Post by Jaggeroth/Jerry/Grimey on Apr 12, 2012 1:21:56 GMT -4
(PRE-EDIT-Don't get pissy. This isn't a personal attack on anyone, someone very special asked me to do this and knew that only one man could give him what he wanted and he wanted to do it here.)
EVPW returns from their commercial break with only a little sign airing over a black screen.
"Let's take a trip down memory lane, shall we?"
The arena is cast in darkness as the guitars begin to pick up out of no where, leaving everyone blind to what was happening. A few seconds of riffs play out before finally.....
Dirty, smog filled fire erupts on both sides of the entrance ramp , they illuminate the darkened figure standing between them, for a mere second the arena could see that their former Hero from the cornfields had returned, and it sent them in an uproar of cheers as lighters and camera flashes try to give light to this historic return.
"It's him! It's him! The Satisfying One has returned to EVPW!"
The flames return in all their dirt ridden glory, by the red dawn light, The Shotgun Kid's face could be seen underneath the baseball cap with the snicker's logo replaced with his name and the usual sunglasses over his eyes. He was donning a new baseball jersey with "DEEZ NUTZ!" on the front and "Jerry Nate#666" over the back and a pair of black jean shorts with his red wrasslin' boots.
His video package played out on the screen while the red strobe lights took over as the makeshift lightning for his entrance. The former New Age/Imperial contender slowly made his way down to the ring as the lady's all wet their panties, or at least the chanting sounded like it. Mr. Fuckin' Satisfying walked into the ring with his usual swagger as the fans chanted for a fist fight. From his jacket, Jerry pulled out a mic and switched it on with a hiss.
"Who could of guessed we would of gotten Jerry Nate back as soon as we re-opened for business...and he looks pumped and ready to start some shit."
Jerry walked slowly up into range of the hard camera and stood there, his sun glassed covered eyes never wavering from the glaze he sent into people's television sets. The live crowd was going wild as he lifted a mic and held it there, his expression completely blank, but you could tell underneath those sun glasses were flaring with his beady, corn husking blues.
"...I want the God King...."
The Shotgun Kid is interrupted again by the EVPW addicts in response to Jerry Nate's blatant statement. The Kid walks about the ring with a little step here and there, jingling the change in his pockets, shooting glances to his sides and looking generally disgusted with the chants he was receiving.
"GOD DAMN IT! SHUT UP! I'm not here for you people! I'm not here to help EVPW be re-born into a new and grander spectacle of bullshit that it once was! I don't care if this place crawls up King Bear's ass and dies once more, or if this old building just blows its lid from all the crappy plumbing and exposed electrical wires we have to deal with in the one locker room for the regular guys in the back...that's why I found the old Evil Intent hideout in the basement to use, the plasma t.v down there and that couch Jaggeroth probably found at the Goodwill are the two most expensive things in this gym...and that's counting your title belts. I'm only here to prove myself to someone, and to the rest of you pot bellied neanderthals that The Satisfying One is the only man worthy of being called a King in the world of professional wrestling.....So I'm going to say this one last time, slowly, calmly...and collectively......I....Want....VLAD! The last time I stood in this ring, nay, the last time EVPW was able to afford me a coach ticket so I could waste time down in this god forsaken hellhole, I slapped the so called Mauler around like the fro' haired furby he truly is!"
Mr. Fuckin' Satisfying took a seat in the middle of the ring with his knees bent and feet against the mat, unmoving during his rant against this inglorious bastard pit.
"Vladimir Strife! I'm not leaving this ring until you give me word that you're coming back, to this rat feces encrusted labyrinth you call a wrestling venue to finally face me in a fairly contested match...of your choosing! Call up your boys in the back, I know you're watching at home, sitting comfortably in your leisure and the comfy lifestyle you get for charging thirty bucks a ticket, yet only paying fifty bucks a match to the talent.....call up your boys and tell them you're coming back...or else...your ratings are going down well past the toilet...they're going into the damn shit refinery!"
When the scene finishes playing out, the cameras go back live to the EVPW arena and pan back over to the ring very slowly where a figure was sitting in the middle in the luxury that only a steel folding chair could offer. It was Jerry Nate, decked out to the nines for this special occasion in his ratty Pantera shirt and some black Dickies jeans. A mic was rolling around in his hands as he sat there with one leg over the other and an arm tucked away under the other. His lips were puckering as he kept his eyes centered on the cloth mat underneath him, thinking away while all the fans of this shit hole cheered their large, hollow heads off for him.
