Post by Phate on May 24, 2008 6:58:55 GMT -4
"You see, my promos don't make sense to you, because you have a one track mind: you're a comedian, and comedians think of everything as a joke..."
He sat transfixed, his right index finger bouncing from rewind to fast forward, his eyes glued to the television screen. He had been watching the video ever since it’s debut a few days prior to the May 19th Action Packed Wrestling Overdrive event, the verbs and adjectives spewing from the mouth of his opponent that night sticking in his head like flies to glue paper. The video pissed him off to the depths of his core; enough to ensure that he pull out a victory over the masked eccentric called JZ.
“You're not a Doctor - you're a coward & a joke.”[/b]
And win he did, defeating his debuting adversary and destroying any plans JZ may have had for a triumphant first contest in APW. The words piping from the surround sound….the video constantly looping on his screen….they indeed angered him but his actions on May 19th due to that anger were some of the scariest he had experienced as a professional wrestler in quite some time. It wasn’t the way he performed in the contest. It wasn’t even the execution of his game plan. It was the move he used to finish the contest. It was the goddamned “School’s Out”.
And it scared the shit out of him…because it meant HE was back.
He didn’t necessarily hate HIM but he didn't exactly like HIM either. HE was the kind of creature that kept small children awake at night, a boogeyman with the type of sadistic humor that led to the demise of Heath Ledger. HE was…unique. Unique in the way a midget that can dunk on a regulation basketball hoop without assistance would be. And HE only showed HIS face when certain situations arose.
Situations like having your manhood challenged, for example.
That type of situation hadn’t come up in quite some time; he had been able to keep his emotions in check to block HIM from feeling obligated to “save the day”. But, as soon as HE heard JZ, heard his belittling comments, heard his venomous proclamation of cowardice, HE came to save the day.
With that goddamned “School’s Out”.
It was simple enough: lock in a cravate before falling to a seated position and forcing the opponent's jaw to drop down on your shoulder. Easy to execute. Extremely effective.
And HIS pet finisher.
How dare HE just pop up whenever he wanted and interject HIMSELF into other people’s business? HE wasn’t needed – things were perfectly under control until HE showed up. He knew deep down in his guts that HE was back after he doubled JZ over with a well-placed front kick to the midsection…and things went absolutely black. He remembered nothing; all he could recall from that span of time was the referee raising his arm in victory, a victory he had no idea he had earned. Always a professional, he maintained his composure and hurried to the nearest production assistant to see what just took place.
The “School’s Out” took place.
And it drained all of the blood from his caramel-hued face.
He had worked so very hard to suppress HIM, to keep HIM calm, to keep himself from reacting adversely to insults and anger. He had somehow failed, lost control of the vessel, and HE wormed his way through the opening and back into his life.
He couldn’t let HIM take over again. HE didn’t have boundaries. HE didn’t have a threshold for pain. HE had a barbed wire fetish. HE was willing to do anything to achieve a desired result. Most importantly HE….
HE was supposed to be subdued with the proper prescribed narcotics.
The psychiatrist told him all about Dissociative Identity Disorder, explaining the treatments and symptoms in extreme detail. When psychotherapy failed only a particular daily regimen would allow him to maintain a somewhat healthy and adjusted life: medication. Heavy medication.
Medication that evidentially wasn’t working anymore.
After the May 19th Overdrive event he went home for a few days, strictly adhering to his medication schedule like clockwork and hoping that, well, a move was just a move and that he subconsciously tapped into his vast wrestling knowledge and utilized the move that worked best in the scenario that presented itself. He convinced himself that using that bastard of a move and blacking out were just a coincidence, nothing more and nothing less.
At least he was convinced until the red silk neckties began popping up in his closet. Accompanying said neckties?
Black pleated skirts.
And white dress shirts.
And a lone pair of Converse All-Star High Tops. The Chuck Taylor kind.
In other words, a Catholic school girl outfit.
An outfit he didn’t fucking remember buying.
It was happening again and he couldn’t stop it. No drugs, no therapy, no nothing was going to stand in HIS way this time. JZ, with a minor series of inflammatory comments, had broken down the walls that almost a year of intense treatment had built. HE had been held back long enough. He realized it as soon as he rolled out of bed and reluctantly conceded control, tossing the medication in the garbage earlier that morning. HE would have what he wanted. HE would have revenge. HE would show JZ, Bryan J. Greatness, and the rest of the world how deadly a “coward” can be. HE would be serious - serious as a cancerous tumor. JZ threw a pack of firecrackers in the cave of a hibernating bear. Now Action Packed Wrestling would have to deal with the consequences of one man’s actions.
Consequences with gams to die for and great taste in clothes.
It was almost May 25th. It was almost Sunday. It was almost time for Action Packed Wrestling’s Mayhem pay-per-view. It was almost time for “The Icon” Doctor Phate, JZ, and Bryan J. Greatness to engage in triangle of mortal combat.
And it was almost time to iron HIS new skirt.
HE was back. Suffice it to say HE was very pleased.
