Post by "Perfection" Evan Cartwright on Jan 28, 2006 3:36:25 GMT -5
-=Kyoto, Friday afternoon.=-
[Evan finds himself amidst the imperial gardens of the old capital, quite--contemplating the stillness surrounding him. Evan rises from his sitting position facing the zen garden and he walks towards the stone Tokugawa bridge and watches the stream lazily flow into a nearby koi pond. He was happy here... peaceful. Little care for the rest of the world. But then, as it always does, reality sets in and kills the moment. His watch beeped and Evan saw that he needed to make the 4:20 bullet train back to Tokyo before his flight back to Canada departs. Slowly, he makes his way along the dirt path and is reminded of Frost as he sees the road fork into a well-worn footpath and a less-travelled one.]
Evan: I miss this place... Japan has an energy and magic about her that draws you in like the subtlest of scents. A scent that triggers thoughts of serenity and peacefulness in the mind.
Again, unfortunately, my trip is marred by the stain that is Predator and his very presence in NAPW. How the f*ck does a loser like him become the number one contender for the Provincial title? It's as disgusting as it is mind-boggling. The man has no skills, no tact, no honour, and very bad body odor to boot... and somehow they feel that he could possibly be the next Provincial Champion after a master tactician like The Minstrel. This is almost enough to make me as sick as I am angry about it. NAPW is a respectable place, and they do not need creepy stalker fools like this Predator jumping between buildings in a loincloth. Perhaps he thinks he's Tarzan or something... it matters little. And he has the audacity to call me an automaton? In the words of that cracked-out basehead, Dr. Tittylover... "N*GGA PLEASE!" You have a snowcone's chance in hell of beating me, Predator. Hell, even if I were not as good as I am, I still would be able to beat you. I suspect even a perrenial choke-whore like J.C. Cook could even beat you if he was properly motivated.
Lets face facts, Predator... you suck, you're a curtain jerker at best, and you will never... and I mean NEVER!... hold any gold in this fed as long as men like myself and Chris Casino are around. Your very existance is a disgrace in itself, and your attempts at cutting a promo against me are truly pathetic. First you start singing a rather gay song by an even more homosexual band, Three Homos Down, and you somehow think that this will impress people? How are Three Queers Down going to help you beat me, Predator? How will they stop me from cutting into your putrid eye sockets with my knuckles? I suggest you develop some pain tolerance instead of singing acapella to some crap band.
Secondly, you finally realize that the belt you carry with you is crap, much like your own credibility. So you decide to give it back to D!, and what happens? He snubs you and refuses your crap gift. Why? Because even D! knows that that belt is nothing, means nothing, and is currently held by the biggest nothing in NAPW. Just like losers such as Apocalypse and The Immortal... you too will be nothing but a distant fading memory of some ten-year-old girly boy after Monday Night, Predator. Bring whomever you want to the ring to try and protect you, and I will cripple their foolish selves as well. Evan Cartwright is headed to the top, Predator, and you are nothing more than an annoying pothole that needs to be stuffed and cemented over.
[Evan has finally exited the garden and hails the nearest cab. He steps in and the car speeds off as we fade to a commercial for Diego's House of Chorizo. Spicy Sausage Rules!]
[Evan finds himself amidst the imperial gardens of the old capital, quite--contemplating the stillness surrounding him. Evan rises from his sitting position facing the zen garden and he walks towards the stone Tokugawa bridge and watches the stream lazily flow into a nearby koi pond. He was happy here... peaceful. Little care for the rest of the world. But then, as it always does, reality sets in and kills the moment. His watch beeped and Evan saw that he needed to make the 4:20 bullet train back to Tokyo before his flight back to Canada departs. Slowly, he makes his way along the dirt path and is reminded of Frost as he sees the road fork into a well-worn footpath and a less-travelled one.]
Evan: I miss this place... Japan has an energy and magic about her that draws you in like the subtlest of scents. A scent that triggers thoughts of serenity and peacefulness in the mind.
Again, unfortunately, my trip is marred by the stain that is Predator and his very presence in NAPW. How the f*ck does a loser like him become the number one contender for the Provincial title? It's as disgusting as it is mind-boggling. The man has no skills, no tact, no honour, and very bad body odor to boot... and somehow they feel that he could possibly be the next Provincial Champion after a master tactician like The Minstrel. This is almost enough to make me as sick as I am angry about it. NAPW is a respectable place, and they do not need creepy stalker fools like this Predator jumping between buildings in a loincloth. Perhaps he thinks he's Tarzan or something... it matters little. And he has the audacity to call me an automaton? In the words of that cracked-out basehead, Dr. Tittylover... "N*GGA PLEASE!" You have a snowcone's chance in hell of beating me, Predator. Hell, even if I were not as good as I am, I still would be able to beat you. I suspect even a perrenial choke-whore like J.C. Cook could even beat you if he was properly motivated.
Lets face facts, Predator... you suck, you're a curtain jerker at best, and you will never... and I mean NEVER!... hold any gold in this fed as long as men like myself and Chris Casino are around. Your very existance is a disgrace in itself, and your attempts at cutting a promo against me are truly pathetic. First you start singing a rather gay song by an even more homosexual band, Three Homos Down, and you somehow think that this will impress people? How are Three Queers Down going to help you beat me, Predator? How will they stop me from cutting into your putrid eye sockets with my knuckles? I suggest you develop some pain tolerance instead of singing acapella to some crap band.
Secondly, you finally realize that the belt you carry with you is crap, much like your own credibility. So you decide to give it back to D!, and what happens? He snubs you and refuses your crap gift. Why? Because even D! knows that that belt is nothing, means nothing, and is currently held by the biggest nothing in NAPW. Just like losers such as Apocalypse and The Immortal... you too will be nothing but a distant fading memory of some ten-year-old girly boy after Monday Night, Predator. Bring whomever you want to the ring to try and protect you, and I will cripple their foolish selves as well. Evan Cartwright is headed to the top, Predator, and you are nothing more than an annoying pothole that needs to be stuffed and cemented over.
[Evan has finally exited the garden and hails the nearest cab. He steps in and the car speeds off as we fade to a commercial for Diego's House of Chorizo. Spicy Sausage Rules!]