[R A D I C A L]

RADICAL | ☆ | "ICONOCLAST: EXECUTING THE MONSTER" | ☆ | XWF#038 | ☆ | WEDNESDAY NIGHT WARFARE | ☆ | LETHAL LOTTERY ROUND I | ☆ | WITH CHRIS CHAOS VERSUS SHAUN CROWE & ROBERT MAIN | ☆ | #03 R A D I C A L | ☆ | C H A O S E X E C U T I N G . T H E . M O N S T E R Deep down in every waking man, Lives a monster lost in morale quicksand, Hidden by civilized means, Waking only when introduced to savagery. Fear can torment even the damned, Looking down at their incapable hands, Though they give it all they've got, A winner at Warfare to be they cannot. Savagery comes in such unsuspected ways, No matter when you're ready to face the day, Through the heat of an oven, or the cold of a cooler where limbs are shoved in. The monster shakes your foundation, when, Desperation is the last hope to save men, Ones like Shaun Crowe or Robert Main, Types who talk all the same. Their inner monster will show itself soon, To save the rest of the body from a full moon, But when it peaks out its shriveled head, The Icons will tighten the noose to execute it instead. Shakes your foundation... It will show itself... Executed it instead... A young man stands in a foreign land inside a bar. His eyes tell a story of much more than a person his age should know. The crows feet inch out into the smooth flesh on his cheeks. Suddenly his eyelids twitch. Diving into the depths of his perception, the camera is taken to a fiery vision of bombs bursting above the waters edge. The same man at the bar is a soldier in what looks to be a war. He runs with an old army helmet covering the features of his eyes as seen before, as if a younger version of the man; running through a bombarded zone of trembling ground and exploding Earth. A focusing image redirects as he dives into a bunker. The clearer view reveals the exhausted man covered in blood, crawling through the dim channel dug out where body parts lay dispatched from fallen comrades. All around him moans for help, tears stream down his dirt laden face. In mid-crawl stride a hand grasps onto his left arm. A man asking for a prayer as he takes his final few breaths on the battlefield he signed up to defend. He bats away the hand; looking into the lens to reveal the shadowy silhouette of some type of monster in his soul... as the enemy forces can be heard pulling up via a large vehicle. The man crawls into a hidden nook in the bunker, and covering the opening with a dead body. He hears the same man who grabbed his arm begging the opposing soldiers for mercy and a prayer. They stand over him as seen through the dead cold fingers of the body blocking his exposure. A Sergeant looking proud with his puffed chest out stands expressionless over the begging nationalist, and puts two in his chest, one in his head with a .38 special. His eyes scan like a terminator trying to find any last bit of defiant life that could lead to a rebellion of the area once they move forward. His eyes just miss the man hiding. Instructing the troops back into the vehicle to move onto the next battle won so they can eliminate any further threats to their victories undertones. The introduced bar dweller sighs, as the monster tucks itself back away having escaped the sure fate that would have been a final straw in the game of life. His blinking relieved pupils finally release their dilated state. Just as the camera dives in again to another past pretense of the bar dwelling stranger. The man is now somewhere outside near a train station wearing a top hat; being confronted by a gang of misfits ready to pounce for him being in their way. He tries to walk away but one of the pudgy long gray haired settlers grabs his coat lapel and makes his intentions clear. The lens shows the desire in the form of the shadowy monster silhouette again deep down in the mans vengeful want. He turns and pushes the pudgy settler onto the laps of his friends, then begins to run down the docking platform west. The other settlers lean the pudgy one off to the side and get up to chase the bar dwelling familiar face. Through a crowd of mid-20th century dressed garb wearing gents and ladies; all waiting on their ride to somewhere better than where they are. Catching up as the man pins himself into a corner from which he cannot escape, the settlers spit wads of chewing tobacco at his feet, then slam him against the wall. Just then, a whistle from an arriving train can be heard, the men look at the catching up pudgy leader who, out of breath, gives up the pursuit to make sure he catches the train to another place he'd rather be. The men all follow suit, hoping to get a good window seat on the train; trampling each other like animals to grab their suitcases and beat the others to the Conductor accepting tickets on the side of the train railing. Again, the monster crawls back into the crevices of the mans being... calmed once again out of harms way. Avoiding a nasty fate at the hands of hooligans who surely would have bashed his head open without remorse to prove absolutely nothing. The cruel world again deceiving his senses. The man looks on relieved once more, as the camera dives into his eyes for another change of scenery just in the nick of time. Finally back in the bar where it all started, the man sighs as the relief again escapes his shoulders with tension