"Stories" (L.O.L.)
"Let the week straight of assassinations begin"
"Excuse me, sir." The voice may have belonged to a smug smile hidden within the shadows.
"Who's there? Hello?" The nervous man's eyes shot around rapidly in random directions. The sun had yet to rise on this cool, rainy morning but the street lights had just shut off a few minutes ago. Darkness was king and the nervous man its puppet. The man's physical features need not be described; he's merely playing the role of a victim to a menacing killing machine. Or maybe he's just going to be asked a simple question?
"Spare any change?" Of course, there he was - a homeless man sitting on the ground against the brick building the nervous pedestrian was passing. Notable is the usage of the word nervous without a d at the end, because when you call thinks things stories, you get reminded of even the most miniscule stupid mistakes, forever, and they will no doubt continue to add up.
Back on track now, the courage returns to the passer by who just moments ago was afraid he had been targeted by a blood thirsty killer with a camera crew. :/ Now that he saw it was just a filthy bum asking for hand outs, he was all of a sudden a man with an attitude.
"Change? How about you go change your clothes and get a job. Go buy a car and a home while you're at it, you lazy shit! Stop choosing to be homeless and in need," shouted the angry man who felt he was better than a common beggar because he worked all his life as a servant in the dairy industry to make his rich bosses richer. "Why don't you give me some change?" He makes like he's going to kick the seated bum who throws his hands up and turns away in fright, but then it happens…
Absolutely nothing.
The bum nervously lowers his hands and opens up one eye to peek but there's no one standing over him anymore. He looks both ways and sees nothing along the barren street that in just a couple of hours would be bustling with fresh faces to harass for spare change. Several feet away the mouth of an alley he sometimes frequents produces a faint, muffled sound among the wisps of fog in the air, almost as if someone was gagging just around the corner but the bum pays no mind. He takes comfort in the fact that if by some chance that sound was coming from the man who was about to kick him, that man would no doubt be alright - because that man had a job and was better than him. ~dirty smiles~
The sharpening of blades in the darkness plays out of a hand held recorder which is placed directly in the center of the nearby windowsill. The smug man who less than an hour ago was about to kick a homeless man in the face is restrained by thin twisty ties; probably over one hundred of them in play here as they're twisted together to create long enough binds to keep his wrists and ankles in place against the pipes that run up and down the wall of this basement. The pipes are of course burning hot, already serving as a more torturous means of restraint than say, a predictable wooden chair in the middle of a normal room. With each tsssss that fills the air, the man lets out a yelp and once again tries to reposition himself as best he can with the limited movement those unbreakable(?) twisty ties allow him.
A smug smile emerges from the shadows first.
…
I said, a smug smile emerges from the shadows first.
"Haha oh my god I'm sorry I'm sorry, can we start over?" The unmistakable, bubbly laughter of Goddess Sitre Renenet emerges from the foreboding darkness as ~cut~
Yada yada yada unbreakable twisty ties allow him.
A smug smile emerges from the shadows first. "The Goddess" Sitre Renenet makes her way into the light that previously went unmentioned in all this darkness. This impressive feat is followed up by a cold steel blade being traced up and down the yelping man's face. It's a bone chilling symphony of 'tsssss' yelp! 'tssssssss' yelp! The cold steel blade traces again; this time over the man's jawline when it takes a sudden, "Hey!" Oh, alright. The restrained man is speaking out of turn here. "Who the hell are you and why are you rubbing me with a plastic toy?"
Getting nervoud myself, I forget how to say the word nervous correctly and I try to ignore what just happened as I continue my narration. The cold metal blade that was just revealed to be a plastic toy takes a sudden turn and forces the man's head skyward - or maybe ceilingward since we're indoors and making up words as we go - and the dull plastic tip of the blade finally is pressed against the skin underneath the man's chin so hard that it annoys him almost as much as the occasional burns from those piping hot, well, pipes he's tied to.
The Goddess sneers as she makes her voice deep, grumpy and super scary all in one - "That's a good boy; all that crying was making me agitated. That wouldn't be g_," but she's interrupted by the frustrated man blurting out, "I wasn't even crying! And stop pressing that plastic He-Man sword or whatever it is into my jaw. It's starting to make my skin chafe. Is this because I wouldn't give that bum any money earlier? Let me guess; you don't have a job either? Untie me!"
