Post by Gib on Mar 8, 2013 12:12:48 GMT -6
What the hell do you people want from me? I am almost fifty one years old, I am pushing the pace, I am working as hard as I can and still I hear about how my gut is a little flabby or my knees are a little completely destroyed, or I hear about how my best days are behind me and I am holding on by a thread.
Of course I am you ****ing morons. I am an old man that had done this for too damn long. I have stood toe to toe with the best and been pissed on my Leonard Fox. I have walked with giants and slept with maggots but god you are all repetitive assholes. I mean, I am not a clam I do have the use of a central nervous system and I have feelings, and sometimes those feelings hurt.
What do you want ncw? Do you want me to go back to the cushy desk job, where I sit useless getting a free paycheck to do pretty much nothing? I can’t do that. They say that when you reach your twilight years that you must, beyond a shadow of a doubt continue doing things you love, or else you are pretty much going to die.
And I certainly haven’t spread my seed far enough to call it quits yet. There are so many beers yet undrunk, there are so many trips yet untraveled, there are so many bitches yet un****ed. I am tasting life and living it and I am doing the one thing that motivates my old ass to get up in the morning and rub ointments and liniments all over my body. It isn’t easy to reach all the areas, and Simon has been really weird about helping me lately, questioning my claim that it is what friends do, but for some reason he won’t put the preparation h directly on my hemorrhoids so I have to prop a mirror on the toilet seat and stand over it naked trying to get the ointment in the right spot.
But I shouldn’t talk about that right; I should talk about my tag team match this week. Two tag team specialists come after the longest reigning and greatest tag team of all time. We don’t even have to be called Team America anymore, we can be called “Team whatever the **** we want to be” because we have steamrolled every single group that has stood in our way. There has never been a more dominant title reign in the history of this federation and yet we march forth. For over seven months we have held these titles, for over seven months we have fought fly by night teams, teams with former world champions, teams consisting of former hall of famers.
We have ducked no one, we have searched the world to try to bring the very best here and still we have been called paper champions, we have been called transitional. Well, this very well could be the longest ****ing transition in the history of wrestling because the way I see it, I still have the titles. I still have the fame and the glory and all you haters out there have nothing but a mouth full of their own **** filled negativity. How does that taste?
I assume it tastes like balls, the same balls that The Church of Thor put in their mouths as part of their ritualistic penis sucking lent celebration.
Yeah, I made a teabagging joke, what of it?
{Gib looks nervous, he stands facing a mirror in a bathroom in his house. He is wearing a nice pair of jeans with some dress shoes; he has a button up shirt and a leather sport coat over it. His head and face are cleanly shaved; no stubble exists for perhaps the first time since the hair started falling out. He takes a bottle of aqua velva and splashes a healthy portion onto his face; he stands straight admiring his handiwork and inhaling the aroma of pure masculinity.}
{Xander walks in behind him, placing his hands on his shoulders, he looks happy for his father and he speaks}
Xander: Nervous old man?
Gib: Nervous, Jesus man of course I am. It has been a long time since I have taken a woman out for dinner, normally I skip the dinner and go straight to the post lobster coitus. Perhaps I might order her some room service after I am done but I almost always have them bring it in a to go container. Tonight, I just want to hang out with this woman, I don’t even have a huge desire to pork her.
Xander: Oh my god dad, are you dying?
Gib: Real funny boy.
{A sincere smile crosses his lips and he leaves the room walking to the living room where Simon and Zelda are playing a game on his television. Xander goes over to the chair and takes out his cell phone texting only who we can assume is Jenny. Gib takes a few steps forward and looks at Zelda, she is beautiful and absolutely the apple of his eye}
Gib: I have something I need to say, so if you two could take a break from your video game machine there it would mean a great deal to me.
{Xander puts his cell phone in his pocket, Zelda and Simon turn the game on pause and then turn to Gib who grabs the lapels of his jacket like a young Abraham Lincoln.}
Gib: Now the last few years of my life I have been trying to make up for ****ing up so many times as your parent. I am sorry, I hope you understand that. And… Well…
{He stops and looks down at his hand where we see smudges of marker}
Gib: ****, I am sweating.
Zelda: Dad, did you write speech notes on your hand…
Gib: NO!!
{He puts his hand quickly in his pocket}
Gib: Ok, what I am trying to say is that I love you all and well, I have been trying to mend that relationship and make up for lost time. Now, I see that the two of you are happy. I see that you are both living the dream and making moves. I, however, have for a long time taken myself out of the game. But now I am ready, I am ready to get back into the game. Xander… Zelda… I am going to find the both of you a mommy. And I am going to do it before either of you get married, because it is weird being an old dude alone at a wedding.
