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Post by Wade Moor on Apr 15, 2016 14:43:09 GMT -5
There's a Scarecrow there. An actual one. It's awesome. Can I join as a robotic gorilla?
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Post by Corey Black on Apr 15, 2016 15:07:35 GMT -5
You can sure try.
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Apr 15, 2016 15:12:31 GMT -5
If anybody's gonna be a gorilla it's gonna be me!
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Post by Earth-616 Holmes on Apr 15, 2016 16:29:10 GMT -5
You boys better not let us down.
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Post by SickWaves Blackamura on Apr 15, 2016 17:00:07 GMT -5
Hmmmmm....I may have just come across a bit of an idea if this is open to others. Let me know if it is, because I may compete.
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Post by Seth on Apr 16, 2016 1:09:30 GMT -5
I don't know what this other fed you guys are talking about is, but it is surely awful and I truly do not approve of it whatsoever.
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Post by SickWaves Blackamura on Apr 16, 2016 1:13:21 GMT -5
I don't know what this other fed you guys are talking about is, but it is surely awful and I truly do not approve of it whatsoever. but did...did you hear Corey? They've got an actual Scarecrow! Step your game up, dad.
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Post by Corey Black on Apr 16, 2016 10:04:21 GMT -5
lol
Rick Mad was there before I was.
That's the joke.
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Post by Steve Orbit on Apr 18, 2016 5:40:13 GMT -5
Can I join as raYne
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Post by Joey Flash on Apr 23, 2016 19:11:47 GMT -5
Our first round RP's are in! We face 'High Society' - Nigel Royal, Max Million and Culture Boy. CD Usually, Corey Black can be found in his castle. And normally within that, the Dungeon, which houses his dirty old training ring. This time, though, Corey is in a well-lit area with a very nice looking pro wrestling ring that has a black apron and green ropes. The place is covered with Wrestling Championship Federation memorabilia, and a big banner on the wall says “WCF Performance Center.” WCF has been around since the year 2000. Corey has been there since 2002. While OSW is where he performs weekly, WCF is where he made a name for himself in the wrestling world.
There’s a few people mulling around the building, probably some new recruits or facility workers, but nobody is bothering Corey in the ring. He’s doing his usual, running the ropes, springing off them in a backflip, getting acclimated to the bounce. Corey’s shirt, though, is an OSW tee. Corey stops long enough to set up his cell phone and record a message for High Society.
“How does it feel, Max? To have to be surrounded by yes-man in order to feel relevant in the wrestling world? Just like in normal life you have to have the almighty dollar in your pocket to be happy. You have to constantly be vindicated and praised, looked at as ‘High Society’ because ‘just’ Max Million isn’t enough anymore. You were never enough in the first place. You’ll never be enough in the ring against me or my teammates. It’ll be an honor and privileged to murk you three fuckboys two weeks in a row on my way to OSW greatness. I’ll look down upon you from the main event with cold eyes, Max, as you toil and crash in the low-card barely clinging on from an entity that wants to rid the company of you more than I do. While they use smoke grenades, I use elbows.
So, Culture Boy, you think you got one up on me last week with that Brainbuster? Take it to your filthy bank, Bobby, because you’ll need to deposit that one. It’ll never happen again. There’s no crooked Doctor to distract me this week, just my friends. I think they’ll like you. An old guy playing with the young 30-somethings because he’s the only other person in the world that will flaunt all the cash he’s made in the past, which he still doesn’t use to buy some Just For Men and cover up all that gray hair. Whoever is trying to eliminate High Society knows exactly what we do – you belong in an old folks home before you belong in the ring. Joey, Howard and I have no problem going after that hip of yours and making sure the Triple Threat at the PPV turns into a one on one. Assuming the other two make it out of the ring with their well-being, anyway. There’s something you need to know about the WCF wrestlers. We’re fucking vicious. We don’t care who you are, what company it is, or who is paying us. We compete to win, and we win by any means. Pinfall, submission, knockout, countout, it just doesn’t matter. I’ll gladly bust Bobby’s leg on the ramp and watch him crawl toward the ring in agony as the ref counts to ten.”
Corey stops to show the OSW audience all the replica titles on the walls and event banners hanging from the ceiling. Events in Mexico City, Tokyo and … London, England. Corey laughs to himself, tapping his own head as if he just remembered something.
“Who could forget about The Bloodline? Everyone, apparently, because he’s the most forgettable in a trio of very – VERY forgettable men. Your family history means nothing to me, Nigel. Nothing at all. You could be the Queen of England for all I care, once you come into my ring, you’re a future victim. Nothing more, nothing less. I’m supposed to be impressed because your family did something in life that allowed you the luxury of spending their money? I’d be more impressed if you did something with your career outside of floundering in obscurity with a stable that has no business being around.
At Triosmania, I will once again prove to OSW why I belong at the top of the card. Team WCF will rip through High Society and move to win the tournament with the greatest of ease. You’ve been warned, OSW. We’re here.” Howie
Before leaving the house, I kissed Sarah and little Joey good-bye. Joey was as bright-eyed and excited as ever to see his father leave for a wrestling event once more, but Sarah had her usual sad smile, those big and beautiful blue eyes saying the same thing they did every time I left:
“Please be careful.”
