Braxton Title Syndrome: The Jason O’Neal Disease
Feb 7, 2018 23:50:44 GMT -5
God King Dune, Wade Moor, and 2 more like this
Post by Odin Balfore on Feb 7, 2018 23:50:44 GMT -5
WCF – Slam
Odin Balfore
vs.
Jason O’Neal
“Braxton Title Syndrome: The Jason O’Neal Disease”
Wordcount: 4167
____________________________________
Chapter I: Jason O’Neal, a Lack Luster Return
You this, right here; this is the natural order of the universe. Odin Balfore in the main event. Followed by Dune in the penultimate and Steven Singh ‘world champion’ extraordinaire, mopping up the jizz stained midcard. Steven, I am not even crowned official WCF World Champion yet and WCF has already course corrected. Remember this match placement this week. Odin Balfore – whose held no titles in roughly four years is main eventing against a guy who should have held no titles – for an epoch. You Steven Singh, get to see exactly where your life should have been this entire time and where it will be after Till Death. You get your biggest challenge to date with the woeful scrub lord named Matthew Black and I get to rip out the spine of another former so called ‘world champion.’ Truthfully I don’t know what I did top deserve this. Oh, right. Ragnarok.
See, Steven, My mere existence in WCF fixes all imbalances created by drunkin’ whims of a Philadelphia madman. You, fighting for your life in the midcard. Me, running yet another ‘prestigious’ champion of WCF. Two time world champion for the each of you? Stop, I’m getting a THICK. You both are a fucking sham and a disgrace to the true nature of WCF. The Bad Mother Fucker has returned and with it, the rule of law because my will.. Is law.
To you Jason O’Neal. Go fuck yourself. I’m going to spend the next week running you threw and completely outclassing you. Then you can see with your own eyes what a true world champion does and not these pussies like Bates, Holmes, Singh, SJW and even Rabid. If Holmes and Rabid were better men then guys like you, SJW and Singh wouldn’t come close to a world title. Sunday night I am going to show you just how fucking weak you are in the middle of the ring. I’m going to make that bear attack look like a puppy licking peanut butter off your unthick coin purse you tree bark looking cuck faggot.
But hey, you always got them streets right? I bet the fuckin 9th ward corners still has those worn down groves where your knees used to be. I’m sure by know its an subconscious reflex. You’ll stand before the All Father and assume the position because you gotta make ends me. And trust me, ends will be meeting; the tip of my cock to the start of your colon. I’m going deep on you. What I’m about to feed to you will be a crime against humanity and your white blood cells.
You have no fucking IDEA.
but you will.
Ready.. or not.
_________________________________________
Chapter II: Fly Eagles, Fly LOL
The CREEPING DEATH syndrome, the Paranoia of confusion and the Miasma of Murder swept through Philly. The Eagals won the Superbowl. Now Phillys economy rests squarely on the guy managing the LIDS kiosk at the mall to hand stitch hats with a German Shepard face on it. Something about underdogs. However, that does not stop the ravages of Ragnarok from causing riots and panic in the streets. New England lost because a higher power willed it so. The All Father willed it so. It’s the first step into the monumental shift of power in WCF. The All Father has won the contendership, now it is all his for the taking. The All Father stands tall as he walks through the crowded streets of grown men tipping over cars, looting stores and running wild in the true nature of man. He enjoys his handiwork. He is proud of his labor. First CREEPING DEATH came with a choking cough that sent people to the hospital, now it creates mad and ravenous animals. Animals that need to be put down.
Tom Brady AKA White Steven has a countdown clock in his office that counts down to the next Superbowl. Revenge Tour 18’. Started by Ragnarok, echoed by Tom Brady and finished in WCF by the All Father, The Bad Mother Fucker, Odin Balfore. As the All Father walks through the streets of Philly, an hour away from WCF HQ he is reminded of a team that this so undeserving of a win that the entire foundation crumbles around it. Such were the musing of a drunken Seth Lerch to allow Jason O’Neal to become world champion. Seth would say that he Deserved it. Jason would tell you that he earned it but the truth is neither the former or the latter. No, the truth of the matter is that Drunken Seth Lerch likes his brand of controlled chaos.
‘Jason O’Neal. Listen good. Your small stint, however short lived and shallow that it was, was merely a drunken whim or a bet that Seth Lerch made with a Bangcock Ladyboy. There is no skill with you. There is no greatness in you. Certainly no main event.’
Thought the Bad Mother Fucker as the microcosm melts around him. A group of drunken men try to hassel the All Father in that drunken Philly slang that sounds like two cheese steaks being mashed together in a blender. They wore those Eagles hats with pride but unfortunately the Eagals are still statistically one of the worst teams in football. However, they continued to harass the All Father to the point of him ripping off the arms of one man, crushing his skull like a melon between two hammers and then beating the other two men unconscious.
