Post by Your JESUS on Oct 4, 2012 19:55:36 GMT -4
October 5th, 2012
The time comes when we must do things we feel we are not ready to do. He hasn't stepped inside a ring in about four years. Trevor Blackwell forced him out with his twisted brand of business via a backstage attack. The name Tabitha still makes his blood boil. Blackwell's slut, lunatic girlfriend severed the big man's quadricep muscle with a jagged knife. Maybe she was trying to live up to her mans monicker as the Career Killer. Maybe it was a fitting nickname because a beast that tore through the fed on his way to the top was undoubtedly put out of commission.
The nerves may build up, the wonder if your leg will hold up. Will the thing that put you out, re-emerge to like a child tugging on your shirt only to remind you that you do not belong inside the ring. I know what he is capable of, any fan of APW should know their history, because history has shown this man as nothing more then a blood thirsty killer inside the ring. Sure outside he has his quirks, the man loves to have fun. Recess is over as soon as that bell rings and the man puts his head down getting right to work. No one can say the man didn't earn his stripes, or deserve his place in the ranks. If I break down my basic human emotion and actually tried to feel...sadness would be something that comes alive when I think of Sabur. He truly was robbed and I had something to do with it.
In some strange way having him at my side might be redemption, maybe I feel like I am trying to give him another chance. Monday night the big man has a shot to reignite his flame. The only one who can let it burn is Sabur. We are at the hotel in Illinois and he seems to be completely focused. The jokes are set aside, and clearly his nerves are built up. The key to success is to let those nerves fuel you, let them build up and explode through your chest. Chubs has a camera ready and I'm a little nervous to see if my body guard has what it takes to break loose. Sabur stands up, rolls his shoulders with his fists clenched. The red light of the camera comes to life, and with his his head hung low, The Irish Hammer starts in with a soft yet intense voice.
Sabur: You are traveling through the forrest. The moisture on the foliage surrounding you drips off the leaves. You hear the peaceful noise of a gentle breeze. All is right in the world. You feel so comforted by the paradise you are emerged in. You stop to smell the roses, look at the wildlife, and just try to lose yourself in nature. When life seems to be perfect you hear a loud echoing roar from lord knows what. You show some concern for the random and threatening noise that just bellowed out from deep within the woods. Your stomach knots as the noise once again rings out but this time a little closer. This time it's accompanied by the thrashing sounds of bushes, and trees getting shoved aside or bulled over. Your nerves start to get the best of you and paranoia sets in. You haven't a clue what seems to be rushing your direction.
The big man lifts his head with a hungry look in his eyes.
Sabur: A wild animal with a thirst for blood. A flesh ripping beast that was bred for violence, and thrives on the screams of pain. Fueled by the smell of your fear...that animal tearing through the woods, IT'S ME!!!
A satisfying yet deadly grin comes over my body guard as he pauses briefly. He rolls his neck cracking it to the left and then to the right.
Sabur: The four of you in this match have just been smelling the flowers and frolicking in the dew. All along not realizing that deep within these woods lives a deprived beast that has been waiting to feast. While you have enjoyed your little bits of glory, have had your moments of inspiration given by Michael Lively with his recent title offering, I have been here just watching you graze in the grass like sheep. I have been stalking you like prey. Fattened up, and oblivious to the danger that hides around the been.
The big mans voice lifts slightly and his level of intensity goes from a six to about an eight.
Sabur: Monday night I plan taking my first swipe toward the thing that drives me...that is blood. Aubrey J Parker...
The Irish Hammer then lifts his head smelling the air.
Sabur: Mmmm...heavy flow this month sweetheart?
I chuckle as Sabur really seems to have picked up right where he left off. This guy when it comes to competition is a raging lunatic that only wishes for an outcome where he is standing over a broken and battered body. Win, loose or draw this guy just loves to inflict pain.
Sabur: Well I plan on breaking your back first thing out the gate. You will be the warning shot. As you are left helpless to do nothing but feel pain and show agony through those pretty eyes, I will revel in my spoils. Snarling and growling to the others involved in this match. Lets be honest besides Michael Lively and myself, you are the only one capable to be a success. Logan Alexander simply just a guy riding your cost tails. Krunk and Pennington are nothing more then opening wave infantry men. Expendable if you get my drift. In barbaric war, and battles of brute strength I am capable in the midst of gorilla mode ass kicking to display a crafty mind.
Sabur breathes heavy as if trying to keep the animal ready to explode under wraps.
Sabur: Kill the Queen and all her men are left without direction. Sure their pride will cause them to push on, but without leadership...simply just lambs led to slaughter. How will these rams feel when I year your god damn head off, tie your hair around my massive neck and parade toward them with you slung about like a trophy necklace.
