Post by thegimp on Aug 7, 2017 22:07:21 GMT -5
Simple backdrop as you fade into a man standing in front of an Outsiders Championship Wrestling black banner. His back is towards the camera but you notice immediately that he has a leg made of metal.
So back in eighth grade, we had these "career advisor" invade the school for a day, forcing us to fill out all these questionnaires and surveys. A total waste of time, you know, but it's not for nothing that I got to ditch class without the prospect of disciplinary action looming over my head. Anyway, the goal of this mind-numbing paperwork was to help us decide what it was that we wanted to do with our lives.
Man... if only I'd taken my studies more seriously I wouldn't be in this unfortunate pickle! I wouldn't have joined the Army out of high school. I wouldn't have lost my leg in combat.
The man turns around staring into the camera and you can tell by his eyes that he has lived a difficult yet rewarding life.
I'll gladly take this life of self-destruction and wanton abuse over one of silent servitude any day of the fucking week. People see me - the torn-up clothing, unruly beard, one leg - and they assume that I live in such squalor by way of natural selection. They see me guzzling down cheap beer on the stoops of abandoned buildings and immediately conclude that I'm simply too dim witted to be anything more than a derelict guttersnipe. My anti-social demeanor leads them to surmise that my social-skills are probably too lacking to climb that ladder of success. And when I cross their path most of them quickly look the other way in disgust and shame and undoubtedly feel a little bit better about their own life. But then they're the bleeding heart compassionate types who force out a half-hearted smile and feel sorry for my lowly station in life. I can see the empathy and pity in their eyes... and it makes me sick.
I am not a drone. I won't simply fall in line and walk the straight and narrow.
As this man begins to pace back and forth his voice begins to intensify.
You see, as far as I'm concerned I've been the unofficial "Suicide Soldier" since I joined Outsiders. Believe it or not, this sort of thing is brand new to me. Hatred, violence, addiction, and crime are concepts most of you dull twats only read about in a book. For me, however, they're a daily reality.
So Jam G, if you're thinking you have this match in the bag just because you have two good legs, proceed with the knowledge that you're probably going to shocked like the rest of the fans in attendance. I came here to prove I can do anything a man with two legs can do. I'll be seeing you very soon, Jam G ...
The Gimp has arrived in Outsiders Championship Wrestling!
So back in eighth grade, we had these "career advisor" invade the school for a day, forcing us to fill out all these questionnaires and surveys. A total waste of time, you know, but it's not for nothing that I got to ditch class without the prospect of disciplinary action looming over my head. Anyway, the goal of this mind-numbing paperwork was to help us decide what it was that we wanted to do with our lives.
Man... if only I'd taken my studies more seriously I wouldn't be in this unfortunate pickle! I wouldn't have joined the Army out of high school. I wouldn't have lost my leg in combat.
The man turns around staring into the camera and you can tell by his eyes that he has lived a difficult yet rewarding life.
I'll gladly take this life of self-destruction and wanton abuse over one of silent servitude any day of the fucking week. People see me - the torn-up clothing, unruly beard, one leg - and they assume that I live in such squalor by way of natural selection. They see me guzzling down cheap beer on the stoops of abandoned buildings and immediately conclude that I'm simply too dim witted to be anything more than a derelict guttersnipe. My anti-social demeanor leads them to surmise that my social-skills are probably too lacking to climb that ladder of success. And when I cross their path most of them quickly look the other way in disgust and shame and undoubtedly feel a little bit better about their own life. But then they're the bleeding heart compassionate types who force out a half-hearted smile and feel sorry for my lowly station in life. I can see the empathy and pity in their eyes... and it makes me sick.
I am not a drone. I won't simply fall in line and walk the straight and narrow.
As this man begins to pace back and forth his voice begins to intensify.
You see, as far as I'm concerned I've been the unofficial "Suicide Soldier" since I joined Outsiders. Believe it or not, this sort of thing is brand new to me. Hatred, violence, addiction, and crime are concepts most of you dull twats only read about in a book. For me, however, they're a daily reality.
So Jam G, if you're thinking you have this match in the bag just because you have two good legs, proceed with the knowledge that you're probably going to shocked like the rest of the fans in attendance. I came here to prove I can do anything a man with two legs can do. I'll be seeing you very soon, Jam G ...
The Gimp has arrived in Outsiders Championship Wrestling!