Post by Your JESUS on Aug 16, 2012 16:06:15 GMT -4
August 13th, 2012
The sting of pain very present but yet so far away. I sit on a table as one medical trainer for APW presses my swollen eye with a cold compress. As the low temperature squishes the bruised flesh below my eye I can smell rubbing alcohol as another medical staff member meat grinds my forehead in attempts to clean out my hamburger helper type of souvenir. I look down at the North American title laying in my lap as I receive a tetanus shot and am Denton my way. The belt dangles in the grip of my right hand as I stager down the hall overwhelmed with fatigue and extreme pride. I won't show this emotion to anyone but deep down I am still glad I had what it took. I still was able to tangle in a championship match with high level talent and walk out the victor. Instead I will show the side that is always present, that ego filled, overconfident asshole that is the Michael Lively the world loves to hate.
I turn the corner, for some reason the locker rooms are always around a corner, who knew. Surprisingly the door to mine is cracked open. My left hand cautiously presses it open and I tip toe in unsure who is already in here. I jump in a panic as the sound of air horns startle me. The lights flip on and I am showered with confetti and silly string.
"Congratulations" my stable of yahoo's collectively yells to me. I place the title on the arm of my recliner chair and take a seat.
Chubs: Nice job...
Jerry O'Harrow: Yeah now we get raises.
I let a sigh and shake my head.
Lively: Already with the handout...
Chubs: Why would we get a raise?
Sabur: He's champ now, that means championship purse.
Chubs: You are going to wear a purse, I just don't get it.
I place my hand over my head in disgust then wince in pain forgetting my forehead scramble. Sabur then grabs for something and holds it behind his back. I look at him wondering what he could be up to.
Sabur: So...I got you something to celebrate this evening.
The big man then pulls around a box of Twinkies. I almost knew it was coming.
Sabur: Special Championship
Edition Strawberry Twinkies!!!
The Human Wrecking Machine tosses on too Chubs who is almost foaming at the mouth. Jerry holds up a hand and Sabur tosses him one. My mother walks over reaches in the box to help herself. I quickly stand from my chair glaring her direction as the celebration seems to have been put on hold.
Lively: What are you doing?
My mother stops unsure what to say knowing everything will be wrong. She just places the opened snack cake back in the box. Sabur cringes anticipating something awful.
Lively: First you help your self to a snack cake, the you rudely place an opened cake back in the box...what the hell?
The woman still just unsure what to say tries to come up with an answer. Just as she opens her mouth I lunge forward with my best Chad "Ochocinco" Johnson and head butt her where she stands. My head bandage instantly turns bright red with blood.
Lively: Son of a bitch!!!!
I kick my mother while she is down as if it's all her fault. I turn toward Sabur with blood trickling down my face and snatch up a Twinkie. I rip the package open a plow through the treat as he smiles with pleasure.
Lively: I have been craving Carmen's Twinkie...and after busting my ass I earned it...and her cake tastes wonderful might I add!!!
Sabur chuckles as I grab another golden gem, and exit the locker room to get my forehead looked at once again.
August 17th, 2012
I step off a private jet, and my shoes splash in the wet asphalt. Under the dreay grey skies of Seattle Washington I shake my head wondering how anyone can call this misery filled shit hole home. Better yet how can the population still be so high, because in just forty seconds I have to fight off the urge of killing myself. Luckily for the world my will is strong, as I have proved with my never give up, march on till the goal is reached attitude. In my ego driven mind the roster here can learn a thing or two from my display of this particular atribute. The attendant of the jet brings my bag to my side as I stand with a smug look on my face. Suddenly I can see that very face in the reflection of my Thundertank, as that stretch Ford F350 custom limo pulls in front of me. My mother scrambles out of the driver seat in a panic with a bandage on her forehead almost matching mine. She quickly opens the back door, and I enter my very expensive form of transportation. The purchase was heafty, yet shuttling this beafy vehicle around the country is quite pricey. Thank God I have a job, and might I add a great paying one at that. I sit in the comfort of this limo that is already occupied by Sabur, Jerry O'Harrow, and Chubs.
