The Life & TImes Of Paulie Dos Straps *KING SHIT*

By: Paul Montuori

Writing Prompt: Yes

Date: 28th Apr 2022

Lately I’ve been asking myself that “what if?” question over and over.

What if my mother never died?

It’s been haunting me since my pretend mother spilled the beans about really being my aunt. Since then, I can’t help but wonder what my life would have been like if my mother had lived. What kind of person would I have grown up to be if I wasn’t raised a Montuori? If I wasn’t raised in that house.

No doubt in my mind I wouldn’t be in this business. The Montuori’s are the only reason I even broke into it to begin with.

See, growing up I always had to compete for attention. My pretend father was a wrestling legend in the northeast, George “the Animal” Montuori. He held the record for most sellouts at Madison Square Garden. He demanded attention wherever he went, loved being the life of the party. Which meant you better not interrupt him when he was telling one of his stories. First time I was busted open was from one of his backhands when I tried to ask him a question when his buddies were over.

Then you had his pride and joy, his son Joe. He demanded just as much attention as his father. His favorite party trick was picking on me, making me look like a fool in front of other people. His father would get a kick out of it, which enticed Joe to be an even bigger dick. Joe would do anything for his father’s love and attention, no matter who he had to shit on to get it.

Which was no surprise when Joe announced he wanted to follow in his fathers footsteps and break into the wrestling business. His parents were so happy. They had this big party where they invited everyone. George was so proud, beaming as he walked around and told his buddies Joe was going to be the next big thing. He even helped train Joe, and got Joe started by calling in some favors.

That love and attention he gave Joe, I wanted that so bad. The look of pride in his eyes as Joe told him.. A few years later when I was old enough, I announced my intentions of breaking into the business. Like an idiot, I expected the same result. I even had the outfit for my party picked out. But instead of happiness and excitement, I was met with hostility. George didn’t think I’d be able to live up to his name. Didn’t want me to embarrass the family name. Name that he built and Joe was going to carry. I wasn’t good enough to carry his name. Just came and flat out told me so..

That night I packed up some clothes and I left. Never going back. I went right into the business, mostly out of spite. Out of wanting to prove George wrong. Wanting to prove I could be better than his pride and joy. Better than that egotistical Joe Montuori. And I’ve spent my entire career building to that moment where I could finally prove to George. To Joe. To the world. To myself.

That I’m better than Joe Montuori..

What if my mother never died?

I could’ve grown up in a loving household. One where I was cared for and nurtured. Looked after. Loved. What kind of man would I be now if I had my real mother in my life. There’s no way I would’ve spent most of my life with so much anger that I pushed anyone away that dared to get close.

Sure as hell wouldn’t have spent most of my adult life chasing after Joe. Chasing after him in an attempt to gain his respect. To gain a victory over him. I thought I needed that victory, that acknowledgment that I was the better Montuori. Needed everyone to know he was all talk, that I was the real deal. I guess deep down, I’m still searching for that. But none of that would have mattered if I grew up with my mother..

Instead I grew up with the Montuoris. They always made me feel so different. So fucking alone. I never had anybody to talk to. Nobody to turn to. I always felt like a pariah. Overlooked. Talked down to. And it all makes so much sense. All the sneers and comments from my aunts and uncles and cousins. From Joe. The coldness from the two people who took me in, pretended to be my parents.

I don’t remember hugs or kisses. Or ‘I love yous.’ Not to me at least. Always to Joe. Golden Child. All this time, thinking it was because I did something. Thinking it was because of me. My doing. Spent so many sleepless nights as a kid wondering why they didn’t love me the same way they loved Joe. Wondering what I could do differently. Say differently. That poor kid..

What if my mother never died?

I’ve been avoiding the truth about my mother, about my parents since I found out I was adopted. And honestly, I’m scared to know the truth. Scared to know about my parents. Scared to find out my real story is going to be worse than the one I have now. Orphan boy taken in by an emotionally distant family.

