Post by Deleted on Jun 12, 2011 7:43:08 GMT -5
Behold! The fury, the rage, the fire. The fire that burns inside his eyes. Eyes that burn like torches in the darkness. Eyes that are unflinching and without fear. Just as those eyes are unmistakable, so too is his voice. A voice that is resolute in both tone and message, and tinged with a New England infliction. This is WCF Hardcore Champion Phillip Baines.
Phillip Baines: Congratulations on a very amusing performance, Oblivion. I choked back a combination of laughter and outrage while viewing your latest promo. If nothing else you temporarily succeeded in perpetrating a fraud on the WCF Universe. Indeed, you purported to torture and then torch yours truly for all the world to see, or at least all who would watch and listen to such drivel. There's only a slight problem, Obi. As you can see, I am still here. Oh wait... you cannot see, for your eyes are blind. You are blinded by ignorance. You know not the flames that you fan, Oblivion. Flames that will rise to an inferno and swallow you whole. That's what happens to little boys who play with matches. They start fires and then they get burned. Your dead friend Greenfever knew all about that. He felt the kiss of flame that comes with my Halcyon Daze. He felt the brunt of my unbridled wrath. He felt it and it scorched his soul. He was never the same man after that fateful encounter with Baines on Monday Night Slam in Houston. It was a life-altering experience for him. After receiving the judgment that I handed down to him, he became crestfallen, a broken man. He reached the point of no return and thus he committed suicide by challenging me to a Flatliner match at XIII. What makes you think that you're any different, Oblivion? What makes you think that you're any better than Greenfever? Is it those outrageous claims that you made in your promo, claims that were equally absurd to the hoax that you staged?
A masculine chuckle emerges from the gullet of Baines, who remains cloaked in darkness.
Phil: Oh yes, thou art spurious, Oblivion. You claimed to be the new God here in WCF, the new master of all that is dark, scary, evil, ominous and foreboding. You delivered a homicidal warning to Reckless Jack and myself. You postured with your cock out and masturbated until you came uncontrollably, and then it was over. The viewing audience was left to wonder why they had been subjected to such juvenile nonsense, cheap horror movie theatrics. I almost felt sorry for you while viewing that sad spectacle, Oblivion. In strutting your shit like the cock of the walk, you chose to ignore a few simple but inescapable facts. Namely you ignored the fact that you, my friend, are shit, and more specifically your entire facade is bullshit. You might very well be the new false God in WCF, but you are hardly an improvement over the last. You pout like a woman, or better yet a child, something that Greenfever, through all of his faults, never did. You lament the verbal barbs that I direct your way. You cry foul when I call you out on your delusions of grandeur. Have I dismissed you as a false prophet? Guilty as charged, but why stop there? I've done that and so much more. I have debased your manhood. I have emasculated you with my cold cut of American steel, figuratively speaking of course. Of course, I will subject you to far worse on Monday night at Blast.
The fapping of tongue on lips can be heard, like a serpent casting its call, but this is no serpent. This is Baines.
Phil: Why, oh why, do I speak these harsh words? Why do I throw these pointed accusations that stab your black heart? It's plain to see, Oblivion. It's staring you dead in the eye if you will only open yours. The scary man need not announce that he's scary. The scary man proves it with his actions, time and time again, as I have done. I have led the charge for a new era of hardcore wrestling in WCF. I have set the standard by which all future competitors in the hardcore division shall be judged. Why do I mock you? I mock you because you are a coward and a fraud. I mock you because I hold so much power, so much black magic and irresistible hoodoo inside of my loins and my indelible person, and yet you fail to recognize this. You refuse to give Baines his due. You refuse to "man up", as it were. You insist upon playing a children's game. You insist upon using cheap tactics of psychological warfare and intimidation that do not faze me in the slightest. It is an obvious sign of desperation, and moreover a declaration of your shortcomings. You cannot walk in my footsteps, Oblivion. You cannot bear the burdens and scars that come with being the standard-bearer for the most hateful generation in the most hateful times in the most hateful world that man has ever known. Look around you, Oblivion. The world is crumbling... YOUR world is crumbling.
