Post by Your JESUS on Aug 4, 2012 13:07:08 GMT -4
Saturday August 4th
Who shot JR? We want answers damn it. Constantly through time, day to day, we find ourselves needing answers. What do you mean you ran out of Batman toys for Happy Meals, what am I supposed to tell my kid? How could you let this happen, I need an explanation. Better yet, Mom why do I have the broke dick Hot Wheel toy from last months Happy Meal, I wanted Batman...speak up bitch! It's in our nature to need to know why, especially when we can't wrap our puny little mind around the reasoning.
After last week I am sure that same question hit the "INTERNETS" as my favorite President George Bush would say. Why Sabur, why? Why would you align yourself with Michael Lively. A guy who paid Trevor Blackwell to put you out. The big mans leg muscle surgically separated by the precision handy work of a Blackwell blade. Well like myself, Sabur healed up, and like your favorite episode of Pretty Little Liars you will get the answers you seek. In due time my children in due time!
Right now, as I have dabbled in the mystery of why I sit in a giant F-350 truck converted into a limousine that resembles a war vessel rather then a vehicle of luxury. The expensive fixture painted pearl white glistens in the sun as we pull up at the San Diego International Airport. My ass remains planted in the plush leather seat that surrounds me like Gods own two comforting hands. My eyes pointed downward as I try to out run monkeys on my iPhone, Temple Run is addicting. Just as I leap when I should have ducked the door to my new limo opens up letting the sun shine in the cave like darkness I have created in here with the double limo tint. A smirk of pleasure appears on my face as I see my mother holding open the door, dressed in her chauffeur's outfit. The back of her vest reads 'I Drive for JESUS', so classic and yet ridiculous even for me, but I couldn't resist.
The Human Wrecking Machine enters the limo with his bag.
Lively: What the hell? She will take care of that big man!
Sabur: Seriously, I got it...making your mother your slave is out of line.
Lively: Slave? No, I simply employed her as a driver slash assistant. Just like I have employed you and the other two men out there, so if you could move on down.
Sabur slide across the limo taking a seat at one of the long side couches. His arms large and swollen with veins bulging out engulf the back of the seating area basically saying this entire row is occupied. As he finds his level of comfort, the next gentleman we are here to pick up hops on board the S.S. Lively. Some may remember him, some may not, but Chubs my old personal camera man as rejoined me. The rather overweight film school reject comes at the right price and I don't have to worry about some lazy union bastard running down my bank account. Sabur rolls his eyes as the fat man takes a seat across from him.
Sabur: So I know Chubs, but that other guy. I just want to punch him in his face, who the hell is he.
Lively: Well... meet Jerry O'Harrow. You may not recognize him, but in the 90's he ran around this country as a hardcore wrestler.
Sabur: Huh...yeah never heard of him!
The man of topic slides in the limo, his long stringy hair swings back and forth. His out of shape frame jiggles as he reeks of alcohol. Seemingly trashed, he bumps into Chubs.
Sabur: Look at this bastard he can barely function!!!
Lively: Well it's a good thing it doesn't take too much effort to hold up a microphone now does it.
Sabur looks at Jerry and leans forward his eyes trying to present that alpha male dominant glare.
Sabur: Hey...you sloppy mess, so you used to wrestle...where?
Jerry: Listen you bloated steroid munching freak, I don't like the sass in your voice....
I yell to both men to calm the overflow of testosterone in the limo. Mostly the overflow is coming from Sabur, none the less being in charge I simply take control of the situation. Jerry looks at me then back at the former world champion Sabur.
Jerry: Well, I used to wrestle in high school gymnasiums and req centers all through the mid west.
Lively: His biggest match was in the late 90's when guys where having 'I Quit' matches, Jerry here had the only 'I Fuck Jennifer Anniston' match in history.
Sabur: Holy shit...you are PUCK!!! That dirtbag hockey player turned wrestler, I loved that match!!!
Jerry grins ear to ear with pride.
Jerry: Let's just say Jennifer Anniston loved it too!!!
I close my Temple Run app as Sabur and Jerry have found common ground. I open up my notes section and glance over my too do list. Something sparks my interest and I interrupt the two men.
Lively: You know you guys all work for me. You don't work for APW, you are on my payroll. You don't listen to anybody but me!! Understand!! Especially that pussy Johnny Diamond, he tries to bark your direction, you then unleash the workings of Michael Vicks Dog Training and bite back. No pussies welcome aboard my train, got that!!!