I have so many questions. But I’m too scared to ask them. Too scared to go ask the only people that know the answers. Very same people that have lied to me my entire life. I don’t even know my mothers full name. Or my fathers. I have no clue who he is. No clue if he’s even still alive. This entire time.

I finally hinted enough to Michelle so she put in a call to my cousin Francesca to find out where my mother was buried. I didn’t have the balls to call her myself, dreading my pretend mother getting on the phone and pulling her usual shit. Michelle was hoping she’d get on the phone, she loved being the bitch. Michelle also knew I had to take that first step. I had to know the truth. Know who I really came from. No matter how nerve racking it was. And I knew the first step I had to take was to visit her grave.

Michelle and Madison were excited for me. They know how much the entire ordeal was weighing on me. And they wanted to come with me, as support. And of course I said yes. Through all the bravado, I was still just a scared kid. I needed them more than they’d ever know.

So I had my driver come pick us up from our hotel in Manhattan that we’ve been staying since Madison came back to me. Turns out you can’t just leave with a kid across the country, even if the kid is yours..

My mother’s grave was in a private graveyard where most of the Montuoris are buried. A bit of a drive. I settle in, staring out of the window, watching as the cars go by. A familiar drive. A familiar sight. Like I’ve been here before. I let my mind wander..I’m a teenager again. Fourteen, fifteen. I’m riding in the backseat of my pretend mother’s car. I was a rebellious kid, shocker. The more I was neglected the more I acted out. Dying for attention. But the only attention I could get was negative attention. Fuck though, when you go days without your supposed parents showing you a morsel of attention you’ll get what you can.

So of course I started doing crazier and crazier shit for attention to the point where I wasn’t allowed at the house by myself. Hence why as a teenager I had to go with my pretend mother to run her errands.

As per every time I was forced to do something, I bitched the entire time. Moaning and groaning and complaining.

‘This is the worst!’ to ‘I wish I was dead.’

I remember that day I was relentless. Nonstop. She kept telling me to stop. Each time her voice getting louder and louder. Until she pulled the car over and turned around, glaring at me with her finger in my face.

“I should have never agreed to take you in!” She screamed, before she turned back around and kept  driving.

I was so confused. I tried asking her what she meant. She was stone cold. Among all the rude and nasty things she’s said to me, that stuck with me the most. My entire childhood I was a burden and I was punished for it. An innocent kid..

I’m brought back as I feel Michelle’s hand grab mine. The warmth and love coming from her instantly calms me down. Settling my nerves.

“You ok?” She asks, a look of concern in her eyes.

“Yeah,” I croak before clearing my throat. “Yeah I’m good. Ready to get there.. Listen, I appreciate you coming. And Madison. Means a lot to have you both in my life. I’d be utterly loss without you two. But uh..”

“It’s OK,” she says, the look on her face reassuring me. I don’t even have to say anything to her.

The car comes to a stop as the driver hops out and opens the door for me. I look back at the third row to see Madison laid out, sleeping. I can’t help but smile, how lucky I am to have such an awesome kid in my life. I turn to Michelle and give her a peck on the lips.

“I’ll be back,” I say as she squeezes my hand one last time. I grab the bouquet of flowers I brought and step out, taking a deep breath. I start to walk as I hear the door close behind me. I walk past rows upon rows of headstones. Something so peaceful about such a creepy place.

My heart skips a beat as I reach the end of the path, stopping at an iron gate with a sign that reads ‘MONTUORI’ across it. I take another deep breath, knowing there’s no turning back now. It’s been so long since I’ve been here. Since Joe’s parents faked their death and had a fake funeral.. I push the gate open as it groans, clanging shut behind me. I walk past headstones belonging to people from the Montuori family that I always heard stories of. Great Uncle Giuseppe who fought back against Mussolini. Great Grandfather Antonio who migrated to this country in the early 1900’s. I suddenly come to a stop.

The place where my pretend parents’ headstones used to sit have been removed. An empty spot now sits where years of pain and anguish once resided. The guilt I felt over their death, having felt like I abandoned them. And the entire time they were on a decades long vacation to Italy. Who fakes their own death? A fucking Montuori that’s who.. I shake the disgust from my mind just in time to look up to find the headstone I’ve come to see.

