Post by Deleted on Mar 30, 2013 13:49:54 GMT -6
Why do we…as a damned society, protect ourselves with lies? They put a quilt hand knitted on the material of lies and propaganda over them to protect themselves from the cold, heartless truth in order to repress it…or deny it from trying to exist. Once the material that fabricated the lie begins to wane…you start to shiver uncontrollably when the truth slowly seeps in to confront you. Finally, those layers begin to dissolve completely and you find yourself without any true mercy from the truth that stands before you…making you freeze when you no longer have the ability to embrace it anymore.
The soldiers are the ultimate quilt that society as a whole wraps themselves around. They represent a certain type of…strength and security that allows these sheep peace of night. The joyous smiles that people give them because of their one selfless act can normally melt any glacial fibers that your own soul possesses. Hell, they’re the ultimate symbol of patriotism within any country throughout the history of time.
…and I resent them for being put on that pedestal.
They get these medals for their brave deeds but when they are given the authority to annihilate, rape, eviscerate, and destroy innocents…nobody has the gull, the guts, or common sense to wonder why this god damned double standard exists. Doesn’t matter what country he served for either…because every single one that’s ever participated in the act of war has their war crimes. Germany has the burden of Hitler, the Russians bare more burdens to count, and even this shithole we call America has ours: The Civil War and Japan.
Now a specific soldier has joined a different union pledging for change and a different realm of stability to try to relax those fans like he has during his military service. Does he really expect to lie to someone that straightforward and not be dealt with any of the consequences? I expect this bullshit from the Styles Mafia. Hell, I’d even expect it from Dixie because of her Texan upbringing, Ryan because of his own personal nature, or Al because of his own debauchery. I’d even see it from someone like Scarlet considering who she was married to.
But Slater and Kronin…even if they represent what I hate, I expected way better from them considering their upbringing.
A soldier and the best technical wrestler of my generation…falling under a similar trap that Roger did. What a fucking shame that my work has expanded so much to spread the true and proper message. If they were a knight and a former soldier like they truly claim to be, they’d have such a far more open mind. What a god damned shame that is…but I’ll shove bleach down their souls if I must to save them and others from this type of poison.
…and the first step is to turn the television champion’s cranium into a jigsaw puzzle.
There is no amount of boot camp one could go through in order to prepare for the type of war I’m capable of unleashing from the malice that’s in my heart. Ask any person who has ever stepped foot in the ring with me how I feel about that. Hell, he could look at the scar on Nathan’s throat for a proper example in terms of what I’ll do in war.
Kronin…you’re a causality in this battle and I’m willing to take any damned scar you’re willing to throw at me in order to get the job done.
The bright lights just outside the Nassau Coliseum shine down on me even if we’re at the heart of the night. The spring breeze sweeps through as I glance at the empty parking lot with a shovel in my hand. The traditional mask and paint combination shields my own face while the black and white pinstriped style suit gives that minor protection from the occasional chill. The parking lot in front of me though is vacant…empty. The only other thing that I have that’s out is that shovel Molly gave me. The shovel she claims belongs to Johnny Stylez.
“Damn kids…” I growl lowly while tightening the grip on the shovel in my hand.
I begin my slow walk down the parking lot, straightening my tie with one hand while keeping the shovel handle palmed in the other to give it a feel. The material feels…fragile and the distinct metal shows no signs of any dents in terms of use in one facet or another. I just swing it back and forth for a brief second just to get an idea on what it is and then the alarm bells go off in my head because this feels nothing like the shovel he cracked my knee cap with or even the one that brained me two weeks ago.
“Shit…”I profanely mutter, “This isn’t Johnny’s god damned shovel. God dammit, Molly.”
Those thoughts for a minute bubble up in my mind like that horrible experiment in one’s chemistry class. She should know that he isn’t going to give something up that easily because that’s what men of his kin do and I’m not afraid to go about that type of business when I must, either. Stylez, for all his aloofness he can show with particular aspects, is wicked almost to a mythological level. His conduct toward women especially…well it’s appalling.
