Post by Outcast on Jan 18, 2022 9:48:07 GMT -5
Putting down roots.
Home is where the heart is.
Bullsh*t you always hear about owning a home. For me it was always "where I lay my head I call home" this papa is a rolling stone.
Truth is, most of my life I never felt like I had a home. Maybe because I never felt like I belonged. As a child physically and mentally abusive parents took the feeling of safety and security within the four walls called home away.
In my late twenties and early thirties I never felt like I belonged in the same confines as Victor and Nicole. It felt foreign to me, like Zybala in a World title match, or the Lions in the Superbowl, I just didn't belong in a world of peace and love.
I've found a home though, a home amidst the chaos and war-waging world that is OCW. I have not only survived here, I have thrived here. I have become the best version of myself here in this land of chaos that only a chosen few dare to inhabit.
That is why I have put down roots, and why I have made a home here. Figuratively, and now literally.
These are the thoughts that rush through my head as I sit on the front porch of my newly purchased house in rural Ocala, Florida. I sit in peace for the first time in a very long time. I know this peace won't last long though. I know that what I did to Lurr may have put him down, but I know he will get back up, and I know I'm about to head into the shredder with Mario Mariachi-Band.
My thoughts drift from my new purchase to Mario, and I chase a shot of bourbon with a drag from a Newport, those thoughts become increasingly hateful and violent.
Mario, where the f**k have you been? I don't mean since the latest inception of OCW, I just mean since you were named as my next victim. You've let Lurr do all the talking for you, and subsequently Lurr has taken your ass whipping for you. But, see the problem with letting someone speak for you, is that you must answer for the words they speak in your name. At Access Denied it won't be Lurr who is locked in that box of death with me, it will be you. And you Mario will be the one who has to answer for everything that Lurr has said on your behalf.
Mario, I don't think you fully comprehend who I am and what you are in for. I understand you are a hall of famer, and a legendary tag team competitor. But this isn't a wrestling match, hell, this isn't even a fight, na, Mario, this is a battle to the f**king death. I'm talking two men enter, one man leave on some Mad Max beyond Thunderdome sh*t.
I smirk and shake my head as I pour another shot.
Obviously, I don't mean a physical battle to the death. Even in OCW murder on live pay per view, or whatever the f**k people watch this stuff on, it is still illegal. If it wasn't, we wouldn't still have Zybala running around out here. However, I do still mean a literal battle to the death. A true battle of life and death. As I said, not of a true physical state, no, no, no, Mario. I'm talking about something more important than waking up in the morning, I am talking about my legacy, how my name will be remembered after I am dead and gone.
See, everybody dies Mario. No one has ever made it out of this world alive, not I, and you certainly won't. But, what we leave behind, the impression that we leave on this world, that is something that can live in forever. This match, this battle, this is make or break for my legacy.
I have spent over twenty years crawling from obscurity to OCW champion. I'm a tier one superstar, a two time OCW champion, and I sit on the cusp of being remembered as one of the greatest of all time. If I lose to you Mario, that dies. My legacy is a budding flower, and you are the frost that could kill it before it blooms.
But, I'm no ordinary flower. I am a rose, with the largest thrones in the garden. To come for me you must step into the thicket, where you will be pricked, and bleed. For that is your only guarantee at Access Denied. The guarantee that you will be picked, and you will bleed. I will not allow you to kill my legacy, for I will destroy your legacy and the legacy of all the former champions and hall of famers that come for me. Then, I will use the rubble of your and their legacies to build my shrine that generations to come will worship at.
They will worship OCW, and most of all they will worship me, they will worship Outcast.
I take my shot and suck down the remainder of my Newport before flipping the butt into the front yard. I stumble inside and down the hall to my bedroom. Sleep has been ever eluding, so a few Ambien are ingested and chaed with bourbon to pursue the sandman.
