Post by Your JESUS on Sept 6, 2012 16:46:13 GMT -4
September 3rd, 2012
Have you have shook hands with a gorilla? I'm talking looking them in the eyes, grabbing that ungodly strong meat hook they call a hand, and firmly giving your best effort to broadcast you solidity as an Alpha male. Just as I lose my grip inside the palm of what seems like an albino primate from the jungle, the door to my locker room swings open. My eyes widen like a male on the show Cheaters that sees his crazy girlfriend, a camera crew, and some nerd in glasses running toward him in bed with another woman.
Sabur stands in the doorway looking at my handshake with another enormous muscle bound beast like a jealous woman. Tommy Bartlett walks toward the door then stares at Sabur. Both men glare at one another nose to nose with the feeling of dynamite about to explode. Bartlett offers up a sadistic grin and chuckles as he exits the room. Sabur intensely looks at him before turning toward me slamming the door shut.
Sabur: You tell me I have nothing to worry about, yet here I find you with him.[/color]
Lively: That...oh that was nothing.
Sabur: You two were holding hands.
My eyes shift and clearly the wrong impression was made here.
Lively: You make it sound kind of weird, it was a simple hand shake.
Sabur: That's how it starts...
Lively: What the fuck...listen dude. You are reaching here. Tommy Bartlett is another piece to the puzzle. Why have one bad ass monster watching your back...when you can have two!!!
Sabur: So you hired him to help me watch your back. Wow I see how it is.
Now I go from a man trying to convince a girl she has no reason to be jealous, to a fucking councilor trying to repair his lack of confidence.
Lively: Bro, I'm over the top you know that. So consider this another example of that. You are the humongous beast with a level head. Bartlett is a cut throat, maniacal animal with only one thing pushing him forward. Punishing others. He's the one you send to into the trenches that comes out covered in blood carrying the heads of your enemies in one hand and their balls in the other.
Sabur kind of eases his tension toward the idea of a new member to my band of misfits. I can tell he doesn't like it, and possibly doesn't like him, but for the moment he's on the same page with my master plan.
September 5th, 2012
It's a rainy day, fucking monsoon season! My head lifts from my cell phone as I wait patiently looking for it too light up with a call. The rain drops pelt the roof of my limo otherwise dubbed the Thundertank. I set the phone down on the seat next to me frustrated with waiting. I slide over to the mini fridge to grab myself a water. Anxiousness gives me such a dry mouth. Usually I don't let anxiety bother me or develop yet when I must trust in others then I have no say in the matter. They say if you want it done right you let Michael Lively do it for you because then perfection surely will be achieved. At least I think that's how the saying goes. Suddenly "Call Me Maybe" begins to play as my cell phone rings. WHAT? I thought it was a catchy tune.
Lively: Speak to me...Jerry is it done? Ok...so they did the job. I don't need to know particulars...good lord...haha, really? You could here him screaming in pain. Nice!!! I knew he was a beast, a perfect accent to Sabur. Alright get the fuck out of there before the cops come. Make sure you three do everything the way I said from this moment forward...I put work into this alibi for everyone, but you must follow the directions exactly as I stated. See you assholes in a couple off days.
I hang up the phone and can't help but smile. The edges of my mouth grin with pleasure as my devious plan comes to fruition. I knock on the window and the limo heads to the air port.
September 8th, 2012
I rub my eyes as the sun shines upon my face. I pull the sunglasses from their rested position on my collar and place them in their desired spot protecting my peepers. Chubs steps out of the limo parked behind me and lifts his camera to the ready position. I reach on the seat and grab the North American title proudly strapping it around my waist. I look toward the arena that in two days will house another sold out Meltdown. That's right this show has been on a sell out spree since they acquired the one and only JESUS. People love to hate, and I'll take any attention I can get. I look over my left shoulder as a cab pulls up. The rear doors open and out steps a pair of living, breathing monsters. Sabur and Tommy Bartlett. Then a bewildered Jerry O'Harrow hops out as well. I tilt my head down as the cab drives off, and peer over top of my sunglasses toward Jerry.
Lively: Did those passports work?
Jerry: Yes sir, Russ T. Trombone, Mike Hunt, and Phillip McSak all boarded the plane no bubbles no troubles.