{Zelda’s face gets red and she stands}
Zelda: I am NOT calling her mom…
{Zelda leaves the room and Xander starts laughing uncontrollably.}
Gib: Is she on the period or something? Keep her away from the wilderness.
{Scene fades}
Steven Kingsley that name sounds familiar? Oh yeah, that’s right you are part of that team that fantasizes about raping women right? I know if was your partner with the twisted rape fetish but I do remember you were part of that, probably as some part of weird threesome type faggy gay rapey thing. Here is the deal Kingsley, you have been on the cusp of greatness for a long time, but you can only be there so long before the cusp becomes your norm.
Your norm is always being close, always being close to the top spots, always being close to the best but never actually touching it, and that isn’t something that should hurt your feelings, that isn’t something that you should be super upset about because the ncw is full of no talent hacks like you, and you can switch wins and losses with them all you want. But what you don’t understand is the fact that I am not at your level.
I am so far above it that it isn’t even funny. Some people are born great, some people are just wonderful for what they are and I am one of them. I was born a wrestler, I was born an elite superstar full of athletic ability and you were born, possibly the offspring of a koala bear and a giant squid. I mean you are huge, and may look intimidating but really, there is nothing overtly challenging about throwing you around the ring, slapping you in the camel clutch and breaking your back.
You will be humbled Steven. Humbled will be you.
CDK, DDK, whatever stupid ****ing acronym you are currently using for your name, I am not going to sit here and argue logic with you, because it is obvious that the logic train left the station years ago as far as you are concerned, and I won’t argue the fact that other then Adam Knite you are the most decorated tag team superstar in the federation’s history, but the problem is you are always only as good as your partner is.
See, Simon and I are the very best; we are a well oiled machine lubricated with various oils and lotions applied by one another for maximum viscosity. We have a bond that is better then goldbond foot powder. I love Simon, we live in the same house, we train together, we don’t shower together but I have extended the idea to him as a means to lower our water usage and further save the environment, but he hasn’t warmed up to the idea yet.
We aren’t two guys that are doing nothing by ourselves so we are slammed together as a tag team. You two, you were both floundering alone, but when you put two flounders together it doesn’t change the fact that it is still ****ing fish.
And this weekend we are the fishermen, harpoons in hand. And I know, the metaphor with fish doesn’t necessarily work due to the fact that flounders don’t need harpoons, but that just shows that we are going for overkill, we are sending a message to the entire ncw.
We are the best.
And there is nothing anyone can do about it.
Of course I am you ****ing morons. I am an old man that had done this for too damn long. I have stood toe to toe with the best and been pissed on my Leonard Fox. I have walked with giants and slept with maggots but god you are all repetitive assholes. I mean, I am not a clam I do have the use of a central nervous system and I have feelings, and sometimes those feelings hurt.
What do you want ncw? Do you want me to go back to the cushy desk job, where I sit useless getting a free paycheck to do pretty much nothing? I can’t do that. They say that when you reach your twilight years that you must, beyond a shadow of a doubt continue doing things you love, or else you are pretty much going to die.
And I certainly haven’t spread my seed far enough to call it quits yet. There are so many beers yet undrunk, there are so many trips yet untraveled, there are so many bitches yet un****ed. I am tasting life and living it and I am doing the one thing that motivates my old ass to get up in the morning and rub ointments and liniments all over my body. It isn’t easy to reach all the areas, and Simon has been really weird about helping me lately, questioning my claim that it is what friends do, but for some reason he won’t put the preparation h directly on my hemorrhoids so I have to prop a mirror on the toilet seat and stand over it naked trying to get the ointment in the right spot.
But I shouldn’t talk about that right; I should talk about my tag team match this week. Two tag team specialists come after the longest reigning and greatest tag team of all time. We don’t even have to be called Team America anymore, we can be called “Team whatever the **** we want to be” because we have steamrolled every single group that has stood in our way. There has never been a more dominant title reign in the history of this federation and yet we march forth. For over seven months we have held these titles, for over seven months we have fought fly by night teams, teams with former world champions, teams consisting of former hall of famers.
We have ducked no one, we have searched the world to try to bring the very best here and still we have been called paper champions, we have been called transitional. Well, this very well could be the longest ****ing transition in the history of wrestling because the way I see it, I still have the titles. I still have the fame and the glory and all you haters out there have nothing but a mouth full of their own **** filled negativity. How does that taste?
I assume it tastes like balls, the same balls that The Church of Thor put in their mouths as part of their ritualistic penis sucking lent celebration.
Yeah, I made a teabagging joke, what of it?
