Post by Press1269 on Feb 27, 2016 3:55:43 GMT
AUGUST 17th, 1699
NEWBERRY, ENGLAND
THE OUTSKIRTS OF TOWN
1100 ACRE FIELDS: Twilight
::Larry Winterstorm rides hard upon his steed...the corn fields far behind him in the darkened night. His eyes look about the small town of Newberry down below. He knows that it won't take him long if he rides hard and fast. His horse however would be the decider of that. The steam rises from the great beasts mouth....it's black mane matted up with mud that had flew up on it's speedy endeavor to the outskirts of Newberry. The young man had been followed by something, and he needed shelter. Shelter from the storm that was brewing above his head...shelter from the demons behind him. He had left Newkirk possiably thirty minuetes ago...he was unsure. Unsure of himself if he had seen such abominations, or if he had imagined them. Unsure as to whether he would make it to the town down below him. Winterstorm spurs the large hessian horse, and it rears up...and then hits down with his front hooves causing the ground to shake. Suddenly in one large stride that starts it all, Larry Winterstorm. is thrown forward as the Horse soars into motion. Larry leans forward....holding onto the reigns....feeling the power of the massive animal between his legs. The hooves striking the mud sounded like thunder as the horses long strides brought him closer and closer to the town. He heard something make a break alongside him in the woods off to his right. An animal with top speed...able to out run such a magnificent horse such as his. Larry reaches over taking his family sword from it's sheath...as he thunders out onto the main trail. The leaves & trees speed along beside him as his eyes shift back and forth between blurs of darkness. Pitch black were these woods...nothing good could come of such a place. He felt the evil bark of deadend trees push out onto the trail...covering the road from all light that the moon could provide.
An eery feeling passes over Larry Winterstorm, as if the evil pursuit had passed from behind him to in front of him. Larry's curious nature takes over as he finds himself turn his head backwards to see where his pursuers would be. Nothing but blackness followed him and the massive steed he rode on. He found some comfort in that, as he turned slowly back around. The large branch that Larry didn't see coming catches him right across the bridge of the nose, and knocks him hard from his horse. He lands flat on his back with a thud, rolling with the impact all the way down a hill conveniently at the edge of where he had landed. Winterstorm is able to stop himself from rolling, and he rubs his forehead as he sits up to an upright position. He gasps as two glowing eyes stare back at him...a low grumble for a growl within it's throat. He slowly kicks forwards against ground to push himself away from the unseen horror before him. His eyes fixated upon the beast that now can be seen showing a light glimar of white....indicating rows of teeth. Winterstorm quickly tredges backwards....his breathing accelerated to match his heart. Eyes fluttering in under his own fear..as he suddenly loses hold of solid ground, and falls backwards.....catching hold of something wooden as he falls. He is surrounded by darkness once again.....the pair of eyes gone. He breathes in a sigh of relief, as he looks about him. Nothing...pitch black.
A sudden crack of thunder and a single bolt streaks across the air, allowing a blue haze to fall upon where young Winterstorm is positioned. He looks down to his horror, to a rocky gorge...a good 50 feet below him. His strong grip around an English Oak Tree's root! His breathing catches up to his heart once again, as he struggles now with his feet to find a footing. He squirms against the rock face where he is suspended to try and pull himself back up. He reaches upward, only to feel hot breath upon his fingers. He stops, and shrieks back suddenly...almost losing his grip on the large root. He stares upwards to see the pair of glowing eyes have returned only to watch his peril. The lightening flashes across the sky again, lighting up the area for Winterstorm to see a large wolf at the ledge. At the sudden light, and seeing Winterstorm for the first time in plain sight...the wolf lets out a sharp growl. Reaching down with it's snout, it takes a snap at Winterstorm's fingers. As if an instinct, Larry allows his finger to slip out of reach of the snarling teeth....but also completely off of the root holding him up. He yells all the way down....untill his fall is ended with a sudden splat. His skull striking the rocks below first....causing it to sink into his brain with a sickening squishing sound. The glowing eyes peer down into the gorge, and suddenly vanish.
