Post by Zevon on Aug 12, 2007 20:35:33 GMT -6
As much as I enjoy the overwhelming visual appeal of Miss Stephie Campbell and the utter poke-ability of Lee Cash, this message of wisdom tonight will take place without their input or the input of Greg Kilgreen or anyone else. This isn't a time for cute questions and snooty remarks: this is a time for passion. A time for a truly great being to educate the ignorant masses and profess his intense dislike of Rich Morrison. I have been asked by several ignorant pissants why I attacked Rich Morrison three weeks ago. The answer is simple: JR Zevon hates Rich Morrison.
Three weeks ago, spurred on by Rich Morrison's announcement that he would be leaving active competition, Rich Morrison was introduced to a steel chair by a kind and noble being. Rich, of course, responded in true Morrison fashion by mimicking the acts of a truly great man and heinously assaulting me from behind. For a man who has been known throughout his lackluster career to blame others for "stealing his gimmick" and for being unoriginal, I find it quite ironic that Rich chose to copy my actions. I admit that I did not invent the chair shot.... but Ron Simmons!
Then Rich took my inspiration further by introducing his former partner Kaleb Shadix to our old friend. Which leads us on to an amusing yet thought provoking tangent. On June 7 of the year 2007 in the common era, Rich Morrison along with the aforementioned Kaleb Shadix, the Midwestern Heavyweight Champion Shawn Stevens and Lance Erikson formed the Royal Flush. A super alliance destined to dominate Power On Wrestling. In the following days, the fine folks at Power On Wrestling's internet site queried all the POW competitors to gain their opinions on the alleged biggest swerve in the history of wrestling. Big Ci, Kailus Holmes, Flying Diamond Cutter Man and others shook in their boots in awe of the earth shattering events. Rich Morrison and his cronies mouthed off about pulling off the biggest shock in wrestling history. And then from a humble Ohio house in a humble Ohio town a humble Ohio feline purred in agreement as a humble Ohio man offered the voice of truth, "whoop-de-freaking-doo."
The backlash from the Flush was swift. Rich Morrison proceeded to insult the entire Northeast division, proudly proclaiming that the most exciting thing on the brand was the vacant tag titles. He then levied threats about coming East for just one match to shut me up and take home the Eastern Heavyweight Championship. Shawn Stevens joined in the ridicule, deriding me for "hiding" in the East and proclaiming that he and Rich would in short order waltz over, capture the Eastern Tag Titles, and dominate both POW brands. A lot of bold words, yet bold words is all that the Royal Flush ever produced.
A mere two months later and the Flush is dead, destroyed by a makeshift alliance of men that hated each other only slightly less than they hated the glorious members of the Flush. The once unbeatable combination of Morrison and Shadix, went into a terrible funk. Excellence Personified became little more than excrement personified as Flying Diamond Cutter Man and friends dominated them with little effort. Five men filled with misplaced hubris formed the most powerful alliance in the history of professional wrestling, and two months later.... whoop-de-freaking-doo.
Morrison never came East to battle the paragon of integrity. The Flush never came close to accomplishing anything but imploding under the weight of their collective egos. The Royal Flush was a lesson in bullshitting and ego stroking straight from the pages of Karl Rove's handbook: incompetent men veiling their failures behind a curtain of flashy slogans and misleading comments and utter lies. The Flush never came close to stripping Flying Diamond Cutter Man of his gold and they never dared come East, because deep down they knew they could not carry Big Norm's jockstrap.
Enough of the Royal Flush, their insignificance has been long established. Back to the subject of Kaleb Shadix and Rich Morrison's epic encounter for the Midwest Television Championship, another topic of query from the ignorant people. The week preceding the contest was a showcase of debauchery, as Rich and Kaleb shouted back and forth about each other's sexual behavior. Rich accusing Kaleb of pleasuring himself to the image of Shawn Stevens; Kaleb accusing Rich of committing carnal acts with the same Midwestern Heavyweight Champion brought to you as always straight from Big Bird himself by the letter S. Either way, Shawn Stevens must be deeply disgusted.... or maybe deeply aroused.... to each his own. Anyhoo, all this lechery is sure to gain them both points with the miscreant fans, yet at the core it was a display of blatant disrespect for the fine art of professional wrestling. Professional wrestling is to be honored, not defiled by a foul-mouthed buffoon and the King of Jackassery. Professional wrestling should not be represented by scoundrels such as Morrison and Shadix. Professional wrestling should be represented by noble beings, beings who honor, respect, and defend the art of professional wrestling with all the energy their minds and bodies can muster. Which is why I won the Television Championship Friday night. I rescued the championship gold from the slimy fingers of Kaleb Shadix. Legendaria is a mere formality.
