Post by megtorlas on Nov 22, 2006 3:46:49 GMT -5
Research tends to make the head hurt. After hours of digging through article after article, I had no idea there was speculation about the murder nationwide. Here I thought we lived on our own concealed little place in the world, but that really put it on the map, so to speak. Not sure if that's a good thing or not. Sometimes it's preferable to stay invisible.
I'd fallen asleep in the library when the car dream came back. Reclined in the front seat of a car, bright lights shone in front of me. So bright that I had to shield my eyes. I could hear tires skidding, and then a loud bang. Nothing would ever follow that though, and I'd find myself waking up in a cold sweat. When I awoke, the research center had been closed for several hours. Obviously security did a cracker jack job of making sure everyone was out of the building before they closed it down. Go Corporate America.
It had been a long week. I'd been lying low, not letting anyone know who I was while hanging around the Pure Class Wrestling venue. I loved how they discussed a new arrival. They didn't wonder if he was good, if he was dangerous or anything. They just wanted to know what his name meant. I guess it doesn't matter how dangerous someone could be if you don't know what their last name means. We can't all be Smiths or Millers, though I have yet to run into someone who has a job that flows with their name. I now know that Megtorlas means revenge, and isn't it fitting? I don't even know for what I'm seeking revenge, but I will have it.
A nice little video played before the most recent Trauma event. I'm so honored that they chose to include me on the show. Now, the crowd doesn't know who I am either. That gives the roster something in common with the crowd, in addition to being complete jackasses. Maybe they could meet up later, and while drooling over their favorite wrestler as they just try to have a beer and relax, and ask who the new guy is. I'm sure the answer would be something along the lines of not giving a shit and remarking about how hard they'd kick my ass, no matter who I was. Nothing like a good egotistical asshat to prove himself worthy of a broken jaw.
What did PCW have in store for me this week? A match against the tag team champions 2Guys is what's in store. I'm grateful they didn't give me a tag team partner. I wouldn't trust anyone here to save my seat at the lunch table, let alone have my back in a fight. At the same time, I'm not sure too many people here would be reliable in a fight, even if it is against two clowns who think they're in a video game. I don't have a problem with that though. They can have their little jokes, play their little games, and come dancing to the ring like a couple of half-minded miscreants. Maybe after several blows to the head with the end of my foot, they can switch personalities and no one would know the difference. Blandness and retardation knows no specific identity, and I'm sure the same amount of people would care as they did last week. Who would be watching my match anyway? Who the hell am I? That guy with the weird last name. Whoop-de-fuckin'do, break out the goddamn TiVo for this shit.
My foul mood had drifted on for days, especially after I'd gotten that email from my skank-ass ex. In a time where I actually believed someone was worthy enough to spend a majority of my time with, I'd fallen into the trap of giving a shit about someone mroe than I should. I'm not too fond of dependency, nor am I fond of someone making things up just to make themselves appear to be the protagonist in any given situation. Does it really make them feel better? I'll be the goddamn bad guy without all the excuses and crying about how I didn't call at the exact time I was supposed to, or about how I don't pay enough attention every single second of the day. I don't get that kind of dependency. Live your own fucking life and let me live mine. Maybe when I get married, I'll still live in a separate room from my wife. That way we won't get divorced, cause we won't have to spend much time with each other. Leave the room to talk, eat, fuck, and then go back to our own little corners of the world. Fuck wrestling, I should've gone into marriage counseling. Or interior decorating. I like breaking shit almost as much as I like leaving people with surprises. And they'd pay me for it too. People are dumb.
The bitch had rambled on and on about how I supposedly owed her mother money from over a year ago, and about how I still had to return belongings of hers. This was coming from someone who told me I needed to get over shit. I hadn't even thought of her in months, and with good reason; she was a total cuntbag. I could take most of the women in the crowd at the last Trauma and deal with the same shit, but at least get a better lay out of it. Then again, those women would probably spread their legs for anyone or anything with at least two legs and some semblance of male genetalia. Beastiality porn had to come from somewhere. It was either by them or for them. Maybe that's what 2Guys can do to cover their medical expenses after their match with me. Have to rehab those broken jaws somehow, though I'm not sure how well blowing horses would work with that. They could get special surgery to have snake-like ability to expand their jaws and develop a whole new routine called Barnyard fun. At least then when they're speaking Bullshit, they'll be fluent and experienced.
Would I be associated with these idiots? I'm hoping they won't be the kind to hold a grudge just cause I kicked the shit out of them. I saw a lot of that crap in wrestling. Seems a lot of these guys around here have fought each other many times. I'm hoping to make it so they don't want to come back and fight me again. When the name crosses their mind, I want them to relish in the pain from the stomp to the chest or the feeling of having their face kicked in like a wife in the South who won't watch NASCAR on Sunday. There's never a shortage of idiots to silence. I'd get the opportunity at a two for one deal in my first week. It makes me wish for a throat stomp chance just to hear their vocal chords break, and to have the few intelligent people in the world thank me for saving them the trouble of doing it themselves. Then again, most of PCW probably enjoyed that schtick, thus giving me yet another reason to loathe their very existence.
