Post by Logan on Jun 5, 2011 12:48:20 GMT -5
The camera opens, shaky at first, shrubs and greens leafs blowing over the view. The shot is rested on the front door of a house, and person soon makes his appearance; pulling up in the driveway in a pink Mustang, exiting the car, and stepping to the front, the ‘Scot – who is oblivious of the camera mans presence in the bushes. He pushes himself into the door, and a loud screaming, Happy Birthday, is heard from within. The camera man scurries out of the brush, following the ‘Scot inside this home. The ‘Scot is genuinely surprised, standing amongst candy colored balloons, strippers, and a gigantic birthday cake that Logan stands by wearing a party hat.
the ‘Scot: Oh, Logan! You didn’t have to do this.
Logan: What?! You’re my transvestite, my number one!
the ‘Scot: glorious!
Logan: You like it?
the ‘Scot: Oh yes! I was wondering what was going on when you told me to meet you at this address. Who’s house is this?
Logan: Odin Balfore’s.
the ‘Scot: WHAT?!
Logan: Haha, yup.
the ‘Scot: Oh my.
One of the guests, which heavily resembled Bobby Cairo – might even be – shouts something along the lines of getting this party started, cutting on music, and turning it to the max.
the ‘Scot: Oh God – I need to change.
Ignoring such a request, Logan shoves the ‘Scot into an awaiting group of eager dancing strippers. The ‘Scot has a genuine blast, trading off moves with the bunch.
the ‘Scot: Logan – where are you going?
Sneaking off, Logan reassures the ‘Scot before disappearing upstairs.
Logan: I’ll be right back, birthday boy.. or girl?
Now upstairs, Logan investigates his surroundings. He soon enters what is perhaps thought to be Odin’s master bedroom. Something incriminating is searched for.
Logan: Where’o’where do you keep your secrets.
The beds mattress was lifted, but, nothing discovered. He shuffled through a cabinet drawer, nothing, well a bottle of bourbon (yum), but nothing out of the ordinary.
Logan: Ah..
A closet was in his sights.
Logan: Bingo.
He ripped open the closet doors and unexpectedly found himself staring at nothing but women’s apparel. Night gowns, dresses, pajama outfits, and the like cluttered the closet. BIG clothing too, the perfect fit for what would seem like Odin’s size.
Logan: Unless he has a whale for wife…
Turning away from the discovery and finding a new one, Logan dashes for the computer, turning it to life. He decides to leave a personal video for Odin to find.
Logan: What’s with the clothes, Odin? Maybe you and the ‘Scot share a little something in common. He has been looking for a boyfriend. But, other than that…
Adjusting himself in the chair.
Logan: You misread me, Odin.
He nods before continuing on.
Logan: What do you not understand, Odin , is that I do not even really need to brag. Sure, I did my fair share of that just a few days ago. But, for people like me, it’s not necessary. I, however, do have the right to. The only reason I did name off my greatest achievements was to simply make the point that I am unmatched. That nobody in this entire histories company matches my records. And, Odin, why can’t you acknowledge that? Stats never lie. I did it to try and possibly make you understand, that this Monday, isn’t an ordinary Monday for you. Odin, I am far from whom you claim – I am NOT Mr. FPV. I am Mr. WCF. I am Mr. MISTER. Miles away from a glorified version of that boudle. Honestly, should I be offended? Out of anyone you could think of.. you compared me to Mr. FPV. What the hell? That’s because you CANNOT compare me to anyone. I am incomparable. People compare people to Logan – not vice versa. And then you think my whole career has just been a trash talk play off my finisher? Ha. Man, you mentioned Connector City more in one day than I do in an entire month. Matter of fact, you even went out of the way to set up a little promo, pretending, making a little fairy tale for yourself – riding little ‘Connector City’ rides and breaking them. That was humorous, amusing, yes. Odin, it does not matter if you’re eight foot, nine fight, ten foot – you’re never too big for a ride of asswhoop.
And if you can’t stand hearing how successful I’ve been – then do something about it - go win five world titles. Do it here, in the big leagues. Then you’ll have a right to brag, you’ll get that right when NOBODY else can touch what you’ve done. But, no, no.. I have seen people like you in WCF. You come, you go. You’ll probably win a television title or two before you leave, but, you’ll brag about it anyway, act like you were actually something – like you actually left a genuine footprint. That’s all that I can honestly see you turning out to be. Maybe another Jay Price at best. Another boudle that made sure EVERYONE knew that he had won hardcore titles, television titles, fake titles – just before retiring. Those titles are something, yes, but they’re not Wars or world championships.
