Post by Deleted on Jul 3, 2011 20:52:15 GMT -5
{{It made no sense to me. I had no stake in tag team combat with Oblivion yet I was being asked to pick a tag team partner for Slam and informed that Oblivion was being afforded the same opportunity. Why did I pick Buzzsaw Bundy, he of the 3-6-1 career ledger in WCF? In short, I was drunk. Haha. Nah, I'm just fuckin' witchu. My friend and mentor Bobby Cairo had been whispering in my ear for some time, delivering voodoo about how Buzzsaw would be the next dominant big man in WCF. Personally I couldn't see it. The only thing that Buzzsaw had ever dominated was Ana Valentine with Ana's wrists and ankles bound to the posts of a canopy bed.
Even so I had to give Cairo the benefit of the doubt. The man has never gone off on clown shit before. His track record speaks for itself. He recruited Chad Evans back in the day, and all Chad did was capture the WCF World and Tag Team Championships within his first few months. Bobby's also the one who brought me into WCF and I'll be damned if I haven't raised the bar for what's expected of n00bs in this company. If you don't kill a man then you ain't worth a shit in the WCF Hardcore Division. That's because of Baines. On top of that Bobby married a woman who looks like a cross between Zooey Deschanel and Katy Perry and has brains to boot. Bottom line is the man has an eye for talent. If he says that Buzzsaw has game then I have to put stock into the man's opinion.
Who knows? Maybe with Cairo's guidance and Baines for a partner, Buzzsaw could actually accomplish something in WCF. Maybe he could be something more than a stepping stone for up-and-coming superstars or whoever holds the TV Title at a given time? Of course it doesn't really matter what Buzzsaw brings to the table. This match isn't about Buzzsaw Bundy. This match is about Baines doing what Baines does best and that's bringing the pain to anyone who's foolish enough to step into his world. Oblivion has proven himself to be quite the fool indeed. How many times have I beaten this man? How many times have I pinned his shoulders to the mat, to the ground, to the dorsal fin of an untamed seafaring creature? Yes, that was a wild match upon the open sea that night. The less said about it, the better. My point is that I have beaten Oblivion more times than Oblivion can count and yet Oblivion keeps coming back for more punishment, more humiliation. Should I even respect the man at this point or should I pity him? I just don't know.
I do know that I'm tired of seeing this man. I'm tired of hearing him speak, or bellow as it were. I'm even tired of beating him, week after week, match after match. It's just not fun anymore. It's become tedious. It's become a chore. At least Greenfever died when I beat him and allowed me to focus on my next task. With Oblivion it seems as though he can't take the hint. He won't cease to exist and allow me to move onto bigger and greater challenges. This makes me angry, VERY angry, and I've been taking it out on my sparring partners all week at Crimson House Dojo. It's getting to the point where I have to fly people in from around the world to spar with me. All of the Norte Americanos know that you don't come to Crimson House to train with Baines unless you're prepared to leave this world in a polished, hardwood box.
Just this afternoon I sent three more people to the emergency room. First there was the English barroom brawler. He tried his damnedest, but he couldn't lay a finger on me and by the time it was over he ate a Bamboo Banga (springboard roundhouse kick) to the face. That shit broke his jaw, knocked his teeth out and turned his lights out. He's lucky that he doesn't celebrate the Fourth of July because if he did then he'd be sucking his burgers and dogs through a straw. Next up was the Polish strongman. He didn't look so strong when I picked him up, slingshotted him off the top rope, spun out and hit the nastiest brainbuster known to man. That's called the State of Emergency and it caused an emergency when my Polish counterpart slipped into a coma after being dropped on his head. I'm not a homicidal maniac though. I wish Mariusz a full and speedy recovery, I really do, and I know that he has thirty-eight million Poles rooting for him to pull through.
