Post by Slade "The Main Man" Craven on Feb 5, 2013 1:20:05 GMT -4
[glow=yellow,2,300]“It was the Heat of the Moment!”[/glow]
Craven’s eyes snap open as he lay in his hotel bed. The sun shines on “The Main Man’s” face making him blink. Then he sat up.
[glow=yellow,2,300]“Telling me what my heart meant! The Heat of the Moment, showed in your eyes!”[/glow]
“Rise and shine Craven,” Slade said to himself.
Slade stood and looked around his hotel room. This was the way of professional wrestling. No matter how bad ass you thought you were the real rules were that wrestlers bunked in the same hotel. Slade knew that he would have to get to the arena for Asylum. He had no clue exactly who he was working this weekend, but he was ready to throw down. It wouldn’t be long before one of the APW officials would be by to drop off the card for next week. Slade walked to the bathroom and began to go through the motions of his morning routine.
For a few moments Craven, relieved himself, brushed his teeth, gargled some mouthwash and washed his face. Slade took a few minutes getting ready and then came the knock as the door.
“Next Sunday night’s card!” Someone yelled.
Slade went to the door, opened it and took the card.
“Stefan Raab?” Slade asked as he looked over the card. His eyes drifted up at the emssenger. Slade felt like shooting him. “Again?”
“Looks like it, sir.”
“This shit’s getting old. Doesn't Asylum have other wrestlers on it's roster? I know I faced a few of them a month ago in that freaking battle royal! And what’s all this about Hurricane Jeff being there? Eh maybe he’ll fire that asshole. Okay sounds good I’ll beat Stefan’s ass and then Jeff can send him packing. It’ll be a two-fer.”
Craven was talking half in character half not. He shut the door and continued about his day. The day was very simple and unlike most scenes we see Slade going through this one travels through in quick clips, like a television show. “The Main Man” went downstairs and ate breakfast with the rest of the crew. It was the crappy complimentary breakfast but Craven didn’t mind the Pig in a Poke. Slade got to the arena and hung out in the backstage area for a good while then stood in the gorilla position, he had to practice his match before the tenth. Slade smiled as he waited and then his music hit over the small stereo and he bursts through the curtain. The practice match went off beautifully and Slade headed back to the hotel and then he went to bed for the night. The whole day passed by in just a few minutes for the world to see. Craven shut off the light at the hotel and went to sleep.
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[glow=yellow,2,300]“It was the Heat of the Moment!”[/glow]
Craven’s eyes snap open as he lay in his hotel bed. The sun shines on “The Main Man’s” face making him blink. Then he sat up.
[glow=yellow,2,300]“Telling me what my heart meant! The Heat of the Moment, showed in your eyes!”[/glow]
“What the hell?” Slade looked around unsure as the song continued.
He looked at the clothes he was wearing, that wasn’t what he went to sleep in the night before. Craven stood up and went to go pack up his ring gear. Slade smelled the pleather pants and spandex shirt, they didn’t smell worn.
“Da fuck?” Craven’s face twisted even more confused.
Slade sifted through all his stuff, nothing seemed right. He looked at his cell phone.
“Saturday?”
There was a knock at the door.
“Next Sunday night’s card!”
“No way.”
Slade walked to the door, grabbed the card.
“Stefan Raab?!” Slade knew he was going to read that.
He slammed the door in the official’s face and grabbed his gear, went downstairs, at the Pig in a Poke and hopped in a cab to the arena. No one else seemed to notice everything in the same way Slade was. This was more than Deja vu. It felt like the same day all over. But it had to be a dream. Just a very lucid, very real dream. Slade wanted to make sure it wasn’t so he went out and wrestled his practice match in his normal clothing. Make it different that way things wouldn't repeat themselves and maybe this day would definately end. As the match was going on Slade picked up the local jobber for a suplex, stepped on his shoelaces and dropped the guy on his head with a sickening CRACK. The man went limp as Slade looked down in shock.
