Post by Cthulhuson on Jan 13, 2013 20:56:58 GMT -5
"All in a hot and copper sky,
The bloody Sun, at noon,
' Right up above the mast did stand,
No bigger than the Moon.
Day after day, day after day,
We stuck, no breath no motion;
As idle as a painted ship
Upon a painted ocean."
- Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner
Raven marched around the room in the kinkiest military general outfit that she could conjure up. A chandelier with a single light dangled from the ceiling, swinging to and fro like a drunken spotlight. Cthulhuson added to the theatrics, pacing back and forth out of the optical frame like a man possessed. A fever pitch lodged in his eyes beneath the mask he donned so elegantly. The mask that hid his true identity from seedy underbelly of curiosity, the token desire that has killed so many cats. It is believed by men like the great Oscar Wilde and Alan Moore, that man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth. Behind this mask there is more than just flesh. Beneath a mask there is an idea... and ideas are bulletproof. Ideas can't be pinned with a 3 count. Ideas don't need to reach out for the bottom rope to break a hold. Ideas cannot tapout or say, "I quit!" You can't put an idea through a table or hit it with a chair. An idea is the most powerful weapon a wrestler can ever get ahold of. Ladies and broken gentlemen, here are two people who's heads are full of ideas. Their stories hardly mattered, because everyone had a story. Everyone has a tale to tell, regardless if they chapters were worth it. Yet truth be told, and the truth WILL be told, no one cared about your story. The tale in the ring, is the only tale worth telling.
The hull of this organization has been riddled with barnacles,
yet it says afloat (all be it barely), despite this arthropod infection.
"It's replusive, down right deplorable..."growled Raven from somewhere in the desolate background.
The captain of this ship has sojourned this far,
wading through the water like a fair maiden in her silk undergarments. But I warn you, oh captain, my captain, the time for frolicking in the shallow end is all but over!
"Avast! Rough Seas and myriad waves are afoot!"
Does doust knowth not? Oh captains, dead captains! The coming storm is no longer mere mother goosery!
The sea is coming over the bow as we speak!
"All hands on deck! Man the anchors! Unhoist the sails! Take cover and keep your heads about you men! Brace for impact!"
Will you be holding your breath when I, the tide, sweep you off your humbled feet? What are a few barbed tridents when you're drowning in the presence of Poseidon? And from your fickle palms shall I maraud your hopes. Your dreams, succumbed to pillaging like an unsuspecting village in the auspicious pale moon light.
No gold coins, Luca
no silver chalices, Erik
and no treasure maps, Price
would be equal to such a plunder as victory!
No pearls,
no amethyst,
emeralds or sapphires
could quite endow that gleam within my nefarious eyes.
Nay...
'Any of you should be so lucky!'
The moment the ink ran'th dry on those contracts , an albatross was placed around your scrawny little necks by means of "terms and conditions!" The devil is in the details, I should know, I see him there cross your t's and dotting your i's. But the none the less, your 'terms' nor your 'condition' will be relevant to your success.
Pay no heed to compass swing,
Longitude and Lattitude is now of little importance,
For NAW is sinking ship,
and I am the harbinger of it's new watery humble abode.
Surely you know all of this will come to pass. You've felt it. The dull ache in your bones, the taste of delectable sea salt serenading upon your manicured taste buds. Kiss your soon to be widows along their brows, for they too are guilty by association. They too have been choked by this chain of command, bedding you vigilant soldiers while you fought your wars in the squared circle.
'Attenhut! YOU LAZY MAGGOTS!'
You stood your post until you received your marching orders. A call to arms if you will! Utilitarians...washing away your consequential mortality. But off you go again, holding on to your "ideals" without even realizing it. Tradition! Honor! Duty! Respect!'
'The ants go marching one by one, hurrah, hurrah The ants go marching one by one, hurrah, hurrah!'
Load your cannons my captains, dead captains! Grab your musket rifles!
'That's it men! HOLD THE LINE! HOLD. THE. LINE!
The tyranny of Cthulhuson shall come to an end.
Don't shoot until you see the whites in his eyes!
Steady Now! Aim! FIIRRAAHH!!!!!
From sea to shinning sea, you scallywags use your empty words as if they were a vessel.
"Retreat! Oh God! Spare our souls on this day so that we don't meet our water graves HAHAHAHAHAAHAHA!"
North Atlantic Wrestling... Prisoners of War. Is this the doldrums, or is that your hearts beating like a dull drum? I'll wager the latter.
"Sont-ils prisonniers? Devrais-je les libérer?"
What ill fated wind blew you upon the island of wrestling. What all mighty being saw fit to bestow upon you the destiny of being a castaway, while making a wreckage of your life? What's left but to pick up the shattered remains? Years of your life wasted on training and matches, now float upon the foamy surface as mere driftwood. Swashbuckling with that short straw in life all of you drew.
'Swish Swish! Swish Swish!'
Fear not Luca Flores, Erik Northrup, and Jay Price...
Fear not captains, oh dead captains...
Fear not, for after me comes the flood
and all your fear,
all your doubts,
and all your insecurities
shall be washed away in defeat.
Baptized by my victory.
Now fade to whatever color you wish.