Title: Advice On: Nostalgia and Broken Noses
Featuring: Jace Valentine
Date: 7/17/2018
Location: Montreal, Quebec
Show: Evolution 26






"Well, hello there. Those things that reside in your eye sockets are about to get the greatest gift that could be given!"

The stage is grand indeed. Flashing lights, all the flashing lights. There are numerous spotlights, the flashes of cameras and enough electricity going through a single platform to power a third world country. It's enough to send somebody into an epileptic seizure.

Which is probably fine. The world can live without another epileptic. The world never seems to go long without Jace Valentine, though. How could it? Why would it want to? Jace is prime time entertainment. Jace is CWF, whether you damn well like it or not. The people, whether they love him or hate him, they just can't seem to get enough of him. They can't get enough of the controversy. They are drawn to it like flies on shit.


Every once in a while, Jace wants to take a break. The world needs Jace Valentine. It's like a drug. Every once in a while someone picks up that old spoon and takes a lighter to it. It's gonna be like good ole days, please God let it be like the old days. Now that Jace is back, you can rest easy. You can put your feet up and relax and you can feel like you're at home again. 

Now that Jace is back, you can be ENTERTAINED again. Cause let's face it, all these new guys around here... kinda suck. Don't believe me? Take it from Jace. After all, he has...

"THE WORLD'S GREATEST ADVICE! I'm your 'Host with the Most', but you know me as the best damn competitor to ever step into the CWF ring, Jace Valentine! It's been a long time coming. It's been a long time overdue. Jace Valentine is back, pussies and snowflakes! Not only that, with the help of some buddies over at Moonrise Productions, the show you never knew you missed IS BACK! So set your DVRs or tune in on HULU or however you connect to the talk box and tune the fuck in because you're not going to want to miss this shit!"

Jace gives his patented wink. The studio crowd is roaring in applause. It's probably a canned recording. No, this is Jace Valentine, it's definitely not canned applause. Totally one hundred percent legit applause, I promise.

As Jace's speech sputters off, a herd of circus elephants start parading across the stage. They are decked out in jewelry, glitter and glam. The ivory in their tusks sparkle and shine. But they don't shine as much as the stage. They don't shine as much as Jace Valentine. And the crowd is totally not cheering for the elephants, they are cheering for the return of a champion!

As the magnificent beasts make their return to the backstage arena, a merry band of bards pop up in front of Jace, each armed with a trumpet. The bards carry on a joyous tune, as the Host with the Most smiles on with approval. That's pretty damn awesome. This whole shabang, pretty damn impressive. If anyone is ever returning for anything for whatever reason, and they're not doing it with elephants and trumpets... they're fucking doing it wrong.

Hell, if you don't already like Jace Valentine...this is a good time to start fucking liking Jace Valentine, ya twits.

"The Queen is dead. All the jesters and jokers followed her into an early grave. It's a barren wasteland out there in CWF world. Insert some line about the dark, brooding and mysterious. Things change quickly, right? The locker room, these days, I take one look at it and I see Joe, Schmoe and the Alamo. I don't see all my old running buddies. They've all bit the dust or went on to seemingly bigger or brighter things. These new guys, all I see are chumps. I see Dick's and Assrael's and someone who is... American. God, its bad enough to be from somewhere not called Montreal, Quebec, but to be proud of it? Fucking ew."

Jace mocks like he's about to throw up. It must have been bad catering.

"It's gotten pretty rough. I tuned in once, a couple weeks ago. I'd watch another episode, but I'm still recovering from my coma. I've done horse tranquilizers, and I've watched MJF face Caledonia in the main event. Believe me, it wasn't the tranquilizers that put me to sleep."

Jace smiles. What a rugged, manly smile. I bet you wish you had a smile half as charming but you're fucking ugly.

"So, I've decided to spare you all. I've decided to spare the ratings. You want to be entertained, well, welcome to the entertainment. The king has returned. Not the King of the Ring. Not the Burger King, or the Kottonmouth King. Not the King of the Mountain or the King of the Hill. Not the King of Wrestling or even the Jarvis King. But the King of Canadian Controversy, baby!"

"That brings me to today's topic. This is the World's Greatest Advice on... Nostalgia. Instead of focusing on the future, lets talk about that fuzzy feeling that you get when you remember something from the good ole days. They call that nostalgia. I'll give you dummies in the back a second to look up the definition on your smart phones..."