But why in the hell would Molly even pursue that shit knowing what she should know? Hell, the only concept I can agree with on the Bible is that a leopard never changes its spots and the spots on that man were sealed in a LONG time ago. Sickening part is she’s embedded in this company’s DNA longer than I have yet she fell for that type of trick when she didn’t do any god damned research on what that man is capable of. The ‘Mistress of Mayhem’ should know better than that because now she feels scorned…abandoned after she pretty much abandoned UnStable the same way in my mind.
“What goes around comes around though…” I shake my head in annoyance, still tightly holding that shovel, “God damned enabling sons a bitches.”
The thoughts finally digest and I subconsciously notice I’ve walked across this entire parking lot. The main road intersects here among and it leads to the deeper portions of the city. Some of the traffic zooms by to cause my long black hair to sway along with the directions. I lower my eyes, completely irritated, before gazing down toward the road ahead of me. A few of the drivers going by try to tell me I’m number one because they’re quilted by that damn vehicle but their misplaced malice at least brings a semblance of a smile on me.
“Hey…” I hear Moretti’s voice behind me.
“Hm?” I slowly turn around before seeing him, “Oh…”
Moretti jogs up to me with a shit eating grin etched onto his face while still clinging that ridiculous black hat with a red feather on his head. The red and black suit he has is fancy and the gleam off of his shoes could blind someone temporarily. He glances at the shovel that I have in my hand and then that smile just gets wider before we start walking down the street
“Something got you hot?” he taunts sarcastically, “Do you want to go to the casino or something to relieve that shit?”
“The stupid fucker will just deal me a queen and a two every time and then…” I pause before lowering my voice, “Well you know the result. Dealer is Belgium, I’m Germany.”
Vincent lets out a chilling laugh at that line before the grin just slowly grows wider across his face. The smile on his face has led to so many men crippled all over the city of Las Vegas. He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a blood stained Queen of Hearts card. The smell of gunpowder still is drenched all over it. A semblance of a smile creeps onto my face as the memory is now embedded in my skull and the blood stained room that it came from.
“To think in those days…you were new with that shovel. Ah…memories,” Moretti beams.
“The screams sort of drown each other out at this point, though…” I muse, “Still better than rap music, though.”
Soon enough, the two of us are interrupted by the sight of another person. A black male is standing in front of us now with his arms crossed and donned in some military attire. He stares toward us as menacingly as humanly possible. The whites of his eyes show an unforgiving type of demeanor and it’s almost like he’s frothing at the mouth like an angry dog. If he did, it’d make such an awful mess on his frilly little camo uniform that society loves to drag soldiers in.
“Who the hell do you two think you are?” the big man growls.
“A passerby and a masked man trying to find the next act in a circus, perhaps.” Moretti chuckles before his tone gets more intense, “Though the same could be said for you trying to pass judgment on us. Can’t two people take a walk without being scrutinized?”
“People like you are what’s wrong with Americ—“ he goes.
“Bullshit!” I roar, “People like YOU are what is wrong with THIS country and EVERY fucking country.”
“Temper temper…both of you…” Moretti snickers.
“Shut up pretty boy.” He shoots back, fire in his heart, “I really don’t appreciate your looks or your attitude.”
All this does is just make Vincent crackle with laughter and the man dressed in army gear just gets even more infuriated by the situation. The look in Vincent’s eyes though behind the mask of this laugh is frightening because I know exactly what he’s going to do and how he’s going to do it now. I casually switch hand with the shovel a couple of times as things continue to play out.
“Did mommy not get through with any sensitivity training…or did you lose that after a boot camp initiation when America shoved an enabling dick up your ass to corrupt you for life?” Vincent fires back.
“Shut up. You don’t appreciate any of the sacrifices that the military gave for grubby bastards like you. You’re not the one who is risking life and limb by going to a foreign country and not knowing whether or not you’ll make it out alive to see your loved ones or family ever again. I can tell just by how you two carry yourselves that you act like that,” he rumbles.
