Post by Zombie DankMorris on Jan 29, 2016 2:53:46 GMT -5
RP 1
WCF- F15TEEN
Volcano Match
Hardcore Title
Bobby Cairo ( c )
vs.
Zombie McMorris
_____________________________________
Chapter I: What did You Expect?
WCF, its ya boi! And this, this isn’t what you were expecting, was it? Last time you saw ol’ Z was K-Rushing noobs with steel chairs but before, before, that – ZMACS work rate has been, well… less than impressive. But cha boi gots to troll and he’s got to roll along in the style and the fashion that suits him. But a volcano match? Oh baby, we doin that right, right here. This is where Legends are made and straight up myths are born. This shit is going down in history fo evah! Hell, ZMAC might even become a double champion again. Claim a spot in WCF that even Jayson Price couldn’t covet. Mr. Double, Double up in this WSEA-BITCH! But what did you expect, right? Right?
__________________________________
Chapter 2: This Looks Expensive.
Bobby Cairo’s reclusive Connecticut home
It would be picturesque if it wasn’t in Connecticut but Bobby Cairo had a home that looked be carved into the side of a mountain. The drive up in the 05’ blue Honda Civic was a rough one. Front wheel drive doesn’t help the grip and the grind up the 5.7 mile road in nine THICK inches of un-plowed snow covered dirt road. It was up hill both ways, like your parents used to tell ya about. Well, that shit is true. The car would rumble, shake and stall. The constant turn over was more frustrating that tryin to get a bitch to do anal during an aunt flow visit. It was more of “ this hurts me more than you,” kinda deal. The trees were bare, as the mountains crept up ever taller on either side of the one lane road. And to think, that was stopping our intrepid anti-heros was a iron gate and a sign that said “ trespassers will be shot. Girl scouts will get fucked, then get yo shit jacked.” Cairo had a way with words but signs really did him no justice. You just stick to your word smiths and our heros.. well… once they reach your pad, they’ll stick to the plan.
“ So what was the plan?” The six foot eight Dream Killer asks as he’s cramped up in the back seat with Bedtime Bob, the slightly shorter but no less impressive of the two- and just as dumb.
“ Exposition!” The Shape groans as he bangs his palms against the steering wheel. “ How many times do I have to tell you? We’re going to Cairo’s house, we’re trashing it and then we’re going to leave. “
“ But Cairo-“ Interrupts Bedtime Bob in a raspy voice. “ Cairo’s not here. This is his governor’s mansion. Isnt it? Well, what the hell good is us wrecking his house if he’s not going to be there to see it. Hell, half the fun is seeing the look on the other guys face when you bust in there, hitting the john with a double decker while eating a Tuna on rye. He’s over there looking me in horror cuz here’s this 6 foot seven tall somma bitch who just raided my fridge and now he’s taking a poop in my water tank. And he’s white too, so he’s more upset because that’s not where you poop so then I pinch off a loaf, crack his head against the sink and finish my squat on his chest.” Bedtime Bobs vivid story leaves a silence hanging in the car until Dream Killer rips a dank one that is immediately followed by uproarious laughter.
The Honda Civic rolls up and comes to a hault in front of the home, having traveled up a long U-shaped gravel drive. It was a home fit for a mountain hobbit, Perfect for the Jew that is Bubby Cairo. The only problem is that another Jew has invaded and the current occupant Jew is not home. It is akin to a hermit crab abandoning his shell. Looks like Papa got himself got a brand new bag. The Shape steps out of the car and breaths deep that fresh country air. It was chilly but well warmed by the fire of that El Nino, joint combined with the rise in green house gasses. It was 45 degrees today, Beautiful by New England Standards. The Dream Killers get out of the Civic and looks around.
“ This shit looks expensive.” Says Dream Killer as he snorts a load of phlegm and hocks it onto the face of an angel statue that stands guard by the gravel path.
“ I bet this guy has a room that’s just one giant T.V. I’m going to shit all over it.” Bedtime Bob chuckles to himself with sweet anticipation. The Shape looks at him with a cocked eyebrow.
“ What the hell is wrong with you? Whats with you and pooping on things?” The Shape inquires.
“ That’s how I show dominance. “ Bobs laugh turns deeper and more sinister. “ And I always dominate.” Somewhere in Bobs mind, some crazy things happened. The back of his eyes were going through memories and its best to let that be. The Shape tugged at his suit jacket as Dream Killer admired a mustard stain on his flannel top. The group approaches the front door as The Shape gently raps on the door with his index knuckle.
