Post by Logan on Jun 2, 2011 5:54:27 GMT -5
Logan: Babygurls – babygurls.. ONE at a time.
Groups of paparazzi ambushed Logan during a ‘lunch date’ with former WCF wrestler, David Alastair. He was flavor of the week once again, a shining star, relevant. Despite the overall rudeness of interrupting someone during a meal; Logan did not seem to mind. He enjoyed the attention. It did not bother Alastair much either. He continued to sit there, enjoying his steak sub at the outside dining table – oblivious to camera snaps and microphones. Logan – on the other hand – was only eating up the attention.
Logan: Yes, babygurls. You weren’t drunk that past Memorial Day Monday when you saw me raising arms with Jason Kash and Shane Borderland on Slam. That happened, and, it didn’t happen for nothing, it did not happen for ratings, it happened because NOW, right NOW – NOBODY in the WCF holds a handle to the amount of ass the three of us are going to whoop.
The questioning continues – coming from all different directions of the excited group.
Logan: I’ll tell you what happened. The Organized Violence got themselves a ticket to Connector City AND they said, hey, I like Connector City – this place is home. Can you grasp that, boudle? This isn’t some typical alliance or stable. It’s a merger. It’s one can of ass whoop getting mixed with another. It’s Jack Daniels meets Crown Royal. It’s a foot meeting WCF’s ass – it’s Organized Violence in Connector City – Organized Treachery.. it’s.. Mr. WCF, Mr. ME. And do you know what ME stands for? Main Event. Right now, nobody in the world of professional wrestling is ME. Only we are ME. Jason Kash, Shane Borderland, and WCF’s own home-grown ticket master.. ME.
With furious determination – acknowledging the truth in his words – he nods.
Logan: This Monday, Slam – LIVE - Tommy Knoxville and Odin Balfore. Mr. WCF and Shane Borderland. Two tickets. One organized trip straight to Connector City! They simply do not have what it takes to collectively walk into Slam, walk down to the ring, and gain a victory over Shane and I. Nobody has what it takes. We’re untouchable. We’re unmovable. We’re Super fuckin’ Man.
Further questions are spilled into his direction.
Logan: Really? Give ME one reason why I shouldn’t have teamed up with Organized Violence?
He overreacts, sarcastically displaying an ear.
Logan: SHUT UP! Jason Kash, solid man, looks like a part that flew off a whoop-ass machine. Shane Borderland, puts the ‘T’ in treachery. Does whatever he wants – whatever he has to. He’s a snake. Together – that’s the type of people that can flatten the landscape of WCF, build a fort, throw up a flag, and claim this place for their own. What other reason does a person have in this business? I quit doing this for the money a LONG – LONG – LONG time ago. I could’ve retired in 2006, when I broke records; became the only man to win the world championship four times and win the War two times, but, I did not. Just last year, 2010, broke more records; won the championship FIVE times and the War THREE times – could’ve retired right then and fuckin’ there, but, I did not. It’s never been about the money. It’s the fun. The fun of humiliating others, giving them tickets, living this life like it’s the last day on Earth. And, that’s just what I’ll do. Right up until the day Metallica “The Struggle Within” hits and out comes a wheelchair – hot wheeling the Face of Treachery down the ramp – handing out tickets, collecting social security.
Again, he nods with passion.
Logan: Shane Borderland, Jason Kash, ME… came to play. And we fuckin’ play rough.
Soon after, the security of treachery show up – directing the paparazzi away like cattlemen with an electric prod. David Alastair and Logan are left to finish lunch undisturbed.
Television screens flicker to life, bringing fourth the view of a legitimate promo; Logan and the ‘Scot doing some volunteer work for Kenbridge Community Hospital. Well, actually, the ‘Scot registered for the work – Logan was just simply tagging along, with the fortunate company of a cameraman. The Face of Treachery is way too cool for volunteer work.
Logan: Tell me, boudle, what’s the real reason you’re here? Trying to get a sex change?
Oh – how disgusted the ‘Scot reacted – within the midst of unloading cardboard boxes of medical supplies via parked van.
the ‘Scot: I beg your pardon?
Logan: Hospital. Transvestite. I put two and two together.
the ‘Scot: Sick, Logan. Purely sick.
Logan: Let’s not act like such a prude, now. You’re a grown ass man in daisy dukes.
the ‘Scot: Are you offended by my fashion?
Logan: I’m sure a little five year old sick with the chicken-pops might be. Your ball-sack peeks out and says hello with the slightest movement. You cannot open a door without showing off those bald cubes.
the ‘Scot: Erm – well, it’s not my fault that I am a little monster.
Logan: Little monster?
the ‘Scot: Lady Gaga. She responded to my twitter once – said it’s okay – not to be ashamed with who you are.
Logan: Did she say it was okay to do volunteer work at a hospital, wear a jean thong, and show your ‘little monster’ to little boys and girls?
the ‘Scot: No.. not specially. You do not understand the ways of Lady Gaga!
Logan: SHUT UP! And, next time you twitter her, you tell that disco-stick-boudle to SHUT UP too!
the ‘Scot: I will not.
The transvestites’ arms soon become full with boxes. Logan follows alongside once the ‘Scot begins making his approach towards the hospital entrance.
the ‘Scot: So.. Kaylyn James..
