Thomas Bates: Continental Breakfast Champion LOL
Oct 13, 2016 0:25:07 GMT -5
Corey Black, Joey Flash, and 5 more like this
Post by Zombie DankMorris on Oct 13, 2016 0:25:07 GMT -5
WCF
RP1
ZMAC
vs
Thomas Bates
__________________________
Scene One: Continental Breakfast Champion
There is an age old saying in Wrestling Championship Federation. ‘ You never know which ZMAC you’re going to get.’ Yah, I’m sure that’s true. One week you can get ol’ Z that’s on the comedy pitch; doin’ shit for the laughs and playing up the lighthearted nature of whats going on. However, on the other hand, you can get that ZMAC that’s going to sink into some level of Coked Up Madness in ways that are deeper and more fluent in emotional psychology that draws upon the life that I have lead, one that has deeper meaning than that of our esteemed *former world champion; Thomas Bates. Simply put, Thomas Bates is no where near the creative mind of yours truly nor does he has such a venomous bite. Even those Zero Entertainment boys think that they can get one up on ol’ Z when the world at large knows that the real Zombie McMorris, the man that’s killed nearly twenty careers has yet to show up and dump them on their collective brain cases. But this isn’t about them, its about Thomas Bates, it is about Pantheon and it is about Zombie McMorris -> #Re/animated.
Bonnie Blue was lost in a rising sea of her own ecstasy. she was on her stomach laying nek’id in our hotel bed. Her breathing was slow and deep. And slow, and deep. In -> then out. Out -> then in. Full chest rise -> breasts heaving with orgasmic oxygen anticipation -> then exhaling with orgasmic elation because even when the air has left her lungs, it was like the very first time -> everytime -> all the time. As she lays across the bed, solo’ing the essence of life, I was bumping rails of cocaine and powdered Ajax cleaner off of her quarter bouncing cheeks. I would shake the hair from my face on each pass, snorting from left to right -> from south poon -> to snout. The scars on my chest would dance off the flashing light of the television was playing re-runs of Threes Company -> Come and knock on my door -> I’ve been waiting for you. Yes Mr. Dylan, you can come in. I’ve been waiting for you. Tell me -> what is Heaven like, a light so beautiful, a light that I may never see. Will it be a beautiful as where I am at right now, with this angel by my feet -> on my bed -> showing me such sweet and beautiful signs. No Mr. Dylan, I may never see such sights but the lights look just as bright from where I stand.
This is where I connect to you -> directly to you -> all of you. All of you within earshot -> striking distance -> the most intimate of embraces -> and everything in-between. This is where I connect to you, Thomas Bates. You are a simple man; I know that you are. I know that you can relate to the truths in this life -> as shallow as your understanding may be. For I can tell you truthfully that you will never be as far away from an instance in your life than the moment right after that instance has left. Me -> I -> I have many of those -> too many to count. So you may ask yourself why I do the things that I do or say the things that I say -> Why does Zombie McMorris live on the fringe on societal values. Why does Zombie McMorris live such a stark contrast compared to you Thomas Bates. Well, to you Thomas, the answer is simple -> only one of us has truly lived while only one of us will truly die.
I have lived thousands of life times -> You were born
I have snorted various substances off the back end of many women -> Your daddy fed you with a slotted spoon.
I am a testament to the living enigma that is the human condition -> You shut your mouth, did what you were told and went to school.
I am the creator and sculptor of the world around me -> You merely studied it.
I ramble and roll throughout the world at large -> You bum around in Saint Nowhere, Ala-fuckin’-Bama.
So my question to you -> how do you expect to get to heaven if you cant even see the highway from your one street lamp town? It is a funny thing, that Saint Nowhere, Alabama. Only that one street light and its always red. Always ->STOP->never go -> never green->And the world is suppose to take you as a champion? Born in Alabama -> raised->schooled -> worked -> lived -> every fiber of your being is in-> ALA-FUCKING-BAMA.
Bates. You are a simple man. That is why I live in such contrast to you and do the things that I do. What is a straight line compared to a circle except an everlasting paragon -> one this is wholly misunderstood by the circle.
See Bates, a person who has lived, truly lived -> can see the pain and expression that I face even now while I snort chemical dystopia and absorb microscopic chaos into my blood stream. I can never die, Thomas Bates. I can never know the restless tranquility of the unknown -> a joyous pain that I can never feel with all the drugs, sex and female companionship in the world -> trust me, I’ve given it full attention and practice. Truthfully, that is sad. I weep at times because I will never join those that I have loved throughout my thousands of lifetimes.
