Post by Lady Munin on Apr 8, 2016 5:38:52 GMT
(OOC: I originally wrote this post about a week and a half ago, but the computer I was working on lost power to the unit, and I wasn't able to retrieve it until today. I didn't feel it was appropriate for any in match situations, so decided to post it here as a gag. The two members I was even addressing are no longer here with us, but I still thought it was sort of funny. Enjoy.)
Youth and Press got back to their apartment in New Orleans, and immediately went to work looking for listening devices. Press checked under all the furniture and appliances, while Youth slid the cover off of his lap top, exposing the boards and wires inside. After turning the apartment completely upside down and not finding anything, both men ended up on the couch in disbelief.
Press looked over at Youth, and asked, “How the fuck did they know?”
Youth shrugged, shaking his head as he did it. “Dude, I have no idea. This is fucked up.”
The two sat there for a minute, the silence lingering around them like a palpable thing. A long time ago, way back in AW there had been a wrestler on the roster by the name of Tyler McCollum. Now that ‘The Iceman’ had arrived, the comparisons between the two were almost surreal. The only problem was that they were at least a generation apart in age. Ryan wasn’t quite young enough for Tyler to be his dad without there being some really screwed up circumstances like you find in the hills of West Virginia.
So It was easy to see how when the two men had discussed The Iceman’s comments earlier in the week, that Press would confuse Tyler for Ryan a few times. But then all of a sudden the mix up became public knowledge through Tapanga Britt’s Twitter account, which left the men in quite the pickle. 1) How in the hell did they hear about it? 2) What other sensitive information did they hear? And 3) exactly how far did this security breach go?
Press looked over at Youth, irritation clear in his voice. “I just don’t get it man. I mean, getting our address and shit would be easy enough for anyone, it’s not like we made it a state secret or anyone, but if they didn’t bug the apartment, then how in the world could they have overheard that. After you pointed it out to me, I don’t recall ever doing it again. I certainly didn’t do it on camera. Fuck."
Youth shrugged silently because he was at a total loss. “It’s almost as if they could see right into our private conversations and pick and choose what they wanted to use against us. I mean, you don’t think they are connected to our other job, do you?”
“I wouldn’t have thought so, but who the hell knows anymore.” Press replied.
The two men continued to sit in silence, both mulling the issue over without much success.
Youth suddenly sat up, eyes wide and panicked as he turned to spill his newfound thought. “Dude! What if none of this is real!”
Press cast an incredulous glance at his partner, and then shook his head in confusion. “What?”
“Yeah, what if none of this is real!” Youth exclaimed, pulling himself from the couch and starting to pace the room. “What if, we’re all just pawns created in someone else’s mind, and none of the stuff that’s been said or done thus far is real. I mean, think about it. Ryan McCullom went on to talk about The Sands, and how it’s not real, and how Recoba is basically one big fraud, but you and I have been to The Sands when we used to live in Vegas. We ate at one of their all you can eat buffets.”
“Yeah, they had the best steak for under fifteen bucks.” Press replied, wishing he could be there now rather than listening to his partner’s lunatic theory. “So what are you getting at?”
“What I’m saying is, what if this whole thing is an intersection of parallel universes that only differ because of minute changes in the timeline that overlapping due to some cosmic event outside of the basis of our limited understanding? I mean think about it. That would explain everything. Dude, we fight vampires for Christ’s sake! That’s not normal.”
Press sat there for a minute stunned that Youth even knew that many big words, let alone was able to string them together in a coherent sentence. He began shaking his head, pain building in his brain. “But, Youth, even if this was like that, who’s pulling the strings?”
“I was thinking about that. Maybe it’s God, or Fate, or hell, maybe it’s a whole bunch of different people all handling each individual we come in contact with, and none of our actions or reactions can be dictated without them first interceding and making it so.”
“What, like a movie script?”
“Exactly like a movie script. And each person is an actor in their own movie, but sometimes those movies have crossovers, like in comic books, or like the Marvel movies!”
Press shook his head again. “I think you may have taken one to many steel chairs to the head, man.” But then he paused to really think about it, watching as Youth continued his pace around the room, muttering to himself. What if that really were the case, and like he had said before, somehow two different realities or dimensions had butted up against one another to form a third, pocket dimension, and they were all trapped inside of it. For some reason he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that there was something more to what his partner was trying to say.
He thought back to one of their first promos back in Evolution Wrestling, which took place at the carnival inside a tent where the carnies sometimes worked out. There had been a sandbag hanging from one of the rafters, and it inadvertently if not conveniently became the subject of the promo. He didn’t focus so much on the words he had uttered that day, but for some reason the sandbag stuck out in his mind.
His eyes went wide, and he looked over at Youth. “Ok, just for arguments sake, let’s say I believe you. Who, or what, is telling our story?”
Youth paused in his pacing, and the two shared a glance. Something unseen and unspoken happened between them in that moment, and they both slowly turned to face……You. The Reader. In that moment all time froze, the two characters suddenly melting along with the environment until there was nothing left but an empty space. The 4th wall had been broken. Shattered. And now there was nothing left but me, telling you exactly what happened.