Sabur: So what's next Mike?
I simply shrug my shoulders as I glare upon the North American championship that sits in a display case in the truck. I had thought I had done it all in APW, and the world of wrestling. Upon my return I decided to take it upon my self to make Meltdown something it deserved to be. I layed out a plan within this twisted mind of mine that would begin this radical transformation. Monday night I achieved the key achievment that would set this whole plan into motion. Now like a mad scientist my mind rambles over the next steps, and the logical part of my cerebrum tries to troubleshoot possible problems that could arise. In my silence time ticks by and we arive at the University of Washington. I step out of the truck after removing the newly aquired championship from it's case. Chubs readies the camera as Jerry takes his place as microphone holder, for this ditty he works the boom mic off camera. Sabur jumps out with a larger duffle bag slung over his massive shoulders.
I glare at this educational institute with disgust as we begin walking along. The red light flicker to life on the camera as Chubs captures a side view of me strolling.
Lively: Meltdown is Michael Lively, and Michael Lively is Meltdown...
I turn toward the camera taking the title from my right shoulder, smirk at it with pride then buckle it around my waist.
Lively: This right here is something that I said would happen, yet not one person on Meltdown took my words for the true concrete they seem to be. I am Meltdown's champion, this whole North American refrencing is simple semantics, because the Savior has taken up his cross and I intend to bare everything it has to offer for the benefit for this show. With that being said I have learned as the MAIN attraction and key proponent of Monday nights I will be in action. Not surprising. However the match made does catch me off guard slightly, but brings a sense of warmth to the pit of my gut. That portion that loves chaos and the thrill of complete destruction about to break loose. A radical match where I, your JESUS team up with Stefan Raab, a simple minded unworthy sack of shit that I will force out of my sport, or prop up to be someone worth fearing. One way of another I am the potter that molds the clay of this German fat body. My team is also made up of a Krunk, what ever that is. Sounds like an illegal substance that people lie to doctors for a bullshit medical card so they can legaly obtain it. Then there is Dante, we are in Seattle and this dude could finally snap and Cobain the fuck out of himself before our very eyes. Wait folks there is more, anchoring this star studed team is Carmen Rivera. The bat shit crazy nut case who will surely be out for revenge. Not on just me, but men in general. This hispanic hot cake will be looking leave Monday night with a handfull of nutsacks. That my friends is why...
I lify my hand to Sabur who tosses me an athletic cup. I quickly stuff it in my pants and give it a solid knocking to demostrate the protection.
Lively: These bad boy's will be kept under lock and key come Monday night. Now if the five of us standing inside a ring together wasn't a recipe for destruction then tighten up your knickers because across from us will be a team of five more. Not only will we be battling it out in the main event but testing the weight limits of our squared circle.
I stop by a tree in the courtyard of this college campus. I lean my hand against it.
Lively: Leading off the team will surely be Yarmouth. Why not send the biggest beast in first. Maybe he'll wreck shop, but surely he'll do damage. It's predictable, in war your sacrafice the ones with the lack of brain power first. Simple as that. There is a thin line between fearless and brainless just saying. This large monster fits that bill. He also seems to have his hands full as of late. Trying to jump ship from Meltdown for the potential to be someone on another show. First off shit for brains how about you try to be something here FIRST!!! That could be hard with a baby on the way, and a little lady whispering in your ear all her wedding plans. Your dreams though big man are about to be put on the back burner, thanks to the PROPOSAL you made. That won't be the only thing to blame, you see you can point a finger my direction if you would like. I am the man who creeps in while you sleep. As you tussle in slumber where the land of dreams live large, I perch over your face and shit all over those aspirations. They call me the dream wrecker. It won't be an easy task though, that I can admit. You are as large as a tree with a solid foundation. I will say you don't make it to the level's of success that I have without encountering a tree trunk dug in monster like yourself.