Finally a Korean judoka agreed to spar with me. This dude did everything he could to take me down with one of his judo throws, but I blocked every single one of them. Shit was funny to me. He was grunting and gritting his teeth and I wasn't even breaking a sweat. Finally I got bored and just unloaded on him with rapid-fire kicks before planting him with the Flash Apocalypse (rolling cutter). His body was twitching on the mat, but I wasn't done with him yet. I walked out to the conference room, grabbed a folding table and carried it back to the ring. I think you all know what happened next. I set that table up in the corner of the ring, carried my Korean foe to the top rope and seven-twenty powerbombed his ass through that table. Halcyon Daze, INDEED! The shards of broken table that were jabbing at the dude's flesh were the least of his problems at that point. I'm not sure what became of the judoka. I know that he wasn't conscious when the paramedics wheeled him out on the stretcher. Maybe he lived and maybe he didn't. If not then I'll make sure that he gets a proper burial. It's the least that I can do for his family at this point.
Now that I've exorcised a portion of my inner rage it's time for me to get my chow on. Stacking bodies is hungry work and Crimson House has a world-class food court. As I stand in line for my turkey avocado wrap and mango smoothie, I can't help but notice the taut young women in booty shorts in front of me. They're popping and locking their booties and all that good shit to kill time as they wait in line. I got no complaints. For them it's good exercise and for me it's just fun to watch. The girls pop and lock their way toward the front of the line and I tail them closely behind. I have no intention of acting upon the massive erection that these young ladies have stoked inside of my grappling shorts. After all I'm happily involved in a committed relationship with the woman of my dreams, who also happens to train here at the Crimson House facility, but it's fun to pretend certain things. Doc Henry knows what I'm talking about.
I coyly press my erect penis on the edge of the counter as I stand in line and ogle these girls. I do believe this is what Lady GaGa was singing about in her hit song "The Edge of Glory". I know that I feel glorious as I dry-hump the edge of this counter. Eventually the girls grab their food and go off to find a seat in the dining area. They certainly won't have any trouble. Hell they can use my lap if they want to. The attendant behind the counter snaps me back to reality by asking me what I would like. Assuming that the girls aren't an option, I place an order for a turkey avocado wrap and a mango smoothie. After a brief wait I receive my wrap and smoothie on a tray, which I carry over to an empty table in the corner. On one hand I want to be able to stroke my junk under the table without anyone noticing, and on the other hand I want to be able to focus on the task that lies in front of me on Monday night without any distractions. That's called multi-tasking.
I wolf down half of my hearty and delicious gourmet wrap and wash it down with a long drink of life-affirming smoothie. I don't want to eat that whole wrap. Not just yet. Don't want to get indigestion from eating too quickly. Let the first half work it's way through my digestive system before I start on the second. Now it's time for a little something else. As I dab my mouth with a napkin I transform into promo mode. I know that it's time for me to spew my vitriol toward my most hated rival, The Dark One, The Monster... Oblivion.}}
Phillip Baines: "You think that you're quite clever don't you, fatty? You've got the element of surprise on your side because you know who my tag team partner is but I don't know who your partner is. You might think that this is your chance to finally gain the upper hand against me, but the reality is that it doesn't matter who you choose or who you've chosen for your partner. You're dragging that unfortunate soul into the living hell that you've created for yourself. What's the matter, Oblivion? You thought I'd be scared? You thought I'd be shitting myself and quivering in fear at the thought of you choosing some unbeatable wrecking machine as your partner? Let me tell you something, asshole: There's only one unbeatable wrecking machine in WCF and his name is Phillip Baines!
"You want me to speculate as to the identity of your partner? Fine. I'll play your little game. Why not? It'll be good for a laugh. During your first promo you claimed that you had been sent a miniature Italian flag, a Confederate flag and a small glossy poster of Hardcore Squared by your potential tag team partners. Hmm... let's see? Whatever could that mean? Could these be clues? An Italian flag. Let me think. Who in or around WCF is Italian? Anastasia Petrova? No, she's Russian. King Jimmy Dean? No, he's Papua New Guinean. Italian, Italian, Italian... oh wait, I know! You're alluding to Jamaican Joe, aren't you?"
