Post by 'The Shine' Brent Alpine on Jul 9, 2016 23:01:15 GMT -5
The following epistles are written and narrated from the desk of Brent Rainer Alpine, current WCF Television Champion.
Dear Stuart Slane,
May 29th 2016. Do you remember the date, Champ? You think you won your beloved Title at Blast but the result was sealed following the greatest upset in WCF history on the last Slam in May. That was the night that you were supposedly victorious over 'The Shine' Brent Alpine who was, at that point, overwhelming favourite to win the WCF Classic Tournament.
Now, ignoring the fact that I kicked out at 2 and that your little Sow Reaper stuck her filthy hooves in my business, I must congratulate you. You had the fairy tale moment of the year so far and went on to finally climb the top of the mountain. You always were the poster boy of relatability. Until recently, everyone of those lowlife fans could identify with you because you were just like them - always coming up short, an insignificant also-ran. Your WCF World Title victory was a cathartic experience for all the basement dwelling neckbeard inbreds that make up the WCF Galaxy. When you won, they won. Together, you'd finally slayed the dragon and had your day in the sun.
Do you really think you'd have beaten Jeff Purse and Nathan Chambers had it not been for picking up your win over me? Let's be honest - once you'd overcame me, there was nobody going to stop you. Selflessly, I galvanised you. I rebuilt you after years of shattered confidence, endless disappointments and a perpetual fading into irrelevance.
But Percy Micro was right. I got soft. Perhaps I fell into the fairy tale myself and, deep down, wanted you to have your moment. After all, you've been here so much longer than me and it's not my fault that I'm already infinitely better than you... well, I guess it is my fault.
Historically, my only weakness has been superiority guilt. Sometimes it hurts to be so majestically advanced. It's a lonely place to be. I often get down on my knees and ask my creator 'Why did you make me so much better than everyone else?'. I'm subjected to constant jealousy, envy, fear, isolation. Why are you people so short sighted? You could bask in my glow and learn from me but instead many of you just resent my greatness. At times, this has caused me to dim my light in sympathy for your suffering.
But no more! Percy Micro (or whoever is his master) may be ruthless in his methods but he's vanquished any remaining sympathy I have for you subordinates. He has urged me to drop my placid, friendly manner and my whimsical Aussie dialect and be the draconian sadist that best showcases my effervescent splendour.
You might believe that you have gained another form of conquer over me in your recent escapades with my former nurse Esther. I've heard the rumours that you've been seen out wining and dining her. I have even been informed that the man who seemingly saved her life last week was, indeed, you. What a knight in shining armour! Yet you have vested interests. You believe that I hold some sort of affection for Miss Esther and that wooing her would bring me some sort of personal dejection. Hilarious! I know that the WCF production team have used carefully placed camera angles and some tactical editing to make it seem as though I see Esther as more than just a Plain Jane, a dime a dozen... but it's again a misguided narrative that you are falling hook, line and sinker for.
Esther is an innocent party in this. You don't have feelings for her. I don't have feelings for her. Let's not string the poor girl along any further. Stop dating her. It's not doing me the intended damage but you might be hurting her fragile heart.
Yet you don't care, do you? You are one big poser, Mr. Slane. You pretend to be all benign and a humble little do-gooder. Anyone with a modicum of discernment sees right through you. You are a snake and not even an especially dangerous one. You're like a slippery python. You might sneak and slide around and you're capable of sinking your teeth into anyone who falls into your trap but you have no venom. You're a bad man, Stuart, and a poor one at that.
The fans will soon turn on you. Now you're actually winning and on this wave of momentum, how can they relate anymore? So let me do you a favour. At Ultimate Showdown, I will annihilate you and take your beloved World Title away. That's your only hope of keeping your army of failures by your side. You and they can then return back to your comfortable world of defeat and inadequacy so you can preserve your flimsy and downright transparent nice guy reputation.
