Post by Corey Black on Jun 18, 2006 3:54:42 GMT -5
EARLIER THIS WEEK:
Our scene opens up to Creeping Death sitting in a locker room putting on his elbow pads. He slips them both on, reaches in his bag, and grabs his gloves when the door flings open. A little Japanese guy rushes into the room with a microphone and camera.
Japanese Reporter: CREEP DEH-TH SAN! CREEP DEH-TH SAN! DARMPO ARRIGOEIA SHINSHU ENCHIBLY!?
Creeping Death: I ... uh ... um ...
Japanese Reporter: AGUSTA SHOGRUNTO CHALUPA NIGT SHALAMALYN KONICHUA!?
Creeping Death: What a twist? Uh. Domo arrigato?
Japanese Reporter: Oooohhhhhh. AYE Domo ARRIGAAATOOOO!? Es es es MIIISTEEERRRRR ROOOOBOOOTTTOOOOO! HAHAHA!
Creeping Death: .... Roboto.
Another man busts through the door and rushes over to Creeping Death.
Man: Greetings, I'm the translator.
Creeping Death: Wonderful ... any idea what this nut is saying?
Man: He was asking how you feel to be the first from Wrestling Championship Federation to be sent overseas here to Japan for the launch of WCF's sister company Japanese Wrestling Championship Federation, the JWCF.
Creeping Death: Oh, yeah, it's an honor to be selected over everyone over at the WCF. I'm excited to see the Japanese people, as I know their love for pro wrestling over here.
Man: TKANEI! EN JUJITRATE POSNEO REGANOIMIC QUADREISMAIL SHOFUNAKI TAKADICKTOGO KAIENTAI!
The Japanese Reporter nods and storms off through the door again, followed by the translator. Creeping Death stays in the locker room with the WCF camera.
Creeping Death: Jesus Christ, people around here are pushy. They're alright though. I got the wrong idea about these Japanese from JoJo. I thought all the women were big and had more muscles than me, said the word "fuck" twenty seven times a sentence. Hell, that reporter made WAY more sense than her and Ellis.
Right then, a familiar face comes through the door. He has a microphone.
Creeping Death: Oh man ... another one?
Man: No, I'm here to interview you for the States version of WCF ... don't you remember me?
Creeping Death: Vaguely.
Man: Fucking shit. I knew it. Seth would always hold me down, I'd never get airtime. He'd always be like "no Kyle, Hank has this covered." "No Mr. Steel, Hank Brown is on the case."
Creeping Death: Kyle Steel?! It's been a while, man.
Kyle Steel: And of couse he sends me over here to Japan, where NOBODY knows me, they think I'm some tourist an-
Creeping Death: KYLE! Dude, whatever. You have questions or what?
Kyle Steel: Oh, yeah. With you being over here in Japan, how are you going to feel come Sunday when you lose a day and have a fifteen hour flight?
Creeping Death: It'll no doubt be rough. That David Alastair has a fire lit up underneath him, and JJ Biggs is the current champion. It's obvious Torture and I have our work cut out for us.
Kyle Steel: Speaking of, how do you feel about that Crucifixion Match David challenged you to?
Creeping Death: Honestly, I'm confused. If he was smart, he'd have chosen a Catch-as-Catch-Can Match, where jumping off the ropes or going to the floor would result in a disqualification. Why this guy felt the need to create a crazy match to compete with me in is flat out dipshited. Especially one involving barbed wire.
Kyle Steel: And a crown of razor wire ... not to mention hardcore rules.
Creeping Death: Good point, Kyle. A hardcore match ... where the point is to wrap your opponent to a cross by way of barbed wire ... and put on a crown of razor wire ... against the Human Horror Show?
Kyle Steel: Back to the Human Horror Show?
Creeping Death: It never stopped. It's just going to be even more obvious at Explosion. David Alastair will be victim horrors no other newbie has ever felt.
Kyle Steel: What about David and his accusation of you being, pretty much, a "Sick" Nick Mondo ripoff?
Creeping Death: I think it's completly ridiculous. So what, I got a weed whacker used on me. I'm automatically a Mondo ripoff? Like I had the whole thing planned out. I went up to Kristen, and I said; "Hey, Kristen, wanna use a lawn care tool on me? Like say, oh I don't know, a weed whacker? Sure? Alright. I'll be sure to not protect myself in any way or anything. Cool. Thanks." Seriously Kyle. Considering Alastair's logic, he's a generic Japanese wrestler ripoff, because he ate a Phoenix Splash from myself, ala Hayabusa.
Kyle Steel: Good point. Do you have any idea who you're facing over here in Japan, for the JWCF?
Creeping Death: God no. I can't understand anything over here.
Kyle Steel: Thanks for your time, and good luck.
Creeping Death: No problem. I'm going to show these Japanese what it's like to be in WCF.
CD shakes Kyle's hand, and walks out of the locker room. The camera follows him to a gorilla position.
Announcer: AYEHOMBE INUYAHE DEOPLYA Des Moines, Iowa, United States, WHEINA KYOKA "The Human Horror Show", CREE-PING DEEEEE(HHHHH)AAAAAATTTTTHHHHHHH!
"Take This Life" by In Flames blasts over the loudspeakers, and at the cue, CD comes bursting through the curtain into the arena. A couple hundred crazy japs are packed inside, marking out like Donkey Kong at a banana buffet. Creeping Death reaches the ring, does his crucifix pose, and drops to his knees while the crowd throws in colored streamers, a show of respect in Japan. Ring crew run in and clean up as the announcer comes on.
