Post by Deleted on May 16, 2009 21:17:20 GMT -5
Absolutely nothing. No scenery. No people. Just darkness, and faint music in the background. A voice calls out from the black.
Corey Black.
If it is possible for someone to smile with their voice, then that just happened. If not, well, pretend you have night vision.
The last time we were involved in a match, you told me that you were the most complex person I would ever meet, as if that were something to brag about. How old are we now? I thought you were supposed to be the mature veteran here, yet you might as well have been talking about how "parents just don't understand", because you are just so complex. But now that I think about it, I should not be surprised by your cognitive dissonance. After all, here is the man who will say that no one knows much about him, before going into a soliloquy about his traumatic history.
A chuckle, audible this time.
How convenient. A perfect excuse for all the name changes, the split personalities. But of course, that is not the real reason. No, the truth is, Corey Black is a product. A soulless shell marketed to the young male demographic. Why else would so many wrestling federations keep someone like you around? Because you sell, and you are pliable. As soon as market forces begin to change, when old fads die and new trends surface, Corey Black becomes a different person.
Sigh.
Of course, it was not always like that. Granted, you always looked like a cash-in at first glance, but there was more underneath the surface. Before all the different sets of makeup and masks, there was a competitor. Now, you are no different than the Team of Treachery that you claim to despise. Your pandering is no different than Logan whoring himself for DVD sales. Your brazen attempts to appeal to angry young men are just Jack of Blades for an even lower common denominator. Even the most deluded of your fans must be aware of this. The cross-promotions with Slipknot. Wearing merchandise of sad excuses for "metal" bands that treat music with even more contempt than you have for this sport. You see, there are several kinds of people who call themselves wrestling fans. Some just watch it for the entertainment. Some appreciate it as a craft. And then there are some who are full of such loathing for everything and everyone that they just want to see men beaten within an inch of their lives. That is who you are for. You are here because Seth Lerch wants those fans. And you still consider yourself of Championship calibre. Pathetic. But there is one thing I wonder.
A click. He has turned on a desk lamp, revealing himself sitting in a wooden chair, shirtless. The music in the background has somehow become slightly louder.
Are you completely ignorant of what a huge sell-out you have become, or you are just playing along? If you do not ignore me, then you will reply to my message of truth, and say that you have no idea what I am talking about, that it is the opposite of what you are all about. A product marketed as anti-product is still a product. But will you say it innocently, or because your handlers tugged on your leash? Either way, there is nothing complex about you. If there were, you would not have accomplished all that you have. Complexity is the enemy, not only in marketing, but in the ring. Why do you think I do all this scouting, all this planning, the endless cataloguing of facts about my opponents? So that when I get into the ring, I do not have to think about any of it. It is burned into my subconscious. I allow myself to become the beast, and let instinct take over. True greatness requires sacrifice: sacrifice of free time, sacrifice of safety, sacrifice of humanity. You play at being the archetypal dark hero. For those too dense to understand what that means, the god damn Batman. But this cold and callous frame I have built myself upon is not by choice. It is by necessity. You let yourself be friends with men like Torture, and look where you are now. I say, no friends, only allies, and very few of those. I say, no distractions, only winning. I say, no mercy, only justice. I know my way is the right way, because I learned under someone greater than you will ever be. I look forward to the day when I can finally face you one on one, and expose you as the fraud you have become.
He turns the lamp off again. The music is now loud enough to be heard:
...done
To kill the first born pharaoh son
I'm creeping death
Corey Black.
If it is possible for someone to smile with their voice, then that just happened. If not, well, pretend you have night vision.
The last time we were involved in a match, you told me that you were the most complex person I would ever meet, as if that were something to brag about. How old are we now? I thought you were supposed to be the mature veteran here, yet you might as well have been talking about how "parents just don't understand", because you are just so complex. But now that I think about it, I should not be surprised by your cognitive dissonance. After all, here is the man who will say that no one knows much about him, before going into a soliloquy about his traumatic history.
A chuckle, audible this time.
How convenient. A perfect excuse for all the name changes, the split personalities. But of course, that is not the real reason. No, the truth is, Corey Black is a product. A soulless shell marketed to the young male demographic. Why else would so many wrestling federations keep someone like you around? Because you sell, and you are pliable. As soon as market forces begin to change, when old fads die and new trends surface, Corey Black becomes a different person.
Sigh.
Of course, it was not always like that. Granted, you always looked like a cash-in at first glance, but there was more underneath the surface. Before all the different sets of makeup and masks, there was a competitor. Now, you are no different than the Team of Treachery that you claim to despise. Your pandering is no different than Logan whoring himself for DVD sales. Your brazen attempts to appeal to angry young men are just Jack of Blades for an even lower common denominator. Even the most deluded of your fans must be aware of this. The cross-promotions with Slipknot. Wearing merchandise of sad excuses for "metal" bands that treat music with even more contempt than you have for this sport. You see, there are several kinds of people who call themselves wrestling fans. Some just watch it for the entertainment. Some appreciate it as a craft. And then there are some who are full of such loathing for everything and everyone that they just want to see men beaten within an inch of their lives. That is who you are for. You are here because Seth Lerch wants those fans. And you still consider yourself of Championship calibre. Pathetic. But there is one thing I wonder.
A click. He has turned on a desk lamp, revealing himself sitting in a wooden chair, shirtless. The music in the background has somehow become slightly louder.
Are you completely ignorant of what a huge sell-out you have become, or you are just playing along? If you do not ignore me, then you will reply to my message of truth, and say that you have no idea what I am talking about, that it is the opposite of what you are all about. A product marketed as anti-product is still a product. But will you say it innocently, or because your handlers tugged on your leash? Either way, there is nothing complex about you. If there were, you would not have accomplished all that you have. Complexity is the enemy, not only in marketing, but in the ring. Why do you think I do all this scouting, all this planning, the endless cataloguing of facts about my opponents? So that when I get into the ring, I do not have to think about any of it. It is burned into my subconscious. I allow myself to become the beast, and let instinct take over. True greatness requires sacrifice: sacrifice of free time, sacrifice of safety, sacrifice of humanity. You play at being the archetypal dark hero. For those too dense to understand what that means, the god damn Batman. But this cold and callous frame I have built myself upon is not by choice. It is by necessity. You let yourself be friends with men like Torture, and look where you are now. I say, no friends, only allies, and very few of those. I say, no distractions, only winning. I say, no mercy, only justice. I know my way is the right way, because I learned under someone greater than you will ever be. I look forward to the day when I can finally face you one on one, and expose you as the fraud you have become.
He turns the lamp off again. The music is now loud enough to be heard:
...done
To kill the first born pharaoh son
I'm creeping death
