Post by Slade "The Main Man" Craven on Jan 19, 2013 20:48:57 GMT -4
The scene opens on a cold dead field. In the distance is a small farm town. Slade is strolling through the field, walking away from that town. The camera pans around him, and we see that he is facing a dark black cloud. Slade stops in his tracks and stares into the darkness, he stands there glaring. The world behind him looks so bright, it illuminates his shoulders. The sun burns the cold from his flesh, warming him to the core. Slade smirks at the cloud in front of him. As the camera moves around Slade further, and it becomes apparent that the dark cloud stops almost like a barrier. Something is keeping the blackness at bay.
“Soon,” is all Slade states. “Soon, Shadow, soon.”
Craven turns and starts to head back to town. It’s a small town, one that Slade could own if he wanted to. Money wasn’t an option in a place like this; it was power, a lust for power. If one were to desire it enough, they could have anything they wanted. Slade was craving something now. It had been so long since he had tasted this feeling, this sensation. It was exhilarating. Craven’s streak hadn’t gotten any better but despite that he still felt a yearning slowly consuming him: the lust to win, a need to do anything to obtain that goal.
“Four little megastars standing in my way.” Craven muttered to himself as a wind blew his hair across his face.
Upper Uncton looked so quaint, so quiet on this beautiful Saturday morning. Craven couldn’t wait. There was a fire rising inside him. As one hand was tucked into his coat pocket he flicked open his zippo. Up ahead the children were playing.
“They have no idea what’s coming.” Craven commented. It was an ambiguous statement, could be about the children or his opponents.
Craven thought about each opponent that stood in his way. Slade’s faced two of them before. Stefan Raab and Jair Hopkins. Slade faced Jair on the first night Craven appearing on Asylum. Hopkins was injured that night. On the other hand, Stefan Raab was a thorn in Slade’s side. Craven had spent the past month doing a back and forth song and dance with that fat German bastard, it was getting old. Craven almost missed fighting Keaton Saint. However, he actually had beaten Stefan Raab before so this would be a little easier. Raab was a small fry compared to the other people in this match.
“Germans,” Craven commented as he passed a small German family in Upper Uncton.
They didn’t really pay attention to the stranger passing through town. This city had long been a tourist attraction, the town next to a village shrouded in total darkness. One German boy wearing lederhosen ran by Slade; “The Main Man” nearly backhanded the little bastard.
“I can’t believe that Stefan Raab burns flags, drops F bombs and is explicitly violent and I’m the one being attacked politically.” The truth of that statement bothered Slade, he still hadn’t escaped the turmoil back home. “How stupid are these cattle? They are blind. Clinging to whatever the media tells them too, that must be it. Stefan Raab can commit his heinous acts, but because the media doesn’t deem him worth of airtime, like they do me, he’s nothing. No wonder he is such an attention whore. The man needs people to pay attention to him, he can’t live with the fact they don’t give a rat’s ass about him. They only jeer him because his mere presence is an inconvenience. The sooner he is out of view the better and they can go on living their miserable pointless lives.”
Craven stepped over a sleeping woman of the night. She had been used all night by several of the tourists. Her long skirt was torn and dirty. It was also worn at the knees, she must like that position.
“Now that looks like someone I’ve seen before.” Craven was thinking of the other woman in this match. His mind moved over her figure as he thought about the last match she was in on Asylum. Then he thought back a little further to the match between Parker and Talford. Slade could only say, “Hmmmmm.”
That was all a woman was good for lately. Craven had never liked wrestling women. Something about the way he was raised told him to treat a woman proper. Nowadays women were nothing more than teases, harlots running around in skimpy outfits. They were about as respectable as that whore on the ground.
“Aubrey J. Parker,” her name rolled right off Slade’s tongue and into the gutter. “What am I going to do with her? Well what wouldn’t I want to do to her? Oh everything. That chick is probably disease ridden, yikes. I could never expect that ring rat to be worth her own salt in a match.”
Craven spits over his shoulder, it lands next to the prostitute. She doesn’t stir, lost in her forgotten dreams. Slade keeps walking. As he nears the center of the small town, he stops and looks around.
“Where are all the black people?”
Slade is a little surprised, then again in a small English town in the middle of nowhere why would the population be ethnically diverse?
“Just like them too,” Craven muttered, “Completely unreliable.”