“Another quilt of lies…blanketing up the truth.” I lowly mutter to myself before taking a couple steps toward him, “It’s like a fucking infestation of cockroaches.”
“Don’t even compare me to a cockroach you masked freak,” he snarls back.
As I approach him, the odor of alcohol just overwhelms my senses and it’s emanating from this lunatic. The memories of my own father rush to my head and even my own past where I’d drink away until I pass out…wanting to not do anything about anything just creates a different type of pain than any physical ordeal I’ve ever been in. Finally, a grin just creeps onto my face like a shark that smells blood and knowing when feeding time is. A precursor to the meal I’ll have in Kronin no less.
“Big man…you represent everything that’s wrong with society as a whole. You’re empowered because of one selfless act yet you don’t do anything with the power because you gave in to everyone enabling you to do the usual things. What a damned shame you never see things with a clear mind…one that represents truth. Instead, you’d rather drown your sorrows away with your booze just to try to be rid of the dangers you went through. Unlike you or someone like Kronin or Slater…I’m doing something about what bothers me.” I sneer before opening my eyes fully, “That’s why people like you make generalizations and make me out to be the villain…but I don’t mind because it allows me different…freedoms.”
I swiftly glance at Vincent with the corner of my eye and he just gives that subtile little nod. Soon enough Moretti charges away and pushes him down into the concrete and they begin scuffling. The alcohol enduced man shows good defensive skills to push Moretti back but before he can react, I smack his face with the steel part of the shovel with full force and his bell’s ringing in the worst possible way.
“Before we continue…I have a question I’d like to ask…nothing major since you seem incompetent of truthful thought but I’d give it a whirl anyway…” I sneer before standing over his battered body, “What hurts more?”
I then deliver a forehand smack right to his cranium and he winces in obvious pain and I hear Moretti let out a shrill laugh of his own.
“Forehand?” I question before delievering a backhanded strike with the shovel, “Or backhand? Forehand…or backhand?”
I start wailing away at his dome with the shovel alternating between the two but the grunts between each shot are about equal and I let out a disapproving sigh that he didn’t properly answer my question. Moretti kicks him in the kidney to make sure he’s still conscious and then he rudely spits blood right at Vincent. The pride and joy suit he was wearing is now stained with this…creitin’s blood.
“You rude little cunt…I just got this out from the dry cleaner’s place. At least the last couple of victims had some manners,” he sighs.
I deliver one last blow with the shovel and I hear his skull crack from the force of it. Unfortunately the wear on the shovel is showing immediately and there are splinters from the various wooden parts and the steel is bloodstained. I just get fed up and snap the shovel over my knee in two because it doesn’t quite get the job done like it should but at least the drunken fool is unconscious.
“They don’t make them like they used to…” I grumble.
“People or shovels?” Vincent chuckles.
“Both. Now let’s get out of here.” I sigh before walking off.
“Oh and before I forget…be a good boy, drink your liquor at home and don’t talk to any strange people at night anymore,” Moretti scolds the man before snickering loudly.
The two of us leave the drunken military fool unconscious on the ground as we make our escape into the shadow of the night. Vincent might need a new suit but at least that little bit of fun was therapeutic for me and I can go into the destruction of an actual military man with a clear mind. He’s just going to wish I was the little emo kid who whined because you have an answer to how to cure those issues.
You don’t have an answer for me, though…because I’m doing something about what’s ailing me.
The good thing is…one step at a time and I’ll take him off this unrightous pedistol that everyone puts him on. The television championship carries a certain amount of respect but it’s completely negated by how he refuses to do anything in his position to properly change status quo. He’s no better than a military leader who blows people up without a purpose or former president George W Bush who has no guts to act even when their own damned country is under attack by a terrorist.
