Post by Sin City Saint on Aug 16, 2005 15:38:28 GMT -5
With a look of determination, The Sin City Saint sits in a vinyl bound booth. Inside the seedy underbelly of a tattered old bar. His hands folded in front of his face in a prayer like fashion. A cold beer, dew drops forming around the label of his Heineken. The waitress comes by, picks up the mostly empty bottle and replaces it with a fresh cold one. The Sin City Saint looks up, making eye contact for just a small second. The waitress' eye widen and she begins to walk away.
[Sin City Saint] Speak and pay the price. Open your mouth. Letters form words. Words form sentences. Sentences formed opinions. Actions form reactions. Justin Tyme, you turned business into personal. You used the power of words to blindside me. I used the power of my weapons, my fists to blindside you.
The Sin City Saint unclasps his hands and reaches for his bottle of Heineken. He takes a drink from the cold long neck, before placing the bottle back down in front of him. He looks into the camera with a heartless stare.
[Sin City Saint] And while we are on the topic of Sunday Night Slam, it brings me to one Eric Hardcastle. The same Eric Hardcastle that I will meet this Sunday at Summer Sizzler. The hottest day of the year just got that much hotter. Eric, Eric, Eric. Did you really think that a man like Brandon Bailey would play second fiddle to your selfish, self loathing superficial attitude? You didn't honestly believe that a man like The Assassin, who has climbed the mountain of mountains. Has reigned upon a dark terror like no other would actually cater to the whims of a simpleton like yourself? You know, maybe you did. That whole selfish attitude. That spotlight driven, all about me attitude. You just might have. And how poetic that The Impact Players turned the tables on you. Turned the tables on the mighty Eric Hardcastle. And this Sunday will be no different. For this coming Sabbath is a day of reckoning for The Sin City Saint. For this day will be the day that The Sin City Saint and The Impact Players establish their dominance. The Assassin will reign World Heavyweight Champion. And The Sin City Saint will reign as the number 1 contender.
Sitting back in the booth, some hard rock music playing in the background, The Sin City Saint relaxes. An almost sinister smile comes across his face.
[Sin City Saint] But it isn't just about you, Eric. No, for this match contains two other participants. First, the ungodly Zmaster. The same Zmaster that spits fire and farts smoke. You hide behind the mask for the simple fact of fear. Not the fear you attempt to bring onto others. But for the fear of your own self. You fear your miserable failures. How does Zmaster work his way into a number 1 contender's match? Who has Zmaster beaten? Who has this giant masked creature pinned the shoulders of, made to submit.......anything, anything at all. Hide, big man. Hide behind the failure of what you never have achieved. Or worse yet, what you never will achieve.
Reaching for his Heineken, The Sin City Saint sits forward. He takes a final slug and finishes it off. His right arm wipes his lips dry, as he focuses into the camera.
[Sin City Saint] Then the final competitor. A man, who by the mere mention of his name is supposed to strike fear within the hearts of men. A name that causes trembling of boots. A name that causes some to lose control of their own bowls. Do these look the eyes of a man who is afraid? [points to his eye] Do they? I don't hear any boots knocking. And I certainly don't feel a warm sensation trickle down the side of my leg! You are an overgrown nuisance, Immune. What kind of name is Immune? A name that seems to be pretty appropriate. Especially for our chicken wing loving friend. Immune means not affected by a given influence, unresponsive. Seems pretty appropriate for a man who has lost every singles match he has had in Valor. A man who has fallen to the likes of Eric Hardcastle. The same Eric Hardcastle who had his ass handed to him at the hands of The Impact Players. And yet with a goose egg in the win column, you too join a number 1 contender's match? Who the hell is booking this crap? Steven Lynch must have a hardon for the 3 of you. No matter. Steven Lynch cannot change what is destined to be. Steven Lynch cannot control fate. His power is limited once the bell sounds. And when that bell sounds. The gauntlet begins. And whether I am 1, 2, 3, or 4.....I plan to walk out of Sizzler the new number 1 contender. I walk out on top. I step to the forefront and leave the 3 of you in my dust. When the bell rings, the point is established. Unfortunately, the 3 of you just rolled 7s. And The Sin City Saint bet on the Don'ts. Winner, winner. Numbers are so important. A gambler's wet dream. And that's Saint's Honor.
