Post by Braddock on Oct 2, 2015 23:02:12 GMT -5
Braddock is sitting on his ratty couch in his shitbox apartment with a "King Cobra" tall boy in his hand. Terry Funk winning the E.C.W. Championship dances across his old school twenty-seven inch RCA television. You kniw the kind; they weigh approximately the same weight as a school bus loaded with the varsity football team. He takes a swig of the malt liquor while a toilet flushes in the bathroom.
A perky blonde, all of twenty-three, links to the couch and hops onto the cushion next to Braddock, almost causing him to spill his beer. He ebooks a dagger out of the corner of his eye before turning his attention back to the television. She giggles while leaning in to kiss and nuzzle his neck. He cocks his head to his left and rests his ear on the top of her head.
Companion: Lets go to bed, baby. I wanna play before we snuggle....
He kisses her on the top of the head before leading her to the bedroom. Thw following morning he is awakened by the soft rumble of her snoring. It's ten after five and he feels as though he's about to vomit. With haste he rushes to the bathroom, stabbing his toe on the door jam, and nearly falls into the tub. He empties his stomach with the shower curtain and it's accompanying rod draped over him.
The cool water feels like heaven when splashed on his face and when he looks in the mirror he almost doesn't recognize himself. Hiding like some slithering monster in the mud just under the surface, his addiction to the pain killer's, can be seen in his eyes. I ehind the mirror he finds his pill bottle and swallows five with a swig of water. The bombshell still snores where she is sprawled across the bed.
A knock at the door brings him awake where he nodded off on the couch. Its almost nine-thirty and the snoring has stopped. He rises and makes his way over to the bedroom, ignoring the second round of knocking, and finds the cutie gone. Hoe well, one ring rat is like another, right?
Warnock is at the door, looking out of place in his suit surrounded by this slum of an apartment. He follows Braddock inside and closes the door behind him with a hard slam, otherwise it wouldn't shut, you see?
Warnock: You make enough that you don't have to live in this dump. What gives?
Braddock finishes off the tall boy from the night before with a shudder.
I like it here. Nobody fucks with me. I'm anonymous here...[/color]
Warnock shakes his head in what can be interpreted as either pity or disgust.
Warnock: Get your shit together, asshole. We have to get to the taping. That hick already cut one. Some bullshit about gloves or some stupid shit.
Braddock gets a move on and the duo take a quick trip to the location of their shoot. It is dimly lit. The only light source is a bulb covered by a metal shade. Shadows dance to and fro as the light switch get madly. We catch a glimpse of Warnock, dressed in a custom tailored black suit with matching shirt and tie. Braddock's face is briefly seen looming in the darkness behind his manager.
Warnock: Last week we showed the world Braddocks capabilities when he left Bubba lying in a bloody heap in the ring. He may have stumbled in his match against the sumo but, honestly, it's a minor speed bump on the road to the Underground Championship.
But this week, in just a few days time, Braddock will be entering combat against that inbred twat, Bubba Reece. At the last show you all got just a taste of what He is capable of. Soon, Bubba, you will feel His full wrath in an Underground rules match. He is going to take you to limits you never knew you had. And then destroy you and lea e you lying once again in the ring.
Suddenly the room is bathed in light and the two are standing in amongst empty gurnies in what appears to be a morgue. Braddock is wielding an aged axe handle, it's business end wrapped in stained white tape. The taped end rhythmically slaps in the palm of his hand and his eyes burn through the camera.
Bubba, Deadly Intentions is precisely what i have in mind for you. I'm going to beat you with-in an inch of your life and then beat you a lil more. Hell, I may even grab a kid from ringside and beat you with him! May even give Carrie here a shot at ya....maybe cave in the back of your skull? Sure as hell couldn't lower your i.q. any further...[/color]
Warnock: We're comin for ya, hillbilly boy. You won't walk away from this match. Not the same man you went in there as. Coal gloves or not, you got about as much of a fucking shot of winning this match as a pizza does against Hideo. Sign up for Aflack or something because you're gonna need it.
