The Man
The Myth
The Legend
Your Undisputed Falconer Champion
Jim "The Icon" Daher

(Well, Insurrection is over and done with, and despite all Chris Cane's verbal wrangling, Jim "The Icon" Daher emerged from the show still the GWA Falconer Champion. However, that victory was tainted in the extreme by three people: Thurston Edward Marshall III, our Gladiator Champion, Ashram Kenjin, and the CEO himself, Steven Fury. Though The Icon is happy he emerged victorious, he is decidedly unhappy that he was not allowed to do it on his own. And what of his next title defense? It seems Thurston has decided that both himself and Azra'il Rosuto deserve a shot at the Falconer Title, and they want it in a Hardcore Triple Threat Match! "I'll get you, my pretty, and your little belt, too! Ehhh, heheheheheeeehh!" And to further add insult to injury, it seems that Thurston attempted to go into Daher's "past". Now, did you really think the stuff he came up with was the truth? Hell no, here's the real story, straight from the champ himself...Jim "The Icon" Daher.)

(The scene begins outside Horn Lake Elementary School in Horn Lake, Mississippi. The greenish building is just one story, but it spreads out lengthwise over quite a distance, taking up almost the entire block. A rusted black and white sign out front proclaims the building to be Horn Lake Elemtary School, teaching grades K-5. Parked alongside the curb is a red '95 Corvette ZR-1, its black drop-top lowered. Leaning against the hood with his arms crossed over his chest is GWA Falconer Champion Jim "The Icon" Daher, the Falconer Title belt slung over his shoulder with the end dangling in front of him tucked underneath his crossed arms. He looks at the camera with a serious expression, showing just the barest hint of amusement as he begins to speak.)

Jim "The Icon" Daher: Hey. In case you haven't figured it out by now, I'm not here to joke an' play around. Not this time, anyway. Some serious sh*t's gone down lately, and I feel it needs to be addressed in a serious manner. Let's start with Thurston Edward Marshall III. First, let me congratulate you on hiring such a stellar cast of actors. Though convincing, I can honestly tell you that none of what they had to say was true. Second, since it's obvious that Thurston intends to spread even more lies about me and further smear my character, I intend to put this thing to rest before it escalates even further. And how am I gonna do that? By giving you all my entire life story up to this point. Right here and right now. Let's start with my birth. I was born at St. Francis Hospital in Memphis, Tennessee, on July 27, 1981, at 9:38 AM, under the care and supervision of one Dr. Earl Baker. On July 30th, three days after my birth, my parents took me home to this town right here, Horn Lake, Mississippi. Now, since I don't remember anything before the age of about 5, we'll pick it up there, my first day of Kindergarten. This was actually my first day of school period, so I found myself unable to locate my classroom unassisted. I went to the principal to ask for her help...and instead of helping me, she b*tched me out right then and there and threatened to spank me if I didn't get to class. Now, that might seem tame to all of you Gladiators out there, but to a five-year-old, this was pretty traumatic stuff. I also feel you should all know that at some early stage in my life I was diagnosed with Attention Deficit Disorder. This will come into play a lot during my school years. Moving on...second week of Kindergarten. I'd just been transferred to another teacher's classroom, with a whole new set of kids to get to know. I suddenly developed an urge to take a leak, but when I asked the teacher if I could go...she said no. So I waited, and waited, and waited. I asked again: still no. Eventually, class ended...but not before I'd pissed myself. Of course, I was sent home, where I changed clothes and came back, but the kids seated near me already knew what had happened, so they did what any self-respecting kindergartener would do...they commenced to teasin' the hell outta me. From then on, I was heavily picked on by all the little cruel bastards there. It didn't help any that I was one of the smallest kids in the school, either. The ADD medication did a damn good job stunting my growth while doing next to nothing to help my ADD. I still managed to make a few friends, though. A natural inclination towards extreme friendliness helped in this regard. After school and the weekends were a blast, though. Holidays, too. I played baseball all the time with my friends, performing respectably well for a boy. Hell, at the age of 8, I saw my first live wrestling show, and that's where the wrestling bug first bit me, though I didn't really know it at the time. One falsity jumps out immediately in the story presented by Thurston, though. I was never friends with any twin of any kind named Joe. Indeed, in Horn Lake, the only set of twins I knew were two sets of identical girls, and I never got that well acquainted with either of 'em. Now, let's move on to third grade. More specifically, a teacher by the name of Mrs. Geraldine Aluko. Now, even though she was a teacher, she showed me and my parents that she was an absolute freakin' retard. Let me explain. At the beginning of the year, my folks gave her a nice little booklet, explaining that I have Attention Deficit Disorder and that that booklet contains information about the disorder and what she can do to help. Later on in the year, the school sent home a report card. Guess what Mrs. Aluko wrote in the "Comments" section? All the symptoms of ADD. And she had the audacity to claim she didn't understand what to do about it. Naturally, my folks were slightly miffed, so they went to the principal. A brief search turned up that ADD booklet...in her trash. My folks tried like hell to get that teacher fired, but to no avail. Thanks to her ignorance, I ended up just barely graduating to the next year. I was with my peers in everything else, but in the subject she taught, math, I was a year behind. I somehow got past fourth grade, I know not how, and that brings me to fifth grade.

