Post by cureforthesickness on May 31, 2006 13:14:04 GMT -5
The Black Ninja. Who the hell is this goofball? Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles went out in the eighties, so put away your little plastic sword and grow up.
The shot fades into an old run down gym. Among broken down treadmills, foam-leaking punching bags, and smoke stained walls is Obo. Obo is sitting far back in a corner of the room of an old torn padded mat in a room full of mirrored walls. Many of the mirrors have large cracks and all are coated in a thick layer of dust. Looking at Obo, he isn’t wearing his usual cut off black jean shorts, but instead a pair of frayed cut off white pants. In place of his usual band shirt is a tie-up robe with extremely frayed ends, as if the sleeves were ripped off by hand. Obo begins to speak, standing up to show his bare feet.
Obo: Black Ninja. You think you’re the master of kung fu. The karate god. The toughest son of a bitch or whatever. You’re a master of several forms of martial arts, but Ninja, when I enter the ring with you, I’ll show you what Martial Arts is all about. You may do a bunch of clean round house kicks and snapping punches, but you have nothing on me. My Yakuza kick is one of the most feared moves in this federation today, and it is a simple kick. Ninja, you claim this long history in martial arts, and it may be true or not, and I respect it if it’s true, because I have a dirty little secret. Long before I trained to be a professional wrestler, I trained as a martial artist. I am a third degree black belt in Shorei Goju Ryu and I trained for several years under World Karate champion Phil Morgan. I was the break out student and many people, including no less than Chuck Norris Jr., thought that I was going to be a huge star in the martial arts sport. But instead, I became something frowned upon. I became a fake sporter. I became a wrestler.
Obo laughs slightly before continuing.
Obo: What does it all mean though? What does this long winded rambling mean? What it means is, I have your number. I can counter anything you throw at me and I can hit you ten times harder with the same move, with brutal accuratesy. I can literally break you. Your spirit and your body hold nothing on me. And just when you think we are in a straight martial arts battle, I’ll drop you right on your fucking head with a powerbomb. Respect means nothing to me, and Black Ninja, you will find this out. You will bow to me, for I am your Anti-Christ.
Obo pops up and gives a vile kick to a cracked mirror, completely shattering the mirror. Glass lodges itself in Obo’s leg, but it doesn’t seem to faze him at all. We fade out with this.
The shot fades into an old run down gym. Among broken down treadmills, foam-leaking punching bags, and smoke stained walls is Obo. Obo is sitting far back in a corner of the room of an old torn padded mat in a room full of mirrored walls. Many of the mirrors have large cracks and all are coated in a thick layer of dust. Looking at Obo, he isn’t wearing his usual cut off black jean shorts, but instead a pair of frayed cut off white pants. In place of his usual band shirt is a tie-up robe with extremely frayed ends, as if the sleeves were ripped off by hand. Obo begins to speak, standing up to show his bare feet.
Obo: Black Ninja. You think you’re the master of kung fu. The karate god. The toughest son of a bitch or whatever. You’re a master of several forms of martial arts, but Ninja, when I enter the ring with you, I’ll show you what Martial Arts is all about. You may do a bunch of clean round house kicks and snapping punches, but you have nothing on me. My Yakuza kick is one of the most feared moves in this federation today, and it is a simple kick. Ninja, you claim this long history in martial arts, and it may be true or not, and I respect it if it’s true, because I have a dirty little secret. Long before I trained to be a professional wrestler, I trained as a martial artist. I am a third degree black belt in Shorei Goju Ryu and I trained for several years under World Karate champion Phil Morgan. I was the break out student and many people, including no less than Chuck Norris Jr., thought that I was going to be a huge star in the martial arts sport. But instead, I became something frowned upon. I became a fake sporter. I became a wrestler.
Obo laughs slightly before continuing.
Obo: What does it all mean though? What does this long winded rambling mean? What it means is, I have your number. I can counter anything you throw at me and I can hit you ten times harder with the same move, with brutal accuratesy. I can literally break you. Your spirit and your body hold nothing on me. And just when you think we are in a straight martial arts battle, I’ll drop you right on your fucking head with a powerbomb. Respect means nothing to me, and Black Ninja, you will find this out. You will bow to me, for I am your Anti-Christ.
Obo pops up and gives a vile kick to a cracked mirror, completely shattering the mirror. Glass lodges itself in Obo’s leg, but it doesn’t seem to faze him at all. We fade out with this.