The strong, Jason O’Neal. The strong do what they can while the Weak, like you, Jason O’Neal, endure what they must. You’re dealing with a man who is most certainly bringing on the end of the world as you know it. The World that you knew. The WCF that you knew and the loved ones that you knew.. And you have a small little child to think about.
Now repeat:
there is nothing I can do to stop it.
there is nothing I can do to stop it.
There is nothing I can do to stop it.
And you will be seem for the fluke that you are. But don’t worry. We know a guy that can get you a good deal on one of those hats. It can say something like ‘ FORMER WORLD CHAMPION’ on it and the dog, that underdog can have a paper bag over its head because even its embarrassed to be seen in public with you. Even the stitching on the fucking hat knows your fucked.
But hey… Fly Egals Fly, Am I right? LOL
____________________________________
Chapter III: Braxton Title Synbrome: The Jason O’Neal Disease
The Dr. Reemus McCayle Institute. Haddonfield, CT.
‘Braxton, wha?’ Asks the blonde haired big tittied reporter.
“ Ahem.” The hologoram of Dr. Reemus clears his throat. “Braxton Title Syndrome. It’s just been discovered over the past few weeks.”
“And is that whats been making everyone either sick or have fits of rage?” She asks in an interview within Dr. Reemus office, which is also a hologram.
“O’ no.” He replies. “ That’s CREEPING DEATH. An ancient evil reminiscent of the Kaiju, a strange beast hailing from Japan. However, it is from this catastrophic pandemic that we were able to dscover this new syndrome. It’s more of a disease really but since its not spread by air or fluids in the traditional sense, it’s more of a psychosis.”
“So what exactly is, Braxton Title Syndrome and what are its symptoms; how did it get started.”
“Well, in the past few weeks of the Creeping Death pandemic many people have been coming forward proclaiming themselves to be the champion of the world. Guys named SJW, Steven Singh and most recently Jason O’Neal who claims to return from some sort of Bruin assault. Which, as a medical doctor I can attest to you is some far reaching stretch of the imagination.”
“Well with Braxton Title Syndrome, could it just be a grand delusion that this Jason O’neal was attacked by a bear and now he thinks he’s champion of the world. Could the Braxton Syndrome and the Creeping Death miasma be having some strange effect on him?”
“Most definitely. The only way a man could return from a bear attack and claim to be world champion, he would certainly still be a coma.”
“And this is how you discovered Braxton Title Syndrome?”
“Well, there has to be a patient zero so I went into my archives and did some research. First I thought it was Donald Deruty. It was not.”
D-Day sighs relief.
“Then I thought that it could have been Jeff Purse. It was not.”
Jeff Purse sighs relief.
“So I was then certain that it was Jay Price.. to my astonishment, it was not.”
FLASH _CUT TO Jay Price stitching Jason O’ Neal’s hat at the mall Kiosk and sighing a breath of relief.
“So then I figured it had to be more recent. Perhaps I was looking to far back. It had to be in the last year or so. I went back through my research and I found something strange. Jason O’ Neal paved the way for PBV, who by all accounts shouldn’t be mentioned in the list of Braxton Title Syndrome but at the same time.. Dion Necurate was world champion. Dion had to be patient Zero for Braxton Title Syndrome: a person of false accomplishment and skills attaining glory they did not deserve, earn or could achieve on their own merit against legitimate champions. Dion certainly fit the bill; being homeless and all. That and being an edge lord but then I kept flipping back to Jason O’Neal. Jason O’Neal, the ‘real deal’ could not beat a homeless man and yet claims to be the rightful world champion – after this bear attack of course.”
“Of course because that makes sense.” Scoffs the reporter at the absurd claims of Jason O’Neal.
“So after a few weeks of contemplating, I’ve decided to rename my discovery to the Jason O’Neal disease. The only reason I feel he beat Joey Flash was because of Pity or some deep seeded inside joke that Flashed played upon the world because he is that cerebral and calculating that he felt spoon feeding the world championship to Jason O’Neal would be the next best thing to giving it to YUNG ADAM.”
“So you’re saying that all this started as a joke and the only reason Jason O’Neal became world champion is because Joey Flash is a cynical asshole?”
“Yes. Even though Dion pinned Jared Holmes to win his championship, it was still Jason O’Neal who passed the disease onto him by close proximity faggotry. I mean, I blame Dion almost as much as I blame O’Neal but I certainly cannot blame Flash or Holmes because they are both men of merit and skill. They only reason I could think they would do what they did is because the sick joke brings them more joy than being champion of those cuck faggot jabronies. But now the disease has been passed onto SJW, Johnny Rabid and Steven Singh.”
“So we have the patient zero, the symptoms, the repercussions but how about the cure? What cures Braxtion Title – erhm, Jason O’Neal Disease?”
