04-16-2015, 12:13 PM
Boys like you just want to keep climbing.
You want to feel the sun on your back and the wind in your hair as you soar through the sky. No matter how much your raise yourself you'll just keep looking to the next level without a care in the world for whether you belong there.
The thing is, you haven't stopped to check for one second if those wings supporting you are built for that sort of altitude. As you now turn to examine each one you start to notice that they look weak. Just straw thick bone frames, hollow to the core, with feathers of limited potential all glued together by your overconfidence. They appear as if they could snap away from your shoulders at any moment; shoulders that carry the burden of your own self expectations.
Choosing to force that realisation to the side, you'll just keep egging yourself upwards but soon the pressure of the sun will start to test the resolution of those wings. Your confidence will melt away as find yourself flapping harder and harder to stay where everyone can see you. Tumbling in to free fall you'll plummet down and down until you're met hard by the unrelenting floor.
Flattened against the ground perhaps you'll finally realise that turkeys such as Muddy Waters were never meant to fly.
Your purpose is to be eaten, to give sustenance to more important creatures. Looking up at real hawks such as Karl Cross gliding so effortlessly might fill you with envy but don't feel so bad about that. Not everyone can lead a flock.
Have you ever looked up at the sky and saw a V-formation of geese fly over?
Have you ever wondered why sometimes one arm of the V is longer than the other?
It's because there are more geese on one side.
Sometimes the simplest answer is the most correct. Sometimes the simplest people are the least correct.
This sentiment is personified by Muddy Waters. The prediction that he might just be the man to beat me this week is so glaringly erroneous that there isn't even a word in my thesaurus to describe it.
Pest couldn't do it, AerialKnight couldn't do it and Dylan George certainly couldn't do it. All examples of men who, while amazingly mediocre, are still better and more established in the world of professional Wrestling than Muddy is. If a man as intelligent as Karl Cross can't be defeated by educated albeit moronic individuals then what chance has a yeehawing redneck got?
Yes, for the purposes of this promo I will be playing along with the little pantomime you have going. We both know that you're pretending to be something you're not but I kind of like your pluck so I'll humour you.
It's almost laughable that you dare to call me desperate. Too preoccupied with the notion of getting as many shots as possible fired across the bow that you've completely lost any connection with what you're saying. Every time you open that God damn stupid mouth of yours the amount of random syllables in whatever your saying makes it seem as if you've been gurgling scrabble tiles.
We all get it Mr Waters, you're supposed to be the funny guy. Have realised that you're absolutely useless at cutting serious promos, somewhere along the timeline you decided that jovial ridicule and wacky little ditties were what made you unique. Ha ha ha ha!
The only thing is, funny is all you have.
There's nothing new in anything you've got to say despite the fact that you've found a more entertaining way to say it.
I'll admit, I chuckled once or twice. What's going to be left when the laughter stops though? When all the jokes and borderline bigoted impersonations are worn thin then what becomes of the man underneath. Sure, you're doing enough at the moment to keep yourself interesting because it's all fresh. The XWF management will push your for a bit but even they will get fed up eventually. You see, gimmicks are fun and all but in this business you have to have a knack for actually being able to look deeper in to the person you're facing and you just can't do that.
That's the main difference between you and me; substance. You'll probably watch this over once and then furiously plot your reply. What I'll get is a haphazardly thrown together promo where you'll document another chapter of the 'riveting' backstop that most people will fast forward through. It will likely be in two parts because for some reason you have something against the middle of your boring tales. Can't blame you for that, I wouldn't want to relive that dullness in full again either.
What you'll eventually move on to is short barrage of the same things we've already heard interspersed with your incoherent ramblings about nationality. The only thing you've tried fresh out the box is pointing out all of the ways I excel over you like they're something I should be ashamed of.
I am prettier. Proud. I am smarter. Proud. I am better than you. Proud.
Pointing this out after I've already said it doesn't really do much to disprove it now, does it? If you say that you're a humongous jackass and then I say your a humongous jackass then you're just humongous jackass.