So, why you, Odin? Why are you the guy that is going to supposedly come into WCF and rip away all my achievements? Take eleven years, as you said. After saying things like that – how do you even expect me to take you seriously? H’m? Do you really think that I should be threatened? That after surviving all these years, overcoming the odds numerous times, defeating the biggest names this company has ever offered from day one till now… that now.. suddenly.. Odin Balfore should make me worried? HA! I didn’t even know who you were till this match was booked. What’ve you had – three matches? So, you’re facing the Face of Treachery this Monday and now you’re a big shot. You think that maybe you can catch your big break. Yes, defeating me would seem very helpful to your career.. wouldn’t it? No, you do not see it that way. You simply think that I am some old washed up guy that won a bunch of titles a long time ago and hasn’t beaten anyone significant lately.
You got me wrong, all wrong. I did enough last year that’ll probably overshadowed the entire career that you will have here in WCF. You can’t match me, never will. You can’t compare me. You can’t out wrestle me. Simply out; you are not allowed to, reality permits you from doing so. And do not even pretend that you can. It’s sad, pathetic – it’ll make you look like even more of a bigger idiot after this Monday.
I’ll admit this though; those promos were a blast. I couldn’t help but have a laugh. I didn’t feel threatened at all by the slightest insult or attempt you made to try and offend me, but, I did laugh. It was funny seeing your big ass break that kitty ride, and, acting proud in the process. Did you have to pay for that? Surely – they didn’t let you walk out of there. You know, I am surprised that circus didn’t offer you a job – ladies and gentlemen – the biggest boudle unearthed! Yes, you’re big.. I get it. How you think that restricts you from getting a Connector simply baffles me. It’s not like I have to pick you up. And, speaking of moves, speaking of style, what the hell do you have? Mark of Odin?! What the hell are you going to do with that? – show me the skin marks in your panties? Babygurl.. I got the Loganshooter; most deadly submission in WCF. The Impact Style; put your jaw out of socket. And, yes, the Connector; the move that is going to take your big ass straight to a city and leave you a limp bitch in the ring.
Tuesday morning, you’ll wake up, groan in pain, call the doctors, and call a massage therapist, wondering WHY you ever insulted the Face of Treachery in the first place. You will feel regret – lots of it. This ass whooping is going to have long term effects. Your eye might develop a little twitch, your neck will spasm uncontrollably and at random, no one is ever the same after going to Connector City. So, you have to ask yourself.. is this what you really want? Do you really want a ticket this Monday?
Do not expect the ‘Scot to go prostitute himself and raise funds for medical bills like he did with Doc Henry. Doc Henry is and was a very special boudle – we go way back - you’re not getting that treatment, Odin. The only thing you can expect this Monday is when we meet in the ring, when you find yourself in a sleeper hold, and when the Connector strikes. After that it’s over. Nothing you can absolutely do but lay there, half-awake, listening to a three count. Maybe you should just take the advice of your partner – not that he gave any – but trust what he has been doing; nothing. Just keep the trap shut. It’s worked for him.. in a way. You see, Tommy has simply made himself a stand in – a number. He knows better. He knows not to get himself involved. He can tell that this match is nothing but a big fat ass whooping in the works.
the ‘Scot: Logan! It’s my birthday!
Interrupted by the ‘Scot’s presence, Logan ceases the trash talk, soon following the ‘Scot back downstairs.
Logan: I couldn’t help myself.
The action downstairs has suddenly died. Everyone looks at the presence of a puzzled large black woman standing in the homes front door. Logan approaches.
Logan: Hey, welcome to the ‘Scot’s birthday party, babygu---
Large Black Woman: ‘Cuse me?! This is MY home.
Logan: No. This is a boudles home or.. Odin Balfore’s home.
Large Black Woman: I AM Odin Balfore.
Logan: What’d you eat him or something? Odin Balfore is a white man. I have a match this Monday, spit him out!
The woman grows frustrated.
Odin Balfore: I am calling the damn police.
Logan: We don’t call da po-po on here otha, babygurl.
Odin Balfore: …
Logan: I’m done with the brown – I’m friends with Jason Kash.
Butting-in, the ‘Scot speaks up.
the ‘Scot: Jason Kash is white.
Logan: SHUT UP! Let’s go ‘Scot, this party sucks. Let’s go. You too, you Bobby Cairo looking boudle.
The fellow who looks like Cairo – might even be – refuses, shaking his head no, mouth full of cake.
Logan: Yeah..