However, what is even worse is that you, Thomas Bates, will never live. Alas, I do not weep for you, o’ former champion of the #never_experienced_the_world. Thomas Bates, World Champion in his parents eyes, Co-owner of a four walls and a roof. Co-owner of the corner of sadness and regret. A local boy-> a local hero->making good like cookies on a Friday night.
But you tell me how you’ve ‘been all over the world.’ You’ve been all over the world in the same way that you’ve stepped foot into every room in a strangers house. That is all the world will ever be to you -> various rooms in a strangers house.
Boy, Thomas Bates -> and I will emphasize boy -> I am sure your responses and replies will be golden.
[ @ Thomas_Bates_Underscore_Boi_Lover
“ ZMAC, I’ve been world champion. Wheres your world title?”
“ ZMAC, you are the weakest member of Pantheon.”
“ZMAC, I’ve been all over the world because my family is a wrestling dynasty”
“ZMAC ( LOL You repetitious mother fucker), I’m the leader of the DRG and the of the locker room ( LOL again, you honestly think that shit?)”
“ ZMAC, I have in fact been all over the world. Mexico, Japan, Germany, England, Hawaii.. the list goes on and on ( LOL Hawaii is in the United States, fool. )”
“ ZMAC, you consistently show that you have no idea what you’re talking about. I have records in a book, world records, hence proving why I have been all over the world” ]
Sea, Bates, eating an inter-continental breakfast at a waffle house doesn’t make you a world traveler. Staying at a resort /backslash casino -> a world traveler do not make.
Playing army does not make you army. Practicing fencing does not prepare you for one on one armed combat on a field soaked in blood as men -> grown men -> real men groan and cry and beg for life, God, mother and country as a sword borrows and digs its ways through their gut to bring them a swift and unsatisfactory end to their short lives. Just because know how to swim and suck dick does not make you a sailor or a captain in the Queens navy.
Face it, Bates, you are the Millennial poster child. You are what is wrong with this country and honestly, with this world. You have gone nowhere -> done nothing-> see nothing -> and have faced zero in the way of true opposition or oppression.
Thomas Uriel Bates
Date of Birth: Oct. 26, 1983
Ethnicity: White Devil
Education: Southern Revisionist
Parents: Bother Paternal and Material
Siblings: Questionable at best
[@ Thomas_Bates_Underscore_Boi_Lover
“ ZMAC, I know martial arts from all over the world. I’m highly proficient in no less than 6 fighting styles” ]
LOL -> If you say so. This dude means to tell me that at a meer thirty years on this planet he has at the very least decent in six styles of fighting that take people an entire life time to master -> even before they knew how to piss in a pot.
World Fuckin’ Traveler
Print it- > Money. Throw that shit on a T-Shart ( cuz your life is tragic art am I’m going to sell it). Ala-Fuckin’- Bama
Whoa, watch out world, this scrub has been to both the west, north and east side of town. A whole four blocks -> one stop light -> a post office-> and a half black/Chinese man that counts for the towns entire diverse population ( and they still think that they got an immigrant problem.)
LOL You seem to have gotten yourself a case ‘of them invaders’ it looks like. Damn shame, it must look like a lot from where you’re standing cuz where I’m at, I got Chemical Romance committing cellular holocaust off the perfectly shaped rump N bump of this here blond hair beauty.
And you know who I mean when I say the word ‘Invaders.’ You know that I mean Flash, 6G, Rabid, Godnilla and Sanchez. They are invaders because they make you afraid because they don’t bow down your little safe space where even being six foot fucking nine does not make you a fucking GAWD -> but you want it to be -> but LOL go fuck yourself -> because you aint shit.
That’s why they be invaders but them Juggalo FGTS are just good ol’ country boys with the farmers strength. Because they might praise you or even just not have a publicity whiffed bad word against you.
But am I an ‘Invader’, Thomas; have I come to destroy the sanctity of WCF that you have in your mind of WCF? Yes, yes I am. Because the safe space in your head calls you a champion and world traveler when this time last year you were LOL midcard Thomas Bates -> tryin to sniff and snuff his way into any title card picture like this was that waffle house breakfast trip.
To which, Thomas, you only got what you got in the Dub because Seth gambled away some of the higher priced contracts.
You were not one of them.
Nor am I but unlike you, I don’t pretend to be. Do you wana know what I get paid? Two hundred dollars a week, flat rate -> PPVs and everything. Except when I’m a champion -> Extra triple cheddah in my pocket.
