Post by Mad Mumf on Jul 11, 2013 23:37:19 GMT -4
*Achievement. It's a strange concept sometimes. It can mean pride and respect based on ones accomplishments or accolades or finally reaching a goal towards which you have been aspiring for some time. Or it could simply be winning a prize, or finding some form of success in life. The thing is, who really chooses what that achievement is. Who places the value upon it other than the one who himself is claiming that achievement? What one has accomplished in a specific circle sometimes doesn't mean a damned thing when they enter a new circle. Such is the case in the business of professional wrestling. A man could have held every title under the sun in one company or even in several, but when he comes to a new company, he is, once again, like so many years ago, early in his career, the low man on the totem pole. He must once again climb and claw and scratch his way up every rung of the long ladder to the top as he has so many times before. Many rise to that challenge with open arms. Many welcome it. A small few even revel in it...*
*Smoke stirs in the air courtesy of a ceiling fan in a small one room tattoo parlor on the eastern end of Long Island, NY. Mad Mumf sits in a chair, shirtless, his hair more shortly trimmed than the last time we saw him, his beard likewise. He puffs on the source of the smoke drifting to the ceiling, a half-smoked cigar as his eyes follow the work of the tattoo needles on his body with interest, not flinching, apparently unperturbed by the electric kiss of the machinery. His body body is more slender than the earlier days of his career, some of the muscular bulk gone, but his body is still in peak condition, trimmed and yet lighter with definition to every muscle, designed more for a swifter approach than his earlier days.*
*His eyes finally make note of the camera and motion it closer, pointing with his free hand down at the tattoo work the artist is doing on his body. Much like the man receiving the tattoo, the camera watches the work being done as the former world champion speaks.*
Mumf - Another tattoo to add to the collection. I didn't have many when I last competed in a ring, to be honest. Its a more recent addiction and a hell of alot more healthy than my occasional cigar. I don't let those get the better of me though. Wouldn't look good if I started having a coughing fit in the middle of the ring, now would it? No, every time I decide to celebrate something, I mark that occasion with a tattoo now. That way I'm not constantly in this parlor blowing my money away to Lou here every week. If I wait til I have a reason to get a tattoo, I'm not constantly here, helping this sorry asshole build up his family fortune.
Lou - *Not even looking up from his work.* Screw you.
*Mumf chuckles and places the cigar back into his mouth before speaking around it, his voice slightly distorted from the stogie in the corner of his mouth, but still easily understandable. He motions to where Lou is doing his work.*
Mumf - This one is to mark my return to the ring. My...rebirth of sorts. I've been gone for a while now. And I was a brick wall of a man the last time I competed in the ring. All knotted muscle and strength. Now though...now I'm older and wiser. I've had my share of knocks, injuries, losses, and downright beatings in that ring and while I was away I lost a considerable amount of weight. Rather than rebuild to my old size and weight and muscular build, I figure it would do me well to use this build to my advantage. I have always, always been about adaptation to the situations around us. I learn from my life's lessons and let them guide me and fuel me to be the monstrous, emotionless killer that you see before you.
*He pulls the stogie from his mouth with one of his hands again and smirks.*
Mumf - Now, I know what you're going to say. Everybody in this business goes out into that ring and calls themselves something like what I just called myself. But you don't understand. When I say that I am a cold, calculating, violent, mean son of a bitch, I mean it. When I say I'm a killer, I mean it. I mean I killed people for a living. There's this little switch inside my head. When I set my eyes on a task, whether it be in my old line of work or stepping into that ring, that switch goes on and it doesn't matter who is standing against me, who or what the target is, or what the objective is. What DOES matter is the bloodshed, the taste of violence, and the accomplishment of whatever my goal happens to be at that time. Again, it's served me quite well in this business and my previous lines of work.
Background story aside, I'm sure some are wondering why bother to come back at all. I was content with what I'd accomplished. I was living the good life, relaxing on beaches, signing the occasional autograph, just generally being at peace with not a care in the world. Why give up all of that to get back into this world of violence. Why arrive in the APW? Let me tell you right from the get-go. It's not about the money. Hell, I'd do this for free if I didn't have to cover expenses.