Baines now steps away from the shadows and draws his form into the light. We can see that he is wearing wolf's clothing while bearing that serpent's sneer that was alluded to moments earlier. It is an expression that foretells of mischief and sinister intentions. We follow Baines as he steps forward into a trophy room of sorts, more accurately a darkened quarter which serves as a shrine to his accomplishments. There are no shiny gold belts or plaques. Nor are there any trophies in the traditional, polished-gold statuette sense of the term. Instead we see a solid oak mantel that protrudes from a cobblestone wall, and on that mantel sits an array of skulls, human skulls to be exact, five of them in total. Phil's eyes twinkle like a proud papa as he gazes upon his mantel... of skulls.
Phil: This is my pride and joy, my mantel of skulls. I have referenced it in the past, of course, but this is the very first time that I have allowed the WCF Universe to cast their prying eyes upon it. Every man and woman who sets foot inside of the squared circle takes pride in accumulating accolades over the course of his or her career, but the vast majority of them place a misguided priority on championship belts, mere slabs of gold and leather. Oh sure you can place a dollar value on such possessions, but what I seek is far greater than material wealth. What I seek is far greater even than the title of "champion" that all too often succeeds only in inflating one's ego to the point of gross delusion and ensures the title holder's ultimate demise. What I seek is priceless. What I seek lies beyond the jurisdiction of any wrestling promotion's blue ribbon championship committee.
Phil gently brushes the face of the skull that sits farthest right on the mantel and stares lovingly at it. The gleam in his eyes is that of a very ill man, a man with no sense of remorse for his actions. Phil breaks his stare and walks to the far left side of the mantel, though he shows little regard for this particular skull.
Phil: These are the skulls of each opponent that I have defeated inside of the WCF ring. I have arranged them, not in chronological order, but in order of importance, starting with the least important here at the left side. This particular skull is unspectacular, really it's barely notable. It belongs to Matt Storm. Do you remember that asshole?
Baines casts a raised eyebrow in your general direction as if asking YOU directly.
Phil: I barely do aside from the fact that I seven-twenty powerbombed him through a flaming table and ended his wrestling career in one fell swoop. Ironically that was his only noteworthy moment during his time here in WCF, in addition to being his final moment. Oh well... a worthless career ended by the man who defines hardcore in WCF. Just another day at the office for Baines.
Baines shrugs his shoulders and moves on to the next skull.
Phil: This is Mr. FPV's skull. Some people might be surprised to see him so far down in the skull pecking order, after all I did defeat him in the finals of the WCF Classic. The problem is that FPV is a career jobber who lucked his way into the finals. Beating him was no great challenge for me, no great thrill. It didn't even give me a boner. It was as ho-hum a victory as one can attain in the finals of a prestigious wrestling tournament. No sir, I do not hold Frank Patrick Venable's skull in high regard. Not at all.
Baines snorts in disgust before he turns and steps toward the next skull in line. Baines strokes his smooth, clean-shaven chin and nods his head at this skull. His mood perks up considerably. A smile even creeps across his face, morbid as it may seem.
Phil: This is a good one. This is the skull that I claimed by defeating Jason Kash in an absolute war in the semifinals of the Classic. Kash brought it to me that night in Puebla, México. He showed me his grit, and I showed him mine. Mine was bigger. He showed me his testicles, and I showed him mine. Mine were bigger. That's no slight to Kash though. If he were wrestling any other WCF superstar that night he would have come out victorious. It was his misfortune that fate conspired to match him against Baines. It was a great night for me however, that is for certain. I claimed Kash's skull and his is a skull that I truly cherish.
Phil's smile beams proudly and he walks over to the fourth skull in line.
Phil: Ah yes... Creeping Death. He is not the toughest competitor that I've faced, far from it, but as a matter of historical record he was undefeated in Classic competition at the time that I faced him in the second round of this year's Classic. He is also a WCF Hall of Famer. He is also a giant douche. These points are not lost upon a young lad such as Baines. I am not ignorant to WCF history like some of the fartknockers that have been running around here lately. I defeated Creeping Death by casting his wretched hide into a sea of steel chairs via the Halcyon Daze. I was rewarded with not just a high-profile victory, but more importantly the greatest erection that I've ever achieved in my life, and the second-most prized skull in my collection. CD's skull is a truly awesome skull, but none... no skull can compare to this one.