All three of us then glare toward Chubs the camera man who has a history of being nothing more then a limp dicked, tampon wearing pussy. The pudgy guy simply tries to man up by blurting out a response that falls on deaf ears as his voice cracks.
Chubs: Got it...
Collectively the three of us burst into laughter at our fat cohort. As time passes we arrive at our destination. The stretched truck pulls off blocking the drive through of the McDonald's we just arrived at. Chubs lights up with excitement as his double chin glistens with sweat. Jerry wipes the drunken drool from his lips while rubbing is beer bloated belly at the same time. Sabur shakes his head in disgust as we pile out of the ride. I step out last and fist tap my mother in her crotch.
Lively: Keep it in check alright hooker!!!
My mother lunges her hips back from initial shock, then shakes her head too in disgust. Me I seem right at home among the misery of those around me.
Sabur: Mike, seems like a waste of money. I mean your own camera man, a washed up gimmick ridden hack to hold the microphone, I just don't know what you are thinking.
Lively: I'm sure you said the same silly thing when I called you up two weeks ago and offered you my idea as it pertained to us, listen I have it under control. Just roll with me, always three steps ahead big man!!!
My mother shuts the door of what I like to call Lively's Thundertank! I'm Lion-O, my enforcer over here Sabur fits the roll of Panthro. My mother is a twisted young man's wet dream version of a slutty Chetara, while the other two can just be considered the Willy Kat and Kit. With my rag tag pack formatted I nod toward Chubs. We haven't worked together in some time but he still knows how I roll and props the camera on his shoulder. I hold my hand up asking the fat one to pause momentarily. Quickly my head turns toward my mother who too already knew what time it was. The woman then opens a case and there before you is a relic, a Price-less heirloom given to me by Bob Barker himself, the white microphone the game show host made famous.
Lively: Haha, look at that beauty, cord and all...plug it in to the camera mother and hand it to Jerry.
The washed up wrestler takes the pencil thin microphone in his hand. He steps in the frame and does what I have just bought...I mean paid him to do. Sabur hovers over like a beast with his arms folded looking rather intimidating. The mass of muscle is a veteran and knows it's promo time, so game face is what he projects. The camera sparks to life, and with it's low quality essence it gives you a retro type of picture as I start my address.
Lively: Welcome to your weekly come to JESUS meeting. Behind me you may notice one hell of a limo, I was going to call it the Fuck Truck, but seeing how it's full of nothing but Dudes I decided to go with something way more rugged...Lively's Thundertank!!!!
Sabur snickers as does Jerry. I look at them both with a look of concern.
Lively: What? Fuck Truck was kind of Gay.
Sabur: So you went with Thunder as if that's any less gay...
Sabur looks at the camera.
Sabur: Not that I'm against being gay...
Then back to me.
Sabur: Just saying hell of a choice!
Lively: It's a Thundercats reference!
Jerry and Sabur go from a snicker to full blown belly laughter. I fold my arms looking at both men as my right foot starts to tap with annoyance.
Jerry: You said Thundercats, God you are a fucking pussy!!!
Sabur laughs as I look him dead in the eye. Almost getting the hint he grabs Jerry by the throat. As Jerry's laughter is subdued I address him.
Lively: You hold the mic, I talk, got it!!!
Jerry nods as Sabur let's go of his throat. The big man shrugs his shoulders to the washed up wrestler as if he had no choice. We all then move on.
Lively: Where was I, oh questions...
Sabur leans in whispering.
Sabur: Actually you were talking about the name of your MANLY limo!!!
Lively: ENOUGH WITH THE TRUCK, moving on...
My forehead steams with bright red anger as I try to switch topics.
Lively: Why would Sabur return to APW by my side?
Sabur: It ain't like that, I don't swing that way, I just...
I again look at Sabur.
Sabur: What, you are painting a weird picture here with your Lightening bolt tank and us by each other's sides, next thing you know people are going to think we hold hands or something.
I simply roll my eyes and turn back to Chubs looking the camera dead in the lens.
Lively: Make no mistake, and don't let his humor fool you...this hulking son of a bitch is a complete disaster machine inside the ring. That's why his skills were needed, Sabur took an offer he couldn't refuse and assumes the roll as my personal body guard. Week after week Johnny Diamond thinks he can sick his security on me, he can let them touch me...