In fact, I can do you an even bigger favour. I'll pin you at the right time in the Ultimate Showdown match so that you can be the TV Champion. How's that? Not only do you keep some face, you keep some silverware and you obtain the most prestigious title in the WCF, having bathed in the afterglow of it being around my waist. I think that's more than fair.
Oh and tell your friend Sow Reaper that if she ever crosses my path again, I will cut off her feet and feed them to my cousin Dallas. She would be foolish to try to steal Percy Micro again; especially given the shady individual who controls him. Let her remain a bleeding heart in character, not in literal terms.
You're insincerely,
Brent
Dear Psychopomp,
It seems the severity of your delusion and mental illness stretches further than I thought. I had the misfortune of enduring your latest promo and it was clear from your eyes that you genuinely believe you are about to become the next Television Champion on Slam. In spite of strong competition from naked squats, ill fated trips to adult stores, somehow losing to a nonentity like Kevin Bishop and numerous terrible accents, this is by far the most absurd thing that you have been involved in.
Clearly Dr. Weinstein and Greg from HR are not doing a good enough job preserving what little sanity you have left. Do you seriously believe you have a hope? Does defeating Matthew St. Gregs, or whatever the fuck he's called, even slightly compare with facing the world's greatest entity, 'The Shine' Brent Alpine? In some ways, I guess I admire your optimism. Actually, no I don't... it's lunacy. Take your red, white and blue pills and shut up.
Percy Micro made me watch several of your promos and I'm rendered bewildered. I know the WCF is scraping the bottom of the barrel lately but you are a new low. I'm being fed a raft of amateurs recently - Henry Spearman was undefeated until he faced me but he had built a castle out of sand and I blew it away. Last week, Vic Viceroy came crawling out of the woodwork and I promptly returned him to the obscurity he emerged from. It was a shock and disappointment enough to be paired against those waste of spaces but they look like Bobby Cairo and Natural ICE Beckman compared to you!
Your main assault tactic surrounds my nationality. Yes, I'm Australian. Aren't you clever? You've prepared several items which you're convinced will hold the key to my undoing. Crocodile Dundee 2? See you later, alligator. You might think you can subdue a crocodile but it's easy to fend off a creature that only strikes when you come near. I won't lie in wait and come at you with the power of surprise, I will relentlessly pursue and destroy you. Crocodiles are defensive creatures but I am eternally on the attack. Speaking of which, you also have equipped yourself with a Book of Australian Predators. As you've read, Australia has some of the most deadly creatures in the world - the box jellyfish, the bull shark, the funnel web spider. The author negated to mention the most lethal for fear of incurring my ire - The Shine.
You think Kylie Minogue will prepare you for me? You should be so lucky! Funny you should mention her because I'm going to do the same to you that I did to her world famous ass when I was a little boy - pound it senseless. As for vegemite, I've never touched that shit but the only paste you'll be receiving is the pasting you get from me at Slam.
The truth of the matter is that I'm only Australian by birth. Australians might cheer me and herald me as one of their own but, in actuality, I have transcended their pathetic little country. They are a land of England's unwanted convicts. I am from a higher plain. I'm happy to be held up as a figure of aspiration and worship but they will never be my people because I'm simply too mesmeric.
While we're insulting nationalities, you're from Canada, right? What actually is Canada famous for? Your nation spent so long sucking at mimicking America so decided to try to be France. The problem was you were so bad at being both that you now are a poor combination of the two. I can't think of anything worse.
So you're afraid of clowns? Maybe they're so terrifying to you because they remind you of looking in the mirror. What a truly horrific sight that is! Percy tells me that fear of clowns is called Coulrophobia and it's experienced initially by children who are confused by the distressing mix of the familiar with the unfamiliar. I'm afraid that you will encounter this once more this Sunday. You'll go through the familiar ordeal of a defeat but with a unfamiliar intensity that Kevin Bishop and Mikey eXtreme didn't get close to inflicting on you.