Logan: Hooker. Boudle.
A nod immediately followed.
the ‘Scot: Done with her?
Logan: Sure. She attacked the Jumbo Hotdog of Treachery – I took her to Connector City. How more even could you get? Want me to burn her house down, rape her parents, feed her dog rat poison?
the ‘Scot: THAT sounds entertaining.
Logan: Jason Kash has that corner boudle on check. I no longer need to deal with her. You see, babygurl, the Face of Treachery now has ‘treacher’i’mites.
the Scot: Treacher’i’nites? Or Treacher’I’knights?
Logan: Do not analyze it, boudle. Besides – I said mites.
the ‘Scot: Isn’t that disgracing?
Logan: Erm..?
the ‘Scot: I’d be offended if you called me a mite.
Logan: Maybe I shouldn’t call them mites?
the ‘Scot: Nothing good has ever came from a mite. You got bedmites, termites –
Logan: … but not Treacher’I’mites.
the ‘Scot: No.
Logan: Treacher’I’nites it is.
the ‘Scot: Whole thing sounds stupid if you ask me.
Logan: I wasn’t asking you – tranny boudle.
the ‘Scot: Oh.
Logan: What’s important – is ME – and how fuckin’ nice it is.
the ‘Scot: Got to admit; you, Kash, Borderland. Nobody can deal with that.
Logan: AND even if they could deal, we’d deal more, bury them boudles.
the ‘Scot: Bury them?
Logan: Deep in the dirt of Connector City.
”Fuck Tommy. Fuck Odin. They’re a threat to ME. You’re in the way. This is not the time for boudles like you – rather it be an odd ball paired tag team or not. Simply put; you’re a target. A fuck all – end all. ME just officially became official. You must be beat. If not, then, this whole fiasco with Organized Violence was pointless. Yes. It’d seem that way – wouldn’t it – if the newly reformed main eventers of this company got beaten by a random pairing. That’d be completely awful. But, newsflash, boudles, that’s not going to happen. This was made in advance, ME has made sure of it when this trio united. The Organized Violence and the Face of Treachery did not pair up to boosts ratings – no – we’re together for one thing and one thing only… beatings, tickets, wiping the entire roster out!
So, the official debut week of ME – and we get Tommy Knoxville and Odin Balfore?! INSULT. What is that? Matter of fact, who is that? It’s like two boudles had nothing better else to do but go to the unemployment office and ask them if knew of any place that was hiring. Oh, yeah, bitch, Connector City is hiring! We’ve got full time spots open… 24/7 – get yourself a ticket – we’ll accommodate an ass whooping anyway possible – ASS WHOOPING health insurance, ASS WHOOPING benefits, just come and see the ticket master, babygurl!
That’s what it all boils down to. You see, this Monday, Slam, it’s not going to be rather you want a ticket or not – it’s when/how YOU get a ticket. The match is set – scheduled – all you two boudles got to do is show up, try and act tough, and get the biggest beat down of your careers.
Boudles! Babygurls! Brothers and hookers! Let me just remind you the circumstances of this match – the consequences! You’re IN WCF. YOU ARE FACING MR. WCF. You’re facing the past, the present, the future – you’re facing eleven years of WCF all bottled up in one big gigantic ass whooping. Can you handle it? Do you honestly even want it? SHUT UP! I said, SHUT UP! The Face of Treachery is talking, bitch. The biggest name you two boudletards have ever heard of. Want it?
Come get it. I have tickets – plenty of tickets. You want a special ticket? I have that too. I even have special reserved tickets, just for you boudles, paid in advance tickets. You want a Connector SOON as the match starts? You want it all to be over with soon as that entrance music shuts up? I can do that.
Especially for Tommy.. I can do that. What’s wrong? Lost your bitch? Lost Kaylyn? Where is she? Couldn’t keep her on a leash? SHUT UP!
I’m sure that broke your little heart of yours – losing Kaylyn. You might not know it now, but, I can see it in her eyes. She wants something more, something more deadly. You’re not man enough to give her that. She wants something poisonous. She wants a man; simply put. You, boudleboy, are not a man. You’re a slug that just waivered his way into a ring. Can you imagine that? H’m? SHUT UP! You’re a slug. I am the Face of Treachery – with a full bottle of salt.
And while we’re on grudges – while hate is flowing through the air – babygurls, let’s get the goosebumps bubbling! Tell me! Let me know! Give me an idea! A clue! Simply asking… where… is… Torture? Deep down inside, pray to God, pray to my soul – he is the mystery man. I hope, I wish, I want him to be the mystery man. I have never wanted anything more in my life.
Where is he? D-Day defeated him. It took him three times, but, the third one was a charm. What happened to him after that? He couldn’t take it! He could not honestly deal with defeat. It ruined him. I am glad it did. I am glad because I knew that’s what Torture was all about – a man waiting to die – and finally someone gave him death in the ring. No longer could he ever be the same after something as simple as a pinfall.
But.. fuck that…
Torture was mine. ALL FUCKIN’ MINE! He isn’t Mr. WCF – I am.
Team of Torture…? HA!
Was that supposed to be cute? It was cute.