Here Lies
Maria Salviano
Beloved Daughter, Sister & Mother

I feel my knees grow weak as I fall to one. I take a moment to catch my breath, get my bearings. I place the flowers that I’m holding onto for dear life at the foot of the headstone, amongst other flowers that have recently been placed. I’m running my fingers over the headstone. Over her name. Over and over. Hoping that by some miracle suddenly I’ll feel close to her. Feel her love. Without even thinking, I’m suddenly talking.

“Mom.. It’s uh.. Me. Your son. Paul. I wish you were here. I wish I could talk to you. Even for a minute. To tell you about my life. About who I am.. To hug you just once. To feel your love, love that I know you had for me. I know you were a great mother to me. Even if it wasn’t for very long.. I wish you could see your granddaughter. She’s so beautiful. And amazing. And kind. I know she gets that from you cause she sure as hell doesn’t get it from me. And definitely not her mother.. Mom, I’ve finally met someone. Her name is Michelle and she’s.. Everything to me. You’d love her. She’s smart and funny and beautiful. And so strong and confident and such a badass. I think she might be the one Mom.. Gawd I wish I could talk to you just once..”

I slowly stand up, wiping the tears away.

What if my mother never died?

I would’ve been led down a different path. Away from professional wrestling. Away from my beautiful daughter Madison. Away from my life with Michelle. I would’ve had a life where I felt wanted. A life where I wasn’t alone, all the time. If my Mother was in my life, I would’ve never had to go through life ever having to experience that sickening feeling of loneliness.

The rain starts to fall on me. So fucking cliche. I stand, staring at my Mother’s headstone. Beloved Daughter, Sister & Mother..

What if my mother never died?

But she did. And there’s nothing I can do to bring her back.To bring back those missed moments. To redo my childhood. So what the fuck? Should I go back down that path of despair? Drink myself to death again? Take any and every drug in my path? Fuck that, I’m past that. I have Madison. And Michelle. I’m fucking Paulie Dos Straps. Life is good. No way I could imagine my life without Michelle and Madison. I’d live another ten lifetimes alone if it meant I could spend one with them.

With or wit

I feel hands grab onto mine. I look over to see Michelle standing to my left, holding my hand and an umbrella. I look to my right and see Madison holding my hand and holding an umbrella. A smile comes across my face.

I’m not alone.


“Hurry up! We’re gonna be late!” I say, pacing around the main room of the suite. Instead of flying back to Cali, we decided to stay longer. We got the PPV coming up in Brooklyn. And dealing with my history. Made sense to stay out here for a bit. It’s been a blast. Fun is supposed to continue if we’re ever able to get out of here. It’s cool to be late. But you can’t be late late. And here I am waiting on Michelle.

“Alright let’s go,” I hear Michelle say as I look up to see her walk into the room.

“Wow..” Does not begin to do justice to how beautiful she looks.

“You’re not wearing that crown. And please take off those belts,” she says. And moments over. I touch the custom made crown (baller shit) and then look down at my two hard earned straps around my waist.

“What? Why not?”

“You look tacky.”

“Tacky? People love the bling.”

“The what?

“Bling.. You know.. Bling bling, everytime I come around the city bling bling. Pinky ring worth about fiddy bling bling. I got two straps. It fits. Bling and Bling.”

“Is this another pop culture reference from 20 years ago?”

“Seriously don’t know BG? Cash Money?” She looks at me like I’m crazy. I can’t blame her, she’s been exposed to death metal or whatever creepy shit B’s into. “Alright, I’ll take them off. But I’m busting out my old Dynasty chain. Can’t be the only one to show up without bling.”

“Fine, but just please stop saying bling.”

“Hater,” I say as I walk past her and into the bedroom. I carefully set each strap in its custom made case (baller shit) and the crown on its own pedestal of dopeness. I reach over and open up my jewelry box, dusting off the old Dynasty chain.

