Post by Deleted on Jun 10, 2007 13:45:31 GMT -5
Eyelids like camera shutters, Cairo was transfixed. He stared into the abyss of blackened souls with his face pressed against the glass. Cairo couldn't feel the poor bastards, but he knew of their suffering. He knew of their demise and their final breath. Cairo believes that WCF World Champion Skyler Striker will be the next to join this ghastly abomination. Cairo scratches his noggin and sticks a pencil behind his ear as if preparing to embark upon the crossword puzzle to end all crossword puzzles. However, this will be no children's game. Cairo felt threatened by Striker's actions at Timebomb and as such he felt justified in kidnapping Striker's daughter. This is not the course of action for any average man nor sane individual, but as we all know Cairo has never subscribed to mainstream sensibilities or inconclusive, wholesale ideologies.
Bobby Cairo: Buried by hate and swallowed by apathy, we had lost everything and we didn't even know why. It was as if the entire world had gone mad and we were just society's latest victims of circumstance, nothing more than the collateral damage from an interplanetary conflict. The pundits and politicians got rich while we clung to life in an archaic morass of swine and Germans. Championship glory was the last thing on my mind as I battled Krauts for first dibs to the sweat-soaked teats of an impaled boar. It's funny how your priorities change when you become a rich bitch. These days my biggest concern is plotting to regain the WCF World Championship. I've never believed in fate, destiny or birthrights, but I do believe that Bobby Cairo regaining the World Title is an inevitability. Skyler Striker, you've amused me with some of your comments in the wake of your daughter's abduction. You expected Bobby Cairo to play by the rules and give you a fair and honest challenge for your title? What planet are you living on, Striker? Were you busy philandering around on Mars while Cairo was kidnapping and attempting to murder Lonnie? Were you taking a stroll down Venus while Cairo was attempting to maneuver himself into Sasha Pehl's underpants? Striker, you were fooling yourself if you ever thought that I would make this simple for you. Only the simple-minded follow a simple path and that ain't never been my trip.
Cairo's snatches the fruit from the forbidden tree and inhales deeply. The scent, the taste and the texture provide Cairo with an instant rejuvenation. Cairo sprawls himself on the upholstery as he carefully considers his course of action. The juices drip down Cairo's face, he licks his lips to protect the delicate linen of his tailored Italian shirt from staining. Cairo stares into the abyss as he addresses his enemy.
Bobby Cairo: Skyler Striker, I call you a faggot because you act as faggots act. You the idealist gave me an opening and I rammed that sucker hard. Does that make you quiver and shiver and shake? Do you wish that you were reincarnated in a different time and dimension far away from your earthly burdens? Is the guilt and the fear of what will happen to your daughter tearing apart the very fabric of your being? Of course it is. You have no alternative, Striker. You must play the waiting game. You must sacrifice every last semblance of comfort and solace to insure that your daughter remains unharmed. Let me assure you, Striker, that I have no intentions of hurting sweet little Jade, but those words do not give you peace of mind. How could they? How could you ever trust Cairo? That would be akin to brokering a deal with the devil himself. Instead you squirm likes worms knowing deep down inside that your world could come crashing down at any moment. Your daughter’s security has been breached, Striker. You will have no peace of mind until I take what is rightfully mine...
Cairo gazes toward a framed photograph sitting on the mantle. It's a photo of Cairo the night that he won the WCF World Championship. The photo captures the instant when Cairo dropped to his knees after the match and gently caressed the title belt like a human infant. That was a watershed moment for Cairo and he seems lost in deep thought as he stares at that picture. Suddenly, he snaps out of it and clears his throat.
Bobby Cairo: So now I turn my attention to the other members of Index Case, Index Three, the Three Stooges or whatever the hell they're calling themselves. Vice and Ragnal, you two nincompoops have decided to interject yourselves to this equation by officially aligning with the deadman himself Skyler Striker. I get the distinct impression that you two fellers honestly believe in that strength in numbers bullshit. Let me drop some reality, gentlemen: Bobby Cairo is always outnumbered, but never outgunned. I am the one-man arsenal that can bring entire nations to their knees and make them pray for the sweet release of the great beyond. You want vengeance? You want revenge? The only thing you'll get from me is a cerebral hemorrhage and a feeding tube, and I can't promise the feeding tube. By the way, Ragnal, I will fuck your girlfriend and you can bank on that, suckaaaaaah!!!!
Cairo picks up a handful of darts and throws them towards a dartboard on the wall. This isn't just any dartboard, no this is a John Cena dartboard. Sounds cliche I know, but hear me out on this one before you jump to any conclusions. The first four throws hit Cena in his big dopey ears, his gigantic banana nose and his right eye which is pretty bloodshot after all of those fudge tunnels. The last throw hits Cena square in the jawbone. Uh oh, what could this possibly signify?