In this moment I wonder to myself if I have made a mistake. What kind of monster have I turned loose? Too late, he's fucking riled up and I'm not going to try and stop him.
Sabur: I will then turn my focus from strongest to weakest, Krunk.
Sabur rubs his hands together like a man would after discussing a juicy steak.
Sabur: That's right the weak link, how can you operate with out the strong to fall back on. Lately it seems you only show up to fight every other week. Last week was an off one, so it seems this week you will decide to literally bring the heat. You in your best form couldn't beat the midget I used to own on his worst day. How do you expect to handle a skyscraper of pure muscle, and supreme in ring ability. How will you muster the strength to overcome the smell of piss that ran down your leg after you watched me completely ruin AJP? Chances are you will just fail pathetically in any attempt to make what people call an offensive push toward me. Consider me Brad Pitt, call me an Inglorious Bastard...which would make you the Nazi whom I'm looking to scalp Monday night.
Sabur just sadistically smiles momentarily and gets right back at cutting a promo.
Sabur: The way I see it, Monday night Lively and I have an advantage. Not a single one of you soon to be broken bitches have accumulated worth while success in APW. Our advantage, we are both former APW World champions. So over the woods and through the snow to Grandmothers house you go, in search of your five minutes of fame. The big bad wolf Michael Lively has plans of spoil and ruin, while I am more like a viscous coyote hell bent on nothing more then chewing on some flesh. Ripping some meat. Logan Alexander, you looked last week like a man that wished to test his skill. You portrayed an image of a man set to test himself. Congrats on pulling off the tough guy persona in the ring, but I stood there looking in your eyes. The people in the crowd, or at home didn't get to see in the windows of your soul like I did. They didn't get to see the fragile little boy trembling for the time to rewind so he can once again play with his light bright set up. That scared youngster hoping Aubrey would invite him over because he loved playing dress up, or cooking on her Easy Bake Oven. Well sunshine master chef Sabur is here to let know there is no room for you in this kitchen known as APW. So you job holding AJP's purse will have to suffice, your skills at always having a tampon locked and loaded for her on reserve are things to be proud of, in your case. Wrestling though, in the house that Lively built upon a foundation laid with my two hands isn't in the cards...not as long as air still fills my lungs!!!
My huge body guard's eyes shift, and his temperament ramps up.
Sabur: Now to Vincent Pennington...I saved my desert for last, the songs says you can't have any pudding until you finish your meat. By this point the ring will look like the basement of Leatherface with bodies and blood just thrown about with no care. I will make sure to coat my fists in a little crimson paint prior to turning my aggression toward you. Because this will be the point of the scary movie where the mediocre, half ass character meets his demise, and the audience simply doesn't give a shit...
Sabur beefs up flexing his shoulders and neck.
Sabur: It's been said, stated, and written that JESUS upon his death, prior to his resurrection ascended into Hell. What hasn't been said was that while visiting that flaming pit of despair he brought back a hound!!!
Sabur looses control kicks Chubs in the chest. The fat man flies backwards hitting the wall. The Irish Hammer grabs the camera in mid air holds it to his face as I calmly just watch the inner working of Nuclear bomb unfold before my eyes.
Sabur: I am a hound of Hell, a living breathing, muscle bound monster. I'm like a weapon of devastation and it looks like Monday night I'm pointed toward the Peoria Civic Center. Krunk, Pennington, AJP and Logan will all become casualties of war. I'm not in this match to watch anyone's back, I'm not here to make a statement, or re kindle anything from my past. The plain and simple truth is when you want results, you just Hiroshima the fuck out the place and you end of with no more loud and screaming statement then that. Monday night, Michael Lively can be considered Einstein, and I'm his creation of mass devastation!!!!
Sabur throws the camera down and crushes it with his boot. I applaud the big man who almost is foaming at the mouth.
Lively: Totally worth having to get a new camera!!!
Sabur: I hope you are ready for what you just brought about this place!!!
I smile with pride hoping that this display is just the prequel to the sheer campaign of violence the big man unleashes Monday. I walk over to Chubs who seems to be coming to after the boot to his chest.
Chubs: What happened?
Lively: Sorry Sabur watched 300 last night and I guess he decided to Leonidas your ass across the room.
Chubs: God it hurts!!
Lively: Uhhh...yeah you just got kicked in the chest by the equivalent of a Rhino, walk it off.
I pick the fat man up as Sabur storm out of the hotel room trying to get under control. Chubs takes two steps and falls forward on his face. I simply fold my arms ready for another Monday night!