(He uncrosses his arms and shifts his title belt to the other shoulder, then resumes his story.)

The Icon: At the start of fifth grade, the faculty again tried to put me in Mrs. Aluko's class, who was by that time teaching 5th grade math instead of 3rd. Naturally, my folks did not want to see a repeat of the third grade, so they went straight to the guidance counselor and had me transferred to another teacher's class, who I will talk about in detail shortly. It was in fifth grade that the faculty gave me an IQ test. I registered a 127, high enough for their gifted program, called SPOTLIGHT. However, my grades needed a little improving, but it was my new fifth grade math teacher, Mr. Blackburn, that fixed that. I believe this guy is basically the best teacher I ever had. He went out of his way to see to my improvement, and before too long, I was back up to grade level and in the gifted program. It was also in fifth grade that I was persuaded to enter the school spelling bee. I ended up getting 3rd place, being eliminated only because I was asked to spell the word "hypochondriac," which I completely blanked on. I also got into the act of the science fair, building a science project to explain the layers of the Earth. I got an Honorable Mention. Then came Middle School, sixth through eighth grades. It was during 7th grade that I came off my ADD meds and finally sprouted, growing from 4'10" to 5'5" in a period of just 6 months. Seventh grade was also the first time they held Phys Ed inside a real gym. There was no shower room, though, so they made sure to hold that class at the end of the day. Oh, did I neglect to mention that after I sprouted, the other kids stopped pickin' on me? Well, they did, and I made a lot more friends after puberty. Then came high school, ninth grade, by which time I was sporting a nice little mustache. By the end of the year, though, it'd spread into a full, thick beard, covering my entire face and earning myself a whole slew of Charles Manson ribbings. Ninth grade passed without incident, then came tenth, whereupon I finally got involved in the female scene. My first girlfriend, Shirley Burrows. Average-lookin' girl, but a hell of a kisser for 15. We stayed together most of that year, but towards the end, I had to break it off with her. I ended up failin' tenth grade, that would've been 1997, and in August of that year, shortly before the beginning of the school year, me and the rest of my family moved up to Memphis. They checked me into Wooddale High School to repeat the 10th grade, where I still had my nice thick beard, not to mention a leather coat, a pair of faded blue jeans, and a pair of black cowboy boots. Naturally, the kids there weren't quite sure what to make of me, especially since the student body at that time was 90% black. No racism intended, just raw facts. I hovered between the full beard and an around-the-mouth goatee, switching back and forth between them all year. Then there was my Algebra I teacher, Coach William Wade. What was he coach of? The Wooddale Cardinals baseball team. I was one of his top students, not to mention bein' really friendly with him, so he got to like me very quickly. Eventually, me bein' an admitted (and obvious) baseball fan, the question came up: Would I object to tryin' out for the baseball team? It pained me to say it, but I had to decline; I'd messed up my knees earlier that year, and it temporarily cost me my now-legendary athletic agility. "No problem," he said. "You don't have to play. I could use somebody to keep the stats up. You'd be in the dugout with us at all the games, basically a spectator for free, and all you'd have to do is write down what happens in a little statistics book I'll be givin' you. Officially speaking, you'd be the team's manager, but you'd still be under me and the rest of the coaching staff. What do you say?" Well, how could I turn down the opportunity to watch one of my favorite sports free of charge? "You got a deal," I said, and we shook on it. Just a shame the team happened to suck ass. That year they went 5-20, and I recorded every damn one of their losses. The only positive side to that year was my own academic performance, obtaining Honor Roll awards in 4 out of the 6 six-weeks. The team, however, sucked ass. "Maybe they'll do better next year," I thought. Then came next year. I went to an around-the-mouth goatee for the entire year, figuring maybe a change would help the team out, but it was no use. Asking that team to win was about as futile as asking the sun not to blaze. Impossible as it may seem, they did even worse than the year before, ending the season with a despicable 0-26 record. The closest they came to a victory that year was a 9-3 loss to Fairley High School. After that year, I left the team, determined not to associate myself with losers and salvage what was left of my reputation. Twelfth grade. That year, purely on a whim, I finally decided to shave myself clean. I cut myself all to hell - hey, it was my first full shave - but I did it, and man! The reaction I got! I practically had to beat 'em off me with a stick. Eventually, though, the novelty wore off, and it fell to just a lotta meaningless flirting. That year, though, I hooked up with my second girlfriend, Rebecca Locke, Becky for short. We started out as just friends, but after a couple'a months, I finally admitted that I loved her, and was pleasantly surprised to find that she felt the same way. In fact, we're still together to this day, but the reason she doesn't appear on camera is because she doesn't feel like it. Eventually, I graduated, and spent a little time as a broadcaster. After coming to the conclusion that my true calling was pro wrestling, I signed up to join a small company called the Blood, Sweat, and Tears Wrestling Federation, where I swiftly became their World Cruiserweight Champion. I still had that belt when they closed their doors. After they shut down, I moved to a slightly bigger company, a place called the Superstar World Wrestling Federation, headed by some Australian dude called Chomp. I won their World Cruiserweight Title twice, but eventually, Chomp and I had a big argument about my future, so I got out of my contract there and came over here. I got nowhere fast at the start of my GWA career, but then, as I got more experienced, I started winning. After Reina Saiaki retired and vacated the Falconer Title, I was booked in a TLC Match against Jack Otis for that title. I beat Otis in that match, and kept it for about a month before losin' it to Ryosuke Mitsurugi. He lost the title, and after I tossed him off the rafters at GWA To The Max, he left the GWA scene for good. The title changed hands several times afterwards, then came GWA Avalanche and the big Falconer Championship match, which I won. I've now had one successful defense, in a Three-Tiered Hell in a Cell Match against Chris Cane, and that brings me to the here and now, today. Any questions now about my past? I certainly hope not, so Thurston, if you had any conceptions of continuing your lavish little charade, you may feel free to do so, knowing now that anything you come up with which does not mesh with the full story I just presented will only serve to make you look like an idiot. And to that bunch of actors hired by Thurston for that little phony biography, I say this. If I ever catch any of you on the street, I will not hesitate to kick the dog sh*t out of you right then and there! Now, Thurston, with the question of my past settled once and for all, I now say to you...if you would be so kind as to shut your pie-hole, I will gladly give you the honor of not being b*tch-smacked. Capisce? Cool.

