Post by Deleted on May 13, 2011 1:30:06 GMT -5
(A tape recorder is clicked on. The sound of uproarious laughter can be heard followed by a gentle exhale.)
"Oh how you humor me, Greenfever. You humor me and you disappoint me, Greenie. I expected so much more from you. I expected that you would unleash pure hell on me this week with one insane promo after another, promos that would assault the very neural senses within my brain and render me so stupefied that I would be mentally unable to compete at my optimal level on Friday night. So here I've been waiting... waiting... waiting... waiting for something, anything that would blow my mind, anything that would just... mindfuck me. You know? Like in Total Recall. So I'm busting my ass in training every day, but I'm keeping my mind's eye peeled because I want to know when some hot shit falls from Greenie's ass and makes its way onto the airwaves. I figure that a wrestling promo gives me a glimpse into my opponent's psyche, so that's why I want to keep on the look out, right?
"Well, here's the thing: For one week you said nothing. You spoke not a word. I wondered to myself "Is Greenfever too frightened to speak about the man who defeated him? Is he even going to bother showing up on Friday night? I mean he is the one who challenged me to a Flatliner match, and I have been busting my ass in training to get ready for it. After all of the hard work that I've invested into preparing for this match, am I even going to receive my opportunity to end Greenie's life and career?" You had me legitimately worried, Greenie. You had me thinking that maybe you had pulled a fast one on me and the entire WCF Universe. Then tonight... the shit storm flooded in. Five promos in the span of fifty-one minutes? Damn, you've been a busier man than I thought, Greenie. Apparently while I've been busy busting my ass at the gym, training like a soldier who's preparing to enter a warzone, you've been busy shooting rehashes of scenes from old horror movies. That's... an interesting strategy to say the least.
"I guess you were going for the A Clockwork Orange effect, right? You reasoned that if you waited until the night before our match and then flooded my senses with one sinister, twisted, psychotic promo after another in lighting quick succession that somehow it was going to, you know, mindfuck me, right? You figured that it would have me questioning everything that I thought I knew, everything that I've put into my training, everything that I've been working toward, even the sex that I have with my girlfriend. That's what you were going for, right? Come on, tell me, tell me! Was that the plan, man? Awww... you're not going to tell me, are you? Well, I already know. I know that you thought I would see that shit and just quit, not even bother trying at XIII. You thought that I would just lie down and die for you... literally. The problem for you, Greenie, is that your strategy backfired."
(Phil makes a clicking sound with his lips. You can just picture him shaking his head with sad eyes and pouted lips.)
"Yeah, it's a goddamn shame, isn't it? All of that hard work and you'll end up with squat to show for it. I mean, forget squat... squat would mean that you're still alive and still in the game. Fuck that. You're going to be dead when I'm through with you, motherfucker, but before I murder you live on pay-per-view I'm going to explain how you fucked up. See, the problem with churning out one promo after another and stacking them on top of each other like that, is that after awhile they become like white noise. I swear, I was checking my watch by the time that second promo ended, wondering how much longer this drivel, this repetitive bullshit that you've been spewing for two years now was gonna prattle on for. "Greenfever killed a couple of hippies, but he wasn't really killing them it was a bedtime story that a father was telling his son, but then Greenie really did kill the father... or was that all a swerve too?" I mean I know that they keep regurgitating "new" releases in the Saw franchise, but that slasher shit is played out, man. This is America. I could find scarier shit than dead hippies and decapitated dads just by walking out of the front door in my old neighborhood, and I live in Connecticut for fuck's sake.
"Is any of that honestly supposed to frighten me, Greenie? I've already been in the ring with you, dude. I've already felt your limp body in my hands while I was seven-twenty powerbombing you through a flaming table. Do you believe for one moment that anything that you could ever do or say would frighten me? Maybe the teenagers watching WCF at home are hiding under their covers at night, trembling at the thought of the Greenfever boogeyman barging in through their bedroom door and purging their entrails from their torso, but I'm not a teenager. I'm not a scared, little boy. I'm a grown ass man who gets off on shoving his size fifteen boot down YOUR throat. I get off on pummeling YOU with chair shot after chair shot as metal meets cranium with repeated sickening thuds. I get off on smacking YOU upside your demented little head with the crackening whip of a kendo stick until a steady stream of blood is flowing from each and every one of your orifices, and even then I don't stop... I only get harder, Greenie. That's right I get a mad erection from making you bleed, bro. You know what else makes me hard? Do you know what else gets me off, Greenie? I get off on burying your ass in the middle of the ring with one stiff power move after another, Flash Apocalypse, State of Emergency, Halcyon Daze, one after another in a perfect sequence of voluminous destruction that rapes your body and purges every last sapling of life force from your soul.
