have boundary issues that lead to confusion, powerlessness, and hopelessness. This threw me off because my main flawed boundary is "telling everything about me" to people.

I'm ashamed of nothing, always been true to myself, but my belief system is going to kill me. Being everyone's best friend feels like a curse.

People get to know me, call me a great person, but don't tell me if I have any qualities that attract people. You don't know everything about me unless you get to know me. So what if I'm a good friend? The clowns and heart throbs will get the attention, so no one else can find that out.

Girls claim that being single is so worthwhile, that they can't give me a chance, and then find a boyfriend. I guess you can enjoy being single, but you are always looking.

Ann Frank dilemma. "Everybody is good deep down". I believe we all are like she did. Look where that got her.

How many times assholes have been chosen over me just leaves me to believe that being a decent human being is worthless. At least to myself. How can you love a loser?

So I can't accomplish anything, I can't be with anyone who makes me feel safe, and this leads me to believe I can't find a place in the world. I have no purpose. There will be nothing worth enjoying.

It leads me to believe that I'm missing something. The only ways to fill that is to be someone I'm not. All the evidence supports this belief.

My case manager left me with this. "You're trying too hard. Nothing is missing. You don't have any evidence that things will change, but you have to have faith to believe it will."

So I gotta be miserable until I have new evidence. Faith will save me. So it's not chance, it's divine intervention.

My mom and dad had sex to conceive me. There isn't anything immaculate about me. My last name ain't Christ. Divinity can't save me.

I'm still a religious person, but I never expected God to give me anything. Now I'm suppose to in the name of sanity.

Save me Penn Jillete.

PHP: 03/20/2007

2009-10-07T11:09:00.000-07:00

PHP: My issue isn't just a lack of twat.

I had to struggle to get to the keyboard to type up my latest blog. I warn you that it isn't going to be very optimistic. It may feel like you had to deal with me in person.

Wake up an hour late for PHP today. With that statement, I now hope this was just a case of the Mondays.

This pissed me off because I actually got to bed early last night. Got to bed for a shitty sleep, waking up several times and having pesimistic dreams as I slept. What was the point?

I get to PHP in the middle of group therapy. Last one there, last to talk. That was my choice, and probably the better choice judging that the group wouldn't give me a chance to go into what I wanted to deal with.

What can I say? I'm over with the group. They want to know about the adventures of Russ Staley anyway.

My dilema rose from wrestling this weekend. Well, not wrestling, but being at New Midwest. Did I go into the immediate problem right away? No, I just went on to tell how it is getting tougher since I'm trying a lot harder since this is the only passion I have.

"Whoa! Only one passion. He must only have one problem. This will be easy to solve," was what I interpreted to be the group's impression of me. With one exception, everyone went into solution mode.

Back to the big question. The miracle question. What do you need to be happy? Same answers: purpose, a significant relationship, and the ability to achieve.

Sorry to disappoint you with the description of the excitement level of group therapy. It must seem to you that it is as repetitive as my blogs.

What is the easiest problem to solve? The world must totally be like Jason Mewes. The answer is universal: Pussy.

Again. Do this activity despite you have no interest in it. Force yourself to take interest in something. Don't try to find a relationship. It will find you.

Damn! has everyone taken a hippocratic oath.  I'm sorry hypocritical oath.  I left last week feeling like I am doing what is true to me, and that was fine.  That was the right thing to do and be glad you are doing the right thing.

But now, since I am not getting laid, I'm not meeting a need. I have to stop looking for a significant person and let fate drop one in my lap (preferred location) in a place I don't want to be, but where God wants me to be.

Advice from people who have purpose.  Who have reasons to look forward? I don't think there is any wonder to how I felt when a teenage nursing student gave me this advice.

I went left that session distraught from the notion that the group they could come up with solutions for my problems.

I'll give the lord props for letting the rest of the day be about learning how to manage anger.

People say I'm too hard on myself, but I can be critical about anyone.

As all the readers sigh.  "Oh great.  We should have heeded Russ's warning about this blog's realism."

Solutions are something someone has to find on their own. I came into PHP looking for my solutions. In groups I give my opinion, but I won't give solutions.