Weird looking at this. What it was supposed to stand for. What it ended up standing for. Seems like so long ago. Memories of Joe. Keeping him close, waitin.. Nah, fuck him. Not right now. Today is about a good day, positive vibes. I put the chain back up and walk out back to the kitchen.

“Alright let’s go.”

“Where’s the necklace?”

“I don’t need it,” I say as I cross the room to her and pull her in for a hug. “I got the dopest bling a guy could ever want..”

“Uh so annoying,” she says as she pulls away.


“Who’s baby shower is this again?”

“My boy Rakim and his girl Ri.”

“Ri, what kind of name is that?”

“I don’t know, I think it’s short for something. I’m surprised it’s still going on. Rakim was locked up, he’s out on bond or some shit.”

“Just got out of jail? What kind of baby shower are you taking me to?”

Just then the elevator door opens as we step off. Security guards stand in front of a door along with a guy with a clipboard.

“Name?” He says.

“Paul Montuori.”

“Paul Mon.. Yes, here we are. Welcome. There’s to be no pictures of Rihanna unless she gives consent,” I feel Michelle suddenly staring at me. “There’s to be absolutely no weapons or drugs of any kind as Mr. Rocky is currently out on bond. Other than that, enjoy your time.”

The security guards linger too long checking to see if Michelle has any weapons, even though clearing you would be able to notice any weapons on that amazing body of hers. Mm, ready to take her to the bathroom and jump her bones.

One of the guards opens the doors as we walk through and onto the rooftop, decorated in some theme I don’t get cause I’m not as trendy as Rihanna. A bar, tables and chairs and booths of games and activities. There’s even a stage setup. A waiter walks by with a tray of champagne glasses as we naturally both grab two.

“You didn’t tell me it was Rihanna’s baby shower,” she says excitedly.

“First off shh, act like you’ve been here before. Secondly, I did. Rakim and Ri.”

“Rakim and Ri? Seriously? If I knew I would’ve worn something else.”

“You look amazing. Hottest chick here. 2nd if Rihanna wasn’t pregnant.”

“I see no lies,” she says as we cheers our champagne glasses. “How do you know all these people?”

“Well uh.. I’ve been out here for almost twenty years. I used to throw these crazy parties at the house with all the chicks from the shoots. Rappers love porn stars and strippers.”

“You hung out with porn stars, strippers and rappers?”

“Yeah, they’re the only ones that would talk to me after the whole fiasco at the Academy Awards.”


The year was 2008. Or 09? 2010. Somewhere in that span. I was doing a lot of drugs back then. Thought it was what all the cool kids did.

So I left professional wrestling and moved out to LA. I had no clue what I wanted to do with my life. And I didn’t have much saved. See, if you think I’m obnoxious and a loud mouth and whatever other horrible adjective ya wanna use, you should’ve seen me back then. Total and complete dick. Most places that hired me wouldn’t last much after I debuted. Others that did always fired me before I could get a good string of paydays together. Part of the reason I left the business.

I was staying in this shitty motel one night, fucked up, and I saw these two crackheads in the parking lot arguing. Then the idea for crackytales came to me.

“I loved crackytales.”

“Duh Michelle, everyone did.”

The pages for the screenplay just puked out of me. Figuratively and unfortunately literally. After I was done with it, I tried pitching it at all the major studios but I couldn’t even get a meeting. I wasn’t known outside of the wrestling world, and the little notoriety I had was for being a dick.

One night I was sulking, drinking my sorrows away with cheap booze and titties at the local gentleman’s establishment. This guy out of nowhere recognizes me. He was a big wrestling fan. Offered to buy me drinks. I ended up mentioning my script and he offered to front the money to film it. Turned out he was some rich guy. Mark uh.. Mark Madoff. Good guy. Wonder what he’s up to now.

“Yo Paul! You telling another one of your long ass stories?!” I hear as I turn to see Odell Beckham hobbling over on crutches.

“Aw shit wadap O. Still on crutches? I would’ve been healed and on the field by now.”