The woman, who coincidentally shares the same name as Odin, begins phoning the police. Heading into the direction of the ‘Scot’s pink Mustang, Logan and the ‘Scot slip past her.
the ‘Scot: How the hell did this happen?
Logan: I looked up Odin Balfore in a phonebook.
the ‘Scot: And you just assumed this was his house?
Logan: Precisely.
the ‘Scot: It’s not his house.
Logan: I know that now.
Narrowing his brows, Logan gives the ‘Scot a dirty look before the scene fades out.
The camera rests just atop a nightstand, bedside of the ‘Scot’s bed. The sun is just beginning to shine through slightly parted blinds, suggesting that it’s morning. What appear to be two men, lay in the bed, both just waking. One of them is the ‘Scot – the other – actually not a man at all, but, Odin Balfore, the large black woman from before. Her figure is too round and bloated to immediately resemble that of a woman.
Odin Balfore: Breakfast?
She rolled into the ‘Scot, the bed steadily dipping in.
the ‘Scot: Erm..
Odin Balfore: I can make some of the best things you’ve ever had in your mouth – far as food goes.
the ‘Scot: Ehh..
Odin Balfore: I just love to do me some cooking, boo.
She began her ascent from the cave of the mattress, which took time. He watched her. It was like watching that fat kid in gym class that could never do a complete crunch, but, instead, just did a number of exercises that barely lifted a back from the floor. She would lift, then sink, then lift, seemingly waiting for the moment to suddenly explode into the air – yes – she’d need a grenade to get her off the bed, a miracle.
the ‘Scot: Hold on.
Feeling generous enough to volunteer in the removal of this large woman from his bed and hopefully his house, he stood up right next to her, offering two hands.
the ‘Scot: When you lift – I’ll pull u—
She clung onto his hands, quickly do as instructed, however, the ‘Scot was pulled down with the beast back into her soft fluffy blanketed resting grounds.
the ‘Scot: How do you get out of bed at home?
Odin Balfore: Got me one of them lifts.
the ‘Scot: Oh..
Odin Balfore: Let’s skip the breakfast, boo.
She began to seep into a playful giggle, snuggling up closer to his body. He knew that she meant business, anyone her size sacrificing a meal to engage in activity – meant business.
the ‘Scot: I’d rather not.
Her eyebrows perked.
Odin Balfore: Listen here, bitch, if you do not follow up on our deal then I’m going to call the cops on you and your little friends for trashing my house.
the ‘Scot: I thought last night—
Odin Balfore: That was just a warm-up, boo.
Ohh, how the ‘Scot groaned. He rolled over into her sea of jelly, idly turning off the camera with a free hand.
the ‘Scot: Oh, Logan! You didn’t have to do this.
Logan: What?! You’re my transvestite, my number one!
the ‘Scot: glorious!
Logan: You like it?
the ‘Scot: Oh yes! I was wondering what was going on when you told me to meet you at this address. Who’s house is this?
Logan: Odin Balfore’s.
the ‘Scot: WHAT?!
Logan: Haha, yup.
the ‘Scot: Oh my.
One of the guests, which heavily resembled Bobby Cairo – might even be – shouts something along the lines of getting this party started, cutting on music, and turning it to the max.
the ‘Scot: Oh God – I need to change.
Ignoring such a request, Logan shoves the ‘Scot into an awaiting group of eager dancing strippers. The ‘Scot has a genuine blast, trading off moves with the bunch.
the ‘Scot: Logan – where are you going?
Sneaking off, Logan reassures the ‘Scot before disappearing upstairs.
Logan: I’ll be right back, birthday boy.. or girl?
Now upstairs, Logan investigates his surroundings. He soon enters what is perhaps thought to be Odin’s master bedroom. Something incriminating is searched for.
Logan: Where’o’where do you keep your secrets.
The beds mattress was lifted, but, nothing discovered. He shuffled through a cabinet drawer, nothing, well a bottle of bourbon (yum), but nothing out of the ordinary.
Logan: Ah..
A closet was in his sights.
Logan: Bingo.
He ripped open the closet doors and unexpectedly found himself staring at nothing but women’s apparel. Night gowns, dresses, pajama outfits, and the like cluttered the closet. BIG clothing too, the perfect fit for what would seem like Odin’s size.
Logan: Unless he has a whale for wife…
Turning away from the discovery and finding a new one, Logan dashes for the computer, turning it to life. He decides to leave a personal video for Odin to find.
Logan: What’s with the clothes, Odin? Maybe you and the ‘Scot share a little something in common. He has been looking for a boyfriend. But, other than that…
Adjusting himself in the chair.
