Post by B-Radimus Prime on Nov 11, 2006 18:53:46 GMT -5
xX Big Boys Don‘t Cry Xx
I walk aimlessly down the streets of Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia in front of the hotel I‘m currently staying in, basking in the refreshing damp air, compliments of a previous thunder storm. My ever-cozy Poisoned Black Hoodie protects my body from the chilly breezes the morning has to offer. As I continue my steady stride, with both hands stashed away in my pockets, I take the time to reflect on the events of yesterday.
I remember waking up to the irritating ring of my cell phone. I almost didn‘t answer it because no one important ever calls me, but I decided I‘d answer and give whoever the hell it was a piece of my mind for so rudely interrupting my sleep. I was even more willing to give the caller a piece of my mind when my cell showed the number of the call was coming from the offices of WFWF. What a perfect opportunity to tell off those childish idiots, Drakz and Kyzer, I thought.
As I picked up, the voice on the receiver was neither Drakz nor Kyzer, but a random female from WFWF‘s talent agency. She was calling to inform me that after the departure of one of the biggest names ever in the WFWF‘s Women‘s division, Meg, the WFWF was interested in hiring her brother again to keep her legacy going. I wasn‘t really up to it, but it was good money, so I agreed to return. It just so happened that I had already been booked in a match against one of the new owners Tha CBT. I thought that it would be a great return for me to defeat “God‘s Gift to Puerto Rican Women“ in my return and how simple it would be.
”I‘m sure everyone knows the story of Meg‘s little brother. The son of an emotionally drained mother and a nameless father. The victim of violations and abuse of every kind from Mommy‘s companions, but he still turned out the way he did. To be thrown down and laid upon and desecrated on timeless occasion, yet he managed to go on and carry himself through life without letting those memories break him down.
As a little boy I didn‘t know when Mother‘s Day was and I didn‘t care. I never helped my mom make cookies unless I had a tube of rat poison to mix in with the ingredients. I never surprised her by picking flowers, instead I threw glass vases full of flowers at her. I wasn‘t a good little boy, but who could blame me? I struggled and I fought every day of my life while the normal kids played on playgrounds and unknowingly flirted with eachother. While the normal kids were stealing their parents dirty tapes, I was living it unwillingly and was always aware of what the hell was happening to me. While boys like you, CBT, were happy with their lives and all the people around them, I was growing an ultimate aversion towards the human species. I was plotting to destroy and to get my sweet revenge on the world that corrupted my youth. I never shed a tear for myself or the pain brought upon me because I didn‘t care enough…”
I walk, calmly in a steady pace still in no particular direction while thinking of the easy-going life Tha CBT probably had.
“Some boys play nicely on the playground with the peculiar giggling creatures they’ve learned to call ‘girls’. In their heads, the boys will know they’re superior in every single way to the strange, attractive species. They’ll taunt them on the Playground and try as hard as they can to show up all their friends just to get a few childish chuckles from the little girls. They’ll offer to push them in the swings, just to get their greedy little hands on those girly little curves. And they’ll let the girls go first on the slides so as they follow, they can take that dirty, forbidden peak up the skirt, not knowing exactly what they’re looking for.
Some boys pick flowers for their mom‘s on Mother‘s Day and help to bake the cookies only to scarf them down moments later like the pigs they‘ll grow to be. They‘ll just now start noticing how Mommy‘s figure is seeming oddly voluptuous, almost like that of the girls on the provocatively-labeled video tapes they steal from Daddy‘s room when nobody‘s home. They‘re never sure exactly what‘s going on with these women in these tapes as their eyes roll back in their heads and the sounds escaping their lips cause a soothing, yet terrifying fluttering in the young boys‘ stomach. It‘s soothing because the feeling is like no other. It‘s like butterflies swarming all around, tickling and caressing the sensitive spots they never knew they had. Terrifying because they can‘t help but notice Mommy‘s body and wonder how she might look in the positions of the women on the tapes, not to mention the fright that little hairs sprouting out of certain areas are causing them.