Everyone was ignoring “The Main Man,” and that was the thing for them. No one wanted to attract his attention. Slade was volatile; moreover, he didn’t want people to notice him. If they did Slade might lose focus. Wrecking the hopes and dreams of these people by burning their quaint little village to the ground was not his purpose. Craven’s new drive was to do the impossible. Winning the upcoming match was a start; people were saying Slade was all over the place, directionless. However, he lived to prove people wrong. As Slade passed the hovel of a hotel Slade’s watch beeped. He glanced down and realized the time. He had to get to the arena.
Last few days I’ve trolled the English countryside just watching the people. This venue we’re working reminds me of my old days. The days I spent back in Dallas when I was training, the days of the Sportitorium. That’s real wrestling. People don’t remember what it means to be a professional wrestler. They think it’s all about the flashy ring, sweet crazy moves, and technology. Wrestling is about the better man, key emphasis on that word Aubrey. Stefan Raab has been trying; he’s wanted to learn how to be a professional wrestler, yet I just can’t see it. Stefan is too ‘Nazi’ to be a true pro wrestler. He’s just a fat ass who rambles on about how he plans to hurt people.
Stefan doesn’t have the focus to wrestle. He’s a brawler. He just wants to pummel someone: President Jeff actually. If Stefan could pull his head from his ass he might realize that Hurricane Jeff is waiting for a real man to challenge him. No, not me. I’m fighting Shadow at Rasslemania. So no Stefan, I’m not stepping on your Kool-Aid you can babble on about how Jeff’s too big a bitch to fight you; that’s fine. When I heft your fat ass over the ropes tonight you can focus on the big boss all you want.
Still, Stefan I have to wonder about you. Because of our continued interaction throughout the past month I’ve had no choice but to turn my attention to you. So I’ve taken a thorough interest in you. I’ve re-watched your ‘rise to glory,’ on old Meltdown reruns, laughed my way through your terrible attempts to build a tag team and fought the aching call of sleep caused by your predictable suspension. By the way, I think that was a first for APW. President Jeff never suspended anyone when I started here three years ago, that I can remember. You must really be bad for ratings if he is trying to keep you off the air. And in spite of everything I just said, I’d like think that you have potential. But I just can’t get over the goofy look on your face.
It’s a wonder anyone can take you seriously. All offense intended Stefan, I meant it when I said GTFO. And since you refused to listen to me, I get to remove you from the ring myself. Yes, indeed. I plan to eat some spinach, muster up my strength and try not to throw my back out when I toss you like a sack of potatoes. Sack of potatoes, that’s a pretty fitting analogy for someone like you. Dirty, all white on the inside and definitely lumpy. You fat fuck.
So what about Jair Hopkins and the other member of The Dying Breed? Come on boys, just because I’m a white guy from Texas doesn’t mean you two have to run and hide. Yes, I know Texas had a bad track record with people of your pigmentation, but it is okay, Slade is down with the brown.
Jair, I complimented you once before on the fact that you were one of the few people who beat my former tag partner. It would be nice if you had some kind words to say about me too. You praised that psycho Callahan, in between calling him a monster, yet you can’t find anything about me? I’m a Hall of Famer, you will respect me! You rookies, you think that you so perfect with your cute little nicknames. “The Asylum Child,” that’s all you will ever be to me, a child. You probably have never worked a small venue before. By any chance are you claustrophobic Jair? I bet a man like you can’t stand small confined spaces.
Think about it: being in that ring with four other people and barely any space between the ring and the crowd. Now think about the fact we will probably be changing clothes in the bathroom. It’s going to be just like prison, you’ve been there before haven’t you or am I just stereotyping? Well don’t worry I’ll happily set you free tonight when I launch your bitch ass out of my ring!
As for your “homeboy” Bailey, I expected more from the former Heavyweight champion. Bailey I’m not talking about your poor performance, I’m referring to your crappy book. It made great toilet paper though. You owe me 24.99$ you hack.
Now in regards to this lack of respect you’re showing me, I thought you were fearless. That’s what your big ‘ring in the new year’ speech was about, wasn’t it? How all you past accomplishments have equipped you with the strength to go toe to toe with Megastars like Phil Atkin? Be honest, did you recruit yourself a rich white boy to do your wet work Mr. Celebrity? And after everything you said, you’re inspiring speech... man I was just starting to respect you. Now look at you, Callahan bashed in the champ’s skull and you got yourself an easy win.
