Post by Corey Black on Jul 12, 2012 23:50:34 GMT -5
SCENE: Dethfort, Corey's castle in Denmark
In the dining hall of Dethfort, a long table is decorated with red tablecloth. On said table is a giant banquet of foods. Fruits of all colors, piles of cookies, pizza, tacos, nachos, bottles upon bottles of Diet Coke.. all leading to the king chair. At the head of the table, in a throne, sits Corey Black, munching on a giant turkey leg. It is, after all, his own castle. His castle workers consistently bring more food out as the old food gets cold, Corey can't possibly eat all this, so it may or may not be a waste. Whatever, maybe the minions can eat it, who knows? There's bound to be hundreds of those guys. Dressed in black jeans, a black sleeveless shirt, and black hood on their heads. The Blackateers.
Corey Black
Once and for all, it is all done. I told you months ago Adam, on July 13th, this all ends. Every last internet post, all the bullshit you spewed while I was off in New York City making an even bigger name for myself, all comes to a head tomorrow night here in Norway. In front of all these European fans that rarely get to see a show featuring WCF wrestlers. It's a fan-service, XIII. When was the last time WCF even left Pennsylvania, ya know? It seems like it's stuck there, nobody else gets to watch me break your face open and drain it of your life essence.
It's funny that you mention that you're not afraid of me. I don't believe you. Not a single bit. I may not look like a walking zombie anymore, but believe me, as soon as the bell rings for our match at XIII, he's coming out. I am going to unleash a plethora of hell upon you, unlike anything you have ever seen before. You sat there and took my shit for two years because you're below me. Always have been, always will be. You haven't even smelled my level, fuckface. Your one single solitary victory over me is a tag match where my partner was part of the decision. Get real man, you've never even come close to beating me.
Timing off on your moonsault, please. I pulled your head down to the mat with all my might, and the result was me elbowing through your skull. Did you even watch the replay, man? That chain, the very object you so verily insisted we be bound by, was your undoing. I went through that match for two reason. One, to get you to show your face for XIII. The final resting place for this goddamn blasted feud. And two, I wanted this.
Corey reaches down and pulls the Texas Heavyweight Championship into the shot.
Corey Black
This hunk of fuck is your claim to fame, Adam. Anyone and everyone has won the WCF Tag Team Titles. Every few months Seth has to throw a team or two together to even have a match for those forsaken titles. But this Texas Championship, wherever the hell you brought it from, isn't exactly all you will be remembered for. See, you'll be known as the idiot that pushed Corey Black so fucking hard that he came back to WCF to spill his blood. Not even a title at all. You will be forever known as 'that one guy that Corey killed in Norway.' You're pathetic.
I don't even want this stupid title. Tell ya what. I'll wear this piece of trash down to the ring at XIII, and when I beat you, I'll rub the stupid thing in your face, then it's yours again - if you can find it. There's a conference room here in Dethfort, and Pantheon had a meeting. On the agenda was what to do with this damn title. One wanted me to melt it down and cast a statue of myself, that had a chance. But another guy, God bless his soul, decided to make a game out of it. Jonny Fly is going to take this title, Adam, and hide it somewhere in the world. Every few days he'll give you a clue, and if you stumble across this belt I hold in my hand, I'll let you have it. That's how much it means to me. It means enough to make a childish game out of it, because that's all it is worth.
I hope you left Serenity at home, because someone is going to have to fly your remains back to the US. I'm sure as hell not footing the bill for it. She's going to have to get you back to PA in time for your Slam match, which, come on now, you're not going to make. If you somehow survive this, I'll tip my hat.
The irony in this situation is how you asked for all of this. You wanted the Dogpound match, and now it seems like you want to show up and get mutilated again. You actually have a bit of gusto, I'm surprised! I never thought you'd ever do this, not in a million years. It is so clear that I am better than you in every single way. To knowingly sign up for two brutal matches where you have zero chance of winning, man, well done. You thought Blast was bad? You haven't seen a damn thing. This is my show, Adam. I run the whole thing. If I want a tank of sharks under the ring to pull out and dump you in, it'll fucking happen. If I want to sit back and make all the stage hands beat you down, at the snap of my finger, believe me, it'll happen. It's not going to be like that, though. This is going to be all by my hand. I'll bloody and batter your face, then I'll drop you on your head a few times, and to finish you off - oh my god - to finish you off - I'm going to damn near break you in half. That's another point, I suppose. I have this so far in the bag that I am planning on how to finish you off. Man, just think about that for one second. It's like poisoning a man. You know exactly when, where and how he's going to die.
July 13th.
Norway.
BURNING. MOTHERFUCKING. HAMMER.
Corey slams the turkey leg and the Texas Championship together, slinging juices all over the belt itself. This is where the scene fades, Corey dropping the title and taking another bite of the turkey as the Blackateers continue to replenish food.
