Post by Slade "The Main Man" Craven on Dec 4, 2012 0:31:10 GMT -4
[glow=yellow,9,200]BZZZZZZZZZZZZZ[/glow]
The electro shock therapy is administered again. Slade Craven lay strapped to the gurney with a mouth guard wedged in his mouth. Dr. Rosenstein is above Slade with the shocking points in his hand. Craven’s body spasms in writing pain as the Doctor pressed them to Slade’s temples. The high voltage current surges through him. It zaps Slade’s brain and possibly fries it beyond repair.
“Again.” Rosenstein says to the nurse behind him.
She presses the “charge” button on the machine and a whirl fills the air. Rosenstein leans in and applies the next surge of current to Slade’s temples. His eyes are rolled back in his head as his teeth sink into the mouth guard. Craven’s body slumps as the Doctor pulls the probes away.
“Slade?” Rosenstein asks. “Can you answer the question now?”
Chief Orderly Hank walks up and rips the guard from Slade’s mouth. “The Main Man” is gasping for breath as he blinks under the bright lights.
“I didn’t ta-.”
Hank barely lets Slade finish his sentence before he smashes the mouth guard back into Craven’s mouth. Rosenstein hits Slade with another jolt. The camera pans around to the observation window. The camera moves forward and the scene passes through the window to the other side.
“You can see zee subject is still suffering from an intense delusional psychosis.” Another Doctor is speaking to APW Asylum Medical Staff Coordinator John Thomas in the observation room. His accent is apparent.
“He really doesn’t think he lost, Dr. Guildencrantz?” Thomas asks.
“It’z vurse zan zat,” The doctor replies. “Mister Craven believes he not only vithstood zee match last veek, but zat Mister Schmidt iz out to get him.”
“Really?”
“Furser-more, zee subject’s paranoia has manifested into lucid fits of hallucination.”
“Explain.”
“Mister Craven believes that he is not zee only Megastyr zat iz institutionalized.”
“I don’t follow.”
Doctor Guildencrantz merely chuckles. “Mr. Tomas, your subject believes ZAT ZIS IZ ASSILEM.”
“What?”
An intern puts her hand on Mr. Thomas’ shoulder.
“What the good doctor is trying to say; is that Slade Craven sees the staff, the orderlies even the other patients as members of the Asylum roster and crew. Craven has plunged far deeper than anticipated and it has caused some major setbacks. I understand you wanted Slade Craven for the Tap Out challenge but he is not fit to compete. He is dangerous, extremely dangerous right now.”
“That's why is Slade undergoing electroshock therapy?”
“Because it iz zee only vay to contain him. It renders his muscles veak and is vorking to shatter zee problems in zee subconscious.”
“Mr. Thomas, what I can’t understand,” the intern begins, “is if Reginald Schmidt pulled Slade from the Tap out challenge based on Dr. Rosenstein and Dr. Guildencrantz’s medical assessment, why is Slade booked this week on Asylum?”
It is now Mr. Thomas’ moment to chuckle.
“Well dear, if you didn’t realize, look at who Slade is facing.”
“As yesh!” Guildencrantz exclaims. “Stefan Raab an excellent specimen of German genealogy. Yesh I cannot understand vhy you vould put him in the ring with a madman like Slade Craven. He could hurt him.”
“Orders came from up top.”
“Reginald Schmidt?”
“Higher.” Thomas laughs. “Stefan Raab has made some very public threats to President Jeff and it was advised that, ‘to eradicate a growing problem in APW’ they would pit these two disgraces against one another with the hopes they would both wipe each other off the map. It would save APW a lot of money in contract payouts and we would kill two birds with one stone.”
“Wait,” The intern seem shocked. “You WANT him loose on Asylum?”
“Mr. Tomas, I cannot concur with you decision. Slade Craven iz a danger not only to himself, but to uh-zers around him. Mr. Raab vould not be prepared for vat you are planning on unleash-en on Assilem. More-ova, if you release zee patient who iz to say he does not attack uh-zers like Mr. Saint or even Mr. Schmidt for zee match outcome last veek?”
“Reginald Schmidt has taken every precaution...”
“I highly doubt zat.”
Back inside the room they have removed the mouth guard again. Slade babbles a response that Hank and Dr. Rosenstein do not accept. They cram the mouth guard back in and resume the treatment.
