Post by cureforthesickness on Jul 31, 2007 7:24:11 GMT -5
'Cause sometimes you feel tired,
Feel weak, and when you feel weak, you feel like you wanna just give up.
But you gotta search within you, you gotta find that inner strength
And just pull that crap out of you and get that motivation to not give up
And not be a quitter, no matter how bad you wanna just fall flat on your face and collapse
From a madman’s deepest darkest dreams comes the set of a holocaust. Blood soaks the walls in intricate patterns of anarchy symbols, 666, and just straight streaks, leaving the entire room in a state of dysfunction. The tile walls themselves, apart from the blood, are already tarnished, coated in a thick layer of dirt and spam, the blood just adding to their stain. The floor too looks to be a disaster, coated in a layer of dirt and filth, followed by a splattering of broken glass. From the ceiling hangs a jagged chain with a thick rusted hook on the end, looking particularly destructive. But in the center of the room in an unusual serenity is Obo. He sits peacefully in a rocking chair, swaying back and forth with ease in this crime scene.
The past. The past is haunting. The past is destined to repeat itself, through whatever means necessary. No matter how hard you try to escape the past, it always comes right back to kick you in the teeth. History is destined to repeat itself, and by attempting to destroy history, it just repeats itself in a more violent cycle than the previous.
From wind or a mechanical attack, the chain in the center of the room begins to sway back and forth, crackling and clanking with every twitch. Front wards it sways with a horrible squeal. Backwards it comes with an equally demented hiss, repeating this effect over and over like a twisted pendulum.
I speak of Wayne McGurk. I speak of October 2006. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. It was a new beginning, it was the beginning of the end. Chapter one some say, but I claim the closing of the book already written. But a true story cannot end unfinished. And nor could this story.
Obo reaches into his pocket and produces a cigarette. The cigarette, long and slender, a thick filter on the end. This cigarette looks very run of the mill, which makes someone wonder why exactly Obo pulled it out. He holds it in front of his face, not with the filter facing towards his lips as a possible way of smoking said cigarette, but instead straight up, to just look at it, take in it’s properties. This cigarette seems to mesmerize him as he stares at it. Through his eyes, he sees not a cigarette, but an enemy. All that an enemy stands for. All that he stands against. All that he fights against. As he stares at this cigarette, he sees a tiny Wayne McGurk in his hand, looking angry at the world.
You see Wayne McGurk, our previous engagement never had the proper climax. We put in all the work, all the effort, and in the end there was no true money shot. So we’ve got all this pent up frustration. All this that has been built up for so long. Barbed wire cages, Iron Mans, tag team matches that are poorly misbooked by a guy who does more gay porn than Johnny Michaels.. But I digress
The small Wayne McGurk stands in Obo’s grip, not particularly trying to get away. He almost seems pleased to be there, but is putting up a front of anger to distract his possessor. The small Wayne McGurk reaches into his pocket and pulls out an even smaller cigarette, which he holds in the same way as Obo. This is a cigarette at first, but it quickly starts to shape shift. The cigarette is too small though and all Obo can see is a faint red color.
Wayne McGurk.. Let’s look at how fate has brought us together through this war of attrition. A personal war. Your whore got involved and ended up broken in two last year. History repeated itself last week on FDS. How’s her neck Wayne? How’s that little boo-boo thanks to the Ultraviolent All-Star? She should be glad the original plan was disrupted by your lumpy ass, or she would have been hand cuffed to the top rope during that tree of woe stomp. There’s always next time though.
Obo looks closer at the cigarette and sees what the cigarette Wayne is holding, Samantha. And she’s smiling. She’s happy. He hasn’t seen her this happy in a long time. Why is she so happy? What does this cigarette Wayne have that he doesn’t? Smoke? If Samantha wanted drugs, all she had to do was ask.
Wayne.. You have gotten me this time though. You’ve upped the ante. You made things far more personal than they had to be. That’s why your wife got hurt. That’s why I tried to drop you on your head. That’s why given the opportunity, I’ll jam my thumb in your eye and rip your eyeball clean out of your head. You see, after I crippled your old lady, I was heading back to the hotel room with my child in tow and she said something that really something that really bothered me.
The cigarette Samantha begins to hop up and down, absolutely delighted to be in cigarette Wayne’s arms.
With a straight face, she looked into my eyes and said “You killed my mommy”.
She wasn’t talking about Ashley. Ashley is a spunk rag. She was nothing to Samantha nor could she ever become anything. But that red haired harlot you drag around, she became something. Through osmosis I guess, she became something to my child. And my child was legitimately upset that I injured her. And you know what Wayne? I just don’t give a
.
Raising the delusion cigarette to his mouth, Obo quickly produces a lighter and ignites cigarette Wayne and cigarette Samantha, sending both’s heads into a puff of smoke. Obo takes a deep drag off the cigarette and falls backwards, rocking in the chair with a calming rock.
Thunder.. Everything repeats itself. You.. You’re nothing more than a shadow. You were my shadow. You tried to gain fame off of me and my tag team title reign and it ruined you. I’m not one for friends and I sure as hell am not one for piggyback fame. You piggyback fame on people. Through your association with Kurt the mini Kyzer you gained your only true fame in a pair of tag team titles. Those titles haven’t meant anything since the division died and IP four years ago. Your International title just comes by chance as well, because I’m the world champion, Wayne is challenging for it, CBT is a intellectually- disabled person, Yukio was defending the tag titles, and Josh Dean is a prostitute that will do anything for money.
Thunder, drink in your fame and fortune. Take long sips of your wine and smoke, because in the morning, your world falls apart. This week on FDS, I shall not destroy you. I can’t. You can’t be beat personally. But I can beat through you. Your destruction will be an unpredicted side effect of the destruction of Wayne.