“Easy.” Smiles Dr. Reemus. “Ragnarok and the Bad Mother Fucker. Punk bitches like Singh and O’Neal need to be humbled to be cured. They need to be shown the errors of their ways and that they do not belong in the same standing as real world champions. I’m a doctor, I know these things. I also know that Jason has a history of arguing with doctors but I’m sure when that bear smashed his ass poon, he went runnin to the PCP. I’ve seen it a thousand times. Perhaps, id Jason want to yell and argue and scream at the BEAR FACTS then perhaps he should go emotionally and verbally abuse his pregnant girlfriend some more. Because, you know, nothing says ‘ proud fighting world champion’ like abusing the pregnant. Jason is disgusting; a complete joke and when Odin Balfore rolls around to exposing Jason for what he really is – he’ll go leap head first into the bear enclosure at the zoo with steak and honey stapled to his face, chest and scroat. And in my opinion, it won’t be soon enough. Ragnarok is here and it is only getting worse. In my estimation no one can stop it except for Odin Balfore; IF he chooses to stop it. However, it is on a mission and the way things are looking, it is going to be successful. If Jason O’Neal had any semblance of sense left in him he would quit, and never come back. He has never faced the likes of Odin Balfore before and quite frankly, he will never be the same when it’s all said and done. May God have mercy on his soul. On all of your souls. ”
“Well, Thank you Dr. Reemus. We appreciate all your words of wisdom as this CREEPING DEATH misasma and Ragnarok continue to the ravish the country.”
__________________________________________
Chapter IV: A Relic, Reborn
James Cameron got the camera, he’s pointing and shooting as the script is flipped and tossed out the window. The Bad Mother fucker is back at WCF HQ in the sound studio. It is after hours and the building is empty. Nick Foles and the CREEPING DEATH miasma made quick work of that. The All Father is dressed in a slate grey button up shirt, black slacks and shoes. The top few buttons are undone as he fixes the buttons on his cuff. Cameron is rolling as the All Father busies himself with other things before addressing the camera.
“Jason O’Neal- you poor, misguided, delusional and pathetic wretch of a human infestation. FORMER world champion and your first night back on Slam and you walk out with a stick up your colon and a dick down your throat. Now, before you try to correct me on how you’ve been back for two week –“
The All Father bats that idea away.
“I don’t give a fuck. You walked out on Slam and bitched about a bunch of nonsense that nobody cares about. Except you and like I said, no body. Make no bones about this, Jason. You are an ant. You are a ghost. You are nothing more than a stain in this company that I built. Keep that in mind. Company. That. I. Built. You walk out and you talk about glass ceilings like a fucking two-bit scrub. You trash Kevin Bishop and Stuart Slane, two men whose names you shouldn’t be allowed to utter, let alone trash. However, I digress. You came out with the ‘poor me’ trip- the kind that gets a done in and rung out around here. At least- it used to. Now a days I suppose that’s just par for the course. You seemed awefully proud that you and the homeless can become world champions but all it does is affirm my suspicions – that Seth Lerch was running a fucking soup kitchen for twenty years. Well, kitchens closed. You came back for a fucking mid card Omega Championship. That’s your fucking prize – The Omega Championship.
Wow, you really are a fucking stone cold loser, arnt you? I want you to remember that. That your first order of business here was not to shoe yourself into a world title match but rather take a tee-ball swing at Teo Del Sol. That’s some low hanging fruit and I’m quite sure that you’ll strike out in that regard. However, you did fuck up. You came out and went to the ring and ran your mouth in the Odin Balfore Era. You wanted competition and funny thing- wouldn’t you know it – I ain’t got any. No one here can beat me. Not the Time Witch, not Ol’ X, not the Internet Champion, not the Alpha Champion. Not even the guy that’s being paid to keep my WCF Championship warm for me – Steven Singh. But you know, since I’m not busy and I’m in the neighborhood and also in the business of wrecking the shit of any champion that comes in my path – I figure – I’d break your neck for the fun of it. While I’m here asserting my will and dominance over the company – once again -For the third time; why not just obliterate the former world champion Jason O’Neal. It’s really a great way to show Steven Singh that no one is safe – that he isn’t safe.
I do not give you a passing thought, Jason. I do not care about you. However, I am going to batter you like a prom date on Sunday night. This right here – just like Steven Singh – being in the ring with me will be the greatest match of your life. The biggest match of your career and its just you getting your shit pushed in so bad the army corps of engineers will have to reconstruct your small intestine. The way that I look at it, you came back for a fight. You came back for reason. I may not have been it but you have been mine. I hear all this talk of old guards and glass ceilings and I’m sure you’ll squeak those words through your cock sucker again; how this is just some grand scheme to keep you down.
