Post by Scott Slayer on Dec 9, 2018 22:22:38 GMT -5
Scott Slayer is walking through the curtain from his match at Payback. He’s waking around depressed and dissatisfied. Hank walks up to him with a face mask on after Scott broke his jaw last week.
Hank: I’m extremely sorry for asking you at this time, but-
Scott: Shut the fuck up talking to me.
Hank: I’m sorry it’s just that everyone wants answers on what happened.
Scott: I lost. What else do you want me to say? Do you want me to celebrate? To go out and say that this was an accomplishment? Yay I just competed in a hardcore championship match I didn’t win, but all I have to do is wish and try! Is that how you want me to sound?! Am I supposed to be all celebratory because I gave it my best effort? How do you think I’m feeling?
Hank: I would assume-
Scott Slayer: I’m feeling like crap right now. I had that match won from the start and everybody knows it. I was the favorite going into the match! But, Kennedy warned me about this, she said that she wasn’t going to pull any punches, and she didn’t. She took advantage, and she took her opportunity. I can’t be mad at her. I’m actually happy for her. I’m happy that she has gold around her waist again. But, she knows that I’m not just going to ignore this. I’m coming for everyone now. Everyone has made my hit list. Whether you’re my best friend, family, or worst enemy, I’m gunning you down, and I’m not taking no for an answer. I just wonder who’s going to be my first target.
Hank: Well, your match for Slam has already been announced.
Scott Slayer: Really? Well that was fast. Now make yourself useful for the first time in your life wearing that ridiculous suit for a change and tell me who my target is.
Hank: El Grand-
Scott Slayer put his finger on Hank’s lips.
Scott Slayer: Shh! Him, again? Ok then. How’s your jaw?
Hank: It feels pretty good. Thanks for asking.
Scott Slayer: Sorry.
Hank: For punching me?
Scott Slayer: Nope.
Scott Slayer punches Hank in the jaw again before walking away.
The next day.....
Corey Black is sitting in his office writing documents and reports. His phone rings.
Corey Black: Yes, who is it?
Assistant: Excuse me sir, you have someone who wants to see you.
Corey Black: I’m busy right now.
Assistant: Ok I’ll tell him. Sir you have to leave now-
Scott Slayer punches the assistant and marches to Corey Black.
Corey Black: Hello? Hello? Are you okay?
Scott Slayer busts through Corey’s door.
Corey Black: What the hell is wrong with you?! I’m your boss!
Scott Slayer: I don’t give a fuck. We have things to discuss.
Corey: Take a damn seat! What is your problem?
Scott: You damn it! Why do I have to face El Grande again? I only want to face main event caliber stars!
Corey: Maybe you’re not ready for main event caliber stars!
Scott Slayer look angry and confused.
Scott: What!? I headlined Slam last week. I was in one of the best hardcore matches ever at Payback, I scored an elimination in my first year at WAR. What has El Grande done lately? Nothing. He’s a former tag champ and internet champ but that’s all in the past now. I’ve accomplished more in my five months of being here than he has in his entire, pathetic life. I’ve proved time and time again that if you give me the ball, not only will run with it, but I will score a touchdown, run down the field an back, and shove it down your damn throat because that is how fucking good I am! I’m sick of the bullshit going through your guys’ heads. What more do you want me to fucking do? How many more hoops do you want me to jump through? If I have to go through him then so be it! But, let me make one thing clear, you pull this shit again, I’ll make you my bitch.
Corey: You need to watch your mouth.
Scott Slayer: You need to watch the show, I say and do whatever I want when I want.
Corey: My decision is final! You’re facing El Grande whether you like it or not. Now get out of my office.
Scott Slayer walks away looking like a murderer and walks out of the building, getting into car. He opens up a notepad to a blank page and gets a pencil. He writes down El Grande in the notepad.
Scott Slayer: El Grande, congrats, you’re on my hit list. Let’s see, reasons why. Well for one he’s an overgrown dick head. Secondly, he said that I try to be a badass. I am a fucking badass. I am WCF’s anarchist, their Punisher, Deadpool, and Wolverine all wrapped up into one. I killed three guys in middle school. I watched my parents get shot. I had to endure pain and misery until I turned 18 to move out of my uncles house. My soul is corrupted with sins and blood. My mind only has killer instincts. My heart pumps war and chaos. Are you like me, no. You’re nothing but a weak, brainless, generic giant that’s going to be gone next year, while I carry this company out of obscurity for the next 20. All you do is joke around. The only reason why WCF has you under contract, because they think of you as a comedic relief. A mindless robot. The only thing you’re good at is taking orders like the bitch you are. No one takes you as a threat, I sure as hell don’t, but if someone does it’s because they’re afraid of not you, but your team. You rely on them for everything. Tag champ, did it with help. Internet champ, you and your team pinned one guy together. You had help then, you have help now. It must suck knowing that the only way you even have two title runs under your belt is because is because of your boyfriends. Now cretin,
I will see you at Slam and end you with one clean shot. The hit list is starting, and you’re the first guy that’s going to get decimated. As soon as my music hits, when I step through the curtain in the arena with the whole world watching, waiting, listening, you can bring your friends, your family to try and protect, but it won’t work, they can get slayed too while I’m at it. The world better look out. An untamed psycho is on the loose, and I’m not stopping for anything. Buena suerte perra. You said you’re Spanish so you should know what that means. Always remember, as long as I’m still here, as long as I’m still here, as long as my heart is still beating, es hora de matar.