No. Not HE.
THEY.
HE wasn't such a bad guy, after all....
He sat transfixed, his right index finger bouncing from rewind to fast forward, his eyes glued to the television screen. He had been watching the video ever since it’s debut a few days prior to the May 19th Action Packed Wrestling Overdrive event, the verbs and adjectives spewing from the mouth of his opponent that night sticking in his head like flies to glue paper. The video pissed him off to the depths of his core; enough to ensure that he pull out a victory over the masked eccentric called JZ.
“You're not a Doctor - you're a coward & a joke.”[/b]
And win he did, defeating his debuting adversary and destroying any plans JZ may have had for a triumphant first contest in APW. The words piping from the surround sound….the video constantly looping on his screen….they indeed angered him but his actions on May 19th due to that anger were some of the scariest he had experienced as a professional wrestler in quite some time. It wasn’t the way he performed in the contest. It wasn’t even the execution of his game plan. It was the move he used to finish the contest. It was the goddamned “School’s Out”.
And it scared the shit out of him…because it meant HE was back.
He didn’t necessarily hate HIM but he didn't exactly like HIM either. HE was the kind of creature that kept small children awake at night, a boogeyman with the type of sadistic humor that led to the demise of Heath Ledger. HE was…unique. Unique in the way a midget that can dunk on a regulation basketball hoop without assistance would be. And HE only showed HIS face when certain situations arose.
Situations like having your manhood challenged, for example.
That type of situation hadn’t come up in quite some time; he had been able to keep his emotions in check to block HIM from feeling obligated to “save the day”. But, as soon as HE heard JZ, heard his belittling comments, heard his venomous proclamation of cowardice, HE came to save the day.
With that goddamned “School’s Out”.
It was simple enough: lock in a cravate before falling to a seated position and forcing the opponent's jaw to drop down on your shoulder. Easy to execute. Extremely effective.
And HIS pet finisher.
How dare HE just pop up whenever he wanted and interject HIMSELF into other people’s business? HE wasn’t needed – things were perfectly under control until HE showed up. He knew deep down in his guts that HE was back after he doubled JZ over with a well-placed front kick to the midsection…and things went absolutely black. He remembered nothing; all he could recall from that span of time was the referee raising his arm in victory, a victory he had no idea he had earned. Always a professional, he maintained his composure and hurried to the nearest production assistant to see what just took place.
The “School’s Out” took place.
And it drained all of the blood from his caramel-hued face.
He had worked so very hard to suppress HIM, to keep HIM calm, to keep himself from reacting adversely to insults and anger. He had somehow failed, lost control of the vessel, and HE wormed his way through the opening and back into his life.
He couldn’t let HIM take over again. HE didn’t have boundaries. HE didn’t have a threshold for pain. HE had a barbed wire fetish. HE was willing to do anything to achieve a desired result. Most importantly HE….
HE was supposed to be subdued with the proper prescribed narcotics.
The psychiatrist told him all about Dissociative Identity Disorder, explaining the treatments and symptoms in extreme detail. When psychotherapy failed only a particular daily regimen would allow him to maintain a somewhat healthy and adjusted life: medication. Heavy medication.
Medication that evidentially wasn’t working anymore.
After the May 19th Overdrive event he went home for a few days, strictly adhering to his medication schedule like clockwork and hoping that, well, a move was just a move and that he subconsciously tapped into his vast wrestling knowledge and utilized the move that worked best in the scenario that presented itself. He convinced himself that using that bastard of a move and blacking out were just a coincidence, nothing more and nothing less.
At least he was convinced until the red silk neckties began popping up in his closet. Accompanying said neckties?
Black pleated skirts.
And white dress shirts.
And a lone pair of Converse All-Star High Tops. The Chuck Taylor kind.
In other words, a Catholic school girl outfit.
An outfit he didn’t fucking remember buying.
It was happening again and he couldn’t stop it. No drugs, no therapy, no nothing was going to stand in HIS way this time. JZ, with a minor series of inflammatory comments, had broken down the walls that almost a year of intense treatment had built. HE had been held back long enough. He realized it as soon as he rolled out of bed and reluctantly conceded control, tossing the medication in the garbage earlier that morning. HE would have what he wanted. HE would have revenge. HE would show JZ, Bryan J. Greatness, and the rest of the world how deadly a “coward” can be. HE would be serious - serious as a cancerous tumor. JZ threw a pack of firecrackers in the cave of a hibernating bear. Now Action Packed Wrestling would have to deal with the consequences of one man’s actions.
Consequences with gams to die for and great taste in clothes.
It was almost May 25th. It was almost Sunday. It was almost time for Action Packed Wrestling’s Mayhem pay-per-view. It was almost time for “The Icon” Doctor Phate, JZ, and Bryan J. Greatness to engage in triangle of mortal combat.
And it was almost time to iron HIS new skirt.
HE was back. Suffice it to say HE was very pleased.
No. Not HE.
THEY.
HE wasn't such a bad guy, after all....
