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| Perception vs Reality; A Dean Davies RP | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Jan 15 2017, 10:45 PM (28 Views) | |
| Mikey | Jan 15 2017, 10:45 PM Post #1 |
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Advanced Member
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"Reality and perception are two different things. So let's fucking kill the perception" -Dean f'n Davies People know the Davies family - especially those who live in the Maryland/DC area. My family has their own legacy. My father, Darren Davies, was one of the youngest district attorneys that Baltimore ever saw. He worked many high profile cases, but his interest was never in defending the law, it was in making the law. So when Darren Davies made the transition from lawyer to politician, it was a smooth one. Now he's become the long term senator from Maryland, an incumbent that dominates his opposition every election. In Maryland, it's become habit to just mark the name Davies on the ticket. My mother, Dina Davies, is considered a great woman as well. My mother also began her professional career as a lawyer, working civil cases. Then after the death of my brother Dennis, she became the founder of the Davies Foundation, where she spent countless hours running a nonprofit organization created to help prevent deaths such as my brother’s. On the outside looking in, the Davies family was perfect. Powerful, rich, loving, and of the people. Everyone envied David and I growing up. We were the fucking American dream. But everything isn't always what it seems. There's a big gaping hole between reality and public perception. Public perception of my family was spectacular, but the reality was something much more sinister. Let me start with my mother, Dina. Read any article in any magazine or newspaper talking about my mother or father and you'll hear about their three sons. The twins, Dean and David, and the deceased, Dennis. What you won't hear about is my sister, Katelyn. There's a reason for this, on paper, she doesn't even exist to my family, and that's my mother's doing. Katelyn was born out of wedlock. Just as my parents were starting to get thrust into the public eye, my father had a "lapse of judgment" as he would put it. He got one of his paralegals up on his desk, her heels behind his head, her thighs I'm sure used as earmuffs at one point. This little indiscretion went on for about six months and it wasn't until she turned up pregnant that my mother became aware of it. Oh the travesty. My father is a red blooded fucking male who got a piece of side ass. Dina, however, wanted no part of any of it. It wasn't about the infidelity, it was about the public shame of it all. So a hefty severance package, along with some easily found dirt, and the paralegal was relocated from Baltimore to Syracuse and had a daughter who could never know who her father is. My father took it in stride. He didn't like it, but he didn't have the balls to stand up to my mother, and he could ill afford a scandal in an election year. Then, when Katelyn was six years of age, her mother dies in a car accident, she has not a soul left in the world, you would think the All American Family would let out their ghosts to save a child? Fuck no!! Not my mother. She knowingly let that child, my sister, go into foster care, where she would spend her youth bouncing from home to home. My father was no saint, either, not by any means. Let me start by saying my father was a racist fucking bigot. My family name, the name Davies, started in the plantations, hence slavery. Those beliefs in one form or another were passed along the line from father to son, father to son, father to son, until you have my father, who in my mind might as well a fucking K-Mart sheet over his head. That's not even the bad part. He kept his disparaging comments in private and he knew much better than to let his beliefs seep into his politics. You don't stay a senator in Maryland very long if you're racist. Darren Davies was a firm believer in discipline. I don't mean "you're grounded give me your car keys" discipline. I mean discipline in the form of "go get the belt, take your shirt off, and grab a fucking pole" discipline. While most kids got their Sega taken away, or heaven for-fucking-bid get their asses swatted once or twice with a bare hand, David and I took lashes with a belt that was wielded like a whip across the bare flesh of our back, ass, and thighs. Then there was that controversial news story that just reached out and grabbed my father's attention and captivated his innovativeness in discipline. When the news of Michael Fay, the American kid who got sentenced to six strokes with a cane in Singapore, hit US soil, he was like a little fucking kid on the eve of Christmas, just bursting at the seams waiting for me or my brother to fuck up. That fucker Fay only got six strokes. Lucky fucking him. Where's my news story? Because I came to learn over my childhood that six fucking strokes is child's play. That's the American Family. That's what many puff pieces have been written about. That's the Davies in a nutshell. See, the thing I've figured out over the course of my three decades of life is a very basic truth. What we perceive, and what is real, is not always the same. Take my family for example. On the outside I have my father who has given his life over to public service, and my mother who runs a charity. They rub elbows with people who matter from all walks of life, trying to create what they call a "better world". Beneath that exterior, my father is a glorified child