PaulNJ21
I shunned a voodoo witch, decapitated a black cat
This is a first round match in the WFW World Tag Tournament. The Angle/RP deadline is Sunday, April 17th 11:59 PM EST. Send all angles to pmiller21@gmail.com
WFW Great Expectations: Red & Wells vs. Thirteen & Pitt
- Thread starter PaulNJ21
- Start date
NotorisSTD
League Member
somebody set off a nail bomb in Hot Topic...
(CUEUP: “You’ll rebel to anything (as long as it’s not difficult)” by Mindless Self Indulgence…)
(Black and white shot of Felix Red leaning against his desk, legs crossed, hands in his pockets, James Dean Style, in a black suit with the “KILL,” tie, the red lettering being the only color in the shot….dreads tied up into big pig-tails…)
“the boy who destroyed the world”
I’d like to think if my mother could look up from hell and get a good look at me today, she’d be happy to have shuffled off the moral coil when she did…
Eternal suffering and burning in the blackest pits of despair and blah blah blah…all that might be a drag, but at least you don’t have to hang around and watch all the people you’re close to, all the people you dumped your time and energy into, turn into hopeless f(bleep) ups who honor your memory by doing the exact same things you told them NOT to do.
I look at you, Thirteen, and I think I get a inkling of an idea how she feels…
You know a lot of people here think you’re not really crazy, Thirteen. They think that really you’re an even tempered, talented, sensitive and intelligent young man who would stop acting weird if someone just gave him a hug…
They think it’s all a fashion statement. So you wont be ignored. So you’re accepted. They’re right, but that doesn’t matter.
The wonderful thing about pretending you’re something you’re not is eventually you end up becoming that person….at approximately the exact moment you realize you don’t want to…
You said you wanted to be a monster. I said I’d help.
And I tried my best. I really did. The first time I throttled you within an inch of your self admittedly worthless existence. The second time I stole the Texas Funeral thing from Kill Bill 2, because if you’re going to kill someone on national television you might as well work in a pop culture reference somewhere...I became your nemesis and your standard bearer. You said yourself that beating me wasn’t enough. I told you to hate me and dedicate yourself to my total annihilation, and for a little while you did…
That’s how stupid you are.
Now you’re wasting time playing footsies with the likes of Pitt the, heh, (makes quote marks with his fingers) “vampire” and some brainless, spineless little cum dumpster acting the damsel in distress cliché…
You know who women generally call when they’re being stalked by an obsessed ex-boyfriend or whatever? The cops. Generally, unless they’re deeply stupid or operating on some pissy little agenda, they don’t head to the mall and recruit the two spookiest mother f(bleeps)kers hanging around Hot Topic to play bodyguards…
And this is what you do. This is how worthless you are.
Maybe I’m just pissed that you promised me your undivided attention and failed to deliver. Maybe when I look at the cheesy little vampires the masquerade soap opera daisy chain you’ve lined up for, part of me thinks, “My god…he left me for that?”
You said you’d never stop hating me, Thirteen….You lied…and it makes me want to start listening to Death Cab for Cutie and cry myself to sleep while masturbating every night….
Because I still hate you.
And unlike the Silencer…who and what the f(bleep)k ever he’s supposed to be…You can’t call the cops on me. Or the EMTs. Not anymore. Not like last time. Go ‘head ‘n Cower behind your magus…That’s what he’s supposed to be, heh, right? I don’t care how big Pitt is or how much blood he drinks. You think I haven’t read any Anne Rice, mother f(bleep)kers? Pitt can make kissy faces at 13 year old girls all he wants, but at the end of the day, he’s still a eunuch.
And you can try to bring the rest of your Jhonan Vasquez obsessed weepy little mallcore buddies from back home…In fact you would if they weren’t all huge LOVE fans, eh?
Bring knives. Bring guns. Bring any daemons you learned how to summon reading whatever Nietzsche rip off occult philosopher of the week…or maybe just from watching a lot of Buffy…
Bring every bit of misery I’ve caused you and throw it back in my face…It wont matter.
I’ll always want more. This is my tournament on my show. The time is near when you’ll take your rage and your malice…and you’ll give these things to me, and they’ll be mine as well…And then comes the blood, and probably a few other bodily fluids.
It still wont be enough. Not for me. Probably not for Wells either.