“You couldn’t catch to save your life with those brick hands,” he says laughing as I dap him up. “Who’s this?”

“O this is Michelle, my girl. Michelle, this is Odell Beckham.”

“Super Bowl Champ Odell Beckham,” he says as he shakes Michelle’s hand. “You are way too beautiful to be with this guy.”

“Don’t I know it,” she says laughing.

“I heard you finally won a Championship.”

“Two,” I say holding up two hands.

“Congratulations. Where’s the gold?”

“Bruh,” I say as I shoot Michelle a look. She smirks and drinks from her glass. “I didn’t wanna steal Ri’s shine. Todays about her.”

“Well if it isn’t Paul Montuori,” I hear Rihanna say as she walks over with Rakim.

“Wow, you look amazing,” I say as I give her a hug and a kiss. I turn to Rakim and dap him up before turning back to Michelle. “Ri this is Michelle.”

This is Michelle? Wow, nice to meet you. I’ve heard way too much about you,” Rihanna says.

“It better have been good,” Michelle says.

“Girl come with me, I’ll tell you everything,” she says as she pulls in Michelle and interlocks her arms with hers. “You don’t mind if I steal her right?”

“Aye it’s your day,” I say as Michelle winks at me before being led off.

“You’re so fucked,” Rakim says laughing.

I watch as she’s led through the party, stopping occasionally to be introduced to some singer. Or some actress. I stand there, watching her every move. In awe of her every move. So fucking beautiful. The way her nose crinkles when she laughs. Her beautiful eyes. Her undying confidence even when surrounded by some of this world’s most beautiful people. And amongst them all, she’s the dopest. I’d always take her over any one of them.

Crazy how long I’ve been chasing after her. Almost two decades. We practically grew up together. In and out of the same promotions. I always fancied her. But she was married back then. Double D. And if she wasn’t, I would’ve been too immature to have any resemblance of a healthy relationship. I don’t think I ever had a healthy relationship.

Or any relationship.

Now since Xtina.

But that was ages ago.

Nah, this is different.

It feels different.

Every morning I wake up yearning to touch her. To see her face. To be the little spoon. Every night I go to sleep counting down the moments until I wake up to her again. I’ve never felt this way before. Not about anyone. Not even about myself. And I’ve spent many a lonely nights..

“Man you’re sprung,” I look up to see T-Pain standing in front of me. “Blonde with the pink tips?”

“Dawg, she got me,” I answer, nodding my head sheepishly. “Got me doing things I’ll never do.”

“If you ain’t been I’m tellin’ you,” he says as he tips his hat to me and walks away.

“Fuck was T-Pain doing?” Rakim says, walking up.

“Ah nothing, we had a moment. So how you doing? Ready to be a dad?”

“If that’s in my destiny, absolutely. I think I’m gonna be an incredible, remarkably, overall amazing dad. I’m going to have a very fly child. Very.”

“I’m happy for you two.”

“So what’s up with Michelle?”

“Waddya mean?”

“You’re standing here, staring at her, looking lost bruh.”

“Ah nah man, I’m goo.. I think I’m going to ask her to marry me?”


“Yeah. I know we’ve only been dating for like a day. But she’s been my best friend forever. I fucking love that girl.”

“Cong.. Wait, you’re not going to propose tonight are you?”

“Ha nah no way. I wouldn’t try and ruin your day.”

“Rihanna would fucking kill you. Let’s go take a shot for your impending engagement.”

Shots! Shots! Shots! Shots! Shots!


Sun has gone down. The dance floor is illuminated with LED lights as I find myself dancing across it. Inebriated to say the least as I hear an occasional word of encouragement like..

“Go White Boy!”


“White Boy Got Moves!”

That white boy was me. And moves I did have.


I feel an arm reach around my waist. I turn around to see Michelle. My sloppy ass leans down and kiss her. I never knew I’d ever find someone as amazing as her. Find someone who made me happy. But like really happy. Not chemically induced happy. I mean, she’s completely changed my perspective, my outlook on life. My entire attitude. My career trajectory. My relationship with my daughter. Michelle has been everything to me. Always has been.

