Post by Corey Black on Dec 18, 2011 11:56:31 GMT -5
The scene opens up to Corey Black walking through the WCF Arena, with a backpack on his back. A clock on the left displays the time, 10am. It’s a madhouse, as everyone is trying to get everything all ready for tonight’s Slam broadcast, as well as doing a bit of prep work for the Hall of Fame and One events. Corey walks by everything, focused only on getting to his locker room and nothing else. He walks by Kaylyn James Evans, and barely gives her anything but a cold shoulder. She does the same, trying to ignore him as best she can. They pass each other, and continue on their path. Corey hits a quick right into his designated locker room, and closes the door behind the WCF cameraman. Corey sits down and places his bag on the table before him. He unzips it and begins pulling out his ring attire for the night.
Among the boots, trunks and pads, Corey pulls something from the bottom of his bag that makes him do a double-take. It is out of camera focus, and Corey quickly drops it on the floor. He begins speaking, almost in shock.
Corey Black
I find it ironic, Gravedigger, that you largely ignored me in your signature long winded, absolutely no rhyme or reason promo. You spoke a lot about Odin, and a lot about what you have done, and just touched the tip of the iceberg when it comes to me. we've had a few matches, I probably haven't won any, and that was it. Nothing about how, even though I've never actually beat you, I am still better than you'll ever be. You're sixteen feet tall, eighty four thousand pounds, and you've run over WCF before... yet you're not better than little ol' me.
Let's face facts, fucker. You bounce in and out of WCF like Shannan's tits in a tight shirt during an all night gangbang. You're worse than Logan or Torture when they do it. Yet all three of you instantly get all the credibility and accolades, World Title shots at One, Hardcore Titles thrown in your laps. What happened when I left and came back THIS ONE TIME? I ran my way through this fucking company and took my spot back. I don't need anyone to give me anything, I'll earn it, thank you very much. So you're a former World Champion, former Tag Champion... War winner... blah blah, whine and cry. I've done all that AND MORE. War? Is that more impressive than two back-to-back WCF Classic titles? Uhm no, it's not. Other people do work for you in War, I beat every single person put in my path one after another. In War, you pick up the scraps.
So no, Gravedigger, I am not impressed by you one but. Not even close. You've always had a group of douchebags following you around, making sure you win even when you're basically on the mat fighting for your life. MS-13? Please. Menstrual symptoms of a 13 year old girl have a better chance. That's the REAL MS-13. While you're off rambling about what you might have done, may have beat, and what you want for lunch ... fun fact, it's probably thirty six McDoubles ... you've basically left yourself wide open for an onslaught of death.
Odin is, what, exactly your size? Motherfucker is on a roll WCF hasn't seen in years, too, and you think your broken down ass will stop it? HA. HAHAHA. And Adrian? Who the FUUUCK is Adrian? The whitest Mexican I have ever laid my eyes on. You know what happens when I am put in a ring with Mexicans, right? B. P. P. I'll tell you who Adrian is, he's a corpse on the floor after I kill him with knees to the cranium. A useless cadaver laying there, your former tag partner, leaving you against what could be considered the most destructive tag team since... well, since Torture and I. This guy Balfore is rolling through this place. Dude won the title twice, which in reality should only be once, but he got fucked over by your buddy Seth. He's powerbombed my ass straight out nof WCF, and this is in less than a year. You tell me anybody that has come close to Odin's level in their first few months.
"Hardcore isn't a persona for me, it's a way of life." FUCK. Come on. You own nightclubs and homosexual brothels and you claim you're "hardcore?" Jesus Christ, you're the most girlish man I have ever met. At least in Slickie's casino, he can host boxing or MMA events. You are stuck hiring Ronnie from Jersey Shore to bring in step-son-dancers. Go to hell, poser.
