Post by Slade "The Main Man" Craven on Feb 9, 2013 11:44:37 GMT -4
Slade opened the door to his hotel room. He seemed rather nervous. Stepping into the hallway Slade saw a housekeeper passing by pushing her trolley.
“Hey you!” Craven called to her, “What day is it?”
“It’s Saturday sir,” she replied.
“Oh thank God.” Slade wiped his forehead. “Okay, I’m done with you, be gone.”
She shook her head as Slade sighed. Every day since last Saturday, Slade asked someone what day it was. He wanted to make sure the days were rolling by properly. Craven body checked the overweight Hispanic housekeeper as he headed down the hallway. Slade spent the entire week working out. In retrospect he realized that he probably could have used those four thousand eight hundred and seventy nine Groundhogs Days to do something productive. He could have learned how to play the piano, carve an ice sculpture or maybe even come up with a new life goal. He really wasted that opportunity. So to make up for it Slade swore he’d spend the rest of the week busting his ass and researching his opponent in multiple ways so he could be fully prepared. But then Slade remembered he was facing Stefan Raab, it only took him a day. So he decided to work out the rest of the time.
“Excuse me!” A couple of Canucks fans barked at Slade as he brushed right through them. They were still polite despite their tone.
“Piss off!” Slade countered as he flipped them the bird. That’s how Americans did it.
Slade was getting sick of these vermin. No matter where he went there was always somebody. He never had freedom or privacy, these cockroaches scuttled to and fro every second of every day. Seeing them in the streets reminded Slade why he made his decision. He wishes to step and squash the millions and billions of bugs that continuously bred and breathed, polluting the very air that Slade inhaled. It sickened him to no avail. Craven was not heading toward the arena. The fans outside were always wishing him luck against Stefan Raab.
“Hey Slade, you can do it!”
“Go get him Craven!”
“We’re all rooting for you.”
This was the half assed bullshit faux support the fans gave him during the past couple months. It was like the people still cared about him. He knew it was a lie. The moment he was done with Stefan Raab they wouldn’t be there for him anymore. This was probably to most comforting thought on his mind too. He liked it when they left him alone. Maybe then he could eat meals in peace without having some goofy father walk up with his troglodyte children and beg for Slade’s autograph. But lately, because he spend the last two months in a back and forth with Asylum’s reject called the Killerplauze, the people were talking to him again. It straight up pissed Slade off. But in some twisted and demented way, the anger was helping. Tonight he knew that he had to finish it. Tonight he had to end Stefan Raab.
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For two months straight every match I have been in you, Stefan, have also been a part of. You’re like herpes. I’m not kidding about that either. Let’s look at the dates, December 7th, check, December 22nd, Check, January 6th, 20th and 27th; check-idy check, check! For sixty days it’s been Stefan and Slade in some way shape or form. I don’t know if want to be my new tag partner or if you just need a little friend to play with but look somewhere else Stefan. I have more important people to deal with than an intolerable turd like you.
When I tell you that I want to hurt you Stefan, it’s no longer business. No, having to listen to you drone on about how everyone sucks one another’s dicks OR how people are scarred bitches AND how nobody knows how to trash talk but you, is like listening to someone sticking screwdriver in a pencil sharpener. And when people start talking trash about you think they are emulating you? No one want’s to be like you Stefan. We like to actually win every now and then. How humiliating was it when you ass got chunked out by Bailey, Parker and I? Bailey, who looked hung over and probably was still drunk during that match, still out did you. At least I eliminated everyone else. You just wandered around the ring lost like Billy Bob in Varsity Blues. It’s not shown on camera but the three of us actually stood there for a moment laughing at your ass while you stared up into the sky like a turkey during a rain storm.
I thought you wised up and were leaving Stefan? You were going to Survive and Conquer representing another forgotten federation. I even threw you a going away party. No one came, but it’s the thought that counts. This is how you repay me, sticking around? You ungrateful, fat freak I’m out five bucks because of that, you owe money. Of course you’re too broke from being talentless to pay me back so I’m just going to have to take it out of your ass.