On the positive side, like Stuart Slane, you represent triumph over adversity. It's really admirable how someone of such little talent can push through years of defeats and hopelessness to finally hit the bigtime. In fact, you worked so hard that you ended up injuring yourself for 2 years in the process! Bravo. You braved so many years of hell on the indies to finally get your shot. Despite this, you're still living in Rodeway Inn and buying from hardware stores. Why? Because deep down you know not to unpack your things and put down roots because you are here by accident. After Sunday, WCF management will realise what I know and that you subconsciously know - you were better off on the injury list.
I appeal to you - don't show up for our match. Go to the hardware store and buy some more wood or something. Because if you think your little foreign language Tourette's problem is bad now, you'll be fluent in Esperanto by the time I'm through with you.
Yours supremely,
Brent
Dear Nathan Chambers,
It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Like many, I have been observing your work from afar and have been most impressed.
As special guest referee in my match with Psycopomp, I feel urged to advise you to maintain your glittering start to your WCF career. It must stay intact, it must remain 'Perfection'. You worry that others may infect you with imperfection. I don't believe many individuals in the WCF have the power to do that to you, quite frankly. But you would pour down a vengeful rain of imperfection on yourself if you foolishly decide to compromise me in anyway.
What a story! A 21 year old rookie comes in and sweeps through illustrious WCF superstars, barely breaking a sweat. You have not been pinned and you have taken several high profile scalps. I especially admired your comprehensive defeats of WCF legends like The Duck, Andre Waterson and Sofanda Cox to win your precious Perfection Title. Congratulations, fellow champion. Maybe one day, when you grow up, you can advance to the lofty heights of the TV Title (once I'm World Champion, of course... which, incidentally, will be in 3 weeks from now).
In the 10 years since you broke free from your mother Adrienne's vice like grip, you have worked incomparably hard and forged your own wonderful destiny. Your forewent your birth right of succeeding her on the throne of her fashion empire and have chosen a different profession - as a WCF wrestler. I admire your gusto. For such a repugnant looking individual, you have skilfully covered your many blemishes with a variety of cosmetic concoctions. You have worked furiously to gain skill and cultivate a star appeal that is almost unsurpassed in this federation. Except for yours truly, of course.
You and I could be great friends. You are constantly seeking perfection. Well, I'm its embodiment. If you truly submit to me, you will attain it through osmosis. I am a total natural. You no longer need to labour to improve yourself. I'm offering you a glimpse of my light. Bathe in it. You will never be 'The Shine' but, given some time under my wing, you will earn the title of 'The Faint' which is better than nothing.
Justifiably, you have dreams of foraging the quickest ascent to the WCF World Title. You were a whisker away at Blast, after all.
But SPOILERS - look away now if you don't want to ruin the surprise. Ultimately, your quest will be unsuccessful as I will become World Champion at Ultimate Showdown and will hold the belt for the entirety of your critically acclaimed but limited career.
Now you're a smart guy - why go through that inevitable despair? We might main event some One PPVs together but you'll always be second best. Granted, many men will fall by your hand but what good is competing if you have no hope of being the best?
To give you my kindest council, I recommend you take up your former agent's offer of the Ellen show. You could be a true star in the world of acting, singing or whatever you put your mind to. You are that determined. But you will always come up a little short in the wrestling world, like the cuckold to my bull. If you continue, you will end up like poor naked Veronica, the model you humiliated. The mascara drenched tears she shed will look all too familiar in your eyes if you continue this futile mission. Go to Hollywood and truly be a star!
Or why not reconcile with Adrienne? You would make a fabulous fashion guru. I would be happy to offer my advice and support in that or any other sphere you choose to go into.
I just don't want to see you get hurt, Nathaniel Daniel Chambers. Take your GT-R Nismo and drive out of here to somewhere you can be number 1.
In the meantime, just a friendly reminder to be a good little referee this Sunday. In fact, maybe refereeing could be your forte! As long as you hold my arm high in victory, you're bound to have a great start. Don't try anything silly because that would be a real shame for such a promising young man.