Logan: You misread me, Odin.
He nods before continuing on.
Logan: What do you not understand, Odin , is that I do not even really need to brag. Sure, I did my fair share of that just a few days ago. But, for people like me, it’s not necessary. I, however, do have the right to. The only reason I did name off my greatest achievements was to simply make the point that I am unmatched. That nobody in this entire histories company matches my records. And, Odin, why can’t you acknowledge that? Stats never lie. I did it to try and possibly make you understand, that this Monday, isn’t an ordinary Monday for you. Odin, I am far from whom you claim – I am NOT Mr. FPV. I am Mr. WCF. I am Mr. MISTER. Miles away from a glorified version of that boudle. Honestly, should I be offended? Out of anyone you could think of.. you compared me to Mr. FPV. What the hell? That’s because you CANNOT compare me to anyone. I am incomparable. People compare people to Logan – not vice versa. And then you think my whole career has just been a trash talk play off my finisher? Ha. Man, you mentioned Connector City more in one day than I do in an entire month. Matter of fact, you even went out of the way to set up a little promo, pretending, making a little fairy tale for yourself – riding little ‘Connector City’ rides and breaking them. That was humorous, amusing, yes. Odin, it does not matter if you’re eight foot, nine fight, ten foot – you’re never too big for a ride of asswhoop.
And if you can’t stand hearing how successful I’ve been – then do something about it - go win five world titles. Do it here, in the big leagues. Then you’ll have a right to brag, you’ll get that right when NOBODY else can touch what you’ve done. But, no, no.. I have seen people like you in WCF. You come, you go. You’ll probably win a television title or two before you leave, but, you’ll brag about it anyway, act like you were actually something – like you actually left a genuine footprint. That’s all that I can honestly see you turning out to be. Maybe another Jay Price at best. Another boudle that made sure EVERYONE knew that he had won hardcore titles, television titles, fake titles – just before retiring. Those titles are something, yes, but they’re not Wars or world championships.
So, why you, Odin? Why are you the guy that is going to supposedly come into WCF and rip away all my achievements? Take eleven years, as you said. After saying things like that – how do you even expect me to take you seriously? H’m? Do you really think that I should be threatened? That after surviving all these years, overcoming the odds numerous times, defeating the biggest names this company has ever offered from day one till now… that now.. suddenly.. Odin Balfore should make me worried? HA! I didn’t even know who you were till this match was booked. What’ve you had – three matches? So, you’re facing the Face of Treachery this Monday and now you’re a big shot. You think that maybe you can catch your big break. Yes, defeating me would seem very helpful to your career.. wouldn’t it? No, you do not see it that way. You simply think that I am some old washed up guy that won a bunch of titles a long time ago and hasn’t beaten anyone significant lately.
You got me wrong, all wrong. I did enough last year that’ll probably overshadowed the entire career that you will have here in WCF. You can’t match me, never will. You can’t compare me. You can’t out wrestle me. Simply out; you are not allowed to, reality permits you from doing so. And do not even pretend that you can. It’s sad, pathetic – it’ll make you look like even more of a bigger idiot after this Monday.
I’ll admit this though; those promos were a blast. I couldn’t help but have a laugh. I didn’t feel threatened at all by the slightest insult or attempt you made to try and offend me, but, I did laugh. It was funny seeing your big ass break that kitty ride, and, acting proud in the process. Did you have to pay for that? Surely – they didn’t let you walk out of there. You know, I am surprised that circus didn’t offer you a job – ladies and gentlemen – the biggest boudle unearthed! Yes, you’re big.. I get it. How you think that restricts you from getting a Connector simply baffles me. It’s not like I have to pick you up. And, speaking of moves, speaking of style, what the hell do you have? Mark of Odin?! What the hell are you going to do with that? – show me the skin marks in your panties? Babygurl.. I got the Loganshooter; most deadly submission in WCF. The Impact Style; put your jaw out of socket. And, yes, the Connector; the move that is going to take your big ass straight to a city and leave you a limp bitch in the ring.
Tuesday morning, you’ll wake up, groan in pain, call the doctors, and call a massage therapist, wondering WHY you ever insulted the Face of Treachery in the first place. You will feel regret – lots of it. This ass whooping is going to have long term effects. Your eye might develop a little twitch, your neck will spasm uncontrollably and at random, no one is ever the same after going to Connector City. So, you have to ask yourself.. is this what you really want? Do you really want a ticket this Monday?