I am the lowest paid talent on the roster -> in history -> but the difference ->is-> that I -> made history with my talent. I unlike you do not have to wait for superior talent to leave so that you can sneak in with a yawn inspired ‘ LOL is this niggah still a face in the Dub? Yup.’
Yet, tell me again, World Champion that’s traveled no where how you are a superior wrestler than I. Tell me how being six foot fucking nine and four hundred pounds of waffle house gravy entitles you to these things and I’ll tell you that fat chicks are not always the best fucks in the world.
You are fat, ugly, slow, been nowhere and have done nothing. You ride around on a motor cycle because it is a phallic symbol of your lost manhood that you are trying to control, as you attempt to lead lesser men in hopes that you can upgrade your beta male status.
Wait, was that a run on thought, a run on sentence? Fuck! Its just like your career, where is the punctuation, the emphasis -> the dot at the end of long, long road of your systemic failure.
Now tell me that it is not your fault, that the failures of Thomas Bates are not inherit to the problematic failures of Thomas Bates, Human animal and continental breakfast machine -> but that Thomas Bates can trace the very, very beginning of his failures to them ‘invaders.’ I can point in any old direction because the direction don’t matter. Pantheon is everywhere because your failure is everywhere that that ultimate success is just and always be out of fucking reach -> like the last drop in the syrup bottle that just aint got nothing else in it to give ya.
Please though -> by all means, respond ->rebuke -> tell me, mother fucker -> how you inspired this promo -> how you were both the causation and effect on my chilling in this hotel room with my girl Bonnie Blue, snortin the blow. I mean, after all, you are good at that. Go through these mental musing and nitpick; reflect on this verbal savagery.
#I’ll_Wait_LOL
Truth be told -> since I’m shootin and rifflin down fat men at waffle houses -> allow me to run you through ( because you have no fucking choice LOL).
Your career is a sham, it’s a microcosm of the very worst of your very best. The very best that you can do is wait until another unforetold calamity to transpire so that you can pounce on the situation like a powdered pancake surprise.
And so you did -> and what happened -> Corey Black LOL!
Now here you are, you got the chance to get your title back but first you gots to run through Zombie McMorris who -> in case your mind shut the fuck down back into your safe space -> I’ve been wrecking you from start to fucking finished ( and we aren’t even fucking finished yet ->trust me).
Trust me.
Trust me Bates, we aint done by a long shot and you winning this match is going to be a long shot, and a needed one at that. You need to beat me, Thomas. You need defeat me at Slam if you want any sort of momentum going into the Pay Per View. I’ll tell you what happens though , if’n you want a spoiler -
- and I know that you do.
You, Thomas Bates, are going to lose. Not only are you going to lose, you are going to get beaten and shamed and lambasted because this right here -> all of this isn’t because of anything that you did -> no, this is that Nightmare Fuel. This is that Dennys trip rippin’ through my veins. Then it is going to rip through you.
Tell you one thing, I’m going to curb stomp a mountain. I am going to crumble your own self-made legend into the dust that is built up over the years of your successive failures. Failed leader of DRG, failed TV champion, failed World Champion – failed world traveler.
… …. …. I am taken back to my immortal reality with the coo’ing of my muse and galactic angel, Bonnie Blue.
“ZMAC, baby?” She says coming down from her orgasmic high, arching her back, turning to look back at me. “What time is it?”
“Seven in the morn’in, babe.” I reply, snorting one last rail of coke off her ass.
“I’m hungry, let’s get some food. I know that you don’t need to eat, Southpaw but this girl needs something.” She runs her fingers through her hair before turning over on her back. “Put your tongue back in your mouth, Southpaw and lets go get a bagel.”
I lick my lips before biting the bottom one and exhaling with a reply. “Yah, Babe; we can do that.” I look off into no discernible direction but somehow to connects right with you( Bates) and your soul. “They do have continental breakfast.”
Bonnie sighs with delight and longing love of the awaiting prospect of continental breakfast. She rolls off the bed, finding her panties and shimmying them up her body before throwing my leather jacket on her bare and covering her breasts. “Let’s go, Southpaw.” She says with a smirk as she shoots me with a finger gun. “Bang!”
:: Flash cut to the downstairs of the hotel ::
More ‘appropriately dressed’ AKA Bonnie skinny jeans, undershirt and my leather jacket. We walk past the front desk of the hotel and bonnie catches a glimpse of an interesting photo on the wall.
“Oh, Southpaw, look at this.” Says Bonnie cuddling in under my left arm. “Doesn’t he look familiar?”
“Well, Babe, looks like there is about to be a new champion of the Continental breakfast.” We walk up to the dining hall and are approached by a staff member.