Sabur Hulk Hogan's his shirt off to reveal a black t-shirt underneath reading 'Security for JESUS'.
Lively: Well your savior has his own security now, I call him the Angel of Fucking your shit all up!!!
Sabur looks at me disappointed as if I couldn't of come up with something better. I look at him carelessly and keep on.
Lively: With Sabur I'm sure things will be on the up and up, and most of all Diamond's retard goons will have to contend with this monster before they step to the JESUS again. So with security in place here we are in San Francisco and I can step in the ring with no worries. With this match I will need no worries and a clear mind, because whether I want to admit it or not it's quite the task before me. Shane Borderland, proof that a human being with the speech impediment of a hair lip and the vocabulary of a junior high drop out, can in deed wrestle despite his handicaps. Toss in Carmen Rivera, proving my hatred for woman and their place in this sport could be misguided. The game has changed, and to adapt I first must respect the change and the challenge that comes with facing it head on.
I turn toward the McDonalds that we have disrupted by blocking off the drive through with my massive truck, and place it in the background as I continue on.
Lively: Like this fine food dinning establishment they have evolved with the simple minds of those who chose to spend their money here. So I too must adapt and change to keep up. I mean they serve salads here, and honestly to order a salad here is similar to going to a prostitute for a hug. Doesn't seem logical, and since I mentioned prostitution that brings me to my first target in this match...
I smirk briefly with a dramatic pause.
Lively: Shane Borderland...ha, sure you thought I would go a different route...nope. Shannon my friend this sport and your skills have proved to be a puzzle for me as of late. Well I'm sure now that the pieces fit together Monday night and you will witness first hand just how bad ass I am at putting the pieces where they go. We had a hell of a match the first go around and I'm sure this time will be no different. Like I said before it's not like we are having an Essay writing competition so your intelligence level can't come into play. Spelling, grammar or your ability to put together a functioning sentence has nothing to do with your in ring skill. So this time I should point out the challenge you present to me. Even Retards can swing a punch, and get lucky from time to time. Let us see though if you can do it again my friend.
I walk back over to the truck as the line of cars piled up trying to score dinner for their brats begin to boil with anger due to my rudeness by cutting a promo while blocking the drive through. One car honks with frustration and with a nod I give, Sabur walks over to calm down or intimidate the happy honker while I continue on.
Lively: Shannon my pal we aren't alone in this match, and with all joking aside I have quite the test with you and our North American champion. Carmen Rivera, the flash and flare of Meltdown. A woman in wrestling, is kind of like a dolled up daily assignment decorated by a day dreaming teenager in class hoping Justin Bieber has his shirt off in the next music video. I see there are pretty hearts, fancy circles, lots of colors to make it look like a Lisa Frank folder that a unicorn shit all over. No matter how you dress up the edges of that report, what you draw on the borders or if you dot your I's with hearts, in the end the teacher will grade you purely on the content of your subject matter. Point being you as a woman is just a distraction that I can't let flap me up any more. I simply need to focus on the content which is punching you square in the face, and bringing the pain. I must take a stand, make an impact as my plan of sky rocketing Meltdown into the eye of the APW faithful unfolds. What a better stepping stone then with this match. Against you two. I can not let my mind be distracted like it has been before by my inflated ego. I can't take you two for granted like I have in the past. What was lacking before is me showing you respect for the skills you have to offer. If you don't respect a snake, then surely you will get bit. Don't mistake my new found respect for the problems you two pose as weakness. Just understand it's a means to an end, which will have me chopping the head off not one but two snakes in APW's grass.
The crowd of cars and ruckus we are creating out side this Micky D's has grown rather large. I simply reach inside my stretched truck and pull out a megaphone and climb onto the limo to address the angry mob dying to get some processed garbage.
Lively: Citizens, and people of San Diego this is your Savior...MICHAEL LIVELY, known as Your JESUS!! I am here for you, here to save you from the evils of the world.
People start yelling out of their cars at me.
Lively: This foul food venue is just that, Evil. Why eat this garbage...when there are so many better options for you to chose. I give you the power of choice, so let us make one wisely. People why not eat more chicken...why not Chic-Fil-A, a restaurant approved for and by your JESUS!!!
Just then police sirens can be heard in the distance. I whistle to gather the attention of my rag tag crew. We pile in the Thundertank as to avoid the police interference that is surely heading our way. Frustrated that my promo was cut short I slam the door shut, and just let it serves as added fuel to the fire that burns to prove that I belong in the fold still.