Sabur then pulls an axe from his duffle bag handing it to yours truly. I quickly swing away at the trunk of this tree. After a moment the tree shows weakness and I simply swivel my hips super kicking it down to the ground. Students studying near by look toward me appaled.
Lively: I will chop the legs out from underneath your big ass, bring you down to my level and simply out work you like the never ending, full bore son of a bitch that I am. Your tank will run empty while I will have barely burned off a quarter of my gasoline. Next up will be Benny Horrowitz. A shell of a wrestler, almost a puppet as if controled by someone else. That someone else possibly distracted or too busy to care for the one they call Benny. This empty shell enters battle almost souless and wishing to be a real boy. No longer controlled by the strings of another. That could be the case, or I could have it all wrong. Maybe Benny is a tin man with no heart. Well come Monday if he steps to the JESUS I will simply beat the piss out of his tin can ass, and send him back to Oz. Speaking of no heart I would imagine Young Mannie would be up next at bat.
Sabur pulls out a bong from his bag, and a lighter. The muscle bound man hands it toward me. The crowd of students notciing my actions has grown now. I simply light up the water pipe filling it with smoke and attempt to clear the chamber but fail miserably. Coughing and spitting I toss the thing in the ground.
Lively: Really, it's four twenty somewhere. That's where Mannie will be found toking it up. Unmotivated to push himself, or simply just stuck in a rut. He might as well not even show up for this match, because him waltzing in with a half hearted, shitbag, glazed over skills is just as inexcusiable as not even making the call when your name is rattled out over the microphone. Yet he may enter MY ring and when he does...
Sabur hands me a baseball bat. Like a lunatic I scream out shaking the bat to the unlookers who all back up with fear. I then run over to the bong in the grass smashing it to pieces like a violent memeber of the Yankees who just struck out. I throw down the bat and take a deep breath fixing my hair.
Lively: Who will that leave. Assasian and Shadow...The AKA in full form once again!!! Don't bust me up with that old washed up shit. You two as a threatening as Trevor Blackwell's numerous returns. Surely you know that he will simply shoot himself in the foot before he even begins running toward the main event. Assasian is cut from that same cloth. Will he be able to put his personal demons aside and comit to APW? I don't fucking care if he does or doesn't. Shadow, can he sustain he ride of terror long enough to make it to a big match, or will he choke? Another topic that I could fucking care about as much as jerking off in a dixie cup.
Sabur looks at me weird, and I pay it no mind.
Lively: This wild bunch know as the Ass Kickers Annyomous can only be dealt with one way. I plan on dealing with them in this match, and dispensing with them like a bullet to the head.
Sabur takes a deep breath knowing he really shouldn't do what he is about to do. The big man shakes his head and hands me a nine milmeter pistol, on a college campus mind you. I hold it in the air waving it around as the crowd of students watching the madness scream in horror.
Lively: I will fire off two rounds that will pierce your skulls in this match and lay you down. In the blink of an eye I will have brought you two down, and will stand tall in the ring as the champion of MELTDOWN. I will hold that belt in the air, and carry on with my goal to take Meltdown to the top of the food chain.
I then lift my hands in the air point the gun over my head and fire off a celebratory shot. The screams grow and panic insues. Sabur throws down the bag.
Sabur: Uh...we should go...NOW!!!
Sirens holler out and police cars arrive on the scene. I throw down the gun, and start running in the opposite direction. The big man, and Jerry follow along as well. You can see Chubs still filming running along as well.
"FREEZE!!!!"
The police are on our tails but like the Jamicain track team we pedal our scamper sticks like cartoons characters. I turn toward the camera which is still filming.
Lively: The five of you son's of bitches have no clue what you have gotten yourself into Monday night. I an Michael Lively, your JESUS...your CHAMPION!!!
With that I pull up my run, turn toward the cops with my fists up. five of the suited up protectors of the law tackle me to the ground. Sabur notices I am no longer by his side, and stops running.
Sabur: Shit!!!
The big man turns back and runs toward the mob of cops beating the piss out of your savior. Chubs tries to capture the mele on camera but is quickly tased and droped to the ground. As the camera hits the ground the scene flickers to static.