The room is plunged into darkness and Warnock's cackle reverberating off of the walls is the only sound as we fade out.
A perky blonde, all of twenty-three, links to the couch and hops onto the cushion next to Braddock, almost causing him to spill his beer. He ebooks a dagger out of the corner of his eye before turning his attention back to the television. She giggles while leaning in to kiss and nuzzle his neck. He cocks his head to his left and rests his ear on the top of her head.
Companion: Lets go to bed, baby. I wanna play before we snuggle....
He kisses her on the top of the head before leading her to the bedroom. Thw following morning he is awakened by the soft rumble of her snoring. It's ten after five and he feels as though he's about to vomit. With haste he rushes to the bathroom, stabbing his toe on the door jam, and nearly falls into the tub. He empties his stomach with the shower curtain and it's accompanying rod draped over him.
The cool water feels like heaven when splashed on his face and when he looks in the mirror he almost doesn't recognize himself. Hiding like some slithering monster in the mud just under the surface, his addiction to the pain killer's, can be seen in his eyes. I ehind the mirror he finds his pill bottle and swallows five with a swig of water. The bombshell still snores where she is sprawled across the bed.
A knock at the door brings him awake where he nodded off on the couch. Its almost nine-thirty and the snoring has stopped. He rises and makes his way over to the bedroom, ignoring the second round of knocking, and finds the cutie gone. Hoe well, one ring rat is like another, right?
Warnock is at the door, looking out of place in his suit surrounded by this slum of an apartment. He follows Braddock inside and closes the door behind him with a hard slam, otherwise it wouldn't shut, you see?
Warnock: You make enough that you don't have to live in this dump. What gives?
Braddock finishes off the tall boy from the night before with a shudder.
I like it here. Nobody fucks with me. I'm anonymous here...[/color]
Warnock shakes his head in what can be interpreted as either pity or disgust.
Warnock: Get your shit together, asshole. We have to get to the taping. That hick already cut one. Some bullshit about gloves or some stupid shit.
Braddock gets a move on and the duo take a quick trip to the location of their shoot. It is dimly lit. The only light source is a bulb covered by a metal shade. Shadows dance to and fro as the light switch get madly. We catch a glimpse of Warnock, dressed in a custom tailored black suit with matching shirt and tie. Braddock's face is briefly seen looming in the darkness behind his manager.
Warnock: Last week we showed the world Braddocks capabilities when he left Bubba lying in a bloody heap in the ring. He may have stumbled in his match against the sumo but, honestly, it's a minor speed bump on the road to the Underground Championship.
But this week, in just a few days time, Braddock will be entering combat against that inbred twat, Bubba Reece. At the last show you all got just a taste of what He is capable of. Soon, Bubba, you will feel His full wrath in an Underground rules match. He is going to take you to limits you never knew you had. And then destroy you and lea e you lying once again in the ring.
Suddenly the room is bathed in light and the two are standing in amongst empty gurnies in what appears to be a morgue. Braddock is wielding an aged axe handle, it's business end wrapped in stained white tape. The taped end rhythmically slaps in the palm of his hand and his eyes burn through the camera.
Bubba, Deadly Intentions is precisely what i have in mind for you. I'm going to beat you with-in an inch of your life and then beat you a lil more. Hell, I may even grab a kid from ringside and beat you with him! May even give Carrie here a shot at ya....maybe cave in the back of your skull? Sure as hell couldn't lower your i.q. any further...[/color]
Warnock: We're comin for ya, hillbilly boy. You won't walk away from this match. Not the same man you went in there as. Coal gloves or not, you got about as much of a fucking shot of winning this match as a pizza does against Hideo. Sign up for Aflack or something because you're gonna need it.
The room is plunged into darkness and Warnock's cackle reverberating off of the walls is the only sound as we fade out.
