<![CDATA[X-treme Wrestling Federation - Turning Point PPV]]> https://xwf1999.com/ Wed, 06 May 2026 23:17:14 +0000 MyBB <![CDATA[Chronicles - The Dead Man]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=18158 Sat, 24 Jan 2015 00:37:04 -0800 Doctor Louis D'Ville]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=18158 "If patience is worth anything, it must endure to the end of time. And a living faith will last in the midst of the blackest storm."

― Mahatma Gandhi


[Image: gttO4ZK.jpg]


"Dead man walking."

Two guards walk along each side of the Dead Man with their arms interlocked as they pass the different cells. One other guard follows close behind carrying a shotgun, as he walks he holds it tightly againsts his chest.

"Dead man walking."

The Dead Man he is bound head to toe in orange, chains, and tattoos. He looks forward as he walks ahead, feeling the eyes of every other inmate as he passes each cell. The group finally stop by the next to last cell on the left side. A door from across the room opens and the commanding officer followed by two other armed guards approaches the group and their prisoner. The three officer stand in attention as the commanding officer reads to them.

"HenBLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEPson.

The entire cell block of inmates, if they haven't already, have stopped what they were doing after hearing the name that was just announced.

"Born January 26, 1929. Age, fity-two. By the order of the Texas Department of Criminal Justice, you have been sentenced to death for your crimes."

The commanding officer motions the guards to move the prisoner into the cell. They turn him around and as two other guards point a shotgun at the Dead Man's chest, two other guards remove the chains that bind him. He stands motionless as the two guards leave the cell and it is closed.

"Happy birthday Mr. BLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEPson. Helcome to your new and last home.

The commanding officer walks away and through the door which he came followed by all but two guards. The remaining guards stationed themselves in a small room at the end of the small corridor of cells.

The Dead Man takes a seat on the mattress and lies on his back. It's late and they traveled all day to get to this facility. It's a small ten stall kennel for animals that need put down. Beings that need erased from humanity that should have never existed.

He pulls his arms above him under his pillow and pulls a small black bible from under it. He flips throughout and reads several verses aloud from it. The Dead Man has always been religious. He has always looked the way of the Lord. The sacrifices were made in the graces of GOD himself. He deflowered them and destroyed them.


"Yeah the sick son of a bitch swept across the souteast like a fuckin' raping killing maachine."

"How long did it go on?"

The two guards sit in the office going over their new house guest's file.

"Sixteen known murders in three years."

"How'd he get away with it so long?"

"The hell should I know, he spread 'em out though."

"You think he's going to cause any trouble?"

"Doubt it. The damn fucker found Jesus. All he did while he was rotting up north was praise GOD and accept death. If that sicker fucker thinks he's going up to the spirit in the sky, he's outta his damn mind."

"Yeah, Officer BLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP said to throw a bible in under the pillow. Guess he requested it and we 'had' to oblige."

"Can you believe their still trying to save him? The son of a bitch pleaded insanity the last week of the trial and fucked everything up. Extended it another six months. The riots in those towns were fucking crazy man. I wouldn't be surprised if we got an audience out back when we kill this guy."


The Dead Man reads his bible. He's read the book countless times over and over and he's never grown tired of it. He understands he may have disobeyed a few rules the Good Lord has laid out before his sheep. However, perhaps his commitment will sway the Heavenly Father's light back his way. He prays.


Time crawls inside the tiny holes in which this small group of men call home. The preacher came today and met with the Dead Man first. They talked about the Lord for nearly an hour. It made him feel better.

The guards will come by every few hours and leave a tray of food for the prisoners. That's the closest thing to social interaction the Dead Man gets on a daily basis other than the preacher.

"What ails you, my son?"

"I fear, Father. I fear the Good Lord has not yet forgiven me for my sins. I feel that my cleansing of this world was not as he expected of me."

"For the Lord does work in mysterious ways. Have you accept Jesus Christ into your heart as your Lord and Savior?"

"I have."

"Jesus Christ once died for the sins of humanity. You will be tried before the gates of Heaven for yours. You have proven to me that your heart is where it belongs and it is filled with Him. It is a shame time grows so short for you, my son."

After the preacher left, the Dead Man went back to his bible. He sat for several hours, skipping his last meal, and repeated the verses from the bible in his head.


Late the one night, the Dead Man was woken up by a scratching sound coming from one cell over from his. He rises up from his pillow and rests his ear against the wall.

"Hello?"

The scratching sound stops.

The Dead Man waits a moment, shrugs his shoulders, and lies back down. He nearly falls asleep before he hears something else. He rises up and sees a crow sitting, staring at him from his lower bed post. It squawks at him and flies away. He raises back up, leaves the bed, and walks to the edge of the cell. He looks up and down the corridor and sees no one, including the crow. The Dead Man shakes his head and begins walking back to the bed.

"Psst."

The Dead Man stops.

"Psssssst."

He walks back over to the edge of the cell, next to the cell where he originally heard the noises.

"Hello?"

Hello, my friend.

The Dead Man hesitates.

Whatcha in for?

"In for good, just like everyone here."

Hm. That's not what I heard.

"What'd you hear?"

I heard a certain case of insanity may be your saving grace...

"Who are you? How do you know me?"

We all know you, my friend. You've been the rave for weeks. This is the place they send all the world's trash. If they wanted you dead, that's why they sent you here.

"How could you possible know anything about me? I was the last one here and it's not like they let us go anywhere or do anything."

You, my friend, need to have a little faith.

The Prisoner reaches his hand out holding a small mirror in his hand. He hands it to the Dead Man.

"What's this about?"

Just watch.


"I am reporting live to you from the courthouse in Houston, Texas. "HenBLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEPson., also known as the 'Southern Strangler', has just been released from found discrempencies in evidence of the sixteen different murders that spanned across four different states in the southern United St--"


The mirror shuts off like a television. The Dead Man stares at his own reflection for a moment before reaching out with the magic mirror.

"What the fuck was that?!"

A possibility, hmm?

The Dead Man lays back on his bed.

The next day the Dead Man rose from his bed. For some reason the guards were actually letting the inmates leave their cells for a bit and go outside. All of the doors opened at once and the prisoners all walked forward.

The Dead Man notices no one coming for the neighboring cell.

The prisoners are followed outside by several guards carrying shotguns. A few still in their right minds didn't know why they took them out for these 'walks'. They weren't even sure why they fed them. Perhaps it is inhumane to let someone starve to death. Much better to electrocute them until death.


A few days pass by.

The Dead Man is convinced he was dreaming that one night where he spoke to his neighbor and watched a news bulletin of his release. He's already accepted his death and anticipates going with the Lord, yet he still dreams of freedom from this place. A second chance perhaps to prove to GOD even more that he is a changed man inside. That he deserves a place in his Kingdom by his side. The evil has been extinguished from his body and is no more. But, it was just a dream.

Until the phone rings.

The ringer on the phone is so loud that the prisoners can hear it ring from their cells while it sits on a desk in the closed office. It ring for about four times then stops. Then begins ringing again. Inside the office one of the guards is leaning on his chair with his eyes closes, snoring through the loud obnoxious ringing of the telephone. The ringing stops once again.

The door across the hall swings open and the other guard comes rushing out of the bathroom while tucking in his uniform shirt. He rushes into the office and kicks the other guard sleeping ont he job.

"Didn't you hear the phone ringing?"

"Phone?"

"Yeah! Just not anybody calls here! What? You think these guys have anybody calling them? That ringer was loud as hell too!"

The phone begins ringing again.

"Hello?"

........

"No sir, sorry sir."

.........

"It will not happen again sir."

.............

"Wwhat?! I mean, yes sir."

.............

"Right away sir."

The guard hangs up the phone and looks at his parnter, who curioiusly looks back at him.

"Well?"

"Well, the new guy."

"What about him?"

"They saved him."

"What?!"

"Well, not yet, but he's going back on trial. It's a given though. One of the investigators fucked up. They fucked up real bad."

"What the hell happened?"

"Concealing possible evidence during the trial that could've swayed the jury a different direction. Some to prove the fuckin' guy was crazy or something."

"So they're just going to let him go?"

"Nah, probably end up in some 'home' somewhere. someone to monitor him everyday. He seemed like the rubber wall kinda guy. Gives me the creeps, I'm glad he's outta here."

"Yeah, even though I wouldn't mind seeing him gone, I woludlnt' want to throw the switch on that guy."


The transport picked up the Dead Man later that night. He was surprised, but at the same time he wasn't. He forseen this happening. A second chance. A chance to do good and change his ways forever. His dark days were over.

The pouring down rain doesn't make it easy to drive. The water laying on the road seems to wrap itself our the tires and take the car wherever it pleases.

Suddenly, the car whips around and begins spinning uncrollably. It makes three full revolutions before striiking the bank and coming to a abrupt stop. Surprising to see by the Dead Man, the two men in the front seat are unconcious. The Dead Mean kicks out his window and climbs out.


With her arms full, the girl from upstairs opens her driver's side car door and throws the few bags across the seat on the passenger side. She sits down in her seat, starts her vehicle, and fires up the radio. She sits for a moment as she checks herself out in the rearview mirror. As she pulls out from the parking spot from the shopping mall, she notices something shift in her backseat. As she looks back, two huge arms attack her from back there. A thick chain binding the hands of the two arms pull her neck back to the seat and strangle her. She fights and fights until she can't enymore and everything goes white. The Dead Man continues to pull a few extra seconds just to get the normal satisfaction for his kill. He gets out and pushes the body aside. Placing the car in park he reaches over and pulls the lever to open the trunk. He grabs the motionless young woman and carries her to the back of the car, just as a police squad car pulls up behind him. As he drops the woman in the trunk he turns around and faces the two officers. His bright orange suit shines back from the headlights as his arms raise into the air. Whether it was a mistake or no, one of the officers trigger finger slips and places a bullet on the right shoulder of the Dead Man. Well after he fired a shot, the other one did which landed in the Dead Man's neck. Followed by another shot. And another. And another.


The Dead Man lies on his back in the hospital bed. Motionless and assisted breathing.

"They brought a murderer in last night."

One doctor says to another.

"Killed a girl the night he was shot. I hope he doesn't wake up."

Another one says.

The clicking noise of a mans shiny shoes can be heard walking down the corridor. An old man approaches the registration desk.

"It's a little late for visiting hours..."

The nurse looks up at the Old Man.

Oh, pity. I was just dropping in to see an old friend.

"The guy they just brought in tonight? Well, he's right over there. Not much to look at though. He's a vegetable now and will be as long as he keeps breathing."

Perhaps a short goodbye wouldn't hurt?

"Nahh, go ahead."

The Old Man walks past the desk and into the small room where the Dead Man sleeps. He kneels by the bed and watches.

All that praying did you good didn't it, my old friend. Here you sit in your mental prison as your trial in the afterlife awaits. Where I await. You've done well at redeeming yourself during that second chance give to you.

The Old Man reaches up and unplugs the life support machine. Buzzers, beeps, and alarms begin to go off.

See you soon.

]]> "If patience is worth anything, it must endure to the end of time. And a living faith will last in the midst of the blackest storm."

― Mahatma Gandhi


[Image: gttO4ZK.jpg]


"Dead man walking."

Two guards walk along each side of the Dead Man with their arms interlocked as they pass the different cells. One other guard follows close behind carrying a shotgun, as he walks he holds it tightly againsts his chest.

"Dead man walking."

The Dead Man he is bound head to toe in orange, chains, and tattoos. He looks forward as he walks ahead, feeling the eyes of every other inmate as he passes each cell. The group finally stop by the next to last cell on the left side. A door from across the room opens and the commanding officer followed by two other armed guards approaches the group and their prisoner. The three officer stand in attention as the commanding officer reads to them.

"HenBLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEPson.

The entire cell block of inmates, if they haven't already, have stopped what they were doing after hearing the name that was just announced.

"Born January 26, 1929. Age, fity-two. By the order of the Texas Department of Criminal Justice, you have been sentenced to death for your crimes."

The commanding officer motions the guards to move the prisoner into the cell. They turn him around and as two other guards point a shotgun at the Dead Man's chest, two other guards remove the chains that bind him. He stands motionless as the two guards leave the cell and it is closed.

"Happy birthday Mr. BLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEPson. Helcome to your new and last home.

The commanding officer walks away and through the door which he came followed by all but two guards. The remaining guards stationed themselves in a small room at the end of the small corridor of cells.

The Dead Man takes a seat on the mattress and lies on his back. It's late and they traveled all day to get to this facility. It's a small ten stall kennel for animals that need put down. Beings that need erased from humanity that should have never existed.

He pulls his arms above him under his pillow and pulls a small black bible from under it. He flips throughout and reads several verses aloud from it. The Dead Man has always been religious. He has always looked the way of the Lord. The sacrifices were made in the graces of GOD himself. He deflowered them and destroyed them.


"Yeah the sick son of a bitch swept across the souteast like a fuckin' raping killing maachine."

"How long did it go on?"

The two guards sit in the office going over their new house guest's file.

"Sixteen known murders in three years."

"How'd he get away with it so long?"

"The hell should I know, he spread 'em out though."

"You think he's going to cause any trouble?"

"Doubt it. The damn fucker found Jesus. All he did while he was rotting up north was praise GOD and accept death. If that sicker fucker thinks he's going up to the spirit in the sky, he's outta his damn mind."

"Yeah, Officer BLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP said to throw a bible in under the pillow. Guess he requested it and we 'had' to oblige."

"Can you believe their still trying to save him? The son of a bitch pleaded insanity the last week of the trial and fucked everything up. Extended it another six months. The riots in those towns were fucking crazy man. I wouldn't be surprised if we got an audience out back when we kill this guy."


The Dead Man reads his bible. He's read the book countless times over and over and he's never grown tired of it. He understands he may have disobeyed a few rules the Good Lord has laid out before his sheep. However, perhaps his commitment will sway the Heavenly Father's light back his way. He prays.


Time crawls inside the tiny holes in which this small group of men call home. The preacher came today and met with the Dead Man first. They talked about the Lord for nearly an hour. It made him feel better.

The guards will come by every few hours and leave a tray of food for the prisoners. That's the closest thing to social interaction the Dead Man gets on a daily basis other than the preacher.

"What ails you, my son?"

"I fear, Father. I fear the Good Lord has not yet forgiven me for my sins. I feel that my cleansing of this world was not as he expected of me."

"For the Lord does work in mysterious ways. Have you accept Jesus Christ into your heart as your Lord and Savior?"

"I have."

"Jesus Christ once died for the sins of humanity. You will be tried before the gates of Heaven for yours. You have proven to me that your heart is where it belongs and it is filled with Him. It is a shame time grows so short for you, my son."

After the preacher left, the Dead Man went back to his bible. He sat for several hours, skipping his last meal, and repeated the verses from the bible in his head.


Late the one night, the Dead Man was woken up by a scratching sound coming from one cell over from his. He rises up from his pillow and rests his ear against the wall.

"Hello?"

The scratching sound stops.

The Dead Man waits a moment, shrugs his shoulders, and lies back down. He nearly falls asleep before he hears something else. He rises up and sees a crow sitting, staring at him from his lower bed post. It squawks at him and flies away. He raises back up, leaves the bed, and walks to the edge of the cell. He looks up and down the corridor and sees no one, including the crow. The Dead Man shakes his head and begins walking back to the bed.

"Psst."

The Dead Man stops.

"Psssssst."

He walks back over to the edge of the cell, next to the cell where he originally heard the noises.

"Hello?"

Hello, my friend.

The Dead Man hesitates.

Whatcha in for?

"In for good, just like everyone here."

Hm. That's not what I heard.

"What'd you hear?"

I heard a certain case of insanity may be your saving grace...

"Who are you? How do you know me?"

We all know you, my friend. You've been the rave for weeks. This is the place they send all the world's trash. If they wanted you dead, that's why they sent you here.

"How could you possible know anything about me? I was the last one here and it's not like they let us go anywhere or do anything."

You, my friend, need to have a little faith.

The Prisoner reaches his hand out holding a small mirror in his hand. He hands it to the Dead Man.

"What's this about?"

Just watch.


"I am reporting live to you from the courthouse in Houston, Texas. "HenBLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEPson., also known as the 'Southern Strangler', has just been released from found discrempencies in evidence of the sixteen different murders that spanned across four different states in the southern United St--"


The mirror shuts off like a television. The Dead Man stares at his own reflection for a moment before reaching out with the magic mirror.

"What the fuck was that?!"

A possibility, hmm?

The Dead Man lays back on his bed.

The next day the Dead Man rose from his bed. For some reason the guards were actually letting the inmates leave their cells for a bit and go outside. All of the doors opened at once and the prisoners all walked forward.

The Dead Man notices no one coming for the neighboring cell.

The prisoners are followed outside by several guards carrying shotguns. A few still in their right minds didn't know why they took them out for these 'walks'. They weren't even sure why they fed them. Perhaps it is inhumane to let someone starve to death. Much better to electrocute them until death.


A few days pass by.

The Dead Man is convinced he was dreaming that one night where he spoke to his neighbor and watched a news bulletin of his release. He's already accepted his death and anticipates going with the Lord, yet he still dreams of freedom from this place. A second chance perhaps to prove to GOD even more that he is a changed man inside. That he deserves a place in his Kingdom by his side. The evil has been extinguished from his body and is no more. But, it was just a dream.

Until the phone rings.

The ringer on the phone is so loud that the prisoners can hear it ring from their cells while it sits on a desk in the closed office. It ring for about four times then stops. Then begins ringing again. Inside the office one of the guards is leaning on his chair with his eyes closes, snoring through the loud obnoxious ringing of the telephone. The ringing stops once again.

The door across the hall swings open and the other guard comes rushing out of the bathroom while tucking in his uniform shirt. He rushes into the office and kicks the other guard sleeping ont he job.

"Didn't you hear the phone ringing?"

"Phone?"

"Yeah! Just not anybody calls here! What? You think these guys have anybody calling them? That ringer was loud as hell too!"

The phone begins ringing again.

"Hello?"

........

"No sir, sorry sir."

.........

"It will not happen again sir."

.............

"Wwhat?! I mean, yes sir."

.............

"Right away sir."

The guard hangs up the phone and looks at his parnter, who curioiusly looks back at him.

"Well?"

"Well, the new guy."

"What about him?"

"They saved him."

"What?!"

"Well, not yet, but he's going back on trial. It's a given though. One of the investigators fucked up. They fucked up real bad."

"What the hell happened?"

"Concealing possible evidence during the trial that could've swayed the jury a different direction. Some to prove the fuckin' guy was crazy or something."

"So they're just going to let him go?"

"Nah, probably end up in some 'home' somewhere. someone to monitor him everyday. He seemed like the rubber wall kinda guy. Gives me the creeps, I'm glad he's outta here."

"Yeah, even though I wouldn't mind seeing him gone, I woludlnt' want to throw the switch on that guy."


The transport picked up the Dead Man later that night. He was surprised, but at the same time he wasn't. He forseen this happening. A second chance. A chance to do good and change his ways forever. His dark days were over.

The pouring down rain doesn't make it easy to drive. The water laying on the road seems to wrap itself our the tires and take the car wherever it pleases.

Suddenly, the car whips around and begins spinning uncrollably. It makes three full revolutions before striiking the bank and coming to a abrupt stop. Surprising to see by the Dead Man, the two men in the front seat are unconcious. The Dead Mean kicks out his window and climbs out.


With her arms full, the girl from upstairs opens her driver's side car door and throws the few bags across the seat on the passenger side. She sits down in her seat, starts her vehicle, and fires up the radio. She sits for a moment as she checks herself out in the rearview mirror. As she pulls out from the parking spot from the shopping mall, she notices something shift in her backseat. As she looks back, two huge arms attack her from back there. A thick chain binding the hands of the two arms pull her neck back to the seat and strangle her. She fights and fights until she can't enymore and everything goes white. The Dead Man continues to pull a few extra seconds just to get the normal satisfaction for his kill. He gets out and pushes the body aside. Placing the car in park he reaches over and pulls the lever to open the trunk. He grabs the motionless young woman and carries her to the back of the car, just as a police squad car pulls up behind him. As he drops the woman in the trunk he turns around and faces the two officers. His bright orange suit shines back from the headlights as his arms raise into the air. Whether it was a mistake or no, one of the officers trigger finger slips and places a bullet on the right shoulder of the Dead Man. Well after he fired a shot, the other one did which landed in the Dead Man's neck. Followed by another shot. And another. And another.


The Dead Man lies on his back in the hospital bed. Motionless and assisted breathing.

"They brought a murderer in last night."

One doctor says to another.

"Killed a girl the night he was shot. I hope he doesn't wake up."

Another one says.

The clicking noise of a mans shiny shoes can be heard walking down the corridor. An old man approaches the registration desk.

"It's a little late for visiting hours..."

The nurse looks up at the Old Man.

Oh, pity. I was just dropping in to see an old friend.

"The guy they just brought in tonight? Well, he's right over there. Not much to look at though. He's a vegetable now and will be as long as he keeps breathing."

Perhaps a short goodbye wouldn't hurt?

"Nahh, go ahead."

The Old Man walks past the desk and into the small room where the Dead Man sleeps. He kneels by the bed and watches.

All that praying did you good didn't it, my old friend. Here you sit in your mental prison as your trial in the afterlife awaits. Where I await. You've done well at redeeming yourself during that second chance give to you.

The Old Man reaches up and unplugs the life support machine. Buzzers, beeps, and alarms begin to go off.

See you soon.

]]> <![CDATA[Wake the Fuck Up]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=18156 Fri, 23 Jan 2015 23:32:31 -0800 #MemeQueen Luca Torchwick]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=18156
One match.

One subsequent week long cocaine binge.

Also known as Luca's life since Madness. Granted, this likely would've been his life even if he were never even contacted about the match in question, though there was a bit of melancholy in his actions. His sluggishness, despite being on cocaine of all drugs. His demeanor, though unpleasant in the best of circumstances was radically different in the days following the loss. Lost was his spark. Instead, he stumbled through the seven days and who knows how much coke in a daze. In his lethargic state; he spent most of each day staring blankly at the ceiling, muttering some bullshit in Spanglish to himself. So, finally, I decide to fucking do something about my (de facto) best friend's condition.

"What the fuck's your problem?"

Right. Start all confrontational and shit. This is the way to break through to him. I think. Probably. Matter of fact the more I think about it this was a horrible idea. And I guess starting a conversation off like that wasn't too smart either ayyyy oh right I'm not saying any of this out loud so why the fuck am I continuing to think this like it's going to be heard? I shake my head, trying to clear that train of thought as he turns his attention from the ceiling to me. His eyes are dark and drooping, like his bags have bags which themselves have bags, and his stubble game is far from on point. It's somewhere between stubble and a bead, but not quite either. Dried blood circles his nostrils. There's also dried blood crusted on his skin because he hasn't bothered to throw on a shirt in like three days. Which, also means he smells like sweat and halitosis, the most appealing of scents combined.

"The fuck are you on?"

Of course, he deflects the question away from himself and to me because he doesn't want to admit that he's a fucking wreck. Well, more of one than usual.

"Nothing right now."

"That's the problem! Snort some shit or something."

I sigh.

"No, I don't think I will. Not until you stop moping about like a fucking pussy."

"Alright puta? Got somethin' to fuckin' say?"

Luca gingerly swings his legs out over the edge of the couch and stands up on wobbly legs. He shakes his head to, I don't fucking know why, and stumbles over to me with his fists barely raised.

"Say that shit to my face, cunt."

"Alright. You're acting like a pussy. Come on! Getting all depressed and emo and shit over a loss? Whose camerawoman am I again? Luca Arzegotti's or Vinnie Lane's?"

"Don't you ever compare me to that ."

"Don't act like him, then. Jesus, put your fucking hands down. You're embarrassing yourself."

He raises his arms higher.

"I ain't embarrassed."

"Yeah, well, you should be. It's kinda pathetic."

He mimics what I just said. Not by repeating the words out of my mouth but by making noises in the same cadence as what I said. Real mature, Luca. Fucking gold star.

"What's the fuckin' big deal if I decided to lay around after the match anyway? Have I not fuckin' earned that right for holding the XWF up on my back for as long as I had been?"

"You defensive fuck, it's not about that. It's all this pity party bullshit. The lack of drive. Hell, by this time any other week you'd have brought at least two crack whores back, or a surprisingly hot Denny's waitress or something, and I'd be sitting there acting asleep listening to you fuck while secretly touching myself."

Yeesh, I need a mental filter.

"The fuck was that last part, eh?"

"Nothing. Seriously though. You've lost your fuckin' mojo and you haven't done shit since getting back in. You got this match with TJ Wallace at the Pay-Per-View and I'll be damned before you go out there looking like a pussy. Get yourself cleaned up, we're going somewhere."

"Where we goin', amigo?"

"Don't worry about it."

"We aren't going on a crime spree in the guise of training again are we?"

"Wasn't what I had in mind but that could work."

"Yeah, no. Ain't too keen on that shit. Don't wanna get shot today. Maybe tomorrow, chica."

"Pussy."

"Puta."

He spits, before shuffling off toward the bathroom.

About thirty minutes later, we're sitting at motherfuckin' Denny's. Luca, myself, and Luca's newly hired legal counsel, Dennis Stein. Dennis is a smug looking snake of a man, roughly forty years old. Balding, wearing a stiff, cheap looking three piece suit, he takes off his glasses for a second to wipe away some sweat pooling up on his brow with one of the napkins at our table.

"So, why was I called here today?" he asks, glaring at me.

"Well, mang. Looks like I'm bout to be having another match in the XWF, against one of the guys I faced in my last match. TJ motherfuckin' Wallace."

"And this concerns me, how?"

"Because I'm gonna kill that bitch."

"Well, I don't think I need to advise you against that. I like to think you're smart enough to know the legal shitstorm you can get in for killing a guy at a televised wrestling event."

"Nah mang, it's all cool. It's on Pay-Per-View. Totes legal."

"No, it isn't."

