08-27-2015, 08:54 AM
You live a life full of lies
You forgot your alibi
Take your time to find it
Put on a stamp and sign it
You think your better than all
As you sip slowly on alcohol
You prepare for the battle
Waiting for your bones to rattle
Picture this picture, beautiful
Picture your death the funeral
Days go by as you wait your turn
For the eternal fire to burn
In your stomach it starts to churn
This is a lesson you'll have to learn
You want it the hard way every time
You've faced demons but not like mine
*The scene fades in to a beautiful setting, a house upon a hill all painted white. The
shutters are blue, so is the door, and the window panes. There is a clothes rack not far
from the entrance, it is white and has a few pieces of clothing left on it. There is a
dress, a small red dress, one that a little girl would wear. There is also an XWF shirt
along with some towels and a pair of blue denim jeans. The jeans are worn out, all
tethered and torn, as the sun hits them they glisten.
Short cut grass leads up the graveled path to the stairs of the house. Two stories and a
big yard, one that seems to of had lots of children playing on it at one point or another.
We see glitches of times, children running and having a grand time, then the camera snaps back to normal and to the clothes line. We see bare, tattooed legs, as a hand pulls down the jeans, we see the jeans pass the bare feet. Whoever this is pulls up the pants as the camera pans up.
We see the man's face, covered in clown paint and we know this is none other than the
man known as Krazy Klown. Krazy Klown then pulls down the XWF t-shirt and begins to put it on, as the camera then pans to his back, still written there is the abbreviation
CCWF. He pulls down the shirt before then turning and walking slowly up to the door of
the house at which point he enters. The inside is stellar, the woodwork is amazing and it is decorated the same way one would decorate a Victorian house. The stairs are spiral and
the lightest shade of wood, the floor and walls are darker.
Even darker then as we enter the room right to the left, the first room, a foyer. Book
shelves, a big throw rug, a fireplace and a beautiful brown upholstered chair. The chair
looks comfortable, the setting is quite quaint, with the fireplace light and smoldering.
Light fixtures holding candles, as the fire sways inside illuminating the room, ever so
lightly. A big window is in the back of the room, but is consumed by large black curtains.
There is a bottle of Hennessy on a small ledge adjacent to the chair, Krazy Klown then
makes his way there. He pulls down a small glass from the ledge above that one and sits
it next to the bottle of cognac.
He lifts the top of the bottle, and tilts it very gently to it's side, the drink pours into
the glass, smooth and rich. He swirls it around a few times, then Krazy Klown smells it.
He stares at the glass for a moment before he takes a drink of it. He then walks in
front of the fireplace and tosses the rest of the liquor into the fire. With a big burst of
flames, Krazy Klown begins to laugh, he then walks over to the aforementioned brown chair
and takes a seat. As we pan up from his bare feet all the way up to his face, we see
that he now has a serious glare upon his painted face. Black and red are the colors he
holds his head down.
He puts one finger over his mouth before looking up once more. He looks like a man
possessed, he looks as if he has no soul left in his body. He gets up and begins to walk,
he goes around the chair and out the door, heading back outside again. He walks to the
clothesline very methodically, he then stops and looks toward the sky. Blue with clouds of white, a beautiful sight should one say so themselves. He glances down to his pants an
pulls out a pack of cigarettes, he places one in-between his lips as the other hand grabs
out a lighter. He lights the cigarette and takes a enormous inhale, as he exhales, he
begins to speak.*
KK: I know you Roman, living the fast life, trying to make a quick buck in this wrestling
game. I've seen people like you come and go ever since I became a professional, someone
with the right physic and look. The problem with that though, is just like you, they
don't have no talent. Roman you have no talent, you've got two wins, no loses, you're
gonna say your good, until you face a real professional, a real God, like me. You like to
chase women, drive fancy cares, have your boyfriend open the door for you like a
gentleman. Is he gentle, Roman, because I've always thought sticking things up your ass
would hurt.
You're not in the same category as me Roman, and you never will be, you are just another
pawn in the world's game of chess, don't have no chance to beat the king. This Monday,
you have absolutely no chance of pinning me, let alone beating me. You see to be a God
you got to have control over everything that happens, and you best believe I control you.