“Two for the continental breakfast?” Quizes the hostess.
“Two.” Reply’s Bonnie, smooshing her finger into my cheek.
“I’ll have what he’s having.” I say, pointing back to the picture on the wall.
The staff member shows us to a table and seats us towards the back of the room near the windows of the room.
“Can I get you something to drink; perhaps a mimosa or a poinsettia?”
“MHMM.” Smiles Bonnie with glee. “ Sounds great.” She gestures for two but looks over to me with wavering confidence, nervous to see my rejection of champagne cocktails but that fear of rejection was greeted with a nod and crooked smile. She lets out a ‘Squee’ as she hops up and down in her chair briefly. The staffer leaves as Bonnie leans in and holds on my hand on the table top. “You just made my day, I would have thought that you’d say no. A big strong man like you drinking fruit juice and champagne.”
“I’d drink anything with booze in it. I’d drink a gallon of bleach if you dashed in some bitters or a yeast packet. Hell, I’ve just drank bleach before.” I shrug off the bleach comment as such cleaners do nothing for my high anymore. “Besides..” I continued. “Cranberry juice is my favorite.”
“Oh, I didn’t know that.” Says Bonnie with pleasant surprise.
“Of course you didn’t.” I reply before turning to no discernible direction and looking right into your soul ( LOLBates, you FGT). “It’s called character development.”
“ Well I’m glad I’m here with you to enjoy it. Poinsettias are the best!” She says as she clasps her hands together with my right hand in-between and gives me a warm smile ( And yes, Bates, Poinsettias are the best; that is fact. LOL I’d love to see you rebuke that in your dripple 1 for 1 rehash of this. LOL FGT). “- And I’m glad that I stayed with you after you dropped Omega off at Planet Deplorable. I really enjoyed my night.. clearly.”
“Maybe you’ll hand around a little longer this time.”
“ I’ll think about it, Southpaw.”
The stagger comes with our drinks and sets them down in front of us.
“OK! Well, there you go. If you need anything just let any of us know and feel free to help yourselves to breakfast. Eat as much as you’d like and stay as long as you want; breakfast ends at ten thirty.” The staffer leaves us but Bonnies gaze doesn’t leave mine. As the staffer walks away, a large man enters the room from the background.
“MY, MY! Wow! WOOO! Look at all these delectable treats.” The man is double, if not triple wide and thick like a hickory stump( Not THICK like yours truly). He stands nears seven foot tall. ( LOL is dis chu, Bates; tryin’ to kum up in here and take dat hawt continental breakfast fo’ yourself? Oh I bet it is but *wink wink* its not ). This fat sloth of a mountain piles on the Danish, the scrambled eggs, the FREEDOM TOAST and the maple bathed sausage; meaty links seemed to be his preferred breakfast o’ champions ( LOL But you aint one, son. Scroll the fuck back up and re-read that shit. I killed you).
“ Guess he’s hungry, huh?” Bonnie splits her gaze between me and the side show breakfast faggotry. The man, the mountain, stands right there at the buffet table like the moon blotting out the sun; stuffing his neck beard gullet with smoked meats and avian ovarian discharge mixed with separated bovine lactation ( Read: scrambled eggs and cheese, because Bates is a fucking idiot).
“ Thomas Bates. Champion of the free breakfast and bagged lunches. This is his career now that Pantheon has reformed and taken back WCF from the festering neck boil that was the Family and the DRG. I hope he enjoys that free breakfast while he can because Sunday Night, Zombie McMorris is putting this obese fuck out of his cotton pick’in misery ( LOL intentional slave joke because Thomas Bates is owned by Pantheon). I mean like you know he fantasizes about having a three way with Mrs. Butterworth and his wife.”
“Do you think he’s married, I’d hope not; for her sake.”
“At this point, it doesn’t even matter. The career of Thomas Bates is now officaly in the former because his career rests and rides on the shoulders of Zombie McMorris and I know that scares the shit out of him. When he losses to me on Sunday he’ll have nothing going into the Pay Per View except an empty stomach and my boot print in his chest.” I lift my head up and yell towards the big man( Still not technically you, Bates; you fuckin pleb). “Fight me Faggot!” The mountain of a man looks up and growls.
“Southpaw, don’t.” Bonnie pleads with me as I get up to confront the very large champion of the continental breakfast knowing that I have nothing to lose and everything to gain, including a slice of cantaloupe at the end. The same cannot be said for Thomas Bates who I heard through reliable sources ( great sources, very reliable), that Thomas Bates don’t even like cantaloupe but he will like the clinic of an ass whooping I’m going to put on him this week as Pantheon rolls into Helloween as the most dominant force in WCF.
