Post by cureforthesickness on Jul 15, 2007 9:08:36 GMT -5
I've paid my dues, time after time
I've done my sentence, but committed no crime
And bad mistakes, I've made a few
I've had my share of sand, kicked in my face
But I've come through
And I need to go on and on and on and on
We are the champions, my friend
And we'll keep on fighting till the end
We are the champions, We are the champions
No time for losers 'cos we are the champions of the world
I've taken my bows, and my curtain calls
You've bought me fame and fortune
And everything that goes with it... I thank you all
But it's been no bed of roses, no pleasure cruise
I consider it a challenge before the whole human race
And I ain't gonna lose
And I need to go on and on and on and on
We are the champions, my friend
And we'll keep on fighting till the end
We are the champions, We are the champions
No time for losers 'cos we are the champions of the world
We are the champions, my friend
And we'll keep on fighting till the end
We are the champions, We are the champions
No time for losers, 'cos we are the champions
Why am I doing this?
These words echoed through my ears like the ever present dagger. This man I idolized has now revealed his true, uncaring self to me and shown how much of a dick he can be. How some people can live with this man and co-exist in an every day life without killing him amazes me. I’ve spent ten minutes with him and I already have moved from worship to disgust. Icon my ass. More like fake.
FLASHBACK FIFTEEN MINUTES
I can’t believe I finally get to meet him, the reigning WFWF Heavyweight champion. This is definitely the coolest thing I’ve won off a radio. Screw those silly hats and t-shirts, I’m meeting my idol! This is the greatest day of my life! Do I have everything I want to get signed? DVDs, posters, promo pictures, action figures.. WAIT! WHERE’S MY MARKER??
It’s right here.. Relax dude...
The now hyperventilating pre-teen sits in the designed booth of X103.4 FM with this sea of wrestling memorabilia around him, an ear to ear grin covering his face. Several radio station personnel scurry back and forth, trying to get everything ready. Through the doors steps Obo, clad in an old school WFWF Los Hobos t-shirt, the sleeves cut off violently and all the logos faded, a few holes in the shirt from years of wear and tear. Covering his legs are a pair of baggy black jeans, hanging loosely from his body with small silver chains lining each of the pockets. Draped arrogantly over his shoulder is the WFWF Heavyweight championship, glistening in the light. His hair is askew, looking messy as ever, his facial hair unkempt. Obo comes into the room and approaches the booth where his adolescent fan sits, quickly and uncaringly sliding into the booth.
Hey..
Oh my God.. I can’t believe it! I can’t believe I’m sitting here talking to my hero! This is seriously unbelievable! I’ve been a huge fan of your’s since, forever. One of my favorite all time matches is the Money, Cash, and Ho..Bos match. (pushing his pile of merchandise) I can’t believe it. Would you be willing to sign a couple of things for me?
Taking the pen into his hand, Obo quickly jots down “Obo” on a couple of DVD cases and a poster, not even looking up at the young fan, who’s almost jumping with joy. Obo tosses the now scribbled upon goods back to the young fan.
Oh my God!! Thank you so much!! I hate to ask you this because I’m sure you hate it, but what’s this stuff with McGurk? Is it like, shoot?
Shoot?
Yeah, like, legit. Real..
I know what it fucking means. I was questioning you for using it. When you drop $3000 to some sleezeball “trainer” to train you, who then jumps the first train out of town, so you pay another $3000 to another trainer, who proceeds to beat you shitless for four months of your life to the point that you have problems standing up in the morning, you can use the term shoot.
I’m.. sorry..
It’s real. The hamster fucker is fucking with my kid. He’s trying to get into my head. He’s trying to die. He’s too much of a pussy to commit suicide legit, so he’s instead forcing me to pull the trigger for him by being a dumb fuck.
So that was really your daughter on Felo De Se?
No, it was Dakota Fanning, of course it was my fucking daughter. Seriously, this shit ain’t half as fake as you think it is.
Falling to an awkward silence
Okay..
The young fan sits at his bench and just stares down, looking at his newly signed DVDs, disappointed in general. He looks up at Obo, who’s now staring at him with his arms crossed. The younger fan looks down once more.
Why am I doing this? Why am I wasting my time sitting around with some little whiney kid? Who’s probably just gonna go home, get on the internet, and cry about how I was three minutes late and didn’t extensively explain why I was late.. Why am I here for some radio station that I’ve never listened to, promoting a type of counter cultural music that is providing this society with the desicration of humanity it so craves?