I liked it. I tell you what – he’s my Joker’s fuckin’ Batman. When I first found out of his Team of Torture gig – I felt angry, but, at the same time.. I really liked it. It was like a show of respect, the only first real ounce of respect he had ever given me. Do not get the assumption that I ever gave that boudle respect, no, never did. But.. M’m..
Could you be my mystery man? My savior? I doubt it. I hope so, but, I doubt it. That’d be too good to be true.
IF it was you, Torture – AND – only in my dreams it is. Then, thank you. You have my blessings for taking the time to fuck with me, to get my attention. Oh GOD how I hope it is you. M’m – forget about D-Day, let’s get back to the old punch and blow. I can understand if the mystery man is, infact, Torture. It SHOULD be. If someone is going to take the time – to take weeks – to insult me, than it BETTER be him.
And, yes, if it is you.. can you admit that you and I had it better than you and D-Day did? You gave up during that third fight. He wasn’t no real challenge – was he? I DO NOT THINK HE WAS! NO! I gave you TWO Connectors! You refused to lay down. You gave me so many Torture Devices that they felt like massages after awhile.
GOD DAMNIT – that mystery man better be Torture.
You are all I had there for quite sometime.. do you know that, Torture? Just look at me. It’s been nearly SIX years since our match and I still cannot help but mention you in promos. That’s your fault. You created me.
Nobody since has had the kind of match we did. I can still remember, that – that week – we both collectively produced TWENTY ONE promos (RP’s).
YOU just name two wrestlers that have done that since for a one on one face off. Can you? No.
The fact is.. Torture.. you’re my best. My equal. I have won three Wars. You have not won a single one. But, I put TWICE the amount of determination into facing you than I ever have in a WCF War.
And.. you won.
You beat me.
At the end of the day.. you were better. HOW? WHY?
I AM MR. WCF. NOT YOU.
How did you ever beat me? I was at my fuckin’ best – and you beat me!
….HOW?
Torture. The truth is – I did not come back to get revenge on Jay Price. I didn’t even come back because I like giving boudles tickets to Connector City. I came back – because – there was a chance that you and I might meet again.
That’s who I am.
It’s a small chance. Hell, with the way things have been lately, it’s not even really a chance. YOU are the only thing keeping me in WCF. THIS is the truth.
By the year 2006.. I was done. Wasted. Tired of wrestling. I had already won the belt four times. What the hell else could I do? NOBODY had ever won the title four times. I did. But, then, 2006.. you came along. No, you had already been here for a couple of years. 2006 – however – was your year. You dominated. I saw my replacement forming right before my eyes.
And.. I did NOT like my replacement.
Then… we had a match.
The biggest match in WCF history. EVER. No bullshit. Present me a match that was bigger – please.
Ultimate Showdown: 2006. Logan versus Torture. World title. Torture versus Logan. World title. One on fuckin’ One.
EVERYTHING went into that match. EVERYTHING I had. EVERYTHING you had. We fought backstage during the week – turned the locker room (OOC Board) into chaos.
But..
The match went on.
The promos went on.
It never stopped.
We fought each other tooth and nail till that six o’ clock deadline before the day of the show that you could no longer air promos.
I said everything to say about you and you had everything to say about me.
And it’s been unmatched since.
THEN… by the end of the night – after MONTHS, YEARS – of waiting.. Torture beat Logan.
And it wasn’t a Torture’s Device that took me out. No. It was a northern lights bridge.
A simple suplex into a pin.. something I have kicked out of a million times before…
But, that night, I couldn’t.
You became the man.
I tried to drag you down – claw you down, but, never could.
So.. then.. after all these years… you admit defeat.. to.. D-DAY?!
A NOBODY?!
A boudle that is so blind he wouldn’t even know if a ticket to Connector City was being waved in front of his eyes!
FINALLY.. Torture gets defeated. And.. D-Day is the one that did it.
FUCK THAT.
I was your equal, Torture. I was your escape.
How could you do this to me?
How can I ever repay you for this?
You see, Torture, I have.. already.
I have already beaten you.
It’s ME. It’s 2011. It’s the fact that I am still relevant.
I am Logan. The Face of Treachery. The Face of WCF.
They can push D-Day all they want – they can even have him pin you, but, despite the fact that YOU beat me, that YOU even beat me – NOBODY will ever be bigger than Logan, not in WCF.
They tried – after 2006 – to make you bigger. It never happened. Simply put; nobody has ever brought what I bring to WCF’s table.
I can hold the world title for two months and you can hold it for SIX – still – you’ll never be better than Logan.
YOU can go one on one with me, Torture, and even beat me – still – you’ll never be better than Logan.
Torture.. you’re not even in the Hall of Fame.
Do you know WCF’s original Hall of Fame? Yeah, I was inducted in 2004 – just when you were first starting out.
Now of days.. they put anybody in the Hall of Fame, yet, you STILL have not been inducted. SHIT, they put Slickie T in the Hall of Fame! He’s only been a WCF member for two or three years?
Guess he deserved it more than you.
Doesn’t matter what you do or what you say – there will be never, ever, be another Face of Treachery. There will NEVER-EVER be a man that’s been here for eleven years and is still popping out new material like he just joined the other day!
And for that.. because of that.. when people look back at WCF history – they’re not going to think of Torture, no, they’re going to think of Logan.
