Post by Chief Tom-O-Hawk on Jul 13, 2016 1:38:18 GMT -5
It had appeared. Wayne Hammon had been waiting at the dockyard since recieving word of ths ships arrival, and finaly his crate was being lowered down by crane. It was a large, brutish looking crate that one could easily think big enough for a semi truck to fit into. It was set off to the side from the other cargo, and he instantly recognised the numbers on the side of the shipping crate with the numbers on his shipping itinerary. It was placed down almost 20 feet away with the skillful use of the crane operator, and the hooks automatically released as the cables swung around back to the ship to continue unloading the rest of the cargo.
Wayne grimaced, his hand going to his side as he spits out a line of liquid red. The blood stains the ground where it hit and Wayne could only gain more respecr for Henry Spearman. He had taken a lot of spears in his time, but could only account for two that had more devastating effect, and both of those were delivered by the Rated ‘R’ Superstar nearly twelve years ago. He was certain it would be two more weeks before he stopped pissing blood.
Wayne Hammon turned his attention back to the crane and was almost impressed with the crane operator's skill. The giant crate never made a squeak, grind, not even an audible bump of any kind upon setting down onto the hard asphalt. This was pleasing to Wayne Hammon, for what was inside was a piece of world history. Although historicaly moreso for the United States than the rest of the world, the contents still had historical value.
Wayne Hammon walks up to the crate, his fingers exposing a single plastic security card from his pocket. He finds the security lockswipe and swipes the card through. The keypad lights up in russian and he promptly enters the first of a series of three passwords. the answers themselves had to be typed in the russian language itself, but Wayne Hammon was well versed in the russian language. Upon successfully entering the third password, a security box unlocks beside the doorway. Wayne opens the security box, showing an infra red hand scanning device where he places his left fist with his middle finger extended directly against the mapping grid, and presses the scan button. After about two seconds to scan, the hydraulic locks come undone, and the crate door swings open to the side.
Personaly, Wayne thought that the shipping company was going a little overboard on security, especially since someone could have always walked up with a torch and burned off the hinges, letting the door fall to it's demise. Cut the hinges, slide the door about an inch to one direction, let it fall, and have your own way with the contents. But alas, here was Freezer Burn, walking into the darkness of this metal crate with just himself and a set of keys.
Within moments, the rumbling of a low idle engine can be heard, backup lights fill the crate as the contents slowly backs out of the shipping container. The deep, glossy black paint reflects from the untouched waxing the vehicle had recieved just prior to going into the crate, as the 1949 series 63 Cadilac exposes itself once again to the light of the world. The 540 cubic inch flathead V-8 had a very unique low rumble to it, and had more than enough torque to drive the 6000 pound car around with ease.
Such cars were used by the KGB in the post world war 2 era, as well as hollywood film makers and presidents alike. This car was rounded beautifully and even in todays world, could easily be seen why they were so popular. Such vehicles once numbered upword close to a million, but Hollywood had destroyed most of them in their quest for making memorable movies for the masses. This car was one of just a few thousand left from that year, and quite possibly one of only a dozen with the big block flathead engine.
For the age, it ran like a dream. One would almost swear it came from the showroom floor, and even a few of the dockyard workers took a few moments to gaze at the marvel as it slowly drove away. Unlike todays cars, you could run over a fire hydrant with this car without destroying the vehicle. You would simply need to polish a few scratches out of the chrome bumper and all would look normal again.
Wayne Hammon was surprised at how comfortable this car was to drive. As he went through the rough streets, it seemed to float across each and every bump and pothole. Even as old as it is, most newer cars don't ride this smothly.
Wayne Hammon had no problems using the 'H' pattern shifting on the steering console, and the three speed transmission went from one gear into the next without any grinds or catches. This car truly is in as good a mechanical condition as the body was in gleaming splendor. The interior was thick, blackened leather, the dashboard was solid treated pine, and the stock AM radio was more than enough entertainment for a classic like this.
His thoughts went back again to Henry Spearman. A good, solid match in all. He made the critical error of trying to avoid the spear when he should have been using counter moves. So many against the spear. A floating ddt, a big boot, quick turn spinebuster, forward knee lunge, and even using the spear itself to counter the spear. I made the mistake of trying to be sporting to a generally good guy, and it cost me.
