Post by TGO on Feb 26, 2014 0:30:16 GMT -5
~So…here we are once again. Trevor has decided to wipe the dust from his wrestling boots and step into the ring. This mother fucker is getting too old for this shit. Does he not realize that he’s in his late thirties by now?! Like how much more can his old ass body endure? Hell, I’m getting tired of being here myself! I don’t like to get a random phone call at 2:30 in the morning saying that he needs me back to fill the void at the first and the end of his segments at whatever the fuck wrestling organization that he’s in. I will say though that he did stick it to ol’ Dean. Like who the fuck doesn’t look at a contract that they’re signing? That no good cunt monkey Gavin Reed did do Trevor a solid. Obviously he owed Trevor because I hope to God that Trevor didn’t align himself with pure trash. It looks like Dean wants to start his revenge scheme early though by sticking Trevor in some mid card match. Does he not remember that Trevor “The Great One” Kent pulled OCW out of a slump and carried it on his back for years?! THEN Dean has the audacity to bring Scott Mother Fucking Syren in? That stupid mother fucker doesn’t know when to leave well enough alone. Do either of them not remember how Trevor ALWAYS gets the best of them? Well I’m sure if they don’t, they’ll remember soon enough…~
*A series of flashbacks from what looks like not too long ago judging by the appearance of TGO start to appear on the screen. We see Trevor alongside Lorenzo Demarco, Liam Shayde, and Landon Chase (better known as Nobody’s Fucking Better) in what appears to be a large arena making an attack on some unknown competitors in the ring. We then see them in the ring again, Trevor has a microphone in hand but no sound emanates from the speakers. Cut to scenes of dissension in the ranks as all four men are yelling at each other. Suddenly we are thrust into a scene where TGO, Shayde, and Chase are fighting in a ring against each other. About five seconds go on of this fight and we are thrown into another scene of Lorenzo Demarco and Trevor Kent fighting two unknown competitors ending with Trevor being looked over by those two competitors with titles held above their head. This all comes to an abrupt end as the scene quickly zooms into a bright white light that has the illusion of it moving out at a high speed. Suddenly the light stops as we cut to deep blue eyes quickly opening with beads of sweat dripping down what little of the forehead that we can see.~
Voice: What the actual fuck.
*The camera zooms out more as the eyes and partial forehead that we initially saw turns into the full body of Trevor “The Great One” Kent as he slowly sits up off a brown leather couch. Trevor wipes his forehead with the bottom of a white v-neck t-shirt that he lifts up from his lower torso. He’s surrounded by large wooden bookshelves that flank a fireplace, that is on fully, and continue to go around the room which we see as the camera pans around the room at a relatively good pace. The couch that Trevor is now sitting up on has a modern deco glass end table on either side of it that allows a lamp and a few pictures to sit on both of them. Only one of those lamps are on which seems to be the only other source of light that is allowed into the room besides the flames that engulf the inside of the fireplace. As the camera finishes its 360 degree rotation of the room we see Trevor getting up revealing some light plaid sleep pants. He starts to make his way over to the fireplace, obviously not agreeing with the amount of heat that is being released from it, evidenced by the amount of sweat that is leaving the pores of his body. As he approaches the fireplace and dips down, reaching for the gas switch to lower the heat, a phone rings. Trevor sighs and raises back up to his feet, not turning the fire down. He makes his way over to where the sound of the phone is coming from, along with a strong vibration. He goes over to the end table that has the lamp that is turned on. He picks the phone up, looking down, he rolls his eyes and answers the phone.*
TGO: What do you want?...No I haven’t, why the fuck should I even care what Dean is doing?
*Trevor quickly comes to the realization that he should actually care about what Dean is doing. He’s obviously been thrown for a loop from the dream that he was having, not remembering what has transpired in the past couple of days.*
TGO: Sorry, I just woke up. I had the worst dream that me and you were fighting a couple of people, somewhere, don’t ask me where the fuck that would be, and we lost…HA! Yeah, that’s not likely to happen, I know…Lorenzo, I’m aware that I’m back in the OCW, I’m not a dumbass. You know, it would be nice if you were here with me…I’m sorry what?...No that mother fucker didn’t.