What I do best is dismantle people you. I take your mental fortress and I disassemble it block by block until everyone can see that you're just an unimpressive pile of rubble. It's a skill you just don't have so you're about to.come steaming back with the same old superficial shit that does nothing to peel back the layers and expose who I actually am.
Let's just prove it, shall we? Rip away all of those tried and tested Karl Cross soft spots you seem to think exist and come at me with something new. Display to Karl Cross your ability to find a new chink in my armour. Try to realise though that this is not just a game, this is where you start to falter and lose our match This Monday. Karl Cross has just pointed out to the world that you've done nothing but recycle everything that's been thrown at me so far but this time with a Southern accent.
Is that really how difficult it is to pick fault with Karl Cross? Are you all getting together backstage and agreeing that if you go with the repetition thing enough times that it will stick?
Even if my message is sometimes similar, pardon Karl Cross for being consistently better than each and every one of you. Would you rather I alternated and told you all lies some weeks? So what if I point out regularly how intellectually superior I am, is it any different to you emphasising how much of an idiot you are every time you share a thought?
Like right when you implied that Karl Cross was feeling desperate. That's a pretty dumb thing to say. Guys like to you don't get under my skin because this is all a game to me. Don't get me wrong, I recognise that it's game for you too. Each word is a chess piece, each promo a strategic move. You, my opponent, spend a long time meticulously reviewing your strategy and edging your pieces in to advantageous positions. Your knights tuck in behind your pawns protection of your king as you launch an offensive with your hilariously drunk rooks and incest loving bishops. Then, just as you're about to make a move that you thinking that killer blow, I flip the board and punch you in the jaw.
"B-b-but that there be a ch-ch-cheating" you squeal as you stare up through tear filled eyes but I just laugh. You were concentrating so hard on finally showing the world that you can beat Karl Cross that you didn't realise we weren't actually playing chess. Your game is to show the XWF that you're better than me. My game is simply to demoralise and remind you that nobody is better than me.
So let's see if the man claiming to be an idiot is smart enough to find a unique angle to scratch it. On one hand, you'll maybe havea chance of bothering me but on the other you might just continue to dispel that little redneck moron act you have got going on. No direction is a correct one for you now, my friend.
You want to feel the sun on your back and the wind in your hair as you soar through the sky. No matter how much your raise yourself you'll just keep looking to the next level without a care in the world for whether you belong there.
The thing is, you haven't stopped to check for one second if those wings supporting you are built for that sort of altitude. As you now turn to examine each one you start to notice that they look weak. Just straw thick bone frames, hollow to the core, with feathers of limited potential all glued together by your overconfidence. They appear as if they could snap away from your shoulders at any moment; shoulders that carry the burden of your own self expectations.
Choosing to force that realisation to the side, you'll just keep egging yourself upwards but soon the pressure of the sun will start to test the resolution of those wings. Your confidence will melt away as find yourself flapping harder and harder to stay where everyone can see you. Tumbling in to free fall you'll plummet down and down until you're met hard by the unrelenting floor.
Flattened against the ground perhaps you'll finally realise that turkeys such as Muddy Waters were never meant to fly.
Your purpose is to be eaten, to give sustenance to more important creatures. Looking up at real hawks such as Karl Cross gliding so effortlessly might fill you with envy but don't feel so bad about that. Not everyone can lead a flock.
Have you ever looked up at the sky and saw a V-formation of geese fly over?
Have you ever wondered why sometimes one arm of the V is longer than the other?
It's because there are more geese on one side.
Sometimes the simplest answer is the most correct. Sometimes the simplest people are the least correct.
This sentiment is personified by Muddy Waters. The prediction that he might just be the man to beat me this week is so glaringly erroneous that there isn't even a word in my thesaurus to describe it.
Pest couldn't do it, AerialKnight couldn't do it and Dylan George certainly couldn't do it. All examples of men who, while amazingly mediocre, are still better and more established in the world of professional Wrestling than Muddy is. If a man as intelligent as Karl Cross can't be defeated by educated albeit moronic individuals then what chance has a yeehawing redneck got?
