Post by Deleted on Apr 29, 2007 13:32:16 GMT -5
Cairo came alive with a crash of lightning. "What the hell was that?" he thought to himself. "Oh, it's just the storm raging outside my window. Back to sleep I go." But sleep was not in the cards for Mr. Cairo on this rainy, April evening. Cairo tossed and turned like so many rats in a maze, before jumping out of bed and drifting off to the kitchen. Cairo stuck his head in the refrigerator. "What shall we drink? Milk? Vodka? Milk and vodka? No, sir, grape juice is the ticket." Cairo grabbed the bottle and made his way toward the den. Along the way he passed the hallway mirror. "Wait a minute. What was that? Did I just see something in that mirror?" Oh yes, Cairo did see an image out the corner of his eye. It appeared for merely a split-second, but he knew that a plot negativa was afoot. "Perhaps it was a pagan or demigod?" Cairo was desperate for answers. The sweat perspired his hand, causing the bottle to slip from his grasp. Luckily it was a shatterproof plastic bottle, it would have been a shame to stain that beautiful marble floor. However, a grape juice stain would have been the least of Cairo's worries. He had an intruder in his home and he was bewildered by this development. "I know you're out there, coward! Show yourself dammit!" Suddenly the trespasser reappeared in front of Cairo's very eyes. Oh yes this was a mean motherfucker. He had horns, hooves, a pitchfork, the entire package. El Diablo was making a rare appearance live from Bobby Cairo's Connecticut estate. Where was Brady Quinn to revel in the moment? Cairo stammered as he tried to speak. He was so encumbered that he was literally frozen in place. The great demon laughed maniacally at the former world champion. The Demon spoke in pagan tongues. "Silence, mortal! Your soul has been rendered obsolete!" Cairo sputtered the only words that he could find. "Yes, father, please educate me. I am your disciple. I shall plague mankind with a swarm of locusts and choke their breath to a bitter end!" Then, Cairo's world went black.
Cairo awoke at the foot of the stairwell with a blurred vision. He could see the silhouette of a man hovering over him. "Where am I? Who are you?" Cairo asked as he frantically rubbed his eyes. Upon closer inspection Cairo realized that the man was none other than his closest confidante and dearest friend, Obsidian. For those who don't know, Obsidian is a lost spirit of the apparition kind that haunts the Cairo estate. During his life he was a pirate stationed off the coast of the Caribbean. Tragically, Obsidian died in the Great Battalion Fire of 1438. Obsidian made it his eternal conquest to haunt the mansion of William Bloomquist, disgustingly wealthy proprietor of the Anna Maria Armada, whom Obsidian deemed responsible for the fire. Bloomquist ultimately died of pneumonia after being caught outside during a hurricane. His estate was passed down through the generations of his family before eventually being sold to Mr. Cairo and a group of Japanese businessmen. Anyway, let's get back to the story. "Obsidian, what are you doing here? Nevermind, I'm glad you're here. The craziest thing happened! I had an encounter with El Diablo and next thing I know I'm waking up here!" Cairo was beside himself with grief. Obsidian attempted to soothsay his dear friend. "Calm down, my friend. I'm afraid that you've been the victim of a belated April Fool's gag. That wasn't El Diablo. It was me! I used my shapeshifting powers to deceive you! Hardy har har and a rin tin tin!" Cairo jumped to his feet and put up his dukes, his voice screeching like a hoot owl. "How dare you, Obsidian? I damn near shat my knickers, boy! Ah, who am I kidding. That was one hell of a larf! Well done, old bean." The two friends embraced in a sort of ethereal pond as the partition swung along its vines to the next chapter.
Tea and Lorna Doone cookies provided the sustenance as Cairo and Obsidian chatted into the early morning hours. "Have you learned of Boris Yeltsin's passing?" asked the ghost of his flesh-feathered friend. "Yes. I was disarmed in that moment when I learned the tragic news. The years flashed before my eyes and I could feel the turbulence of that sullen era reverberating through my soul. A piece of me died with Yeltsin. My youth was shaped in great part by his policies and philosophies. For that I will forever be grateful." The graying seafarer was intrigued. "How are you coping with the Omega Rising?" he asked of Cairo. Cairo paused for a moment and pondered his friend's question. "For those who may not be aware, the Omega Rising is the conjuring of dust and ghosts inside of my soul. The Omega Rising causes me to walk that thin line between suicide, homicide and sheer, utter brilliance. To answer your question, Obsidian, I am coping as well as can be expected. When your inner being is occupied by Satan and his minions, it's not exactly a comfortable working environment." Obsidian seemed unnerved by Cairo's proclamation. "If you are troubled, Bobby, you can always join me on the other side." Cairo chuckled the chuckle of kings. "Join you? That's no solution, Obsidian. I am damned in life as I will be damned in death. There is no escape. You know that as well as I do." The lightning crashed once again, shattering the silent reverie and transcribing the frameshift. We move forward.
