Post by Johnny "True Brit" Brown on Oct 14, 2011 15:33:23 GMT -4
Sometimes it takes a little more.
Sometimes it takes a little special something to get the win.
Looking suitably intense Johnny Brown is leant over a half drunk pint. His elbows are firmly placed either side, his shades covering his eyes. His nose is wrinkled and his lip curled back like and English Elvis. He tilts his head the slowly in his mishmash of English accents begins his tale.
Those occasions force you to a dark place, a place that can take you in hold you tight. The coldness can caress you, seduce you. Some cannot find the strength to comeback they get stuck, addicted to the feeling of inflicting such pain on another human being.
When you experience the feeling of bending someone’s bones until they break its exhilarating, its a feeling I am used to coursing through my veins. In the gyms of Wigan where I learned my trade you were taught not to dissociate yourself from it but to look for it, to hunt down the euphoria and savour it, use it to drive you for more.
Giving a moment for his words to sink into the brain of his lucky listeners Johnny takes a sip of his London Pride. The head settle on his top lip, he removes it with the tip of his tongue, then wipes the remainder with the back of his hand.
I've been to the dark side of humanity, I have a mansion there, with a blood red pool for me bask in during my visits. Lurking like a shark waiting for my next kill, can my opponent say the same?
As tough as her exterior looks, I don’t think she has it in her. She's like a coconut; a hard and hairy shell (for gods sake Kate start waxing) with a soft inside, dripping with insepidness that no-one actually likes. I will crack her shell and drink her milk, not through violence but by the thought of the pain to come.
Tiny cracks will appear, p'haps they will be invisible to the naked eye, but they will be there. The stress she is under is incredible it will split her to the core. Her heart will pound so loud she wont hear the capacity crowd calling for my head on a pike.
Badoom, badoom, badoom!!
The rhythm will shake her brain, all of her hours of training will drip out of her skull; leaving her blank. She will not have any of her vaunted counters to my assaults.
She can dig deep into the white void in her head for a stunning submission or a scintillating strike but nothing will be there.
The 'Brit Knee' will drive a fissure into her grey matter then it will be time.
Her mouth will go dry, she knows soon she will be in a familiar place. Soon the Tap-Out champion Johnny Brown will make her Go Home. Soon all of her pain will be over, as the warmness washes over her the pain will stop, her body will shut down as it gives up on her.
I will retain my title and Kate Horton will one day get medical clearance to return to the ring, yet she will never be the same. Her Human Yawn of a partner Charles will be the first to notice one would hope. He will see it in her eyes, the blank nothingness where her life used to be. Her movements will be less fluid then before, she will be truly defeated. When Johnny Brown is finished with her her shell will carry on but her soul will belong to me.
Necking the remainder of his beer, Johnny stands, a few short steps and he drops his empty on the bar. The Japanese barman is dressed like a penguin with a union jack waist coat. He nods repeatedly. True Brit ignores him, then strolls along the Aldgate taking in the faux British look. He settles in front of the fruity and pumps a handful of coins into it lighting it up. As he nudges and spins he continues to expands his viewers horizons.
These are only words.
Words that Kate and her San Diego Seagulls partner will be quick to dismiss.
She is found of saying that she didn’t get into this business to be treated like a lady, that she is a athlete. Well bully for you Whorton. I don't care is your a delicate flower who cries at soppy chick flicks or a gore-crazy horror whore who loves blood and guts, when you sign yer name on the dotted line I'm gonna take you out. Not for a dinner and a nosh like the birds back in Blighty so put yer fancy frock away.
I'm gonna show yer that no matter how many miles yer run, no matter how many bags and pads yer kick, it never prepares you for real combat. Just like the rest of APW yer gonna learn I BACK UP MY $HIT.
I've heard it all before and no doubt I’ll hear it all again. True Brit? Truly Shit is more like it. He runs his mouth like Britain means something, Brown and the rest of his yellow teethed nation as just yapping lap dogs wishing that they were American. Bulldog? Bull shit. He talks gibberish, a mixture of slang and complete crap that no-one cares about.
The thing is... after I beat them, after I back up the incoherent chatter with actions, as they lie in their hospital beds licking their wounds do they take it all back?
NO THEY FU**ING DONT!