So long old friend.
Feel weak, and when you feel weak, you feel like you wanna just give up.
But you gotta search within you, you gotta find that inner strength
And just pull that crap out of you and get that motivation to not give up
And not be a quitter, no matter how bad you wanna just fall flat on your face and collapse
_________________________________________________________
From a madman’s deepest darkest dreams comes the set of a holocaust. Blood soaks the walls in intricate patterns of anarchy symbols, 666, and just straight streaks, leaving the entire room in a state of dysfunction. The tile walls themselves, apart from the blood, are already tarnished, coated in a thick layer of dirt and spam, the blood just adding to their stain. The floor too looks to be a disaster, coated in a layer of dirt and filth, followed by a splattering of broken glass. From the ceiling hangs a jagged chain with a thick rusted hook on the end, looking particularly destructive. But in the center of the room in an unusual serenity is Obo. He sits peacefully in a rocking chair, swaying back and forth with ease in this crime scene.
The past. The past is haunting. The past is destined to repeat itself, through whatever means necessary. No matter how hard you try to escape the past, it always comes right back to kick you in the teeth. History is destined to repeat itself, and by attempting to destroy history, it just repeats itself in a more violent cycle than the previous.
From wind or a mechanical attack, the chain in the center of the room begins to sway back and forth, crackling and clanking with every twitch. Front wards it sways with a horrible squeal. Backwards it comes with an equally demented hiss, repeating this effect over and over like a twisted pendulum.
I speak of Wayne McGurk. I speak of October 2006. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. It was a new beginning, it was the beginning of the end. Chapter one some say, but I claim the closing of the book already written. But a true story cannot end unfinished. And nor could this story.
Obo reaches into his pocket and produces a cigarette. The cigarette, long and slender, a thick filter on the end. This cigarette looks very run of the mill, which makes someone wonder why exactly Obo pulled it out. He holds it in front of his face, not with the filter facing towards his lips as a possible way of smoking said cigarette, but instead straight up, to just look at it, take in it’s properties. This cigarette seems to mesmerize him as he stares at it. Through his eyes, he sees not a cigarette, but an enemy. All that an enemy stands for. All that he stands against. All that he fights against. As he stares at this cigarette, he sees a tiny Wayne McGurk in his hand, looking angry at the world.
You see Wayne McGurk, our previous engagement never had the proper climax. We put in all the work, all the effort, and in the end there was no true money shot. So we’ve got all this pent up frustration. All this that has been built up for so long. Barbed wire cages, Iron Mans, tag team matches that are poorly misbooked by a guy who does more gay porn than Johnny Michaels.. But I digress
The small Wayne McGurk stands in Obo’s grip, not particularly trying to get away. He almost seems pleased to be there, but is putting up a front of anger to distract his possessor. The small Wayne McGurk reaches into his pocket and pulls out an even smaller cigarette, which he holds in the same way as Obo. This is a cigarette at first, but it quickly starts to shape shift. The cigarette is too small though and all Obo can see is a faint red color.
Wayne McGurk.. Let’s look at how fate has brought us together through this war of attrition. A personal war. Your whore got involved and ended up broken in two last year. History repeated itself last week on FDS. How’s her neck Wayne? How’s that little boo-boo thanks to the Ultraviolent All-Star? She should be glad the original plan was disrupted by your lumpy ass, or she would have been hand cuffed to the top rope during that tree of woe stomp. There’s always next time though.
Obo looks closer at the cigarette and sees what the cigarette Wayne is holding, Samantha. And she’s smiling. She’s happy. He hasn’t seen her this happy in a long time. Why is she so happy? What does this cigarette Wayne have that he doesn’t? Smoke? If Samantha wanted drugs, all she had to do was ask.
Wayne.. You have gotten me this time though. You’ve upped the ante. You made things far more personal than they had to be. That’s why your wife got hurt. That’s why I tried to drop you on your head. That’s why given the opportunity, I’ll jam my thumb in your eye and rip your eyeball clean out of your head. You see, after I crippled your old lady, I was heading back to the hotel room with my child in tow and she said something that really something that really bothered me.
The cigarette Samantha begins to hop up and down, absolutely delighted to be in cigarette Wayne’s arms.
With a straight face, she looked into my eyes and said “You killed my mommy”.
She wasn’t talking about Ashley. Ashley is a spunk rag. She was nothing to Samantha nor could she ever become anything. But that red haired harlot you drag around, she became something. Through osmosis I guess, she became something to my child. And my child was legitimately upset that I injured her. And you know what Wayne? I just don’t give a
.Raising the delusion cigarette to his mouth, Obo quickly produces a lighter and ignites cigarette Wayne and cigarette Samantha, sending both’s heads into a puff of smoke. Obo takes a deep drag off the cigarette and falls backwards, rocking in the chair with a calming rock.
_________________________________________________________
Thunder.. Everything repeats itself. You.. You’re nothing more than a shadow. You were my shadow. You tried to gain fame off of me and my tag team title reign and it ruined you. I’m not one for friends and I sure as hell am not one for piggyback fame. You piggyback fame on people. Through your association with Kurt the mini Kyzer you gained your only true fame in a pair of tag team titles. Those titles haven’t meant anything since the division died and IP four years ago. Your International title just comes by chance as well, because I’m the world champion, Wayne is challenging for it, CBT is a intellectually- disabled person, Yukio was defending the tag titles, and Josh Dean is a prostitute that will do anything for money.
Thunder, drink in your fame and fortune. Take long sips of your wine and smoke, because in the morning, your world falls apart. This week on FDS, I shall not destroy you. I can’t. You can’t be beat personally. But I can beat through you. Your destruction will be an unpredicted side effect of the destruction of Wayne.
So long old friend.
