Post by Jack of Blades on Feb 27, 2007 11:55:17 GMT -5
From the mental ejaculation of Jack of Blades, World Champion
"Had a reign with the premier title of this federation that was comparable in spectacle to Edward V, raped a roster of talent for his own needs, developed a narcissistic personality disorder in which he actually likened himself to the aforementioned monarch which resulted in him demeaning the title 'King' be used in adjacency with his own name, was in a professional relationship with a harbinger of female inadequacy known as 'Blondie B' before being left when said beau found him 'in delicate felicto' with a plastic representation of the female form, cried at the resultant puncture of said plastic representation of the female form, managed to piss away his opportunity to reclaim the premier title, spent the remaining portion of the year maintaining his fragile ego by feeding off the exhibition and prodigious abilities of his betters like a parasitic louse."
Dear Logan,
It has been a considerable amount of time since I have been properly instigated to withdraw my personalized stationary and produce an addressed piece of prose that decries someone so impressively.
However, the urge to write such a spiteful, and yet constructive, piece of verve has hit me with the force of a sledgehammer upon revisiting your supposed list of accomplishments within the timeline of the past year. You see, being the media hound that I am, I did actually find an occasion on which to lower my intellectual appreciation of what I thought was logical, humourous and simply realistic and force myself to read whatever barbaric piece of literature the Alliance of Violence decided to impose on us this week. Their inebriated/retarded (delete as applicable) attempts to reduce the events of the past year were admirable if a little ajar. You see, being the chronicler of prior embarrassments that I so relish, I have produced a full, definitive list of your humiliating practices for all to enjoy. Of course, some of the more astute observers may find that your 'rap-sheet' mirrors the list of champions that you produced bar one slight difference: the emboldening of the most despicable entry. The reason why I haven't highlighted a single humiliating exercise over all others is because, quite honestly, with all my rhetoric and utilitarian obtrusiveness, I couldn't decide on which harrowing show of patheticness was the worst on your part. So I put in all in red.
What perhaps magnifies the underlying emotions of writing your history out for all to see, is that you now find it fit to take a stance on glory and honor. That you, someone who was a central player in an epic love-story featuring the sexual awakening and carnal deadening of a five-foot rubber inflatable, would actually have the gall to take a moral proposition on my title reign is astounding. I'll admit that I am not one who can promote an esoteric way of living in this career without seeming hypocritical what with my prior achievements including bullying an anorexic and spreading a number of hypodermic needles in a child's sandbox, but what I can do is feel pride over my actions. While I was throwing myself off and through tables, you were wearing a crown and making inappropriate requests to the female contingent of the staff. While I was bleeding from freshly-made cuts, you were documenting your Promethean struggle to own some video game console.
But, don't worry, as anyone will know, I'm a giver. And, Logan, I'm going to help you get past this rough patch with some handy hints on how to improve:
1.) Act As If You Give A Crap: Quite surprisingly, fans tend to reserve their backlash for those they see as being completely disenfranchised with the 'sport' they love and are only in it for fiscal security/glimmers of celebrity. This, my friend, puts you in quite a sticky situation as you encapsulate everything careerist about this form of fairweather careerists. Making a few appearances to provide some idle commentary about the state of things isn't going to satiate anybody. In fact, the only person who can get away with such a thing is Creeping Death and then everybody dismisses his rants on 'traditionalism' and 'rookies' as the redundant rants of a grandfather stereotype who needs his meds. Instead, what you can do, is make a few more appearances. Prove to the world that you're not dead. Considering that after I retire you, you will be feasting off of past glories by making appearances at conventions, shaking hands 'with those untouched by females', it may be an option for you to start visiting autograph signings and the like. To help, I have enclosed a bus-pass with which you may travel to such occasions. You may even make friends with all the pariahs and other unnecessary elements of society on public transports.
2.) Don't Mix Threats With Phatic: As imposing as your promise of an oncoming revolution was, I felt it was slightly denigrated by you choosing to talk about electing frozen nipples as the head of state. Although the issue of cryogenically icing man-tits is a pressing one, placing it immediately after your little attempt at a 'scary voice' was a deeply laughable juxtaposition.
3.) Tone Down The P.M.S.: Perhaps something else that hurts my ability to take you seriously is that you have more mood swings than a pregnant women. One week, you're dismissing any degrees of vitality you have left, the next week, you're raring for a fight with 'Scrappy Doo'-esque intensity. Perhaps it's sexual frustration. Perhaps it's an overall feeling of Weltschmerz. Either way, start wearing high-heels and taking placebos because I can't, nor could I, understand your indecisiveness.
4.) And Most Important: Don't ever let Tom Cruise on your show. If you ever get a show.
I'll see you at War,
-Jack.
OOC: Recent edit done to correct some spelling mistakes.