And we conveniently return to Main Event sub-c of the biggest event in Power On Wrestling history: Morrison's Last Stand. As previously stated, the reasoning behind this match is simple: I hate Rich Morrison. I could never look Mr. Kitters in his majestic eyes again if I neglected to seize the opportunity to humble Rich Morrison before he scurries off. It will be my honor to drive his depravity into oblivion. But of course the ignorant masses need elaboration, and I shall oblige because I am so very benevolent.
The history of animosity between Rich and I is far deeper than the exchange of a few chair shots. The story of Rich Morrison and JR Zevon did not begin three weeks ago when I introduced Rich Morrison's head to a steel chair. The hatred I harbor for Rich Morrison is complex, and shall be the subject of many future ramblings. Yet because I am such a kind being, I shall now offer the first in the riveting series Why JR Zevon Hates Rich Morrison.
The first time Rich Morrison's vocal chords ever manufactured a wave that hit my noble pinna, funneled down my brave auditory canal, vibrated my majestic tympanic membrane, and reverberated through my glorious middle and inner ear to reach my impeccable mind via my exceptional auditory nerve, I realized I hated Rich Morrison. Rich Morrison has the uncanny ability to produce the most scathing noises ever emitted by a living creature. His voice.... reeks of douchebaggery. Whether he's spouting off bullshit, as he is wont to do, or ordering a bucket of chicken, his voice leaves the unmistakable stamp of major league assholery. And then, when the voice is joined by the image of the monumental jackass, one can only marvel at the overwhelming douchebaggery. Surrounding the depraved creature is a cloud of the most vile, despicable assholery imaginable. Upon first occupying the same physical environment as Rich Morrison, the only words that were apt to summarize the intensity of his douchebaggery.... Ron Simmons.... Ron bloody Simmons!
Three weeks ago, spurred on by Rich Morrison's announcement that he would be leaving active competition, Rich Morrison was introduced to a steel chair by a kind and noble being. Rich, of course, responded in true Morrison fashion by mimicking the acts of a truly great man and heinously assaulting me from behind. For a man who has been known throughout his lackluster career to blame others for "stealing his gimmick" and for being unoriginal, I find it quite ironic that Rich chose to copy my actions. I admit that I did not invent the chair shot.... but Ron Simmons!
Then Rich took my inspiration further by introducing his former partner Kaleb Shadix to our old friend. Which leads us on to an amusing yet thought provoking tangent. On June 7 of the year 2007 in the common era, Rich Morrison along with the aforementioned Kaleb Shadix, the Midwestern Heavyweight Champion Shawn Stevens and Lance Erikson formed the Royal Flush. A super alliance destined to dominate Power On Wrestling. In the following days, the fine folks at Power On Wrestling's internet site queried all the POW competitors to gain their opinions on the alleged biggest swerve in the history of wrestling. Big Ci, Kailus Holmes, Flying Diamond Cutter Man and others shook in their boots in awe of the earth shattering events. Rich Morrison and his cronies mouthed off about pulling off the biggest shock in wrestling history. And then from a humble Ohio house in a humble Ohio town a humble Ohio feline purred in agreement as a humble Ohio man offered the voice of truth, "whoop-de-freaking-doo."
The backlash from the Flush was swift. Rich Morrison proceeded to insult the entire Northeast division, proudly proclaiming that the most exciting thing on the brand was the vacant tag titles. He then levied threats about coming East for just one match to shut me up and take home the Eastern Heavyweight Championship. Shawn Stevens joined in the ridicule, deriding me for "hiding" in the East and proclaiming that he and Rich would in short order waltz over, capture the Eastern Tag Titles, and dominate both POW brands. A lot of bold words, yet bold words is all that the Royal Flush ever produced.