"Fine, shit man. Don't let me have any fun why don't ya? What's next? You gonna say I can't snort coke? This is fucking America mang, the land of opportunity. If I wanna get my dick sucked by some blond college chick while I snort a line of coke out of the asshole of another blond college chick, I fucking can and I have mang. Shit was tight. Took a couple photos of the girls, I'll send them to ya on the DL. Mark that shit NSFW and whatnot. But also, if I wanna fucking massacre TJ Wallace and leave his fucking lifeless corpse for the crows, win all the Brown Pride, and then rail the fuckin' dyke he rescued from obscurity, I'll do that too and there ain't no law that'll stop me, mang. AMERICA, FUCK YEAH!"

Luca pounds on the table to emphasize his point while Stein shushes him.

"Very little of what you said is actually legal, I hope you realize that."

"Um, yes it is. I hire you to make sure it's okay for me to do that shit. I kinda have money therefore I am above the law. Motherfuckin' America, mang. Gotta love it."

Stein rubs his temples with his middle fingers, which elicits a smile from me.

"Whatever. Anything else you wanna say about this guy, or are you finished? Because right now, everyone's staring at you."

"Yeah, I got some shit to say. This motherfucker's gonna be walking around with that win over the Team I was begged to save as if that's some personal victory. Like he pinned my ass or some shit when it was Lane who pinned Maverick. Come on mang, you're gonna have to actually do something to earn any kind of recognition from me and you ain't done any of that shit. Fuck, what has the dude even accomplished anyway? Again, I'm this fuckin' old timer, washed up loser and shit and what does TJ have to show for his time in the XWF? A big whopping plate of absolutely fucking nothing? Ding ding fucking ding! Exactly! The dude's done absolutely jack shit since showing up and it ain't for lack of opportunities. Shit, this puta's had more undeserved opportunities than a woman in the workplace. Hell, maybe the dude is, on top of being a white person painted brown, a fuckin' chica. Shit, wouldn't surprise me considering she's been responsible for Liz Hathaway's sudden reemergence. Speaking of old names, though that's one I'm pretty sure everyone forgot. Because, like Teej here, she didn't do much of anything either. They're perfect together! They can do more nothing than I do, despite me being a part timer. Jesu Christo, that's embarrassing. But hey, what else can we expect from the guy who uses the term shitfalcon unironically. Hell, not even Irony would do that shit ironically and doing things ironically was his whole fucking shtick. What's yours, mang? Loudmouthed, minstrel dyke? Shit, that's a little too intense to be you, anyway.

But what do I know? I'm just a has been who no one cares about anymore.

Still better than a never will be who no one will ever care about."

"You done?"

"No, but I can keep going all fucking day. And the next day. And the next."

"It's true," I interject. "It's also really fucking annoying but true nonetheless."

"Puta you're annoying. I'm more lovable than Jesus. PEOPLE LIKE ME MORE THAN THEY LIKE THEIR LORD AND FUCKING SAVIOR!"

Once again, he pounds the fucking table and everyone in the Denny's cheers. Seriously? One of the guys shouts from a few tables away, asking if he can get some of the pictures Luca took of those two blond bitches.

"Hell yeah mang, I'm all about sharing the love. Brown Pride Worldwide!"

A silence comes over the crowd. They take a look at Luca, before shrugging their shoulders and going with it.

I swear, I will never understand this guy.

"You ready for this match?" I whisper over to him.

"Fuck yeah I am!" he whispers back.

Well, fuck it. Mission accomplished.]]>
One match.

One subsequent week long cocaine binge.

Also known as Luca's life since Madness. Granted, this likely would've been his life even if he were never even contacted about the match in question, though there was a bit of melancholy in his actions. His sluggishness, despite being on cocaine of all drugs. His demeanor, though unpleasant in the best of circumstances was radically different in the days following the loss. Lost was his spark. Instead, he stumbled through the seven days and who knows how much coke in a daze. In his lethargic state; he spent most of each day staring blankly at the ceiling, muttering some bullshit in Spanglish to himself. So, finally, I decide to fucking do something about my (de facto) best friend's condition.

"What the fuck's your problem?"

Right. Start all confrontational and shit. This is the way to break through to him. I think. Probably. Matter of fact the more I think about it this was a horrible idea. And I guess starting a conversation off like that wasn't too smart either ayyyy oh right I'm not saying any of this out loud so why the fuck am I continuing to think this like it's going to be heard? I shake my head, trying to clear that train of thought as he turns his attention from the ceiling to me. His eyes are dark and drooping, like his bags have bags which themselves have bags, and his stubble game is far from on point. It's somewhere between stubble and a bead, but not quite either. Dried blood circles his nostrils. There's also dried blood crusted on his skin because he hasn't bothered to throw on a shirt in like three days. Which, also means he smells like sweat and halitosis, the most appealing of scents combined.

"The fuck are you on?"

Of course, he deflects the question away from himself and to me because he doesn't want to admit that he's a fucking wreck. Well, more of one than usual.

"Nothing right now."

"That's the problem! Snort some shit or something."

I sigh.

"No, I don't think I will. Not until you stop moping about like a fucking pussy."

"Alright puta? Got somethin' to fuckin' say?"

Luca gingerly swings his legs out over the edge of the couch and stands up on wobbly legs. He shakes his head to, I don't fucking know why, and stumbles over to me with his fists barely raised.

"Say that shit to my face, cunt."

"Alright. You're acting like a pussy. Come on! Getting all depressed and emo and shit over a loss? Whose camerawoman am I again? Luca Arzegotti's or Vinnie Lane's?"

"Don't you ever compare me to that ."

"Don't act like him, then. Jesus, put your fucking hands down. You're embarrassing yourself."

He raises his arms higher.

"I ain't embarrassed."

"Yeah, well, you should be. It's kinda pathetic."

He mimics what I just said. Not by repeating the words out of my mouth but by making noises in the same cadence as what I said. Real mature, Luca. Fucking gold star.

"What's the fuckin' big deal if I decided to lay around after the match anyway? Have I not fuckin' earned that right for holding the XWF up on my back for as long as I had been?"

"You defensive fuck, it's not about that. It's all this pity party bullshit. The lack of drive. Hell, by this time any other week you'd have brought at least two crack whores back, or a surprisingly hot Denny's waitress or something, and I'd be sitting there acting asleep listening to you fuck while secretly touching myself."

Yeesh, I need a mental filter.

"The fuck was that last part, eh?"

"Nothing. Seriously though. You've lost your fuckin' mojo and you haven't done shit since getting back in. You got this match with TJ Wallace at the Pay-Per-View and I'll be damned before you go out there looking like a pussy. Get yourself cleaned up, we're going somewhere."

"Where we goin', amigo?"

"Don't worry about it."

"We aren't going on a crime spree in the guise of training again are we?"

"Wasn't what I had in mind but that could work."

"Yeah, no. Ain't too keen on that shit. Don't wanna get shot today. Maybe tomorrow, chica."

"Pussy."

"Puta."

He spits, before shuffling off toward the bathroom.

About thirty minutes later, we're sitting at motherfuckin' Denny's. Luca, myself, and Luca's newly hired legal counsel, Dennis Stein. Dennis is a smug looking snake of a man, roughly forty years old. Balding, wearing a stiff, cheap looking three piece suit, he takes off his glasses for a second to wipe away some sweat pooling up on his brow with one of the napkins at our table.

"So, why was I called here today?" he asks, glaring at me.

"Well, mang. Looks like I'm bout to be having another match in the XWF, against one of the guys I faced in my last match. TJ motherfuckin' Wallace."

"And this concerns me, how?"

"Because I'm gonna kill that bitch."

"Well, I don't think I need to advise you against that. I like to think you're smart enough to know the legal shitstorm you can get in for killing a guy at a televised wrestling event."

"Nah mang, it's all cool. It's on Pay-Per-View. Totes legal."

"No, it isn't."

"Fine, shit man. Don't let me have any fun why don't ya? What's next? You gonna say I can't snort coke? This is fucking America mang, the land of opportunity. If I wanna get my dick sucked by some blond college chick while I snort a line of coke out of the asshole of another blond college chick, I fucking can and I have mang. Shit was tight. Took a couple photos of the girls, I'll send them to ya on the DL. Mark that shit NSFW and whatnot. But also, if I wanna fucking massacre TJ Wallace and leave his fucking lifeless corpse for the crows, win all the Brown Pride, and then rail the fuckin' dyke he rescued from obscurity, I'll do that too and there ain't no law that'll stop me, mang. AMERICA, FUCK YEAH!"

Luca pounds on the table to emphasize his point while Stein shushes him.

"Very little of what you said is actually legal, I hope you realize that."

"Um, yes it is. I hire you to make sure it's okay for me to do that shit. I kinda have money therefore I am above the law. Motherfuckin' America, mang. Gotta love it."

Stein rubs his temples with his middle fingers, which elicits a smile from me.

"Whatever. Anything else you wanna say about this guy, or are you finished? Because right now, everyone's staring at you."

"Yeah, I got some shit to say. This motherfucker's gonna be walking around with that win over the Team I was begged to save as if that's some personal victory. Like he pinned my ass or some shit when it was Lane who pinned Maverick. Come on mang, you're gonna have to actually do something to earn any kind of recognition from me and you ain't done any of that shit. Fuck, what has the dude even accomplished anyway? Again, I'm this fuckin' old timer, washed up loser and shit and what does TJ have to show for his time in the XWF? A big whopping plate of absolutely fucking nothing? Ding ding fucking ding! Exactly! The dude's done absolutely jack shit since showing up and it ain't for lack of opportunities. Shit, this puta's had more undeserved opportunities than a woman in the workplace. Hell, maybe the dude is, on top of being a white person painted brown, a fuckin' chica. Shit, wouldn't surprise me considering she's been responsible for Liz Hathaway's sudden reemergence. Speaking of old names, though that's one I'm pretty sure everyone forgot. Because, like Teej here, she didn't do much of anything either. They're perfect together! They can do more nothing than I do, despite me being a part timer. Jesu Christo, that's embarrassing. But hey, what else can we expect from the guy who uses the term shitfalcon unironically. Hell, not even Irony would do that shit ironically and doing things ironically was his whole fucking shtick. What's yours, mang? Loudmouthed, minstrel dyke? Shit, that's a little too intense to be you, anyway.

But what do I know? I'm just a has been who no one cares about anymore.

Still better than a never will be who no one will ever care about."

"You done?"

"No, but I can keep going all fucking day. And the next day. And the next."

"It's true," I interject. "It's also really fucking annoying but true nonetheless."

"Puta you're annoying. I'm more lovable than Jesus. PEOPLE LIKE ME MORE THAN THEY LIKE THEIR LORD AND FUCKING SAVIOR!"

Once again, he pounds the fucking table and everyone in the Denny's cheers. Seriously? One of the guys shouts from a few tables away, asking if he can get some of the pictures Luca took of those two blond bitches.

"Hell yeah mang, I'm all about sharing the love. Brown Pride Worldwide!"

A silence comes over the crowd. They take a look at Luca, before shrugging their shoulders and going with it.

I swear, I will never understand this guy.

"You ready for this match?" I whisper over to him.

"Fuck yeah I am!" he whispers back.

Well, fuck it. Mission accomplished.]]> <![CDATA[Burying Alive]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=18132 Fri, 23 Jan 2015 23:20:33 -0800 Steve "KingSlayer" Davids]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=18132
The room was dark. There was very little in it. Scratches on the walls, check. One light bulb, check. A row of candles on the table in front of me, check. One rather uncomfortable chair, check. Everything was in place for a typical Steve Davids promo.

I held the Universal Championship in the air and the camera stared at me. I grinned sadistically for a brief moment. Then I placed the championship just behind the candles, and sat down on the chair.

Taking a deep breath, I begun to speak:

[color=#FF0000"]How fucking dare you John! How fucking dare you write a false letter from my mother. If you need to sink that low then I guess I really do have this match won. She died when I was born. I murdered her on my way out from her womb and you think it is okay to mock her? Oh no Samuels. You have opened up a whole new world of pain. Also, I see you could not actually be bothered to address a lot of what I said. You can come up with some bullshit excuse but it's quite clear for everyone to see that you simply got lazy. You could not be bothered to listen to the words I spoke, great words, I might add. Well I feel sorry for you. Oh and I understand you are mocking me John boy. I really do. You have made this match a hell of a lot more personal by bringing my mother into this, and I mean it John. I will not be apologizing for what happens. If you happen to end up dangling from a tree then so be it.”

"My friend died yesterday. I know you will not care, but HE was a real man. He did not have to play dirty little tricks to try and get one up on anyone. He simply got in with his life and looked out for those he cared about. You though John, you're just a fucked up little coon, who thinks the world should bow down to him. Well I am going to show you, it's not all about John Samuels."[/color]

I look solemn for a minute as I think about Tom. I did not know him for long but he’s another man who has died because of me.

“Maybe, in many ways… I am more like you than I would like. I stood there and helplessly watched my friend die whilst my other friend was threatened. Like a coward. Like YOU and Theo. To claim he is any more brave than me is simply deluded. I earned my championship shot just as well as he did, and I cashed in, just like a god damn champion should!”

"Oh and by the way, you're damn right I'll flirt with Rick. I flirt with all of my friends. It's just a laugh John. Who would have thought that YOU are the one in this match taking themselves too seriously. Also, you calling me a one trick pony? Really. Why don't you actually open up and show us something interesting about you because from what I can see, all you like to do is chat complete and utter bullshit every week and call it a god damn promo. You're a god damn hypocrite and the XWF fans are not blinded by the kings anymore! Also, you can have all the admiration you fucking well like. I could not care less. Do you know what John, I am really fucking glad you got back to me before our match because that promo you cut really was so pathetic that I think my chances have just gone straight through the roof.

“I am not going to spend long talking tonight John. I know you will still have plenty to say, but I think, that maybe, just maybe, we have done enough talking to each other this week. I am going to SHOW you my plans and I will see you at Turning Point.”

So I picked up the championship belt and placed it over my shoulder. I blew out the candles. The room was extremely eerie. Suddenly the light bulb goes out ominously

The shot then cuts to the living room where Ricky is sat, simply staring into emptiness. His eyes are dry, Tom had been his assistant for such a long time. He saw them more as equals than anything.

“You don’t have to come with us Ricky, but I am going to fucking finish this,” I said boldly, looking at him in the eye.

He scowled back.

“I am not so sure it’s a good idea,” Livvy said quietly. Ricky had given her a guest room to stay in for the time being. She had been distant with me since last night, after the incident, which is understandable.

“I am sorry Livvy, but there’s no other choice. I need to end this. Otherwise my match against Samuels, well let’s just say I might as well not bother showing up.”

“I’m coming with you.” It was the first time Ricky had spoken all day. Me and Livvy turned, flabbergasted.

“Do you really think that’s a good idea Rick?” I asked.

“If you’re going to kick that guy’s ass, I sure as hell want to be there whilst you do it,” he responded.

“I understand.”

“You are joking!” Livvy shouted.

“What?”

“We need to go around there and talk. We need to get him arrested. We cannot take this into our own hands.”

“Incase you didn’t realise Livvy, the camera footage has got you pointing a gun to Ricky’s head. We have to take this into our own hands, unless you want to go and face prison time as well?” She realised immediately she was wrong.

“Hmmm…Surely there’s got to be another way?” She clearly did not have the stomach to do what Ricky or I had planned.

“I can’t think of anything better than putting that guy down and out.” Ricky said.

“Actually, I have an even better idea.”

Livvy got my car running, it was just a silver gulf, I had never cared much for flashy cars.

Ricky sat in the back, grinding his teeth and shaking his legs rather irritatingly but I could not say a word. After all, he had just lost his best friend. That would be insensitive of me…

“Ricky stop grinding your fucking teeth!”

Oops.

Livvy slapped me on the leg, but it did not feel like a punishment.

“Leave it out Steve, he’s going through a hard time. You better than anyone should understand,” she said, taking her eye off of the road for a split second.

We pulled up outside and immediately the curtains shut.

As if that would make any difference.

We strolled up and knocked on the door politely.

“Come on Michael, stop fucking around and face up to what you did!” Livvy shouted.

“Why should I!?” Michael was a blubbering mess on the other side of the door.

“I did not mean to kill him. I did not want any of this,” he pleaded.

“You’re full of shit. You wanted to make me miserable, well you fucking succeeded. Now it’s time for your just desserts.”

Despite Michael being slumped against the door, Ricky didn’t even say a word. He just kicked down the door with one kick. Michael backed away, but then instinctively grabbed a vase and launched it towards Ricky.

Ricky simply swung a fist at the vase and it shattered. It also forced blood from his hand but Ricky did not seem to care even the slightest bit.

He grabbed Michael and threw him into the wall.

Michael roared in pain, Ricky just stood over him and then put his knees either side of him and begun to lay punches into him until I grabbed him to stop him.

“That’s enough for now Rick, trust me. Tie him up.”

So Ricky begun to tie him up. Livvy waited in the car, she could not bare to watch this mess any longer.

“It’s not so nice now that the shoe’s on the other foot is it Mike?”

“Now say you're sorry!” Ricky shouted.

“I am not fucking sorry!” Blood was pouring down Mike’s dented face.

“Do not react yet Rick.” I grabbed Michael and threw him into the boot of the car. The area was rather empty, and to be honest we did not give a fuck if people saw. Livvy seemed to believe that no one around here would even blink twice.

We drove and we drove. Guess where we showed up? The graveyard.

Why is it that this place keeps cropping up? I am beginning to feel it’s either good luck or a terrible omen.

I grabbed Michael from out of the boot and threw him towards the empty graveyard. Ricky kicked him to the ground and then kicked him in the head sending him towards the six foot hole that I dug in my promo the other day.

Ricky went to throw him into the hole, but then he stopped on the edge.

“Oh Steve, I think you have to do it.”

I lifted up Michael up and planted him with a Game Over into the hole!

“Signs of Saturday, John?” Let’s wait and see.

“Michael, I think it is about time you say you’re sorry.”

He just looked up, barely able to see through his bruised and battered eye.

“You killed him. Say you are sorry!” Ricky shouted.

“Unless you want us to fill this hole in, I suggest you say you’re god damn sorry!”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

“And I don’t give a fuck!”

Ricky and I begun to fill in the hole. Michael begun to scream in desperation, but no one was listening.

I turned to the camera and gazed into it.

“John, this is signs of things to come. I HAVE to bury you. I hope you understand.”

The shot fades.]]>
The room was dark. There was very little in it. Scratches on the walls, check. One light bulb, check. A row of candles on the table in front of me, check. One rather uncomfortable chair, check. Everything was in place for a typical Steve Davids promo.

I held the Universal Championship in the air and the camera stared at me. I grinned sadistically for a brief moment. Then I placed the championship just behind the candles, and sat down on the chair.

Taking a deep breath, I begun to speak:

[color=#FF0000"]How fucking dare you John! How fucking dare you write a false letter from my mother. If you need to sink that low then I guess I really do have this match won. She died when I was born. I murdered her on my way out from her womb and you think it is okay to mock her? Oh no Samuels. You have opened up a whole new world of pain. Also, I see you could not actually be bothered to address a lot of what I said. You can come up with some bullshit excuse but it's quite clear for everyone to see that you simply got lazy. You could not be bothered to listen to the words I spoke, great words, I might add. Well I feel sorry for you. Oh and I understand you are mocking me John boy. I really do. You have made this match a hell of a lot more personal by bringing my mother into this, and I mean it John. I will not be apologizing for what happens. If you happen to end up dangling from a tree then so be it.”

"My friend died yesterday. I know you will not care, but HE was a real man. He did not have to play dirty little tricks to try and get one up on anyone. He simply got in with his life and looked out for those he cared about. You though John, you're just a fucked up little coon, who thinks the world should bow down to him. Well I am going to show you, it's not all about John Samuels."[/color]

I look solemn for a minute as I think about Tom. I did not know him for long but he’s another man who has died because of me.

“Maybe, in many ways… I am more like you than I would like. I stood there and helplessly watched my friend die whilst my other friend was threatened. Like a coward. Like YOU and Theo. To claim he is any more brave than me is simply deluded. I earned my championship shot just as well as he did, and I cashed in, just like a god damn champion should!”

"Oh and by the way, you're damn right I'll flirt with Rick. I flirt with all of my friends. It's just a laugh John. Who would have thought that YOU are the one in this match taking themselves too seriously. Also, you calling me a one trick pony? Really. Why don't you actually open up and show us something interesting about you because from what I can see, all you like to do is chat complete and utter bullshit every week and call it a god damn promo. You're a god damn hypocrite and the XWF fans are not blinded by the kings anymore! Also, you can have all the admiration you fucking well like. I could not care less. Do you know what John, I am really fucking glad you got back to me before our match because that promo you cut really was so pathetic that I think my chances have just gone straight through the roof.

“I am not going to spend long talking tonight John. I know you will still have plenty to say, but I think, that maybe, just maybe, we have done enough talking to each other this week. I am going to SHOW you my plans and I will see you at Turning Point.”

So I picked up the championship belt and placed it over my shoulder. I blew out the candles. The room was extremely eerie. Suddenly the light bulb goes out ominously

The shot then cuts to the living room where Ricky is sat, simply staring into emptiness. His eyes are dry, Tom had been his assistant for such a long time. He saw them more as equals than anything.

“You don’t have to come with us Ricky, but I am going to fucking finish this,” I said boldly, looking at him in the eye.

He scowled back.

“I am not so sure it’s a good idea,” Livvy said quietly. Ricky had given her a guest room to stay in for the time being. She had been distant with me since last night, after the incident, which is understandable.

“I am sorry Livvy, but there’s no other choice. I need to end this. Otherwise my match against Samuels, well let’s just say I might as well not bother showing up.”

“I’m coming with you.” It was the first time Ricky had spoken all day. Me and Livvy turned, flabbergasted.

“Do you really think that’s a good idea Rick?” I asked.

“If you’re going to kick that guy’s ass, I sure as hell want to be there whilst you do it,” he responded.

“I understand.”

“You are joking!” Livvy shouted.

“What?”

“We need to go around there and talk. We need to get him arrested. We cannot take this into our own hands.”

“Incase you didn’t realise Livvy, the camera footage has got you pointing a gun to Ricky’s head. We have to take this into our own hands, unless you want to go and face prison time as well?” She realised immediately she was wrong.

“Hmmm…Surely there’s got to be another way?” She clearly did not have the stomach to do what Ricky or I had planned.

“I can’t think of anything better than putting that guy down and out.” Ricky said.

“Actually, I have an even better idea.”

Livvy got my car running, it was just a silver gulf, I had never cared much for flashy cars.

Ricky sat in the back, grinding his teeth and shaking his legs rather irritatingly but I could not say a word. After all, he had just lost his best friend. That would be insensitive of me…

“Ricky stop grinding your fucking teeth!”

Oops.

Livvy slapped me on the leg, but it did not feel like a punishment.

“Leave it out Steve, he’s going through a hard time. You better than anyone should understand,” she said, taking her eye off of the road for a split second.

We pulled up outside and immediately the curtains shut.

As if that would make any difference.

We strolled up and knocked on the door politely.

“Come on Michael, stop fucking around and face up to what you did!” Livvy shouted.

“Why should I!?” Michael was a blubbering mess on the other side of the door.

“I did not mean to kill him. I did not want any of this,” he pleaded.

“You’re full of shit. You wanted to make me miserable, well you fucking succeeded. Now it’s time for your just desserts.”

Despite Michael being slumped against the door, Ricky didn’t even say a word. He just kicked down the door with one kick. Michael backed away, but then instinctively grabbed a vase and launched it towards Ricky.

Ricky simply swung a fist at the vase and it shattered. It also forced blood from his hand but Ricky did not seem to care even the slightest bit.

He grabbed Michael and threw him into the wall.

Michael roared in pain, Ricky just stood over him and then put his knees either side of him and begun to lay punches into him until I grabbed him to stop him.

“That’s enough for now Rick, trust me. Tie him up.”

So Ricky begun to tie him up. Livvy waited in the car, she could not bare to watch this mess any longer.

“It’s not so nice now that the shoe’s on the other foot is it Mike?”

“Now say you're sorry!” Ricky shouted.

“I am not fucking sorry!” Blood was pouring down Mike’s dented face.

“Do not react yet Rick.” I grabbed Michael and threw him into the boot of the car. The area was rather empty, and to be honest we did not give a fuck if people saw. Livvy seemed to believe that no one around here would even blink twice.

We drove and we drove. Guess where we showed up? The graveyard.

Why is it that this place keeps cropping up? I am beginning to feel it’s either good luck or a terrible omen.

I grabbed Michael from out of the boot and threw him towards the empty graveyard. Ricky kicked him to the ground and then kicked him in the head sending him towards the six foot hole that I dug in my promo the other day.

Ricky went to throw him into the hole, but then he stopped on the edge.

“Oh Steve, I think you have to do it.”

I lifted up Michael up and planted him with a Game Over into the hole!

“Signs of Saturday, John?” Let’s wait and see.

“Michael, I think it is about time you say you’re sorry.”

He just looked up, barely able to see through his bruised and battered eye.

“You killed him. Say you are sorry!” Ricky shouted.

“Unless you want us to fill this hole in, I suggest you say you’re god damn sorry!”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

“And I don’t give a fuck!”

Ricky and I begun to fill in the hole. Michael begun to scream in desperation, but no one was listening.

I turned to the camera and gazed into it.

“John, this is signs of things to come. I HAVE to bury you. I hope you understand.”

The shot fades.]]> <![CDATA[Fading Dreams]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=18127 Fri, 23 Jan 2015 23:17:33 -0800 Steve "KingSlayer" Davids]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=18127
He’s done it! Steve Davids has done the impossible! He has defeated John Samuels! The referee wraps the championship belt around his waist and lifts his arm up into the air! No one can believe it.

Then blackness.

Nothing but a long sleep. Several hours of nothingness, until I awaken.

“Ah,” it was just a dream. The mind can be the cruellest of places. I smiled though, I knew that I COULD beat John Samuels. There was a point in my career where he completely excelled and I was still left in mere mediocrity. Now though, it really feels like I am where I belong… The top.

The beauty of being against one of the best superstars to date, is that there is no pressure on me to win from the fans. There is pressure though, because as I told John, I NEED to win this. Or I have nothing left.

I groggily walked over to the sink and splashed cold water on my face to wake me up. It was as I looked up into the mirror that I saw a note… This can’t be good.

It read:

‘Steve, I know you managed to get your championship back…’

I looked around immediately to see my Championship belt still dangling at the end of my bed.

