| - THE FALLOUT: The Injustice of Phantom Justice -; I Vs Lunatikk Crippler; Path of the Warrior 2nd Round... and Tapout Championship!? | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: May 16 2016, 08:04 PM (37 Views) | |
| X-Calibur | May 16 2016, 08:04 PM Post #1 |
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X-Calibur paced back and forth like a rabid animal. Like a vengeful, frothing, “Bite your fucking face off, man.”, rabid animal. The travesty was fresh. He could smell it on his person. In the air. All around him. Azrael Goeren should’ve been EWA World Heavyweight Champion… but he wasn’t. The Hierarchy should’ve still been EWA World Tag Team Champions… but they weren’t. Still in his gear, perspiration dripped from his worked over body and descended to the furnished, sky-blue tinted locker room floor. Looking a bit… unhinged… X-Calibur didn’t waste a single moment as he replayed the events that unfolded over and over in his mind. Goeren. Kage. Stacy. Goeren. Kage. Stacy. Goeren. Kage. Stacy. Goeren. Kage. Stacy. Rage. “So let me get this straight, Stacy Fucking Vanderfort. You’re going to pull a false finish on everyone in the EWA simply because… the “wrong referee” counted to three? Ha… haha… hahahaha...HA. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Oh my GOD. That… that really just happened, didn’t it? I’m not just asleep and enduring some fucked up nightmare after watching Indrid Calder’s favorite pussy willow play Benjamin Button or whatever the fuck his neo-noirtarded bullshit is on the Jumbo Vision, am I? Jesus… Christ. Jesus… Fuck. Jesus… fucking tits on a fucking FUCK.” He picked up a lone steel chair that had been set up in front of him; which was intended for sitting purposes of course. Instead of taking a seat, he grabbed a hold of the back and violently hurled it towards the row of dark blue lockers behind him. After the smash of steel meeting steel, he grabbed his EWA Tapout Championship from the floor as it had fallen while he acted out in his unrepressed aggression. From there, he bashed himself once on the centermost area of his forehead. It immediately drew blood. “Sniff, sniff. You know, I see what’s going on here, Stacy. This ain’t my first rodeo, obviously. And better yet, this ain’t the first screw job I’ve ever witnessed first hand. I… well… how do I put this delicately so that I don’t get fired when you think of some other trumped up reason to fuck with me…” He paused, thinking it over. At that point, it really didn’t matter if he was fired. There was always SHOOT Project. Fuck it. “… fuck it. I think someone’s been hanging out with the Youth and getting second hand high off that skunk they call weed. I mean, since when, in the history of this goddamn business… has a second referee coming to the aid of a fallen one been deemed ILLEGAL?” The blood oozed slowly from his forehead and dripped along the contours of his pectoral region. There were slightly inaudible murmurs of concern behind the camera that clearly didn’t approve of X-Calibur going off the reservation here. His breathing became erratic, and the veins in his arms protruded sickeningly. “Maybe it happened once in the NWF. I don’t really know. Can’t say I was there, myself. I was too busy forging a legend in places that fucking mattered. So tell me, with a straight fucking face you corrupt piece of ass, whatever happened to “the referee’s decision is final”, no matter the person wearing the stripes?” He cupped his hand to his ear in front of the camera as if he were awaiting a response. Meanwhile, his thumb mindlessly played with a strand of fabric that loosened from the waistband of his fight shorts. “So you’re telling me, if Senior Official George Abjornson decides to take a massive, bowel-destroying shit right before the main event of a future Battlelines after some bad tacos the night prior, you’re gonna hold up the entire show until he finishes his business and wipes his fucking ass? Is that basically what you’re telling the good people that pay $7.77 every month? That they’re dishing out their money to watch horse shit like that happen? Or, you know, are you going to ALLOW another referee to call the match for twenty minutes, then pull the rug out from everybody again after somebody wins just because… you don’t like that particular person and CAN? Maybe I’m a bit biased here because, well, it’s ME that YOU fucked over by making such a ridiculous decision as costing US our Tag Team Titles… hell, I KNOW I am, and so fucking what… but Rick Iley did a DAMN fine job officiating that match when the time called for someone to come out and finish what George obviously couldn’t. But that didn’t matter, did it? That was the plan all along, right? Of course it was. Of COURSE it was. Chris Kage is pinned in the middle of the ring, Alexander Haven is choking on his own fucking blood from ME, and... and you reverse the most important fall of a match ever seen in the EWA. You decide, “Naaaaaaaah…. Azrael Goeren doesn’t deserve the championship he was ALREADY screwed out of at Asylum de los Muertos because… reasons. Fucking reasons. ‘CAUSE I’M IN CHARGE AND REASONS ARE BELOW MEEEEEE!” He stopped pacing back and forth. The considerable amount of blood that oozed from his forehead had started to drip all the way down to the locker room floor. A scab that had formed on his elbow from a training session at the War Room prior to Battlelines was ripped slowly from his skin with his thumb and forefinger. It bled immediately, and he flicked it at the camera with utter disdain. “You know what, Stacy? Fuck