It actually ties back to those aforementioned autographs. Every single time I signed one I got asked the same questions. Why did I leave in the first place? Was I injured? Was there nothing left in the tank? Truth be told, at the time, I was burnt out from the drama and bullcrap that goes along with being involved in this business. Couple that with the fact that I was content with what I'd accomplished and the fact that I thought the hunger inside me for violence was finally satisfied, and I thought it was a good time to go.
However, every time I got asked those questions, that hunger started to build again and I found myself asking the same questions they were. I started to think about what I had really accomplished. I realized that what I had done was in but one small corner of the wrestling business. To really make my mark, to really satisfy the returning hunger, I'd need to keep going. One man's championship is another company's useless piece of leather. There were tons of other companies out there that hadn't even heard of Mad Mumf yet. There were hundreds of wrestlers who did not even know the first thing about needing to fear the monster that hides inside Adam Mumford. The only way they were going to learn was for me to come back.
I actually tried a few times in the last 5 years, but it was in places so small that it didn't even register on the IWC radar. That's Internet Wrestling Community for all of you non-nerds out there in TV Land. Every single attempt ended within a month. I wasn't ready and none of the companies were the right place. Most of them didn't have the finances to even stay afloat beyond a month or two. So it was back to my beach or back to my house on Long Island, or up to Upstate, NY when I really wanted to get away from everything.
Then I finally got to the point when I felt I was ready. I'd trimmed down and a little internet newsboy asked just the right question, so I started doing my research and APW's el presidente made me an offer. Here I stand and woe betide Joseph Johnson and Anthony Washington. You gentlemen are the unfortunate souls who get to be on the receiving end of five long years of bottled up bloodlust, training, and preparation just dying to come to fruition. I have been sitting idle for way too long and I have been adapting, planning, adjusting, and learning all sorts of new tricks. I'm still the brawler that the fans came to love all those years ago, but now, well let's just say that I'm not so scared of heights anymore. I've learned, also, to use my trimmed down size to my advantage. Couple that with my past experience, my knowledge, and my pure animal instincts, and you find yourselves in a foul predicament.
The monster is awake and very much hungry, and he is ready to be let loose on the likes of you two. I am a past champion for a reason. Terry Marvin hit me with a chair more than once. Do you want to know what it did? It pissed me off. It still pisses me off just thinking about the times I have been betrayed by people and attacked and crossed in that ring. Even the simple fact that you two are opposing me pisses me off, but in the end, there's a simple reality. All that anger, all that fury, all that intangible rage that would blind most by being allowed to control them when they step into the ring? It fuels me. I turn into that feral emotionless monster and that turns into nothing but a driving force in my subconscious. It adds to the hunger, the bloodlust, the savage nature, the desire for violence. And right now, boys, it's at a fever pitch.
*He pauses to take another puff of his cigar and then lets the smoke slowly drift from his lips as he begins to speak again.*
I've always had a saying that I leave in parting for my opponents. Something to consider going into our match. Food for thought as you tuck yourself in every night between now and the time that bell rings. "If you face me, you will not survive." As cliche as it sounds, it's not meant to be. It's not there to be some sort of catch phrase or a means of intimidation. It's a warning. Because when I say it. I'm dead serious. It's the last chance and the last warning you're going to get from me before you set foot in that ring. Because once that match starts, I won't be satisfied until you're lying lifeless on the mat or being wheeled out of the arena on a stretcher while my arm is the one being raised in victory. Thing about that, boys. Think about it long and hard. Think about the injuries you could risk, the pain you could suffer. If you think it's worth it to get in my way as I prepare to climb my way back up to the top, then by all means, go right ahead and step into that ring. Just remember, you have been warned.
This Monday is the end of an era, the grand finale of Meltdown. And from the flames of that final Meltdown, there will be a rebirth, a phoenix rising from the ashes to begin its ascent back to its proper place. The upper echelons of a company and in a position rightfully both feared and respected. I'll gain allies along the way, but I'm sure I'll make more than enough enemies as well. In the end it doesn't matter. So, let this be a new warning, a final warning for some, and a fresh revelation for others, if you get in my way you will fall. If you face me, you...will...not...survive!