The time comes when we must do things we feel we are not ready to do. He hasn't stepped inside a ring in about four years. Trevor Blackwell forced him out with his twisted brand of business via a backstage attack. The name Tabitha still makes his blood boil. Blackwell's slut, lunatic girlfriend severed the big man's quadricep muscle with a jagged knife. Maybe she was trying to live up to her mans monicker as the Career Killer. Maybe it was a fitting nickname because a beast that tore through the fed on his way to the top was undoubtedly put out of commission.
The nerves may build up, the wonder if your leg will hold up. Will the thing that put you out, re-emerge to like a child tugging on your shirt only to remind you that you do not belong inside the ring. I know what he is capable of, any fan of APW should know their history, because history has shown this man as nothing more then a blood thirsty killer inside the ring. Sure outside he has his quirks, the man loves to have fun. Recess is over as soon as that bell rings and the man puts his head down getting right to work. No one can say the man didn't earn his stripes, or deserve his place in the ranks. If I break down my basic human emotion and actually tried to feel...sadness would be something that comes alive when I think of Sabur. He truly was robbed and I had something to do with it.
In some strange way having him at my side might be redemption, maybe I feel like I am trying to give him another chance. Monday night the big man has a shot to reignite his flame. The only one who can let it burn is Sabur. We are at the hotel in Illinois and he seems to be completely focused. The jokes are set aside, and clearly his nerves are built up. The key to success is to let those nerves fuel you, let them build up and explode through your chest. Chubs has a camera ready and I'm a little nervous to see if my body guard has what it takes to break loose. Sabur stands up, rolls his shoulders with his fists clenched. The red light of the camera comes to life, and with his his head hung low, The Irish Hammer starts in with a soft yet intense voice.
Sabur: You are traveling through the forrest. The moisture on the foliage surrounding you drips off the leaves. You hear the peaceful noise of a gentle breeze. All is right in the world. You feel so comforted by the paradise you are emerged in. You stop to smell the roses, look at the wildlife, and just try to lose yourself in nature. When life seems to be perfect you hear a loud echoing roar from lord knows what. You show some concern for the random and threatening noise that just bellowed out from deep within the woods. Your stomach knots as the noise once again rings out but this time a little closer. This time it's accompanied by the thrashing sounds of bushes, and trees getting shoved aside or bulled over. Your nerves start to get the best of you and paranoia sets in. You haven't a clue what seems to be rushing your direction.
The big man lifts his head with a hungry look in his eyes.
Sabur: A wild animal with a thirst for blood. A flesh ripping beast that was bred for violence, and thrives on the screams of pain. Fueled by the smell of your fear...that animal tearing through the woods, IT'S ME!!!
A satisfying yet deadly grin comes over my body guard as he pauses briefly. He rolls his neck cracking it to the left and then to the right.
Sabur: The four of you in this match have just been smelling the flowers and frolicking in the dew. All along not realizing that deep within these woods lives a deprived beast that has been waiting to feast. While you have enjoyed your little bits of glory, have had your moments of inspiration given by Michael Lively with his recent title offering, I have been here just watching you graze in the grass like sheep. I have been stalking you like prey. Fattened up, and oblivious to the danger that hides around the been.
The big mans voice lifts slightly and his level of intensity goes from a six to about an eight.
Sabur: Monday night I plan taking my first swipe toward the thing that drives me...that is blood. Aubrey J Parker...
The Irish Hammer then lifts his head smelling the air.
Sabur: Mmmm...heavy flow this month sweetheart?
I chuckle as Sabur really seems to have picked up right where he left off. This guy when it comes to competition is a raging lunatic that only wishes for an outcome where he is standing over a broken and battered body. Win, loose or draw this guy just loves to inflict pain.
Sabur: Well I plan on breaking your back first thing out the gate. You will be the warning shot. As you are left helpless to do nothing but feel pain and show agony through those pretty eyes, I will revel in my spoils. Snarling and growling to the others involved in this match. Lets be honest besides Michael Lively and myself, you are the only one capable to be a success. Logan Alexander simply just a guy riding your cost tails. Krunk and Pennington are nothing more then opening wave infantry men. Expendable if you get my drift. In barbaric war, and battles of brute strength I am capable in the midst of gorilla mode ass kicking to display a crafty mind.
Sabur breathes heavy as if trying to keep the animal ready to explode under wraps.
Sabur: Kill the Queen and all her men are left without direction. Sure their pride will cause them to push on, but without leadership...simply just lambs led to slaughter. How will these rams feel when I year your god damn head off, tie your hair around my massive neck and parade toward them with you slung about like a trophy necklace.
