Post by Phillip Rocca on Aug 5, 2006 17:50:22 GMT -5
OOC- I usually drop much longer promos than my first two...but I've been swamped this week. Still, I've taken care to make them good...so let's go for quality over quantity fellas ;D
If Perfection is relative…
Taking a deep drag of his cigarette, Phillip Rocca smiled and watched as the wind whipped the Miami palm trees to and fro, their dew glistening in the moonlight.
Drake Kencendro…a generic human being, with a generic girlfriend, and a generic desire to succeed. It was all so…generic.
There were hardly any of the romanticized glittering stars above the city. This was too much an urban jungle, and not enough a real one. The smog from the factories choked any of the loveliness that the sky could offer.
An unoriginal blonde baboon who had absolutely nothing new to offer the wrestling world.
Extinguishing the flaming butt, Phillip got up from the lone park bench. The wind blew angrily tonight…another tropical storm on its way from the Atlantic. It made for cool evenings, and stressful days.
Oh, how being pretentious can lead to our downfall. You poor deluded fool. You just don’t get it at all. The rookie going up against a seasoned veteran…who had infinitely better things to do with his time. You have no idea how many just like you I’ve crushed. All the unoriginal hacks that thought they were worth a damn in this business.
A bimbo girlfriend, a surfer hairdo, and an unimpressive run in don’t make a fucking superstar. Sing me a swan song, Drake. Show me all of your little homey girlfriend scenes…write me novels and soap operas all about your inconsequential life. It won’t make a damn bit of difference.
I stay out of the house to wrestle, not be stuck on the couch watching “All My Children.” So when I’m working, please spare the drama.
Walking through the park, he breathes deep the tropical air, and listens to the summer hum of all the beetles and bugs that make living on Florida so undesirable. Looking up, he sees a sleepy and stupid dragonfly ramming its head repeatedly into the street-light.
You’re just like that bug, Drake. You see the light of championship gold, and you’re hypnotized by it. You see the glamour, success, and fame that comes with being a star athlete, and honestly believe you have the talent.
You’re hypnotized into thinking you have the power to ram through that door…to break through the streetlight and clasp the burning light for yourself. Unfortunately for you, you’re just another bug in the path of something greater than yourself.
His feet make a soft scratching noise on the cobbled and cracked asphalt as he slowly treads home.
It’s a shame there aren’t many stars over Miami. He was always looking for someone to demonstrate his overwhelming perfection to. Perhaps, had he seen the celestial fireflies, he would have raised his hands to the heavens and shouted:
I SHINE BRIGHTER THAN YOU!
Slowly, he walked past the dark, scurrying park bushes, hiding some small animal that didn’t want to get in his way. It was a shame that Drake Kencedro did not have the intelligence of a raccoon.
Perhaps then, he’d have the common sense to get the hell out of his way.
He had been in the game for about two years now. And he couldn’t say he was disappointed. World champions have come and gone. Controversy had been overcome.
Backstage politics had crawled out of the dressing room to center stage, and back again. Legends were proven equal…opponents were defeated.
It had been a good two years. He had nothing to be ashamed of. And yet…this still meant something. To have come so far in two years and lose to a cocky kid would prove an invalidation to everything he was.
It would be tease…an eternal “neener neener” on his legacy. A reminder that he was never that good. He refused to let that dark fantasy ever become reality.
He felt it in his bones…in his mind…in his soul. He had what it took then, and he has what it takes now. His bones were not so old…and his wits had not yet dulled.
He remembered reading a poem once. And as he sauntered through the woods, he remembered it.
“The woods are lovely dark and deep…and I have promises to keep…and miles to go before I sleep….and miles to go before I sleep.”
He said the beautiful lines aloud, as if hoping someone in the park would hear him and reply. But no one answered. All he heard was the continued rustling of bushes, din of insects, and all of the unmistakable noises of a true Floridian night.
The forest had reminded him of it. He still had miles to go. The road had been long…but a longer one still stretched ahead. And as he gazed over the horizon, he did not see an end to the path.
But he saw the setting moon and rising sun. And it was all he needed to know.
Watching you talk and bumble about has been fun Drake. Honestly, your promos put me to sleep. It’s hard being witty and funny when the guy you’re up against is such a jackass.
But don’t fret. Take my ass kicking to you as a learning experience. Help me help you. You seem to have a knack for attaching yourself to champions. Attach yourself to me. Join me in my conquest of this backwater, Podunk, hick-town federation called the WCF.
And perfection personified may just rub off on you. In the non-gay way. Believe me when I say you’re far too stupid to survive on your own. Just like an enormous, lumbering, half-wit bear.
But with my guidance, I can help mold you. I can make you tap into reserves you never knew you had. I can show you how to be a force in this business.
You won’t be perfect like me…but you can come close.
Accept my offer…or else I am going to put you through technical wrestling hell come Sunday. I will punish every limb you have, and some you didn’t know you had.
I am going to take you back to wrestling school and rebuild your ass into a Picasso painting.