“ Open up Ariana Grande poon. We know that you’re in there, and you’re all alone.” Sweet talks the Shape.
“ Yah.” Continues Dream Killer. “ It’s Santa Clause and his elf.. hehehe.”
“ Ya God damn right.” Quips Bedtime Bob.
There's no answer. No response. Truly, there is no one home. The Shape gives the signal as Dream Killer takes a step back and kicks the door in, providing ample entrance for the group to get through. Once inside the group breaks up. The Shape and Bedtime Bob go towards the kitchen on the first floor while Dream Killer heads up to the bedrooms on the second. The shape sits at the large 12 person kitchen table as Bob begins hunting for coffee.
“ Ya know, out of the two of you, you worry me the most. What are you doing?” Asks The Shape.
“ Brewin’ up the brew.” Replies Bob. “ If’n you want it dark and muddy then I need to drink the dark and muddy..heh heh heh. “
“ I just want you to wreck his shit. Show him that Vincent Buddy Roman will not be made a fool. Imperium was a disaster and I blame him for that.” Deeper motivations are revealed as The Shape scrunches his face with anger.
“ And I am.” Continues Bob. “ I’m wrecking his shit with my shit. As soon as I drop mud, he’s going to know. And they’ll be nothing he can do about it.”
“ Truly, Bob, you are a sick and twisted man.” Says Roman as he turns his attention to finding pen and paper.
“ That’s the absolutely nicest thing anyone has ever said about me. You’re not gay are you?” Bob licks his lips at bare-backing the Jew ass poon.
“ Just- Just don’ bother me. I have a message that I need to write to Cairo. You just do your thing. Quietly.” Bob starts brewing a 12 cup pot of coffee as The Shape starts writing his letter to Cairo. A Magnum-Jew-Opus.
[ Bobby,
I am writing this to you now in good knowledge that that there is nothing you can do about it. Your house is now MY house. Your Hardcore title, MY hardcore title. And you might be asking:
“ Why, Buddy? Why are you taking my house and my title and my livelihood?”
Because I can. Because I blame you for the failure that is Imperium. You were the world champion and you failed. You are no longer the greatest thing that you pretend yourself to be. You done goofed and I – I have waited so very long for my glorious revenge. And now I have it. And you- oh, and you. You’ve fallen into my trap. A Volcano match for the hardcore title? Oh yes, Bobby, we are going to do this the only way two Jews really can do this. To the death. A Jew to the lions.
Bobby Cairo to MY client, Zombie McMorris. ]
The Shapes concentration is broken with the guttural groans of Bob who has found a bathroom and overloading the toilet tank with that dank brew of Poon-lumbian bean goodness. The paint starts to chip and peel as the aroma begins to make its ways through the home. UP stairs, Dream Killer is taking the more sensible approach and ripping clothes out of draws and tipping over furniture. A king sized bed crashes through the second story wall and out onto the lawn below. This destruction pleases the Shape as he looks back at his letter and continues writing.
[ For you see, its been a very long time since I have been around to do the things that I love to do and yet here I am. Now where are you? Are you hiding in the mountains of Us-Becki-Poon? In PG? Are you creepin out in some movie theatre waiting for the shitty conclusion of some Hollywood propaganda? Because I’m here and yet you’re not. That is the ultimate move of extreme cowardice. See, Bobby- this marks the return- the great, long awaited return of Buddy Roman to the WCF scene where he crushes Beach Krew faggotry below the JEW waves.
I’m making waves, Bobby. I’m back and in the form that you all longed for. While guys like Beach Krew circle jerk each other into Oblivion- seriously. And this hardcore title fiasco has been boring. YAWN, boring. Bobby Cairo stomping out jobbers isn’t great. Its not best for business. However, this history making event, IS. Zombie McMorris, MY client is the very best thing for this company in a world where people are being paid in cookies and contenders to titles are Dag Riddick and Jay Price.
Let that sink in. Contenders currently have been Dag Riddick, Torture and Jay Price. And you, stomping out jobbers and dudes dressed like Kaz Mazy. So whats your plan in this crazy match that you wanted to have. YOU, Bobby Cairo wanted to have this match. YOU, Bobby Cairo wanted to DIE in this match. And YOU, Bobby Cairo wanted to lose your hardcore title to the Evil Incarnate.