Phil once again moves down to that final skull on the right. He playfully nudges the skull with his nose and caresses it with his hand. A look of unmitigated glee permeates his face. He closes his eyes as he begins to speak.
Phil: This skull belongs to one man, but he's a man who I defeated twice. First I defeated him on Slam in my WCF debut, when the stakes were high, to capture the Hardcore Championship and advance to the second round of the Classic. Then I defeated him again at XIII, when the stakes could not get any higher. I retained the Hardcore Championship that night in Des Moines, but more importantly I ended this man's life. My only regret is that I could not claim his skull twice, because then I would have two Greenfever skulls instead of one, but I will forever cherish the Greenfever skull that I do have.
Phil kisses the Greenfever skull on its forehead. Yes, this is a sick man. No doubt about it. Phil stares lovingly at the Greenfever skull for a few moments, before finally ripping his eyes away and rejoining the rest of us on Planet Earth.
Phil: As even a skull novice can decipher, there is room enough on my mantel for two more spots, two more skulls, one belonging to Reckless Jack, and the other one, of course, belonging to Oblivion. Which skull will end up higher in the skull pecking order? Where will they stack up against the other skulls that I've claimed?
Phil grins and throws up his hands.
Phil: Who knows? Only time will tell! It all depends on what happens in that ring on Monday night. There are several factors that come into play, you see, including how hard my dick gets as I throttle two men, two supposed hardcore legends, and sap the will to live, much less continue wrestling, from their minds, bodies and souls. Oblivion, you proclaimed that you're going to take more than just my championship belt on Monday night. You proclaimed that you're going to take my soul.
Phil scowls in the general direction of Oblivion, which would be hard to detect for most men considering that Oblivion hails from Parts Unknown, but Baines knows where Oblivion is at all times. He just knows.
Phil: How cliché of you, Oblivion. You want my soul? You can't have it. It belongs to my girlfriend Gina. I gave her my soul in exchange for round-the-clock access to her vagina. Guess what though, Ace? Your skull is still encased in that whacked out noggin of yours and that means that it's ripe for the picking. Nobody picks a skull like me, Obi. NOBODY!
Phil licks his chops, practically salivating at the mouth as he fantasizes about Oblivion's big, juicy skull.
Phil: Honestly, Oblivion, I don't know whether I'm going to add your skull to my mantel or eat the motherfucker. I'm sure that I'll be tempted to do both after a little skull-fucking action, haha!
Phil claps his hands gleefully like an excited, little kid. Suddenly though, ever so suddenly, his mood turns serious.
Phil: Don't pretend for one moment that it's not going to happen, Oblivion. Reckless Jack has accepted his fate, that's why he speaks not a word to me. You, Oblivion, you really should take a page out of RJ's Hall of Fame playbook. The wise man knows when he's been bested, licked and had his goose cooked six ways from Sunday. Why play the children's game, Oblivion? Why fiddle with your joystick and pretend that you're engaging in anything more than empty masturbation? You can bully the Phil Baines stunt double in your promo, but you shan't step to the genuine article on Monday Night in Utah, lest you be subjected to the very same fate as these poor skulls.
Baines casts an open hand in the direction of his prized collection.
Phil: You observed my power this past Monday night in Omaha, Oblivion. You stood there and watched in a combination of horror and awe as I physically dominated all who stepped to me in that ring, whether they were opponent or tag team partner. It made no difference to me. Those who showed insolence, disrespect, an unjustified air of arrogance, they each met with the bottom of my size fifteen moon boot and were served with a heaping helping of Baines-style ass-whoop. You stood in the same ring as I, Oblivion. You stood in that ring and you wanted precisely NONE of Phillip Baines!
Baines extends two fingertips to his forehead.
