Post by ZMAC on Dec 1, 2019 19:46:26 GMT -5
APW - OMEGA
North American Championship
ZMAC vs Steve Osbourne ( c )
___________________
Chapter I: Ol’ Glory, Brother
Now, Let me tell you something brother jacks and brother jills out there. My main man, the Immortal American, Zombie McMorris has the red, the white, and the blue running through his veins brother. If theres one thing Zombie McMorris loves more than cocaine and big tittay latina bitches, its freedom, brother. Its ol’ Glory, brother. Its lady liberty on lockdown, brother, protecting her from the red, the green and the black brother, the colors that run and hide from American muscle, brother. Protecting her from any wayward bombs, brother, any forces that would seek to do her in, brother. Never again will the United States of American and the rest of North America for that matter will ever fall into the hands of some rank ass, boudle bitch like Spartan or Steve Osbourne.
Let me tell you something, Brother, Zombie McMorris is going to go in there at Omega, Brother and get the job done the only way an American knows how. We’re dropping bombs, brother. We are dropping bombs the likes of which no ones ever seen, brother Jack. We’re gonna be busy hangin’ N’ bangin’ brother. Lighting fires and kick tires and letting that freedom ring, in the American Airlines Arena, Brother, and ZMAC nor the millions of little Immortal Maniacs out there could think of a better place to liberate the North American Championship from the Jabroni Steve Osbourne. You won’t find Zombie McMorris in some strip club in Russia with the North American title around his amber waves of grain.
I’ll tell you another thing, Brother Jack, we aint coming to Miami to walk out with our tails tucked between our legs. Our tails, like our proud American monuments will stand E-Wrekt. As we stand E-wrekt and salute to old glory. Alpha pro Wrestling is about to witness something great, something truly special when Zombie McMorris punts that spastic head in of Steve Osbourne and he -> HUT -> HUT -> Hikes it into the crowd and the fans, those thousands in attendance bop and pass it around like a beachball, brother.
We ain’t out here praising Allah, Brother, we aint out here on our knees praying to Mecha, brother. We certainly aint marrying our first cousins and passing up the pork, the bacon, and the Cheedah cheese sausage, brother. We aint out there living in some third world hell hole, controlled by towel wearing oil barrons, brother, that have more money than god brother.That sweet, sweet, Saudi blood money, brother. This is freedom, Brother. The right to cum and go as you please brother. To be who you wanna be, Brother, to rise up and defend the entire free world and even our maple syrup brothers to the north and those tea drinkin sissys across the pond in Jolly Ol’ England, brother.
We’re gonna strap the bombs of freedom to our chests brother and we’re going to go into the hospitals and the malls and the schools of the non believers, brother and we’re going to make our demands brother, of the infidel dogs, brother and when we pull that rip cord of justice, you will know that America came, we saw and we kicked your asses all over GODS green Earth.
Now what chu gonna do when Hulk Hogan and the Coked UP Immortal American go WILD ON YOU
_____________________________
Chapter II: The Hero America Deserves
* Zoom in on ZMAC kneeling down and reaching under his bed at Pantheon West. He pulls out a Swissgear suitcase and flings it up and over on top of the bed. He unzips it and opens it up. Theres a polaroid of him and Mikey Extreme on top, posing in their Hot American Darkness gear. Underneath that picture was said gear.
Black pants with graffiti style spatterings of red, white and blue.
Black wrestling boots ( yeah, ZMAC owns honest to goodness wrestling boots )
And a make up kit.
Ruby comes into the and wraps herself around ZMACS arm. *
“ See, I told you it was under the bed.”
“ These were good times.”
“Now how often have I heard you say that?”
“ Heh. How often have I had good times? These people think what, that being Americana is a gimmick, bah, that's further from the truth. I represent the very essence of freedom.” ZMAC shakes the picture. “ We both did. It may not be the Horror Kore and it may not be the world but the North American title is still something that belongs around my waste.”
“And you’ll get it.” Replies Ruby. “You deserve it. You earned it. I believe in you.”
“Thanks.”
___________________________
Chapter III: On Paper
Steve Ozzy-smith-jones-nobody. I want you to check this shit. Pull ya peepahs out cha rockem sockem asshole for a minute and and plop your puddin gizzards in reality. This Z-Merica right here.
