Post by Xander Famularo on Feb 4, 2011 9:11:23 GMT -6
You don’t understand Rob? I am so sorry that the normal everyday speech of another human being goes beyond your juvenile way of thinking. If you want, I will go over the main points of my last message to you in monosyllabic rambling, if that is what you want to hear, but I am afraid that after seeing your last attempt at human communication that your brief opportunity to make me feel like I was being hunted is over because now, now I see you as little more then the punch line to a joke that started with a man once walked into a bar.
So… I will communicate again the main thesis of my last promo, and as was aforementioned the first point doesn’t matter anymore, because after hearing you speak I realize now that I am dealing with nothing more then a child who still wishes to be attached to his mother’s nipple.
So, the abridged Rob Diamond friendly version of the points made…
1) I was apprehensive about facing you because you stood up to a move that no one else ever had stood up to.
2) I thought that it would take someone nearly killing you to stop you from defending Zelda.
3) I said I would have to think of a new way to finish you off.
I think that covers most of the bases, I apologize if I used a couple words that were multisyllabic in there nature but unfortunately I am beyond your normal “Me Tarzan, You Jane” way of verbose. You can make fun of the right hand all you want, saying that it is simply a right hand, but look how effective that is. Why would I do something that involved flipping around the ring like a monkey, why would I do something that you are so obviously better built for?
What people don’t understand about my style is that if I can knock someone stupid with a simple loaded up right hand, why would I do anything beyond what is necessary to get a win? I am simple, I am easy to defeat right? Then why doesn’t anyone do it? Why doesn’t someone step up and finish me off? Why do I stand here with a title on my shoulder that I don’t want and a streak of wins that reads off like a whose who of the nCw?
Because… People can’t back up what they say, they make these obscene claims with the hope that they will somehow be able to back it up but they can’t can they Rob? I still am here, I have ran through champion after champion and still I stand here despite the talk of others…
And the most interesting part of this story Rob is that I don’t have to make ridiculous claims, like as soon as I hit the double reach around armbar blaster bomb you will never wake up again. I simply regal them with tales of truth…
If I hit you… You will lose. What you want I want more.
I am simple… And simple has worked for me. So why change it?
{Scene opens, Gib is standing in front of a heavy bag. He blisters the bag with combinations that aren’t impressive in their speed but you can hear as the skin hits the leather, with each blow the heavy bag rocks back and forth with impressive movement. Zelda walks down the stairs from behind Gib and doesn’t interrupt, she sits on the steps and watches}
{Sweat pours from Gib’s face as he rocks the bag, his right hand opens up and blood starts to flow freely from the open wound as it covers the bag, he continues rocking it with left and right hands, Zelda stands looking at her father}
Zelda: Dad…
{He doesn’t hear her as he continues, the bag swings bag and forth being nailed with right and left hands, blood now is running down Gib’s arm, falling onto the floor underneath him. Zelda goes up behind him and says his name louder and he throws one final right hand to the bag, a shot that tears the canvas open. Gib drops to his knees and sits there as Zelda wraps her arms around him}
Zelda: Dad… What is wrong, what are you doing?
Gib: Getting ready…
Zelda: For what?
Gib: I am the sheriff of the nCw, I am the law. But under my rule women have been hit by men, groups have beaten down individuals and negative things have happened. My own daughter has been abused and last week something bad could have happened… I am going to end Harold. I am going to stop him.
Zelda: What? No dad, Rob will take care of him this weekend… Rob can handle him.
Gib: He shouldn’t have to handle him Zelda. Harold is my creation, Harold is my fault. He was born out of my necessity to get a job, and he was happy go lucky at first, but then he evolved, the anonymity makes you crazy, it allows you to live out your darkest nightmares without repercussions and whomever is under that mask now, is full of delirium, is full of the feeling of power.
Zelda: Dad, I don’t want you to get hurt.
Gib: I can handle myself, I am not fifty yet…
Zelda: But you will be next Thursday.
Gib: Don’t remind me. I know my days of being a destructive force are coming to an end, but I will defend you and this federation until my body can no longer do it. I am done sitting idly by watching the inmates running the asylum, I am done watching people walk around without law. I am going to drop the hammer, and it starts this weekend with Harold. I am going to go after him and tear that mask clean off his head.
{She hugs her Dad}
Zelda: We need to clean your hand up…
Gib: Ok, but no peroxide this time, that **** hurts like a mother.