Deuces Bitch!
RP1
ZMAC
vs
Thomas Bates
__________________________
Scene One: Continental Breakfast Champion
There is an age old saying in Wrestling Championship Federation. ‘ You never know which ZMAC you’re going to get.’ Yah, I’m sure that’s true. One week you can get ol’ Z that’s on the comedy pitch; doin’ shit for the laughs and playing up the lighthearted nature of whats going on. However, on the other hand, you can get that ZMAC that’s going to sink into some level of Coked Up Madness in ways that are deeper and more fluent in emotional psychology that draws upon the life that I have lead, one that has deeper meaning than that of our esteemed *former world champion; Thomas Bates. Simply put, Thomas Bates is no where near the creative mind of yours truly nor does he has such a venomous bite. Even those Zero Entertainment boys think that they can get one up on ol’ Z when the world at large knows that the real Zombie McMorris, the man that’s killed nearly twenty careers has yet to show up and dump them on their collective brain cases. But this isn’t about them, its about Thomas Bates, it is about Pantheon and it is about Zombie McMorris -> #Re/animated.
Bonnie Blue was lost in a rising sea of her own ecstasy. she was on her stomach laying nek’id in our hotel bed. Her breathing was slow and deep. And slow, and deep. In -> then out. Out -> then in. Full chest rise -> breasts heaving with orgasmic oxygen anticipation -> then exhaling with orgasmic elation because even when the air has left her lungs, it was like the very first time -> everytime -> all the time. As she lays across the bed, solo’ing the essence of life, I was bumping rails of cocaine and powdered Ajax cleaner off of her quarter bouncing cheeks. I would shake the hair from my face on each pass, snorting from left to right -> from south poon -> to snout. The scars on my chest would dance off the flashing light of the television was playing re-runs of Threes Company -> Come and knock on my door -> I’ve been waiting for you. Yes Mr. Dylan, you can come in. I’ve been waiting for you. Tell me -> what is Heaven like, a light so beautiful, a light that I may never see. Will it be a beautiful as where I am at right now, with this angel by my feet -> on my bed -> showing me such sweet and beautiful signs. No Mr. Dylan, I may never see such sights but the lights look just as bright from where I stand.
This is where I connect to you -> directly to you -> all of you. All of you within earshot -> striking distance -> the most intimate of embraces -> and everything in-between. This is where I connect to you, Thomas Bates. You are a simple man; I know that you are. I know that you can relate to the truths in this life -> as shallow as your understanding may be. For I can tell you truthfully that you will never be as far away from an instance in your life than the moment right after that instance has left. Me -> I -> I have many of those -> too many to count. So you may ask yourself why I do the things that I do or say the things that I say -> Why does Zombie McMorris live on the fringe on societal values. Why does Zombie McMorris live such a stark contrast compared to you Thomas Bates. Well, to you Thomas, the answer is simple -> only one of us has truly lived while only one of us will truly die.
I have lived thousands of life times -> You were born
I have snorted various substances off the back end of many women -> Your daddy fed you with a slotted spoon.
I am a testament to the living enigma that is the human condition -> You shut your mouth, did what you were told and went to school.
I am the creator and sculptor of the world around me -> You merely studied it.
I ramble and roll throughout the world at large -> You bum around in Saint Nowhere, Ala-fuckin’-Bama.
So my question to you -> how do you expect to get to heaven if you cant even see the highway from your one street lamp town? It is a funny thing, that Saint Nowhere, Alabama. Only that one street light and its always red. Always ->STOP->never go -> never green->And the world is suppose to take you as a champion? Born in Alabama -> raised->schooled -> worked -> lived -> every fiber of your being is in-> ALA-FUCKING-BAMA.
Bates. You are a simple man. That is why I live in such contrast to you and do the things that I do. What is a straight line compared to a circle except an everlasting paragon -> one this is wholly misunderstood by the circle.
See Bates, a person who has lived, truly lived -> can see the pain and expression that I face even now while I snort chemical dystopia and absorb microscopic chaos into my blood stream. I can never die, Thomas Bates. I can never know the restless tranquility of the unknown -> a joyous pain that I can never feel with all the drugs, sex and female companionship in the world -> trust me, I’ve given it full attention and practice. Truthfully, that is sad. I weep at times because I will never join those that I have loved throughout my thousands of lifetimes.