"I, um," glancing at the camera and then back at the man.
"And why the fuck is there a camera on us? What is this sick shit? Let me go!"
"Shut up! A Goddess with a shaky hand is exactly how accidents happen," her voice is unsure of herself and more shaky than her hand. She knows this act is going horribly awry but she's doing her best not to break her scary butchery character. Let me assist by saying sone words wrond to aid in teh multilevel butchering. Ok good.
"Ugh! This isn't working," hisses the Goddess as she puts the rounded tip of that plastic blade to the man's eye. "You'd better play along this time or something bad might really happen to you."
"Oh shut the fuck up you dumb bitch and let me go!" ~cut~
We're back and Goddess Butcher has apparently skipped ahead a little in this scene because the man was being uncooperative. She grabs his hand and yanks it upward, twisting it unnaturally in the process. The blade in Goddess' hand raises high into the air as the man begins to… realize that when she bent his hand she actually pulled his wrist free of those twisty ties! Dang it. Oh great, now the man realizes that if he uses enough force he can just yank his other arm free of those twisty ties and now he kicks both of his feet free as Goddess backs up in amazement, shouting "This isn't supposed to happen! I'm the butcher; you're the helpless victim," and throwing the plastic blade to the ground, causing it to break into a few pieces.
The man looks back and forth in a panicked state before bolting out of there faster than the creativity and color bolts out of a Giuseppe Jones promo, which reminds me - ~click~ There we go; all black and white, as basic as basic gets, because an old black and white camera makes for a more ominous setting and quite frankly is ten times easier if you're trying to cut production cost or just be a lazy piece of shit. I suppose it also comes in handy when we're viewing a disgustingly offensive shit talker who is trying to pass off someone like Sitre Renenet as being unattractive. We look forward to that next black and white scene where Jones reveals his homosexuality in a wickedly riveting manner.
You may be asking yourself why these words are even happening right now and what happened to the scene at hand? Where did Sitre and her victim go? Well, the dude got away. Plain and simple. I'm guessing she went after him or went to go take a nap, so now I just get to sit here and talk about whatever I feel like. Let me talk directly to the narrator of Giuseppe Jones' promos right now, or to the nitwit who is in charge of typing out those scenes and dialogue for the closed captioning options. Whatever or whichever you want to call it; somebody somewhere is responsible for that shit.
Hi, how are you? I'm doing great; obviously a hell of a lot better than you are anyway. How does it feel to be stuck working with a morbidly obese excuse for a wrestler who makes rookie mistakes like referring to real life footage as stories? Really? Footage of negotiations and discussions relating to a new member of a roster is some sort of made up story? Oh my goodness, is anything real? Sucks to be you, Mr. Narrator of that green ass, somewhat high functioning . Or how about how he tries to sit there and talk down the looks of the woman you probably beat your meat to fifteen times since you saw that previous live footage of her from last week?
Just curious here; do you feel bad for Jones as he tries to get away with this shit and you're forced to help deliver it to defenseless, innocent fans of the sport? Or do you feel worse for those fans who have to endure it? Do you feel as as Jones is when you have to make your living by collecting a pay check to help deliver his shit? I mean, there are better gigs out there. For example - it was recently reported that wrestling legend Sabu took a dog into his hotel room with him and the next day the hotel staff found dog feces smeared all over the walls and sheets, along with syringes and other disturbing sights strewn about carelessly. Source: http://nodq.com/indy/442451688.shtml
Now, wouldn't it have been more exciting to spend a night watching a bonafide legend like Sabu get high and play with dog shit than it was to have to sit there through that garbage Giuseppe Jones tried to pass off as a story while insulting other people's real life situations caught on film and calling them stories? Was the candy blood from his scene that delicious? Or maybe you're a homosexual like Jones and you think gorgeous women are unattractive too, so after that promo shoot you guys had a nice bang? I'm guessing he played the bottom, right? I'm not too familiar with homosexual slang but he does look like what I think is referred to as a Bear Bottom. You know; the big husky, kind of hairy homosexuals who are the nicest guys in the world and just love having their manholes filled? Correct me if I'm wrong - you'd know. I mean Jones already gave himself up as being an actor in his last promo; I'm guessing he's one of the most soft spoken, polite guys on set. It's too bad he's stuck playing such a shitty, um, well I guess if he's talking about stories I'm allowed to say the forbidden G word - gimmick?