"So, the last time I decided to waste my life here was that very moment we all just witnessed. And sadly, I was carted off by security after ten minutes of standing here, and that sure as hell boosted the ratings for this "television show", something that everyone in the back was trying really hard to convince on, yet all I see is a group of suits trying to squeeze a profit out of a horse's skeleton. The whole problem with this place is the bureaucratic bullshit that this place has. How many fucking managers do you need to run a damn show? GHW is simple, back when Grimey ran things, he ran them good. All by himself, and always had one solid vision of where things needed to go. We've got Mr. Zero here, and a whole clown car full of fucking yes men who've never watched a damn match in their entire life, nay, never even competed in a damn match. And each and every last one of them is looking for ass backwards ways to change something that should be a guarantied money maker. Fighting. That's all you need, fighting, some build up, and maybe a wrestler or two who knows how to at least lace up their own damn boots and not a metric shit ton of red tape."
The Eagle Visioned die hards in the stands all rain out their frustrations on their former hero, telling him off with the best choice of words their feeble brains could conjure up.
"You all know it's true! You've got a bunch of fat, oily pigs who need to butter up every morning to get into their suits running this damn crap shack. And all they're doing is trying to accomplish is a fatter wallet with "family" sports entertainment. They want wrestling to be a family affair because father's will pour their hard earned cash straight out of their asses to shut their dumb ass kids up because no one knows how to raise a fucking child anymore. I used to respect this place, the Pervert, that crazy pantie raiding bastard gave me the best match of my life. I thought things would always be that good here, never a dull moment chock full of violence and back stage hooligans, I almost signed a long turn contract. Then Mr. Zero turned on the founding fathers of this once great land, banning violence and cults and "dangerous" people. That's what makes the world go around! People with mental defects are always the best to beat on, and the best in the sack!"
The Heavy Metal Brawler finally looks up for the first time since he got into that ring and sat down. The smile plastered all over his face could be seen under the tiny shadow his cap was casting over his sinister grin.
"My first night here I ended up with a goth chick who was hanging out backstage, I think she was one of the girlfriends of a production worker, but to hell if I cared. I just wanted to get in between those fish net stockings and have her make up streaming all over my dick while she choke on my raging manhood. Bitch gave the best head too, she was cock crazy for Jerry Nate and swallowed my raging boner down like how I slam whiskey down. Oooooh, ooooh, God. Then, when I thought she was out of tricks, her finger slid in and gave my prostate a massage. You faggots aren't so weird to me now, I can see why you love having things shoved up your ass because when that sinister sister finally summoned forth my mighty flood of sticky sweetness, I emptied every last drop inside. Past the lips, kissed the tongue, through her throat and then finally saucing up that shitty pizza I ordered before we took a dive into sin that fateful night. Then she broke out the chains and all her little toys and I thought I was in fucking heaven. I put that skank through so much hell and punishment that even Jesus would of blushed before he passed out. Her ass looked like it went through a shredder when I gave her the last horrah all over those magnificent, red, pierced nipples. And all the while she was screaming through the gag for more punishment. You California cunts sure do know how to make a boring night exciting.....I thought you'd never come..."
The Shotgun Kid looked over to the entrance ramp as the parent's covered their children's ears and ran for the exit. Security was coming down the ramp, a tiny flashlight cop and a beef cake who knew the bottom of a twinkie box all too well. Mr. Fuckin' Satisfying raised up from his glorious perch to greet them while they stumbled into the ring. His fist start flailing through the air for warm ups then followed up by jumping jacks. The Meat Head came first with his hands raised for Jerry's cuff but was blasted in the face with a fine mist of brown sludge straight into the eyes. The other came up as Jerry laughed and pulled a long tube from his pants and putting it up to his lips and blowing, sending what looked like pink fuzz into the man's chest. The guard stumbled around for a few seconds before falling down limp, then shuddering all over the ring in a stroked out daze.
"It's going to take a little more then a few Chips knock offs to silence me this day! I'm not leaving until I finally get what I deserve! I want a fucking answer! I want the God King to call his suits and tell them he's finally coming out of his exile and facing me! We'll do it in his house! His rules, I don't care! I want Vlad's ass on a fucking pike and I can do it anyway he wants! And I'm not kidding...."