I fall onto the bed and awaken in what seems like only minutes, but in reality has been several hours. The culprit that had awakened me from my long sought slumber is none other than my own bladder. I know all the jokes about being old and not being able to hold it, and that I should get my prostate examined, but unlike Gideon Cross I don't enjoy a finger up my keister.
I'm so out of it I have to hold myself up with one hand while wrestling the one-eyed monster with the other. After shaking the piss out of my best friend and holstering the water cannon I begin to head back to bed, and as I walk past my living room I see it. Even in my walking comatose state I catch a glimpse of it, and a glimpse is all I need.
There is a stranger in my house, an uninvited and undesired visitor.
There is an intruder in my castle, and we know where Florida stands when it comes to protecting your castle.
Something's wrong, shut the light, heavy thoughts tonight
I step into the living room slowly and quietly, but I see no one. Maybe it was my imagination, maybe I'm seeing things, maybe... just maybe it's all an Ambien induced hallucination. I shake my head in self-doubt, rub my eyes and begin to head back to bed. Then I see him again, another glimpse of his reflection in the TV, but he sees me seeing him.
Before I can turn he is on me. My head is slammed into the television screen. I'm instantly woozy as I fall to my knees. My forehead has the all too familiar sting of a fresh cut, and as I touch it and look at my hand I see plasma, both from the TV and my blood.
I shake it off, as the stinging pain is shoved to the back of my mind to make room for adrenaline, and even more importantly anger. I stand on my feet, but as I do I find the attacker has disappeared again.
Is this Zybala pulling another bullsh*t disappearing ghost gimmick? No, it can't be, he wouldn't have the balls for that. Is it Lurr seeking revenge? No, it'd be impossible for eyes to be healed enough to see. Maybe it is Mario, he has been very good at being quiet as of late. My list of enemies makes this list very long, I have no idea who it could be, I just no I need some light and I need it now.
I stumble to the wall and reach for the switch, and as my fingertips touch the dongle switch a boot crushed my phalanges against the wall. I squeal like a cat whose tail had found its way under a rocking chair. I pull my injured left hand into my body and strike into the darkness with my right.
My fist find nothing but emptiness and I stumble forward off balance. In my stumble I trip over my coffee table and fall faster than the value of the US dollar.
The fall serves to fully awaken me, and once more I rise ready to fight, ready to kill.
Like Dylan Thomas though, my rise doesn't last for long.
As I stand and try to will my eyes into having night vision, I feel two hands firmly grabs my hair. The hands yank me hard and fast, and I crash backward through the aforementioned coffee table. The wood splinters and snaps, the glass shatters and explodes throughout the living room.
I once again feel that familiar stinging pain that comes with lacerations. I roll over and instinctively push myself up, causing further damage to my left hand as shards of glass pierce the flesh of my palm.
F**k this.
F**k whoever this mystery assailant is.
If I'm going out I want to see who is taking me out. More than that, I want to look them in the eye as I go and drag them to hell with me.
I bend down and grab the first two sizable pieces of broken coffee table I find. With one movement I lung towards the light switch and as I reach it turn and throw the wooden stakes in opposite directions to stop a flank attack.
My back lands against the switch and I feel the switch sticking into my flesh. I push my buddy up, lifting the switch and turning the light on.
Applying Iight to darkness can expose a lot, sometimes it exposes something you' had rather not been exposed. Or, maybe I just couldn't believe what was being exposed in front of my eyes. The Bible tells us this in John one and and five as it states, "And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not.".
That book speaks the truth, because I am the darkness and I could not comprehend what stood in front of me.
I stood upright, breathing heavy, as going from rim sleep to fighting for your life can be quite taxing on anyone. They weren't tired though. No, though looked down right gleeful. They had come to kill me, and so far they were doing a pretty good job of it. But, I'm still alive and kicking, and as long as I am alive I'm going to fight.
I quickly tilt my head from one side to the other, popping my neck and preparing myself.
Well, what are waiting for? COME ON MOTHERF**KER!
To be continued...
Home is where the heart is.