However, what is even worse is that you, Thomas Bates, will never live. Alas, I do not weep for you, o’ former champion of the #never_experienced_the_world. Thomas Bates, World Champion in his parents eyes, Co-owner of a four walls and a roof. Co-owner of the corner of sadness and regret. A local boy-> a local hero->making good like cookies on a Friday night.
But you tell me how you’ve ‘been all over the world.’ You’ve been all over the world in the same way that you’ve stepped foot into every room in a strangers house. That is all the world will ever be to you -> various rooms in a strangers house.
Boy, Thomas Bates -> and I will emphasize boy -> I am sure your responses and replies will be golden.
[ @ Thomas_Bates_Underscore_Boi_Lover
“ ZMAC, I’ve been world champion. Wheres your world title?”
“ ZMAC, you are the weakest member of Pantheon.”
“ZMAC, I’ve been all over the world because my family is a wrestling dynasty”
“ZMAC ( LOL You repetitious mother fucker), I’m the leader of the DRG and the of the locker room ( LOL again, you honestly think that shit?)”
“ ZMAC, I have in fact been all over the world. Mexico, Japan, Germany, England, Hawaii.. the list goes on and on ( LOL Hawaii is in the United States, fool. )”
“ ZMAC, you consistently show that you have no idea what you’re talking about. I have records in a book, world records, hence proving why I have been all over the world” ]
Sea, Bates, eating an inter-continental breakfast at a waffle house doesn’t make you a world traveler. Staying at a resort /backslash casino -> a world traveler do not make.
Playing army does not make you army. Practicing fencing does not prepare you for one on one armed combat on a field soaked in blood as men -> grown men -> real men groan and cry and beg for life, God, mother and country as a sword borrows and digs its ways through their gut to bring them a swift and unsatisfactory end to their short lives. Just because know how to swim and suck dick does not make you a sailor or a captain in the Queens navy.
Face it, Bates, you are the Millennial poster child. You are what is wrong with this country and honestly, with this world. You have gone nowhere -> done nothing-> see nothing -> and have faced zero in the way of true opposition or oppression.
Thomas Uriel Bates
Date of Birth: Oct. 26, 1983
Ethnicity: White Devil
Education: Southern Revisionist
Parents: Bother Paternal and Material
Siblings: Questionable at best
[@ Thomas_Bates_Underscore_Boi_Lover
“ ZMAC, I know martial arts from all over the world. I’m highly proficient in no less than 6 fighting styles” ]
LOL -> If you say so. This dude means to tell me that at a meer thirty years on this planet he has at the very least decent in six styles of fighting that take people an entire life time to master -> even before they knew how to piss in a pot.
World Fuckin’ Traveler
Print it- > Money. Throw that shit on a T-Shart ( cuz your life is tragic art am I’m going to sell it). Ala-Fuckin’- Bama
Whoa, watch out world, this scrub has been to both the west, north and east side of town. A whole four blocks -> one stop light -> a post office-> and a half black/Chinese man that counts for the towns entire diverse population ( and they still think that they got an immigrant problem.)
LOL You seem to have gotten yourself a case ‘of them invaders’ it looks like. Damn shame, it must look like a lot from where you’re standing cuz where I’m at, I got Chemical Romance committing cellular holocaust off the perfectly shaped rump N bump of this here blond hair beauty.
And you know who I mean when I say the word ‘Invaders.’ You know that I mean Flash, 6G, Rabid, Godnilla and Sanchez. They are invaders because they make you afraid because they don’t bow down your little safe space where even being six foot fucking nine does not make you a fucking GAWD -> but you want it to be -> but LOL go fuck yourself -> because you aint shit.
That’s why they be invaders but them Juggalo FGTS are just good ol’ country boys with the farmers strength. Because they might praise you or even just not have a publicity whiffed bad word against you.
But am I an ‘Invader’, Thomas; have I come to destroy the sanctity of WCF that you have in your mind of WCF? Yes, yes I am. Because the safe space in your head calls you a champion and world traveler when this time last year you were LOL midcard Thomas Bates -> tryin to sniff and snuff his way into any title card picture like this was that waffle house breakfast trip.
To which, Thomas, you only got what you got in the Dub because Seth gambled away some of the higher priced contracts.
You were not one of them.
Nor am I but unlike you, I don’t pretend to be. Do you wana know what I get paid? Two hundred dollars a week, flat rate -> PPVs and everything. Except when I’m a champion -> Extra triple cheddah in my pocket.
I am the lowest paid talent on the roster -> in history -> but the difference ->is-> that I -> made history with my talent. I unlike you do not have to wait for superior talent to leave so that you can sneak in with a yawn inspired ‘ LOL is this niggah still a face in the Dub? Yup.’