*He grins and clamps the stogie back between his teeth.*
See you all Monday Night. It's gonna be a hell of a ride.
*Mad Mumf chuckles hauntingly with his cold blue eyes staring directly at the camera as the scene fades to black, leaving viewers wondering just what he has in store for the APW and more particularly, his opponents.*
*Smoke stirs in the air courtesy of a ceiling fan in a small one room tattoo parlor on the eastern end of Long Island, NY. Mad Mumf sits in a chair, shirtless, his hair more shortly trimmed than the last time we saw him, his beard likewise. He puffs on the source of the smoke drifting to the ceiling, a half-smoked cigar as his eyes follow the work of the tattoo needles on his body with interest, not flinching, apparently unperturbed by the electric kiss of the machinery. His body body is more slender than the earlier days of his career, some of the muscular bulk gone, but his body is still in peak condition, trimmed and yet lighter with definition to every muscle, designed more for a swifter approach than his earlier days.*
*His eyes finally make note of the camera and motion it closer, pointing with his free hand down at the tattoo work the artist is doing on his body. Much like the man receiving the tattoo, the camera watches the work being done as the former world champion speaks.*
Mumf - Another tattoo to add to the collection. I didn't have many when I last competed in a ring, to be honest. Its a more recent addiction and a hell of alot more healthy than my occasional cigar. I don't let those get the better of me though. Wouldn't look good if I started having a coughing fit in the middle of the ring, now would it? No, every time I decide to celebrate something, I mark that occasion with a tattoo now. That way I'm not constantly in this parlor blowing my money away to Lou here every week. If I wait til I have a reason to get a tattoo, I'm not constantly here, helping this sorry asshole build up his family fortune.
Lou - *Not even looking up from his work.* Screw you.
*Mumf chuckles and places the cigar back into his mouth before speaking around it, his voice slightly distorted from the stogie in the corner of his mouth, but still easily understandable. He motions to where Lou is doing his work.*
Mumf - This one is to mark my return to the ring. My...rebirth of sorts. I've been gone for a while now. And I was a brick wall of a man the last time I competed in the ring. All knotted muscle and strength. Now though...now I'm older and wiser. I've had my share of knocks, injuries, losses, and downright beatings in that ring and while I was away I lost a considerable amount of weight. Rather than rebuild to my old size and weight and muscular build, I figure it would do me well to use this build to my advantage. I have always, always been about adaptation to the situations around us. I learn from my life's lessons and let them guide me and fuel me to be the monstrous, emotionless killer that you see before you.
*He pulls the stogie from his mouth with one of his hands again and smirks.*
Mumf - Now, I know what you're going to say. Everybody in this business goes out into that ring and calls themselves something like what I just called myself. But you don't understand. When I say that I am a cold, calculating, violent, mean son of a bitch, I mean it. When I say I'm a killer, I mean it. I mean I killed people for a living. There's this little switch inside my head. When I set my eyes on a task, whether it be in my old line of work or stepping into that ring, that switch goes on and it doesn't matter who is standing against me, who or what the target is, or what the objective is. What DOES matter is the bloodshed, the taste of violence, and the accomplishment of whatever my goal happens to be at that time. Again, it's served me quite well in this business and my previous lines of work.
Background story aside, I'm sure some are wondering why bother to come back at all. I was content with what I'd accomplished. I was living the good life, relaxing on beaches, signing the occasional autograph, just generally being at peace with not a care in the world. Why give up all of that to get back into this world of violence. Why arrive in the APW? Let me tell you right from the get-go. It's not about the money. Hell, I'd do this for free if I didn't have to cover expenses.
It actually ties back to those aforementioned autographs. Every single time I signed one I got asked the same questions. Why did I leave in the first place? Was I injured? Was there nothing left in the tank? Truth be told, at the time, I was burnt out from the drama and bullcrap that goes along with being involved in this business. Couple that with the fact that I was content with what I'd accomplished and the fact that I thought the hunger inside me for violence was finally satisfied, and I thought it was a good time to go.
