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Ace309

SMARKWIRE: Tom Flesher's in the main event again?

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Tom Flesher sits at the desk at his office in downtown Buffalo. With a smirk, he looks to the camera, a smoldering Camel hanging from his mouth. He smoths out the chest of his blue collared shirt, then addresses the camera.

 

"Landon Maddix... you think you took everything away from me when you won the commissioner's slot, don't you? You really think that all I wanted was that feeling of power you get from running around like a chicken with your head cut off, trying to manage a top wrestling promotion and handle a bunch of guys who, because they're the top athletes in the business, have given up everything they had mentally? People who don't see their families and take out all their anger on the poor bastard behind the desk? Come on. I'm a bright guy, Landon. Give me more credit than that."

 

Tom takes a drag from his cigarette and pauses a moment to collect his thoughts.

 

"I've got news for you, kid. This promotion is nothing. This promotion has been nothing for a long time now. Do you really think I was the one running it into the ground? As brilliant a businessman as I am, there wasn't anything I could do with the payroll I had, with the wrestling boom dying and our best athletes jumping ship because they couldn't keep up with the touring schedule and guys like Michael god damn Alexander stretching the piss out of them. When you're running a promotion that's basing itself on Toxxic's eighth World Title reign like it's something new and exciting, on Wild and Dangerous like they're doing something they haven't been doing for five years, and the kids who wanted to wrestle and would have been great talent are jumping into the drafts for Major League Baseball and the NBA instead of sticking with the sport brought them to the dance, you've got a dying business. What are you going to do to revive it? Ghost Machine 4.0?

 

Did I funnel some money off? You're damn right I did. I gave the best god damn years of my life to this promotion, and I'm not about to watch it die and not take those years back any way I can.

 

But, you know what? There's money in that World Championship. And that's all it's good for. It hasn't meant a thing since ALAN CLARK, for god's sake, walked out of the arena holding the belt. But you need me to squeeze the last few bucks out of the wrestling business so you can pay the guys who actually think they'll make it big some day, who aren't smart enough to get out of the business while they can. Me? I'm secure. But if you want to put me in the main event, if you want me to be the one to kill the business, I'll be happy to do it.

 

You're looking at the next World Champion, Landon, and I'm going to give that belt every bit of the respect it deserves... and not an ounce more."

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If this ends up involving salsa, I may laugh until I'm sick.

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If this ends up involving salsa, I may laugh until I'm sick.

 

Salsa is no laughing matter, my friend. That is serious business. Spicy, delicious business, but serious nonetheless.

 

AND an Alexander mention! From the Superior One! I can't let that go by without tossing a promo out for next show...

 

And Michael Alexander will henceforth be known as "Michael god damn Alexander!"

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The salsa stems from when Tom was Cruiserweight Champion and disrespected the belt to the point of using it as a platter to hold salsa, a truly magnificent promo.

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The salsa stems from when Tom was Cruiserweight Champion and disrespected the belt to the point of using it as a platter to hold salsa, a truly magnificent promo.

 

I remember this promo... Fantastical stuff.

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