"Oh, but uh, do not let me get ahead of myself, honey child. Was there a bush that you were trying to burn down with your lame, overhyped, tired ass promos, Greenie? When it was all said and done and you had deluged viewers with one predictable image of violence after another you resorted to... homophobic innuendo to try to get inside my head?"
(Cacophonous laughter emerges from Baines' sarcophagus, causing you to wince and shudder as you listen along to the recording.)
"Wow, that's rich. I'm the target of gay jokes from a man who has never busted a nut inside of a woman in all of his recorded life history. Yeah, that's right, motherfucker. Dr. Heill keeps a file of your every daily activity, Greenie. He tracks your every move and records every single thing that you do. When you wipe your taut, little ass on a dead man's face after dropping a deuce on the same dead man's chest, there's a record of it. When you blow your nose inside of a dead, elderly, female Asian bus driver's chest cavity, you know the elderly, female, Asian bus driver that you just finished disemboweling, there's a record of it. Sadly, the "Busted a nut inside of a smoking hot chica" file remains empty. Hell, that motherfucker's been collecting dust for years now. Not once, NOT ONCE has your shriveled little wang ever so much as achieved a hard-on at the sight of a supple, young beeyotch with giant tits and a tight, wet cunt.
"That's just sad, man. I mean it's not sad that you're gay or asexual or whatever you are, but it's sad that you feel compelled to fling your primordial feces in my direction by hurling absurd accusations of homosexuality at me when you're not exactly standing on firm ground on that issue yourself. It's as if you're one of these self-loathing homos. Let's face it, you wear girl pants. You have that little crink in your wrist. Do you remember in our first match when you smacked my head into the steel post of the ring and then you tried to finish me off with a chair shot? You swung and missed, homie. Your limp wrists gave out on you. Your true-self betrayed you. That's the problem with guys like you, Greenie. You put on a grand facade for the entire world to see but none of those theatrics change who you are as a person, as a man. Just as some women have more make-up than face, some men have more bravado than fight. That describes Omega Greenfever in a nutshell.
"Yeah I get hard from raping dudes inside of the ring, but guess what? I RAPE DUDES INSIDE OF THE RING. Get it, Greenie? I don't need to put on a brave face or a false bravado. And when it's all said and done, when I reach my fever pitch in the heat of passion, I'm cumming inside of my girlfriend's vagina. In that moment I feel Heaven. I'm not a religious man. I know that Heaven is a place inside of a man's mind, not a metaphysical afterworld, and Heaven for me is cumming inside of my girl. I cum in her snatch, I cum in her mouth, in her ass, on her tits and on her face. I cum inside of her every which way but loose, because I cum hard in the sack just like I come hard inside of the ring. You will never see weakness from the man they call Baines, because Baines don't have it in him to be a bitch. I'm not like you, Greenie. I don't have to fake the realness, because my swagger comes naturally. From my face to my feet I'm au naturel, the real deal, the authentic article. I'm not a grim cartoon character or horror movie villain. I'm a grown ass man who will settle for nothing less than ultimate victory in all-out warfare, and that's precisely what makes me scarier than a thousand and one Greenfever's could ever be.
"But you go on, Greenie. Do your thing, son. Keep on staging your horror movie scenes. Keep on letting Dr. Heill implant them computer chips in your brain, filling your mind with dreams of a murder spree that will never come to fruition against the man who has already proven to be your kryptonite, your Achilles' heel. And while you're at it, keep on questioning my sexuality. It makes me laugh. It makes me see how truly weak and desperate you really are. You're grasping at straws because you know that your words and your entire game plan lack substance. You murder women because that's the only thing that you can do to feel adequate around them, while I fuck the most beautiful woman that my eyes have ever laid sight on. See the difference, Greenie? It's glaringly obvious who the homosexual is in this equation. It doesn't help your cause that you spent more time talking about my smile during your promos than you spent actually talking about our match. Yes, I am a handsome man. Yes, I have a beautiful smile. Yes, my handsome face and my beautiful smile have been plastered upon a litany of magazines since I defeated you and went on to win the WCF Classic. Yes, you are obsessed with me and you get turned on when you think about my smile, not to mention my taut abs, my rippling biceps and my tight ass. Yes, that does make you gay.