Some dummy in the back is anxiously trying to sneak the phone from his pocket while keeping his eyes on the show. See, no one wants to miss a moment.

"Some of you may live under a rock and not know my story. See, one day, I was just a little ole talk show host, minding my own business. I came up here on the grand stage and told people what to think, what to do, what to wear, how to act. All I did was give out Advice, and for fuck's sake, I was the fucking best at it you twat wads."

Jace smirks.

"I'm sorry for that. That was uncalled for. Only some of you guys here at twat wads... Anyhow, I was just doing my thing one day and some cunt knuckle little fat ass boy came up here and said he wanted to be a professional wrestler. He wanted to be just like his Daddy and he wanted to do his Daddy proud. So what did I do? I stared him right in the eye and I laughed in his fucking face. I told him it was a terrible idea and that he should consider suicide as a favor to the rest of the waking world. I told him he should just give up on his dreams and go work in a meat packing plant or something that irrelevant fucks like him do."

"Do you know what he said back? Of course you fucking do, or at least you should. He looked me right back in the eye and he said 'But Jace, why don't you become a wrestler?' He looked right at me and said 'You can't do it.' He challenged me. He dared me. I wasn't an athlete, I was just a handsome ass talk show host and I was good at my job."

"One look at the history books, and you will see that Jace Valentine did it. Four championships, count 'em up, bitches. I've fought and beat every name, every hotshot that walked through that door. I said I was going to beat them, I called my shots every time. Every time they said, 'Hey Jace, you can't do it. You can't beat me.' When it came down to business time, each and every one of them dirty ass, crusty mother fuckers were laid out in the middle of the ring. Each and every time they said I couldn't do it... I did. I was the one with the arm raised by the referee. I was the one getting my name called by Ray Douglas. Not that pasty little fat fuck."

Jace pauses, if for no other reason to catch his breath. At times he can be very verbose, but hey fuck it, it's not like your insignificant little piss ant life has something better to do at this present moment. Just keep watching. Tune in, this is the World's Greatest Advice. Maybe you'll learn something.

"So in the spirit of today's topic, we are getting nostalgic in this bitch. My guest today is none other than the same pudgy pecker that I had on my show that fateful day in March of 2010. Almost a legend in his own right, solely from riding my coattails... this is Doyle McDickfuck!"

A overweight and bald man walks out on to stage with his head low, exuding no confidence. His white t-shirt is stained to the point where it's almost darker than his pasty skin. He's in his early twenties now, but probably still a fucking virgin. Chicks don't dig wrestling nerds, especially one that looks like he takes his daily bath in hot lava.

"That's...not my name." Jace's guest stutters out. Yeah, the fucking stutter isn't gonna help pick up the chicks, either.

Jace looks at him crossways. "I'm sorry, sir, what is your name again?"

"My name is..."


Jace winks, and in one motion shoves the guest tumbling off the stage and into the barricade below. He wipes his hands, a job well done.

"See folks, nostalgia is the name of the game! You can call me Peter Vaughn, 'cause I'm the Janitor out here cleaning up this damn trash!"

Jace smiles, more applause. Definitely not canned, totally legit applause.

"This week, End Game qualifiers. This week, I come back. I've already started throwing out the trash. If you go dumpster diving, you can still find an Eclipse with fresh face paint! So, it's End Games, right? It's gotta be some hellish competition out there. Maybe they bring back the Alex Cains and the Chaolin Sahns. Maybe Big Sexay and the Blue Scorpion have one last go around in them. Hell, it's for a vacant title. Past stars have gotta be coming out of the woodwork from every direction to get involved, right? Where are the Angelica's, where are the Victor Quinns? Hell, I'd even settle for a "Ripper" Danny B at this point."

"I'm their top draw. These people pay to see Jace Valentine, they buy my t-shirts and they soak it all the fuck in. So I'm back in the CWF, the addicts are clamoring to get their fix again, and who do I got? 'The Demon of Mediocrity', Dorian Sucksworst."

What a cool and original insult. I bet no one has come up with that one before. Jace kicks ass. Be more like Jace.