We’re vampires too, you see. Just not in the faggy David Boreanaz way…
(CUEUP: “You’ll rebel to anything (as long as it’s not difficult)” by Mindless Self Indulgence…)
(Black and white shot of Felix Red leaning against his desk, legs crossed, hands in his pockets, James Dean Style, in a black suit with the “KILL,” tie, the red lettering being the only color in the shot….dreads tied up into big pig-tails…)
“the boy who destroyed the world”
I’d like to think if my mother could look up from hell and get a good look at me today, she’d be happy to have shuffled off the moral coil when she did…
Eternal suffering and burning in the blackest pits of despair and blah blah blah…all that might be a drag, but at least you don’t have to hang around and watch all the people you’re close to, all the people you dumped your time and energy into, turn into hopeless f(bleep) ups who honor your memory by doing the exact same things you told them NOT to do.
I look at you, Thirteen, and I think I get a inkling of an idea how she feels…
You know a lot of people here think you’re not really crazy, Thirteen. They think that really you’re an even tempered, talented, sensitive and intelligent young man who would stop acting weird if someone just gave him a hug…
They think it’s all a fashion statement. So you wont be ignored. So you’re accepted. They’re right, but that doesn’t matter.
The wonderful thing about pretending you’re something you’re not is eventually you end up becoming that person….at approximately the exact moment you realize you don’t want to…
You said you wanted to be a monster. I said I’d help.
And I tried my best. I really did. The first time I throttled you within an inch of your self admittedly worthless existence. The second time I stole the Texas Funeral thing from Kill Bill 2, because if you’re going to kill someone on national television you might as well work in a pop culture reference somewhere...I became your nemesis and your standard bearer. You said yourself that beating me wasn’t enough. I told you to hate me and dedicate yourself to my total annihilation, and for a little while you did…
That’s how stupid you are.
Now you’re wasting time playing footsies with the likes of Pitt the, heh, (makes quote marks with his fingers) “vampire” and some brainless, spineless little cum dumpster acting the damsel in distress cliché…
You know who women generally call when they’re being stalked by an obsessed ex-boyfriend or whatever? The cops. Generally, unless they’re deeply stupid or operating on some pissy little agenda, they don’t head to the mall and recruit the two spookiest mother f(bleeps)kers hanging around Hot Topic to play bodyguards…
And this is what you do. This is how worthless you are.
Maybe I’m just pissed that you promised me your undivided attention and failed to deliver. Maybe when I look at the cheesy little vampires the masquerade soap opera daisy chain you’ve lined up for, part of me thinks, “My god…he left me for that?”
You said you’d never stop hating me, Thirteen….You lied…and it makes me want to start listening to Death Cab for Cutie and cry myself to sleep while masturbating every night….
Because I still hate you.
And unlike the Silencer…who and what the f(bleep)k ever he’s supposed to be…You can’t call the cops on me. Or the EMTs. Not anymore. Not like last time. Go ‘head ‘n Cower behind your magus…That’s what he’s supposed to be, heh, right? I don’t care how big Pitt is or how much blood he drinks. You think I haven’t read any Anne Rice, mother f(bleep)kers? Pitt can make kissy faces at 13 year old girls all he wants, but at the end of the day, he’s still a eunuch.
And you can try to bring the rest of your Jhonan Vasquez obsessed weepy little mallcore buddies from back home…In fact you would if they weren’t all huge LOVE fans, eh?
Bring knives. Bring guns. Bring any daemons you learned how to summon reading whatever Nietzsche rip off occult philosopher of the week…or maybe just from watching a lot of Buffy…
Bring every bit of misery I’ve caused you and throw it back in my face…It wont matter.
I’ll always want more. This is my tournament on my show. The time is near when you’ll take your rage and your malice…and you’ll give these things to me, and they’ll be mine as well…And then comes the blood, and probably a few other bodily fluids.
It still wont be enough. Not for me. Probably not for Wells either.
We’re vampires too, you see. Just not in the faggy David Boreanaz way…
BarryClarkJr
DADDY
(FADEIN to the B.A.D World Heavyweight Champion who is sitting on the floor leaned up against the couch wearing worker jeans, sleeveless 'Bastard Son' tee, and the belt just sitting on the table. Dirty Mexican Chavez is in the kitchen making strange noises)
JARED WELLS:Thirteen in another worthless, useless story. The WFW is outta room for him so they team him up with a guy named Pitt. Brad Pitt? No man, (BLEEP) PITT! I'm not even sure how to react here. Should I watch the movie Thirteen? Maybe Twelve Monkeys? Maybe Thirteen BJS?
