Post by FPV on Dec 3, 2011 18:21:43 GMT -5
We are one again welcomed into The Vault, deep in the underbelly of a New York forest lays the home of Vic. As the camera goes down the stairwell into Vic's torture chamber, after a small zoom we see Vic sitting on a table drinking a bottle of pure Jack Daniels as he leans back in his chair, which could tip over at any moment. After ignoring the camera for a moment, Vic gazes inside the lens.
Vic: Oh hi, didn't hear you come in. I'm Vic, but i guess you already knew that, seeing as though you went to the trouble of finding this place. Last time I let someone in here....well, let's just say it didn't end well for him. Stay on you're toes, bro.
Well, I bet you're gonna' ask me about my match on Slam, I can hardly blame you. You seem like one of those marks who just can't enough of the excitement...and the passion of the wrestling shows to see through to the real message I have been trying to convey across the world since I joined WCF, that order is unnessecary. But you didn't think about that, did you? Whatever, your loss.
And under normal circumstances I would talk about my match, but now is not a normal circumstance. You see, there's this guy, controlling my every actions, playing god with his imaginary personality...Franky I think his name was. Not the Frank Venable you know about from WCF, no that's just another of his characters that he created and slapped his name on because he's uncreative with names. And it shows...I mean, c'mon, what kind of name is VIC anyway?! A bad one, that's what.
That's pretty much the only thing in common between the imaginary Franky and the real Franky, while the imaginary one is a badass vigilante who stands up against criminals, the real Franky is a 16-year-old wishful thinker whose love life is the equivalent of a puddle of mud after a long rainstorm. I mean this kid just SCREAMS weak-ass. As he's writing all of this, he's listening to a fucking COLDPLAY album. COLDPLAY. Think about that for a minute, the kid who came up with the badass Frank Venable and Vic, listens to COLDPLAY.
Vic takes a good long swig of Jack Daniels, and then wipes his lips clean, then sets the drink down on the table.
Vic: I gotta' say though, for a guy doesn't drink or smoke or do drugs, he knows what his characters like to booze on. I guess I better be polite to him, or else he'll make me do something bad, like, watch this: FRANK PATRICK VENABLE IS A PUSSY FOR LISTENING TO COLDPLAY!
Suddenly, Vic's free hand turns into a fist, and launches right into Vic nutsack, as Vic fals out of his seat moaning in pain.
Vic: See...see what I mean? But I'm not the only one. Everyone else in the WCF is a figment of someones imagination. Odin Balfore. Ryan Blake. Doc Henry. Even the owner Seth Lerch is made up. You know what that means? That means all your entertainment doesn't even exist. So you fucking primitive screwheads are being entertained by basically nothing. *sigh*
How has it come to end with us clapping at something so fake? What happenned to the good ole' days when a man could get wasted and drive off a cliff. Back then we were risking our lives on a day-to-day basis, now we watch other people slap each other like some black women. FUCKING. SIGH. And the others in this match? Does it even really freaking matter what I think of them, the real world people'll just give themselve undeserved props, go "good game bro, good game", when there's the very humongous purple elephant in the room: the fact that 90% of the entire roster, Mr. Venable included, don't even get their shit in half the time. In fact, as we speak, only one roleplay has actually been turned in, by someone named "Jonny Fly"
You know Jonny boy, Franky used to make that mistake all the time too. Y'know, forget the "H" in Johnny, he had a guy named Jonny Nova, and you know where that got him? Nowhere, that's where. Apparently you have way better spelling and grammar then he did back then, I'll give you that. And I'll give you something else, you wrote that wrestling has become such a character-based business. And you're right, that's all we are, characters. Well, count me out, I refuse to be a character from now on, a pawn in some geeky chess game. My goal...same as it's always been...to open your goddamned eyes.
END
Vic: Oh hi, didn't hear you come in. I'm Vic, but i guess you already knew that, seeing as though you went to the trouble of finding this place. Last time I let someone in here....well, let's just say it didn't end well for him. Stay on you're toes, bro.
Well, I bet you're gonna' ask me about my match on Slam, I can hardly blame you. You seem like one of those marks who just can't enough of the excitement...and the passion of the wrestling shows to see through to the real message I have been trying to convey across the world since I joined WCF, that order is unnessecary. But you didn't think about that, did you? Whatever, your loss.
And under normal circumstances I would talk about my match, but now is not a normal circumstance. You see, there's this guy, controlling my every actions, playing god with his imaginary personality...Franky I think his name was. Not the Frank Venable you know about from WCF, no that's just another of his characters that he created and slapped his name on because he's uncreative with names. And it shows...I mean, c'mon, what kind of name is VIC anyway?! A bad one, that's what.
That's pretty much the only thing in common between the imaginary Franky and the real Franky, while the imaginary one is a badass vigilante who stands up against criminals, the real Franky is a 16-year-old wishful thinker whose love life is the equivalent of a puddle of mud after a long rainstorm. I mean this kid just SCREAMS weak-ass. As he's writing all of this, he's listening to a fucking COLDPLAY album. COLDPLAY. Think about that for a minute, the kid who came up with the badass Frank Venable and Vic, listens to COLDPLAY.
Vic takes a good long swig of Jack Daniels, and then wipes his lips clean, then sets the drink down on the table.
Vic: I gotta' say though, for a guy doesn't drink or smoke or do drugs, he knows what his characters like to booze on. I guess I better be polite to him, or else he'll make me do something bad, like, watch this: FRANK PATRICK VENABLE IS A PUSSY FOR LISTENING TO COLDPLAY!
Suddenly, Vic's free hand turns into a fist, and launches right into Vic nutsack, as Vic fals out of his seat moaning in pain.
Vic: See...see what I mean? But I'm not the only one. Everyone else in the WCF is a figment of someones imagination. Odin Balfore. Ryan Blake. Doc Henry. Even the owner Seth Lerch is made up. You know what that means? That means all your entertainment doesn't even exist. So you fucking primitive screwheads are being entertained by basically nothing. *sigh*
How has it come to end with us clapping at something so fake? What happenned to the good ole' days when a man could get wasted and drive off a cliff. Back then we were risking our lives on a day-to-day basis, now we watch other people slap each other like some black women. FUCKING. SIGH. And the others in this match? Does it even really freaking matter what I think of them, the real world people'll just give themselve undeserved props, go "good game bro, good game", when there's the very humongous purple elephant in the room: the fact that 90% of the entire roster, Mr. Venable included, don't even get their shit in half the time. In fact, as we speak, only one roleplay has actually been turned in, by someone named "Jonny Fly"
You know Jonny boy, Franky used to make that mistake all the time too. Y'know, forget the "H" in Johnny, he had a guy named Jonny Nova, and you know where that got him? Nowhere, that's where. Apparently you have way better spelling and grammar then he did back then, I'll give you that. And I'll give you something else, you wrote that wrestling has become such a character-based business. And you're right, that's all we are, characters. Well, count me out, I refuse to be a character from now on, a pawn in some geeky chess game. My goal...same as it's always been...to open your goddamned eyes.
END