The basement of Cairo's mansion is dry as a bone despite most other Connecticans being swamped to the gills. This is the benefit of proper insulation that comes only for society's privileged. "In my estimation that's the only downside of life in the fast lane," Obsidian prosed. Cairo was perplexed. "To what are you referring, my dear and wonderful friend?" The deadman was slicking back his hair in the bathroom mirror with a considerable grin on his face. "Bobby, you know exactly what I'm talking about. You only have one meat plow yet there's so much of that sweet butterscotch kootchi just throwing itself at your feet." Cairo once again chuckled the chuckle of kings. "That is indeed correct, Obsidian. You are very wise. If I had multiple genitalia I could accomplish so much more. Alas I am a single-peniled young millionaire." Obsidian turned toward his friend and gazed directly into his eyes. "Do you know something, Bobby? Richard Gere had the right idea, but he didn't go far enough. He should have fucked that Indian woman like a deviant butcher twisting the knife in a rawhide camel. Speaking of which, how are things between yourself and Maggie?" Cairo sighed deeply and furrowed his brow. "I thought about her last night as I masturbated. Then I fell asleep. That's the most time I've spent with her in months." Obsidian was clearly taken aback by his friend's revelation. "Damn, dude. You mean you ain't hit that shit in all this time? I'd be givin that bitch the wiggily woggily every damn night, shon. But maybe dats just me." Cairo shook his head. "Naw, it ain't just you. It's every sensible and right-minded male on Planet Earth. It seems to me that she doesn't want me anymore. She's living with that Peter Saarsgard these days. I guess he's more her speed. He's one of these Hollywood hotshots. I can't compete with that. That's the problem with being a wrestling star, Obsidian. It doesn't matter how high you climb upon that mountain, it doesn't even matter if you reach the peak. It'll never be enough because most people don't give a shit about what we do. Think about it this way, Obsidian. There are people who don't give a shit about Michael Jordan. People who don't like sports, they don't give a shit about Michael Jordan. People who don't like basketball, they don't give a shit about Michael Jordan." Obsidian smiled knowingly. "I hear you, Bobby. I cannot explain why certain people have such peculiar tastes. I suppose it's the reason why death metal bands will never have platinum records hanging on their wall. The majority will always disregard the most talented and exceptional artists of our times. This is the burden of being ahead of your time. The masses can't wrap their mind around what you're trying to accomplish until you end up garroted in a ditch with a gun to your head." The two friends smiled and clinked their beer mugs together as the parchment turned to pale.
Cairo was sprawled out on the dinner table as Obsidian was throwing darts at the dartboard. Cairo by this point was intoxicated and waxing poetic like a Benedictine monk on a Saturday night. "So many days and in so many ways I want to be complete. I've come so close to sanity, to solace. Yet there's always that one thread of disillusionment that binds me. I don't want to die like this, Obsidian. I want to die a whole man. I want to die a man at peace. If I can do that then perhaps I can avoid damnation." Now it was Obsidian's turn to chuckle. "Bobby, if you can avoid damnation then I'll eat this old buccaneer's hat. You know well as I do that this is your destiny. Heaven is for followers. The eternal void is for pioneers. You don't want to be up there with all those asskissing assholes, trust me, Bobby." Cairo shakes his head. "You know why Jeff Jarrett is such an asshole? It's because they fucked up. They tried to put Bob Backlund in a corner. When will they learn? Nobody puts Backlund in a corner." Obsidian takes a seat at the table. "Tell me, Bobby. How did you meet Maggie in the first place? I've always wanted to know." Cairo takes a deep breath as he thinks back to the greatest moment of his life. "I saw her standing on the mezzanine. Like a pendulum swing, she shook that thing. I remembered seeing her in such critically acclaimed films as Donnie Darko and Secretary. I was in Heaven as I stood in awe of God's most wonderous creation. Truly, wholly, completely, I would never be the same." Obsidian took a chug of his Guinness then glanced at his pocket watch. "It strikes me, Bobby, they we're just hours away from Payback. You can walk out of there as both he TV champ and the #1 contender to the World Title. This is a huge night for you." Cairo sighs once more before taking a swig of Stolichnaya. "I'm so tired of Lawnmower Jones. I want this to be over. I've waged war with that man for months and I can assure you of one thing, Obsidian. This blood feud that we've shared has been both a blessing and a curse. We've transfixed the masses while sacrificing our very souls in the process. If Jones and I are not the last true artists in this cruel and heartless world, we're certainly right there with Devin Townsend and the members of Naglfar." Obsidian nodded in agreement.