WFW's very own sex offender.....Thirteen yet has another chance to prove he's a bad man. We all know you and Pitt sit around playing duck, duck, goose naked drinking (BLEEP) wine coolers. But its cool man to pretend something your really not.
Why keep going man? You've already been granted a B.A.D title shot, you blew it in thirty seconds just like your love life. Yet alone, what love life? But you are the sex offender so I'm not gonna go there. What happened to your partner Michael Manson? Yet again I beat 'cha ya ass while Southern just sat there in 'AW on my performance in the ring! I painted a picture with two (BLEEP) of the WFW. Manson ran off, and Edmunds thought he was really a star. To make things worse on your career Thirteen, now you have L.O.V.E.
Red and I are going to (BLEEP) all over your faces and move onto the next step to become the tag champions. Christ could you see me and the WFW President tag team champions? Lindsay Troy wouldn't know what to do with herself. Out with the batteries and electronics and in with us!
I agree with my partner......sounds like you just want a hug Thirteen. But you won't get that from us. All you'll get is a (BLEEP) across the face.
JARED WELLS:Thirteen in another worthless, useless story. The WFW is outta room for him so they team him up with a guy named Pitt. Brad Pitt? No man, (BLEEP) PITT! I'm not even sure how to react here. Should I watch the movie Thirteen? Maybe Twelve Monkeys? Maybe Thirteen BJS?
WFW's very own sex offender.....Thirteen yet has another chance to prove he's a bad man. We all know you and Pitt sit around playing duck, duck, goose naked drinking (BLEEP) wine coolers. But its cool man to pretend something your really not.
Why keep going man? You've already been granted a B.A.D title shot, you blew it in thirty seconds just like your love life. Yet alone, what love life? But you are the sex offender so I'm not gonna go there. What happened to your partner Michael Manson? Yet again I beat 'cha ya ass while Southern just sat there in 'AW on my performance in the ring! I painted a picture with two (BLEEP) of the WFW. Manson ran off, and Edmunds thought he was really a star. To make things worse on your career Thirteen, now you have L.O.V.E.
Red and I are going to (BLEEP) all over your faces and move onto the next step to become the tag champions. Christ could you see me and the WFW President tag team champions? Lindsay Troy wouldn't know what to do with herself. Out with the batteries and electronics and in with us!
I agree with my partner......sounds like you just want a hug Thirteen. But you won't get that from us. All you'll get is a (BLEEP) across the face.
DmntdDuergar
League Member
*Camera opens to Pitt sitting calmly in a leather recliner with a fire blazing behind him in the fireplace.*
Pitt: “I’ve been watching you two since Thirteen found me at the graveyard match. It never fails to astound me at the lack of ingenuity in the insults which you throw. I’m starting to wonder if you have a script which you read each time. So what if Thirteen is a sex offender. He runs around molesting anything that walks, and does so admittingly. You two stand there with your hands in your pockets grabbing your crotch dancing around like fools claiming that it was plutonic. Thirteen needs a hug. Wow, big insult there. Unfortunately seeing as there have been multiple references from the two of you on how desperate he is for a hug perhaps L.O.V.E. isn’t all that loving and you two little turd burglars aren’t secure enough if your own sexuality to hug each other. Or is it that you both want to get into Thirteen’s *ss and you figure by convincing him he needs a hug he’ll let you in? Trying to play kiddie mind games in a man’s world is not going to work. If you want to tell some shattered teenager that they need a hug and the truth of their existence lays within them letting you burrow into their ass, then go back to highschool. It’ll allow you a better chance to plug someone’s ass, and you may actually graduate. As for “Brad Pitt” no, I’m not a little fruit fly. Stop thinking that I am. Once again, a butt plugging reference! All the homosexual little boys in America when asked who is cute will more than likely say Brad Pitt. You ask a bunch of battered little girls they’ll answer the same thing. So both of you are doing nothing more than imitating your idle, Michael Jackson. Let me get some of the more popular jokes out of the way for you Cum Pitt, Jizz Pitt, Arm Pitt, Brad Pitt, **** Pitt. There, now think of something original because I’m tired of half witted hooligans trying to think up something to say to insult me and coming up with Anne Rice and some f*cking douche bag whatever Pitt reference. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have better things to waste my time on.”