"Oh but I don't want to offend the queer sensibilities of any GLAAD members who might be listening to this audio. One of my best friends is named Chad Evans. He's a former WCF World Champion, he kicked more ass than any man in the history of this company has ever kicked during a four month span before his career was prematurely ended by a concussion at the hands of a Mexican cunt named JJ. Chad was an awesome wrestler and he is in fact a bisexual. Now, from my perspective, there's nothing wrong with being bi or gay. I whole-heartedly endorse gay marriage and I'm proud to live in a state where gay marriage is legal, that state being Connecticut. What I don't agree with is the desperate and pathetic tactics of a man like Greenfever, who is scared to death of what I bring to the table. Greenfever knows that he's not as good as me. That's why he flooded the airwaves with five promos in the span of fifty-one minutes in a misguided attempt to intimidate and perhaps even confuse me. Greenfever further attempted to rile me by then making accusations of homosexuality, which I have clearly defeated and turned around against him, resulting in an unquestionable victory for Baines.
"It's like I said in my last promo, Greenie. Baines is the bane of your existence. You can flood the airwaves with promos, but the reality is that you cannot so much as get a word in edgewise against me. I am holding my ground against all of the hate and ignorance that you spew, and I will not give you an inch without taking a mile. I will beat you down like the punk-ass bitch that you are because I gotta tell ya, Greenie... at first I was amused by your antics. At first I thought you were funny as hell because you're a parody of what a real man and a real serial killer is. Yeah, but then I started drinking and I got real pissed off. I've been drinking... what is this shit? Let me glance at the bottles. Hang on..."
(There is dead air for a few moments, then the sound of glass bottles clinking together.)
"There's a forty ounce bottle of Steel Reserve and a pint of Lady Bligh, and I'm just about finished with both. I'm angry and I'm pissed with you, Greenie. I'm pissed as a motherfucker because you represent all of the weakness and cowardice that I stand in opposition to. I've got an early morning flight to Des Moines, but I'm going to finish drinking and I'm going to listen to some horns and trumpets and a little bit of that rock and roll sound before I hit the sack. I want to get into a killer's mindset and then I want to channel that shit and use it to murder your punk ass tonight at XIII. Make no mistake about it, bitch: When Baines gets unleashed at XIII and I get my hands on your scrawny, girly ass there will be no question, there will be no doubt in anyone's mind. God will die and I will be the motherfucker who sends him to his grave. You got a problem with that, Greenie? Suck my dick, you honky redneck cracker ass bitch."
(Just as Baines' words come to an end the thunderous sound of Audioslave's hit single "Cochise" roars to life.)
"Oh how you humor me, Greenfever. You humor me and you disappoint me, Greenie. I expected so much more from you. I expected that you would unleash pure hell on me this week with one insane promo after another, promos that would assault the very neural senses within my brain and render me so stupefied that I would be mentally unable to compete at my optimal level on Friday night. So here I've been waiting... waiting... waiting... waiting for something, anything that would blow my mind, anything that would just... mindfuck me. You know? Like in Total Recall. So I'm busting my ass in training every day, but I'm keeping my mind's eye peeled because I want to know when some hot shit falls from Greenie's ass and makes its way onto the airwaves. I figure that a wrestling promo gives me a glimpse into my opponent's psyche, so that's why I want to keep on the look out, right?
"Well, here's the thing: For one week you said nothing. You spoke not a word. I wondered to myself "Is Greenfever too frightened to speak about the man who defeated him? Is he even going to bother showing up on Friday night? I mean he is the one who challenged me to a Flatliner match, and I have been busting my ass in training to get ready for it. After all of the hard work that I've invested into preparing for this match, am I even going to receive my opportunity to end Greenie's life and career?" You had me legitimately worried, Greenie. You had me thinking that maybe you had pulled a fast one on me and the entire WCF Universe. Then tonight... the shit storm flooded in. Five promos in the span of fifty-one minutes? Damn, you've been a busier man than I thought, Greenie. Apparently while I've been busy busting my ass at the gym, training like a soldier who's preparing to enter a warzone, you've been busy shooting rehashes of scenes from old horror movies. That's... an interesting strategy to say the least.
"I guess you were going for the A Clockwork Orange effect, right? You reasoned that if you waited until the night before our match and then flooded my senses with one sinister, twisted, psychotic promo after another in lighting quick succession that somehow it was going to, you know, mindfuck me, right? You figured that it would have me questioning everything that I thought I knew, everything that I've put into my training, everything that I've been working toward, even the sex that I have with my girlfriend. That's what you were going for, right? Come on, tell me, tell me! Was that the plan, man? Awww... you're not going to tell me, are you? Well, I already know. I know that you thought I would see that shit and just quit, not even bother trying at XIII. You thought that I would just lie down and die for you... literally. The problem for you, Greenie, is that your strategy backfired."