A table straight from the 70's flies across the, a victim of Johnny's rage. He tosses his shades after it. His eyes are wide with rage, every bit of frustration from his losses to Jason Kash, Rico Casteel and most recently Charles Scripps bubble out. Spittle accompanies True Brit's continued spouting off.[/i]
Do they apologies? Do they bow down before their new king and beg for forgiveness?
No, after I force them to eat their words, with a side of roast beef and a couple of yorkies they move on. For young Katie I will make sure I leave a mark. An indelible mark that she will feel burning first thing when dawn breaks and it will be the last thought through her mind as slumber takes her.
The whys and wherefores of how I accomplish this feat I have yet to decide. P'haps the EDL will show its force as I send shockwaves down her spine shattering the vertebrae inta dust. As she lays there her head hanging like a limp eel on ?? market a simple hold will make her tap.
Or shall I take it slow, slowly get her to the peak; then finish her off with the Brown Wings, before I get her to beg me to end it...
Whatever she screams I quit, if she passes out from the pain or even if she digs down deep into her reserve to find the energy to raise her hand and slap the mat, floor, stair or where in the arena I decide to end her suffering.
That's the beauty of a submissions count anywhere match there's no rope breaks, no chances at being saved; once if get the Go Home locked in unless I choose to release it she'll be screaming like a teen-mum squeezing a sprog outta her over-used twat. [/i]
Catching himself as being out of control Johnny steps it back 12 notches. He picks up his now broken glasses, tries to put the lens back in place, fails dropping it to the floor. With a shake of his head he crushes it under hit Doc Marten. He places the remainder of his sunglasses in his bomber jacket, chuckles and continues.
As I've said before I ain't no English gentleman, have I overstepped the mark with me graphic descriptions of me One Night in Hell opponent?
P'haps, p'haps not.
Other than me mum, I ain't never met a woman worth more than a pair of tits and three holes. An' Kate Horton ain't no different. Sure she has a nose a Henry Cooper would be proud of.
If she's as good as her SDS partner I better be ready, I'll admit it I underestimated his ability, but make no mistake he was lucky the ref gifted him the win with that bullshit DQ. He doesn't have what it takes to make me tap, an' neither does the so-called Queen of Wrestling.
I'll fight her across the length and breadth of the Tokyo dome, we'll smash the 'Big Egg' if the fans think Hansen and Brody were scary just wait until the ref rings the bell for the Tap-Out title match. It's gonna be wild.
If I have ta smash her head into every step, railing or wall I'm gonna do it. I'll take every inch of cable and choke the bitch; tho' she's probably used to choking.
Subconsciously (p'haps) Johnny grabs him Jam belt buckle and forces his tongue into his cheek to simulate a 'gob job'. He holds up a finger to signal the barman for one more drink. The drink arrive with typical Japanese efficiency and a nod ta boot. Brown leans on the bar casually jawing at the camera as more Limey linguistics spill forth.
All her running, bag work or what the hell she is going to bore us with this week wont count for shit when I get going. The best cardio in the world ain't gonna save her from a True Brit ass-kicking.
The San Diego Seagulls may not admit it but it's the highlight of their careers to face me. For Charlie its the apex, now, even after his nonsensical victory over me he's back to where he belongs, jerking the curtain wiv' a bunch of no-bodies. Sure the winner'll get a title shot but what are those buncha losers gonna do about it?
I dare them to come for my gold? Bold of me not only daring them but looking past Katiekins? I'll give ya 5 reasons why she ain't never gonna beat me.
W
O
M
A
N
She literally ain't got the balls to go toe-to-toe wiv' me, an' if she even tries I'll C*nt Punt her back to Uncle Sam land.
I am APW's true star, Kash, Biggs, Casteel they may have been here longer but they've had their time ta shine. They need ta move over an' let me lead this place to newer heights.
Face it as soon as my name was attached to the card Mariah Carey's 200,00 ticket sell out was a thing of the past, the age of 'Cool Britannia' is here. Every dumbass fan in the arena brought a ticket ta see me. I'm new, cool and exciting. As much as they love ta boo me, it's only their jealousy that drives them. They wish that that were NOT from America, they wish that they could leave the over-hyped nation of fatf*cks at any time just like I can. They wish they could talk like me, be as cool as me, the can only dream of walking into a new job an instantly being better than everyone else in the place.
I'm the New American Dream an' soon the whole of APW will brandish the Union Jack; I will get my revenge on the Gulls and restart my journey to the top.
At One Night In Hell, Live from the Tokyo Dome in the Land of the Rising Sun someone...
is gonna get her fu*kin' TITS kicked in!