See, N in Z-Merica, to which you currently waddle your pasty white ass in this skinny jeans with those receipts stickin out cho pockets like tissues, lookin like a homeless bill collector but I got something you can k-k-k-k-ollekt this week.
1 - 666 - Z O L L E C T
Call it collect. We bringing it back. You can use the dimes you drop in your promos to call yourself and Uber and take you far - far away from ol’ Z because this week in Miami -> I’m going to murk you like Killery wiped out a Pedo Jew named Jeffery Epi-you.
Ol’ Jeffery ‘Egg Shape’ didnt kill himself but you gone be wishin that you did. Cuz I aint taking you light and I aint taking you heavy. You got a belt but that don’t mean that youse the cham-pean of the people. More like youse just got yourself a hos-touge. And see, we here in Z-Merica, we don’t deal with hostages. Collateral damage is our middle name. Its our calling card. Its what we eat for breakfast.
Wake up -> poison the black community.
Eat breakfast -> cage a cuppa lantinos.
Plan a coup on Bolivia.
READ THE TRANSCRIPT
Then -> fucking Then -> drag your monkey ass down into the American Hah-vahn-nana-nana and beat the creole out cha soul like you was shrimp gumbo. That's what ol’ Z is talkin bout.
The heart. The soul. The ol Mother Mc Nazty. Make you re-think them shitty life choices that lead you to me. And me to that North American Championship.
To me, you’re just a guy with something I want. I don’t care of you dangerous, fat, skinny, old, an internet troll and part time sexual assaulter.
Be mother fuckin Seth Lerch for all I know or care. But I’ll drag your ass all the way back down here from Reading, PA. Show you whats up you gaunt, ginger mother fucker.
You told Spartan you were raised in the dark. However, you only adapted to it. I was molded by it. Howevs we aint going into that. We aint going down that road. Just know that you’re a fucking moron and we’ll be done with it. I mean, who we think we’re foolin if’n you for a second think that what you were tellin Spartan is gonna work on me.
I don’t dislocate wrist. I dislocate neck bones. I drink spinal fluid and dip my potachos in your hemorrhaging cerebral grey matter. But this isnt me , Ol’ Z puffin my chest out.
I don’t need too.
You know who I am. You know what I’m capable of. But most importantly
You know how this is going to end.
You though. Its interesting.
Pro Athlete -> ala a real one and you couldnt throw a baseball.
You wanted to act but but couldnt remember your lines.
You wanted to be a rockstar playing the E-lectric triangle but there aint no room in Rock N roll for no one pump chums.
See rock N rolls one part smooth jazz, one part gentrification and three parts cocaine. Man, if I cut you up a line right now you would just sneeze it all over the place in some shameful display.
So now you want to take your failed aspects of all three and call yourself a wrestler?
I guess, on paper right.
Fuckin christ aint them your famous last words.
On paper, Spartan would whip you. On paper, a lot of guys would.
On paper, you would be the North American champion.
But I’m not going to believe the guy that was just ‘passed along’ in high school -> meaning that you aint smart worth a shit who couldnt remember a bit part in community college
But somehow
SOME FUCKING HOW
You’re just
LOL
Going to outsmart people?
You couldnt figure out how to outsmart yourself in RENT but now you’re going to try and outsmart ol’ Z?
LOL
You Boomer piece of shit.
But you tell ZMAC how this is all a trap. How the man whos made a career off the North American -> USA strap -> On that man of the people -> livin N breathin gimmick-> talkin about what true freedom really is
Is.. suddenly gone just lose.
Where in the narrative does that make sense? It don’t Steve Ozz-nobody.
I’m sorry my name tag don’t say Ms. Jackson cuz you aint fuckin me.
To which I say, youse was straight up raped by that woman -> that's a crime and caused some serious mental issues
Because your dumbass, broke ass, thought the only way you could make money was taking back bumps in the same fashion that Mrs. Jackson blew ya back out with that mistah softy strap on.
The one thing you think you have over ol’ Z is nothing more than all the lies you ever told in your entire life -> an embellished falsehood that doesnt reflect reality.
Just like you’re North American Championship is a falsehood that doesnt reflect reality.
