Post by cureforthesickness on Feb 8, 2007 23:21:39 GMT -5
An office like scenario greets our eyes. Florissant lighting illuminates the room with a magnificent glow, leaving everything with the brightened glaze from the single lights from the above lighting fixture. Sitting in a comfortable looking chair is Obo, who sits at the chair looking towards a computer screen. Obo is dressed very casually, dressed in a pair of baggy blue pants and a faded black Dawn of the Dead t-shirt. The computer screen is filled with the latest happenings of WFWF.com, most notably the page for the Ascension Pay Per View. Obo stares at the page with a blank look on his face for a moment before speaking, talking to no one in particular.
Obo: So WFWF management is shaking things up, bringing back the tag team championships. Been there, done that. Had the titles and got pissed off and smashed the titles up. Passed the torch on to someone else so I could kill my partner. Piss on the tag belts. Anyone can depend on another person for their own success. A true insubordinate paves his own path through life, showing others what he wishes to do with his life and then doing it. Anyone can say what they want, but it takes someone special to be able to actually do it. Talk sh*t when you want, but you’ve gotta be able to back it up.
Obo clicks a couple of times before opening up a superstar blog page on the website. He passes by several much more clicked pages such as his own, rarely updated page, CBT’s long winded rant filled propaganda, and a page for Johnny Michaels that has nothing but foreign text and quotes from movies that are unreadable anyways. He quickly finds what he’s looking for, a page in glowing green text titled “The New Phenomenon”. He quickly opens this page and looks over the contents before shaking his head in shame. Looking at the screen, we see a particular blog from Sam X on this page, proclaiming his destination for championship gold.
Obo: Anyone can say they want a championship, but what have you done to deserve it, really? You showed up and said you are a team. Because you are a team and no one else chooses to be a tag team, you’re in a tag team title match. Congratulations, you’re only about two years too late for real tag team wrestling. Ask around the locker room. Ask about the days of the UIA. Ask about Los Hobos. Ask about the Holocaust. You’ll get the stories and the things of legend. Tag team wrestling died and was buried two years ago. You’ve dug up the corpse and are just dancing with the dead.
A couple of back clicks and a couple of forward clicks take Obo back to the Ascension Pay Per View page, this time the graphical page where fancy high tech graphics are proudly put on display like pieces of fine artwork. Beneath a cloudy and censored up picture promoting the WFWF title main event, showing Obo standing alone with a silhouetted picture next to him is an intriguing picture promoting the 3 team WFWF tag team title match. Obo looks at this picture for a moment before scrolling back upwards and looking at the WFWF championship picture, before looking back away with a satisfied look on his face.
Obo: Revivals are bullsh*t. Take all this revival sh*t and shove it up your ass. It’s meaningless. Prove yourself. Step up. Show you’re more than a flash in the pan. Honestly, I’m not even sure you’re worth the destruction I am going to unleash. This is my time. This is my era. You two blithering idiots may be the future, but I’m the present. This is my time. Get a good gimmick and a real name, then we’ll talk. Sam X.. Sounds like blue sh*t I drank at the bar last night. Joey Phenomenal. Prove you’re phenomenal, then you can talk sh*t, until then, you’re the door step. You’re Obo’s punching bag.
Through the door steps young Jessica, the darling brunette daughter of Obo. She stands in the doorway in silence as her father continues his rant towards the unlistening computer screen.
Obo: Yardtard tag champs, big deal. This ain’t a trampoline, this is legit. You can bounce around like a little kid at Chuck E. Cheese, I break necks. Do whatever stupid flip crap you want, I stomp heads. We’re not talking some yardtard bullsh*t here, we’re talking The Ultimate. This isn’t grass and those aren’t lawn chairs. I dare either of you two to try me, I’ll destroy you. Show what you’re worth or get the f*ck out. You understand me mother f*ckers, I‘ve got the biggest match of my life to deal with, I don‘t need this sh*t. I am the Bad Bill of taking pills, The TrimSpa whore of blood and gore, and “Your New Messiah, even though I have both of my thumbs”. Innovating the innovator of innovation like it’s my motivation. I am Obo. I am your next WFWF champion.
Samantha in the entrance finally breaks her silence.
Samantha: Daddy, do you hate everyone?
With an unsettling laugh, Obo replies
Obo: Yeah.. Pretty much..