Bates is another such of those ‘generally good guys’, but the lesson had been learned. The giant would fall, the mountain would crumble into the sea, Not for any spite or malice, but because the man wanted to go through me and my friend on his ride to championship glory. Not on my time. Not this time. Not any time.
This car didn't accelerate hard, it was a smooth acceleration from first gear up into third. Getting to highway speeds in todays vehicles takes less than 8 seconds, even for the smallest engines in the efficiency vehicles. Sports cars reaching such speeds in only 3 or 4 seconds. Yet this cadilac took its time, it made it's statement getting to hiway speeds in almost 15 seconds. Yet the cadilac slowly kept accelerating, climbing from 65 on up to 90 where Wayne Hammon let off the gas and held that speed.
The low humming of the flathead big block engine was music to his ears. Knowing that something so crude in design would continue to outlast the freshest automobiles in the industry. An apt simile to himself and others in the industry as a whole. And as he drove the classic to the destination, he knew whole heartedly what needed to be done. Upon his destination, he would be prepared for this fight against a man eager to overlook me. His mistake in overlooking a legend. His mistake in overlooking a GOD. His mistake in looking past the AOD.
Watching Gemini was extremely funny to Wayne Hammon. Trying to exaggerate his little touch of insanity into more than it really is. Gemini sucked up his manhood from bottom to top and screamed like a little girl on impact. So amusing. The world needed more comedy, and Gemini was a comedic genius. So in love with pain, until something knocks you out or breaks a few major bones.
~POP~
The left fromt tire exploded which sent the classical car sideways, the remaining tires regained traction and the carbegan rotating, barrel rolling down the interstate. Vehicles from behind swerved to miss as the cadilac came to it's final resting place on the gravel shoulder. The engine was still running, despite the sudden barrel rolling, and not a single vehicle stopped to ask if everything was allright. The car itself was pretty banged up, all the side windows shattered as half of the windshield looked untouched.
Wayne Hammon gets out of the vehicle, bloodied and sore as hell as he makes his way around to the back of the car where he proceeds to remove the spare tire from the trunk. Within a few moments, the exploded tire is no more, and the car has four standing tires once again. He places the rim from the exploded tire back where the spare itself came from, and without a single word, crawls back into the vehicle, using the gravel shoulder to get back up to speed before merging onto the interstate once again.
Once on the interstate again, there was a slight shimmy in the steering, but the vehicle as a wholes till ran smoothly. Reaching down, Wayne Hammon clicked on the AM radio, where 'Metallical' plays their version of Turn The Page' on the airwaves.
The temperature gauge slowly climbed and the oil pressure slowly dropped as the 3 ton automobile climbed in speeds past 80. Wayne’s thoughts inevitably went back to recent events. Adam Young once again trying to be more than he can be. The stupid hillbilly needs to divorce Myra before the police arrest his happy ass for marrying his own sister. This would free Myra up for some real man time, me, instead of some unoriginal punk hillbilly nazi faggot whose only living brain cell is geared on frontal assault without a single thought on strategy, defense, skill .. hell, HillBilly Adam Young couldn’t even pass gas without trying to think the process through.
90 mile an hour and his thoughts kept running unchecked. ‘We’ve got experience on our side.’ Yeah, that’s what Gemini said. I’ve got over thirty years in the industry, and I’m supposed to be impressed with his almighty two years of tag experience. Thiis man is a warrior and general without doubt, but really? Two years compared to thirty? And he has the experience?
105 mile an hour. The steering wheel visibly vibrating now in his hand, the makeshift air conditioning allowing the air to cool against his skin. A rattle in his lungs forced him to spit out more blood through the side window and onto a car in the nearby lane. Fuck em. It’s just a little blood. Adam. Fucking Adam. Him and the empire fell at the hands of Night Rider and Freeze. Adam and Psycho Dragon fell next in line. Now he has some lollipop sucker for a tag partner, and that it’s somehow supposed to change the fact that Adam Young Has Not And Can Not Now Or Ever Get A Win Against Any Member Of The AOD.