Do not doubt my overwhelming perfection. They say nobody is perfect. But if that’s true…
I’m the closest thing.
If Perfection is relative…
Taking a deep drag of his cigarette, Phillip Rocca smiled and watched as the wind whipped the Miami palm trees to and fro, their dew glistening in the moonlight.
Drake Kencendro…a generic human being, with a generic girlfriend, and a generic desire to succeed. It was all so…generic.
There were hardly any of the romanticized glittering stars above the city. This was too much an urban jungle, and not enough a real one. The smog from the factories choked any of the loveliness that the sky could offer.
An unoriginal blonde baboon who had absolutely nothing new to offer the wrestling world.
Extinguishing the flaming butt, Phillip got up from the lone park bench. The wind blew angrily tonight…another tropical storm on its way from the Atlantic. It made for cool evenings, and stressful days.
Oh, how being pretentious can lead to our downfall. You poor deluded fool. You just don’t get it at all. The rookie going up against a seasoned veteran…who had infinitely better things to do with his time. You have no idea how many just like you I’ve crushed. All the unoriginal hacks that thought they were worth a damn in this business.
A bimbo girlfriend, a surfer hairdo, and an unimpressive run in don’t make a fucking superstar. Sing me a swan song, Drake. Show me all of your little homey girlfriend scenes…write me novels and soap operas all about your inconsequential life. It won’t make a damn bit of difference.
I stay out of the house to wrestle, not be stuck on the couch watching “All My Children.” So when I’m working, please spare the drama.
Walking through the park, he breathes deep the tropical air, and listens to the summer hum of all the beetles and bugs that make living on Florida so undesirable. Looking up, he sees a sleepy and stupid dragonfly ramming its head repeatedly into the street-light.
You’re just like that bug, Drake. You see the light of championship gold, and you’re hypnotized by it. You see the glamour, success, and fame that comes with being a star athlete, and honestly believe you have the talent.
You’re hypnotized into thinking you have the power to ram through that door…to break through the streetlight and clasp the burning light for yourself. Unfortunately for you, you’re just another bug in the path of something greater than yourself.
His feet make a soft scratching noise on the cobbled and cracked asphalt as he slowly treads home.
It’s a shame there aren’t many stars over Miami. He was always looking for someone to demonstrate his overwhelming perfection to. Perhaps, had he seen the celestial fireflies, he would have raised his hands to the heavens and shouted:
I SHINE BRIGHTER THAN YOU!
Slowly, he walked past the dark, scurrying park bushes, hiding some small animal that didn’t want to get in his way. It was a shame that Drake Kencedro did not have the intelligence of a raccoon.
Perhaps then, he’d have the common sense to get the hell out of his way.
He had been in the game for about two years now. And he couldn’t say he was disappointed. World champions have come and gone. Controversy had been overcome.
Backstage politics had crawled out of the dressing room to center stage, and back again. Legends were proven equal…opponents were defeated.
It had been a good two years. He had nothing to be ashamed of. And yet…this still meant something. To have come so far in two years and lose to a cocky kid would prove an invalidation to everything he was.
It would be tease…an eternal “neener neener” on his legacy. A reminder that he was never that good. He refused to let that dark fantasy ever become reality.
He felt it in his bones…in his mind…in his soul. He had what it took then, and he has what it takes now. His bones were not so old…and his wits had not yet dulled.
He remembered reading a poem once. And as he sauntered through the woods, he remembered it.
“The woods are lovely dark and deep…and I have promises to keep…and miles to go before I sleep….and miles to go before I sleep.”
He said the beautiful lines aloud, as if hoping someone in the park would hear him and reply. But no one answered. All he heard was the continued rustling of bushes, din of insects, and all of the unmistakable noises of a true Floridian night.
The forest had reminded him of it. He still had miles to go. The road had been long…but a longer one still stretched ahead. And as he gazed over the horizon, he did not see an end to the path.
But he saw the setting moon and rising sun. And it was all he needed to know.
Watching you talk and bumble about has been fun Drake. Honestly, your promos put me to sleep. It’s hard being witty and funny when the guy you’re up against is such a jackass.
But don’t fret. Take my ass kicking to you as a learning experience. Help me help you. You seem to have a knack for attaching yourself to champions. Attach yourself to me. Join me in my conquest of this backwater, Podunk, hick-town federation called the WCF.
And perfection personified may just rub off on you. In the non-gay way. Believe me when I say you’re far too stupid to survive on your own. Just like an enormous, lumbering, half-wit bear.
But with my guidance, I can help mold you. I can make you tap into reserves you never knew you had. I can show you how to be a force in this business.
You won’t be perfect like me…but you can come close.
Accept my offer…or else I am going to put you through technical wrestling hell come Sunday. I will punish every limb you have, and some you didn’t know you had.
I am going to take you back to wrestling school and rebuild your ass into a Picasso painting.
Do not doubt my overwhelming perfection. They say nobody is perfect. But if that’s true…
I’m the closest thing.