No. It’s not. I’m just going to put my boot on your spine and keep you there by virtue of my legend alone. Its not a conspiracy, Jason to keep you down when that’s truthfully just the mature of the world. You’re a garbage wrestler who never should have been anywhere near a picture of the WCF World Champion – let alone hold one. Perhaps the graphics guy fucked up. Maybe he put your name on the poster and Seth just winged it because that’s just a Seff thing to do. However, do not insult the cosmic balance of the universe by insinuating that all this is a conspiracy. It’s just the way things are. You are a trash tier wrestler and I’m going to fuck you up at Slam and move on. The Storm doesn’t care what city is in its way. It just destroys whatever is in its path. Just like I’m going to do to you on Sunday. I’m going to go in that ring, punch you square in the mouth and fuck your bitch right in front of you while I smoke a blunt and eat some chicken wings. I’m sure you’re thinking that this is your chance. This is where the fluke can be avenged. This is where you can take a so-called legend down a peg.”
The All Father motions for a close up.
“Here. Let me put you in on a secret. There is almost fourteen hundred contracted wrestlers in WCFs history. Out of nearly fourteen hundred, I’m continually ranked within the top ten All Time. You are not going against some broken down legend. This isn’t a nostalgia act. This isn’t an act at all. There is no fantasy. No. This is the REAL DEAL. Funny, huh. When I use that name, it makes sense. When you use that name, the universe laughs. You see, when I talk, I do not talk of fantasy. I talk of real life. I am the Villain of the story – Non Fiction and those villains are often the worst kind. Guys like you – the weak and trash tier who think that the only reason why they suck is because they’ve been held down – that’s why guys like me exist. We eat you. We devour you. Like a bear to a small dog. You want to come into my arena – get into my ring and cry your bleeding heart little eyes out over what’s not fair and what it – Sunday night I’ll show what’s fair.
Nothing. Unless I will it so.
You are about to fight the best tag team champion in WCF history. The most dominant big man in WCF history. I put WCF on its knees once before and unless you haven’t been paying attention – here I am doing it again. And who is going to stop me? You? Bah! Non sense. You couldn’t stop Teo Del Sol, Johnny Rabid, Steven Singh, SJW or even a bear. How do you think you’ll stand against a true Norse Gawd.
Rather poorly.
Like I told Bonnie and Singh last week. Like a paper tiger standing in a thunder storm. I’m going to wash you away, Jason. I’m going to shelf you once again or just make sure you never want to come back. My words have weight because the magnitude of my aura is so great. You may have only heard the stories but now you’re going to see it in real life. And Steven Singh, be adventurous. Get a ring side view. Take notes. See what you’re in for. Because the way I see it, Jason is on par with you in terms of skill and foolishness. Know that when you watch me smash his skull across the ring and hit him with my Mark and hit him with Ragnarok – that you will suffer the same exact fate.
I’ve heard a lot of talk from many people, Jason. Talks of championship dreams and main eventing. So far, it has all been talk. Even from Steven Singh. Just laments from wishful thinkers who do not know what true WCF main eventers are.
Right now, you are looking at one. And Sunday night when I look across at you- I’ll see what I always see: A fucking jobber waiting to get GOT.
Funny how ever the past few weeks I’ve conducted myself better than four world champions. Rabid, SJW, Singh and now you, Jason. I’d say I’m disappointed but I know that WCF attracts a lot of the unskilled and undeserving. Seth has a soft spot for strays. Truthfully the company is no different right now from the moment I first walked in WCF. I cleaned house then and I’ll clean house now. O’ and don’t be surprised if I’m also a triple champion in this tenure. Quite frankly, I don’t see how anyone can defeat me. I’ve literally taken on all kinds and walks and just destroyed – destroyed – destroyed.
If Teo Del Sol is your idea of competition – consider me a fucking asteroid cruising towards Earth with the power to turn the entire thing into dust. Jason O’Neal. I am going to turn you into dust.
And everything else in my wake.
You are going to regret ever coming back in to WCF. It’s the same WCF you first entered. Its not the one you left and it sure as fuck aint the WCF you’d wish to be in. But hey – like seven years ago – this is where dreams come to die; in the house that Odin Balfore built. I mean it was me that built this sound stage because guys like you can’t sell out a VFW hall. Me. I sell out the Tokyo Dome. I sell out stadiums. Guys like you end up buying my merch. You buy front row tickets just to see me in action.
Guys like you try to down play my dominance. You call me a relic. You call me old or washed up. Then you get in the rig with me and I fuck you up worse than you ever have before. So you watch your words carefully, Jason. When you pull your empty arena promo or you go verbally abuse your girlfriend again. Remember it’s me that you’ll have to answer too and I am looking forward to twisting your neck off your shoulders and burying you in that canvas.
I’m a legend, you’re damn right. I am relic of an era in WCF that is long since passed. Well, its back. A Relic reborn. The Bad Mother Fucker has returned and Sunday night he is going to make yet another example of a pitiful FORMER world champion on my way to reclaiming MY WCF Championship from all the Frauds and fakes who wish to usurp it.