abuser - proof enough that you don't have to live in a trailer and wear a beer and sweat stained wifebeater to be white trash. And my mother - while my mother loves her "charity" so much, and helping others in need, she can't even help my own fucking sister when she needs it due to her own selfish agenda. Save someone else's child, but sacrifice the sibling of my own to save face. Real fucking genuine, mother. Fucking hypocrites. That is my truth. That is my reality. Not what's written about them in the Baltimore Sun or Washington Post. So my opponent this week, my opponent yet again, is Cain St. James. The spawn of the late Shawn St. James. Since the first day Cain showed up here, underneath that mask of his, he's more or less nominated his own father for sainthood. It's what drives him, it's what makes him tick, and it's why he wants to play wrestler with the big boys. It all comes back to one person, his father - Shawn St. James. Thing is, from where I'm sitting, I don't see Shawn St. James as this great man who should be loved and admired. While all of Redemption mourned his death after he took a nose dive off a cage, I sat back and awe of the reverence shown to someone who deserved not an ounce of it. I danced on his fucking grave and pissed on headstone, figuratively that is. Let me ask you this, Cain. What kind of father, as you eloquently told us last week, just runs off and leaves his own son in the hands of his drug addicted mother without very little fight at all? Is that a man to be admired and looked up to? What kind of man runs off and leaves his child at home while he spends countless hours on the road, not even seeing his son? Especially when he had the clout to stay at home and draw a paycheck. Is that a man to be admired and looked up to? I have a child at home myself - Damon. Before Damon, I was on the road all the time. I wanted in that ring, to taste that thrill, to make someone bleed, to feel the competition, to feed off the energy of the crowd that hated me...to make someone bleed. I LIVED for the road. Then came Damon. Then came my son, the only good I possess. Then came my new contract that says I only have to work televised dates, putting me gone from my son a day and a half each week. And I'm the asshole. I'm the one they don't even love to hate, they just plain hate because I'm deplorable. So I ask again, Cain, does a man who chooses the road over his own child make him a man to be admired and looked up to? Or let's look at your father in the ring. It's no wonder he fucking died in the ring, it was just a matter of time. No one, and I mean NO ONE takes risks like he did, fights the type of matches he did, and lives a long and happy life. He had a death wish in that ring, and it's not something to be celebrated. It's something that landed him dead. My only regret is, it wasn't at my hands. This is the Shawn St. James I know, and the Shawn St. James I remember. Not some saint who’s to be revered and loved. Remembered as if he was the second coming of the messiah. I remember the Shawn St. James who was manic, suicidal in the ring, dangerous to himself, and a deadbeat fucking father. This is your legacy you want to live up to? This is what you want to become? You sure as fuck set the bar low, so low even Jason Sandman could exceed those expectations if he really tried. So in a lot of ways, Cain, you and I, we are cut from the same mold. We both had fathers who are loved and revered, but greatly misunderstood. Mine hit me, yours left you to the wolves. The difference in us, I'm not so fucking delusional to cast a blind eye on what my father is. I know he's not to be revered, while you fail to see just how truly pathetic both he, and you by extension, are. I've embraced who I am. I've taken all the good and the bad in my life and I've used it to mold me into what I am. I've accepted it and I welcome it with open fucking arms. Now it's time for me to play a new role, the role of the wake up call. See, kid, you beat me once. I never made mention, because honestly, I didn't care. Wins and losses tend to not get under my skin, because it's just a record. It has no baring on me and where I go. I can lose every fucking match along the way, as long as I win the one that matters. Maybe - and I will throw this in there, just maybe, I took you a bit too lightly. Fuck that hurts to say. But I did. I took you too lightly. It wasn't that I think anymore of you now then I did the last time we faced - I don't. As a matter of fact, I think even less of you. The difference between now and then is I didn't know what makes you tick. See, in order to beat someone, and in order to break someone, you have to be inside their head, taking up real estate between their ears. This business isn't won in the ring - that's purely fiction. This business is won between the ears. Now I know you, Cain. I know who you are, I know what makes you tick, I understand what drives you, thus I now know how to break you. I'll take great satisfaction in it, so don't you worry your little ass off. It'll be fulfilling. See, I never got the chance to break Shawn St. James, we never crossed paths. Now, what better way to rectify it other than to break his abandoned son - and maybe in the process I'll help you achieve your goals of doing your father proud, of being just like him. It won't be hard to do, to do your old man proud to pick up his legacy and carry it, you simply have to hit rock bottom. I'll be more than happy to shove you kicking and screaming from that cliff so you can achieve your dreams. |
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7:16 PM Jul 11