Obo slides out of the booth and heads towards the door
Fun meeting you and all, but I’ve got some shit I’ve gotta do. Have a good life
I hope you know, I hope you know
That this has nothing to do with you
It's personal, myself and I
We've got some straightenin' out to do
And I'm gonna miss you like a child misses their blanket
But I've got to get a move on with my life
It's time to be a big girl now
And big girls don't cry
Don't cry
Greeting the eye is an array of toys, ranging from everything from dolls to wrestling figures, legos to hot wheels, all scattering the floor and shelves in no apparent order. The sounds of a truck fill the room. Not a real truck, mind you, but the “vroom, vroom, VROOM” sounds of a child. Looking around, the sounds are coming from a young child on the floor, a girl in fact, her hair in pig tails. Her petite frame shows her age being no more than seven. On the floor she sits cross legged. She leans forward with a truck in her left hands, gliding it across the carpet quickly, making the vroom sound as she does so. In her playing, she’s unaware that her father has entered the room
Samantha, baby, we need to talk.
Leery of her father, she’s slow to step up, walking to her father but not taking her eyes off of him. He’s been acting strangely lately, all because of this man they call McGurk and the woman he loves. She had seen her father act this way before, but it never effected her. He usually just said a few four letter words then broke something, but now he’s been acting very oddly.
This whole thing with whore… I mean Vanessa.. Let it go.. You don’t need her. She’s worthless. The only thing she’s good for, you don’t have the right body parts to do.
I miss mommy
It had been two weeks now since the untimely death of Samantha’s mother and Obo’s ex-wife Ashley, and the blow still hasn’t padded itself any. Obo chose to just not acknowledge it to Samantha and the damage was obviously done, the normally playful and outgoing young girl has now become a shell of her former self, now staying inside all the time and playing quietly by herself in her room.
Mommy’s in a better place now..
Detroit?
No, Mommy died..
Again?
This time is for real. You remember when daddy had lots of boo-boos and he took the boo-boo go away pills? But he took too many and the doctors had to help him? That’s what mommy did, but the doctors didn’t get to her.
That sucks..
The two stand in awkward silence for a moment, one not knowing what to say and the other not caring enough to say anything. Obo finally breaks this awkward silence.
You got your bags packed? We’re going to Brazil.
You changed your mind? I gets to go to Brazil? But what about my kid knees? Are they going to be safe? Do I need my adult knees before we go? I can grow them fast if you want me to..
It’s okay. Just get some toys you want to take packed. I’ll get you some clothes. We leave in the morning..
Wayne McGurk.. You’re a herpe. A blemish on the ass of life. You’re a waste of oxygen. Every breath you take is forcing that air away from someone who serves a purpose in life. You just don’t know when to go away. I’ve tried to break your neck in a barbed wire cage. I’ve kidnapped your wife to prove a point. I stomped your fucking head. But you still come back. Like a herpe, no matter how many times you chop it off, it still comes back.
Wayne McGurk.. You twat. You’re a worthless stretched out twat. You’ve been fucked by too many man and now you’re fucked in the head. You’re delusional. You think you’re at the same level as me, but you’re not. I’m up here and you’re down there. I hold my load for the duration, while you’re gushing at penetration.
Wayne McGurk.. You’re a whore and your wife’s a bigger whore. You whore yourself out for championships and other shots at greatness, bastardizing any reputation you could possibly have for a failed shot at greatness. Your wife, on the other hand, just likes to fuck a lot. You like to have thin white sticks in your mouth and your wife shares the same passion, except she doesn’t light her’s on fire.
Wayne McGurk.. You’re a frog. You’re ugly, slimy, and disgusting. You’re only purpose in life is to eat the flies that Yukio sends out from house shows from time to time, but when you’ve got your fill of flies and try to attack a bug much too large, you end up choking and dying a violent death.
Wayne McGurk.. You’re a poser. You wish you could be a badass, so you suck down cancerous gasses in an effort to kill yourself in a slow and painful death, something so glorious I wish I could claim responsibility for it, albeit I cannot.
Wayne McGurk.. Please die. Erase yourself from exsistance, and save me the trouble. I’d really like to do something more worth while at the next Pay Per View than destroy you again. Maybe I could beat up Calvin Lee. That’s main event worthy. “Watch as “The Ultraviolent Anti-Christ” Obo destroys and maims “That Guy that’s following Luther Castle with a box of tissues and a some douche” Calvin Lee, LIVE ON PAY PER VIEW!!
