Post by Bobby Cairo on Aug 7, 2007 23:40:43 GMT -5
Hartford native Robert Heathcliff Cairo was found dead under a bridge this morning. Cairo, a professional wrestler regarded in wrestling circles as "enhancement talent", was 24 years old. Cairo leaves behind no wife and no children. The only reason why we're even reporting this "breaking news story" is because it's all a dream. It's all a dream? It's all a fucking dream! Hee-yah! Cairo is back in business, baby! Sadly, Cairo's "business" these days is no more fetching than his dreamstate demise. Cairo is exactly what the headline on the backpage reads: Lifeless, incapacitated jobber with no opportunity for advancement. The die has been cast, the well has been poisoned, and "they" do not give a flying fuck about Bobby Cairo. Case in point, Cairo's GWC debut against Kevin Sensation. The fans were listless as Cairo battled Sensation to a disqualification in the opening bout of the popular Wednesday Night Assault television program. Nielsen ratings indicate that Cairo's on-screen appearance resulted in most viewers switching the channel to watch a rerun of CSI: Miami on the A&E Network. Cairo's unpopularity in North America is rivaled only by his virtual anonymity in every other corner of the globe. Yet, going against all common sense and logical reasoning, Cairo continues to press forward with his professional rasslin' ambitions. Cairo sat down with us in a small television studio in Lincoln, Nebraska. We did not ask Cairo any questions. We simply sat him down in a comfortable chair in front of a leopard skin backdrop, and we gave him the opportunity to speak his mind in front of our video camera. We have no intentions of selling this footage, because lord knows that nobody would waste their cash on a Bobby Cairo shoot interview. Hell, we're just gonna post this shit on our YouTube account in the hope that it gets us a few more subscribers. It worked for that kid who did the Lex Luger/Iron Sheik mash-up. Anyway, here goes as the camera rolls:
Bobby Cairo: I'm 24 years old. I've been wrestling professionally since I was 16. I remember my debut was against this guy named Wildman Willie. He had a sort of Tarzan gimmick. He would pound his chest, jump up and down on the ropes, scream at the top of his lungs. He was a few years older than me, a lot more experienced. I got in some good offense during the match, but ultimately he beat me with a flying crossbody. I wanted to be gracious in defeat, so I stuck out my hand after the match. As he shook my hand, the crowd applauded this gesture of sportsmanship. Suddenly, it struck me that I was being applauded for being a "good loser." I was overcome by rage and I floored Willie with an implant DDT. The crowd booed me and in that moment I became intoxicated. Willie would have his revenge. He broke my fibula on the next show, sidelining me for six months, but it didn't matter. Bobby Cairo had been spawned from the depths of Hades to the fields of Elysium! Over the next few years, I would hone my craft and become one of the most renowned technicians in the sport. I eventually captured the World Championship of a rival promotion, becoming the youngest World Champion in that company's history. I held the title for nearly eight months before dropping the belt in a hotly contested main event in front of a sellout crowd at the Tokyo Dome. One loss turned into two losses. Two losses turned into five losses. Five losses turned into ten losses. I don't know what went wrong in front of all those Japs on that sweaty summer night, but something in my mental capacity was rendered noncompliant. Subsequently, I became the featured player in an unprecedented fall from grace. I was eventually fired from the aforementioned promotion after months of floundering against lowcard competition. The independent circuit was not very welcoming to Bobby Cairo. I was mocked for being a "sellout" as a result of having previously been signed with a major promotion. My downward career spiral was also the butt of many jokes. I was often compared to the likes of Marty Jannetty. I always hated those comparisons because Jannetty was a washed up junkie. I never touched that stuff. I've always prided myself on being in peak physical condition without the dependency of chemicals. So anyway, I won some matches on the indies, I lost some matches on the