I'd fallen asleep in the library when the car dream came back. Reclined in the front seat of a car, bright lights shone in front of me. So bright that I had to shield my eyes. I could hear tires skidding, and then a loud bang. Nothing would ever follow that though, and I'd find myself waking up in a cold sweat. When I awoke, the research center had been closed for several hours. Obviously security did a cracker jack job of making sure everyone was out of the building before they closed it down. Go Corporate America.
It had been a long week. I'd been lying low, not letting anyone know who I was while hanging around the Pure Class Wrestling venue. I loved how they discussed a new arrival. They didn't wonder if he was good, if he was dangerous or anything. They just wanted to know what his name meant. I guess it doesn't matter how dangerous someone could be if you don't know what their last name means. We can't all be Smiths or Millers, though I have yet to run into someone who has a job that flows with their name. I now know that Megtorlas means revenge, and isn't it fitting? I don't even know for what I'm seeking revenge, but I will have it.
A nice little video played before the most recent Trauma event. I'm so honored that they chose to include me on the show. Now, the crowd doesn't know who I am either. That gives the roster something in common with the crowd, in addition to being complete jackasses. Maybe they could meet up later, and while drooling over their favorite wrestler as they just try to have a beer and relax, and ask who the new guy is. I'm sure the answer would be something along the lines of not giving a shit and remarking about how hard they'd kick my ass, no matter who I was. Nothing like a good egotistical asshat to prove himself worthy of a broken jaw.
What did PCW have in store for me this week? A match against the tag team champions 2Guys is what's in store. I'm grateful they didn't give me a tag team partner. I wouldn't trust anyone here to save my seat at the lunch table, let alone have my back in a fight. At the same time, I'm not sure too many people here would be reliable in a fight, even if it is against two clowns who think they're in a video game. I don't have a problem with that though. They can have their little jokes, play their little games, and come dancing to the ring like a couple of half-minded miscreants. Maybe after several blows to the head with the end of my foot, they can switch personalities and no one would know the difference. Blandness and retardation knows no specific identity, and I'm sure the same amount of people would care as they did last week. Who would be watching my match anyway? Who the hell am I? That guy with the weird last name. Whoop-de-fuckin'do, break out the goddamn TiVo for this shit.
My foul mood had drifted on for days, especially after I'd gotten that email from my skank-ass ex. In a time where I actually believed someone was worthy enough to spend a majority of my time with, I'd fallen into the trap of giving a shit about someone mroe than I should. I'm not too fond of dependency, nor am I fond of someone making things up just to make themselves appear to be the protagonist in any given situation. Does it really make them feel better? I'll be the goddamn bad guy without all the excuses and crying about how I didn't call at the exact time I was supposed to, or about how I don't pay enough attention every single second of the day. I don't get that kind of dependency. Live your own fucking life and let me live mine. Maybe when I get married, I'll still live in a separate room from my wife. That way we won't get divorced, cause we won't have to spend much time with each other. Leave the room to talk, eat, fuck, and then go back to our own little corners of the world. Fuck wrestling, I should've gone into marriage counseling. Or interior decorating. I like breaking shit almost as much as I like leaving people with surprises. And they'd pay me for it too. People are dumb.
The bitch had rambled on and on about how I supposedly owed her mother money from over a year ago, and about how I still had to return belongings of hers. This was coming from someone who told me I needed to get over shit. I hadn't even thought of her in months, and with good reason; she was a total cuntbag. I could take most of the women in the crowd at the last Trauma and deal with the same shit, but at least get a better lay out of it. Then again, those women would probably spread their legs for anyone or anything with at least two legs and some semblance of male genetalia. Beastiality porn had to come from somewhere. It was either by them or for them. Maybe that's what 2Guys can do to cover their medical expenses after their match with me. Have to rehab those broken jaws somehow, though I'm not sure how well blowing horses would work with that. They could get special surgery to have snake-like ability to expand their jaws and develop a whole new routine called Barnyard fun. At least then when they're speaking Bullshit, they'll be fluent and experienced.
Would I be associated with these idiots? I'm hoping they won't be the kind to hold a grudge just cause I kicked the shit out of them. I saw a lot of that crap in wrestling. Seems a lot of these guys around here have fought each other many times. I'm hoping to make it so they don't want to come back and fight me again. When the name crosses their mind, I want them to relish in the pain from the stomp to the chest or the feeling of having their face kicked in like a wife in the South who won't watch NASCAR on Sunday. There's never a shortage of idiots to silence. I'd get the opportunity at a two for one deal in my first week. It makes me wish for a throat stomp chance just to hear their vocal chords break, and to have the few intelligent people in the world thank me for saving them the trouble of doing it themselves. Then again, most of PCW probably enjoyed that schtick, thus giving me yet another reason to loathe their very existence.