Phil: Think about it, Oblivion. Don't block it from that fucked up mind of yours. Don't cast it into the abyss, that darkest, deepest part of your sick ass psyche. Really think back to Monday night and remember what it was like. Remember the fear that overwhelmed you as you held Brad Kane's battered body in your grip and prayed that I would strike him instead of you. That's right, you prayed to your God, your dead friend Greenfever. For one night and one night only Greenie answered your prayers, Obi. You were blessed on Slam, but you will have Hell to pay at Blast. I'm an angry man, Oblivion. I'm not angry with you, I'm angry at you. I'll never be with you, but I am coming at you. When I come, I come hard, and an angry Baines comes hardest of all. At first I had a slight sliver of sympathy for you, Oblivion. I had sympathy because you've been through a lot of shit, losing your wife all those years ago, losing your mind as a result of that horrific tragedy, and then more recently losing your friend... well, because of me. Yes, I had sympathy, I must admit, but all of that has gone out the window as a result of your transgressions. I have grown to despise you. When you put your hands on me in that vicious ambush attack on Slam a few weeks back, you sealed your fate, my fat friend.
Baines flares his nostrils. The fire has returned to his eyes, bloodshot and twitchy as they are.
Phil: You can huff and puff and go bump in the night until your heart's content, but it will not save you from the wrath of Baines. It will not save you from the fiery furnace of Hell that awaits you in Mormon City, U.S.A. on Monday night. You may be a big, bad dude by most measures, Oblivion, but compared to Baines you ain't shit.
Baines grits his teeth, but even more so he grinds them like a hacksaw grinding against bone.
Phil: Understand this, jack-off. Brick walls are not barricades for a man who does not yield to brick walls. I do not yield to brick walls. I will not yield to the deranged intentions of a sociopath. You bark commands. Do I obey? I do not. I'm not your boy. I am no one's boy. I am a young man with the heart of a young lion. You are a pervert, a pervert of conscience. You try to steal a young man's innocence, his passion, his very essence. You will steal nothing of mine, Oblivion. You are a large mental patient of a man who wears a mask, but a retard in a mask is still a retard, and wouldn't you know it, there just happens to be a glaring absence of retard skulls on my mantel. Come... find your place on my mantel, won't you, Oblivion?
Baines cackles maniacally as he slinks into the shadows once again. Shrouded in darkness, Baines becomes invisible, all except for his eyes, those eyes that burn so bright as torches.
Phillip Baines: Congratulations on a very amusing performance, Oblivion. I choked back a combination of laughter and outrage while viewing your latest promo. If nothing else you temporarily succeeded in perpetrating a fraud on the WCF Universe. Indeed, you purported to torture and then torch yours truly for all the world to see, or at least all who would watch and listen to such drivel. There's only a slight problem, Obi. As you can see, I am still here. Oh wait... you cannot see, for your eyes are blind. You are blinded by ignorance. You know not the flames that you fan, Oblivion. Flames that will rise to an inferno and swallow you whole. That's what happens to little boys who play with matches. They start fires and then they get burned. Your dead friend Greenfever knew all about that. He felt the kiss of flame that comes with my Halcyon Daze. He felt the brunt of my unbridled wrath. He felt it and it scorched his soul. He was never the same man after that fateful encounter with Baines on Monday Night Slam in Houston. It was a life-altering experience for him. After receiving the judgment that I handed down to him, he became crestfallen, a broken man. He reached the point of no return and thus he committed suicide by challenging me to a Flatliner match at XIII. What makes you think that you're any different, Oblivion? What makes you think that you're any better than Greenfever? Is it those outrageous claims that you made in your promo, claims that were equally absurd to the hoax that you staged?
A masculine chuckle emerges from the gullet of Baines, who remains cloaked in darkness.