Bobby Cairo: Cena, you've been making some oblique references to Bobby Cairo in your recent promos on WWE Raw. My advice for you is very simple: Put down the candy and let the little boy go. Trust me, you don't want none of this, shon. I would knock your teeth down your throat with a tire iron, then I'd go all Backlund school on your ass and stretch you the fuck out with the crossface chickenwing. You'd be screaming for mercy like Michael Jackson in the ball pit at Chuck E. Cheese. I know that you're bored, Cena. I know that you get tired of slaying doofuses like Umaga and Khali, but you ain't in my league. You can't step to Cairo because you is a straight up suckaaah!! Eat it, shon...just eat it.
Cairo grabs his jacket and walks out the front door.
Bobby Cairo: Buried by hate and swallowed by apathy, we had lost everything and we didn't even know why. It was as if the entire world had gone mad and we were just society's latest victims of circumstance, nothing more than the collateral damage from an interplanetary conflict. The pundits and politicians got rich while we clung to life in an archaic morass of swine and Germans. Championship glory was the last thing on my mind as I battled Krauts for first dibs to the sweat-soaked teats of an impaled boar. It's funny how your priorities change when you become a rich bitch. These days my biggest concern is plotting to regain the WCF World Championship. I've never believed in fate, destiny or birthrights, but I do believe that Bobby Cairo regaining the World Title is an inevitability. Skyler Striker, you've amused me with some of your comments in the wake of your daughter's abduction. You expected Bobby Cairo to play by the rules and give you a fair and honest challenge for your title? What planet are you living on, Striker? Were you busy philandering around on Mars while Cairo was kidnapping and attempting to murder Lonnie? Were you taking a stroll down Venus while Cairo was attempting to maneuver himself into Sasha Pehl's underpants? Striker, you were fooling yourself if you ever thought that I would make this simple for you. Only the simple-minded follow a simple path and that ain't never been my trip.
Cairo's snatches the fruit from the forbidden tree and inhales deeply. The scent, the taste and the texture provide Cairo with an instant rejuvenation. Cairo sprawls himself on the upholstery as he carefully considers his course of action. The juices drip down Cairo's face, he licks his lips to protect the delicate linen of his tailored Italian shirt from staining. Cairo stares into the abyss as he addresses his enemy.
Bobby Cairo: Skyler Striker, I call you a faggot because you act as faggots act. You the idealist gave me an opening and I rammed that sucker hard. Does that make you quiver and shiver and shake? Do you wish that you were reincarnated in a different time and dimension far away from your earthly burdens? Is the guilt and the fear of what will happen to your daughter tearing apart the very fabric of your being? Of course it is. You have no alternative, Striker. You must play the waiting game. You must sacrifice every last semblance of comfort and solace to insure that your daughter remains unharmed. Let me assure you, Striker, that I have no intentions of hurting sweet little Jade, but those words do not give you peace of mind. How could they? How could you ever trust Cairo? That would be akin to brokering a deal with the devil himself. Instead you squirm likes worms knowing deep down inside that your world could come crashing down at any moment. Your daughter’s security has been breached, Striker. You will have no peace of mind until I take what is rightfully mine...
Cairo gazes toward a framed photograph sitting on the mantle. It's a photo of Cairo the night that he won the WCF World Championship. The photo captures the instant when Cairo dropped to his knees after the match and gently caressed the title belt like a human infant. That was a watershed moment for Cairo and he seems lost in deep thought as he stares at that picture. Suddenly, he snaps out of it and clears his throat.
Bobby Cairo: So now I turn my attention to the other members of Index Case, Index Three, the Three Stooges or whatever the hell they're calling themselves. Vice and Ragnal, you two nincompoops have decided to interject yourselves to this equation by officially aligning with the deadman himself Skyler Striker. I get the distinct impression that you two fellers honestly believe in that strength in numbers bullshit. Let me drop some reality, gentlemen: Bobby Cairo is always outnumbered, but never outgunned. I am the one-man arsenal that can bring entire nations to their knees and make them pray for the sweet release of the great beyond. You want vengeance? You want revenge? The only thing you'll get from me is a cerebral hemorrhage and a feeding tube, and I can't promise the feeding tube. By the way, Ragnal, I will fuck your girlfriend and you can bank on that, suckaaaaaah!!!!
Cairo picks up a handful of darts and throws them towards a dartboard on the wall. This isn't just any dartboard, no this is a John Cena dartboard. Sounds cliche I know, but hear me out on this one before you jump to any conclusions. The first four throws hit Cena in his big dopey ears, his gigantic banana nose and his right eye which is pretty bloodshot after all of those fudge tunnels. The last throw hits Cena square in the jawbone. Uh oh, what could this possibly signify?
Bobby Cairo: Cena, you've been making some oblique references to Bobby Cairo in your recent promos on WWE Raw. My advice for you is very simple: Put down the candy and let the little boy go. Trust me, you don't want none of this, shon. I would knock your teeth down your throat with a tire iron, then I'd go all Backlund school on your ass and stretch you the fuck out with the crossface chickenwing. You'd be screaming for mercy like Michael Jackson in the ball pit at Chuck E. Cheese. I know that you're bored, Cena. I know that you get tired of slaying doofuses like Umaga and Khali, but you ain't in my league. You can't step to Cairo because you is a straight up suckaaah!! Eat it, shon...just eat it.
Cairo grabs his jacket and walks out the front door.
