Threaded Mode | Linear Mode

Cain · (09-02-2014)

"It's official now, eh? Griffin is coming to Monday Night Madness and he's coming to fight."

"I am so scared...oh...my...God."

"You know, a whole lot of people say a whole lot of things. They say I'm not real. They say I'm too old. At least that's Rena Lesnar's opinion, but if the bitch ever got into bed with me then she'd break her hip climbing on this massive demon cock. However, I digress from such low humor. No, I leave that to those lesser men who want to talk about age. I know. I'm over two thousand years old. That's been made well known, in fact, I think that I have said it before myself. But you know who else is old? Hulk Hogan. Who else? Ric Flair. Mother fucking Terry Fucking Funk is in his sixties and still winning Texas Death Matches. The truth about being old, people, is that I have been in this business for a very long time. I know how this shit runs. I know how the road agents operate."

"Just yesterday, Stanley Kitchsner confronted me in the backstage area. You all know Stanley, right? Fat jew with a love for underage boys? Anyway, Stanley pulls me aside and asks me the most stupid questions. "Does your back hurt after these extreme matches you're involved in?" "Don't the cops hassle you about murdering so many innocent people?" Along with these questions, Mister Kitchsner, our beloved road agent also made a request. He asked me, for the sake of business, to stay away from Brock Lesnar. Yeah, the Beast Incarnate, that Brock Lesnar. Of course, I asked why, because you know I wanted to kick Lesnar's ass for having the gaul to call himself Beast in my precense. Of course, the fat fucking jew wouldn't answer."

"Speaking of fat Jews, Paul Heyman..."

"...my name is Cain Arkham and I am my own advocate. I am my own man, I need noone to speak for me. Duke and Enigma know that, which is why they will not interfere in my affairs. Which is more than I can say about that ragtag group of degenerates you managed. That's right, cellulite. I ain't forgot about how many times I had one of your people beaten and another one of those mother fuckers saw fit to get all up in my kool aid without knowing it's flavor. That flavor, Mister Heyman is blood. You should be well aware of what it tastes like, because there is a bottle of SteveDavids blood...freshly drained by your's truly...sitting in your living room as I speak."

"Oh, don't worry...he's alive. Just too weak to take a fucking piss standing up."

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is me being real as always. A shoot, if you will."

"I suppose if I do not address my opponent, Griffin, I would be doing myself and the Cainaanites a disservice of great proportions."

"Griffin...are you sure?"

"Are you sure you can fathom what your stupid tongue and false bravado have gotten you into? I am not a normal man, Griff. Some say I am not a man at all, but I was human once. Just like you. Just like all the fucking slut scouts who make those shitty cookies you like, I was a human. But then, I gave into sin. I gave into envy, and I ended up killing that sorry good for nothing brother of mine. Over GOD's favor. But you see, Griff, many people do not get the actual jist of the story. They don't understand the big picture. In the end, by "sacrificing" my brother, I ended up winning God's favor. Don't believe me? Just look at the gifts I have been given after all this bloodshed."

"Enhanced physical ability. Enhanced healing ability. Immortality, eternal youth. Free to kill. Free to maim. No repercussions. You may view all this as a curse, but to me, it is a gift."

"You? A monster?"

"Let's look at the definition of the word "monster". An imaginary creature that is normally large, ugly, and frightening. Ok...alright. I dig that, because I used to call myself a monster. Maybe you are a monster because you are large and ugly. But me? I am frightening. I am real. And on Monday Madness, I hope that you have given your soul to Jesus."

"No...I don't want your soul...which is exactly the question you are asking. "But wouldn't he want my soul? Why did he want me to give it to jesus?" Fucker, I don't want your soul. Because I don't take souls, I take lives. I want your life, Griffin. So maybe....maybe I will let you will, and then shove those thin mints down your throat...into your windpipe. Maybe I'll sit on your chest and feed them to you...and watch your lips turn blue...and your pupils get big...and go dark. Maybe..."

"Because Griff...I ain't no monster. I'm a mother fuckin' psychopath."

-Static-

Threaded Mode \| Linear Mode Grffin........are you sure?
Author	Message