Post by cureforthesickness on Jun 13, 2007 3:04:37 GMT -5
'My word, how mortals take the gods to task! All their afflictions come from us, we hear. And what of their own failings? Greed and folly, double the suffering in the lot of man. See how Aigisthos, for his double portion, stole Agamemnon's wife and killed the soldier on his homecoming day. And yet Aigisthos knew what doom lay in this’
Deceiving to the naked eye is a darkened room. To the untrained eye, this would appear to be an empty room, void of anything living or active. But to someone in the know, this room is bustling with life. A quick glance around the room would tell you nothing is turned on and no light glimmers, but in a far corner there’s a slight sparkle. A glistening glow in a sea of darkness. Closer to the glow, but it does not grow, instead remaining the same faint glow as presented before. Finally the source of this glow is revealed, shining gold. A thick golden plate in the center of black leather, rounded and glistening with a joyous glow even in this infinite darkness. The strap that houses this gold has several more golden medallions hanging down the strap, but none of them are nearly as impressive as the main plate. This is obviously the center piece of a prized collection, but the holder seems unenthusiastic to have it, leaving it draped over his shoulder indifferently as he slouches on the couch he sits in. The exquisite medallion seems quite out of place with the rest of this person, as his legs are covered with tattered cut off jeans, leaving strings to hang loosely from the frayed edges. His feet are bare and his chest is covered only by a wife beater, other than the fancy championship.
Booked against Tha CBT.. Why should I really give a damn.. This isn’t what I’m here for. I’m not just here for “wrestling for the sake of wrestling”, competition in it’s purist form. Why should that matter to me? I’m the WORLD FUCKING CHAMPION! You realize what that means? It doesn’t just mean anything to me. I should be in an awesome an intense match, building people’s interest for the Pay Per View. This interest means people are gonna call their local cable or satellite provider, order the WFWF Pay Per View, regardless of the fact the name sounds like a intellectually- disabled kid’s magic show. They buy the show and watch, which, because I’m the world champion, means I’m going to make MORE money. But instead.. This week on Felo De Se.. I face Tha CBT.. What does this match mean? It means the age old tradition of the booker man booking himself into high profile matches at the sake of the rest of the card is still well and in tact.
Pausing for a moment, he reaches up and brushes the hair out of his eyes. As his hand comes down and he passes over the championship belt, he stops for a moment, just leaving his hand to linger of the gold belt, before finally bringing it down in the middle of the plate, caressing it for a moment as he continues to speak.
Tradition blows. Tradition can suck my cock. I think I’ve proven this stance in my destruction of hall of famers. Johnny Michaels? Dead. I killed him and I killed his legend. The all famed return came to a screeching holt when Movie Man met the Ultraviolent Anti-Christ. Total Apocalypse Mikael West… He’s returned. He’s brought himself back out of the obscurity of where ever the hell he was hiding. He’s got a student with him too! He’s looking to impress the world and knock off the world champion, but BAM! He runs into Obo and the shit hits the fan. Mikael West is a god damn fraud. But tradition cannot be changed. Legends die and bookers lie.
CBT.. Let’s look at our past, try to make this match mean something other than a hot shot booking. Scars and Stripes II, July twelveth of the year two thousand and six. Drakz and Kyzer decide to build a barbed wire entwined cage and Obo is the first man they call to enter this abomination, with Tha CBT and that worthless emo fuck Calvin Lee coming behind. This match is to determine the Ham Shank championship, the recreation of the stoned mind of Kyzer and Drakz of the International championship. CBT, how did that match end? I
January sixteenth of the year two thousand and five. Code Red. Does that date mean anything to you CBT? Because it does me.. That was my introduction to violent wrestling. That was the first night I got to play with barbed wire. Fans supply the weapons match, Los Hobos versus Tha CBT and Drakz. Obo pins Drakz following a pile driver through a table, with the first of many victories over Tha CBT. CBT, you created this god damn monster that is me.. It was you that created this need for blood, because when I split you wide open like a rotten pumpkin, I got this feeling inside. It was a craving. A craving for more. A craving for something more sick, more demented, more twisted.
A sick look has now bestowed the face of this man. His eyes are glazed looking, deep in thought and focused. The championship begins to slip from his shoulder, but he grabs it and puts it back into place.