The beef cake is taken by the collar and hauled over to the ring post where he's left sitting with his head against the second turnbuckle. Jerry drops the mic and hovers over the guard while he tries to wipe his eyes clean of the harsh chaw Jerry loved. Fist come raining down on the prone man, bludgeoning his head and face with knuckles as hard as concrete. Seconds go by and leave the mauling unattended as the second guard finally raises up from his drug induced nap time and grabs Jerry by the ankle while he tugs on it from his belly. The Satisfying One grabs at the fat guard's belt and pulls out the taser before driving it into the skinny guard's neck and sending 10,000 volts of fury through the man's body. The fat ass guard tried to get up but recieved a boot to the gut for his trouble, sending him straight into the corner again. The stun gun crackles in Jerry's hand while he smiles and picks up the mic. He gets into the fat guard's face with the mic as if he was addressing the questions to him.
"Is this finally going to be what it takes to get your ass to call Vlad!? Am I gonna have to fry this piggy and go on into the front office and sizzle the suits!? Are you going to protect your company!? Or am I going to need to dismantle it one Fuck at a time!?"
The taser blasts the fat ass, shock after shock burns the man's skin as he shimmers and shakes from the shock. Finally the horror ends and the body's drop for the final time. Jerry Nate lowered down and wiped his hand all over the bloody face of the guard, getting his palm nice and red before ascending to the second rope and showing off the fruit of his labors to the hard camera.
"This. This is how wrestler's make their money. This is the very thing we loose in order to gain immortality. And one man knew that better than any of you in the back could ever know. All I'm asking is for one match, one YES, one man. Vladimir Strife. I don't want to do this, but you've left me no choice. I want immortality, and you're the only person here who can give it to me. I know you still dabble in this company's affairs, you have the higher up's numbers. All of this will end in a hurry if you just call and tell them you're coming. If you don't...then I'm heading into the locker room and cracking skulls. You know I can run all over your roster like the Horseman of war...save them Vlad....save them and offer yourself up as the sacrificial lamb....One yes, that's all it'll take to end the horror. I promise once I hear it, I'll leave and never return once we've faced off. Win or lose...You have my word. I just need a yes! Give into me, or the very definition of terrorism is going to descend on this rat hole...."
Jerry dropped the mic and lowered his arms, his face was stiff with the thousand yard stare while he waited on the EVPW management to come and deliver Vlad's message.
TBCB: He knows who he is.
EVPW returns from their commercial break with only a little sign airing over a black screen.
"Let's take a trip down memory lane, shall we?"
The arena is cast in darkness as the guitars begin to pick up out of no where, leaving everyone blind to what was happening. A few seconds of riffs play out before finally.....
"ELIMINATE!"
Dirty, smog filled fire erupts on both sides of the entrance ramp , they illuminate the darkened figure standing between them, for a mere second the arena could see that their former Hero from the cornfields had returned, and it sent them in an uproar of cheers as lighters and camera flashes try to give light to this historic return.
"It's him! It's him! The Satisfying One has returned to EVPW!"
It's like religion without a Bible
And the Dragon lives inside my mouth
And it speaks in tongues, the word...
And the Dragon lives inside my mouth
And it speaks in tongues, the word...
The flames return in all their dirt ridden glory, by the red dawn light, The Shotgun Kid's face could be seen underneath the baseball cap with the snicker's logo replaced with his name and the usual sunglasses over his eyes. He was donning a new baseball jersey with "DEEZ NUTZ!" on the front and "Jerry Nate#666" over the back and a pair of black jean shorts with his red wrasslin' boots.
"HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELL BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOUND!"
Snakes, in Southern flames
To bring the thunder; the great decider
Would you believe in this or the ash?
I do believe it and it's taking over...
Accept
To bring the thunder; the great decider
Would you believe in this or the ash?
I do believe it and it's taking over...
Accept
His video package played out on the screen while the red strobe lights took over as the makeshift lightning for his entrance. The former New Age/Imperial contender slowly made his way down to the ring as the lady's all wet their panties, or at least the chanting sounded like it. Mr. Fuckin' Satisfying walked into the ring with his usual swagger as the fans chanted for a fist fight. From his jacket, Jerry pulled out a mic and switched it on with a hiss.
"Who could of guessed we would of gotten Jerry Nate back as soon as we re-opened for business...and he looks pumped and ready to start some shit."
Jerry walked slowly up into range of the hard camera and stood there, his sun glassed covered eyes never wavering from the glaze he sent into people's television sets. The live crowd was going wild as he lifted a mic and held it there, his expression completely blank, but you could tell underneath those sun glasses were flaring with his beady, corn husking blues.
"...I want the God King...."