Yet, tell me again, World Champion that’s traveled no where how you are a superior wrestler than I. Tell me how being six foot fucking nine and four hundred pounds of waffle house gravy entitles you to these things and I’ll tell you that fat chicks are not always the best fucks in the world.
You are fat, ugly, slow, been nowhere and have done nothing. You ride around on a motor cycle because it is a phallic symbol of your lost manhood that you are trying to control, as you attempt to lead lesser men in hopes that you can upgrade your beta male status.
Wait, was that a run on thought, a run on sentence? Fuck! Its just like your career, where is the punctuation, the emphasis -> the dot at the end of long, long road of your systemic failure.
Now tell me that it is not your fault, that the failures of Thomas Bates are not inherit to the problematic failures of Thomas Bates, Human animal and continental breakfast machine -> but that Thomas Bates can trace the very, very beginning of his failures to them ‘invaders.’ I can point in any old direction because the direction don’t matter. Pantheon is everywhere because your failure is everywhere that that ultimate success is just and always be out of fucking reach -> like the last drop in the syrup bottle that just aint got nothing else in it to give ya.
Please though -> by all means, respond ->rebuke -> tell me, mother fucker -> how you inspired this promo -> how you were both the causation and effect on my chilling in this hotel room with my girl Bonnie Blue, snortin the blow. I mean, after all, you are good at that. Go through these mental musing and nitpick; reflect on this verbal savagery.
#I’ll_Wait_LOL
Truth be told -> since I’m shootin and rifflin down fat men at waffle houses -> allow me to run you through ( because you have no fucking choice LOL).
Your career is a sham, it’s a microcosm of the very worst of your very best. The very best that you can do is wait until another unforetold calamity to transpire so that you can pounce on the situation like a powdered pancake surprise.
And so you did -> and what happened -> Corey Black LOL!
Now here you are, you got the chance to get your title back but first you gots to run through Zombie McMorris who -> in case your mind shut the fuck down back into your safe space -> I’ve been wrecking you from start to fucking finished ( and we aren’t even fucking finished yet ->trust me).
Trust me.
Trust me Bates, we aint done by a long shot and you winning this match is going to be a long shot, and a needed one at that. You need to beat me, Thomas. You need defeat me at Slam if you want any sort of momentum going into the Pay Per View. I’ll tell you what happens though , if’n you want a spoiler -
- and I know that you do.
You, Thomas Bates, are going to lose. Not only are you going to lose, you are going to get beaten and shamed and lambasted because this right here -> all of this isn’t because of anything that you did -> no, this is that Nightmare Fuel. This is that Dennys trip rippin’ through my veins. Then it is going to rip through you.
Tell you one thing, I’m going to curb stomp a mountain. I am going to crumble your own self-made legend into the dust that is built up over the years of your successive failures. Failed leader of DRG, failed TV champion, failed World Champion – failed world traveler.
… …. …. I am taken back to my immortal reality with the coo’ing of my muse and galactic angel, Bonnie Blue.
“ZMAC, baby?” She says coming down from her orgasmic high, arching her back, turning to look back at me. “What time is it?”
“Seven in the morn’in, babe.” I reply, snorting one last rail of coke off her ass.
“I’m hungry, let’s get some food. I know that you don’t need to eat, Southpaw but this girl needs something.” She runs her fingers through her hair before turning over on her back. “Put your tongue back in your mouth, Southpaw and lets go get a bagel.”
I lick my lips before biting the bottom one and exhaling with a reply. “Yah, Babe; we can do that.” I look off into no discernible direction but somehow to connects right with you( Bates) and your soul. “They do have continental breakfast.”
Bonnie sighs with delight and longing love of the awaiting prospect of continental breakfast. She rolls off the bed, finding her panties and shimmying them up her body before throwing my leather jacket on her bare and covering her breasts. “Let’s go, Southpaw.” She says with a smirk as she shoots me with a finger gun. “Bang!”
:: Flash cut to the downstairs of the hotel ::
More ‘appropriately dressed’ AKA Bonnie skinny jeans, undershirt and my leather jacket. We walk past the front desk of the hotel and bonnie catches a glimpse of an interesting photo on the wall.
“Oh, Southpaw, look at this.” Says Bonnie cuddling in under my left arm. “Doesn’t he look familiar?”
“Well, Babe, looks like there is about to be a new champion of the Continental breakfast.” We walk up to the dining hall and are approached by a staff member.
“Two for the continental breakfast?” Quizes the hostess.
“Two.” Reply’s Bonnie, smooshing her finger into my cheek.
