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X-treme Wrestling Federation »   » Archives » "Anarchy Special" RP Board
"Loverboy" - Morbid Angel With Scabbed Wings
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Vincent Lane Offline
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#1
11-24-2014, 09:44 PM Heart  "Loverboy" - Morbid Angel With Scabbed Wings -->




Damn, Morbid dude…

I really thought we were cool, you know? I figured we could go into this thing and kick the shit out of each other like men, without having to resort to the usual horseshit trash talking that everyone else drags themselves down to, man.

I figured, fuck it, we can see who can split who open first, right? It’ll be fun, and I was pretty confident your old skin would peel away like tissue paper at the first good shot anyway, man.

I figured I’d just tap out the second the first fall was over with, just to even things up, keep it interesting, you know? Why bother jumping through hoops for a front office that just wants to watch its top draws keep each other busy so The Pryce spend another week as champion, right?

I figured we’d both jump into the fire together – like we were supposed to do against the Three Kings. Brothers in arms, man, marching into hell and coming back out intact.

I guess not.

Dude, you want to jump on the “Loverboy’s a ” train with the rest of these fucking morons? That’s really the route you want to go down? You, the almighty metal god, has nothing more in his tank than garbage hermaphrodite claims?

I don’t think I even need to go so far as bringing the footage up to remind you how you spent the week preparing for our title defense not long ago, do I? You remember, right?

Washing your car in a banana hammock and taking shots of your own jizz, dude. That’s the way you let the world see you as a champion. With a title you only had in the first place because I thought enough of you to give it to you. Yeah, me. The guy everyone loves to shit on, for some reason. The guy who made you a champion. The guy who stuck his neck out trying to convince Theo to get in the ring with his strap on the line – I did that for you, man, because I believed what I was saying.

I ran around here telling everyone that Morbid Angel was the rightful Universal Champion. I gave you gold because I thought you deserved it. Because I thought you knew how to be a team player. Then what do I see tonight? You and that shit stain, Pest? Hanging out together, trashing me, making plans? What the fuck, Morbid?

No matter how you slice it, dude, you let the team down back there against the Kings. Yeah, it was Peter who took the pin, and yeah, you fought them, but when the Asylum showed up – where were you? You say you shouldn’t have to watch my back? Dude, we were partners! Watching each other’s back is exactly what you do!

But no… you’d rather take the night off, right? You got a free championship in your record books, you didn’t have to win it and you didn’t have to lose it. Works out great for Morbid Angel, doesn’t it?

You talk about David Mosier like he’s anything. I didn’t lose to that stoned out fucker, I lost to Luca Arzegotti. Not even you can be thick headed enough to think Mosier was a threat.

You and the pesticle talk about Diesel interfering in one match of mine as if he made me who I am. Let me ask you, dude, was Diesel helping me when I beat you and Peter? Was Diesel there to help when I won the Trios in the first place? Was he there when I won a fatal fourway that neither you nor Pest would have had a prayer in?

In fact, before Mosier, when was the last time you won anything?

Did you win against Ghost Tank? Mastermind did. Calypso fucking did. Did you?

No.

Did you beat Azrael Erebus in that Iron Maiden match, when your life was on the line?

No.

Most importantly – when you had a two on one advantage a few weeks ago… did you beat me?

No. You didn’t. You didn’t beat me, your new boyfriend Pest didn’t beat me, Azrael didn’t beat me, Gator didn’t beat me, Griffin MacAlister didn’t beat me, Theo Pryce didn’t beat me… but you think things are gonna go differently this time around?

Dude, tell Pest to come on down. Hold the ropes open for him like a good little bitch and let him try to do what you can’t. Let him interfere in yet another one of my matches that I’ll still win anyway. You might not remember, dude, since you were fast asleep, but he tried to stop me from beating you once before and it didn’t work.

You know what though, man, you made a pretty good point talking to that cock-faced freak. I made a mistake. I didn’t plan things right. I picked a partner that let me down when I needed him most. I picked a partner who was just looking out for himself. I picked a partner who just wanted a free ride.

But it wasn’t Peter Gilmour, dude.

Oh no.

I came out of that ring bloody and broken. I needed stitches. My knee was swollen to the size of a softball.

Gilly? He left Warfare that night missing an ear. He took a beating like I’ve never seen at the hands of the Three Kings, and he kept kicking out until he had nothing left.

Morbid Angel?

Morbid Angel left warfare with barely a scratch.

Morbid Angel rode home alone in his private car, and didn’t give a damn about the well-being of his partners.

For weeks I told everyone who would listen that you were the man, dude. I told them you were robbed against Eli, that Theo would have never had the balls to cash in the way he did if it were against you. I was totally cool with the idea of playing second fiddle to the great Morbid Angel. My friend. My partner.

Not now.

Now, for a second time, I have no choice but to go out into that ring and show everyone the truth.

They get to see you bleed first.

They get to see you quit first.

And oh, Morbid Fallen Angel… they get to see you burn first.

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