Post by adm on Oct 27, 2011 9:02:19 GMT -6
Death borders upon our birth, and our cradle stands in the grave.
Joseph Hall
"So wait...Mark Evil...weren't you like, dead?"
A flickering candle is seen in the near-empty room as Kristoff Liam Bates is sitting in his work-out shorts, shirtless, on what appears to be a yoga mat. He is surrounded by candles, obviously in the middle of either meditation or exercise without the use of weights. A coy smile crosses his face as he tilts his head.
"Not that it matters, I mean, dead, alive, it still doesn't help the fact that you're no different than the last time I faced you one on one...a FAILURE! I know, I know, you'll come up with some Jason Evans-esque promo to refute my claims of you being a curtain-jerker for life. To refute my statements of earlier this month of you being jobber #3, behind your "brother" Joe Everyloser and JackoffHammer, followed by Evans and the rest of your ilk. You're nothing to me, and seeing you return only to go on a losing run and even have Leo put you in the Road to the Gold as a "bye" for the first round failures. Maybe you could have shown up with a bit of willpower, you'd have lasted a bit longer and not wound up on your back.
Just like usual, right Mark?"
A sinister laugh escapes the lips of Bates as he makes a subtle jab at Evil's sexuality. He stands up and looks at the candles around him, and the lack of any discernible decor in this small room.
"You come back, you pick a few good fights, drop out of your business to focus on wrestling, team up with Matt Jackson, win a match, and then come to face me. WELL, isn't that just the way things happen to go for a lot of people around there. They think their lives are figured out, one way or another, and then they get faced with me. Whether I win or lose, that doesn't seem to matter, I'm just an obstruction to their own process of finding their new path, or continuing on the one they were on. Hell, I even made Falcon flinch intellectually for a second while he sat contemplating why I even attacked his moniker of being immortal.
And Falcon, thanks for kicking my ass again, I needed someone besides Gib's son to put a boot up my ass to remind me I belong in the lower card.
Yep, I'm resigned to the fact that my place is here, facing nobodies like you and failures like Zane and Potter for the rest of my existence here. I mean, I'm not Steve Bates, I'm not Rob Diamond, I don't suck Leo's cock for title shots, and I'm not the son of a legend like Xander, so I guess there's no place like "home" in the backburner, relegated to a non-title meaningless match that might as well be on the web show."
At this, his mood turns sour, and his expression and face goes dark, as if he's being taken over by a more volatile version of himself. He screams and kicks over a candle or two, extinguishing them with the force of the blow before they catch the room aflame.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Panting, he gets closer to the camera, his eyes wide with rage and fury. His expression is that of an unhinged man. His hair seems more disheveled now. The beginnings of stubble is shown on his face as the edges of his contacts come into view on his sky blue eyes.
"I didn't beat Trent "I'm a Hall of Famer" Helms to go on a losing streak against big names like I have. I'm not just some "flash-in-the-pan" or Nobody like I've been called. I'm not just some ****ing curtain-jerker like this retard Mark Evil is. I mean, I don't have to assume a nom-de-plume to incite fake fear in the hearts of my opponents. I'm sorry, Mark, but I don't fear you. I didn't fear you when I beat your ass for the Xtreme Title defense I had against you years ago, and I don't fear you now. Weapons or no, you're nothing to me but another retard trying to climb the invisible ladder. You know why it's invisible..."
Bates gets in close to the camera, holding onto the edges of the lens with his hands.
"BECAUSE YOU ARE A FAILURE! YOU ARE NOTHING! YOU AND YOUR BROTHER JOE ARE NO MORE THAN ANTS COMPARED WITH THE LIKES OF ME! AND GERMS COMPARED TO GIB AND FALCON!"
He pulls back, and laughs to himself. He begins pacing around the remaining lit candles as they cast eerie shadows across his face.
"Ants carry the weight of the company, though, so you should be proud. I mean, we can't all face the likes of Falcon or Xander every week. We can't all be facing the best every week or it'd become boring, seeing the same great matches over and over. So every now and again, more often than not, a loser is given a chance to face a somebody or could-be and that's what this is. This is your shot to prove to Leo, with your mouth surrounding that heavy pink piece of fungal-infested man-flesh, that you are worth your paycheck. Win or lose, you have to prove you are a wrestler...not a zombie...but then again, I hear "The Walking Dead" is taking casting calls, and you're a perfect choice, you don't even need makeup!"
Another laugh before deadpanning and slowly walking toward the camera with an awkward gait.
"Now, Mark, I know I'm poking so much fun at you that you're bound to find something against me. I mean, you've got SO MUCH material just waiting to get out. You haven't faced me in like two years, you have to have something to say for all the time you've been out of my hair, and all the times I've been in the hair of the rest of this place."
Bates turns around right before he reaches the camera, showing his back to the camera, the sweat glistening off the sun-darkened skin covering the sinewy strength.
"So go on, Mark, make your comments, say what you will. Promise to cut me up, pour fire on me, throw me in the lake, behead me, whatever stupid cliche bull**** you're going to spew this time. I've beaten you before, I can do it again. Just go suck the remaining intelligence out of your brother and Jason Evans first, or else maybe I'll find some way to make your head explode with pure genius so intense they will have to announce "Coming to the ring, sans head, is the HEADLESS HORSE-EVIL!" or whatever they decide. So go on, do your best, Mark, because..."
Bates turns, steps back, and looks at his watch.
"I'm waiting..."
A sinister cackle escapes his lips as he begins ticking off the time, slowly tilting his head like a madman with every second. His eye begins twitching as the camera fades to black.