Stefan you have no idea what shit talking is son. You think that by listing my in ring shortcomings I’m going to feel bad? Hell no. You don’t know how to insult me, guess you missed “Proper Mic Work Day” at the StarrDome; huh bitch. Stefan you said that in the past year you’ve out shined me; that I’ve spent my year on Shadow’s nuts. Listen up fat ass Shadow and I parted ways a long time ago. You need to take five minutes out of your day and actually look into the people you’re facing you freak. You keep flapping your jowls about the same tired crap over and over. Just because you ran out of crap to say to me after the first night I whipped your ass doesn’t mean I’m done berating you for existing. Let me tell you something Stefan I don’t have to numb my brain watching all the repetitive embarrassments you call your accomplishments to know exactly what to say to you.
Stefan Raab I hate you. I would tell you to ask me how much, but I don’t ever want to hear you speak again. But I do despise you. I hate you so much I could rightfully kill you Stefan. What? Am I going too far? Shut the hell up! I wish that I could put you out of your misery Raab. Hell I wish that there was some damn way I could even insult you. Believe me I’ve tried. But to insult someone you have to: offend, humiliate, degrade, debase, demoralize or downright shame someone. I could talk about how the only use you could ever be is if we buried you ass up to be used as an umbrella stand but it would still be a compliment. The point my rambling ass is trying to make here Stefan is, you can’t be insulted. You’re the lowest of the low. If you Stefan were: robbed by children, beaten my lepers, accosted by midgets, pissed on by cats and raped by some overbearing Canadian trucker named Hank; you, Stefan Raab, are still having a better day than you damn well deserve.
But I really wish that I could end you. Sadly, I am scared to. I’d have stabbed you a long time ago, but then I would’ve had to get close enough to smell you and if your stench now is bad I’d hate to be the man to inhale your final foul breath. Shooting you means I’d have to look at you and dammit man you’re ugly. I’d tie you in a sack and throw you into the lake but no I can’t do that either. We drink from that lake. I think I could string your ass up but a few obstacles come to mind: Mother nature wouldn’t allow it, where would I find rope strong enough to support your fat ass and lastly if God in his infinite wisdom refused to hang you properly, who am I to try?
You tote yourself the most hated man in professional wrestling and it’s a title you’ve earned. Hell in this world it’s the only thing you’ve earned. But I digress. I mean, I don’t like people and they don’t like me, anymore. But Stefan they hate you! I wish that they wouldn’t cheer for me tonight but for God’s sake you bald headed, hair lipped, cream faced, hermaphroditic, knocked knee Nazi, the people would rather see me on a regular basis than take one look at you. It’s really hard to keep pissing people off when you have to be there hero every week.
I know I’ve called you ugly a lot Stefan, but I don’t think I’ve painted a good enough portrait with my words. Stefan you are what a friend of mine calls, biblically ugly. No, I don’t mean that you are New Testament forgiven ugly; you are Old Testament, real wrath of God, trials of Job, ten plagues of Egypt, couldn’t get on the Ark pug-fuck-ugly. Having to stare at you across the ring one more time is just pathetic. I’m not talking about my plight; I mean you, you sir are pathetic. Does anyone else know the most common phrase that “The Killerplauze” is used to hearing? Surprisingly, it's not ‘No.’ It’s actually, ’You’re not my daddy!’ Christ you freak you suck. Face it, your career tanked before it ever started, you wake up alone every day and have to abuse yourself and your home life is like watching an episode of Intervention.
If I can segue into something on the notion of you abusing yourself, Stefan; I’d like to politely ask you please stop doing that. Seriously. Who are you to choke your only friend? And if I ever see you clap your hands together I swear I’m going to call the cops. Why you ask? I don’t know the laws in your backward ass war ridden and sex ruled country but on this side of the planet you go to jail when you beat your “wife.”
So back to your home life you abhorrent, repugnant insufferable bastard Stefan. Sir, I will have no part of you, just like you mother who also wanted nothing to do with you. I have it on good authority that when she went into labor she actually mistook you for a hostile hemorrhoid. I’ve contemplated what your mother told her family after she gave birth to such an ugly damn infant when she promised them all a human child. Yes, we’re on to the “your mother” jokes Stefan. Your mother was a national criminal in Germany, Stefan; let me tell you how. Hitler banned her from the streets because when she paraded your God forsaken newborn ass around Berlin: fights broke out. Wives wouldn’t lay with their husband, teenage girls enter menopause and pregnant women threw themselves repeatedly down staircases. Hell, your mother was so afraid of being punished for squeezing your lopsided wrinkled bratwurst head from her loins that she told everyone you were Jewish!