What I need is someone who won't judge me, and give me a chance to be something more significant than a best friend. To support me like I'd support to them, so that we can become a greater entity. Kind of like Ghost in the Shell. Buddism for the people who think anime is stupid. Philistines.

Group is telling me that it isn't going to happen unless I take their advice. I am really disappointed in the councelors because they inevitably try to do the same thing.

At least my regular therapist suggested PHP to me. He said, "If I didn't have faith in you, I'd take action to keep you safe (I'm assuming Methodist Psych Ward)."

It's hard to imagine that I quoted Jarvis Cocker to state discontent about not being a common person. Thank god for letting the Internet prove I did. That it was real (I'm trying to relate to my atheistic friends).

I have to deal with reality. Perception supposedly determines one's reality which I'll agree to. My reality is shitty, but what's real in the world supports it, and I can only deal with what is real. I don't want to escape from it.

At least not physically (punching bag, exercise, etc.). Forcing my will on to anything feels wrong when it's my problem. This is my burning hand. This is my pain. I am Jack's sense of futility.

When a councelor defined my actions as insanity (repeating the same task expecting a different result), I countered with living seems that way. Again. This resulted in her expressing that this sounds like someone who doesn't want to grow take the steps to grow.

No, I don't want to betray myself. I want the person I am now to grow. If I can't conquer the situations I'm comfortable in (chicks in the bar scene versus AC girls, wrestling versus the office), how can I conquer my problems.

This may have been a nice lead into what was on my mind the last two days. Oh if there weren't so many voices.

What I wanted to talk about was after the show, my trainer saw me standing around and said, "mingle, you look bored."

I had nothing to say, but the business is about drawing attention to yourself. Let the people like Russ Stevens so that they want Russ Staley to be in the lockerroom because he is a likable guy. Not because he can put on an awesome match (talking in the hypothetical you Iowan marks).

This made me feel shitty. I'm being me, but that isn't good enough. So I went to a bar that wasn't my scene, so I could be one of the guys. Again, the only people who mattered were those demanding attention. I was the last to leave the club. Trying to socialize, but no one gave me a chance.

I don't have the personallity to make it. In wrestling or the world. These are the things I want to conquer. Things that most people have fallen into.

Be patient? Most of these people have fallen into these scenarios by age 20. Almost everyone has a sense of direction or legitimate causes to direct themselves to.

The choices I made in life were made in hopes of an ending. I didn't leave myself with the resources to start over again.

All in. I'm a good person. The Bad News Bears and Rocky had sequals so that they could win. But these weren't real. Come on. A 5 and a half foot heavyweight champ?

For me, I have to put on an alter ego. To lie to myself is the way to achieve what I need.

I'm sorry. With the exception of Donahue, IA, I usually walk out of the venue with cash for playing a role that isn't me.

PHP 03/14/2007

2009-10-06T07:22:00.000-07:00

PHP: Expanding hopelessness to the new members

Blood pressure: Up. Suicide risk assessment: Up.

New group members see me down, so they are even more afraid that the program won't work for them.

Well, I guess I've always been known for heading the wrong way. Just like my Chicago Cubs.

Life imitates art. Scary when your favorite film is Trainspotting. Choose Life? Why would I want to do a thing like that.

I am really in the mood to find my old cell phone that my dad took out to put one of those sun lights by my bed. If this PHP doesn't work, I might need the numbers to Carrie Clifton's old dope dealers.

To make matters worse, PHP might end tomorrow. Fuckin' Blue Cross Blue Shield. It's not like I haven't heard time and time again, "you should have kept working at Caterpillar."

Today was about relationships. I have some strong ones. I have some weaker ones. More importantly confusing ones.

And of course frustrating ones like my little sister and Mom who'd like to force feed me a solution to my depression. These aren't bad relationships, but they can't help me right now. I may need to step back from these for a bit.

Did I follow through with that lesson?
"Hi Russ. I gotta pick up your sister from work. We're going to dinner after that. Do you wanna come?"

I have to be stronger. Lord knows I should be able to resist a free meal.

So you can imagine the topic of the car ride. I was glad she took time to bitch about how The Moody Blues, Neil Diamond, and other bands that decided to not let their art stand on its own when money in Vegas can be made, are being snubbed from the Hall of Fame.