After days of rewatching these tapes and noticing that at various moments a single touch to their body could spin their entire world around in the most amazing of ways, they‘ll experience their first moment that truly makes them feel like a man at first. They‘ll send themselves over the edge, into a state of bliss of pure pleasure that their young minds cannot even begin to comprehend. And after a few minutes of heavy breathing and a couple of glances at their own little volcanic explosion, the guilt and filth will fall upon them like a ton of bricks. Their minds suddenly focused on the wrongness of their thoughts: Mommy and the little girls at the Playground in those compromising positions in the tapes. They‘ll be disgusted and utterly confused and not know what they‘re supposed to do, until only one thing happens: they cry. Their eyes well up and their hearts sink to an all time low and tears rip through their eyes like never before.
That‘s the kind of boy you remind me of CBT. There‘s not much on your mind because there‘s little space to fill up there. You couldn‘t handle any of the brutal tragedies I‘ve been through or I‘ve seen as a child. It‘d be much too complex, much too devastating for a typical man such as yourself. It would be over your head, you couldn‘t grasp the perverse happenings, you couldn‘t handle the humiliation and the deprecation of it all. And when someone of your mindset can‘t handle what‘s going on, you do the only thing big boys are forbidden to do. You cry your not-so manly eyes out and I know that‘s exactly what you‘re doing right now. You‘re wondering how someone as simple and mediocre as yourself could survive against one that knows no pain, one who‘s apathy towards the human species makes him a danger…a threat to the world. You‘re wondering how you could stand a chance against someone who‘s mind and body have been physically ripped apart and broken into tiny little pieces yet still puts up the same fight against the world that he put up as a child. You’re wondering how you can protect your manhood against a man that isn’t afraid to seek out your little gift to Puerto Rican Women and squeeze until your eyes pop out of their sockets. You‘re wondering how anyone could endure such viciousness so young, when even you ’What God Made on the 7th Day’ couldn’t survive that as a grown man today.”
I bitterly smile as a taxi pulls up to where I slowly walk. I open the back door while saying, “Merdeka Stadium”, then get in. As soon as I’m inside, the cab takes off and scene fades to black.
I walk aimlessly down the streets of Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia in front of the hotel I‘m currently staying in, basking in the refreshing damp air, compliments of a previous thunder storm. My ever-cozy Poisoned Black Hoodie protects my body from the chilly breezes the morning has to offer. As I continue my steady stride, with both hands stashed away in my pockets, I take the time to reflect on the events of yesterday.
I remember waking up to the irritating ring of my cell phone. I almost didn‘t answer it because no one important ever calls me, but I decided I‘d answer and give whoever the hell it was a piece of my mind for so rudely interrupting my sleep. I was even more willing to give the caller a piece of my mind when my cell showed the number of the call was coming from the offices of WFWF. What a perfect opportunity to tell off those childish idiots, Drakz and Kyzer, I thought.
As I picked up, the voice on the receiver was neither Drakz nor Kyzer, but a random female from WFWF‘s talent agency. She was calling to inform me that after the departure of one of the biggest names ever in the WFWF‘s Women‘s division, Meg, the WFWF was interested in hiring her brother again to keep her legacy going. I wasn‘t really up to it, but it was good money, so I agreed to return. It just so happened that I had already been booked in a match against one of the new owners Tha CBT. I thought that it would be a great return for me to defeat “God‘s Gift to Puerto Rican Women“ in my return and how simple it would be.
”I‘m sure everyone knows the story of Meg‘s little brother. The son of an emotionally drained mother and a nameless father. The victim of violations and abuse of every kind from Mommy‘s companions, but he still turned out the way he did. To be thrown down and laid upon and desecrated on timeless occasion, yet he managed to go on and carry himself through life without letting those memories break him down.
As a little boy I didn‘t know when Mother‘s Day was and I didn‘t care. I never helped my mom make cookies unless I had a tube of rat poison to mix in with the ingredients. I never surprised her by picking flowers, instead I threw glass vases full of flowers at her. I wasn‘t a good little boy, but who could blame me? I struggled and I fought every day of my life while the normal kids played on playgrounds and unknowingly flirted with eachother. While the normal kids were stealing their parents dirty tapes, I was living it unwillingly and was always aware of what the hell was happening to me. While boys like you, CBT, were happy with their lives and all the people around them, I was growing an ultimate aversion towards the human species. I was plotting to destroy and to get my sweet revenge on the world that corrupted my youth. I never shed a tear for myself or the pain brought upon me because I didn‘t care enough…”
I walk, calmly in a steady pace still in no particular direction while thinking of the easy-going life Tha CBT probably had.