Speaking of not doing anything about it…maybe he can join Cera in the grieving list for not properly being able to do anything about me like she has about her death of her own son. It doesn’t matter to me, though what they do because his mind as a whole is no damned match for what I’m capable of doing. He’s not going to make it to KOP to defend his mantle after I listen to that skull of his crackle under the pressure of my boot.
…and then he’ll embrace the life of UnStable like Nathan did.
…I promise.
The soldiers are the ultimate quilt that society as a whole wraps themselves around. They represent a certain type of…strength and security that allows these sheep peace of night. The joyous smiles that people give them because of their one selfless act can normally melt any glacial fibers that your own soul possesses. Hell, they’re the ultimate symbol of patriotism within any country throughout the history of time.
…and I resent them for being put on that pedestal.
They get these medals for their brave deeds but when they are given the authority to annihilate, rape, eviscerate, and destroy innocents…nobody has the gull, the guts, or common sense to wonder why this god damned double standard exists. Doesn’t matter what country he served for either…because every single one that’s ever participated in the act of war has their war crimes. Germany has the burden of Hitler, the Russians bare more burdens to count, and even this shithole we call America has ours: The Civil War and Japan.
Now a specific soldier has joined a different union pledging for change and a different realm of stability to try to relax those fans like he has during his military service. Does he really expect to lie to someone that straightforward and not be dealt with any of the consequences? I expect this bullshit from the Styles Mafia. Hell, I’d even expect it from Dixie because of her Texan upbringing, Ryan because of his own personal nature, or Al because of his own debauchery. I’d even see it from someone like Scarlet considering who she was married to.
But Slater and Kronin…even if they represent what I hate, I expected way better from them considering their upbringing.
A soldier and the best technical wrestler of my generation…falling under a similar trap that Roger did. What a fucking shame that my work has expanded so much to spread the true and proper message. If they were a knight and a former soldier like they truly claim to be, they’d have such a far more open mind. What a god damned shame that is…but I’ll shove bleach down their souls if I must to save them and others from this type of poison.
…and the first step is to turn the television champion’s cranium into a jigsaw puzzle.
There is no amount of boot camp one could go through in order to prepare for the type of war I’m capable of unleashing from the malice that’s in my heart. Ask any person who has ever stepped foot in the ring with me how I feel about that. Hell, he could look at the scar on Nathan’s throat for a proper example in terms of what I’ll do in war.
Kronin…you’re a causality in this battle and I’m willing to take any damned scar you’re willing to throw at me in order to get the job done.
The bright lights just outside the Nassau Coliseum shine down on me even if we’re at the heart of the night. The spring breeze sweeps through as I glance at the empty parking lot with a shovel in my hand. The traditional mask and paint combination shields my own face while the black and white pinstriped style suit gives that minor protection from the occasional chill. The parking lot in front of me though is vacant…empty. The only other thing that I have that’s out is that shovel Molly gave me. The shovel she claims belongs to Johnny Stylez.
“Damn kids…” I growl lowly while tightening the grip on the shovel in my hand.
I begin my slow walk down the parking lot, straightening my tie with one hand while keeping the shovel handle palmed in the other to give it a feel. The material feels…fragile and the distinct metal shows no signs of any dents in terms of use in one facet or another. I just swing it back and forth for a brief second just to get an idea on what it is and then the alarm bells go off in my head because this feels nothing like the shovel he cracked my knee cap with or even the one that brained me two weeks ago.
“Shit…”I profanely mutter, “This isn’t Johnny’s god damned shovel. God dammit, Molly.”
Those thoughts for a minute bubble up in my mind like that horrible experiment in one’s chemistry class. She should know that he isn’t going to give something up that easily because that’s what men of his kin do and I’m not afraid to go about that type of business when I must, either. Stylez, for all his aloofness he can show with particular aspects, is wicked almost to a mythological level. His conduct toward women especially…well it’s appalling.
