Post by cureforthesickness on Jul 16, 2006 20:18:48 GMT -5
Time travel. Going back to the “good times”, the care free times, the times when I didn’t have to worry about getting my face smashed in. It feels good, yet so, so wrong. Maybe I can change the timeline and reshuffle the cards, so my card is on top..
We come into a scene at a diner. A quick pan around the room shows us several people going about their business, reading papers and eating their food. In a far back corner of the diner, in one of the worst booths in the place, sits Obo. A long black leather jacket sits on his skinny frame over a Disturbed t-shirt. His legs, although under the table, are covered by a pair of baggy black jeans. He begins to speak as if he is talking to himself, showing the true insanity of this deranged figure.
Obo: F*ck. None of this sh*t is worth it. I’ve walked a thousand miles through landmines, yet I still end up in the same sh*tty situations. As a special attraction for some measly house show. These house shows are meaningless. A couple hundred people live and a bunch of e-geeks, sitting at their computer desk and critizing every move. F*ck the geeks. Think I f*ck moves up? Lets see you do it. F*cking asses. Get a life, get a f*cking girlfriend. It’s life though. I am put into awkward situations. I live with it. But my opponents, they don’t. Tony the Dragon. He comes to mind. He was put into a barefoot thumbtack match but couldn’t muster the balls to show up. He had the chance to build himself as a true warrior instead of some stupid gimmick, but he sh*t on it. F*ck you Tony. You did not show for the thumbtacks match for fear of injury, yet you thought a match with me was a good idea? You’re gonna die dude.. Buy a burial plot because you’re a walking zombie.
CBT. One more time. I beat you half to death at Scars & Stripes and I’ll do it again this week. You do not worry me. You are nothing more than an over rated, over the hill, piece of sh*t. But one man in this match worries me. He is rough. He knows pain. He is Bronx Bomber. He didn’t back down from a barefoot thumbtacks match. This man is hardened. Living life on the streets. I know that life. Fighting for your meals. But you see Bomber, this is not your strength as it is with other opponents, but a weakness to me. I know the streets and the streets do not scare me. You are impressive, but you shall bow at the feet of the King of Gore as I swim in a river of your blood.
We fade out as Obo stands up from his booth. He looks at the window that is next to him for a moment before punching it. Glass flies everywhere as the shot switches to static.
We come into a scene at a diner. A quick pan around the room shows us several people going about their business, reading papers and eating their food. In a far back corner of the diner, in one of the worst booths in the place, sits Obo. A long black leather jacket sits on his skinny frame over a Disturbed t-shirt. His legs, although under the table, are covered by a pair of baggy black jeans. He begins to speak as if he is talking to himself, showing the true insanity of this deranged figure.
Obo: F*ck. None of this sh*t is worth it. I’ve walked a thousand miles through landmines, yet I still end up in the same sh*tty situations. As a special attraction for some measly house show. These house shows are meaningless. A couple hundred people live and a bunch of e-geeks, sitting at their computer desk and critizing every move. F*ck the geeks. Think I f*ck moves up? Lets see you do it. F*cking asses. Get a life, get a f*cking girlfriend. It’s life though. I am put into awkward situations. I live with it. But my opponents, they don’t. Tony the Dragon. He comes to mind. He was put into a barefoot thumbtack match but couldn’t muster the balls to show up. He had the chance to build himself as a true warrior instead of some stupid gimmick, but he sh*t on it. F*ck you Tony. You did not show for the thumbtacks match for fear of injury, yet you thought a match with me was a good idea? You’re gonna die dude.. Buy a burial plot because you’re a walking zombie.
CBT. One more time. I beat you half to death at Scars & Stripes and I’ll do it again this week. You do not worry me. You are nothing more than an over rated, over the hill, piece of sh*t. But one man in this match worries me. He is rough. He knows pain. He is Bronx Bomber. He didn’t back down from a barefoot thumbtacks match. This man is hardened. Living life on the streets. I know that life. Fighting for your meals. But you see Bomber, this is not your strength as it is with other opponents, but a weakness to me. I know the streets and the streets do not scare me. You are impressive, but you shall bow at the feet of the King of Gore as I swim in a river of your blood.
We fade out as Obo stands up from his booth. He looks at the window that is next to him for a moment before punching it. Glass flies everywhere as the shot switches to static.
OOC: 500 exactly.
