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Post by MasterEvil on Nov 13, 2011 21:07:52 GMT
 TBS: Weird is the keyword of today…
As I spoke these words I pressed the record button on the camera in front of me. On the basis of my skills with machinery, this camera should record my face, chest and the wall behind me. Why relay on any of those annoyingly useless cameramen when you could just use your own knowledge…and an occasional hammer wouldn’t hurt too much. So here I am, recording the first match promo I’ve ever made…am I nervous? Hell yeah, but there is no way that I am showing any of this doubt. So without thinking about what to do, I spoke.
TBS: Weird is the keyword of today because it can be used as a title for four men tonight. One is Irish, one is Welsh; one is English and one is Canadian. But let me first explain why the Irishman is weird. Being Irish means that you are born with a twenty-four carrot horse shoe up your arse, right? Why would you proud of that? And why would you be proud of being so violent for so little reason? Maybe tomorrow night a modern day, Gretna, version of an Irish tale will take place…before I continue, I’ll explain this tale from Ireland. Once a while ago there is a town with the only way in and out is by a bridge…a simple stone bridge, but under this bridge there is a butt ugly ogre. And when somebody goes across the bridge this ogre jumps out, of what seems like nowhere, and bite a gigantic chunk of that person’s ass.
But after so many victims a bull begins to make its own way across this bridge. So the ogre jumped out and tried to take the sweetest bite it could…but the bull simply implanted two hooves into the ogre’s face, breaking all of it’s teeth…thus causing the ogre to run all the way back to the shit hole it came from. But in this modern day, Gretna, version the ogre’s name is An Laoch Ceilteach and I am the bull that will kick your ass far, FAR, away from here…
I admit that a slight chuckle escaped my lips when I spoke of this Irish tale, I mean what kind of ogre bites the ass of people? Well, if An Laoch Ceilteach is an ogre then it would perfectly explain why he is so ridiculously ugly. But then again, what right do I have to call people ugly…when I’m just a nobody while he is a somebody?
TBS: But what is so far, far, away could be right next-door to you…like Wales is to England, my country of birth. Yet there is one thing that next-door neighbours all have…what is that, you ask? I’ll explain. One word, two syllables and six letters…hatred. And boy did the Welsh and English had one hell of a hatred for each other in the past. God, I can still remember the war they had…a forgotten war…a medieval war…a war without a winner…a war without a loser…a war filled with casualties…a war that still exist today since there has never been a peace treaty for this once gruesome war possessing arrows and blades. Maybe that is why the last word in your ring name is Blade, Justin. Do you dislike being British? Do you dislike being classed as England’s minors?
Do you dislike the fact that England has a prime minister while the nearest thing your homeland ever had to political government is…a hall of eighteen people. So would you like to prove that the Welsh are not a nation of sheep-shaggers, but a land of extremely proud people? Then I invite you to the last collision…the last bloodshed…the final battle to bring a once powerful but now pointless war to its end. Who shall win…the English? Or the Welsh? Only tomorrow will we find out the answer to the question that has lasted centuries…
Holy shit…have I mysteriously turned into a fucking history book? Whatever, just like when I spoke about the Irish turd, my expression remained calm yet blank. Why should I care if I appear as a happy-go-lucky mister smiley? For the children in the audience? Fuck those kiddies, the contract said nothing about being a role model. If the children want some over the top smiley guy to look up to, then watch Evan Bourne…he does nothing but smile…just like a fellow trainee I know. But anyway, once I finished my words I lightly poked the camera lens with my right hand…afterwards I clenched two fingers, making my hand look like a shitty gun toddlers play with these days, before having my hand two centimetres right of my head. The stare my eyes were giving the camera lens felt cold…and that was just in my view, but that didn’t stop me from speaking up once more.
TBS: The third weird one is one that seem to be unable to age…twenty-eight forever. Some might call this a gift, but I call it a curse. To live forever…to see your loved ones die again and again and again…for an eternity. That is the hell I believe the Christians are fearing, no fire and brimstone…just watching everyone die in front of you. But anyway, this weird guy is from a land of snow, ice and maple leaf. Yet you’re not exactly a Canadian…no…you’re a comic book hero…a fiction character…Deadpool, a fragment of some child’s imagination.
Unfortunately for dear kiddie, I don’t plan on being a nice guy once the bell rings…when it ring I’ll put everything on the line, from breaking my own back to the desecrating you’re face…because some say what doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger…well in my view…what doesn’t kill me, makes me stranger. Because, unlike you and everyone else in the match, I can’t see the light and I can’t the dark, white and black avoid my range…so I can only see grey in this world of isolation…but it in this world that I’ve learnt to do what others are unable to do. To ready to suffer? Ready to be ravaged? Ready to have that child’s imagination turned into a psychosis? So are you all ready…Deadpool, An Laoch Ceilteach and Justin Blade? Because I am…
My words sounded cold, heartless and dark…but why should I care? No one cared about a nobody like me before, so why should they care now? As I spoke my words and right hand pointed towards my mouth while my left hand ran through my own hair. Am I an enigma? Am I deranged? Am I a runaway lunatic? Sometimes I think yes and sometimes I think no…but like it is stated earlier, I don’t care.
TBS: Why am I ready to commit such a deed? Because I am The Broken Saint…break me! I don’t care…
Finally my face showed some emotion and the tone of my voice was spiked with a sudden urge of anger when I said “break me.” Hell the palm of my right hand pressed itself against the camera when I almost shouted out those two words…after I gave air to those last three words I pushed the camera down, letting it break when it collided with the floor. A slight smile etched itself across my face after the machine went bust but I honest don’t give a shit. So now I walk off, towards the dented locker room door to wash this makeup off my face. Will I win? Can I win? I believe so, but I don’t care if I win or lose, as long as I risk everything just for one moment to shine.
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