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+--- Thread: Falling down a hill (/showthread.php?tid=26960)
Falling down a hill - Ally Worsted - 03-13-2017
I’m falling through the sky! Yup, that’s about the jest of it, not sure why I chose to swan dive off of the hill only to go careening down four hundred feet to my certain death; but I guess I just wanted to really test my limitations in this obscure existence I’m experiencing. Plus did you see the swan dive? It was pretty sweet. I even decided to throw in a few gainer flips for show. Maybe in my past life I was an Olympic diver or something.
Oh how I wonder. I guess the interesting thing about this right now is that I really don’t care what happens. At the end of the day I helped Dimas and all of those poor people escape that prison, and while they’ll surely get tracked down by the heroin drug cartel, and probably get mercilessly slaughtered along with the entire population of whatever shithole town they’re hiding in; at least they got to experience freedom again for a while.
Freedom is an interesting feeling. Just having the cognition to know that nothing is binding you from making the decisions you want to make; it’s powerful. Like just waking up and going outside to take a dump in your front yard, or to go flip off a small child, or to sit at home and masturbate to interactive hentai dating sim games. It’s riveting. Just like deciding to swan dive off of a four hundred foot hill, but for me, my freedoms are even more boundless because I am nearly one hundred percent certain that I am in control of this world that I can completely manipulate into doing exactly what I want it to do…
Just watch this! Instead of continuing to fall down, I am going to fly out toward that village in the distance like Superman.
The Buronan thrusts his arms out like Superman, only nothing happens. Instead of flying outward, the velocity of force and speed at which he’s falling causes his body to flip backwards midair and now he seems to be falling even faster.
Oh shit!
Suddenly his head whips back and smacks into a long tree branch that's growing out ward from off of the hill. His body folds, causing the angle in which his body is falling to change, and lucky the tree broke his fall a bit because he lands shoulder first into the steepest area of the hill where his body begins violently rolling downward. He tumbles downward, smacking a rock; his face grinds against the side of a small palm tree, his bristles over some angry looking vegetation. He tumbles and tumbles and tumbles, each time he lands his body bounces higher back into the air
![[Image: giphy-downsized.gif]](https://media1.giphy.com/media/cE73c3kmlIxEs/giphy-downsized.gif)
“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Buronan finally reaches the foot of the hill and somersaults forward, still rolling, and crashes through a thick wooden fence; landing face first in a puddle of what is surely sewage irrigation from the village. By now the sun has fully risen up above the ocean as it beats down onto the lush valley.
Our hero staggers up to his feet, swaying back and forth wildly from the dizziness as he wipes the thick brown gunk from his mask. As he clears the fecal matter from his eye holes, up in the distance in the thick of the vast opium fields outside of the village he spots a white man with a rifle hanging from a strap on his arm, screaming at one of the natives while pointing a machete in his face.
“Oh fuck.”
He whispers to himself, ducking down to try and not be spotted. But let’s face it; he’s sticking out like a sore thumb. If he’s going to sneak up on these people then he is going to have to get creative. Buronan turns back around and ponderously examines the puddle of sewage.
The scene fades…
There are few things truly worth living for in this cruel, cold, Peter Gilmour inhabited world. Things like yoga pants, homemade Stromboli, Beethoven’s 9th, Kathy Bates styled pocket pussies and of course: verbally eviscerating little talentless-promo pre-recording-Asian transvestite fucking-Finn Balor gimmick stealing-Universal title shitting- pathetic ass wrestling hacks like mine and Cadryn’s opponents this week.
Oh the joy!
And I’ve experienced the wealth share of it recently, and even Cadryn has been jumping in on the fun lately; making you two clowns look like the over inflated ego having, but truly big gigantic dumbfuck pussies that you all are. Seriously, that garbage you two have been spewing is so fucking weak you all are making Drezdin sound like Gator or Sid Feder. It’s pretty obvious that you buffoons are out of your comfort zone; especially Mikey Graves. All Michael has been able to muster up in his last five snore-worthy bitch fests is a bushel estrogen influenced manifestos declaring his sexual obsession with my tag partner, Cadryn.
Graves can’t please the ladies, his little Wonder Years videos this week have proved that; and now he’s also struggling with wooing the guys. Somebody get this poor man a hooker! Maybe that’ll help relieve the stress he’s been experiencing since he saw Cadryn and The Buronan on a card opposite of his name. Funny thing is, if Grave’s spent as much time as he does whining about Cadryn doing drugs and becoming possessed as he did pulling his dick out of his ass and manning up for once in his life then maybe he’d actually be decent. I fully expect now that a pro like The Buronan has taught Graves a thing or two about not being a bitch that he’ll try and come a little bit harder next time he opens up that jizz tainted mouth of his.
