Post by Mr. Zaigon Carter on Jan 3, 2021 17:34:57 GMT -5
I wanna show you something.
We see Mr. Zaigon Carter standing in his office, shirtless with dress pants on. In his right hand, he's holding a box cutter. Raising it to his forehead, Mr. Carter cuts straight down from hairline to brow. Blood starts to leak out from the slice.
This is all you have to do on Monday. Look how easy it is, I just did it to myself. Make this blood run down my face, and you get the win you so desperately want. So desperately need even. The key to your future lies right here in this simple act.
You won't though.
All your promises are that of an addict: meaningless and empty. How many times did you tell your family you would get clean, before you sucked down a bottle or shot up some smack just hours later. How many promoters gave you that precious last chance you wanted, before you didn't even show up because you were in a hotel room blasted out of your skull with some truck stop fuck piece. You lost your abilities to make declarations, so all these words of yours that are supposed to sound tough are just pathetic. We've been here before after all, remember?
You had your shot at me straight up, man to man and you failed. Not even the thought of your precious little grandbaby could motivate you enough to beat me. I told you to summon everything you had against me the first time, and all that did was probably keep you alive after I beat you halfway to Hell. Maybe her angelic presence kept you from death, but she can't help you this time. You disappointed her once, and like all the other folks you've alienated over the years she's abandoned you. She's not there for you. You are all alone, stuck in a ring with me once again.
Yet I'm supposed to fear this new old you, this more violent you. You've checked out of your hospital bed to limp out on Monday promising pain and suffering. That this time it will be different because YOU are different. Here's the problem with that though Randy.
Mr. Carter raises a finger to his head, wiping up some of the blood now covering his face and chest before sticking that finger in his mouth. He removes it with a smile.
I'm different now too.
Ever since that Turmoil match, I've been gone in darkness. I feel different, better yet worse. Something is definitely wrong, but I gotta say I'm a big fan of it. This new wrong is telling me that my body isn't a limitation, merely a tool. That my previous emotions of fear were cowardly, and that forward is the only direction. That my previous declarations of violence were child's play, held back by my own perceptions of what brutality I was capable of. I feel like a new man, or maybe not even a man. Maybe something closer to an animal, I'm not sure yet.
We'll get to find out together on Monday, you and I and the whole world.
Things aren't going to be different for you though. You'll have carried your carcass out of exile just to be sent right back by my hands, a repeat of months ago. All of this will have been for nothing, because you are nothing. You're chasing a light that is a mirage, leading you into a bloody and painful darkness. Waiting for you there is me, giddy to deliver you that future. Something inside me is just ebullient that I'm going to break what's left of your body. It's unhealthy and inhuman, but it feels like a warm blanket on my shoulders.
It feels like home.
Come to my home Monday Randy. Take off your shoes before I break all your toes, take off your jacket before I batter your spine so you can barely walk. Place your hat on the hat rack, before I split your skull so you can look just like...
Mr. Carter looks down at himself, a crimson covered chest, and smiles even larger. It's a happy smile, but something's off about it.
Like I do today! Won't you Randy, won't you please join me? Don't deny me the pleasure of your suffering, don't make me beg. Walk down that aisle one more time, get into that ring with all your fake bravado and false hope, and let me pummel every last bit of it out of you. It's such an exciting possibility, really. The chance to dominate you, violate you, annihilate you on television in front of the world. Where there's nowhere to hide what you've always been, but more importantly what I've become.
Because you're not the protagonist on Monday Randy, I am. You're just the accessory. It could be anyone suffering against me Monday, but it just happens to be. That doesn't make you unique, special or, even worth it.
You can bleed though, and that's good enough. That's all I need.
Come meet your maker Randy. Come meet the new me on Monday, let me introduce you and the world to what's happened since the last time you've all seen me.
A baptism by blood, what could be more fitting?
Dropping the blade to the floor, Mr. Carter is now smiling even bigger as he runs both hands across the open wound. Streaks of blood covering his cheeks as he pulls his fingers down over his cheeks as the camera fades out.