Phil: Oh yes, thou art spurious, Oblivion. You claimed to be the new God here in WCF, the new master of all that is dark, scary, evil, ominous and foreboding. You delivered a homicidal warning to Reckless Jack and myself. You postured with your cock out and masturbated until you came uncontrollably, and then it was over. The viewing audience was left to wonder why they had been subjected to such juvenile nonsense, cheap horror movie theatrics. I almost felt sorry for you while viewing that sad spectacle, Oblivion. In strutting your shit like the cock of the walk, you chose to ignore a few simple but inescapable facts. Namely you ignored the fact that you, my friend, are shit, and more specifically your entire facade is bullshit. You might very well be the new false God in WCF, but you are hardly an improvement over the last. You pout like a woman, or better yet a child, something that Greenfever, through all of his faults, never did. You lament the verbal barbs that I direct your way. You cry foul when I call you out on your delusions of grandeur. Have I dismissed you as a false prophet? Guilty as charged, but why stop there? I've done that and so much more. I have debased your manhood. I have emasculated you with my cold cut of American steel, figuratively speaking of course. Of course, I will subject you to far worse on Monday night at Blast.
The fapping of tongue on lips can be heard, like a serpent casting its call, but this is no serpent. This is Baines.
Phil: Why, oh why, do I speak these harsh words? Why do I throw these pointed accusations that stab your black heart? It's plain to see, Oblivion. It's staring you dead in the eye if you will only open yours. The scary man need not announce that he's scary. The scary man proves it with his actions, time and time again, as I have done. I have led the charge for a new era of hardcore wrestling in WCF. I have set the standard by which all future competitors in the hardcore division shall be judged. Why do I mock you? I mock you because you are a coward and a fraud. I mock you because I hold so much power, so much black magic and irresistible hoodoo inside of my loins and my indelible person, and yet you fail to recognize this. You refuse to give Baines his due. You refuse to "man up", as it were. You insist upon playing a children's game. You insist upon using cheap tactics of psychological warfare and intimidation that do not faze me in the slightest. It is an obvious sign of desperation, and moreover a declaration of your shortcomings. You cannot walk in my footsteps, Oblivion. You cannot bear the burdens and scars that come with being the standard-bearer for the most hateful generation in the most hateful times in the most hateful world that man has ever known. Look around you, Oblivion. The world is crumbling... YOUR world is crumbling.
Baines now steps away from the shadows and draws his form into the light. We can see that he is wearing wolf's clothing while bearing that serpent's sneer that was alluded to moments earlier. It is an expression that foretells of mischief and sinister intentions. We follow Baines as he steps forward into a trophy room of sorts, more accurately a darkened quarter which serves as a shrine to his accomplishments. There are no shiny gold belts or plaques. Nor are there any trophies in the traditional, polished-gold statuette sense of the term. Instead we see a solid oak mantel that protrudes from a cobblestone wall, and on that mantel sits an array of skulls, human skulls to be exact, five of them in total. Phil's eyes twinkle like a proud papa as he gazes upon his mantel... of skulls.
Phil: This is my pride and joy, my mantel of skulls. I have referenced it in the past, of course, but this is the very first time that I have allowed the WCF Universe to cast their prying eyes upon it. Every man and woman who sets foot inside of the squared circle takes pride in accumulating accolades over the course of his or her career, but the vast majority of them place a misguided priority on championship belts, mere slabs of gold and leather. Oh sure you can place a dollar value on such possessions, but what I seek is far greater than material wealth. What I seek is far greater even than the title of "champion" that all too often succeeds only in inflating one's ego to the point of gross delusion and ensures the title holder's ultimate demise. What I seek is priceless. What I seek lies beyond the jurisdiction of any wrestling promotion's blue ribbon championship committee.
Phil gently brushes the face of the skull that sits farthest right on the mantel and stares lovingly at it. The gleam in his eyes is that of a very ill man, a man with no sense of remorse for his actions. Phil breaks his stare and walks to the far left side of the mantel, though he shows little regard for this particular skull.
Phil: These are the skulls of each opponent that I have defeated inside of the WCF ring. I have arranged them, not in chronological order, but in order of importance, starting with the least important here at the left side. This particular skull is unspectacular, really it's barely notable. It belongs to Matt Storm. Do you remember that asshole?
Baines casts a raised eyebrow in your general direction as if asking YOU directly.
Phil: I barely do aside from the fact that I seven-twenty powerbombed him through a flaming table and ended his wrestling career in one fell swoop. Ironically that was his only noteworthy moment during his time here in WCF, in addition to being his final moment. Oh well... a worthless career ended by the man who defines hardcore in WCF. Just another day at the office for Baines.