Who shot JR? We want answers damn it. Constantly through time, day to day, we find ourselves needing answers. What do you mean you ran out of Batman toys for Happy Meals, what am I supposed to tell my kid? How could you let this happen, I need an explanation. Better yet, Mom why do I have the broke dick Hot Wheel toy from last months Happy Meal, I wanted Batman...speak up bitch! It's in our nature to need to know why, especially when we can't wrap our puny little mind around the reasoning.
After last week I am sure that same question hit the "INTERNETS" as my favorite President George Bush would say. Why Sabur, why? Why would you align yourself with Michael Lively. A guy who paid Trevor Blackwell to put you out. The big mans leg muscle surgically separated by the precision handy work of a Blackwell blade. Well like myself, Sabur healed up, and like your favorite episode of Pretty Little Liars you will get the answers you seek. In due time my children in due time!
Right now, as I have dabbled in the mystery of why I sit in a giant F-350 truck converted into a limousine that resembles a war vessel rather then a vehicle of luxury. The expensive fixture painted pearl white glistens in the sun as we pull up at the San Diego International Airport. My ass remains planted in the plush leather seat that surrounds me like Gods own two comforting hands. My eyes pointed downward as I try to out run monkeys on my iPhone, Temple Run is addicting. Just as I leap when I should have ducked the door to my new limo opens up letting the sun shine in the cave like darkness I have created in here with the double limo tint. A smirk of pleasure appears on my face as I see my mother holding open the door, dressed in her chauffeur's outfit. The back of her vest reads 'I Drive for JESUS', so classic and yet ridiculous even for me, but I couldn't resist.
The Human Wrecking Machine enters the limo with his bag.
Lively: What the hell? She will take care of that big man!
Sabur: Seriously, I got it...making your mother your slave is out of line.
Lively: Slave? No, I simply employed her as a driver slash assistant. Just like I have employed you and the other two men out there, so if you could move on down.
Sabur slide across the limo taking a seat at one of the long side couches. His arms large and swollen with veins bulging out engulf the back of the seating area basically saying this entire row is occupied. As he finds his level of comfort, the next gentleman we are here to pick up hops on board the S.S. Lively. Some may remember him, some may not, but Chubs my old personal camera man as rejoined me. The rather overweight film school reject comes at the right price and I don't have to worry about some lazy union bastard running down my bank account. Sabur rolls his eyes as the fat man takes a seat across from him.
Sabur: So I know Chubs, but that other guy. I just want to punch him in his face, who the hell is he.
Lively: Well... meet Jerry O'Harrow. You may not recognize him, but in the 90's he ran around this country as a hardcore wrestler.
Sabur: Huh...yeah never heard of him!
The man of topic slides in the limo, his long stringy hair swings back and forth. His out of shape frame jiggles as he reeks of alcohol. Seemingly trashed, he bumps into Chubs.
Sabur: Look at this bastard he can barely function!!!
Lively: Well it's a good thing it doesn't take too much effort to hold up a microphone now does it.
Sabur looks at Jerry and leans forward his eyes trying to present that alpha male dominant glare.
Sabur: Hey...you sloppy mess, so you used to wrestle...where?
Jerry: Listen you bloated steroid munching freak, I don't like the sass in your voice....
I yell to both men to calm the overflow of testosterone in the limo. Mostly the overflow is coming from Sabur, none the less being in charge I simply take control of the situation. Jerry looks at me then back at the former world champion Sabur.
Jerry: Well, I used to wrestle in high school gymnasiums and req centers all through the mid west.
Lively: His biggest match was in the late 90's when guys where having 'I Quit' matches, Jerry here had the only 'I Fuck Jennifer Anniston' match in history.
Sabur: Holy shit...you are PUCK!!! That dirtbag hockey player turned wrestler, I loved that match!!!
Jerry grins ear to ear with pride.
Jerry: Let's just say Jennifer Anniston loved it too!!!
I close my Temple Run app as Sabur and Jerry have found common ground. I open up my notes section and glance over my too do list. Something sparks my interest and I interrupt the two men.
Lively: You know you guys all work for me. You don't work for APW, you are on my payroll. You don't listen to anybody but me!! Understand!! Especially that pussy Johnny Diamond, he tries to bark your direction, you then unleash the workings of Michael Vicks Dog Training and bite back. No pussies welcome aboard my train, got that!!!