“I’ll have what he’s having.” I say, pointing back to the picture on the wall.
The staff member shows us to a table and seats us towards the back of the room near the windows of the room.
“Can I get you something to drink; perhaps a mimosa or a poinsettia?”
“MHMM.” Smiles Bonnie with glee. “ Sounds great.” She gestures for two but looks over to me with wavering confidence, nervous to see my rejection of champagne cocktails but that fear of rejection was greeted with a nod and crooked smile. She lets out a ‘Squee’ as she hops up and down in her chair briefly. The staffer leaves as Bonnie leans in and holds on my hand on the table top. “You just made my day, I would have thought that you’d say no. A big strong man like you drinking fruit juice and champagne.”
“I’d drink anything with booze in it. I’d drink a gallon of bleach if you dashed in some bitters or a yeast packet. Hell, I’ve just drank bleach before.” I shrug off the bleach comment as such cleaners do nothing for my high anymore. “Besides..” I continued. “Cranberry juice is my favorite.”
“Oh, I didn’t know that.” Says Bonnie with pleasant surprise.
“Of course you didn’t.” I reply before turning to no discernible direction and looking right into your soul ( LOLBates, you FGT). “It’s called character development.”
“ Well I’m glad I’m here with you to enjoy it. Poinsettias are the best!” She says as she clasps her hands together with my right hand in-between and gives me a warm smile ( And yes, Bates, Poinsettias are the best; that is fact. LOL I’d love to see you rebuke that in your dripple 1 for 1 rehash of this. LOL FGT). “- And I’m glad that I stayed with you after you dropped Omega off at Planet Deplorable. I really enjoyed my night.. clearly.”
“Maybe you’ll hand around a little longer this time.”
“ I’ll think about it, Southpaw.”
The stagger comes with our drinks and sets them down in front of us.
“OK! Well, there you go. If you need anything just let any of us know and feel free to help yourselves to breakfast. Eat as much as you’d like and stay as long as you want; breakfast ends at ten thirty.” The staffer leaves us but Bonnies gaze doesn’t leave mine. As the staffer walks away, a large man enters the room from the background.
“MY, MY! Wow! WOOO! Look at all these delectable treats.” The man is double, if not triple wide and thick like a hickory stump( Not THICK like yours truly). He stands nears seven foot tall. ( LOL is dis chu, Bates; tryin’ to kum up in here and take dat hawt continental breakfast fo’ yourself? Oh I bet it is but *wink wink* its not ). This fat sloth of a mountain piles on the Danish, the scrambled eggs, the FREEDOM TOAST and the maple bathed sausage; meaty links seemed to be his preferred breakfast o’ champions ( LOL But you aint one, son. Scroll the fuck back up and re-read that shit. I killed you).
“ Guess he’s hungry, huh?” Bonnie splits her gaze between me and the side show breakfast faggotry. The man, the mountain, stands right there at the buffet table like the moon blotting out the sun; stuffing his neck beard gullet with smoked meats and avian ovarian discharge mixed with separated bovine lactation ( Read: scrambled eggs and cheese, because Bates is a fucking idiot).
“ Thomas Bates. Champion of the free breakfast and bagged lunches. This is his career now that Pantheon has reformed and taken back WCF from the festering neck boil that was the Family and the DRG. I hope he enjoys that free breakfast while he can because Sunday Night, Zombie McMorris is putting this obese fuck out of his cotton pick’in misery ( LOL intentional slave joke because Thomas Bates is owned by Pantheon). I mean like you know he fantasizes about having a three way with Mrs. Butterworth and his wife.”
“Do you think he’s married, I’d hope not; for her sake.”
“At this point, it doesn’t even matter. The career of Thomas Bates is now officaly in the former because his career rests and rides on the shoulders of Zombie McMorris and I know that scares the shit out of him. When he losses to me on Sunday he’ll have nothing going into the Pay Per View except an empty stomach and my boot print in his chest.” I lift my head up and yell towards the big man( Still not technically you, Bates; you fuckin pleb). “Fight me Faggot!” The mountain of a man looks up and growls.
“Southpaw, don’t.” Bonnie pleads with me as I get up to confront the very large champion of the continental breakfast knowing that I have nothing to lose and everything to gain, including a slice of cantaloupe at the end. The same cannot be said for Thomas Bates who I heard through reliable sources ( great sources, very reliable), that Thomas Bates don’t even like cantaloupe but he will like the clinic of an ass whooping I’m going to put on him this week as Pantheon rolls into Helloween as the most dominant force in WCF.
Deuces Bitch!
