Post by cureforthesickness on Jan 18, 2007 0:21:28 GMT -5
A small chart on a screen computer appears. The chart is white with a few height levels. Nothing to scientific, but it gets the job done for what it’s needed to do. At the beginning of the chart is a small monkey hunched over and on all fours, apparently unable to stand on his/her own. Next is a monkey who stands with a major slouch. Next to him is another monkey but this monkey stands almost entirely straight. This monkey has slightly human features. Following this monkey on the chart is what looks like a caveman. He stands upwards like a human, but is still very hairy like a monkey. Finally on the chart stands Miguel Sanchez. Pulling away from this computer screen, we see Obo sitting in a rather uncomfortable looking computer chair. He is wearing khaki cargo shorts and a green button up shirt. The shirt has various stains of paint and blood on it, the collar in particular is really stained with blood. Obo looks at the computer with a smirk, proud of his accomplishment.
Obo: The irony eats me like thousands of gallons of acid. The second round of the world championship tournament is here and I am in it. More importantly, I’m facing a man whom if you told me one year ago would be facing me in a world title situation, I would have called you a liar and a fake. Miguel, evolution has been kind to you. You haven’t got that sixth finger on your left hand, but you’ve worked your way high up the food chain. One year ago, you would have been battling Cursed Eagle and Diamond Jay in the opening match of Felo De Se, but now, you’re in the world title tournament. You’ve really come a long way Miguel. You should be proud of your accomplishments. Most people would be perfectly satisfied with, say, an International title victory. When some bizarre six way ladder match and win the International title by pure luck. Most people would be perfectly happy with this and would dart off into the night like thieves in Mexico, but not you Miguel. Miguel Sanchez, you’re determined. You know what you want and you’re not going to stop until it is in your hands. The WFWF title. You ended up in the world title tournament and that’s a good thing for you. But Miguel…
Out of view a phone begins to ring. Obo stands up from his computer. He walks to the phone, lifts up the ring and slaps it back down. Without emotion, Obo makes his way back to his chair and promptly sits back down.
Obo: There’s always one meaningless jobber looking to make a name off of me. That was some old dude and his young gay lover or a German or something. I have no clue. Caller ID is a piece of sh*t. Unlike this little pest who nips at my heels like a mosquito, you are nothing to me Miguel. I was winning titles back when you were opening the show. You are no challenge to me in this world title tournament. In my opinion, you shouldn’t even be in this tournament. You should be going after the International title or one of those lower card titles that new owner set number five dissolved. Whatever, I digress. Miguel Sanchez, “The Mexican Idol”. I have a little bit of advice for you and since you’re probably illegal and haven’t understood a damn word I’ve said thus far, I’ll say it in your native tongue. La revolución viene pero usted no lo temerá. Cuándo día de apocalipsis le alcanza, su alma llega a ser la mina y su cuerpo le fallará. Simply put, my time is now. This is my revolution. Do not oppose me or you shall fall like the mighty before you. When apocalypse day reaches you, your soul becomes mine and your body will fail you.
Obo reaches into his pocket and pulls out a cigarette. He places the cancer stick in his mouth and fumbles in his pocket for a moment looking for a lighter. He finds his lighter and flicks the metal igniter once. A single spark shoots out but falls. A second flick and one more spark. Obo’s finger is coming down for the third sparking of the lighter, when suddenly, there’s a knock on the door. Before Obo can even acknowledge the knock, a small and very noticeable voice echoes from the other side of the door, the voice belonging to the daughter of “The King of Gore”.
Daughter: Daddy.. I had a bad dream…
Obo: Come in sweetheart..
The daughter enters the room. She is rubbing her eyes, trying to remove the sleep from her eyes. She walks in and immediately climbs into the much larger bed of her father. She climbs into the bed and covers herself with the thick blanket laying on the bed.
Daughter: Daddy, will you read me a bed time story?
Obo: Of course honey..