*Pitt throws a knife at the camera, shattering the lense, making the screen go to static, and then fading to black.*
Pitt: “I’ve been watching you two since Thirteen found me at the graveyard match. It never fails to astound me at the lack of ingenuity in the insults which you throw. I’m starting to wonder if you have a script which you read each time. So what if Thirteen is a sex offender. He runs around molesting anything that walks, and does so admittingly. You two stand there with your hands in your pockets grabbing your crotch dancing around like fools claiming that it was plutonic. Thirteen needs a hug. Wow, big insult there. Unfortunately seeing as there have been multiple references from the two of you on how desperate he is for a hug perhaps L.O.V.E. isn’t all that loving and you two little turd burglars aren’t secure enough if your own sexuality to hug each other. Or is it that you both want to get into Thirteen’s *ss and you figure by convincing him he needs a hug he’ll let you in? Trying to play kiddie mind games in a man’s world is not going to work. If you want to tell some shattered teenager that they need a hug and the truth of their existence lays within them letting you burrow into their ass, then go back to highschool. It’ll allow you a better chance to plug someone’s ass, and you may actually graduate. As for “Brad Pitt” no, I’m not a little fruit fly. Stop thinking that I am. Once again, a butt plugging reference! All the homosexual little boys in America when asked who is cute will more than likely say Brad Pitt. You ask a bunch of battered little girls they’ll answer the same thing. So both of you are doing nothing more than imitating your idle, Michael Jackson. Let me get some of the more popular jokes out of the way for you Cum Pitt, Jizz Pitt, Arm Pitt, Brad Pitt, **** Pitt. There, now think of something original because I’m tired of half witted hooligans trying to think up something to say to insult me and coming up with Anne Rice and some f*cking douche bag whatever Pitt reference. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have better things to waste my time on.”
*Pitt throws a knife at the camera, shattering the lense, making the screen go to static, and then fading to black.*
NotorisSTD
League Member
Sing it like a retard would..
(CUEUP: “Stupid MF” by Mindless Self Indulgence…)
(Black and white shot of Red at his office again in the same suit with the red KILL tie…this time with the shirt untucked, and the cuffs unbuttoned… Our boy’s sitting on his desk, as he bites his lip for a second, sighs, and lights a clove cigarette…)
“the boy who destroyed the world”
…………..Alright. Fine. I’ll admit it. I’m speechless.
Usually I’m the one drinking codeine laced cough syrup, talking in riddles defying pretensions of logic and rationality, rendering my opponents unable to respond with anything but a befuddled grimace…But this time I’m amazed. This time I’m the one who’s mind f(bleep)ked…
Pitt…after this is all over, and you’re on your back counting the break dancing pixies floating through your vision…After Wells and myself have secured ourselves in the second round of this, my tournament. My anti-creation. My own personal massive scale fiasco…I’m going to remember you. Because you are without question the stupidest person I have ever seen. I’m pretty sure you’re certifiably retarded. I’m surprised they even licensed you to wrestle professionally, as you clearly have NO idea where you are or what you’re doing…Either that or you're enough of a light weight so the standard amount of pain killers and hard liquor in the rest of us at any given time is enough to make you completely incoherent…But yer a big fella, ain’tcha? So this is how stupid you are, isn’t it?
Look Pitt, I get that you’re trying your hardest to be a good interview subject and everything. I figured being a vampire, you would have at least heard of Anne Rice, but when letters and words are just funny symbols to you, I suppose it’s unfair to presume you hang around many book stores. You could’ve seen one of the movies, except for the R ratings. You need a drivers license to show you’re of age, and god forbid the state starts letting things like you behind the wheel….
But don’t get discouraged. Calling me and Wells unoriginal and gay shows that you can say things, and saying things is always the best place to start.
But right now I’d much rather speak with Thirteen. Is he there? Can you hand the phone over to him? We have to talk about grown up things…like past and future instances of attempted homicide.
Could you leave a message for me? Maybe write it dow---Um…Excuse me, try your best to remember it?
Just let him know this sh(bleep) is trite, and sophomoric, and I’m not tolerating it. Tell him his tag team partner is a waste of flesh at best, a sad sorry waste of immortality at worst. He’s screwed the sacrificial lamb, but this time it’s a metaphor. Tell him this time when I put him in the ground, he’s staying…
Tell him I’ve given up wasting my contempt on him. I expected better, but sometimes things don’t work out the way you want them to, and when that time is near, there’s nothing to be done except cut your loses and crack someone’s skull open.