indies. At one point, I returned to that building where it all unraveled. I beat a fellow washed up star named Scott "Flash" Norton. The Japs politely applauded my effort as Japs often do, but my victory brought me little fanfare. I returned home and contemplated my future. After a few weeks, my on-again, off-again tag partner and longtime friend Biohazard contacted me. He told me about this new promotion down in Mexico that he and some of his wetback buddies had started. I told him to go fuck himself if he thought I was going down to that third world shithole. He convinced me though, it's amazing how a few bucks will change your mind when you're down on your luck. I went down to Mexico City to wrestle in Bio's promotion. I even held the heavyweight title a couple of times. It was nothing big, but it gave me my confidence back and I was making some decent money during this period. After a long stretch of working nonstop without a break, I decided to take a vacation. I booked an "econo-package" trip to Italy using that wonderful Travelocity website. Coincidentally, I happened to be in Rome at the same time that GWC was in town. I bought an Assault ticket from a scalper. He wanted the Italian equivalent of three hundred American dollars, but I threatened--uh, I mean negotiated him down to twenty bucks. I walked into the stadium with ticket in hand, purchased some cannoli from a vendor, and took my seat. In all honesty, it was a fantastic show that night. Watching those great athletes perform in front of so many adoring fans, it brought me back to my days as a top guy. I wasn't jealous as I observed the likes of Kid Hollywood and JW McCammon working their magic, but I certainly wanted to be competing in that ring instead of watching from my seat. Then it happened, the start of the Ultimate Title match. I sat there with mouth agape as I watched this fat man waddle down to the ring. His name? Kevin Sensation. I snidely remarked to the elderly woman next to me, "Wow, this guy is a fat piece of shit!" She shook her head as if she did not comprehend my statement, then she started rambling on in Spanish or whatever the fuck language they speak in Italy. As Kevin Sensation began to take charge of the match, I had seen enough of this nonsense. The Italian security guards were busy smoking pot or something, so I skipped the guardrail and shoved Kevin Sensation from the top rope down to that harsh arena floor. Doesn't Kevin Sensation realize that pigs can't fly? Neither can whales, ya fat fuck! Tee hee hee! I did not regret my actions even after my friend Bio criticized me for my dastardly antics. I did not regret my actions until the following week when I made my GWC debut in America Junior, also known as Hong Kong. This was supposed to be a great night for me. This was supposed to be my return to prominence. Cairo was on the verge of imminent victory. That's when it happened; I was the victim of an assassination attempt by BA Monk. Monk throttled Cairo with a stiff kick and aided Sensation in assaulting a defenseless Cairo. This is not acceptable! BA Monk, you have offended my sensibilities! The time for talking is completed! You will encounter the repressed rage of a thousand crippled empires as Cairo imposes his will upon your cranium! Cairo returns to the city where it all went wrong, and this time Cairo will rectify a miscarriage of justice. Cairo will reclaim the limelight that is rightfully his. BA Monk, you will behold devastation as I carve your soul and spread your ashes along the merry wayside...the latest victim of my violent motif!
And with that, Cairo took his leave. The man has spoken his piece, but is anybody listening? More pertinently, will Cairo's words prove prophetic? In today's culture of get rich quick schemes and half-baked comeback attempts, one has to ponder whether Cairo is truly on the path to reclaim his fallen star. Or is Cairo merely a stepping stone for the likes of Kevin Sensation and BA Monk? One notion that we can safely presume is that GWC is truly Cairo's last vestige. Wednesday Night Assault will either prove salvation for Cairo or the last nail in the coffin of a disgraced former champion. Goddamn, for somebody who hasn't done anything relevant in years we sure have spent a lot of time focusing on this clown. Any of you guys want taquitos? I'm gonna grab some taquitos. Later.