The Shotgun Kid is interrupted again by the EVPW addicts in response to Jerry Nate's blatant statement. The Kid walks about the ring with a little step here and there, jingling the change in his pockets, shooting glances to his sides and looking generally disgusted with the chants he was receiving.
"GOD DAMN IT! SHUT UP! I'm not here for you people! I'm not here to help EVPW be re-born into a new and grander spectacle of bullshit that it once was! I don't care if this place crawls up King Bear's ass and dies once more, or if this old building just blows its lid from all the crappy plumbing and exposed electrical wires we have to deal with in the one locker room for the regular guys in the back...that's why I found the old Evil Intent hideout in the basement to use, the plasma t.v down there and that couch Jaggeroth probably found at the Goodwill are the two most expensive things in this gym...and that's counting your title belts. I'm only here to prove myself to someone, and to the rest of you pot bellied neanderthals that The Satisfying One is the only man worthy of being called a King in the world of professional wrestling.....So I'm going to say this one last time, slowly, calmly...and collectively......I....Want....VLAD! The last time I stood in this ring, nay, the last time EVPW was able to afford me a coach ticket so I could waste time down in this god forsaken hellhole, I slapped the so called Mauler around like the fro' haired furby he truly is!"
Mr. Fuckin' Satisfying took a seat in the middle of the ring with his knees bent and feet against the mat, unmoving during his rant against this inglorious bastard pit.
"Vladimir Strife! I'm not leaving this ring until you give me word that you're coming back, to this rat feces encrusted labyrinth you call a wrestling venue to finally face me in a fairly contested match...of your choosing! Call up your boys in the back, I know you're watching at home, sitting comfortably in your leisure and the comfy lifestyle you get for charging thirty bucks a ticket, yet only paying fifty bucks a match to the talent.....call up your boys and tell them you're coming back...or else...your ratings are going down well past the toilet...they're going into the damn shit refinery!"
When the scene finishes playing out, the cameras go back live to the EVPW arena and pan back over to the ring very slowly where a figure was sitting in the middle in the luxury that only a steel folding chair could offer. It was Jerry Nate, decked out to the nines for this special occasion in his ratty Pantera shirt and some black Dickies jeans. A mic was rolling around in his hands as he sat there with one leg over the other and an arm tucked away under the other. His lips were puckering as he kept his eyes centered on the cloth mat underneath him, thinking away while all the fans of this shit hole cheered their large, hollow heads off for him.
"So, the last time I decided to waste my life here was that very moment we all just witnessed. And sadly, I was carted off by security after ten minutes of standing here, and that sure as hell boosted the ratings for this "television show", something that everyone in the back was trying really hard to convince on, yet all I see is a group of suits trying to squeeze a profit out of a horse's skeleton. The whole problem with this place is the bureaucratic bullshit that this place has. How many fucking managers do you need to run a damn show? GHW is simple, back when Grimey ran things, he ran them good. All by himself, and always had one solid vision of where things needed to go. We've got Mr. Zero here, and a whole clown car full of fucking yes men who've never watched a damn match in their entire life, nay, never even competed in a damn match. And each and every last one of them is looking for ass backwards ways to change something that should be a guarantied money maker. Fighting. That's all you need, fighting, some build up, and maybe a wrestler or two who knows how to at least lace up their own damn boots and not a metric shit ton of red tape."
The Eagle Visioned die hards in the stands all rain out their frustrations on their former hero, telling him off with the best choice of words their feeble brains could conjure up.
"You all know it's true! You've got a bunch of fat, oily pigs who need to butter up every morning to get into their suits running this damn crap shack. And all they're doing is trying to accomplish is a fatter wallet with "family" sports entertainment. They want wrestling to be a family affair because father's will pour their hard earned cash straight out of their asses to shut their dumb ass kids up because no one knows how to raise a fucking child anymore. I used to respect this place, the Pervert, that crazy pantie raiding bastard gave me the best match of my life. I thought things would always be that good here, never a dull moment chock full of violence and back stage hooligans, I almost signed a long turn contract. Then Mr. Zero turned on the founding fathers of this once great land, banning violence and cults and "dangerous" people. That's what makes the world go around! People with mental defects are always the best to beat on, and the best in the sack!"
The Heavy Metal Brawler finally looks up for the first time since he got into that ring and sat down. The smile plastered all over his face could be seen under the tiny shadow his cap was casting over his sinister grin.