“Hey everyone,” we look up to see Rihanna and Rakim are standing on the stage. “We just wanted to thank you for coming. It means a lot to us to have our friends and family here with us. So let’s keep this party going. Everyone, Dua Lipa!”

Dua Lipa comes out on the stage and hugs them both as they walk off the stage. She turns to the crowd and partygoers and starts to sing. Michelle and I dance along, me better than her obviously. I spin her around until she’s facing me. She looks up at me with that smile, those eyes. I reach a hand and brush the hair from her face. I feel myself grinning like a schoolgirl. I don’t care who sees me. I’m with my everything. I mouth the words I love you to her. She smiles brighter and before she can say anything I’m kissing her.

Just then literal fireworks begin to go off in the sky above the stage as Dua Lipa plays on. Like bruh, I couldn’t have planned this better. Better than the fantasy I had of kissing Michelle at Disney. This was real life going on. Better than I could have ever imagined. She pulls back and leans into my ear, trying to tell me something over the loud music and fireworks. Finally she grows frustrated and grabs me by the hand, leading me away from the stage and to a table. I sit down as she sits down across from me.

“Paul..” She reaches over and grabs my hands. “I have been trying to find the perfect time or even the right time to tell you this. I don’t know if now is either of those but I can’t keep this from you any longer.”

“What is it? You can tell me anything. ”

“Ezra is your son. You’re his father.”

“He’s mine?!” I scream as I’m suddenly on my feet.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you right awa,” before she can even finish I’m on my feet, picking her up into my arms.

“I fucking knew it,” I scream while twirling her around.

“OK P stop spinning me, I took too many tequila shots,” she says as I put her down. “Aren’t you mad that I lied to you?”

“Mad? Nah, I’m sure you had your reasons. That doesn’t matter anyway, I’m a fucking Dad again!”


Ladies and fucking gentlemen!

Stand the fuck up!

And show some fucking respect!

For the Prophecy has come true!

FIGHT! has been blessed with new Island Champions.

Your KING and QUEEN have done it!

Saving FIGHT!’s tag team division!

Venom #20 will go down as the night that your QUEEN became Two Belts ‘Chelle!

 And your KING..

Paulie Dos Straps!

What a victory it was. We knew we had to come out and make a fucking statement that we weren’t to be fucked with. Unfortunately, James Raven was the one that had to be that statement. Alone, in the ring. Defending the Island straps against Thy Kingdom. Even as much as his baby momma wanted to get into the ring. For the sake of everyone, especially Paul Jr. (cause you should totally name the kid after me, Pauline works too), Atara didn’t get into the ring. Michelle was dying to get a piece. She’s so sexy when she’s got rage in her eyes..

My condolences go out to James Raven and Atara Themis. I know you guys thought it was gonna be cute to take selfies with each other wearing the Island straps. Make a little holiday card. Would’ve been a cute Bravo moment. But this isn’t the time or place for that level of cuteness. See, Michelle and I aren’t here to fuck around. Aren’t here to play games. It’s all fucking business now. We’re showing the fucking world who wrestling’s dopest couple is.

And there we were. Fresh off being handed the Island straps. Freshly after making an example out of James Raven. Looking at my sweet everything. Strap on each shoulder. I pull her in and go to town, making even the French blush. Above us sparks rain down, a celebratory shower. That very moment was the best moment I’ve ever had in FIGHT! and honestly, might’ve been the best moment I’ve ever had.


To say the night was a special one was an understatement. Standing in that ring, celebrating with the love of my life as we just won the Island straps, I still don’t have words to describe that feeling. I wouldn’t do it any justice. No way. I was cherishing ever second.

And then..

Here come these two washed up fucking hacks.

Joe, I’ll get to you in a minute. First..

Who the fuck is Chris Page?

Who the fuck does he think he is sticking  his nose in my business? In my family business? Hey Page, I get it. You’re past your prime, washed up. So you decided to hitch your horse onto Joe. But bruh, Joe’s days are long behind him too.