What a shit gimmick, or story, or both?
A killer… who works with meats. A butcher in more ways than one!
In wrestling.
Because that hasn't been tried before.
Not only that, but in even more unrecycled news, he works for an organized crime syndicate of some kind.
An outfit that runs its neighborhood with an iron fist, making sure proper taxes are paid to them.
In 2015.
We're talking about a ruthless killer who loves the ear scene from Reservoir Dogs just as much as we all do.
That reminds me, let's all listen to that damn good tune that he forgot to have playing during his scene!
Now ladies and gentlemen let's not get too far off track as we dance, because we're talking about somebody to be taken seriously - a menacing fiend who murdered somebody because that person was selling dope on the turf of the bosses who tell Jones what time to piss and when to breathe oxygen.
Serious, intimidating bosses who…
Wait for it…
Are ok with Jones killing people on camera to set up for a…
Here it comes…
Wrestling match.
What.
A.
Fucking.
Recycled.
Unimaginative.
Recycled.
Unconvincing.
Recycled.
Simpleton.
That's the shit you're stuck dealing with, Mr. Jones' Narrator? Riveting and noteworthy "stories" like that? I hope he kills you and switches to narrating his own shit like some of these lazy twats run around doing. I raise the cigarette to my lips. I inhale. I am a fat moron who finds women unattractive. I fail, but hey, at least I recycle! I raise this makeshift paper gun and pull the trigger a bunch of times at my narrator who knows the word "jaunt" but fucks up on words that most children learn within their first year or two of speaking. Evil! Arabs! Camels! Oh my! Oh wait… I forgot the girl I'm talking about is more Italian than I am so fuck me; I pull the trigger on myself and end it right there. My dead body falls. I'm still talking. This is real. To the mom, dad and kids who supposedly watch this shit together as a family - this is real!
Intense, right?
No.
Fucking imbeciles; the lot of you. You're an insult to the job I hold dear and to all the other narrators who actually know dark from light and their head from their ass. Hey, tell you what? I left a couple of gems in this piece where I purposely let an error slip though so why don't you comb through this a few times until you can find it? Come on! Fight fire with fire! You know you want to; or have to, really, since no unique or original thought ever enters or exits your or Giuseppe's minds.
I bet next Jones is going to see all of this and prove himself as Mr. Recyclable Predictable by,
What's that? We're back? Alright I guess it's back to work I go.
^yes even the divider went cheap^
"I really hope you weren't just laying into my opponent for me," Goddess says sternly as I go back to paying attention only to the sights before me. It looks like the man who had escaped is now back, and it was none other than Sitre's partner in the CCWF, Abigail, who retrieved him! "Just do your job from now on and don't talk about things that don't concern you; I'll get around to addressing that ear biter when I'm good and ready," Sitre warns me as I honestly have no idea what she is talking about. I'm just a lowly narrator - one who pronounces words correctly and remembers when it's dark versus when it's light. Imagine how stupid the next "Killer Butcher" promo would sound anyway if he did short circuit hard enough to address any of what I didn't just say while I was twiddling my thumbs and whistling innocently. Then again, imagine how migraine inducing it'll be if he doesn't address it? Lose lose, I guess.
Abigail and Goddess both take some thicker twisty ties and they strap the man down to a small plastic chair that looks like it's child sized. The legs bend a little under the weight of the man who is surely secured now. Goddess Killer Butcher looks around for her cold steel blade but then remembers she destroyed it when she sees the plastic pieces scattered about. She turns to Abigail who hands her a small pistol. Water is dripping from it, but it's a real gun.
"Will you two freaks let me go already? I'm not giving you any money. I don't even have any money on me," the helpless victim cries out as Sitre runs the wet barrel of the pistol along the side of his head and down his neck, giving him the shivers because the dripping water is ice cold.