But why in the hell would Molly even pursue that shit knowing what she should know? Hell, the only concept I can agree with on the Bible is that a leopard never changes its spots and the spots on that man were sealed in a LONG time ago. Sickening part is she’s embedded in this company’s DNA longer than I have yet she fell for that type of trick when she didn’t do any god damned research on what that man is capable of. The ‘Mistress of Mayhem’ should know better than that because now she feels scorned…abandoned after she pretty much abandoned UnStable the same way in my mind.
“What goes around comes around though…” I shake my head in annoyance, still tightly holding that shovel, “God damned enabling sons a bitches.”
The thoughts finally digest and I subconsciously notice I’ve walked across this entire parking lot. The main road intersects here among and it leads to the deeper portions of the city. Some of the traffic zooms by to cause my long black hair to sway along with the directions. I lower my eyes, completely irritated, before gazing down toward the road ahead of me. A few of the drivers going by try to tell me I’m number one because they’re quilted by that damn vehicle but their misplaced malice at least brings a semblance of a smile on me.
“Hey…” I hear Moretti’s voice behind me.
“Hm?” I slowly turn around before seeing him, “Oh…”
Moretti jogs up to me with a shit eating grin etched onto his face while still clinging that ridiculous black hat with a red feather on his head. The red and black suit he has is fancy and the gleam off of his shoes could blind someone temporarily. He glances at the shovel that I have in my hand and then that smile just gets wider before we start walking down the street
“Something got you hot?” he taunts sarcastically, “Do you want to go to the casino or something to relieve that shit?”
“The stupid fucker will just deal me a queen and a two every time and then…” I pause before lowering my voice, “Well you know the result. Dealer is Belgium, I’m Germany.”
Vincent lets out a chilling laugh at that line before the grin just slowly grows wider across his face. The smile on his face has led to so many men crippled all over the city of Las Vegas. He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a blood stained Queen of Hearts card. The smell of gunpowder still is drenched all over it. A semblance of a smile creeps onto my face as the memory is now embedded in my skull and the blood stained room that it came from.
“To think in those days…you were new with that shovel. Ah…memories,” Moretti beams.
“The screams sort of drown each other out at this point, though…” I muse, “Still better than rap music, though.”
Soon enough, the two of us are interrupted by the sight of another person. A black male is standing in front of us now with his arms crossed and donned in some military attire. He stares toward us as menacingly as humanly possible. The whites of his eyes show an unforgiving type of demeanor and it’s almost like he’s frothing at the mouth like an angry dog. If he did, it’d make such an awful mess on his frilly little camo uniform that society loves to drag soldiers in.
“Who the hell do you two think you are?” the big man growls.
“A passerby and a masked man trying to find the next act in a circus, perhaps.” Moretti chuckles before his tone gets more intense, “Though the same could be said for you trying to pass judgment on us. Can’t two people take a walk without being scrutinized?”
“People like you are what’s wrong with Americ—“ he goes.
“Bullshit!” I roar, “People like YOU are what is wrong with THIS country and EVERY fucking country.”
“Temper temper…both of you…” Moretti snickers.
“Shut up pretty boy.” He shoots back, fire in his heart, “I really don’t appreciate your looks or your attitude.”
All this does is just make Vincent crackle with laughter and the man dressed in army gear just gets even more infuriated by the situation. The look in Vincent’s eyes though behind the mask of this laugh is frightening because I know exactly what he’s going to do and how he’s going to do it now. I casually switch hand with the shovel a couple of times as things continue to play out.
“Did mommy not get through with any sensitivity training…or did you lose that after a boot camp initiation when America shoved an enabling dick up your ass to corrupt you for life?” Vincent fires back.
“Shut up. You don’t appreciate any of the sacrifices that the military gave for grubby bastards like you. You’re not the one who is risking life and limb by going to a foreign country and not knowing whether or not you’ll make it out alive to see your loved ones or family ever again. I can tell just by how you two carry yourselves that you act like that,” he rumbles.
“Another quilt of lies…blanketing up the truth.” I lowly mutter to myself before taking a couple steps toward him, “It’s like a fucking infestation of cockroaches.”