THE NEXT MORNING
::A young boy walks with his sheep dog close by along the roadside of the western woods, the quickest route to Newkirk. It was a known fact to anyone from Newberry, that at night it was almost impossiable to see where the road dropped off to a 50 foot gorge. It was said that there was a young man who took his life there after his love had ran off with another man. However the man didn't die from the drop...but instead was paralyzed unfortunately for him. For this is wolf country, and without the use of his legs & arms to crawl his way out....he was consumed alive by the viscous beasts. It was always said that his spirit haunted this area in the form of a large wolf. The boy showed no fear however...for it was day...and in the early morn. It wasn't like a spirit would just come out attacking someone during the day. So the boy slowly strolled past the gorge...without a thought. That is untill a large black steed came crashing out of the woods in front of him. The loud, wide eyed call of the horse frightened the boy as he falls to his rear. The dog barking loudly to the horse, stirring up it's anger. Slowly but surely the horse calms itself, and the boy regains his control over fear. He slowly gets up as the horse comes closer and closer to the edge to peer over. The young boy slowly steps over that way...and looks over warily. Down below is a man....in his early twenties....dried blood all around his skull from where it had poured out. The boy shrieks, and it isn't to long before a near by villiager comes rushing to the scene.
It takes a few long minuetes to scale down the gorge to retrieve the body of Winterstorm. They connect him to a harnass, and hoist him out slowly but surely. Making sure to not turn the job into an all day affair. The townspeople were smart enough not to pass by this area at night. Upon geting his body out of the gorge, they load him up onto a wagon...and wheel him back to town. Upon examining his body, they find 30 gold pieces...a dagger in his boot.....and a golden cross, with his family's crest upon the front of it. Everything is taken from him, but the cross. It is sent back to the Winterstorm estate in Northern England. One thing you do not do...is stand in the way of the passing down of family heirlooms. Especially ones with the family crest embeded right upon it.
AUGUST 17th, 2001
CHARLOTTE, NORTH CAROLINA
THE STORM ESTATE
THE HERE AND NOW: 1:00p.m.
::Lightening flashes as Johnny Storm passes by a glass casing containing a cross passed down many years within his family. The sudden flash of light in the otherwise dark room cast a glow upon the cross. It had been said that this cross had a great history...and followed Storm's family all the way back to when his family was called Winterstorm in northern england. The lights had been cut out. Not always an odd thing...but something troublesome non the less in a 256 room home such as this. Johnny Storm stalks through the hallway, not paying the cross any attention. It had been in under that glass case for years now...and Johnny didn't even like it all that much. However...it was apart of his family...so he supposed that it would be nice to display it, however ugly it may have been. Storm slowly starts to the edge of the room....and finds a small cubard like door, and opens it fully....a flash light tucked in under his chin as he eyes the circuit breakers in front of him. He shakes his head in confusion as he reads over the labels. Did he really have this many rooms in his house? And why the hell didn't he visit them more often if he did? Storm finally finds what appears to be the right switch, and flicks it. This triggers a mechanisim out in a tool shed about 100 yards away from the large mansion, causing a high powered generator to start up. Soon enough....the lights flicker a bit....but then come back on, shining with full power. To half the house anyways. Storm closes the cubard like door, and steps away for a moment. Looking around the room where the breaker happened to be. This if nothing else could be considered the family room. Tapestries and ancient writings...artifacts...and little what nots in under glass case, depicting Johnny Storm's family tree. Little heirlooms that his family had picked up through the 100's of years of their existance. Unlike most people, Johnny Storm had the money to track his family tree back to the point of origin. Even to the point before christ. However...there were missing links, links that would probably never be told. There were also stories...wise tales....of mystic origins within some of the tombs of his family members. Storm of coarse being the collosal wrestling giant he was...wouldn't allow this to come to the press. Matter of fact...Johnny Storm had enough money, that he wouldn't have to worry about anything anyone else had to say about him. And the public knew it.