Bullsh*t you always hear about owning a home. For me it was always "where I lay my head I call home" this papa is a rolling stone.
Truth is, most of my life I never felt like I had a home. Maybe because I never felt like I belonged. As a child physically and mentally abusive parents took the feeling of safety and security within the four walls called home away.
In my late twenties and early thirties I never felt like I belonged in the same confines as Victor and Nicole. It felt foreign to me, like Zybala in a World title match, or the Lions in the Superbowl, I just didn't belong in a world of peace and love.
I've found a home though, a home amidst the chaos and war-waging world that is OCW. I have not only survived here, I have thrived here. I have become the best version of myself here in this land of chaos that only a chosen few dare to inhabit.
That is why I have put down roots, and why I have made a home here. Figuratively, and now literally.
These are the thoughts that rush through my head as I sit on the front porch of my newly purchased house in rural Ocala, Florida. I sit in peace for the first time in a very long time. I know this peace won't last long though. I know that what I did to Lurr may have put him down, but I know he will get back up, and I know I'm about to head into the shredder with Mario Mariachi-Band.
My thoughts drift from my new purchase to Mario, and I chase a shot of bourbon with a drag from a Newport, those thoughts become increasingly hateful and violent.
Mario, where the f**k have you been? I don't mean since the latest inception of OCW, I just mean since you were named as my next victim. You've let Lurr do all the talking for you, and subsequently Lurr has taken your ass whipping for you. But, see the problem with letting someone speak for you, is that you must answer for the words they speak in your name. At Access Denied it won't be Lurr who is locked in that box of death with me, it will be you. And you Mario will be the one who has to answer for everything that Lurr has said on your behalf.
Mario, I don't think you fully comprehend who I am and what you are in for. I understand you are a hall of famer, and a legendary tag team competitor. But this isn't a wrestling match, hell, this isn't even a fight, na, Mario, this is a battle to the f**king death. I'm talking two men enter, one man leave on some Mad Max beyond Thunderdome sh*t.
I smirk and shake my head as I pour another shot.
Obviously, I don't mean a physical battle to the death. Even in OCW murder on live pay per view, or whatever the f**k people watch this stuff on, it is still illegal. If it wasn't, we wouldn't still have Zybala running around out here. However, I do still mean a literal battle to the death. A true battle of life and death. As I said, not of a true physical state, no, no, no, Mario. I'm talking about something more important than waking up in the morning, I am talking about my legacy, how my name will be remembered after I am dead and gone.
See, everybody dies Mario. No one has ever made it out of this world alive, not I, and you certainly won't. But, what we leave behind, the impression that we leave on this world, that is something that can live in forever. This match, this battle, this is make or break for my legacy.
I have spent over twenty years crawling from obscurity to OCW champion. I'm a tier one superstar, a two time OCW champion, and I sit on the cusp of being remembered as one of the greatest of all time. If I lose to you Mario, that dies. My legacy is a budding flower, and you are the frost that could kill it before it blooms.
But, I'm no ordinary flower. I am a rose, with the largest thrones in the garden. To come for me you must step into the thicket, where you will be pricked, and bleed. For that is your only guarantee at Access Denied. The guarantee that you will be picked, and you will bleed. I will not allow you to kill my legacy, for I will destroy your legacy and the legacy of all the former champions and hall of famers that come for me. Then, I will use the rubble of your and their legacies to build my shrine that generations to come will worship at.
They will worship OCW, and most of all they will worship me, they will worship Outcast.
I take my shot and suck down the remainder of my Newport before flipping the butt into the front yard. I stumble inside and down the hall to my bedroom. Sleep has been ever eluding, so a few Ambien are ingested and chaed with bourbon to pursue the sandman.
I fall onto the bed and awaken in what seems like only minutes, but in reality has been several hours. The culprit that had awakened me from my long sought slumber is none other than my own bladder. I know all the jokes about being old and not being able to hold it, and that I should get my prostate examined, but unlike Gideon Cross I don't enjoy a finger up my keister.
