|
|
Post by The BombTrax on May 27, 2016 4:55:45 GMT
{Grudge Match} Singles Match Luke Knux versus Jack Nomad
One (1) Role Play Max
Final Role Play Deadline: Wednesday June 8th, 2016 @ 10:59 PM CST
Segment Deadline: Tuesday, June 7th, 2016 @ 11:59 PM CST
|
|
The Hard Core Society
PAW Camper
Equal Opportunity Hatred is so much easier than focused racial bullshit.
Posts: 53 
|
Post by The Hard Core Society on May 30, 2016 20:16:55 GMT
============================ CAMERA OFF PAW Backstage - Stopher's Gym - Thursday, May 26th ============================ SHADOW: Pray you don't attract my attention any further. The candle flickers again, and Jack looks over his shoulder, only to find himself completely alone. The look on his face is not amused as the secondary camera fades out. -------------------------------------------------------- I put on the tough guy act for the cameras but in truth, once I see the little red LED go out, I smile. Let this fucker think he's getting one over on me. Let him think he's bothering me, but I know the general park layout and it's only a matter of time before... Oh fuck, the lights cut on in the little dirt floored back room I was hiding in, blinding me for a split second. In steps that fucking FBI Senior Agent, brown coat and all. Did he ever fucking change his wardrobe?
He holds up his FBI badge and says, " Adrian, what a nice traveling Carnival you have here." " Well, hello, Agent Prichard," I respond in dry fashion. I'd fucking love to end him right here and now. " Don't worry, one of my men cut the feed to this room, so anything we say is purely confidential. I've done some digging on you and you know, that Shadow or whatever the hell he's calling himself, really should read into you. I don't think he knows what he's dealing with." I actually smile at that, " Yeah it is a shame isn't it?" " Never knew you were involved in the Flint Westlake 'suicide' and what a nasty bit of business with the Eddie Mercer incident in SCWE." " Eddie Mercer was untrained and should have never been in a wrestling ring. As far as Flint goes, motherfucker hung himself for being a murdering fuck." " Yes, we found the mass graves in his basement. One way or another, his victims saw justice." I arched my brow a bit at hearing that. Maybe this Prichard guy wasn't so much of a dick afterall or he was trying to sympathize somehow to get me to loosen up. Too bad, so sad, not gonna' do it fuck-o. " So let's just get to it, what the fuck do you want old man?" I ask as blunt as humanly fucking possible. " Well, Mr. Rhodes, we found tire tracks a mile away from the crime scene that match the profile of a motorcycle with Michelin Commander II 140/90B16 Rear Tires. You wouldn't happen to own such a vehicle, would you?" Good thing I swapped my rear tires and rims out recently, opting to keep and later dispose of the actual tires myself at a junkyard, " Nope. I own a Harley, but with custom rims and tires. Try again, fuck face." His expression grew flat. Good, I love to see disappointment. " I will find what links you to the murder of David Kelly, Adrian. Your accomplices will..." " WILL WHAT? All you have is a criminal history with some vague links, tire tracks for tires I do not own, and a murder without a body as you said yourself. Why don't you go fuck off?" I let him grab me and slam me up against the boarded wall of the storage shed and get right up in my face. " Right now I could run you in for assault on Luke Knux, don't push me!" I laugh in his face and tell him a little truth, " We sign wavers when we enter the ring bitch. We can do whatever the fuck we want short of murder within the confines of this premises and you want to try and arrest me? Listen here, you go ahead. Put the cuffs on me motherfucker. Your badge, your way of life, it'll all be over because then I'd just lawyer the fuck up and own your ass in court. So why don't you take your hands off me before you give me an excuse to defend myself!" Begrudgingly, he releases my jacket and steps back. Oh did he want a fight. " I will link you to this murder, Adrian. You have my word on it. I know you did it, it's just a question of how you did it." Just like that, he turns and walks. I yell out after him, " THE NAME IS JACK NOMAD MOTHERFUCKER! ADRIAN IS DEAD! DEAL WITH IT!" The adrenaline rushing through me! FUCK! I turn and kick the remains of the camera I stomped that night, sending it flying across the small room before finally exiting. First, Shadow Boy and now a real crime fighting motherfucker. What a fucking night? ============================ CAMERA ON PAW Warehouse - Sunday, May 30th ============================
 Oh yeah, this is some kind of fucking bullshit I'm reading in this comic book today. Yes, I fucking read comics as you bastards watching at home can plainly see me doing in front of that fucking camera. The crate that serves as my seat isn't all that comfortable, but then when you're shooting in a store room for a carnival, well, your seating options tend to get pretty limited. I stop for a second and arch my brow as I read the final panels from Steve Rogers; Captain American Issue one. There is a reason I'm re-reading this in front of the camera because this kind of shit pisses me off. "Don't get me wrong, I'm a very irreverent motherfucker for the most part. Yet even a guy like me, reading a comic book that features a guy who is supposed to represent everything that's good, wholesome, and all things patriotic, see's something very wrong with the picture presented. I'm no Hero but fuck... you want to know why