Watching you just pick the bones of Phil Atkin was admirable, but it just showed how shallow you are. You jumped at the chance to claim a hollow victory of the heavyweight champion. It just reflects how much of a paper champion you were. No wonder you lost that belt. Furthermore, I now see why you weren’t worthy to get into that number one contender’s match. The most pathetic aspect to this is the fact that I finally understand the purpose of The Dying Breed.
Bailey it’s so sad. You cling to those rookies because they are your lifeline to this federation. If you hadn’t found Jair Hopkins and Krunk, Commodore Schmidlapp would have pink slipped your ass in a heartbeat. You even said it yourself, Jair came through when you couldn’t. Am I mistaken? I didn’t think so. Bailey you don’t belong anymore. You’re going extinct and I will be the one to wipe you off the endangered species list. Take a long look at that small venue crowd Bailey; it’s what you’re going back to, the small time. That’s the promise Bailey, I promise to mail your ass back to house shows.
As for Ms. Parker, I seem to have under estimated you. Hah just kidding. I’ve been talking about Jair Hopkin’s win over Shadow and you’ve beaten the big man twice. Of course I chalk that up to you being a woman and Shadow knowing grew up with the same morals I did. We don’t hit women. Well, he doesn’t; me I’m not averse to slapping a bitch.
You’re the whole reason I think Shadow went soft. In the old days, he would have steam rolled your ass. Two wins, god he’s slipping. Allow me to show you why I challenged Shadow. I will show you what happens when someone trained in the heartland doesn’t hold back. Wrestling requires 100% of your determination when I’m done taking out the men in this match I’ll turn all my attention to YOU.
No worries love, I won’t do anything too dastardly. Just show you why this is and will always be a MAN’S business. I’ll even be a gentleman about it. I’ll take my time, savor our time together. Trust me you get to see why I am the most memorable and mesmerizing man in professional wrestling.
Survive and Conquer looms in the distance and ya’lls hope of victory actually rests on tonight’s outcome. I like that. I like being the one person who stands in the four of ya’lls way. It just means that you four have to come through me to have any chance in London. So where are your heads at? Stefan Raab has his buried up his bum, Jair and Bailey are god knows where and Aubrey is staring at the faded glory of her father.
Each of you hasn’t realized the depth of character it takes to win at Survive and Conquer. I remember my last stint in the Survive and Conquer match. I underestimated it, I was weak not anymore. Tonight, in that barn I will start a fire; I will burn it down with all of you lying broken at ringside. Beware, that fire will burn brighter than anything you could imagine. It will consume you unclean and unworthy insects. Only the pure will remain, only “The Main Man” shall survive.
“Soon,” is all Slade states. “Soon, Shadow, soon.”
Craven turns and starts to head back to town. It’s a small town, one that Slade could own if he wanted to. Money wasn’t an option in a place like this; it was power, a lust for power. If one were to desire it enough, they could have anything they wanted. Slade was craving something now. It had been so long since he had tasted this feeling, this sensation. It was exhilarating. Craven’s streak hadn’t gotten any better but despite that he still felt a yearning slowly consuming him: the lust to win, a need to do anything to obtain that goal.
“Four little megastars standing in my way.” Craven muttered to himself as a wind blew his hair across his face.
Upper Uncton looked so quaint, so quiet on this beautiful Saturday morning. Craven couldn’t wait. There was a fire rising inside him. As one hand was tucked into his coat pocket he flicked open his zippo. Up ahead the children were playing.
“They have no idea what’s coming.” Craven commented. It was an ambiguous statement, could be about the children or his opponents.
Craven thought about each opponent that stood in his way. Slade’s faced two of them before. Stefan Raab and Jair Hopkins. Slade faced Jair on the first night Craven appearing on Asylum. Hopkins was injured that night. On the other hand, Stefan Raab was a thorn in Slade’s side. Craven had spent the past month doing a back and forth song and dance with that fat German bastard, it was getting old. Craven almost missed fighting Keaton Saint. However, he actually had beaten Stefan Raab before so this would be a little easier. Raab was a small fry compared to the other people in this match.
“Germans,” Craven commented as he passed a small German family in Upper Uncton.
They didn’t really pay attention to the stranger passing through town. This city had long been a tourist attraction, the town next to a village shrouded in total darkness. One German boy wearing lederhosen ran by Slade; “The Main Man” nearly backhanded the little bastard.
