Post by Jack of Blades on Apr 26, 2007 10:29:53 GMT -5
I suppose I should say something. I very much doubt that my makeshift partner for the week will bother. But what to say? I've been running on fumes for quite a while. I have little patience in which to wait to ideas to flood over me. I suppose I could go the root of the atypical diatribe of describing in detail how my prospective victory is going to come about. And then, I could move onto a few timely insults featuring two of the following factors: cocks, poop, cocks, homosexuality, cocks, cocks, nationality, cocks.
The following battle is supposedly one of factions. WCF versus NCW. New versus old. System versus system. And yet, for every brain cell left untouched by the chemical imbalance, I, for the life of me, cannot find any shared ideology with Creeping Death. Therefore, this little speech cannot be one promoting the merits of our chosen federation. I guess I'll just have to direct my attention to each individual thread that constructs the 'NCW.'
Outcast: The leader by proxy. In a most cynical synopsis, it appears as if Scientology has picked a better spokesperson than the NCW. Although Outcast's adoption of NCW tenets has gave him a zeal for wrestling far beyond his prior appearances, any man who has yet to have his arm lifted high in any encounter with the prehistoric, disinterested Logan shouldn't be a prime issue.
Rick Mad: The WCF's perennial whipping boy. It appears, whenever there is a resurgence of some forgotten the regime, that Rick Mad is a card-carrying member. But much like the obese friend of the cheerleaders, your presence is surplus and your purpose is to make-up the numbers.
Merc: You beat me. If you beat the Jack of six months ago, that would have been considered an accomplishment.
Davey Ortega: Who? A seemingly inocuous little being with no other intentions but to exist in neutral symbiosis with the larger Outcast. I assume killing one will kill the other.
Steve Carr: Our paths have yet to cross in a fashion befitting of this profession. You earned me the Hardcore title as well as diluting my renown in catalyzing my loss to Merc. I'd say I'd watch you with interest but that'd be a lie. I'm not at all interested in you, your motives or your intentions. To me, your just another relic afraid to realize what I already have. That this little profession of ours is a pointless exercise.
There is your dictionary-esque synopsis correspoding to my opponents this week. Use it as you wish. To the others, this may be a battle of warring sides. To me, its a battle to find the smallest degree of motivation.
The following battle is supposedly one of factions. WCF versus NCW. New versus old. System versus system. And yet, for every brain cell left untouched by the chemical imbalance, I, for the life of me, cannot find any shared ideology with Creeping Death. Therefore, this little speech cannot be one promoting the merits of our chosen federation. I guess I'll just have to direct my attention to each individual thread that constructs the 'NCW.'
Outcast: The leader by proxy. In a most cynical synopsis, it appears as if Scientology has picked a better spokesperson than the NCW. Although Outcast's adoption of NCW tenets has gave him a zeal for wrestling far beyond his prior appearances, any man who has yet to have his arm lifted high in any encounter with the prehistoric, disinterested Logan shouldn't be a prime issue.
Rick Mad: The WCF's perennial whipping boy. It appears, whenever there is a resurgence of some forgotten the regime, that Rick Mad is a card-carrying member. But much like the obese friend of the cheerleaders, your presence is surplus and your purpose is to make-up the numbers.
Merc: You beat me. If you beat the Jack of six months ago, that would have been considered an accomplishment.
Davey Ortega: Who? A seemingly inocuous little being with no other intentions but to exist in neutral symbiosis with the larger Outcast. I assume killing one will kill the other.
Steve Carr: Our paths have yet to cross in a fashion befitting of this profession. You earned me the Hardcore title as well as diluting my renown in catalyzing my loss to Merc. I'd say I'd watch you with interest but that'd be a lie. I'm not at all interested in you, your motives or your intentions. To me, your just another relic afraid to realize what I already have. That this little profession of ours is a pointless exercise.
There is your dictionary-esque synopsis correspoding to my opponents this week. Use it as you wish. To the others, this may be a battle of warring sides. To me, its a battle to find the smallest degree of motivation.
