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+--- Thread: The Pale Rider Responds (/showthread.php?tid=22233)
The Pale Rider Responds - Mr. Oz - 01-03-2016
The sound of bones crunching as the video showed Ghost Tank, bonesaw in hand, and beginning to cut through Alvald's neck, letting out soft grunts in between chuckling. Once the head is severed, he pulled the head from the rest of the body, Ghost Tank putting the saw down, then as he held the head he held it out,
"To be, or not to be, that is the question. Whether 'tis Nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous Fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles and by opposing end them, to die, to sleep no more; and by a sleep, to say we end the heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to? 'Tis a consummation devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep, to sleep, perchance to dream; aye, there's the rub, For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come."
The large man looked to the back of the wall. He stepped upon another trigger, which caused this wall to spin around as well. Once it came to a stop, a large dumpster, and tossed the head in as if it were a basketball. He'd walk back to the body and hacked off each piece of the body in sections; from shoulder to elbow to wrist on the arms. Hip to knee to ankle on the legs. The innards of the body were already out, and soon he'd shove everything towards the dumpster. He'd then follow suit with the limbs as he did with the head. Once it was done, he stepped on the trigger, causing the wall to spin around once more. He looked to the instrument wall, and looked to the last large wall and pressed on the trigger, causing it to move and revealed a few buckets of water, and then dish soap, bleach, and a few mops. It also had a section dedicated to just lightbulbs, in case one ever goes out, and a step-ladder under them. He took one bucket, pouring the dish soap into it and doing a second bucket with bleach. He swirled the dish soap bucket around with his hands and began to cleanse the blood off his hands and forearms. He even did the same with the knees of his pants. Once they were cleaned as best as possible, he took the bucket of water and bleach, then a mop, and put the mop down into the bucket, before walking to the bloody mess. He pulled the mop out, and began to mop towards the drain, beginning to clean the floor.
It wouldn't take too much time, and soon the room was spick and span for the next 'customer'. He dumped the water from both buckets out and down towards the drain with the tools underneath the splash area to clean them, before taking the mop and put it up in its spot, then doing the same with the tools he had used on Alvald. Once everything was back to normal smiling as he looked to the back wall, then moved to the entrance and exit to the room, turning the lights off as he walked out, keeping the door open for now. He stepped onto the elevator, and pulled himself up to the top of the shaft, before tying the dumbwaiter open. He tapped the side of the wall and after a series of clicks, the wall opened, and he left into the parkour training area. It waited a few seconds before lights turned off and the opening slid closed, with the last click being the false flooring being able to be used again once more. He walked forward and leaped over the lowest and walked over to the gym. He looked to all the training equipment, and moved to one bar that had been set up for eight hundred pounds, which he gripped, then exploded upwards with a grunt, and used the continuous movement to swing it over his head, over and onto his shoulders with another grunt. He then began to perform his squat training, to bring up his length strength, the bar bending across his shoulders thanks to the weight.
He was nearly hitting his training mark, about ten away when he was called to by Alysia. He saw her out of the corner of his left eye, blacked out still by the contact covering his eye. He smiled as he turned his head, continuing on, body dipping down, then standing back up. When he saw her coming closer, he'd watch her slide the mask off, and then slapped him before screaming in his face,
"OSWALD! WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN!?"
"Okay, ow, even I could feel that. What do you mean where I have been? I've been training."
"So far only Morbid Angel has done anything! All you've done is train!"
"Well...hon...you do know that I haven't really been doing any lifting. I haven't even been able to train until I healed up from all the shit that happened to me."
"I don't care! By the time you will have done a promo, even fucking Emerick will have something over you!"
She began stomping away, getting only five feet away before calling out to Ghost Tank,
"By the way, Morbid Angel called me a fucking mail order bride. Not only that, but inasmuch called me a gold digger! Fucking racist asshole!"
Ghost Tank shrugged off the weight while letting it go, causing it to fall and it send out a loud clang to spill out through the gym. He rolled his shoulders forward, growling low. He moved then to go watch Morbid Angel's promo.
"Morbid Angel...You know what? Let's pick apart your fucking stupidity, shall we, Mister Mortician?
Do you think I care about our one and only single match together? I didn't get the pin, you didn't get pinned. So, we technically won and lost. I won, because my tag partner pinned Gilmour. I lost, because I wasn't the one who pinned Gilmour. You won, because you didn't get pinned. I applaud you for that. However, you lost as well, because Gilmour was pinned, thus ending the match, with you on the losing side.