‘This time though, I didn’t take your championship. I took one of the only people you have left in this world. You have until 9PM tonight to find out where I am or Ricky Desmond gets a bullet through that pretty little face of his… Your first clue is an obvious one. Head to where you cut your last promo for you match with John Samuels. Oh and be sure to check everywhere. Look HIGH and low.’

Why was high written in capital letters?

“FUCKING GOD DAMN IT!” I swung the mirror around and smashed it against the wall, shattering it into a thousand pieces.

It’s a good thing that I am not superstitious.

“RICKY!” I roared.

Tom came scurrying in. He wore his most irritating pink sweater and light green chinos with boat shoes.

“HOW THE FUCK ARE YOU NOT QUEER!” I screamed in his face before shoving him out of the way.

“Ricky isn’t here Steve!”

“Read the note cock breath!”

And so he did.

“Holy fuck. Where did you cut your last promo in the end?”

“Just make me a bacon sandwich and get the fucking car running you useless cunt. I’m taking a quick shower,” I said, surprisingly calmly.

As I turned the shower on, I got in straight away despite it being ice cold.

“Why?” I asked myself whilst ripping out a part of my hair. “Why do my enemies choose to taunt me at the most inconvenient of times? Why do people hold grudges? AND WHY, do people choose to attack my friends and family rather than me?”

I sat in the shower for a moment.

“Not now!” I rallied myself to man up and get on with it. I suited up and headed for the door, grabbing my bacon sandwich on the way.

“To the cemetery!” I bellowed, as Tom rushed off in his BMW.

As we arrived, there she stood. The muted angel who refused to speak the last time we were there.

There was nothing stopping me from simply taking her with me.

She wore a short white dress and grinned as she saw me. I expected her to mutter the most dazzling, rhythmic words, but instead she simply handed me a note and winked. She got into the back of the car, I looked back at her, puzzled, but didn’t bother asking why she was coming with us.

‘If you touch her, Ricky will be dead in a second. She will lead you to where I am.’

So we set off again, and I kept looking at her fantastic jaw bones and smile in the wing mirror. She continued to point Tom in directions. It was almost 4PM already and we were not even at our next destination, which was extremely worrying.

Out of nowhere, the clouds begun to open and rain begun to powerfully fall from the skies.

We stopped outside an internet cafe and I knew that this extremely tedious journey was not over.

She stepped out of the car and sat next to a computer screen. Gesturing politely, she offered me a seat in front of the computer and placed some headphones on my head. Gazing into her eyes, they glistened as she smiled ever so slightly.

There was chemistry there. Even though we have never even had a conversation, I felt like I knew her my entire life.

As soon as I put the headphones on, she put her hand on the mouse, her arm glancing past me ever so slightly. She clicked and a video message appeared almost immediately.

Ricky in a chair, gagged and handcuffed appeared. He was silent because blood oozed from his mouth. A tear begun to trickle down my face. Tom walked in and he filled with rage.

“WHERE AS HE!?” I screamed, ignoring the two other people in the cafe.

Tom grabbed Livvy by the shirt.

“Where is Ricky Desmond?” He whispered to her with evil planted on his face.

“Remember the rules, Steve. No harm can be done to Livvy, or Ricky will die.” I could not harm her anyway. Just look at her.

“So help me god if you don’t tell me where he is right now, I will not be able to control my actions. Tom, sit the fuck down!” Tom obeyed immediately but he was still red with fury like a globe of fire.

“You are a fool Steve. Have you not noticed where I am yet?” He smiled, and moved Ricky out of the way.

“Oh no.”

“He’s on top of the fucking hotel we’re staying in!”

“He’s been there all along!?” Tom shouted at Livvy.

“Get the car running, and let her come with us.”

Why couldn’t I find it in myself to be angry at her?

We got back into the car, and I suddenly started to feel unwarranted guilt. I had done nothing wrong.

Then it clicked. I turned back and gazed at Livvy one final time, when suddenly he face morphed into Lacey’s. I couldn’t, could I?

I shook myself out of it. 8.45PM, we pulled up outside of the hotel. I sprinted up the stairs, Tom tried to scurry behind. I arrived at the top, and Livvy was already there.

“What the? How did you?”

She merely pointed behind me. There was a fucking elevator… obviously.

“I am here Michael. Now tell me, what do you want?”

“Oh that’s simple, I want the championship wrapped around your waist,” he pointed at it and smiled smugly.

I looked down at it, and took it off of my waist. I clutched it to my chest, but then looked at Ricky, who was out cold.

Tom managed to climb to the top of the stairs at long last. I turned to him, for answers.

He simply nodded sadly. I slowly edged towards Michael, rather unwillingly.

Michael clicked his fingers though, and Livvy was the one who took the championship from me. He was smarter than I first thought, that’s for sure.

“You know Michael, the XWF are simply going to remake that championship for the winner of me vs Samuels this weekend,” I explained, rather foolishly.

“Oh I know Steve, and that’s why I have no intention of letting Ricky go free just yet.”

He begun to unwrap his scarf to show the worst of the burns I had given him as a child. Scars strangled his neck like a noose. Only these scars caused constant misery, they did not put him out of his.

Michael had set up some logs behind him. He moved aside to show them, covered in petrol. He took a match out and lit it before flinging it onto the logs that became a destructive demon within seconds. A rhythmic harmony of ominous warriors echoed behind me, urging me to take a leap towards Michael and throw him off of this roof. Yet I knew I could not murder another man.

I could not be protected by my brain anymore.

I strolled towards the flames, and Michael begun to laugh uncontrollably.

The fire had always fucking tortured me.

Having your skin turned into crisp was terrifying for even the bravest of men.

“NO!” Ricky roared as he awoke. He had managed to move the gag so that it was just strapped around his chin. “I am so sick of your shit Michael. You can fight one of us, that’s how we will decide all of this, because I am sick to death of you constantly jumping us. It’s impossible to have a constant watch over you as well as the XWF locker room. This ends, here, tonight! So take your pick. We’re done.”

Michael smiled.

“So any of you?”

Ricky nodded.

“N…”

“HIM!”

Michael threw me to the side and held a gun up to Ricky’s head. I want to fight him!

He pointed at Tom, who removed his spectacles immediately.

Tom begun to move forward.

“You know for a fact I didn’t mean him!”

“You said any of you, I have made my pick so shut your mouth. I doubt you want anymore blood stains on that lovely suit of yours,”

He handed Livvy the gun and she held the gun to Ricky’s head.

I was helpless.

Isolated.

“You move a step forward Steve, she will put a bullet through this cunt’s head, do you understand?”

Ricky sat calmly though. His eyes were fixed on Michael. The flames burning behind him were not as fierce as the flames in his eyes.

“If I win, then you will burn and Ricky WILL die. If you win, this all ends.”

Michael turned and Tom planted him with a left hook that dropped Michael to one knee.

He couldn’t believe it. He responded with a swift jab to the gut, that made Tom hold his frail stomach.

They begun to duck and throw punches, but Michael was too powerful. He knocked Tom to the ground and Michael put his foot on Tom’s jaw.

“Enough!!!!” Livvy screamed as Tom’s eyes closed and blood begun to ooze from his mouth.

Michael kicked Tom again, this time in the ribs though.

“ENOUGH!!!!!!” She screamed again before firing a bullet into the sky and then aiming it at Michael.

She could speak.

She flung the gun towards Michael.

We had lost.

Tom struggled to his feet.

Michael begun to laugh, and he picked up the gun and aimed at Ricky’s head.

“No!” Livvy stood right in front of Ricky, blocking the shot.

“Move aside Livvy, or I will put a bullet straight through your head as well,” eventually she moved aside, out of fear.

He then lifted his arm up and went to fire at Ricky.

“NO!” Tom screeched as he leapt, and grabbed Michael by the arm.

The bullet went straight through Tom’s chest.

Ricky blinked, and stared.

Tom dropped to the ground and blood begun to ooze through that pink sweater that I had previously hated.

I dropped to my knees.

Livvy begun to cry.

“Enough!” She shouted for the final time, “let it end!”

Livvy pulled me to my feet and cradled me.

She released Ricky from the handcuffs. Michael was in shock. He could not believe he had murdered someone, but he also could not believe that Livvy had clearly abandoned him.

Ricky just strolled up to Michael, with blood and tears streaming down his face and he lamped Michael, dropping him to the ground.

Michael scurried away.

“This is far from over.”

“You’re damn right.” I said with vile and venom.

I grasped my Championship and clutched it against my chest. I grabbed Livvy and clutched her against me as well. She went quiet again with a sad smile on her face and a tear rolling down her face.

Ricky was in tatters, screaming as sirens could be heard. Ambulances came rushing to Tom but we all knew it was far too late.

Fades.]]>
He’s done it! Steve Davids has done the impossible! He has defeated John Samuels! The referee wraps the championship belt around his waist and lifts his arm up into the air! No one can believe it.

Then blackness.

Nothing but a long sleep. Several hours of nothingness, until I awaken.

“Ah,” it was just a dream. The mind can be the cruellest of places. I smiled though, I knew that I COULD beat John Samuels. There was a point in my career where he completely excelled and I was still left in mere mediocrity. Now though, it really feels like I am where I belong… The top.

The beauty of being against one of the best superstars to date, is that there is no pressure on me to win from the fans. There is pressure though, because as I told John, I NEED to win this. Or I have nothing left.

I groggily walked over to the sink and splashed cold water on my face to wake me up. It was as I looked up into the mirror that I saw a note… This can’t be good.

It read:

‘Steve, I know you managed to get your championship back…’

I looked around immediately to see my Championship belt still dangling at the end of my bed.

‘This time though, I didn’t take your championship. I took one of the only people you have left in this world. You have until 9PM tonight to find out where I am or Ricky Desmond gets a bullet through that pretty little face of his… Your first clue is an obvious one. Head to where you cut your last promo for you match with John Samuels. Oh and be sure to check everywhere. Look HIGH and low.’

Why was high written in capital letters?

“FUCKING GOD DAMN IT!” I swung the mirror around and smashed it against the wall, shattering it into a thousand pieces.

It’s a good thing that I am not superstitious.

“RICKY!” I roared.

Tom came scurrying in. He wore his most irritating pink sweater and light green chinos with boat shoes.

“HOW THE FUCK ARE YOU NOT QUEER!” I screamed in his face before shoving him out of the way.

“Ricky isn’t here Steve!”

“Read the note cock breath!”

And so he did.

“Holy fuck. Where did you cut your last promo in the end?”

“Just make me a bacon sandwich and get the fucking car running you useless cunt. I’m taking a quick shower,” I said, surprisingly calmly.

As I turned the shower on, I got in straight away despite it being ice cold.

“Why?” I asked myself whilst ripping out a part of my hair. “Why do my enemies choose to taunt me at the most inconvenient of times? Why do people hold grudges? AND WHY, do people choose to attack my friends and family rather than me?”

I sat in the shower for a moment.

“Not now!” I rallied myself to man up and get on with it. I suited up and headed for the door, grabbing my bacon sandwich on the way.

“To the cemetery!” I bellowed, as Tom rushed off in his BMW.

As we arrived, there she stood. The muted angel who refused to speak the last time we were there.

There was nothing stopping me from simply taking her with me.

She wore a short white dress and grinned as she saw me. I expected her to mutter the most dazzling, rhythmic words, but instead she simply handed me a note and winked. She got into the back of the car, I looked back at her, puzzled, but didn’t bother asking why she was coming with us.

‘If you touch her, Ricky will be dead in a second. She will lead you to where I am.’

So we set off again, and I kept looking at her fantastic jaw bones and smile in the wing mirror. She continued to point Tom in directions. It was almost 4PM already and we were not even at our next destination, which was extremely worrying.

Out of nowhere, the clouds begun to open and rain begun to powerfully fall from the skies.

We stopped outside an internet cafe and I knew that this extremely tedious journey was not over.

She stepped out of the car and sat next to a computer screen. Gesturing politely, she offered me a seat in front of the computer and placed some headphones on my head. Gazing into her eyes, they glistened as she smiled ever so slightly.

There was chemistry there. Even though we have never even had a conversation, I felt like I knew her my entire life.

As soon as I put the headphones on, she put her hand on the mouse, her arm glancing past me ever so slightly. She clicked and a video message appeared almost immediately.

Ricky in a chair, gagged and handcuffed appeared. He was silent because blood oozed from his mouth. A tear begun to trickle down my face. Tom walked in and he filled with rage.

“WHERE AS HE!?” I screamed, ignoring the two other people in the cafe.

Tom grabbed Livvy by the shirt.

“Where is Ricky Desmond?” He whispered to her with evil planted on his face.

“Remember the rules, Steve. No harm can be done to Livvy, or Ricky will die.” I could not harm her anyway. Just look at her.

“So help me god if you don’t tell me where he is right now, I will not be able to control my actions. Tom, sit the fuck down!” Tom obeyed immediately but he was still red with fury like a globe of fire.

“You are a fool Steve. Have you not noticed where I am yet?” He smiled, and moved Ricky out of the way.

“Oh no.”

“He’s on top of the fucking hotel we’re staying in!”

“He’s been there all along!?” Tom shouted at Livvy.

“Get the car running, and let her come with us.”

Why couldn’t I find it in myself to be angry at her?

We got back into the car, and I suddenly started to feel unwarranted guilt. I had done nothing wrong.

Then it clicked. I turned back and gazed at Livvy one final time, when suddenly he face morphed into Lacey’s. I couldn’t, could I?

I shook myself out of it. 8.45PM, we pulled up outside of the hotel. I sprinted up the stairs, Tom tried to scurry behind. I arrived at the top, and Livvy was already there.

“What the? How did you?”

She merely pointed behind me. There was a fucking elevator… obviously.

“I am here Michael. Now tell me, what do you want?”

“Oh that’s simple, I want the championship wrapped around your waist,” he pointed at it and smiled smugly.

I looked down at it, and took it off of my waist. I clutched it to my chest, but then looked at Ricky, who was out cold.

Tom managed to climb to the top of the stairs at long last. I turned to him, for answers.

He simply nodded sadly. I slowly edged towards Michael, rather unwillingly.

Michael clicked his fingers though, and Livvy was the one who took the championship from me. He was smarter than I first thought, that’s for sure.

“You know Michael, the XWF are simply going to remake that championship for the winner of me vs Samuels this weekend,” I explained, rather foolishly.

“Oh I know Steve, and that’s why I have no intention of letting Ricky go free just yet.”

He begun to unwrap his scarf to show the worst of the burns I had given him as a child. Scars strangled his neck like a noose. Only these scars caused constant misery, they did not put him out of his.

Michael had set up some logs behind him. He moved aside to show them, covered in petrol. He took a match out and lit it before flinging it onto the logs that became a destructive demon within seconds. A rhythmic harmony of ominous warriors echoed behind me, urging me to take a leap towards Michael and throw him off of this roof. Yet I knew I could not murder another man.

I could not be protected by my brain anymore.

I strolled towards the flames, and Michael begun to laugh uncontrollably.

The fire had always fucking tortured me.

Having your skin turned into crisp was terrifying for even the bravest of men.

“NO!” Ricky roared as he awoke. He had managed to move the gag so that it was just strapped around his chin. “I am so sick of your shit Michael. You can fight one of us, that’s how we will decide all of this, because I am sick to death of you constantly jumping us. It’s impossible to have a constant watch over you as well as the XWF locker room. This ends, here, tonight! So take your pick. We’re done.”

Michael smiled.

“So any of you?”

Ricky nodded.

“N…”

“HIM!”

Michael threw me to the side and held a gun up to Ricky’s head. I want to fight him!

He pointed at Tom, who removed his spectacles immediately.

Tom begun to move forward.

“You know for a fact I didn’t mean him!”

“You said any of you, I have made my pick so shut your mouth. I doubt you want anymore blood stains on that lovely suit of yours,”

He handed Livvy the gun and she held the gun to Ricky’s head.

I was helpless.

Isolated.

“You move a step forward Steve, she will put a bullet through this cunt’s head, do you understand?”

Ricky sat calmly though. His eyes were fixed on Michael. The flames burning behind him were not as fierce as the flames in his eyes.

“If I win, then you will burn and Ricky WILL die. If you win, this all ends.”

Michael turned and Tom planted him with a left hook that dropped Michael to one knee.

He couldn’t believe it. He responded with a swift jab to the gut, that made Tom hold his frail stomach.

They begun to duck and throw punches, but Michael was too powerful. He knocked Tom to the ground and Michael put his foot on Tom’s jaw.

“Enough!!!!” Livvy screamed as Tom’s eyes closed and blood begun to ooze from his mouth.

Michael kicked Tom again, this time in the ribs though.

“ENOUGH!!!!!!” She screamed again before firing a bullet into the sky and then aiming it at Michael.

She could speak.

She flung the gun towards Michael.

We had lost.

Tom struggled to his feet.

Michael begun to laugh, and he picked up the gun and aimed at Ricky’s head.

“No!” Livvy stood right in front of Ricky, blocking the shot.

“Move aside Livvy, or I will put a bullet straight through your head as well,” eventually she moved aside, out of fear.

He then lifted his arm up and went to fire at Ricky.

“NO!” Tom screeched as he leapt, and grabbed Michael by the arm.

The bullet went straight through Tom’s chest.

Ricky blinked, and stared.

Tom dropped to the ground and blood begun to ooze through that pink sweater that I had previously hated.

I dropped to my knees.

Livvy begun to cry.

“Enough!” She shouted for the final time, “let it end!”

Livvy pulled me to my feet and cradled me.

She released Ricky from the handcuffs. Michael was in shock. He could not believe he had murdered someone, but he also could not believe that Livvy had clearly abandoned him.

Ricky just strolled up to Michael, with blood and tears streaming down his face and he lamped Michael, dropping him to the ground.

Michael scurried away.

“This is far from over.”

“You’re damn right.” I said with vile and venom.

I grasped my Championship and clutched it against my chest. I grabbed Livvy and clutched her against me as well. She went quiet again with a sad smile on her face and a tear rolling down her face.

Ricky was in tatters, screaming as sirens could be heard. Ambulances came rushing to Tom but we all knew it was far too late.

Fades.]]> <![CDATA[Redemption RP 4]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=18154 Fri, 23 Jan 2015 22:49:07 -0800 Barney Green]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=18154

We are on a time crunch here and I am feeling the effects but people like Peter Gilmour sicken me. While I respect him as a wrestler, I hate him outside the ring and would love to break his jaw with my fist. You wanna talk shit? Let's talk shit, bro. Yes, You have stuck around and I have disappeared. I go places instead of sticking around in one promotion, bro. I have bettered my skills as a pro wrestler while you stay in one place. I get to face different talent every week while you face the same people. You tried to crack an age joke at my expense? Seriously. I am 30 years old and have been down many different roads in my career. If I am considered ancient, You must be considered old.

Now, Let's talk about my good buddy, The Dimallisher. You like to crack the fat jokes, don't you. Don't worry, I plan on giving you a great big hug until you turn purple. I love to eat. Big deal. You won't say any of that shit to my face and that's the truth right there. You encounter me in the ring and I am gonna crack you right across the jaw with my fist. Haters gonna hate, bro. All you have done is motivate me even more to kick your ass all over the building. The fans are gonna be chanting my name while you lay down on the mat in agony and pain. I am not the kind of person you wanna disrespect.

While you both are having your moment, I am shaking my ass off dancing at bars. I am just gonna shake it off until I get laid and follow the motto of GTT. Gym. Tan. Tranny. I love to party but I also like to fight. I fight hard. I play hard. Preferably with a tranny cock between my hands. I be thrilling those trannies all night long. Pop it off sometimes six times a night. Woo! I may be a by most peoples standards but I ain't a dishy one. I kick ass and take names.

Representing the state of Massachusetts each time I step into that ring. I am a wrecking ball with my moves like jagger and that white boy swagger I bring to the table. When all is said and done, Fans are gonna be chanting, "Green" throughout the arena. I fight like my life is on the line when I step into that ring. This is my redemption. I have given my all to this business and will continue to. No more holding back my rage. Let the suffering, chaos, ugliness, and mayhem run wild throughout my body. I am gonna let it happen.

My name is Barney Allison Green and you are not gonna beat me. You are gonna have to kill me in order to achieve victory. I am not letting you get the win over me. This is my shot. This is Barney Green's time. Not Dimallisher. Not Peter Gilmour. Not Grayson Stingers. My time. Every time I have been told I can't do something. I have proven that mother fucker wrong and did it. You wanted a war? You got it from me, bro. You are gonna get a lethal dosage of my foot in your ass as well.

You can try to break me but it won't work. I have dealt with all the fat jokes in the world and just kept on smiling. Hate me even more. This fat fuck is still going thanks to Copenhagen Straight. I got my dip in and I am ready to fight. Right in this moment, You are gonna witness the genesis of Barney Green. The evolution. I have evolved over time. Learned from the people I could and gotten better.

Without the help from John Laurinaitis, I wouldn't be here at this stage and ready. People Power is gonna run wild through the Pepsi Center in Denver, Colorado. I represent the dreams of every man who has been told they can't do it. I made it in a business of body builders despite looking like a whale. I even had a mascot at one point in my career called Manny The Manly Manatee and I made it work. I made everything work that got thrown my way. Every time my back has been against the wall, I have come out swinging even harder then I have ever swung before. It's sink or swim. I am gonna swim.

Later, XWF.]]>

We are on a time crunch here and I am feeling the effects but people like Peter Gilmour sicken me. While I respect him as a wrestler, I hate him outside the ring and would love to break his jaw with my fist. You wanna talk shit? Let's talk shit, bro. Yes, You have stuck around and I have disappeared. I go places instead of sticking around in one promotion, bro. I have bettered my skills as a pro wrestler while you stay in one place. I get to face different talent every week while you face the same people. You tried to crack an age joke at my expense? Seriously. I am 30 years old and have been down many different roads in my career. If I am considered ancient, You must be considered old.

Now, Let's talk about my good buddy, The Dimallisher. You like to crack the fat jokes, don't you. Don't worry, I plan on giving you a great big hug until you turn purple. I love to eat. Big deal. You won't say any of that shit to my face and that's the truth right there. You encounter me in the ring and I am gonna crack you right across the jaw with my fist. Haters gonna hate, bro. All you have done is motivate me even more to kick your ass all over the building. The fans are gonna be chanting my name while you lay down on the mat in agony and pain. I am not the kind of person you wanna disrespect.

While you both are having your moment, I am shaking my ass off dancing at bars. I am just gonna shake it off until I get laid and follow the motto of GTT. Gym. Tan. Tranny. I love to party but I also like to fight. I fight hard. I play hard. Preferably with a tranny cock between my hands. I be thrilling those trannies all night long. Pop it off sometimes six times a night. Woo! I may be a by most peoples standards but I ain't a dishy one. I kick ass and take names.

Representing the state of Massachusetts each time I step into that ring. I am a wrecking ball with my moves like jagger and that white boy swagger I bring to the table. When all is said and done, Fans are gonna be chanting, "Green" throughout the arena. I fight like my life is on the line when I step into that ring. This is my redemption. I have given my all to this business and will continue to. No more holding back my rage. Let the suffering, chaos, ugliness, and mayhem run wild throughout my body. I am gonna let it happen.

My name is Barney Allison Green and you are not gonna beat me. You are gonna have to kill me in order to achieve victory. I am not letting you get the win over me. This is my shot. This is Barney Green's time. Not Dimallisher. Not Peter Gilmour. Not Grayson Stingers. My time. Every time I have been told I can't do something. I have proven that mother fucker wrong and did it. You wanted a war? You got it from me, bro. You are gonna get a lethal dosage of my foot in your ass as well.

You can try to break me but it won't work. I have dealt with all the fat jokes in the world and just kept on smiling. Hate me even more. This fat fuck is still going thanks to Copenhagen Straight. I got my dip in and I am ready to fight. Right in this moment, You are gonna witness the genesis of Barney Green. The evolution. I have evolved over time. Learned from the people I could and gotten better.

Without the help from John Laurinaitis, I wouldn't be here at this stage and ready. People Power is gonna run wild through the Pepsi Center in Denver, Colorado. I represent the dreams of every man who has been told they can't do it. I made it in a business of body builders despite looking like a whale. I even had a mascot at one point in my career called Manny The Manly Manatee and I made it work. I made everything work that got thrown my way. Every time my back has been against the wall, I have come out swinging even harder then I have ever swung before. It's sink or swim. I am gonna swim.

Later, XWF.]]> <![CDATA[Every flight begins with a fall.]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=18151 Fri, 23 Jan 2015 21:52:15 -0800 CorVus]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=18151 http://ewfederation.angelfire.com/corVus-rp5.html]]> http://ewfederation.angelfire.com/corVus-rp5.html]]> <![CDATA[I Feel Like We're Playing Tug of War and I'm the Rope]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=18150 Fri, 23 Jan 2015 21:22:55 -0800 Iris Oppenheimer]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=18150
Iris sat on the corner of her bed, scanning the room around her. A sly grin marked her face as she absorbed every last detail of the room; from its painted pink walls to the collection of stuffed animals seated atop her dresser, though one item continued to catch her attention. Etched into the wall in front of her was the word CUNT, and as she admired her handiwork, she ran a finger along the handle of the x-acto knife she used to carry out the bit of vandalism, resting in her lap. Alongside it was a black, handheld video camera. The word Canon was emblazoned on the side in white, and as her eyes shifted from the knife to the camera, so did her hand. It fell atop the camera and closed around it, and she brought it up to her face. With eager eyes she inspected the piece of equipment, re-familiarizing herself with it and only after she was confident she remembered how it worked, she pulled the screen out and turned it on.

It took only a few seconds; a blur of button presses for her to reach her intended destination, the archived recordings. Licking her upper row of teeth, she scrolled through the recordings until she found the first. Her finger hesitated, floating above "OK" button for seemingly an eternity as the "real" Iris struggled to regain control of her body once more. Her grip on the camera tightened as she braced herself for some physical retaliation that would never come. Teeth clenched. Body stiff. And then, relaxed once more. She opened her mouth and smacked her lips a couple of times before returning to a slouch and pressing play.