In the dining hall of Dethfort, a long table is decorated with red tablecloth. On said table is a giant banquet of foods. Fruits of all colors, piles of cookies, pizza, tacos, nachos, bottles upon bottles of Diet Coke.. all leading to the king chair. At the head of the table, in a throne, sits Corey Black, munching on a giant turkey leg. It is, after all, his own castle. His castle workers consistently bring more food out as the old food gets cold, Corey can't possibly eat all this, so it may or may not be a waste. Whatever, maybe the minions can eat it, who knows? There's bound to be hundreds of those guys. Dressed in black jeans, a black sleeveless shirt, and black hood on their heads. The Blackateers.
Corey Black
Once and for all, it is all done. I told you months ago Adam, on July 13th, this all ends. Every last internet post, all the bullshit you spewed while I was off in New York City making an even bigger name for myself, all comes to a head tomorrow night here in Norway. In front of all these European fans that rarely get to see a show featuring WCF wrestlers. It's a fan-service, XIII. When was the last time WCF even left Pennsylvania, ya know? It seems like it's stuck there, nobody else gets to watch me break your face open and drain it of your life essence.
It's funny that you mention that you're not afraid of me. I don't believe you. Not a single bit. I may not look like a walking zombie anymore, but believe me, as soon as the bell rings for our match at XIII, he's coming out. I am going to unleash a plethora of hell upon you, unlike anything you have ever seen before. You sat there and took my shit for two years because you're below me. Always have been, always will be. You haven't even smelled my level, fuckface. Your one single solitary victory over me is a tag match where my partner was part of the decision. Get real man, you've never even come close to beating me.
Timing off on your moonsault, please. I pulled your head down to the mat with all my might, and the result was me elbowing through your skull. Did you even watch the replay, man? That chain, the very object you so verily insisted we be bound by, was your undoing. I went through that match for two reason. One, to get you to show your face for XIII. The final resting place for this goddamn blasted feud. And two, I wanted this.
Corey reaches down and pulls the Texas Heavyweight Championship into the shot.
Corey Black
This hunk of fuck is your claim to fame, Adam. Anyone and everyone has won the WCF Tag Team Titles. Every few months Seth has to throw a team or two together to even have a match for those forsaken titles. But this Texas Championship, wherever the hell you brought it from, isn't exactly all you will be remembered for. See, you'll be known as the idiot that pushed Corey Black so fucking hard that he came back to WCF to spill his blood. Not even a title at all. You will be forever known as 'that one guy that Corey killed in Norway.' You're pathetic.
I don't even want this stupid title. Tell ya what. I'll wear this piece of trash down to the ring at XIII, and when I beat you, I'll rub the stupid thing in your face, then it's yours again - if you can find it. There's a conference room here in Dethfort, and Pantheon had a meeting. On the agenda was what to do with this damn title. One wanted me to melt it down and cast a statue of myself, that had a chance. But another guy, God bless his soul, decided to make a game out of it. Jonny Fly is going to take this title, Adam, and hide it somewhere in the world. Every few days he'll give you a clue, and if you stumble across this belt I hold in my hand, I'll let you have it. That's how much it means to me. It means enough to make a childish game out of it, because that's all it is worth.
I hope you left Serenity at home, because someone is going to have to fly your remains back to the US. I'm sure as hell not footing the bill for it. She's going to have to get you back to PA in time for your Slam match, which, come on now, you're not going to make. If you somehow survive this, I'll tip my hat.
The irony in this situation is how you asked for all of this. You wanted the Dogpound match, and now it seems like you want to show up and get mutilated again. You actually have a bit of gusto, I'm surprised! I never thought you'd ever do this, not in a million years. It is so clear that I am better than you in every single way. To knowingly sign up for two brutal matches where you have zero chance of winning, man, well done. You thought Blast was bad? You haven't seen a damn thing. This is my show, Adam. I run the whole thing. If I want a tank of sharks under the ring to pull out and dump you in, it'll fucking happen. If I want to sit back and make all the stage hands beat you down, at the snap of my finger, believe me, it'll happen. It's not going to be like that, though. This is going to be all by my hand. I'll bloody and batter your face, then I'll drop you on your head a few times, and to finish you off - oh my god - to finish you off - I'm going to damn near break you in half. That's another point, I suppose. I have this so far in the bag that I am planning on how to finish you off. Man, just think about that for one second. It's like poisoning a man. You know exactly when, where and how he's going to die.
July 13th.
Norway.
BURNING. MOTHERFUCKING. HAMMER.
Corey slams the turkey leg and the Texas Championship together, slinging juices all over the belt itself. This is where the scene fades, Corey dropping the title and taking another bite of the turkey as the Blackateers continue to replenish food.