(Phil makes a clicking sound with his lips. You can just picture him shaking his head with sad eyes and pouted lips.)
"Yeah, it's a goddamn shame, isn't it? All of that hard work and you'll end up with squat to show for it. I mean, forget squat... squat would mean that you're still alive and still in the game. Fuck that. You're going to be dead when I'm through with you, motherfucker, but before I murder you live on pay-per-view I'm going to explain how you fucked up. See, the problem with churning out one promo after another and stacking them on top of each other like that, is that after awhile they become like white noise. I swear, I was checking my watch by the time that second promo ended, wondering how much longer this drivel, this repetitive bullshit that you've been spewing for two years now was gonna prattle on for. "Greenfever killed a couple of hippies, but he wasn't really killing them it was a bedtime story that a father was telling his son, but then Greenie really did kill the father... or was that all a swerve too?" I mean I know that they keep regurgitating "new" releases in the Saw franchise, but that slasher shit is played out, man. This is America. I could find scarier shit than dead hippies and decapitated dads just by walking out of the front door in my old neighborhood, and I live in Connecticut for fuck's sake.
"Is any of that honestly supposed to frighten me, Greenie? I've already been in the ring with you, dude. I've already felt your limp body in my hands while I was seven-twenty powerbombing you through a flaming table. Do you believe for one moment that anything that you could ever do or say would frighten me? Maybe the teenagers watching WCF at home are hiding under their covers at night, trembling at the thought of the Greenfever boogeyman barging in through their bedroom door and purging their entrails from their torso, but I'm not a teenager. I'm not a scared, little boy. I'm a grown ass man who gets off on shoving his size fifteen boot down YOUR throat. I get off on pummeling YOU with chair shot after chair shot as metal meets cranium with repeated sickening thuds. I get off on smacking YOU upside your demented little head with the crackening whip of a kendo stick until a steady stream of blood is flowing from each and every one of your orifices, and even then I don't stop... I only get harder, Greenie. That's right I get a mad erection from making you bleed, bro. You know what else makes me hard? Do you know what else gets me off, Greenie? I get off on burying your ass in the middle of the ring with one stiff power move after another, Flash Apocalypse, State of Emergency, Halcyon Daze, one after another in a perfect sequence of voluminous destruction that rapes your body and purges every last sapling of life force from your soul.
"Oh, but uh, do not let me get ahead of myself, honey child. Was there a bush that you were trying to burn down with your lame, overhyped, tired ass promos, Greenie? When it was all said and done and you had deluged viewers with one predictable image of violence after another you resorted to... homophobic innuendo to try to get inside my head?"
(Cacophonous laughter emerges from Baines' sarcophagus, causing you to wince and shudder as you listen along to the recording.)
"Wow, that's rich. I'm the target of gay jokes from a man who has never busted a nut inside of a woman in all of his recorded life history. Yeah, that's right, motherfucker. Dr. Heill keeps a file of your every daily activity, Greenie. He tracks your every move and records every single thing that you do. When you wipe your taut, little ass on a dead man's face after dropping a deuce on the same dead man's chest, there's a record of it. When you blow your nose inside of a dead, elderly, female Asian bus driver's chest cavity, you know the elderly, female, Asian bus driver that you just finished disemboweling, there's a record of it. Sadly, the "Busted a nut inside of a smoking hot chica" file remains empty. Hell, that motherfucker's been collecting dust for years now. Not once, NOT ONCE has your shriveled little wang ever so much as achieved a hard-on at the sight of a supple, young beeyotch with giant tits and a tight, wet cunt.
"That's just sad, man. I mean it's not sad that you're gay or asexual or whatever you are, but it's sad that you feel compelled to fling your primordial feces in my direction by hurling absurd accusations of homosexuality at me when you're not exactly standing on firm ground on that issue yourself. It's as if you're one of these self-loathing homos. Let's face it, you wear girl pants. You have that little crink in your wrist. Do you remember in our first match when you smacked my head into the steel post of the ring and then you tried to finish me off with a chair shot? You swung and missed, homie. Your limp wrists gave out on you. Your true-self betrayed you. That's the problem with guys like you, Greenie. You put on a grand facade for the entire world to see but none of those theatrics change who you are as a person, as a man. Just as some women have more make-up than face, some men have more bravado than fight. That describes Omega Greenfever in a nutshell.