“What did he say?” Mr. Thomas asks.
“Play that back,” the intern requests.
Another intern in the room is working at a console and recording this barbaric and inhumane procedure. He hits the rewind button while still recording the live feed. One monitor observes Slade being hit with yet another blast of electrical current, while another plays the following scene.
“Slade?” Rosenstein asked.
“Y-yeah ref?” Craven weakly replied.
“Can you tell me what happened last week on Asylum?”
“Your blind ass saw Saint shake me and make my arm move. You, you said I tapped you stupid son of a bitch.”
Hank suddenly goes to stuff the mouth guard back in but the Doctor halted him.
“What do you mean?”
“If President Jeff had just signed that damn medical plan we presented, your glaucoma wouldn’t be so fucking bad and you’d be able to call a GODDAMN MATCH!”
Craven immediately started struggling on the video after that. Fighting his bonds and gritting his teeth to prevent the mouth guard from being reapplied. Dr. Rosenstein hits Slade with another jolt causing him to scream in pain. Hank uses this time to apply the mouth guard.
“He really thinks Doctor Rosenstein is the referee from last week’s match?”
“Yesh.” Guildencrantz replies. “Now, vat iz zis medical plan zee subject sh-peaks of?”
“Several months ago,” Thomas starts, “Slade and his fellow AKA members felt the referees of APW were suffering from poor eye sight. He and his compatriots decided to put together a massive vision plan that would, among many other things, allow referees to smoke marijuana to prevent glaucoma. We should have known then that Slade was slipping.”
The APW staff man shakes his head.
“We were fools to think it was ‘just him being him.’ Slade hasn’t been the same since he came back. What with the lawsuit and all, he just... well he’s just lost it.”
“Mr. Thomas,” the intern begs, “please don’t let Slade compete this week. You heard the doctor, he’s dangerous. If you let him loose there is no telling what he may do, or who he may hurt.”
Mr. Thomas just stands there, staring through the pane of glass that isolates him from the “ever increasingly dangerous” Slade Craven. Thinking about the orders issued, John Thomas feels a smile creep across his face. Slade Craven and Stefan Raab were a problem that had to be dealt with. Reginald Schmidt found the perfect way to handle such an issue. Make both these psychopaths destroy one another. On the other side of the glass, Slade is receiving another shock from the ‘good’ doctor. Thomas just watches, seeing the anger fueling inside Slade, the frustration of not being able to break free. While President Jeff had a soft spot for Slade and kept him under contract out of their history, no one else seemed to care, certainly not John Thomas. Jeff himself felt that Slade was capable enough to deal with Raab so the President wouldn’t have to get his own hands dirty. But as far as the rest of the Asylum staff, Slade was a problem. His violent vocal outbursts, negative publicity and poor performance were bringing down the ratings. At least the crowd liked watching Stefan Raab get his ass kicked. Slade on the other hand was just a filler; a jobber now. Better to bury him with the rest of the dead. Another course of current zaps through Slade’s temples as he lay trapped. Thomas just smiled.
“Please!” The intern pleads. “Don’t do this!”
“Shut it! Get him ready for transport.” John Thomas says curtly. “Slade has a match. And we certainly can’t disappoint HIS fans!”
What the hell?
I wish I knew what to say here. But I guess “what the hell,” fits pretty well. Stefan Raab is my opponent this week? This man was the laughing stock of Meltdown and I’m reduced to wrestling him? Christ, I thought the jackass with his face buried in a urinal was at rock bottom. Apparently he never had to wrestle Stefan Raab.
If I wasn’t six years sober I would be drinking my ass off right now. Instead I think I’ll just kick you in the teeth.
Did you know my father fought in World War II? When he came back from kicking in Nazi skulls he had some anger issues. Never took it out on my mom though, just the poor Aryan bastards who lived down the street. If he didn’t punch a Gerry every now and then, well let’s just say that never happened.
I like Germans though, most of them anyway, especially the women. Those Oktoberfest girls are always loving on the designated driver. Maybe it’s because sober people don’t treat them like crap. But there I go judging drunkards and acting like a racists. I’m not. I just want to fight somebody.
No, I just want to hurt somebody.