The man that won the first ever WCF United States championship.
The first man to win WCF’s world title three times, four times, and FIVE times.
The ONLY man to win WCF’s War TWO TIMES AND THREE TIMES.
Match that. Can you? No.
Can anyone here? No.
Fuckin’ no.
Fuck a Jax, fuck a NCW – not ME.
Fuck a AJ Jam – not ME.
Fuck a Mace – not ME.
Fuck a Steve Carr – not ME.
Fuck a Metal Angel – not ME.
Fuck a Hellz Angel – not ME.
Fuck a Wreck – not ME.
Fuck a Cyrus – not ME.
Fuck a Creeping Death – not ME.
Fuck a Gravedigger – not ME.
Fuck a Epic – not ME.
Fuck a Dake Ken AND a Trent Hunter – not ME.
Fuck a PC Cradle – not ME.
Fuck em’ all!
Fuck a Jay Price – they’re not Logan.
Fuck a Slickie T – never came close.
Fuck a Jack of Blades.
Fuck a Jay Williams.
Fuck a D-Day.
Fuck everyone.
Fuck the future!
They’ll never be ME.
MATTER OF FACT – NOBODY – EXISTS HERE TODAY FROM WHEN I FIRST JOINED WCF.
NOBODY.
Steve Carr was the last surviving member – but – he has fallen off the Earth.
I am all alone.
My species is endangered – I am the last member of the original WCF.
AND I am still whooping ass. So, fuck you Tommy, Odin. Bring whatever you call an A-Game. Shit. It’s Thursday – hadn’t seen nothing yet. BRING SOMETHING. I’ll bring better… I always do. But, you know what. Maybe I am tired of talking. Yes, for the meantime, maybe, all has been said that needs to be said. Those two boudles won a lottery ticket this week. They’re randomly paired up for a big fat chance to get a first ever ME beat down. Do they deserve it? Did they have it coming? Who cares. I didn’t book these fools. I can tell you this, though, this Monday is history in the making. June the sixth marks the beginning of a new era in WCF. Things will never be the same a week from now. Wrestling magazines we’ll be covered with photographs of us – they’ll be articles – five thousand word articles for this new breed of dominance. ME is the next big thing, and it will be. They will be talking about us for years to come. This is WCF’s elite, strong, best. It’s not going to take long, babygurls – that’s a promise – soon, we’ll own every title in this company. EVERY title. This moving train cannot and will not be stopped. You either get the fuck out of the way or get ran down. We’re full speed, full throttle. NOBODY fucks with ME. NOBODY. So, Tommy, Odin.. maybe you should just get out of the way, step aside, save yourself from a bruising.”
Come back Catherine, won’t ya please? My best friend stole you away from me. Come back Catherine, could ya please? You’re the only one that ever brought me to my knees. Please – come back, it’ll be okay – I’LL forgive you. Come back Catherine, please, oh, please, oh, please? Never fought for you, but spent years of dreams fighting to forget you. Come back – come back. Won’t ya please? Don’t care if you smell like him – just as long as you didn’t catch a disease. You’re my only, make me so lonely, please come back babygurl, Hard to forget you. You’re my only oysters lucky pearl. Please.. please.. come back. Ya’ know what, fuck ya, so over ya, still – I’d probably drop to my knees if you came around, and say – please, oh please.
This one – this writing – is for you ya ungrateful fuckin’ slut!
You fucked Greg. I knew that fucker since I was 5. I pissed my pants with him – laughing. That’s how close we were. You KNEW THAT! I told you that. I shared secrets. Yet you fucked him. I hope you stumble crossed this one day – read it – and I hope it makes you feel bad. Fuck that. I hope it makes you smile – because you’d have to smile over the sick sins you have committed.
Fuckin’ whore. Hope he shot up heroin and gave you aids. But…
I love you.. still. What have you become since… 2009 now? It’s felt like forever. Did you go to college? Become a nurse? Or you still suckin’ his Jewish stankin dick? I always washed my dick for you. Kept the pubes shaved, kept all that hair back. You never really appreciated it did you? Thought you did.
Did everything for you – since I was 14. Met you, dropped out of school, did concrete – were you the reason for that? Bought you anything you wanted. Licked your beautiful asshole. Licked your sweat when you got hot. What happened? I wasn’t needy. You got space!
You got so much, in fact, that you used that freedom and space to sneak behind my back and fuck him.. fuck the only other thing that meant something to me. COULD HAVE BEEN ANYBODY! But him? You knew – YOU HAD TO HAVE KNOWN – that’d ruin me. It did. It did so much that my fictional character in an online hobby got depressed and ate hotdogs.
But.. ya gotta live.. cuz life goes on. It just does. People die. People fuck you. The world never stops turning. Just listen to “Who Wrote Holden Caulfield?” You’ll know – you’ll fuckin’ know.
I know that – you know that – you’re reading this.
JC loves you, Catherine. He really does. I love you. I Love you to death! When I become a writer.. if that day comes, if I am ever good enough – I’ll send you a check.. for a dollar.. with a ticket.. to Connector City.. strangle your bitch ass. Oh shit! Holiday is on! Wanna start a fuckin’ war?
