Post by Your JESUS on Oct 4, 2012 3:16:58 GMT -4
October 1st, 2012
Freshly showered, refreshed and pleased with my victory I sit in the plush surroundings of my limo, otherwise more infamously known as the Thundertank. We pull up at a small air port in Green Bay, enter the gate for an exclusive air strip. My mind drifts toward the events that just transpired. Vincent Pennington really brought his A-game with him tonight. It seemed early in the evening he had my number. The way he telegraphed my super kick. People rarely see it coming, yet he not only saw it coming but had a full scale plan of attack to combat my pathetic attempt to make a statement.
Luckily for me, my ego, and my reputation I was just a step ahead during the match. This is a trend I must keep rolling. One Night In Hell presents One Hell of a challenge that I can thank no one but myself for. I am facing a conglomerate of Megastars that I have taunted, poked, and literally begged to up their game. Knowing the title is on the line has given each one of these hungry souls hope. Lord knows with hope and an appetite the starving will feed frantically. Am I ready for this? Of course I am. I am Michael Lively. The first Grand Slam champion. The mother fucking JESUS!!! There is no room for doubt, I have no place for lack of confidence. This ego of mine won't allow it.
Yet deep in the vault of my heart lies this dark crevice. It's a place where I rarely visit, a niche that never sees the light of day. In this cavity could hide the fears of failure. Here in this place doubt could reside. Maybe stuffing that down is what brings about greatness. Then again ignoring that for too long could also result of my greatest misstep. My great dilemma, do I let this monster of self destruction free. Do I feed this little fury shit known as doubt after midnight so the Gremlins it breeds can begin to leap off it's back bringing about darkness and complete disappointment? Every coins has two sides because facing this misleading, unassuming but dangerous creature is what brought about the overall as slicking in your face brash mother fucker that I am known to be. Decisions, decisions. This monster decided to make himself known by knocking on my chest from the inside, hence the match I wished for being brought about in the first place. I know I am the best son of a bitch inked to a deal in the world of wrestling, yet the monster posed the question to differ my inner thoughts. My ego responded with this match where the odds favor everyone but me. Feeling like I got baited my own personal demons my mouth forms a smile of amusement as the door opens.
There stands my mother suited up in her best 'I Drive For Jesus' chauffeur uniform. The woman none too pleased with her life shows her disgust with the dull state from her once horned up overflowing eyes. Now she is a broken bitch that simply lives life behind a wheel, or carrying my bags. In today's economy I could think of a few worse situations to be in. I am a great paying employer, hence why the payroll has the large number it does. Recent events have led me to keep a tighter background investigation on new hires, but with that being said my check book is always open to spend.
I step from the comfort of my seat looking at my finger nails rather snobbishly. My chest puffs with a big breath of excitement as my eyes look toward my ride to the next town. My envy and pride are distracted by the rental car that Sabur picked up as it blasts through the airport tarmac with tires screeching. The vehicle slides to a stop as my mother and I simply just look on in anticipation. The drivers door swings open and the large Human Wrecking Machine known as Sabur jumps out. You haven't seen shit until you see a muscle bound son of a bitch the size of this beast crawling out of a Prius. What? The JESUS is Eco friendly. Who am I kidding the price of gas is what sparked my decision to go hybrid. Anyways the big man stands next to the car proud of himself and slams the door shut. Jerry O'Harrow and Chubs both remove themselves from the car as well.
Jerry: This asshole drives like shit!
Sabur: What...Hell no this pussy ass you stuck me with just gets car sick!!!
Chubs: You were driving crazy.
Chubs almost retracts his statement as he receives a look from the Irish Hammer that would back down a pack of hungry wolves. The big man makes his point and walks over. I seem rather unamused by the pointless banter among my clique of hanger on's and wish for the non sense to cease so business can resume.
Sabur: So we took care of that request. I have to admit it was strange, a little hard to achieve...hey nice jet.
Sabur looses track as he notices the private jet set to take me to my next destination.
Sabur: It looks familiar...
Lively: It was Ace Andrews, it seems he fell on financial difficulties. Something about his bank account being as fraudulent as his skills. Either way check bounced on that bitch in more ways then one. I got it for a Hell of a deal.
Sabur: Coming up. Nice limo, now a jet. Who's going to fly this thing?
I remain silent almost puzzled by the question. Sabur looks concerned as the awkwardness of silence lingers overhead. I quickly break from the pause and inform him like always I have my bases covered.