It won’t matter though. He’s the new King of the Jobbers. Sorry, Robbie, but Grave’s has officially taken over that pathetic handle, and it’s obvious to me now that I’m squaring off with his broke-ass why in fact he loses all of the fucking time. He’s just not up to snuff- like at all. And it truly doesn’t even matter if he for once tries kicking out some shit of relevance toward my direction- I’ve already squashed any
mouthed fallacy he attempts to pull.So when he surely comes at me like he will, claiming I got carried in the last two rounds, he’ll have proven that to be a big fucking waste of time just like everything else he’s said. I’ve already explained to you all why I didn’t have work up to my capacity. For one I’m smart enough to have not exhausted myself in the first two rounds, especially against such a waste of an opponent like Hero XTreme, a man claiming to be a god who let Thunderbolt X the Lying
take him to the limit. Could I have matched Trax and Ceadus’ intensity? Of course I could have, but how do you not understand by now that my mental superiority obviously eclipses that little pistachio sized excuse of a brain you have, Graves? You exhausted yourself in the first round because you’re a dumbass, and then in round two, like I said, you and Gilly were just lucky that Robert Main didn’t get paired with a decent partner or they would have torn you two
to shreds. Now you’ve exhausted yourself again… firing out of the gates too quick, overcomplicating things in your own mind for the fear that Buronan might get up in that head of yours and give it a good fucking. News flash bucko, I was already there. The fact that you felt the need to pre-record a bunch of babyback bullshit about a ruined friendship that no one gave a fuck about, then panic and completely flipped the script back to the Dark Warrior shows just how dumb you are.I think we all tend to forget that most all of the time in this world, in every aspect, quality trumps quantity. What is it for a man to have a lot of money if the quality of his health is so bad that he can’t out live the peasant sleeping at the soup kitchen? What is it for person to be at working racking up a shit ton of hours on the clock, yet not getting anything done while another man is getting quality work done in half the time and ends up getting promoted? What is it for Michael Graves to come roaring out of the gates with a bunch of underwhelming horse manure promos, when The Buronan effortlessly churns out high quality work in his vignettes, one after another, at a one day at a time work rate?
It’s just a big waste of time.
I told you all everything you needed to know the first time I wrekt your sorry asses back on March, 6th, but for the sake of parody, I continued on in this exchange with Gilly and Graves because we DO want for EVERYONE when faced with such odds to have a chance at success. Wait a second; I believe I’ve been listening to a bit much of Gilly’s typical Jekyll and Hyde promo work where he contradicts himself nonstop like a well-polished politican.
Silly Said:You and Cadryn may have the advantage on us
Gilly's Said:You and Buronon are not on my level or even surpass me.
Little Said:I hope you both OD or pass out so we get an easy ride to the finals
Willie Licker Said:I never needed anyone to carry me in a match.
People. This is why we don't smoke crack, understand? Here is one man, or thing, whatever in the fuck Peter is, making profoundly dumb and illogical statements then completely turning them around on himself all within the same paragraph.
Which is it Peter? Do Cadryn and I have you and your haplessly
partner at a disadvantage? All you're here to do at this point is to give hope to the rest of the worthless fucks on the roster, and allowing them to rationalize the idea that somehow mediocrity will eventually yield success. STOP IT! Just look at Ghost Tank, after finally hanging up his mittens, which was for the best, he rolls back into town to show us all that he stole the shit Broken gimmick that you stole and shit all over. You're an inspiration to Ghost Tank. You're encouraging his misery. Let that sink in for a second Gilmour. You give hope to ALL of the inbreded
around this place who sit around drooling with their newlywed cousins, front row at a Peter Gilmour fan club meeting screaming "SUCK MY DICK!" along with a bevy of redundant racial slurs, emulating a Trump rally in Alabama.Graves is the new King of the Jobbers and Gilmour is
Führ for life of the Aspergers. Two days gentlemen. In two days Cadryn and I are going to deliver to you clowns the most grueling, most merciless beating dished out so far in this tournament. A beating that very well may lead to the end of both of your lame little careers. At the end of said beating, when you're laying on the mat beaten and broken like the little rape victim pussies you are, you'll then know that neither of you were up to par. Neither of you ever had what it took. Because The Buronan was always destined to be here, two steps ahead of you both.
See ya' Wednesday.