(He chuckles, then switches his title belt back to his other shoulder and resumes.)

The Icon: Now that we know just how totally inferior our friend Thurston 3 is, let's move on now to the other man in our little Hardcore Triple Threat, Azra'il Rosuto. Boy, Azzy, you must really be a slow learner or somethin'. I mean, you were, what, the first man eliminated from the Falconer Title match at Avalanche? You haven't gotten your ass beaten enough, you wanna come back for more? Wow, you're even dumber than ol' Thursty, impossible as that may sound. You ain't even worth the sweat off my ass, boy, so until you show me otherwise, I'm through wastin' my breath on your punk ass.

(He thinks for a moment, then suddenly seems to remember something.)

The Icon: Oh, I almost forgot! There was one more small, tiny, microscopic, insignificant little detail I wanted to touch on briefly: the interference in my Falconer Title match against Chris Cane. Thurston, you can just refer back to my previous comments. I'm talkin' to Ass-ram and "Stevie-kins" right now. I'm gonna start with just a simple question. Where the hellfire and brimstone do you two get off interfering in my Falconer Title match?! Your interference was neither wanted nor needed, and all it served to do was give Cane an excuse to demand a rematch. Why couldn't you two goofs just let me shut him up myself, huh? Don't get me wrong, I'm glad I'm still the champ, but know this: If either one of you ever interferes in my business under any circumstances, then I will gladly shove my foot so far up your royal keisters you'll be picking shoe leather out of your teeth for the next 20 years! You forget, Fury. Anybody steps in that ring while the match is still on is fair game, so if you dare try to interfere in one of my matches again, whether it's in my favor or not, I will Icon's Smackdown your ass so fast it won't even be seen on the slow-motion instant replay. And as for ol' boy Kenjin...you already know Drakestone's after your ass, but now you gotta worry about the man, the myth, the legend, the only Falconer that matters, the summation of every man's aspirations, and the object of your girlfriend's masturbations, I'm talkin' about your hero and role model, the undisputed GWA Falconer Champion, Jim "The Icon" Daher! I don't care if you're the Gladiator Champion or the Olympic Curling Champion, if I ever see you come down to interfere in my business, I will Icon's Smackdown your ass so many times you'll be beggin' me for somethin' else! As for Thurston 3 and ol' Azzy, I got just a small request for ya, and this is all I want y'all to do when it comes time for the match. Shut your mouths, and just...bring it. I'll see your asses later, so thank you, and have a nice FRICKIN' day!

(With that, The Icon hops back into the driver's seat of his 'Vette. He starts up the engine and revs it up, then jams it into gear and roars on down the highway. As he disappears down the road, the scene slowly fades to black.)

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