"Hello? Is this thing on?" Iris' voice rang out through the camera's speakers. Her voice was weak and croaking, and the screen showed only a black screen for half a second, before she backed away from the lens and took a seat on the corner of her bed. The exact spot where the thing in Iris' skin was seated now. Contrary to the rest of her wardrobe; she had on a black sweater and black pants. Her face was red and stained with tears and her nose was running, which she wiped away with the sleeve of her sweater.

"Joseph was buried today."

She sniffled.

"I guess, I should start talking about my feelings, like mom told me to do when I do these things. She says they'll help me get better, so I'm not so sad all the time. I don't really feel like talking about it right now, though. It just doesn't feel right. This is his day, after all, and here I am. Sitting at home, focusing on me like I was the one who died ninety hours, thirty six minutes ago. Thirty seven now, but the sentiment remains."

"The sentiment remains," Iris repeated, shaking her head.

"I really don't know what to say. He was the best big brother I could've ever hoped for, and the fact that some drunk driving douchebag killed him and walked away scot free makes me sick to my stomach." Resentment poured from her mouth, and she spoke with increasing aggression until it sounded more like she was snarling than speaking.

"Cool it, hon. Don't pop a blood vessel."

The Iris on the screen stood up and began to pace back and forth, breathing heavily, before breaking into hysterical sobs.

"Yeah, I... I can't do this," she choked out between short, choppy breaths as she made her way back to the set up camera and turned it off. The screen returned to the archive. Iris, laughing, powered off the video camera and pushed the screen to its original position. The word Canon jumped out at her again, but she ignored it and laid the camera and x-acto knife on the bed. Cracking her neck, she pushed herself off the bed and stood up.

"Maybe we should leak those tapes. Maybe then, someone will actually something about us that isn't recycled dreck. Though, that may be a little too much to ask of some people."

Iris chuckled at her own comment before making her way to the door.

"You know, Iris. For someone who's so considerate, you never did bother to introduce me to your family. I think we should rectify that."

Her grin spread wide and her lips parted, revealing her teeth. She grabbed the door handle and pulled it open, before letting go and allowing the brass handle to strike the wall. As she turned to go down the hall, the wall carving caught her attention once more. She backed up, past the doorway and looked through the opening. She backed up until she could see it clearly through the gap. Then she proceeded. Down the stairs, into the main room.

The main room was a different beast entirely. The walls were painted white, and framed pictures hung from each of them. As she stepped inside, the unmistakable sound of a crackling fire floated by her ear, mixed with jumbled pieces of dialogue from some television program someone was watching. Rubbing her eyes, she took a couple more steps into the room, finding her father seated on the couch, eyes fixed on the television. Iris rolled her eyes and took the seat next to him, which managed to get his attention.

Though, that wasn't what the "real" Iris saw. No, the "real" Iris, a prisoner in her own mind saw nothing but white walls, and black bars. She had crumpled up and collapsed on the ice-cold floor, staring through the bars at nothing. Then, Kinwrathi's voice; his real voice, erupted through the silence.

"We have company!"

And just like that, he appeared. Not alone. Dragging something, someone along behind him. Iris rubbed her eyes and pushed herself off the ground, before catching the first glimpse of who he was dragging along. Her father. Michael Oppenheimer. His eyes bulged out of his skull and he was pleading; talking too fast to be understood, and flailing his arms wildly, trying to get the Chieftain to stop.

"So, I met your dad. Nice guy. Little talkative and for the sake of me, I can't make out a word he's saying and, y'know I wasn't going to mention it but I think he might be developing Prostate Cancer."

The Chieftain pointed to the crotch of Michael's pants, which were stained dark. Iris cried out silently. Her throat burned and her cries turned to coughs. She swallowed what little saliva she had in her mouth to wet her throat as the Chieftain reached into his waistband. Her eyes widened and covered her eyes with her hand.

"Now, I'm not too partial to this method, but it is much quicker than what I had in mind and I guess time is of the essence. Essence, ha. Maybe we'll-- no no, save that for another time. No need to get ahead of myself."

Through her eyes her closed tight and her hand covered them anyway, she could hear the sound of a gun cocking. Followed, by the sound of her father screaming, crying out to the heavens to a God that was standing right behind him, and then a gunshot. The shot echoed. Repeating over and over and over.

"Two down, four to go."

In the real world however, things went, differently.

"Dad?" Iris asked as he turned to look at her. He nodded his head in silent acknowledgement.

"I had this dream last night, where I killed you."


Hello, everyone. I realize, I may be a little late to this party. This whole, trash talking thing and because I haven't put up anything discussing this match and hell, I've kinda dropped off the face of the earth when it came to being on camera as of late, apparently that makes me a nonfactor in Vinnie Lane's eyes. Because, wrestling matches are won by how often you're on camera, or how many times you bang your head against a brick wall, regurgitating cliched, hackneyed bullshit at every single person you encounter. Not because of wrestling, no. That's archaic, and Lane's all about being the future. At least that's what he won't fucking shut up about. Well, along with claiming conspiracy when he loses like a toddler throwing a temper tantrum. Or, if he isn't claiming conspiracy, begging to be taken seriously by touting about how he pushed the people he ended up ultimately losing to to their limits. Because putting up a fight makes you worthy of what, exactly? A participation ribbon? Is the XWF handing those out to people now and did I miss something? Criminy, probably one of Iris' suggestions. Good thing I'm not her.

Let me elaborate. I am her, physically. I'm in her body, but I'm not her. Shouldn't have been that hard to notice, but you can never underestimate the power of human stupidity.

Where was I, again? Right, Vinnie. The man who, doesn't seem to really know what he's going to say next, or whether or not it contradicts anything he said previously. Seriously. For someone who called me a nonfactor for apparently not doing anything related to our match because I didn't sit down to record a promo every sixteen seconds, you sure have a problem keeping your shit together.

Because, you know, it's an accomplishment to hold onto all three trios titles when you aren't defending them against anyone. Right, that's an accomplishment, eh? No, never defending them one on three, just carrying them like the trinkets they were then and still are.

Though, enough about him, let's get to the other two. The ones who really only mentioned Iris in passing.

Like Justin Sane, who really only said two things.

1. Iris sucked a dick to get into the match.

and 2. Other assorted chauvinistic bullshit.

Right, gotta stick to words with less syllables so Sane can understand. I mean, obviously Sane's too stupid to understand that TJ and I succeeded in the same pre-requisite that he did in order to get into the match. Which, in a roundabout way is him saying he himself sucked a dick to get in here if that's what he truly believes though I don't think he's clever enough to embed his coming out of the closet that deeply into a line he said because he couldn't be bothered to do the slightest bit of research. Which, is kind of a shitty idea when you're fighting someone but hey! What do I know? I'm just a poor, weak woman who doesn't know what she's getting herself into.

Give me a fucking break, Justin.

And TJ.

Who literally only said one thing and in that one thing revealed his ignorance.

Iris is too nice to fight.

Which may be true, to some, but all it would take is one look around to notice that, as I stated earlier, I am not Iris. Mentally, at the very least so that little quip is kind of irrelevant. Just like TJ Wallace will be to this match, but now I'm just stating the obvious.

Though, I guess I understand why TJ's so tentative to engage in any kind of altercation with little Iris. Because, see, last time they were in the same room together, they got in a bit of an argument that ended when Iris made TJ concede. All on her own. It was kinda hilarious.

So, maybe, he associates any encounter with Iris as the nail in his coffin so he said the bare minimum and worded it vaguely positively.

Maybe if Iris was in control, she'd be a little nicer about it.]]>
Iris sat on the corner of her bed, scanning the room around her. A sly grin marked her face as she absorbed every last detail of the room; from its painted pink walls to the collection of stuffed animals seated atop her dresser, though one item continued to catch her attention. Etched into the wall in front of her was the word CUNT, and as she admired her handiwork, she ran a finger along the handle of the x-acto knife she used to carry out the bit of vandalism, resting in her lap. Alongside it was a black, handheld video camera. The word Canon was emblazoned on the side in white, and as her eyes shifted from the knife to the camera, so did her hand. It fell atop the camera and closed around it, and she brought it up to her face. With eager eyes she inspected the piece of equipment, re-familiarizing herself with it and only after she was confident she remembered how it worked, she pulled the screen out and turned it on.

It took only a few seconds; a blur of button presses for her to reach her intended destination, the archived recordings. Licking her upper row of teeth, she scrolled through the recordings until she found the first. Her finger hesitated, floating above "OK" button for seemingly an eternity as the "real" Iris struggled to regain control of her body once more. Her grip on the camera tightened as she braced herself for some physical retaliation that would never come. Teeth clenched. Body stiff. And then, relaxed once more. She opened her mouth and smacked her lips a couple of times before returning to a slouch and pressing play.

"Hello? Is this thing on?" Iris' voice rang out through the camera's speakers. Her voice was weak and croaking, and the screen showed only a black screen for half a second, before she backed away from the lens and took a seat on the corner of her bed. The exact spot where the thing in Iris' skin was seated now. Contrary to the rest of her wardrobe; she had on a black sweater and black pants. Her face was red and stained with tears and her nose was running, which she wiped away with the sleeve of her sweater.

"Joseph was buried today."

She sniffled.

"I guess, I should start talking about my feelings, like mom told me to do when I do these things. She says they'll help me get better, so I'm not so sad all the time. I don't really feel like talking about it right now, though. It just doesn't feel right. This is his day, after all, and here I am. Sitting at home, focusing on me like I was the one who died ninety hours, thirty six minutes ago. Thirty seven now, but the sentiment remains."

"The sentiment remains," Iris repeated, shaking her head.

"I really don't know what to say. He was the best big brother I could've ever hoped for, and the fact that some drunk driving douchebag killed him and walked away scot free makes me sick to my stomach." Resentment poured from her mouth, and she spoke with increasing aggression until it sounded more like she was snarling than speaking.

"Cool it, hon. Don't pop a blood vessel."

The Iris on the screen stood up and began to pace back and forth, breathing heavily, before breaking into hysterical sobs.

"Yeah, I... I can't do this," she choked out between short, choppy breaths as she made her way back to the set up camera and turned it off. The screen returned to the archive. Iris, laughing, powered off the video camera and pushed the screen to its original position. The word Canon jumped out at her again, but she ignored it and laid the camera and x-acto knife on the bed. Cracking her neck, she pushed herself off the bed and stood up.

"Maybe we should leak those tapes. Maybe then, someone will actually something about us that isn't recycled dreck. Though, that may be a little too much to ask of some people."

Iris chuckled at her own comment before making her way to the door.

"You know, Iris. For someone who's so considerate, you never did bother to introduce me to your family. I think we should rectify that."

Her grin spread wide and her lips parted, revealing her teeth. She grabbed the door handle and pulled it open, before letting go and allowing the brass handle to strike the wall. As she turned to go down the hall, the wall carving caught her attention once more. She backed up, past the doorway and looked through the opening. She backed up until she could see it clearly through the gap. Then she proceeded. Down the stairs, into the main room.

The main room was a different beast entirely. The walls were painted white, and framed pictures hung from each of them. As she stepped inside, the unmistakable sound of a crackling fire floated by her ear, mixed with jumbled pieces of dialogue from some television program someone was watching. Rubbing her eyes, she took a couple more steps into the room, finding her father seated on the couch, eyes fixed on the television. Iris rolled her eyes and took the seat next to him, which managed to get his attention.

Though, that wasn't what the "real" Iris saw. No, the "real" Iris, a prisoner in her own mind saw nothing but white walls, and black bars. She had crumpled up and collapsed on the ice-cold floor, staring through the bars at nothing. Then, Kinwrathi's voice; his real voice, erupted through the silence.

"We have company!"

And just like that, he appeared. Not alone. Dragging something, someone along behind him. Iris rubbed her eyes and pushed herself off the ground, before catching the first glimpse of who he was dragging along. Her father. Michael Oppenheimer. His eyes bulged out of his skull and he was pleading; talking too fast to be understood, and flailing his arms wildly, trying to get the Chieftain to stop.

"So, I met your dad. Nice guy. Little talkative and for the sake of me, I can't make out a word he's saying and, y'know I wasn't going to mention it but I think he might be developing Prostate Cancer."

The Chieftain pointed to the crotch of Michael's pants, which were stained dark. Iris cried out silently. Her throat burned and her cries turned to coughs. She swallowed what little saliva she had in her mouth to wet her throat as the Chieftain reached into his waistband. Her eyes widened and covered her eyes with her hand.

"Now, I'm not too partial to this method, but it is much quicker than what I had in mind and I guess time is of the essence. Essence, ha. Maybe we'll-- no no, save that for another time. No need to get ahead of myself."

Through her eyes her closed tight and her hand covered them anyway, she could hear the sound of a gun cocking. Followed, by the sound of her father screaming, crying out to the heavens to a God that was standing right behind him, and then a gunshot. The shot echoed. Repeating over and over and over.

"Two down, four to go."

In the real world however, things went, differently.

"Dad?" Iris asked as he turned to look at her. He nodded his head in silent acknowledgement.

"I had this dream last night, where I killed you."


Hello, everyone. I realize, I may be a little late to this party. This whole, trash talking thing and because I haven't put up anything discussing this match and hell, I've kinda dropped off the face of the earth when it came to being on camera as of late, apparently that makes me a nonfactor in Vinnie Lane's eyes. Because, wrestling matches are won by how often you're on camera, or how many times you bang your head against a brick wall, regurgitating cliched, hackneyed bullshit at every single person you encounter. Not because of wrestling, no. That's archaic, and Lane's all about being the future. At least that's what he won't fucking shut up about. Well, along with claiming conspiracy when he loses like a toddler throwing a temper tantrum. Or, if he isn't claiming conspiracy, begging to be taken seriously by touting about how he pushed the people he ended up ultimately losing to to their limits. Because putting up a fight makes you worthy of what, exactly? A participation ribbon? Is the XWF handing those out to people now and did I miss something? Criminy, probably one of Iris' suggestions. Good thing I'm not her.

Let me elaborate. I am her, physically. I'm in her body, but I'm not her. Shouldn't have been that hard to notice, but you can never underestimate the power of human stupidity.

Where was I, again? Right, Vinnie. The man who, doesn't seem to really know what he's going to say next, or whether or not it contradicts anything he said previously. Seriously. For someone who called me a nonfactor for apparently not doing anything related to our match because I didn't sit down to record a promo every sixteen seconds, you sure have a problem keeping your shit together.

Because, you know, it's an accomplishment to hold onto all three trios titles when you aren't defending them against anyone. Right, that's an accomplishment, eh? No, never defending them one on three, just carrying them like the trinkets they were then and still are.

Though, enough about him, let's get to the other two. The ones who really only mentioned Iris in passing.

Like Justin Sane, who really only said two things.

1. Iris sucked a dick to get into the match.

and 2. Other assorted chauvinistic bullshit.

Right, gotta stick to words with less syllables so Sane can understand. I mean, obviously Sane's too stupid to understand that TJ and I succeeded in the same pre-requisite that he did in order to get into the match. Which, in a roundabout way is him saying he himself sucked a dick to get in here if that's what he truly believes though I don't think he's clever enough to embed his coming out of the closet that deeply into a line he said because he couldn't be bothered to do the slightest bit of research. Which, is kind of a shitty idea when you're fighting someone but hey! What do I know? I'm just a poor, weak woman who doesn't know what she's getting herself into.

Give me a fucking break, Justin.

And TJ.

Who literally only said one thing and in that one thing revealed his ignorance.

Iris is too nice to fight.

Which may be true, to some, but all it would take is one look around to notice that, as I stated earlier, I am not Iris. Mentally, at the very least so that little quip is kind of irrelevant. Just like TJ Wallace will be to this match, but now I'm just stating the obvious.

Though, I guess I understand why TJ's so tentative to engage in any kind of altercation with little Iris. Because, see, last time they were in the same room together, they got in a bit of an argument that ended when Iris made TJ concede. All on her own. It was kinda hilarious.

So, maybe, he associates any encounter with Iris as the nail in his coffin so he said the bare minimum and worded it vaguely positively.

Maybe if Iris was in control, she'd be a little nicer about it.]]> <![CDATA[Damn it feels good.]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=18149 Fri, 23 Jan 2015 21:03:36 -0800 John Samuels]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=18149

The scene opens to John Samuels seated alone at an empty bar, occupying a barstool right in the center of the bar--seated in front of a half empty bottle of whiskey, an empty shot glass and a cigar releasing a plume of smoke. Samuels lifts the cigar to his lips, tilts his head toward the television in the corner running an XWF commercial, and smiles as he takes a long drag off the cigar.
"Well, well. The mongrel decided it was time to start yelping."

Steve Davids Said:I asked Ricky with a wink as he told the waitress she was wearing too much clothing.

"And right off the bat he starts flirting with one of his friends as he tries to pretend he's straight by using a pickup line that only a closeted queer would use once the camera was on him and he realized that ol' mum and dad were probably going to see this on the tele. Give it the fuck up, Ricky, you're not fooling any of us."

"Come on, Davids, really? I'm getting sick of having to point out the fact that you're a but you're just making it way too goddamn easy. I can't wait until your next promo starts and you're complimenting Ricky on his choice of perfume as your tongue swirls around his shaft and he's got his three longest fingers giving your prostate a rubbin' that'd make Jenna Jameson blush."

"I want something new, something fresh. These fans are getting bored of your bullshit Davids. Why, just the other day I received a piece of fan mail that simply said:"

Dear John Samuels,
I'm sorry that Steve Davids repeatedly acts like a giant .
I wish he could show more of a personality.
He's a bit of a one trick pony.
I hope that Steve Davids can dig deep and prove that he isn't just a brainless shit stain.
Best of luck to you, John Samuels. I'll be rooting for you.
Sincerley,
Steve David's mother.

P.S. Have you ever noticed the way he looks at Ricky?


"What a powerful plea. I've been begging for the same thing, Steve. I woke up this morning, had my self a nice big bowl of Samuels Stars, and I said to myself 'Man! I really hope Steve Davids has cut some awesome promo to show just how seriously he's taking defending the Universal Title!' And then I sauntered over to the televsion, after my morning shit of course, and I flipped that son of a bitch on and sure-as-shit, there's Steve Davids and his prolapsed colon support group playing a game of 'Go-Fish.' And of course I got the obligatory chuckle in as I watched David's stare at his buddy's thigh for some odd reason, but that quickly turned to pity."

"Poor Steve Davids just doesn't understand when he's being made fun. Congratulations Davids, you successfully managed to point out that I don't give half a fuck about your little soccer game. You're right, I didn't catch the score of last weekend's game because like any civilized American, literally everything I did that weekend--from taking a shit to clipping my toenails--was more important than checking the score of some random ass soccer game half way across the world."

"And I'll continue to call it soccer, thank you very much."

"Now I could systematically go through every single thing that your urine-filled brain can't comprehend about America, but I'm not some anti-social sack of shit with no life like Sebastian Duke who can sit here in front of the goddamned camera all day, every day. I just don't have the time. So let's cut to the fat of it, shall we?"

"You think what you did to Theo is the same as what he did to Eli? You couldn't be any more wrong. Theo worked his ass off to put himself into a position to make that Universal title something that meant something. That piece of shit Eli could barely be bothered to show his face when he won that title. He didn't deserve that title. The XWF didn't deserve to have an absentee champion who would only poke his nose in from time to time just to remind us that he was too big of a bitch to defend the title. So like a real champion, Theo came in and he took that title from Eli. And he's been here week in, week out. Theo was exactly what the company needed in a champion."

"And then along came the Psycho Sensation, straight out of the depths of 'Holy-shit-that-guys-still-alive-istan,' and you plunged the XWF world right back into the Eli James age. I'm sure you would have been quite content to just sit at home munching on fish and chips while sitting on Ricky's lap as you two watched Turning Point from the comfort of your couch, making sure to take the occasional break to nibble on each other's earlobes. I practically had to force management to make you defend your title this weekend, and there's no denying it. You cheated Theo for that title and somehow thought you would just get away with it, didn't you? Not a fucking chance. You're going to pay for crossing the Kings, and it's not going to be pretty."

"I love that the culmination of your wildest dreams is a tainted victory over a fatigued opponent to hold a title belt just long enough for his partner to hand you the most lopsided and embarrassing loss of your pathetic career. You know what the biggest difference between you and I is, Davids? Let's ignore all the accolades that I have and you never will. The cheers and adoration that's showered on me wherever I go that you couldn't get if you were coated in sugar and dropped off at fat camp. Ignore my involvement in the most dominant stable the XWF has ever seen, while you couldn't find two other people to even attend your funeral. The key difference, Steve, is that I know that winning the title isn't the end of the road. Becoming the champion isn't the endgame to anyone with any amount of pride. Constantly striving to be the best is what you should always be aiming for."

"And that's where it all goes wrong for you at Turning Point, Steve. You've already grown complacent despite the fact that you haven't even shown that you deserve to shine that fucking belt yet. Can't really blame you though, you know just like everyone else that you're not in my league. You've just now reached a level I surpassed early into my XWF career. You think I'm naive that I consider it a forgone conclusion that I'm going to bury you like a piping hot pile of dog shit on Saturday? What does that make you, Steve? Everything you've said and done has just screamed 'look tough before you lose your belt to John Samuels.' That title is coming back with me on Saturday, and the reason is equal parts my greatness and your concession to your superiors."

"Go ahead and deny it, Davids. Say you're not the piece of shit that I claim you are. I could use a good laugh. Don't forget, I was here when you came into the XWF. I formed this opinion long ago and it's remained unchanged. Sure, I've been wrong about my judgement of others before: Paul Heyman being a worthwhile human as opposed to a backstabbing piece of shit, Theo Pryce being a fake fuck who cries like a little girl whenever he doesn't get his way. But you, Davids. No, I know my first thoughts were spot on: A coward that would never amount to anything, even if he gets an unbelievable break and manages to accomplish something of note."

"Coddle that belt, Davids. Hug it. Kiss it. Take it into a photobooth. Buy it cotton candy. Do everything you've ever wished of doing with it while you can, because I can guarantee you of two things: That title comes with me after I beat you at Turning Point, and I'll make sure to pick out the nicest flowers I can find to plant right on top of your grave site. And if by some miracle you manage to dig your stupid ass out of that grave, I hope you realize that that title will never fall into your hands again, and you'll never be put into a position where that's even a possibility."]]>

The scene opens to John Samuels seated alone at an empty bar, occupying a barstool right in the center of the bar--seated in front of a half empty bottle of whiskey, an empty shot glass and a cigar releasing a plume of smoke. Samuels lifts the cigar to his lips, tilts his head toward the television in the corner running an XWF commercial, and smiles as he takes a long drag off the cigar.
"Well, well. The mongrel decided it was time to start yelping."

Steve Davids Said:I asked Ricky with a wink as he told the waitress she was wearing too much clothing.

"And right off the bat he starts flirting with one of his friends as he tries to pretend he's straight by using a pickup line that only a closeted queer would use once the camera was on him and he realized that ol' mum and dad were probably going to see this on the tele. Give it the fuck up, Ricky, you're not fooling any of us."

"Come on, Davids, really? I'm getting sick of having to point out the fact that you're a but you're just making it way too goddamn easy. I can't wait until your next promo starts and you're complimenting Ricky on his choice of perfume as your tongue swirls around his shaft and he's got his three longest fingers giving your prostate a rubbin' that'd make Jenna Jameson blush."

"I want something new, something fresh. These fans are getting bored of your bullshit Davids. Why, just the other day I received a piece of fan mail that simply said:"

Dear John Samuels,
I'm sorry that Steve Davids repeatedly acts like a giant .
I wish he could show more of a personality.
He's a bit of a one trick pony.
I hope that Steve Davids can dig deep and prove that he isn't just a brainless shit stain.
Best of luck to you, John Samuels. I'll be rooting for you.
Sincerley,
Steve David's mother.

P.S. Have you ever noticed the way he looks at Ricky?


"What a powerful plea. I've been begging for the same thing, Steve. I woke up this morning, had my self a nice big bowl of Samuels Stars, and I said to myself 'Man! I really hope Steve Davids has cut some awesome promo to show just how seriously he's taking defending the Universal Title!' And then I sauntered over to the televsion, after my morning shit of course, and I flipped that son of a bitch on and sure-as-shit, there's Steve Davids and his prolapsed colon support group playing a game of 'Go-Fish.' And of course I got the obligatory chuckle in as I watched David's stare at his buddy's thigh for some odd reason, but that quickly turned to pity."

"Poor Steve Davids just doesn't understand when he's being made fun. Congratulations Davids, you successfully managed to point out that I don't give half a fuck about your little soccer game. You're right, I didn't catch the score of last weekend's game because like any civilized American, literally everything I did that weekend--from taking a shit to clipping my toenails--was more important than checking the score of some random ass soccer game half way across the world."

"And I'll continue to call it soccer, thank you very much."

"Now I could systematically go through every single thing that your urine-filled brain can't comprehend about America, but I'm not some anti-social sack of shit with no life like Sebastian Duke who can sit here in front of the goddamned camera all day, every day. I just don't have the time. So let's cut to the fat of it, shall we?"

"You think what you did to Theo is the same as what he did to Eli? You couldn't be any more wrong. Theo worked his ass off to put himself into a position to make that Universal title something that meant something. That piece of shit Eli could barely be bothered to show his face when he won that title. He didn't deserve that title. The XWF didn't deserve to have an absentee champion who would only poke his nose in from time to time just to remind us that he was too big of a bitch to defend the title. So like a real champion, Theo came in and he took that title from Eli. And he's been here week in, week out. Theo was exactly what the company needed in a champion."

"And then along came the Psycho Sensation, straight out of the depths of 'Holy-shit-that-guys-still-alive-istan,' and you plunged the XWF world right back into the Eli James age. I'm sure you would have been quite content to just sit at home munching on fish and chips while sitting on Ricky's lap as you two watched Turning Point from the comfort of your couch, making sure to take the occasional break to nibble on each other's earlobes. I practically had to force management to make you defend your title this weekend, and there's no denying it. You cheated Theo for that title and somehow thought you would just get away with it, didn't you? Not a fucking chance. You're going to pay for crossing the Kings, and it's not going to be pretty."