We see Mr. Zaigon Carter standing in his office, shirtless with dress pants on. In his right hand, he's holding a box cutter. Raising it to his forehead, Mr. Carter cuts straight down from hairline to brow. Blood starts to leak out from the slice.
This is all you have to do on Monday. Look how easy it is, I just did it to myself. Make this blood run down my face, and you get the win you so desperately want. So desperately need even. The key to your future lies right here in this simple act.
You won't though.
All your promises are that of an addict: meaningless and empty. How many times did you tell your family you would get clean, before you sucked down a bottle or shot up some smack just hours later. How many promoters gave you that precious last chance you wanted, before you didn't even show up because you were in a hotel room blasted out of your skull with some truck stop fuck piece. You lost your abilities to make declarations, so all these words of yours that are supposed to sound tough are just pathetic. We've been here before after all, remember?
You had your shot at me straight up, man to man and you failed. Not even the thought of your precious little grandbaby could motivate you enough to beat me. I told you to summon everything you had against me the first time, and all that did was probably keep you alive after I beat you halfway to Hell. Maybe her angelic presence kept you from death, but she can't help you this time. You disappointed her once, and like all the other folks you've alienated over the years she's abandoned you. She's not there for you. You are all alone, stuck in a ring with me once again.
Yet I'm supposed to fear this new old you, this more violent you. You've checked out of your hospital bed to limp out on Monday promising pain and suffering. That this time it will be different because YOU are different. Here's the problem with that though Randy.
Mr. Carter raises a finger to his head, wiping up some of the blood now covering his face and chest before sticking that finger in his mouth. He removes it with a smile.
I'm different now too.
Ever since that Turmoil match, I've been gone in darkness. I feel different, better yet worse. Something is definitely wrong, but I gotta say I'm a big fan of it. This new wrong is telling me that my body isn't a limitation, merely a tool. That my previous emotions of fear were cowardly, and that forward is the only direction. That my previous declarations of violence were child's play, held back by my own perceptions of what brutality I was capable of. I feel like a new man, or maybe not even a man. Maybe something closer to an animal, I'm not sure yet.
We'll get to find out together on Monday, you and I and the whole world.
Things aren't going to be different for you though. You'll have carried your carcass out of exile just to be sent right back by my hands, a repeat of months ago. All of this will have been for nothing, because you are nothing. You're chasing a light that is a mirage, leading you into a bloody and painful darkness. Waiting for you there is me, giddy to deliver you that future. Something inside me is just ebullient that I'm going to break what's left of your body. It's unhealthy and inhuman, but it feels like a warm blanket on my shoulders.
It feels like home.
Come to my home Monday Randy. Take off your shoes before I break all your toes, take off your jacket before I batter your spine so you can barely walk. Place your hat on the hat rack, before I split your skull so you can look just like...
Mr. Carter looks down at himself, a crimson covered chest, and smiles even larger. It's a happy smile, but something's off about it.
Like I do today! Won't you Randy, won't you please join me? Don't deny me the pleasure of your suffering, don't make me beg. Walk down that aisle one more time, get into that ring with all your fake bravado and false hope, and let me pummel every last bit of it out of you. It's such an exciting possibility, really. The chance to dominate you, violate you, annihilate you on television in front of the world. Where there's nowhere to hide what you've always been, but more importantly what I've become.
Because you're not the protagonist on Monday Randy, I am. You're just the accessory. It could be anyone suffering against me Monday, but it just happens to be. That doesn't make you unique, special or, even worth it.
You can bleed though, and that's good enough. That's all I need.
Come meet your maker Randy. Come meet the new me on Monday, let me introduce you and the world to what's happened since the last time you've all seen me.
A baptism by blood, what could be more fitting?
Dropping the blade to the floor, Mr. Carter is now smiling even bigger as he runs both hands across the open wound. Streaks of blood covering his cheeks as he pulls his fingers down over his cheeks as the camera fades out.