“Some boys play nicely on the playground with the peculiar giggling creatures they’ve learned to call ‘girls’. In their heads, the boys will know they’re superior in every single way to the strange, attractive species. They’ll taunt them on the Playground and try as hard as they can to show up all their friends just to get a few childish chuckles from the little girls. They’ll offer to push them in the swings, just to get their greedy little hands on those girly little curves. And they’ll let the girls go first on the slides so as they follow, they can take that dirty, forbidden peak up the skirt, not knowing exactly what they’re looking for.
Some boys pick flowers for their mom‘s on Mother‘s Day and help to bake the cookies only to scarf them down moments later like the pigs they‘ll grow to be. They‘ll just now start noticing how Mommy‘s figure is seeming oddly voluptuous, almost like that of the girls on the provocatively-labeled video tapes they steal from Daddy‘s room when nobody‘s home. They‘re never sure exactly what‘s going on with these women in these tapes as their eyes roll back in their heads and the sounds escaping their lips cause a soothing, yet terrifying fluttering in the young boys‘ stomach. It‘s soothing because the feeling is like no other. It‘s like butterflies swarming all around, tickling and caressing the sensitive spots they never knew they had. Terrifying because they can‘t help but notice Mommy‘s body and wonder how she might look in the positions of the women on the tapes, not to mention the fright that little hairs sprouting out of certain areas are causing them.
After days of rewatching these tapes and noticing that at various moments a single touch to their body could spin their entire world around in the most amazing of ways, they‘ll experience their first moment that truly makes them feel like a man at first. They‘ll send themselves over the edge, into a state of bliss of pure pleasure that their young minds cannot even begin to comprehend. And after a few minutes of heavy breathing and a couple of glances at their own little volcanic explosion, the guilt and filth will fall upon them like a ton of bricks. Their minds suddenly focused on the wrongness of their thoughts: Mommy and the little girls at the Playground in those compromising positions in the tapes. They‘ll be disgusted and utterly confused and not know what they‘re supposed to do, until only one thing happens: they cry. Their eyes well up and their hearts sink to an all time low and tears rip through their eyes like never before.
That‘s the kind of boy you remind me of CBT. There‘s not much on your mind because there‘s little space to fill up there. You couldn‘t handle any of the brutal tragedies I‘ve been through or I‘ve seen as a child. It‘d be much too complex, much too devastating for a typical man such as yourself. It would be over your head, you couldn‘t grasp the perverse happenings, you couldn‘t handle the humiliation and the deprecation of it all. And when someone of your mindset can‘t handle what‘s going on, you do the only thing big boys are forbidden to do. You cry your not-so manly eyes out and I know that‘s exactly what you‘re doing right now. You‘re wondering how someone as simple and mediocre as yourself could survive against one that knows no pain, one who‘s apathy towards the human species makes him a danger…a threat to the world. You‘re wondering how you could stand a chance against someone who‘s mind and body have been physically ripped apart and broken into tiny little pieces yet still puts up the same fight against the world that he put up as a child. You’re wondering how you can protect your manhood against a man that isn’t afraid to seek out your little gift to Puerto Rican Women and squeeze until your eyes pop out of their sockets. You‘re wondering how anyone could endure such viciousness so young, when even you ’What God Made on the 7th Day’ couldn’t survive that as a grown man today.”
I bitterly smile as a taxi pulls up to where I slowly walk. I open the back door while saying, “Merdeka Stadium”, then get in. As soon as I’m inside, the cab takes off and scene fades to black.
OOC: Okay…that was el sucko. BUT. I was previously writing a different RP for this match during most of the week…and after 4 pages on word I hadn’t said anything about Tha CBT and doing so would’ve killed the flow as it was more of a new gimmick introduction. So, this was kind of last minute rushy kind of RP…sorry, CBT, I wish I could’ve put up a better fight. But yeah, Morgan is going to be debuting a new gimmick…soon hopefully that is a little more comedic.