I'm so out of it I have to hold myself up with one hand while wrestling the one-eyed monster with the other. After shaking the piss out of my best friend and holstering the water cannon I begin to head back to bed, and as I walk past my living room I see it. Even in my walking comatose state I catch a glimpse of it, and a glimpse is all I need.
There is a stranger in my house, an uninvited and undesired visitor.
There is an intruder in my castle, and we know where Florida stands when it comes to protecting your castle.
Something's wrong, shut the light, heavy thoughts tonight
And they aren't of Snow White
Dreams of war, dreams of liars, dreams of dragons' fire
And of things that will bite, yeah
Sleep with one eye open
Gripping your pillow tight
I step into the living room slowly and quietly, but I see no one. Maybe it was my imagination, maybe I'm seeing things, maybe... just maybe it's all an Ambien induced hallucination. I shake my head in self-doubt, rub my eyes and begin to head back to bed. Then I see him again, another glimpse of his reflection in the TV, but he sees me seeing him.
Before I can turn he is on me. My head is slammed into the television screen. I'm instantly woozy as I fall to my knees. My forehead has the all too familiar sting of a fresh cut, and as I touch it and look at my hand I see plasma, both from the TV and my blood.
I shake it off, as the stinging pain is shoved to the back of my mind to make room for adrenaline, and even more importantly anger. I stand on my feet, but as I do I find the attacker has disappeared again.
Is this Zybala pulling another bullsh*t disappearing ghost gimmick? No, it can't be, he wouldn't have the balls for that. Is it Lurr seeking revenge? No, it'd be impossible for eyes to be healed enough to see. Maybe it is Mario, he has been very good at being quiet as of late. My list of enemies makes this list very long, I have no idea who it could be, I just no I need some light and I need it now.
I stumble to the wall and reach for the switch, and as my fingertips touch the dongle switch a boot crushed my phalanges against the wall. I squeal like a cat whose tail had found its way under a rocking chair. I pull my injured left hand into my body and strike into the darkness with my right.
My fist find nothing but emptiness and I stumble forward off balance. In my stumble I trip over my coffee table and fall faster than the value of the US dollar.
The fall serves to fully awaken me, and once more I rise ready to fight, ready to kill.
Like Dylan Thomas though, my rise doesn't last for long.
As I stand and try to will my eyes into having night vision, I feel two hands firmly grabs my hair. The hands yank me hard and fast, and I crash backward through the aforementioned coffee table. The wood splinters and snaps, the glass shatters and explodes throughout the living room.
I once again feel that familiar stinging pain that comes with lacerations. I roll over and instinctively push myself up, causing further damage to my left hand as shards of glass pierce the flesh of my palm.
F**k this.
F**k whoever this mystery assailant is.
If I'm going out I want to see who is taking me out. More than that, I want to look them in the eye as I go and drag them to hell with me.
I bend down and grab the first two sizable pieces of broken coffee table I find. With one movement I lung towards the light switch and as I reach it turn and throw the wooden stakes in opposite directions to stop a flank attack.
My back lands against the switch and I feel the switch sticking into my flesh. I push my buddy up, lifting the switch and turning the light on.
Applying Iight to darkness can expose a lot, sometimes it exposes something you' had rather not been exposed. Or, maybe I just couldn't believe what was being exposed in front of my eyes. The Bible tells us this in John one and and five as it states, "And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not.".
That book speaks the truth, because I am the darkness and I could not comprehend what stood in front of me.
I stood upright, breathing heavy, as going from rim sleep to fighting for your life can be quite taxing on anyone. They weren't tired though. No, though looked down right gleeful. They had come to kill me, and so far they were doing a pretty good job of it. But, I'm still alive and kicking, and as long as I am alive I'm going to fight.
I quickly tilt my head from one side to the other, popping my neck and preparing myself.
Well, what are waiting for? COME ON MOTHERF**KER!
To be continued...