In this moment I wonder to myself if I have made a mistake. What kind of monster have I turned loose? Too late, he's fucking riled up and I'm not going to try and stop him.
Sabur: I will then turn my focus from strongest to weakest, Krunk.
Sabur rubs his hands together like a man would after discussing a juicy steak.
Sabur: That's right the weak link, how can you operate with out the strong to fall back on. Lately it seems you only show up to fight every other week. Last week was an off one, so it seems this week you will decide to literally bring the heat. You in your best form couldn't beat the midget I used to own on his worst day. How do you expect to handle a skyscraper of pure muscle, and supreme in ring ability. How will you muster the strength to overcome the smell of piss that ran down your leg after you watched me completely ruin AJP? Chances are you will just fail pathetically in any attempt to make what people call an offensive push toward me. Consider me Brad Pitt, call me an Inglorious Bastard...which would make you the Nazi whom I'm looking to scalp Monday night.
Sabur just sadistically smiles momentarily and gets right back at cutting a promo.
Sabur: The way I see it, Monday night Lively and I have an advantage. Not a single one of you soon to be broken bitches have accumulated worth while success in APW. Our advantage, we are both former APW World champions. So over the woods and through the snow to Grandmothers house you go, in search of your five minutes of fame. The big bad wolf Michael Lively has plans of spoil and ruin, while I am more like a viscous coyote hell bent on nothing more then chewing on some flesh. Ripping some meat. Logan Alexander, you looked last week like a man that wished to test his skill. You portrayed an image of a man set to test himself. Congrats on pulling off the tough guy persona in the ring, but I stood there looking in your eyes. The people in the crowd, or at home didn't get to see in the windows of your soul like I did. They didn't get to see the fragile little boy trembling for the time to rewind so he can once again play with his light bright set up. That scared youngster hoping Aubrey would invite him over because he loved playing dress up, or cooking on her Easy Bake Oven. Well sunshine master chef Sabur is here to let know there is no room for you in this kitchen known as APW. So you job holding AJP's purse will have to suffice, your skills at always having a tampon locked and loaded for her on reserve are things to be proud of, in your case. Wrestling though, in the house that Lively built upon a foundation laid with my two hands isn't in the cards...not as long as air still fills my lungs!!!
My huge body guard's eyes shift, and his temperament ramps up.
Sabur: Now to Vincent Pennington...I saved my desert for last, the songs says you can't have any pudding until you finish your meat. By this point the ring will look like the basement of Leatherface with bodies and blood just thrown about with no care. I will make sure to coat my fists in a little crimson paint prior to turning my aggression toward you. Because this will be the point of the scary movie where the mediocre, half ass character meets his demise, and the audience simply doesn't give a shit...
Sabur beefs up flexing his shoulders and neck.
Sabur: It's been said, stated, and written that JESUS upon his death, prior to his resurrection ascended into Hell. What hasn't been said was that while visiting that flaming pit of despair he brought back a hound!!!
Sabur looses control kicks Chubs in the chest. The fat man flies backwards hitting the wall. The Irish Hammer grabs the camera in mid air holds it to his face as I calmly just watch the inner working of Nuclear bomb unfold before my eyes.
Sabur: I am a hound of Hell, a living breathing, muscle bound monster. I'm like a weapon of devastation and it looks like Monday night I'm pointed toward the Peoria Civic Center. Krunk, Pennington, AJP and Logan will all become casualties of war. I'm not in this match to watch anyone's back, I'm not here to make a statement, or re kindle anything from my past. The plain and simple truth is when you want results, you just Hiroshima the fuck out the place and you end of with no more loud and screaming statement then that. Monday night, Michael Lively can be considered Einstein, and I'm his creation of mass devastation!!!!
Sabur throws the camera down and crushes it with his boot. I applaud the big man who almost is foaming at the mouth.
Lively: Totally worth having to get a new camera!!!
Sabur: I hope you are ready for what you just brought about this place!!!
I smile with pride hoping that this display is just the prequel to the sheer campaign of violence the big man unleashes Monday. I walk over to Chubs who seems to be coming to after the boot to his chest.
Chubs: What happened?
Lively: Sorry Sabur watched 300 last night and I guess he decided to Leonidas your ass across the room.
Chubs: God it hurts!!
Lively: Uhhh...yeah you just got kicked in the chest by the equivalent of a Rhino, walk it off.
I pick the fat man up as Sabur storm out of the hotel room trying to get under control. Chubs takes two steps and falls forward on his face. I simply fold my arms ready for another Monday night!