Are you ready to be dragged through another INSTANT CLASSIC? Another match that shows that the hardest working man in WCF history is also the most coked up mad man in WCF? I’m sorry Bobby ( not sorry ) but you no longer have the XY variables that made you the great all those years ago. The best thing about your career is on the shoulders of Nordic Tanks and Sons of Gods. What else do you have in your life? You surely are not making a claim that you are the most hardcore negro on the planet. But yet here you are, making such claims. Making such absurd crazies concerning the gold around your THICK. But that gold is MY gold. Your career is MY career. You’ve signed it all over to the real Jew of WCF and you did so on the dotted line.
Bobby, you’re sad. It’s a sad thing. You’re like at old mutt that roams the streets looking for trash and fights. And yet another mutt, soaked in scum and sludge, an immortal mutt at that, comes along to pick you part and what do you do? You roll over on your back, and you take it. Because you have no choice but to submit. Your coke on a pole match, legendary.. you’re hardcore roof top battle, inspiring. But this volcano match? Its just heartbreaking.
And I’m just the Jew to do it.
~ V.Buddy Roman ]
The Shape looks up from his Magnum Jew-Opus to see that Dream Killer moved to the living room with a bowie knife and began to gut the couches and the drapes. One questions how Dream Killer can be the more sane of the two, but more questions that are best to stay unanswered.
“ Holy crap!” Yells Bedtime Bob from an unknown location in the house. “ The whole rooms a T.V! This rich son of a bitch! Who does he think he is?”
“ He’s a leader of a communist nation, the dude has money!” Dream Killer calls back to Bob.
“ That rich asshole? Who does he think he is? He thinks hes better than me? This son of a bitch thinks hes better than me! I’mma shit all over this room! Fuck this room!”
Roman stands in the kitchen as his goons continue to trash the home of Bobby Cairo. His smug looks radiates off of his smug face with his smug smile and smug balding head. The whole situation was more like a smug-u-ation, if you know what we mean. Buddy Roman looks around and dusts his hands off for a job well done.
“ Buddy Roman.” He says. “ Welcome back."
Conquer.The.Hate.
WCF- F15TEEN
Volcano Match
Hardcore Title
Bobby Cairo ( c )
vs.
Zombie McMorris
_____________________________________
Chapter I: What did You Expect?
WCF, its ya boi! And this, this isn’t what you were expecting, was it? Last time you saw ol’ Z was K-Rushing noobs with steel chairs but before, before, that – ZMACS work rate has been, well… less than impressive. But cha boi gots to troll and he’s got to roll along in the style and the fashion that suits him. But a volcano match? Oh baby, we doin that right, right here. This is where Legends are made and straight up myths are born. This shit is going down in history fo evah! Hell, ZMAC might even become a double champion again. Claim a spot in WCF that even Jayson Price couldn’t covet. Mr. Double, Double up in this WSEA-BITCH! But what did you expect, right? Right?
__________________________________
Chapter 2: This Looks Expensive.
Bobby Cairo’s reclusive Connecticut home
It would be picturesque if it wasn’t in Connecticut but Bobby Cairo had a home that looked be carved into the side of a mountain. The drive up in the 05’ blue Honda Civic was a rough one. Front wheel drive doesn’t help the grip and the grind up the 5.7 mile road in nine THICK inches of un-plowed snow covered dirt road. It was up hill both ways, like your parents used to tell ya about. Well, that shit is true. The car would rumble, shake and stall. The constant turn over was more frustrating that tryin to get a bitch to do anal during an aunt flow visit. It was more of “ this hurts me more than you,” kinda deal. The trees were bare, as the mountains crept up ever taller on either side of the one lane road. And to think, that was stopping our intrepid anti-heros was a iron gate and a sign that said “ trespassers will be shot. Girl scouts will get fucked, then get yo shit jacked.” Cairo had a way with words but signs really did him no justice. You just stick to your word smiths and our heros.. well… once they reach your pad, they’ll stick to the plan.
“ So what was the plan?” The six foot eight Dream Killer asks as he’s cramped up in the back seat with Bedtime Bob, the slightly shorter but no less impressive of the two- and just as dumb.