"I love that the culmination of your wildest dreams is a tainted victory over a fatigued opponent to hold a title belt just long enough for his partner to hand you the most lopsided and embarrassing loss of your pathetic career. You know what the biggest difference between you and I is, Davids? Let's ignore all the accolades that I have and you never will. The cheers and adoration that's showered on me wherever I go that you couldn't get if you were coated in sugar and dropped off at fat camp. Ignore my involvement in the most dominant stable the XWF has ever seen, while you couldn't find two other people to even attend your funeral. The key difference, Steve, is that I know that winning the title isn't the end of the road. Becoming the champion isn't the endgame to anyone with any amount of pride. Constantly striving to be the best is what you should always be aiming for."

"And that's where it all goes wrong for you at Turning Point, Steve. You've already grown complacent despite the fact that you haven't even shown that you deserve to shine that fucking belt yet. Can't really blame you though, you know just like everyone else that you're not in my league. You've just now reached a level I surpassed early into my XWF career. You think I'm naive that I consider it a forgone conclusion that I'm going to bury you like a piping hot pile of dog shit on Saturday? What does that make you, Steve? Everything you've said and done has just screamed 'look tough before you lose your belt to John Samuels.' That title is coming back with me on Saturday, and the reason is equal parts my greatness and your concession to your superiors."

"Go ahead and deny it, Davids. Say you're not the piece of shit that I claim you are. I could use a good laugh. Don't forget, I was here when you came into the XWF. I formed this opinion long ago and it's remained unchanged. Sure, I've been wrong about my judgement of others before: Paul Heyman being a worthwhile human as opposed to a backstabbing piece of shit, Theo Pryce being a fake fuck who cries like a little girl whenever he doesn't get his way. But you, Davids. No, I know my first thoughts were spot on: A coward that would never amount to anything, even if he gets an unbelievable break and manages to accomplish something of note."

"Coddle that belt, Davids. Hug it. Kiss it. Take it into a photobooth. Buy it cotton candy. Do everything you've ever wished of doing with it while you can, because I can guarantee you of two things: That title comes with me after I beat you at Turning Point, and I'll make sure to pick out the nicest flowers I can find to plant right on top of your grave site. And if by some miracle you manage to dig your stupid ass out of that grave, I hope you realize that that title will never fall into your hands again, and you'll never be put into a position where that's even a possibility."]]> <![CDATA[You can not fill these shoes.]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=18135 Fri, 23 Jan 2015 20:53:54 -0800 Gator]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=18135


*Gator sits in a dimly lit room. He looks at the camera and a smile forms under his mask*

GATOR: "Miss me?"

"Of course you did, just been counting the minutes since you saw this pretty mask looking at you from behind a screen. So, my week's been hectic to say the least. If I was a lesser man like Iceman I would have dropped everything and not done any work whatsoever, but I'm a fucking professional so here I am. So let's get to it shall we?"

"I honestly think I've said all I can about Mazzy. Same shit from him as per usual, may get his final thoughts before tonight but it'll be the same shit. I am going into a match and I will win because I'm that damn good, this will be my turning point, that's the way the cookie crumbles blah blah blah. I'm recording this before he puts out a promo today, the twenty third of January, if he puts one out anyway. But, if I get it right, you guys owe me a beer. So apart from that, I'm done with Mazzy. Nothing new from him and I doubt he'll say anything else new. He's as good as dead and then I move on to number two. Scully two in fact."

Scully &quot;Title shitter&quot; Two Said:I might not have gotten much done, but at least I did more than you registering a few paragraphs on my transcripts, just spouting mindless facts.

GATOR: "Really? Because when I looked at the transcript of your promo, I got one paragraph of weak trash talk and no progress. So, what are you trying to get at here? I doubled your work from you're previous promo, don't get fucking mad at me because the only thing you have to say is stupid nicknames that every single person in the fed realised was a dumb fucking nickname about a month after I was here. A five minute rant? You watching my promos in slow motion or something? No I could have just said you're an idiot and let you be but I had to nail the point home that what you said is fucking . Actually try my best to get it through your thick skull that you are a dumb cunt who goes for easy targets. Fuck, next your going to make Deadpool comparisons... Oh wait. You did. Well fucking done Iceman, you are truly a king of insults."

"Don't you fucking listen? Did you hear me talk to Knight about this Deadpool shit? It did not work for him, not one bit. What you are doing right now is taking other people's past failures and re-using them! You fucking ! Yes, the mask is a similar design, same with the suit. Fuck you, I don't have to explain my gear to you. But since we're going for this stupid shit, why the fuck have you modeled yourself after Randy Orton? Same haircut, same tattoos, same shit style in the ring, you cut promos as well too but that is way too much of an insult to Orton. You both whine and make excuses, you're both fucking liars. Next you're going to say you went AWOL too. Just get the whole of that cunt package in you. I may have a similar suit but I don't model myself after Deadpool. You? You're so desperately trying to be Randy Orton junior I can see you popping his dick out of your mouth before you start your promos. I wouldn't be surprised if you start wearing a a mold of Orton's butt so you can shove your head further up that prick's ass."

Randy Orton's less succesful, dumber son Said:he managed to do one thing you cannot and will never be able to do: Defeat Azreal Erebus.

GATOR: "There's that name again. No shit I won't beat a ghost. Great logic. Really puts me in an impossible situation when you say I can't beat someone who has never existed. Hey Iceman, maybe after I beat The Creature From The Black Lagoon, maybe then you can ass rape the Loch Ness Monster! If you don't do it, you're a fucking pussy and everyone will hate you more then they already do. Fucking idiot. Say this person did exist, and say we agreed to a match that was meant to happen on this pay per view. Say there is documented proof that this match was going to happen but then this fictional character disappeared. So instead of beating him, I'm having to face three dumb fucks who don't deserve my time or respect."

"You're tired of talking about Un? Thank god, this dude you hired to pretend to be you is finally getting boring to the man who came up with this plot. Welcome to everyone else's world when you announced the birth of Un. So you just want to drop this? This fucking Un thing that you spent so long trying to convince everyone that this Un was ruining your matches, fuck you. He's an out. You're using a fucking scapegoat to cross out your losses and it's fucking pathetic. No, I won't let you drop it. You can say whatever the fuck you want but I am not letting you live this stupid shit down."

"I'm not bringing good comebacks? Hahahaha. Are you fucking serious!? No, this stupidity speaks for itself. Ladies and gentleman at home, watch Iceman's promo then watch mine. Does it really look like I'm the one who can't find his words? Bullshit Scully Two, you've been lost for words as soon as you saw the card. You just thought, welp, I'm doomed. Might as well call up Un and get him ready to take the fall for me because I'm too much of a fucking pussy to fight Gator by myself."

"Next the Mazzy stuff. You're right, it's none of your business. I honestly don't remember that, the Madison thing. I just saw Mazzy comment that on the Stars of the Month getting title shots and briefcases from now on and made the assumption he thought he too, was going to get a case. Harmless mistake if you're right, which I honestly doubt. Mazzy probably used that title shot. Maybe he used it here? Who knows. Who cares."

You're as cold as ice. Willing to sacrifice, our love Said:Scully Two. Yes, you fucking heard me. Scully Two. The same man who just can't decide on a gimmick. One week, he seems like an ordinary dude. The next? He's in a group with a business man who has his son- in- law picking up the slack, the business man's son- not the son- in- law who is doing good, mind you- a man who seems to be attracted to teenagers, and a fucking racist. The next? Dude goes fucking insane. Must have watched one of Pest's fucking sprees or some shit. The next? Dude goes back to fucking square one. It's like he can't make up his mind. And complain about dodgy officiating?

GATOR: "Ah yes. And I'm the one who goes on rants. What was the point of bringing this up? I thought I made it clear how similar you and Scully are, you just reminding everybody of the points? Would you like me to draw the comparisons? ... Very well. Boring nobody with no gimmick. Also you when you came in. Still a faceless nobody you were going to join the same group you're shitting on before backing out and backstabbing a close friend, because you couldn't be bothered. No pressing matters mind you, just too fucking lazy. Next dude goes insane. Like you trying to spread conspiracy stories that Un will ruin our matches and that he actually exists. Next dude goes back to square fucking one. Back to being a faceless nobody who just cannot get shit done for the life of him. And complain? You more shove the blame on another person completely. Anything else? Would you like me to draw the comparison about how much you fucking suck? How little I respect either of you? Step your game up son, this trash with these points your making has more holes than a M. Night movie."

"... You actually scream yeowtch. Are you a fucking cartoon cat? The hell is wrong with you? And yes, a fucking tumbleweed. Because you did nothing, you should be happy an animated gif made the nothingness you said more entertaining. All in all, you're a piece of shit. You keeping telling me to bring new stuff but carry on calling me a name every single person who knew Lazarus thought of the moment I walked through the door. I know, you want revenge for the Iceman thing. But you're not going to get it. I can make shit stick when I want it to, the fans love me and my friends are loyal to me. I can make this place a fucking nightmare for you and all I would have to do is ask. How about I ask Ozy to ban you from Warfare, then you can only be on Madness were I will ask Loverboy, Sane, corVus and anyone else who wants to be a good friend to me to constantly interfere and ruin your matches. Maybe break your legs just for the hell of it. I'm already a nightmare, a walking disaster but I can make that piece of shit you call a life a lot worse and make that brown streak you call a career even more of a joke. But, I won't do that. Because I honestly don't need any help to do that. Moving on."

"Scumbag Knight. Says he's not going to focus on the other two, proceeds to shit talk them for a minute or so. No, the reason I focused on Mazzy was because I'm actually going to face him first. Same reason I focused on Iceman, because I'm going to face him second and then I'm going to face you. I didn't do it to humble them, like I give a fuck what any of you say. I did it because I'm going to be fighting all three of you! So happy to see that crippling still has it's foot on the gas pedal, chewing up that dirt in the ditch and just digging itself a deeper hole. Ha! You openly admitted Ryan Reynolds is a bigger threat then you. The pampered up pretty boy is a bigger than the supposed professional wrestler. Even with a gun you shouldn't be afraid of anyone, the fuck is wrong with you? You build up how great you are and knock it down by being scared of a fucking actor. Anyone can get a gun. It's fucking America! Go get yourself a gun, clean the shit out of your pants then you can come down to the ring."

"The Dane- Ah you know what fuck it. It's been the same shit all week, I give up. I'm tired of repeating the same thing to you over and over again. It's like I'm talking to Frodo. I don't care if you find me funny, I don't care what you think at all. Most people find my jokes funny, if you wanna be either a joyless bastard or a liar, that's on you man. Actually, what the hell are we doing? Yes, we. We're going after each others humour like it actually factors in the match. Yes I know people laugh at your in ring capabilities all the time, so maybe making your opponent laugh to death is a decent strategy. But this is a wrestling match, not live at the Apollo. So, please go after my comedy again. It's really helping you win this match."

Knight Knight Said:You said I watched How to Train Your Dragon? You didn't even think at one point I owned the book?

GATOR: "Not really, kinda thought you couldn't read. Learn something new everyday. But, may I ask this. You didn't start with that move when you came in, you only recently added it. So, that makes me think you watched the movie recently but since you want to act like one of those pricks who says, the book was better, now I think you read through a fucking children's book and decided; Oh gosh golly, Hiccup is so cool, I wish I could ride a dragon like I ride on dick! So, now that we've established you can read at a comprehensive level, maybe you can come up with some better barbs? ... Guess not. Everyone likes movies. What are you getting at? Every single person references movies. Sorry, I almost forgot you're a stuck up prick who pretends to read the books to say they're better than the films. Just giving you that high of arrogance when you point out the differences, maybe you can start sniffing your own farts too. But again, this doesn't have much to do with the match. I just love pointing out every irritating flaw you have. Which is a fucking lot."

"You wanna mention Scarlett and Todd, and my dog? Shall I mention doubt? And how there is a snowballs chance in hell you would become any kind of all powerful dictator... Maybe dick taker. But not dictator. No amount of dumb masks and self help books can make that fucking fantasy happen hahahaha. Sorry, I was laughing at you, not my own joke. Guessing I need to clarify that from now on. Also, I don't care about your fucking cambot. Call me old fashioned but I think the XWF's own cameramen do a great job. Look at you, you cunt. Taking jobs away from people in the same industry as you, for shame Sir Knight."

"But look at you. Serious bastard with self-esteem issues. Think you're so deep with this whole doubt trip you're going on. Mother fucker I took that trip back at War Games. It'll open your eyes but you'll be so fucking dumb to not realise what you have to change, you say you will but I know you won't. You'll just carry on down this line and end up where you don't want to be. I mean, what exactly have you changed this week? You've been doing all this and saying, oh no! But you go back and talk the same old shit as always. All this, what you're doing is fucking pointless. You are so fucking pointless."

Doubtful Knight Said:You're right I didn't have a lot to say to you, because I was too busy getting tormented in my own thoughts to focus on you.

GATOR: "And I was being hunted by people who want me dead. That's no fucking excuse. I still find the time for you sweet cheeks. You know, I've noticed something. Whenever Knight doesn't have any real comeback he just says ugh, fuck off. Like a damn teenager filled with angst. I ask you to actually give me some trash talk, you know, like you're supposed to fucking do and you bitch and moan about it? Get the fuck over yourself John. I get it, you have your own problems, guess what dude. Every single person in the world has shit to deal with, they still do their jobs... Wow you really do sound like a damn teen here. Haha, I don't have to do what you say! You're not my real dad! Hahaha, fucking pathetic man, you're hitting forty and you still act like this. It's sad.. Oh oops. Brought up your parents, please don't cry again."

"Oh and you call Scarlett a whore again. You know what, serious for a moment. I'm going to break your fucking neck. Seriously, I'm looking straight down the lens and into your fucking eyes. I will fucking murder you, you piece of shit. Do you fucking understand? Am I coming through crystal clear? I am going to wipe the fucking floor with you, leave you a bloody mess on the mat, make every single person in the world happy because they no longer have to deal with that cunt Aerial Knight Johnathon Heartsford. That's nice of me right? I'm going to make the XWF happier by killing you and making sure no one has to deal with your boring promos and you're pathetic excuses you call matches... This is between me and you. Bringing up Scarlett is not helping you win, it just makes you look like an asshole going after an innocent girl. It's sad, you're fucking pathetic. MacClay awarded you this shot because you came in third place? TJ got a shot, Lane won MVP, Swann is somewhere and you? You get the consolation prize. Pretty big prize for a loser.... What the hell is wrong with you? Again, you said before that you know you could beat me, but here we go again, openly admitting that you got your ass kicked. Really shoving your confidence down everybody's throats. You are so fucking dumb it makes people like Kim Kardashian look good."

"Ha, didn't think a dry wall could burn me so so bad.. Sarcasm. You're a waste of space. You pissed me off with what you said about Scarlett, but you never made me mad or even feel anything when you took a shot at me. I don't know whether you think you're barbs were inflicting pain or not, but I can tell you for sure you're in a losing battle. Oh, and don't call me kid. You may be older but you are nowhere near as experienced as I am, with all the stupid jokes I make I still manage to act like more of an adult than you do too. So, child, learn your place. All this stupid shit you've said to me, it's nothing. I wish you could have learned from last time, I wish you could have put up a better verbal fight, and I wish you could put up a real fight when we're in that ring. But I seriously doubt you could do all that. Oh, and you didn't put me through my paces that last time, you haven't here now. I'm honestly going easy on you here, you're not worth my time when I'm at one hundred percent."

"That's all. Good luck and see you at your losses fuckers."

F A D E 2 B L A C K

]]>


*Gator sits in a dimly lit room. He looks at the camera and a smile forms under his mask*

GATOR: "Miss me?"

"Of course you did, just been counting the minutes since you saw this pretty mask looking at you from behind a screen. So, my week's been hectic to say the least. If I was a lesser man like Iceman I would have dropped everything and not done any work whatsoever, but I'm a fucking professional so here I am. So let's get to it shall we?"

"I honestly think I've said all I can about Mazzy. Same shit from him as per usual, may get his final thoughts before tonight but it'll be the same shit. I am going into a match and I will win because I'm that damn good, this will be my turning point, that's the way the cookie crumbles blah blah blah. I'm recording this before he puts out a promo today, the twenty third of January, if he puts one out anyway. But, if I get it right, you guys owe me a beer. So apart from that, I'm done with Mazzy. Nothing new from him and I doubt he'll say anything else new. He's as good as dead and then I move on to number two. Scully two in fact."

Scully &quot;Title shitter&quot; Two Said:I might not have gotten much done, but at least I did more than you registering a few paragraphs on my transcripts, just spouting mindless facts.

GATOR: "Really? Because when I looked at the transcript of your promo, I got one paragraph of weak trash talk and no progress. So, what are you trying to get at here? I doubled your work from you're previous promo, don't get fucking mad at me because the only thing you have to say is stupid nicknames that every single person in the fed realised was a dumb fucking nickname about a month after I was here. A five minute rant? You watching my promos in slow motion or something? No I could have just said you're an idiot and let you be but I had to nail the point home that what you said is fucking . Actually try my best to get it through your thick skull that you are a dumb cunt who goes for easy targets. Fuck, next your going to make Deadpool comparisons... Oh wait. You did. Well fucking done Iceman, you are truly a king of insults."

"Don't you fucking listen? Did you hear me talk to Knight about this Deadpool shit? It did not work for him, not one bit. What you are doing right now is taking other people's past failures and re-using them! You fucking ! Yes, the mask is a similar design, same with the suit. Fuck you, I don't have to explain my gear to you. But since we're going for this stupid shit, why the fuck have you modeled yourself after Randy Orton? Same haircut, same tattoos, same shit style in the ring, you cut promos as well too but that is way too much of an insult to Orton. You both whine and make excuses, you're both fucking liars. Next you're going to say you went AWOL too. Just get the whole of that cunt package in you. I may have a similar suit but I don't model myself after Deadpool. You? You're so desperately trying to be Randy Orton junior I can see you popping his dick out of your mouth before you start your promos. I wouldn't be surprised if you start wearing a a mold of Orton's butt so you can shove your head further up that prick's ass."

Randy Orton's less succesful, dumber son Said:he managed to do one thing you cannot and will never be able to do: Defeat Azreal Erebus.

GATOR: "There's that name again. No shit I won't beat a ghost. Great logic. Really puts me in an impossible situation when you say I can't beat someone who has never existed. Hey Iceman, maybe after I beat The Creature From The Black Lagoon, maybe then you can ass rape the Loch Ness Monster! If you don't do it, you're a fucking pussy and everyone will hate you more then they already do. Fucking idiot. Say this person did exist, and say we agreed to a match that was meant to happen on this pay per view. Say there is documented proof that this match was going to happen but then this fictional character disappeared. So instead of beating him, I'm having to face three dumb fucks who don't deserve my time or respect."

"You're tired of talking about Un? Thank god, this dude you hired to pretend to be you is finally getting boring to the man who came up with this plot. Welcome to everyone else's world when you announced the birth of Un. So you just want to drop this? This fucking Un thing that you spent so long trying to convince everyone that this Un was ruining your matches, fuck you. He's an out. You're using a fucking scapegoat to cross out your losses and it's fucking pathetic. No, I won't let you drop it. You can say whatever the fuck you want but I am not letting you live this stupid shit down."

"I'm not bringing good comebacks? Hahahaha. Are you fucking serious!? No, this stupidity speaks for itself. Ladies and gentleman at home, watch Iceman's promo then watch mine. Does it really look like I'm the one who can't find his words? Bullshit Scully Two, you've been lost for words as soon as you saw the card. You just thought, welp, I'm doomed. Might as well call up Un and get him ready to take the fall for me because I'm too much of a fucking pussy to fight Gator by myself."

"Next the Mazzy stuff. You're right, it's none of your business. I honestly don't remember that, the Madison thing. I just saw Mazzy comment that on the Stars of the Month getting title shots and briefcases from now on and made the assumption he thought he too, was going to get a case. Harmless mistake if you're right, which I honestly doubt. Mazzy probably used that title shot. Maybe he used it here? Who knows. Who cares."

You're as cold as ice. Willing to sacrifice, our love Said:Scully Two. Yes, you fucking heard me. Scully Two. The same man who just can't decide on a gimmick. One week, he seems like an ordinary dude. The next? He's in a group with a business man who has his son- in- law picking up the slack, the business man's son- not the son- in- law who is doing good, mind you- a man who seems to be attracted to teenagers, and a fucking racist. The next? Dude goes fucking insane. Must have watched one of Pest's fucking sprees or some shit. The next? Dude goes back to fucking square one. It's like he can't make up his mind. And complain about dodgy officiating?

GATOR: "Ah yes. And I'm the one who goes on rants. What was the point of bringing this up? I thought I made it clear how similar you and Scully are, you just reminding everybody of the points? Would you like me to draw the comparisons? ... Very well. Boring nobody with no gimmick. Also you when you came in. Still a faceless nobody you were going to join the same group you're shitting on before backing out and backstabbing a close friend, because you couldn't be bothered. No pressing matters mind you, just too fucking lazy. Next dude goes insane. Like you trying to spread conspiracy stories that Un will ruin our matches and that he actually exists. Next dude goes back to square fucking one. Back to being a faceless nobody who just cannot get shit done for the life of him. And complain? You more shove the blame on another person completely. Anything else? Would you like me to draw the comparison about how much you fucking suck? How little I respect either of you? Step your game up son, this trash with these points your making has more holes than a M. Night movie."

"... You actually scream yeowtch. Are you a fucking cartoon cat? The hell is wrong with you? And yes, a fucking tumbleweed. Because you did nothing, you should be happy an animated gif made the nothingness you said more entertaining. All in all, you're a piece of shit. You keeping telling me to bring new stuff but carry on calling me a name every single person who knew Lazarus thought of the moment I walked through the door. I know, you want revenge for the Iceman thing. But you're not going to get it. I can make shit stick when I want it to, the fans love me and my friends are loyal to me. I can make this place a fucking nightmare for you and all I would have to do is ask. How about I ask Ozy to ban you from Warfare, then you can only be on Madness were I will ask Loverboy, Sane, corVus and anyone else who wants to be a good friend to me to constantly interfere and ruin your matches. Maybe break your legs just for the hell of it. I'm already a nightmare, a walking disaster but I can make that piece of shit you call a life a lot worse and make that brown streak you call a career even more of a joke. But, I won't do that. Because I honestly don't need any help to do that. Moving on."

"Scumbag Knight. Says he's not going to focus on the other two, proceeds to shit talk them for a minute or so. No, the reason I focused on Mazzy was because I'm actually going to face him first. Same reason I focused on Iceman, because I'm going to face him second and then I'm going to face you. I didn't do it to humble them, like I give a fuck what any of you say. I did it because I'm going to be fighting all three of you! So happy to see that crippling still has it's foot on the gas pedal, chewing up that dirt in the ditch and just digging itself a deeper hole. Ha! You openly admitted Ryan Reynolds is a bigger threat then you. The pampered up pretty boy is a bigger than the supposed professional wrestler. Even with a gun you shouldn't be afraid of anyone, the fuck is wrong with you? You build up how great you are and knock it down by being scared of a fucking actor. Anyone can get a gun. It's fucking America! Go get yourself a gun, clean the shit out of your pants then you can come down to the ring."

"The Dane- Ah you know what fuck it. It's been the same shit all week, I give up. I'm tired of repeating the same thing to you over and over again. It's like I'm talking to Frodo. I don't care if you find me funny, I don't care what you think at all. Most people find my jokes funny, if you wanna be either a joyless bastard or a liar, that's on you man. Actually, what the hell are we doing? Yes, we. We're going after each others humour like it actually factors in the match. Yes I know people laugh at your in ring capabilities all the time, so maybe making your opponent laugh to death is a decent strategy. But this is a wrestling match, not live at the Apollo. So, please go after my comedy again. It's really helping you win this match."

Knight Knight Said:You said I watched How to Train Your Dragon? You didn't even think at one point I owned the book?

GATOR: "Not really, kinda thought you couldn't read. Learn something new everyday. But, may I ask this. You didn't start with that move when you came in, you only recently added it. So, that makes me think you watched the movie recently but since you want to act like one of those pricks who says, the book was better, now I think you read through a fucking children's book and decided; Oh gosh golly, Hiccup is so cool, I wish I could ride a dragon like I ride on dick! So, now that we've established you can read at a comprehensive level, maybe you can come up with some better barbs? ... Guess not. Everyone likes movies. What are you getting at? Every single person references movies. Sorry, I almost forgot you're a stuck up prick who pretends to read the books to say they're better than the films. Just giving you that high of arrogance when you point out the differences, maybe you can start sniffing your own farts too. But again, this doesn't have much to do with the match. I just love pointing out every irritating flaw you have. Which is a fucking lot."

"You wanna mention Scarlett and Todd, and my dog? Shall I mention doubt? And how there is a snowballs chance in hell you would become any kind of all powerful dictator... Maybe dick taker. But not dictator. No amount of dumb masks and self help books can make that fucking fantasy happen hahahaha. Sorry, I was laughing at you, not my own joke. Guessing I need to clarify that from now on. Also, I don't care about your fucking cambot. Call me old fashioned but I think the XWF's own cameramen do a great job. Look at you, you cunt. Taking jobs away from people in the same industry as you, for shame Sir Knight."

"But look at you. Serious bastard with self-esteem issues. Think you're so deep with this whole doubt trip you're going on. Mother fucker I took that trip back at War Games. It'll open your eyes but you'll be so fucking dumb to not realise what you have to change, you say you will but I know you won't. You'll just carry on down this line and end up where you don't want to be. I mean, what exactly have you changed this week? You've been doing all this and saying, oh no! But you go back and talk the same old shit as always. All this, what you're doing is fucking pointless. You are so fucking pointless."

Doubtful Knight Said:You're right I didn't have a lot to say to you, because I was too busy getting tormented in my own thoughts to focus on you.

GATOR: "And I was being hunted by people who want me dead. That's no fucking excuse. I still find the time for you sweet cheeks. You know, I've noticed something. Whenever Knight doesn't have any real comeback he just says ugh, fuck off. Like a damn teenager filled with angst. I ask you to actually give me some trash talk, you know, like you're supposed to fucking do and you bitch and moan about it? Get the fuck over yourself John. I get it, you have your own problems, guess what dude. Every single person in the world has shit to deal with, they still do their jobs... Wow you really do sound like a damn teen here. Haha, I don't have to do what you say! You're not my real dad! Hahaha, fucking pathetic man, you're hitting forty and you still act like this. It's sad.. Oh oops. Brought up your parents, please don't cry again."