Can you remember all that?....No?...I’d call back later, except there really isn’t going to be a later for you kids, is there?...’kay. Fine. Nevermind, mother f(bleep)ker.
Anyway, it’s only blood. Who cares?
(Red throws his cigarette at the camera. The camera explodes, the cameraman catches on fire, and hurls himself out the window to a grizzly death. Red lights another cigarette, and starts watching Nip Tuck Season 1 on DVD….)
(CUEUP: “Stupid MF” by Mindless Self Indulgence…)
(Black and white shot of Red at his office again in the same suit with the red KILL tie…this time with the shirt untucked, and the cuffs unbuttoned… Our boy’s sitting on his desk, as he bites his lip for a second, sighs, and lights a clove cigarette…)
“the boy who destroyed the world”
…………..Alright. Fine. I’ll admit it. I’m speechless.
Usually I’m the one drinking codeine laced cough syrup, talking in riddles defying pretensions of logic and rationality, rendering my opponents unable to respond with anything but a befuddled grimace…But this time I’m amazed. This time I’m the one who’s mind f(bleep)ked…
Pitt…after this is all over, and you’re on your back counting the break dancing pixies floating through your vision…After Wells and myself have secured ourselves in the second round of this, my tournament. My anti-creation. My own personal massive scale fiasco…I’m going to remember you. Because you are without question the stupidest person I have ever seen. I’m pretty sure you’re certifiably retarded. I’m surprised they even licensed you to wrestle professionally, as you clearly have NO idea where you are or what you’re doing…Either that or you're enough of a light weight so the standard amount of pain killers and hard liquor in the rest of us at any given time is enough to make you completely incoherent…But yer a big fella, ain’tcha? So this is how stupid you are, isn’t it?
Look Pitt, I get that you’re trying your hardest to be a good interview subject and everything. I figured being a vampire, you would have at least heard of Anne Rice, but when letters and words are just funny symbols to you, I suppose it’s unfair to presume you hang around many book stores. You could’ve seen one of the movies, except for the R ratings. You need a drivers license to show you’re of age, and god forbid the state starts letting things like you behind the wheel….
But don’t get discouraged. Calling me and Wells unoriginal and gay shows that you can say things, and saying things is always the best place to start.
But right now I’d much rather speak with Thirteen. Is he there? Can you hand the phone over to him? We have to talk about grown up things…like past and future instances of attempted homicide.
Could you leave a message for me? Maybe write it dow---Um…Excuse me, try your best to remember it?
Just let him know this sh(bleep) is trite, and sophomoric, and I’m not tolerating it. Tell him his tag team partner is a waste of flesh at best, a sad sorry waste of immortality at worst. He’s screwed the sacrificial lamb, but this time it’s a metaphor. Tell him this time when I put him in the ground, he’s staying…
Tell him I’ve given up wasting my contempt on him. I expected better, but sometimes things don’t work out the way you want them to, and when that time is near, there’s nothing to be done except cut your loses and crack someone’s skull open.
Can you remember all that?....No?...I’d call back later, except there really isn’t going to be a later for you kids, is there?...’kay. Fine. Nevermind, mother f(bleep)ker.
Anyway, it’s only blood. Who cares?
(Red throws his cigarette at the camera. The camera explodes, the cameraman catches on fire, and hurls himself out the window to a grizzly death. Red lights another cigarette, and starts watching Nip Tuck Season 1 on DVD….)