Obo stands up from his computer chair and walks over to a near by bookshelf. Skimming through a small collection of gory novels and video game strategy guides, Obo finds a fitting book, The Three Little Pigs. He makes his way back over to where his daughter lies, but she is already asleep.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Where am I? It’s so dirty and cold out here? Where’s my daddy? Wasn’t he going to read me a bed time story? I hope it’s that one about the circus clown again. That was funny. Who is that over there? They look really warm.. I’m going to go see who they are..
We are now in a dirty and dark alley. Trash lays everywhere as we move towards a dumpster. Behind this dumpster is a cardboard box with several more cardboard boxes on top. In front of this is a flaming trash can. The can provides heat for the boxed off area. We hear the voice of the daughter of Obo, apparently coming from our own view.
Daughter: Hey!! I’m really cold.. Can I sit in your box??
Stepping into view, we see a very familiar face. She looks a lot like Obo’s daughter, but older. Her hair is very matted and her clothes are torn and dirty, but in a very sexy way, like almost every woman from every “lost on an island” movie ever. She looks at Obo’s daughter with a stunned look. Silence has struck her basil eyes.
Who is that? She looks like my mom.. I thought my mom was dead.. Where the duck am I? I think that was the right word, duck. Daddy says it all the time. It makes him sound grown up.
The woman with the matted hair begins to speak.
Woman: Who.. Who are you?
Daughter: My name is Jessica. I am only four. My daddy is a wrestler. You look like my mommy, she’s dead. She died in a plane crash when I was only two.
Stepping out of the box, we see the first familiar face, but he is not so familiar. This man looks like Obo, but different. Instead of the short and rather messy hair he sports now, this man has long, extremely messy hair. The short trimmed goatee that Obo has is replaced by a full beard. The tattoos on his forearms aren’t there and his usual relatively clean shirt is replaced with a mess of a shirt. He looks at the little girl for a moment and his face reflects the face of the woman who stepped out of the box just a moment ago.
Obo look-alike: Who be that Ashley??
As he says this, the Obo look-a-like looks at the woman with the matted hair, this obviously being Ashley. With a name matching to the face, we can now see this is obviously Ashley the Hobo, from Obo’s past but that must mean the Obo look-a-like is.. Obo..
Jessica: Daddy??
Obo: Unless you mommy work at a circus and can fit twenty ping pong balls ugh
Obo is cut off from a slap to the arm from Ashley.
Ashley: No sailor talk Obo! She too young! She.. She said I is her mommy..
Obo: You is a mommy??
Ashley: This definitely a weird way of telling you…
Obo: What the hell you talking about??
Ashley: Percy’s gonna kill us..
Story to be continued
Obo: The irony eats me like thousands of gallons of acid. The second round of the world championship tournament is here and I am in it. More importantly, I’m facing a man whom if you told me one year ago would be facing me in a world title situation, I would have called you a liar and a fake. Miguel, evolution has been kind to you. You haven’t got that sixth finger on your left hand, but you’ve worked your way high up the food chain. One year ago, you would have been battling Cursed Eagle and Diamond Jay in the opening match of Felo De Se, but now, you’re in the world title tournament. You’ve really come a long way Miguel. You should be proud of your accomplishments. Most people would be perfectly satisfied with, say, an International title victory. When some bizarre six way ladder match and win the International title by pure luck. Most people would be perfectly happy with this and would dart off into the night like thieves in Mexico, but not you Miguel. Miguel Sanchez, you’re determined. You know what you want and you’re not going to stop until it is in your hands. The WFWF title. You ended up in the world title tournament and that’s a good thing for you. But Miguel…
Out of view a phone begins to ring. Obo stands up from his computer. He walks to the phone, lifts up the ring and slaps it back down. Without emotion, Obo makes his way back to his chair and promptly sits back down.