Storm slips out of the room, after examining a few relics, and then starts down a long hallway to his study. Upon entering he see's GWA reporter....Ross Bobby sitting in an expensive leather seat, with his camera already set up at the desk. Storm shakes his head at the audacity of the reporter, but also admired it. Although there wasn't much at all to admire about Ross Bobby, besides his ability to be as ass backwards as his name sounds. Storm steps into the room, and starts over to the seat behind the desk..plopping down, and giving Ross an evil eye. The reporter simply delivers a trademark stupid grin, and leans back in his seat.::
Johnny Storm: Comfy?
Ross Bobby: Very!
Johnny Storm: You Should be. That's Italian Leather.
Ross Bobby: Really? I would have never guessed in a house like this.
::Ross snickers at his snide comment as Storm eyes him, and then grows a sarcastic smile of his own.::
Johnny Storm: So what do you want Ross? GWA buisness?
Ross Bobby: (looking a little more serious) Well no actually....FWF buisness.
Johnny Storm: (rolling his eyes) Oh great....who do I face this week? I've already beat Scarlett's ass...and that doesn't mean she didn't deserve it!
Ross Bobby: Well what does it mean?
Johnny Storm: It just means...she stood in the way. That's all.....
::Storm's eyes seem to trail off for a few moments, but Ross Bobby's annoying voice brings him back to reality.::
Ross Bobby: Well...you've advanced, just like you said you would. Now..you have Mezro.
Johnny Storm: Who?
Ross Bobby: Mezro.
Johnny Storm: um...Ross...I ask again...WHO?
Ross Bobby: (chuckling a bit) Mezro...he seems to be not half bad.
Johnny Storm: What federation does he represent if any?
Ross Bobby: (looking over a piece of paper that appeared out of no where) It says here....actually it doesn't say here.
Johnny Storm: Great. Another no name who will probably shoot his mouth off about nothing. God Damn it Ross..what do they pay you for? Why don't you go serve Steven Fury(GWA President) Some coffee or somethin'. Quit harrassing us working class...
::Ross looks around his lavish surroundings, and turns to storm with a questioning glance.::
Johnny Storm: OH ALRIGHT! Maybe working class was the wrong term...um....us....innocent wrestlers!
::Again..a questioning glance::
Johnny Storm: OH OK! We're not all that innocent either. Well.....just quit harrassing ME! Johnny Storm...the Gladiator Champion. The GWA's Number One Man....the guy who is going to win this tournament, hands down by beating a bitch ass mother trucker named Mezro.
Ross Bobby: Perhaps you would like to see his interview about you?
Johnny Storm: You have an interview...well why didn't you say so dumb ass. Jesus Ross....you are the most ass backwards son of a gopher I know!
::Ross simply sighs, used to the verbal abuse by now....as he pulls a video tape forth from his bag. Storm takes it..and places it into a hidden compartment. Just at that moment, the beautiful mahogany desk opens up in a section, and a television/computer monitor pushes up and out of the desk into plain view. There on the screan is Mezro, spouting off something or another about wasting time.::
Johnny Storm: Ok...what the hell is that about?
Ross Bobby: I don't know.
Johnny Storm: Well Ross...did you do any freakin' back ground work at all? Where did this guy come from?
Ross Bobby: Good question...I don't know that either.
Johnny Storm: So what your saying is that this guy who's advanced to the third round, who has no clue as to what is going on around him....who's talking about time...and actilng like a complete ass....is a no name?
Ross Bobby: Looks like it to me....although.....(stops as if to think)...no, I was right the first time. Doesn't ring a bell.
Johnny Storm: Isn't this just like the FWF! They put Johnny Storm in a brackett full of no name jobbers except for Scarlett Rayne Sengir. Why the hell do I even bother with this tournament. Here we have this jack ass come out onto national television, and talk like he's dislexic and couldn't read the freakin' cue cards. Then..ontop of all of that...he's got the audacity to say that I am a no name? A NO NAME ROSS? Let me make something clear to you at the FWF. Your name states it all. You may like to think that it means you stand for the fans.......but we all know that you are the fans. The fans of the GWA...who wish that you could make it into my league, but don't have a freakin' prayer! This time...I'm just past a little pissed, and I'm elevated all the way to "I'm going to whip this bitch's ass" pissed!