“ Exposition!” The Shape groans as he bangs his palms against the steering wheel. “ How many times do I have to tell you? We’re going to Cairo’s house, we’re trashing it and then we’re going to leave. “
“ But Cairo-“ Interrupts Bedtime Bob in a raspy voice. “ Cairo’s not here. This is his governor’s mansion. Isnt it? Well, what the hell good is us wrecking his house if he’s not going to be there to see it. Hell, half the fun is seeing the look on the other guys face when you bust in there, hitting the john with a double decker while eating a Tuna on rye. He’s over there looking me in horror cuz here’s this 6 foot seven tall somma bitch who just raided my fridge and now he’s taking a poop in my water tank. And he’s white too, so he’s more upset because that’s not where you poop so then I pinch off a loaf, crack his head against the sink and finish my squat on his chest.” Bedtime Bobs vivid story leaves a silence hanging in the car until Dream Killer rips a dank one that is immediately followed by uproarious laughter.
The Honda Civic rolls up and comes to a hault in front of the home, having traveled up a long U-shaped gravel drive. It was a home fit for a mountain hobbit, Perfect for the Jew that is Bubby Cairo. The only problem is that another Jew has invaded and the current occupant Jew is not home. It is akin to a hermit crab abandoning his shell. Looks like Papa got himself got a brand new bag. The Shape steps out of the car and breaths deep that fresh country air. It was chilly but well warmed by the fire of that El Nino, joint combined with the rise in green house gasses. It was 45 degrees today, Beautiful by New England Standards. The Dream Killers get out of the Civic and looks around.
“ This shit looks expensive.” Says Dream Killer as he snorts a load of phlegm and hocks it onto the face of an angel statue that stands guard by the gravel path.
“ I bet this guy has a room that’s just one giant T.V. I’m going to shit all over it.” Bedtime Bob chuckles to himself with sweet anticipation. The Shape looks at him with a cocked eyebrow.
“ What the hell is wrong with you? Whats with you and pooping on things?” The Shape inquires.
“ That’s how I show dominance. “ Bobs laugh turns deeper and more sinister. “ And I always dominate.” Somewhere in Bobs mind, some crazy things happened. The back of his eyes were going through memories and its best to let that be. The Shape tugged at his suit jacket as Dream Killer admired a mustard stain on his flannel top. The group approaches the front door as The Shape gently raps on the door with his index knuckle.
“ Open up Ariana Grande poon. We know that you’re in there, and you’re all alone.” Sweet talks the Shape.
“ Yah.” Continues Dream Killer. “ It’s Santa Clause and his elf.. hehehe.”
“ Ya God damn right.” Quips Bedtime Bob.
There's no answer. No response. Truly, there is no one home. The Shape gives the signal as Dream Killer takes a step back and kicks the door in, providing ample entrance for the group to get through. Once inside the group breaks up. The Shape and Bedtime Bob go towards the kitchen on the first floor while Dream Killer heads up to the bedrooms on the second. The shape sits at the large 12 person kitchen table as Bob begins hunting for coffee.
“ Ya know, out of the two of you, you worry me the most. What are you doing?” Asks The Shape.
“ Brewin’ up the brew.” Replies Bob. “ If’n you want it dark and muddy then I need to drink the dark and muddy..heh heh heh. “
“ I just want you to wreck his shit. Show him that Vincent Buddy Roman will not be made a fool. Imperium was a disaster and I blame him for that.” Deeper motivations are revealed as The Shape scrunches his face with anger.
“ And I am.” Continues Bob. “ I’m wrecking his shit with my shit. As soon as I drop mud, he’s going to know. And they’ll be nothing he can do about it.”
“ Truly, Bob, you are a sick and twisted man.” Says Roman as he turns his attention to finding pen and paper.
“ That’s the absolutely nicest thing anyone has ever said about me. You’re not gay are you?” Bob licks his lips at bare-backing the Jew ass poon.
“ Just- Just don’ bother me. I have a message that I need to write to Cairo. You just do your thing. Quietly.” Bob starts brewing a 12 cup pot of coffee as The Shape starts writing his letter to Cairo. A Magnum-Jew-Opus.
[ Bobby,
I am writing this to you now in good knowledge that that there is nothing you can do about it. Your house is now MY house. Your Hardcore title, MY hardcore title. And you might be asking:
“ Why, Buddy? Why are you taking my house and my title and my livelihood?”
