Post by ICW on Aug 4, 2006 17:04:50 GMT -5
Joy. That is the vibe that everyone feels in this place. It’s hard not to. The sound of thousands of people chatting and talking. The sight of hundreds of tall building and tourist snapping pictures with their portable Kodak camera. Men selling fake merchandise, stand on the sidewalk, yelling for people to buy their goods. People walking in and out of stores. Some people make there way to restaurant’s to get a good bite to eat. Children run into the biggest Toysrus in the city. There is so much to do. So much. Thousands of New Yorkers and tourists walk the streets of Times Square. There is so much to do in Times Square. Taxi cabs and cars honk their horns, the drivers trying to get through the traffic. We then see a man sitting on a green wooden bench. The green paint on the wood is practically chipped away. Previous men have craved their loved one’s initials into the bench. The man sitting on the bench is wearing a white and blue bandana. The man is also wearing a pinstripe Yankee Jersey, the jersey of success. Bomber is also wearing some worn out white sneakers, the laces once white, now look black due to the dirt. But something stands out about this man. Something makes him seem so different from everyone else. It’s something strapped around his shoulder. It’s the WFWF Internet Championship. This man is the new Internet Champion, The Bronx Bomber. Bomber leans back on the green, wooden bench and has somewhat of a grin on his face. The man that only shows his anger and his angst against happiness is actually grinning. Bomber begins to speak.
Bronx Bomber: Times Square. There is so much **** to do around here. You can go to thousands of different stores or hundreds of different restaurants. I must admit, I like it down here. Everyone is constantly moving and their all going somewhere. The mood around here is… happiness. Joy. Something I don’t know much about. But right now, I think I am feeling happiness and joy. Why you ask? Because last week I beat the holy hell out of not one, but two a**holes. Christian Shields never seems to learn his lesson. Poor bastard. Then there is O.K.A.M.A. Never faced him before but I pinned him for the 1-2-3. Wasn’t much of a challenge to be honest. They’re both pussies. They’re both punks. They can’t handle me. And I know they both don’t want to face me ever again because let’s face it. They’re afraid of me. And that makes me happy. That brings me joy. Not only that, but I won back the Internet Championship. Like I said, wasn’t much of a challenge at all.
Bomber then looks at the street were a taxi cab almost collides with a green Acura. The taxi cab driver rolls down his window and give the opposite driver the ole one bird salute. They then both drive away angrily. Bomber then looks up at all the shinny, bright lights. So beautiful. These lights could hypnotize anyone. They could make anyone want to stay in New York City forever. The charm of New York City. Bomber then begins to speak.
Bronx Bomber: For my second Odium appearance, I face some Mexican who has his lips on his own ass. One of those guys who thinks they’re the **** and everyone loves them. He loves his Latino heritage and doesn’t want to lose. This man goes by the name of Miguel Sanchez. Miguel, little buddy, I’m sorry to disappoint you but… you’re gonna lose. There is no way your arrogant, Latino loving ass is going to beat me. Because you see Miguel your too full of yourself to realize who the f**k I am. I aint no little bitch. I aint gonna let you come in to my ring and beat me. It aint gonna happen.
Bomber then rises from the green, wooden bench and takes a deep breath. Bomber then begins to crack his knuckles and moves his head from side to side. Bomber then spits to the ground.
Bronx Bomber: You know I hate little bitches like you Miguel Sanchez. You talk about how street gangsters need to follow your path. F**k you. My only body part that will follow you is my foot kicking your Latin loving ass all over the arena. You’re too arrogant and brass but come match time, you’re gonna look like a little bitch. Don’t expect me to feel sorry for you. Because I won’t. Instead I’m gonna stand over you fallen, bloody body and laugh. That’s gonna bring me so much joy and happiness. So Miguel Sanchez, I hope you’re ready. I hope you’re ready for an ass beating. I hope you’re ready to get destroyed. Miguel Sanchez… F**K YOU. F**k you and your little beliefs. You’re gonna pay boy. And your gonna love the Spanish ass beating I will give you.
The scene fades.
