Roleplay period starts on Monday, April 23 and ends Sunday, April 29. 2 roleplay max in this round.
Round 1: Azreal vs. Mikey Massacre
- Thread starter Chad
- Start date
MikeyMassacre
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- Oct 4, 2008
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“The whole world will be watching the ULTRATITLE tournament!”
–consensus on Internet forums, making it suddenly dawn on Mikey that this was a really big ****ing deal
[FADEIN: an unfinished basement. A shirtless man scratches his slightly graying black beard as he doodles on a notepad, leaning against a rusting pole. His head is recently shaven, but given the scabs, bald spots, and little patches of hair, he must have done it in the dark while drunk… or he is just Mikey Massacre, a crazy dude whose mind is on more important things than his hair. Like figuring out how the **** to introduce himself to the world.]
MIKEY MASSACRE: (writing on his notepad with a badly-chewed, drool-y pen) Hi, I am Mikey Massacre. Well, wait. Let me explain myself. My actual name is Michael Mertens. Some years back, some fans gave me the name, and I kept it, because, well, my last name is about as marketable as—
[Mikey pauses, thinking. He scratches his head. He crosses out everything he wrote.]
MIKEY MASSACRE: (yelling) I ****ing hate analogies!
[He throws the notepad across the ring and sighs. He walks over to a bench in the corner and does a set of presses. He gets up.]
MIKEY MASSACRE: (mumbling to himself, staring at the floor) Hi, I’m Mikey Massacre, former NAPW and REBEL Pro World Champion, 2009 King of Old School champion, 2010 Money in the Bank champion, and I am here to—
MIKEY MASSACRE: (yelling) GOD DAMN IT! I’VE LOST IT! How can I do this? Where’s my muse? WHERE’S MY ****ING MUSE?
[Mikey kicks the air in the stomach, then stuns the air, gives it the double bird.]
MIKEY MASSACRE: (sighing) That’s better.
MIKEY MASSACRE: (talking to himself, staring at the floor) I used to be able to do this. I can do this! Dammit, I am Mikey ****ing Massacre! Confidence. Confidence!
[Mikey walks over to a cassette player. Yes, a cassette player. He is forty-five and an independent wrestler all of his life. He is poor. He looks at three cassettes, perplexed.]
MIKEY MASSACRE: Which one? Who do I show to the world? Do I show up as the straight-from-the-eighties, mullet-sporting, finally-not-at-the-bottom-of-the-card, happy-to-be-here, eager-to-please Mikey Massacre?
[He pops the cassette in and we hear this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZgCoH88s074]
MIKEY MASSACRE: Or the Mikey Massacre after he won some championship belts, when he finally felt like he was experiencing success for the first time in his slightly pathetic life, running down to the ring, the franchise of the company, slapping the hands of the cheering fans, singing along to the music?
[http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=siMFORx8uO8&feature=related]
MIKEY MASSACRE: Or the Michael Massacre… who finally ****ing cracked. Who lost it. Who spat at the fans, who cursed them, who wished death upon them, upon the entire ****ing industry, upon the entire ****ing world. The King of Old School. The Bearded Bastard. The Brutul Basterd.
[http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LJ5rIsv7tFw]
MIKEY MASSACRE: (looks into the camera for the first time, smiling creepily) The truth, my friends, is that I’m a little bit of all three of those Mikey Massacres. I’ve been to the top, I’ve been to the bottom, I’ve been everywhere in between, experiencing every shade of gray, pure light, and pure darkness. But, here I am, the end of my road. The end of my career. Everything that has happened before has led up to this moment. The ULTRATITLE. And Mikey Massacre contending for it… who the hell could’ve predicted that? I'm just going to tell the world exactly who I am.
Not a lot of you know me, and that’s because, truthfully, up until the past few years I was a nobody. I was the guy you fed to the more marketable folks, a guy who could put up a good fight, but could never pull out the victory enough to be a contender for anything but the opening match. And that was okay, I loved this sport, I loved this business. A few years ago, you can say I was a late bloomer, some things clicked for me. I began to understand how to win, how to use the environment around me to draw blood and inflict violence, how to sustain despite chairshots and going through tables and being stuck with barbed wire. A cult of fans began following me. My record improved. I was offered a spot in REBEL Pro, then NAPW, a few other indys, a couple TEAM events. Yeah, I had some problems. Started questioning this industry, but who could blame me, really? This is some weird **** we all do. I did some pretty repulsive things. But I’ve apologized for those times. I’ve done my penance. I’m back on my medication.
So, first round ,they put me up against some three-hundred-some-odd pounder, eleven feet tall or something, total killing machine. And you know what?
I ****ing like it!
This is something most of you out there don’t know, but if you look deep into the computer or the TV you’re watching right now, if you look at the wrinkles and scars on my face, on my scalp, on my chest and back, on my ****ing ass cheek, you’ll see what a hardcore sum***** I am. I love it when three-hundred-some-odd pounders beat the **** out of me.
Because it gives me the biggest adrenaline rush I’ve ever felt when I fight back against exactly the same type of monsters the promoters used to feed me to. The dudes I would lose to. But, now, y’see, I’m a new creature. I’m not that same mullet **** who used to get destroyed day in day out—no, no! I am Mikey ****ing Massacre! I’ve been to the top of promotions that will be remembered two hundred years from now, the champion of places where Dan Ryan and Ravager and other monsters used to stomp around in. I feed off of beasts like you, Azreal.
Round One, you might’ve been glad you drew a forty-five year-old, gray-hairing, a few brain cells short, ugly sum***** like me… but Azreal, I’ve been in this sport for more than twenty-five years… and it has all led me to your doorstep.