Because I can. Because I blame you for the failure that is Imperium. You were the world champion and you failed. You are no longer the greatest thing that you pretend yourself to be. You done goofed and I – I have waited so very long for my glorious revenge. And now I have it. And you- oh, and you. You’ve fallen into my trap. A Volcano match for the hardcore title? Oh yes, Bobby, we are going to do this the only way two Jews really can do this. To the death. A Jew to the lions.
Bobby Cairo to MY client, Zombie McMorris. ]
The Shapes concentration is broken with the guttural groans of Bob who has found a bathroom and overloading the toilet tank with that dank brew of Poon-lumbian bean goodness. The paint starts to chip and peel as the aroma begins to make its ways through the home. UP stairs, Dream Killer is taking the more sensible approach and ripping clothes out of draws and tipping over furniture. A king sized bed crashes through the second story wall and out onto the lawn below. This destruction pleases the Shape as he looks back at his letter and continues writing.
[ For you see, its been a very long time since I have been around to do the things that I love to do and yet here I am. Now where are you? Are you hiding in the mountains of Us-Becki-Poon? In PG? Are you creepin out in some movie theatre waiting for the shitty conclusion of some Hollywood propaganda? Because I’m here and yet you’re not. That is the ultimate move of extreme cowardice. See, Bobby- this marks the return- the great, long awaited return of Buddy Roman to the WCF scene where he crushes Beach Krew faggotry below the JEW waves.
I’m making waves, Bobby. I’m back and in the form that you all longed for. While guys like Beach Krew circle jerk each other into Oblivion- seriously. And this hardcore title fiasco has been boring. YAWN, boring. Bobby Cairo stomping out jobbers isn’t great. Its not best for business. However, this history making event, IS. Zombie McMorris, MY client is the very best thing for this company in a world where people are being paid in cookies and contenders to titles are Dag Riddick and Jay Price.
Let that sink in. Contenders currently have been Dag Riddick, Torture and Jay Price. And you, stomping out jobbers and dudes dressed like Kaz Mazy. So whats your plan in this crazy match that you wanted to have. YOU, Bobby Cairo wanted to have this match. YOU, Bobby Cairo wanted to DIE in this match. And YOU, Bobby Cairo wanted to lose your hardcore title to the Evil Incarnate.
Are you ready to be dragged through another INSTANT CLASSIC? Another match that shows that the hardest working man in WCF history is also the most coked up mad man in WCF? I’m sorry Bobby ( not sorry ) but you no longer have the XY variables that made you the great all those years ago. The best thing about your career is on the shoulders of Nordic Tanks and Sons of Gods. What else do you have in your life? You surely are not making a claim that you are the most hardcore negro on the planet. But yet here you are, making such claims. Making such absurd crazies concerning the gold around your THICK. But that gold is MY gold. Your career is MY career. You’ve signed it all over to the real Jew of WCF and you did so on the dotted line.
Bobby, you’re sad. It’s a sad thing. You’re like at old mutt that roams the streets looking for trash and fights. And yet another mutt, soaked in scum and sludge, an immortal mutt at that, comes along to pick you part and what do you do? You roll over on your back, and you take it. Because you have no choice but to submit. Your coke on a pole match, legendary.. you’re hardcore roof top battle, inspiring. But this volcano match? Its just heartbreaking.
And I’m just the Jew to do it.
~ V.Buddy Roman ]
The Shape looks up from his Magnum Jew-Opus to see that Dream Killer moved to the living room with a bowie knife and began to gut the couches and the drapes. One questions how Dream Killer can be the more sane of the two, but more questions that are best to stay unanswered.
“ Holy crap!” Yells Bedtime Bob from an unknown location in the house. “ The whole rooms a T.V! This rich son of a bitch! Who does he think he is?”
“ He’s a leader of a communist nation, the dude has money!” Dream Killer calls back to Bob.
“ That rich asshole? Who does he think he is? He thinks hes better than me? This son of a bitch thinks hes better than me! I’mma shit all over this room! Fuck this room!”
Roman stands in the kitchen as his goons continue to trash the home of Bobby Cairo. His smug looks radiates off of his smug face with his smug smile and smug balding head. The whole situation was more like a smug-u-ation, if you know what we mean. Buddy Roman looks around and dusts his hands off for a job well done.
“ Buddy Roman.” He says. “ Welcome back."
Conquer.The.Hate.