Television's white noise of soiled brows and domesticated ecophasms was shattered across the soundscape. Mr. or Ms. Announcer droned on. "For the first time in history, a Thomas’s English Muffin has been elected president of the United States. We now go live to Thomas’s campaign headquarters for reaction." The dismal lights had faded. Purity remained an ideal of the simple-minded. Felines juxtaposed themselves for the shivering slivers of rat poison spread across a dimestore wafer. What would Jesus do? Jesus would burn eternally. This was his choice. His resurrection is fantasy, a theological hoax parlayed upon humanity's frail consciousness. Mutually assured destruction is nay a theory, but rather our ultimate destiny, our ultimate demise. These words were written in blood, in a bible, under these rocks and stones.
Cairo awoke at the foot of the stairwell with a blurred vision. He could see the silhouette of a man hovering over him. "Where am I? Who are you?" Cairo asked as he frantically rubbed his eyes. Upon closer inspection Cairo realized that the man was none other than his closest confidante and dearest friend, Obsidian. For those who don't know, Obsidian is a lost spirit of the apparition kind that haunts the Cairo estate. During his life he was a pirate stationed off the coast of the Caribbean. Tragically, Obsidian died in the Great Battalion Fire of 1438. Obsidian made it his eternal conquest to haunt the mansion of William Bloomquist, disgustingly wealthy proprietor of the Anna Maria Armada, whom Obsidian deemed responsible for the fire. Bloomquist ultimately died of pneumonia after being caught outside during a hurricane. His estate was passed down through the generations of his family before eventually being sold to Mr. Cairo and a group of Japanese businessmen. Anyway, let's get back to the story. "Obsidian, what are you doing here? Nevermind, I'm glad you're here. The craziest thing happened! I had an encounter with El Diablo and next thing I know I'm waking up here!" Cairo was beside himself with grief. Obsidian attempted to soothsay his dear friend. "Calm down, my friend. I'm afraid that you've been the victim of a belated April Fool's gag. That wasn't El Diablo. It was me! I used my shapeshifting powers to deceive you! Hardy har har and a rin tin tin!" Cairo jumped to his feet and put up his dukes, his voice screeching like a hoot owl. "How dare you, Obsidian? I damn near shat my knickers, boy! Ah, who am I kidding. That was one hell of a larf! Well done, old bean." The two friends embraced in a sort of ethereal pond as the partition swung along its vines to the next chapter.
Tea and Lorna Doone cookies provided the sustenance as Cairo and Obsidian chatted into the early morning hours. "Have you learned of Boris Yeltsin's passing?" asked the ghost of his flesh-feathered friend. "Yes. I was disarmed in that moment when I learned the tragic news. The years flashed before my eyes and I could feel the turbulence of that sullen era reverberating through my soul. A piece of me died with Yeltsin. My youth was shaped in great part by his policies and philosophies. For that I will forever be grateful." The graying seafarer was intrigued. "How are you coping with the Omega Rising?" he asked of Cairo. Cairo paused for a moment and pondered his friend's question. "For those who may not be aware, the Omega Rising is the conjuring of dust and ghosts inside of my soul. The Omega Rising causes me to walk that thin line between suicide, homicide and sheer, utter brilliance. To answer your question, Obsidian, I am coping as well as can be expected. When your inner being is occupied by Satan and his minions, it's not exactly a comfortable working environment." Obsidian seemed unnerved by Cairo's proclamation. "If you are troubled, Bobby, you can always join me on the other side." Cairo chuckled the chuckle of kings. "Join you? That's no solution, Obsidian. I am damned in life as I will be damned in death. There is no escape. You know that as well as I do." The lightning crashed once again, shattering the silent reverie and transcribing the frameshift. We move forward.