#bonvoyage
Yours in friendship,
Brent
Dear Stuart Slane,
May 29th 2016. Do you remember the date, Champ? You think you won your beloved Title at Blast but the result was sealed following the greatest upset in WCF history on the last Slam in May. That was the night that you were supposedly victorious over 'The Shine' Brent Alpine who was, at that point, overwhelming favourite to win the WCF Classic Tournament.
Now, ignoring the fact that I kicked out at 2 and that your little Sow Reaper stuck her filthy hooves in my business, I must congratulate you. You had the fairy tale moment of the year so far and went on to finally climb the top of the mountain. You always were the poster boy of relatability. Until recently, everyone of those lowlife fans could identify with you because you were just like them - always coming up short, an insignificant also-ran. Your WCF World Title victory was a cathartic experience for all the basement dwelling neckbeard inbreds that make up the WCF Galaxy. When you won, they won. Together, you'd finally slayed the dragon and had your day in the sun.
Do you really think you'd have beaten Jeff Purse and Nathan Chambers had it not been for picking up your win over me? Let's be honest - once you'd overcame me, there was nobody going to stop you. Selflessly, I galvanised you. I rebuilt you after years of shattered confidence, endless disappointments and a perpetual fading into irrelevance.
But Percy Micro was right. I got soft. Perhaps I fell into the fairy tale myself and, deep down, wanted you to have your moment. After all, you've been here so much longer than me and it's not my fault that I'm already infinitely better than you... well, I guess it is my fault.
Historically, my only weakness has been superiority guilt. Sometimes it hurts to be so majestically advanced. It's a lonely place to be. I often get down on my knees and ask my creator 'Why did you make me so much better than everyone else?'. I'm subjected to constant jealousy, envy, fear, isolation. Why are you people so short sighted? You could bask in my glow and learn from me but instead many of you just resent my greatness. At times, this has caused me to dim my light in sympathy for your suffering.
But no more! Percy Micro (or whoever is his master) may be ruthless in his methods but he's vanquished any remaining sympathy I have for you subordinates. He has urged me to drop my placid, friendly manner and my whimsical Aussie dialect and be the draconian sadist that best showcases my effervescent splendour.
You might believe that you have gained another form of conquer over me in your recent escapades with my former nurse Esther. I've heard the rumours that you've been seen out wining and dining her. I have even been informed that the man who seemingly saved her life last week was, indeed, you. What a knight in shining armour! Yet you have vested interests. You believe that I hold some sort of affection for Miss Esther and that wooing her would bring me some sort of personal dejection. Hilarious! I know that the WCF production team have used carefully placed camera angles and some tactical editing to make it seem as though I see Esther as more than just a Plain Jane, a dime a dozen... but it's again a misguided narrative that you are falling hook, line and sinker for.
Esther is an innocent party in this. You don't have feelings for her. I don't have feelings for her. Let's not string the poor girl along any further. Stop dating her. It's not doing me the intended damage but you might be hurting her fragile heart.
Yet you don't care, do you? You are one big poser, Mr. Slane. You pretend to be all benign and a humble little do-gooder. Anyone with a modicum of discernment sees right through you. You are a snake and not even an especially dangerous one. You're like a slippery python. You might sneak and slide around and you're capable of sinking your teeth into anyone who falls into your trap but you have no venom. You're a bad man, Stuart, and a poor one at that.
The fans will soon turn on you. Now you're actually winning and on this wave of momentum, how can they relate anymore? So let me do you a favour. At Ultimate Showdown, I will annihilate you and take your beloved World Title away. That's your only hope of keeping your army of failures by your side. You and they can then return back to your comfortable world of defeat and inadequacy so you can preserve your flimsy and downright transparent nice guy reputation.
In fact, I can do you an even bigger favour. I'll pin you at the right time in the Ultimate Showdown match so that you can be the TV Champion. How's that? Not only do you keep some face, you keep some silverware and you obtain the most prestigious title in the WCF, having bathed in the afterglow of it being around my waist. I think that's more than fair.
