Post by The DVC on Jul 22, 2018 22:47:49 GMT -5
"Tell me… when you see the beautiful creation that my hands have laid before you, what do you see?"
The camera fades in to reveal the visage of Christian Connolly, Intercontinental Champion, clad in a black business suit complete with matching gloves and a black mask that obscure his face from the view. He’s standing on a rooftop, looking up at the sun overhead while nodding to himself. He turns to the camera and furrows his eyebrows, almost looking distressed.
Connolly: I’ll tell you what I see… Sickness. Cancer. Gangrene. I’ve been competing amongst the very people that I’ve created for the past few months and the things I’ve seen sicken me… MMA fighters. Human Headlock Machines. Overblown, overrated, overhyped pieces of shit that have brainwashed the very fans I seek to entertain. It’s an abomination. People not worthy of holding up the very ideals I have placed upon the Intercontinental Title that stands as a symbol of power. I see it all and I hate what it’s doing. They’re sicknesses that are spreading throughout the blood and won’t stop until they make their way to the brain and the heart. From there, excruciating, festering death awaits.
He turns his back to the camera, placing his arms behind him while looking back to the sky.
Connolly: But Monday night, on that, the night of WGWF’s Brawl, I see hope. I see a silver lining in that dark cloud that threatens to destroy everything that I’ve ever created. Monday night, the Suntan Superman lowers himself to this mortal coil and competes on the same plane of existence as four of these cancerous dogs. The great surgeon is going to get his hands dirty when he faces off against the likes of the pathetic worms called Andy Johnson, John Cable, Grimoire Xmyles and... Chris Dorling.
Superman takes a few steps to his right and then looks at the people below.
Connolly: Do you see what’s going on beneath, boys? Beneath my feet, the masses are gathering. The sheep are going to witness one of their very own… the boy that makes a killing off of using my ring equipment as his own personal jungle gym instead of actually Sports Entertaining like the rest of us… What’d you think I was gonna say, wrestle? Pfft, fuck that. Dorling, I know all about you. I know all about what you can do in that ring. You fly here, hop there, jump everywhere. You’re a pretty good hitter. Not NEARLY as good as me, but you’re sorta there. But that’s all you got, Dorling. If I were to take your legs out from underneath you… pound your back into a fine powder, you wouldn’t be able to get your precious revenge on me. Every last little flip you do would hurt your body that much further. You couldn’t catch me off-guard like so many others before me. You can’t outfight somebody that’s had much more experience in chopping down people than you, Dorling. Any strike you can do, I can combat it three-fold. And then what will you do? When you’ve been beaten and grounded to the point where you can’t fight back and you feel your ankle being torn from the rest of your leg, what will you do?
Superman finally gazes back at the camera again and laughs.
Connolly: You'll do nothing but scream and beg for your partners to help, only to find that they're nowhere to be found. Your partners ain't shit. They won't help you. Neither of them can stop me, let alone can stop.. us. Dorling, you'll find out what happens when the child dares to cross the father. You’ll be playing the part of the Quivering Red-Headed Stepchild That Will Be Beaten Within An Inch Of His Life. Monday night, bitch; you’re getting bounced faster than Roseanne on her Twitter account. Enjoy your last moments of a pain-free body Dorling. After Monday night, you’ll be letting the respirator make little smart-ass comments for you.
And on that note, we fade to black.
The camera fades in to reveal the visage of Christian Connolly, Intercontinental Champion, clad in a black business suit complete with matching gloves and a black mask that obscure his face from the view. He’s standing on a rooftop, looking up at the sun overhead while nodding to himself. He turns to the camera and furrows his eyebrows, almost looking distressed.
Connolly: I’ll tell you what I see… Sickness. Cancer. Gangrene. I’ve been competing amongst the very people that I’ve created for the past few months and the things I’ve seen sicken me… MMA fighters. Human Headlock Machines. Overblown, overrated, overhyped pieces of shit that have brainwashed the very fans I seek to entertain. It’s an abomination. People not worthy of holding up the very ideals I have placed upon the Intercontinental Title that stands as a symbol of power. I see it all and I hate what it’s doing. They’re sicknesses that are spreading throughout the blood and won’t stop until they make their way to the brain and the heart. From there, excruciating, festering death awaits.
He turns his back to the camera, placing his arms behind him while looking back to the sky.
Connolly: But Monday night, on that, the night of WGWF’s Brawl, I see hope. I see a silver lining in that dark cloud that threatens to destroy everything that I’ve ever created. Monday night, the Suntan Superman lowers himself to this mortal coil and competes on the same plane of existence as four of these cancerous dogs. The great surgeon is going to get his hands dirty when he faces off against the likes of the pathetic worms called Andy Johnson, John Cable, Grimoire Xmyles and... Chris Dorling.
Superman takes a few steps to his right and then looks at the people below.
Connolly: Do you see what’s going on beneath, boys? Beneath my feet, the masses are gathering. The sheep are going to witness one of their very own… the boy that makes a killing off of using my ring equipment as his own personal jungle gym instead of actually Sports Entertaining like the rest of us… What’d you think I was gonna say, wrestle? Pfft, fuck that. Dorling, I know all about you. I know all about what you can do in that ring. You fly here, hop there, jump everywhere. You’re a pretty good hitter. Not NEARLY as good as me, but you’re sorta there. But that’s all you got, Dorling. If I were to take your legs out from underneath you… pound your back into a fine powder, you wouldn’t be able to get your precious revenge on me. Every last little flip you do would hurt your body that much further. You couldn’t catch me off-guard like so many others before me. You can’t outfight somebody that’s had much more experience in chopping down people than you, Dorling. Any strike you can do, I can combat it three-fold. And then what will you do? When you’ve been beaten and grounded to the point where you can’t fight back and you feel your ankle being torn from the rest of your leg, what will you do?
Superman finally gazes back at the camera again and laughs.
Connolly: You'll do nothing but scream and beg for your partners to help, only to find that they're nowhere to be found. Your partners ain't shit. They won't help you. Neither of them can stop me, let alone can stop.. us. Dorling, you'll find out what happens when the child dares to cross the father. You’ll be playing the part of the Quivering Red-Headed Stepchild That Will Be Beaten Within An Inch Of His Life. Monday night, bitch; you’re getting bounced faster than Roseanne on her Twitter account. Enjoy your last moments of a pain-free body Dorling. After Monday night, you’ll be letting the respirator make little smart-ass comments for you.
And on that note, we fade to black.