"My first night here I ended up with a goth chick who was hanging out backstage, I think she was one of the girlfriends of a production worker, but to hell if I cared. I just wanted to get in between those fish net stockings and have her make up streaming all over my dick while she choke on my raging manhood. Bitch gave the best head too, she was cock crazy for Jerry Nate and swallowed my raging boner down like how I slam whiskey down. Oooooh, ooooh, God. Then, when I thought she was out of tricks, her finger slid in and gave my prostate a massage. You faggots aren't so weird to me now, I can see why you love having things shoved up your ass because when that sinister sister finally summoned forth my mighty flood of sticky sweetness, I emptied every last drop inside. Past the lips, kissed the tongue, through her throat and then finally saucing up that shitty pizza I ordered before we took a dive into sin that fateful night. Then she broke out the chains and all her little toys and I thought I was in fucking heaven. I put that skank through so much hell and punishment that even Jesus would of blushed before he passed out. Her ass looked like it went through a shredder when I gave her the last horrah all over those magnificent, red, pierced nipples. And all the while she was screaming through the gag for more punishment. You California cunts sure do know how to make a boring night exciting.....I thought you'd never come..."
The Shotgun Kid looked over to the entrance ramp as the parent's covered their children's ears and ran for the exit. Security was coming down the ramp, a tiny flashlight cop and a beef cake who knew the bottom of a twinkie box all too well. Mr. Fuckin' Satisfying raised up from his glorious perch to greet them while they stumbled into the ring. His fist start flailing through the air for warm ups then followed up by jumping jacks. The Meat Head came first with his hands raised for Jerry's cuff but was blasted in the face with a fine mist of brown sludge straight into the eyes. The other came up as Jerry laughed and pulled a long tube from his pants and putting it up to his lips and blowing, sending what looked like pink fuzz into the man's chest. The guard stumbled around for a few seconds before falling down limp, then shuddering all over the ring in a stroked out daze.
"It's going to take a little more then a few Chips knock offs to silence me this day! I'm not leaving until I finally get what I deserve! I want a fucking answer! I want the God King to call his suits and tell them he's finally coming out of his exile and facing me! We'll do it in his house! His rules, I don't care! I want Vlad's ass on a fucking pike and I can do it anyway he wants! And I'm not kidding...."
The beef cake is taken by the collar and hauled over to the ring post where he's left sitting with his head against the second turnbuckle. Jerry drops the mic and hovers over the guard while he tries to wipe his eyes clean of the harsh chaw Jerry loved. Fist come raining down on the prone man, bludgeoning his head and face with knuckles as hard as concrete. Seconds go by and leave the mauling unattended as the second guard finally raises up from his drug induced nap time and grabs Jerry by the ankle while he tugs on it from his belly. The Satisfying One grabs at the fat guard's belt and pulls out the taser before driving it into the skinny guard's neck and sending 10,000 volts of fury through the man's body. The fat ass guard tried to get up but recieved a boot to the gut for his trouble, sending him straight into the corner again. The stun gun crackles in Jerry's hand while he smiles and picks up the mic. He gets into the fat guard's face with the mic as if he was addressing the questions to him.
"Is this finally going to be what it takes to get your ass to call Vlad!? Am I gonna have to fry this piggy and go on into the front office and sizzle the suits!? Are you going to protect your company!? Or am I going to need to dismantle it one Fuck at a time!?"
The taser blasts the fat ass, shock after shock burns the man's skin as he shimmers and shakes from the shock. Finally the horror ends and the body's drop for the final time. Jerry Nate lowered down and wiped his hand all over the bloody face of the guard, getting his palm nice and red before ascending to the second rope and showing off the fruit of his labors to the hard camera.
"This. This is how wrestler's make their money. This is the very thing we loose in order to gain immortality. And one man knew that better than any of you in the back could ever know. All I'm asking is for one match, one YES, one man. Vladimir Strife. I don't want to do this, but you've left me no choice. I want immortality, and you're the only person here who can give it to me. I know you still dabble in this company's affairs, you have the higher up's numbers. All of this will end in a hurry if you just call and tell them you're coming. If you don't...then I'm heading into the locker room and cracking skulls. You know I can run all over your roster like the Horseman of war...save them Vlad....save them and offer yourself up as the sacrificial lamb....One yes, that's all it'll take to end the horror. I promise once I hear it, I'll leave and never return once we've faced off. Win or lose...You have my word. I just need a yes! Give into me, or the very definition of terrorism is going to descend on this rat hole...."
Jerry dropped the mic and lowered his arms, his face was stiff with the thousand yard stare while he waited on the EVPW management to come and deliver Vlad's message.
TBCB: He knows who he is.