Right now Raab, I know that you’re probably asking God “Why,” a question that the Almighty hates from people like you I might add. But it’s okay Stefan. You don’t believe that you have a purpose in life. You’re not just useless. So don’t be depressed Stefan, I am here to tell you what your purpose is. You are alive today so that the dirty dingy disgusting hysterical homeless horrors that roam the streets can look up from their own feces and praise God for making something that is truly lower than they.
Stefan I don’t know if you’ve noticed but nobody likes you! You’re obnoxious and loathsome cur. Do you know what a Histrionic is? It means that you are an obnoxious and loathsome cur. Stefan there are only a finite number of insults in the English language and I sir plan to use every one to identify you. But while standing here for hours telling you exactly how little you mean to this company is fun; there are simply not enough hours in the day.
So I will go out there and do this one more time Stefan. I will lace up my boots and use them to stomp your ass into the canvas one last time and then let’s call it finished. We can go out there and settle this once and for all, who the biggest piece of shit on Asylum is. Then when I’m done dropping you like the deuce you are I can begin clawing my way through the rest of this madhouse to someone who actually matters.
No I’m not talking about you upcoming final match in APW, we all know who I’m talking about. But Stefan you said something before about me not having the nut to say shit to Jeff? Here let me indulge you Stefan. In one single sentence I will call Jeff something far worse than you ever could; why, because I’m better than you Stefan. Also, because I actually went to “Proper Mic Work Day” when I went to wrestling school.
Ah-hum!
President Hurricane Jeff is a mark.
There.
Okay Jeff all bull shitting aside I know for a fact that I’ve never had the chance to say a damn thing to you about the way you’re reining this mentally handicapped, three legged, one eyed horse you call a production but I think it’s only fair to the world that when you’re done picking apart my leftovers you do us all a favor and fire this charity case you keep on contract called “the Killerplauze.”
Stefan Raab I hope you take a lesson from all this. Maybe you’ll learn how to actually run your mouth. But the real thing I want you to understand is that no matter what you do, or what you say, I can always out do you Stefan. I’m “The Main Man,” Raab. I’m the true best there ever will be in professional wrestling, the best at shit talking, the best at ass kicking; Hell just the straight up best. It’s time, Stefan; it is time we close the book of Raab and Craven, toss it in the fire and let that horrible dime store novel burn. Tonight Stefan! You will burn before my light!
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“Hey you!” Craven called to her, “What day is it?”
“It’s Saturday sir,” she replied.
“Oh thank God.” Slade wiped his forehead. “Okay, I’m done with you, be gone.”
She shook her head as Slade sighed. Every day since last Saturday, Slade asked someone what day it was. He wanted to make sure the days were rolling by properly. Craven body checked the overweight Hispanic housekeeper as he headed down the hallway. Slade spent the entire week working out. In retrospect he realized that he probably could have used those four thousand eight hundred and seventy nine Groundhogs Days to do something productive. He could have learned how to play the piano, carve an ice sculpture or maybe even come up with a new life goal. He really wasted that opportunity. So to make up for it Slade swore he’d spend the rest of the week busting his ass and researching his opponent in multiple ways so he could be fully prepared. But then Slade remembered he was facing Stefan Raab, it only took him a day. So he decided to work out the rest of the time.
“Excuse me!” A couple of Canucks fans barked at Slade as he brushed right through them. They were still polite despite their tone.
“Piss off!” Slade countered as he flipped them the bird. That’s how Americans did it.
Slade was getting sick of these vermin. No matter where he went there was always somebody. He never had freedom or privacy, these cockroaches scuttled to and fro every second of every day. Seeing them in the streets reminded Slade why he made his decision. He wishes to step and squash the millions and billions of bugs that continuously bred and breathed, polluting the very air that Slade inhaled. It sickened him to no avail. Craven was not heading toward the arena. The fans outside were always wishing him luck against Stefan Raab.
“Hey Slade, you can do it!”
“Go get him Craven!”
“We’re all rooting for you.”
This was the half assed bullshit faux support the fans gave him during the past couple months. It was like the people still cared about him. He knew it was a lie. The moment he was done with Stefan Raab they wouldn’t be there for him anymore. This was probably to most comforting thought on his mind too. He liked it when they left him alone. Maybe then he could eat meals in peace without having some goofy father walk up with his troglodyte children and beg for Slade’s autograph. But lately, because he spend the last two months in a back and forth with Asylum’s reject called the Killerplauze, the people were talking to him again. It straight up pissed Slade off. But in some twisted and demented way, the anger was helping. Tonight he knew that he had to finish it. Tonight he had to end Stefan Raab.