DmntdDuergar
League Member
*Scene starts after the last show. Downtown New York on a somewhat peaceful night. The camera strolls down the street, and out from an alleyway a homeless man is apparently thrown out into the street where he skids a few feet and stops, blood pouring from his face. Thirteen stalks out screaming for Tact. He runs down the road and the camera chases him as he catches up to a man in a business suit. Thirteen grabs him from behind and flings him into a wall, pummeling him until police show up. The cops get out of the car and try to apprehend Thirteen but he fights back in an insane stupor. Two more cars show up and the six officers tazer Thirteen, each time he gets back up and goes for another victim. Pepper spray and sever tazes later, Thirteen gets to his knees, and an officer knocks him out with the butt of a shotgun. The cops look at each other stupefied at what just happened.*
*Cut to Pitt driving through a deserted town. He looks around frantically and finally stops in front of a diner which looks like it’s been all but destroyed. He opens the door to his ’69 Stingray and steps out, pulling his sword with him, strapping it to his side. He goes inside, stepping over glass and steel from the imploded door. He searches around, apparently not finding what he needs. Leaping over the counter, he looks down, finding a wig laying on the floor. He picks it up, inhaling it’s scent slowly, then screams in frustration……*
*Cut to Thirteen in a padded room and a straight jacket. Stripped of all dignity he’s laying in the middle of the floor, apparently under the influence of some tranquilizer. You can hear the doctors speaking.*
Doctor: “We don’t know what’s wrong with him entirely. We’re assuming he has some form of schizophrenia, as he’s looking for this ‘Tact’ figure. The police brought him here and apparently he put up quite a fight. Right now he’s just in for observation. We’re not intending on releasing him for quite some time. As of right now he’s a danger to himself and everyone around him. With the amount of electricity that was pumped into him when the police were tazering him, he could have suffered some severe mental traumatization. This.. Tact.. may now be a permanent part of his psyche. We’ll know more when he calms down enough to talk to him. Yes, you’re more than welcome to come and see him. We’ll need you to sign the necessary paperwork to hold him here until he is cured. We’re actually glad that you called, he had no identification on him. You said you were his brother correct…..”
*The doctor’s words fade into nothing and the camera zooms in on Thirteen.. through hoarse breaths you can hear him…. tact…tact……tact…. before he finally passes out. Fade to black.*
*Cut to Pitt driving through a deserted town. He looks around frantically and finally stops in front of a diner which looks like it’s been all but destroyed. He opens the door to his ’69 Stingray and steps out, pulling his sword with him, strapping it to his side. He goes inside, stepping over glass and steel from the imploded door. He searches around, apparently not finding what he needs. Leaping over the counter, he looks down, finding a wig laying on the floor. He picks it up, inhaling it’s scent slowly, then screams in frustration……*
*Cut to Thirteen in a padded room and a straight jacket. Stripped of all dignity he’s laying in the middle of the floor, apparently under the influence of some tranquilizer. You can hear the doctors speaking.*
Doctor: “We don’t know what’s wrong with him entirely. We’re assuming he has some form of schizophrenia, as he’s looking for this ‘Tact’ figure. The police brought him here and apparently he put up quite a fight. Right now he’s just in for observation. We’re not intending on releasing him for quite some time. As of right now he’s a danger to himself and everyone around him. With the amount of electricity that was pumped into him when the police were tazering him, he could have suffered some severe mental traumatization. This.. Tact.. may now be a permanent part of his psyche. We’ll know more when he calms down enough to talk to him. Yes, you’re more than welcome to come and see him. We’ll need you to sign the necessary paperwork to hold him here until he is cured. We’re actually glad that you called, he had no identification on him. You said you were his brother correct…..”
*The doctor’s words fade into nothing and the camera zooms in on Thirteen.. through hoarse breaths you can hear him…. tact…tact……tact…. before he finally passes out. Fade to black.*
BarryClarkJr
DADDY
hmm let me smoke this
(FADEIN to the usual hotel spot for the weekend as Jared Wells is sitting in the chair wearing his work jeans, sleeveless tee 'REHAB IS FOR QUITTERS'. Dirty Mexican Chavez is passed out on the floor with lying on his stomach)
JARED WELLS: What the (BLEEP) is this bull(BLEEP)? Jesus christ man, am I gonna see another Mikey Manson skit where he thinks there is something wrong with him, so he backs out of the match? Funny, after watching this little segment here, I'm not sure the difference between that and Winnie The Pooh The Movie. Ain't this (BLEEP)? I feel I've been cheated with Siegfried and Roy here
Thirteen you mean to tell me that you have schizophrenia because of Larry Tact? Larry Tact? Are you (BLEEP) serious? Good god man. Larry Tact in no way, shape, or form is any type of threat and your telling me your a SCHIZ? Sounds like all you need a (BLEEP) shower. But this time, don't let Pitt watch you when you do it when he is yelling 'I AM A BOY'!
Thirteen you better show up. I could really careless with Pitt who happens to be a child molester in the making. Either way one of the two will be used to further our quest to become the WFW Tag Team Champion.
Thirteen bring your little lucky charm (BLEEP) Pitt with ya. You think Tact (BLEEP) you up. Wait till 'Ol Dirty Jared and Felix MOFO Red rips you apart. We'll leave your bodies all over the ring. And you know the buzzards that fly around in the movies? Well these mother (BLEEP) are gonna drive up in a truck to pick ya up.
