Post by Shadowlove on Nov 27, 2023 2:20:55 GMT -5
A video from an award winning unidentified and unnamed and overly dramatic documentary film of one of the greatest professional wrestling sports entertainment business superstar personalities of all time, not that Iron Claw movie about the Von Erichs, was showing Hariuddoburondo Conglomerate’s Press Secretary WEATHER IBÁÑEZ DOS SANTOS, with microphone in hand and under an open umbrella, walking along an unknown wet soaked street in the quaint little village of Miyamoto in Mimasaka surrounded by dense wooden cherry blossom trees and traditional Japanese Sukiya-zukuri-style houses was playing on a 5.5 screen of a custom-made liquid Vantablack titanium Falcon Supernova iPhone 20:
“ The age of innocence lost in AW was over. Simply by just walking away and disappearing from the AW limelight after immortally surviving the ill faded Fade to Black’s Burning Hammer, AW’s Hierarchy, every velveteen wrestler behind the curtain in the back, and AW’s Fandom never realized that the return of a shadowy eclipse obscuring the viewpoint of society in this land of confusion was even doable much less financially beneficial for those parties involved…”
“ But that was the miracle of modern day science today, a true original modern day resurrection of frivolity, fun, and free spirited revival has returned to reclaim what was rightfully justified and taken away. A true original modern day renaissance of underlying primal instinctual animal magnetism oozing God-given laissez-faire attitude and Hollywood Blockbuster Superstar Fashion Model Machismo has become an airborne virus once again, all the while, rising up from the ashes of hellfire and brimstone in stunning supermodel fashion, all sense of stolen intellectual property of silent lucidity escapism coming from the rigmaroles of everyday life in Action Wrestling has been brought back to life like Frankenstein’s, or was that Frankenstein’s, Monster…”
“ Merely feasting upon their crossed eyed lion hearts through rose colored glasses with pitchforks and torches in hand, a vortex of violence was coming home that was bar none, second-to-none, a all-you-can-eat smorgasbord hometown buffet etched in the most luminous white and more dramatic gray veining Italian Calacatta Marble, if you will, giving Michelangelo’s 1501 to 1504 masterpiece of Italian Renaissance in the statue of David a true marathon run for its money, has once again arrived on stage like a offshore breeze ripple effect blowing throughout the space-time continuum that has shaken the very foundation of the sports entertainment business sense of stolen valor that has been put back on display for all criticism coming from the court of public opinion to see…”
“ AW’s Hierarchy, every velveteen wrestler behind the curtain in the back, and AW’s Fandom has always known, for a fact, that this independent private contracting smoke-and-mirror opportunistic illusionist and the maker and breaker of World Champions and Hall-of-Famers has already paid his dues in the professional wrestling sports entertainment business and a AW World Heavyweight Championship title reign has always been long past overdue…”
“ This is an evermore true beast of burden martyrism that has once again been strategically placed upon his muscular shoulders as Atlas shrugged, and for that, The AW World Championship title belt will be, or not to be, perfectly wrapped around his efficient and effective streamlined waist…”
“ This true meaning of a true underdog story for only those true believers out there slowly fading back into the realm of obscurity in this once forgotten land of faded and jaded historical memories of shadowy antiquities…”
“ The Handsome Half-breed Shadowlove and his sweet and lovely Miss Miyamoto were truly ahead of their time, and I don’t think AW’s Hierarchy, every velveteen wrestler behind the curtain in the back, and AW’s Fandom has ever really fully recovered or even caught up to their lifestyles of the criminally rich and infamous in this, the book of life in the fast lane of homicidal, genocidal, and suicidal truth or dare professional wrestling inside and outside of the sports entertainment business squared-circle…”
“ Two and a half years. Two and a half years later and once again denied of their legacy, will the same question be asked and answered once again by the AW establishment with the reappearance of these two villainously heroic superstars?…”
“ How does it feel once again playing second fiddle when standing back under the limelight of mediocrity coming from this current crop of AW talentless superstars that have become completely overshadowed once again by the shining brightness coming from the presence of a very huge ever-present, effervescent, and everlasting shadowy eclipse spotlight of seductive handsomeness?…”
The custom-made liquid Vantablack titanium Falcon Supernova iPhone 20 mic drops and goes bouncing along the ground, exiting off camera, stage right, or was that stage left, into a recently found entrance of an underground tunnel.