“Don’t even compare me to a cockroach you masked freak,” he snarls back.
As I approach him, the odor of alcohol just overwhelms my senses and it’s emanating from this lunatic. The memories of my own father rush to my head and even my own past where I’d drink away until I pass out…wanting to not do anything about anything just creates a different type of pain than any physical ordeal I’ve ever been in. Finally, a grin just creeps onto my face like a shark that smells blood and knowing when feeding time is. A precursor to the meal I’ll have in Kronin no less.
“Big man…you represent everything that’s wrong with society as a whole. You’re empowered because of one selfless act yet you don’t do anything with the power because you gave in to everyone enabling you to do the usual things. What a damned shame you never see things with a clear mind…one that represents truth. Instead, you’d rather drown your sorrows away with your booze just to try to be rid of the dangers you went through. Unlike you or someone like Kronin or Slater…I’m doing something about what bothers me.” I sneer before opening my eyes fully, “That’s why people like you make generalizations and make me out to be the villain…but I don’t mind because it allows me different…freedoms.”
I swiftly glance at Vincent with the corner of my eye and he just gives that subtile little nod. Soon enough Moretti charges away and pushes him down into the concrete and they begin scuffling. The alcohol enduced man shows good defensive skills to push Moretti back but before he can react, I smack his face with the steel part of the shovel with full force and his bell’s ringing in the worst possible way.
“Before we continue…I have a question I’d like to ask…nothing major since you seem incompetent of truthful thought but I’d give it a whirl anyway…” I sneer before standing over his battered body, “What hurts more?”
I then deliver a forehand smack right to his cranium and he winces in obvious pain and I hear Moretti let out a shrill laugh of his own.
“Forehand?” I question before delievering a backhanded strike with the shovel, “Or backhand? Forehand…or backhand?”
I start wailing away at his dome with the shovel alternating between the two but the grunts between each shot are about equal and I let out a disapproving sigh that he didn’t properly answer my question. Moretti kicks him in the kidney to make sure he’s still conscious and then he rudely spits blood right at Vincent. The pride and joy suit he was wearing is now stained with this…creitin’s blood.
“You rude little cunt…I just got this out from the dry cleaner’s place. At least the last couple of victims had some manners,” he sighs.
I deliver one last blow with the shovel and I hear his skull crack from the force of it. Unfortunately the wear on the shovel is showing immediately and there are splinters from the various wooden parts and the steel is bloodstained. I just get fed up and snap the shovel over my knee in two because it doesn’t quite get the job done like it should but at least the drunken fool is unconscious.
“They don’t make them like they used to…” I grumble.
“People or shovels?” Vincent chuckles.
“Both. Now let’s get out of here.” I sigh before walking off.
“Oh and before I forget…be a good boy, drink your liquor at home and don’t talk to any strange people at night anymore,” Moretti scolds the man before snickering loudly.
The two of us leave the drunken military fool unconscious on the ground as we make our escape into the shadow of the night. Vincent might need a new suit but at least that little bit of fun was therapeutic for me and I can go into the destruction of an actual military man with a clear mind. He’s just going to wish I was the little emo kid who whined because you have an answer to how to cure those issues.
You don’t have an answer for me, though…because I’m doing something about what’s ailing me.
The good thing is…one step at a time and I’ll take him off this unrightous pedistol that everyone puts him on. The television championship carries a certain amount of respect but it’s completely negated by how he refuses to do anything in his position to properly change status quo. He’s no better than a military leader who blows people up without a purpose or former president George W Bush who has no guts to act even when their own damned country is under attack by a terrorist.
Speaking of not doing anything about it…maybe he can join Cera in the grieving list for not properly being able to do anything about me like she has about her death of her own son. It doesn’t matter to me, though what they do because his mind as a whole is no damned match for what I’m capable of doing. He’s not going to make it to KOP to defend his mantle after I listen to that skull of his crackle under the pressure of my boot.
…and then he’ll embrace the life of UnStable like Nathan did.
…I promise.