Hi, I’m the narrator of this little tale that’s known as The BombTrax. You can call me god-being 1269, or 1269, or just 69. You can’t see me smiling right now at my little implied joke, but I assure you, I am. I’m really sort of at a loss for what I’m supposed to do now that the 4th wall is gone. I mean, leave it to these two assholes to ruin everything. Well, that’s not really true. Someone else sort of did it for them. Like making jokes about little typing snafus that sometimes happen in this little world of mine. Or when someone tries to dismantle another god-being’s fiction just in order to be clever, when in reality it calls everything into question.
After all, it’s hard coming up with interesting ideas based on all these interactions and characters handled by the other god-beings. There are going to be mistakes here and there, but to blatantly dick with another person’s fiction, or to talk about information that never took place during any recorded segment. Well, that’s just a little dirty. But hey, I’m not the police here. I wouldn’t ever try and dictate to another person how they want to strategize for the creation of their world. I’m just thinking about the little things, like being courteous to one another and our creations. Just food for thought.
Anyways, I guess I need to get this thing back on track. Wait, do you think I’ll get into trouble for this. Fuck. Then again, technically what happens next will determine if any of this was admissible or not. I guess if you’re going to openly break the 4th wall in your world, you better be smart enough to be able to put everything back together. So hold on just a minute, this should be painless.
Hey, asshole. Wake the fuck up. Nobodies got time to be sleeping right now.
Youth shot up off the couch in a panic, his heart racing inside his chest. Beads of perspiration covered his entire body, and he reached up with his forearm to push it off his brow before it got into his eyes. It took him a minute to calm down, or to even realize exactly where he was at. Apparently after the two men got home, he had come into the living room to watch some TV and had passed out on the couch.
“What a dream,” he whispered, shaking his head at how real it had all seemed.
He heard fumbling behind him from the kitchen, and he quickly turned to see Press digging through the refrigerator for something to eat. In one motion Youth spun and hopped over the back of the couch, and made his way into the kitchen to join his partner.
“Dude, you aren’t going to believe the dream I just had. It was so frickin’ real!”
Youth launched into his tale about alternate dimensions and parallel universes, and the voice that said that everything was connected, yet different, and that there was a pantheon of god-beings writing everything. Once his spiel was over, Press was left to just start at his partner, a look of real concern on his face.
“You need to be medicated.” He replied sincerely, shaking his head.
Youth shrugged his shoulders indignantly, “Whatever.” He turned, and quietly made his way back to his room, pretty sure that his partner might be right.
Read more: officialpurepro.boards.net/thread/336/4th-wall-fragile-thing#ixzz45D7N9NDn
Youth and Press got back to their apartment in New Orleans, and immediately went to work looking for listening devices. Press checked under all the furniture and appliances, while Youth slid the cover off of his lap top, exposing the boards and wires inside. After turning the apartment completely upside down and not finding anything, both men ended up on the couch in disbelief.
Press looked over at Youth, and asked, “How the fuck did they know?”
Youth shrugged, shaking his head as he did it. “Dude, I have no idea. This is fucked up.”
The two sat there for a minute, the silence lingering around them like a palpable thing. A long time ago, way back in AW there had been a wrestler on the roster by the name of Tyler McCollum. Now that ‘The Iceman’ had arrived, the comparisons between the two were almost surreal. The only problem was that they were at least a generation apart in age. Ryan wasn’t quite young enough for Tyler to be his dad without there being some really screwed up circumstances like you find in the hills of West Virginia.
So It was easy to see how when the two men had discussed The Iceman’s comments earlier in the week, that Press would confuse Tyler for Ryan a few times. But then all of a sudden the mix up became public knowledge through Tapanga Britt’s Twitter account, which left the men in quite the pickle. 1) How in the hell did they hear about it? 2) What other sensitive information did they hear? And 3) exactly how far did this security breach go?
Press looked over at Youth, irritation clear in his voice. “I just don’t get it man. I mean, getting our address and shit would be easy enough for anyone, it’s not like we made it a state secret or anyone, but if they didn’t bug the apartment, then how in the world could they have overheard that. After you pointed it out to me, I don’t recall ever doing it again. I certainly didn’t do it on camera. Fuck."
Youth shrugged silently because he was at a total loss. “It’s almost as if they could see right into our private conversations and pick and choose what they wanted to use against us. I mean, you don’t think they are connected to our other job, do you?”
“I wouldn’t have thought so, but who the hell knows anymore.” Press replied.
The two men continued to sit in silence, both mulling the issue over without much success.
Youth suddenly sat up, eyes wide and panicked as he turned to spill his newfound thought. “Dude! What if none of this is real!”
Press cast an incredulous glance at his partner, and then shook his head in confusion. “What?”