Hank: I’m extremely sorry for asking you at this time, but-
Scott: Shut the fuck up talking to me.
Hank: I’m sorry it’s just that everyone wants answers on what happened.
Scott: I lost. What else do you want me to say? Do you want me to celebrate? To go out and say that this was an accomplishment? Yay I just competed in a hardcore championship match I didn’t win, but all I have to do is wish and try! Is that how you want me to sound?! Am I supposed to be all celebratory because I gave it my best effort? How do you think I’m feeling?
Hank: I would assume-
Scott Slayer: I’m feeling like crap right now. I had that match won from the start and everybody knows it. I was the favorite going into the match! But, Kennedy warned me about this, she said that she wasn’t going to pull any punches, and she didn’t. She took advantage, and she took her opportunity. I can’t be mad at her. I’m actually happy for her. I’m happy that she has gold around her waist again. But, she knows that I’m not just going to ignore this. I’m coming for everyone now. Everyone has made my hit list. Whether you’re my best friend, family, or worst enemy, I’m gunning you down, and I’m not taking no for an answer. I just wonder who’s going to be my first target.
Hank: Well, your match for Slam has already been announced.
Scott Slayer: Really? Well that was fast. Now make yourself useful for the first time in your life wearing that ridiculous suit for a change and tell me who my target is.
Hank: El Grand-
Scott Slayer put his finger on Hank’s lips.
Scott Slayer: Shh! Him, again? Ok then. How’s your jaw?
Hank: It feels pretty good. Thanks for asking.
Scott Slayer: Sorry.
Hank: For punching me?
Scott Slayer: Nope.
Scott Slayer punches Hank in the jaw again before walking away.
The next day.....
Corey Black is sitting in his office writing documents and reports. His phone rings.
Corey Black: Yes, who is it?
Assistant: Excuse me sir, you have someone who wants to see you.
Corey Black: I’m busy right now.
Assistant: Ok I’ll tell him. Sir you have to leave now-
Scott Slayer punches the assistant and marches to Corey Black.
Corey Black: Hello? Hello? Are you okay?
Scott Slayer busts through Corey’s door.
Corey Black: What the hell is wrong with you?! I’m your boss!
Scott Slayer: I don’t give a fuck. We have things to discuss.
Corey: Take a damn seat! What is your problem?
Scott: You damn it! Why do I have to face El Grande again? I only want to face main event caliber stars!
Corey: Maybe you’re not ready for main event caliber stars!
Scott Slayer look angry and confused.
Scott: What!? I headlined Slam last week. I was in one of the best hardcore matches ever at Payback, I scored an elimination in my first year at WAR. What has El Grande done lately? Nothing. He’s a former tag champ and internet champ but that’s all in the past now. I’ve accomplished more in my five months of being here than he has in his entire, pathetic life. I’ve proved time and time again that if you give me the ball, not only will run with it, but I will score a touchdown, run down the field an back, and shove it down your damn throat because that is how fucking good I am! I’m sick of the bullshit going through your guys’ heads. What more do you want me to fucking do? How many more hoops do you want me to jump through? If I have to go through him then so be it! But, let me make one thing clear, you pull this shit again, I’ll make you my bitch.
Corey: You need to watch your mouth.
Scott Slayer: You need to watch the show, I say and do whatever I want when I want.
Corey: My decision is final! You’re facing El Grande whether you like it or not. Now get out of my office.
Scott Slayer walks away looking like a murderer and walks out of the building, getting into car. He opens up a notepad to a blank page and gets a pencil. He writes down El Grande in the notepad.
Scott Slayer: El Grande, congrats, you’re on my hit list. Let’s see, reasons why. Well for one he’s an overgrown dick head. Secondly, he said that I try to be a badass. I am a fucking badass. I am WCF’s anarchist, their Punisher, Deadpool, and Wolverine all wrapped up into one. I killed three guys in middle school. I watched my parents get shot. I had to endure pain and misery until I turned 18 to move out of my uncles house. My soul is corrupted with sins and blood. My mind only has killer instincts. My heart pumps war and chaos. Are you like me, no. You’re nothing but a weak, brainless, generic giant that’s going to be gone next year, while I carry this company out of obscurity for the next 20. All you do is joke around. The only reason why WCF has you under contract, because they think of you as a comedic relief. A mindless robot. The only thing you’re good at is taking orders like the bitch you are. No one takes you as a threat, I sure as hell don’t, but if someone does it’s because they’re afraid of not you, but your team. You rely on them for everything. Tag champ, did it with help. Internet champ, you and your team pinned one guy together. You had help then, you have help now. It must suck knowing that the only way you even have two title runs under your belt is because is because of your boyfriends. Now cretin,
I will see you at Slam and end you with one clean shot. The hit list is starting, and you’re the first guy that’s going to get decimated. As soon as my music hits, when I step through the curtain in the arena with the whole world watching, waiting, listening, you can bring your friends, your family to try and protect, but it won’t work, they can get slayed too while I’m at it. The world better look out. An untamed psycho is on the loose, and I’m not stopping for anything. Buena suerte perra. You said you’re Spanish so you should know what that means. Always remember, as long as I’m still here, as long as I’m still here, as long as my heart is still beating, es hora de matar.