{{I roll my eyes as I feign indignation.}}
Phil: "Damn it, Oblivion! How could you do this to me? How could you choose a beast like Jamaican Joe as your tag team partner? That's unconscionable!"
{{And I laugh, and I laugh, and I laugh.}}
Phil: "Hahahahaha! I know what you're getting at, Oblivion. It's not difficult to discern. You're claiming that none other than Allen Guiliano has expressed interest in being your tag team partner. Slickie T? Don't make me laugh, oh wait... too late! I know for a fact that Slickie wouldn't give you the time of day, homie. Slickie respects my boy Bobby Cairo and he's paying close attention to me, a young superstar who's set to become the new foundation and new face of WCF in the future. He said as much during his press conference. Believe me the feeling is mutual. I think the world of that man. Funny thing is Slickie didn't mention your name at all during that press conference, Oblivion. Hell he's fought you for the World Title and he didn't even mention your name. Oooh, man... that's gotta burn."
{{I make a sizzling sound with my mouth to illustrate the point.}}
Phil: "Slickie isn't your partner, Obi. You know that better than I do. Next clue? A Confederate flag? Oh well let's see... that could be a reference to any number of Southerners who have dwelled in the WCF locker room through the years. Yeah we've had our share of rednecks, hillbillies and inbreds, that's for sure. Since you're obviously trying to intimidate me I'm going to assume that the Confederate flag isn't a reference to someone along the lines of "Hardcore Redneck" John Thomas or "High Flying Freak" Justin Turner. I'm going to assume that you're referring to a member of The New Confederacy. Johnny Reb, perhaps? Well, let's see. He's injured and the last time I checked he hates your guts. He said as much during the lead-up to your World Title match at Timebomb. It ain't Reb.
"Could it be the other half of the New Confederacy, Doc Henry? I doubt it. Doc is focused on defeating WCF's resident life-sized sex doll Kaylyn James Evans and advancing to the main event at Ultimate Showdown. He wants to get tangled up in your feud with Baines about as much as a cobra wants to fuck with a honey badger, which is to say not at all. It ain't Doc. That Hardcore Squared poster was an interesting little tease. Am I to believe that the man that I killed at XIII is back from the dead and ready to seek his revenge? I hope so. I hope that you did resurrect Greenfever because that way I'll have a chance to kill you both this time. Two birds with one stone and I got stones for days."
{{I gesture frankly toward my crotch.}}
Phil: "The truth is that I don't give a shit what kind of fear you're peddling, you kooky motherfucker. You don't scare this man Baines. I've beaten you on multiple occasions, irrefutably and without controversy. While you're scheming to intimidate and deceive, I'm living my life like it's golden. I'm having the good sex every night. I'm winning big money matches every week on Slam and on pay-per-views. You know that because you've been my most common victim and that's not about to change. Bring in whomever you please as your tag team partner on Monday night, but in doing so know that you put their life in Phillip Baines's hands and I am not a merciful man. Clone yourself, I'll beat you twice. Bring back Greenie, I'll kill him again. Bring back your old buddy Fort Knox and I'll beat his ass back into retirement. You can even ask one of your other personalities to team up with you, Stephan Johnson or Ace Slaughter. That would be interesting, now wouldn't it?
"Do you know what I think though, Oblivion? I don't think that you have a tag team partner. I don't think that there's anyone who's stupid enough to trust a lunatic like you. I don't think that there's anyone who's stupid enough to accept an invitation to have their career ended by the one man army Phillip Baines. I think that you're going to appear all by your lonesome on Monday night, just as you did when you lost the Tag Team Titles to D-Day and Jay Williams. If I'm right, if you're all alone in that ring at Slam, then I'm going to let Buzzsaw have a little fun with you first. Maybe he'll be able to really show me something and handle you all by himself, but if things start to get hairy I'm going to inject myself into the equation. We all know what happens when Phillip Baines starts injecting things, whether it be a syringe filled with bleach into someone's brain or a ten-inch dick filled with cum into someone's anus. That's right... PAIN.