Darkness has kept the light concealed
Grim as ever
Hold on to faith as I dig another grave
Meanwhile the mice endure the wheel
Joseph Hall
"So wait...Mark Evil...weren't you like, dead?"
A flickering candle is seen in the near-empty room as Kristoff Liam Bates is sitting in his work-out shorts, shirtless, on what appears to be a yoga mat. He is surrounded by candles, obviously in the middle of either meditation or exercise without the use of weights. A coy smile crosses his face as he tilts his head.
"Not that it matters, I mean, dead, alive, it still doesn't help the fact that you're no different than the last time I faced you one on one...a FAILURE! I know, I know, you'll come up with some Jason Evans-esque promo to refute my claims of you being a curtain-jerker for life. To refute my statements of earlier this month of you being jobber #3, behind your "brother" Joe Everyloser and JackoffHammer, followed by Evans and the rest of your ilk. You're nothing to me, and seeing you return only to go on a losing run and even have Leo put you in the Road to the Gold as a "bye" for the first round failures. Maybe you could have shown up with a bit of willpower, you'd have lasted a bit longer and not wound up on your back.
Just like usual, right Mark?"
A sinister laugh escapes the lips of Bates as he makes a subtle jab at Evil's sexuality. He stands up and looks at the candles around him, and the lack of any discernible decor in this small room.
"You come back, you pick a few good fights, drop out of your business to focus on wrestling, team up with Matt Jackson, win a match, and then come to face me. WELL, isn't that just the way things happen to go for a lot of people around there. They think their lives are figured out, one way or another, and then they get faced with me. Whether I win or lose, that doesn't seem to matter, I'm just an obstruction to their own process of finding their new path, or continuing on the one they were on. Hell, I even made Falcon flinch intellectually for a second while he sat contemplating why I even attacked his moniker of being immortal.
And Falcon, thanks for kicking my ass again, I needed someone besides Gib's son to put a boot up my ass to remind me I belong in the lower card.
Yep, I'm resigned to the fact that my place is here, facing nobodies like you and failures like Zane and Potter for the rest of my existence here. I mean, I'm not Steve Bates, I'm not Rob Diamond, I don't suck Leo's cock for title shots, and I'm not the son of a legend like Xander, so I guess there's no place like "home" in the backburner, relegated to a non-title meaningless match that might as well be on the web show."
At this, his mood turns sour, and his expression and face goes dark, as if he's being taken over by a more volatile version of himself. He screams and kicks over a candle or two, extinguishing them with the force of the blow before they catch the room aflame.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Panting, he gets closer to the camera, his eyes wide with rage and fury. His expression is that of an unhinged man. His hair seems more disheveled now. The beginnings of stubble is shown on his face as the edges of his contacts come into view on his sky blue eyes.
"I didn't beat Trent "I'm a Hall of Famer" Helms to go on a losing streak against big names like I have. I'm not just some "flash-in-the-pan" or Nobody like I've been called. I'm not just some ****ing curtain-jerker like this retard Mark Evil is. I mean, I don't have to assume a nom-de-plume to incite fake fear in the hearts of my opponents. I'm sorry, Mark, but I don't fear you. I didn't fear you when I beat your ass for the Xtreme Title defense I had against you years ago, and I don't fear you now. Weapons or no, you're nothing to me but another retard trying to climb the invisible ladder. You know why it's invisible..."
Bates gets in close to the camera, holding onto the edges of the lens with his hands.
"BECAUSE YOU ARE A FAILURE! YOU ARE NOTHING! YOU AND YOUR BROTHER JOE ARE NO MORE THAN ANTS COMPARED WITH THE LIKES OF ME! AND GERMS COMPARED TO GIB AND FALCON!"
He pulls back, and laughs to himself. He begins pacing around the remaining lit candles as they cast eerie shadows across his face.
"Ants carry the weight of the company, though, so you should be proud. I mean, we can't all face the likes of Falcon or Xander every week. We can't all be facing the best every week or it'd become boring, seeing the same great matches over and over. So every now and again, more often than not, a loser is given a chance to face a somebody or could-be and that's what this is. This is your shot to prove to Leo, with your mouth surrounding that heavy pink piece of fungal-infested man-flesh, that you are worth your paycheck. Win or lose, you have to prove you are a wrestler...not a zombie...but then again, I hear "The Walking Dead" is taking casting calls, and you're a perfect choice, you don't even need makeup!"
Another laugh before deadpanning and slowly walking toward the camera with an awkward gait.
"Now, Mark, I know I'm poking so much fun at you that you're bound to find something against me. I mean, you've got SO MUCH material just waiting to get out. You haven't faced me in like two years, you have to have something to say for all the time you've been out of my hair, and all the times I've been in the hair of the rest of this place."
Bates turns around right before he reaches the camera, showing his back to the camera, the sweat glistening off the sun-darkened skin covering the sinewy strength.
"So go on, Mark, make your comments, say what you will. Promise to cut me up, pour fire on me, throw me in the lake, behead me, whatever stupid cliche bull**** you're going to spew this time. I've beaten you before, I can do it again. Just go suck the remaining intelligence out of your brother and Jason Evans first, or else maybe I'll find some way to make your head explode with pure genius so intense they will have to announce "Coming to the ring, sans head, is the HEADLESS HORSE-EVIL!" or whatever they decide. So go on, do your best, Mark, because..."
Bates turns, steps back, and looks at his watch.
"I'm waiting..."
A sinister cackle escapes his lips as he begins ticking off the time, slowly tilting his head like a madman with every second. His eye begins twitching as the camera fades to black.
Darkness has kept the light concealed
Grim as ever
Hold on to faith as I dig another grave
Meanwhile the mice endure the wheel