Pft, fucking idiot.

Another one of those guys desperately clinging to relevancy. Casted a net, hoping you’d get a bite. Recruited Young Ricardo and She Who Shall Not Be Named. CCFuckboy Enterprises. A joke, you’re entire fucking group is beneath me. Little fucking terrier trying to nip at a Gawd’s ankles..

Did you even bother to look up who the fuck I was before you got yourself involved? Before you thought it was a good idea to hit Michelle with a chair? Are you trying to get fucked up? Don’t think after I’m done with Joe I won’t put my hands on you.

But this is what you want, right? The attention.

Please notice me!

You may have Joe and Ricardo and She Who Shall Not Be Named fooled, but I see right through you. I’ve had to defend myself from guys like you my entire career. Fucking sharks, circling when they see a big thing. You’re a fucking con man, carpetbagger. Spotlight fucker. You’d use anyone to have that light shine on you. And I should know, I’m related to the biggest spotlight fucker known to man..

Joe fucking Montuori..

You’re fucking dumber than I thought. You had your chance to ride off into the sunset. I’d say ride off on top, but let’s be honest, you haven’t been on top since Allie was in diapers. You had your chance to retire with that mystique of who the better brother was. Because while it’s fucking obvious, people still play dumb. That was your chance to keep your name in the conversation, shit even make it a conversation. Instead you gave me what I’ve been salivating over since xWs.

You remember xWs right? That little promotion you used to run. Back when I first broke into the business. Back when I wasn’t old enough to legally drink. That was also the last time I fucking trusted you. Back when I had dreads, back when I iMaGiNe’d my life going one way. I was an up and coming, your Xtreme Champ. And everyone’s favorite Stephen Stratford was your Riot Champ. Booked us against each other, title vs title with ALL INTENTION OF HAVING ME LOSE.

But that didn’t happen. Shocked the world like I love doing. Fucked up your plans. I walked out as a double Champion. You must’ve been so fucking pissed. Bet on the wrong horse. So in typical fashion, what’d ya do?

Manipulated me.

Tricked me into giving up both straps for a shot at your World Champion. Who just happened to be one of your boys. Handpicked Champion. What a fucking SiNN that was.

I had no fucking shot Joe. Everyone knew it. Bet you and your little crew of never weres had a grand ol’ laugh at my expense. That’s what you guys were all about. Being fucking bullies who got themselves over at everyone’s expense. And as weird as it sounds, it wasn’t until after that match that I finally saw you for the person you were.

A fucking snake.

And not the dope, three-headed kind.

Self-centered, egotistical asshole.

Right then and there I thought I knew how I was going to get back at you. Back at you for not only the bullshit in xWs, but all the conniving, manipulating bullshit you’ve pulled our entire childhood. How you used me to gain more favor with your parents. See I thought the only way to get back at Joe Montuori was to outshine him.

So I cut the dreads. Ditched the guyliner and leather jacket and I started coming out as my real name. Or name I thought was mine.

Paul Montuori.

Oooh how pissed your bitch ass was. So pissed you turned your goons on me. Constantly barrage of fucking hate. And I grew to love it. To feed off of it. Using that hate to make me better. Stronger. More prepared for this business.

As time went on, my stock started to rise. When people heard the name Montuori, it was no longer associated with Joe. With ELITE. With Focus. Paul started being the name people started to know, started to respect. Started to fear. Cause no matter how hard everyone wants to front, they all know I’m nothing to fuck with. They just can’t admit to themselves that a goofy pretty boy with beautiful hair is better than them. Doper than them. Doper than everyone.

Including you Joe.

Cause let’s be honest, you ain’t what you used to be. At least, not what everyone thinks you used to be. A shadow of yourself. But we all know the truth, real reasoning. Not because you got older. Or was out of the game too long before coming. You just have no fucking chance while you’re in the same place as me.

I’ve surpassed you bruh.

I do circles around you, with my eyes closed, hopping on only my dick. It’s no contest. No comparison.