Yes, for the purposes of this promo I will be playing along with the little pantomime you have going. We both know that you're pretending to be something you're not but I kind of like your pluck so I'll humour you.
It's almost laughable that you dare to call me desperate. Too preoccupied with the notion of getting as many shots as possible fired across the bow that you've completely lost any connection with what you're saying. Every time you open that God damn stupid mouth of yours the amount of random syllables in whatever your saying makes it seem as if you've been gurgling scrabble tiles.
We all get it Mr Waters, you're supposed to be the funny guy. Have realised that you're absolutely useless at cutting serious promos, somewhere along the timeline you decided that jovial ridicule and wacky little ditties were what made you unique. Ha ha ha ha!
The only thing is, funny is all you have.
There's nothing new in anything you've got to say despite the fact that you've found a more entertaining way to say it.
I'll admit, I chuckled once or twice. What's going to be left when the laughter stops though? When all the jokes and borderline bigoted impersonations are worn thin then what becomes of the man underneath. Sure, you're doing enough at the moment to keep yourself interesting because it's all fresh. The XWF management will push your for a bit but even they will get fed up eventually. You see, gimmicks are fun and all but in this business you have to have a knack for actually being able to look deeper in to the person you're facing and you just can't do that.
That's the main difference between you and me; substance. You'll probably watch this over once and then furiously plot your reply. What I'll get is a haphazardly thrown together promo where you'll document another chapter of the 'riveting' backstop that most people will fast forward through. It will likely be in two parts because for some reason you have something against the middle of your boring tales. Can't blame you for that, I wouldn't want to relive that dullness in full again either.
What you'll eventually move on to is short barrage of the same things we've already heard interspersed with your incoherent ramblings about nationality. The only thing you've tried fresh out the box is pointing out all of the ways I excel over you like they're something I should be ashamed of.
I am prettier. Proud. I am smarter. Proud. I am better than you. Proud.
Pointing this out after I've already said it doesn't really do much to disprove it now, does it? If you say that you're a humongous jackass and then I say your a humongous jackass then you're just humongous jackass.
What I do best is dismantle people you. I take your mental fortress and I disassemble it block by block until everyone can see that you're just an unimpressive pile of rubble. It's a skill you just don't have so you're about to.come steaming back with the same old superficial shit that does nothing to peel back the layers and expose who I actually am.
Let's just prove it, shall we? Rip away all of those tried and tested Karl Cross soft spots you seem to think exist and come at me with something new. Display to Karl Cross your ability to find a new chink in my armour. Try to realise though that this is not just a game, this is where you start to falter and lose our match This Monday. Karl Cross has just pointed out to the world that you've done nothing but recycle everything that's been thrown at me so far but this time with a Southern accent.
Is that really how difficult it is to pick fault with Karl Cross? Are you all getting together backstage and agreeing that if you go with the repetition thing enough times that it will stick?
Even if my message is sometimes similar, pardon Karl Cross for being consistently better than each and every one of you. Would you rather I alternated and told you all lies some weeks? So what if I point out regularly how intellectually superior I am, is it any different to you emphasising how much of an idiot you are every time you share a thought?
Like right when you implied that Karl Cross was feeling desperate. That's a pretty dumb thing to say. Guys like to you don't get under my skin because this is all a game to me. Don't get me wrong, I recognise that it's game for you too. Each word is a chess piece, each promo a strategic move. You, my opponent, spend a long time meticulously reviewing your strategy and edging your pieces in to advantageous positions. Your knights tuck in behind your pawns protection of your king as you launch an offensive with your hilariously drunk rooks and incest loving bishops. Then, just as you're about to make a move that you thinking that killer blow, I flip the board and punch you in the jaw.
"B-b-but that there be a ch-ch-cheating" you squeal as you stare up through tear filled eyes but I just laugh. You were concentrating so hard on finally showing the world that you can beat Karl Cross that you didn't realise we weren't actually playing chess. Your game is to show the XWF that you're better than me. My game is simply to demoralise and remind you that nobody is better than me.