So I have spoken… So it shall.. come to pass.”
Odin Balfore
vs.
Jason O’Neal
“Braxton Title Syndrome: The Jason O’Neal Disease”
Wordcount: 4167
____________________________________
Chapter I: Jason O’Neal, a Lack Luster Return
You this, right here; this is the natural order of the universe. Odin Balfore in the main event. Followed by Dune in the penultimate and Steven Singh ‘world champion’ extraordinaire, mopping up the jizz stained midcard. Steven, I am not even crowned official WCF World Champion yet and WCF has already course corrected. Remember this match placement this week. Odin Balfore – whose held no titles in roughly four years is main eventing against a guy who should have held no titles – for an epoch. You Steven Singh, get to see exactly where your life should have been this entire time and where it will be after Till Death. You get your biggest challenge to date with the woeful scrub lord named Matthew Black and I get to rip out the spine of another former so called ‘world champion.’ Truthfully I don’t know what I did top deserve this. Oh, right. Ragnarok.
See, Steven, My mere existence in WCF fixes all imbalances created by drunkin’ whims of a Philadelphia madman. You, fighting for your life in the midcard. Me, running yet another ‘prestigious’ champion of WCF. Two time world champion for the each of you? Stop, I’m getting a THICK. You both are a fucking sham and a disgrace to the true nature of WCF. The Bad Mother Fucker has returned and with it, the rule of law because my will.. Is law.
To you Jason O’Neal. Go fuck yourself. I’m going to spend the next week running you threw and completely outclassing you. Then you can see with your own eyes what a true world champion does and not these pussies like Bates, Holmes, Singh, SJW and even Rabid. If Holmes and Rabid were better men then guys like you, SJW and Singh wouldn’t come close to a world title. Sunday night I am going to show you just how fucking weak you are in the middle of the ring. I’m going to make that bear attack look like a puppy licking peanut butter off your unthick coin purse you tree bark looking cuck faggot.
But hey, you always got them streets right? I bet the fuckin 9th ward corners still has those worn down groves where your knees used to be. I’m sure by know its an subconscious reflex. You’ll stand before the All Father and assume the position because you gotta make ends me. And trust me, ends will be meeting; the tip of my cock to the start of your colon. I’m going deep on you. What I’m about to feed to you will be a crime against humanity and your white blood cells.
You have no fucking IDEA.
but you will.
Ready.. or not.
_________________________________________
Chapter II: Fly Eagles, Fly LOL
The CREEPING DEATH syndrome, the Paranoia of confusion and the Miasma of Murder swept through Philly. The Eagals won the Superbowl. Now Phillys economy rests squarely on the guy managing the LIDS kiosk at the mall to hand stitch hats with a German Shepard face on it. Something about underdogs. However, that does not stop the ravages of Ragnarok from causing riots and panic in the streets. New England lost because a higher power willed it so. The All Father willed it so. It’s the first step into the monumental shift of power in WCF. The All Father has won the contendership, now it is all his for the taking. The All Father stands tall as he walks through the crowded streets of grown men tipping over cars, looting stores and running wild in the true nature of man. He enjoys his handiwork. He is proud of his labor. First CREEPING DEATH came with a choking cough that sent people to the hospital, now it creates mad and ravenous animals. Animals that need to be put down.
Tom Brady AKA White Steven has a countdown clock in his office that counts down to the next Superbowl. Revenge Tour 18’. Started by Ragnarok, echoed by Tom Brady and finished in WCF by the All Father, The Bad Mother Fucker, Odin Balfore. As the All Father walks through the streets of Philly, an hour away from WCF HQ he is reminded of a team that this so undeserving of a win that the entire foundation crumbles around it. Such were the musing of a drunken Seth Lerch to allow Jason O’Neal to become world champion. Seth would say that he Deserved it. Jason would tell you that he earned it but the truth is neither the former or the latter. No, the truth of the matter is that Drunken Seth Lerch likes his brand of controlled chaos.
‘Jason O’Neal. Listen good. Your small stint, however short lived and shallow that it was, was merely a drunken whim or a bet that Seth Lerch made with a Bangcock Ladyboy. There is no skill with you. There is no greatness in you. Certainly no main event.’
Thought the Bad Mother Fucker as the microcosm melts around him. A group of drunken men try to hassel the All Father in that drunken Philly slang that sounds like two cheese steaks being mashed together in a blender. They wore those Eagles hats with pride but unfortunately the Eagals are still statistically one of the worst teams in football. However, they continued to harass the All Father to the point of him ripping off the arms of one man, crushing his skull like a melon between two hammers and then beating the other two men unconscious.