"Patty Smith was just a one hit wonder?" Obviously, you won't find my mom if you take a walk to Zipperhead.

Leads me back to Trainspotting. Sickboy's theory. "One day you got it. And the next day it's gone...and In the Name of The Rose is nothing more than a blip on an otherwise downward trajectory."

Comes back around to the main problem. I lived the past 27 years trying to find my place with what I got. My motivation. I will succeed. Now, it's gone.

After my higher score on the suicidal risk assessment today, my case manager asked for me to bring up this issue in group therapy. I ran down my conversations with him in the group.

This lead me to tell how what they believe that I am missing is faith in myself or in God. How everyone says to change because things don't happen by chance despite I don't see anything I want to change about myself. Now I'm being told, I have to have faith to hope for something to fix my life.

The compromise: Keep the faith and that will teach to make the changes.

Well, this partial hospitalization is taking place at a Catholic hospital. Lord knows, I wasn't in the mood to hear "Remember. When God closes a door, he opens a window. He will give you the chance to overcome this."

So, you want me to believe in fate? An absolute ending. The Colbert Report talked about how scientist believe you can't go back in time. So The Terminator is right. No fate but the one we make.

As Maynard James Keenan said, "Learn to swim. Learn to swim."

Again, there is no evidence to support me putting faith in myself. And God isn't going to change everything.

I was asked about what if a miracle occurred and you had it all. A stupid question. What I want is to always thrive. Always become better. When I can't, I hope I'll go blind and a seeing eye dog drags me onto I-290.

I don't care if I wake up each morning. If I die in my sleep, well at least the struggle is over. I give my all everyday, and I can't get the relationships I need, I can't succeed at anything, and I don't have a purpose.

Perhaps if I had a purpose, it would make sense to want to be alive.

I told my case manager. I am a fighter. How many defeats will I have to take for life to before? Every time I feel beat from living a day, how many more days will it take to succeed?

My case manager said it may take forever. Bad answer.

I've always been a safe fighter. If I am going to get hurt to the point that I'm in serious danger, I know when to quit. There has to be a point to quit.

You are asking me to be like the Chicago Cubs. Maybe next year.

You are asking me to be a lovable loser.

At least the substance abuse program was interesting.

The substance abuse program was impressed at how I am such a nice guy, so how do I have relationship problems. Comparing me to the Missing Piece in Shel Silverstein's the Missing Piece Meets the Big O: How the piece changed after the O told him he could.

No big completed O has come to give me advice. No one who is whole will take the time to teach me the lesson. Again, I must me missing something.

I hope I interpreted the O right. A balance independent person helping someone become that way. The message isn't "just find a fat chick Russ".

PHP 03/21/2007

2009-10-01T07:16:00.000-07:00

The Last PHP: My life: is lame Smashing Pumpkins

Again, another journal that was a true task to write. I had to stay up a few hours to let my computer cool down from my last blog. Hope I can budget a Dell into the tax refund.

I knew the mood I was in, and wanted to maintain it to write this. So I watched The End of Evangelion, an anime about a Revelations like apocalypse with giant robots.

Call it a sixth sense, but I think everyone would have preferred that I'd just watch Family Guy and ATHF.

I let it out as soon as I could in PHP today. My therapist asked me to go here to regain an interest in life. Find a reason to live. Just because the meds work, doesn't mean that I can justify going on without passion.

The battle again came about my need for a significant relationship. To finally be the significant part of another life. But they seemed to say it's about finding a girl when I wanted to talk about the bull shit of being everyone's friend in wrestling to get booked instead of busting my ass in the ring.

How do we jump from the wanting to be pounded in the ring to the wanting to be pounding in the bedroom? Okay. They are related as I established. Sing along if you know the words:

"If I can't succeed socially, I can't accomplish anything."
"If I can't succeed in the ring, I can't accomplish anything....better yet, if I can't accomplish anything with my passion, how can I accomplish anything."

If you haven't caught on, I'm not big on affirmation. I know I'm a good person, but I know I can't get my needs met by being myself. Fuck Stewart Smally.

"Talk to everyone." "Play pool with strangers." "Don't observe to find a place to fit in." "Just throw yourself out there."

