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| Vittori vs Matthew Heart; Singles Match | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Mar 10 2008, 07:12 PM (87 Views) | |
| Yours Truly Lance Mikes | Mar 10 2008, 07:12 PM Post #1 |
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HcW Co-Owner 'Yours Truly' Lance Mikes
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2 RP LIMIT |
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| Vittori | Mar 16 2008, 11:43 PM Post #2 |
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75% chance my post will be shorter than my sig.
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[align=center]* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * Chicago, Illinois September 17, 2004 9:25 p.m. * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * She was pregnant enough for him to notice and happy enough when he asked about it to be irritating. The maternity dress she was wearing looked like it'd been brought fresh from the Seventies, still psychadelic color. She looked like she'd been dipped in fresh Pepto-Bismol. He wasn't sure if it was actually maternitywear or some the latest crazy fucking invention from NASA's laboratories. Oh screw the candy coating. To him, it looked like a goddamn petunia on steroids. There was a post-natal blondeheaded baby in a playpen, snoring away, contented. From the blue jumpsuit, assuming he was a he was somewhat safe. No guarantee what with hand-me-downs, but probably. Most all kids looked the same to him. He turned and blinked at her, not having heard what she just said. She had a casserole dish in her hand, though, pointed towards him. The food in it looked like some kind of lasagna and a not bad one at that. He shook his head still. He wasn't hungry, he was worried, and he got the feeling she wanted to turn it into a social occasion. He was unsociable and food was something you ate so you didn't die. "Do you want something to drink?" "Nah. Really. Just uh..." She was going to get all hurt if he just asked her to get to the goddamn point already. She hadn't seen him in like four years or something. "So. You married?" He wanted to facepalm after he said it. Small talk. Not our strong point. "No. Well, I was engaged to Dylan's father--" she gestured to the sleeping toddler, "But we're kind of on the outs." "Ah. He the dad of--" Vague gesture towards her midsection. She shook her head, and the look in her eye was a little bit more embarrassed than she should've been if it was just a case of cheating on her fiancee. Don't ask him how he knew. There was just a way in the tuck of her chin, her averted eyes. It wasn't guilt, it was shame. There was an imperative difference that most people never grasped. He didn't inquire further. He really couldn't handle being her confidante right now, as shitty as that was. He had way too much on his plate. He wasn't kind enough to play counselor. The concept seemed just a little alien to him, made him stop and blink and want to walk away. He didn't feel awkward out of empathy. He felt awkward because he had no idea what to say or what he was supposed to be feeling about it. How did empathetic people get by? How could you handle feeling all your own shit and feeling for everyone else's shit without going stark raving insane? He had a distinct feeling he was about to get bad news, and all of the scenarios were gonna take every ounce of his own capacity. "You doing okay, getting by, by yourself?" Pretendy-care-time. She seemed relieved. He'd paused for a long moment not knowing what to say, and it seemed that she didn't really want to talk about it either. "Oh, I get by. I'm waitressing. Got housing help and welfare and stuff. At this rate I'll wind up working until I go into contractions though, 'cause it doesn't pay everything." She kind of smiled. It was a real odd pride. Almost the mother-version of those bravado-tough street kids. "So. You're wrestling?" "Yeah," he nodded. "Hey, do what you know, fighting. A hell of a lot less legally risky than being a professional thief. Though pro-wrestling's probably less cool sounding." "Oh, I don't know. I don't know why you didn't ever go to school though. IF anybody would've it would've been you." He raised an eyebrow. That was really weird to hear now. It was like she was talking about a different person, like she had mistaken him for somebody else, but just seeing her had brought a shade of that back. He'd been slipping here and there anyway. Headshake. None of that now. "Well, you know, college isn't exactly a popular attitude around here." "Yeah, but it's you. You were like teaching the teachers stuff by junior high. I didn't think you'd care." "Yeah and you notice by high school I'd stopped raising my hand in class? Smart kids get the shit stomped out of them." "Yeah, but you were still reading everything around you." "That's because people are fucking boring." "Yeah, and I also remember you smacking some bastard upside the head with a French dictionary in junior high and knocking him out. I just didn't picture you doing... this" She said it with distaste. Like she had room for distaste on someone else. "Had plenty of practice at getting my ass kicked and at least a little at kicking some ass back. Go with what you know." She shrugged. "I