Lively: It came with some guy to fly me around. I don't know his name, I think his from the Philippines or something.
Sabur: Can I call him Maverick?
Lively: Maverick? No I don't like that...
Sabur: How about Goose then?
Lively: That sounds fitting. Goose, I like it.
Chubs: Didn't Goose die in the movie, isn't that bad luck?
Sabur and I look toward the fat man with concern that he would even mention such a tragedy.
Lively: Don't you talk about the Goose!!!
Chubs puts his hands in the air as if he didn't know his faux pas. What's with people I hang with not knowing their place? They always seem to step on their dick! I turn back toward the jet with pride.
Lively: Yep the President has Air Force One, I now have Lively Force One!!!
Sabur bursts into laughter the second the name leaves my mouth. I spin around shooting a glare toward the big man who tries to control the belly shaking amusement.
Sabur: Sorry that was just a lame ass name!
Lively: What do you suggest I name it then, I mean I can't just have a plane with no name.
Sabur puts his hand under his chin and stares toward the purchase I made. His eyes strain as he seems to rack his brain with something to offer me. After a brief few seconds my body guard mutters out something I could not resist.
Sabur: The Millennium Falcon!!!
Lively: PERFECT!!!
Chubs, Jerry and my mother all shake their head at my amusement with the name. I then turn my focus toward the rental car.
Lively: Sabur, so you said you got what I asked for?
The big man smiles and walks over to the small trunk of this vehicle. He bangs it a few times then pops it open. With one arm he yanks at a man in a tuxedo with a sack over his head. I clap my hands together like an evil villain happy to see my dastardly workings unfold.
Lively: You got me Alfred!!!
Sabur: Yep!!
The big man rips the bag off the man who stands their with his arms duck tapped together. Sabur has a grin on his face like a dog hoping for a treat after pleasing his master. Me on the other hand look like shocked father in the delivery room watching his wife give birth to an African American child knowing we are both Caucasian.
Lively: Who is this?
Sabur: It's Alfred!!!
Lively: Not the Alfred I wanted? Where did you get this guy?
Sabur pauses briefly before responding.
Sabur: Look I went through a lot of trouble to get this guy. You said you wanted the butler to that fake ego maniac, phony richie rich son of a bitch. So here he is, Bruce Wayne's personal butler. This asshole was hiding in the basement of that mansion.
Jerry: Yeah, creepy place, loads of bats!!!
I smack my palm against my forehead with sheer disappointment and overwhelming frustration.
Lively: You were supposed to nab Alfred the personal assistant, butler, or slave of Ryan Collins!
Sabur and Jerry both look at each other like everything makes sense now.
Sabur: What do we do with him?
Lively: Let him go.
Sabur: Awww I can't keep him?
Lively: Of course not he's not a pet.
Sabur then rips the tape off the old mans hands. The beast grabs his kidnapping victim by the collar yanking him close. Sabur's eyes ignite with fury and intensity as he mumbles out a threat.
Sabur: If you, the police, or your billionaire master come sniffing around I will snap your dick off and force feed it to your old ass understand!!!
With tears filling his eyes the man known as Alfred nods in agreement with the self professed Human Wrecking Machine. I sit back in amazement before turning to step aboard the Millennium Falcon. My entire crew follows suit, all except my mother who had better get a move on if she plans on getting my limo to our destination before next Monday.
The engines of my new private jet roar to life almost whistling through the air as the pilot prepares for take off.
Lively: Alright where is this card fanatic douche bag's conference console, Ahhh there it is.
I walk over taking a seat in a fancy leather chair. A monitor, and a small camera point my direction. I snap my fingers for Chubs to head on over. The fat man knows his duty and begins trying to figure out how Ace Andrews shot his promo from this very spot. Instantly the people of APW.com can see the fat jowls of Chubs as it looks from their angle at home or on the go that he is trying to eat the lens. He backs off telling me I'm good to go. Sabur takes a seat across the way as I start to address the masses.
Lively: APW faithful, this is Meltdowns commander and chief coming to you live in the sky from my newly purchased Millennium Falcon private jet.
Sabur: Dude we are still on the ground we haven't been cleared for take off yet.
My eyes cringe at the interruption and with a sigh of frustration I continue on.
Lively: Last week...
I whip my head toward Sabur who laughs. Technically this is last week as we are just leaving town, but I don't care about semantics and shut the big man up with a deadly stare before he decides to pipe up.