Excuse me, it's not hard to tell the pretentious hip hoppers, red necks, and guys who growl to show their love for guys who growl into a mic and make seven figures.

"How can you not demand attention in social settings? You do it in the wrestling ring."

Wrestling is my passion. I'm not out there to gain attention. I'm out there to express myself. Love it or hate it. If the story is told right, it doesn't matter. The fans react, I know I did well. Nothing more needs to be said from them, just my promoters. You are booking Russ Staley not Russ Stevens

If Adam Vinaterri didn't kick all those game winners, who would give a shit about a kicker? Did Kevin Butler even have a line to rap in the Super Bowl shuffle? Fuck that funky QB.

My "denials" (something I had to get accustomed to in the substance abuse class) of help confused the group. No. They don't want me to change or not be true to myself, but they don't want me to not succeed.

By the end of the session, I got to my dilemma. Jeez it only took ten days.

The only time I had direction was when I had a passion for something all the time. It was simple to start. Wrestling was all I took the time to focus on.

Then I fell in love with Stacia, so nothing could go bad for me. If wrestling was poor, Stacia would keep my head in it no matter how she hated feeding me at her place when I busted my wrist.

I lost Stacia, but Stefanie picked me up from there because she believed I was the guy Stacia thought I was. She gave me a chance and opened my mind and gave me direction.

I lost Stefanie, so I tried to be there for my friends, and was left with few true friends because everyone else took my Mom's advice and grew up.

I am sick of girls telling me I'm not confident enough. Everyone I care about knows who I am damn near completely. They know I give my all, scared or not.

Still the macho fuck gets the girl cause they don't show fear. Can I at least lose out to somebody who isn't fake? What is so fucking wrong with me that I can't be a boyfriend while someone who doesn't let you know who they are with a light show (sounds more creative than smokescreen) is worth it?

The same goes with the ring. Tell me how to wrestle better. Not to be one of the boys. I've seen enough shoots interviews. Being one of the boys is being an asshole.

I made my choices in life to come to some kind of end. That there would always be a direction to be myself. When there wasn't, the life was over.

I need someone who can support me in how I approach life. Not change me. And point me in that direction.

Maybe I do need an easy friend as Kurt Cobain wrote. But that isn't attainable. I gave my all, but no one will give me the chance.

Why? Because I won't take the chance and Great White a club. That'd be exciting, but man the damage I can cause without pyro scares me enough.

The direction I need to go wasn't shown in PHP. Fulfilling the qualities of being attractive wasn't shown. Prove that I can still accomplish something wasn't provided.

As long as I hope and as I long as I live, I will end up all right.

I'm not a prophet. God can show me some answers, but I can't wait for him to turn my Smart Water into Stoli.

I left PHP with ways to cope with being a loser, but not how to keep on living. The answer was "just keep going to your therapist" who wanted this program to give me the means to carry on.

The End is the Beginining is the End. Zero. Anymore weak Smashing Pumpkins singles to describe my life?

Well, I was conceived in 1979. Still dealing with cool kids who never had the time.

If I'm optimistic about anything is that baseball season will start and their will be 50 other peopling dealing with being loser.

The White Sox and The Cardinals.

PHP 03/15/2007

2009-09-29T07:11:00.000-07:00

PHP: Soylent Green is Staley
Currentmood: crushed

My case manager says I'm convicting myself of being flawed. It seems to be based on circumstancial evidence, but I bet if Sam Waterston was the ADA, he would seal my fate.

In group therapy, a discussion about aggression and assertiveness led to a discussion about emotional needs. You are trying to obtain your needs, and these are the polar opposite ways of obtaining them. One of those needs is a sense of purpose. How to work towards the future.

You may not have a grand purpose. That's good because after my broken wrist, I don't think I could be supported from a crucifix. But every moment has something that you should set your mind on accomplishing.

Maybe I'm suffering from delusions of grandier. Probably not. This dilemna would have a simple conclusion if that was the case. It seems so much easier just to call myself crazy.

Then I would at least have a purpose. Surely there is a market for village idiots. I could have a monopoly on Central Illinois in that field if I can remove Willy York from the scene.

The delusion is that I have to accomplish something larger. Something to direct my life. Not to trivialize depression, but just waking up and going to therapy isn't an accomplishment. I've gotten pretty good at that, and I just find it pointless if there is nothing to build from that.