So Stefan Raab, step on up. Let’s hear you ramble on all the fights you’re picking with people: Yarmouth, President Jeff and now me. You should pick somebody to focus on and it better be the asshole who’s talking trash to you right now. Yarmouth has his hands full with the tap out challenge and, let’s be honest; you don’t deserve to face President Jeff. The man is a legend and you have the audacity to call him out? I should slap the sour right out of your Kraut for such disrespect.
I was pretty down on my luck when I heard that prick was suing me for a shit ton of money I don’t have. Then I found out I’m facing you next Sunday. It was kind of a pick-me-up. Because I was sitting in my padded cell all week, you know between the drooling and electrical shocks, all pissed off and angry then Reginald Schmidt showed up and told me I was fighting you this week. I realized at that moment, I wasn’t the biggest joke employed by APW.
I had what alcoholics call a moment of clarity. Believe me I know, I’ve had a few.
You know why President Jeff hasn’t responded about your match at Christmas Chaos; because he has better things to do than continue to cater to your whining. You’re all pissed off cause you got suspended and no one gives a damn that Stefan Raab is back, I get it. You wish people cared and they don’t. They didn’t give two shits about you on Meltdown, why would they care about you coming up to Asylum?
Seriously, the only reason you even got bumped up to Asylum is because you rode Yarmouth’s coattails. Then when he dumped your deadweight overboard, you realized you suck worse than I do. That’s got to sting. Therefore, you got angry. You started picking fights with anyone you could and no one paid you any mind. No one cared that Stefan Raab got suspended, no one cares that you came back and no one’s going to care when you become the person who finally helps me end my cold streak.
Are you seeing a pattern here? Do I sound like I am repeating myself?
Everyone else says that’s all I do. I just talk shit about how I will walk down to the ring and drop a Fly Fly or two and raise hell for the fans. But I don’t need to say that. I just need to stand in the center of the ring Sunday night and watch you kick your own ass. I’ve watched your matches Raab, to end this cold streak, all I have to do is show up.
When I was in wrestling school, we had to wrestle “The invisible man” for a grade. Does your stupid ass understand the concept of that? If you don’t let me fill you in: You have to work an entire match by yourself. There was this one guy; we called him “Wonderboy,” when we watched him go toe to toe with “The invisible man” Wonderboy got his ass kicked. I mean that Invisible man beat the holy hell out of Wonderboy. Never in my life did I expect to see Wonderboy make it in professional wrestling, yet here you are. I couldn’t believe it when I saw tapes of you wrestling. Your Meltdown matches are hilarious. Especially when it’s my homeboy Shadow that’s tossing you about. He did that quite a few times if I recall.
So Killerplauze, you want to send The President and your old tag partner a message? You plan on destroying me, boy others have tried. Hell EVERYONE has tried. But Slade Craven is still swinging, bitch. No matter what you do, who you know, there is nothing that can bury “The Main Man.”
Because his heart beats with the fury of the fans, the fans that love to hate you. Well, no they just hate you and rightfully so. You suck Stefan. You are nothing more than a bratty baby throwing a temper tantrum. And for the fans I plan to silence you, maybe not once and for all, but at least for one night. For one night nobody has to listen to you whine and scream about how you want to face President Jeff. No one needs to listen to you complain about Yarmouth’s career taking off while you got left in the dust. Instead, I am going to send you a message Stefan. My message: GTFO.
That’s right Raab, I said it. President Jeff is way too nice. Even I admit he should have fired me. But he hasn’t. Just like he hasn’t fired you. So when I’m done reminding you how much you’re a prissy petticoat pussy you can pack your bags and GTFO. No one cares Stefan, no one wants to fight you. Not because they’re scared of you. You just arn’t worth their time. Sadly I hate to admit it, but you actually are WORTH my time, considering the slump I’ve been in the past, what forever?
So I will use you Stefan, I will use you just like your former partner used you. I will drag you through one last GOOD match before I cast you aside like a drunken prom date. Then I will take off and leave you in the trash with your so called “career.” But now, I’m going to say something you never thought you’d hear. Thank you Stefan Raab, thank you for coming back and reminding me that there IS someone out there who sucks worse than me. Thank you for reminding “The Main Man” that he has one more chance to prove he is worth a damn. Thank you for straight up sucking Stefan. Now GTFO.
