Post by Corey Black on Jan 14, 2007 2:38:27 GMT -5
(DISCLAIMER: Don't take this seriously. If you do, hang yourself, emo kid.)
Our scene opens up to Creeping Death sitting backstage at the WCF Arena in his lockerroom. No fancy lighting, no spooky stuff, just Creeping Death sitting on a steel folding chair, stern look on his once again painted face.
Creeping Death: Every single thing I have tried lately has been shot down or taken from me unfairly. Everything.
Rewind to Revenge. I had that match won on two seperate occations. Torture was out from For Whom the Bell Tolls, and Drew hit me with a chair. The second time we were both on the ladder, and Logan pulled me off with a powerbomb. At this point, about two months ago, the WCF Title should be mine.
Booked for One is Creeping Death verses Torture ... verses Logan verses Reckless Jack. I'm the one that gets screwed, and Logan and Reckless Jack get rewarded with an undeserved World Title Match. I don't care how well One would have sold, the pure unbalanced "fair" booking of this place has me wishing I'd have told Seth to fuck off a year ago.
After this, WCF took a turn. Two shows in December, Torture leaves, Seth takes over again, the whole nine yards. What is the One main event now? It WAS going to be normal old CD verses Logan verses Reckless Jack. Oh but no, that would be WAY too fucking logical, even coming from the most illogical match ever. No, we have to have a mini-tournament involving Jack of Blades now, a guy that, judging from his interviews, should be selling me shit at Wal-Mart.
So it's set, Creeping Death verses Logan, two out of three tables match. And what happens? Bullshit, that's what. Does it matter who hits the table first? We both went through. You spread your wings at the VERY LAST POSSIBLE SECOND Logan. Even though it may seem like this bothers me a whole lot, it's not that big of deal. In this case, I was partly to blame. Whatever.
Tag team matches? Fuck. How many times do I have to fight Reckless Jack before people realize I'd rather not team with the guy?
Bringing me to Slam. Instead of a half way decent match, I'm thrown, and I mean literally thrown, into a match with eighteen newbies. Ok three, but my point has been made. Infra-Red? As worthless as Drake Kendreco, if not more worthless. Fighting Eric Kennedy at One? Who? You two had a match before this? Was it a fucking house show or something?
Miguel Sanchez. Mexican. I'm not one to stereotype ... heh ... but for God's sake, stay away from my right cross. It's been known to eliminate people of your kind.
Thorrska Rojida? Josephine Miyazaki? You like big butts and you cannot lie? Jesus Christ. Would everyone from Aden make me want to go emo and hang myself from a tree like you do?
Beside all this, I brought up the greatest idea in the history of WCF to management last night, only to be shot down like an incoming missile from Osama bin Laden. I had scouted eight guys to bring into WCF. Eight. They'd have matches amongst themselves and against me. We would be our own division, not getting tangled up in anyone elses business, and it would be just for the fans and the WCF wrestlers to enjoy. I'm sure rivalries would have brewed, but the main premise was the sheer and outstanding ability put forth. I had my eyes set on calling this the "Modern Cutting Edge" Division. I was in contact with guys from all over the world.
CD Styles and Nick Woo from the Iowa independents, Charles Naveed from So Cal, Joey Draven from Los Angeles, Keiji Ezaki from Japan, Colibri from Mexico, Thomas "T-No" Normandy from Canada, and the coup de gras, Jaa Panom, a Muay Thai expert from Thailand.
Sounds pretty fantastic, right? Wrong. Shot down. And the kicker? Frost is still dead, leaving me with seriously nothing left here. Will you see me at One? Possibly. In a match? Likely not. One thing is for sure though, when the dust settles and I find my place in this company once again, tons and tons of people have hell to pay.
Creeping Death quickly stands up and with one hand, launches the chair he was sitting on into the lockers, causing a loud bang. Several people rush in to find CD breathing heavily, obviously severely pissed off. The WCF workers that rushed in slowly back out the door. Scene fades out.
