Sactuary to the new World Television Champion of the JWA.
A few notable titles have graced these halls...the EHIW World Title, the GWF World Title, the BEW Hardcore title, and now this...he never used to even care about titles. Now, he was enjoying the pure thrill of having something that everyone else didn't have. Now, his demented ego grew, and as if he didn't already think himself a demi-god...well, godhood couldn't be a far reach from that, could it? The workings of a truly fucked-up medulla oblongata.
He sits, indian style, upon one of the many huge gothic crosses strewed about his front yard, like monolith gravestones, sentinels standing guard in the night. Only the blackness of their silohuettes evident, lurking...a dozen or so, plunged into the earth, slightly tilted to their sides from years of erosion about their bases, and lack of tending from their bearers. And he sits, indian style, upon one of the tallest crucifixes, hair blowing in the wind as the storm approaches...
Fucked up medulla oblongata.
Closer still...until the faint silver in his air shines in the light of the crescent moon, and the glint of crimson in his eyes peers from his sullen facial features. A few moments pass, and he speaks...
Oh, yeah...so you don't think Gangrene deserves
the shot because we used a little excessive violence, huh? Wake up goon...we
tried doing things all peaceful like, since a long time ago. Remember the lead
pipe? Remember the sandbags? Remember the blades? Yeah, it's because you
wouldn't grow a pair and sign a match. That simple. This isn't politics, Mercy,
you don't filibuster until the competition goes away or gives up. You're the man
talking the talk about how much this sport has suffered because it's not
wrestling anymore...I'm the subject of your hurled insults, out there, wrestling
fair and square each and every match and coming out ahead, and systematically
eliminating ever competitor. Forget what happens after every match...it involves
a viscious gang beating at the hands of the Masters. Why? Because you lost...and
when I'm involved, people lose LOTS. Which is why there are LOTS of gang
beatings.
It's not that obscure a picture to see, just get
your head out of your ass, chump.
A sly smile is barely
visible upon his pale face in the darkness...
And there's Abunai and Santee
Clause. Just a quick note...I looked up Abunai, and it actually means
"boring Japanese man". Go figure, huh?
Santee Clause...Christmas is three weeks away,
what the hell are you doing around here? I swear, back when you used to be
somebody, I never recalled your face being quite a swollen and pudgy, nor did I
recall you reaking of incompetence. Now you're just another chump...without the
MoA. See how everyone has already forgotten you? It's sad really, I'll cherish
the moment when you run away again and cry about how you've been screwed over
again.
Like anyone cares enough to screw you over,
right? What's the fun in kicking a dead horse?
Oh, yeah, and I absolutely HAVE to clear this
up. Chad Hazzard. I make up words right, and you toss bad words my way for it?
Tell me exactly where the word "sissified" is in the English
dictionary, and I'll buy you a new pair of bib-overalls. Otherwise...keep that
slack-jawed hillbilly sister fucking mouth of yours shut.
Another chuckle, and Welsh
stands upon the cross with a balance and grace that defies definition. He
crosses his arms in front of him as another wave of thunder rolls, and the rain
starts to fall...
And
Preacher...congratulations on getting rid of that useless sack of mass, Savage
Warrior. And you even cheated to do it? Hate us as you may, you're becoming more
and more like us with each passing day...you've got promise yet.
Jon Clark...enjoy that hardcore title while you
have it. That, like all of your titles by default will be short-lived. Mayhem is
the man for the job...he'll have your number, and the Masters at his back. Be
warned...
Boring Japanese Man. Great Boring Japanese Man.
Some of you caught that...to the rest of you,
ask a friend or relative who can actually think without getting a headache.
Step aside, and make way for the Future...
A gracefull leap from the
ten foot high perch, and an effortless landing upon the soft soil, the rains
begin to swoop down, the lightening flashes, the sky roar...and lovely Lavendar
is waiting with the door open to welcome her Master back inside. Fade to
black...
You know, I never imagined it would be so difficult just to get spineless twits
like Mercy to sign the dotted line and put their titles up against people who
obviously deserve the shot, like Gangrene. Even the spineless twits from past
federations were stup...er, brave enough to sign over their souls to the
Masters, for a shot at the golden fiddle. Well, now, Mercy stumbled upon that
very fiddle so many months ago and has thusfar weasled his way into obscurity,
clutching it tight in his claws, refusing to even step through the ropes unless
it's a non-title match, or with his shameless whore lover Jeffery Drake
involved. What a joke...I've never before beheld such a blatantly gutless
wonder. You really should be ashamed of yourself, everyone else already is...