"Yeah I get hard from raping dudes inside of the ring, but guess what? I RAPE DUDES INSIDE OF THE RING. Get it, Greenie? I don't need to put on a brave face or a false bravado. And when it's all said and done, when I reach my fever pitch in the heat of passion, I'm cumming inside of my girlfriend's vagina. In that moment I feel Heaven. I'm not a religious man. I know that Heaven is a place inside of a man's mind, not a metaphysical afterworld, and Heaven for me is cumming inside of my girl. I cum in her snatch, I cum in her mouth, in her ass, on her tits and on her face. I cum inside of her every which way but loose, because I cum hard in the sack just like I come hard inside of the ring. You will never see weakness from the man they call Baines, because Baines don't have it in him to be a bitch. I'm not like you, Greenie. I don't have to fake the realness, because my swagger comes naturally. From my face to my feet I'm au naturel, the real deal, the authentic article. I'm not a grim cartoon character or horror movie villain. I'm a grown ass man who will settle for nothing less than ultimate victory in all-out warfare, and that's precisely what makes me scarier than a thousand and one Greenfever's could ever be.
"But you go on, Greenie. Do your thing, son. Keep on staging your horror movie scenes. Keep on letting Dr. Heill implant them computer chips in your brain, filling your mind with dreams of a murder spree that will never come to fruition against the man who has already proven to be your kryptonite, your Achilles' heel. And while you're at it, keep on questioning my sexuality. It makes me laugh. It makes me see how truly weak and desperate you really are. You're grasping at straws because you know that your words and your entire game plan lack substance. You murder women because that's the only thing that you can do to feel adequate around them, while I fuck the most beautiful woman that my eyes have ever laid sight on. See the difference, Greenie? It's glaringly obvious who the homosexual is in this equation. It doesn't help your cause that you spent more time talking about my smile during your promos than you spent actually talking about our match. Yes, I am a handsome man. Yes, I have a beautiful smile. Yes, my handsome face and my beautiful smile have been plastered upon a litany of magazines since I defeated you and went on to win the WCF Classic. Yes, you are obsessed with me and you get turned on when you think about my smile, not to mention my taut abs, my rippling biceps and my tight ass. Yes, that does make you gay.
"Oh but I don't want to offend the queer sensibilities of any GLAAD members who might be listening to this audio. One of my best friends is named Chad Evans. He's a former WCF World Champion, he kicked more ass than any man in the history of this company has ever kicked during a four month span before his career was prematurely ended by a concussion at the hands of a Mexican cunt named JJ. Chad was an awesome wrestler and he is in fact a bisexual. Now, from my perspective, there's nothing wrong with being bi or gay. I whole-heartedly endorse gay marriage and I'm proud to live in a state where gay marriage is legal, that state being Connecticut. What I don't agree with is the desperate and pathetic tactics of a man like Greenfever, who is scared to death of what I bring to the table. Greenfever knows that he's not as good as me. That's why he flooded the airwaves with five promos in the span of fifty-one minutes in a misguided attempt to intimidate and perhaps even confuse me. Greenfever further attempted to rile me by then making accusations of homosexuality, which I have clearly defeated and turned around against him, resulting in an unquestionable victory for Baines.
"It's like I said in my last promo, Greenie. Baines is the bane of your existence. You can flood the airwaves with promos, but the reality is that you cannot so much as get a word in edgewise against me. I am holding my ground against all of the hate and ignorance that you spew, and I will not give you an inch without taking a mile. I will beat you down like the punk-ass bitch that you are because I gotta tell ya, Greenie... at first I was amused by your antics. At first I thought you were funny as hell because you're a parody of what a real man and a real serial killer is. Yeah, but then I started drinking and I got real pissed off. I've been drinking... what is this shit? Let me glance at the bottles. Hang on..."
(There is dead air for a few moments, then the sound of glass bottles clinking together.)
"There's a forty ounce bottle of Steel Reserve and a pint of Lady Bligh, and I'm just about finished with both. I'm angry and I'm pissed with you, Greenie. I'm pissed as a motherfucker because you represent all of the weakness and cowardice that I stand in opposition to. I've got an early morning flight to Des Moines, but I'm going to finish drinking and I'm going to listen to some horns and trumpets and a little bit of that rock and roll sound before I hit the sack. I want to get into a killer's mindset and then I want to channel that shit and use it to murder your punk ass tonight at XIII. Make no mistake about it, bitch: When Baines gets unleashed at XIII and I get my hands on your scrawny, girly ass there will be no question, there will be no doubt in anyone's mind. God will die and I will be the motherfucker who sends him to his grave. You got a problem with that, Greenie? Suck my dick, you honky redneck cracker ass bitch."
(Just as Baines' words come to an end the thunderous sound of Audioslave's hit single "Cochise" roars to life.)