115 miles an hour. The oil pressure gauge drops to zero and the first, faint whisps of smoke come out from under the hood. With a grin, Freezer Burn Wayne Hammon floors the pedal. Baptism by fire. That’s what Gemini needed. Bates was just in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong goals. The big man would know pain. He would know lots of it before our match would finish. He treats me respectable now, but he would learn the difference between acting respectable and truly, fully, respecting another man. There will be pain.This god brings damnation with him.
135 Miles An Hour. Flames shooting out from under the hood.
Wayne grimaced, his hand going to his side as he spits out a line of liquid red. The blood stains the ground where it hit and Wayne could only gain more respecr for Henry Spearman. He had taken a lot of spears in his time, but could only account for two that had more devastating effect, and both of those were delivered by the Rated ‘R’ Superstar nearly twelve years ago. He was certain it would be two more weeks before he stopped pissing blood.
Wayne Hammon turned his attention back to the crane and was almost impressed with the crane operator's skill. The giant crate never made a squeak, grind, not even an audible bump of any kind upon setting down onto the hard asphalt. This was pleasing to Wayne Hammon, for what was inside was a piece of world history. Although historicaly moreso for the United States than the rest of the world, the contents still had historical value.
Wayne Hammon walks up to the crate, his fingers exposing a single plastic security card from his pocket. He finds the security lockswipe and swipes the card through. The keypad lights up in russian and he promptly enters the first of a series of three passwords. the answers themselves had to be typed in the russian language itself, but Wayne Hammon was well versed in the russian language. Upon successfully entering the third password, a security box unlocks beside the doorway. Wayne opens the security box, showing an infra red hand scanning device where he places his left fist with his middle finger extended directly against the mapping grid, and presses the scan button. After about two seconds to scan, the hydraulic locks come undone, and the crate door swings open to the side.
Personaly, Wayne thought that the shipping company was going a little overboard on security, especially since someone could have always walked up with a torch and burned off the hinges, letting the door fall to it's demise. Cut the hinges, slide the door about an inch to one direction, let it fall, and have your own way with the contents. But alas, here was Freezer Burn, walking into the darkness of this metal crate with just himself and a set of keys.
Within moments, the rumbling of a low idle engine can be heard, backup lights fill the crate as the contents slowly backs out of the shipping container. The deep, glossy black paint reflects from the untouched waxing the vehicle had recieved just prior to going into the crate, as the 1949 series 63 Cadilac exposes itself once again to the light of the world. The 540 cubic inch flathead V-8 had a very unique low rumble to it, and had more than enough torque to drive the 6000 pound car around with ease.
Such cars were used by the KGB in the post world war 2 era, as well as hollywood film makers and presidents alike. This car was rounded beautifully and even in todays world, could easily be seen why they were so popular. Such vehicles once numbered upword close to a million, but Hollywood had destroyed most of them in their quest for making memorable movies for the masses. This car was one of just a few thousand left from that year, and quite possibly one of only a dozen with the big block flathead engine.
For the age, it ran like a dream. One would almost swear it came from the showroom floor, and even a few of the dockyard workers took a few moments to gaze at the marvel as it slowly drove away. Unlike todays cars, you could run over a fire hydrant with this car without destroying the vehicle. You would simply need to polish a few scratches out of the chrome bumper and all would look normal again.
Wayne Hammon was surprised at how comfortable this car was to drive. As he went through the rough streets, it seemed to float across each and every bump and pothole. Even as old as it is, most newer cars don't ride this smothly.
Wayne Hammon had no problems using the 'H' pattern shifting on the steering console, and the three speed transmission went from one gear into the next without any grinds or catches. This car truly is in as good a mechanical condition as the body was in gleaming splendor. The interior was thick, blackened leather, the dashboard was solid treated pine, and the stock AM radio was more than enough entertainment for a classic like this.
His thoughts went back again to Henry Spearman. A good, solid match in all. He made the critical error of trying to avoid the spear when he should have been using counter moves. So many against the spear. A floating ddt, a big boot, quick turn spinebuster, forward knee lunge, and even using the spear itself to counter the spear. I made the mistake of trying to be sporting to a generally good guy, and it cost me.
Bates is another such of those ‘generally good guys’, but the lesson had been learned. The giant would fall, the mountain would crumble into the sea, Not for any spite or malice, but because the man wanted to go through me and my friend on his ride to championship glory. Not on my time. Not this time. Not any time.