shit is so fucked up with our country? Here, check this out." I flip the comic around to show you the final panel where Captain America flings Jack Flag out of an air plane. I let that sink in for a second and then flip to the next page where we see Cap standing beside the scientist, Dr. Selvig, who was rescued earlier in the story and in his dialogue bubble, what the fuck does it have him say? " Hail, fucking, Hydra...," My words drip with venom as they come out of my mouth. I toss the worthless rag of a comic book aside. " Nick Spencer, the guy who wrote that piece of shit, can go suck a horse cock. Sadly, you can see that as a symptom of what the fuck is wrong with our world today. You see it in movies, comic books, cartoons, all the media. All these mother fuckers are wanting to make that next big twist that has everyone's jaw dropping. They want to get them up in arms and just flat out going for shocks and cheap thrills, rather than giving us a real, meaty experience. Yeah, make Captain America the ultimate Villain. I can understand idiots like the Shadow percieving me as a villainous entity within the confines of our little world. I'm not a nice guy and I damn sure don't strive to be the hero of any story." I scoff at the notion, shaking my head. " Yet it's when, even in our best fiction, that the greatest Heroes are made into pure evil in just a few panels of ill concieved artwork that you should see the fucking problem with society. We can't even believe in the heroes we make up." L owering my head, I rest my elbows on my knees and lock my fingers together. I can't help but chuckle at how stupid and propostrous this is. Me, more invested in a fucking comic book than real people. Guess that goes to show you how much each and every person that'll be watching this video really matters to me. " Don't get me wrong, I think Captain America is a bit of a sanctimonious prick and far too wholesome and nice for my tastes. Most of the time I root for the villains because in literature, it's the villain that ultimately comes up short. Not like in reality, where the villain comes out on top more often than the hero. Yet if you threw me up against a Nazi skinhead, I bet dollars to donuts you'd root for me because at least I'm not a Nazi shit head." I look back at the camera, a smirk crossing my lips as I start to gather my thoughts and turn this into a real fucking promo, rather than an opinion piece. You fuckers tuned in to this shit to see me talk about PAW and Fuck Knux, not some goddamned comic book. " You're not here for that bullshit though, but I can't help but see a bit of correlation with what's going on here. Fuck Knux is a dipshit, plain and simple. The crowd still chants for the fucker, but truth be told, I'm practically honest and upright by comparison. He came into my ring weeks ago for a booked match. I didn't ask to fight him, he didn't ask to fight me. We were put in the ring because the promoter didn't know what the fuck to do with us. He came unprepared and I bashed his fucking face in with knee shots and broke his fucking nose." If the shrug of my shoulders was any indication of how I felt about that fight, here's a hint, I didn't fucking care at the time. " Not a big fucking deal, right? Another day at the office for a wrestler. If you can't deal with getting your face wrecked, don't fucking step into my ring. In my eyes, it was over and done, save maybe a joke or two on twitter. Then what does he do? At the Box Office, he makes a disrespectful fucking song. Sure, I got a little laugh out of it, but facts are facts. A man disrespects you like that, you better fucking make him pay for it, lest you become a door mat for others to scrape their boots off with. I wait for him to walk to the back and the funny thing is, I'm right in plain sight. Fuck Knux couldn't even be bothered to pay attention." I smirk once more and chuckle. God did I love delivering those elbow slices to his face. Busted him up and rebroke that fucking nose. " So he paid the price for his disrespectful comments and I left him in a heap with his face busted wide open. No weapons, nothing, just my bare hands doing the dirty work. Wicked number ten rolls around. I have a solid match with a murderous Pixie at my side, giving couples around the world a goal to aspire towards as we beat the living fuck out of both Tapioca Joseph and Jon Alexander. Then out of nowhere comes Fuck Knux. After trashing me and Alexandra's locker room, what the fuck does he do? Cracks me over the head with a dirt filled, twenty pound guitar and costs me a rematch with Kelsey Spencer on the next show. Granted, he was going to get an ass beating in response either way, but I wanted to give the little fucker some respect for nutting up and actually trying something on me." My fingers rub that small scar on the upper right side of my scalp; a souvenier left by a wood splinter that had found itself embedded in my flesh at a weird, fucked up angle. Twenty pounds to the skull is pretty fucking brutal, but my follow up? Yeah that's a whole different matter. " Here's the problem, he can't just take the props I give him. You see, I wanted to give him a proper ass beating in the ring, but no... motherfucker had to go pushing every single one of my buttons until I had to show up and remind him of how much of a punk ass bitch he really is compared to me. Some idiots just can't take the compliment and do things the right way." With a roll of my eyes, I shake my head. Fucking dumbshit motherfucker... " Now, how does this tie in with what I was