"You like that?" She asks as she looks deep into his eyes. "Don't you make me pull this trigger. Remember, I have shaky hands and whatever else I was saying earlier." You can just feel she isn't really into it anymore. It was bad enough when the guy broke free of the restraints but now he has apparently gotten thirsty and is chasing the tip of the pistol with his lips trying to suck on it to get some hydration. He's flapping his tongue at the tip and sucking so hard he resembles Giuseppe Jones sucking the life out of any audience he graces with his presence. That could have been turned into a dick joke but we'll leave that sort of thing to him, clearly.
"It's hot as shit down here, woman. Give me some of that water already," he barks, clearly more pissed off than anything else at this point. Not nearly as pissed off as a certain curtain jerker I know will be though, as soon as he realizes he chose the wrong people to play cheap bullshit games with in lieu of true verbal oneupmanship and skill. "Shut up!"
Sitre does not look amused. She curls her lips and Abigail holds the man's head in place so he can't keep chasing the tip of the pistol for sippy time. "Now you listen to me," she snaps as her trigger finger twitches, causing some drops to spurt out onto the man's face. "You and your crew have been selling dope on our streets, and guess who doesn't like that very much? Yeah - the boss. You think you're going to flood our quaint little neighborhood with that garbage and not even pay the proper rent?" She looks around, shifty eyes for a second, "I mean taxes? Where's your head at? In another few seconds it's going to be blown to bits, that's where!"
Jerking forward inch by inch with his tongue flapping, "Bitch gimme that water or let me suck them titties already."
Goddess just drops the gun and throws her hands up, walking right out of sight. "That's it. I'm done."
The guy just stands up with barely any effort as the thicker twisty ties all break and the plastic chair bounces off of his rear end, hitting Abigail in the legs. Abigail kicks the chair aside and swiftly approaches the man from behind…
The camera catches up to Goddess as she's about to pull open the door and make her exit. There is a cracking sound heard in the distance before she turns around and adds one last thing. "Abigail, you might as well let this guy go. He's obviously not cut out for riveting and notew_," she stops abruptly as her mouth falls open. The camera goes to turn back toward Abigail but Sitre grabs it and keeps it focused on herself.
Abigail walks into the scene and is dusting off her gloved hands.
"Oh, okay then." Turning back to the camera, Sitre eventually starts to laugh and shake her head. "Ah well, whatever works. How's that for your 'boring story' you requested, you recycled nitwit? Look familiar? Except better? Thought so. I'll bury you all week and then physically destroy you before our match even begins Wednesday, then during our match after I drag you to the ring with your teeth already shattered, and again after we defeat you in the ring. You're going to be a two hour long, real life murder scene next Wednesday as I torture you and give you a real story to talk about if they can revive you the next day. Are you sure you want to continue this route all week long and basically bury yourself, or would you like to practice airing a promo with comments that actually apply to reality and make sense to say, instead of going full on me? Now how about you make yourself useful and bring your response to me in person along with a fresh deli sandwich?" Laughing and making ax motions with her hand, she finishes up with, "Chop chop now! I don't like to be kept waiting!" She doubles over in laughter as Abigail remains expressionless and now the scene goes dark, because the old black and white camera slowly faded out.
-- Closing thoughts with Mr. Narrator --
Will Jones upload a part 2 of "Giuseppe Jones goes full ?" to follow up on his disastrous blunder yesterday, or has he learned not to cross certain borders when he's dealing with reincarnations of legitimate legends who can eat him alive all week long without breaking a sweat? His choice I guess. We don't care, and if XWF cares, that's too bad because this is CCWF now. We'll laugh as your walls burn down and you all are buried alive because you don't train your rookies correctly. Fat boy chose the wrong bitch to get stupid with; we'll flow right along with this as far as it needs to go - and we'll do it many times better you bloated twat. We wrote the fucking book on this type of warfare.
Stop!
Wait, why did that get to be in color?
Oh yeah because it's easy and we're doing this Lazy G style today.
. Or how about how he tries to sit there and talk down the looks of the woman you probably beat your meat to fifteen times since you saw that previous live footage of her from last week?
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