Let's get one thing straight, though, for all your accomplishments, you're still not me. When you list all that crap off like you're applying for a job, everyone compares it to my list. And while mine may not have all of that junk, the point remains. You're the lowest on the totem pole of us veterans. It goes me, everyone else, then lastly Gravedigger. I'm the guy that has actually been around for a decade. I'm the guy that took the ball and ran with it when the ENTIRE COMPANY was dropped in my lap. I am the guy that took a month break, went and got my love for the sport back, and came back to find Seth had taken over again. So, when everyone looks back and wonders 'what would WCF be like without Seth Lerch?' They'll overlook your stint because you're a jackass, and they'll see me in all my glory. Probably wearing a cape. Because I don't need to force my way into taking over WCF. It was trusted to me. No need to fight the boss and piddle around, not putting forth any effort, I stood my ground and made people my fucking bitch.
Enough about this guy, let’s cement something right now. Odin, I do not care for you. I know this won’t come as a shock, but the bullshit you have pulled before won’t go overlooked. We both know, however, two things. First, we know Seth is trying to erase what we did for this place. You were given full blessing to run through the roster, and you did just that, only to have it all taken away because Seth’s ego is bigger than his brain. Second, we both know it should be you and I at One. It’s the only logical thing in my eyes, yet that is apparently in danger because of … you know, that one guy. The dude that makes demands and gets his way every time. Yeah, Logan. NO I mean Torture. Whatever, they’re probably the same guy. Fuck them both. This is between us, Odin, not them, not Seth, not anyone. You made me lose my smile, for the lack of a better term. And now, now I’m being haunted by my past. That’s not some stupid metaphor, I’m not kidding, Creeping Death is following me, and hitting Kaylyn in the face with lead pipes. How? Your guess is as good as mine.
Which brings me back around, full circles, to Gravedigger. You sit there and expect me to allow you to call me ‘Creeping Death?’ That, doobieboy, is not me. My name is Corey, nice to meet you. The man you once knew as ‘CD’ is no longer around. It would be in your best interest to change your tone, and possibly watch a promo or two before running your fucking mouth. ‘Creeping Death’ is a beast, a devil within that escaped. The shell you once saw, that was me, with face paint and an attitude. Now the shit has gone off the chain. A life of it’s own, if you will. It looks like it’s me, but I … fuck, whatever, that’s neither here nor there. Just know this, if you want me to break it out, so be it, but it’s your own funeral. And at this funeral, I’ll dig your grave for you.
With his words said, Corey reaches down and grabs the item he dropped.. a pallet of facepaint. Corey throws it against the wall, and instead of breaking, the brushes fall out in sync paint a picture on the white wall.
Among the boots, trunks and pads, Corey pulls something from the bottom of his bag that makes him do a double-take. It is out of camera focus, and Corey quickly drops it on the floor. He begins speaking, almost in shock.
Corey Black
I find it ironic, Gravedigger, that you largely ignored me in your signature long winded, absolutely no rhyme or reason promo. You spoke a lot about Odin, and a lot about what you have done, and just touched the tip of the iceberg when it comes to me. we've had a few matches, I probably haven't won any, and that was it. Nothing about how, even though I've never actually beat you, I am still better than you'll ever be. You're sixteen feet tall, eighty four thousand pounds, and you've run over WCF before... yet you're not better than little ol' me.
Let's face facts, fucker. You bounce in and out of WCF like Shannan's tits in a tight shirt during an all night gangbang. You're worse than Logan or Torture when they do it. Yet all three of you instantly get all the credibility and accolades, World Title shots at One, Hardcore Titles thrown in your laps. What happened when I left and came back THIS ONE TIME? I ran my way through this fucking company and took my spot back. I don't need anyone to give me anything, I'll earn it, thank you very much. So you're a former World Champion, former Tag Champion... War winner... blah blah, whine and cry. I've done all that AND MORE. War? Is that more impressive than two back-to-back WCF Classic titles? Uhm no, it's not. Other people do work for you in War, I beat every single person put in my path one after another. In War, you pick up the scraps.
So no, Gravedigger, I am not impressed by you one but. Not even close. You've always had a group of douchebags following you around, making sure you win even when you're basically on the mat fighting for your life. MS-13? Please. Menstrual symptoms of a 13 year old girl have a better chance. That's the REAL MS-13. While you're off rambling about what you might have done, may have beat, and what you want for lunch ... fun fact, it's probably thirty six McDoubles ... you've basically left yourself wide open for an onslaught of death.