talking about earlier, with Captain America turned from great hero into the biggest fucking liar who ever lived? It's similar to the perception of Fuck Knux. The PAW crowd fucking loves this guy. Absolutely adores the fuck out of him and yet he's a self-serving, obnoxious piece of shit punk bitch who, in my opinion, makes average at best albums and is part of the industrial music machine that makes music for the sake of the dollar rather than artistic integrity. Sure he's got money and a fucking Castle on an island somewhere. It was fortified enough to keep me from making a trip to his home, because, let's be honest, I'd rather have gone to his house and fucked his shit up there than wait for him to show up at the PAW Arena." Yeah, bitches, I don't need a camera rolling to go beat someone's ass. I do need a few less Dobermans, castle walls, and state of the art security systems, however. " You see, the problem here is that people shouldn't be getting behind a guy like that. Hell you shouldn't even cheer for me. I'm not one of your fucking heroes and he sure as fuck isn't. Yet there you are, cheering for him when you should be cheering for happy little cunts like Kelsey Spencer or Tapioca Fucking Joseph. Not this asshole. Not me. Do you know what my problem is with the common man and woman watching wrestling? You want villains so that your precious heroes have something to do with their days. Without guys like Fuck Knux and myself, what do you have? A bunch of handshaking, sanctimony, and normal, boring as fuck matches. Without the Yang, there is no fucking Yin. There's just complacency and that, you miserable fucks, is more terrifying than any kind of bodily harm I can do." This isn't the first time I've said such words, but hell, I feel like it needs addressing. I rub the thumbs of my clasped hands together, looking down at them as I continue on. " I have no redeemable qualities. I'm human trash and I know and accept this. I expect your hatred and even demand it. I don't want to be your friendly wrestler, waving at everyone and wanting to know how the crowd is doing. I don't give a fuck what town I'm in. All I want is a body to unleash brutality upon, collect a paycheck, and call it a night. Someone to pummel into the red." I look back at the camera, head tilted a little to the left. " Do any of you think Fuck Knux gives a shit about you? Is he inviting you to his castle for parties? Will he give each and every one of you the time of day to sign a fucking autograph or pose with your kid? No he'll probably bitch slap your baby and punt kick the little fucker out into the stands. Yet you love him. You fucking love him with every fiber of your being. Funny thing is, I hear some people in the crowd kinda' dig me too. If our society held up those lofty ideals they aspire to follow, then idealy, Fuck Knux and Jack Nomad wouldn't be able to draw pocket lent, yet here we are in a hotly debated and contested grudge match that might never have been." " The problem now is that he's backed into a corner with his credibility on the line. At this point, anything less than my complete destruction leaves us wondering if The Suicidal Cumrag can even hang in the ring anymore. I, on the other hand, have already proven my point. All I have to do is beat the fuck out of him and walk away. I probably won't just do that, but I have far more to gain and far less to lose in this match." Sitting up in my seat, I slowly crack my neck left to right. " So far, Lucas, history is on my side. I've left you a broken heap three times now, once officially, twice on my own time. You took fifty pounds of nickel plated coin to the very top of your skull in a dead on, massive impact. One has to wonder what state you're going to be in when we step into the ring at Heat Stroke. I mean you saw what twenty pounds of dirt in a guitar did to me, taking me out of action for almost an entire month. Yet here you are, begging for a match and unlike me, you actually got your wish fulfilled, but as the saying goes, be careful what you wish for, Lucas." I crack my knuckles one by one, more or less to relieve a little tension in my hands but also because the timing couldn't be more perfect. " At Heat Stroke, on June 9th, we end this shit. When I hit that ring, Fuck Knux, I'll be loosed like a bullet ripping through you, a massive earthquake on the shores of your brand of Hell. For you? It will be a significant, life scarring moment that confirms your place in the universe. For me? Just another Thursday at the office." Yep, time to slide off that crate and walk off my little set, but just as I turn away from the camera, I stop and look over my shoulder as if I were a Clint Eastwood character. " One more thing, Lucas. When the suffering has ended and the bell chimes three times, when you're lying on your back, unable to breath because your lungs are collapsed and you can't see because the blood has soaked into your eyes, I want you to remember this one fact; I didn't start this fight, but I sure as fuck finished it. Maybe if there is a next time for you, you won't go inviting extra trouble upon yourself and realize that some motherfuckers just need to be left the fuck alone..." My point made, I stroll off camera. I leave it on for a moment while whistling 'House of the Rising Sun' as I am the house that has been the ruin of many a poor boy and my god, Lucas will be one... |
|
Knuxy
PAW Cub
#UNCENSORED
Posts: 15
|
Post by Knuxy on Jun 8, 2016 4:48:58 GMT
(OOC NOTE: Posting this in mobile for now. Gonna' make it pretty tomorrow hopefully.)