Groups of paparazzi ambushed Logan during a ‘lunch date’ with former WCF wrestler, David Alastair. He was flavor of the week once again, a shining star, relevant. Despite the overall rudeness of interrupting someone during a meal; Logan did not seem to mind. He enjoyed the attention. It did not bother Alastair much either. He continued to sit there, enjoying his steak sub at the outside dining table – oblivious to camera snaps and microphones. Logan – on the other hand – was only eating up the attention.
Logan: Yes, babygurls. You weren’t drunk that past Memorial Day Monday when you saw me raising arms with Jason Kash and Shane Borderland on Slam. That happened, and, it didn’t happen for nothing, it did not happen for ratings, it happened because NOW, right NOW – NOBODY in the WCF holds a handle to the amount of ass the three of us are going to whoop.
The questioning continues – coming from all different directions of the excited group.
Logan: I’ll tell you what happened. The Organized Violence got themselves a ticket to Connector City AND they said, hey, I like Connector City – this place is home. Can you grasp that, boudle? This isn’t some typical alliance or stable. It’s a merger. It’s one can of ass whoop getting mixed with another. It’s Jack Daniels meets Crown Royal. It’s a foot meeting WCF’s ass – it’s Organized Violence in Connector City – Organized Treachery.. it’s.. Mr. WCF, Mr. ME. And do you know what ME stands for? Main Event. Right now, nobody in the world of professional wrestling is ME. Only we are ME. Jason Kash, Shane Borderland, and WCF’s own home-grown ticket master.. ME.
With furious determination – acknowledging the truth in his words – he nods.
Logan: This Monday, Slam – LIVE - Tommy Knoxville and Odin Balfore. Mr. WCF and Shane Borderland. Two tickets. One organized trip straight to Connector City! They simply do not have what it takes to collectively walk into Slam, walk down to the ring, and gain a victory over Shane and I. Nobody has what it takes. We’re untouchable. We’re unmovable. We’re Super fuckin’ Man.
Further questions are spilled into his direction.
Logan: Really? Give ME one reason why I shouldn’t have teamed up with Organized Violence?
He overreacts, sarcastically displaying an ear.
Logan: SHUT UP! Jason Kash, solid man, looks like a part that flew off a whoop-ass machine. Shane Borderland, puts the ‘T’ in treachery. Does whatever he wants – whatever he has to. He’s a snake. Together – that’s the type of people that can flatten the landscape of WCF, build a fort, throw up a flag, and claim this place for their own. What other reason does a person have in this business? I quit doing this for the money a LONG – LONG – LONG time ago. I could’ve retired in 2006, when I broke records; became the only man to win the world championship four times and win the War two times, but, I did not. Just last year, 2010, broke more records; won the championship FIVE times and the War THREE times – could’ve retired right then and fuckin’ there, but, I did not. It’s never been about the money. It’s the fun. The fun of humiliating others, giving them tickets, living this life like it’s the last day on Earth. And, that’s just what I’ll do. Right up until the day Metallica “The Struggle Within” hits and out comes a wheelchair – hot wheeling the Face of Treachery down the ramp – handing out tickets, collecting social security.
Again, he nods with passion.
Logan: Shane Borderland, Jason Kash, ME… came to play. And we fuckin’ play rough.
Soon after, the security of treachery show up – directing the paparazzi away like cattlemen with an electric prod. David Alastair and Logan are left to finish lunch undisturbed.
Deep in the Dirt of Connector City
No I in ME
[/color][/i]No I in ME
Television screens flicker to life, bringing fourth the view of a legitimate promo; Logan and the ‘Scot doing some volunteer work for Kenbridge Community Hospital. Well, actually, the ‘Scot registered for the work – Logan was just simply tagging along, with the fortunate company of a cameraman. The Face of Treachery is way too cool for volunteer work.
Logan: Tell me, boudle, what’s the real reason you’re here? Trying to get a sex change?
Oh – how disgusted the ‘Scot reacted – within the midst of unloading cardboard boxes of medical supplies via parked van.
the ‘Scot: I beg your pardon?
Logan: Hospital. Transvestite. I put two and two together.
the ‘Scot: Sick, Logan. Purely sick.
Logan: Let’s not act like such a prude, now. You’re a grown ass man in daisy dukes.
the ‘Scot: Are you offended by my fashion?
Logan: I’m sure a little five year old sick with the chicken-pops might be. Your ball-sack peeks out and says hello with the slightest movement. You cannot open a door without showing off those bald cubes.
the ‘Scot: Erm – well, it’s not my fault that I am a little monster.
Logan: Little monster?
the ‘Scot: Lady Gaga. She responded to my twitter once – said it’s okay – not to be ashamed with who you are.
Logan: Did she say it was okay to do volunteer work at a hospital, wear a jean thong, and show your ‘little monster’ to little boys and girls?
the ‘Scot: No.. not specially. You do not understand the ways of Lady Gaga!
Logan: SHUT UP! And, next time you twitter her, you tell that disco-stick-boudle to SHUT UP too!
the ‘Scot: I will not.
The transvestites’ arms soon become full with boxes. Logan follows alongside once the ‘Scot begins making his approach towards the hospital entrance.
the ‘Scot: So.. Kaylyn James..
Logan: Hooker. Boudle.