“I can’t believe that Stefan Raab burns flags, drops F bombs and is explicitly violent and I’m the one being attacked politically.” The truth of that statement bothered Slade, he still hadn’t escaped the turmoil back home. “How stupid are these cattle? They are blind. Clinging to whatever the media tells them too, that must be it. Stefan Raab can commit his heinous acts, but because the media doesn’t deem him worth of airtime, like they do me, he’s nothing. No wonder he is such an attention whore. The man needs people to pay attention to him, he can’t live with the fact they don’t give a rat’s ass about him. They only jeer him because his mere presence is an inconvenience. The sooner he is out of view the better and they can go on living their miserable pointless lives.”
Craven stepped over a sleeping woman of the night. She had been used all night by several of the tourists. Her long skirt was torn and dirty. It was also worn at the knees, she must like that position.
“Now that looks like someone I’ve seen before.” Craven was thinking of the other woman in this match. His mind moved over her figure as he thought about the last match she was in on Asylum. Then he thought back a little further to the match between Parker and Talford. Slade could only say, “Hmmmmm.”
That was all a woman was good for lately. Craven had never liked wrestling women. Something about the way he was raised told him to treat a woman proper. Nowadays women were nothing more than teases, harlots running around in skimpy outfits. They were about as respectable as that whore on the ground.
“Aubrey J. Parker,” her name rolled right off Slade’s tongue and into the gutter. “What am I going to do with her? Well what wouldn’t I want to do to her? Oh everything. That chick is probably disease ridden, yikes. I could never expect that ring rat to be worth her own salt in a match.”
Craven spits over his shoulder, it lands next to the prostitute. She doesn’t stir, lost in her forgotten dreams. Slade keeps walking. As he nears the center of the small town, he stops and looks around.
“Where are all the black people?”
Slade is a little surprised, then again in a small English town in the middle of nowhere why would the population be ethnically diverse?
“Just like them too,” Craven muttered, “Completely unreliable.”
Everyone was ignoring “The Main Man,” and that was the thing for them. No one wanted to attract his attention. Slade was volatile; moreover, he didn’t want people to notice him. If they did Slade might lose focus. Wrecking the hopes and dreams of these people by burning their quaint little village to the ground was not his purpose. Craven’s new drive was to do the impossible. Winning the upcoming match was a start; people were saying Slade was all over the place, directionless. However, he lived to prove people wrong. As Slade passed the hovel of a hotel Slade’s watch beeped. He glanced down and realized the time. He had to get to the arena.
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Last few days I’ve trolled the English countryside just watching the people. This venue we’re working reminds me of my old days. The days I spent back in Dallas when I was training, the days of the Sportitorium. That’s real wrestling. People don’t remember what it means to be a professional wrestler. They think it’s all about the flashy ring, sweet crazy moves, and technology. Wrestling is about the better man, key emphasis on that word Aubrey. Stefan Raab has been trying; he’s wanted to learn how to be a professional wrestler, yet I just can’t see it. Stefan is too ‘Nazi’ to be a true pro wrestler. He’s just a fat ass who rambles on about how he plans to hurt people.
Stefan doesn’t have the focus to wrestle. He’s a brawler. He just wants to pummel someone: President Jeff actually. If Stefan could pull his head from his ass he might realize that Hurricane Jeff is waiting for a real man to challenge him. No, not me. I’m fighting Shadow at Rasslemania. So no Stefan, I’m not stepping on your Kool-Aid you can babble on about how Jeff’s too big a bitch to fight you; that’s fine. When I heft your fat ass over the ropes tonight you can focus on the big boss all you want.
Still, Stefan I have to wonder about you. Because of our continued interaction throughout the past month I’ve had no choice but to turn my attention to you. So I’ve taken a thorough interest in you. I’ve re-watched your ‘rise to glory,’ on old Meltdown reruns, laughed my way through your terrible attempts to build a tag team and fought the aching call of sleep caused by your predictable suspension. By the way, I think that was a first for APW. President Jeff never suspended anyone when I started here three years ago, that I can remember. You must really be bad for ratings if he is trying to keep you off the air. And in spite of everything I just said, I’d like think that you have potential. But I just can’t get over the goofy look on your face.
It’s a wonder anyone can take you seriously. All offense intended Stefan, I meant it when I said GTFO. And since you refused to listen to me, I get to remove you from the ring myself. Yes, indeed. I plan to eat some spinach, muster up my strength and try not to throw my back out when I toss you like a sack of potatoes. Sack of potatoes, that’s a pretty fitting analogy for someone like you. Dirty, all white on the inside and definitely lumpy. You fat fuck.
