Post by Bobby Cairo on Jan 31, 2016 9:00:58 GMT -5
"Only Fear Can Guide You"
At the behest of fear, Robert Hercules Cairo had become like a cornered animal. Pride wounded. Itchy fingers on the triggers, with the opposable digits to use 'em. Robert was a mortal man, unlike his opponent at F15teen... and perhaps unlike the being that he thought he'd murdered inside of Madison Square Garden. What was The Scarecrow exactly? Flesh and blood? Could not be. A man does not survive a hundred and fifty foot fall from the rafters of MSG. Doesn't matter what kinda dope he's got pumping through his veins. You ain't human. Not in Bobby Cairo's book. But then again, Bobby Cairo was no longer the one writing the manuscript. Not anymore. Not like he thought he was.
"What are ya, Scarecrow? Is you a phantasm? Is you the ghost of Scarecrow?" Cairo pondered these questions aloud as he toked upon a phat FAAAAAT joint, rolled with that high-grade Poon Guinean kush, that melt into the white sand beach shit. Bobby furrowed his brow, stretched out his legs, them golden shitkicker boots traipsing down upon the sand of that gorgeous tropical locale. There were no honeys around. Not while school was in session. Bobby Cairo's school of thought, that is. When Cairo was musing, they gave him his space. It was the respect that the Governor of Poon Guinea commanded.
"See, I'm pretty sure that whatever you are, Scarecrow, it's something greater and more powerful than you've ever been before. That premium incarnation, forged by divine intervention or even incantation. Now, it's true, I do not know from which avenue of Hell you have emerged, and I suppose from my head to my toes that I do not desire to acquire such information. I suppose that it's not entirely important. What matters is that through some impossibility of reason, you have managed to... beat Death. You have returned from beyond the grave.
"And as much as I cannot understand the 'How?' of your achievement, I suppose that what really sticks in my craw is the fact that I also cannot understand the 'Why?' Why come back, Scarecrow? For revenge? That's so passe, my child. Haven't you anything better to do with eternity? Eternity is precisely the gift that I've given you, because, frankly, I do not believe that you are merely mortal. Not anymore. I believe that I've set you free from the bounds of humanity, the trappings of the flesh. I did you a favor. Though I most certainly did not realize it at the time that I shoved you from the rafters. No, not when I had that murderous gleam in my Semitic sapphire eyes.
"And certainly not when I penned your eulogy, because when I did so, I did so in the spirit of uttermost contempt and disrespect. Now, though, perhaps a congratulations are in order? You've exceeded my expectations. Oh yes you have." Cairo toked once again upon that phat joint whilst using his free hand to stroke an AK-47, propped between his legs as it stood tall and erect, the stock of the rifle pressed firmly atop the pact of sand. Bobby toked and he stroked. He stroked as if that AK were the thick itself, or perhaps even the most supple of poongina. "I never thought that I would see you again, Scarecrow. I was fully prepared to assume the identity 0f 'The Man Who Murdered The Murder Machine.' I was living that life from the moment that my secret was revealed at ONE. What an interesting month it's been since that revelation became public.
"And no, I never wanted to believe that that was truly you at ONE. Oh deep down inside... deep down I feared that you had returned. Why? 'Why?' There's that pesky little question again. Why should Robert Hercules Cairo, The Godfather of Professional Wrestling, fear anything? Well, the answer is simple, my child: We reap what we sow. When one unleashes the demons from Hell with a simple flick of the wrist from one hundred and fifty feet in the air at Madison Square Garden? Indeed, there will be Hell to pay. The Devil's gonna get his due.
"And so there you were, Scarecrow. There you were as a living and breathing specimen of these here cosmos live on Sunday Night Slam, for all the world to see. Are you The Devil's errand boy, Scarecrow? Are you my biggest mistake? Are you my greatest achievement? Are you the thing that Kaz Mazy could not be... couldn't be because he simply was not equipped to handle the responsibility? Such a shame... such a shame that my so-called 'son' turned into such a grand disappointment, whilst ZMAC's son... well, not a disappointment, that's for Godfatherdamned sure."
Cairo chuckled to himself, though his infliction revealed his nerves, a subtle choke that stifled a full, hearty laughter from emerging of his gullet. There were ghosts in the system, alright. And such problems were not easily dealt with. Cairo's days had become shorter, his nights impossibly long. That marijuana could only do so much to put him at ease. And the poon? The poon simply reminded him of his own failures to bear a truly great son, either through biological or adoptive means. Daughters? Yes, he had plenty. And they were each amazing. Perfect little angels. And they would be protected from men like Robert Hercules Cairo. Men like himself. But his sons? Robert's sons perpetually failed to measure up to his own greatness. Kaz was supposed to be the one who shattered the curse.
"Kaz, you never truly did understand my intentions, did you? Even while we were dominating the WCF tag team division, you were always too busy living in my shadow to emerge as an island unto yourself. You answered at my beck and whim. You brought me my hashpipe, my morning paper, even my golden crispy Popeyes chicken. You were my lapdog. Is that why you came to idolize Scarecrow? Did you revere him for the same reasons that I reviled him? I can appreciate that sentiment, I simply... I cannot appreciate you, my child. I cannot appreciate you any more than I can appreciate the sand that I grind beneath my golden shitkicker boots. If you were ever truly relevant to my world, you've long since ceased to fill that role.