*Trevor quickly lowers the phone, which we catch a glimpse of, revealing an iPhone 5s, due to the light shining off of the white and gold coloring of the device. He pushes the red “End” button. And marches out of the library, through the door on the opposite side of the room as the fireplace. The scene quickly switches to a garage that is filled with a few cars, none of which stands out more than a silver Dodge Viper that we have seen Trevor drive numerous times in the past. Trevor comes into the garage, exiting a wooden door that leads into the home that we saw him in just moments ago. Trevor has now changed his attire into something that we’re more accustomed of seeing him in, a suit. I have no reason to bore you with the type of suit that he is wearing, just know that it probably costs more than your yearly rent. Trevor grabs a key fab off of the hooks that is attached to the wall by the door that he just entered the garage from. He double taps a button on it as the Viper fires up. He makes his way over to the driver’s side and slides into the vehicle, as we venture into the vehicle as well. He pushes the garage door opener from above his head, as the garage opens and reveals the bright sky in the Dallas, TX neighborhood of M Streets. He speeds out of the garage as it barely opens up enough for him to exit it. He begins speaking to himself.*
TGO: Why the hell would Dean do something like this? Does he not know who the fuck I am! I’m sure my contract specifically stated that I will NOT be partaking in matches that are mid to lower card level. To even match me up against the likes of Victor Slade is completely ridiculous, does he want a complete Massacre on his hands?
*Trevor smirks as he reaches for a pair of sunglasses that were sitting on his dash board. He puts on the modified aviator sunglasses which appear to be Versace, only noticeable by the swirling logo that connects the earpieces to the lenses. He pushes a button on the steering wheel as the automated voice asks Trevor who he would like to call.*
TGO: Office.
*The automated voice confirms the contact as Trevor confirms back to it. The machine works like any other would and dials the number accordingly. A woman’s voice picks up after 2 rings.*
Voice: Kent Industries’ Office of the President/CEO.
TGO: Carla, I told you one ring and pick up, not two, one.
Carla: I’m sorry Mr. Kent I was on the other line.
TGO: You quickly tell them to hold, don’t wait for an answer, and pick up the other line.
Carla: It was my mom…ssshhh…
TGO: Really, Carla? Your mother? Did I not make clear the policy about personal calls from the business line?
Carla: Sorry Mr. Kent.
TGO: I don’t want to hear your apologies. Do you pay the bills for the office building?
Carla: No sir.
TGO: Do you happen to pay your own salary?
Carla: No sir, I don’t.
TGO: Then just do what I fucking ask of you. Is it really that hard of a job to answer phone calls all day, take my messages, and schedule appointments when asked? Hell, I even ask you to make sure you run the appointments by me first.
*Obviously flustered by the tongue-lashing that she is receiving, Carla’s voice breaks slightly.*
Carla: I’m sorry Mr. Kent, it won’t happen again.
*Now a tad annoyed by the crack in Carla’s voice, Trevor throws his arms up in the air, and grabs tightly to the steering wheel as he makes his way onto the highway, passing numerous cars as he speeds by them on Highway 75. He takes a deep breath and starts to speak again.*
TGO: Don’t start crying. Your job is too easy to deem crying necessary after I speak with you. This could have all been avoided, I hope you realize this. You know I have a ton on my plate right now, and I’m not able to fully take another blubbering plebe who’s going to break down after I just speak in their direction.
Carla: I’m sorry, but I don’t understand what you said at the end.
TGO: Of course you don’t. You’re privy to my renewed career in wrestling, but I’m positive that you’re not aware that Dean, my “boss”, has decided to put me in a match right off of the bat with an emo freak who obviously has some mommy issues. The reference that I was making was that I’m already going to have one person bawling their eyes out after speaking to them, I don’t need you too.
Carla: Oh…speaking of….
TGO: You wouldn’t happen to know why I wasn’t aware that I had a match until about twenty minutes ago, do you?
*The sounds of papers shuffling could quickly be heard as Carla searches for something.*
TGO: Hello?
Carla: I’m still here sir. I was searching for the message that someone left for you.
TGO: Well you’re not answering my question.
*The paper shuffling quickly stops as a solitary piece of paper can be heard waving close to the phone that Carla’s speaking on.*
Carla: Yes sir, it was referring to what you were just talking about apparently. Some guy called, spoke in horrible broken ebonic English…
TGO: Dean..