A nod immediately followed.
the ‘Scot: Done with her?
Logan: Sure. She attacked the Jumbo Hotdog of Treachery – I took her to Connector City. How more even could you get? Want me to burn her house down, rape her parents, feed her dog rat poison?
the ‘Scot: THAT sounds entertaining.
Logan: Jason Kash has that corner boudle on check. I no longer need to deal with her. You see, babygurl, the Face of Treachery now has ‘treacher’i’mites.
the Scot: Treacher’i’nites? Or Treacher’I’knights?
Logan: Do not analyze it, boudle. Besides – I said mites.
the ‘Scot: Isn’t that disgracing?
Logan: Erm..?
the ‘Scot: I’d be offended if you called me a mite.
Logan: Maybe I shouldn’t call them mites?
the ‘Scot: Nothing good has ever came from a mite. You got bedmites, termites –
Logan: … but not Treacher’I’mites.
the ‘Scot: No.
Logan: Treacher’I’nites it is.
the ‘Scot: Whole thing sounds stupid if you ask me.
Logan: I wasn’t asking you – tranny boudle.
the ‘Scot: Oh.
Logan: What’s important – is ME – and how fuckin’ nice it is.
the ‘Scot: Got to admit; you, Kash, Borderland. Nobody can deal with that.
Logan: AND even if they could deal, we’d deal more, bury them boudles.
the ‘Scot: Bury them?
Logan: Deep in the dirt of Connector City.
It’s a Grudge Match!
No I in ME
[/i][/center]No I in ME
”Fuck Tommy. Fuck Odin. They’re a threat to ME. You’re in the way. This is not the time for boudles like you – rather it be an odd ball paired tag team or not. Simply put; you’re a target. A fuck all – end all. ME just officially became official. You must be beat. If not, then, this whole fiasco with Organized Violence was pointless. Yes. It’d seem that way – wouldn’t it – if the newly reformed main eventers of this company got beaten by a random pairing. That’d be completely awful. But, newsflash, boudles, that’s not going to happen. This was made in advance, ME has made sure of it when this trio united. The Organized Violence and the Face of Treachery did not pair up to boosts ratings – no – we’re together for one thing and one thing only… beatings, tickets, wiping the entire roster out!
So, the official debut week of ME – and we get Tommy Knoxville and Odin Balfore?! INSULT. What is that? Matter of fact, who is that? It’s like two boudles had nothing better else to do but go to the unemployment office and ask them if knew of any place that was hiring. Oh, yeah, bitch, Connector City is hiring! We’ve got full time spots open… 24/7 – get yourself a ticket – we’ll accommodate an ass whooping anyway possible – ASS WHOOPING health insurance, ASS WHOOPING benefits, just come and see the ticket master, babygurl!
That’s what it all boils down to. You see, this Monday, Slam, it’s not going to be rather you want a ticket or not – it’s when/how YOU get a ticket. The match is set – scheduled – all you two boudles got to do is show up, try and act tough, and get the biggest beat down of your careers.
Boudles! Babygurls! Brothers and hookers! Let me just remind you the circumstances of this match – the consequences! You’re IN WCF. YOU ARE FACING MR. WCF. You’re facing the past, the present, the future – you’re facing eleven years of WCF all bottled up in one big gigantic ass whooping. Can you handle it? Do you honestly even want it? SHUT UP! I said, SHUT UP! The Face of Treachery is talking, bitch. The biggest name you two boudletards have ever heard of. Want it?
Come get it. I have tickets – plenty of tickets. You want a special ticket? I have that too. I even have special reserved tickets, just for you boudles, paid in advance tickets. You want a Connector SOON as the match starts? You want it all to be over with soon as that entrance music shuts up? I can do that.
Especially for Tommy.. I can do that. What’s wrong? Lost your bitch? Lost Kaylyn? Where is she? Couldn’t keep her on a leash? SHUT UP!
I’m sure that broke your little heart of yours – losing Kaylyn. You might not know it now, but, I can see it in her eyes. She wants something more, something more deadly. You’re not man enough to give her that. She wants something poisonous. She wants a man; simply put. You, boudleboy, are not a man. You’re a slug that just waivered his way into a ring. Can you imagine that? H’m? SHUT UP! You’re a slug. I am the Face of Treachery – with a full bottle of salt.
And while we’re on grudges – while hate is flowing through the air – babygurls, let’s get the goosebumps bubbling! Tell me! Let me know! Give me an idea! A clue! Simply asking… where… is… Torture? Deep down inside, pray to God, pray to my soul – he is the mystery man. I hope, I wish, I want him to be the mystery man. I have never wanted anything more in my life.
Where is he? D-Day defeated him. It took him three times, but, the third one was a charm. What happened to him after that? He couldn’t take it! He could not honestly deal with defeat. It ruined him. I am glad it did. I am glad because I knew that’s what Torture was all about – a man waiting to die – and finally someone gave him death in the ring. No longer could he ever be the same after something as simple as a pinfall.
But.. fuck that…
Torture was mine. ALL FUCKIN’ MINE! He isn’t Mr. WCF – I am.
Team of Torture…? HA!
Was that supposed to be cute? It was cute.