A mere two months later and the Flush is dead, destroyed by a makeshift alliance of men that hated each other only slightly less than they hated the glorious members of the Flush. The once unbeatable combination of Morrison and Shadix, went into a terrible funk. Excellence Personified became little more than excrement personified as Flying Diamond Cutter Man and friends dominated them with little effort. Five men filled with misplaced hubris formed the most powerful alliance in the history of professional wrestling, and two months later.... whoop-de-freaking-doo.
Morrison never came East to battle the paragon of integrity. The Flush never came close to accomplishing anything but imploding under the weight of their collective egos. The Royal Flush was a lesson in bullshitting and ego stroking straight from the pages of Karl Rove's handbook: incompetent men veiling their failures behind a curtain of flashy slogans and misleading comments and utter lies. The Flush never came close to stripping Flying Diamond Cutter Man of his gold and they never dared come East, because deep down they knew they could not carry Big Norm's jockstrap.
Enough of the Royal Flush, their insignificance has been long established. Back to the subject of Kaleb Shadix and Rich Morrison's epic encounter for the Midwest Television Championship, another topic of query from the ignorant people. The week preceding the contest was a showcase of debauchery, as Rich and Kaleb shouted back and forth about each other's sexual behavior. Rich accusing Kaleb of pleasuring himself to the image of Shawn Stevens; Kaleb accusing Rich of committing carnal acts with the same Midwestern Heavyweight Champion brought to you as always straight from Big Bird himself by the letter S. Either way, Shawn Stevens must be deeply disgusted.... or maybe deeply aroused.... to each his own. Anyhoo, all this lechery is sure to gain them both points with the miscreant fans, yet at the core it was a display of blatant disrespect for the fine art of professional wrestling. Professional wrestling is to be honored, not defiled by a foul-mouthed buffoon and the King of Jackassery. Professional wrestling should not be represented by scoundrels such as Morrison and Shadix. Professional wrestling should be represented by noble beings, beings who honor, respect, and defend the art of professional wrestling with all the energy their minds and bodies can muster. Which is why I won the Television Championship Friday night. I rescued the championship gold from the slimy fingers of Kaleb Shadix. Legendaria is a mere formality.
And we conveniently return to Main Event sub-c of the biggest event in Power On Wrestling history: Morrison's Last Stand. As previously stated, the reasoning behind this match is simple: I hate Rich Morrison. I could never look Mr. Kitters in his majestic eyes again if I neglected to seize the opportunity to humble Rich Morrison before he scurries off. It will be my honor to drive his depravity into oblivion. But of course the ignorant masses need elaboration, and I shall oblige because I am so very benevolent.
The history of animosity between Rich and I is far deeper than the exchange of a few chair shots. The story of Rich Morrison and JR Zevon did not begin three weeks ago when I introduced Rich Morrison's head to a steel chair. The hatred I harbor for Rich Morrison is complex, and shall be the subject of many future ramblings. Yet because I am such a kind being, I shall now offer the first in the riveting series Why JR Zevon Hates Rich Morrison.
The first time Rich Morrison's vocal chords ever manufactured a wave that hit my noble pinna, funneled down my brave auditory canal, vibrated my majestic tympanic membrane, and reverberated through my glorious middle and inner ear to reach my impeccable mind via my exceptional auditory nerve, I realized I hated Rich Morrison. Rich Morrison has the uncanny ability to produce the most scathing noises ever emitted by a living creature. His voice.... reeks of douchebaggery. Whether he's spouting off bullshit, as he is wont to do, or ordering a bucket of chicken, his voice leaves the unmistakable stamp of major league assholery. And then, when the voice is joined by the image of the monumental jackass, one can only marvel at the overwhelming douchebaggery. Surrounding the depraved creature is a cloud of the most vile, despicable assholery imaginable. Upon first occupying the same physical environment as Rich Morrison, the only words that were apt to summarize the intensity of his douchebaggery.... Ron Simmons.... Ron bloody Simmons!