Mezro...listen up, and listen good. Take a long look at the television screan...and let me teach you how to cut a promo. Now I know that my house probably doesn't impress you. I know that my vintage car collection probably doesn't impress you. I know the fact that I am a multi-billionaire doesn't impress you. I know that my ring presense doesn't impress you. I know that my talent doesn't impress you. I know this interview...probably won't impress you. The point Mezro is this...I don't have to impress you, to beat you. Matter of fact....by looking at your effort to cut a promo....it don't have to do much at all to beat you either.
Looking around myself, I am honestly sick to my stomach at what kind of talent they allow within these walls. Actually...the lack there of is more accurate. The ability to speak doesn't make one intelligent, and I believe you proved that when you first opened your mouth. Which begs the question....in a world that dictates that Ignorance Kills......then why the hell are you not dead yet?
Now that I've told you what you probably think about the situation you are in...let me tell you what doesn't impress me about you. The fact that you pathetically attempted to put more than three words in a sentence, doesn't impress me much. Perhaps you should stick to simple statements...something your familiar with...like...I got Potty, or...I like beans. Whatever you want...just don't strain yourself anymore trying to be articulate, cause for someone like you....it could cause death! Another thing about you that doesn't impress me much, is your ability to attract out of work canadian skank ass ho's! If you wanted that kind of attention, all you had to do was go back home to mother, and have some more fun with your cousins.
You Mezro..are a biproduct of when animals attack. Your mother was raped by a donkey...cause in closing...you are most deffinently a JACK ASS!
::Ross chuckles to himself, as he shuts off the camera. He then starts packing up immediatly, cause he knows better than to stick around. Johnny Storm leans back in his chair...looking to the still shot of Mezro with his mouth wide open, spitting shit out into a camera as if he were of importance. The truth was that if Mezro hated wasting time...then he must have hated himself. Actually..scratch that....Mezro wasn't even a waste of time...he was just simply a waste. And Johnny Storm knew he would end up just like all the rest....
FACE DOWN
ASS UP
IN A POOL OF YOUR OWN F*CKING BLOOD!!
NEWBERRY, ENGLAND
THE OUTSKIRTS OF TOWN
1100 ACRE FIELDS: Twilight
::Larry Winterstorm rides hard upon his steed...the corn fields far behind him in the darkened night. His eyes look about the small town of Newberry down below. He knows that it won't take him long if he rides hard and fast. His horse however would be the decider of that. The steam rises from the great beasts mouth....it's black mane matted up with mud that had flew up on it's speedy endeavor to the outskirts of Newberry. The young man had been followed by something, and he needed shelter. Shelter from the storm that was brewing above his head...shelter from the demons behind him. He had left Newkirk possiably thirty minuetes ago...he was unsure. Unsure of himself if he had seen such abominations, or if he had imagined them. Unsure as to whether he would make it to the town down below him. Winterstorm spurs the large hessian horse, and it rears up...and then hits down with his front hooves causing the ground to shake. Suddenly in one large stride that starts it all, Larry Winterstorm. is thrown forward as the Horse soars into motion. Larry leans forward....holding onto the reigns....feeling the power of the massive animal between his legs. The hooves striking the mud sounded like thunder as the horses long strides brought him closer and closer to the town. He heard something make a break alongside him in the woods off to his right. An animal with top speed...able to out run such a magnificent horse such as his. Larry reaches over taking his family sword from it's sheath...as he thunders out onto the main trail. The leaves & trees speed along beside him as his eyes shift back and forth between blurs of darkness. Pitch black were these woods...nothing good could come of such a place. He felt the evil bark of deadend trees push out onto the trail...covering the road from all light that the moon could provide.