Bobby Cairo: I'm 24 years old. I've been wrestling professionally since I was 16. I remember my debut was against this guy named Wildman Willie. He had a sort of Tarzan gimmick. He would pound his chest, jump up and down on the ropes, scream at the top of his lungs. He was a few years older than me, a lot more experienced. I got in some good offense during the match, but ultimately he beat me with a flying crossbody. I wanted to be gracious in defeat, so I stuck out my hand after the match. As he shook my hand, the crowd applauded this gesture of sportsmanship. Suddenly, it struck me that I was being applauded for being a "good loser." I was overcome by rage and I floored Willie with an implant DDT. The crowd booed me and in that moment I became intoxicated. Willie would have his revenge. He broke my fibula on the next show, sidelining me for six months, but it didn't matter. Bobby Cairo had been spawned from the depths of Hades to the fields of Elysium! Over the next few years, I would hone my craft and become one of the most renowned technicians in the sport. I eventually captured the World Championship of a rival promotion, becoming the youngest World Champion in that company's history. I held the title for nearly eight months before dropping the belt in a hotly contested main event in front of a sellout crowd at the Tokyo Dome. One loss turned into two losses. Two losses turned into five losses. Five losses turned into ten losses. I don't know what went wrong in front of all those Japs on that sweaty summer night, but something in my mental capacity was rendered noncompliant. Subsequently, I became the featured player in an unprecedented fall from grace. I was eventually fired from the aforementioned promotion after months of floundering against lowcard competition. The independent circuit was not very welcoming to Bobby Cairo. I was mocked for being a "sellout" as a result of having previously been signed with a major promotion. My downward career spiral was also the butt of many jokes. I was often compared to the likes of Marty Jannetty. I always hated those comparisons because Jannetty was a washed up junkie. I never touched that stuff. I've always prided myself on being in peak physical condition without the dependency of chemicals. So anyway, I won some matches on the indies, I lost some matches on the indies. At one point, I returned to that building where it all unraveled. I beat a fellow washed up star named Scott "Flash" Norton. The Japs politely applauded my effort as Japs often do, but my victory brought me little fanfare. I returned home and contemplated my future. After a few weeks, my on-again, off-again tag partner and longtime friend Biohazard contacted me. He told me about this new promotion down in Mexico that he and some of his wetback buddies had started. I told him to go fuck himself if he thought I was going down to that third world shithole. He convinced me though, it's amazing how a few bucks will change your mind when you're down on your luck. I went down to Mexico City to wrestle in Bio's promotion. I even held the heavyweight title a couple of times. It was nothing big, but it gave me my confidence back and I was making some decent money during this period. After a long stretch of working nonstop without a break, I decided to take a vacation. I booked an "econo-package" trip to Italy using that wonderful Travelocity website. Coincidentally, I happened to be in Rome at the same time that GWC was in town. I bought an Assault ticket from a scalper. He wanted the Italian equivalent of three hundred American dollars, but I threatened--uh, I mean negotiated him down to twenty bucks. I walked into the stadium with ticket in hand, purchased some cannoli from a vendor, and took my seat. In all honesty, it was a fantastic show that night. Watching those great athletes perform in front of so many adoring fans, it brought me back to my days as a top guy. I wasn't jealous as I observed the likes of Kid Hollywood and JW McCammon working their magic, but I certainly wanted to be competing in that ring instead of watching from my seat. Then it happened, the start of the Ultimate Title match. I sat there with mouth agape as I watched this fat man waddle down to the ring. His name? Kevin Sensation. I snidely remarked to the elderly woman next to me, "Wow, this guy is a fat piece of shit!" She shook her head as if she did not comprehend my statement, then she started rambling on in Spanish or whatever the fuck language they speak in Italy. As Kevin Sensation began to take charge of the match, I had seen enough of this nonsense. The Italian security guards were busy smoking pot or something, so I skipped the guardrail and shoved Kevin Sensation from the top rope down to that harsh arena floor. Doesn't Kevin Sensation realize that pigs can't fly? Neither can whales, ya fat fuck! Tee hee hee! I did not regret my actions even after my friend Bio criticized me for my dastardly antics. I did not regret my actions until the following week when I made my GWC debut in America Junior, also known as Hong Kong. This was supposed to be a great night for me. This was supposed to be my return to prominence. Cairo was on the verge of imminent victory. That's when it happened; I was the victim of an assassination attempt by BA Monk. Monk throttled Cairo with a stiff kick and aided Sensation in assaulting a defenseless Cairo. This is not acceptable! BA Monk, you have offended my sensibilities! The time for talking is completed! You will encounter the repressed rage of a thousand crippled empires as Cairo imposes his will upon your cranium! Cairo returns to the city where it all went wrong, and this time Cairo will rectify a miscarriage of justice. Cairo will reclaim the limelight that is rightfully his. BA Monk, you will behold devastation as I carve your soul and spread your ashes along the merry wayside...the latest victim of my violent motif!
And with that, Cairo took his leave. The man has spoken his piece, but is anybody listening? More pertinently, will Cairo's words prove prophetic? In today's culture of get rich quick schemes and half-baked comeback attempts, one has to ponder whether Cairo is truly on the path to reclaim his fallen star. Or is Cairo merely a stepping stone for the likes of Kevin Sensation and BA Monk? One notion that we can safely presume is that GWC is truly Cairo's last vestige. Wednesday Night Assault will either prove salvation for Cairo or the last nail in the coffin of a disgraced former champion. Goddamn, for somebody who hasn't done anything relevant in years we sure have spent a lot of time focusing on this clown. Any of you guys want taquitos? I'm gonna grab some taquitos. Later.
