Post by cureforthesickness on Nov 5, 2006 21:24:24 GMT -5
November 5th 2006
1:07 AM
I'll bite your mother-f*cking style..
Just to make it fresher.
I can't take the pressure..
I'm sick of bitches!
- Just Don't Give A F*ck, by Eminem
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. It was the purist of times, it was the goriest of times. The virgins sat in waiting, trimming their wings while I was prepared already. I was made. I was set for life. I was to make the most money, get the best drugs, the hardest liquor, the finest whores. All the goodness. I was the one. But when I thought everything was made, everything was set in stone, something changed. All I had to do was push the button and hell would have unfolded but I wasn’t ready to push it. Not in time at least. Had I pushed it just one week earlier, the world would have been mine. All of this. The money, the drugs, the skanks, the booze. But I waited. I wanted the bigger pay off too. I was greedy. He was greedy. I don’t know where those two sons of a bitches went, but I want them. They ran off like thieves in the night, and they took my future with them. They took the booze, they took the drugs, the took the whores, they took the liquor, the took the Pay Per View main event world title matches, f*ck, they took the world title! They took my soul.
All I had to do was jam that useless little red button down and it would have been mine. I wouldn’t have had to worry about someone swiping it from me for it would have been mine forever. But I had to be the one with a soul. I had to wait for the big pay off. All I had to do was destroy that worthless little digit Yukio and the world would have been mine.. But I waited. I waited. I waited too f*cking long. I sat back and took the acid hits and whatever the f*ck else they offered and waited. And I waited too damn long. They got whatever they wanted out of this sh*thole federation to start with and darted off like thieves in the night. I’ve been calling Michael’s cell phone all week to nothing. Maybe I didn’t know them as well as I thought I did, or maybe they really are the scum balls that the goody two-shoes of the federation have always preached.
So what now? What do I do now? Do I turn back into some random ass fried chicken comedy act? Do I try to please the fans? Do I kiss up to the new bosses? CBT and Shadow. The bosses. Who would have thought it. I’ve beat CBT, what, five times now. What gives him the right to tell ME what to do? His pathetic ass couldn’t hit the gas enough to beat me. Why should he be in charge of me? Reverend Shadow’s just a bible thumping **** who jobs to Obo, no more no less.
So what’s my life now. Am I quitting WFWF? Maybe. Am I out to hurt people just to hurt the company? Maybe. Am I bringing in some of my friends to take some people out? Maybe. F*ck it. Why reveal my cards.
- Out.
===========================================================================
A dark parking garage is where we are set. A poorly lit parking garage at that. Seemingly only one light lighting the entire area and it’s a dim light. Several cars can be seen, all of which look pretty nice and seem to be equipped with alarms to stop possible burglars. Stomping can be heard in the background. Harder and harder the stomping comes before we finally see what’s causing the stomping. A figure comes into view but his body cannot be seen. He is wearing a black hooded sweatshirt with the hood up, cloaking his face in darkness. His lower body is also entirely covered, covered in a pair of very baggy blue jeans. We quickly identify this person as Obo as he begins to speak.
Obo: F*ck it’s cold out here. Who’s idea was it to put me in a god damn parking garage? Gonna make this short and sweet because I’m freezing my damn balls off out here. Tomorrow morning, I have to drive out to the airport. Another one of these ridiculous international shows. I don’t care how much money these damn shows make, the jet lag is f*cking horrible. I’m going out to Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. I don’t even know where the hell that is. I’m personally not familiar with the country of Malaysia, nor did I ever have the intent to learn this. But thanks to our brilliant new owners, I get to go to some third world country. And when I get there, I get a very fitting third world opponent in Pohatu.
Obo reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. He fumbles with the pack for a moment before pulling out a single cigarette and a cheap lighter. He sticks the cigarette into his mouth and flickers the lighter once. A single spark flies out, lightening up Obo’s face in an elegant orange glow but not lighting his cigarette. Another flick of the igniter sets an actual flame out of the lighter. Obo pulls it up to his cigarette, lighting it up. He takes a deep puff and blows the smoke out of his nose before he continues talking
The kid’s dead weight, used to hold papers down. Worthless in the ring. Why he’s here I don’t know. I’ve seen this idiot elsewhere before and he’s a walking example of how to fail at life. The faggot has his fans. He’s me from about two years ago. He looks to please the fans before actually winning. Random flippy sh*t does nothing for me. Take that sh*t back to the small feds you came from mother f*cker, this is the big leagues. This is my fed, regardless if I have the political pull I rightfully deserve. I don’t need Michael to beat your ass. F*ck the Stoned Messiah, I’m the mother f*cking King of Gore. And you’re my bitch!