"Oh and you call Scarlett a whore again. You know what, serious for a moment. I'm going to break your fucking neck. Seriously, I'm looking straight down the lens and into your fucking eyes. I will fucking murder you, you piece of shit. Do you fucking understand? Am I coming through crystal clear? I am going to wipe the fucking floor with you, leave you a bloody mess on the mat, make every single person in the world happy because they no longer have to deal with that cunt Aerial Knight Johnathon Heartsford. That's nice of me right? I'm going to make the XWF happier by killing you and making sure no one has to deal with your boring promos and you're pathetic excuses you call matches... This is between me and you. Bringing up Scarlett is not helping you win, it just makes you look like an asshole going after an innocent girl. It's sad, you're fucking pathetic. MacClay awarded you this shot because you came in third place? TJ got a shot, Lane won MVP, Swann is somewhere and you? You get the consolation prize. Pretty big prize for a loser.... What the hell is wrong with you? Again, you said before that you know you could beat me, but here we go again, openly admitting that you got your ass kicked. Really shoving your confidence down everybody's throats. You are so fucking dumb it makes people like Kim Kardashian look good."

"Ha, didn't think a dry wall could burn me so so bad.. Sarcasm. You're a waste of space. You pissed me off with what you said about Scarlett, but you never made me mad or even feel anything when you took a shot at me. I don't know whether you think you're barbs were inflicting pain or not, but I can tell you for sure you're in a losing battle. Oh, and don't call me kid. You may be older but you are nowhere near as experienced as I am, with all the stupid jokes I make I still manage to act like more of an adult than you do too. So, child, learn your place. All this stupid shit you've said to me, it's nothing. I wish you could have learned from last time, I wish you could have put up a better verbal fight, and I wish you could put up a real fight when we're in that ring. But I seriously doubt you could do all that. Oh, and you didn't put me through my paces that last time, you haven't here now. I'm honestly going easy on you here, you're not worth my time when I'm at one hundred percent."

"That's all. Good luck and see you at your losses fuckers."

F A D E 2 B L A C K

]]> <![CDATA[05]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=18147 Fri, 23 Jan 2015 20:37:07 -0800 IAmHollywood]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=18147 We pick up the next morning, still in Philadelphia, where C.C. Hollywood and Joey Bagadonuts are back on Arch Street in Old City. The night before, the Philadelphia Flyers earned their win against the Pittsburgh Penguins after an overtime goal by Claude Giroux. Seems to be the local way to do things, fighting tooth and nail for your keep. Much like the "Broadstreet Bullies," Hollywood finds himself in a war with a rival. Not just any rival, but with a rival that will be more than a challenge to defeat. Simon Lyster, a monster who indulges down the rabbit hole of his own beliefs, is the most dangerous kind of man. He is someone who believes that his ideals are no longer just "another way" but the "only way." However, like C.C. said best...

"What you don't know will hurt you."

Hollywood gets up from where he was sleeping after his homecoming and then Joey comes wandering out of his own room, wide-eyed and confused, like he was just born.

"Where did I come from?"

A woman, in blue jeans and a Philadelphia Flyers t-shirt peeks from behind Joey, leaving out of his bedroom door and walking outside, more than likely never to cross paths again. Poor Joey, he finally gets lucky and then his luck literally runs out. A sort of shit grin is worn on Joey's face as he sees his front door shut, then looks over at C.C.

"Decent!"

"I couldn't even tell you her name. I went to Deliiah's after the game last night, when you came back home to rest up, and I just hit it off with some strange. Next thing you know, I see her leave the next morning and I have to pee really bad!"

Hollywood shudders at the thought of where that woman has been as Joey beelines to the bathroom. A smile comes across C.C.'s face as he just shakes his head.

"My boy."

Just as Joey is occupied in the bathroom, Hollywood thinks more about his pay per view debut at Turning Point against Simon Lyster. The words that Lyster say are just that to C.C. They are no more than words. Any elementary student will tell you that actions speak louder than words, but Hollywood has not been one to raise his voice. Simon has. The psychological battle is soothing if you really think about it. Calm, collected, C.C. is under "The Spine Twister's" skin. Next step is getting into the mind. It is clear that Simon is academically smarter than Hollywood, but Hollywood is more efficient in something that Simon isn't. That, in particular, is what is known as "street smarts."

"Turning Point is the most important day of your life. How does it feel to know that I am a part of it? Don't get distracted from me. I am the last man you want to lose track of. You'll get your wish sooner rather than later, Simon. After Turning Point, you'll be bested at your "specialty," you'll be lost among the embarrassment of having to give up, and then you can face other trend followers like 'The Iceman,' or whoever else with a dull gimmick that you feast your eyes on."

Still in the bathroom, Joey can be heard as he lets go, full stream, to relinquish urine that has been building in his bladder since the night before. Trying not to laugh, Hollywood looks over his shoulder and pauses from speaking.

"Personally, what escapes me is the idea that you automatically assume that you will have me locked and secured in 'The Paralyzer.' I took your kind words into consideration and figured that I would just be nice enough to tell you that you, Simon Lyster, will not even get the chance to perform your masterpiece in that ring on me. No matter what your weak, pathetic gimps warn, I just am not a home body. Plus, I kind of already have my plane ticket to Denver and my Jeep has been transported there upon my arrival. We shall dance and you shall fall."

Joey finally comes out from the bathroom with a broom in his hand, dancing with it and singing the words...

"Brothers and sisters, go across the river, don't look back once there, trust me and take care."

C.C. just about loses it and watches Joey dance with a broom back into his room. The man has rediscovered his youth after sex. It's just wild what that will do to a man. A loveable loser like Joey Bagadonuts got with a woman last night. Behind closed doors, Joey can still be heard in his own form of happiness, doing a bad Metallica impression.

"As she pleases the master...MASTER!"

Hollywood is just about to be in tears, but does his best to continue.

"Oh, I see your point about carrying a broom. No one does it better than Bagadonuts. Now in relation to your statistics, not that it matters, you can throw those right out the window. You made Duncan B. Deadly tap. I don't care the slightest. To me, that's like if I told you that I had the world's best coffee when Monday Night Madness came to Seattle. It's trivial. No one cares. I defeated TJ Wallace, someone who...just going on a limb, has more credibility than Duncan B. Deadly. But, I do agree with you so wholeheartedly about the idea of a title. I don't need one around my waist to know who is better than who."

In the moment of response, Hollywood thinks to a time in his life where it was feast or famine. At that time, much like the state of being a champion at any stage of life, a materialistic status featured to be no more than just a giant target on the chest or back of a man who wore the crown. To be the best at something, a status or title should not be given, it should just be an unwritten fact, a household concept, than a man is untouchable and the best at what he does. That is what makes Hollywood hell bent.

"There is a big difference between someone with a lot of hype who hasn't been there before and the real thing because there is a time to play and a time to win. I am Derek Jeter, I am Bill Russell, I am Wayne Gretzky, and I am Joe Montana because I am, like the band that plays my tune, 'Clutch.' People have sacrificed their entire lives to be in the position we are in, Simon. You are right, titles are just possessions. I'm not a possessions man, I am a talk the people into the room and lead by example man. See, this, Lyster, is where I talk them into the arena, because what is on the line as far as a title shot really doesn't mean shit to me. Possessions just make us a target, but see, I want you to target me. I'm gonna' fight like I want a title shot, then hell, maybe I'll just give you the title shot afterwards, I don't care."

Joey then comes out of his room, dressed with a bag packed, ready to leave out to the airport for their flight to Denver, Colorado from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Hollywood holds up a hand towards Joey, making him halt in the direction of which he is coming from. Joey stays where he is, dropping his bag by his side.

"Must I say, your poor attempt at blending in is proving to be your demise. As much as you want to stand out, you should realize how similar you in fact are to the rest. TJ Wallace, Jonathan Heartsford, Jill Lorder, Duncan B. Deadly, and Big Joe; all of which do the same exact thing that you do now and say that I can't hang with the world class technicians. Every single one of them failed. You say I will 'break like the rest,' but what you don't realize is that you will fail like the rest. I can have it all and will have it all. Much like how I enjoyed myself earlier in the week and let you just talk, you broke yourself. He who speaks first breaks first. To be fair, Lyster, you never needed to say much. Just replay the last episode and it's all the same. Statistic, vertebrae, gimp, 'please the master,' and 'break like the rest."

"Nailed it."

"Yet, it is what you perceive as incoherent responses that peeve you the most. Here, I figured that I would about you candidly without a puff of weed. Not any form of marijuana. You want to get a clearer concept of just who I am, then say no more. It's just simpler to ask and you will receive. I, too, am knowledgeable of 'The Art of War.' Sure, I'm not the Stephen Hawking red-headed stepchild, but I do have my degree as an English major at the University of Delaware before I went out of my way to train to be the best. Not a paper champion, but the best. So, allow me to repeat myself, even though it is a pet peeve of my own, after I have talked circles around yet another closed mind."

Joey shakes his head and sits down in the recliner seat across from where Hollywood is stationed.

"He will never understand the winter of oh-five."

"I'll learn 'em. Simon, this submission match is a means of survival, right? Good thing that I am a survivalist. All I ever had to do was man up when others have faltered. This...is no different. People who thought they were better have passed. They couldn't survive the cold. To be fair, it as a kind of Oregon Trail winter, but damn...I forget that you have no concept of anything except being a number cruncher who also studies the human body. I'll tell you something you ought to know. At your age, there are two hundred and six bones in the human body. Everyone knows that, so stay with me. So, riddle me this, Lyster...how do you paralyze after already being paralyzed? I plan on breaking every bone in your body if it means winning. I don't know much about anatomy, but I know about car crashes. Comparing 'The Paralyzer' to a car crash is a pretty prestigious statement. I'll take you up on that, with your end result being that of a car crash. Once your still body has nothing but coal eyes staring back at me blankly, you'll wish that you were able to even howl for help. Trust me, you'll need help."

It's quite the delight when one man can understand and depict the behavior of a monster. It was pretty simple to put this one together. Simon's father died after a tragic fall, disintegrating the C-4 vertebrae. Alone, this already gives us the exact reason as to why Simon Lyster is the entity that he is. Obsessive compulsive with the human body, needing to get off on domination of the human race, and to follow with the exact proportionate, but distinction that he needs to shatter spines. Simon is living vicariously as if his own father was able to see his work today through coincidence of his death.

"Like the death of your father restarting your life, your career-ending moment when your hand repeatedly taps the canvas and you exclaim that you quit will jump start me. It'll feel good."

"You'll feel alive."

"I will. Simon, have you considered the pressure that you put upon yourself. You don't have to bang on the mat, you just have to tap. That's all anyone will need to know for you to disappear. A fool that you are, perfecting one move in your arsenal. I'll have you by the neck and we'll pivot on the mat. Once over, snap. Second time, break. Third time, hospital. Forth time, morgue. Then fifth time, obituary. You need this more than me, Simon."

Hollywood exits the room and proceeds to pack a bag en route to Denver for Turning Point. The flight is waiting and time is money. This time, your money says "in Hollywood we trust."

-fin-]]> We pick up the next morning, still in Philadelphia, where C.C. Hollywood and Joey Bagadonuts are back on Arch Street in Old City. The night before, the Philadelphia Flyers earned their win against the Pittsburgh Penguins after an overtime goal by Claude Giroux. Seems to be the local way to do things, fighting tooth and nail for your keep. Much like the "Broadstreet Bullies," Hollywood finds himself in a war with a rival. Not just any rival, but with a rival that will be more than a challenge to defeat. Simon Lyster, a monster who indulges down the rabbit hole of his own beliefs, is the most dangerous kind of man. He is someone who believes that his ideals are no longer just "another way" but the "only way." However, like C.C. said best...

"What you don't know will hurt you."

Hollywood gets up from where he was sleeping after his homecoming and then Joey comes wandering out of his own room, wide-eyed and confused, like he was just born.

"Where did I come from?"

A woman, in blue jeans and a Philadelphia Flyers t-shirt peeks from behind Joey, leaving out of his bedroom door and walking outside, more than likely never to cross paths again. Poor Joey, he finally gets lucky and then his luck literally runs out. A sort of shit grin is worn on Joey's face as he sees his front door shut, then looks over at C.C.

"Decent!"

"I couldn't even tell you her name. I went to Deliiah's after the game last night, when you came back home to rest up, and I just hit it off with some strange. Next thing you know, I see her leave the next morning and I have to pee really bad!"

Hollywood shudders at the thought of where that woman has been as Joey beelines to the bathroom. A smile comes across C.C.'s face as he just shakes his head.

"My boy."

Just as Joey is occupied in the bathroom, Hollywood thinks more about his pay per view debut at Turning Point against Simon Lyster. The words that Lyster say are just that to C.C. They are no more than words. Any elementary student will tell you that actions speak louder than words, but Hollywood has not been one to raise his voice. Simon has. The psychological battle is soothing if you really think about it. Calm, collected, C.C. is under "The Spine Twister's" skin. Next step is getting into the mind. It is clear that Simon is academically smarter than Hollywood, but Hollywood is more efficient in something that Simon isn't. That, in particular, is what is known as "street smarts."

"Turning Point is the most important day of your life. How does it feel to know that I am a part of it? Don't get distracted from me. I am the last man you want to lose track of. You'll get your wish sooner rather than later, Simon. After Turning Point, you'll be bested at your "specialty," you'll be lost among the embarrassment of having to give up, and then you can face other trend followers like 'The Iceman,' or whoever else with a dull gimmick that you feast your eyes on."

Still in the bathroom, Joey can be heard as he lets go, full stream, to relinquish urine that has been building in his bladder since the night before. Trying not to laugh, Hollywood looks over his shoulder and pauses from speaking.

"Personally, what escapes me is the idea that you automatically assume that you will have me locked and secured in 'The Paralyzer.' I took your kind words into consideration and figured that I would just be nice enough to tell you that you, Simon Lyster, will not even get the chance to perform your masterpiece in that ring on me. No matter what your weak, pathetic gimps warn, I just am not a home body. Plus, I kind of already have my plane ticket to Denver and my Jeep has been transported there upon my arrival. We shall dance and you shall fall."

Joey finally comes out from the bathroom with a broom in his hand, dancing with it and singing the words...

"Brothers and sisters, go across the river, don't look back once there, trust me and take care."

C.C. just about loses it and watches Joey dance with a broom back into his room. The man has rediscovered his youth after sex. It's just wild what that will do to a man. A loveable loser like Joey Bagadonuts got with a woman last night. Behind closed doors, Joey can still be heard in his own form of happiness, doing a bad Metallica impression.

"As she pleases the master...MASTER!"

Hollywood is just about to be in tears, but does his best to continue.

"Oh, I see your point about carrying a broom. No one does it better than Bagadonuts. Now in relation to your statistics, not that it matters, you can throw those right out the window. You made Duncan B. Deadly tap. I don't care the slightest. To me, that's like if I told you that I had the world's best coffee when Monday Night Madness came to Seattle. It's trivial. No one cares. I defeated TJ Wallace, someone who...just going on a limb, has more credibility than Duncan B. Deadly. But, I do agree with you so wholeheartedly about the idea of a title. I don't need one around my waist to know who is better than who."

In the moment of response, Hollywood thinks to a time in his life where it was feast or famine. At that time, much like the state of being a champion at any stage of life, a materialistic status featured to be no more than just a giant target on the chest or back of a man who wore the crown. To be the best at something, a status or title should not be given, it should just be an unwritten fact, a household concept, than a man is untouchable and the best at what he does. That is what makes Hollywood hell bent.

"There is a big difference between someone with a lot of hype who hasn't been there before and the real thing because there is a time to play and a time to win. I am Derek Jeter, I am Bill Russell, I am Wayne Gretzky, and I am Joe Montana because I am, like the band that plays my tune, 'Clutch.' People have sacrificed their entire lives to be in the position we are in, Simon. You are right, titles are just possessions. I'm not a possessions man, I am a talk the people into the room and lead by example man. See, this, Lyster, is where I talk them into the arena, because what is on the line as far as a title shot really doesn't mean shit to me. Possessions just make us a target, but see, I want you to target me. I'm gonna' fight like I want a title shot, then hell, maybe I'll just give you the title shot afterwards, I don't care."

Joey then comes out of his room, dressed with a bag packed, ready to leave out to the airport for their flight to Denver, Colorado from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Hollywood holds up a hand towards Joey, making him halt in the direction of which he is coming from. Joey stays where he is, dropping his bag by his side.

"Must I say, your poor attempt at blending in is proving to be your demise. As much as you want to stand out, you should realize how similar you in fact are to the rest. TJ Wallace, Jonathan Heartsford, Jill Lorder, Duncan B. Deadly, and Big Joe; all of which do the same exact thing that you do now and say that I can't hang with the world class technicians. Every single one of them failed. You say I will 'break like the rest,' but what you don't realize is that you will fail like the rest. I can have it all and will have it all. Much like how I enjoyed myself earlier in the week and let you just talk, you broke yourself. He who speaks first breaks first. To be fair, Lyster, you never needed to say much. Just replay the last episode and it's all the same. Statistic, vertebrae, gimp, 'please the master,' and 'break like the rest."

"Nailed it."

"Yet, it is what you perceive as incoherent responses that peeve you the most. Here, I figured that I would about you candidly without a puff of weed. Not any form of marijuana. You want to get a clearer concept of just who I am, then say no more. It's just simpler to ask and you will receive. I, too, am knowledgeable of 'The Art of War.' Sure, I'm not the Stephen Hawking red-headed stepchild, but I do have my degree as an English major at the University of Delaware before I went out of my way to train to be the best. Not a paper champion, but the best. So, allow me to repeat myself, even though it is a pet peeve of my own, after I have talked circles around yet another closed mind."

Joey shakes his head and sits down in the recliner seat across from where Hollywood is stationed.

"He will never understand the winter of oh-five."

"I'll learn 'em. Simon, this submission match is a means of survival, right? Good thing that I am a survivalist. All I ever had to do was man up when others have faltered. This...is no different. People who thought they were better have passed. They couldn't survive the cold. To be fair, it as a kind of Oregon Trail winter, but damn...I forget that you have no concept of anything except being a number cruncher who also studies the human body. I'll tell you something you ought to know. At your age, there are two hundred and six bones in the human body. Everyone knows that, so stay with me. So, riddle me this, Lyster...how do you paralyze after already being paralyzed? I plan on breaking every bone in your body if it means winning. I don't know much about anatomy, but I know about car crashes. Comparing 'The Paralyzer' to a car crash is a pretty prestigious statement. I'll take you up on that, with your end result being that of a car crash. Once your still body has nothing but coal eyes staring back at me blankly, you'll wish that you were able to even howl for help. Trust me, you'll need help."

It's quite the delight when one man can understand and depict the behavior of a monster. It was pretty simple to put this one together. Simon's father died after a tragic fall, disintegrating the C-4 vertebrae. Alone, this already gives us the exact reason as to why Simon Lyster is the entity that he is. Obsessive compulsive with the human body, needing to get off on domination of the human race, and to follow with the exact proportionate, but distinction that he needs to shatter spines. Simon is living vicariously as if his own father was able to see his work today through coincidence of his death.

"Like the death of your father restarting your life, your career-ending moment when your hand repeatedly taps the canvas and you exclaim that you quit will jump start me. It'll feel good."

"You'll feel alive."

"I will. Simon, have you considered the pressure that you put upon yourself. You don't have to bang on the mat, you just have to tap. That's all anyone will need to know for you to disappear. A fool that you are, perfecting one move in your arsenal. I'll have you by the neck and we'll pivot on the mat. Once over, snap. Second time, break. Third time, hospital. Forth time, morgue. Then fifth time, obituary. You need this more than me, Simon."

Hollywood exits the room and proceeds to pack a bag en route to Denver for Turning Point. The flight is waiting and time is money. This time, your money says "in Hollywood we trust."

-fin-]]> <![CDATA[Legacies]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=18141 Fri, 23 Jan 2015 20:12:10 -0800 CorVus]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=18141 http://ewfederation.angelfire.com/corVus-rp4.html]]> http://ewfederation.angelfire.com/corVus-rp4.html]]> <![CDATA[A Pest and his Childhood]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=18139 Fri, 23 Jan 2015 19:37:56 -0800 Pest]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=18139 The boy sat alone in the dark for what felt like hours. The Pest had left, and Darkness was all that surrounded him. The lights turned on, blinding. Burning. Finally, he sees clearly around him. The Crown lays at his feet. There is a Water heater in the lefthand corner. A lawnmower rusts away under the stairs, and boxes line the furthest walls. Then a girl's screams sound out from above. She is shoved towards the steps by an unseen force. She takes steps down, and then tumbles. Step. Fall. Step. Fall. Step. Floor. The Pest steps through the frame, mask placed firmly back on his face. He steps down. Reaches. Grabs. The girl is picked up, and suspended from her wrists by chains dangling from rafters. Her feet barely escape the floor's grip. Tears fall from eyes hidden by brown hair. Aaron sees her. Compassion. Signs of the weak.

The Pest walks over to Aaron, and crouches. Shivers. The Monster touches the boy's head. Shivers. Hair tussled. Shivers. The boy has dread. He expects the worst. The worst for him and the girl. She appears posed to cry. The Boy wishes to warn her. The Monster will not tolerate crying. Words cannot be spoken quick enough. A scream. Snap. The neck of the Beast turns to face the girl. Lips. Licked. Fear. The boy is afraid for the girl. The Monster gets to his feet.

Pest:Hello, Aaron. I brought you a friend. She is a bit younger than you are, but I do not suppose that will be an issue. If it is, I can always get you an older friend. One like I had when I was your age. Oh, yes. I was as much a victim of sexual abuse as you will be, and as much as the girls I collect. Would you care to know the story?

He moves towards the girl, and moves her hair from his eyes. A Pest lowers to meet her gaze. Tiny piercing grey eyes. Staring into her brown eyes. Aaron sees her fear, and her youth. The Pest is turned away from the Boy. He shakes his head violently in answer to the Pest's inquiry.

Pest:Aaron, I cannot hear gestures. If you choose to answer me, and not bring pain to this little girl, then you must speak. Word.

Aaron:I don't wanna hear you story. I wanna go home.

Pest:A shame. You didn't listen.

A Pest picks something from the ground. He turns to face the boy as he slides it across the girl's face. Blood. Cries. Pain strikes the pit of Aaron's stomach. He calls for the pain to stop. The Pest brings a chair out and comes face to face with the boy. The Pest removes a remote from his pocket, and dims the lights. He removes his mask and looks at the boy. Their eyes lock. Fear. Shaking. The boy breaks the gaze first. A Pest chuckles.

Pest:So, you wish to learn about me, and the abuse I suffered. Good boy. Let me start by telling you that my mother, the whore that she was, was the victim of rape. She was merely 16 years old when I was born. My father, a lecherous old man, not unlike myself, preferred the company of those his junior. He was in his late thirties. So my mother tells me. You see, he was a Sailor in the United States Navy, and raped my mother. She was a Junior in High School, and he forced himself upon her. I was born of Rape, and Lust. We lived with my grandparents and my mother dropped out of school. She worked as a Waitress to pay for us. Things were normal around our house. Until I turned ten. On the night of my tenth birthday, my mother came into my room while I slept, she was drunk. She woke me up, and spoke to me. Spoke to me about the things on her mind. How I had ruined her life. How I had kept her from finding love. It was ok, though. She was going to forgive me, because I was her prince. And I would make it up to her. She stood up, and turned to face me. And slid out of her dress.

The Pest stops. He pauses. A scream. The girl behind him screams in pain. A Pest had left the object from before on the floor, and her feet had found it. A nail. A single solitary nail, puncturing her sole, and entering her tender flesh. A Pest gets to his feet, and moves the girl. Backhand. Face. Collide. She stifles the noise, and The Monster returns to his seat.

Pest:She slid out of her dress, and forced herself upon me. I was ten, and she, twenty-six. At the end of the act, she sat, naked on the foot of my bed, and cried. I tried to console her, as any son would. Told her I did not mind, I would do whatever was needed to keep her happy. As any boy would. She shoved me to the floor, and began to call me a dirty disgusting boy. This routine would repeat every few weeks for the next three years. Until she met him. Malcolm. Malcolm was a police officer. He met my mother, and they began to date. Soon, we moved into Malcolm's house. The night time visits would slow down, to only when Malcolm worked over night. I began to think of them as normal, and said nothing of them. When my mother was at work, Malcolm would abuse me. He thought it a game to whip me with electrical cords, kick me down the steps. Once, he ran my dog over in front of me, and told my mother the dog had run away. When I told her what happened he beat me for two hours, and called me a liar. The day mother married Malcolm, they dropped me off on the street. That was the day I turned fourteen. I never saw her again. For six months I lived on the streets with an older man, his name was James. He raped me. Repeatedly. He was a disgusting . One night, while he slept, I slit his throat. The next morning, I found my way to an orphanage. I did not last the week, as I was placed into a foster home almost immediately.

The Patriarch of the Foster Home, he was an old Soldier, and spent time in Korea. He had terrors from it, and spent no small amount of my time telling me about them. In between bouts of beating me for little infractions. Foster children, there were 3 of us in all, I was the lone male. Two girls. One of 16, two years older than I, and the other was ten. Same as I when I first felt my mother's touch. Frank, the Soldier, had taken a shine to Mary, the elder of the girls. We all slept in the same room, a basement converted to fit us. At night, when Frank believed we all were asleep, he would come down, and stuff a dirty sock in Mary's mouth, before forcing himself upon her. And when he finished, she would cover herself, turn and cry herself to sleep. Amber, the young girl, would always pretend like she saw nothing. I would swear to fight him one day. Mary begged me not to. On the day of Mary's seventeenth birthday, she hanged herself. At school, so that Frank could not stop her. Amber and I were alone with Frank. He did not turn his sights on her, but she came to me for protection none the less. The mistake was hers. I had watched Amber, and something stirred inside of me. One day, she was outside playing, Frank and his wife were gone. It was just us. I held her down and forced myself inside of her. I raped Amber. She was the first of my victims. She cried, but not much. When I finished, she told me the pain wasn't what made her cry. Only the betrayal.