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[glow=yellow,2,300]“It was the Heat of the Moment!”[/glow]
Craven’s eyes snap open as he lay in his hotel bed. The sun shines on “The Main Man’s” face making him blink. He immediately sat up.
[glow=yellow,2,300]“Telling me what my heart meant! The Heat of the Moment, showed in your eyes!”[/glow]
“Oh hell no!” Slade said as he grabbed his phone and looked at the date. “Saturday, Saturday?!”
“The Main Man” glanced around the room and then darted to the window to peer outside. Everything was the same. Slade was sweating. He couldn’t believe it, this was impossible. Slade banged his hands on the window in frustration.
“No! No! No! Not again.”
The ring official knocked on Slade’s hotel room door.
“Next Sunday night’s card!”
“Piss off!” Slade seized a lamp and flung it across the room. It smashed into the door with a crash.
“Whoa!” The official said from the other side of the door. “Alright. Fucking wrestlers thinking they are all rock stars.”
Slade could hear the guy complaining as he stormed off. Craven looked back at the wreckage in front of his door. Laying on the floor was the card for Asylum. Slade could see it without squinting his eyes: Slade Craven versus Stefan Raab.
“The Main Man” snatched up his things and decided it would be better to just skip town. He would blow off the practice match and just get back down to the states. No reason to stay if freaking Vancouver.
“Canada is too cold this time of year anyway,” he said to no one, trying to convince himself this would work. “I’ll just haul ass to the airports and get my ass south of the border. Yeah that will work!”
Slade grabbed his ring bag and wallet and bolted for the door. Craven climbed into the elevator and frantically pressed the button for the ground floor.
“Come on,” He muttered. “Come on!”
Finally the door shut and Slade was on his way down. As he stood in the elevator Slade waited patiently. He usually took the stairs but Slade was trying to do everything different. Then the lights flickered. Craven’s head whipped side to side. Then the elevator rumbled and Slade was barely able to remain standing. Next the lights went out. The elevator had abruptly stopped. The emergency lighting came on. Slade pressed the call button.
“Hello? Hello?!” Slade screamed into the intercom.
No response.
Slade kicked the elevator once. The damn button was dead. He was trapped.
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[glow=yellow,2,300]“It was the Heat of the Moment!”[/glow]
Craven’s eyes snap open as he lay in his hotel bed. He immediately sat up. With an exacerbated look on his face Slade rolled out of bed. He pulled himself up to his knees and screamed in frustration. After a moment he lowered his head in silence. Then the ring official knocked on Slade’s hotel room door.
“Next Sunday night’s card!”
Craven glared at the door. He got up walked over to the door, ripped it open and decked the APW official in the face before the man could hand him the card.
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[glow=yellow,2,300]“It was the Heat of the Moment!”[/glow]
Craven was laughing manically as he stood in front of the hotel bathroom mirror. This was the 65th Ground hog day in a row. He was losing what was left of his mind. Every day the same thing. Every day they told him he was going to face Stefan Raab... Again. It didn’t matter what he did. He splashed water on his face, the faucet running on high.
“Screw their damn water bill!” Slade half screamed half laughed as he seized the electronic razor.
He planned to shave off his douche beard and hair, maybe even his eyebrows. Maybe that would change things. Slade plugged in the razor and felt the jolting current course though his body. He sparked and crackled.
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[glow=yellow,2,300]“It was the Heat of the Moment!”[/glow]
WHAM!
Craven kicked the door to Reginald Schmidd’s office open. Slade was at the Roger’s Arena storming into the Asylum GM’s temporary office. The door nearly sailed off the hinges. Slade always did have a good kick. Schmidd looked up at Slade confused to all hell as to what was going on.
“Is this about your match with Stefan Raab?”
Slade strolled across the office without a word got up on the desk, turned and faced the door, droped his pants to a full moon. “The Main Man” squatted down as the camera focused on Slade’s face. He clenched his teeth as his face turned red.