The fake passports I gave them seemed to have got them into Canada giving them an alibi that they may have never left my side. The three other jerk offs that flew here with me using the three of their names will aid in them never being around the scene of the crime. I simply tip my head back up in approval then stand with the building as my backdrop. Sabur and Bartlett both walk toward me to join me on camera. Bartlett tries to stand at my right and Sabur jumps in front of him.
Sabur: Whoa...this is my spot!!
The two big men give each other quite the stare, then take their spots. My mother hops out of the Thundertank and stands by Jerry. I guess every one wishes to witness magic which is apparently what happens when I start to shoot on the competition. Chubs steps to the side and flips a switch.
Lively: I ever tell you guys about the time I was in Georgia?
Collectively my entire crew shakes their heads now mumbling the same thing in response as well.
Lively: No bullshit I was sitting in a parking lot after a show, just me and Twister.
Jerry: Who's Twister?
Lively: Don't worry about it Jerry. So me and Twist are just shooting the shit when up steps a man with a really bad sun burn. He looks at me then says "Boy let me tell you what". I looked around for a second and Twister started chuckling.
I fold my arms as I keep on with my story.
Lively: So this red skinned shit, then pulls out a golden fiddle and a bow. In this moment I got a little nervous being in Georgia, and knowing how they like to get down.
Sabur: How do they get down?
Lively: It's the "dirty south" for a reason...
I then motion my fist ramming up an asshole.
Sabur: Ooh!!!!
Lively: So this fellow then proceeds to tell me "I'm Lucifer and you didn't know it, but I'm a fiddle player". Puzzled I said to him "no shit!!!"He the replies "if you'd care to take a dare, I'll make a bet with you. I thought for a second that this country boy isn't going to punk me out so I listened to his challenge. This red skinned bastard says "Now you play a pretty good fiddle, boy"...I said "what? No I don't". He paid me no mind and kept on "but give the devil his due, I bet a fiddle of gold against your soul, 'cos I think I'm better than you".
My entire crew gasped at the outrage that this man in my story had just proclaimed.
Lively:I know right. Then I started to put two and two together and I realized this was indeed the Devil. With that revelation and the fact he just provoked the JESUS, I naturally replied "My name's Mikey and it might be a sin, But I'll take your bet, your gonna regret, 'cos I'm the best that's ever been". Then this crafty dweller of the underworld starting dragging the bow across those strings making an evil hiss. The Devils foot started tapping as he got into his grove just fiddling away.
Everyone listens on as if this story were familiar, or almost like lyrics to a song they had heard before. I just keep rambling.
Lively: The Devil's elbow flies back and forth, and he finishes what would be an Epic fiddle tune. The Devil then hands over the fiddle almost asking me to bring it.
Sabur: No he didn't...
The big man shakes his head as if the Devil should have known better.
Lively: I raised the fiddle to my chin, I lifted the bow. My eyes looked toward the Devil knowing my soul was on the line. I took a deep breath, and....CRACK! Super kicked that fucker in the mouth dropping him where he stood. I snapped that golden fiddle over my knee, laid it at his feet, and told him "I'm there best there ever was you son bitch, come back if you ever want to try again!!"
Jerry: I'm sure I have heard this story somewhere before...
Lively: Shut you damn mouth. The moral of the story is that even the Devil falls before my greatness!!! So Monday night Krunk and some Italian Stallion really stand no chance except to keep enjoying the view of the duck butter on the under side of my nut sack as I stand atop the Meltdown ladder. This match was promoted as a huge opportunity for both of them, and I almost laughed when I read the write up online. I mean winning tonight only leads to future disappointment for these cock knockers.
I place my hand on the main plate of the North American title giving it a rub and switch into promo mode almost as if speaking directly with my two opponents. I know I will have their attention, that's what I do, draw attention. I strike first, and am full of venom. When I shoot it's like the fangs dig in and inject the poison. By the time the bell rings my venom has spread throughout your body and I pounce on your weakened state. So let me unleash the poison.