I've done my sentence, but committed no crime
And bad mistakes, I've made a few
I've had my share of sand, kicked in my face
But I've come through
And I need to go on and on and on and on
We are the champions, my friend
And we'll keep on fighting till the end
We are the champions, We are the champions
No time for losers 'cos we are the champions of the world
I've taken my bows, and my curtain calls
You've bought me fame and fortune
And everything that goes with it... I thank you all
But it's been no bed of roses, no pleasure cruise
I consider it a challenge before the whole human race
And I ain't gonna lose
And I need to go on and on and on and on
We are the champions, my friend
And we'll keep on fighting till the end
We are the champions, We are the champions
No time for losers 'cos we are the champions of the world
We are the champions, my friend
And we'll keep on fighting till the end
We are the champions, We are the champions
No time for losers, 'cos we are the champions
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Why am I doing this?
These words echoed through my ears like the ever present dagger. This man I idolized has now revealed his true, uncaring self to me and shown how much of a dick he can be. How some people can live with this man and co-exist in an every day life without killing him amazes me. I’ve spent ten minutes with him and I already have moved from worship to disgust. Icon my ass. More like fake.
FLASHBACK FIFTEEN MINUTES
I can’t believe I finally get to meet him, the reigning WFWF Heavyweight champion. This is definitely the coolest thing I’ve won off a radio. Screw those silly hats and t-shirts, I’m meeting my idol! This is the greatest day of my life! Do I have everything I want to get signed? DVDs, posters, promo pictures, action figures.. WAIT! WHERE’S MY MARKER??
It’s right here.. Relax dude...
The now hyperventilating pre-teen sits in the designed booth of X103.4 FM with this sea of wrestling memorabilia around him, an ear to ear grin covering his face. Several radio station personnel scurry back and forth, trying to get everything ready. Through the doors steps Obo, clad in an old school WFWF Los Hobos t-shirt, the sleeves cut off violently and all the logos faded, a few holes in the shirt from years of wear and tear. Covering his legs are a pair of baggy black jeans, hanging loosely from his body with small silver chains lining each of the pockets. Draped arrogantly over his shoulder is the WFWF Heavyweight championship, glistening in the light. His hair is askew, looking messy as ever, his facial hair unkempt. Obo comes into the room and approaches the booth where his adolescent fan sits, quickly and uncaringly sliding into the booth.
Hey..
Oh my God.. I can’t believe it! I can’t believe I’m sitting here talking to my hero! This is seriously unbelievable! I’ve been a huge fan of your’s since, forever. One of my favorite all time matches is the Money, Cash, and Ho..Bos match. (pushing his pile of merchandise) I can’t believe it. Would you be willing to sign a couple of things for me?
Taking the pen into his hand, Obo quickly jots down “Obo” on a couple of DVD cases and a poster, not even looking up at the young fan, who’s almost jumping with joy. Obo tosses the now scribbled upon goods back to the young fan.
Oh my God!! Thank you so much!! I hate to ask you this because I’m sure you hate it, but what’s this stuff with McGurk? Is it like, shoot?
Shoot?
Yeah, like, legit. Real..
I know what it fucking means. I was questioning you for using it. When you drop $3000 to some sleezeball “trainer” to train you, who then jumps the first train out of town, so you pay another $3000 to another trainer, who proceeds to beat you shitless for four months of your life to the point that you have problems standing up in the morning, you can use the term shoot.
I’m.. sorry..
It’s real. The hamster fucker is fucking with my kid. He’s trying to get into my head. He’s trying to die. He’s too much of a pussy to commit suicide legit, so he’s instead forcing me to pull the trigger for him by being a dumb fuck.
So that was really your daughter on Felo De Se?
No, it was Dakota Fanning, of course it was my fucking daughter. Seriously, this shit ain’t half as fake as you think it is.
Falling to an awkward silence
Okay..
The young fan sits at his bench and just stares down, looking at his newly signed DVDs, disappointed in general. He looks up at Obo, who’s now staring at him with his arms crossed. The younger fan looks down once more.
Why am I doing this? Why am I wasting my time sitting around with some little whiney kid? Who’s probably just gonna go home, get on the internet, and cry about how I was three minutes late and didn’t extensively explain why I was late.. Why am I here for some radio station that I’ve never listened to, promoting a type of counter cultural music that is providing this society with the desicration of humanity it so craves?