The strong, Jason O’Neal. The strong do what they can while the Weak, like you, Jason O’Neal, endure what they must. You’re dealing with a man who is most certainly bringing on the end of the world as you know it. The World that you knew. The WCF that you knew and the loved ones that you knew.. And you have a small little child to think about.
Now repeat:
there is nothing I can do to stop it.
there is nothing I can do to stop it.
There is nothing I can do to stop it.
And you will be seem for the fluke that you are. But don’t worry. We know a guy that can get you a good deal on one of those hats. It can say something like ‘ FORMER WORLD CHAMPION’ on it and the dog, that underdog can have a paper bag over its head because even its embarrassed to be seen in public with you. Even the stitching on the fucking hat knows your fucked.
But hey… Fly Egals Fly, Am I right? LOL
____________________________________
Chapter III: Braxton Title Synbrome: The Jason O’Neal Disease
The Dr. Reemus McCayle Institute. Haddonfield, CT.
‘Braxton, wha?’ Asks the blonde haired big tittied reporter.
“ Ahem.” The hologoram of Dr. Reemus clears his throat. “Braxton Title Syndrome. It’s just been discovered over the past few weeks.”
“And is that whats been making everyone either sick or have fits of rage?” She asks in an interview within Dr. Reemus office, which is also a hologram.
“O’ no.” He replies. “ That’s CREEPING DEATH. An ancient evil reminiscent of the Kaiju, a strange beast hailing from Japan. However, it is from this catastrophic pandemic that we were able to dscover this new syndrome. It’s more of a disease really but since its not spread by air or fluids in the traditional sense, it’s more of a psychosis.”
“So what exactly is, Braxton Title Syndrome and what are its symptoms; how did it get started.”
“Well, in the past few weeks of the Creeping Death pandemic many people have been coming forward proclaiming themselves to be the champion of the world. Guys named SJW, Steven Singh and most recently Jason O’Neal who claims to return from some sort of Bruin assault. Which, as a medical doctor I can attest to you is some far reaching stretch of the imagination.”
“Well with Braxton Title Syndrome, could it just be a grand delusion that this Jason O’neal was attacked by a bear and now he thinks he’s champion of the world. Could the Braxton Syndrome and the Creeping Death miasma be having some strange effect on him?”
“Most definitely. The only way a man could return from a bear attack and claim to be world champion, he would certainly still be a coma.”
“And this is how you discovered Braxton Title Syndrome?”
“Well, there has to be a patient zero so I went into my archives and did some research. First I thought it was Donald Deruty. It was not.”
D-Day sighs relief.
“Then I thought that it could have been Jeff Purse. It was not.”
Jeff Purse sighs relief.
“So I was then certain that it was Jay Price.. to my astonishment, it was not.”
FLASH _CUT TO Jay Price stitching Jason O’ Neal’s hat at the mall Kiosk and sighing a breath of relief.
“So then I figured it had to be more recent. Perhaps I was looking to far back. It had to be in the last year or so. I went back through my research and I found something strange. Jason O’ Neal paved the way for PBV, who by all accounts shouldn’t be mentioned in the list of Braxton Title Syndrome but at the same time.. Dion Necurate was world champion. Dion had to be patient Zero for Braxton Title Syndrome: a person of false accomplishment and skills attaining glory they did not deserve, earn or could achieve on their own merit against legitimate champions. Dion certainly fit the bill; being homeless and all. That and being an edge lord but then I kept flipping back to Jason O’Neal. Jason O’Neal, the ‘real deal’ could not beat a homeless man and yet claims to be the rightful world champion – after this bear attack of course.”
“Of course because that makes sense.” Scoffs the reporter at the absurd claims of Jason O’Neal.
“So after a few weeks of contemplating, I’ve decided to rename my discovery to the Jason O’Neal disease. The only reason I feel he beat Joey Flash was because of Pity or some deep seeded inside joke that Flashed played upon the world because he is that cerebral and calculating that he felt spoon feeding the world championship to Jason O’Neal would be the next best thing to giving it to YUNG ADAM.”
“So you’re saying that all this started as a joke and the only reason Jason O’Neal became world champion is because Joey Flash is a cynical asshole?”
“Yes. Even though Dion pinned Jared Holmes to win his championship, it was still Jason O’Neal who passed the disease onto him by close proximity faggotry. I mean, I blame Dion almost as much as I blame O’Neal but I certainly cannot blame Flash or Holmes because they are both men of merit and skill. They only reason I could think they would do what they did is because the sick joke brings them more joy than being champion of those cuck faggot jabronies. But now the disease has been passed onto SJW, Johnny Rabid and Steven Singh.”
“So we have the patient zero, the symptoms, the repercussions but how about the cure? What cures Braxtion Title – erhm, Jason O’Neal Disease?”