However, every time I got asked those questions, that hunger started to build again and I found myself asking the same questions they were. I started to think about what I had really accomplished. I realized that what I had done was in but one small corner of the wrestling business. To really make my mark, to really satisfy the returning hunger, I'd need to keep going. One man's championship is another company's useless piece of leather. There were tons of other companies out there that hadn't even heard of Mad Mumf yet. There were hundreds of wrestlers who did not even know the first thing about needing to fear the monster that hides inside Adam Mumford. The only way they were going to learn was for me to come back.
I actually tried a few times in the last 5 years, but it was in places so small that it didn't even register on the IWC radar. That's Internet Wrestling Community for all of you non-nerds out there in TV Land. Every single attempt ended within a month. I wasn't ready and none of the companies were the right place. Most of them didn't have the finances to even stay afloat beyond a month or two. So it was back to my beach or back to my house on Long Island, or up to Upstate, NY when I really wanted to get away from everything.
Then I finally got to the point when I felt I was ready. I'd trimmed down and a little internet newsboy asked just the right question, so I started doing my research and APW's el presidente made me an offer. Here I stand and woe betide Joseph Johnson and Anthony Washington. You gentlemen are the unfortunate souls who get to be on the receiving end of five long years of bottled up bloodlust, training, and preparation just dying to come to fruition. I have been sitting idle for way too long and I have been adapting, planning, adjusting, and learning all sorts of new tricks. I'm still the brawler that the fans came to love all those years ago, but now, well let's just say that I'm not so scared of heights anymore. I've learned, also, to use my trimmed down size to my advantage. Couple that with my past experience, my knowledge, and my pure animal instincts, and you find yourselves in a foul predicament.
The monster is awake and very much hungry, and he is ready to be let loose on the likes of you two. I am a past champion for a reason. Terry Marvin hit me with a chair more than once. Do you want to know what it did? It pissed me off. It still pisses me off just thinking about the times I have been betrayed by people and attacked and crossed in that ring. Even the simple fact that you two are opposing me pisses me off, but in the end, there's a simple reality. All that anger, all that fury, all that intangible rage that would blind most by being allowed to control them when they step into the ring? It fuels me. I turn into that feral emotionless monster and that turns into nothing but a driving force in my subconscious. It adds to the hunger, the bloodlust, the savage nature, the desire for violence. And right now, boys, it's at a fever pitch.
*He pauses to take another puff of his cigar and then lets the smoke slowly drift from his lips as he begins to speak again.*
I've always had a saying that I leave in parting for my opponents. Something to consider going into our match. Food for thought as you tuck yourself in every night between now and the time that bell rings. "If you face me, you will not survive." As cliche as it sounds, it's not meant to be. It's not there to be some sort of catch phrase or a means of intimidation. It's a warning. Because when I say it. I'm dead serious. It's the last chance and the last warning you're going to get from me before you set foot in that ring. Because once that match starts, I won't be satisfied until you're lying lifeless on the mat or being wheeled out of the arena on a stretcher while my arm is the one being raised in victory. Thing about that, boys. Think about it long and hard. Think about the injuries you could risk, the pain you could suffer. If you think it's worth it to get in my way as I prepare to climb my way back up to the top, then by all means, go right ahead and step into that ring. Just remember, you have been warned.
This Monday is the end of an era, the grand finale of Meltdown. And from the flames of that final Meltdown, there will be a rebirth, a phoenix rising from the ashes to begin its ascent back to its proper place. The upper echelons of a company and in a position rightfully both feared and respected. I'll gain allies along the way, but I'm sure I'll make more than enough enemies as well. In the end it doesn't matter. So, let this be a new warning, a final warning for some, and a fresh revelation for others, if you get in my way you will fall. If you face me, you...will...not...survive!
*He grins and clamps the stogie back between his teeth.*
See you all Monday Night. It's gonna be a hell of a ride.
*Mad Mumf chuckles hauntingly with his cold blue eyes staring directly at the camera as the scene fades to black, leaving viewers wondering just what he has in store for the APW and more particularly, his opponents.*