Obo slides out of the booth and heads towards the door
Fun meeting you and all, but I’ve got some shit I’ve gotta do. Have a good life
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I hope you know, I hope you know
That this has nothing to do with you
It's personal, myself and I
We've got some straightenin' out to do
And I'm gonna miss you like a child misses their blanket
But I've got to get a move on with my life
It's time to be a big girl now
And big girls don't cry
Don't cry
Greeting the eye is an array of toys, ranging from everything from dolls to wrestling figures, legos to hot wheels, all scattering the floor and shelves in no apparent order. The sounds of a truck fill the room. Not a real truck, mind you, but the “vroom, vroom, VROOM” sounds of a child. Looking around, the sounds are coming from a young child on the floor, a girl in fact, her hair in pig tails. Her petite frame shows her age being no more than seven. On the floor she sits cross legged. She leans forward with a truck in her left hands, gliding it across the carpet quickly, making the vroom sound as she does so. In her playing, she’s unaware that her father has entered the room
Samantha, baby, we need to talk.
Leery of her father, she’s slow to step up, walking to her father but not taking her eyes off of him. He’s been acting strangely lately, all because of this man they call McGurk and the woman he loves. She had seen her father act this way before, but it never effected her. He usually just said a few four letter words then broke something, but now he’s been acting very oddly.
This whole thing with whore… I mean Vanessa.. Let it go.. You don’t need her. She’s worthless. The only thing she’s good for, you don’t have the right body parts to do.
I miss mommy
It had been two weeks now since the untimely death of Samantha’s mother and Obo’s ex-wife Ashley, and the blow still hasn’t padded itself any. Obo chose to just not acknowledge it to Samantha and the damage was obviously done, the normally playful and outgoing young girl has now become a shell of her former self, now staying inside all the time and playing quietly by herself in her room.
Mommy’s in a better place now..
Detroit?
No, Mommy died..
Again?
This time is for real. You remember when daddy had lots of boo-boos and he took the boo-boo go away pills? But he took too many and the doctors had to help him? That’s what mommy did, but the doctors didn’t get to her.
That sucks..
The two stand in awkward silence for a moment, one not knowing what to say and the other not caring enough to say anything. Obo finally breaks this awkward silence.
You got your bags packed? We’re going to Brazil.
You changed your mind? I gets to go to Brazil? But what about my kid knees? Are they going to be safe? Do I need my adult knees before we go? I can grow them fast if you want me to..
It’s okay. Just get some toys you want to take packed. I’ll get you some clothes. We leave in the morning..
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Wayne McGurk.. You’re a herpe. A blemish on the ass of life. You’re a waste of oxygen. Every breath you take is forcing that air away from someone who serves a purpose in life. You just don’t know when to go away. I’ve tried to break your neck in a barbed wire cage. I’ve kidnapped your wife to prove a point. I stomped your fucking head. But you still come back. Like a herpe, no matter how many times you chop it off, it still comes back.
Wayne McGurk.. You twat. You’re a worthless stretched out twat. You’ve been fucked by too many man and now you’re fucked in the head. You’re delusional. You think you’re at the same level as me, but you’re not. I’m up here and you’re down there. I hold my load for the duration, while you’re gushing at penetration.
Wayne McGurk.. You’re a whore and your wife’s a bigger whore. You whore yourself out for championships and other shots at greatness, bastardizing any reputation you could possibly have for a failed shot at greatness. Your wife, on the other hand, just likes to fuck a lot. You like to have thin white sticks in your mouth and your wife shares the same passion, except she doesn’t light her’s on fire.
Wayne McGurk.. You’re a frog. You’re ugly, slimy, and disgusting. You’re only purpose in life is to eat the flies that Yukio sends out from house shows from time to time, but when you’ve got your fill of flies and try to attack a bug much too large, you end up choking and dying a violent death.
Wayne McGurk.. You’re a poser. You wish you could be a badass, so you suck down cancerous gasses in an effort to kill yourself in a slow and painful death, something so glorious I wish I could claim responsibility for it, albeit I cannot.
Wayne McGurk.. Please die. Erase yourself from exsistance, and save me the trouble. I’d really like to do something more worth while at the next Pay Per View than destroy you again. Maybe I could beat up Calvin Lee. That’s main event worthy. “Watch as “The Ultraviolent Anti-Christ” Obo destroys and maims “That Guy that’s following Luther Castle with a box of tissues and a some douche” Calvin Lee, LIVE ON PAY PER VIEW!!
) it was just kinda flat and stereotypical. The overly anxious fan who meets his idol, the idol's a prick, and then the fan hates his former idol. You didn't really do anything new with it, other than create a fairly effective somber mood.
he didn't.'