Quietly, to himself, your favorite and most polarizing modern day charismatic and charming, egotistical, narcissistic, politically incorrect, felicitating, self-righteous, vainglorious, second-generation megalomaniac and most efficient and effective apex predator, “The Handsome Half-breed” Shadowlove appeared to be lip syncing a song, “THE SOUND OF SILENCE”, Disturbed version, that he was listening to on his (product placement) custom-made special edition Beats Studio gloss white wireless headphones:
He was standing in the middle of a square-circle in some no named flea bitten town inside the Gaza Strip impervious to Israel's war against terrorism being fought around him.
In super duper slow motion, he raises his arms up and straight out to his sides and bows his head, as if, being crucified on a cross. And on the third day, even Jesus wept!
His low dusky voice rings out fully, with all the charm and charisma that one can muster, mister and gets down to business as he restarts repainting his masterpiece:
“Fuck, Me!…”
His classically masculine and modern mussed, razor-textured, choppy finished dark brown hair now turning a little distinguished salt and pepper George Cloony-esque was still neatly trimmed perfectly high and tight showing off his aged-to-perfection chiseled fighter's face.
He was stripped to the waist still showing off the upper body of a Greek God, with washboard abs, in a newly fresh and crisp custom-made Calvin Klein stark liquid white leather trench-coat with fringe along with his custom-made Calvin Klein crocodile skinned pants, custom-made Calvin Klein alligator skinned boots.
And, in what appears to be a magical sleight of hand, a pair of AW Turmoil pay-per-view golden tickets that say Section A, Row 1, Seat 1 & 2 magically appears intertwining and twirling between his fingers out in front of him.
He raises his head up and double raises his eyebrows with an ice cold psychopathic stare radiating from his sparkling blue eyes as his patented malevolent, tight wolfish, whiplash smile slowly appears on his lips showing off perfectly white even teeth on his chiseled aged-to-perfection fighter's face in a still flamboyant, stylistic supermodel deus ex machina, shit-eating grin.
And now for the moment that you’ve all been waiting for, the camera backs up a few feet and pans down about a foot to show off his upper body. Now, cut the music!:
His sweet and lovely Miss Miyamoto was mysteriously conjuring up a mystical spell of her own over AW’s Hierarchy, every velveteen wrestler behind the curtain in the back, and AW’s Fandom just by her mere presence against his muscular body.
Her raven black hair was pulled back in a French braid showing off her angelic face with her intoxicatingly, incandescent almond shaped green eyes remaining hidden behind her iconic Ray-Ban Wayfarer sunglasses on her perfectly flawless nose.
Her attractive and well-proportioned, slim, trim, toned body built for sin was encased in the most iconic Black Montsuki & Forest Green Seven Deep-pleated Hakama, the pleats are said to be representative of the seven virtues of Bushidō, considered essential to the samurai way, designed by Stella McCartney.
She was also barefoot with the only exception of the thonged Japanese Zori sandals made from rice straw, cloth, lacquered wood, leather, rubber, and other synthetic materials designed by Jimmy Choo.
She was moving very little, never turning her head, or revealing any kind of expression that gave the viewing audience at home a clue as to her most innermost thoughts, with the only exception of a very sharp and penetrating affectionate and devilishly delicious, malevolent and pleasurable, mischievously smile coming from her very luscious and very alluring lips, while caressing his muscular chest with her fingers.
She pauses. Then...
She lowers her iconic Ray-Ban Wayfarer sunglasses on her perfectly flawless nose and looks at the viewing audience at home with her intoxicatingly, incandescent almond shaped green eyes showing no emotion on her angelic looking face then slices her own throat from her left carotid artery to her right carotid artery with her right index finger and makes an imaginary blood explosion style gesture with her left hand.
Then...
She raises her iconic Ray-Ban Wayfarer sunglasses up her perfectly flawless nose on her angelic looking face while hiding her intoxicatingly, incandescent almond shaped green eyes with her middle finger.