The next on the list is the conversation we need to have about your latent homosexuality. Your love of dick is apparent. You have to steal dicks of others, because your dick is about as one of those little brush things that were created a few years ago. Tiny things that people used to give their teeth a good brush without bringing an toothbrush and toothpaste. So, in order to compensate, you have to steal dicks. Poor little Angel, you just want to be loved, preferably by a man. That's what the deep seated truth is behind your cock stealing. Your dick is small, because you abuse steroids. You love dicks, but no man will love you, because your genitals are tiny. Again, from abuse of steroids. So, to satisfy your anger and because you want to be fucked by someone who can truly fill that gaping asshole of yours, something I am going to call "the black cockhole" because you suck in every dick in sight, and no penis can satisfy you. So you keep searching for the right cock to claim, straight from an actual man's crotch, figuring that the next penis is the one that will satisfy you. However, just like Quantum Leap, it never does. So you jump the next man, and the next man, and the next and it just keeps going, because your Black Cockhole can't be satisfied. That's why when you took Alvald's dick, which I Gorilla Glued onto a pair of very nice boxers, of which I will be sending you a bill for. It was ruined, dammit. While I could just buy more, it's the principle of the thing, you know? I used those hand warmer things on Alvald's penis. Kept that shit on ice. Not fully on ice, of course. Just a term. I simply kept it from rotting right away, and before the match, used the warmers and then put a small fake blood packet inside the base. So, yeah, nice job there, chief. You are one helluva mortician. Just call this the Tricky Dick Play.
Let's move on, now that we talked that you are an emotional wreck underneath all your words and meanings. I do want to say, I am fine that you are a gay man, posing as a straight man. It's all fine by me, Morbid Angel. You know that I don't care. Fuck, man, I married someone that changed their gender, and I find her the most interesting and most beautiful person on this blue marble we live upon.
You talk about my size, as in muscle. Sorry I don't train just one way. There's a reason why I can do more agile shit than you, you sorry old fuck. There is a reason why I am faster than you. Am I stronger than you? Probably not. My weight limit for bench press, is only about four-eighty. I'm working on that, but, I bet you, without steroids, wouldn't even reach over four hundred without steroids, so, I beat you there. Hell, I bet that you without steroids, can't even do half of the shit you do when you train. I dare you, Morbid, to go three months without steroids, just three, and we'll see how much you can lift and press after. It sure as hell won't be six hundred pounds. I do only one hundred push-ups, because anymore just bores me. I do one hundred squats, with heavy weights. I do only one hundred crunches, because it hurts my neck. I also run ten kilometers. These are just some of my workouts, and I do these four times in a week. Sunday, Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday is free time. I can choose to spend the day training more, spend time resting, or I spend time with Alysia. Which in a way, kind of counts towards my cardio. Woman fucks like a tiger. Several times a day.
Now, moving on. Do you realize what Emerick did to me, Morbid Angel? He tried to kill me. Dicks can come and go, know how far technology is advancing? Buy myself a working prosthetic dick if I want. Don't have to, because I still have my dick. He, however, tried to kill me. He tried to kill me, Death! So yes, while he's not as established as you are, you didn't try to fucking kill me, just after I won a belt. I rank attempted murder higher than my dick. No doubt, my dick is in the top three things in my life, but always above it, will be my life. So, yeah, you can go fuck yourself. If Tyrone wasn't such an asshole, I would have had my match and my revenge, and then I could focus on you afterwards.
Another note I made; you said Isles couldn't handle the pressure of wearing gold. If you were so pissed off about our tag match against each other, why did you not accept my retirement match? Why was Isles the ONLY MOTHERFUCKER who had the balls to face me. Hell, if Emerick wasn't such a bitch, he could've taken the match, could have killed me right in that cell. He didn't, and that makes him a fucking bitch. Isles, however, defended his championship. I won, a hard fought match too, and got a belt out of it.
Morbid Angel, Mortician? More like Morticia. Angel, you suck at being a mortician, you suck as a powerhouse, you suck in the ring, and I am willing to bet, that while you watch this promo, that you will be sitting in a chair, you will be sucking the cum out of all the dicks from a bag with one hand, and injecting more steroids into your clit of a dick. I'd say you inject them into your balls, but we all know that you don't have any, not anymore, steroids have seen to that. Just like your dick.
Oh, and a couple more things. One, I eat like a pig, because I get hungry from doing my exercises and training. Sometimes by the time I get food, I'm fucking starving. However, I am able to eat like a civil human being, one with the requisite manners for fine dining. The second thing... For calling my wife a mail order bride, for being a gold digging whore? Do you know what you did, Morbid Angel?"
Ghost Tank grinned slightly, revealing those black teeth, before chuckling and speaking once more,
"You fucked up."
The video fades to white with Ghost Tank laughing that old hauntingly creepy laugh...