It was a look from her I hadn’t seen since the last time I left for the ring, when I pulled myself out of retirement to stare down Dune and save my brother from the brink; if anyone was happy that my days of wrestling were over, it was her. But I think she knew it could never be truly done; I get restless. When Corey Black gave me the call, I had my bags packed at the drop of a hat, my route planned, and my mind back to the ring. Stepping out of the house and into the old Ford pick-up, my eyes looked down the dirt road which spanned from our little Nebraska ranch towards somewhere that wasn’t here.
With a turn of the key, the engine purred to life, and soon I was on my way back to the familiar Interstate. As the wheels turned from dirt back onto asphalt, the familiar sight of rapidly passing yellow lines felt like an old friend stopping by for a visit. I reached for my phone in the cup holder, placing it in the mounted rack on the dashboard, and hit the record button.
“You don’t know me, but by the end of the week you won’t be able to forget me. My name is Howard Black, and I’m a retired WCF wrestler. Truth be told, you could say my career was a let-down for the potential I displayed: one singles belt and a few tag belts. But don’t let this get you confident; you’ll see why both the men I enter the ring with as brothers-in-arms will tell you that I’m the best who never was. Hell, I bet both of them may even confess after a couple drinks that they’re glad I retired; saved them more trouble than I’d already given them.”
I paused, taking the time to place a cigarette in my mouth and light the end while steering with my knees. As the smoke filled the cap, I looked back to the road, still speaking to the camera.
“I wouldn’t bother shooting some video and running my mouth; I don’t need to do that. I’ve always been a guy who felt actions spoke louder than words, and the only words which matter in a match is ‘I quit’. Then again, I was always contractually obligated to do these videos, so for those of you watching at home, you may as well get the goods. Hell, the story is the real goods, right? Case in point: these High Society guys they’re pairing us against seem like it was tailored by the booker to make some sort of weird David/Goliath pseudo-Marxist class struggle bullcrap, doesn’t it? The poor Brooklyn kid, the old veteran, and the short Nebraskan against three men who pride themselves on grooming and taste: a self-made millionaire, an old intellectual, and a snobby Brit.
Spoiler alert: this is going to end how the fairy tales tell it – you guys get shafted, and we move on to the top. These myths and whatnot? They’re rooted; they come from not an idealized reality but from the nuances of character which make up these archetypes. Arrogance, swarthiness, et cetera – they’re the building blocks of failure. You can’t be satisfied with who you are, no matter the stakes. A formerly self-made man like yourself, Max, has some understanding of this. We both came from poverty; you, urban, and me, rural. You lost your shirt, and you blamed compassion and sympathy. No, Max, you didn’t go broke because you had a soul; you went broke because you lost it. The decadence of life? Comforts? Weakness. And now you’re a character from a Bob Dylan song with a chip on his shoulder.
And ruthlessness, Nigel? Perhaps it could be understood as that basic drive we have to succeed and survive, but that goes out the window when you cheat. That’s not drive, Nigel, it’s cowardice. It’s the insecurity behind the arrogance; the little man from Kansas projecting the Great and Powerful Oz. I don’t need to cheat to beat you; I’ll just beat you. Real ruthlessness isn’t breaking the rules; it’s just going at all cylinders. You think your record would’ve showed you that.
There’s some other old fart in this match named Culture Boy. I think that’s a term also used to describe growths, so I guess it’s appropriate.”
I paused, my mind going blank. No, I didn’t need to say more; I ended the recording. The road roared past me as the Ford continued its lonesome crawl towards Las Vegas. Soon it would be flashing lights and thunderous applause once more, followed by the dull aches and pains of the ring and the lonesome crawl back home. With sixteen hours on the road, this would be a long drive for someone with a lot to think about; I could hardly contain my excitement.
Flash
Joey Flash was here for one reason: to win. Actually, that’s a lie; he’s here for a fucktonne of reasons, to beat the shit out of some worthless wrestlers, to alpha the entire federation, to probably get his dick sucked by the girlfriend/wife of a vanquished opponent but mostly for money. Flash stepped through the door of his OSW locker room to find a Spartan, sterile sparse space completely void of class, personality or charm. For the WCF World Champion, money was everything, glory and success made fine mistresses to his pay check but it wasn’t what kept him warm at night. Sitting in the lone chair he had been provided Flash gave a small sigh before a Cheshire cat grin spread across his chiselled olive skinned face.
He had been utterly and thoroughly bored in his career at this time. You know that feeling, when you’re the best wrestler in the world and everything comes so easy to you, so much so that you are just begging for something to pique your interest. No? Of course you don’t you aren’t Joey Flash.
His interest had been piqued one week ago today with a *ping* on his phone.
The text had read:
“Hey Joe.
Do you want to destroy a ground of pompous rich bastards? Oh, it’s part of a tournament.
CD”
To which Joey had curtly replied.