“Yeah, what if none of this is real!” Youth exclaimed, pulling himself from the couch and starting to pace the room. “What if, we’re all just pawns created in someone else’s mind, and none of the stuff that’s been said or done thus far is real. I mean, think about it. Ryan McCullom went on to talk about The Sands, and how it’s not real, and how Recoba is basically one big fraud, but you and I have been to The Sands when we used to live in Vegas. We ate at one of their all you can eat buffets.”
“Yeah, they had the best steak for under fifteen bucks.” Press replied, wishing he could be there now rather than listening to his partner’s lunatic theory. “So what are you getting at?”
“What I’m saying is, what if this whole thing is an intersection of parallel universes that only differ because of minute changes in the timeline that overlapping due to some cosmic event outside of the basis of our limited understanding? I mean think about it. That would explain everything. Dude, we fight vampires for Christ’s sake! That’s not normal.”
Press sat there for a minute stunned that Youth even knew that many big words, let alone was able to string them together in a coherent sentence. He began shaking his head, pain building in his brain. “But, Youth, even if this was like that, who’s pulling the strings?”
“I was thinking about that. Maybe it’s God, or Fate, or hell, maybe it’s a whole bunch of different people all handling each individual we come in contact with, and none of our actions or reactions can be dictated without them first interceding and making it so.”
“What, like a movie script?”
“Exactly like a movie script. And each person is an actor in their own movie, but sometimes those movies have crossovers, like in comic books, or like the Marvel movies!”
Press shook his head again. “I think you may have taken one to many steel chairs to the head, man.” But then he paused to really think about it, watching as Youth continued his pace around the room, muttering to himself. What if that really were the case, and like he had said before, somehow two different realities or dimensions had butted up against one another to form a third, pocket dimension, and they were all trapped inside of it. For some reason he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that there was something more to what his partner was trying to say.
He thought back to one of their first promos back in Evolution Wrestling, which took place at the carnival inside a tent where the carnies sometimes worked out. There had been a sandbag hanging from one of the rafters, and it inadvertently if not conveniently became the subject of the promo. He didn’t focus so much on the words he had uttered that day, but for some reason the sandbag stuck out in his mind.
His eyes went wide, and he looked over at Youth. “Ok, just for arguments sake, let’s say I believe you. Who, or what, is telling our story?”
Youth paused in his pacing, and the two shared a glance. Something unseen and unspoken happened between them in that moment, and they both slowly turned to face……You. The Reader. In that moment all time froze, the two characters suddenly melting along with the environment until there was nothing left but an empty space. The 4th wall had been broken. Shattered. And now there was nothing left but me, telling you exactly what happened.
Hi, I’m the narrator of this little tale that’s known as The BombTrax. You can call me god-being 1269, or 1269, or just 69. You can’t see me smiling right now at my little implied joke, but I assure you, I am. I’m really sort of at a loss for what I’m supposed to do now that the 4th wall is gone. I mean, leave it to these two assholes to ruin everything. Well, that’s not really true. Someone else sort of did it for them. Like making jokes about little typing snafus that sometimes happen in this little world of mine. Or when someone tries to dismantle another god-being’s fiction just in order to be clever, when in reality it calls everything into question.
After all, it’s hard coming up with interesting ideas based on all these interactions and characters handled by the other god-beings. There are going to be mistakes here and there, but to blatantly dick with another person’s fiction, or to talk about information that never took place during any recorded segment. Well, that’s just a little dirty. But hey, I’m not the police here. I wouldn’t ever try and dictate to another person how they want to strategize for the creation of their world. I’m just thinking about the little things, like being courteous to one another and our creations. Just food for thought.
Anyways, I guess I need to get this thing back on track. Wait, do you think I’ll get into trouble for this. Fuck. Then again, technically what happens next will determine if any of this was admissible or not. I guess if you’re going to openly break the 4th wall in your world, you better be smart enough to be able to put everything back together. So hold on just a minute, this should be painless.
Hey, asshole. Wake the fuck up. Nobodies got time to be sleeping right now.
Youth shot up off the couch in a panic, his heart racing inside his chest. Beads of perspiration covered his entire body, and he reached up with his forearm to push it off his brow before it got into his eyes. It took him a minute to calm down, or to even realize exactly where he was at. Apparently after the two men got home, he had come into the living room to watch some TV and had passed out on the couch.
“What a dream,” he whispered, shaking his head at how real it had all seemed.
He heard fumbling behind him from the kitchen, and he quickly turned to see Press digging through the refrigerator for something to eat. In one motion Youth spun and hopped over the back of the couch, and made his way into the kitchen to join his partner.
“Dude, you aren’t going to believe the dream I just had. It was so frickin’ real!”
Youth launched into his tale about alternate dimensions and parallel universes, and the voice that said that everything was connected, yet different, and that there was a pantheon of god-beings writing everything. Once his spiel was over, Press was left to just start at his partner, a look of real concern on his face.
“You need to be medicated.” He replied sincerely, shaking his head.
Youth shrugged his shoulders indignantly, “Whatever.” He turned, and quietly made his way back to his room, pretty sure that his partner might be right.
Read more: officialpurepro.boards.net/thread/336/4th-wall-fragile-thing#ixzz45D7N9NDn