Carla: Yeah I suppose that’s right. All I could make out was something about a Slade, a Massacre, and he said the word “sucka” quite a few times.
TGO: Obviously Dean. Now why wasn’t I aware of this earlier today?
Carla: Well I was going to wait until you came into the office today.
TGO: That’s what email if for, Carla.
Carla: Oh yeah…
*TGO pulls the sunglasses down on the bridge of his nose and leans towards the steering wheel, now stopped at a stop light off of a relatively busy intersection off of the highway, in a trendy area of Dallas that has boutiques, small bars, and restaurants lining the streets. We now see that Trevor is apparently looking at a dirty blonde woman with wavy hair that stretches to her mid back, crossing the street in front of his silver Viper. She’s wearing a pair of skin tight jeans, a red tank top that flares as it goes downward (you know that type of shirt for girls that is apparently popular but looks hideous), and a pair of black heels that have a red bottom to them, which signifies them as Christian Louboutin, and a pair of waterbug sunglasses (I call them waterbugs because that’s what you fucking look like wearing them). Trevor slams back in his leather clad seat and looks up at the ceiling obviously frustrated. We hear Carla in the background*
Carla: Hello? Mr. Kent?
TGO: Yeah Carla, I’m here. Cancel todays appointments.
Carla: Is something wrong?
TGO: Yeah Carla, it is…my dead ex-wife is back in town.
*Trevor pushes the end call button on his steering wheel as the light turns green and he takes a right turn, cutting off the people that we beside of him due to him making the turn from the middle lane. He zooms past Cynthia Kent eying her the whole time. He quickly pulls into a parking spot that is parallel to the sidewalk, half a block away from the stop light He slam on his brakes, coming to a complete stop. He quickly turns the car off and starts to aggressively open the car door as the feed cuts and fades to black.*
~Really? Cynthia? That bitch is dead, and if she wasn’t she’s about to be. I would hate to be in her shoes, Trevor is obviously not in a good mood. Aside from the fact that he has to deal with a no talent nitwit like Victor “The Wolf” Slade, and by the way, who the hell calls themselves “The Wolf” that sounds like a child predator nickname, a President of the wrestling organization who thinks he can outsmart Trevor, and a geriatric roided up has-been, he has to deal with his dead wife too? Like who the fuck goes through shit like this? OH! Not to mention a chick who’s his receptionist, dumb as that fucking bitch Bobbinette Carey who he probably hired just because her tits are look good, that is absolutely horrible at her job. Well the brightside of this whole fiasco is that Trevor has it easy next week at Massacre. He has to face someone who is not even a tenth of his skill level, so this should be a walk in the park. I for one though can’t wait to see how hard Trevor slaps a bitch. No, not Slade…Cynthia.~
*A series of flashbacks from what looks like not too long ago judging by the appearance of TGO start to appear on the screen. We see Trevor alongside Lorenzo Demarco, Liam Shayde, and Landon Chase (better known as Nobody’s Fucking Better) in what appears to be a large arena making an attack on some unknown competitors in the ring. We then see them in the ring again, Trevor has a microphone in hand but no sound emanates from the speakers. Cut to scenes of dissension in the ranks as all four men are yelling at each other. Suddenly we are thrust into a scene where TGO, Shayde, and Chase are fighting in a ring against each other. About five seconds go on of this fight and we are thrown into another scene of Lorenzo Demarco and Trevor Kent fighting two unknown competitors ending with Trevor being looked over by those two competitors with titles held above their head. This all comes to an abrupt end as the scene quickly zooms into a bright white light that has the illusion of it moving out at a high speed. Suddenly the light stops as we cut to deep blue eyes quickly opening with beads of sweat dripping down what little of the forehead that we can see.~
Voice: What the actual fuck.