Lively: This belt isn't on the line, but trust me when I say I wish it was. I will defend it against you two, hell I would defend it against the entire Meltdown roster if Diamond was bold enough to do it. The title being up for grabs brings out a level inside people that they don't realize they had, or even knew they could release. Instead it's a free ass whipping that I get to dish out to the pudgy cheeked Italian Ice Superstar, and Lil Jon's favorite wrestler Mr. Keep it Krunk! Let me first like to welcome you both to the big time, I wouldn't get too comfortable just yet, could be a short visit. Michael Stromboli you come off as some punk ass fraudulent gangster. Bitch what movie have to gotten lost inside. Goodfellas, Godfather, Scarface. Maybe it's Casino. Maybe that's where you get this delusion that you wish to test your luck against me. You are no different then any other asshole who waddles in here with their tortured past, or the "from the streets" mantra. They all have aspirations to rise to the top, all make declarations of how their shoulders can handle the pressures of success. Let me inform you of something Salieri, your shoulder strength is useless here, because heavy is the head that wears the crown. The crown of Meltdown rests upon my head as long as I have this title. While you and others brag about your shoulder shrugs or bench presses I will tell you my neck is stiff and rigid like a veiny dick keeping this jewel encrusted diadem propped up as long as I see fit. Your limp dick pencil neck can't handle the weight. No, It won't be you, and it won't be some dark match contender like Krunk either.
I turn my back to the camera, look toward the building.
Lively: Krunk you are in store for a boat load of new experiences. Hooray for you!!! Hop off the shot bus my "special" friend, let me give you a tour. Monday you enter this arena, which I'm sure is like all others you have seen since joining APW. The difference is those seats you are used to seeing empty when you hop around the ring like an Easter bunny with a carrot jammed up your ass, will be plum full. You have wandered into the spotlight of the main event. Here is your chance to have more then three people watch you wrestle. Let's be honest up until Young Mannie's unfortunate incident....
Sabur starts snickering and Bartlett just flashes a sadistic grin.
Lively: You have been nothing but filler. A roster spot occupied, someone who can warm up the canvas before the talent hits the ring. Life is wonderful though, it's great and full of opportunity. Monday you get an opportunity to let your talents shine. You know those same talents that have earned you everything that you have here in APW...which is?
I scratch my head.
Lively: Ahhh...None!!! Because just like you career thus far, it has remained the same as you serve as filler once again. So while you are distracted by the rumblings of the crowd, and overwhelmed by the heat, that actually having the lights on during your match generates, I will plant a super kick on your chin, and leave you laying so I can focus on what management considers worthy. Back to Michael, maybe it's because you share a name with greatness that Diamond chose you, or deemed you worthy for entrance into MY ring. Then again it could have just been the influence of Uncle Timmy, Tommy Two Fingers, Tony the Fish. Either way Salieri you aren't ready. You weren't ready to be a gangster, and chose to walk away from that. Sadly you made the wrong career jump Guido, because Monday night you will have my meatballs resting on your chin, and my spaghetti noodle crammed in your mouth. Point being I don't give a fuck about what you have done, where you have been, or what creepy family member molested you making you leave the business. I'm simply going to light your ass up Monday night like molotov cocktail. Shatter your fragile glass shell and let the flames engulf the limp body of Krunk in the process.
I unbuckle the title belt, place it over my right shoulder.
Lively: Once upon a time the Devil went down to Georgia. That son of a bitch met his match in the baddest bastard to lace up a pair of boots. So Monday night the JESUS goes up to Toronto, and I'm looking for a soul to steal. One of you bitches gets ruined while the other is simply humbled. Luckily for both of you being at the bottom of the ladder, you don't have far to fall. When you take the tumble...
The camera zooms in on my face and the shimmer from the title belt.
Lively: And smack the pavement with a sickening thud. I want you to shake off the pain, swallow the shame, and simply look upward. Because this will be the view you need to get used to having in your line of sight....
The camera pans down to see my balls exposed. I cup my dick leaving my nuts dangling for the camera with my pants around my knees. Don't ask who pulled my pants down while I was spitting my promo, because the truth is I'm surrounded by nothing but men, and my mother. No matter who...uncool, but needed to paint this picture. A master piece where two jobbers are simply shadowed by my balls, I could stretch them out in umbrella fashion for you people but Chubs cuts the feed. Maybe next time...Penis Puppetry brought to you only by Michael Lively!!!