Obo: There’s always one meaningless jobber looking to make a name off of me. That was some old dude and his young gay lover or a German or something. I have no clue. Caller ID is a piece of sh*t. Unlike this little pest who nips at my heels like a mosquito, you are nothing to me Miguel. I was winning titles back when you were opening the show. You are no challenge to me in this world title tournament. In my opinion, you shouldn’t even be in this tournament. You should be going after the International title or one of those lower card titles that new owner set number five dissolved. Whatever, I digress. Miguel Sanchez, “The Mexican Idol”. I have a little bit of advice for you and since you’re probably illegal and haven’t understood a damn word I’ve said thus far, I’ll say it in your native tongue. La revolución viene pero usted no lo temerá. Cuándo día de apocalipsis le alcanza, su alma llega a ser la mina y su cuerpo le fallará. Simply put, my time is now. This is my revolution. Do not oppose me or you shall fall like the mighty before you. When apocalypse day reaches you, your soul becomes mine and your body will fail you.
Obo reaches into his pocket and pulls out a cigarette. He places the cancer stick in his mouth and fumbles in his pocket for a moment looking for a lighter. He finds his lighter and flicks the metal igniter once. A single spark shoots out but falls. A second flick and one more spark. Obo’s finger is coming down for the third sparking of the lighter, when suddenly, there’s a knock on the door. Before Obo can even acknowledge the knock, a small and very noticeable voice echoes from the other side of the door, the voice belonging to the daughter of “The King of Gore”.
Daughter: Daddy.. I had a bad dream…
Obo: Come in sweetheart..
The daughter enters the room. She is rubbing her eyes, trying to remove the sleep from her eyes. She walks in and immediately climbs into the much larger bed of her father. She climbs into the bed and covers herself with the thick blanket laying on the bed.
Daughter: Daddy, will you read me a bed time story?
Obo: Of course honey..
Obo stands up from his computer chair and walks over to a near by bookshelf. Skimming through a small collection of gory novels and video game strategy guides, Obo finds a fitting book, The Three Little Pigs. He makes his way back over to where his daughter lies, but she is already asleep.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Where am I? It’s so dirty and cold out here? Where’s my daddy? Wasn’t he going to read me a bed time story? I hope it’s that one about the circus clown again. That was funny. Who is that over there? They look really warm.. I’m going to go see who they are..
We are now in a dirty and dark alley. Trash lays everywhere as we move towards a dumpster. Behind this dumpster is a cardboard box with several more cardboard boxes on top. In front of this is a flaming trash can. The can provides heat for the boxed off area. We hear the voice of the daughter of Obo, apparently coming from our own view.
Daughter: Hey!! I’m really cold.. Can I sit in your box??
Stepping into view, we see a very familiar face. She looks a lot like Obo’s daughter, but older. Her hair is very matted and her clothes are torn and dirty, but in a very sexy way, like almost every woman from every “lost on an island” movie ever. She looks at Obo’s daughter with a stunned look. Silence has struck her basil eyes.
Who is that? She looks like my mom.. I thought my mom was dead.. Where the duck am I? I think that was the right word, duck. Daddy says it all the time. It makes him sound grown up.
The woman with the matted hair begins to speak.
Woman: Who.. Who are you?
Daughter: My name is Jessica. I am only four. My daddy is a wrestler. You look like my mommy, she’s dead. She died in a plane crash when I was only two.
Stepping out of the box, we see the first familiar face, but he is not so familiar. This man looks like Obo, but different. Instead of the short and rather messy hair he sports now, this man has long, extremely messy hair. The short trimmed goatee that Obo has is replaced by a full beard. The tattoos on his forearms aren’t there and his usual relatively clean shirt is replaced with a mess of a shirt. He looks at the little girl for a moment and his face reflects the face of the woman who stepped out of the box just a moment ago.
Obo look-alike: Who be that Ashley??
As he says this, the Obo look-a-like looks at the woman with the matted hair, this obviously being Ashley. With a name matching to the face, we can now see this is obviously Ashley the Hobo, from Obo’s past but that must mean the Obo look-a-like is.. Obo..
Jessica: Daddy??
Obo: Unless you mommy work at a circus and can fit twenty ping pong balls ugh
Obo is cut off from a slap to the arm from Ashley.
Ashley: No sailor talk Obo! She too young! She.. She said I is her mommy..
Obo: You is a mommy??
Ashley: This definitely a weird way of telling you…
Obo: What the hell you talking about??
Ashley: Percy’s gonna kill us..
Story to be continued
