Post by Quixote Della Torre on Nov 10, 2019 22:59:10 GMT -5
Sir, congrats - the strangest room service request in Palazzo history...
I grasp the egg carton, dismissing the greying porter with a door slam. The live cricket inside squirms around before subduing into my palm. Wearily desensitised, I lift the lid of the tank and toss him in. The thick black spawn of Satan burrows up through mounds of dirt, pouncing; substantial fangs devouring the poor creature.
Somehow, you people treat me as a friend... and I suppose I've come to consider you likewise. The "klews" illuminated the trail... but many questions remain. The answers will come, friends, but not yet...
As I lower the lid, the funnel web rears up belligerently.
This is NOT a friend. It's a nightmare; one I've only just woken up from. Don't misunderstand me... while its bite at Execution felt like fire rifling through my veins, I'm not talking about the arachnid... but what it represents. A souvenir of a five month hell ride with Wade "Leviathan" Moor.
I've been "keeping enemies closer" my whole godforsaken life. My parents did a number on me from the womb all the way 'til I shattered their skulls. I exorcised 20 years of demons; exposing broken, frightened children underneath. Leviathan seemed to win the war but it ultimately summoned his death knell. I'M STILL FUCKING HERE, AIN'T I?! Yeah, I'm banished back to the Cruiserweight division for months... MY CHILD's imprisoned inside the belly of a beast... but I'm not hiding. The trail still leads to QDT and my eventual trail leads to the summit of AW.
The tank's for the spider's protection, not mine. I'm prone to blurring the lines of friend and foe because true growth kindles from the intimate flame of malice... from staring the devil in the face 'til he bows down trembling... from teetering tenuously between death and life.
Teetering...? Andre Aquarius, you're all too familiar with teats. Your dead bro Kevin didn't get time to wean you off his so Prince Foreskin latched on from areola to areola - #BeachKrew's fluffer to DRG bitch, #FightSmart bukkake fodder to Queen of Slabs. Kuntarot ain't enduring evil to overcome it. Oh no, you just pathetically lonely. Ever wondered why you converse with the Ghost of Bryan Payne and imaginary friends like Mr. NSK? Drug trip? Or latent dependency complex? And I ain't talking race shit, Mister Chip On Your Shoulder. Damn near all your promos feature dick suckage from no doubt well remunerated "thots" in a transparent bid to convince us you're liked and wanted... when we all know your braggadocios arse is USED more than a rentboy.
What fuck you got to swank about anyway? Your WCF highlight was Torture creaming you in seconds for the beloved "Fartcore" Title you never even won. You flopped - more on him soon - in Sin City. The first True Shit Champ of ill-fated NBW... cunt-gratulations. You never even got within a cunt whisker of the Cruiserweight belt in pre-QDT Dark Ages. ZMAC lent you all his "dank" lingo... guess he not as generous with his Title, ya stupid rectal gape? Andre, you're the highest profile nobody in wrestling, but I'll joyfully provide you your meatiest udder of all - precious seconds in the ring with QDT during my big return. Guzzle that milk, SuckWaves.
Pity grips me, observing the cricket's corpse shrivelling under relentless, wiry clutches.
Andre's greatest fear of being alone won't be fully realised. No, he has Flop to share mutual hopelessness with. Flop carries the unmistakable whiff of victimhood, wilting away like this dearly departed cricket. Hailing from the "The Long and Lonely Highway", he doesn't even pretend to have allies. Too vulnerable to have enemies. He exists in a bizarro land of his own machinations, a fish flopping on arid land; respiring fortuitously on its own piss. While his distinct lack of purpose is far more palatable than Andre's desperation, it don't make him any more capable. Regardless, I promise to give him a more dignified ending than this cricket suffered.
The spider leaves no trace.
Finally, let's address someone else. FRIEND or FOE... which one are you, VAYDEN? More importantly, which one am... I? There's a trail heading your way.
Mind how you go.
I grasp the egg carton, dismissing the greying porter with a door slam. The live cricket inside squirms around before subduing into my palm. Wearily desensitised, I lift the lid of the tank and toss him in. The thick black spawn of Satan burrows up through mounds of dirt, pouncing; substantial fangs devouring the poor creature.
Somehow, you people treat me as a friend... and I suppose I've come to consider you likewise. The "klews" illuminated the trail... but many questions remain. The answers will come, friends, but not yet...
As I lower the lid, the funnel web rears up belligerently.
This is NOT a friend. It's a nightmare; one I've only just woken up from. Don't misunderstand me... while its bite at Execution felt like fire rifling through my veins, I'm not talking about the arachnid... but what it represents. A souvenir of a five month hell ride with Wade "Leviathan" Moor.
I've been "keeping enemies closer" my whole godforsaken life. My parents did a number on me from the womb all the way 'til I shattered their skulls. I exorcised 20 years of demons; exposing broken, frightened children underneath. Leviathan seemed to win the war but it ultimately summoned his death knell. I'M STILL FUCKING HERE, AIN'T I?! Yeah, I'm banished back to the Cruiserweight division for months... MY CHILD's imprisoned inside the belly of a beast... but I'm not hiding. The trail still leads to QDT and my eventual trail leads to the summit of AW.
The tank's for the spider's protection, not mine. I'm prone to blurring the lines of friend and foe because true growth kindles from the intimate flame of malice... from staring the devil in the face 'til he bows down trembling... from teetering tenuously between death and life.
Teetering...? Andre Aquarius, you're all too familiar with teats. Your dead bro Kevin didn't get time to wean you off his so Prince Foreskin latched on from areola to areola - #BeachKrew's fluffer to DRG bitch, #FightSmart bukkake fodder to Queen of Slabs. Kuntarot ain't enduring evil to overcome it. Oh no, you just pathetically lonely. Ever wondered why you converse with the Ghost of Bryan Payne and imaginary friends like Mr. NSK? Drug trip? Or latent dependency complex? And I ain't talking race shit, Mister Chip On Your Shoulder. Damn near all your promos feature dick suckage from no doubt well remunerated "thots" in a transparent bid to convince us you're liked and wanted... when we all know your braggadocios arse is USED more than a rentboy.
What fuck you got to swank about anyway? Your WCF highlight was Torture creaming you in seconds for the beloved "Fartcore" Title you never even won. You flopped - more on him soon - in Sin City. The first True Shit Champ of ill-fated NBW... cunt-gratulations. You never even got within a cunt whisker of the Cruiserweight belt in pre-QDT Dark Ages. ZMAC lent you all his "dank" lingo... guess he not as generous with his Title, ya stupid rectal gape? Andre, you're the highest profile nobody in wrestling, but I'll joyfully provide you your meatiest udder of all - precious seconds in the ring with QDT during my big return. Guzzle that milk, SuckWaves.
Pity grips me, observing the cricket's corpse shrivelling under relentless, wiry clutches.
Andre's greatest fear of being alone won't be fully realised. No, he has Flop to share mutual hopelessness with. Flop carries the unmistakable whiff of victimhood, wilting away like this dearly departed cricket. Hailing from the "The Long and Lonely Highway", he doesn't even pretend to have allies. Too vulnerable to have enemies. He exists in a bizarro land of his own machinations, a fish flopping on arid land; respiring fortuitously on its own piss. While his distinct lack of purpose is far more palatable than Andre's desperation, it don't make him any more capable. Regardless, I promise to give him a more dignified ending than this cricket suffered.
The spider leaves no trace.
Finally, let's address someone else. FRIEND or FOE... which one are you, VAYDEN? More importantly, which one am... I? There's a trail heading your way.
Mind how you go.