Oh and tell your friend Sow Reaper that if she ever crosses my path again, I will cut off her feet and feed them to my cousin Dallas. She would be foolish to try to steal Percy Micro again; especially given the shady individual who controls him. Let her remain a bleeding heart in character, not in literal terms.
You're insincerely,
Brent
Dear Psychopomp,
It seems the severity of your delusion and mental illness stretches further than I thought. I had the misfortune of enduring your latest promo and it was clear from your eyes that you genuinely believe you are about to become the next Television Champion on Slam. In spite of strong competition from naked squats, ill fated trips to adult stores, somehow losing to a nonentity like Kevin Bishop and numerous terrible accents, this is by far the most absurd thing that you have been involved in.
Clearly Dr. Weinstein and Greg from HR are not doing a good enough job preserving what little sanity you have left. Do you seriously believe you have a hope? Does defeating Matthew St. Gregs, or whatever the fuck he's called, even slightly compare with facing the world's greatest entity, 'The Shine' Brent Alpine? In some ways, I guess I admire your optimism. Actually, no I don't... it's lunacy. Take your red, white and blue pills and shut up.
Percy Micro made me watch several of your promos and I'm rendered bewildered. I know the WCF is scraping the bottom of the barrel lately but you are a new low. I'm being fed a raft of amateurs recently - Henry Spearman was undefeated until he faced me but he had built a castle out of sand and I blew it away. Last week, Vic Viceroy came crawling out of the woodwork and I promptly returned him to the obscurity he emerged from. It was a shock and disappointment enough to be paired against those waste of spaces but they look like Bobby Cairo and Natural ICE Beckman compared to you!
Your main assault tactic surrounds my nationality. Yes, I'm Australian. Aren't you clever? You've prepared several items which you're convinced will hold the key to my undoing. Crocodile Dundee 2? See you later, alligator. You might think you can subdue a crocodile but it's easy to fend off a creature that only strikes when you come near. I won't lie in wait and come at you with the power of surprise, I will relentlessly pursue and destroy you. Crocodiles are defensive creatures but I am eternally on the attack. Speaking of which, you also have equipped yourself with a Book of Australian Predators. As you've read, Australia has some of the most deadly creatures in the world - the box jellyfish, the bull shark, the funnel web spider. The author negated to mention the most lethal for fear of incurring my ire - The Shine.
You think Kylie Minogue will prepare you for me? You should be so lucky! Funny you should mention her because I'm going to do the same to you that I did to her world famous ass when I was a little boy - pound it senseless. As for vegemite, I've never touched that shit but the only paste you'll be receiving is the pasting you get from me at Slam.
The truth of the matter is that I'm only Australian by birth. Australians might cheer me and herald me as one of their own but, in actuality, I have transcended their pathetic little country. They are a land of England's unwanted convicts. I am from a higher plain. I'm happy to be held up as a figure of aspiration and worship but they will never be my people because I'm simply too mesmeric.
While we're insulting nationalities, you're from Canada, right? What actually is Canada famous for? Your nation spent so long sucking at mimicking America so decided to try to be France. The problem was you were so bad at being both that you now are a poor combination of the two. I can't think of anything worse.
So you're afraid of clowns? Maybe they're so terrifying to you because they remind you of looking in the mirror. What a truly horrific sight that is! Percy tells me that fear of clowns is called Coulrophobia and it's experienced initially by children who are confused by the distressing mix of the familiar with the unfamiliar. I'm afraid that you will encounter this once more this Sunday. You'll go through the familiar ordeal of a defeat but with a unfamiliar intensity that Kevin Bishop and Mikey eXtreme didn't get close to inflicting on you.
