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Post by Action Reel on Jan 24, 2023 3:25:17 GMT -5
Rules
Three roleplays.
Don't have to be response/they can be all posted at once.
Deadline is same as regular deadline.
500 word cap.
Shopping Cart match is like a casket match, except its a shopping cart FYI.
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Post by Downfall on Jan 24, 2023 16:40:27 GMT -5
Robbie Bigg Dick.
If I truly wanted to denigrate you, I really wouldn't need to say anything other than disdainfully moving your name from one side of my mouth to the other, as one does when they've knowingly bitten into something putrid, like a crabapple that turns out to have been left out in the sun to rot.
Just speaking your name, it's giving you more credit and clout than you deserve, 'cause there is no world where you belonged in the same ring as me, let alone division.
You're a backwards insult, what people point to when they sneer down their noses at the craft I've honed for decades, the razor-sharp cult of bloodsport that grew up in the circles I cultivated.
You think we're in the same league?
Robbie, you're a barely-trained backyard wannabe. The fact that you travel from desolate mudpit-to-desolate mudpit and smash light tubes over people's noggins to win such a toilet-paper thin accolade as King Of The Backyard is an affront to men who locked themselves inside a steel cage with me, and had to be trucked out due to blood loss.
But you think that you have the capacity to speak on what was and wasn't a joke or "real hardcore".
You think what went on, the brutal character assassination and dethroning of Corey Black that went on at XIII doesn't fit your narrow, garbage-man bourgeoisie definition of what this division is.
Who in the fuck are you to question anyone or anything, Robbie Bigg Dick. You're the one Corey Black pinned to win his title.
You're the one who's eaten pins in every arena possible, and please, don't delude yourself that by coming out there and smashing a light tube over a Christian King or a Nate Krelle's dome on their way out the door qualifies you or pushes you up the ladder towards being actual competition for me.
You are, exactly what I'm moving the Hardcore Championship away from.
Yes, congratulations, you're too stupid and slow-witted to know when to quit, when to lay down and die, that's one single bare-minimum condition I've laid down as being a barometer of being able to compete in my division. But you still... aren't in the same realm as me.
The Hardcore division, MY... Hardcore division, is moving beyond you. It was your choice to step up and run your mouth, so congratulations, you're the first to get eaten.
So now, as I'm sure you're about to fucking embarrass yourself with your trite promises to fuck me up or your insipid pleas to gain the attention of these rubes by calling out to your similarly Neanderthal, Waffle House-cook backyard wrestling enjoyers you call a cult, or even try to pander to the times by illogically championing trans rights... I want you to to know, you asked for this.
Remember... Corey Black asked for his murder, too.
Bailamos, you brainless, blathering atavism.
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Post by Robby Bigg Dick on Jan 24, 2023 18:23:49 GMT -5
Whats up G Block gang, East Side H 45 and Click Clack, thank you for ridin and dyin with me and you know how it be so I give ya props. Second of all thanks to the hood that always has my back and makes me who I am.
Now Downfall you runnin' around out here with that deathmatch bullshit under your arm and that stupid fuckin' Hardcore title like it makes you something. The way you lunged for Corey Black and that insistent need of approval from some old cracka vanilla pussy makes me think you really is softer than I could imagine. You had to have it huh? you need respect that much you stupid bitch? You little flaffy ass haircut and your dumb need for accolades makes me sick, bro. You got issues and I guess ima have to smash them the fuck out of your skull with shopping carts my man.
The craft you've honed for decades? Your midget ass out here hittin' fools with crowbars and spittin on them with your own blood. That ain't some special talent. Why you always skip Backyard Deathmatch, why you always skip XIII, why you ain't with Baker and the boys trying to murder each other and slit each others throats? You too good for them too? Oh let me guess you got a special talent for that too?
I don't quit mother fucker. When I cry its over sad shit like little bitches like you who need to kiss up to Corey Black and his hairy ass and the whole love of Hardcore you think you have. You ain't hardcore mother fucker. You're on a network television channel with a gold belt owned by a billionaire. You're the opposite of hardcore you stupid fuck, you're ironic, you're unoriginal, and you're sliding backwards. I remember when you were Wrestler of the Year and World Champion and now you're cutting up Corey Black who hasn't won a match in AW ever to take a belt that Teijin unalived himself for once he dropped it. Yeah, that guy. Remember that sack of shit?
You wanna threaten me dude? Fuckin' go for it. Just know I'm not afraid of some multi-millionaire sitting in his private home with his white people issues and his nice fence around his yard act like he has to come to the ring and pull out some weapons to pop the crowd. You're Amazon, bro. You're Wal-Mart. I'm just a man who wakes up, gives his heart, gives his effort, gives his body, his blood, his everything to make this work and to win.
You wanna bury me? I'll hand you the fuckin' shovel. But you can't kill heart and soul, big dog, you can't kill Robby Bigg Dick.