An eery feeling passes over Larry Winterstorm, as if the evil pursuit had passed from behind him to in front of him. Larry's curious nature takes over as he finds himself turn his head backwards to see where his pursuers would be. Nothing but blackness followed him and the massive steed he rode on. He found some comfort in that, as he turned slowly back around. The large branch that Larry didn't see coming catches him right across the bridge of the nose, and knocks him hard from his horse. He lands flat on his back with a thud, rolling with the impact all the way down a hill conveniently at the edge of where he had landed. Winterstorm is able to stop himself from rolling, and he rubs his forehead as he sits up to an upright position. He gasps as two glowing eyes stare back at him...a low grumble for a growl within it's throat. He slowly kicks forwards against ground to push himself away from the unseen horror before him. His eyes fixated upon the beast that now can be seen showing a light glimar of white....indicating rows of teeth. Winterstorm quickly tredges backwards....his breathing accelerated to match his heart. Eyes fluttering in under his own fear..as he suddenly loses hold of solid ground, and falls backwards.....catching hold of something wooden as he falls. He is surrounded by darkness once again.....the pair of eyes gone. He breathes in a sigh of relief, as he looks about him. Nothing...pitch black.
A sudden crack of thunder and a single bolt streaks across the air, allowing a blue haze to fall upon where young Winterstorm is positioned. He looks down to his horror, to a rocky gorge...a good 50 feet below him. His strong grip around an English Oak Tree's root! His breathing catches up to his heart once again, as he struggles now with his feet to find a footing. He squirms against the rock face where he is suspended to try and pull himself back up. He reaches upward, only to feel hot breath upon his fingers. He stops, and shrieks back suddenly...almost losing his grip on the large root. He stares upwards to see the pair of glowing eyes have returned only to watch his peril. The lightening flashes across the sky again, lighting up the area for Winterstorm to see a large wolf at the ledge. At the sudden light, and seeing Winterstorm for the first time in plain sight...the wolf lets out a sharp growl. Reaching down with it's snout, it takes a snap at Winterstorm's fingers. As if an instinct, Larry allows his finger to slip out of reach of the snarling teeth....but also completely off of the root holding him up. He yells all the way down....untill his fall is ended with a sudden splat. His skull striking the rocks below first....causing it to sink into his brain with a sickening squishing sound. The glowing eyes peer down into the gorge, and suddenly vanish.
THE NEXT MORNING
::A young boy walks with his sheep dog close by along the roadside of the western woods, the quickest route to Newkirk. It was a known fact to anyone from Newberry, that at night it was almost impossiable to see where the road dropped off to a 50 foot gorge. It was said that there was a young man who took his life there after his love had ran off with another man. However the man didn't die from the drop...but instead was paralyzed unfortunately for him. For this is wolf country, and without the use of his legs & arms to crawl his way out....he was consumed alive by the viscous beasts. It was always said that his spirit haunted this area in the form of a large wolf. The boy showed no fear however...for it was day...and in the early morn. It wasn't like a spirit would just come out attacking someone during the day. So the boy slowly strolled past the gorge...without a thought. That is untill a large black steed came crashing out of the woods in front of him. The loud, wide eyed call of the horse frightened the boy as he falls to his rear. The dog barking loudly to the horse, stirring up it's anger. Slowly but surely the horse calms itself, and the boy regains his control over fear. He slowly gets up as the horse comes closer and closer to the edge to peer over. The young boy slowly steps over that way...and looks over warily. Down below is a man....in his early twenties....dried blood all around his skull from where it had poured out. The boy shrieks, and it isn't to long before a near by villiager comes rushing to the scene.
It takes a few long minuetes to scale down the gorge to retrieve the body of Winterstorm. They connect him to a harnass, and hoist him out slowly but surely. Making sure to not turn the job into an all day affair. The townspeople were smart enough not to pass by this area at night. Upon geting his body out of the gorge, they load him up onto a wagon...and wheel him back to town. Upon examining his body, they find 30 gold pieces...a dagger in his boot.....and a golden cross, with his family's crest upon the front of it. Everything is taken from him, but the cross. It is sent back to the Winterstorm estate in Northern England. One thing you do not do...is stand in the way of the passing down of family heirlooms. Especially ones with the family crest embeded right upon it.
AUGUST 17th, 2001
CHARLOTTE, NORTH CAROLINA
THE STORM ESTATE
THE HERE AND NOW: 1:00p.m.