The sting of pain very present but yet so far away. I sit on a table as one medical trainer for APW presses my swollen eye with a cold compress. As the low temperature squishes the bruised flesh below my eye I can smell rubbing alcohol as another medical staff member meat grinds my forehead in attempts to clean out my hamburger helper type of souvenir. I look down at the North American title laying in my lap as I receive a tetanus shot and am Denton my way. The belt dangles in the grip of my right hand as I stager down the hall overwhelmed with fatigue and extreme pride. I won't show this emotion to anyone but deep down I am still glad I had what it took. I still was able to tangle in a championship match with high level talent and walk out the victor. Instead I will show the side that is always present, that ego filled, overconfident asshole that is the Michael Lively the world loves to hate.
I turn the corner, for some reason the locker rooms are always around a corner, who knew. Surprisingly the door to mine is cracked open. My left hand cautiously presses it open and I tip toe in unsure who is already in here. I jump in a panic as the sound of air horns startle me. The lights flip on and I am showered with confetti and silly string.
"Congratulations" my stable of yahoo's collectively yells to me. I place the title on the arm of my recliner chair and take a seat.
Chubs: Nice job...
Jerry O'Harrow: Yeah now we get raises.
I let a sigh and shake my head.
Lively: Already with the handout...
Chubs: Why would we get a raise?
Sabur: He's champ now, that means championship purse.
Chubs: You are going to wear a purse, I just don't get it.
I place my hand over my head in disgust then wince in pain forgetting my forehead scramble. Sabur then grabs for something and holds it behind his back. I look at him wondering what he could be up to.
Sabur: So...I got you something to celebrate this evening.
The big man then pulls around a box of Twinkies. I almost knew it was coming.
Sabur: Special Championship
Edition Strawberry Twinkies!!!
The Human Wrecking Machine tosses on too Chubs who is almost foaming at the mouth. Jerry holds up a hand and Sabur tosses him one. My mother walks over reaches in the box to help herself. I quickly stand from my chair glaring her direction as the celebration seems to have been put on hold.
Lively: What are you doing?
My mother stops unsure what to say knowing everything will be wrong. She just places the opened snack cake back in the box. Sabur cringes anticipating something awful.
Lively: First you help your self to a snack cake, the you rudely place an opened cake back in the box...what the hell?
The woman still just unsure what to say tries to come up with an answer. Just as she opens her mouth I lunge forward with my best Chad "Ochocinco" Johnson and head butt her where she stands. My head bandage instantly turns bright red with blood.
Lively: Son of a bitch!!!!
I kick my mother while she is down as if it's all her fault. I turn toward Sabur with blood trickling down my face and snatch up a Twinkie. I rip the package open a plow through the treat as he smiles with pleasure.
Lively: I have been craving Carmen's Twinkie...and after busting my ass I earned it...and her cake tastes wonderful might I add!!!
Sabur chuckles as I grab another golden gem, and exit the locker room to get my forehead looked at once again.
August 17th, 2012
I step off a private jet, and my shoes splash in the wet asphalt. Under the dreay grey skies of Seattle Washington I shake my head wondering how anyone can call this misery filled shit hole home. Better yet how can the population still be so high, because in just forty seconds I have to fight off the urge of killing myself. Luckily for the world my will is strong, as I have proved with my never give up, march on till the goal is reached attitude. In my ego driven mind the roster here can learn a thing or two from my display of this particular atribute. The attendant of the jet brings my bag to my side as I stand with a smug look on my face. Suddenly I can see that very face in the reflection of my Thundertank, as that stretch Ford F350 custom limo pulls in front of me. My mother scrambles out of the driver seat in a panic with a bandage on her forehead almost matching mine. She quickly opens the back door, and I enter my very expensive form of transportation. The purchase was heafty, yet shuttling this beafy vehicle around the country is quite pricey. Thank God I have a job, and might I add a great paying one at that. I sit in the comfort of this limo that is already occupied by Sabur, Jerry O'Harrow, and Chubs.