What's better than facing the B.A.D World Heavyweight Champion and the WFW President?
It's just L.O.V.E
(FADEOUT)
(FADEIN to the usual hotel spot for the weekend as Jared Wells is sitting in the chair wearing his work jeans, sleeveless tee 'REHAB IS FOR QUITTERS'. Dirty Mexican Chavez is passed out on the floor with lying on his stomach)
JARED WELLS: What the (BLEEP) is this bull(BLEEP)? Jesus christ man, am I gonna see another Mikey Manson skit where he thinks there is something wrong with him, so he backs out of the match? Funny, after watching this little segment here, I'm not sure the difference between that and Winnie The Pooh The Movie. Ain't this (BLEEP)? I feel I've been cheated with Siegfried and Roy here
Thirteen you mean to tell me that you have schizophrenia because of Larry Tact? Larry Tact? Are you (BLEEP) serious? Good god man. Larry Tact in no way, shape, or form is any type of threat and your telling me your a SCHIZ? Sounds like all you need a (BLEEP) shower. But this time, don't let Pitt watch you when you do it when he is yelling 'I AM A BOY'!
Thirteen you better show up. I could really careless with Pitt who happens to be a child molester in the making. Either way one of the two will be used to further our quest to become the WFW Tag Team Champion.
Thirteen bring your little lucky charm (BLEEP) Pitt with ya. You think Tact (BLEEP) you up. Wait till 'Ol Dirty Jared and Felix MOFO Red rips you apart. We'll leave your bodies all over the ring. And you know the buzzards that fly around in the movies? Well these mother (BLEEP) are gonna drive up in a truck to pick ya up.
What's better than facing the B.A.D World Heavyweight Champion and the WFW President?
It's just L.O.V.E
(FADEOUT)
NotorisSTD
League Member
who cares?
(CUEUP: “Devastator” by Blood Brothers…)
(Yet another black and white shot of Felix Red…This time he’s sitting in his office, sprawled out on his bean bag chair, staring up at the ceiling, no shirt, black dickies, only spot of color being the cherry on the black clove cigarette he’s passively taking drags off of…)
“the boy who destroyed the world”
Boy, it’s going to be awfully hard to beat a guy who can be repeatedly tazzered and not fall down….(a few beats pass. Red blows a couple of smoke rings) Oh wait. That’s right. I already did. In fact, at one point, I nearly killed just such a man.
I must be f(bleep)king superhuman.
(another few beats. Red turns his head to the side, spits a loogie on the floor, and returns to gazing at the ceiling…)
So I’ve watched Pitt’s heartbreaking struggle to be reunited with the woman he loves. I’ve watched Thirteen’s complete breakdown, as he is now at the cusp of reunification with the man he hates…..um, one of the men he hates, anyway.
And I’ve felt nothing.
Because the woman Pitt loves is an attention starved, portly harlot who drinks DNA like it’s some sort of Atkins diet supplement…Because Pitt is a mongoloid with an identity lifted from Whitewolf Role Play Games…You don’t need to show me that Pitt is obsessed with some kidnapped chick, which requires him to drive around all day listening to Dashboard Confessional. I already know.
It’s not that Pitt isn’t really a vampire. It’s just that, well…lets face it. Vampires are supposed to be immortal, but that doesn’t stop Sarah Michelle Gellar from killing them by the truckloads…
And if Freddie Prinz Jr.’s girlfriend can do it, then what’s supposed to stop me?
Meanwhile, Thirteen has ceased to be of any use to me what so ever. I don’t need you to show me what a psychopath Thirteen is. I already know about that. I don’t need to be shown what a resilient fellow he is. I already know that too.
It takes four or five cops to take most of us down when we’ve got a healthy amount of PCP in us. I am not phased by this inane posturing. I am not even interested.
What I’ve also learned about Thirteen is what a walking botched opportunity he is. A shattered horizon, incarnate. Charles Manson would be SO disapointed...That is, I’m speaking of Thirteen the man. Thirteen the human being. His consciousness, his soul…All worthless. All a waste. To everyone. The world…
None of this means anything to me.
Thirteen the man has nothing for me to take. Thirteen the flesh puppet, Thirteen the organism…It still has blood. It can still feel pain, and it can still desperately lash back at me…And it can still fall, and it can still take me closer to getting what’s mine.
My creation. The act of god, that is me. The WFW tag team titles.