And I’m gonna burn your ****ing house down.
[Mikey smiles, then laughs, then turns serious, then gives a thumbs up and walks off camera, scratching his beard and scalp... FADEOUT.]
–consensus on Internet forums, making it suddenly dawn on Mikey that this was a really big ****ing deal
[FADEIN: an unfinished basement. A shirtless man scratches his slightly graying black beard as he doodles on a notepad, leaning against a rusting pole. His head is recently shaven, but given the scabs, bald spots, and little patches of hair, he must have done it in the dark while drunk… or he is just Mikey Massacre, a crazy dude whose mind is on more important things than his hair. Like figuring out how the **** to introduce himself to the world.]
MIKEY MASSACRE: (writing on his notepad with a badly-chewed, drool-y pen) Hi, I am Mikey Massacre. Well, wait. Let me explain myself. My actual name is Michael Mertens. Some years back, some fans gave me the name, and I kept it, because, well, my last name is about as marketable as—
[Mikey pauses, thinking. He scratches his head. He crosses out everything he wrote.]
[He throws the notepad across the ring and sighs. He walks over to a bench in the corner and does a set of presses. He gets up.]
MIKEY MASSACRE: (mumbling to himself, staring at the floor) Hi, I’m Mikey Massacre, former NAPW and REBEL Pro World Champion, 2009 King of Old School champion, 2010 Money in the Bank champion, and I am here to—
MIKEY MASSACRE: (yelling) GOD DAMN IT! I’VE LOST IT! How can I do this? Where’s my muse? WHERE’S MY ****ING MUSE?
[Mikey kicks the air in the stomach, then stuns the air, gives it the double bird.]
MIKEY MASSACRE: (sighing) That’s better.
MIKEY MASSACRE: (talking to himself, staring at the floor) I used to be able to do this. I can do this! Dammit, I am Mikey ****ing Massacre! Confidence. Confidence!
[Mikey walks over to a cassette player. Yes, a cassette player. He is forty-five and an independent wrestler all of his life. He is poor. He looks at three cassettes, perplexed.]
MIKEY MASSACRE: Which one? Who do I show to the world? Do I show up as the straight-from-the-eighties, mullet-sporting, finally-not-at-the-bottom-of-the-card, happy-to-be-here, eager-to-please Mikey Massacre?
[He pops the cassette in and we hear this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZgCoH88s074]
MIKEY MASSACRE: Or the Mikey Massacre after he won some championship belts, when he finally felt like he was experiencing success for the first time in his slightly pathetic life, running down to the ring, the franchise of the company, slapping the hands of the cheering fans, singing along to the music?
[http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=siMFORx8uO8&feature=related]
MIKEY MASSACRE: Or the Michael Massacre… who finally ****ing cracked. Who lost it. Who spat at the fans, who cursed them, who wished death upon them, upon the entire ****ing industry, upon the entire ****ing world. The King of Old School. The Bearded Bastard. The Brutul Basterd.
[http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LJ5rIsv7tFw]
MIKEY MASSACRE: (looks into the camera for the first time, smiling creepily) The truth, my friends, is that I’m a little bit of all three of those Mikey Massacres. I’ve been to the top, I’ve been to the bottom, I’ve been everywhere in between, experiencing every shade of gray, pure light, and pure darkness. But, here I am, the end of my road. The end of my career. Everything that has happened before has led up to this moment. The ULTRATITLE. And Mikey Massacre contending for it… who the hell could’ve predicted that? I'm just going to tell the world exactly who I am.
Not a lot of you know me, and that’s because, truthfully, up until the past few years I was a nobody. I was the guy you fed to the more marketable folks, a guy who could put up a good fight, but could never pull out the victory enough to be a contender for anything but the opening match. And that was okay, I loved this sport, I loved this business. A few years ago, you can say I was a late bloomer, some things clicked for me. I began to understand how to win, how to use the environment around me to draw blood and inflict violence, how to sustain despite chairshots and going through tables and being stuck with barbed wire. A cult of fans began following me. My record improved. I was offered a spot in REBEL Pro, then NAPW, a few other indys, a couple TEAM events. Yeah, I had some problems. Started questioning this industry, but who could blame me, really? This is some weird **** we all do. I did some pretty repulsive things. But I’ve apologized for those times. I’ve done my penance. I’m back on my medication.
So, first round ,they put me up against some three-hundred-some-odd pounder, eleven feet tall or something, total killing machine. And you know what?
I ****ing like it!
This is something most of you out there don’t know, but if you look deep into the computer or the TV you’re watching right now, if you look at the wrinkles and scars on my face, on my scalp, on my chest and back, on my ****ing ass cheek, you’ll see what a hardcore sum***** I am. I love it when three-hundred-some-odd pounders beat the **** out of me.
Because it gives me the biggest adrenaline rush I’ve ever felt when I fight back against exactly the same type of monsters the promoters used to feed me to. The dudes I would lose to. But, now, y’see, I’m a new creature. I’m not that same mullet **** who used to get destroyed day in day out—no, no! I am Mikey ****ing Massacre! I’ve been to the top of promotions that will be remembered two hundred years from now, the champion of places where Dan Ryan and Ravager and other monsters used to stomp around in. I feed off of beasts like you, Azreal.
Round One, you might’ve been glad you drew a forty-five year-old, gray-hairing, a few brain cells short, ugly sum***** like me… but Azreal, I’ve been in this sport for more than twenty-five years… and it has all led me to your doorstep.
And I’m gonna burn your ****ing house down.
[Mikey smiles, then laughs, then turns serious, then gives a thumbs up and walks off camera, scratching his beard and scalp... FADEOUT.]