*The camera zooms out more as the eyes and partial forehead that we initially saw turns into the full body of Trevor “The Great One” Kent as he slowly sits up off a brown leather couch. Trevor wipes his forehead with the bottom of a white v-neck t-shirt that he lifts up from his lower torso. He’s surrounded by large wooden bookshelves that flank a fireplace, that is on fully, and continue to go around the room which we see as the camera pans around the room at a relatively good pace. The couch that Trevor is now sitting up on has a modern deco glass end table on either side of it that allows a lamp and a few pictures to sit on both of them. Only one of those lamps are on which seems to be the only other source of light that is allowed into the room besides the flames that engulf the inside of the fireplace. As the camera finishes its 360 degree rotation of the room we see Trevor getting up revealing some light plaid sleep pants. He starts to make his way over to the fireplace, obviously not agreeing with the amount of heat that is being released from it, evidenced by the amount of sweat that is leaving the pores of his body. As he approaches the fireplace and dips down, reaching for the gas switch to lower the heat, a phone rings. Trevor sighs and raises back up to his feet, not turning the fire down. He makes his way over to where the sound of the phone is coming from, along with a strong vibration. He goes over to the end table that has the lamp that is turned on. He picks the phone up, looking down, he rolls his eyes and answers the phone.*
TGO: What do you want?...No I haven’t, why the fuck should I even care what Dean is doing?
*Trevor quickly comes to the realization that he should actually care about what Dean is doing. He’s obviously been thrown for a loop from the dream that he was having, not remembering what has transpired in the past couple of days.*
TGO: Sorry, I just woke up. I had the worst dream that me and you were fighting a couple of people, somewhere, don’t ask me where the fuck that would be, and we lost…HA! Yeah, that’s not likely to happen, I know…Lorenzo, I’m aware that I’m back in the OCW, I’m not a dumbass. You know, it would be nice if you were here with me…I’m sorry what?...No that mother fucker didn’t.
*Trevor quickly lowers the phone, which we catch a glimpse of, revealing an iPhone 5s, due to the light shining off of the white and gold coloring of the device. He pushes the red “End” button. And marches out of the library, through the door on the opposite side of the room as the fireplace. The scene quickly switches to a garage that is filled with a few cars, none of which stands out more than a silver Dodge Viper that we have seen Trevor drive numerous times in the past. Trevor comes into the garage, exiting a wooden door that leads into the home that we saw him in just moments ago. Trevor has now changed his attire into something that we’re more accustomed of seeing him in, a suit. I have no reason to bore you with the type of suit that he is wearing, just know that it probably costs more than your yearly rent. Trevor grabs a key fab off of the hooks that is attached to the wall by the door that he just entered the garage from. He double taps a button on it as the Viper fires up. He makes his way over to the driver’s side and slides into the vehicle, as we venture into the vehicle as well. He pushes the garage door opener from above his head, as the garage opens and reveals the bright sky in the Dallas, TX neighborhood of M Streets. He speeds out of the garage as it barely opens up enough for him to exit it. He begins speaking to himself.*
TGO: Why the hell would Dean do something like this? Does he not know who the fuck I am! I’m sure my contract specifically stated that I will NOT be partaking in matches that are mid to lower card level. To even match me up against the likes of Victor Slade is completely ridiculous, does he want a complete Massacre on his hands?
*Trevor smirks as he reaches for a pair of sunglasses that were sitting on his dash board. He puts on the modified aviator sunglasses which appear to be Versace, only noticeable by the swirling logo that connects the earpieces to the lenses. He pushes a button on the steering wheel as the automated voice asks Trevor who he would like to call.*
TGO: Office.
*The automated voice confirms the contact as Trevor confirms back to it. The machine works like any other would and dials the number accordingly. A woman’s voice picks up after 2 rings.*
Voice: Kent Industries’ Office of the President/CEO.
TGO: Carla, I told you one ring and pick up, not two, one.
Carla: I’m sorry Mr. Kent I was on the other line.
TGO: You quickly tell them to hold, don’t wait for an answer, and pick up the other line.
Carla: It was my mom…ssshhh…
TGO: Really, Carla? Your mother? Did I not make clear the policy about personal calls from the business line?
Carla: Sorry Mr. Kent.
TGO: I don’t want to hear your apologies. Do you pay the bills for the office building?
Carla: No sir.
TGO: Do you happen to pay your own salary?
Carla: No sir, I don’t.
TGO: Then just do what I fucking ask of you. Is it really that hard of a job to answer phone calls all day, take my messages, and schedule appointments when asked? Hell, I even ask you to make sure you run the appointments by me first.
*Obviously flustered by the tongue-lashing that she is receiving, Carla’s voice breaks slightly.*
Carla: I’m sorry Mr. Kent, it won’t happen again.