“Easy.” Smiles Dr. Reemus. “Ragnarok and the Bad Mother Fucker. Punk bitches like Singh and O’Neal need to be humbled to be cured. They need to be shown the errors of their ways and that they do not belong in the same standing as real world champions. I’m a doctor, I know these things. I also know that Jason has a history of arguing with doctors but I’m sure when that bear smashed his ass poon, he went runnin to the PCP. I’ve seen it a thousand times. Perhaps, id Jason want to yell and argue and scream at the BEAR FACTS then perhaps he should go emotionally and verbally abuse his pregnant girlfriend some more. Because, you know, nothing says ‘ proud fighting world champion’ like abusing the pregnant. Jason is disgusting; a complete joke and when Odin Balfore rolls around to exposing Jason for what he really is – he’ll go leap head first into the bear enclosure at the zoo with steak and honey stapled to his face, chest and scroat. And in my opinion, it won’t be soon enough. Ragnarok is here and it is only getting worse. In my estimation no one can stop it except for Odin Balfore; IF he chooses to stop it. However, it is on a mission and the way things are looking, it is going to be successful. If Jason O’Neal had any semblance of sense left in him he would quit, and never come back. He has never faced the likes of Odin Balfore before and quite frankly, he will never be the same when it’s all said and done. May God have mercy on his soul. On all of your souls. ”
“Well, Thank you Dr. Reemus. We appreciate all your words of wisdom as this CREEPING DEATH misasma and Ragnarok continue to the ravish the country.”
__________________________________________
Chapter IV: A Relic, Reborn
James Cameron got the camera, he’s pointing and shooting as the script is flipped and tossed out the window. The Bad Mother fucker is back at WCF HQ in the sound studio. It is after hours and the building is empty. Nick Foles and the CREEPING DEATH miasma made quick work of that. The All Father is dressed in a slate grey button up shirt, black slacks and shoes. The top few buttons are undone as he fixes the buttons on his cuff. Cameron is rolling as the All Father busies himself with other things before addressing the camera.
“Jason O’Neal- you poor, misguided, delusional and pathetic wretch of a human infestation. FORMER world champion and your first night back on Slam and you walk out with a stick up your colon and a dick down your throat. Now, before you try to correct me on how you’ve been back for two week –“
The All Father bats that idea away.
“I don’t give a fuck. You walked out on Slam and bitched about a bunch of nonsense that nobody cares about. Except you and like I said, no body. Make no bones about this, Jason. You are an ant. You are a ghost. You are nothing more than a stain in this company that I built. Keep that in mind. Company. That. I. Built. You walk out and you talk about glass ceilings like a fucking two-bit scrub. You trash Kevin Bishop and Stuart Slane, two men whose names you shouldn’t be allowed to utter, let alone trash. However, I digress. You came out with the ‘poor me’ trip- the kind that gets a done in and rung out around here. At least- it used to. Now a days I suppose that’s just par for the course. You seemed awefully proud that you and the homeless can become world champions but all it does is affirm my suspicions – that Seth Lerch was running a fucking soup kitchen for twenty years. Well, kitchens closed. You came back for a fucking mid card Omega Championship. That’s your fucking prize – The Omega Championship.
Wow, you really are a fucking stone cold loser, arnt you? I want you to remember that. That your first order of business here was not to shoe yourself into a world title match but rather take a tee-ball swing at Teo Del Sol. That’s some low hanging fruit and I’m quite sure that you’ll strike out in that regard. However, you did fuck up. You came out and went to the ring and ran your mouth in the Odin Balfore Era. You wanted competition and funny thing- wouldn’t you know it – I ain’t got any. No one here can beat me. Not the Time Witch, not Ol’ X, not the Internet Champion, not the Alpha Champion. Not even the guy that’s being paid to keep my WCF Championship warm for me – Steven Singh. But you know, since I’m not busy and I’m in the neighborhood and also in the business of wrecking the shit of any champion that comes in my path – I figure – I’d break your neck for the fun of it. While I’m here asserting my will and dominance over the company – once again -For the third time; why not just obliterate the former world champion Jason O’Neal. It’s really a great way to show Steven Singh that no one is safe – that he isn’t safe.
I do not give you a passing thought, Jason. I do not care about you. However, I am going to batter you like a prom date on Sunday night. This right here – just like Steven Singh – being in the ring with me will be the greatest match of your life. The biggest match of your career and its just you getting your shit pushed in so bad the army corps of engineers will have to reconstruct your small intestine. The way that I look at it, you came back for a fight. You came back for reason. I may not have been it but you have been mine. I hear all this talk of old guards and glass ceilings and I’m sure you’ll squeak those words through your cock sucker again; how this is just some grand scheme to keep you down.