All three of us then glare toward Chubs the camera man who has a history of being nothing more then a limp dicked, tampon wearing pussy. The pudgy guy simply tries to man up by blurting out a response that falls on deaf ears as his voice cracks.
Chubs: Got it...
Collectively the three of us burst into laughter at our fat cohort. As time passes we arrive at our destination. The stretched truck pulls off blocking the drive through of the McDonald's we just arrived at. Chubs lights up with excitement as his double chin glistens with sweat. Jerry wipes the drunken drool from his lips while rubbing is beer bloated belly at the same time. Sabur shakes his head in disgust as we pile out of the ride. I step out last and fist tap my mother in her crotch.
Lively: Keep it in check alright hooker!!!
My mother lunges her hips back from initial shock, then shakes her head too in disgust. Me I seem right at home among the misery of those around me.
Sabur: Mike, seems like a waste of money. I mean your own camera man, a washed up gimmick ridden hack to hold the microphone, I just don't know what you are thinking.
Lively: I'm sure you said the same silly thing when I called you up two weeks ago and offered you my idea as it pertained to us, listen I have it under control. Just roll with me, always three steps ahead big man!!!
My mother shuts the door of what I like to call Lively's Thundertank! I'm Lion-O, my enforcer over here Sabur fits the roll of Panthro. My mother is a twisted young man's wet dream version of a slutty Chetara, while the other two can just be considered the Willy Kat and Kit. With my rag tag pack formatted I nod toward Chubs. We haven't worked together in some time but he still knows how I roll and props the camera on his shoulder. I hold my hand up asking the fat one to pause momentarily. Quickly my head turns toward my mother who too already knew what time it was. The woman then opens a case and there before you is a relic, a Price-less heirloom given to me by Bob Barker himself, the white microphone the game show host made famous.
Lively: Haha, look at that beauty, cord and all...plug it in to the camera mother and hand it to Jerry.
The washed up wrestler takes the pencil thin microphone in his hand. He steps in the frame and does what I have just bought...I mean paid him to do. Sabur hovers over like a beast with his arms folded looking rather intimidating. The mass of muscle is a veteran and knows it's promo time, so game face is what he projects. The camera sparks to life, and with it's low quality essence it gives you a retro type of picture as I start my address.
Lively: Welcome to your weekly come to JESUS meeting. Behind me you may notice one hell of a limo, I was going to call it the Fuck Truck, but seeing how it's full of nothing but Dudes I decided to go with something way more rugged...Lively's Thundertank!!!!
Sabur snickers as does Jerry. I look at them both with a look of concern.
Lively: What? Fuck Truck was kind of Gay.
Sabur: So you went with Thunder as if that's any less gay...
Sabur looks at the camera.
Sabur: Not that I'm against being gay...
Then back to me.
Sabur: Just saying hell of a choice!
Lively: It's a Thundercats reference!
Jerry and Sabur go from a snicker to full blown belly laughter. I fold my arms looking at both men as my right foot starts to tap with annoyance.
Jerry: You said Thundercats, God you are a fucking pussy!!!
Sabur laughs as I look him dead in the eye. Almost getting the hint he grabs Jerry by the throat. As Jerry's laughter is subdued I address him.
Lively: You hold the mic, I talk, got it!!!
Jerry nods as Sabur let's go of his throat. The big man shrugs his shoulders to the washed up wrestler as if he had no choice. We all then move on.
Lively: Where was I, oh questions...
Sabur leans in whispering.
Sabur: Actually you were talking about the name of your MANLY limo!!!
Lively: ENOUGH WITH THE TRUCK, moving on...
My forehead steams with bright red anger as I try to switch topics.
Lively: Why would Sabur return to APW by my side?
Sabur: It ain't like that, I don't swing that way, I just...
I again look at Sabur.
Sabur: What, you are painting a weird picture here with your Lightening bolt tank and us by each other's sides, next thing you know people are going to think we hold hands or something.
I simply roll my eyes and turn back to Chubs looking the camera dead in the lens.
Lively: Make no mistake, and don't let his humor fool you...this hulking son of a bitch is a complete disaster machine inside the ring. That's why his skills were needed, Sabur took an offer he couldn't refuse and assumes the roll as my personal body guard. Week after week Johnny Diamond thinks he can sick his security on me, he can let them touch me...
Sabur Hulk Hogan's his shirt off to reveal a black t-shirt underneath reading 'Security for JESUS'.
