Post by Logan on Nov 4, 2009 0:25:47 GMT -5
Hacking Lungs
Polishits
Polishits
Our appreciative wrestling audience tunes their televisions into an afternoon promo. Home entertainment screens; small and big, provide it’s viewers with a red, white, and blue sticker patriotically expressing the words, I Voted. The wearer of this proud participant sticker becomes revealed when the camera zooms out; Logan, in the flesh. His bootless feet propped up over the ledge of a desk he sits behind, the rest of his look doesn’t appear as comfortable; American flag vest covered in sparkly glitter, blue pants zebra’d with red and white down the sides, and an overly gigantic top hot to match the glittery vest and of course.. complete the look. A clear glass window backgrounds view to his relaxed posture. He appears to be three stories off the ground judging from the scenery that’s spotted through the window. It’d also be a good educated guess to suggest that perhaps the ‘Apollo Creed double’ could be inside the Sioux Falls arena. No matter the location, he acknowledges the users curiosity for the ridiculous outfit by nodding his face into the camera and speaking.
Logan: You are probably wondering where I obtained this outfit and most importantly why I look good in it. It isn’t July 4th, I’m not dining with President Obama tonight, Torture didn’t get unemployed overnight and have his house foreclosed. No, none of the above. Today is election day. Anyone with half a brain may’ve realized that during first sight of this glorious outfit. But why should I care about politics? H’m? I’m just a wrestler, a trailer parkers Monday night cheer, a shooting star that never fades in a meaningless galaxy of other shooting stars that only hillbillies and zit faced teens alike enjoy watching. Nevertheless, I do care about politics. This very company that we pride ourselves with spandex taught and gave me enough attention to care about politics. Just take a step backwards and listen to what I’ve said during this year, it’s sole reason and meaning is fueled and ran off politics. Not our countries politics, WCF’s. Yes, I’m repeating myself when I furrow my brow and express my hatred for Torture who’s credited with turning our blood and guts stomping ground into a mistake-free playground with constant fixed eyes of supervision watching our every move. Even with the inevitable fall of Torture at One and the whiney retirement speech that will as soon as possible occur afterwards, our beloved homeland will still stink of garbage even after the trash is hauled away. Just as George Bush finally left office, we’ll still be left with a great deal of cracks that’ll take an difficult amount of time to patch up. So, you can easily assume that Slickie T has my vote for Decembers extravaganza, and he does. But that wasn’t the only vote cast today brothers and sisters.
He shakes his head side to side and straightens the American vest over his shoulders.
Logan: You thought I would bore you? The beautiful city of Connector elected a new ‘Crash Dummy’ to test it’s dangerous terrain; Kevin Hardaway. Well, honestly, it’s a pleasure! Never before has our community housed a two time GWC champion! It’s like Bill Clinton spending the night over and staying up till three in the morning to snack pizza bites with you. That’s pretty cool, isn’t it? Indeed. So, Mr. Hardaway, regardless of rather you and I will ever cease the opportunity to be awake at wee hours of the night munching microwavable food together is a thought of mine that’ll be put aside in my back pocket for save keeping. There are more important things going on between you and I at the moment; the United States championship. If you ever find yourself bored enough to look up the old history books you’ll find that between my thirteen championship wins in WCF, the United States title is the very first and last on the list. Now that may not mean too much to a successful entertainer as yourself, it has began to mean a bit of something to me. Given to current circumstances and effects of crossed eyed dogs running the show and management, the world title isn’t exactly a view up ahead for my path. Instead I have to settle for second best, the belt that fits my waist so well, the United States title. I have no intentions of letting it go either. Why, one of the reasons I cling to it is so it doesn’t fall into the hands of ToT or rather fall into the hands of someone else then end up falling on the door step of the retarded group of lowlifes, ToT. So, respectively, Kevin, you have to understand that I can’t give you this title. I’m certain we’ll live up to being booked for the main event of Slam, but I assure you as long as I have a breath pumping through my lungs you will not be leaving the ring with my title.
Justifying himself with a straight forward nod to complete the little rant for Monday, he takes his feet off the table and his head disappears under the table. The sighting of a strong bungee rope flies over view of the desk followed by the sound of rope being loudly yanked and tightened. The camera then examines a trail of rope leads out from underneath the desk and out the front door of the room expertly tied to a large steel tube nicely structured through the floor. This line of rope may have been there all along, the camera purposely choose to not expose it earlier, timing it for the right moment to cue the beginnings of climax for this afternoon promo. The sparkly red, white, and blue outfitted man easily resembling an American vigilante stands to his feet and draws his attention to the big window behind him. Unlocking and opening the window to it’s full potential, he grabs the United States title that was also hidden underneath the desk with the rope and straps the belt around his waist. Now outfitted to carry the Statue of Liberty on his shoulder and go to war, he pulls himself up onto the windows ledge and successfully stands, his feet bound together by rope. The camera repositions in an attempt to avoid any carnage the rope inside the room may bring once the slack disappears. The United States champion engulfs the window, peering down at a small crowd of people whom may have heard and anticipated this event. He closes his eyes, forms his body a ‘T’ with arms crossed out, and falls from the windows edge. The rope quickly unravels and eventually straightens to a strong line in unison with the sound of cheers flowing from outside.
Hacking Lungs
Words of Wisdom
Words of Wisdom
Subject: My Name is Mother Mary. Read.
Date: 11/4/2009 5:32:23 P.M. Pacific Standard Time
From: myshtisbananas@gmail.com
To: Treachery4u@WCF.com
I don’t expect you to reply to this. You probably get these type of e-mails all the time, but nevertheless I feel the need to express my feelings for you. Okay, here I go. Ever since that night in 2000 I accidentally bumped the turner with my elbow and switched to some stupid wrestling show, my glued eyes realize the remote control accident was more than just a mistake, it was destiny. My eyes fell upon your style of body movement against some guy named Jax (I wouldn’t have remembered the name if it wasn’t for the first same seeing you) you carried yourself in a way that was alien like, inhuman to any activity I had ever seen from another being. You sprang the distance of the ring in one leap with a flying thrust from your arm to Jax’s throat that would’ve put me in the happiest coma in the world. The black shiny boots engulfing your feet and shins glistened when you danced to the rings corner and slung fists that could drive anyone into great submission. And then, just when my heart couldn’t beat any faster, Jax collapsed under his knees, you celebrated your easy disposal of the vet by mouthing off to the fans in attendance, and they loved you with boos and flinging bags of popcorn. Since following you from then on, you’ve of coursed had memorial matches that bested even that, but it being the first time I witnessed a God in tights; it’s my favorite moment in life. I have the match available in two VHS copies and three DVD editions. I know every boo, every shout, every drop of sweat that stained the ring that night. Hoping you reply, I do have a proposal. I won a meet and greet with you after this weeks edition of Slam, this should’ve been done in further notice, but, when the arena empties can we share the ring together, alone? Begin a marriage?
Subject: AUTO RE: My Name is Mother Mary. Read.
Date: 11/4/2009 5:33:12 P.M. Pacific Standard Time
From: Treachery4u@WCF.com
To: myshtisbananas@gmail.com
SHUT UP! BOUDLE!
Sincerely,
Logan