On paper, you might be the champion but in that ring and in the hearts of all Z-Mericans, ya boi is king.
Let that settle in while you try to combat the truth in words, know that ol’ Z already won.
And you’ll be floating down here.
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Chapter IV: Saudi Blood Money
Pantheon West.
* The Saudi flag flies as all manner of luxury supercars roll up to Pantheon West followed by dump truck after dump truck filled with that sweet saudi blood money. The Iron Shiek comes storming out with his tights on and those pointy boots. *
“ I SAY- I SAY FUCK YOU, THE SAUDI ARABIA. I FUCK ALL YOU IN YOUR JABRONI ASSES. I SUPLEX ALL OF YOU OFF THE EARTH AND PUT YOU IN THE CAMEL CLUTCH AND MAKE YOU HUMBLE. WE NO WANT YOU MONEY. NOT NOW. NOT EVER. HAWK-TUEY.”
* Then Shieky goes back inside and does more cocaine with zmac. However, the Saudis are persistent both in their wanton greed and systematic oppression. Finally ZMAC appears from the penthouse. *
“ This is America, whats that like, a million Rupees or Saudi Yen? I got that in my back pocket right now. I’ll give you fifty bucks for the trucks and you can keep your shitty Volkswagon owned cars. Looks like you could get T-boned by a Fiat and die in the car fire before EMS even gets on the scene. Hell, I might break a sweat out running those things with a light jog. Did Steve Osbourne send you to try and play me with the mind games? Tryin to one up me with Bribery. Well, I mean, I aint above it. Certainly aint above it but ya’ll better come more equipped than just that forgien currency. Aint nobody making change at the bogeda for a Saudi Riyal, ok? I’ve been sitting on a Canadian nickle for three weeks because YOU PEOPLE won’t take it. So if my Canadian money aint good for you, that whole ass load of riches aint good for me. Go peddle it to another real American. Oh and you can kiss Americas ass on the way out.”
___________________________
Chapter V: Thank Yaself
Look, Osbourne. You know that right now, you’re rollin your weak ass up to a fight.
A real fight.
Not that pillow talk TLC match you had with Spartan. This is where Ol’ Z balls his fist up and just punches you in the face so hard the ref has to reevaluate HIS life choices.
But since you’re so smart and you think you know everything because you got them fancy degrees ( LOL wait ) you didnt need me to tell you that.
Yo, you wicked smart die, right? Right? RIIGHTT?
So smart you couldnt graduate community college with a theatre degree and you only gotta know like three names.
Shakespear, Pedro Calderone and Bartol Brech. You got Romeo and Juliet, Caesar, Othello, Hamlett, Life is But a Dream and then you got big dick Bartol Brech over there, the father of modern stagecraft swing his big dick and holding all of it together.
congrad-u-fucking -lations! A Theatre degree in three sentences. Yay, you fucking passed. Heres a worthless diploma from Grass State Community College. But nah, you’re so smart you didnt need no school. Look at you know. APW North American Champion.
ON paper.
See, theres that paper bullshit coming back to haunt you. On papers youse a smart guy but in the ring, youse like a cripple in a swimming pool. No one knows how he got there but everyone can expect bad results. You had a good run and I’ll give you that -> if’n that you could have a good run. But this right here is going to be the 16 year old boy to slaughter, all the while playing the pied pipe of his ham bone, talkin bout how hes up all night to get lucky.
You aint lucky steven. Aint none of this luck. Aint none of this skill. All this is, is inevitable. Its just whats coming to pass. The Immortal American, the coked up madman, the evil incarnate, coming home to Z-merica -> that dark America. Mikey Extremes -> America.
The America that failed -> you -> Steve Osbourne when you were too young and dumb to notice.
The kind of America that eats you up, spits you out, gives you brain trauma and you’re over here thinking it was your genius idea to start with.
That's what you’re in for. That's something that you cant plan for. That's something you cant calculate.
How do you calculate a coked up madman? You don’t.
You survive if I let.
And White America just aint about that life.
So when I curb stomp your punk ass and hit the Dove killah and my arms raised and my wife's forehead is gleaming off its reflection
You’ll only have yourself to blame. And yourself to thank.
Merry Christmas, you filthy Animal.