{Zelda giggles as the scene fades}
I am a fake… I am a wannabe, but those are things I have been saying for weeks. You just don’t pay attention, or maybe you do but you just don’t understand. I said I have been exposed my a fraud, I said that I know I am not feared like the original Harold was and week after week my opponents have questioned my masculinity and resolve just as you are this week Rob, you are like a broken record, like a toned up version of everyone else but at least you make an attempt to be different…
I mean, that tag line, “suck it”….
I never heard that one before…
Well at least not in the prison bitch way that I am sure you have heard it. Is this how you want to play Rob? You want to throw around juvenile jests and trivial verbiage then feel free, it is just that much more garbage you have to choke down next week after you fall short once again. I mean, using the Joe Everyman reference was a great one to use, because your career has followed his almost identically.
Wrestle well, lose a big match…
Find a partner that can carry me, have a string of luck, lose again…
Comparing me to Everyman, that’s a exercise in futility because I have been here, I have actually done what I have said I will do and I will continue to do such. I think you are so amped up on energy drink that you are creating an alternate universe where you can cut one of your cookie cutter promos and think that I won’t notice the fact that you are, as is customary talking out of your ass…
And regardless of what you say, and how many interesting points that make no connection with me you bring up, ultimately they are coming out of your ass and still smell like **** Rob, you are the choke artist here not me. I have nothing to prove.
You are undefeated since your return… Now you will be defeated. Now you will taste the humility once again…
But, in case any of this went over your head, and you don’t understand it, let me sum up what I said with some words you might understand…
Suck it…
{Rob sits on the stool at Gib’s kitchen counter, eating a sandwich. A massive hand slaps down on his back as he takes a bite and he chokes momentarily before being able to shoot the offending hunk of sandwich out of his mouth, onto the plate in front of him.}
Gib: Do you have your gear Rob?
Rob: Yeah, out in the car… Why?
Gib: I saw how you and Zelda got close this week. I just want to take you downstairs and spar a little bit with you.
Rob: Wait, you know what happened between Zelda and I and now you want to wrestle? Why now?
Gib: Because I am a dad, and since things are serious I want you to know how serious I am about my daughter. I just want to get my hands on you, beat the **** out of you a little bit and let you know what will happen if you hurt her. That, and I am about the same size as Harold, so rolling around with me in a completely masculine and heterosexual way might help you this weekend.
Rob: I’ll get my stuff…
Gib: Seriously Rob, if you hurt her I am going to break your ****ing neck. That isn’t a threat, that is a promise.
Rob: I know.
{Scene fades as Rob goes to his car and Gib helps himself to Rob’s sandwich.}
So… I will communicate again the main thesis of my last promo, and as was aforementioned the first point doesn’t matter anymore, because after hearing you speak I realize now that I am dealing with nothing more then a child who still wishes to be attached to his mother’s nipple.
So, the abridged Rob Diamond friendly version of the points made…
1) I was apprehensive about facing you because you stood up to a move that no one else ever had stood up to.
2) I thought that it would take someone nearly killing you to stop you from defending Zelda.
3) I said I would have to think of a new way to finish you off.
I think that covers most of the bases, I apologize if I used a couple words that were multisyllabic in there nature but unfortunately I am beyond your normal “Me Tarzan, You Jane” way of verbose. You can make fun of the right hand all you want, saying that it is simply a right hand, but look how effective that is. Why would I do something that involved flipping around the ring like a monkey, why would I do something that you are so obviously better built for?
What people don’t understand about my style is that if I can knock someone stupid with a simple loaded up right hand, why would I do anything beyond what is necessary to get a win? I am simple, I am easy to defeat right? Then why doesn’t anyone do it? Why doesn’t someone step up and finish me off? Why do I stand here with a title on my shoulder that I don’t want and a streak of wins that reads off like a whose who of the nCw?
Because… People can’t back up what they say, they make these obscene claims with the hope that they will somehow be able to back it up but they can’t can they Rob? I still am here, I have ran through champion after champion and still I stand here despite the talk of others…
And the most interesting part of this story Rob is that I don’t have to make ridiculous claims, like as soon as I hit the double reach around armbar blaster bomb you will never wake up again. I simply regal them with tales of truth…
If I hit you… You will lose. What you want I want more.
I am simple… And simple has worked for me. So why change it?