Lively: Monday night I came out victorious over one Vincent Pennington. He thought it would behoove him to take out his frustrations of disappointment on me after my greatness was displayed. The biggest travesty is the North American title he decided to snatch up. You big retard, you can keep that belt for all I care. At the end of the day you and I know that's as close as you will come to ever being able to have ownership of it. You know in your steroid infested heart that you aren't the champion, you know one on one you couldn't hang. So if you holding on to my title makes you feel good, boosts your self confidence then hooray for you. The reality is just like you were my bitch in the ring last week, the world will know it's the God damned truth when they see you carrying around my title for me...you fucking luggage jockey!!!
Sabur snickers at my comment as I shift gears.
Lively: Try not to stretch out the leather too much with your muffin top ok Vinny. Now onto more pressing matters. Since one on one I seem to be untouchable, this coming Monday I have been scheduled to face you Vincent, Krunk, Logan Alexander, and Aubrey J Parker!!!
Sabur's eyes widen as he seems concerned for my safety in the ring with so many people that all wish me harm.
Lively: Vinny you see I could go with the logic that I beat you once so there fore you are of no concern to me. Seeing as I'm not a fat German, or half retarded with the last name Borderland, I choose not to believe in those falsehoods. You see you are even more dangerous to me now. You have tasted the venom I chose to spot your direction. You will have worked up a game plan, a counter attack to what you witnessed last week. Ask your self this though Vince, is that all I have. Did I really go out there and give you my entire arsenal?
I shake my head back and forth.
Lively: No I didn't. You haven't even scratched the surface of what the JESUS is capable of. Each one of you will get you small sampling of me this Monday. Them's though are just the appetizer's!!! The full course meal is served up at One Night In Hell. So Krunk on Monday open up wide because this is what Michael Lively considers foreplay. Instead of cramming my goods down your throat completely, I'll figuratively just smack it on your tongue. You should be used to that right. I mean your record looks like sucking comes natural to you. I have seen your type though, bad gag reflex. Talk a big game, act like you want it all. When the zippers down, and it's time to perform you simply just choke!!!
Sabur winces at my verbal assault. With pleasure I just spit on.
Lively: You are nothing more then a warm up. In fairness you have your chance at the North American title like the others. This preview will show you the painful reality that you might want to pull a Pennington and simply steal my belt. After my boot stomps you silly Monday night, and the soreness of my assault on you sets you, so will the sadness that you aren't championship material. So I go from two men who aren't really going to do anything more then hold the title for me when my shoulders get tuckered out from not only carrying the belt, but this whole show; to a couple that could very well bring the pain.
I sort of grin giving the impression that I amused by a challenge.
Lively: Aubrey J. Parker no matter your résumé, your accolades, or the victories you have stacked up while employed briefly here in APW. Nothing changes the fact that at the end of the day you are just another female. Another broad trying to make their way in a mans world. Women through out history have strived to gain equality. So to honor their struggles and wishes I will fairly, and equally treat you like any opponent I have ever faced. I plan to figuratively rape you in front of thousands. Leave you broken, battered with a bloody and bruised mess between your legs. It shall serve as a reminder that when you step in the ring with me at One Night In Hell that you have no balls, and to come out over me when a title is on the line it simply takes a pair of steel clad balls.
I lean back in this chair folding my arms behind my head.
Lively: Balls that's right which takes me to Logan Alexander. If the genetic code was right you have a pair of balls. So maybe it's you that stands a chance, then again it's not. Monday night isn't your night, One Night In Hell isn't either. Consider it a prequel to the PPV when I shit on your dreams of becoming a champion inside MY ring. At the end of the day I'm used to the odds being stacked against me. I am a crafty veteran, a legend among simple minded rookies, and new comers. The JESUS isn't a name that one day I thought was clever, nope it was bestowed upon me because I rain down upon the masses with my greatness. I cover the world with my wrestling salvation as if it were the blood of the lamb. Monday night you fuckers face a true Messiah. I am not alone because in this triple threat tag team match the world gets to see the return of the Human Wrecking Machine, that's right the Irish Hammer...SABUR!!!
The big man looks startled at the news I just broke.
Sabur: What? I'm wrestling? I haven't been in the ring for almost four years.
Lively: You'll be fine, that's more then I can say for the rest of these bitches!!!
With that I bang a bunch of buttons on the console trying to cut the feed. A bunch of feedback rings out before static overwhelms the screen.