"I'm not a mean-spirited man, Obi. When I was first starting here in WCF, I didn't set out to end Greenie's life or ruin your career. Those things happened because neither of you Shadow Conspiracy motherfuckers could accept the fact that I'm better than you. You think that you've succeeded in terrorizing me with your allusions to various tag team partners? Not a chance, Obi. Despite what you may have convinced yourself, I hold all of the chips in my hand and I always will until the day that I kill you. I'm not going to do that just yet though. I'm going to have fun on Monday night. I'm going to make sure that I send you into your World Title match at Ultimate Showdown with more than just the scars of battle on your body. I'm going to send you there with a broken psyche. I'm going to send you there with zero confidence. I'm going to make sure that you understand that you don't have what it takes to compete with the upper echelon here in WCF anymore. Your past successes are just that: In the past.
"There's a wave of new talent here in WCF and I'm pretty much leading that charge, Obi. Sure I don't have the World Title right now, but it's mine for the taking whenever I want it. I'm not a greedy man though. I'll let D-Day have his moment in the spotlight. He's a good, humble, hard-working kid and unlike you he's never made the mistake of crossing me. The more that I think about it the more I come to realize that it's not so much of a chore facing you after all, Oblivion. Sure I can beat you in my sleep, but I do derive a certain pleasure in making you suffer, in making your life harder than it has to be. I find that rewarding. You the bully have been tamed by this fearless young lion. How does it feel, Obi? How does it feel to know that for all of your pomp and furor you're not scary anymore? Oh sure you might scare the Mr. FPV's of the world, but that can't be very satisfying for you. Not when you have your eyes set on a much bigger prize: Baines."
{{I pause to wet my whistle with another long, thirst-quenching drink of mango smoothie.}}
Phil: "I think that I've said all that I need to say about the matter, Oblivion. You bring your horses on Monday night and I'll bring mine. The end result will not be any different than it has been every other time that we've faced each other. I will beat you up. I will put you on the mat. I will pin you while those bright white arena lights shine down in your eyes. My music will hit the PA. The crowd will chant my name. You will be a loser once more. C'est la vie. Such is life for a scoundrel named Oblivion."
{{With that I scarf down the remainder of my turkey avocado wrap, slurp down the rest of my smoothie and head on back to the training room to prepare for the brutal work that lies ahead on Monday Night Slam.}}
Even so I had to give Cairo the benefit of the doubt. The man has never gone off on clown shit before. His track record speaks for itself. He recruited Chad Evans back in the day, and all Chad did was capture the WCF World and Tag Team Championships within his first few months. Bobby's also the one who brought me into WCF and I'll be damned if I haven't raised the bar for what's expected of n00bs in this company. If you don't kill a man then you ain't worth a shit in the WCF Hardcore Division. That's because of Baines. On top of that Bobby married a woman who looks like a cross between Zooey Deschanel and Katy Perry and has brains to boot. Bottom line is the man has an eye for talent. If he says that Buzzsaw has game then I have to put stock into the man's opinion.
Who knows? Maybe with Cairo's guidance and Baines for a partner, Buzzsaw could actually accomplish something in WCF. Maybe he could be something more than a stepping stone for up-and-coming superstars or whoever holds the TV Title at a given time? Of course it doesn't really matter what Buzzsaw brings to the table. This match isn't about Buzzsaw Bundy. This match is about Baines doing what Baines does best and that's bringing the pain to anyone who's foolish enough to step into his world. Oblivion has proven himself to be quite the fool indeed. How many times have I beaten this man? How many times have I pinned his shoulders to the mat, to the ground, to the dorsal fin of an untamed seafaring creature? Yes, that was a wild match upon the open sea that night. The less said about it, the better. My point is that I have beaten Oblivion more times than Oblivion can count and yet Oblivion keeps coming back for more punishment, more humiliation. Should I even respect the man at this point or should I pity him? I just don't know.
