Post by Crowbar on Jan 30, 2017 22:18:25 GMT -5
It’s a cold, rainy night at an undisclosed location – a single light source and visions of some wood indicate a cabin somewhere. Leaning on the porch is Crowbar, having a cigarette, beer in hand, relaxing. Lightning flashes behind him in the distance, he laughs and cracks his neck.
“So…Tweeder, eh? You’re next? Really? Someone who, quite honestly, couldn’t win a match without some form of help? Sure, I could easily call on a few friends to help, but I really don’t need to, you showed what calibre of person you are by having someone sprint in to beat up Trixie, and come on, it was Anton Chase? Please, oh please, let’s have that happen again!”
Crowbar scoffs and throws his cigarette off the porch.
“This tournament, so far, good fun, I’ll admit the ending to my match was pretty poor, but a win is a win, right? Though as I understand it, you’re one of those attempts at being completely violent…what’s that deal I’ve heard you called again, an Ultraviolent Icon? Something like that? Please. The only thing I’d believe you’re violent with is your own nether regions, since your anger is probably pent up loneliness eh? If you’re apparently an Ultraviolent Icon, I may as well be the Ultraviolent Jesus, and my old nemesis/pal PKA being the Ultraviolent God, because be real, you’re nothing.”
Crowbar pulls out another cigarette and lights up.
“So let’s see, you needed help to beat Trixie, you’re lonely and not getting any, and from what I saw at Lights Out #2…not that great in the ring. You’re boring, completely boring, I think I fell asleep for most of the match until Anton came out…now, I’ll be honest, I don’t know or care what you’ve done before coming to the Battleground, and I’m sure you probably don’t know what I’ve done either, since if you did, you would have backed out of this match by now and just forfeited your chance, but hey, just someone else on my way, and now here’s the thing…”
Crowbar takes a drink of his beer.
“I’m loving my time here so far, I am, and this tournament is awesome, however…I’m not looking to fight you, or whatever his name was last show, while the title would be nice, I’m more interested in making it through to take on someone I’ve never had the chance to, someone who actually has my respect and isn’t some guy whose secretly indicating he’s a Tweener mentally, and that’s Malcolm Dred-King. Tweeder, no offence buddy, but you’re not in my league, you’re well below, and if need be, I’m going to absolutely destroy you with anything I can get my hands on, from a chair, to a ring bell, to a fire hydrant. I don’t care. YA DONE SON!”
Crowbar leans forward.
“Welcome to the world where dreams become nightmares.”
“So…Tweeder, eh? You’re next? Really? Someone who, quite honestly, couldn’t win a match without some form of help? Sure, I could easily call on a few friends to help, but I really don’t need to, you showed what calibre of person you are by having someone sprint in to beat up Trixie, and come on, it was Anton Chase? Please, oh please, let’s have that happen again!”
Crowbar scoffs and throws his cigarette off the porch.
“This tournament, so far, good fun, I’ll admit the ending to my match was pretty poor, but a win is a win, right? Though as I understand it, you’re one of those attempts at being completely violent…what’s that deal I’ve heard you called again, an Ultraviolent Icon? Something like that? Please. The only thing I’d believe you’re violent with is your own nether regions, since your anger is probably pent up loneliness eh? If you’re apparently an Ultraviolent Icon, I may as well be the Ultraviolent Jesus, and my old nemesis/pal PKA being the Ultraviolent God, because be real, you’re nothing.”
Crowbar pulls out another cigarette and lights up.
“So let’s see, you needed help to beat Trixie, you’re lonely and not getting any, and from what I saw at Lights Out #2…not that great in the ring. You’re boring, completely boring, I think I fell asleep for most of the match until Anton came out…now, I’ll be honest, I don’t know or care what you’ve done before coming to the Battleground, and I’m sure you probably don’t know what I’ve done either, since if you did, you would have backed out of this match by now and just forfeited your chance, but hey, just someone else on my way, and now here’s the thing…”
Crowbar takes a drink of his beer.
“I’m loving my time here so far, I am, and this tournament is awesome, however…I’m not looking to fight you, or whatever his name was last show, while the title would be nice, I’m more interested in making it through to take on someone I’ve never had the chance to, someone who actually has my respect and isn’t some guy whose secretly indicating he’s a Tweener mentally, and that’s Malcolm Dred-King. Tweeder, no offence buddy, but you’re not in my league, you’re well below, and if need be, I’m going to absolutely destroy you with anything I can get my hands on, from a chair, to a ring bell, to a fire hydrant. I don’t care. YA DONE SON!”
Crowbar leans forward.
“Welcome to the world where dreams become nightmares.”