"The Poondock Saints were not great. Robert Cairo was great. Kaz Mazy was simply tagging along for the ride. You headlined pay-per-views, because of me. You competed for the WCF Worlds Championship, because of me. Your greatest achievements were achieved, because of me. But your failures, your inadequacies? All on you, my child. No one else to blame. Your bitterness, your jealousy, these are signs that you're a far worse hypocrite than you could ever accuse me of being. My intentions are plain as day. I attempted to murder Scarecrow because he interfered in matters of Poon Guinean national security. I did it for the people. Not for any self-serving ambition. I'm not a capitalist like you, Kaz. I wholly adhere to the doctrine of plain and simple communism."
The Poon-o-granite sun sheened down upon Cairo as his Semitic sapphires beamed bolder, brighter, bluer. "Your agenda, which is so clear to me now, was never aligned with the greater good. You sought the things from me that you could not get from your dead whore mother or that deadbeat biological father of yours, The Baron. You're guided by greed, Mazzerole. You're guided by the weakest and worst parts of the human experience. Your hands are bloody from slitting your own gullet when you thought you were twisting that knife in my spine. Ironic, isn't it? The more you think you're hurting me, you're actually hurting yourself. Drifting further, ever further away from reality. Guided by greed, guided by jealousy, guided by hate... my child, only fear can guide you now. That fear that comes when you've woken up in a life that feels more like a grave.
"You're trapped under a mountain of shit. You cannot move. Cannot breathe. Cannot think." Cairo tap tap tapped the temple of his noggin with the point of his index finger before taking another drag from his joint. He held it in for quite some time before he exhaled.
"I'm guided by fear these days myself, Kazward. However, I am guided by a much different kind of fear than the one that you know. Mine is not a selfish fear, an inverse fear, mine is a fear for the world around me. This thing that I have unleashed from the bowels of the spiritual underworld... I fear that it is a force that Jam Willy Jesus Himself, our lord and savior, will be unable to rein in. How can you control that which refuses to die? You and I, Kaz, we're flesh and blood. Well, I'm flesh and blood and some machine parts. thanks to Doctor Remus, but you get my point, Kaz. We can be killed through conventional means.
"Scarecrow is not like us. No, sir. Not at all. And so the work that I must do at F15teen is not merely personal, it is for that greater good. It is for the greater good that says, 'No one of us is bigger or more important than the whole.' Instead of judging, instead of condemning, instead of lamenting... you should be helping. But you cannot even help yourself, my child, so why do I waste my breath on you?"
Cairo shook his head with disgust. He took one last toke from the joint before pinching it out and tucking the roach behind his ear. Bobby sighed. He took a long drink of that Poon Guinea Iced Tea in order to wet his whistle some, and then he bristled. Scarecrow and Kaz were not the only part of the equation that need be addressed. And in the context of F15teen and that Volcano Match set to take place here in Poon Guinea? They needn't be regarded as so much as a blip on the radar screen.
"Speaking of that which refuses to die." Cairo smirked, though this time his nerves were less apparent, more reserved. Steely, reserved nerves. "You and I go way back, Zombie. You were one of the men who helped me conquer this land, the former Papua New Guinea turned Poon Guinea. Without your leadership in the Thousand Thick-ni Army, it's possible that the tyrant King Jimmy Dean would still be leading this great nation. So much has changed, but I do not lament this inverse trajectory that our lives, and indeed our friendship, has taken. The truth is that you think that F15teen presents you with some kind of grand opportunity to regain a championship belt and crown yourself as a double champion?"
That smile on Cairo's face brimmed ever wider, more maniacal. His eyes appeared wild, deranged even. "My opportunity, ZMAC, my opportunity is to achieve something far greater than professional wrestling accolades. You see, ZMAC, I believe that I have the recipe for killing that which refuses to die. I have to believe that. It's the only hope that I live with these days. And if I cannot kill that which refuses to die? Well, then, I am prepared to die trying. That's what the great man does, ZMAC. He sacrifices himself for the greater good, a concept that you could never understand. But then you always were more beast than man, a cunning devil, just like your son. This is why... this is why the sins of the son must be exacted upon the father. Because if I can kill you, ZMAC? If I can kill that which has lived a thousand lifetimes, and if I can snuff out any last flame of yearning, that yearning to survive that burns inside of you?"
Rihanna, the First Lady of Poon Guinea emerged from behind a palm tree. She was wearing her finest ruby gown and matching stiletto heels. Ariana Grande was at Rihanna's side, albeit on the ground at Rihanna's feet. Ariana wore a skimpy black bikini and a spiked leather dog collar around her neck. A metal leash extended from the collar to Rihanna's dainty hand. Behind Rihanna and Ariana, behind Bobby and his AK, behind the palm trees and the sandy white beach, upon the horizon where Mount Poonsuvius could be seen, an army was marching. The Thousand Thick-ni Army. The sound of the Thick-ni Army's marching boots was carried by the wind, a harrowing sound for all forces that would oppose their brand of harsh, communistic justice.
Bobby closed his eyes. His smile went from ear to ear. It was universal. It was hope, mixed with fear. "If I can kill you, ZMAC, truly erase you from existence once and for all, then I can kill your son as well. And when I thrust your body down inside that volcano, ZMAC, when you become one with the earth that feeds it, no one will care that you lived all those lifetimes. No one will care that you assumed all of those roles, and wreaked so much havoc upon so many. You won't be the feared one any longer. You'll be just another lost soul who was made an example of by plain and simple communism, and the great nation of the People's Republic of Poon Guinea. And you will become my blueprint for snuffing The Scarecrow."
The waves, crystal blue waves, lapped upon the shore of the white sand beach. They trembled. The waves trembled, as did the particles of sand. Even they understood the consequences of the battle to come.