Lively: Well your savior has his own security now, I call him the Angel of Fucking your shit all up!!!
Sabur looks at me disappointed as if I couldn't of come up with something better. I look at him carelessly and keep on.
Lively: With Sabur I'm sure things will be on the up and up, and most of all Diamond's retard goons will have to contend with this monster before they step to the JESUS again. So with security in place here we are in San Francisco and I can step in the ring with no worries. With this match I will need no worries and a clear mind, because whether I want to admit it or not it's quite the task before me. Shane Borderland, proof that a human being with the speech impediment of a hair lip and the vocabulary of a junior high drop out, can in deed wrestle despite his handicaps. Toss in Carmen Rivera, proving my hatred for woman and their place in this sport could be misguided. The game has changed, and to adapt I first must respect the change and the challenge that comes with facing it head on.
I turn toward the McDonalds that we have disrupted by blocking off the drive through with my massive truck, and place it in the background as I continue on.
Lively: Like this fine food dinning establishment they have evolved with the simple minds of those who chose to spend their money here. So I too must adapt and change to keep up. I mean they serve salads here, and honestly to order a salad here is similar to going to a prostitute for a hug. Doesn't seem logical, and since I mentioned prostitution that brings me to my first target in this match...
I smirk briefly with a dramatic pause.
Lively: Shane Borderland...ha, sure you thought I would go a different route...nope. Shannon my friend this sport and your skills have proved to be a puzzle for me as of late. Well I'm sure now that the pieces fit together Monday night and you will witness first hand just how bad ass I am at putting the pieces where they go. We had a hell of a match the first go around and I'm sure this time will be no different. Like I said before it's not like we are having an Essay writing competition so your intelligence level can't come into play. Spelling, grammar or your ability to put together a functioning sentence has nothing to do with your in ring skill. So this time I should point out the challenge you present to me. Even Retards can swing a punch, and get lucky from time to time. Let us see though if you can do it again my friend.
I walk back over to the truck as the line of cars piled up trying to score dinner for their brats begin to boil with anger due to my rudeness by cutting a promo while blocking the drive through. One car honks with frustration and with a nod I give, Sabur walks over to calm down or intimidate the happy honker while I continue on.
Lively: Shannon my pal we aren't alone in this match, and with all joking aside I have quite the test with you and our North American champion. Carmen Rivera, the flash and flare of Meltdown. A woman in wrestling, is kind of like a dolled up daily assignment decorated by a day dreaming teenager in class hoping Justin Bieber has his shirt off in the next music video. I see there are pretty hearts, fancy circles, lots of colors to make it look like a Lisa Frank folder that a unicorn shit all over. No matter how you dress up the edges of that report, what you draw on the borders or if you dot your I's with hearts, in the end the teacher will grade you purely on the content of your subject matter. Point being you as a woman is just a distraction that I can't let flap me up any more. I simply need to focus on the content which is punching you square in the face, and bringing the pain. I must take a stand, make an impact as my plan of sky rocketing Meltdown into the eye of the APW faithful unfolds. What a better stepping stone then with this match. Against you two. I can not let my mind be distracted like it has been before by my inflated ego. I can't take you two for granted like I have in the past. What was lacking before is me showing you respect for the skills you have to offer. If you don't respect a snake, then surely you will get bit. Don't mistake my new found respect for the problems you two pose as weakness. Just understand it's a means to an end, which will have me chopping the head off not one but two snakes in APW's grass.
The crowd of cars and ruckus we are creating out side this Micky D's has grown rather large. I simply reach inside my stretched truck and pull out a megaphone and climb onto the limo to address the angry mob dying to get some processed garbage.
Lively: Citizens, and people of San Diego this is your Savior...MICHAEL LIVELY, known as Your JESUS!! I am here for you, here to save you from the evils of the world.
People start yelling out of their cars at me.
Lively: This foul food venue is just that, Evil. Why eat this garbage...when there are so many better options for you to chose. I give you the power of choice, so let us make one wisely. People why not eat more chicken...why not Chic-Fil-A, a restaurant approved for and by your JESUS!!!
Just then police sirens can be heard in the distance. I whistle to gather the attention of my rag tag crew. We pile in the Thundertank as to avoid the police interference that is surely heading our way. Frustrated that my promo was cut short I slam the door shut, and just let it serves as added fuel to the fire that burns to prove that I belong in the fold still.