::Lightening flashes as Johnny Storm passes by a glass casing containing a cross passed down many years within his family. The sudden flash of light in the otherwise dark room cast a glow upon the cross. It had been said that this cross had a great history...and followed Storm's family all the way back to when his family was called Winterstorm in northern england. The lights had been cut out. Not always an odd thing...but something troublesome non the less in a 256 room home such as this. Johnny Storm stalks through the hallway, not paying the cross any attention. It had been in under that glass case for years now...and Johnny didn't even like it all that much. However...it was apart of his family...so he supposed that it would be nice to display it, however ugly it may have been. Storm slowly starts to the edge of the room....and finds a small cubard like door, and opens it fully....a flash light tucked in under his chin as he eyes the circuit breakers in front of him. He shakes his head in confusion as he reads over the labels. Did he really have this many rooms in his house? And why the hell didn't he visit them more often if he did? Storm finally finds what appears to be the right switch, and flicks it. This triggers a mechanisim out in a tool shed about 100 yards away from the large mansion, causing a high powered generator to start up. Soon enough....the lights flicker a bit....but then come back on, shining with full power. To half the house anyways. Storm closes the cubard like door, and steps away for a moment. Looking around the room where the breaker happened to be. This if nothing else could be considered the family room. Tapestries and ancient writings...artifacts...and little what nots in under glass case, depicting Johnny Storm's family tree. Little heirlooms that his family had picked up through the 100's of years of their existance. Unlike most people, Johnny Storm had the money to track his family tree back to the point of origin. Even to the point before christ. However...there were missing links, links that would probably never be told. There were also stories...wise tales....of mystic origins within some of the tombs of his family members. Storm of coarse being the collosal wrestling giant he was...wouldn't allow this to come to the press. Matter of fact...Johnny Storm had enough money, that he wouldn't have to worry about anything anyone else had to say about him. And the public knew it.
Storm slips out of the room, after examining a few relics, and then starts down a long hallway to his study. Upon entering he see's GWA reporter....Ross Bobby sitting in an expensive leather seat, with his camera already set up at the desk. Storm shakes his head at the audacity of the reporter, but also admired it. Although there wasn't much at all to admire about Ross Bobby, besides his ability to be as ass backwards as his name sounds. Storm steps into the room, and starts over to the seat behind the desk..plopping down, and giving Ross an evil eye. The reporter simply delivers a trademark stupid grin, and leans back in his seat.::
Johnny Storm: Comfy?
Ross Bobby: Very!
Johnny Storm: You Should be. That's Italian Leather.
Ross Bobby: Really? I would have never guessed in a house like this.
::Ross snickers at his snide comment as Storm eyes him, and then grows a sarcastic smile of his own.::
Johnny Storm: So what do you want Ross? GWA buisness?
Ross Bobby: (looking a little more serious) Well no actually....FWF buisness.
Johnny Storm: (rolling his eyes) Oh great....who do I face this week? I've already beat Scarlett's ass...and that doesn't mean she didn't deserve it!
Ross Bobby: Well what does it mean?
Johnny Storm: It just means...she stood in the way. That's all.....
::Storm's eyes seem to trail off for a few moments, but Ross Bobby's annoying voice brings him back to reality.::
Ross Bobby: Well...you've advanced, just like you said you would. Now..you have Mezro.
Johnny Storm: Who?
Ross Bobby: Mezro.
Johnny Storm: um...Ross...I ask again...WHO?
Ross Bobby: (chuckling a bit) Mezro...he seems to be not half bad.
Johnny Storm: What federation does he represent if any?
Ross Bobby: (looking over a piece of paper that appeared out of no where) It says here....actually it doesn't say here.
Johnny Storm: Great. Another no name who will probably shoot his mouth off about nothing. God Damn it Ross..what do they pay you for? Why don't you go serve Steven Fury(GWA President) Some coffee or somethin'. Quit harrassing us working class...
::Ross looks around his lavish surroundings, and turns to storm with a questioning glance.::
Johnny Storm: OH ALRIGHT! Maybe working class was the wrong term...um....us....innocent wrestlers!