Sometimes it takes a little special something to get the win.
Looking suitably intense Johnny Brown is leant over a half drunk pint. His elbows are firmly placed either side, his shades covering his eyes. His nose is wrinkled and his lip curled back like and English Elvis. He tilts his head the slowly in his mishmash of English accents begins his tale.
Those occasions force you to a dark place, a place that can take you in hold you tight. The coldness can caress you, seduce you. Some cannot find the strength to comeback they get stuck, addicted to the feeling of inflicting such pain on another human being.
When you experience the feeling of bending someone’s bones until they break its exhilarating, its a feeling I am used to coursing through my veins. In the gyms of Wigan where I learned my trade you were taught not to dissociate yourself from it but to look for it, to hunt down the euphoria and savour it, use it to drive you for more.
Giving a moment for his words to sink into the brain of his lucky listeners Johnny takes a sip of his London Pride. The head settle on his top lip, he removes it with the tip of his tongue, then wipes the remainder with the back of his hand.
I've been to the dark side of humanity, I have a mansion there, with a blood red pool for me bask in during my visits. Lurking like a shark waiting for my next kill, can my opponent say the same?
As tough as her exterior looks, I don’t think she has it in her. She's like a coconut; a hard and hairy shell (for gods sake Kate start waxing) with a soft inside, dripping with insepidness that no-one actually likes. I will crack her shell and drink her milk, not through violence but by the thought of the pain to come.
Tiny cracks will appear, p'haps they will be invisible to the naked eye, but they will be there. The stress she is under is incredible it will split her to the core. Her heart will pound so loud she wont hear the capacity crowd calling for my head on a pike.
Badoom, badoom, badoom!!
The rhythm will shake her brain, all of her hours of training will drip out of her skull; leaving her blank. She will not have any of her vaunted counters to my assaults.
She can dig deep into the white void in her head for a stunning submission or a scintillating strike but nothing will be there.
The 'Brit Knee' will drive a fissure into her grey matter then it will be time.
Her mouth will go dry, she knows soon she will be in a familiar place. Soon the Tap-Out champion Johnny Brown will make her Go Home. Soon all of her pain will be over, as the warmness washes over her the pain will stop, her body will shut down as it gives up on her.
I will retain my title and Kate Horton will one day get medical clearance to return to the ring, yet she will never be the same. Her Human Yawn of a partner Charles will be the first to notice one would hope. He will see it in her eyes, the blank nothingness where her life used to be. Her movements will be less fluid then before, she will be truly defeated. When Johnny Brown is finished with her her shell will carry on but her soul will belong to me.
Necking the remainder of his beer, Johnny stands, a few short steps and he drops his empty on the bar. The Japanese barman is dressed like a penguin with a union jack waist coat. He nods repeatedly. True Brit ignores him, then strolls along the Aldgate taking in the faux British look. He settles in front of the fruity and pumps a handful of coins into it lighting it up. As he nudges and spins he continues to expands his viewers horizons.
These are only words.
Words that Kate and her San Diego Seagulls partner will be quick to dismiss.
She is found of saying that she didn’t get into this business to be treated like a lady, that she is a athlete. Well bully for you Whorton. I don't care is your a delicate flower who cries at soppy chick flicks or a gore-crazy horror whore who loves blood and guts, when you sign yer name on the dotted line I'm gonna take you out. Not for a dinner and a nosh like the birds back in Blighty so put yer fancy frock away.
I'm gonna show yer that no matter how many miles yer run, no matter how many bags and pads yer kick, it never prepares you for real combat. Just like the rest of APW yer gonna learn I BACK UP MY $HIT.
I've heard it all before and no doubt I’ll hear it all again. True Brit? Truly Shit is more like it. He runs his mouth like Britain means something, Brown and the rest of his yellow teethed nation as just yapping lap dogs wishing that they were American. Bulldog? Bull shit. He talks gibberish, a mixture of slang and complete crap that no-one cares about.
The thing is... after I beat them, after I back up the incoherent chatter with actions, as they lie in their hospital beds licking their wounds do they take it all back?
NO THEY FU**ING DONT!
A table straight from the 70's flies across the, a victim of Johnny's rage. He tosses his shades after it. His eyes are wide with rage, every bit of frustration from his losses to Jason Kash, Rico Casteel and most recently Charles Scripps bubble out. Spittle accompanies True Brit's continued spouting off.[/i]
Do they apologies? Do they bow down before their new king and beg for forgiveness?
