Post by coolrifletk47 on Oct 20, 2020 16:05:10 GMT -5
OOC NOTE: This RP takes place directly after the attack on Kain, Pierre, and GOAT just before the end of Showcase 21. This RP does take place after this week’s RP titled The Dangers of Impulse Shopping)
Tell me they are going to be okay
Well sir we are going to take them to the medical facility and have them checked out but until we know the extent.
Maybe I wasn’t clear, TELL ME THAT THEY ARE GOING TO BE OKAY!!!
Sir we really need to get them to the Emergency facility.
With those words the white and red ambulance speeds away. Meanwhile, Tommy Kain, the OPW X-core champion, with bloodstained face and a look in his eyes that the OPW quite possibly has never seen. A hatred, a burning, seething hatred causes the pupils in Tommy Kain’s eyes to narrow to almost a pin-point. He sits on the ground and runs his hands through his blood and sweat matted hair. He appears to take a few deep breaths, seemingly an attempt to calm himself before he looks straight up into the OPW camera lens.
Again, those eyes, blood shot, displaying a mixture of grief, loss, sadness, and most of all an almost homicidal brand of hatred peer into the picture box and begin to speak.
Okay Brandon, you decided to play the game that way huh?
“The whiney child screaming for attention” bit
You low rent, five and dime, wannabe hardcore hack motherfucker. You could have just came at me like a man. You could have just walked out on live television, grabbed a microphone and said you wanted to have some words with me.
Hell, you could have approached me in the locker room with a half a bottle of Jose or Maker’s Mark and told me we needed to have a talk. But ya couldn’t do that could ya?
Mostly because you are a one note stroke, but besides that you are also a cowardly lion motherfucker with an axe to grind. Mad at the wrestling world because you just couldn’t stay relevant. Because no matter how much you mutilated yourself, no matter how many times you set yourself on fire, no matter how many times you flew through your homemade erector sets of tables, ladders, and chairs, there wasn’t enough Ex-Lax in the world to make anybody give a shit about you.
But you decided you had to keep pushing didn’t you?
It wasn’t enough for you to put your nasty little hands on me. Because you already knew deep down in that empty hole where your heart is supposed to be that I have taken a million ass beatings from dudes who were twice the man you could ever hope to be. Hell, I have taken ass beatings from women who were twice the man you will ever be you cut rate, My Chemical Romance knockoff.
“Oh look at me, I am so sad, I am gonna sit in the corner and listen to Skinny Puppy while I cut myself because then the world will know how hardcore I am.”
No, no, no sunshine, you can try as hard as you want but this X-Core title has moved past you. It is beyond you know. It has moved on to something better. You can take your act back to the flea markets, backyards, Bingo Halls, and bankrupted skate parks. You can go back to being the be all and end all to basement dwelling dudes with Cheeto covered fingers who are still touching themselves to people attacking each other with power drills in deathmatch highlights with their Grandparents Wi-Fi.
But before you go back to your land of no talent and less personality, you and me are gonna have it out.
And this time you are gonna have to look me in the eyes. You are gonna have to stand face to face with me Sweet cheeks. And I am gonna beat you like a cheap rug before grandma arrives on Thanksgiving day.
Because now you’ve gone and made it personal. Now you put your hands on my two best friends in the entire known universe. Two people who help me wake up every day and see the bright side son. The two beings in this world that bring a smile to my face even on my worst day.
I had to watch as each of them were loaded up into a FUCKING AMBULANCE!!!
All because you don’t know when to quit. All because you want so bad to be important. All because you wanted some attention.
Well now you have mine Brandon, NOW, you have mine.
This ain't a warning Brando, this is a fact of life.
You had better pray to whatever dark lord you worship, those two are okay.
Because if not
I am sending you back to whatever hell hole you oozed out of in pieces.
Tell me they are going to be okay
Well sir we are going to take them to the medical facility and have them checked out but until we know the extent.
Maybe I wasn’t clear, TELL ME THAT THEY ARE GOING TO BE OKAY!!!
Sir we really need to get them to the Emergency facility.
With those words the white and red ambulance speeds away. Meanwhile, Tommy Kain, the OPW X-core champion, with bloodstained face and a look in his eyes that the OPW quite possibly has never seen. A hatred, a burning, seething hatred causes the pupils in Tommy Kain’s eyes to narrow to almost a pin-point. He sits on the ground and runs his hands through his blood and sweat matted hair. He appears to take a few deep breaths, seemingly an attempt to calm himself before he looks straight up into the OPW camera lens.
Again, those eyes, blood shot, displaying a mixture of grief, loss, sadness, and most of all an almost homicidal brand of hatred peer into the picture box and begin to speak.
Okay Brandon, you decided to play the game that way huh?
“The whiney child screaming for attention” bit
You low rent, five and dime, wannabe hardcore hack motherfucker. You could have just came at me like a man. You could have just walked out on live television, grabbed a microphone and said you wanted to have some words with me.
Hell, you could have approached me in the locker room with a half a bottle of Jose or Maker’s Mark and told me we needed to have a talk. But ya couldn’t do that could ya?
Mostly because you are a one note stroke, but besides that you are also a cowardly lion motherfucker with an axe to grind. Mad at the wrestling world because you just couldn’t stay relevant. Because no matter how much you mutilated yourself, no matter how many times you set yourself on fire, no matter how many times you flew through your homemade erector sets of tables, ladders, and chairs, there wasn’t enough Ex-Lax in the world to make anybody give a shit about you.
But you decided you had to keep pushing didn’t you?
It wasn’t enough for you to put your nasty little hands on me. Because you already knew deep down in that empty hole where your heart is supposed to be that I have taken a million ass beatings from dudes who were twice the man you could ever hope to be. Hell, I have taken ass beatings from women who were twice the man you will ever be you cut rate, My Chemical Romance knockoff.
“Oh look at me, I am so sad, I am gonna sit in the corner and listen to Skinny Puppy while I cut myself because then the world will know how hardcore I am.”
No, no, no sunshine, you can try as hard as you want but this X-Core title has moved past you. It is beyond you know. It has moved on to something better. You can take your act back to the flea markets, backyards, Bingo Halls, and bankrupted skate parks. You can go back to being the be all and end all to basement dwelling dudes with Cheeto covered fingers who are still touching themselves to people attacking each other with power drills in deathmatch highlights with their Grandparents Wi-Fi.
But before you go back to your land of no talent and less personality, you and me are gonna have it out.
And this time you are gonna have to look me in the eyes. You are gonna have to stand face to face with me Sweet cheeks. And I am gonna beat you like a cheap rug before grandma arrives on Thanksgiving day.
Because now you’ve gone and made it personal. Now you put your hands on my two best friends in the entire known universe. Two people who help me wake up every day and see the bright side son. The two beings in this world that bring a smile to my face even on my worst day.
I had to watch as each of them were loaded up into a FUCKING AMBULANCE!!!
All because you don’t know when to quit. All because you want so bad to be important. All because you wanted some attention.
Well now you have mine Brandon, NOW, you have mine.
This ain't a warning Brando, this is a fact of life.
You had better pray to whatever dark lord you worship, those two are okay.
Because if not
I am sending you back to whatever hell hole you oozed out of in pieces.