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[glow=yellow,2,300]“It was the Heat of the Moment!”[/glow]
This Groundhog’s Day replay shows Slade Craven on his knees in the middle of the street weeping. Lord knows how many repeated days he’d been through by now. Slade looked to the sky, his mas-douche-carea dripped down his face. “The Main Man” sobbed like bitch.
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[glow=yellow,2,300]“It was the Heat of the Moment!”[/glow]
“It’s never going to end.”
Slade sat on the edge of his hotel bed. He stared down at the floor right at the card for Asylum. This would be the Saturday he didn’t leave the hotel room. After 129 Saturdays in a row Slade was about to snap. His eyes burned a hole into the piece of paper that glared back at him.
“...Stefan Raab...Stefan Raab...Stefan Raab...”
Craven hugged his knees wide eyed and practically catatonic.
“He’s everywhere, every week and every show.”
Slade couldn’t stop thinking about the past two months. No matter what match he was thrown into he was dealing with Raab in some way, shape or form. Slade wanted to say he was sick of facing Stefan but to be honest he welcomed the match. Anything to get him out of this never ending time loop of Groundhog Days. But he was beginning to think it would never happen. The camera cuts to Slade’s face his lips twitch and his eye has a tick. The camera cuts again to a close up of Craven’s bloodshot right eye. We see Slade’s pupil dilate.
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I’m going to make this short and sweet. Are we stuck on repeat?
Oh crap I rhyme. Alright so Stefan Raab what go-round is this; three, four? Have you gotten tired of feeling me stomp your lard ass into a puddle? Sure you got your big win over me a few weeks back, big freaking whoop. Everyone’s beat Slade Craven’s ass, why shouldn’t you?
But you should bear in mind that I am a man of my word. I promised to heft your gelatinous fat ass over the top rope a month ago on Asylum. Oh and mad props to the others in that match for lending a hand, I could have thrown my back out.
At the risk of sounding like a broken record here Stefan Raab what other insults can we sling at each other? I’ve called you what: Fat, tubby, huge, oversized, disgusting, hammy pants and morbidly obese bastard, right? Okay yeah I’ve run out of fat jokes.
So now let’s move onto you next problem: Being depressed! So you’re Bi-Polar on a Bi-Weekly show? Well if I had to look in the mirror every day and see you staring back I’d be depressed too. Hell I might even overdose on the pills the doctor gave you.
You remind me a lot of Mike Tyson. You know you got that boxing background a shit-ton of anger issues and are now heavily medicated. I get it, you’re on Zoloft so you don’t kill us mother fuckers. Up the dosage bitch. Raab your problem isn’t being bi-polar, it’s that your focus is all over the place and that you’re facing me week in and week out. Not because I got two cans of freshly chilled whoop ass ready to be cracked on Sunday but because APW is not supplying us with diversity. You need to keep your eyes on the prize Raab, if you can’t beat me and if you don’t find other more impressive people to overcome, how do you ever expect to beat Hurricane Jeff?
Hell, if it were me talking (and it is) I would say we need to branch out and expand our horizons. I for one am sick of smelling your stench. What I task you with fat man is, to waddle your ass down to Commodore Schmidlapp’s office and ask to face someone new in two weeks. I mean is he trying to make me a good guy again? I am sick of fighting for these pathetic people. And Canadians, why the hell would I want them to like me: Canada sucks! It’s like the crappy old man living above a bad ass party apartment.
And that’s what Slade Craven is: a partier. It’s why my music USED to be “I Came to Party.” Because that’s what wrestling is to me, one bitch’in party. And what party wouldn’t be awesome without someone getting their ass kicked? But if I have to listen to that crowd of Canadian cunts cheer for me to Cliq Kicking your teeth in, I think I’m going to be sick. So listen up Vancouver and listen good I am not going to wail on Stefan Raab because you hate him. I’m doing this so that maybe this will be the last time I ever have to face the emotional rollercoaster called the Killerplauze. Stefan Raab, Sunday night I’m going to BEAT YOUR ASS!
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