As you sip on a drink of your choice, you're watching this, you're probably laughing, but
this isn't a joking matter. The cold hard truth, Roman, is that, after Monday, you'll just
be another shit stain in the pants of the world; just another face in the crowd. You're
rich, you're good looking, you're a smart ass and you're gay, right, right, okay.
In the world all of those things could possibly give you a shot at making it far in the
world, yeah. This isn't the regular world, Roman, this is my world, my dominion, my
position, is the Lord and Savior of professional wrestling. I rule with an iron fist and no
one is ever going to be able to stop me. You saw last week, you saw me win, this week
it's up close and personal buddy; I'm going to be right in front of you, waiting, just
waiting for that first move. You throw a right, I duck, take you down and beat the living
shit out of you, then I'll lift your fucking carcass and throw it into the corner. Then, I'm
going to put you on the top rope, Roman, and BOY it's gonna feel good to hit the
Rollercoaster Ride
You can't tell me that everything you have truly makes me happy, because I know what
you are on the inside. You're still just a little kid, with the dream of making it big in pro
wrestling, headlining card, main event marquee, winning the gold. You see, but the truth
is, I'm going to put an end to that dream, forever. You will wake up being seen by medical professionals, getting tended to your broken neck. Then when you get feeling better, you'll ask your doctor, "hey doc, can I wrestle again"; and he is going to say the three little words that you never wanted to hear in your life. "No you can't." The end of the road is Monday, a career cut short, how sad.
I don't care about you, I don't care about your bitches, I don't give a fuck if you drive
a God damned three story limousine into the arena at Madness, bring it. It's not the
possessions that make the man, it's the man that makes the possessions. I will possess
you, Roman, I will take you into my liar and make you my slave, just like the rest of these
stupid ass, cowards in the XWF and the CCWF. Once you see my hand raised, you are
forever mine. The only person that I never had possessed was my sweet sister, Rebecca.
*He runs his hand down the red dress on the clothesline.*
KK: I didn't care about anything for along time, wait, fuck that, I still don't care. So
you, Roman, you can give me a little, pathetic ass speech about how you're going to beat
me and kick my ass. In my opinion that would just be a waste of your time, and saliva,
which we all know you need to suck dick. In other words, you could do that, or you can
bow out gracefully and keep your dignity. This is your chance, your choice, your final
battle before you just become an obscure millionaire.
Roman, you're taller than me by six inches, the Vegas odds are for you, I've been
doubted my whole career. Treated as an underdog, someone who doesn't have what it
takes; but I proved time and time again that I belong anywhere I go. This Monday, I will
show you why I am you're Satan, I will drag you into the deepest pits of hell, and leave
you there to burn with the masses of my challengers before, and you will be cast
judgment for a punishment. Roman, I am not just a man, I am EVERYTHING.
Let me ask you something, are you not like the other people who went before you, are you
different? Are you better than World Champions in other great organizations? Have you
ever made it to the big time, ever took one of those, maybe in a indie fed or maybe a
fucking training facility. Did you even go through training, I watched you matches and your style is just a rip-off of most, "below average", wrestlers I see. You are nothing more
than a pretty boy trying to get paid, you'll have no luck with me; whenever you should be,
nothing but a pretty boy trying to get laid, that's what the fuck you should be.
If the wind blows hard enough to knock you down, or spin you round and around. Is that
wind even blowing at all, can you face those conditions, can you beat those odds. The wind is a powerful things, brings tornados and hurricanes; a bringer of pain. Am I not like the wind, Roman? Do I not bring pain to everyone I face? If the wind blows harder than
you've ever felt before, will it leave you on the ground? Will you fall, when your face bust
open, will tears run down your cheeks, will you be happy?
I will redeem you're soul if you bow to me and accept me as Christ your Lord. Accept me
Roman, just accept me. I will have mercy on your soul, if you beg sincerely. I will grant
you the greatest of all gifts if you just worship me. Follow my light that guides the
beautiful path to righteousness, let me lead you there. There you will fall and you will
begin to sing my praises. I shall give you the gift of heavenly sacraments, I will give you
salvation and a place called Shangri-La. Nevertheless you could follow the other path and
I will give you eternal hell; it's your choice.
*The wind begins to blow as Krazy Klown makes his way from the clothesline to the
graveled path. He begins walking the short trip, he makes it inside the house. Then a
little girl in that same red dress from the clothesline appears in the door-way. She quickly
fades as the camera pans to the clothesline; the red dress is now gone.*
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