*Now a tad annoyed by the crack in Carla’s voice, Trevor throws his arms up in the air, and grabs tightly to the steering wheel as he makes his way onto the highway, passing numerous cars as he speeds by them on Highway 75. He takes a deep breath and starts to speak again.*
TGO: Don’t start crying. Your job is too easy to deem crying necessary after I speak with you. This could have all been avoided, I hope you realize this. You know I have a ton on my plate right now, and I’m not able to fully take another blubbering plebe who’s going to break down after I just speak in their direction.
Carla: I’m sorry, but I don’t understand what you said at the end.
TGO: Of course you don’t. You’re privy to my renewed career in wrestling, but I’m positive that you’re not aware that Dean, my “boss”, has decided to put me in a match right off of the bat with an emo freak who obviously has some mommy issues. The reference that I was making was that I’m already going to have one person bawling their eyes out after speaking to them, I don’t need you too.
Carla: Oh…speaking of….
TGO: You wouldn’t happen to know why I wasn’t aware that I had a match until about twenty minutes ago, do you?
*The sounds of papers shuffling could quickly be heard as Carla searches for something.*
TGO: Hello?
Carla: I’m still here sir. I was searching for the message that someone left for you.
TGO: Well you’re not answering my question.
*The paper shuffling quickly stops as a solitary piece of paper can be heard waving close to the phone that Carla’s speaking on.*
Carla: Yes sir, it was referring to what you were just talking about apparently. Some guy called, spoke in horrible broken ebonic English…
TGO: Dean..
Carla: Yeah I suppose that’s right. All I could make out was something about a Slade, a Massacre, and he said the word “sucka” quite a few times.
TGO: Obviously Dean. Now why wasn’t I aware of this earlier today?
Carla: Well I was going to wait until you came into the office today.
TGO: That’s what email if for, Carla.
Carla: Oh yeah…
*TGO pulls the sunglasses down on the bridge of his nose and leans towards the steering wheel, now stopped at a stop light off of a relatively busy intersection off of the highway, in a trendy area of Dallas that has boutiques, small bars, and restaurants lining the streets. We now see that Trevor is apparently looking at a dirty blonde woman with wavy hair that stretches to her mid back, crossing the street in front of his silver Viper. She’s wearing a pair of skin tight jeans, a red tank top that flares as it goes downward (you know that type of shirt for girls that is apparently popular but looks hideous), and a pair of black heels that have a red bottom to them, which signifies them as Christian Louboutin, and a pair of waterbug sunglasses (I call them waterbugs because that’s what you fucking look like wearing them). Trevor slams back in his leather clad seat and looks up at the ceiling obviously frustrated. We hear Carla in the background*
Carla: Hello? Mr. Kent?
TGO: Yeah Carla, I’m here. Cancel todays appointments.
Carla: Is something wrong?
TGO: Yeah Carla, it is…my dead ex-wife is back in town.
*Trevor pushes the end call button on his steering wheel as the light turns green and he takes a right turn, cutting off the people that we beside of him due to him making the turn from the middle lane. He zooms past Cynthia Kent eying her the whole time. He quickly pulls into a parking spot that is parallel to the sidewalk, half a block away from the stop light He slam on his brakes, coming to a complete stop. He quickly turns the car off and starts to aggressively open the car door as the feed cuts and fades to black.*
~Really? Cynthia? That bitch is dead, and if she wasn’t she’s about to be. I would hate to be in her shoes, Trevor is obviously not in a good mood. Aside from the fact that he has to deal with a no talent nitwit like Victor “The Wolf” Slade, and by the way, who the hell calls themselves “The Wolf” that sounds like a child predator nickname, a President of the wrestling organization who thinks he can outsmart Trevor, and a geriatric roided up has-been, he has to deal with his dead wife too? Like who the fuck goes through shit like this? OH! Not to mention a chick who’s his receptionist, dumb as that fucking bitch Bobbinette Carey who he probably hired just because her tits are look good, that is absolutely horrible at her job. Well the brightside of this whole fiasco is that Trevor has it easy next week at Massacre. He has to face someone who is not even a tenth of his skill level, so this should be a walk in the park. I for one though can’t wait to see how hard Trevor slaps a bitch. No, not Slade…Cynthia.~