The basement of Cairo's mansion is dry as a bone despite most other Connecticans being swamped to the gills. This is the benefit of proper insulation that comes only for society's privileged. "In my estimation that's the only downside of life in the fast lane," Obsidian prosed. Cairo was perplexed. "To what are you referring, my dear and wonderful friend?" The deadman was slicking back his hair in the bathroom mirror with a considerable grin on his face. "Bobby, you know exactly what I'm talking about. You only have one meat plow yet there's so much of that sweet butterscotch kootchi just throwing itself at your feet." Cairo once again chuckled the chuckle of kings. "That is indeed correct, Obsidian. You are very wise. If I had multiple genitalia I could accomplish so much more. Alas I am a single-peniled young millionaire." Obsidian turned toward his friend and gazed directly into his eyes. "Do you know something, Bobby? Richard Gere had the right idea, but he didn't go far enough. He should have fucked that Indian woman like a deviant butcher twisting the knife in a rawhide camel. Speaking of which, how are things between yourself and Maggie?" Cairo sighed deeply and furrowed his brow. "I thought about her last night as I masturbated. Then I fell asleep. That's the most time I've spent with her in months." Obsidian was clearly taken aback by his friend's revelation. "Damn, dude. You mean you ain't hit that shit in all this time? I'd be givin that bitch the wiggily woggily every damn night, shon. But maybe dats just me." Cairo shook his head. "Naw, it ain't just you. It's every sensible and right-minded male on Planet Earth. It seems to me that she doesn't want me anymore. She's living with that Peter Saarsgard these days. I guess he's more her speed. He's one of these Hollywood hotshots. I can't compete with that. That's the problem with being a wrestling star, Obsidian. It doesn't matter how high you climb upon that mountain, it doesn't even matter if you reach the peak. It'll never be enough because most people don't give a shit about what we do. Think about it this way, Obsidian. There are people who don't give a shit about Michael Jordan. People who don't like sports, they don't give a shit about Michael Jordan. People who don't like basketball, they don't give a shit about Michael Jordan." Obsidian smiled knowingly. "I hear you, Bobby. I cannot explain why certain people have such peculiar tastes. I suppose it's the reason why death metal bands will never have platinum records hanging on their wall. The majority will always disregard the most talented and exceptional artists of our times. This is the burden of being ahead of your time. The masses can't wrap their mind around what you're trying to accomplish until you end up garroted in a ditch with a gun to your head." The two friends smiled and clinked their beer mugs together as the parchment turned to pale.
Cairo was sprawled out on the dinner table as Obsidian was throwing darts at the dartboard. Cairo by this point was intoxicated and waxing poetic like a Benedictine monk on a Saturday night. "So many days and in so many ways I want to be complete. I've come so close to sanity, to solace. Yet there's always that one thread of disillusionment that binds me. I don't want to die like this, Obsidian. I want to die a whole man. I want to die a man at peace. If I can do that then perhaps I can avoid damnation." Now it was Obsidian's turn to chuckle. "Bobby, if you can avoid damnation then I'll eat this old buccaneer's hat. You know well as I do that this is your destiny. Heaven is for followers. The eternal void is for pioneers. You don't want to be up there with all those asskissing assholes, trust me, Bobby." Cairo shakes his head. "You know why Jeff Jarrett is such an asshole? It's because they fucked up. They tried to put Bob Backlund in a corner. When will they learn? Nobody puts Backlund in a corner." Obsidian takes a seat at the table. "Tell me, Bobby. How did you meet Maggie in the first place? I've always wanted to know." Cairo takes a deep breath as he thinks back to the greatest moment of his life. "I saw her standing on the mezzanine. Like a pendulum swing, she shook that thing. I remembered seeing her in such critically acclaimed films as Donnie Darko and Secretary. I was in Heaven as I stood in awe of God's most wonderous creation. Truly, wholly, completely, I would never be the same." Obsidian took a chug of his Guinness then glanced at his pocket watch. "It strikes me, Bobby, they we're just hours away from Payback. You can walk out of there as both he TV champ and the #1 contender to the World Title. This is a huge night for you." Cairo sighs once more before taking a swig of Stolichnaya. "I'm so tired of Lawnmower Jones. I want this to be over. I've waged war with that man for months and I can assure you of one thing, Obsidian. This blood feud that we've shared has been both a blessing and a curse. We've transfixed the masses while sacrificing our very souls in the process. If Jones and I are not the last true artists in this cruel and heartless world, we're certainly right there with Devin Townsend and the members of Naglfar." Obsidian nodded in agreement.
Television's white noise of soiled brows and domesticated ecophasms was shattered across the soundscape. Mr. or Ms. Announcer droned on. "For the first time in history, a Thomas’s English Muffin has been elected president of the United States. We now go live to Thomas’s campaign headquarters for reaction." The dismal lights had faded. Purity remained an ideal of the simple-minded. Felines juxtaposed themselves for the shivering slivers of rat poison spread across a dimestore wafer. What would Jesus do? Jesus would burn eternally. This was his choice. His resurrection is fantasy, a theological hoax parlayed upon humanity's frail consciousness. Mutually assured destruction is nay a theory, but rather our ultimate destiny, our ultimate demise. These words were written in blood, in a bible, under these rocks and stones.
