Post by graves on Jul 22, 2007 18:07:38 GMT -6
We fade in on a rather familiar lightbulb, who's fate we all seem to know. It sways back and forth by it's chain, creaking with each swing. The room it's in, however, is completely different from normal. Instead of the pure-white sanitarium room we're used to seeing, it's in the boiler room of an arena. Since not many people actually get to see the inside of these rooms, we can't really tell what arena it's in. There's shadows moving about in the distance, and as we pan down, we can see that all of them are coming from one man. Graves sits on a metal folding chair, smoking a cigarette as per usual. The cigarette is half-smoked, and almost smoldered out from neglect. He's shirtless, and he has a grin on his face. He seems to just have got done with his match with King Cobra. He takes a drag, revigorating the cigarette to a healthy orange ember, and laughs. Blowing the smoke out, he lifts up a piece of paper, and begins to read aloud.
Graves: "Ocean City Slam, July 29th, 2007. We're proud to inform you that you are one of seven competitors in a battle royale match. Here are the participants; King Cobra. Nightkiller. President Pliskin. Captain Ragnorack. Graves. Jason Resurrection. Chris Knight. Seven men enter, only one man leaves with his head held high. And by the looks of the competition, my neck's gonna be a little stiff from holding it up high above the pathetic masses that seem to think they have any chance whatsoever of beating me. My opposition at the next event leaves a little something to desired. First off, the first person they name in the match, is the man I beat less than an hour ago, King Cobra. He posed no challenge to me, and I'm actually glad he's in the match. It will make things that much easier. I know how to beat him, and I know how to shame him. I know how to punish him, and I definitely know how to make him submit to an overbearing amount of pain. I heard the rumors in the back before the match, Cobra. I believe someone said 'Sure, Graves is coming, but there's a deadly snake in his way.' Well, folks, it looks like I bit the head off the snake and drank the venom. Your King Cobra is no more. Two losses in two weeks. He can't even blame Jason Resurrection for his loss in the tag match, since Cobra was the one who got pinned. You sicken me, you disgust me, and I don't even wish to think about you until I'm beating your ass again on the twenty-ninth."
Graves takes the last drag from his cigarette, then immediately flicks it and lights another one in it's place. He takes a drag from it, and exhales it through his nose before starting up again.
"Then, there's Nightkiller, who, unlike King Cobra, doesn't even deserve an iota of my time. King Cobra actually came and faced me, but I doubt that you'll be even able to clean the urine stains out of your tights soon enough to come and face me. You're every wannabe gothic cliche in the book, and you disgust me. I've seen your type before, and you won't last five seconds with someone who actually knows how to break bones and smash heads. Then, there's President Pliskin. Funny story about this guy. About a month ago, we were in this federation called Extreme Wrestling Network, and Mr. Pliskin only wrestled one match. And he lost. Now, he didn't wrestle that match against me, but I watched. I know how to beat him, and I know that he ran away from the company like a bitch after he got beat. So Pliskin, just remember...I beat Dallas Duke. Dallas Duke beat you. What's the next logical deduction?"
He laughs, and finishes his second cigarette. He flicks it off, and shakes his head, sighing a bit.
Graves: "Then there's Jason Resurrection, the undead, braindead, dancing fool. Captain Ragnorack, who sounds like a failed superhero, and Chris Knight, who's about as generic as Barry Horowitz. You three...I don't even have to worry about you three. But you three? You better worry about me. Because when the cards are shown and the tables are turned, the Graves are dug six feet deep, and filled with blood, I WILL f**kING BURY YOU!"
Graves simply looks up at the lightbulb, as it explodes fantastically. As it fades out, so do we.
Graves: "Ocean City Slam, July 29th, 2007. We're proud to inform you that you are one of seven competitors in a battle royale match. Here are the participants; King Cobra. Nightkiller. President Pliskin. Captain Ragnorack. Graves. Jason Resurrection. Chris Knight. Seven men enter, only one man leaves with his head held high. And by the looks of the competition, my neck's gonna be a little stiff from holding it up high above the pathetic masses that seem to think they have any chance whatsoever of beating me. My opposition at the next event leaves a little something to desired. First off, the first person they name in the match, is the man I beat less than an hour ago, King Cobra. He posed no challenge to me, and I'm actually glad he's in the match. It will make things that much easier. I know how to beat him, and I know how to shame him. I know how to punish him, and I definitely know how to make him submit to an overbearing amount of pain. I heard the rumors in the back before the match, Cobra. I believe someone said 'Sure, Graves is coming, but there's a deadly snake in his way.' Well, folks, it looks like I bit the head off the snake and drank the venom. Your King Cobra is no more. Two losses in two weeks. He can't even blame Jason Resurrection for his loss in the tag match, since Cobra was the one who got pinned. You sicken me, you disgust me, and I don't even wish to think about you until I'm beating your ass again on the twenty-ninth."
Graves takes the last drag from his cigarette, then immediately flicks it and lights another one in it's place. He takes a drag from it, and exhales it through his nose before starting up again.
"Then, there's Nightkiller, who, unlike King Cobra, doesn't even deserve an iota of my time. King Cobra actually came and faced me, but I doubt that you'll be even able to clean the urine stains out of your tights soon enough to come and face me. You're every wannabe gothic cliche in the book, and you disgust me. I've seen your type before, and you won't last five seconds with someone who actually knows how to break bones and smash heads. Then, there's President Pliskin. Funny story about this guy. About a month ago, we were in this federation called Extreme Wrestling Network, and Mr. Pliskin only wrestled one match. And he lost. Now, he didn't wrestle that match against me, but I watched. I know how to beat him, and I know that he ran away from the company like a bitch after he got beat. So Pliskin, just remember...I beat Dallas Duke. Dallas Duke beat you. What's the next logical deduction?"
He laughs, and finishes his second cigarette. He flicks it off, and shakes his head, sighing a bit.
Graves: "Then there's Jason Resurrection, the undead, braindead, dancing fool. Captain Ragnorack, who sounds like a failed superhero, and Chris Knight, who's about as generic as Barry Horowitz. You three...I don't even have to worry about you three. But you three? You better worry about me. Because when the cards are shown and the tables are turned, the Graves are dug six feet deep, and filled with blood, I WILL f**kING BURY YOU!"
Graves simply looks up at the lightbulb, as it explodes fantastically. As it fades out, so do we.