(sits up, puts his cigarette out on the floor, and looks up while the camera gets a profile shot…)
Alright kiddos…I have all the information you can give me. You can stop talking now….It's time to hand over all of your your chemicals and liquids.
Show me if vampires really cry blood tears, eh?
The thing about the apocalypse is for some of us, after the world ends, all we can do is wait around for the next one.
For the Thirteen versus Felix Red feud of the delightfully eccentric high flyers, this is Armageddon. This, Thirteen, Pitt….this is judgment day. Your own personal end of everything. A pop apocalypse.
In a quick, random, excruciating crush, you get to face your oppressor and find out where you really stand. Again. For a split second, you get to know who you are. And forget. Again. Maybe that’ll be cathartic for you. Maybe it’ll just be absolutely f(bleep)king awful. Maybe it’ll be kinda anti-climatic.
As for me, I don’t care. Either way, you die. And I move onto the next thing…
But really, just you being dead is plenty enough to get me totally jazzed…
(CUEUP: “Devastator” by Blood Brothers…)
(Yet another black and white shot of Felix Red…This time he’s sitting in his office, sprawled out on his bean bag chair, staring up at the ceiling, no shirt, black dickies, only spot of color being the cherry on the black clove cigarette he’s passively taking drags off of…)
“the boy who destroyed the world”
Boy, it’s going to be awfully hard to beat a guy who can be repeatedly tazzered and not fall down….(a few beats pass. Red blows a couple of smoke rings) Oh wait. That’s right. I already did. In fact, at one point, I nearly killed just such a man.
I must be f(bleep)king superhuman.
(another few beats. Red turns his head to the side, spits a loogie on the floor, and returns to gazing at the ceiling…)
So I’ve watched Pitt’s heartbreaking struggle to be reunited with the woman he loves. I’ve watched Thirteen’s complete breakdown, as he is now at the cusp of reunification with the man he hates…..um, one of the men he hates, anyway.
And I’ve felt nothing.
Because the woman Pitt loves is an attention starved, portly harlot who drinks DNA like it’s some sort of Atkins diet supplement…Because Pitt is a mongoloid with an identity lifted from Whitewolf Role Play Games…You don’t need to show me that Pitt is obsessed with some kidnapped chick, which requires him to drive around all day listening to Dashboard Confessional. I already know.
It’s not that Pitt isn’t really a vampire. It’s just that, well…lets face it. Vampires are supposed to be immortal, but that doesn’t stop Sarah Michelle Gellar from killing them by the truckloads…
And if Freddie Prinz Jr.’s girlfriend can do it, then what’s supposed to stop me?
Meanwhile, Thirteen has ceased to be of any use to me what so ever. I don’t need you to show me what a psychopath Thirteen is. I already know about that. I don’t need to be shown what a resilient fellow he is. I already know that too.
It takes four or five cops to take most of us down when we’ve got a healthy amount of PCP in us. I am not phased by this inane posturing. I am not even interested.
What I’ve also learned about Thirteen is what a walking botched opportunity he is. A shattered horizon, incarnate. Charles Manson would be SO disapointed...That is, I’m speaking of Thirteen the man. Thirteen the human being. His consciousness, his soul…All worthless. All a waste. To everyone. The world…
None of this means anything to me.
Thirteen the man has nothing for me to take. Thirteen the flesh puppet, Thirteen the organism…It still has blood. It can still feel pain, and it can still desperately lash back at me…And it can still fall, and it can still take me closer to getting what’s mine.
My creation. The act of god, that is me. The WFW tag team titles.
(sits up, puts his cigarette out on the floor, and looks up while the camera gets a profile shot…)
Alright kiddos…I have all the information you can give me. You can stop talking now….It's time to hand over all of your your chemicals and liquids.
Show me if vampires really cry blood tears, eh?
The thing about the apocalypse is for some of us, after the world ends, all we can do is wait around for the next one.
For the Thirteen versus Felix Red feud of the delightfully eccentric high flyers, this is Armageddon. This, Thirteen, Pitt….this is judgment day. Your own personal end of everything. A pop apocalypse.
In a quick, random, excruciating crush, you get to face your oppressor and find out where you really stand. Again. For a split second, you get to know who you are. And forget. Again. Maybe that’ll be cathartic for you. Maybe it’ll just be absolutely f(bleep)king awful. Maybe it’ll be kinda anti-climatic.
As for me, I don’t care. Either way, you die. And I move onto the next thing…
But really, just you being dead is plenty enough to get me totally jazzed…
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