So let's see if the man claiming to be an idiot is smart enough to find a unique angle to scratch it. On one hand, you'll maybe havea chance of bothering me but on the other you might just continue to dispel that little redneck moron act you have got going on. No direction is a correct one for you now, my friend.
***
The expensive fine China felt at home rested Against Karl's bottom lip. The sweet tea poured over his tongue and down in to his warm belly. A refreshing wave flowed from his torso out across his limbs like a comforting tide washing away his troubles. He placed his cup back gently on to the saucer and met Her Majesty's regal gaze.
Better?
Very much so, Elizabeth.
Karl knew very well that it would be considered disrespectful for most to address The Queen by her first name. He however was not one of most. Over the course of her reign, she had met a great deal of people and each on of them outside of her immediate family shared one feeling upon meeting her; fear. Hell, even her own family were scared of her most of the time.
Not Karl Cross though.
Not Karl Cross though.
When Her Majesty had first had the pleasure of meeting Karl he had done what very little people were capable of. He had looked her in the eye with an unwavering arrogance that he somehow felt he was above her. What should have been an insult proved to be a great curiosity for her as for the first time in her long life, Her Majesty had finally met someone who acted like he was her equal. For that reason alone, she enjoyed his company and so did nothing to correct him when he strayed from what was considered the social norm.
Tell me Karl, how is that whole wrestling business?
The question brought Karl a creeping smirk. He knew that she knew nothing of his world and would take in very little of what he said but she feigned an interest every now and then.
Tedious at times but I do enjoy the sense of achievement it brings me.
You enjoy beating people up?
I'm a way, yes. However the real enjoyment comes from conquering my biggest challenge.
Her Majesty extended her little finger as she took a dip from her cup.
Your biggest challenge?
Yes. Conquering Karl Cross. Every time I climb between the ropes, bettering myself becomes the main goal. I have to move faster, I have to hit harder and I have to play smarter.
Very interesting.
She didn't find the subject matter interesting at all but she did enjoy how passionate and entertaining Karl was.
Do you have a match this week?
Yes.
Karl's voice deflated and his shoulders hunched a little. He dragged his foot anxiously along the plush carpet at their feet and shuffled in his seat.
That bad, hmmm?
He leaned back in his seat attempting to make himself appear less agitated. As he did so he pulled slightly on the tablecloth causing a crumpet to spring free from the silver tray in the middle and topple on to the floor. Before he could retrieve it a greedy corgi pounced from out of nowhere and gobbled it down.
You can tell Liz what's wrong.
It's nothing really.
Karl lied.
I suppose I'm just a little fed up already of my opponents saying nothing new.
Oh?
The thing is, they try to make out that I'm the one repeating myself.
Sorry Karl, I didn't catch that. These old ears of mine.
I said: THEY TRY TO MAKE OUT THAT I'M THE ONE REPEATING MYSELF.
Her Majesty jumped back a little. She skewed her mouth in to a sideways slant and thought hard.
This latest guy, Muddy Waters...
His name is Muddy Waters?
Yeah, I know. It sounds like the lovechild of a hippy and the head of the sanitation committee. Anyway, he shovels it on and people ooh and ah all because he's a funny guy but it's all the same bullshit.
Language!
English, I think, but he sounds like so much of a babbling moron that I can't be certain.
Queen Elizabeth giggled at his complete misunderstanding of her objection. He sat forward and picked up a scone before throwing himself backwards in to the seat again. The antique arms wrapped elegantly around frame as he nestled against the soft velvet covered back. Her Majesty watches as Karl took a large bite and chewed down upon the tasty chewy drops of dried fruit contained.
I'm supposed to be watching my figure and your not helping you know.
You're the queen. Who is going to tell you that you're getting fat other than me?
Good point. Sod it...
She sat forward and snatched a scone of her own.
You know Karl, I might have a solution for you regarding the Mucky Waters.
Yes?
Karl raised an intrigued eyebrow.
You think you could get him in to a tunnel in Paris?