How about the Italian Dinner death match, the phantom match of our history. Feel your forehead CBT.. You feel that six inch scar? That’s from my hands.. The slicing and dicing of a pizza cutter into your forehead. You remember being thrown onto a bunch of wine glasses? Because I do. I remember throwing you and hoping you’d die. I was wishing you’d die right then and there in that abandoned warehouse. I was hoping the ring crew would have to drag your mangled and maimed corpse out of there before the cops showed up.
History.. CBT. Let’s look back again. Odium. The flagship show of the “We Get Higher” Authority, July twenty six two thousand and six.. Main event. You’ve broken out of your perpetual mid carder status, kind of.. Obo and ZMaster versus Tha CBT and “Fall Out Boy” Calvin Lee. Looking back at the record books, I see a shocking LOSS for the team of CBT and Calvin. I guess I probably outta just erase this one from our history though, because God himself would lose when teamed with Calvin Lee.
We’ve well established you’re a loser. You suck so hard you even cause me to lose matches. MOD & TA beat me thanks to you. These two geriatrics need to be in a retirement home somewhere playing bingo and complaining that Pat Sajak got fat, but because you’re an incompetent buffoon, I ended up with a loss on my record to them. Thanks.
CBT.. You talk often about innovating innovation. You can be the Innovator of Innovation, that’s a gay name anyways. I’m Obo. I’m the one half of the only team to capture the WFWF Tag team titles twice. I’m the only UUE Death Match champion EVER, and I beat you in the finals. I’m the current and reigning WFWF Heavyweight champion, CBT. I’m at the top of my god damn game. But CBT, for this week, and this week only, I’m gonna step back. We can pretend it’s 2006. I’ll find a ratty old pair of jeans and cut them off. Maybe wear a flannel shirt. I’ll call Johnny Michaels a homo. You? You just have to continue doing what you’ve done since the beginning of time. stink and lick balls. CBT, your current nightmare has arrived. This is 6... 6... 6...
Greeting the eyes is a nice suburban house, pictures of a happy family hanging on the walls. A beautiful young lady with her arms around a presentable looking young man, the man in a fabulous black tuxedo, the woman in a stunning white wedding dress. From here is a polar opposite, with a bloodied and sweaty looking man with messy hair standing in a ring, thousands of people around him. At his feet lies a sea of glistening gold thumbtacks, behind him razor sharp barbed wire. In his hands sits a thick championship belt, something he holds quite proudly, despite the gushing wounds all over his body, likely from the proverbial minefield of destruction around him. Pulling out from the walls and looking around the house a bit, the rest of the house apart from this particularly gory picture seems pretty normal. Various bookshelves clutter around, most containing either DVDs or VHS tapes, one with a scattering of various magazines, and one with a collection of action figures, all in various styles but all looking pretty similar. In a comfy looking chair sits our hero, staring across the room at his small female clone.
You know better…
I’m sorry..
His voice is stern, not letting up on the young girl for even a moment.
Why the hell would you do that?
I’m sorry.
Of all the god damn stupid crap you’ve done in your short life, this has got to be the stupidest. I told you to stay in my room. Play with your dollies and I’d be back in a minute. But when I come back stage, what do I see? I see a little girl who looks a hell of a lot like me sitting on an ugly motorcycle..
I’m sorry daddy. I was just playing.. I didn’t think you’d care..
Why couldn’t you just play in the room like I told you? Are you that dense that you can’t take a simple direction?
I got lonely.. I went out to get a drink, then I got a movie and was looking for a player, then I found the motorbical and wanted to play. I didn’t think that Vanessa girl would find me, or you’d be mad.. Do you know her?
Why do you dirty your mouth with a vile slur such as that red headed prostitute’s name?
She said what you call her is bad, so I called her what she said her name is..
You shouldn’t even know her. Why did you go out? Why didn’t you just run away when she talked to you? She probably smeared dick juice all over you when she touched you.
She was nice to me.. I’m sorry daddy..
Now that dumb son of a bitch has something on me to hang over my head. You do realize I could lose the title and it’s all your fault..
With a whimper in her voice, she tries to apologize once more, but fails to spit out anything but tears. This just infuriates her father, as he storms out of the room, grabbing a small plastic as he walks out and tossing it, sending it sailing across the room. This turns out to be a DVD, which explodes as it hit’s the wall, sending a small disc out, cracked and unusable. Inspection of the disc leaves the words “Green Mile” very clearly readable. In the background, a phone begins to ring, but no one attends to it as we exit. The young girl hops up from her seated position and is quick to follow after the father.
DADDY! Daddy pweeze come back!! I sorry daddy!!