I do know that I'm tired of seeing this man. I'm tired of hearing him speak, or bellow as it were. I'm even tired of beating him, week after week, match after match. It's just not fun anymore. It's become tedious. It's become a chore. At least Greenfever died when I beat him and allowed me to focus on my next task. With Oblivion it seems as though he can't take the hint. He won't cease to exist and allow me to move onto bigger and greater challenges. This makes me angry, VERY angry, and I've been taking it out on my sparring partners all week at Crimson House Dojo. It's getting to the point where I have to fly people in from around the world to spar with me. All of the Norte Americanos know that you don't come to Crimson House to train with Baines unless you're prepared to leave this world in a polished, hardwood box.
Just this afternoon I sent three more people to the emergency room. First there was the English barroom brawler. He tried his damnedest, but he couldn't lay a finger on me and by the time it was over he ate a Bamboo Banga (springboard roundhouse kick) to the face. That shit broke his jaw, knocked his teeth out and turned his lights out. He's lucky that he doesn't celebrate the Fourth of July because if he did then he'd be sucking his burgers and dogs through a straw. Next up was the Polish strongman. He didn't look so strong when I picked him up, slingshotted him off the top rope, spun out and hit the nastiest brainbuster known to man. That's called the State of Emergency and it caused an emergency when my Polish counterpart slipped into a coma after being dropped on his head. I'm not a homicidal maniac though. I wish Mariusz a full and speedy recovery, I really do, and I know that he has thirty-eight million Poles rooting for him to pull through.
Finally a Korean judoka agreed to spar with me. This dude did everything he could to take me down with one of his judo throws, but I blocked every single one of them. Shit was funny to me. He was grunting and gritting his teeth and I wasn't even breaking a sweat. Finally I got bored and just unloaded on him with rapid-fire kicks before planting him with the Flash Apocalypse (rolling cutter). His body was twitching on the mat, but I wasn't done with him yet. I walked out to the conference room, grabbed a folding table and carried it back to the ring. I think you all know what happened next. I set that table up in the corner of the ring, carried my Korean foe to the top rope and seven-twenty powerbombed his ass through that table. Halcyon Daze, INDEED! The shards of broken table that were jabbing at the dude's flesh were the least of his problems at that point. I'm not sure what became of the judoka. I know that he wasn't conscious when the paramedics wheeled him out on the stretcher. Maybe he lived and maybe he didn't. If not then I'll make sure that he gets a proper burial. It's the least that I can do for his family at this point.
Now that I've exorcised a portion of my inner rage it's time for me to get my chow on. Stacking bodies is hungry work and Crimson House has a world-class food court. As I stand in line for my turkey avocado wrap and mango smoothie, I can't help but notice the taut young women in booty shorts in front of me. They're popping and locking their booties and all that good shit to kill time as they wait in line. I got no complaints. For them it's good exercise and for me it's just fun to watch. The girls pop and lock their way toward the front of the line and I tail them closely behind. I have no intention of acting upon the massive erection that these young ladies have stoked inside of my grappling shorts. After all I'm happily involved in a committed relationship with the woman of my dreams, who also happens to train here at the Crimson House facility, but it's fun to pretend certain things. Doc Henry knows what I'm talking about.
I coyly press my erect penis on the edge of the counter as I stand in line and ogle these girls. I do believe this is what Lady GaGa was singing about in her hit song "The Edge of Glory". I know that I feel glorious as I dry-hump the edge of this counter. Eventually the girls grab their food and go off to find a seat in the dining area. They certainly won't have any trouble. Hell they can use my lap if they want to. The attendant behind the counter snaps me back to reality by asking me what I would like. Assuming that the girls aren't an option, I place an order for a turkey avocado wrap and a mango smoothie. After a brief wait I receive my wrap and smoothie on a tray, which I carry over to an empty table in the corner. On one hand I want to be able to stroke my junk under the table without anyone noticing, and on the other hand I want to be able to focus on the task that lies in front of me on Monday night without any distractions. That's called multi-tasking.