And that’s why you’ve been ducking me since OPW. Since I came back. Since you came back. Since you realized you weren’t a fraction of the person you used to be and you came snuggling up to me again. Trying everything to stay on my good side. You dangled the opportunity to work with my homeboy Stratford to get me to join the group you created to feed your ego, Focus. Another incarnation of a group that was never good to begin with, never worked. They all never worked. Your fucking ego made it impossible. Makes everything impossible. Biggest highlight in the history of that group is FuCuS. I’d definitely buy that VHS.

When that incarnation imploded, hopefully it’s the last we ever hear of Focus, you found another way to stay cozied up to me. Following me from OPW into FIGHT!.

‘Hey brother, let’s do Dyna$ty. You’ll be the leader.’

And I was dumb enough to fall for it.


And now it’s so fucking obvious. You were delaying the inevitable. Delaying the obvious Montuori vs Montuori match that needed to happen. It’d been years in the making. Everyone’s talking about the match of the century. Warstein and Dickie. Warstein chasing this match for a year. Pft, I’ve been chasing Joe’s bitch ass longer than Sahara’s been in her thirties.

See Joe, this match needs to happen, especially after the bullshit you pulled.

‘Sorry I lied about your entire life. It was for your own good.’

Egotistical piece of shit. It’s only ever been about you. What’s best for Joe. What’s most convenient for Joe’s career. For your shitty image. Like you have some great reputation to uphold, you knocked up a stripper.

So before you go, before you retire and ride off into the sunset I want the entire world to know why you wouldn’t face me this entire. See, Joe knew if this match were to ever happen I was going to embarrass the fuck out of him. Kill his fucking mystique. Expose him for being a fraud. Show the world that Joe Montuori, the first Montuori, ain’t the best Montuori. I took your fucking your name and made it better than you ever could’ve.

You silly fuck. I can’t believe you let Chris Page talk you into this much. What’s his cut? 10%? 20%? He doesn’t give a fuck about you. He’s feeding you to the wolves. All for his personal gain. What has he done for any of you? When was the last time you did anything? He couldn’t protect She Who Shall Not Be Named. And Young Ricardo, well he’s fucking killing it. That dood’s success is from the work he’s put in.

Joe, I know you’re a little slow, but even you gotta realize this isn’t going to be pretty. No DQ, I’m fucking bringing it. Entire lifetime of anger and frustration and heartbreak and pain and anguish all at your hands. All at your family’s hands. A lifetime of receipts coming your way. And there’s no running this time. No hiding. Just me and you Joe.

I’m on a fucking roll Joe. Fresh off of winning the Island straps. Undefeated in 2022. I’ve beaten some of the biggest names in such a short span. Talk about being a fighting Champion. I’ve already defended the Manhattan strap more than Stephen Stratford did during his entire run as OPW Champion. And what have you done Joe? Who have you beaten? What have you accomplished?

I don’t remember the last thing you did of importance. Tag Wars? You talked all that shit, created all that hype for your match against Dane Preston and you dropped the ball on that one. That family has beaten you more than Dickie’s beaten me.

Which was only once, one on one.

And I’m Shadow Montuori, huh?

But you see, I’ve started to realize that my success, you’re not mad at. You relish in it. You love to see my name in the spotlight. Your name in the spotlight. You know you’re not what you used to be. Your name isn’t what it used to be. So you’re fine settling with piggybacking on my success. For as long as a Montuori is on top, in some weird way you’re still on top. At least that’s what you think. And I guarantee that’s what most of these people think.

I spent my entire life building the name of Paul Montuori up. Thinking in some way it would end up getting under your skin Joe. And while it did at first, you soon realized how great it was for your career. For your image.

Joe Montuori, Older Brother of Paul Montuori..

Any press is good press, right?

Why else would anyone else be talking about you?

But it ends soon enough..

May 2..


The Thrill & The Agony..

Joe, I’m fucking serious when I say this..

Keep that stripper at home..

She ain’t gonna wanna watch what I do to you..