soon following. A beer is place in front of him as he begins to smile in humor and appreciation of his own journey to become the man in the place he currently resides. Happiness seems all too conjured. He looks at the end of the bar and see's the pudgy settler. He takes a step back imagining that he is in a full blown PTSD hallucination; then back into another man who turns him around and grabs his hand to shake it. It is the abandoned solider he left for dead. The scar above the man's left eye is clearly pronounced as a bullet wound, as he limps forward with the assistance of a cane. In literal shock our bar dweller takes a deep breath, quickly viewing out the window over the former soldier's shoulder a large platform built with swinging rope nooses begins tested by two men at the top of the structure who's faces come into view. Just as a black bag is place over the familiar man's head, the shadowy silhouette appears once more of the desperate monster in his soul... that knows the time is now to escape... but has no recourse of relief like the times before. High up on a platform, he can hear the people cheering as the view from inside the black bag shows small glimpses of life through the sun peaking into the threading. The commotion begins as the local paper writer steps to the center of the stage below with the days paper in hand. Two other men are being prepared next to the bar dweller. One with long hair sticking out the hood, and another who keeps yelling "Ya boiii" before being struck in the stock with a billy-club. The bar-dweller imagines it is him reading the note, as the monster in his head cannot seem to come to terms with the fate so long extinguished by relief... being finally, inescapable. The reporter begins to read a snippet from the paper in hand, as the delusion isn't assisted by the mounting head under the hood, as suffocation begins to become a greater foe than the noose being fitted for a dance with the swinging splintered intimidating wood-ress hanging tree. EXECUTING THE MONSTER ** NEWSPAPER READING ** [[ Ladies and gentlemen if you have children please view with caution. What you are about to see is sickening, frightening, pathetic, rash, dumb, worse than humpty dumpty, and is not a joke. Robert Main, the "Main" no one had ever heard of until he recently signed on the pink dotted line with Vincent Lane's "XWF"... has been EXPOSED! This is a clip of Main in Japan, where he went by the name "HOPELESS TO WIN" in the incident that forced him to look for worth to be a loser elsewhere. AGAIN WE WARN YOU... this is completely real, and graphic. He pulled an adoring fan out of the audience, and inviting them smiling into the ring... before this ruthless MONSTER took the following actions... Won't anyone execute this monster before it is allowed to do this in XWF? More news at 11... ]] The necklace of hope will release side by side the Monster's in these men unto the damnation they have so rightfully earned. Puns of missing persons cannot foil the fate. These men have become the target of a slaughter on a given date. "Mumbo jumbo" can be more of an argument from more of a man. In the essence of the gay community, he weakly shouts with nothings left on which to stand. Radically underestimated... within the phrase is a truth. Because the ultimate underestimate was placed in the form of a bet, on you to lose. The bet wasn't place by the Icons at the top of the tree. Waiting to hang you from your own words unto thee... but by the masses who know the depths of your gamble; up to face the truth, unlike Crowe's catch phrases that ramble. High school wrestling, a testament to our competition... oh, sorry, to have that you'd first have to learn how to listen. We are the showmen; the way for opponents to escape. We construct the tree, then you swing wild until a limp drape. What's happened here isn't unique, we've all seen it before. Chaos and Reno dominating, all who step out onto the XWF floor. Give us a voice, give us a place, give us nothing, and we will still save face. No two nobodies will show up and spoil the next round, because after Lethal Lottery we will still be the toughest two MOTHERFUCKERS AROUND. You are an afterthought, an executed monster in the glimmer of what could have been. Failing to scare us, and dying to pretend. Prepare your restless eyes for the raising of our hands. When we tell you to sit, bitch! Do it on command. Roll over and behave, or we will strike you down... because that's the price the monster pays, for making bitching sounds. ☆ Are you, are you, Coming to the tree, We strung up two men, They say who murdered three, Strange things will happen here, No stranger would it be, If we met at Warfare, In the hanging tree, Are you, are you, Coming to the tree, Where dead man called out, For his love to flee, Strange things did happen here, No stranger would it be, If we met at Warfare, In the hanging tree, Are you, are you, Coming to the tree, Where I told you to run, So you'd both be free, Strange things did happen here, No stranger would it be, If we met at Warfare, In the hanging tree, Are you, Are you, are you, Coming to the tree, We strung up two men, They say who murdered three, Strange things will happen here, No stranger would it be, If we met at Warfare, In the hanging tree?