Pausing for just a moment to turn back, the father spits a venomous line.
Lesson in life.. Sometimes, sorry isn’t good enough..
Deceiving to the naked eye is a darkened room. To the untrained eye, this would appear to be an empty room, void of anything living or active. But to someone in the know, this room is bustling with life. A quick glance around the room would tell you nothing is turned on and no light glimmers, but in a far corner there’s a slight sparkle. A glistening glow in a sea of darkness. Closer to the glow, but it does not grow, instead remaining the same faint glow as presented before. Finally the source of this glow is revealed, shining gold. A thick golden plate in the center of black leather, rounded and glistening with a joyous glow even in this infinite darkness. The strap that houses this gold has several more golden medallions hanging down the strap, but none of them are nearly as impressive as the main plate. This is obviously the center piece of a prized collection, but the holder seems unenthusiastic to have it, leaving it draped over his shoulder indifferently as he slouches on the couch he sits in. The exquisite medallion seems quite out of place with the rest of this person, as his legs are covered with tattered cut off jeans, leaving strings to hang loosely from the frayed edges. His feet are bare and his chest is covered only by a wife beater, other than the fancy championship.
Booked against Tha CBT.. Why should I really give a damn.. This isn’t what I’m here for. I’m not just here for “wrestling for the sake of wrestling”, competition in it’s purist form. Why should that matter to me? I’m the WORLD FUCKING CHAMPION! You realize what that means? It doesn’t just mean anything to me. I should be in an awesome an intense match, building people’s interest for the Pay Per View. This interest means people are gonna call their local cable or satellite provider, order the WFWF Pay Per View, regardless of the fact the name sounds like a intellectually- disabled kid’s magic show. They buy the show and watch, which, because I’m the world champion, means I’m going to make MORE money. But instead.. This week on Felo De Se.. I face Tha CBT.. What does this match mean? It means the age old tradition of the booker man booking himself into high profile matches at the sake of the rest of the card is still well and in tact.
Pausing for a moment, he reaches up and brushes the hair out of his eyes. As his hand comes down and he passes over the championship belt, he stops for a moment, just leaving his hand to linger of the gold belt, before finally bringing it down in the middle of the plate, caressing it for a moment as he continues to speak.
Tradition blows. Tradition can suck my cock. I think I’ve proven this stance in my destruction of hall of famers. Johnny Michaels? Dead. I killed him and I killed his legend. The all famed return came to a screeching holt when Movie Man met the Ultraviolent Anti-Christ. Total Apocalypse Mikael West… He’s returned. He’s brought himself back out of the obscurity of where ever the hell he was hiding. He’s got a student with him too! He’s looking to impress the world and knock off the world champion, but BAM! He runs into Obo and the shit hits the fan. Mikael West is a god damn fraud. But tradition cannot be changed. Legends die and bookers lie.
CBT.. Let’s look at our past, try to make this match mean something other than a hot shot booking. Scars and Stripes II, July twelveth of the year two thousand and six. Drakz and Kyzer decide to build a barbed wire entwined cage and Obo is the first man they call to enter this abomination, with Tha CBT and that worthless emo fuck Calvin Lee coming behind. This match is to determine the Ham Shank championship, the recreation of the stoned mind of Kyzer and Drakz of the International championship. CBT, how did that match end? I
January sixteenth of the year two thousand and five. Code Red. Does that date mean anything to you CBT? Because it does me.. That was my introduction to violent wrestling. That was the first night I got to play with barbed wire. Fans supply the weapons match, Los Hobos versus Tha CBT and Drakz. Obo pins Drakz following a pile driver through a table, with the first of many victories over Tha CBT. CBT, you created this god damn monster that is me.. It was you that created this need for blood, because when I split you wide open like a rotten pumpkin, I got this feeling inside. It was a craving. A craving for more. A craving for something more sick, more demented, more twisted.
A sick look has now bestowed the face of this man. His eyes are glazed looking, deep in thought and focused. The championship begins to slip from his shoulder, but he grabs it and puts it back into place.
How about the Italian Dinner death match, the phantom match of our history. Feel your forehead CBT.. You feel that six inch scar? That’s from my hands.. The slicing and dicing of a pizza cutter into your forehead. You remember being thrown onto a bunch of wine glasses? Because I do. I remember throwing you and hoping you’d die. I was wishing you’d die right then and there in that abandoned warehouse. I was hoping the ring crew would have to drag your mangled and maimed corpse out of there before the cops showed up.