Baines shrugs his shoulders and moves on to the next skull.
Phil: This is Mr. FPV's skull. Some people might be surprised to see him so far down in the skull pecking order, after all I did defeat him in the finals of the WCF Classic. The problem is that FPV is a career jobber who lucked his way into the finals. Beating him was no great challenge for me, no great thrill. It didn't even give me a boner. It was as ho-hum a victory as one can attain in the finals of a prestigious wrestling tournament. No sir, I do not hold Frank Patrick Venable's skull in high regard. Not at all.
Baines snorts in disgust before he turns and steps toward the next skull in line. Baines strokes his smooth, clean-shaven chin and nods his head at this skull. His mood perks up considerably. A smile even creeps across his face, morbid as it may seem.
Phil: This is a good one. This is the skull that I claimed by defeating Jason Kash in an absolute war in the semifinals of the Classic. Kash brought it to me that night in Puebla, México. He showed me his grit, and I showed him mine. Mine was bigger. He showed me his testicles, and I showed him mine. Mine were bigger. That's no slight to Kash though. If he were wrestling any other WCF superstar that night he would have come out victorious. It was his misfortune that fate conspired to match him against Baines. It was a great night for me however, that is for certain. I claimed Kash's skull and his is a skull that I truly cherish.
Phil's smile beams proudly and he walks over to the fourth skull in line.
Phil: Ah yes... Creeping Death. He is not the toughest competitor that I've faced, far from it, but as a matter of historical record he was undefeated in Classic competition at the time that I faced him in the second round of this year's Classic. He is also a WCF Hall of Famer. He is also a giant douche. These points are not lost upon a young lad such as Baines. I am not ignorant to WCF history like some of the fartknockers that have been running around here lately. I defeated Creeping Death by casting his wretched hide into a sea of steel chairs via the Halcyon Daze. I was rewarded with not just a high-profile victory, but more importantly the greatest erection that I've ever achieved in my life, and the second-most prized skull in my collection. CD's skull is a truly awesome skull, but none... no skull can compare to this one.
Phil once again moves down to that final skull on the right. He playfully nudges the skull with his nose and caresses it with his hand. A look of unmitigated glee permeates his face. He closes his eyes as he begins to speak.
Phil: This skull belongs to one man, but he's a man who I defeated twice. First I defeated him on Slam in my WCF debut, when the stakes were high, to capture the Hardcore Championship and advance to the second round of the Classic. Then I defeated him again at XIII, when the stakes could not get any higher. I retained the Hardcore Championship that night in Des Moines, but more importantly I ended this man's life. My only regret is that I could not claim his skull twice, because then I would have two Greenfever skulls instead of one, but I will forever cherish the Greenfever skull that I do have.
Phil kisses the Greenfever skull on its forehead. Yes, this is a sick man. No doubt about it. Phil stares lovingly at the Greenfever skull for a few moments, before finally ripping his eyes away and rejoining the rest of us on Planet Earth.
Phil: As even a skull novice can decipher, there is room enough on my mantel for two more spots, two more skulls, one belonging to Reckless Jack, and the other one, of course, belonging to Oblivion. Which skull will end up higher in the skull pecking order? Where will they stack up against the other skulls that I've claimed?
Phil grins and throws up his hands.
Phil: Who knows? Only time will tell! It all depends on what happens in that ring on Monday night. There are several factors that come into play, you see, including how hard my dick gets as I throttle two men, two supposed hardcore legends, and sap the will to live, much less continue wrestling, from their minds, bodies and souls. Oblivion, you proclaimed that you're going to take more than just my championship belt on Monday night. You proclaimed that you're going to take my soul.
Phil scowls in the general direction of Oblivion, which would be hard to detect for most men considering that Oblivion hails from Parts Unknown, but Baines knows where Oblivion is at all times. He just knows.
Phil: How cliché of you, Oblivion. You want my soul? You can't have it. It belongs to my girlfriend Gina. I gave her my soul in exchange for round-the-clock access to her vagina. Guess what though, Ace? Your skull is still encased in that whacked out noggin of yours and that means that it's ripe for the picking. Nobody picks a skull like me, Obi. NOBODY!