The Sin City Saint slides out of the vinyl booth. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pair of red dice. He tosses them across the table and begins to walk away, off camera. The camera zooms in on the dice, reading 5 and 2.
[Sin City Saint] Speak and pay the price. Open your mouth. Letters form words. Words form sentences. Sentences formed opinions. Actions form reactions. Justin Tyme, you turned business into personal. You used the power of words to blindside me. I used the power of my weapons, my fists to blindside you.
The Sin City Saint unclasps his hands and reaches for his bottle of Heineken. He takes a drink from the cold long neck, before placing the bottle back down in front of him. He looks into the camera with a heartless stare.
[Sin City Saint] And while we are on the topic of Sunday Night Slam, it brings me to one Eric Hardcastle. The same Eric Hardcastle that I will meet this Sunday at Summer Sizzler. The hottest day of the year just got that much hotter. Eric, Eric, Eric. Did you really think that a man like Brandon Bailey would play second fiddle to your selfish, self loathing superficial attitude? You didn't honestly believe that a man like The Assassin, who has climbed the mountain of mountains. Has reigned upon a dark terror like no other would actually cater to the whims of a simpleton like yourself? You know, maybe you did. That whole selfish attitude. That spotlight driven, all about me attitude. You just might have. And how poetic that The Impact Players turned the tables on you. Turned the tables on the mighty Eric Hardcastle. And this Sunday will be no different. For this coming Sabbath is a day of reckoning for The Sin City Saint. For this day will be the day that The Sin City Saint and The Impact Players establish their dominance. The Assassin will reign World Heavyweight Champion. And The Sin City Saint will reign as the number 1 contender.
Sitting back in the booth, some hard rock music playing in the background, The Sin City Saint relaxes. An almost sinister smile comes across his face.
[Sin City Saint] But it isn't just about you, Eric. No, for this match contains two other participants. First, the ungodly Zmaster. The same Zmaster that spits fire and farts smoke. You hide behind the mask for the simple fact of fear. Not the fear you attempt to bring onto others. But for the fear of your own self. You fear your miserable failures. How does Zmaster work his way into a number 1 contender's match? Who has Zmaster beaten? Who has this giant masked creature pinned the shoulders of, made to submit.......anything, anything at all. Hide, big man. Hide behind the failure of what you never have achieved. Or worse yet, what you never will achieve.
Reaching for his Heineken, The Sin City Saint sits forward. He takes a final slug and finishes it off. His right arm wipes his lips dry, as he focuses into the camera.
[Sin City Saint] Then the final competitor. A man, who by the mere mention of his name is supposed to strike fear within the hearts of men. A name that causes trembling of boots. A name that causes some to lose control of their own bowls. Do these look the eyes of a man who is afraid? [points to his eye] Do they? I don't hear any boots knocking. And I certainly don't feel a warm sensation trickle down the side of my leg! You are an overgrown nuisance, Immune. What kind of name is Immune? A name that seems to be pretty appropriate. Especially for our chicken wing loving friend. Immune means not affected by a given influence, unresponsive. Seems pretty appropriate for a man who has lost every singles match he has had in Valor. A man who has fallen to the likes of Eric Hardcastle. The same Eric Hardcastle who had his ass handed to him at the hands of The Impact Players. And yet with a goose egg in the win column, you too join a number 1 contender's match? Who the hell is booking this crap? Steven Lynch must have a hardon for the 3 of you. No matter. Steven Lynch cannot change what is destined to be. Steven Lynch cannot control fate. His power is limited once the bell sounds. And when that bell sounds. The gauntlet begins. And whether I am 1, 2, 3, or 4.....I plan to walk out of Sizzler the new number 1 contender. I walk out on top. I step to the forefront and leave the 3 of you in my dust. When the bell rings, the point is established. Unfortunately, the 3 of you just rolled 7s. And The Sin City Saint bet on the Don'ts. Winner, winner. Numbers are so important. A gambler's wet dream. And that's Saint's Honor.
The Sin City Saint slides out of the vinyl booth. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pair of red dice. He tosses them across the table and begins to walk away, off camera. The camera zooms in on the dice, reading 5 and 2.