On the positive side, like Stuart Slane, you represent triumph over adversity. It's really admirable how someone of such little talent can push through years of defeats and hopelessness to finally hit the bigtime. In fact, you worked so hard that you ended up injuring yourself for 2 years in the process! Bravo. You braved so many years of hell on the indies to finally get your shot. Despite this, you're still living in Rodeway Inn and buying from hardware stores. Why? Because deep down you know not to unpack your things and put down roots because you are here by accident. After Sunday, WCF management will realise what I know and that you subconsciously know - you were better off on the injury list.
I appeal to you - don't show up for our match. Go to the hardware store and buy some more wood or something. Because if you think your little foreign language Tourette's problem is bad now, you'll be fluent in Esperanto by the time I'm through with you.
Yours supremely,
Brent
Dear Nathan Chambers,
It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Like many, I have been observing your work from afar and have been most impressed.
As special guest referee in my match with Psycopomp, I feel urged to advise you to maintain your glittering start to your WCF career. It must stay intact, it must remain 'Perfection'. You worry that others may infect you with imperfection. I don't believe many individuals in the WCF have the power to do that to you, quite frankly. But you would pour down a vengeful rain of imperfection on yourself if you foolishly decide to compromise me in anyway.
What a story! A 21 year old rookie comes in and sweeps through illustrious WCF superstars, barely breaking a sweat. You have not been pinned and you have taken several high profile scalps. I especially admired your comprehensive defeats of WCF legends like The Duck, Andre Waterson and Sofanda Cox to win your precious Perfection Title. Congratulations, fellow champion. Maybe one day, when you grow up, you can advance to the lofty heights of the TV Title (once I'm World Champion, of course... which, incidentally, will be in 3 weeks from now).
In the 10 years since you broke free from your mother Adrienne's vice like grip, you have worked incomparably hard and forged your own wonderful destiny. Your forewent your birth right of succeeding her on the throne of her fashion empire and have chosen a different profession - as a WCF wrestler. I admire your gusto. For such a repugnant looking individual, you have skilfully covered your many blemishes with a variety of cosmetic concoctions. You have worked furiously to gain skill and cultivate a star appeal that is almost unsurpassed in this federation. Except for yours truly, of course.
You and I could be great friends. You are constantly seeking perfection. Well, I'm its embodiment. If you truly submit to me, you will attain it through osmosis. I am a total natural. You no longer need to labour to improve yourself. I'm offering you a glimpse of my light. Bathe in it. You will never be 'The Shine' but, given some time under my wing, you will earn the title of 'The Faint' which is better than nothing.
Justifiably, you have dreams of foraging the quickest ascent to the WCF World Title. You were a whisker away at Blast, after all.
But SPOILERS - look away now if you don't want to ruin the surprise. Ultimately, your quest will be unsuccessful as I will become World Champion at Ultimate Showdown and will hold the belt for the entirety of your critically acclaimed but limited career.
Now you're a smart guy - why go through that inevitable despair? We might main event some One PPVs together but you'll always be second best. Granted, many men will fall by your hand but what good is competing if you have no hope of being the best?
To give you my kindest council, I recommend you take up your former agent's offer of the Ellen show. You could be a true star in the world of acting, singing or whatever you put your mind to. You are that determined. But you will always come up a little short in the wrestling world, like the cuckold to my bull. If you continue, you will end up like poor naked Veronica, the model you humiliated. The mascara drenched tears she shed will look all too familiar in your eyes if you continue this futile mission. Go to Hollywood and truly be a star!
Or why not reconcile with Adrienne? You would make a fabulous fashion guru. I would be happy to offer my advice and support in that or any other sphere you choose to go into.
I just don't want to see you get hurt, Nathaniel Daniel Chambers. Take your GT-R Nismo and drive out of here to somewhere you can be number 1.
In the meantime, just a friendly reminder to be a good little referee this Sunday. In fact, maybe refereeing could be your forte! As long as you hold my arm high in victory, you're bound to have a great start. Don't try anything silly because that would be a real shame for such a promising young man.
#bonvoyage
Yours in friendship,
Brent
