Post by Corey Black on May 14, 2006 3:10:43 GMT -5
We open up to your standard doctor's office. Creeping Death is sitting on the table, shirt off, bandages over his ribs. The doctor walks into the office and stands next to CD.
Doctor: Alright, I'm going to need to remove these bandages and check out this wound.
The doctor starts unwrapping CD's ribs, revealing the huge wound left on his side from the weedwhacker. It's a vertical row of deep lacerations, still open, even two weeks after the cutting.
Doctor: Well, this really doesn't look good. You might have to take a few weeks off. With that thirty foot drop on top of wrestling the next week, your body isn't functioning correctly enough to handle healing itself.
Creeping Death: Yeah, well, if I do that, I lose my job. That's not happening.
Doctor: If this gets infected through improper healing, it could cause a reaction in your heart that could stop it.
Creeping Death looks right in the doctor's eyes.
Creeping Death: I'm not losing my job with WCF.
The doctor puts some antibiotic cream on the wound, and wraps it back up. Creeping Death slips his black football jersey back on, and exits the office. He walks down a hallway, and into the receptionists room. Creeping Death walks right out of the office, and into the night. CD walks across the parking lot to his black Chrysler 300C. CD opens the driver door as the cameraman opens the back and gets in. Sitting in the passenger seat is Torture.
Torture: What's the word, dude?
Creeping Death: Same old. Stop for a few weeks, let the body heal, blah blah. Ridiculous.
Torture: Honestly man, you need to slow it down some. This "Career Match" might have been made because Logan has a hint that you've gone crazy the past few weeks, your body is shutting down, and Burn Out will just crush you.
Creeping Death: I see sense in that, yeah. Why my career is on the line is beyond me though.
Torture: No joke. That's messed up. Burn Out has his posse with him, too. We got your back.
Creeping Death: Excellent. As long as you and Nate take care of business if needed, I can take care of that bumbling fool. Rawawwrar FEEL THE BURN! The only burn he feels is the burn from the herpes he contracted from fucking Logan in the ass to get a chance to get in the ring with me.
Torture, who was taking a drink of Mountain Dew, spits it out.
Torture: Holy shit did you just say that?!
Creeping Death: Indeed I did. You wanna watch out for the dash? Nobody likes a stickybush dash.
CD starts his 300C and pulls out onto the street.
Torture: What are you planning on doing after this match, anyways?
Creeping Death: Considering my chances of losing to be slim to nil, I should have something lined up, eh? What do you think?
Torture: After that Nightmare Chamber, I think you've proven you're the craziest person competing in WCF. Something like that?
Creeping Death: Yeah, something like that. We'll have to see what happens. I'm going to have to figure out what I can do to get myself some kind of a title shot. It's been a while.
Torture: Yeah, good call. Hopefully someone will give some word on that situation.
Creeping Death: So where was Nate? Target?
Torture: Yeah, he had to buy something. Does he know where to find the "Promo" section?
CD chuckles to himself, slapping the wheel of his car a few times.
Creeping Death: Ouch man. Ouch. ... yeah I'm not familiar with that section of the store either.
Torture: Noticed. It's right over there.
Creeping Death pulls into the Target parking lot, and the two step out of the 300C. Scene fades out with CD and Tort fist bumping.
Doctor: Alright, I'm going to need to remove these bandages and check out this wound.
The doctor starts unwrapping CD's ribs, revealing the huge wound left on his side from the weedwhacker. It's a vertical row of deep lacerations, still open, even two weeks after the cutting.
Doctor: Well, this really doesn't look good. You might have to take a few weeks off. With that thirty foot drop on top of wrestling the next week, your body isn't functioning correctly enough to handle healing itself.
Creeping Death: Yeah, well, if I do that, I lose my job. That's not happening.
Doctor: If this gets infected through improper healing, it could cause a reaction in your heart that could stop it.
Creeping Death looks right in the doctor's eyes.
Creeping Death: I'm not losing my job with WCF.
The doctor puts some antibiotic cream on the wound, and wraps it back up. Creeping Death slips his black football jersey back on, and exits the office. He walks down a hallway, and into the receptionists room. Creeping Death walks right out of the office, and into the night. CD walks across the parking lot to his black Chrysler 300C. CD opens the driver door as the cameraman opens the back and gets in. Sitting in the passenger seat is Torture.
Torture: What's the word, dude?
Creeping Death: Same old. Stop for a few weeks, let the body heal, blah blah. Ridiculous.
Torture: Honestly man, you need to slow it down some. This "Career Match" might have been made because Logan has a hint that you've gone crazy the past few weeks, your body is shutting down, and Burn Out will just crush you.
Creeping Death: I see sense in that, yeah. Why my career is on the line is beyond me though.
Torture: No joke. That's messed up. Burn Out has his posse with him, too. We got your back.
Creeping Death: Excellent. As long as you and Nate take care of business if needed, I can take care of that bumbling fool. Rawawwrar FEEL THE BURN! The only burn he feels is the burn from the herpes he contracted from fucking Logan in the ass to get a chance to get in the ring with me.
Torture, who was taking a drink of Mountain Dew, spits it out.
Torture: Holy shit did you just say that?!
Creeping Death: Indeed I did. You wanna watch out for the dash? Nobody likes a sticky
CD starts his 300C and pulls out onto the street.
Torture: What are you planning on doing after this match, anyways?
Creeping Death: Considering my chances of losing to be slim to nil, I should have something lined up, eh? What do you think?
Torture: After that Nightmare Chamber, I think you've proven you're the craziest person competing in WCF. Something like that?
Creeping Death: Yeah, something like that. We'll have to see what happens. I'm going to have to figure out what I can do to get myself some kind of a title shot. It's been a while.
Torture: Yeah, good call. Hopefully someone will give some word on that situation.
Creeping Death: So where was Nate? Target?
Torture: Yeah, he had to buy something. Does he know where to find the "Promo" section?
CD chuckles to himself, slapping the wheel of his car a few times.
Creeping Death: Ouch man. Ouch. ... yeah I'm not familiar with that section of the store either.
Torture: Noticed. It's right over there.
Creeping Death pulls into the Target parking lot, and the two step out of the 300C. Scene fades out with CD and Tort fist bumping.