Sabur: So what's next Mike?
I simply shrug my shoulders as I glare upon the North American championship that sits in a display case in the truck. I had thought I had done it all in APW, and the world of wrestling. Upon my return I decided to take it upon my self to make Meltdown something it deserved to be. I layed out a plan within this twisted mind of mine that would begin this radical transformation. Monday night I achieved the key achievment that would set this whole plan into motion. Now like a mad scientist my mind rambles over the next steps, and the logical part of my cerebrum tries to troubleshoot possible problems that could arise. In my silence time ticks by and we arive at the University of Washington. I step out of the truck after removing the newly aquired championship from it's case. Chubs readies the camera as Jerry takes his place as microphone holder, for this ditty he works the boom mic off camera. Sabur jumps out with a larger duffle bag slung over his massive shoulders.
I glare at this educational institute with disgust as we begin walking along. The red light flicker to life on the camera as Chubs captures a side view of me strolling.
Lively: Meltdown is Michael Lively, and Michael Lively is Meltdown...
I turn toward the camera taking the title from my right shoulder, smirk at it with pride then buckle it around my waist.
Lively: This right here is something that I said would happen, yet not one person on Meltdown took my words for the true concrete they seem to be. I am Meltdown's champion, this whole North American refrencing is simple semantics, because the Savior has taken up his cross and I intend to bare everything it has to offer for the benefit for this show. With that being said I have learned as the MAIN attraction and key proponent of Monday nights I will be in action. Not surprising. However the match made does catch me off guard slightly, but brings a sense of warmth to the pit of my gut. That portion that loves chaos and the thrill of complete destruction about to break loose. A radical match where I, your JESUS team up with Stefan Raab, a simple minded unworthy sack of shit that I will force out of my sport, or prop up to be someone worth fearing. One way of another I am the potter that molds the clay of this German fat body. My team is also made up of a Krunk, what ever that is. Sounds like an illegal substance that people lie to doctors for a bullshit medical card so they can legaly obtain it. Then there is Dante, we are in Seattle and this dude could finally snap and Cobain the fuck out of himself before our very eyes. Wait folks there is more, anchoring this star studed team is Carmen Rivera. The bat shit crazy nut case who will surely be out for revenge. Not on just me, but men in general. This hispanic hot cake will be looking leave Monday night with a handfull of nutsacks. That my friends is why...
I lify my hand to Sabur who tosses me an athletic cup. I quickly stuff it in my pants and give it a solid knocking to demostrate the protection.
Lively: These bad boy's will be kept under lock and key come Monday night. Now if the five of us standing inside a ring together wasn't a recipe for destruction then tighten up your knickers because across from us will be a team of five more. Not only will we be battling it out in the main event but testing the weight limits of our squared circle.
I stop by a tree in the courtyard of this college campus. I lean my hand against it.
Lively: Leading off the team will surely be Yarmouth. Why not send the biggest beast in first. Maybe he'll wreck shop, but surely he'll do damage. It's predictable, in war your sacrafice the ones with the lack of brain power first. Simple as that. There is a thin line between fearless and brainless just saying. This large monster fits that bill. He also seems to have his hands full as of late. Trying to jump ship from Meltdown for the potential to be someone on another show. First off shit for brains how about you try to be something here FIRST!!! That could be hard with a baby on the way, and a little lady whispering in your ear all her wedding plans. Your dreams though big man are about to be put on the back burner, thanks to the PROPOSAL you made. That won't be the only thing to blame, you see you can point a finger my direction if you would like. I am the man who creeps in while you sleep. As you tussle in slumber where the land of dreams live large, I perch over your face and shit all over those aspirations. They call me the dream wrecker. It won't be an easy task though, that I can admit. You are as large as a tree with a solid foundation. I will say you don't make it to the level's of success that I have without encountering a tree trunk dug in monster like yourself.
Sabur then pulls an axe from his duffle bag handing it to yours truly. I quickly swing away at the trunk of this tree. After a moment the tree shows weakness and I simply swivel my hips super kicking it down to the ground. Students studying near by look toward me appaled.