"Now, I'm not typically someone who is going to take one opponent lighter than another. In fact, I take all my opponents fucking lightly, so don't go around thinking you're some king shit exception there, Dorian. I take one look at this guy's profile and I say...WHY? What the hell has this guy done to deserve the opportunity to even lace up his boots and step into the ring with Jace Valentine? He's a nobody. A chump. Probably couldn't even make his way up the roster in some second rate fed like High Stakes Wrestling where I easily won the Sole Survivor match by throwing literally every other contestant over the top rope including the time keeper and the backstage ring announcer chick. I threw her through a table! Ya know, for nostalgia sake!"

"So, from what I know about Dorian Hawkhurst, I can tell that he's an alcoholic. Or...he was an alcoholic. I think his schtick is that he's a former alcoholic until he's an alcoholic again and then he wants to be clean. It's kind of this never ending cycle. Or at least it seemed to be for a while, I stopped paying attention. EVERYONE stopped paying attention. I get it, man. Drinking booze, it's the cool and hip thing to do. Name all your moves after the mixed drinks you had at the bar the night before. Not everyone can do it like I do it though. Not everyone can party like Jace Valentine parties, not even for one night."

"See, with people like Dorian Hawkhurst, nostalgia comes in the form of a bottle or a can. A stark reminder of his favorite failures and fourth place medals. They call this show the World's Greatest Advice, and they don't call it that for nothin'. I'll tell you right now, I have some Advice for our friend Dorian. I have the perfect mixed drink recipe, straight from momma Valentine's kitchen, God rest her soul."

Jace Valentine's mother...isn't dead. She's just Jace Valentine's mother. Fucking ew.

"See, I have this special recipe for Dorian or any other wannabe wrestler watching at home. It might taste a little bitter at first, but you'll find it's just what you need to soothe your buds. I call it the 'Jace Valentine's Boot' It's one part gin, one part juice, and one part just don't give a fuck! I'll be mixing them up all night, boys! I'll be shoving them down his throat one after another until he gets his fill. Then I'll have him chase it down with the Cupid's Chokehold as it all bubbles up and takes his breath away."

"I am the final boss. I am the End Game! I am the best there was. I am the best there is, and the best there ever will be!"

Jace winks. Panties drop at record pace in the studio crowd.

"Let the nostalgia burn like the booze in the back of your lungs. Face that whiskey and face the facts, son. Jace Valentine can't be beat. Somethings in life just can't be done. Just like the saying goes, you can't turn a bartender into a house slave. Well, I'm gonna try. I'll bring the strap and I'll beat Dorian around the ring like the town drunk that he is. He will be the whippin' boy, and he's in for a whuppin' boy. Hide the women and the children and the shiny gold belts."

"Oh, and Dorian? Hide your little girl's eyes. I'm here to push controversy, you and little Chloe are just gonna end up caught in the brights. Yeah, you've been around here for a little bit. You've been a part of CWF for a while now, right? No one cares. Why? Because the CWF is not worth watching without Jace Valentine. Jace is the main event. Jace is the attraction. I'm not back to save the CWF. I'm not back to save the world, but to save the ratings and give the audience something worth watching again. Frankly put, I'm here to spare them from this shit."

"I'm here to spare them from shit like Eric Dane and Bronson Box, the world's most generic wrestlers. When they mentioned the Golden Pyramids, I thought fucking Anubis was on his way back. More nostalgia, if any one actually fucking remembers that guy. You got Jarvis King as Paramount champion, but he don't have his belt..."

Jace gives an awkward shrug.

"What happened to Jarvis King's Paramount championship. I have it. Why do I have it? I have no fucking idea, more on that later. I mean, it wouldn't be the first time I ended up with a Paramount strap that once belonged to Jarvis King, and it probably won't be the last. Oh, the nostalgia! You have Ataxia as the Commissioner, for some God awful reason. I think he won it out of a cereal box. I guess if you can't get it done in the ring anymore, corporate will find a spot for you. The nostalgia, it burns! Then you got Lucas Greene who smokes a big fatty and Bobby Dean who is a big fatty... and fuck, I just got a good look at this Lucas guy. It looks like Abigail Starr grew some chest hair and a suspicious mustache and decided to give it another go!"

Jace lets out a hearty but totally masculine laugh. The studio audience is still on the edge of their collective seats.