Obo blows another puff of smoke out before walking away, leaving the smoke to fly towards the ceiling in circles.
1:07 AM
I'll bite your mother-f*cking style..
Just to make it fresher.
I can't take the pressure..
I'm sick of bitches!
- Just Don't Give A F*ck, by Eminem
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. It was the purist of times, it was the goriest of times. The virgins sat in waiting, trimming their wings while I was prepared already. I was made. I was set for life. I was to make the most money, get the best drugs, the hardest liquor, the finest whores. All the goodness. I was the one. But when I thought everything was made, everything was set in stone, something changed. All I had to do was push the button and hell would have unfolded but I wasn’t ready to push it. Not in time at least. Had I pushed it just one week earlier, the world would have been mine. All of this. The money, the drugs, the skanks, the booze. But I waited. I wanted the bigger pay off too. I was greedy. He was greedy. I don’t know where those two sons of a bitches went, but I want them. They ran off like thieves in the night, and they took my future with them. They took the booze, they took the drugs, the took the whores, they took the liquor, the took the Pay Per View main event world title matches, f*ck, they took the world title! They took my soul.
All I had to do was jam that useless little red button down and it would have been mine. I wouldn’t have had to worry about someone swiping it from me for it would have been mine forever. But I had to be the one with a soul. I had to wait for the big pay off. All I had to do was destroy that worthless little digit Yukio and the world would have been mine.. But I waited. I waited. I waited too f*cking long. I sat back and took the acid hits and whatever the f*ck else they offered and waited. And I waited too damn long. They got whatever they wanted out of this sh*thole federation to start with and darted off like thieves in the night. I’ve been calling Michael’s cell phone all week to nothing. Maybe I didn’t know them as well as I thought I did, or maybe they really are the scum balls that the goody two-shoes of the federation have always preached.
So what now? What do I do now? Do I turn back into some random ass fried chicken comedy act? Do I try to please the fans? Do I kiss up to the new bosses? CBT and Shadow. The bosses. Who would have thought it. I’ve beat CBT, what, five times now. What gives him the right to tell ME what to do? His pathetic ass couldn’t hit the gas enough to beat me. Why should he be in charge of me? Reverend Shadow’s just a bible thumping **** who jobs to Obo, no more no less.
So what’s my life now. Am I quitting WFWF? Maybe. Am I out to hurt people just to hurt the company? Maybe. Am I bringing in some of my friends to take some people out? Maybe. F*ck it. Why reveal my cards.
- Out.
===========================================================================
A dark parking garage is where we are set. A poorly lit parking garage at that. Seemingly only one light lighting the entire area and it’s a dim light. Several cars can be seen, all of which look pretty nice and seem to be equipped with alarms to stop possible burglars. Stomping can be heard in the background. Harder and harder the stomping comes before we finally see what’s causing the stomping. A figure comes into view but his body cannot be seen. He is wearing a black hooded sweatshirt with the hood up, cloaking his face in darkness. His lower body is also entirely covered, covered in a pair of very baggy blue jeans. We quickly identify this person as Obo as he begins to speak.
Obo: F*ck it’s cold out here. Who’s idea was it to put me in a god damn parking garage? Gonna make this short and sweet because I’m freezing my damn balls off out here. Tomorrow morning, I have to drive out to the airport. Another one of these ridiculous international shows. I don’t care how much money these damn shows make, the jet lag is f*cking horrible. I’m going out to Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. I don’t even know where the hell that is. I’m personally not familiar with the country of Malaysia, nor did I ever have the intent to learn this. But thanks to our brilliant new owners, I get to go to some third world country. And when I get there, I get a very fitting third world opponent in Pohatu.
Obo reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. He fumbles with the pack for a moment before pulling out a single cigarette and a cheap lighter. He sticks the cigarette into his mouth and flickers the lighter once. A single spark flies out, lightening up Obo’s face in an elegant orange glow but not lighting his cigarette. Another flick of the igniter sets an actual flame out of the lighter. Obo pulls it up to his cigarette, lighting it up. He takes a deep puff and blows the smoke out of his nose before he continues talking
The kid’s dead weight, used to hold papers down. Worthless in the ring. Why he’s here I don’t know. I’ve seen this idiot elsewhere before and he’s a walking example of how to fail at life. The faggot has his fans. He’s me from about two years ago. He looks to please the fans before actually winning. Random flippy sh*t does nothing for me. Take that sh*t back to the small feds you came from mother f*cker, this is the big leagues. This is my fed, regardless if I have the political pull I rightfully deserve. I don’t need Michael to beat your ass. F*ck the Stoned Messiah, I’m the mother f*cking King of Gore. And you’re my bitch!
Obo blows another puff of smoke out before walking away, leaving the smoke to fly towards the ceiling in circles.