Jessica (with a sigh): I’m going back to bed..
TV style static brings us into a scene that is oh so familiar. Coming into view we see that was once a stable of Obo through a first person view, looking through eyeballs. We‘re now looking at a place that was multiple places at one point, the unmistakenable “Hobo Road“. Lined with garbage cans and dumpsters, various trash cans and garbage bags on the street and an excellent display of cardboard boxes with trash bag roofs. The sun has nearly set, so there is little light left in the area. A slight drizzle falls from the sky, spattering off of the surrounding garbage cans and other rubbish. Sitting in a darkened corner, we see a figure through our eyes. The figure cannot be made out instantly, but when the camera focuses in on the figure, we can make him out to be Obo. Obo is not in his current gear though. Instead of the normal wifebeater and cargo shorts, Obo is wearing his tattered blue jean shorts, mismatched socks and boots, sleeveless flannel shirt, and a “U-I-Gay” t-shirt. Obo begins to speak.
Obo: It was a part of my career I said I would never go back to. A dark phase when I was nothing more than a laughing stock. Sure, I may have been a tag team champion, but deep down inside, I knew I would never be a big time player. I knew I would never be “the current big thing”, no, as a member of Los Hobos, I was little more than comic relief. I was a walking, talking, running, wrestling, and parodying..
A young girl’s voice echoes from an unknown source but can quickly be determined as coming from the eyes we are looking from.
Girl: Los Hobos? Daddy?
Obo gets out of his train of thought and approaches the standing eyeballs. He quickly finds the young girl standing in the rain and tries to comfort her.
Obo: No, I’m sorry, I’m not your dad.. My daughter’s only a year and a half old..
Obo turns around and starts to walk away, but the young girl gives chase, quickly catching up to The King of Gore.
Jessica: I’m not sure what’s going on, but you’re my daddy. Kind of. See, he’s a little bit older than you, and he has scars on his arms and forehead from a match with Percy..
Obo: That’s this Sunday.. What do you know.. Did he send you here??
Jessica: No, he didn’t send me here.. I.. I haven’t talked to Percy in months. There was a match, I guess will be a match, for you, with Percy. He beats you up really bad and dips your head in this goo. It burns you really bad. You’re my daddy though.
Obo: This is some f*cked up sh*t.. I‘ve got the biggest match of my life to deal with, I don‘t need this sh*t
Jessica: You JUST SAID THAT! Well, you said that three years from now.. I’m confused..
Obo: Common theme..
(fade out)
Obo: So WFWF management is shaking things up, bringing back the tag team championships. Been there, done that. Had the titles and got pissed off and smashed the titles up. Passed the torch on to someone else so I could kill my partner. Piss on the tag belts. Anyone can depend on another person for their own success. A true insubordinate paves his own path through life, showing others what he wishes to do with his life and then doing it. Anyone can say what they want, but it takes someone special to be able to actually do it. Talk sh*t when you want, but you’ve gotta be able to back it up.
Obo clicks a couple of times before opening up a superstar blog page on the website. He passes by several much more clicked pages such as his own, rarely updated page, CBT’s long winded rant filled propaganda, and a page for Johnny Michaels that has nothing but foreign text and quotes from movies that are unreadable anyways. He quickly finds what he’s looking for, a page in glowing green text titled “The New Phenomenon”. He quickly opens this page and looks over the contents before shaking his head in shame. Looking at the screen, we see a particular blog from Sam X on this page, proclaiming his destination for championship gold.
Obo: Anyone can say they want a championship, but what have you done to deserve it, really? You showed up and said you are a team. Because you are a team and no one else chooses to be a tag team, you’re in a tag team title match. Congratulations, you’re only about two years too late for real tag team wrestling. Ask around the locker room. Ask about the days of the UIA. Ask about Los Hobos. Ask about the Holocaust. You’ll get the stories and the things of legend. Tag team wrestling died and was buried two years ago. You’ve dug up the corpse and are just dancing with the dead.
A couple of back clicks and a couple of forward clicks take Obo back to the Ascension Pay Per View page, this time the graphical page where fancy high tech graphics are proudly put on display like pieces of fine artwork. Beneath a cloudy and censored up picture promoting the WFWF title main event, showing Obo standing alone with a silhouetted picture next to him is an intriguing picture promoting the 3 team WFWF tag team title match. Obo looks at this picture for a moment before scrolling back upwards and looking at the WFWF championship picture, before looking back away with a satisfied look on his face.