I wake up to accomplish something great. Make new friends, find out where I fit in to the world. Actually enjoy what I'm doing.

I think I've done everything I can possibly accomplish given my resources. I was officially part of the Chicago Cubs for one day (Thank you Milk Duds). I created a video game (Thank you you Japs who stole a 14 year-old's idea just because he wrote in pencil). I lost my virginity to the most beautiful girl in Peoria (24 years in the making).

Not too many international goals. I've seen England, I've tried sushi. All I can think of is see Thailand, Japan, and Brazil. And to get a chance to piss on the Blarney Stone or shit in a boiler of Guiness.

Santa. Are these request to difficult?

All those times I had passion beyond the ring. Now, with the futility of the ring. I'm going to lose my last resourse. The only enjoyment.

Now I know why I get off on concussions. Just one step closer from dying in the name of passion. Now I have a reason to wrestle. Send the green guys my way.

That's all sarcasm. Please, please, please, book me. I promise not to die in your ring.

I am empty. I can't do anything anymore. I not useful. Can I please stop wasting everyone else oxygen?

I was just too dense. It would all pay off as long as I stayed true to myself. That's why I didn't get therapy when I was in pain. Now all it's done is showed me that life has passed me by. If it hasn't passed me by, then there is got to be some flaw in me that prevents me from obtaining what I need.

All I can do is stop believing this, and faith will reward me.

There is some flaw in me that won't let people give me a chance to be something more. To let me feel safe. To let me know where to go. This is out of my control.

Believing that I am OK is not going to meet my needs. Accepting that being a loser is OK won't make me feel better.

I have done all that I can do to accomplish something accept me made into compost. Or being part of the fourth meal menu.

The future of Soylent and Green....that's my hope.

PHP 03/08/2007

2009-09-24T07:47:00.000-07:00

PHP Day 2: A cry for Xanax

Current mood: pessimistic

Kinda in a pissy mood. Can't really think of anything overly worthwhile to report from day two of Partial Hospitalization.

OK. A lot of worthwhile stuff happened, or not.

Hitting the same brick wall of being worthless. The solution...accept that?

No, don't accept that I'm a worthless husk of a man, accept that I'm a good person.

We have an issue with verb tense. Am should be (oh god, now I'm reminded of the bad nature of could, would, and should) was. There is nothing left of me.

One of the nursing students said, "you seem to have given yourself to everyone except myself."

This maybe true, but I did it because I thought it was the right thing to do. I couldn't live with myself if I didn't do the right thing.

Which leads us to the self defeating concept of black or white. There's always a gray area.

Gray area. Do we see any baseball teams still wearing gray road jerseys. As long as the Cubs wear the pin stripes at home, there is a chance that all can be right with the world.

Either way, there isn't anything of value to me. If there was, I probably wouldn't be alone right now. I could have found a purpose to keep moving on. I'd find a place in this world to fit in.

I may have jinxed myself with the Cubs tattoo. My lil sis always said, "you are like the Chicago Cubs, lovable losers." At least I know there are 25 guys who are paid to not really have a purpose.

I throw like a girl. Why lord can't I be a part of that tradition?

PHP 03/21/2007

2009-09-22T06:58:00.000-07:00

PHP Punk
Current mood: chipper

In PHP, they had us write journal entries about pictures.

As peaceful images lead to heart ache, Disney World was discovered to be unimportant in child development, I took a Kincade/Rockwell esque painting as a chance to stick it to the man.

Serenity sometimes seems stereotyped.

Bright sunshine, the home, the lack of businesses to interfer with the shiney happy people. These people with their 1.5 kids and flee riddened pet(s). Throw a steeple into the scene, and dare we say that we have obtained perfection.

This is serenity. No trouble thus no emotions to screw things up.

Join the flock. Be the mutton of corporate greed. Slaughtered for the American way. No wonder the serene states are the red states.

A world...sorry to include other countries with that word, a culture that preaches freedom of expression at the price of conformity.

To not follow in this notion, you are messed up. This is a plan. A method to give direction. A goal. A fine goal as long as you accept this as the only way to be serene.