She called me all kinds of names. None of them kind. The one that hurt the most was when she said I betrayed her. I silenced her. For good. I took a screw driver from the garage, and impaled her. She did not die right away, slowly. Gurgles. She choked on her own blood in the end. I hid the body, in the basement of the neighbor. He left his door unlocked, in case we wanted to watch his TV. Frank did not allow Television. When his wife came home and found Amber's body, they all assumed it was her husband that murdered the girl. I was alone in the house with Frank. He continued his abuse of me, but nothing sexual. He was not a . The War in Vietnam was still raging on, and every day we waited for news of an end. I turned eighteen. The year was 1973. I enlisted in the Marines. Frank told me it was my duty. I just wanted to get away from him.

The War taught me a new kind of evil. It killed me in ways that my mother, Frank, Malcom, and James never could. My first night in Vietnam, I saw three boys, no older than twenty, get mangled. Within my first week we marched on a village south of Hue. No one was there, just these little girls. Their fathers were off fighting Yankees. My squadmates and I executed the girls. But not before we had our way with them. That was my first foray into Asian girls. They were no older than Amber was, and yet it felt like such a mile stone. They wept when we finished. The one Grunt in my squad, Clover, they called him, Clover pissed on the girls when we finished. He then offered a cigarette. The first one to accept, Clover slit her throat. The next. He emptied a clip from his rifle into her torso. The last tried to make her escape. I emptied the clip. She did not die right away. I was not as good of a shot as Clover. She lay there twitching and gasping. On paper, she was the first life I took. Clover set their village ablaze. Life continued this way for another year. Clover eventually found his way onto a Punji stake just outside of Nam Dinh. He did not survive. I watched as the closest thing to a friend I had died in front of me. In one of the most inhuman ways I could imagine. Do you know what a Punji Stake is, Aaron?

Aaron:No.

Pest:It is a sharpened piece of Bamboo covered in human shit. They sharpen these Bamboo sticks into a point, and cover them in shit. Then bury them, hoping we step on them and die. I was lucky. Clover was not. Ironic. Vietnam is where I was given the name Pest. It is also the place where I buried Michael Stevens, and I have never visited his grave. They called the war over. I went home, and was relieved of duty. Found to be suffering from the effects of Chemical Warfare, and the horrors of the Asian Continent. They told me I was sick. I told them I was truly alive. I went back. A twenty one year old American, alone in the Asian Jungles. I survived. I always survive. The girls I met did not. I lived this way for another four years. Until I was found. A group of Americans on Vacation had somehow come ashore to my private Hell. Among them was Malcolm. He told me how my mother perished. I told him how her son had perished. And, as I had promised, I drowned Malcolm in the river. He would not go home. I did, though. To the streets my mother and I once called home. I did not visit her grave. I found a job working as a butcher, and enrolled in College.

While walking home one night, I came across a girl. She was my junior, and she was having dinner with her date. He was apparently bothering her. I stepped in and beat the man. He went home alone, holding his face. I walked her back home. Her parents were both gone to dinner. She offered me a soda if I would stay with her, to make sure she was safe. She was not safe. As soon as the door shut, The Monster struck. The act led to a pregnancy. She was kicked out of her house, and out of the dying kindness in my heart, I allowed her to stay with me. The child was born a girl, a healthy girl. The mother, did not meet the girl. She was 15 when she died. I named the girl for my mother. And I raised her, by myself. When she entered school, I had finished College, and began to work as a teacher. My daughter grew and lived. Every day she reminded me more and more of the woman I learned to hate. She was allowed a pet. She chose a cat. Named him Tiger. Foolish. The Cat kept me up at night. A tiger stalking me, in my home. The Beast struck first. Tiger met the Monster. And the Monster fed the Flesh of the Tiger to his princess.

A gulp. The girl in chains vomited on the floor. The Pest ignored it.

Pest:My Princess turned 13. And I began to visit her at night. As my mother visited me. I waited until she was three years older than I was when she first came to me. My Princess would always ask me why at the end of our visits. I would tell her it was to appease God. On her sixteenth birthday, she told me there was no God. Only the God of Emptiness. And then she leapt. I did not attend the funeral. Instead, I left the grid and began to travel. And torture. I collected girls. 223 in all. Starting with Amber, and ending with Charli. You, you will begin your quest to be like me.

The boy shakes his head. The Pest undoes the ropes ans allows the Boy to stand at his feet.

Pest:You will force yourself upon her.

Aaron:I won't.

Pest:And then you shall suffer, as shall she.

The Pest rises, and collects an extension cord. He brings it down upon the body of the boy. The boy does not curl, he does not cry. He takes it. The Pest swings harder. The girl cries. She does not understand what is going on, but the Pest keeps swinging, and she keeps crying.]]> The boy sat alone in the dark for what felt like hours. The Pest had left, and Darkness was all that surrounded him. The lights turned on, blinding. Burning. Finally, he sees clearly around him. The Crown lays at his feet. There is a Water heater in the lefthand corner. A lawnmower rusts away under the stairs, and boxes line the furthest walls. Then a girl's screams sound out from above. She is shoved towards the steps by an unseen force. She takes steps down, and then tumbles. Step. Fall. Step. Fall. Step. Floor. The Pest steps through the frame, mask placed firmly back on his face. He steps down. Reaches. Grabs. The girl is picked up, and suspended from her wrists by chains dangling from rafters. Her feet barely escape the floor's grip. Tears fall from eyes hidden by brown hair. Aaron sees her. Compassion. Signs of the weak.

The Pest walks over to Aaron, and crouches. Shivers. The Monster touches the boy's head. Shivers. Hair tussled. Shivers. The boy has dread. He expects the worst. The worst for him and the girl. She appears posed to cry. The Boy wishes to warn her. The Monster will not tolerate crying. Words cannot be spoken quick enough. A scream. Snap. The neck of the Beast turns to face the girl. Lips. Licked. Fear. The boy is afraid for the girl. The Monster gets to his feet.

Pest:Hello, Aaron. I brought you a friend. She is a bit younger than you are, but I do not suppose that will be an issue. If it is, I can always get you an older friend. One like I had when I was your age. Oh, yes. I was as much a victim of sexual abuse as you will be, and as much as the girls I collect. Would you care to know the story?

He moves towards the girl, and moves her hair from his eyes. A Pest lowers to meet her gaze. Tiny piercing grey eyes. Staring into her brown eyes. Aaron sees her fear, and her youth. The Pest is turned away from the Boy. He shakes his head violently in answer to the Pest's inquiry.

Pest:Aaron, I cannot hear gestures. If you choose to answer me, and not bring pain to this little girl, then you must speak. Word.

Aaron:I don't wanna hear you story. I wanna go home.

Pest:A shame. You didn't listen.

A Pest picks something from the ground. He turns to face the boy as he slides it across the girl's face. Blood. Cries. Pain strikes the pit of Aaron's stomach. He calls for the pain to stop. The Pest brings a chair out and comes face to face with the boy. The Pest removes a remote from his pocket, and dims the lights. He removes his mask and looks at the boy. Their eyes lock. Fear. Shaking. The boy breaks the gaze first. A Pest chuckles.

Pest:So, you wish to learn about me, and the abuse I suffered. Good boy. Let me start by telling you that my mother, the whore that she was, was the victim of rape. She was merely 16 years old when I was born. My father, a lecherous old man, not unlike myself, preferred the company of those his junior. He was in his late thirties. So my mother tells me. You see, he was a Sailor in the United States Navy, and raped my mother. She was a Junior in High School, and he forced himself upon her. I was born of Rape, and Lust. We lived with my grandparents and my mother dropped out of school. She worked as a Waitress to pay for us. Things were normal around our house. Until I turned ten. On the night of my tenth birthday, my mother came into my room while I slept, she was drunk. She woke me up, and spoke to me. Spoke to me about the things on her mind. How I had ruined her life. How I had kept her from finding love. It was ok, though. She was going to forgive me, because I was her prince. And I would make it up to her. She stood up, and turned to face me. And slid out of her dress.

The Pest stops. He pauses. A scream. The girl behind him screams in pain. A Pest had left the object from before on the floor, and her feet had found it. A nail. A single solitary nail, puncturing her sole, and entering her tender flesh. A Pest gets to his feet, and moves the girl. Backhand. Face. Collide. She stifles the noise, and The Monster returns to his seat.

Pest:She slid out of her dress, and forced herself upon me. I was ten, and she, twenty-six. At the end of the act, she sat, naked on the foot of my bed, and cried. I tried to console her, as any son would. Told her I did not mind, I would do whatever was needed to keep her happy. As any boy would. She shoved me to the floor, and began to call me a dirty disgusting boy. This routine would repeat every few weeks for the next three years. Until she met him. Malcolm. Malcolm was a police officer. He met my mother, and they began to date. Soon, we moved into Malcolm's house. The night time visits would slow down, to only when Malcolm worked over night. I began to think of them as normal, and said nothing of them. When my mother was at work, Malcolm would abuse me. He thought it a game to whip me with electrical cords, kick me down the steps. Once, he ran my dog over in front of me, and told my mother the dog had run away. When I told her what happened he beat me for two hours, and called me a liar. The day mother married Malcolm, they dropped me off on the street. That was the day I turned fourteen. I never saw her again. For six months I lived on the streets with an older man, his name was James. He raped me. Repeatedly. He was a disgusting . One night, while he slept, I slit his throat. The next morning, I found my way to an orphanage. I did not last the week, as I was placed into a foster home almost immediately.

The Patriarch of the Foster Home, he was an old Soldier, and spent time in Korea. He had terrors from it, and spent no small amount of my time telling me about them. In between bouts of beating me for little infractions. Foster children, there were 3 of us in all, I was the lone male. Two girls. One of 16, two years older than I, and the other was ten. Same as I when I first felt my mother's touch. Frank, the Soldier, had taken a shine to Mary, the elder of the girls. We all slept in the same room, a basement converted to fit us. At night, when Frank believed we all were asleep, he would come down, and stuff a dirty sock in Mary's mouth, before forcing himself upon her. And when he finished, she would cover herself, turn and cry herself to sleep. Amber, the young girl, would always pretend like she saw nothing. I would swear to fight him one day. Mary begged me not to. On the day of Mary's seventeenth birthday, she hanged herself. At school, so that Frank could not stop her. Amber and I were alone with Frank. He did not turn his sights on her, but she came to me for protection none the less. The mistake was hers. I had watched Amber, and something stirred inside of me. One day, she was outside playing, Frank and his wife were gone. It was just us. I held her down and forced myself inside of her. I raped Amber. She was the first of my victims. She cried, but not much. When I finished, she told me the pain wasn't what made her cry. Only the betrayal.

She called me all kinds of names. None of them kind. The one that hurt the most was when she said I betrayed her. I silenced her. For good. I took a screw driver from the garage, and impaled her. She did not die right away, slowly. Gurgles. She choked on her own blood in the end. I hid the body, in the basement of the neighbor. He left his door unlocked, in case we wanted to watch his TV. Frank did not allow Television. When his wife came home and found Amber's body, they all assumed it was her husband that murdered the girl. I was alone in the house with Frank. He continued his abuse of me, but nothing sexual. He was not a . The War in Vietnam was still raging on, and every day we waited for news of an end. I turned eighteen. The year was 1973. I enlisted in the Marines. Frank told me it was my duty. I just wanted to get away from him.

The War taught me a new kind of evil. It killed me in ways that my mother, Frank, Malcom, and James never could. My first night in Vietnam, I saw three boys, no older than twenty, get mangled. Within my first week we marched on a village south of Hue. No one was there, just these little girls. Their fathers were off fighting Yankees. My squadmates and I executed the girls. But not before we had our way with them. That was my first foray into Asian girls. They were no older than Amber was, and yet it felt like such a mile stone. They wept when we finished. The one Grunt in my squad, Clover, they called him, Clover pissed on the girls when we finished. He then offered a cigarette. The first one to accept, Clover slit her throat. The next. He emptied a clip from his rifle into her torso. The last tried to make her escape. I emptied the clip. She did not die right away. I was not as good of a shot as Clover. She lay there twitching and gasping. On paper, she was the first life I took. Clover set their village ablaze. Life continued this way for another year. Clover eventually found his way onto a Punji stake just outside of Nam Dinh. He did not survive. I watched as the closest thing to a friend I had died in front of me. In one of the most inhuman ways I could imagine. Do you know what a Punji Stake is, Aaron?

Aaron:No.

Pest:It is a sharpened piece of Bamboo covered in human shit. They sharpen these Bamboo sticks into a point, and cover them in shit. Then bury them, hoping we step on them and die. I was lucky. Clover was not. Ironic. Vietnam is where I was given the name Pest. It is also the place where I buried Michael Stevens, and I have never visited his grave. They called the war over. I went home, and was relieved of duty. Found to be suffering from the effects of Chemical Warfare, and the horrors of the Asian Continent. They told me I was sick. I told them I was truly alive. I went back. A twenty one year old American, alone in the Asian Jungles. I survived. I always survive. The girls I met did not. I lived this way for another four years. Until I was found. A group of Americans on Vacation had somehow come ashore to my private Hell. Among them was Malcolm. He told me how my mother perished. I told him how her son had perished. And, as I had promised, I drowned Malcolm in the river. He would not go home. I did, though. To the streets my mother and I once called home. I did not visit her grave. I found a job working as a butcher, and enrolled in College.

While walking home one night, I came across a girl. She was my junior, and she was having dinner with her date. He was apparently bothering her. I stepped in and beat the man. He went home alone, holding his face. I walked her back home. Her parents were both gone to dinner. She offered me a soda if I would stay with her, to make sure she was safe. She was not safe. As soon as the door shut, The Monster struck. The act led to a pregnancy. She was kicked out of her house, and out of the dying kindness in my heart, I allowed her to stay with me. The child was born a girl, a healthy girl. The mother, did not meet the girl. She was 15 when she died. I named the girl for my mother. And I raised her, by myself. When she entered school, I had finished College, and began to work as a teacher. My daughter grew and lived. Every day she reminded me more and more of the woman I learned to hate. She was allowed a pet. She chose a cat. Named him Tiger. Foolish. The Cat kept me up at night. A tiger stalking me, in my home. The Beast struck first. Tiger met the Monster. And the Monster fed the Flesh of the Tiger to his princess.

A gulp. The girl in chains vomited on the floor. The Pest ignored it.

Pest:My Princess turned 13. And I began to visit her at night. As my mother visited me. I waited until she was three years older than I was when she first came to me. My Princess would always ask me why at the end of our visits. I would tell her it was to appease God. On her sixteenth birthday, she told me there was no God. Only the God of Emptiness. And then she leapt. I did not attend the funeral. Instead, I left the grid and began to travel. And torture. I collected girls. 223 in all. Starting with Amber, and ending with Charli. You, you will begin your quest to be like me.

The boy shakes his head. The Pest undoes the ropes ans allows the Boy to stand at his feet.

Pest:You will force yourself upon her.

Aaron:I won't.

Pest:And then you shall suffer, as shall she.

The Pest rises, and collects an extension cord. He brings it down upon the body of the boy. The boy does not curl, he does not cry. He takes it. The Pest swings harder. The girl cries. She does not understand what is going on, but the Pest keeps swinging, and she keeps crying.]]> <![CDATA[The Rebirth And "Trust Issues" Addressed]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=18138 Fri, 23 Jan 2015 19:32:38 -0800 Mr. Oz]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=18138
Journal re-written, giving the pages a good spooling through before he had his camera set up and began to talk

There was a reason I didn't want Lucius as my partner. Did it have anything to do with my lack of faith in his abilities?

Ghost Tank looked off to the side, sighing slightly then looking back to the camera and nodding,

Lucius had been taken by us. He is a brother by all rights in The Asylum. The problem with him, however, is he still needs experience. He still needs guidance. I predict he will be ready, soon, but the other reason I didn't choose him? Because you wanted him, corVus. You wanted him, for some strange reason, so I figured I'd deny you your wish. My new Brother has finally spoken, and he is hungry, corVus. I am glad to have chosen him as my partner, glad that the Higher Power has brought us together.

Now, corVus, I can't wait to see your reasoning for disliking The Asylum, though no matter what, I still won't care. The Higher Power could be your fucking father, but I would still give no quarter. I chose to ask for a new name, for I believed it was necessary to the change I will be undergoing. Win or lose, I have changed. I have become something that most will grow to fear, and if they do not, then they too will fall as you will at Turning Point. The reason Herod is my partner, is because I wanted someone equally mysterious, someone I felt could change the match at any time, and make you feel as if you were the world's smallest man in the ways of how important you are and will be made to feel.

I have never claimed to be anything other than a rather large cog in this war machine of The Asylum. I have made no bones about this, corVus.

Another thing, corVus, I could have made the transformation by myself. Hysteria, yes, is a conduit. The man is the only one of us who can communicate with the Higher Power. Maybe one day, the Higher Power will reveal himself to the rest of us, and we will be capable of talking to him too. For now, this "coward" is going to be facing you at your debut.

We have a problem. You believe it will be a win, like your own Brother's first debut was a win. The complication here, is that unlike Sane's debut, you face Herod...you also face me.

What I find absolutely hilarious is you think that by my choosing someone that is not yet "officially" a member. I gave my reasons for not choosing Fyre. Here's why I didn't choose the others. I didn't choose Brother Frodo, because I felt that he needed some time off to be with his wife. As someone who was reunited with their own true love, I wish I had taken time off to be with them. Because I didn't, I began to let myself be distracted.

The Prophet is in his own world as he tries to protect the Prophetic title.

Underwood I had not seen for a while.

Ghost Tank shifts around on the bed, grumbling in discomfort. Chest, face, back, legs, all aching from the attack. He skipped a page, looking at the final page of the "speech" and shook his head,

So, as we know, Hysteria did talk to the Higher Power. I have my new name and I have paid my price for it.

You see, that's what it means to be a part of a Brotherhood, corVus. It means being there when they are down and out, it means that if they need a shoulder to lean on, you provide it. What it doesn't mean, is being there just to be there. Frodo is a brother, Hysteria is a brother, Underwood, Herod. I will be there for them whenever they need it, and they know tha-

That is when he heard a slam at the door of his current housing. With a grunt and a groan, Ghost Tank stood up, walked to the door, then looked at what had been stabbed into the wood, as well as stuck through the shoulder of Tessmocher, holding a bag of fast food, a large hunting knife.

@cemetery.

Ghost Tank was about to pull the blade out when he saw the last parts of the note,

P.S. Bring shovels and Chardonnay.]]>
Journal re-written, giving the pages a good spooling through before he had his camera set up and began to talk

There was a reason I didn't want Lucius as my partner. Did it have anything to do with my lack of faith in his abilities?

Ghost Tank looked off to the side, sighing slightly then looking back to the camera and nodding,

Lucius had been taken by us. He is a brother by all rights in The Asylum. The problem with him, however, is he still needs experience. He still needs guidance. I predict he will be ready, soon, but the other reason I didn't choose him? Because you wanted him, corVus. You wanted him, for some strange reason, so I figured I'd deny you your wish. My new Brother has finally spoken, and he is hungry, corVus. I am glad to have chosen him as my partner, glad that the Higher Power has brought us together.

Now, corVus, I can't wait to see your reasoning for disliking The Asylum, though no matter what, I still won't care. The Higher Power could be your fucking father, but I would still give no quarter. I chose to ask for a new name, for I believed it was necessary to the change I will be undergoing. Win or lose, I have changed. I have become something that most will grow to fear, and if they do not, then they too will fall as you will at Turning Point. The reason Herod is my partner, is because I wanted someone equally mysterious, someone I felt could change the match at any time, and make you feel as if you were the world's smallest man in the ways of how important you are and will be made to feel.

I have never claimed to be anything other than a rather large cog in this war machine of The Asylum. I have made no bones about this, corVus.

Another thing, corVus, I could have made the transformation by myself. Hysteria, yes, is a conduit. The man is the only one of us who can communicate with the Higher Power. Maybe one day, the Higher Power will reveal himself to the rest of us, and we will be capable of talking to him too. For now, this "coward" is going to be facing you at your debut.

We have a problem. You believe it will be a win, like your own Brother's first debut was a win. The complication here, is that unlike Sane's debut, you face Herod...you also face me.

What I find absolutely hilarious is you think that by my choosing someone that is not yet "officially" a member. I gave my reasons for not choosing Fyre. Here's why I didn't choose the others. I didn't choose Brother Frodo, because I felt that he needed some time off to be with his wife. As someone who was reunited with their own true love, I wish I had taken time off to be with them. Because I didn't, I began to let myself be distracted.

The Prophet is in his own world as he tries to protect the Prophetic title.

Underwood I had not seen for a while.

Ghost Tank shifts around on the bed, grumbling in discomfort. Chest, face, back, legs, all aching from the attack. He skipped a page, looking at the final page of the "speech" and shook his head,

So, as we know, Hysteria did talk to the Higher Power. I have my new name and I have paid my price for it.

You see, that's what it means to be a part of a Brotherhood, corVus. It means being there when they are down and out, it means that if they need a shoulder to lean on, you provide it. What it doesn't mean, is being there just to be there. Frodo is a brother, Hysteria is a brother, Underwood, Herod. I will be there for them whenever they need it, and they know tha-

That is when he heard a slam at the door of his current housing. With a grunt and a groan, Ghost Tank stood up, walked to the door, then looked at what had been stabbed into the wood, as well as stuck through the shoulder of Tessmocher, holding a bag of fast food, a large hunting knife.

@cemetery.

Ghost Tank was about to pull the blade out when he saw the last parts of the note,

P.S. Bring shovels and Chardonnay.]]> <![CDATA[People Power RP 3]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=18137 Fri, 23 Jan 2015 19:22:09 -0800 Barney Green]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=18137


The scene opens up inside of a dimly lit gym where we see Barney Green, dressed in a Boston Bruins shirt with black jogging pants and black and lime green sneakers, lifting some weights. In walks John Laurinaitis, dressed in a black suit with a white shirt and red tie. Green drops the barbell to the ground and goes to speak.

Barney: Thanks for coming to help me get into shape for this match.

John: It's not a problem, Barney. I know you got the potential to win this match. I remember watching a match you did where you incorporated the Ace Crusher into your arsenal and I appreciate that. You are a good, hard working individual that deserves more credit than you get. You gotta make every match count because I honestly don't see you wrestling 3 years from now. Your doctor has even told you that you need knee replacement surgery because your right knee is shot beyond belief.

Laurinaitis stops as Green goes to speak.

Barney: As long as I am able to walk, I can wrestle. I don't need to jump off the top rope. I punch and hit people with weapons. I will manage with one good leg. I know my strengths and weaknesses. This match is gonna take its toll on me but I am fine with that. If I didn't love this business, I wouldn't have stuck around for as long as I have. I gave up my filmmaking career after that fell to the wayside and I lost all my money and wound up taking this seriously and have made enough money that I could walk away tomorrow and live the rest of my life comfortably but I love the rush I get when the fans chant my name.

Green pauses as Laurinaitis goes to speak.

John: I hear you on that. Let's focus on your upper body strength today and worry about the legs tomorrow. We don't need you getting hurt before your match against Grayson Stinger, The Dimallisher and Peter Gilmour.

Barney: Even if I did get hurt, I would still go out there and fight because I have never backed down from a fight before in my life.

John: That's the problem you have. You try your hardest at entertaining the fans and the fans love you but they don't want to see you get hurt every match.

Barney: Maybe so but after Foley Anderson died, I made it a mission of mine to become Universal Champion. Just to add that to my resume and prove to the world that I still got it.

John: I understand but you are going about it the wrong way. I don't think Foley would want to see you hurting yourself to make an impact.

Barney: What choice do I have? I am not that great of a technician in the ring. I am just a guy that brawls. The fans expect that when I come out to the ring. Turning Point is gonna be no different. I have raised the bar when it comes to hardcore matches. I am the American Everyman who had the balls to stare fate in the eyes and kick it right in the stones. The blood I have spilled for the business I love. The sacrifices I have made to my body. It will all be worthwhile when I win at Turning Point. Prove to the world that Barney Green is no pushover.

John: That is all fine and dandy but the time to talk is over. Let's get back to work.

The scene fades to black as Barney Green starts to work out again.


Time is drawing towards an end before the match happens and I got no fear in my eyes. Barney Green never sleeps. Barney Green studies his opponents intently. Learning from their mistakes to make an impact. Make people remember me. All I have wanted in this business is to be loved. I was a guy who grew up with money and wound up being the black sheep of his family because he was deemed worthless. A guy who at 5'10 and 320 pounds was deemed a failure by his parents. I have righted the wrongs. A guy who got ignored and told he was a failure.

I became a successful filmmaker with "The Bus Ride". A movie about the daily route of a Bus Driver and all the strange passengers you encounter. Then, My parents wanted something to do with me and they enjoyed spending my money. Then, "The Plane Ride" came out which was a movie featuring the adventures Pilot's face in the air. It was a colossal failure of a movie but I moved forward and started work on the sequel. I filmed "The Car Ride" which was a look at the day in the life of an average American and that failed terribly in theaters. I was BG Studios greatest asset and liability. I was drinking heavily towards the end because I could and to mask the pain. The final movie I did before the company went bankrupt was One Night In Green which was a porno involving my self and a few trannies. That bankrupted the company and caused my parents to want nothing to do with me. All I wanted was their love and I tried to convince myself by letting them spend my money, I was a good son. Now, I know the truth and that is, They were awful parents.

I'm just a very flawed individual who slept his 20's away with any tranny that would give me the time of day. Drinking and partying ruined my life a bit but I don't plan on stopping. I just wanted to be loved and it finally happened. Even though, I have had blackout phases where I wound up in places I have no clue how I got there.

Turning Point. Be ready because I am coming with a vengeance. People Power is gonna run wild.]]>


The scene opens up inside of a dimly lit gym where we see Barney Green, dressed in a Boston Bruins shirt with black jogging pants and black and lime green sneakers, lifting some weights. In walks John Laurinaitis, dressed in a black suit with a white shirt and red tie. Green drops the barbell to the ground and goes to speak.

Barney: Thanks for coming to help me get into shape for this match.

John: It's not a problem, Barney. I know you got the potential to win this match. I remember watching a match you did where you incorporated the Ace Crusher into your arsenal and I appreciate that. You are a good, hard working individual that deserves more credit than you get. You gotta make every match count because I honestly don't see you wrestling 3 years from now. Your doctor has even told you that you need knee replacement surgery because your right knee is shot beyond belief.