So what about Jair Hopkins and the other member of The Dying Breed? Come on boys, just because I’m a white guy from Texas doesn’t mean you two have to run and hide. Yes, I know Texas had a bad track record with people of your pigmentation, but it is okay, Slade is down with the brown.
Jair, I complimented you once before on the fact that you were one of the few people who beat my former tag partner. It would be nice if you had some kind words to say about me too. You praised that psycho Callahan, in between calling him a monster, yet you can’t find anything about me? I’m a Hall of Famer, you will respect me! You rookies, you think that you so perfect with your cute little nicknames. “The Asylum Child,” that’s all you will ever be to me, a child. You probably have never worked a small venue before. By any chance are you claustrophobic Jair? I bet a man like you can’t stand small confined spaces.
Think about it: being in that ring with four other people and barely any space between the ring and the crowd. Now think about the fact we will probably be changing clothes in the bathroom. It’s going to be just like prison, you’ve been there before haven’t you or am I just stereotyping? Well don’t worry I’ll happily set you free tonight when I launch your bitch ass out of my ring!
As for your “homeboy” Bailey, I expected more from the former Heavyweight champion. Bailey I’m not talking about your poor performance, I’m referring to your crappy book. It made great toilet paper though. You owe me 24.99$ you hack.
Now in regards to this lack of respect you’re showing me, I thought you were fearless. That’s what your big ‘ring in the new year’ speech was about, wasn’t it? How all you past accomplishments have equipped you with the strength to go toe to toe with Megastars like Phil Atkin? Be honest, did you recruit yourself a rich white boy to do your wet work Mr. Celebrity? And after everything you said, you’re inspiring speech... man I was just starting to respect you. Now look at you, Callahan bashed in the champ’s skull and you got yourself an easy win.
Watching you just pick the bones of Phil Atkin was admirable, but it just showed how shallow you are. You jumped at the chance to claim a hollow victory of the heavyweight champion. It just reflects how much of a paper champion you were. No wonder you lost that belt. Furthermore, I now see why you weren’t worthy to get into that number one contender’s match. The most pathetic aspect to this is the fact that I finally understand the purpose of The Dying Breed.
Bailey it’s so sad. You cling to those rookies because they are your lifeline to this federation. If you hadn’t found Jair Hopkins and Krunk, Commodore Schmidlapp would have pink slipped your ass in a heartbeat. You even said it yourself, Jair came through when you couldn’t. Am I mistaken? I didn’t think so. Bailey you don’t belong anymore. You’re going extinct and I will be the one to wipe you off the endangered species list. Take a long look at that small venue crowd Bailey; it’s what you’re going back to, the small time. That’s the promise Bailey, I promise to mail your ass back to house shows.
As for Ms. Parker, I seem to have under estimated you. Hah just kidding. I’ve been talking about Jair Hopkin’s win over Shadow and you’ve beaten the big man twice. Of course I chalk that up to you being a woman and Shadow knowing grew up with the same morals I did. We don’t hit women. Well, he doesn’t; me I’m not averse to slapping a bitch.
You’re the whole reason I think Shadow went soft. In the old days, he would have steam rolled your ass. Two wins, god he’s slipping. Allow me to show you why I challenged Shadow. I will show you what happens when someone trained in the heartland doesn’t hold back. Wrestling requires 100% of your determination when I’m done taking out the men in this match I’ll turn all my attention to YOU.
No worries love, I won’t do anything too dastardly. Just show you why this is and will always be a MAN’S business. I’ll even be a gentleman about it. I’ll take my time, savor our time together. Trust me you get to see why I am the most memorable and mesmerizing man in professional wrestling.
Survive and Conquer looms in the distance and ya’lls hope of victory actually rests on tonight’s outcome. I like that. I like being the one person who stands in the four of ya’lls way. It just means that you four have to come through me to have any chance in London. So where are your heads at? Stefan Raab has his buried up his bum, Jair and Bailey are god knows where and Aubrey is staring at the faded glory of her father.
Each of you hasn’t realized the depth of character it takes to win at Survive and Conquer. I remember my last stint in the Survive and Conquer match. I underestimated it, I was weak not anymore. Tonight, in that barn I will start a fire; I will burn it down with all of you lying broken at ringside. Beware, that fire will burn brighter than anything you could imagine. It will consume you unclean and unworthy insects. Only the pure will remain, only “The Main Man” shall survive.
******************************************************************************