[Gator]

RADICAL | ☆ | "ICONOCLAST: EXECUTING THE MONSTER" | ☆ | XWF#038 | ☆ | WEDNESDAY NIGHT WARFARE | ☆ | LETHAL LOTTERY ROUND I | ☆ | WITH CHRIS CHAOS VERSUS SHAUN CROWE & ROBERT MAIN | ☆ | #03 R A D I C A L | ☆ | C H A O S E X E C U T I N G . T H E . M O N S T E R Deep down in every waking man, Lives a monster lost in morale quicksand, Hidden by civilized means, Waking only when introduced to savagery. Fear can torment even the damned, Looking down at their incapable hands, Though they give it all they've got, A winner at Warfare to be they cannot. Savagery comes in such unsuspected ways, No matter when you're ready to face the day, Through the heat of an oven, or the cold of a cooler where limbs are shoved in. The monster shakes your foundation, when, Desperation is the last hope to save men, Ones like Shaun Crowe or Robert Main, Types who talk all the same. Their inner monster will show itself soon, To save the rest of the body from a full moon, But when it peaks out its shriveled head, The Icons will tighten the noose to execute it instead. Shakes your foundation... It will show itself... Executed it instead... A young man stands in a foreign land inside a bar. His eyes tell a story of much more than a person his age should know. The crows feet inch out into the smooth flesh on his cheeks. Suddenly his eyelids twitch. Diving into the depths of his perception, the camera is taken to a fiery vision of bombs bursting above the waters edge. The same man at the bar is a soldier in what looks to be a war. He runs with an old army helmet covering the features of his eyes as seen before, as if a younger version of the man; running through a bombarded zone of trembling ground and exploding Earth. A focusing image redirects as he dives into a bunker. The clearer view reveals the exhausted man covered in blood, crawling through the dim channel dug out where body parts lay dispatched from fallen comrades. All around him moans for help, tears stream down his dirt laden face. In mid-crawl stride a hand grasps onto his left arm. A man asking for a prayer as he takes his final few breaths on the battlefield he signed up to defend. He bats away the hand; looking into the lens to reveal the shadowy silhouette of some type of monster in his soul... as the enemy forces can be heard pulling up via a large vehicle. The man crawls into a hidden nook in the bunker, and covering the opening with a dead body. He hears the same man who grabbed his arm begging the opposing soldiers for mercy and a prayer. They stand over him as seen through the dead cold fingers of the body blocking his exposure. A Sergeant looking proud with his puffed chest out stands expressionless over the begging nationalist, and puts two in his chest, one in his head with a .38 special. His eyes scan like a terminator trying to find any last bit of defiant life that could lead to a rebellion of the area once they move forward. His eyes just miss the man hiding. Instructing the troops back into the vehicle to move onto the next battle won so they can eliminate any further threats to their victories undertones. The introduced bar dweller sighs, as the monster tucks itself back away having escaped the sure fate that would have been a final straw in the game of life. His blinking relieved pupils finally release their dilated state. Just as the camera dives in again to another past pretense of the bar dwelling stranger. The man is now somewhere outside near a train station wearing a top hat; being confronted by a gang of misfits ready to pounce for him being in their way. He tries to walk away but one of the pudgy long gray haired settlers grabs his coat lapel and makes his intentions clear. The lens shows the desire in the form of the shadowy monster silhouette again deep down in the mans vengeful want. He turns and pushes the pudgy settler onto the laps of his friends, then begins to run down the docking platform west. The other settlers lean the pudgy one off to the side and get up to chase the bar dwelling familiar face. Through a crowd of mid-20th century dressed garb wearing gents and ladies; all waiting on their ride to somewhere better than where they are. Catching up as the man pins himself into a corner from which he cannot escape, the settlers spit wads of chewing tobacco at his feet, then slam him against the wall. Just then, a whistle from an arriving train can be heard, the men look at the catching up pudgy leader who, out of breath, gives up the pursuit to make sure he catches the train to another place he'd rather be. The men all follow suit, hoping to get a good window seat on the train; trampling each other like animals to grab their suitcases and beat the others to the Conductor accepting tickets on the side of the train railing. Again, the monster crawls back into the crevices of the mans being... calmed once again out of harms way. Avoiding a nasty fate at the hands of hooligans who surely would have bashed his head open without remorse to prove absolutely nothing. The cruel world again deceiving his senses. The man looks on relieved once more, as the camera dives into his eyes for another change of scenery just in the nick of time. Finally back in the bar where it all started, the man sighs as the relief again escapes his shoulders with tension