Do not expect the ‘Scot to go prostitute himself and raise funds for medical bills like he did with Doc Henry. Doc Henry is and was a very special boudle – we go way back - you’re not getting that treatment, Odin. The only thing you can expect this Monday is when we meet in the ring, when you find yourself in a sleeper hold, and when the Connector strikes. After that it’s over. Nothing you can absolutely do but lay there, half-awake, listening to a three count. Maybe you should just take the advice of your partner – not that he gave any – but trust what he has been doing; nothing. Just keep the trap shut. It’s worked for him.. in a way. You see, Tommy has simply made himself a stand in – a number. He knows better. He knows not to get himself involved. He can tell that this match is nothing but a big fat ass whooping in the works.
the ‘Scot: Logan! It’s my birthday!
Interrupted by the ‘Scot’s presence, Logan ceases the trash talk, soon following the ‘Scot back downstairs.
Logan: I couldn’t help myself.
The action downstairs has suddenly died. Everyone looks at the presence of a puzzled large black woman standing in the homes front door. Logan approaches.
Logan: Hey, welcome to the ‘Scot’s birthday party, babygu---
Large Black Woman: ‘Cuse me?! This is MY home.
Logan: No. This is a boudles home or.. Odin Balfore’s home.
Large Black Woman: I AM Odin Balfore.
Logan: What’d you eat him or something? Odin Balfore is a white man. I have a match this Monday, spit him out!
The woman grows frustrated.
Odin Balfore: I am calling the damn police.
Logan: We don’t call da po-po on here otha, babygurl.
Odin Balfore: …
Logan: I’m done with the brown – I’m friends with Jason Kash.
Butting-in, the ‘Scot speaks up.
the ‘Scot: Jason Kash is white.
Logan: SHUT UP! Let’s go ‘Scot, this party sucks. Let’s go. You too, you Bobby Cairo looking boudle.
The fellow who looks like Cairo – might even be – refuses, shaking his head no, mouth full of cake.
Logan: Yeah..
The woman, who coincidentally shares the same name as Odin, begins phoning the police. Heading into the direction of the ‘Scot’s pink Mustang, Logan and the ‘Scot slip past her.
the ‘Scot: How the hell did this happen?
Logan: I looked up Odin Balfore in a phonebook.
the ‘Scot: And you just assumed this was his house?
Logan: Precisely.
the ‘Scot: It’s not his house.
Logan: I know that now.
Narrowing his brows, Logan gives the ‘Scot a dirty look before the scene fades out.
The Following Day
The camera rests just atop a nightstand, bedside of the ‘Scot’s bed. The sun is just beginning to shine through slightly parted blinds, suggesting that it’s morning. What appear to be two men, lay in the bed, both just waking. One of them is the ‘Scot – the other – actually not a man at all, but, Odin Balfore, the large black woman from before. Her figure is too round and bloated to immediately resemble that of a woman.
Odin Balfore: Breakfast?
She rolled into the ‘Scot, the bed steadily dipping in.
the ‘Scot: Erm..
Odin Balfore: I can make some of the best things you’ve ever had in your mouth – far as food goes.
the ‘Scot: Ehh..
Odin Balfore: I just love to do me some cooking, boo.
She began her ascent from the cave of the mattress, which took time. He watched her. It was like watching that fat kid in gym class that could never do a complete crunch, but, instead, just did a number of exercises that barely lifted a back from the floor. She would lift, then sink, then lift, seemingly waiting for the moment to suddenly explode into the air – yes – she’d need a grenade to get her off the bed, a miracle.
the ‘Scot: Hold on.
Feeling generous enough to volunteer in the removal of this large woman from his bed and hopefully his house, he stood up right next to her, offering two hands.
the ‘Scot: When you lift – I’ll pull u—
She clung onto his hands, quickly do as instructed, however, the ‘Scot was pulled down with the beast back into her soft fluffy blanketed resting grounds.
the ‘Scot: How do you get out of bed at home?
Odin Balfore: Got me one of them lifts.
the ‘Scot: Oh..
Odin Balfore: Let’s skip the breakfast, boo.
She began to seep into a playful giggle, snuggling up closer to his body. He knew that she meant business, anyone her size sacrificing a meal to engage in activity – meant business.
the ‘Scot: I’d rather not.
Her eyebrows perked.
Odin Balfore: Listen here, bitch, if you do not follow up on our deal then I’m going to call the cops on you and your little friends for trashing my house.
the ‘Scot: I thought last night—
Odin Balfore: That was just a warm-up, boo.
Ohh, how the ‘Scot groaned. He rolled over into her sea of jelly, idly turning off the camera with a free hand.