think you had a little more experience than you're going on with the ass kicking. You didn't do bad." "You have selective memory. So good to know I'm painted a badass now that I'm somebody." "Is there a Missus Badass?" He sighed. "Love sucks. Sometimes it feels great, but it's mostly just another way to bleed." She winced. He kicked himself. Sometimes empathy would be good to possess a little more of, or at least an idea of when to shut the hell up. "Well... don't tell me you're falling into that Dark Mysterious Loner Who's Cursed On Love image." He closed his eyes and tried not to heave on her. Just look at the Pepto-Bismol dress. Visual anti-nausea. Wait, no, that didn't help. "Eh. Well. There was, ah... somebody, a couple somebodies, but they're not really that kind of somebody." Why the fuck was he giving her this? "Oh. Well. Do you care about... them?" Does the concept of polygamy bother you, Crystal? It's not quite that. Polygamy implies marriage. Or at least relationship. "Not around anymore. Don't plan on any more of that sort of thing." "Well, maybe you should just take a risk." She really didn't get it and the only way was bluntness. "When I want your advice on my personal life, I'll ask for it. Until people start ice skating in hell, save your breath." Crickets. Small talk was really not working. "So. My dad?" She looked sort of faded, the explosive Van Gogh petunia dress even pinker with her paleness. "Yeah. I thought you oughta be sitting down for this." Blink. "Well. I am." "He's been... he passed on. About a month ago." * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * Calgary, Alberta, Canada March 17, 2008 9:25 p.m. * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * "Sometimes I think how odd it would be to catch a glimpse of the future, a quick view of events lying in store for us at some undisclosed date. Suppose we could peer through a tiny peephole in Time and chance upon a flash of what was coming up in the years ahead? "Some moments we saw would make no sense at all and some, I suspect, would frighten us beyond endurance. "If we knew what was looming, we'd avoid certain choices, select option B instead of A at the fork in the road: the job, the sex partner, the move to a new state, the alliance, the first drink, the elective medical procedure, the first hit, the long-anticipated ski trip that sounded like such fun until the dark rumble of the avalanche. If we understood the consequences of any given action, we could exercise discretion, thus restructuring our fate. "Time, of course, only runs in one direction, and it seems to do so in an orderly progression. Here in the blank and stony present we're shielded from the knowledge of the dangers that await us, protected from future horrors through blind innocence. "I'm sure, if Snakebite had been clairvoyant, he wouldn't have gone into our match with the mindset that it was for the Xtreme Title and that the Xtreme Title is the little people's belt. Why thank you, Snakey. You put a bigger insult on our Xtreme Champ, good old Timmy Tetragrammon, than I have so far-- without even trying. AND LOOK WHERE IT GOT YOU! You couldn't put your all in the match and you lost the potential world title shot. Someone up top made a decision and you were left grossly unprepared for what could've been exactly what you wanted. "I was waiting to hear you scream it to the mountains that you got screwed, but instead you addressed Shanel instead, with a side dish to Stevens. I can't say I blame you so much, I mean, in that situation I'd be wanting to dismiss such a shitty turn of circumstances myself. We wouldn't want anybody thinking on it too long. "If you really want to be a champion, a top level champion, not the 'little people's championship', this is what you get to go through. When you get where you're going, every single fucking bullseye will be on you. All the people backstage you might possibly think are your friends, they all want some accomplishment on their name. If you're thinking, somewhere back in that pea brain of yours, that Stevens was there because of me, you might be on to something. If you think I'm going to pick him up and pat him on the back if he loses to you this week, you haven't been to observant to who you're dealing with here. "And if you think you have the luxury of going into something half-cocked because you think it's not THE match you need to worry about, then you don't know shit about this business' real legacy and its real mechanics. No real 'champion' has the luxury of blundering through matches just because they aren't for the belt. They have to be on guard the whole time. You never know when something might turn up. That's the point of it. Of course you don't like it for what it's about, the whole reason you're so hot on this is because you want the big gold without the work. "Until then, sit the fuck down and shut up and keep the thumb up your ass, Snakebite, because then you won't raise your hand in class every time you think you have an answer to the question. This isn't about who you've fucked. That's easy to do, and it's easy to be disregarding. "I get it, I mean, your thing with Shanel. I get why Matthew Heart totally dismissed Echo Rayne last week and got owned by the girl for it. I'm not that complicated of a guy. I know