Announcer: AYEHOMBE INUYAHE DEOPLYA Tokyo, Japan, WHEINA KYOKA "The Silent Assassin" DAAAAAAAAAAAA(HHHHH) NIIIIIINJAAAAAA!
Some crazy ass complete and utter Asian techno hits the loudspeakers, and a man walks out from the back dressed in all black, with a full head black mask with the eyes cut out. He's wearing a big gold title belt with "JWCF" on it, apparently clearifying he's the JWCF Champion. The Ninja walks down to the ring, gets in and bows to the ref, then to CD, and then to the crowd.
The bell rings. CD approaches The Ninja, but Ninja hits CD with a quick stinging kick to the leg. Then another. And then a spin kick to the chin, knocking CD into the ropes. CD comes back and eats a dropkick. Ninja pops up and poses. His Japanese homelanders give him a good responce. But the cheers grow louder. Ninja is taking it in. And then takes a chair to the mush. CD had gotten the chair, climbed to the top rope, and dropkicked it into the side of Ninja's face, one ... or maybe five-upping the dropkick from before. Creeping Death continues his attack on The Ninja as the scene fades out...
...the scene opens back up to a shot of a digital clock.
12:01am
As we get a good look at this clock, the hum of an engine is heard. The camera fades back and we see the clock is on a CD player. This CD player is embedded in the dash of a car. Driving this car is Creeping Death. Storming hard outside. Rain is coming down in buckets, lightning is crashing everywhere. It's midnight on June the eighteenth. Father's Day.
Creeping Death: Shitty flight. Great time in Japan, but shitty flight. Shitty everything now. Every year, the third Sunday in June rolls around, and I feel like nobody. I talk to my girlfriend, Torture, Nate, hell I even talked to Twister earlier, and they're all spending the day with their father and then coming to the show. I grew to the age of nine with an abusive, asshole of a father. I never knew what it was like to have a positive male figure in my life. Nobody taught me how to play baseball. Nobody showed me how to fix a car. Nobody told me about the birds and the bees. And then this day comes, and I have to relive it all. Designated "Father's Day" because fathers are supposed to be the great supporters of families. Supposed to lead children on the right path in life. Supposed to not hit their children. Supposed to not constantly stay out all night, obviously cheating on his wife. I know I'm not the only one. THere are thousands out there that feel the same way I do. They dread the third Sunday in June. Unwanted memories surface as the real loved ones spend time with their fathers, grandfathers, whatever the case may be.
WCF if full to the brim with new guys, new guys that know I hurt people, and that's it. Well I've taken this time to enlighten you guys. Show you a side of myself rarely seen. So please, pay attention.
It all begins typically. As a toddler, I was a trouble maker. Who wasn't? I didn't like vegetables, so I wouldn't eat them. My father put those vegetables on the dinner table through his hard work, so damnit, if you didn't eat the vegetables, he'd break your jaw so you had to drink V-8 constantly. He was that kind of "man", if I can use the term loosely. My brother and sister usually got the same treatment as well. Being older, though, they would try to fight him off, and sometimes get away. I couldn't.
This type of shit continued. I'd accidentally break a window with a basketball at age six, he'd finish breaking the window with my head. Kirk and Sara would take me, bandage me up, and we'd head off to our uncle's house. He'd hide us for a day or two, but he knew what kind of man my father was, and he didn't want to get caught with us. Made no sense then. Makes perfect sense now. Anyways, this all kept happening until a brutal August night. It was a Friday.
Friday the 13th. Yeah, cliche, I don't care, that was the day. Kirk, Sara, and I were playing when my father came home drunk or coked out or something. I don't know what he was on, but whatever it was, it wasn't a happy drug. I went up to the bathroom upstairs, and came back to my brother and sister severely beaten. And when I say severely, I mean fucking severe. There was blood coming out of every inch of them it seemed. I was so terrified. I thought maybe a wild animal came in. Maybe a robber. But no. There stood my father, bloody baseball bat in his hand, covered in blood himself. He put the bat down and sent me to my room. Being a nine year old, and still pretty weak, I did what I was told, especially after seeing what I saw. I ran to my bed and covered up. That lasted all of three minutes, as I heard something outside. I looked out my window and saw my father digging a hole with Kirk and Sara laying beside him. I went right back to my bed and covered up. Seconds passed. Minutes passed. I don't know. All I know is, when I heard the front door open and my mother saw what happened, she ran out in tears. I crawled out of bed and out my door to the top of the steps where the baseball bat lay. I picked it up and hid behind the wall.
My father came in, put the shovel down, and called my name. I didn't move. He screamed for me. Again, I didn't move. I heard him start up the steps. Closer and closer. When he reached the top, I saw him out of the corner of my eye and swung away. Knocked him down the steps. I ran down. I kept hitting him. I didn't stop. I couldn't stop. Something took over me. I beat my father to death, the same way he beat my sister and brother.
My mother returned, took me to the police, had me confess and all that. They let me off ... not only because I was nine, but they considered it self defense after seeing what he did.
From then on, I lived with my mother until she died in a car accident when I was sixteen. I claimed my parents both died in siad car accident. That was hardly the truth.
That's my story, new guys. Take this into consideration while you spend the day with your father.
That being said, Creeping Death turns the car into a dark wooded area, and drives through. CD stops the car, and gets out into the rain. The camera stays in the car. CD pops the trunk and grabs something. He closes the trunk and walks over into the distance. A tombstone is seen at his feet, obviously he's in a cemetery. CD picks the object over his head and brings it down into the tombstone, breaking the object. Wood shards fly everywhere. Creeping Death broke a baseball bat over the tombstone. The scene fades out.