Have you have shook hands with a gorilla? I'm talking looking them in the eyes, grabbing that ungodly strong meat hook they call a hand, and firmly giving your best effort to broadcast you solidity as an Alpha male. Just as I lose my grip inside the palm of what seems like an albino primate from the jungle, the door to my locker room swings open. My eyes widen like a male on the show Cheaters that sees his crazy girlfriend, a camera crew, and some nerd in glasses running toward him in bed with another woman.
Sabur stands in the doorway looking at my handshake with another enormous muscle bound beast like a jealous woman. Tommy Bartlett walks toward the door then stares at Sabur. Both men glare at one another nose to nose with the feeling of dynamite about to explode. Bartlett offers up a sadistic grin and chuckles as he exits the room. Sabur intensely looks at him before turning toward me slamming the door shut.
Sabur: You tell me I have nothing to worry about, yet here I find you with him.[/color]
Lively: That...oh that was nothing.
Sabur: You two were holding hands.
My eyes shift and clearly the wrong impression was made here.
Lively: You make it sound kind of weird, it was a simple hand shake.
Sabur: That's how it starts...
Lively: What the fuck...listen dude. You are reaching here. Tommy Bartlett is another piece to the puzzle. Why have one bad ass monster watching your back...when you can have two!!!
Sabur: So you hired him to help me watch your back. Wow I see how it is.
Now I go from a man trying to convince a girl she has no reason to be jealous, to a fucking councilor trying to repair his lack of confidence.
Lively: Bro, I'm over the top you know that. So consider this another example of that. You are the humongous beast with a level head. Bartlett is a cut throat, maniacal animal with only one thing pushing him forward. Punishing others. He's the one you send to into the trenches that comes out covered in blood carrying the heads of your enemies in one hand and their balls in the other.
Sabur kind of eases his tension toward the idea of a new member to my band of misfits. I can tell he doesn't like it, and possibly doesn't like him, but for the moment he's on the same page with my master plan.
September 5th, 2012
It's a rainy day, fucking monsoon season! My head lifts from my cell phone as I wait patiently looking for it too light up with a call. The rain drops pelt the roof of my limo otherwise dubbed the Thundertank. I set the phone down on the seat next to me frustrated with waiting. I slide over to the mini fridge to grab myself a water. Anxiousness gives me such a dry mouth. Usually I don't let anxiety bother me or develop yet when I must trust in others then I have no say in the matter. They say if you want it done right you let Michael Lively do it for you because then perfection surely will be achieved. At least I think that's how the saying goes. Suddenly "Call Me Maybe" begins to play as my cell phone rings. WHAT? I thought it was a catchy tune.
Lively: Speak to me...Jerry is it done? Ok...so they did the job. I don't need to know particulars...good lord...haha, really? You could here him screaming in pain. Nice!!! I knew he was a beast, a perfect accent to Sabur. Alright get the fuck out of there before the cops come. Make sure you three do everything the way I said from this moment forward...I put work into this alibi for everyone, but you must follow the directions exactly as I stated. See you assholes in a couple off days.
I hang up the phone and can't help but smile. The edges of my mouth grin with pleasure as my devious plan comes to fruition. I knock on the window and the limo heads to the air port.
September 8th, 2012
I rub my eyes as the sun shines upon my face. I pull the sunglasses from their rested position on my collar and place them in their desired spot protecting my peepers. Chubs steps out of the limo parked behind me and lifts his camera to the ready position. I reach on the seat and grab the North American title proudly strapping it around my waist. I look toward the arena that in two days will house another sold out Meltdown. That's right this show has been on a sell out spree since they acquired the one and only JESUS. People love to hate, and I'll take any attention I can get. I look over my left shoulder as a cab pulls up. The rear doors open and out steps a pair of living, breathing monsters. Sabur and Tommy Bartlett. Then a bewildered Jerry O'Harrow hops out as well. I tilt my head down as the cab drives off, and peer over top of my sunglasses toward Jerry.
Lively: Did those passports work?
Jerry: Yes sir, Russ T. Trombone, Mike Hunt, and Phillip McSak all boarded the plane no bubbles no troubles.