No, after I force them to eat their words, with a side of roast beef and a couple of yorkies they move on. For young Katie I will make sure I leave a mark. An indelible mark that she will feel burning first thing when dawn breaks and it will be the last thought through her mind as slumber takes her.
The whys and wherefores of how I accomplish this feat I have yet to decide. P'haps the EDL will show its force as I send shockwaves down her spine shattering the vertebrae inta dust. As she lays there her head hanging like a limp eel on ?? market a simple hold will make her tap.
Or shall I take it slow, slowly get her to the peak; then finish her off with the Brown Wings, before I get her to beg me to end it...
Whatever she screams I quit, if she passes out from the pain or even if she digs down deep into her reserve to find the energy to raise her hand and slap the mat, floor, stair or where in the arena I decide to end her suffering.
That's the beauty of a submissions count anywhere match there's no rope breaks, no chances at being saved; once if get the Go Home locked in unless I choose to release it she'll be screaming like a teen-mum squeezing a sprog outta her over-used twat. [/i]
Catching himself as being out of control Johnny steps it back 12 notches. He picks up his now broken glasses, tries to put the lens back in place, fails dropping it to the floor. With a shake of his head he crushes it under hit Doc Marten. He places the remainder of his sunglasses in his bomber jacket, chuckles and continues.
As I've said before I ain't no English gentleman, have I overstepped the mark with me graphic descriptions of me One Night in Hell opponent?
P'haps, p'haps not.
Other than me mum, I ain't never met a woman worth more than a pair of tits and three holes. An' Kate Horton ain't no different. Sure she has a nose a Henry Cooper would be proud of.
If she's as good as her SDS partner I better be ready, I'll admit it I underestimated his ability, but make no mistake he was lucky the ref gifted him the win with that bullshit DQ. He doesn't have what it takes to make me tap, an' neither does the so-called Queen of Wrestling.
I'll fight her across the length and breadth of the Tokyo dome, we'll smash the 'Big Egg' if the fans think Hansen and Brody were scary just wait until the ref rings the bell for the Tap-Out title match. It's gonna be wild.
If I have ta smash her head into every step, railing or wall I'm gonna do it. I'll take every inch of cable and choke the bitch; tho' she's probably used to choking.
Subconsciously (p'haps) Johnny grabs him Jam belt buckle and forces his tongue into his cheek to simulate a 'gob job'. He holds up a finger to signal the barman for one more drink. The drink arrive with typical Japanese efficiency and a nod ta boot. Brown leans on the bar casually jawing at the camera as more Limey linguistics spill forth.
All her running, bag work or what the hell she is going to bore us with this week wont count for shit when I get going. The best cardio in the world ain't gonna save her from a True Brit ass-kicking.
The San Diego Seagulls may not admit it but it's the highlight of their careers to face me. For Charlie its the apex, now, even after his nonsensical victory over me he's back to where he belongs, jerking the curtain wiv' a bunch of no-bodies. Sure the winner'll get a title shot but what are those buncha losers gonna do about it?
I dare them to come for my gold? Bold of me not only daring them but looking past Katiekins? I'll give ya 5 reasons why she ain't never gonna beat me.
W
O
M
A
N
She literally ain't got the balls to go toe-to-toe wiv' me, an' if she even tries I'll C*nt Punt her back to Uncle Sam land.
I am APW's true star, Kash, Biggs, Casteel they may have been here longer but they've had their time ta shine. They need ta move over an' let me lead this place to newer heights.
Face it as soon as my name was attached to the card Mariah Carey's 200,00 ticket sell out was a thing of the past, the age of 'Cool Britannia' is here. Every dumbass fan in the arena brought a ticket ta see me. I'm new, cool and exciting. As much as they love ta boo me, it's only their jealousy that drives them. They wish that that were NOT from America, they wish that they could leave the over-hyped nation of fatf*cks at any time just like I can. They wish they could talk like me, be as cool as me, the can only dream of walking into a new job an instantly being better than everyone else in the place.
I'm the New American Dream an' soon the whole of APW will brandish the Union Jack; I will get my revenge on the Gulls and restart my journey to the top.
At One Night In Hell, Live from the Tokyo Dome in the Land of the Rising Sun someone...
is gonna get her fu*kin' TITS kicked in!