******************************************************************************
For two months straight every match I have been in you, Stefan, have also been a part of. You’re like herpes. I’m not kidding about that either. Let’s look at the dates, December 7th, check, December 22nd, Check, January 6th, 20th and 27th; check-idy check, check! For sixty days it’s been Stefan and Slade in some way shape or form. I don’t know if want to be my new tag partner or if you just need a little friend to play with but look somewhere else Stefan. I have more important people to deal with than an intolerable turd like you.
When I tell you that I want to hurt you Stefan, it’s no longer business. No, having to listen to you drone on about how everyone sucks one another’s dicks OR how people are scarred bitches AND how nobody knows how to trash talk but you, is like listening to someone sticking screwdriver in a pencil sharpener. And when people start talking trash about you think they are emulating you? No one want’s to be like you Stefan. We like to actually win every now and then. How humiliating was it when you ass got chunked out by Bailey, Parker and I? Bailey, who looked hung over and probably was still drunk during that match, still out did you. At least I eliminated everyone else. You just wandered around the ring lost like Billy Bob in Varsity Blues. It’s not shown on camera but the three of us actually stood there for a moment laughing at your ass while you stared up into the sky like a turkey during a rain storm.
I thought you wised up and were leaving Stefan? You were going to Survive and Conquer representing another forgotten federation. I even threw you a going away party. No one came, but it’s the thought that counts. This is how you repay me, sticking around? You ungrateful, fat freak I’m out five bucks because of that, you owe money. Of course you’re too broke from being talentless to pay me back so I’m just going to have to take it out of your ass.
Stefan you have no idea what shit talking is son. You think that by listing my in ring shortcomings I’m going to feel bad? Hell no. You don’t know how to insult me, guess you missed “Proper Mic Work Day” at the StarrDome; huh bitch. Stefan you said that in the past year you’ve out shined me; that I’ve spent my year on Shadow’s nuts. Listen up fat ass Shadow and I parted ways a long time ago. You need to take five minutes out of your day and actually look into the people you’re facing you freak. You keep flapping your jowls about the same tired crap over and over. Just because you ran out of crap to say to me after the first night I whipped your ass doesn’t mean I’m done berating you for existing. Let me tell you something Stefan I don’t have to numb my brain watching all the repetitive embarrassments you call your accomplishments to know exactly what to say to you.
Stefan Raab I hate you. I would tell you to ask me how much, but I don’t ever want to hear you speak again. But I do despise you. I hate you so much I could rightfully kill you Stefan. What? Am I going too far? Shut the hell up! I wish that I could put you out of your misery Raab. Hell I wish that there was some damn way I could even insult you. Believe me I’ve tried. But to insult someone you have to: offend, humiliate, degrade, debase, demoralize or downright shame someone. I could talk about how the only use you could ever be is if we buried you ass up to be used as an umbrella stand but it would still be a compliment. The point my rambling ass is trying to make here Stefan is, you can’t be insulted. You’re the lowest of the low. If you Stefan were: robbed by children, beaten my lepers, accosted by midgets, pissed on by cats and raped by some overbearing Canadian trucker named Hank; you, Stefan Raab, are still having a better day than you damn well deserve.
But I really wish that I could end you. Sadly, I am scared to. I’d have stabbed you a long time ago, but then I would’ve had to get close enough to smell you and if your stench now is bad I’d hate to be the man to inhale your final foul breath. Shooting you means I’d have to look at you and dammit man you’re ugly. I’d tie you in a sack and throw you into the lake but no I can’t do that either. We drink from that lake. I think I could string your ass up but a few obstacles come to mind: Mother nature wouldn’t allow it, where would I find rope strong enough to support your fat ass and lastly if God in his infinite wisdom refused to hang you properly, who am I to try?
You tote yourself the most hated man in professional wrestling and it’s a title you’ve earned. Hell in this world it’s the only thing you’ve earned. But I digress. I mean, I don’t like people and they don’t like me, anymore. But Stefan they hate you! I wish that they wouldn’t cheer for me tonight but for God’s sake you bald headed, hair lipped, cream faced, hermaphroditic, knocked knee Nazi, the people would rather see me on a regular basis than take one look at you. It’s really hard to keep pissing people off when you have to be there hero every week.