soon following. A beer is place in front of him as he begins to smile in humor and appreciation of his own journey to become the man in the place he currently resides. Happiness seems all too conjured. He looks at the end of the bar and see's the pudgy settler. He takes a step back imagining that he is in a full blown PTSD hallucination; then back into another man who turns him around and grabs his hand to shake it. It is the abandoned solider he left for dead. The scar above the man's left eye is clearly pronounced as a bullet wound, as he limps forward with the assistance of a cane. In literal shock our bar dweller takes a deep breath, quickly viewing out the window over the former soldier's shoulder a large platform built with swinging rope nooses begins tested by two men at the top of the structure who's faces come into view. Just as a black bag is place over the familiar man's head, the shadowy silhouette appears once more of the desperate monster in his soul... that knows the time is now to escape... but has no recourse of relief like the times before. High up on a platform, he can hear the people cheering as the view from inside the black bag shows small glimpses of life through the sun peaking into the threading. The commotion begins as the local paper writer steps to the center of the stage below with the days paper in hand. Two other men are being prepared next to the bar dweller. One with long hair sticking out the hood, and another who keeps yelling "Ya boiii" before being struck in the stock with a billy-club. The bar-dweller imagines it is him reading the note, as the monster in his head cannot seem to come to terms with the fate so long extinguished by relief... being finally, inescapable. The reporter begins to read a snippet from the paper in hand, as the delusion isn't assisted by the mounting head under the hood, as suffocation begins to become a greater foe than the noose being fitted for a dance with the swinging splintered intimidating wood-ress hanging tree. EXECUTING THE MONSTER ** NEWSPAPER READING ** [[ Ladies and gentlemen if you have children please view with caution. What you are about to see is sickening, frightening, pathetic, rash, dumb, worse than humpty dumpty, and is not a joke. Robert Main, the "Main" no one had ever heard of until he recently signed on the pink dotted line with Vincent Lane's "XWF"... has been EXPOSED! This is a clip of Main in Japan, where he went by the name "HOPELESS TO WIN" in the incident that forced him to look for worth to be a loser elsewhere. AGAIN WE WARN YOU... this is completely real, and graphic. He pulled an adoring fan out of the audience, and inviting them smiling into the ring... before this ruthless MONSTER took the following actions... Won't anyone execute this monster before it is allowed to do this in XWF? More news at 11... ]] The necklace of hope will release side by side the Monster's in these men unto the damnation they have so rightfully earned. Puns of missing persons cannot foil the fate. These men have become the target of a slaughter on a given date. "Mumbo jumbo" can be more of an argument from more of a man. In the essence of the gay community, he weakly shouts with nothings left on which to stand. Radically underestimated... within the phrase is a truth. Because the ultimate underestimate was placed in the form of a bet, on you to lose. The bet wasn't place by the Icons at the top of the tree. Waiting to hang you from your own words unto thee... but by the masses who know the depths of your gamble; up to face the truth, unlike Crowe's catch phrases that ramble. High school wrestling, a testament to our competition... oh, sorry, to have that you'd first have to learn how to listen. We are the showmen; the way for opponents to escape. We construct the tree, then you swing wild until a limp drape. What's happened here isn't unique, we've all seen it before. Chaos and Reno dominating, all who step out onto the XWF floor. Give us a voice, give us a place, give us nothing, and we will still save face. No two nobodies will show up and spoil the next round, because after Lethal Lottery we will still be the toughest two MOTHERFUCKERS AROUND. You are an afterthought, an executed monster in the glimmer of what could have been. Failing to scare us, and dying to pretend. Prepare your restless eyes for the raising of our hands. When we tell you to sit, bitch! Do it on command. Roll over and behave, or we will strike you down... because that's the price the monster pays, for making bitching sounds. ☆ Are you, are you, Coming to the tree, We strung up two men, They say who murdered three, Strange things will happen here, No stranger would it be, If we met at Warfare, In the hanging tree, Are you, are you, Coming to the tree, Where dead man called out, For his love to flee, Strange things did happen here, No stranger would it be, If we met at Warfare, In the hanging tree, Are you, are you, Coming to the tree, Where I told you to run, So you'd both be free, Strange things did happen here, No stranger would it be, If we met at Warfare, In the hanging tree, Are you, Are you, are you, Coming to the tree, We strung up two men, They say who murdered three, Strange things will happen here, No stranger would it be, If we met at Warfare, In the hanging tree?