“how the fucc did u get this number? U text me again ill cave ur fuckin grizzly adams looking face in
in answer to ur question: does the pope shit in the woods just give me the fuccin time”
Corey Black had mused for a moment: Flash had said he would ‘cave his fuckin face in’ if he messaged him again but also asked for details. He had a conundrum. He didn’t want to have his face caved in, he rather liked his face, so he made his friend Jayson Price send the details instead. Price was then in a coma for six months and Flash had agreed to enter the OSW Trios tournament alongside WCF Alumni Corey and Howard Black (no relation). When Flash had told his friends he was participating in a Trio with two Blacks it left most of them a concoction of shocked and disgusted, though oddly a couple HAD told him ‘Finally, we all know Joey, I’m so proud of you for coming out’.
Alas, Joey was here now, time to begin the end of everyone on this roster. Flash ran a hand through his jet black hair before letting it flop theatrically across his shoulders.
Joey: This tournament was over the moment I signed my name on the dotted line in this company. *INSERT GENERIC ‘I’M HERE’ intro*. Fuck that, none of that is needed. What you get from me is quite simple, absolutely no filler, I’m a straight up killer. I’m the best wrestler to ever step foot through the doors here. Here is where I prove it.
When the three best wrestlers in the tournament are on the same team? Forget about it. When the worst three wrestlers in the tournament are our first round opponents…quick question, how does your insurance cover ‘accidental death’?
Flash smiles.
Joey: Hi…Society, you really MUST be ‘High’ if you are having delusions that you stand any chance whatsoever in this match. Who the fuck are these guys, I mean seriously? Max Million and Nigel Royal? The pair of you sound like a couple of middle clash British porn stars instead of wrestlers.
‘Whoopsee Nige, I seem to have slipped me todger in ya bumhole!’
You think I’m joking with this shit? I Googled ‘Culture Boy’ and well…
www.imdb.com/title/tt0433350/
I don’t know whether to laugh, cry or masturbate. This is a bad triumvirate; you boys got me fucked up. I’m going to keep it simple; I’m roasting and joking with you because a joke is all this jobber squad is. Let’s see how much your bravado, posturing and opulent bravado holds up when I’m face to face lighting you the fuck up from angles you didn’t even know exist. You’re not the only ones with a nominative determinant name bitches!
Max made his millions by investing wisely, well let’s hope this guy has invested in a good health plan because one shot from me will make your stock drop quicker than Enron, all your hard work and long term planning put to death because of shit outside of your control. Case in point: Joey Flash signing up for this tournament, Joey Flash then beating the ever loving shit out of you.
Flash grins and continues killing these nerds.
Joey: Now I actually have to roast fuckin Methuselah? Culture Boy will probably be the first wrestler in history to actually die of ‘natural causes’. Fuck sake. B-b-but you have ‘experience’ right? Okay, let me check…nope Muhammad Ali isn’t World Champ any more, ah fuck I thought Jordan was sure to pick up his seventh championship this year too! Your time has come and go- no fuck that, your time was never even here. You could be in your prime and me a paraplegic and I’d still mash ya fuckin snotbox.
And Nigel? This Royal is going to flush and turn coward from the pressure I give, one smack round the kisser and this guy will flop and fold. You just got killed by five seconds worth of terrible poker puns. Die slow.
WCF vs High Society, WCF vs OSW. This short format is supposed to be your advantage; well I just made it look like a fucking handicap. One set of OSW bitches down, two left.
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Lilith
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Post by Lilith on Apr 23, 2016 19:12:56 GMT -5
That is officially the shortest Joey Flash rp I have ever seen lol what gives?
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Post by Earth-616 Holmes on Apr 23, 2016 19:14:13 GMT -5
Just shoot alone right?
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Post by Joey Flash on Apr 23, 2016 19:14:25 GMT -5
That is officially the shortest Joey Flash rp I have ever seen lol what gives? 1k limit, 500 for shoot!
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Lilith
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Post by Lilith on Apr 23, 2016 19:15:17 GMT -5
Also did CD miss the "we're queer, get used to it" part out of the end of his rp orrrrrr what?
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Lilith
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Post by Lilith on Apr 23, 2016 19:15:59 GMT -5
That is officially the shortest Joey Flash rp I have ever seen lol what gives? 1k limit, 500 for shoot! Is that with all their rps or just for the tournament?
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Post by Joey Flash on Apr 23, 2016 19:16:46 GMT -5
Is that with all their rps or just for the tournament? Every RP in the fed
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Lilith
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Post by Lilith on Apr 23, 2016 19:19:21 GMT -5
If that's the case it sure does make it tempting to join. I can see why CD prefers that style for sure
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Post by Corey Black on Apr 23, 2016 19:26:35 GMT -5
Slaughtered. Shoot is really all that matters.
Nobody sign up unless youre serious about it. We got a reputation for flaking in the fed before this one.
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Post by Stuart Slane on Apr 23, 2016 19:26:43 GMT -5
OSW? That's the fed Roidy Magoo and the Golden Nogger wrestle for, right?
(Too obscure?)
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Lilith
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Post by Lilith on Apr 23, 2016 19:46:14 GMT -5
Imma sign up as Katherine Phoenix I'll be like the ZMAC of the OSW... Just way more trolly
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