We live in an explitive deleted'd world. You can't tell me money leads to happiness. Money will quiet any negative thoughts. Addicts are forced to live this way. Being out for a buck will result in a dependency. Substance or decadence.

Think beyond your essential needs our culture preaches. The time taken to mow is worth the yard.

Why mow when you can read, watch a film, or listen to the obscene to further your antisocial, anti American ways.

To landscape or to learn? In the end, both thought patterns lead to commonality. We should never settle. We should try to become better than we are.

But does Scott's Turfbuilder betters oneself?

PHP 03/07/2007

2009-09-15T08:04:00.000-07:00

My first day in partial hospitalization
Current mood: blank

If you know me well, you probably know I've been having a tough time the last couple of months. Now I'm undertaking a partial hospitalization program to deal with my depression.

What to report thus far:

I have been placed on a substance abuse program (my friends who get drunk
text messages rejoice). Drink three nights a week, and you are deemed an addict
I guess.
How can any Asian person have a name with an "L" in it? The program's
psychiatrist is a doctor Lee. Cool guy. He's curious about my wrestling (wait
till he sees Tigger Mask). He is an Asian immigrant.

It's a fair assumption, my little brother dated one of the Linn Buffet daughters. I wouldn't suspect a second generation Asian American to speak like he did.

When it comes to Asian languages (prior to my two years of Chinese), I don't know any language that actually has the letter "L".

In all of the Chinese films I've seen, I never heard Jet Li ever be cast as Jet Li. In almost every film with Jackie Chan, he's usually cast as Jackie. Just think of Kim Jong Ill in Team America: World Police, if you don't follow me.

So is it just an English thing? As long as it starts their name, they can say "Lee" instead of "Ree". Not to sound insensitive to the good doctor, but in the case is this, good move. Imagine his getting picked on as Ree Ree (obscure down syndrome joke).

As for progress in the program, I can't say I know right now. It's inciteful, but would have probably been a lot more fun if Dr. Ree gave me a prescription to Xanax. At least then we would have a reason to put me in the substance abuse class.

My Pseudo Dead Haikus

2009-09-10T08:31:00.000-07:00

Up one night thinking.
Awake remembering pain.
Thoughts of the insane.

Haiku : the efficient, eloquent way of being pretentious. The concept of efficiency, perfected by the Japanese. 17 syllables, no need to rhyme.

It's no wonder they can do everything better in the manufacturing fields than Americans. This gives them more time to count their money and beef up their math skills.

haiku is to efficient as soliloquies is to boring.

At least, that's a perception I have. Come on. How many of you could get into any Shakespearean works beyond Romeo and Juliet? You know that play with that "lovely love me" shite.

So I wanted to get the troubling thoughts about the junky who led me to financial ruin, and I wanted to be as efficient as possible to catch up on sleep.

These haikus had the opposite effect. You know that Jedi shit.

Anger leads to hate, hate leads suffering. Yoda like a motherfucker.

I also got stuck on a dilemma I've been battling for a while. How does haiku translate from Japanese to English?

Here's an egrish sample base on my haiku from the beginning.

Okite ichi yoru kangarue. 10 syllables.
Up one night thinking. 5 syllables.

Yes, I own a Japanese to English dictionary. No, I'm not going to translate the entire poem. This blog is about efficiency, and that would take up a too much time.

I guess it may not be about the sounds. It may be about the kanji, the oriental characters. We do seem to mock their love for pretty pictures on a frequent basis.

The point of this long winded rant (again, I'm inefficient) is that it led me to write haikus that really sum up the constant gloom I radiate through out Central Illinois.

Chicago and the Quad Cities should be glad I'm taking time off from wrestling. It makes it tougher to keep this grumpy bear routine up everywhere. God/Science bless the Internet.
So here we go, what you've been waiting for: MY PSUEDODEAD HAIKUS!!!

I am a zombie,
But I feel my memories.
Damn this fucking pulse.

I am walking dead.
Empty, but I still flashback.
And no taste for brains.

Shotgun to my brain.
This pseudo corpse curses Cobain.
Stuck here with my pain.

I have loved and lost.
Gone through all my wants of life.
Left only with needs.

Hungry for something.
Left to wander endlessly.
Not to think, just feed.