Suicide’s Journal – January 22, 2010.

Drunk found in the alley this morning, lying in a pile of his own vomit. Must be Scott Hall. Scratch that. It’s a woman. Might be Sarita. Can’t really tell. Dark hair, kind of skinny. For all I know, it’s Sean Waltman…

This promotion is afraid of me. I have seen its true face. The Impact Zone is an extended gutter; a gutter full of blood and when the drain finally scabs over, all the vermin will drown. The accumulated filth of all their glad-handing and backbiting will foam up about their waists and all the locker room leaders and backstage politicians will look up and shout 'Save us!', and I'll look down, and whisper 'no’.

They had a choice, all of them. They could have followed in the footsteps of good men like Verne Gagne or Stu Hart. Decent men, who believed in a day's work for a day's pay. Instead, they followed the droppings of media moguls and sports entertainers and didn't realize that the trail led over a precipice until it was too late. Don't tell me they didn't have a choice. Now, TNA stands on the brink, staring down into bloody hell. All those entertainers, producers, and smooth-talkers, and all of a sudden nobody can think of anything to say.

On Sunday night, a Hero died in Orlando. Someone convinced him that riding in limousines with men who owe more in alimony than most men earn in a single lifetime was worth more than the respect and the adoration of the Wrestling Fanbase. Someone convinced him that he should look, talk, and act like a third-rate Ric Flair. Worse yet, the man who talked him into it, the man who convinced AJ to throw everything away, has proven that he would just as quickly piss away his credibility and legacy for the prospect of a steady paycheck. He has no dignity. I cannot even call him by the name ‘Ric Flair’. Ric Flair has ceased to be. He is now Oldf*ck McGee to me. But nobody cares. Not the fanboys. Not the Internet. Not even the scatter-brained idiots that file into the Impact Zone every week. Nobody cares enough to do anything about it. Nobody cares but me.

Gainesville, Georgia. I search the trailer parks, hoping to come across someone, anyone, who may know AJ’s whereabouts. Met a toothless woman. Claimed to be his neighbor, once upon when. Told me that AJ’s gone and left these parts. Moved to Charlotte, she said. I almost believed her.

Went to Harlem. Saw the Pope. Dinero’s been a thorn in my side since he first came to TNA, but, in recent months, showed that he may almost have a soul behind his pampered decadence. The fans love him. Respect him. Chant his name. Despite that, even he has seen a ‘replacement’ on the horizon. Orlando Jordan. Possible Homosexual? Must remember to investigate further…

Pope tells me not to worry. Says AJ’s change of heart was to be expected. Believes AJ is afraid of him, and sought out alliances to protect himself from the Pope’s future challenge. When asked about Jordan, Pope deflects. Seems Jordan has found a way to unnerve D’Angelo in a way I never could. Perhaps there’s more to Jordan than I had originally thought.

Back in Orlando. Sought out Matt Morgan. Recently won Tag Team Championship with Hernandez. Says AJ has been, always will be a coward. Then talks glowingly about Hulk Hogan for longer than I can possibly stand. When asked why he thinks so highly of Hogan, Morgan says the same thing everyone else says about him. ‘Hogan has come to save TNA. To make it better. To give us more exposure.’ I say, ‘no. He’s come to sell us out.’ Morgan looks at his belt, then me, and makes his compromise. Says that I’m paranoid. That I need to stop listening to Glenn Beck. Sure, Matt. Blame a Right-Wing Pundit. Never mind the Tag Team Title you traded your Soul for. Just fall into line like all of the other puppets in TNA. Don’t think so, Matthew. Compromise is for the weak. I am not weak.

Came across that drunken girl again. Turns out, it was Alyssa Flash. Just found out she got released. Found out when the Nasty Boys shoved her face into their armpits. Nice to see that Bischoff’s gone up in the world since 1995. Instead of sending releases to men with broken necks via Fed Ex, he’s now hiring goons to do his dirty work. Poor girl. I’d almost feel sorry for her. She’s better off. Outside this cesspool, Cheerleader Melissa can go back to what she does best. I, on the other hand, am not as lucky. I can’t simply give up just because Hulk Hogan shows up, no matter how badly I may want to take the nearest pistol and end it all here and now for even thinking for one second that that oranges-skinned bastard could ever be anything even resembling a decent human being. That was my mistake. For a moment, I showed compassion. Never again. Not after Sunday night. Not after what they did to AJ Styles. To the Six-Sided Ring. To Alyssa Flash. Hulk Hogan is evil, an evil that must be eliminated from TNA. I am the only one who can do this. Everyone else in TNA is too weak, too distracted by their own pursuits. Only I can act now. Because I believe that there is good and there is evil, and evil must be punished. Even in the face of Armageddon, I shall not compromise in this.

Back in the Impact Zone. Outside, some of AJ’s fans held a vigil. Some saddened. Others, greatly angered. All gathered to ask, ‘why?’ ‘Why has AJ abandoned us?’ I wish I had an answer. All I can tell them is that AJ made his choice. The hero is now dead, replaced with a shell of a man, pretending to be Ric Flair. Among them, Tomko. He was right, all along. Is that what happens to us? A life of conflict with no time for friends so that when it's done, only our enemies remember?

Heard joke once: Man goes to doctor. Says he's depressed. Says life seems harsh and cruel. Says he feels all alone in a threatening world where what lies ahead is vague and uncertain. Doctor says "Treatment is simple. Doink The Clown is in town tonight, wrestling the Honky Tonk Man in the Main Event. Go and see him. That should pick you up." Man bursts into tears. Says "But Doctor... I am Doink, and the Honky Tonk Man just kicked my ass."

I know now what I must do. What no one else in TNA can or will do. Not AJ. Not Daniels. Not Morgan. Not even Dixie Carter. Jeff Jarrett has the right idea, but he’s too weak. He fights the system with the system. Politics with Lawyers. Negotiations with Lawsuits. He will never win. Not so long as it’s Dixie Carter’s name on the checks, not his. TNA is not and never will be again Jeff Jarrett’s company.

Only one way to stop Hogan. One solution. And only one man with convictions strong enough to do so. Do not believe fans will forgive me when this is over. Even those who understand why will mourn the bastard when he is gone.

If you are reading this now, whether I am alive or dead, you will know truth. Whatever precise nature of this conspiracy, Hulk Hogan and Eric Bischoff are responsible. Have done best to make this legible. Believe it paints disturbing picture. Appreciate your recent support and hope TNA survives long enough for this to reach you.

For my own part, regret nothing. Have lived life, free from compromise, and step into the shadow now without complaint.

Goodbye, Traci. I will always love you.

Check back for Chapter Two!

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