The Ferris wheel. You know the one that sits watching over the whole Amusement Park? With its comfy buckets fit for about 6 people if you squeeze your ass in there and don't weigh 800 pounds. That's where the Knuxmans at. Sitting my ass firmly in a bucket with only me and this pimple faced fuck of a cameraman. I'm lounging back, relaxing with one red and black Converse covered foot proped up on an empty seat and the other one resting flat on the ground. I'm sporting my brand new haircut with a black headband wrapped around my forehead. I'm looking pretty comfortable right now.
Knux:"Always gotta' one up everyone huh Nomad?"
I only speak the truth. You all know what I'm talking about.
Knux:"It all started with one match. Knux versus Nomad. This was only supposed to be a one off randomly put together match. But what happened? Jackie Boy has to break my FUCKIN' nose!"
The memories of that match still taunt me. I touch my nose gently, knowing that he did damage.
Knux:"Not only did you break my nose, you made me miss your dates due to surgery, and you forced me to cancel my cover of Rolling Stones magazine!"
Motherfucker.... Rolling Stones was pissed!
Knux:"So I decide to make a little song about Jackie Boy. Big whoop. The fans laughed, I laughed, everybody laughed. Except for Jack. Jack decides that breaking my nose once wasn't enough for him. So he attacks the Knuxman backstage after my performance, rebreaking my nose against a wall. But guess what? I came back. A normal man wouldn't be able to come back from that. I did."
Jackie Boy didn't think I'd come back. Nobody thought some pretty not rockstar would be able to come back. Proved every single one of you wrong. Came back a week later.
Knux:"One week later I trashed Jackie Boys locker room and right when he went to look, twenty pound sand filled guitar over the dome! Knocked out cold. Even left a nice little scar! Something to remember me by!"
Every time that motherfucker looks at that scar he'll remember me. He'll remember the Knuxman smashing a guitar over his head and giving him what he deserves.
Knux:"I one up him, but guess what....not good enough. What happens next? He comes back at me, attacking me with a fifty pound bag of fuckin' nickels! Dropped me cold. And you wanna' know why? It wasn't the guitar shot to the dome. It wasn't even the song. It was the fact that I called his woman, Pixie Girl, a fuckin' whore."
Hahahahahaa! I know a little bit about his girl. Seen her around a few times. If you know what I mean.
Knux:"See, let me talk you a little something about Pixie girl. Last time I seen her she was in top of someone else's dick. And before that, she was hopping up and down on another dude. So Jackie Boy, I meant what I said. It won't be long before your Bonnie and Clyde hardcore love story turns sour. She's probably itching for the next dick."
Knowing her she's probably itching in more than one way. I pop a cigarette out of my band band jeans and light it up as the Ferris Wheel reaches its peak. I stand up and means back against the safety railing before pulling the cigarette from my mouth letting the sweet smoke ooze from my lips.
Knux:"Jackie Boy, it's simple. When we step in the ring at Heatstroke it's not gonna' be a simple match. It's not gonna' be for the fans and it's not gonna' be for Pixie. This is between me and you. Man to man, this is a fuckin' grudge match. No rules, no countouts, nothing to hold us back. This time you won't get off with just breaking my nose and leaving. I'm prepared this time. You think what I did with the guitar was enough? No, what I do when we meet in the ring will make a twenty pound sand filled guitar shot feel like a fuckin' pillow to the skull! I'm done sitting around here debating with you over Twitter and waiting for the attack. I'm done going back and forth, shot for shot, backstage attack for backstage attack. This time we're standing face to face. And when I get my newly tattooed hands around your fuckin' neck..... I'm gonna' squeeze and watch you squirm in my hands until you can't move a fuckin' muscle. I want to watch you pass out and wake up in the hospital realizing that the Knuxman is the reason you're in that bed."
I laugh as the Ferris Wheel comes to a hault. The guardrail opens and I step out into the ground. I stop suddenly and take a drag from the cig. I then turn to the camera and flash a smile.
Knux:"It's too bad we became enemies though man. I dig your style and ink. Unfortunately though, I'll have to fuck you up beyond recognition. See you at Heatstroke bitch."
I begin to walk away from the camera, taking the last drag from the cigarette before tossing it aside. It smacks some little shit in the face leaving a small burn mark. But what the fuck do I care, he was wearing a Jack Nomad shirt. I begin to walk towards the cotton candy vendor. I think there's a certain clown I gotta' hang with...
Fuck y'all! Have a nice day!
The end!
|
|