Lively: I will chop the legs out from underneath your big ass, bring you down to my level and simply out work you like the never ending, full bore son of a bitch that I am. Your tank will run empty while I will have barely burned off a quarter of my gasoline. Next up will be Benny Horrowitz. A shell of a wrestler, almost a puppet as if controled by someone else. That someone else possibly distracted or too busy to care for the one they call Benny. This empty shell enters battle almost souless and wishing to be a real boy. No longer controlled by the strings of another. That could be the case, or I could have it all wrong. Maybe Benny is a tin man with no heart. Well come Monday if he steps to the JESUS I will simply beat the piss out of his tin can ass, and send him back to Oz. Speaking of no heart I would imagine Young Mannie would be up next at bat.
Sabur pulls out a bong from his bag, and a lighter. The muscle bound man hands it toward me. The crowd of students notciing my actions has grown now. I simply light up the water pipe filling it with smoke and attempt to clear the chamber but fail miserably. Coughing and spitting I toss the thing in the ground.
Lively: Really, it's four twenty somewhere. That's where Mannie will be found toking it up. Unmotivated to push himself, or simply just stuck in a rut. He might as well not even show up for this match, because him waltzing in with a half hearted, shitbag, glazed over skills is just as inexcusiable as not even making the call when your name is rattled out over the microphone. Yet he may enter MY ring and when he does...
Sabur hands me a baseball bat. Like a lunatic I scream out shaking the bat to the unlookers who all back up with fear. I then run over to the bong in the grass smashing it to pieces like a violent memeber of the Yankees who just struck out. I throw down the bat and take a deep breath fixing my hair.
Lively: Who will that leave. Assasian and Shadow...The AKA in full form once again!!! Don't bust me up with that old washed up shit. You two as a threatening as Trevor Blackwell's numerous returns. Surely you know that he will simply shoot himself in the foot before he even begins running toward the main event. Assasian is cut from that same cloth. Will he be able to put his personal demons aside and comit to APW? I don't fucking care if he does or doesn't. Shadow, can he sustain he ride of terror long enough to make it to a big match, or will he choke? Another topic that I could fucking care about as much as jerking off in a dixie cup.
Sabur looks at me weird, and I pay it no mind.
Lively: This wild bunch know as the Ass Kickers Annyomous can only be dealt with one way. I plan on dealing with them in this match, and dispensing with them like a bullet to the head.
Sabur takes a deep breath knowing he really shouldn't do what he is about to do. The big man shakes his head and hands me a nine milmeter pistol, on a college campus mind you. I hold it in the air waving it around as the crowd of students watching the madness scream in horror.
Lively: I will fire off two rounds that will pierce your skulls in this match and lay you down. In the blink of an eye I will have brought you two down, and will stand tall in the ring as the champion of MELTDOWN. I will hold that belt in the air, and carry on with my goal to take Meltdown to the top of the food chain.
I then lift my hands in the air point the gun over my head and fire off a celebratory shot. The screams grow and panic insues. Sabur throws down the bag.
Sabur: Uh...we should go...NOW!!!
Sirens holler out and police cars arrive on the scene. I throw down the gun, and start running in the opposite direction. The big man, and Jerry follow along as well. You can see Chubs still filming running along as well.
"FREEZE!!!!"
The police are on our tails but like the Jamicain track team we pedal our scamper sticks like cartoons characters. I turn toward the camera which is still filming.
Lively: The five of you son's of bitches have no clue what you have gotten yourself into Monday night. I an Michael Lively, your JESUS...your CHAMPION!!!
With that I pull up my run, turn toward the cops with my fists up. five of the suited up protectors of the law tackle me to the ground. Sabur notices I am no longer by his side, and stops running.
Sabur: Shit!!!
The big man turns back and runs toward the mob of cops beating the piss out of your savior. Chubs tries to capture the mele on camera but is quickly tased and droped to the ground. As the camera hits the ground the scene flickers to static.