{Scene opens, Gib is standing in front of a heavy bag. He blisters the bag with combinations that aren’t impressive in their speed but you can hear as the skin hits the leather, with each blow the heavy bag rocks back and forth with impressive movement. Zelda walks down the stairs from behind Gib and doesn’t interrupt, she sits on the steps and watches}
{Sweat pours from Gib’s face as he rocks the bag, his right hand opens up and blood starts to flow freely from the open wound as it covers the bag, he continues rocking it with left and right hands, Zelda stands looking at her father}
Zelda: Dad…
{He doesn’t hear her as he continues, the bag swings bag and forth being nailed with right and left hands, blood now is running down Gib’s arm, falling onto the floor underneath him. Zelda goes up behind him and says his name louder and he throws one final right hand to the bag, a shot that tears the canvas open. Gib drops to his knees and sits there as Zelda wraps her arms around him}
Zelda: Dad… What is wrong, what are you doing?
Gib: Getting ready…
Zelda: For what?
Gib: I am the sheriff of the nCw, I am the law. But under my rule women have been hit by men, groups have beaten down individuals and negative things have happened. My own daughter has been abused and last week something bad could have happened… I am going to end Harold. I am going to stop him.
Zelda: What? No dad, Rob will take care of him this weekend… Rob can handle him.
Gib: He shouldn’t have to handle him Zelda. Harold is my creation, Harold is my fault. He was born out of my necessity to get a job, and he was happy go lucky at first, but then he evolved, the anonymity makes you crazy, it allows you to live out your darkest nightmares without repercussions and whomever is under that mask now, is full of delirium, is full of the feeling of power.
Zelda: Dad, I don’t want you to get hurt.
Gib: I can handle myself, I am not fifty yet…
Zelda: But you will be next Thursday.
Gib: Don’t remind me. I know my days of being a destructive force are coming to an end, but I will defend you and this federation until my body can no longer do it. I am done sitting idly by watching the inmates running the asylum, I am done watching people walk around without law. I am going to drop the hammer, and it starts this weekend with Harold. I am going to go after him and tear that mask clean off his head.
{She hugs her Dad}
Zelda: We need to clean your hand up…
Gib: Ok, but no peroxide this time, that **** hurts like a mother.
{Zelda giggles as the scene fades}
I am a fake… I am a wannabe, but those are things I have been saying for weeks. You just don’t pay attention, or maybe you do but you just don’t understand. I said I have been exposed my a fraud, I said that I know I am not feared like the original Harold was and week after week my opponents have questioned my masculinity and resolve just as you are this week Rob, you are like a broken record, like a toned up version of everyone else but at least you make an attempt to be different…
I mean, that tag line, “suck it”….
I never heard that one before…
Well at least not in the prison bitch way that I am sure you have heard it. Is this how you want to play Rob? You want to throw around juvenile jests and trivial verbiage then feel free, it is just that much more garbage you have to choke down next week after you fall short once again. I mean, using the Joe Everyman reference was a great one to use, because your career has followed his almost identically.
Wrestle well, lose a big match…
Find a partner that can carry me, have a string of luck, lose again…
Comparing me to Everyman, that’s a exercise in futility because I have been here, I have actually done what I have said I will do and I will continue to do such. I think you are so amped up on energy drink that you are creating an alternate universe where you can cut one of your cookie cutter promos and think that I won’t notice the fact that you are, as is customary talking out of your ass…
And regardless of what you say, and how many interesting points that make no connection with me you bring up, ultimately they are coming out of your ass and still smell like **** Rob, you are the choke artist here not me. I have nothing to prove.
You are undefeated since your return… Now you will be defeated. Now you will taste the humility once again…
But, in case any of this went over your head, and you don’t understand it, let me sum up what I said with some words you might understand…
Suck it…
{Rob sits on the stool at Gib’s kitchen counter, eating a sandwich. A massive hand slaps down on his back as he takes a bite and he chokes momentarily before being able to shoot the offending hunk of sandwich out of his mouth, onto the plate in front of him.}
Gib: Do you have your gear Rob?
Rob: Yeah, out in the car… Why?
Gib: I saw how you and Zelda got close this week. I just want to take you downstairs and spar a little bit with you.
Rob: Wait, you know what happened between Zelda and I and now you want to wrestle? Why now?
Gib: Because I am a dad, and since things are serious I want you to know how serious I am about my daughter. I just want to get my hands on you, beat the **** out of you a little bit and let you know what will happen if you hurt her. That, and I am about the same size as Harold, so rolling around with me in a completely masculine and heterosexual way might help you this weekend.
Rob: I’ll get my stuff…
Gib: Seriously Rob, if you hurt her I am going to break your ****ing neck. That isn’t a threat, that is a promise.
Rob: I know.
{Scene fades as Rob goes to his car and Gib helps himself to Rob’s sandwich.}