This car didn't accelerate hard, it was a smooth acceleration from first gear up into third. Getting to highway speeds in todays vehicles takes less than 8 seconds, even for the smallest engines in the efficiency vehicles. Sports cars reaching such speeds in only 3 or 4 seconds. Yet this cadilac took its time, it made it's statement getting to hiway speeds in almost 15 seconds. Yet the cadilac slowly kept accelerating, climbing from 65 on up to 90 where Wayne Hammon let off the gas and held that speed.
The low humming of the flathead big block engine was music to his ears. Knowing that something so crude in design would continue to outlast the freshest automobiles in the industry. An apt simile to himself and others in the industry as a whole. And as he drove the classic to the destination, he knew whole heartedly what needed to be done. Upon his destination, he would be prepared for this fight against a man eager to overlook me. His mistake in overlooking a legend. His mistake in overlooking a GOD. His mistake in looking past the AOD.
Watching Gemini was extremely funny to Wayne Hammon. Trying to exaggerate his little touch of insanity into more than it really is. Gemini sucked up his manhood from bottom to top and screamed like a little girl on impact. So amusing. The world needed more comedy, and Gemini was a comedic genius. So in love with pain, until something knocks you out or breaks a few major bones.
~POP~
The left fromt tire exploded which sent the classical car sideways, the remaining tires regained traction and the carbegan rotating, barrel rolling down the interstate. Vehicles from behind swerved to miss as the cadilac came to it's final resting place on the gravel shoulder. The engine was still running, despite the sudden barrel rolling, and not a single vehicle stopped to ask if everything was allright. The car itself was pretty banged up, all the side windows shattered as half of the windshield looked untouched.
Wayne Hammon gets out of the vehicle, bloodied and sore as hell as he makes his way around to the back of the car where he proceeds to remove the spare tire from the trunk. Within a few moments, the exploded tire is no more, and the car has four standing tires once again. He places the rim from the exploded tire back where the spare itself came from, and without a single word, crawls back into the vehicle, using the gravel shoulder to get back up to speed before merging onto the interstate once again.
Once on the interstate again, there was a slight shimmy in the steering, but the vehicle as a wholes till ran smoothly. Reaching down, Wayne Hammon clicked on the AM radio, where 'Metallical' plays their version of Turn The Page' on the airwaves.
The temperature gauge slowly climbed and the oil pressure slowly dropped as the 3 ton automobile climbed in speeds past 80. Wayne’s thoughts inevitably went back to recent events. Adam Young once again trying to be more than he can be. The stupid hillbilly needs to divorce Myra before the police arrest his happy ass for marrying his own sister. This would free Myra up for some real man time, me, instead of some unoriginal punk hillbilly nazi faggot whose only living brain cell is geared on frontal assault without a single thought on strategy, defense, skill .. hell, HillBilly Adam Young couldn’t even pass gas without trying to think the process through.
90 mile an hour and his thoughts kept running unchecked. ‘We’ve got experience on our side.’ Yeah, that’s what Gemini said. I’ve got over thirty years in the industry, and I’m supposed to be impressed with his almighty two years of tag experience. Thiis man is a warrior and general without doubt, but really? Two years compared to thirty? And he has the experience?
105 mile an hour. The steering wheel visibly vibrating now in his hand, the makeshift air conditioning allowing the air to cool against his skin. A rattle in his lungs forced him to spit out more blood through the side window and onto a car in the nearby lane. Fuck em. It’s just a little blood. Adam. Fucking Adam. Him and the empire fell at the hands of Night Rider and Freeze. Adam and Psycho Dragon fell next in line. Now he has some lollipop sucker for a tag partner, and that it’s somehow supposed to change the fact that Adam Young Has Not And Can Not Now Or Ever Get A Win Against Any Member Of The AOD.
115 miles an hour. The oil pressure gauge drops to zero and the first, faint whisps of smoke come out from under the hood. With a grin, Freezer Burn Wayne Hammon floors the pedal. Baptism by fire. That’s what Gemini needed. Bates was just in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong goals. The big man would know pain. He would know lots of it before our match would finish. He treats me respectable now, but he would learn the difference between acting respectable and truly, fully, respecting another man. There will be pain.This god brings damnation with him.
135 Miles An Hour. Flames shooting out from under the hood.