No. It’s not. I’m just going to put my boot on your spine and keep you there by virtue of my legend alone. Its not a conspiracy, Jason to keep you down when that’s truthfully just the mature of the world. You’re a garbage wrestler who never should have been anywhere near a picture of the WCF World Champion – let alone hold one. Perhaps the graphics guy fucked up. Maybe he put your name on the poster and Seth just winged it because that’s just a Seff thing to do. However, do not insult the cosmic balance of the universe by insinuating that all this is a conspiracy. It’s just the way things are. You are a trash tier wrestler and I’m going to fuck you up at Slam and move on. The Storm doesn’t care what city is in its way. It just destroys whatever is in its path. Just like I’m going to do to you on Sunday. I’m going to go in that ring, punch you square in the mouth and fuck your bitch right in front of you while I smoke a blunt and eat some chicken wings. I’m sure you’re thinking that this is your chance. This is where the fluke can be avenged. This is where you can take a so-called legend down a peg.”
The All Father motions for a close up.
“Here. Let me put you in on a secret. There is almost fourteen hundred contracted wrestlers in WCFs history. Out of nearly fourteen hundred, I’m continually ranked within the top ten All Time. You are not going against some broken down legend. This isn’t a nostalgia act. This isn’t an act at all. There is no fantasy. No. This is the REAL DEAL. Funny, huh. When I use that name, it makes sense. When you use that name, the universe laughs. You see, when I talk, I do not talk of fantasy. I talk of real life. I am the Villain of the story – Non Fiction and those villains are often the worst kind. Guys like you – the weak and trash tier who think that the only reason why they suck is because they’ve been held down – that’s why guys like me exist. We eat you. We devour you. Like a bear to a small dog. You want to come into my arena – get into my ring and cry your bleeding heart little eyes out over what’s not fair and what it – Sunday night I’ll show what’s fair.
Nothing. Unless I will it so.
You are about to fight the best tag team champion in WCF history. The most dominant big man in WCF history. I put WCF on its knees once before and unless you haven’t been paying attention – here I am doing it again. And who is going to stop me? You? Bah! Non sense. You couldn’t stop Teo Del Sol, Johnny Rabid, Steven Singh, SJW or even a bear. How do you think you’ll stand against a true Norse Gawd.
Rather poorly.
Like I told Bonnie and Singh last week. Like a paper tiger standing in a thunder storm. I’m going to wash you away, Jason. I’m going to shelf you once again or just make sure you never want to come back. My words have weight because the magnitude of my aura is so great. You may have only heard the stories but now you’re going to see it in real life. And Steven Singh, be adventurous. Get a ring side view. Take notes. See what you’re in for. Because the way I see it, Jason is on par with you in terms of skill and foolishness. Know that when you watch me smash his skull across the ring and hit him with my Mark and hit him with Ragnarok – that you will suffer the same exact fate.
I’ve heard a lot of talk from many people, Jason. Talks of championship dreams and main eventing. So far, it has all been talk. Even from Steven Singh. Just laments from wishful thinkers who do not know what true WCF main eventers are.
Right now, you are looking at one. And Sunday night when I look across at you- I’ll see what I always see: A fucking jobber waiting to get GOT.
Funny how ever the past few weeks I’ve conducted myself better than four world champions. Rabid, SJW, Singh and now you, Jason. I’d say I’m disappointed but I know that WCF attracts a lot of the unskilled and undeserving. Seth has a soft spot for strays. Truthfully the company is no different right now from the moment I first walked in WCF. I cleaned house then and I’ll clean house now. O’ and don’t be surprised if I’m also a triple champion in this tenure. Quite frankly, I don’t see how anyone can defeat me. I’ve literally taken on all kinds and walks and just destroyed – destroyed – destroyed.
If Teo Del Sol is your idea of competition – consider me a fucking asteroid cruising towards Earth with the power to turn the entire thing into dust. Jason O’Neal. I am going to turn you into dust.
And everything else in my wake.
You are going to regret ever coming back in to WCF. It’s the same WCF you first entered. Its not the one you left and it sure as fuck aint the WCF you’d wish to be in. But hey – like seven years ago – this is where dreams come to die; in the house that Odin Balfore built. I mean it was me that built this sound stage because guys like you can’t sell out a VFW hall. Me. I sell out the Tokyo Dome. I sell out stadiums. Guys like you end up buying my merch. You buy front row tickets just to see me in action.
Guys like you try to down play my dominance. You call me a relic. You call me old or washed up. Then you get in the rig with me and I fuck you up worse than you ever have before. So you watch your words carefully, Jason. When you pull your empty arena promo or you go verbally abuse your girlfriend again. Remember it’s me that you’ll have to answer too and I am looking forward to twisting your neck off your shoulders and burying you in that canvas.
I’m a legend, you’re damn right. I am relic of an era in WCF that is long since passed. Well, its back. A Relic reborn. The Bad Mother Fucker has returned and Sunday night he is going to make yet another example of a pitiful FORMER world champion on my way to reclaiming MY WCF Championship from all the Frauds and fakes who wish to usurp it.
So I have spoken… So it shall.. come to pass.”