I wolf down half of my hearty and delicious gourmet wrap and wash it down with a long drink of life-affirming smoothie. I don't want to eat that whole wrap. Not just yet. Don't want to get indigestion from eating too quickly. Let the first half work it's way through my digestive system before I start on the second. Now it's time for a little something else. As I dab my mouth with a napkin I transform into promo mode. I know that it's time for me to spew my vitriol toward my most hated rival, The Dark One, The Monster... Oblivion.}}
Phillip Baines: "You think that you're quite clever don't you, fatty? You've got the element of surprise on your side because you know who my tag team partner is but I don't know who your partner is. You might think that this is your chance to finally gain the upper hand against me, but the reality is that it doesn't matter who you choose or who you've chosen for your partner. You're dragging that unfortunate soul into the living hell that you've created for yourself. What's the matter, Oblivion? You thought I'd be scared? You thought I'd be shitting myself and quivering in fear at the thought of you choosing some unbeatable wrecking machine as your partner? Let me tell you something, asshole: There's only one unbeatable wrecking machine in WCF and his name is Phillip Baines!
"You want me to speculate as to the identity of your partner? Fine. I'll play your little game. Why not? It'll be good for a laugh. During your first promo you claimed that you had been sent a miniature Italian flag, a Confederate flag and a small glossy poster of Hardcore Squared by your potential tag team partners. Hmm... let's see? Whatever could that mean? Could these be clues? An Italian flag. Let me think. Who in or around WCF is Italian? Anastasia Petrova? No, she's Russian. King Jimmy Dean? No, he's Papua New Guinean. Italian, Italian, Italian... oh wait, I know! You're alluding to Jamaican Joe, aren't you?"
{{I roll my eyes as I feign indignation.}}
Phil: "Damn it, Oblivion! How could you do this to me? How could you choose a beast like Jamaican Joe as your tag team partner? That's unconscionable!"
{{And I laugh, and I laugh, and I laugh.}}
Phil: "Hahahahaha! I know what you're getting at, Oblivion. It's not difficult to discern. You're claiming that none other than Allen Guiliano has expressed interest in being your tag team partner. Slickie T? Don't make me laugh, oh wait... too late! I know for a fact that Slickie wouldn't give you the time of day, homie. Slickie respects my boy Bobby Cairo and he's paying close attention to me, a young superstar who's set to become the new foundation and new face of WCF in the future. He said as much during his press conference. Believe me the feeling is mutual. I think the world of that man. Funny thing is Slickie didn't mention your name at all during that press conference, Oblivion. Hell he's fought you for the World Title and he didn't even mention your name. Oooh, man... that's gotta burn."
{{I make a sizzling sound with my mouth to illustrate the point.}}
Phil: "Slickie isn't your partner, Obi. You know that better than I do. Next clue? A Confederate flag? Oh well let's see... that could be a reference to any number of Southerners who have dwelled in the WCF locker room through the years. Yeah we've had our share of rednecks, hillbillies and inbreds, that's for sure. Since you're obviously trying to intimidate me I'm going to assume that the Confederate flag isn't a reference to someone along the lines of "Hardcore Redneck" John Thomas or "High Flying Freak" Justin Turner. I'm going to assume that you're referring to a member of The New Confederacy. Johnny Reb, perhaps? Well, let's see. He's injured and the last time I checked he hates your guts. He said as much during the lead-up to your World Title match at Timebomb. It ain't Reb.
"Could it be the other half of the New Confederacy, Doc Henry? I doubt it. Doc is focused on defeating WCF's resident life-sized sex doll Kaylyn James Evans and advancing to the main event at Ultimate Showdown. He wants to get tangled up in your feud with Baines about as much as a cobra wants to fuck with a honey badger, which is to say not at all. It ain't Doc. That Hardcore Squared poster was an interesting little tease. Am I to believe that the man that I killed at XIII is back from the dead and ready to seek his revenge? I hope so. I hope that you did resurrect Greenfever because that way I'll have a chance to kill you both this time. Two birds with one stone and I got stones for days."