The fake passports I gave them seemed to have got them into Canada giving them an alibi that they may have never left my side. The three other jerk offs that flew here with me using the three of their names will aid in them never being around the scene of the crime. I simply tip my head back up in approval then stand with the building as my backdrop. Sabur and Bartlett both walk toward me to join me on camera. Bartlett tries to stand at my right and Sabur jumps in front of him.
Sabur: Whoa...this is my spot!!
The two big men give each other quite the stare, then take their spots. My mother hops out of the Thundertank and stands by Jerry. I guess every one wishes to witness magic which is apparently what happens when I start to shoot on the competition. Chubs steps to the side and flips a switch.
Lively: I ever tell you guys about the time I was in Georgia?
Collectively my entire crew shakes their heads now mumbling the same thing in response as well.
Lively: No bullshit I was sitting in a parking lot after a show, just me and Twister.
Jerry: Who's Twister?
Lively: Don't worry about it Jerry. So me and Twist are just shooting the shit when up steps a man with a really bad sun burn. He looks at me then says "Boy let me tell you what". I looked around for a second and Twister started chuckling.
I fold my arms as I keep on with my story.
Lively: So this red skinned shit, then pulls out a golden fiddle and a bow. In this moment I got a little nervous being in Georgia, and knowing how they like to get down.
Sabur: How do they get down?
Lively: It's the "dirty south" for a reason...
I then motion my fist ramming up an asshole.
Sabur: Ooh!!!!
Lively: So this fellow then proceeds to tell me "I'm Lucifer and you didn't know it, but I'm a fiddle player". Puzzled I said to him "no shit!!!"He the replies "if you'd care to take a dare, I'll make a bet with you. I thought for a second that this country boy isn't going to punk me out so I listened to his challenge. This red skinned bastard says "Now you play a pretty good fiddle, boy"...I said "what? No I don't". He paid me no mind and kept on "but give the devil his due, I bet a fiddle of gold against your soul, 'cos I think I'm better than you".
My entire crew gasped at the outrage that this man in my story had just proclaimed.
Lively:I know right. Then I started to put two and two together and I realized this was indeed the Devil. With that revelation and the fact he just provoked the JESUS, I naturally replied "My name's Mikey and it might be a sin, But I'll take your bet, your gonna regret, 'cos I'm the best that's ever been". Then this crafty dweller of the underworld starting dragging the bow across those strings making an evil hiss. The Devils foot started tapping as he got into his grove just fiddling away.
Everyone listens on as if this story were familiar, or almost like lyrics to a song they had heard before. I just keep rambling.
Lively: The Devil's elbow flies back and forth, and he finishes what would be an Epic fiddle tune. The Devil then hands over the fiddle almost asking me to bring it.
Sabur: No he didn't...
The big man shakes his head as if the Devil should have known better.
Lively: I raised the fiddle to my chin, I lifted the bow. My eyes looked toward the Devil knowing my soul was on the line. I took a deep breath, and....CRACK! Super kicked that fucker in the mouth dropping him where he stood. I snapped that golden fiddle over my knee, laid it at his feet, and told him "I'm there best there ever was you son bitch, come back if you ever want to try again!!"
Jerry: I'm sure I have heard this story somewhere before...
Lively: Shut you damn mouth. The moral of the story is that even the Devil falls before my greatness!!! So Monday night Krunk and some Italian Stallion really stand no chance except to keep enjoying the view of the duck butter on the under side of my nut sack as I stand atop the Meltdown ladder. This match was promoted as a huge opportunity for both of them, and I almost laughed when I read the write up online. I mean winning tonight only leads to future disappointment for these cock knockers.
I place my hand on the main plate of the North American title giving it a rub and switch into promo mode almost as if speaking directly with my two opponents. I know I will have their attention, that's what I do, draw attention. I strike first, and am full of venom. When I shoot it's like the fangs dig in and inject the poison. By the time the bell rings my venom has spread throughout your body and I pounce on your weakened state. So let me unleash the poison.