I liked it. I tell you what – he’s my Joker’s fuckin’ Batman. When I first found out of his Team of Torture gig – I felt angry, but, at the same time.. I really liked it. It was like a show of respect, the only first real ounce of respect he had ever given me. Do not get the assumption that I ever gave that boudle respect, no, never did. But.. M’m..
Could you be my mystery man? My savior? I doubt it. I hope so, but, I doubt it. That’d be too good to be true.
IF it was you, Torture – AND – only in my dreams it is. Then, thank you. You have my blessings for taking the time to fuck with me, to get my attention. Oh GOD how I hope it is you. M’m – forget about D-Day, let’s get back to the old punch and blow. I can understand if the mystery man is, infact, Torture. It SHOULD be. If someone is going to take the time – to take weeks – to insult me, than it BETTER be him.
And, yes, if it is you.. can you admit that you and I had it better than you and D-Day did? You gave up during that third fight. He wasn’t no real challenge – was he? I DO NOT THINK HE WAS! NO! I gave you TWO Connectors! You refused to lay down. You gave me so many Torture Devices that they felt like massages after awhile.
GOD DAMNIT – that mystery man better be Torture.
You are all I had there for quite sometime.. do you know that, Torture? Just look at me. It’s been nearly SIX years since our match and I still cannot help but mention you in promos. That’s your fault. You created me.
Nobody since has had the kind of match we did. I can still remember, that – that week – we both collectively produced TWENTY ONE promos (RP’s).
YOU just name two wrestlers that have done that since for a one on one face off. Can you? No.
The fact is.. Torture.. you’re my best. My equal. I have won three Wars. You have not won a single one. But, I put TWICE the amount of determination into facing you than I ever have in a WCF War.
And.. you won.
You beat me.
At the end of the day.. you were better. HOW? WHY?
I AM MR. WCF. NOT YOU.
How did you ever beat me? I was at my fuckin’ best – and you beat me!
….HOW?
Torture. The truth is – I did not come back to get revenge on Jay Price. I didn’t even come back because I like giving boudles tickets to Connector City. I came back – because – there was a chance that you and I might meet again.
That’s who I am.
It’s a small chance. Hell, with the way things have been lately, it’s not even really a chance. YOU are the only thing keeping me in WCF. THIS is the truth.
By the year 2006.. I was done. Wasted. Tired of wrestling. I had already won the belt four times. What the hell else could I do? NOBODY had ever won the title four times. I did. But, then, 2006.. you came along. No, you had already been here for a couple of years. 2006 – however – was your year. You dominated. I saw my replacement forming right before my eyes.
And.. I did NOT like my replacement.
Then… we had a match.
The biggest match in WCF history. EVER. No bullshit. Present me a match that was bigger – please.
Ultimate Showdown: 2006. Logan versus Torture. World title. Torture versus Logan. World title. One on fuckin’ One.
EVERYTHING went into that match. EVERYTHING I had. EVERYTHING you had. We fought backstage during the week – turned the locker room (OOC Board) into chaos.
But..
The match went on.
The promos went on.
It never stopped.
We fought each other tooth and nail till that six o’ clock deadline before the day of the show that you could no longer air promos.
I said everything to say about you and you had everything to say about me.
And it’s been unmatched since.
THEN… by the end of the night – after MONTHS, YEARS – of waiting.. Torture beat Logan.
And it wasn’t a Torture’s Device that took me out. No. It was a northern lights bridge.
A simple suplex into a pin.. something I have kicked out of a million times before…
But, that night, I couldn’t.
You became the man.
I tried to drag you down – claw you down, but, never could.
So.. then.. after all these years… you admit defeat.. to.. D-DAY?!
A NOBODY?!
A boudle that is so blind he wouldn’t even know if a ticket to Connector City was being waved in front of his eyes!
FINALLY.. Torture gets defeated. And.. D-Day is the one that did it.
FUCK THAT.
I was your equal, Torture. I was your escape.
How could you do this to me?
How can I ever repay you for this?
You see, Torture, I have.. already.
I have already beaten you.
It’s ME. It’s 2011. It’s the fact that I am still relevant.
I am Logan. The Face of Treachery. The Face of WCF.
They can push D-Day all they want – they can even have him pin you, but, despite the fact that YOU beat me, that YOU even beat me – NOBODY will ever be bigger than Logan, not in WCF.
They tried – after 2006 – to make you bigger. It never happened. Simply put; nobody has ever brought what I bring to WCF’s table.
I can hold the world title for two months and you can hold it for SIX – still – you’ll never be better than Logan.
YOU can go one on one with me, Torture, and even beat me – still – you’ll never be better than Logan.
Torture.. you’re not even in the Hall of Fame.
Do you know WCF’s original Hall of Fame? Yeah, I was inducted in 2004 – just when you were first starting out.
Now of days.. they put anybody in the Hall of Fame, yet, you STILL have not been inducted. SHIT, they put Slickie T in the Hall of Fame! He’s only been a WCF member for two or three years?
Guess he deserved it more than you.
Doesn’t matter what you do or what you say – there will be never, ever, be another Face of Treachery. There will NEVER-EVER be a man that’s been here for eleven years and is still popping out new material like he just joined the other day!
And for that.. because of that.. when people look back at WCF history – they’re not going to think of Torture, no, they’re going to think of Logan.