"The fucking nostalgia. I just can't take it anymore! I guess it's time to get serious. I guess the stoner schtick could work. Better chances with that then calling yourself the Janitor or the fucking Grinch. Everyone wants to be a wrestler these days. Not everyone is cut out for it. Not everyone can be Jace Valentine. Now that Jace has done it, anyone and everyone thinks they can do it - even Sunset. Your boy stole a nostalgic gimmick and tried to pass it off as his own. Never had an original thought in his life, until I smashed it out of the side of his skull. Speaking of unoriginal..."

Who could Jace possibly be looking to trash on next? There are so many unoriginal jackasses in this company, and so little time!

"Dorian's merry little band of fuckoffs, called The Forsaken. Four individuals with twelve personalities and four brain cells between the lot of them. That cult of clown shoes may finally be gone around here, but I see some people aren't too quick to give up the Halloween costumes. The druids...remind me, what were their names again? Grumpy, Sleepy and Bashful? No, that's the seven dwarves. No one knows because no one gives a shit. No one is paying attention anymore. The spotlight has moved on, back to where it belongs, squarely fixed on the Host with the Most, Jace Valentine."

"Do you remember when Jace defied the odds? Do you remember when I won titles, when I beat the unconquerable Caledonia? Try some Jace Valentine sponsored 'Remember' Meat Snacks, today! If you ever have a fuzzy recollection, just slobber on my sausage for a little while...then you'll fucking remember! Snap right into it....ohhhh yeah, nostalgia!"

As of this recording, Jace Valentine sponsored 'Remember' Meat Snacks are already sold out. You can fucking stop calling already. The next shipment isn't due for a week.

"Listen, I might not be the biggest man, the baddest man or the most macho, I just tell it like it is. I tell it like its always been. Jace Valentine lives that Ricky Bobby lifestyle, and around here...we like to go fast. We like to win. The world looks awfully rosy from the front of the pack and if you're not first, you're last. Dorian will just have to settle for the second place sticker. He can go back home and wash it down with some second rate liquor."

"Maybe he'll take it out on his little girl. Maybe he can pin it all on her, make it her fault. Anything to deflect the letdown of another failure. Anything to justify the almost guaranteed loss coming at the hands of Jace Valentine. She's just an innocent little girl, man. It's not her fault that her dad sucks. Its not her fault you just can't it done."

"When I'm done in the ring with you, your credibility is gonna be shot. The image your little girl has of a hero will be shattered. She will end up just another child star, caught up in the coke and the cock sucking. She will see her daddy's just a drunken fool and a fucking failure. Maybe it will drive her to want to blaze her own path as a pole dancer or a porno centerfold. Maybe it will drive her to be a drunken, drugged up mess like her daddy is."

"I hope you get your shit together. For the kid, I really do. I hope you're focused, because I don't want anything less than the best as you step into the buzzsaw. A hardcore match? I like to get my hands dirty. Getting put into hardcore spots that turn out to much more than they can handle... As they grow up, that seems like something Dorian and his girl may end up having in common, eh?"

"With all the confusion and nostalgia floating in the air and filling our lungs, I don't want you to turn a 'blind eye' to the facts. I am the Era of Arrogance. I am the best this company has ever seen, and when it comes to this qualifier and the End Games match itself...I will be the Sole Survivor. You remember that? I remember. I saw it myself. Jace Valentine threw seventy people over the top rope. Maya Jensen wasn't so lucky. I threw out all the Maya Jensens, and then I did it again. Ah, the Jace Valentine shit storm goes around and around like a wheel of misfortune. Who's gonna get piss on their parade next? I've made a living off of pissing a lot of people off. It turns out, over the years, I've gotten pretty fucking good at that, too. Some people just wanna be offended, but me? I'm back and better than ever, Boyo."

"So bring all your Dorian Hawkhursts. Bring the little girl, bring a bottle of Jack and Coke. Bring Mia and Amelia and Cecelia and a little pedophilia if you have to. Nothing is going to stop me from qualifying for End Games and getting back what I deserve. Ataxia knows better and that hooded little dungeon master dweeb Shadow is too busy getting his prostate fiddled by Unnamed Druid #78 to give a damn."

"This is the World's Greatest Advice, and my Advice to you would be to let the nostalgia go and hit the fucking bricks. This is not your moment. This is not your match. End Games is Jace Valentine's spotlight. End Games is Jace Valentine's opportunity. It's Jace Valentine's world, and you're just living in it."

And just like that, Jace Valentine ran out of things to say...

...For now.

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