Freshly showered, refreshed and pleased with my victory I sit in the plush surroundings of my limo, otherwise more infamously known as the Thundertank. We pull up at a small air port in Green Bay, enter the gate for an exclusive air strip. My mind drifts toward the events that just transpired. Vincent Pennington really brought his A-game with him tonight. It seemed early in the evening he had my number. The way he telegraphed my super kick. People rarely see it coming, yet he not only saw it coming but had a full scale plan of attack to combat my pathetic attempt to make a statement.
Luckily for me, my ego, and my reputation I was just a step ahead during the match. This is a trend I must keep rolling. One Night In Hell presents One Hell of a challenge that I can thank no one but myself for. I am facing a conglomerate of Megastars that I have taunted, poked, and literally begged to up their game. Knowing the title is on the line has given each one of these hungry souls hope. Lord knows with hope and an appetite the starving will feed frantically. Am I ready for this? Of course I am. I am Michael Lively. The first Grand Slam champion. The mother fucking JESUS!!! There is no room for doubt, I have no place for lack of confidence. This ego of mine won't allow it.
Yet deep in the vault of my heart lies this dark crevice. It's a place where I rarely visit, a niche that never sees the light of day. In this cavity could hide the fears of failure. Here in this place doubt could reside. Maybe stuffing that down is what brings about greatness. Then again ignoring that for too long could also result of my greatest misstep. My great dilemma, do I let this monster of self destruction free. Do I feed this little fury shit known as doubt after midnight so the Gremlins it breeds can begin to leap off it's back bringing about darkness and complete disappointment? Every coins has two sides because facing this misleading, unassuming but dangerous creature is what brought about the overall as slicking in your face brash mother fucker that I am known to be. Decisions, decisions. This monster decided to make himself known by knocking on my chest from the inside, hence the match I wished for being brought about in the first place. I know I am the best son of a bitch inked to a deal in the world of wrestling, yet the monster posed the question to differ my inner thoughts. My ego responded with this match where the odds favor everyone but me. Feeling like I got baited my own personal demons my mouth forms a smile of amusement as the door opens.
There stands my mother suited up in her best 'I Drive For Jesus' chauffeur uniform. The woman none too pleased with her life shows her disgust with the dull state from her once horned up overflowing eyes. Now she is a broken bitch that simply lives life behind a wheel, or carrying my bags. In today's economy I could think of a few worse situations to be in. I am a great paying employer, hence why the payroll has the large number it does. Recent events have led me to keep a tighter background investigation on new hires, but with that being said my check book is always open to spend.
I step from the comfort of my seat looking at my finger nails rather snobbishly. My chest puffs with a big breath of excitement as my eyes look toward my ride to the next town. My envy and pride are distracted by the rental car that Sabur picked up as it blasts through the airport tarmac with tires screeching. The vehicle slides to a stop as my mother and I simply just look on in anticipation. The drivers door swings open and the large Human Wrecking Machine known as Sabur jumps out. You haven't seen shit until you see a muscle bound son of a bitch the size of this beast crawling out of a Prius. What? The JESUS is Eco friendly. Who am I kidding the price of gas is what sparked my decision to go hybrid. Anyways the big man stands next to the car proud of himself and slams the door shut. Jerry O'Harrow and Chubs both remove themselves from the car as well.
Jerry: This asshole drives like shit!
Sabur: What...Hell no this pussy ass you stuck me with just gets car sick!!!
Chubs: You were driving crazy.
Chubs almost retracts his statement as he receives a look from the Irish Hammer that would back down a pack of hungry wolves. The big man makes his point and walks over. I seem rather unamused by the pointless banter among my clique of hanger on's and wish for the non sense to cease so business can resume.
Sabur: So we took care of that request. I have to admit it was strange, a little hard to achieve...hey nice jet.
Sabur looses track as he notices the private jet set to take me to my next destination.
Sabur: It looks familiar...
Lively: It was Ace Andrews, it seems he fell on financial difficulties. Something about his bank account being as fraudulent as his skills. Either way check bounced on that bitch in more ways then one. I got it for a Hell of a deal.
Sabur: Coming up. Nice limo, now a jet. Who's going to fly this thing?
I remain silent almost puzzled by the question. Sabur looks concerned as the awkwardness of silence lingers overhead. I quickly break from the pause and inform him like always I have my bases covered.