Phil licks his chops, practically salivating at the mouth as he fantasizes about Oblivion's big, juicy skull.
Phil: Honestly, Oblivion, I don't know whether I'm going to add your skull to my mantel or eat the motherfucker. I'm sure that I'll be tempted to do both after a little skull-fucking action, haha!
Phil claps his hands gleefully like an excited, little kid. Suddenly though, ever so suddenly, his mood turns serious.
Phil: Don't pretend for one moment that it's not going to happen, Oblivion. Reckless Jack has accepted his fate, that's why he speaks not a word to me. You, Oblivion, you really should take a page out of RJ's Hall of Fame playbook. The wise man knows when he's been bested, licked and had his goose cooked six ways from Sunday. Why play the children's game, Oblivion? Why fiddle with your joystick and pretend that you're engaging in anything more than empty masturbation? You can bully the Phil Baines stunt double in your promo, but you shan't step to the genuine article on Monday Night in Utah, lest you be subjected to the very same fate as these poor skulls.
Baines casts an open hand in the direction of his prized collection.
Phil: You observed my power this past Monday night in Omaha, Oblivion. You stood there and watched in a combination of horror and awe as I physically dominated all who stepped to me in that ring, whether they were opponent or tag team partner. It made no difference to me. Those who showed insolence, disrespect, an unjustified air of arrogance, they each met with the bottom of my size fifteen moon boot and were served with a heaping helping of Baines-style ass-whoop. You stood in the same ring as I, Oblivion. You stood in that ring and you wanted precisely NONE of Phillip Baines!
Baines extends two fingertips to his forehead.
Phil: Think about it, Oblivion. Don't block it from that fucked up mind of yours. Don't cast it into the abyss, that darkest, deepest part of your sick ass psyche. Really think back to Monday night and remember what it was like. Remember the fear that overwhelmed you as you held Brad Kane's battered body in your grip and prayed that I would strike him instead of you. That's right, you prayed to your God, your dead friend Greenfever. For one night and one night only Greenie answered your prayers, Obi. You were blessed on Slam, but you will have Hell to pay at Blast. I'm an angry man, Oblivion. I'm not angry with you, I'm angry at you. I'll never be with you, but I am coming at you. When I come, I come hard, and an angry Baines comes hardest of all. At first I had a slight sliver of sympathy for you, Oblivion. I had sympathy because you've been through a lot of shit, losing your wife all those years ago, losing your mind as a result of that horrific tragedy, and then more recently losing your friend... well, because of me. Yes, I had sympathy, I must admit, but all of that has gone out the window as a result of your transgressions. I have grown to despise you. When you put your hands on me in that vicious ambush attack on Slam a few weeks back, you sealed your fate, my fat friend.
Baines flares his nostrils. The fire has returned to his eyes, bloodshot and twitchy as they are.
Phil: You can huff and puff and go bump in the night until your heart's content, but it will not save you from the wrath of Baines. It will not save you from the fiery furnace of Hell that awaits you in Mormon City, U.S.A. on Monday night. You may be a big, bad dude by most measures, Oblivion, but compared to Baines you ain't shit.
Baines grits his teeth, but even more so he grinds them like a hacksaw grinding against bone.
Phil: Understand this, jack-off. Brick walls are not barricades for a man who does not yield to brick walls. I do not yield to brick walls. I will not yield to the deranged intentions of a sociopath. You bark commands. Do I obey? I do not. I'm not your boy. I am no one's boy. I am a young man with the heart of a young lion. You are a pervert, a pervert of conscience. You try to steal a young man's innocence, his passion, his very essence. You will steal nothing of mine, Oblivion. You are a large mental patient of a man who wears a mask, but a retard in a mask is still a retard, and wouldn't you know it, there just happens to be a glaring absence of retard skulls on my mantel. Come... find your place on my mantel, won't you, Oblivion?
Baines cackles maniacally as he slinks into the shadows once again. Shrouded in darkness, Baines becomes invisible, all except for his eyes, those eyes that burn so bright as torches.