History.. CBT. Let’s look back again. Odium. The flagship show of the “We Get Higher” Authority, July twenty six two thousand and six.. Main event. You’ve broken out of your perpetual mid carder status, kind of.. Obo and ZMaster versus Tha CBT and “Fall Out Boy” Calvin Lee. Looking back at the record books, I see a shocking LOSS for the team of CBT and Calvin. I guess I probably outta just erase this one from our history though, because God himself would lose when teamed with Calvin Lee.
We’ve well established you’re a loser. You suck so hard you even cause me to lose matches. MOD & TA beat me thanks to you. These two geriatrics need to be in a retirement home somewhere playing bingo and complaining that Pat Sajak got fat, but because you’re an incompetent buffoon, I ended up with a loss on my record to them. Thanks.
CBT.. You talk often about innovating innovation. You can be the Innovator of Innovation, that’s a gay name anyways. I’m Obo. I’m the one half of the only team to capture the WFWF Tag team titles twice. I’m the only UUE Death Match champion EVER, and I beat you in the finals. I’m the current and reigning WFWF Heavyweight champion, CBT. I’m at the top of my god damn game. But CBT, for this week, and this week only, I’m gonna step back. We can pretend it’s 2006. I’ll find a ratty old pair of jeans and cut them off. Maybe wear a flannel shirt. I’ll call Johnny Michaels a homo. You? You just have to continue doing what you’ve done since the beginning of time. stink and lick balls. CBT, your current nightmare has arrived. This is 6... 6... 6...
Oh death, where is thy sting? Oh grave, where is thy victory?
- Corinthians xv. 55
- Corinthians xv. 55
Greeting the eyes is a nice suburban house, pictures of a happy family hanging on the walls. A beautiful young lady with her arms around a presentable looking young man, the man in a fabulous black tuxedo, the woman in a stunning white wedding dress. From here is a polar opposite, with a bloodied and sweaty looking man with messy hair standing in a ring, thousands of people around him. At his feet lies a sea of glistening gold thumbtacks, behind him razor sharp barbed wire. In his hands sits a thick championship belt, something he holds quite proudly, despite the gushing wounds all over his body, likely from the proverbial minefield of destruction around him. Pulling out from the walls and looking around the house a bit, the rest of the house apart from this particularly gory picture seems pretty normal. Various bookshelves clutter around, most containing either DVDs or VHS tapes, one with a scattering of various magazines, and one with a collection of action figures, all in various styles but all looking pretty similar. In a comfy looking chair sits our hero, staring across the room at his small female clone.
You know better…
I’m sorry..
His voice is stern, not letting up on the young girl for even a moment.
Why the hell would you do that?
I’m sorry.
Of all the god damn stupid crap you’ve done in your short life, this has got to be the stupidest. I told you to stay in my room. Play with your dollies and I’d be back in a minute. But when I come back stage, what do I see? I see a little girl who looks a hell of a lot like me sitting on an ugly motorcycle..
I’m sorry daddy. I was just playing.. I didn’t think you’d care..
Why couldn’t you just play in the room like I told you? Are you that dense that you can’t take a simple direction?
I got lonely.. I went out to get a drink, then I got a movie and was looking for a player, then I found the motorbical and wanted to play. I didn’t think that Vanessa girl would find me, or you’d be mad.. Do you know her?
Why do you dirty your mouth with a vile slur such as that red headed prostitute’s name?
She said what you call her is bad, so I called her what she said her name is..
You shouldn’t even know her. Why did you go out? Why didn’t you just run away when she talked to you? She probably smeared dick juice all over you when she touched you.
She was nice to me.. I’m sorry daddy..
Now that dumb son of a bitch has something on me to hang over my head. You do realize I could lose the title and it’s all your fault..
With a whimper in her voice, she tries to apologize once more, but fails to spit out anything but tears. This just infuriates her father, as he storms out of the room, grabbing a small plastic as he walks out and tossing it, sending it sailing across the room. This turns out to be a DVD, which explodes as it hit’s the wall, sending a small disc out, cracked and unusable. Inspection of the disc leaves the words “Green Mile” very clearly readable. In the background, a phone begins to ring, but no one attends to it as we exit. The young girl hops up from her seated position and is quick to follow after the father.
DADDY! Daddy pweeze come back!! I sorry daddy!!
Pausing for just a moment to turn back, the father spits a venomous line.
Lesson in life.. Sometimes, sorry isn’t good enough..