The man that won the first ever WCF United States championship.
The first man to win WCF’s world title three times, four times, and FIVE times.
The ONLY man to win WCF’s War TWO TIMES AND THREE TIMES.
Match that. Can you? No.
Can anyone here? No.
Fuckin’ no.
Fuck a Jax, fuck a NCW – not ME.
Fuck a AJ Jam – not ME.
Fuck a Mace – not ME.
Fuck a Steve Carr – not ME.
Fuck a Metal Angel – not ME.
Fuck a Hellz Angel – not ME.
Fuck a Wreck – not ME.
Fuck a Cyrus – not ME.
Fuck a Creeping Death – not ME.
Fuck a Gravedigger – not ME.
Fuck a Epic – not ME.
Fuck a Dake Ken AND a Trent Hunter – not ME.
Fuck a PC Cradle – not ME.
Fuck em’ all!
Fuck a Jay Price – they’re not Logan.
Fuck a Slickie T – never came close.
Fuck a Jack of Blades.
Fuck a Jay Williams.
Fuck a D-Day.
Fuck everyone.
Fuck the future!
They’ll never be ME.
MATTER OF FACT – NOBODY – EXISTS HERE TODAY FROM WHEN I FIRST JOINED WCF.
NOBODY.
Steve Carr was the last surviving member – but – he has fallen off the Earth.
I am all alone.
My species is endangered – I am the last member of the original WCF.
AND I am still whooping ass. So, fuck you Tommy, Odin. Bring whatever you call an A-Game. Shit. It’s Thursday – hadn’t seen nothing yet. BRING SOMETHING. I’ll bring better… I always do. But, you know what. Maybe I am tired of talking. Yes, for the meantime, maybe, all has been said that needs to be said. Those two boudles won a lottery ticket this week. They’re randomly paired up for a big fat chance to get a first ever ME beat down. Do they deserve it? Did they have it coming? Who cares. I didn’t book these fools. I can tell you this, though, this Monday is history in the making. June the sixth marks the beginning of a new era in WCF. Things will never be the same a week from now. Wrestling magazines we’ll be covered with photographs of us – they’ll be articles – five thousand word articles for this new breed of dominance. ME is the next big thing, and it will be. They will be talking about us for years to come. This is WCF’s elite, strong, best. It’s not going to take long, babygurls – that’s a promise – soon, we’ll own every title in this company. EVERY title. This moving train cannot and will not be stopped. You either get the fuck out of the way or get ran down. We’re full speed, full throttle. NOBODY fucks with ME. NOBODY. So, Tommy, Odin.. maybe you should just get out of the way, step aside, save yourself from a bruising.”
Come Back, Catherine (OOC/IC?)
No I in ME?
No I in ME?
Come back Catherine, won’t ya please? My best friend stole you away from me. Come back Catherine, could ya please? You’re the only one that ever brought me to my knees. Please – come back, it’ll be okay – I’LL forgive you. Come back Catherine, please, oh, please, oh, please? Never fought for you, but spent years of dreams fighting to forget you. Come back – come back. Won’t ya please? Don’t care if you smell like him – just as long as you didn’t catch a disease. You’re my only, make me so lonely, please come back babygurl, Hard to forget you. You’re my only oysters lucky pearl. Please.. please.. come back. Ya’ know what, fuck ya, so over ya, still – I’d probably drop to my knees if you came around, and say – please, oh please.
This one – this writing – is for you ya ungrateful fuckin’ slut!
You fucked Greg. I knew that fucker since I was 5. I pissed my pants with him – laughing. That’s how close we were. You KNEW THAT! I told you that. I shared secrets. Yet you fucked him. I hope you stumble crossed this one day – read it – and I hope it makes you feel bad. Fuck that. I hope it makes you smile – because you’d have to smile over the sick sins you have committed.
Fuckin’ whore. Hope he shot up heroin and gave you aids. But…
I love you.. still. What have you become since… 2009 now? It’s felt like forever. Did you go to college? Become a nurse? Or you still suckin’ his Jewish stankin dick? I always washed my dick for you. Kept the pubes shaved, kept all that hair back. You never really appreciated it did you? Thought you did.
Did everything for you – since I was 14. Met you, dropped out of school, did concrete – were you the reason for that? Bought you anything you wanted. Licked your beautiful asshole. Licked your sweat when you got hot. What happened? I wasn’t needy. You got space!
You got so much, in fact, that you used that freedom and space to sneak behind my back and fuck him.. fuck the only other thing that meant something to me. COULD HAVE BEEN ANYBODY! But him? You knew – YOU HAD TO HAVE KNOWN – that’d ruin me. It did. It did so much that my fictional character in an online hobby got depressed and ate hotdogs.
But.. ya gotta live.. cuz life goes on. It just does. People die. People fuck you. The world never stops turning. Just listen to “Who Wrote Holden Caulfield?” You’ll know – you’ll fuckin’ know.
I know that – you know that – you’re reading this.
JC loves you, Catherine. He really does. I love you. I Love you to death! When I become a writer.. if that day comes, if I am ever good enough – I’ll send you a check.. for a dollar.. with a ticket.. to Connector City.. strangle your bitch ass. Oh shit! Holiday is on! Wanna start a fuckin’ war?