Obo: Revivals are bullsh*t. Take all this revival sh*t and shove it up your ass. It’s meaningless. Prove yourself. Step up. Show you’re more than a flash in the pan. Honestly, I’m not even sure you’re worth the destruction I am going to unleash. This is my time. This is my era. You two blithering idiots may be the future, but I’m the present. This is my time. Get a good gimmick and a real name, then we’ll talk. Sam X.. Sounds like blue sh*t I drank at the bar last night. Joey Phenomenal. Prove you’re phenomenal, then you can talk sh*t, until then, you’re the door step. You’re Obo’s punching bag.
Through the door steps young Jessica, the darling brunette daughter of Obo. She stands in the doorway in silence as her father continues his rant towards the unlistening computer screen.
Obo: Yardtard tag champs, big deal. This ain’t a trampoline, this is legit. You can bounce around like a little kid at Chuck E. Cheese, I break necks. Do whatever stupid flip crap you want, I stomp heads. We’re not talking some yardtard bullsh*t here, we’re talking The Ultimate. This isn’t grass and those aren’t lawn chairs. I dare either of you two to try me, I’ll destroy you. Show what you’re worth or get the f*ck out. You understand me mother f*ckers, I‘ve got the biggest match of my life to deal with, I don‘t need this sh*t. I am the Bad Bill of taking pills, The TrimSpa whore of blood and gore, and “Your New Messiah, even though I have both of my thumbs”. Innovating the innovator of innovation like it’s my motivation. I am Obo. I am your next WFWF champion.
Samantha in the entrance finally breaks her silence.
Samantha: Daddy, do you hate everyone?
With an unsettling laugh, Obo replies
Obo: Yeah.. Pretty much..
Jessica (with a sigh): I’m going back to bed..
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
TV style static brings us into a scene that is oh so familiar. Coming into view we see that was once a stable of Obo through a first person view, looking through eyeballs. We‘re now looking at a place that was multiple places at one point, the unmistakenable “Hobo Road“. Lined with garbage cans and dumpsters, various trash cans and garbage bags on the street and an excellent display of cardboard boxes with trash bag roofs. The sun has nearly set, so there is little light left in the area. A slight drizzle falls from the sky, spattering off of the surrounding garbage cans and other rubbish. Sitting in a darkened corner, we see a figure through our eyes. The figure cannot be made out instantly, but when the camera focuses in on the figure, we can make him out to be Obo. Obo is not in his current gear though. Instead of the normal wifebeater and cargo shorts, Obo is wearing his tattered blue jean shorts, mismatched socks and boots, sleeveless flannel shirt, and a “U-I-Gay” t-shirt. Obo begins to speak.
Obo: It was a part of my career I said I would never go back to. A dark phase when I was nothing more than a laughing stock. Sure, I may have been a tag team champion, but deep down inside, I knew I would never be a big time player. I knew I would never be “the current big thing”, no, as a member of Los Hobos, I was little more than comic relief. I was a walking, talking, running, wrestling, and parodying..
A young girl’s voice echoes from an unknown source but can quickly be determined as coming from the eyes we are looking from.
Girl: Los Hobos? Daddy?
Obo gets out of his train of thought and approaches the standing eyeballs. He quickly finds the young girl standing in the rain and tries to comfort her.
Obo: No, I’m sorry, I’m not your dad.. My daughter’s only a year and a half old..
Obo turns around and starts to walk away, but the young girl gives chase, quickly catching up to The King of Gore.
Jessica: I’m not sure what’s going on, but you’re my daddy. Kind of. See, he’s a little bit older than you, and he has scars on his arms and forehead from a match with Percy..
Obo: That’s this Sunday.. What do you know.. Did he send you here??
Jessica: No, he didn’t send me here.. I.. I haven’t talked to Percy in months. There was a match, I guess will be a match, for you, with Percy. He beats you up really bad and dips your head in this goo. It burns you really bad. You’re my daddy though.
Obo: This is some f*cked up sh*t.. I‘ve got the biggest match of my life to deal with, I don‘t need this sh*t
Jessica: You JUST SAID THAT! Well, you said that three years from now.. I’m confused..
Obo: Common theme..
(fade out)