you. FUCK. YOU.” Goeren. Kage. Stacy. Goeren. Kage. Stacy. Crippler. Goeren. Crippler. Kage. Crippler. Stacy. Crippler. Goeren. Kage. Stacy. Crippler. Cripple… her. Vengeance. “Fuck everything you hold dear in your life you miserable, chlamydia-ridden bitch-cunt. I’m no sleuth by any means, but I think you’re acting this way in some sort of not-so-subliminal attempt to run roughshod over the EWA with the rest of those talentless dickholes in the Youth. Mike Malone and Vincent Ashe can be scared to say the truth behind that commentary booth all they want… but I’m calling you the fuck out right here, right now. NOBODY… gets away with that on my watch. Not even you.” He turned his back to the camera, wiping the sweat from the top of his single-line, buzz-cut mohawk. As he breathed in and out, the muscles on his frame painted the picture of a hulking beast capable of wanton destruction. “Michael and Erik didn’t put you in charge to make the SAME shit happen that’s BEEN happening while Duane Gates had been in charge. Michael and Erik put you in charge to stop the petty ass bullshit that kills rating declines. And that’s exactly what that was. Petty. Ass. BULLSHIT. I’ve seen promotions over the years fall to ash and ruin for lesser offenses than the absolute criminal intent I saw transpire with YOUR malicious exploitation of power and corruption. So here’s what’s going to happen with that. Here’s THE FALLOUT from your poor decision making and creating a problem where one wasn’t present. After I beat the unholy fucking SHIT out of Lunatikk Crippler and leave his corpse an unrecognizable heap of flesh and bone, advance in the Path of the Warrior Tournament… I’m going to find you in the back. And when I do? I’m gonna make it rain 10-G’s all over that badly tanned bod of yours, bitch. Oh, you know I will. Then? I’m going to pull my fucking big white cock out… and piss all over that pretty skirt you wear with a bladder full of contempt. Then? I’m going to that ring, and I’m going to plant Crippler into the mat with an X-Terminator and beat him right in the middle of the goddamn ring.” X-Calibur turned back around to face the camera. To the surprise of all, he had been filing away at the wound on his forehead with his thumb nail, increasing the bloodletting to a disturbing degree. “If you get in my way, Stacy? Listen to my words… right now. Because, so help you GOD and all the misguided children who worship him... if you come down to that ring again and decide to make shit up on the fly to suit your Facebook Fan Club you’ve got going for the Youth? I don’t give a FUCK if you’re a woman. I wouldn’t give a FUCK if you were a transgender jezebel or the Apollo Creed incarnate. It doesn’t… fucking… matter. I will end your reign of power as quickly as it started. Not through lawsuits. Not through contracts. And certainly not through this phantom justice you pull from some shapeless chasm. I will end you through something that my next opponent in the Path of the Warrior tournament thinks he understands, but fails to comprehend. I will end you through sheer, unfiltered… HATE.” While adjusting the Tapout Championship on his shoulder, he then grabbed the camera and RIPPED it from the cameramen holding it steady. Enter shaky cam mode as the lens stared into the cold, dark brown abyss that were the eyes of one Eryk Van Warren. “You wanted to make a controversial decision for the sake of making a name for yourself in a seat of power? You wanted change? Like I told Tyler Morris. Like I told Duane Gates. And like I’m gonna tell that piece of fucking shit Lunatikk Crippler when he comes out with something idiotic and clichéd to say about me or about his desperate attempt for some HEAT.” Completely out of his mind, he took his tongue and slathered it up and down the camera’s lens. Everything suddenly became distorted. Like we were drowning in a sea of horrors as a madman stared back from the other side of the water. “Be careful what you wish for.” Goeren. Stacy. Mirage. Kage. Stacy. Crippler. Haven. Michael. Crippler. Crippler. Crippler. Stacy. Crippler. Path of the Warrior. Fallout reigns above as the blood stains below. “Hire all the security in the world to protect you from the consequences. I don’t care. Nor do I care that you’re not a professional wrestler. When you stand on MY battlefield… it doesn’t matter who you are. When you cross Eryk Van Warren, you get dropped just the same as the next one. Oh, and put my Tapout Championship on the line against Lunatikk Crippler. I BEG you to. Since I won this thing for the second time, I haven’t been granted the chance to choke a bitch dead in the middle of my ring. You, Gates, and dare I say even the Dravens are too afraid of what might happen. So do it. I… I beg you. Give Crippler that puncher’s chance to become somebody again… just so I can take the proverbial carrot that dangles in front of him and shove it down his fucking throat.” Tracing the point of his index finger on the open wound of his forehead, he began writing the letters across the lens, blurring the vision and creating a kaleidoscope of crimson and the colors of the locker room behind him. T. A. P. X-Calibur HEAD-BUTTED the camera without warning, smashing the lens into a hundred broken pieces of glass and a billion specks of white noise. Fade. Edited by X-Calibur, May 28 2016, 11:12 AM.
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EWA Tapout Champion(2) -4.18.16-Till I Die, Bitch. -10.30.15-12.30.15 EWA World Tag Team Champion(w/ Azrael Goeren) 3.31.16-Forever EWA Television Champion 10.31.01-EWA Closed | |
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10:52 AM Jul 11