Lively: It came with some guy to fly me around. I don't know his name, I think his from the Philippines or something.
Sabur: Can I call him Maverick?
Lively: Maverick? No I don't like that...
Sabur: How about Goose then?
Lively: That sounds fitting. Goose, I like it.
Chubs: Didn't Goose die in the movie, isn't that bad luck?
Sabur and I look toward the fat man with concern that he would even mention such a tragedy.
Lively: Don't you talk about the Goose!!!
Chubs puts his hands in the air as if he didn't know his faux pas. What's with people I hang with not knowing their place? They always seem to step on their dick! I turn back toward the jet with pride.
Lively: Yep the President has Air Force One, I now have Lively Force One!!!
Sabur bursts into laughter the second the name leaves my mouth. I spin around shooting a glare toward the big man who tries to control the belly shaking amusement.
Sabur: Sorry that was just a lame ass name!
Lively: What do you suggest I name it then, I mean I can't just have a plane with no name.
Sabur puts his hand under his chin and stares toward the purchase I made. His eyes strain as he seems to rack his brain with something to offer me. After a brief few seconds my body guard mutters out something I could not resist.
Sabur: The Millennium Falcon!!!
Lively: PERFECT!!!
Chubs, Jerry and my mother all shake their head at my amusement with the name. I then turn my focus toward the rental car.
Lively: Sabur, so you said you got what I asked for?
The big man smiles and walks over to the small trunk of this vehicle. He bangs it a few times then pops it open. With one arm he yanks at a man in a tuxedo with a sack over his head. I clap my hands together like an evil villain happy to see my dastardly workings unfold.
Lively: You got me Alfred!!!
Sabur: Yep!!
The big man rips the bag off the man who stands their with his arms duck tapped together. Sabur has a grin on his face like a dog hoping for a treat after pleasing his master. Me on the other hand look like shocked father in the delivery room watching his wife give birth to an African American child knowing we are both Caucasian.
Lively: Who is this?
Sabur: It's Alfred!!!
Lively: Not the Alfred I wanted? Where did you get this guy?
Sabur pauses briefly before responding.
Sabur: Look I went through a lot of trouble to get this guy. You said you wanted the butler to that fake ego maniac, phony richie rich son of a bitch. So here he is, Bruce Wayne's personal butler. This asshole was hiding in the basement of that mansion.
Jerry: Yeah, creepy place, loads of bats!!!
I smack my palm against my forehead with sheer disappointment and overwhelming frustration.
Lively: You were supposed to nab Alfred the personal assistant, butler, or slave of Ryan Collins!
Sabur and Jerry both look at each other like everything makes sense now.
Sabur: What do we do with him?
Lively: Let him go.
Sabur: Awww I can't keep him?
Lively: Of course not he's not a pet.
Sabur then rips the tape off the old mans hands. The beast grabs his kidnapping victim by the collar yanking him close. Sabur's eyes ignite with fury and intensity as he mumbles out a threat.
Sabur: If you, the police, or your billionaire master come sniffing around I will snap your dick off and force feed it to your old ass understand!!!
With tears filling his eyes the man known as Alfred nods in agreement with the self professed Human Wrecking Machine. I sit back in amazement before turning to step aboard the Millennium Falcon. My entire crew follows suit, all except my mother who had better get a move on if she plans on getting my limo to our destination before next Monday.
The engines of my new private jet roar to life almost whistling through the air as the pilot prepares for take off.
Lively: Alright where is this card fanatic douche bag's conference console, Ahhh there it is.
I walk over taking a seat in a fancy leather chair. A monitor, and a small camera point my direction. I snap my fingers for Chubs to head on over. The fat man knows his duty and begins trying to figure out how Ace Andrews shot his promo from this very spot. Instantly the people of APW.com can see the fat jowls of Chubs as it looks from their angle at home or on the go that he is trying to eat the lens. He backs off telling me I'm good to go. Sabur takes a seat across the way as I start to address the masses.
Lively: APW faithful, this is Meltdowns commander and chief coming to you live in the sky from my newly purchased Millennium Falcon private jet.
Sabur: Dude we are still on the ground we haven't been cleared for take off yet.
My eyes cringe at the interruption and with a sigh of frustration I continue on.
Lively: Last week...
I whip my head toward Sabur who laughs. Technically this is last week as we are just leaving town, but I don't care about semantics and shut the big man up with a deadly stare before he decides to pipe up.