{{I gesture frankly toward my crotch.}}
Phil: "The truth is that I don't give a shit what kind of fear you're peddling, you kooky motherfucker. You don't scare this man Baines. I've beaten you on multiple occasions, irrefutably and without controversy. While you're scheming to intimidate and deceive, I'm living my life like it's golden. I'm having the good sex every night. I'm winning big money matches every week on Slam and on pay-per-views. You know that because you've been my most common victim and that's not about to change. Bring in whomever you please as your tag team partner on Monday night, but in doing so know that you put their life in Phillip Baines's hands and I am not a merciful man. Clone yourself, I'll beat you twice. Bring back Greenie, I'll kill him again. Bring back your old buddy Fort Knox and I'll beat his ass back into retirement. You can even ask one of your other personalities to team up with you, Stephan Johnson or Ace Slaughter. That would be interesting, now wouldn't it?
"Do you know what I think though, Oblivion? I don't think that you have a tag team partner. I don't think that there's anyone who's stupid enough to trust a lunatic like you. I don't think that there's anyone who's stupid enough to accept an invitation to have their career ended by the one man army Phillip Baines. I think that you're going to appear all by your lonesome on Monday night, just as you did when you lost the Tag Team Titles to D-Day and Jay Williams. If I'm right, if you're all alone in that ring at Slam, then I'm going to let Buzzsaw have a little fun with you first. Maybe he'll be able to really show me something and handle you all by himself, but if things start to get hairy I'm going to inject myself into the equation. We all know what happens when Phillip Baines starts injecting things, whether it be a syringe filled with bleach into someone's brain or a ten-inch dick filled with cum into someone's anus. That's right... PAIN.
"I'm not a mean-spirited man, Obi. When I was first starting here in WCF, I didn't set out to end Greenie's life or ruin your career. Those things happened because neither of you Shadow Conspiracy motherfuckers could accept the fact that I'm better than you. You think that you've succeeded in terrorizing me with your allusions to various tag team partners? Not a chance, Obi. Despite what you may have convinced yourself, I hold all of the chips in my hand and I always will until the day that I kill you. I'm not going to do that just yet though. I'm going to have fun on Monday night. I'm going to make sure that I send you into your World Title match at Ultimate Showdown with more than just the scars of battle on your body. I'm going to send you there with a broken psyche. I'm going to send you there with zero confidence. I'm going to make sure that you understand that you don't have what it takes to compete with the upper echelon here in WCF anymore. Your past successes are just that: In the past.
"There's a wave of new talent here in WCF and I'm pretty much leading that charge, Obi. Sure I don't have the World Title right now, but it's mine for the taking whenever I want it. I'm not a greedy man though. I'll let D-Day have his moment in the spotlight. He's a good, humble, hard-working kid and unlike you he's never made the mistake of crossing me. The more that I think about it the more I come to realize that it's not so much of a chore facing you after all, Oblivion. Sure I can beat you in my sleep, but I do derive a certain pleasure in making you suffer, in making your life harder than it has to be. I find that rewarding. You the bully have been tamed by this fearless young lion. How does it feel, Obi? How does it feel to know that for all of your pomp and furor you're not scary anymore? Oh sure you might scare the Mr. FPV's of the world, but that can't be very satisfying for you. Not when you have your eyes set on a much bigger prize: Baines."
{{I pause to wet my whistle with another long, thirst-quenching drink of mango smoothie.}}
Phil: "I think that I've said all that I need to say about the matter, Oblivion. You bring your horses on Monday night and I'll bring mine. The end result will not be any different than it has been every other time that we've faced each other. I will beat you up. I will put you on the mat. I will pin you while those bright white arena lights shine down in your eyes. My music will hit the PA. The crowd will chant my name. You will be a loser once more. C'est la vie. Such is life for a scoundrel named Oblivion."
{{With that I scarf down the remainder of my turkey avocado wrap, slurp down the rest of my smoothie and head on back to the training room to prepare for the brutal work that lies ahead on Monday Night Slam.}}