::Again..a questioning glance::
Johnny Storm: OH OK! We're not all that innocent either. Well.....just quit harrassing ME! Johnny Storm...the Gladiator Champion. The GWA's Number One Man....the guy who is going to win this tournament, hands down by beating a bitch ass mother trucker named Mezro.
Ross Bobby: Perhaps you would like to see his interview about you?
Johnny Storm: You have an interview...well why didn't you say so dumb ass. Jesus Ross....you are the most ass backwards son of a gopher I know!
::Ross simply sighs, used to the verbal abuse by now....as he pulls a video tape forth from his bag. Storm takes it..and places it into a hidden compartment. Just at that moment, the beautiful mahogany desk opens up in a section, and a television/computer monitor pushes up and out of the desk into plain view. There on the screan is Mezro, spouting off something or another about wasting time.::
Johnny Storm: Ok...what the hell is that about?
Ross Bobby: I don't know.
Johnny Storm: Well Ross...did you do any freakin' back ground work at all? Where did this guy come from?
Ross Bobby: Good question...I don't know that either.
Johnny Storm: So what your saying is that this guy who's advanced to the third round, who has no clue as to what is going on around him....who's talking about time...and actilng like a complete ass....is a no name?
Ross Bobby: Looks like it to me....although.....(stops as if to think)...no, I was right the first time. Doesn't ring a bell.
Johnny Storm: Isn't this just like the FWF! They put Johnny Storm in a brackett full of no name jobbers except for Scarlett Rayne Sengir. Why the hell do I even bother with this tournament. Here we have this jack ass come out onto national television, and talk like he's dislexic and couldn't read the freakin' cue cards. Then..ontop of all of that...he's got the audacity to say that I am a no name? A NO NAME ROSS? Let me make something clear to you at the FWF. Your name states it all. You may like to think that it means you stand for the fans.......but we all know that you are the fans. The fans of the GWA...who wish that you could make it into my league, but don't have a freakin' prayer! This time...I'm just past a little pissed, and I'm elevated all the way to "I'm going to whip this bitch's ass" pissed!
Mezro...listen up, and listen good. Take a long look at the television screan...and let me teach you how to cut a promo. Now I know that my house probably doesn't impress you. I know that my vintage car collection probably doesn't impress you. I know the fact that I am a multi-billionaire doesn't impress you. I know that my ring presense doesn't impress you. I know that my talent doesn't impress you. I know this interview...probably won't impress you. The point Mezro is this...I don't have to impress you, to beat you. Matter of fact....by looking at your effort to cut a promo....it don't have to do much at all to beat you either.
Looking around myself, I am honestly sick to my stomach at what kind of talent they allow within these walls. Actually...the lack there of is more accurate. The ability to speak doesn't make one intelligent, and I believe you proved that when you first opened your mouth. Which begs the question....in a world that dictates that Ignorance Kills......then why the hell are you not dead yet?
Now that I've told you what you probably think about the situation you are in...let me tell you what doesn't impress me about you. The fact that you pathetically attempted to put more than three words in a sentence, doesn't impress me much. Perhaps you should stick to simple statements...something your familiar with...like...I got Potty, or...I like beans. Whatever you want...just don't strain yourself anymore trying to be articulate, cause for someone like you....it could cause death! Another thing about you that doesn't impress me much, is your ability to attract out of work canadian skank ass ho's! If you wanted that kind of attention, all you had to do was go back home to mother, and have some more fun with your cousins.
You Mezro..are a biproduct of when animals attack. Your mother was raped by a donkey...cause in closing...you are most deffinently a JACK ASS!
::Ross chuckles to himself, as he shuts off the camera. He then starts packing up immediatly, cause he knows better than to stick around. Johnny Storm leans back in his chair...looking to the still shot of Mezro with his mouth wide open, spitting shit out into a camera as if he were of importance. The truth was that if Mezro hated wasting time...then he must have hated himself. Actually..scratch that....Mezro wasn't even a waste of time...he was just simply a waste. And Johnny Storm knew he would end up just like all the rest....
FACE DOWN
ASS UP
IN A POOL OF YOUR OWN F*CKING BLOOD!!