Lively: Monday night I came out victorious over one Vincent Pennington. He thought it would behoove him to take out his frustrations of disappointment on me after my greatness was displayed. The biggest travesty is the North American title he decided to snatch up. You big retard, you can keep that belt for all I care. At the end of the day you and I know that's as close as you will come to ever being able to have ownership of it. You know in your steroid infested heart that you aren't the champion, you know one on one you couldn't hang. So if you holding on to my title makes you feel good, boosts your self confidence then hooray for you. The reality is just like you were my bitch in the ring last week, the world will know it's the God damned truth when they see you carrying around my title for me...you fucking luggage jockey!!!
Sabur snickers at my comment as I shift gears.
Lively: Try not to stretch out the leather too much with your muffin top ok Vinny. Now onto more pressing matters. Since one on one I seem to be untouchable, this coming Monday I have been scheduled to face you Vincent, Krunk, Logan Alexander, and Aubrey J Parker!!!
Sabur's eyes widen as he seems concerned for my safety in the ring with so many people that all wish me harm.
Lively: Vinny you see I could go with the logic that I beat you once so there fore you are of no concern to me. Seeing as I'm not a fat German, or half retarded with the last name Borderland, I choose not to believe in those falsehoods. You see you are even more dangerous to me now. You have tasted the venom I chose to spot your direction. You will have worked up a game plan, a counter attack to what you witnessed last week. Ask your self this though Vince, is that all I have. Did I really go out there and give you my entire arsenal?
I shake my head back and forth.
Lively: No I didn't. You haven't even scratched the surface of what the JESUS is capable of. Each one of you will get you small sampling of me this Monday. Them's though are just the appetizer's!!! The full course meal is served up at One Night In Hell. So Krunk on Monday open up wide because this is what Michael Lively considers foreplay. Instead of cramming my goods down your throat completely, I'll figuratively just smack it on your tongue. You should be used to that right. I mean your record looks like sucking comes natural to you. I have seen your type though, bad gag reflex. Talk a big game, act like you want it all. When the zippers down, and it's time to perform you simply just choke!!!
Sabur winces at my verbal assault. With pleasure I just spit on.
Lively: You are nothing more then a warm up. In fairness you have your chance at the North American title like the others. This preview will show you the painful reality that you might want to pull a Pennington and simply steal my belt. After my boot stomps you silly Monday night, and the soreness of my assault on you sets you, so will the sadness that you aren't championship material. So I go from two men who aren't really going to do anything more then hold the title for me when my shoulders get tuckered out from not only carrying the belt, but this whole show; to a couple that could very well bring the pain.
I sort of grin giving the impression that I amused by a challenge.
Lively: Aubrey J. Parker no matter your résumé, your accolades, or the victories you have stacked up while employed briefly here in APW. Nothing changes the fact that at the end of the day you are just another female. Another broad trying to make their way in a mans world. Women through out history have strived to gain equality. So to honor their struggles and wishes I will fairly, and equally treat you like any opponent I have ever faced. I plan to figuratively rape you in front of thousands. Leave you broken, battered with a bloody and bruised mess between your legs. It shall serve as a reminder that when you step in the ring with me at One Night In Hell that you have no balls, and to come out over me when a title is on the line it simply takes a pair of steel clad balls.
I lean back in this chair folding my arms behind my head.
Lively: Balls that's right which takes me to Logan Alexander. If the genetic code was right you have a pair of balls. So maybe it's you that stands a chance, then again it's not. Monday night isn't your night, One Night In Hell isn't either. Consider it a prequel to the PPV when I shit on your dreams of becoming a champion inside MY ring. At the end of the day I'm used to the odds being stacked against me. I am a crafty veteran, a legend among simple minded rookies, and new comers. The JESUS isn't a name that one day I thought was clever, nope it was bestowed upon me because I rain down upon the masses with my greatness. I cover the world with my wrestling salvation as if it were the blood of the lamb. Monday night you fuckers face a true Messiah. I am not alone because in this triple threat tag team match the world gets to see the return of the Human Wrecking Machine, that's right the Irish Hammer...SABUR!!!
The big man looks startled at the news I just broke.
Sabur: What? I'm wrestling? I haven't been in the ring for almost four years.
Lively: You'll be fine, that's more then I can say for the rest of these bitches!!!
With that I bang a bunch of buttons on the console trying to cut the feed. A bunch of feedback rings out before static overwhelms the screen.