Laurinaitis stops as Green goes to speak.

Barney: As long as I am able to walk, I can wrestle. I don't need to jump off the top rope. I punch and hit people with weapons. I will manage with one good leg. I know my strengths and weaknesses. This match is gonna take its toll on me but I am fine with that. If I didn't love this business, I wouldn't have stuck around for as long as I have. I gave up my filmmaking career after that fell to the wayside and I lost all my money and wound up taking this seriously and have made enough money that I could walk away tomorrow and live the rest of my life comfortably but I love the rush I get when the fans chant my name.

Green pauses as Laurinaitis goes to speak.

John: I hear you on that. Let's focus on your upper body strength today and worry about the legs tomorrow. We don't need you getting hurt before your match against Grayson Stinger, The Dimallisher and Peter Gilmour.

Barney: Even if I did get hurt, I would still go out there and fight because I have never backed down from a fight before in my life.

John: That's the problem you have. You try your hardest at entertaining the fans and the fans love you but they don't want to see you get hurt every match.

Barney: Maybe so but after Foley Anderson died, I made it a mission of mine to become Universal Champion. Just to add that to my resume and prove to the world that I still got it.

John: I understand but you are going about it the wrong way. I don't think Foley would want to see you hurting yourself to make an impact.

Barney: What choice do I have? I am not that great of a technician in the ring. I am just a guy that brawls. The fans expect that when I come out to the ring. Turning Point is gonna be no different. I have raised the bar when it comes to hardcore matches. I am the American Everyman who had the balls to stare fate in the eyes and kick it right in the stones. The blood I have spilled for the business I love. The sacrifices I have made to my body. It will all be worthwhile when I win at Turning Point. Prove to the world that Barney Green is no pushover.

John: That is all fine and dandy but the time to talk is over. Let's get back to work.

The scene fades to black as Barney Green starts to work out again.


Time is drawing towards an end before the match happens and I got no fear in my eyes. Barney Green never sleeps. Barney Green studies his opponents intently. Learning from their mistakes to make an impact. Make people remember me. All I have wanted in this business is to be loved. I was a guy who grew up with money and wound up being the black sheep of his family because he was deemed worthless. A guy who at 5'10 and 320 pounds was deemed a failure by his parents. I have righted the wrongs. A guy who got ignored and told he was a failure.

I became a successful filmmaker with "The Bus Ride". A movie about the daily route of a Bus Driver and all the strange passengers you encounter. Then, My parents wanted something to do with me and they enjoyed spending my money. Then, "The Plane Ride" came out which was a movie featuring the adventures Pilot's face in the air. It was a colossal failure of a movie but I moved forward and started work on the sequel. I filmed "The Car Ride" which was a look at the day in the life of an average American and that failed terribly in theaters. I was BG Studios greatest asset and liability. I was drinking heavily towards the end because I could and to mask the pain. The final movie I did before the company went bankrupt was One Night In Green which was a porno involving my self and a few trannies. That bankrupted the company and caused my parents to want nothing to do with me. All I wanted was their love and I tried to convince myself by letting them spend my money, I was a good son. Now, I know the truth and that is, They were awful parents.

I'm just a very flawed individual who slept his 20's away with any tranny that would give me the time of day. Drinking and partying ruined my life a bit but I don't plan on stopping. I just wanted to be loved and it finally happened. Even though, I have had blackout phases where I wound up in places I have no clue how I got there.

Turning Point. Be ready because I am coming with a vengeance. People Power is gonna run wild.]]> <![CDATA[Cocaine]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=18133 Fri, 23 Jan 2015 17:28:20 -0800 Scully]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=18133



Cocaine

It was only yesterday, Scully had a visit from Natalie. He hadn’t seen her for a couple of months but it was just like before, they seemed to click. Scully wouldn’t admit how he felt and made out he was happy to be her pimp. After all, they stopped seeing each other because he caught her on all fours and some desperado fucking her from behind. Natalie regrets going back into prostitution, not only because she was caught in the act but because she had feelings for Scully. She needed the money though and she was going to continue selling her body, simply because it meant she would still be in Scully’s company, if he was indeed her pimp. During Natalie’s visit, she went to the toilet and her plan was strip naked. Why? To seduce Scully. She still wanted him and she hoped it worked.
Whilst upstairs, she heard banging and shouting. She crept to the top of the landing and listened carefully. She could hear that it was over cocaine and it was obvious, Scully was being beaten. The drug dealer, Tyler and his henchmen had left their mark. Scully was told before the final shot, they wanted half of the five grand he owed. After they had left Scully unconscious, she ran down the stairs in the nude and nursed Scully when he woke up. She then gave Scully oral sex to make him feel better. He let her stay tonight.
Today, Scully had to pay Tyler half the money he owed him for cocaine. Scully never had much cash but he never much choice, he had to pay it. Scully is one of those guy’s who always pays what he owes. He had a black eye, fat lip and bruised ribs to show for not yet paying his debt, but he was still feeling positive. Scully had to sell his 2014 Dodge Charger to pay for his mortgage and coke, so he had to take a cab to Tyler’s ‘office’. Scully let Natalie stay at his house as he didn’t want her involved. Scully small sports bag in hand with the money inside. The cab pulls up outside a large house with large black gates. There is a black 2015 Aston Martin V8 Vantage, a white 2015 Jeep Cherokee Sport and a yacht on the drive way. Scully is envious of the luxuries this guy has for dealing drugs. Skull pays the cab driver, gets out and walks up to the large gates. Scully pushes the buzzer as he looks into the camera pointing directly at him. It is Tyler himself, who answers as he speaks through the speaker.
Tyler “Come in…..”
The gate opens, Scull takes that long walk down the path as he looks at the vehicles with jealousy. As Scully gets to the door it opens. Karl, the henchmen who gave Scully the final blow, smiles at Scully with a cocky grin. Skull just ignores Karl’s smug look and enters the large house. Karl follows behind and escorts him to a room. Karl open the doors and Scully enters. Tyler is sat in his chair, Cuban cigar in mouth and counting lots of cash. He looks at Scully and puts the cash in a pile. Tyler’s other two henchmen, Jamal and Dave, are standing either side of him. Scully places the small bag on the table as Tyler blows smoke in Skulls face. Tyler unzips the bag and looks at the money. He passes it to Jamal to count as he stares at Scully.

Tyler “Cigar, friend?”

Scully “We aren’t and will never be friends… So no thank you”

Tyler “Rude. Why are you such a cocky little shit?”

Scully “No one treats me like some turd on the bottom of their shoe, that’s why…..Friend”

Tyler “I’ve been good to you, Scully…”

Tyler smirks as he was being sarcastic.

Scully “All this money you have. You have a big house, the cars on the driveway and you’re being an absolute Cunt over five grand?”

Tyler “Business is business. You snorted it so you pay for it, Dick.”

Scully “I get that, I really do and I always pay my debts. I text you only a couple of days ago, telling you I would get your cash. Your reply, ‘I’m in no rush, give it to me when you have it.’ Then yesterday, you’re in my house with these little bitches kicking the shit outta me. What’s up with that?”

Tyler “I changed my mind! I tell you what I’m going to do, if all the cash is there, I’m going to give you a whole week to bring me the rest of my money… I’m going to be generous, just this once.”

Scully “The catch?”

Tyler “Why do you think there’s a catch? I’m in a good mood.”

Jamal then interrupts.

Jamal “It’s missing $500 boss.”

Jamal grins as he hands Karl and Dave $100 each and $200 to Tyler. Jamal puts $100 in his own pocket.

Scully “You thieving little gypo’s…”

Tyler “Late payment, Skull. Got to charge interest. You still owe three grand… Next week, Skull or we’ll be paying you another visit.”

Scully is pissed off and just turns to leave. Tyler then makes another remark.

Tyler “Hey Skull, your face is looking good.”

Scully head-butts Karl, knocking him to the floor. Tyler stands up and stops Jamal and Dave from reacting. Scully smirks.

Scully “Just as good as baldilocks over here then.”

Blood pours from Karl’s nose as he lays unconscious on the floor. Scully then leaves, feeling good about himself.


Two Hours Later…….

Scully is back at his home with his cameraman and new housemate, Alfie. Natalie had gone back to her flat to get some more clothes. It seemed she was going to be staying with Skull for a little while. Alfie had just got a couple of Budweiser’s for himself and Scully, from the fridge. They are just chilling and Alfie wants to know what is going on with Natalie.

Alfie “What is with you and Natalie?”

Scully “We are just friends.”

Alfie “Friends just sleep with each other do they? I’ve seen the way you two look at each other, you really like her don’t you?”

Scully “Yeah I like her, she’s hot, what is there not to like? There’s nothing wrong with a bit of fun.”

Alfie “How much does she charge?”

Scully throws a cushion and hits Alfie in the face.

Alfie “Touchy subject, huh?”

Scully “She doesn’t charge me a single dollar, she doesn’t charge me anything!”

Alfie “Preferred customer, yeah?”

Scully “Look go and make yourself useful and grab your shitty camera.”

Alfie “Need to let off some steam?”

Scully nods his head and smiles. Alfie grins and then gets up from the sofa. Alfie goes to get his camera. Meanwhile, Scully thinks about Natalie. He asks himself questions like, should he be fucking a prosi? It’s not like he couldn’t pull another woman. He knows she’s clean and not doing it at the moment, but he’s still fucking a prosi, regardless. Alfie soon return with camera in hand and then makes a joke.

Alfie “Ready hooker fucker?”

Scully “You’re fucking hilarious… Ready!”

Alfie “3…. 2….1….. A blowjob is $10.”

Scully “You’re cheap!”

Alfie “GO…….”

Alfie hits the record button.

Scully “Welcome ya’ll to the final addition of the greatest show in the XWF, regardless of what that turdburglar, Fernando says…. The last addition before the pay-per-view, Turning Point, that is. Not the last addition ever like you some of you were hoping…. Welcome to Scully Cam.
Tomorrow night at the Pepsi Center in Denver, Colorado. I enter a ladder match which will involve eight superstars… I mean one superstar… Myself, Scully and seven divas. Those ladies are David Mosier, Polvo Blanco, Austin Fernando, Cain, Ruben A. Mitchell, Shinsuke Nakamura and Duncan B. Deadly. We’ve heard a lot of bullshit from these women, well the four of them that could be bothered to flap they’re gums. It is apparent that Daffyd, Duncan Donuts and Shinsue are not that interested in this match. They’re too busy fingering each other’s butt holes. So let’s concentrate again on the girls that tried and failed to insult me.

Austin Fandango, You think you're out of this world --and everyone wishes you were. You’ve ran your mouth, spat shit and made out you’re the top dog off the XWF. You’re the dog’s bollocks right? That’s some British slang right there, the dog’s bollocks means you think you’re the man around here. Well considering you’ve done fuck all but chat shit and beat an underperforming, Ghost Tank, since you came here, I don’t think you can dare question anybody else. The Ghost Tank you defeated, is not the same man who defeated me, he is a shadow of his own self. You nearly beat Justin Sane? I can say the same fucking thing, you sweaty crevice. The fact is, Sane kicked both our asses, nearly isn’t winning the God damn match is it?! Oh and whilst we talking about how good you are, what about you fucking up the chance at becoming the Prophetic Champion?
What I really want to know is, who the fuck are you to say who should quit? You're first match here you lost right? You've just stepped through the door of the XWF and you actually think for a minute that you can give orders to other people? Fuck you! You egotistical little prick. I've been doing shit better than you since you was a glint in your father's eye. Don't think for one fucking second, that you have any right to tell me where I should be. Hey, maybe you can fuck off and go back to sucking dick for rent money. I heard you used to hang around the docks.”

Scully starts singing the first verse of Bon Jovi, ‘Living on a prayer’ but with his own lyrics.

“Austin used to work on the docks,
Flirting with all the sailors and sucking all their cocks…
For Cum…. For Cum”

Scully shrugs and carries on singing the next verse.

“Natalie works the streets all day,
Fucking all the men, she brings home her pay…
For Skull… For Skull”

Scully smirks and then continues.

“Obviously wrestling isn't your deal but you sure as hell look like a little bitch, so why don't you stick to the occupation you were born to be in?!
Did you really say I got my assed whooped with one hit by those fucking henchmen? You were clearly not paying attention to what happened, too much shit in your eyes was it? I got hit in the leg with a baton, punched in the stomach, twice, hit in the stomach with the baton and then head-butted. Are you sure your name isn’t Stevie Wonder? I wonder why the fuck you’re even here in the XWF!
You’re the only big name in the match? Are you for real? The only thing big about you is that head of yours. You haven’t done jack. You even think your better than the TV Championship? Better than Gator? I think it’s about time someone, as in me, put you down a peg or two.
I don’t deserve to be mentioned in the same ‘Breathe’ as you? WOW…. And you call me ? I think you meant the word, breath and man, your breath stinks of bullshit! The wrestling industry is going to take me to the hospital? I’m pretty sure an ambulance is what takes you to the hospital, simpleton. Ambulances are those vehicles that go ne nor ne nor… With the flashing lights. You’ll be going to hospital, I’ll make sure of it!
Next……

Polvo fucking Blanco, you're a man of few words. Trouble is, you keep repeating them. You questioned the undefeated streak I had until I faced Peter Gilmour? Well you’re definitely not going to have any sort of undefeated streak going, you’re just not good enough! You said all the opponents I defeated were jobbers? Well if that’s the case, I shouldn’t have any trouble kicking your ass all over the Pepsi Center. You are the calibre of those opponents I defeated. I would put you in the same league as the man I defeated in my very first match here in the XWF… That man is Darren Dangerous. He was very similar to you, had no charisma and no fucking character. He was a total fucking weirdo, just like you. You’re the type of guy who sniffs his mother’s panties and watches her in the shower. Is that what you used to do? You dirty little pervert, I’m going to slap you silly! I have a confession, Polvo, I did skim through your first promo by the way, ain’t no one got time for that. The second promo, you just spent your time crying like a little bitch… That’s because you are a bitch! Next up is…….

Ruby, the AIDS infested skit rat. ‘The sickest man on the planet’. I did actually think you must be sick, I mean just looking at you, you look like… Death. Must be all that prison food, not getting much are you? You and Polvo will get on just fine, he lives on a park bench and you look like a junkie. The two normally go together quite well. You mentioned my record? Who the fuck are you to question anyone’s record? Is it because yours is so amazing that you’ve lost most of the matches you’ve been involved in? Hypocrite!

And last of all…. Cain.

Now Cain, you’ve called yourself a murderer? A killer? Can you even slice a loaf of bread? Did you really call me, Scilly? It’s SC-U-LLY… With a ‘U’. Why are you questioning the fact that I called you Kane? I don't see a problem. That’s your name isn’t it, Cain? You should feel honoured, privileged, I got you mixed up with someone more relevant. In my honest opinion, I think you need to seek medical advice. You can always join Fernando in the ambulance. The offers there!
I will see you all Turning Point…. Da end, Scully has spoken!”]]>



Cocaine

It was only yesterday, Scully had a visit from Natalie. He hadn’t seen her for a couple of months but it was just like before, they seemed to click. Scully wouldn’t admit how he felt and made out he was happy to be her pimp. After all, they stopped seeing each other because he caught her on all fours and some desperado fucking her from behind. Natalie regrets going back into prostitution, not only because she was caught in the act but because she had feelings for Scully. She needed the money though and she was going to continue selling her body, simply because it meant she would still be in Scully’s company, if he was indeed her pimp. During Natalie’s visit, she went to the toilet and her plan was strip naked. Why? To seduce Scully. She still wanted him and she hoped it worked.
Whilst upstairs, she heard banging and shouting. She crept to the top of the landing and listened carefully. She could hear that it was over cocaine and it was obvious, Scully was being beaten. The drug dealer, Tyler and his henchmen had left their mark. Scully was told before the final shot, they wanted half of the five grand he owed. After they had left Scully unconscious, she ran down the stairs in the nude and nursed Scully when he woke up. She then gave Scully oral sex to make him feel better. He let her stay tonight.
Today, Scully had to pay Tyler half the money he owed him for cocaine. Scully never had much cash but he never much choice, he had to pay it. Scully is one of those guy’s who always pays what he owes. He had a black eye, fat lip and bruised ribs to show for not yet paying his debt, but he was still feeling positive. Scully had to sell his 2014 Dodge Charger to pay for his mortgage and coke, so he had to take a cab to Tyler’s ‘office’. Scully let Natalie stay at his house as he didn’t want her involved. Scully small sports bag in hand with the money inside. The cab pulls up outside a large house with large black gates. There is a black 2015 Aston Martin V8 Vantage, a white 2015 Jeep Cherokee Sport and a yacht on the drive way. Scully is envious of the luxuries this guy has for dealing drugs. Skull pays the cab driver, gets out and walks up to the large gates. Scully pushes the buzzer as he looks into the camera pointing directly at him. It is Tyler himself, who answers as he speaks through the speaker.
Tyler “Come in…..”
The gate opens, Scull takes that long walk down the path as he looks at the vehicles with jealousy. As Scully gets to the door it opens. Karl, the henchmen who gave Scully the final blow, smiles at Scully with a cocky grin. Skull just ignores Karl’s smug look and enters the large house. Karl follows behind and escorts him to a room. Karl open the doors and Scully enters. Tyler is sat in his chair, Cuban cigar in mouth and counting lots of cash. He looks at Scully and puts the cash in a pile. Tyler’s other two henchmen, Jamal and Dave, are standing either side of him. Scully places the small bag on the table as Tyler blows smoke in Skulls face. Tyler unzips the bag and looks at the money. He passes it to Jamal to count as he stares at Scully.

Tyler “Cigar, friend?”

Scully “We aren’t and will never be friends… So no thank you”

Tyler “Rude. Why are you such a cocky little shit?”

Scully “No one treats me like some turd on the bottom of their shoe, that’s why…..Friend”

Tyler “I’ve been good to you, Scully…”

Tyler smirks as he was being sarcastic.

Scully “All this money you have. You have a big house, the cars on the driveway and you’re being an absolute Cunt over five grand?”

Tyler “Business is business. You snorted it so you pay for it, Dick.”

Scully “I get that, I really do and I always pay my debts. I text you only a couple of days ago, telling you I would get your cash. Your reply, ‘I’m in no rush, give it to me when you have it.’ Then yesterday, you’re in my house with these little bitches kicking the shit outta me. What’s up with that?”

Tyler “I changed my mind! I tell you what I’m going to do, if all the cash is there, I’m going to give you a whole week to bring me the rest of my money… I’m going to be generous, just this once.”

Scully “The catch?”

Tyler “Why do you think there’s a catch? I’m in a good mood.”

Jamal then interrupts.

Jamal “It’s missing $500 boss.”

Jamal grins as he hands Karl and Dave $100 each and $200 to Tyler. Jamal puts $100 in his own pocket.

Scully “You thieving little gypo’s…”

Tyler “Late payment, Skull. Got to charge interest. You still owe three grand… Next week, Skull or we’ll be paying you another visit.”

Scully is pissed off and just turns to leave. Tyler then makes another remark.

Tyler “Hey Skull, your face is looking good.”

Scully head-butts Karl, knocking him to the floor. Tyler stands up and stops Jamal and Dave from reacting. Scully smirks.

Scully “Just as good as baldilocks over here then.”

Blood pours from Karl’s nose as he lays unconscious on the floor. Scully then leaves, feeling good about himself.


Two Hours Later…….

Scully is back at his home with his cameraman and new housemate, Alfie. Natalie had gone back to her flat to get some more clothes. It seemed she was going to be staying with Skull for a little while. Alfie had just got a couple of Budweiser’s for himself and Scully, from the fridge. They are just chilling and Alfie wants to know what is going on with Natalie.

Alfie “What is with you and Natalie?”

Scully “We are just friends.”

Alfie “Friends just sleep with each other do they? I’ve seen the way you two look at each other, you really like her don’t you?”

Scully “Yeah I like her, she’s hot, what is there not to like? There’s nothing wrong with a bit of fun.”

Alfie “How much does she charge?”

Scully throws a cushion and hits Alfie in the face.

Alfie “Touchy subject, huh?”

Scully “She doesn’t charge me a single dollar, she doesn’t charge me anything!”

Alfie “Preferred customer, yeah?”

Scully “Look go and make yourself useful and grab your shitty camera.”

Alfie “Need to let off some steam?”

Scully nods his head and smiles. Alfie grins and then gets up from the sofa. Alfie goes to get his camera. Meanwhile, Scully thinks about Natalie. He asks himself questions like, should he be fucking a prosi? It’s not like he couldn’t pull another woman. He knows she’s clean and not doing it at the moment, but he’s still fucking a prosi, regardless. Alfie soon return with camera in hand and then makes a joke.

Alfie “Ready hooker fucker?”

Scully “You’re fucking hilarious… Ready!”

Alfie “3…. 2….1….. A blowjob is $10.”

Scully “You’re cheap!”

Alfie “GO…….”

Alfie hits the record button.

Scully “Welcome ya’ll to the final addition of the greatest show in the XWF, regardless of what that turdburglar, Fernando says…. The last addition before the pay-per-view, Turning Point, that is. Not the last addition ever like you some of you were hoping…. Welcome to Scully Cam.
Tomorrow night at the Pepsi Center in Denver, Colorado. I enter a ladder match which will involve eight superstars… I mean one superstar… Myself, Scully and seven divas. Those ladies are David Mosier, Polvo Blanco, Austin Fernando, Cain, Ruben A. Mitchell, Shinsuke Nakamura and Duncan B. Deadly. We’ve heard a lot of bullshit from these women, well the four of them that could be bothered to flap they’re gums. It is apparent that Daffyd, Duncan Donuts and Shinsue are not that interested in this match. They’re too busy fingering each other’s butt holes. So let’s concentrate again on the girls that tried and failed to insult me.

Austin Fandango, You think you're out of this world --and everyone wishes you were. You’ve ran your mouth, spat shit and made out you’re the top dog off the XWF. You’re the dog’s bollocks right? That’s some British slang right there, the dog’s bollocks means you think you’re the man around here. Well considering you’ve done fuck all but chat shit and beat an underperforming, Ghost Tank, since you came here, I don’t think you can dare question anybody else. The Ghost Tank you defeated, is not the same man who defeated me, he is a shadow of his own self. You nearly beat Justin Sane? I can say the same fucking thing, you sweaty crevice. The fact is, Sane kicked both our asses, nearly isn’t winning the God damn match is it?! Oh and whilst we talking about how good you are, what about you fucking up the chance at becoming the Prophetic Champion?
What I really want to know is, who the fuck are you to say who should quit? You're first match here you lost right? You've just stepped through the door of the XWF and you actually think for a minute that you can give orders to other people? Fuck you! You egotistical little prick. I've been doing shit better than you since you was a glint in your father's eye. Don't think for one fucking second, that you have any right to tell me where I should be. Hey, maybe you can fuck off and go back to sucking dick for rent money. I heard you used to hang around the docks.”

Scully starts singing the first verse of Bon Jovi, ‘Living on a prayer’ but with his own lyrics.

“Austin used to work on the docks,
Flirting with all the sailors and sucking all their cocks…
For Cum…. For Cum”

Scully shrugs and carries on singing the next verse.

“Natalie works the streets all day,
Fucking all the men, she brings home her pay…
For Skull… For Skull”

Scully smirks and then continues.

“Obviously wrestling isn't your deal but you sure as hell look like a little bitch, so why don't you stick to the occupation you were born to be in?!
Did you really say I got my assed whooped with one hit by those fucking henchmen? You were clearly not paying attention to what happened, too much shit in your eyes was it? I got hit in the leg with a baton, punched in the stomach, twice, hit in the stomach with the baton and then head-butted. Are you sure your name isn’t Stevie Wonder? I wonder why the fuck you’re even here in the XWF!
You’re the only big name in the match? Are you for real? The only thing big about you is that head of yours. You haven’t done jack. You even think your better than the TV Championship? Better than Gator? I think it’s about time someone, as in me, put you down a peg or two.
I don’t deserve to be mentioned in the same ‘Breathe’ as you? WOW…. And you call me ? I think you meant the word, breath and man, your breath stinks of bullshit! The wrestling industry is going to take me to the hospital? I’m pretty sure an ambulance is what takes you to the hospital, simpleton. Ambulances are those vehicles that go ne nor ne nor… With the flashing lights. You’ll be going to hospital, I’ll make sure of it!
Next……

Polvo fucking Blanco, you're a man of few words. Trouble is, you keep repeating them. You questioned the undefeated streak I had until I faced Peter Gilmour? Well you’re definitely not going to have any sort of undefeated streak going, you’re just not good enough! You said all the opponents I defeated were jobbers? Well if that’s the case, I shouldn’t have any trouble kicking your ass all over the Pepsi Center. You are the calibre of those opponents I defeated. I would put you in the same league as the man I defeated in my very first match here in the XWF… That man is Darren Dangerous. He was very similar to you, had no charisma and no fucking character. He was a total fucking weirdo, just like you. You’re the type of guy who sniffs his mother’s panties and watches her in the shower. Is that what you used to do? You dirty little pervert, I’m going to slap you silly! I have a confession, Polvo, I did skim through your first promo by the way, ain’t no one got time for that. The second promo, you just spent your time crying like a little bitch… That’s because you are a bitch! Next up is…….

Ruby, the AIDS infested skit rat. ‘The sickest man on the planet’. I did actually think you must be sick, I mean just looking at you, you look like… Death. Must be all that prison food, not getting much are you? You and Polvo will get on just fine, he lives on a park bench and you look like a junkie. The two normally go together quite well. You mentioned my record? Who the fuck are you to question anyone’s record? Is it because yours is so amazing that you’ve lost most of the matches you’ve been involved in? Hypocrite!

And last of all…. Cain.

Now Cain, you’ve called yourself a murderer? A killer? Can you even slice a loaf of bread? Did you really call me, Scilly? It’s SC-U-LLY… With a ‘U’. Why are you questioning the fact that I called you Kane? I don't see a problem. That’s your name isn’t it, Cain? You should feel honoured, privileged, I got you mixed up with someone more relevant. In my honest opinion, I think you need to seek medical advice. You can always join Fernando in the ambulance. The offers there!
I will see you all Turning Point…. Da end, Scully has spoken!”]]>