that. I'm not stupid, but I'm not exactly apt with manners or formally collegiate-trained in my philosophy. My life would be considered by many to be crude and simple, I know that too. "I like being a guy. I mean, in this world we're immersed in right now? Women, mostly, are for fucking, or being involved with if you want some kids. Women don't count in that world, not unless they're one of the very few who can swing back and swing back hard. We have a couple of those here and a couple of them that I think are... in for a real rough ride. "Not saying it's right or wrong. Most people never realize that there's very few times when something we choose has anything to do with what happens to us. Free will? It is everywhere undone by arbitratiness: I do this, but it matters not a bit if I do the opposite. It doesn't matter who someone is inside, it matters what other people see. We can't judge who we are, we're too invested in ourselves to see ourselves without distortion. "Which is why I like being a guy. Whether I agree or disagree with the usual philosophy, I don't have to worry about it getting in my fucking way. I can tell people to get away from me while in a public place, and by and large they will. I like being muscle. I like hurting people. I like my job well enough, now at least. I like strip clubs, drinking, playing poker with some guys I met in a bar, fucking. I gave up the idea that there was really more to life than all this. "There isn't more to life. There just isn't anymore. I'm in the same place I was always trying to get out of being in, I'm just in it in a different way than predicted. There's no ambling around over somebody's shoulder and glowering for most of my paid time. Instead of being muscle for someone who wants an intimidating ornament who can act without holding back if there's a threat, I'm doing it... just for the sake of people who want to see a fight. I'm a muscle with a limited amount of free will, and I'm using it doing... this. "Whether you're a grocery store stock boy, personal bodyguard, club bouncer, arena security, professional fighter, you're a muscle for someone else's use. What's in your skull is entirely irrelevant. The only thoughts that matter belong to the guy with the money and the power. And at least one of the guys with money and power is my new favorite guy. Lance Mikes. "See, I entreated Snakebite last week to bring me a fight regardless of Timmy Tetragrammon or the Little People's Belt or the fact that he looks like a douchebag gym monkey. He... refused to do this. Now, I entreat you to realize why you're here, Heart. You're not here to put on a good match. You're here to be an easy meal for me on my way Insanity. Now don't get me wrong, I don't think I was given this shot with any plans of me actually winning it. They misspell my name two thirds of the time on the website, I'm not on the poster or the shirt and Al Locker doesn't wax poetic on me on his video blogs. I'm not kidding myself into thinking I was given this opportunity because Natural Selection screwed me and it's the right thing to do. The reason I think I'm in this position is because in this war of factions, Lance Mikes doesn't want anybody who's in Natural Selection going against his boy Tyke, nor does he want anybody in Defiance with Tyke facing him and compromising their alliance. I am here, I am convenient, I look enough like a main eventer for them to pretend they're serious. But at least I look like a main eventer, one day I might be a main eventer. Unfortunately for Matthew Heart, he will always look like a douchebag. A very generic, very marketable, never beyond midcard, douchebag. He's very in-the-box. So I'll try to be concise here, and use small words for him. "In memoriam... sorry, conclusion. In conclusion, the next time I hear anybody tell anybody to think outside the box, a crisis will arise. It’s gonna be amazing. I’m gonna grab them, take them to my house, Google search for the tallest flight of stairs in the world, buy two plane tickets there, drag them to the top of the stairs and push. Oh, and of course I’ll videotape it. I can’t wait to send it in to Real TV for a small undisclosed cash sum. In memory of Matthew Heart, I’ll have my nonexistent friends over the day it airs and buy some chips and dip and a case of better beer than an unemployed person should be buying. I should also mention that I’ll rescue the person and get to go on a morning talk show. I’ll be especially charming and be booked on the other networks’ morning shows and get to be Jay’s last guest of the night. I’ll stretch my fifteen minutes any way I can think of. I’ll buy a tan and get my hair cut just like Heart's so I can look like a homogeneous douche just like him, in preparation for my week on Hollywood Squares. I’ll try but not get selected for a celebrity reality show where I could’ve jumped into a pile of cow shit and then gossiped about how badly the others smelled. I’m also gonna coauthor a book on finding the inner hero in you. Heart, neither you nor I will fade from the spotlight gracefully. It’s not a question anymore whether or not we will whore ourselves out, it’s 'Who’s the highest bidder?' "Tonight, Matthew, I have your number."[/align] |
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6:58 PM Jul 11