I know I’ve called you ugly a lot Stefan, but I don’t think I’ve painted a good enough portrait with my words. Stefan you are what a friend of mine calls, biblically ugly. No, I don’t mean that you are New Testament forgiven ugly; you are Old Testament, real wrath of God, trials of Job, ten plagues of Egypt, couldn’t get on the Ark pug-fuck-ugly. Having to stare at you across the ring one more time is just pathetic. I’m not talking about my plight; I mean you, you sir are pathetic. Does anyone else know the most common phrase that “The Killerplauze” is used to hearing? Surprisingly, it's not ‘No.’ It’s actually, ’You’re not my daddy!’ Christ you freak you suck. Face it, your career tanked before it ever started, you wake up alone every day and have to abuse yourself and your home life is like watching an episode of Intervention.
If I can segue into something on the notion of you abusing yourself, Stefan; I’d like to politely ask you please stop doing that. Seriously. Who are you to choke your only friend? And if I ever see you clap your hands together I swear I’m going to call the cops. Why you ask? I don’t know the laws in your backward ass war ridden and sex ruled country but on this side of the planet you go to jail when you beat your “wife.”
So back to your home life you abhorrent, repugnant insufferable bastard Stefan. Sir, I will have no part of you, just like you mother who also wanted nothing to do with you. I have it on good authority that when she went into labor she actually mistook you for a hostile hemorrhoid. I’ve contemplated what your mother told her family after she gave birth to such an ugly damn infant when she promised them all a human child. Yes, we’re on to the “your mother” jokes Stefan. Your mother was a national criminal in Germany, Stefan; let me tell you how. Hitler banned her from the streets because when she paraded your God forsaken newborn ass around Berlin: fights broke out. Wives wouldn’t lay with their husband, teenage girls enter menopause and pregnant women threw themselves repeatedly down staircases. Hell, your mother was so afraid of being punished for squeezing your lopsided wrinkled bratwurst head from her loins that she told everyone you were Jewish!
Right now Raab, I know that you’re probably asking God “Why,” a question that the Almighty hates from people like you I might add. But it’s okay Stefan. You don’t believe that you have a purpose in life. You’re not just useless. So don’t be depressed Stefan, I am here to tell you what your purpose is. You are alive today so that the dirty dingy disgusting hysterical homeless horrors that roam the streets can look up from their own feces and praise God for making something that is truly lower than they.
Stefan I don’t know if you’ve noticed but nobody likes you! You’re obnoxious and loathsome cur. Do you know what a Histrionic is? It means that you are an obnoxious and loathsome cur. Stefan there are only a finite number of insults in the English language and I sir plan to use every one to identify you. But while standing here for hours telling you exactly how little you mean to this company is fun; there are simply not enough hours in the day.
So I will go out there and do this one more time Stefan. I will lace up my boots and use them to stomp your ass into the canvas one last time and then let’s call it finished. We can go out there and settle this once and for all, who the biggest piece of shit on Asylum is. Then when I’m done dropping you like the deuce you are I can begin clawing my way through the rest of this madhouse to someone who actually matters.
No I’m not talking about you upcoming final match in APW, we all know who I’m talking about. But Stefan you said something before about me not having the nut to say shit to Jeff? Here let me indulge you Stefan. In one single sentence I will call Jeff something far worse than you ever could; why, because I’m better than you Stefan. Also, because I actually went to “Proper Mic Work Day” when I went to wrestling school.
Ah-hum!
President Hurricane Jeff is a mark.
There.
Okay Jeff all bull shitting aside I know for a fact that I’ve never had the chance to say a damn thing to you about the way you’re reining this mentally handicapped, three legged, one eyed horse you call a production but I think it’s only fair to the world that when you’re done picking apart my leftovers you do us all a favor and fire this charity case you keep on contract called “the Killerplauze.”
Stefan Raab I hope you take a lesson from all this. Maybe you’ll learn how to actually run your mouth. But the real thing I want you to understand is that no matter what you do, or what you say, I can always out do you Stefan. I’m “The Main Man,” Raab. I’m the true best there ever will be in professional wrestling, the best at shit talking, the best at ass kicking; Hell just the straight up best. It’s time, Stefan; it is time we close the book of Raab and Craven, toss it in the fire and let that horrible dime store novel burn. Tonight Stefan! You will burn before my light!
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