Post by Corey Black on Jan 24, 2010 3:19:06 GMT -5
Last Sunday
CD is sitting in what looks to be a living room. A bunch of other people are around him, and the Minnesota Vikings game is on the television. It's almost over, and the Vikes seemed to crush Dallas. The clock counts down.. 3.. 2.. 1.. VIKINGS WIN. CD and his friends leap to their feet, throwing chips and soda everywhere. Minnesota is going to the NFC Championship Game. Fuck. Yes.
Creeping Death: AAAHHHHH FUCK YEAH! BA-BOOM! FUCK YOU DALLAS! HURRICANE VIKING IS GOING TO NEW ORLEANS! WHOOO FUCKING HOOO! SKOOOOL VIKINGS LET'S WIN THE GAME!
Random Friend: GODDAMNIT CD MINNESOTA RULES JUST LIKE YOU!
Creeping Death: First off, you're stupid. Secondly, that sentence was brash and annoying.
Random Friend: Sorry.
Creeping Death: No problem.
The two high five.
Creeping Death: Man, this is a giant waste of WCF airtime and money. BUT WHO FUCKING CARES, AMIRITE?!
One of CD's other friends holds up a picture of Seth Lerch dressed as Cosmo from The Fairly Oddparents. Lol's a plenty.
Creeping Death: What a silly bitch.
The scene fades out.
Last Friday
We open back up to Creeping Death standing in front of the Metrodome in Minneapolis, Minnesota.
Creeping Death: Trenty, Trenty, Trenty. Who are you? Alright, I'll take this seriously. Who the fuck are you? You don't know me. You don't know what I'm thinking, or how I'll take your words. I don't have to prove anything to anyone. EVER. No matter what happens, someone will say that I do. And I'm flat out sick and tired of hearing about it. Before you came along, I was the best. Then you came along, and I'm still the best. Hell, kid, you don't even matter at this point. My match at Ten is all locked up. I could lay down, I could walk out, I could pretty much do anything I want and shit wouldn't matter. You could even go out there and beat me, but know this, kid. I won't be bringing my A game. Not even close. Everything I have is focused on Slickie, Jack, Tort, and to a lesser extent, Logan. You're but a fly on my pizza. I'm going to blow you off just like I'd blow off anyone else in your boat. Maybe after I'm champion again, I'll come back down the ladder and see what you've got. Until then, piss off.
CD looks back at the Dome, in all it's glory.
Creeping Death: You know, I remind myself of the Minnesota Vikings sometimes. No matter how many successful years you have, everyone is going to looks down upon me and say "prove it." Before, I would have been all over it. Now? No. Nobody in this place will understand. In the wrestling business, it DOES matter what you have done in the past. I no longer need to earn anyone's respect. I no longer care if anyone respects me or not. There's always going to be a Trent Townsend, or a Mikami, or even a Slickie T, that need to be consistently satisfied. To you, I say nay. What more do I need to prove? Do I REALLY need to go out there and beat you to solidify my name? Shit no I don't. Will I go out there and beat you for myself? Time will tell. I'm still getting into my groove here. The rust is there, for certain.
CD turns back to the camera.
Creeping Death: Skol Vikings. Skol Creeping Death.
Fade.