Post by freak on Oct 3, 2010 1:14:09 GMT -6
We join Chris P. in a hallway.
Oh, Kevin, you wonder why people don't take you seriously. I think you just proved the point that we've been making about you all along...that you aren't able to conduct yourself in the ring without putting someone through a sheet of glass. I mean, come on. You embarrassed yourself in the match last time out and it really doesn't matter that we made you look like you tapped out. Hell, if anything, we saved you from further embarrassment. Benson did his job...powerbombed the everloving fuck out of you and knocked you out. It was only gonna be a matter of time before the referee woke up, crawled over to the dead weight you were leaving in the ring, and lifted your iifeless arm three times. You lost, suck it up.
You know, I went over this again and I have to ask the question...why are you the captain of this team? I look at your team and I see Andy Lionheart, a much better wrestler than you. I see the so called Dark Sun...if he can ever stop crying long enough to step in the ring, better. Hellspawn is what he is. So tell me, when I'm faced with all of that, why do you stand out instantly as the team captain? You sure as hell didn't do your team any favors last time out, no?
I'm a man of few words and a man of little patience when it comes to you, but thankfully for me you seem to want to keep things brief. Therefore, so too shall I. You seem to think that just because Strickler, Benson, Mueller, and I don't subscribe to the same idea of what makes a wrestler what he is, we're scared of you and your team. Rest assured that nothing could be further from the truth. All four of us have been in some of the most brutal matches you've ever seen. Where people bled naturally, not because somebody cracked them in the head with a flourescent light tube. Where we got scars because of the shots we took, not because some idiot decided to put staples through some guy's forehead.
You see, back in the early days, when men were men and little kids like you stayed in the stands with mommy and daddy where you belonged, the only time you ever used a weapon- hell, the only weapon you had was a chair. Maybe a tire-iron or the occassional wrench somebody snuck in. It's an old part of the business. But people like you bastardized it all. You raid the dumpsters at a local machinery plant to find whatever the hell you want, go to Home Depot and buy cheap-ass garbage cans, go steal a shopping cart from Albertsons or Tom Thumb, throw in a couple of street signs you pulled out from an intersection in the sticks, wheel it into the venue, and instantly you think you're a wrestler.
Excuse us if we laugh at the way you operate. Actually, you know what? Screw that. Go hide in a corner and cover your ears. Stand there going "lalalalalala, my way's better than yous". I don't give two flying shits. It's not gonna matter in the end. The Greater Good shall emerge victorious, and all you'll have to look forward to is that embarrassing loss Strickler's gonna lay on you in that whatever the hell it's called match that you think he won't attempt to participate in because he doesn't like hardcore wrestling.
Now run along, kid. I heard Whataburger is hiring.
Chris P. sits there laughing for a few minutes.
Oh, Kevin, you wonder why people don't take you seriously. I think you just proved the point that we've been making about you all along...that you aren't able to conduct yourself in the ring without putting someone through a sheet of glass. I mean, come on. You embarrassed yourself in the match last time out and it really doesn't matter that we made you look like you tapped out. Hell, if anything, we saved you from further embarrassment. Benson did his job...powerbombed the everloving fuck out of you and knocked you out. It was only gonna be a matter of time before the referee woke up, crawled over to the dead weight you were leaving in the ring, and lifted your iifeless arm three times. You lost, suck it up.
You know, I went over this again and I have to ask the question...why are you the captain of this team? I look at your team and I see Andy Lionheart, a much better wrestler than you. I see the so called Dark Sun...if he can ever stop crying long enough to step in the ring, better. Hellspawn is what he is. So tell me, when I'm faced with all of that, why do you stand out instantly as the team captain? You sure as hell didn't do your team any favors last time out, no?
I'm a man of few words and a man of little patience when it comes to you, but thankfully for me you seem to want to keep things brief. Therefore, so too shall I. You seem to think that just because Strickler, Benson, Mueller, and I don't subscribe to the same idea of what makes a wrestler what he is, we're scared of you and your team. Rest assured that nothing could be further from the truth. All four of us have been in some of the most brutal matches you've ever seen. Where people bled naturally, not because somebody cracked them in the head with a flourescent light tube. Where we got scars because of the shots we took, not because some idiot decided to put staples through some guy's forehead.
You see, back in the early days, when men were men and little kids like you stayed in the stands with mommy and daddy where you belonged, the only time you ever used a weapon- hell, the only weapon you had was a chair. Maybe a tire-iron or the occassional wrench somebody snuck in. It's an old part of the business. But people like you bastardized it all. You raid the dumpsters at a local machinery plant to find whatever the hell you want, go to Home Depot and buy cheap-ass garbage cans, go steal a shopping cart from Albertsons or Tom Thumb, throw in a couple of street signs you pulled out from an intersection in the sticks, wheel it into the venue, and instantly you think you're a wrestler.
Excuse us if we laugh at the way you operate. Actually, you know what? Screw that. Go hide in a corner and cover your ears. Stand there going "lalalalalala, my way's better than yous". I don't give two flying shits. It's not gonna matter in the end. The Greater Good shall emerge victorious, and all you'll have to look forward to is that embarrassing loss Strickler's gonna lay on you in that whatever the hell it's called match that you think he won't attempt to participate in because he doesn't like hardcore wrestling.
Now run along, kid. I heard Whataburger is hiring.
Chris P. sits there laughing for a few minutes.