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Post by Downfall on Jan 24, 2023 21:47:32 GMT -5
I'll deign to respond to your misguided notions of where you stand, but first... what is that word-salad you just vomited out of your mouth; Other than you subconsciously waving a white flag as soon as you'd begun.
Fully unchained by questions of morality, I'm free to be as blunt and uncompromising as I wanna be.
I demand more from my opponents than what you just tried to pass off as a rebuttal. Amounts to the same as chastising Jessie Lee just 'cause I wanted to.
'Cause I fully believe that when a dog drops a log of matter as fetid and rank as the words you attempted to pass off as trash-talk, you're supposed to smack'em, shove their face in their own shit... grind it in their nostrils so they know not to ever lay something as bad as what you just did, ever again.
And so you won't, when I'm done.
You actually believe that I'm going to take your puerile dig at where I stand, as if it's an insult... And yet, I know you're going to be the first in a long line of similarly redpilled tryhards that believe they can get under my skin by using that "You WERE a World Champion, but you fell hard and now you're slumming in the Hardcore division" as if that's a valid concern.
So good for you! You get to be the first one who's jaw I get to shatter! How exciting for you, right?
I don't, never did consider, this as going back. As you said, I've BEEN a World Champion, three times in fact, so by default that would mean that I elevate whatever I decide to set my sights on. I wanted to make the Hardcore title mean as much as I did the TV and Tag divisions, when I took them to record runs.
The difference, dear dumbass, lies in that distinction.
You make people bleed 'cause you're made of thin-spun glass. Flick you, you break easily.
I make people bleed 'cause I'm made of coiled, rolled steel. You think I need a crowbar to dispose of lightwork like you? Rob, I've been superkicking men so hard their retinas detach for twenty years and never given a damn about it.
The difference is, anything I do isn't just hardcore, it's instantly elevated. I can take a nothing match like this and people will look at me, and see the terrible, disturbing art of what I do.
They'll see the beauty and the devastation.
They look at me and see hardcore. Even in a shopping cart match. Fuck, even if we went back to vintage IEW 2006 and had a Denny's Deathmatch.
So, seriously, just A for effort there, but the problem is, you didn't just type out your own surrender by talking your empty-headed shit, you signed it and notarized it for me.
So when you beg me to end this, you'll be thanking me.
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Post by Downfall on Jan 27, 2023 17:02:42 GMT -5
It's been three days, RBD.
I'd almost believe in your addled mind, there's a part of you that's bought into the fallacious sense of confidence given you by winning a "King Of the Backyard" tournament against a bunch of inbreds similarly-attired in baggy clothes and basketball shorts. That you'd have a shot of winning this.
That you're gonna wait until the last possible second and drop some stinging criticism that really fucks Downfall's world up, that exposes him as the fraud and pussy and "not-really-hardcore" you referenced in your first abortive attempt.
But the more honest part of you has to be looking at this dreading the day you ever opened your meth-softened gob and tried to compete with me.
That's fucking terrified that, once push comes to shove, it ain't gonna be me that gets exposed as a fake tough guy...
That'd be you, compadre.
It's in the way everything you had to say about me was so off-base as to be laughable. "Downfall isn't hardcore because he's on a network channel owned by a billionaire holding a big golden belt..." Which is... the same belt you're now failing to impress that you're qualified enough for... so really... nnnnot the checkmate ya think it is.
That I'm a multimillionaire sitting on a private jet... That I'm "Amazon, bro, that I'm Walmart". Rob... I'm now honestly not sure if you did pass the concussion checks.
Your assessment of me being inaccurate is on you, but rest assured, I'm on target with how/why you don't measure up to me.
That's why I have no fear in turning my cards over, before you can even stutter out your last words, 'cause with one fragmentary, babbling diatribe you've completely fucked yourself, proving exactly what I mean.
Don't call out to your cell block homies for moral support. Don't call out to the peeps on Twitter, they won't co-sign what you're saying and do not look out to the crowd, because they're going to avert their eyes when you're in the ring with me; It ain't gonna be for the squeamish.
Don't look at them. Look at me.
We're on two entirely spheres of influence here... and this's where I blink you out of your miserable existence.
You look at me... I'm supremely honed, hardened, covered in scar tissue and ossified bone knit back tougher than anything you have the ability to bleed. You're doughy, soft and fat from eating pudding cups from one too many of your cell-block girlfriends.
I AM a former World Champion. You? You've never even sniffed the World Title, nor the Hardcore title, you haven't even been a serious contender for the shithole CBS-X-Purity abortion title.
You're a crude, flimsy prison shiv carved out of a toothbrush.
I'm a surgeon's scalpel. And Gold Rush? Is where I open you up and take you a-fucking-part, and throw the bits in the trash, where you belong.
Wouldn't bother responding to this, Rob. You failed. Endgame.
Goodbye.
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