Lively: This belt isn't on the line, but trust me when I say I wish it was. I will defend it against you two, hell I would defend it against the entire Meltdown roster if Diamond was bold enough to do it. The title being up for grabs brings out a level inside people that they don't realize they had, or even knew they could release. Instead it's a free ass whipping that I get to dish out to the pudgy cheeked Italian Ice Superstar, and Lil Jon's favorite wrestler Mr. Keep it Krunk! Let me first like to welcome you both to the big time, I wouldn't get too comfortable just yet, could be a short visit. Michael Stromboli you come off as some punk ass fraudulent gangster. Bitch what movie have to gotten lost inside. Goodfellas, Godfather, Scarface. Maybe it's Casino. Maybe that's where you get this delusion that you wish to test your luck against me. You are no different then any other asshole who waddles in here with their tortured past, or the "from the streets" mantra. They all have aspirations to rise to the top, all make declarations of how their shoulders can handle the pressures of success. Let me inform you of something Salieri, your shoulder strength is useless here, because heavy is the head that wears the crown. The crown of Meltdown rests upon my head as long as I have this title. While you and others brag about your shoulder shrugs or bench presses I will tell you my neck is stiff and rigid like a veiny dick keeping this jewel encrusted diadem propped up as long as I see fit. Your limp dick pencil neck can't handle the weight. No, It won't be you, and it won't be some dark match contender like Krunk either.
I turn my back to the camera, look toward the building.
Lively: Krunk you are in store for a boat load of new experiences. Hooray for you!!! Hop off the shot bus my "special" friend, let me give you a tour. Monday you enter this arena, which I'm sure is like all others you have seen since joining APW. The difference is those seats you are used to seeing empty when you hop around the ring like an Easter bunny with a carrot jammed up your ass, will be plum full. You have wandered into the spotlight of the main event. Here is your chance to have more then three people watch you wrestle. Let's be honest up until Young Mannie's unfortunate incident....
Sabur starts snickering and Bartlett just flashes a sadistic grin.
Lively: You have been nothing but filler. A roster spot occupied, someone who can warm up the canvas before the talent hits the ring. Life is wonderful though, it's great and full of opportunity. Monday you get an opportunity to let your talents shine. You know those same talents that have earned you everything that you have here in APW...which is?
I scratch my head.
Lively: Ahhh...None!!! Because just like you career thus far, it has remained the same as you serve as filler once again. So while you are distracted by the rumblings of the crowd, and overwhelmed by the heat, that actually having the lights on during your match generates, I will plant a super kick on your chin, and leave you laying so I can focus on what management considers worthy. Back to Michael, maybe it's because you share a name with greatness that Diamond chose you, or deemed you worthy for entrance into MY ring. Then again it could have just been the influence of Uncle Timmy, Tommy Two Fingers, Tony the Fish. Either way Salieri you aren't ready. You weren't ready to be a gangster, and chose to walk away from that. Sadly you made the wrong career jump Guido, because Monday night you will have my meatballs resting on your chin, and my spaghetti noodle crammed in your mouth. Point being I don't give a fuck about what you have done, where you have been, or what creepy family member molested you making you leave the business. I'm simply going to light your ass up Monday night like molotov cocktail. Shatter your fragile glass shell and let the flames engulf the limp body of Krunk in the process.
I unbuckle the title belt, place it over my right shoulder.
Lively: Once upon a time the Devil went down to Georgia. That son of a bitch met his match in the baddest bastard to lace up a pair of boots. So Monday night the JESUS goes up to Toronto, and I'm looking for a soul to steal. One of you bitches gets ruined while the other is simply humbled. Luckily for both of you being at the bottom of the ladder, you don't have far to fall. When you take the tumble...
The camera zooms in on my face and the shimmer from the title belt.
Lively: And smack the pavement with a sickening thud. I want you to shake off the pain, swallow the shame, and simply look upward. Because this will be the view you need to get used to having in your line of sight....
The camera pans down to see my balls exposed. I cup my dick leaving my nuts dangling for the camera with my pants around my knees. Don't ask who pulled my pants down while I was spitting my promo, because the truth is I'm surrounded by nothing but men, and my mother. No matter who...uncool, but needed to paint this picture. A master piece where two jobbers are simply shadowed by my balls, I could stretch them out in umbrella fashion for you people but Chubs cuts the feed. Maybe next time...Penis Puppetry brought to you only by Michael Lively!!!