Odin is, what, exactly your size? Motherfucker is on a roll WCF hasn't seen in years, too, and you think your broken down ass will stop it? HA. HAHAHA. And Adrian? Who the FUUUCK is Adrian? The whitest Mexican I have ever laid my eyes on. You know what happens when I am put in a ring with Mexicans, right? B. P. P. I'll tell you who Adrian is, he's a corpse on the floor after I kill him with knees to the cranium. A useless cadaver laying there, your former tag partner, leaving you against what could be considered the most destructive tag team since... well, since Torture and I. This guy Balfore is rolling through this place. Dude won the title twice, which in reality should only be once, but he got fucked over by your buddy Seth. He's powerbombed my ass straight out nof WCF, and this is in less than a year. You tell me anybody that has come close to Odin's level in their first few months.
"Hardcore isn't a persona for me, it's a way of life." FUCK. Come on. You own nightclubs and homosexual brothels and you claim you're "hardcore?" Jesus Christ, you're the most girlish man I have ever met. At least in Slickie's casino, he can host boxing or MMA events. You are stuck hiring Ronnie from Jersey Shore to bring in step-son-dancers. Go to hell, poser.
Let's get one thing straight, though, for all your accomplishments, you're still not me. When you list all that crap off like you're applying for a job, everyone compares it to my list. And while mine may not have all of that junk, the point remains. You're the lowest on the totem pole of us veterans. It goes me, everyone else, then lastly Gravedigger. I'm the guy that has actually been around for a decade. I'm the guy that took the ball and ran with it when the ENTIRE COMPANY was dropped in my lap. I am the guy that took a month break, went and got my love for the sport back, and came back to find Seth had taken over again. So, when everyone looks back and wonders 'what would WCF be like without Seth Lerch?' They'll overlook your stint because you're a jackass, and they'll see me in all my glory. Probably wearing a cape. Because I don't need to force my way into taking over WCF. It was trusted to me. No need to fight the boss and piddle around, not putting forth any effort, I stood my ground and made people my fucking bitch.
Enough about this guy, let’s cement something right now. Odin, I do not care for you. I know this won’t come as a shock, but the bullshit you have pulled before won’t go overlooked. We both know, however, two things. First, we know Seth is trying to erase what we did for this place. You were given full blessing to run through the roster, and you did just that, only to have it all taken away because Seth’s ego is bigger than his brain. Second, we both know it should be you and I at One. It’s the only logical thing in my eyes, yet that is apparently in danger because of … you know, that one guy. The dude that makes demands and gets his way every time. Yeah, Logan. NO I mean Torture. Whatever, they’re probably the same guy. Fuck them both. This is between us, Odin, not them, not Seth, not anyone. You made me lose my smile, for the lack of a better term. And now, now I’m being haunted by my past. That’s not some stupid metaphor, I’m not kidding, Creeping Death is following me, and hitting Kaylyn in the face with lead pipes. How? Your guess is as good as mine.
Which brings me back around, full circles, to Gravedigger. You sit there and expect me to allow you to call me ‘Creeping Death?’ That, doobieboy, is not me. My name is Corey, nice to meet you. The man you once knew as ‘CD’ is no longer around. It would be in your best interest to change your tone, and possibly watch a promo or two before running your fucking mouth. ‘Creeping Death’ is a beast, a devil within that escaped. The shell you once saw, that was me, with face paint and an attitude. Now the shit has gone off the chain. A life of it’s own, if you will. It looks like it’s me, but I … fuck, whatever, that’s neither here nor there. Just know this, if you want me to break it out, so be it, but it’s your own funeral. And at this funeral, I’ll dig your grave for you.
With his words said, Corey reaches down and grabs the item he dropped.. a pallet of facepaint. Corey throws it against the wall, and instead of breaking, the brushes fall out in sync paint a picture on the white wall.
O O
||||
||||