{Gib looks nervous, he stands facing a mirror in a bathroom in his house. He is wearing a nice pair of jeans with some dress shoes; he has a button up shirt and a leather sport coat over it. His head and face are cleanly shaved; no stubble exists for perhaps the first time since the hair started falling out. He takes a bottle of aqua velva and splashes a healthy portion onto his face; he stands straight admiring his handiwork and inhaling the aroma of pure masculinity.}
{Xander walks in behind him, placing his hands on his shoulders, he looks happy for his father and he speaks}
Xander: Nervous old man?
Gib: Nervous, Jesus man of course I am. It has been a long time since I have taken a woman out for dinner, normally I skip the dinner and go straight to the post lobster coitus. Perhaps I might order her some room service after I am done but I almost always have them bring it in a to go container. Tonight, I just want to hang out with this woman, I don’t even have a huge desire to pork her.
Xander: Oh my god dad, are you dying?
Gib: Real funny boy.
{A sincere smile crosses his lips and he leaves the room walking to the living room where Simon and Zelda are playing a game on his television. Xander goes over to the chair and takes out his cell phone texting only who we can assume is Jenny. Gib takes a few steps forward and looks at Zelda, she is beautiful and absolutely the apple of his eye}
Gib: I have something I need to say, so if you two could take a break from your video game machine there it would mean a great deal to me.
{Xander puts his cell phone in his pocket, Zelda and Simon turn the game on pause and then turn to Gib who grabs the lapels of his jacket like a young Abraham Lincoln.}
Gib: Now the last few years of my life I have been trying to make up for ****ing up so many times as your parent. I am sorry, I hope you understand that. And… Well…
{He stops and looks down at his hand where we see smudges of marker}
Gib: ****, I am sweating.
Zelda: Dad, did you write speech notes on your hand…
Gib: NO!!
{He puts his hand quickly in his pocket}
Gib: Ok, what I am trying to say is that I love you all and well, I have been trying to mend that relationship and make up for lost time. Now, I see that the two of you are happy. I see that you are both living the dream and making moves. I, however, have for a long time taken myself out of the game. But now I am ready, I am ready to get back into the game. Xander… Zelda… I am going to find the both of you a mommy. And I am going to do it before either of you get married, because it is weird being an old dude alone at a wedding.
{Zelda’s face gets red and she stands}
Zelda: I am NOT calling her mom…
{Zelda leaves the room and Xander starts laughing uncontrollably.}
Gib: Is she on the period or something? Keep her away from the wilderness.
{Scene fades}
Steven Kingsley that name sounds familiar? Oh yeah, that’s right you are part of that team that fantasizes about raping women right? I know if was your partner with the twisted rape fetish but I do remember you were part of that, probably as some part of weird threesome type faggy gay rapey thing. Here is the deal Kingsley, you have been on the cusp of greatness for a long time, but you can only be there so long before the cusp becomes your norm.
Your norm is always being close, always being close to the top spots, always being close to the best but never actually touching it, and that isn’t something that should hurt your feelings, that isn’t something that you should be super upset about because the ncw is full of no talent hacks like you, and you can switch wins and losses with them all you want. But what you don’t understand is the fact that I am not at your level.
I am so far above it that it isn’t even funny. Some people are born great, some people are just wonderful for what they are and I am one of them. I was born a wrestler, I was born an elite superstar full of athletic ability and you were born, possibly the offspring of a koala bear and a giant squid. I mean you are huge, and may look intimidating but really, there is nothing overtly challenging about throwing you around the ring, slapping you in the camel clutch and breaking your back.
You will be humbled Steven. Humbled will be you.
CDK, DDK, whatever stupid ****ing acronym you are currently using for your name, I am not going to sit here and argue logic with you, because it is obvious that the logic train left the station years ago as far as you are concerned, and I won’t argue the fact that other then Adam Knite you are the most decorated tag team superstar in the federation’s history, but the problem is you are always only as good as your partner is.
See, Simon and I are the very best; we are a well oiled machine lubricated with various oils and lotions applied by one another for maximum viscosity. We have a bond that is better then goldbond foot powder. I love Simon, we live in the same house, we train together, we don’t shower together but I have extended the idea to him as a means to lower our water usage and further save the environment, but he hasn’t warmed up to the idea yet.
We aren’t two guys that are doing nothing by ourselves so we are slammed together as a tag team. You two, you were both floundering alone, but when you put two flounders together it doesn’t change the fact that it is still ****ing fish.
And this weekend we are the fishermen, harpoons in hand. And I know, the metaphor with fish doesn’t necessarily work due to the fact that flounders don’t need harpoons, but that just shows that we are going for overkill, we are sending a message to the entire ncw.
We are the best.
And there is nothing anyone can do about it.