| Crippler RP | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Mar 19 2011, 04:33 PM (189 Views) | |
| Canadian Connection | Mar 19 2011, 04:33 PM Post #1 |
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sVo Superstar
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Prologue There once was a time in my life when I needed to see the reflection of my face in every surface in order to derive any feeling from it at all. I struggled for years in the wrestling business, watching as those around me failed to meet my high expectations of them. They weren’t like me. They didn’t have my athletic ability, they lacked charisma, and they felt that blindly following whoever happened to be in charge was the way to get ahead in their careers. I shunned them for being inferior...although, in fact, I spent my entire early career doing everything in my power to avoid sliding down to their level. Eventually, retirement saved me from that anxiety. Years later, I found myself back in the godlike complex I thought I had grown out of…and some would argue, in even deeper than before. Being the best in the squared circle wasn’t enough—I wanted people to live in my image. I wasn’t to be just a role model or a hero. I had to be everything to these people. They needed to know what life could be in my example…even at the expense of their own selves. There was no more room for inferiority…only perfection. “They’d thank me someday,” I told myself. “Their lives would be better because of me.” That is, of course, unless I caused them to be worse. Crippler welcomes you. Act I Crippler Mansion, Minneapolis, 9:15am When I created the Perfect Life Movement, I imagined a social rejuvenation…a rebirth that would spread across my home state and into the surrounding regions before eventually causing the entire nation…world, perhaps…to stand up and raise a blue glass in unison to celebrate their newfound freedom. My ideals were downloaded into my fans, ensuring that all relevant data would be instantly recognized as existing only because Crippler allowed it to. They were much better off this way. I had often wondered if this system would crash if I stepped away from its controls; I had avoided facing the huddled masses altogether weeks ago. Thankfully, according to Godfrey’s messages, nothing had burned down since I left. Godfrey: It has been good to have you back for a few days, Master Crippler. It’s a pity that you must leave so soon after arriving! Crippler: Agreed, old friend. I promise I’ll make it up to you with a game of Frisbee golf when I get back from Las Vegas. As I unloaded an armful of multicolored dress shirts into the luggage sitting atop my maroon comforter-clad bed, I glanced up to see a warm smile cross the grizzled mouth of my elderly steward. Godfrey was truly a saint in my life. He had the dubious duty of not only taking care of the mansion on a daily basis with only contracted housekeepers to aid him, but also handling the hordes of current and potential Perfect Life members who flocked to my front door to ask for guidance. In his thirty-four years of service to the mansion, he never once complained, despite the ten years he had known me being chock full of highly complaint-worthy antics. I owed a great deal of my sanity to him. Godfrey: I do hope that you’ll be in good enough condition to throw the disc around after your match, sir. That Jay Wildman fellow is likely to have it out for you after losing in his prior match… and fighting him in this double jeopardy with Chris Wrestling and Samuel Amos in the same ring? I truly worry for your safety. Staring down at my suitcase full of outfits for promotional appearances prior to Showdown, my mind gently drifted over the old man’s words. Sure, Chris Wrestling and I had engaged in a war for the ages of late, and no doubt, he would not hesitate to snap my neck while my back was turned if given chance. For me, though, this match didn’t include a safety warning in its instruction manual. Beating Jay Wildman would put me in line for the SVO Championship… I wasn’t about to let a simple thing like my health get in the way of that. My expression contorted as I realized what was wrong with the scene before me. I reached into my cherry oak armoire and pulled out my white Adrian Peterson Vikings jersey and laid it atop the dress clothes and wrestling gear. If I was going to war one last time, I needed my armor. Crippler: Your fears are well-founded, Godfrey. Jay Wildman is undoubtedly the second most devastating presence in Sanctioned Violence Organization. Unfortunately for him, I am the first. Chris wanted this battle with me… I will oblige. There is no way we will not emerge damaged…if we emerge at all. But don’t worry for me. Godfrey: How can I not? Crippler: In a fight to get out of purgatory, who would you bet on? The Canadian Perfect or the Canadian Crippler? The thoughtful Godfrey remained silent and bowed his head, respectfully not doubting my abilities, but passively reminding me that he would worry for my well-being even if I had one thousand allies at my side in my battle with Jay Wildman. Having no such luxury, I clasped the suitcase shut and handed it to the steward to take downstairs. This scene had replayed multiple times in the past two months—with my touring schedule, I never had much time at home, a fact that I often regretted. On this leg of the never-ending journey, I was preparing to head downtown to address the Perfect Life for the first time in close to a month, then immediately begin the cross-country drive to Las Vegas for Showdown. Life had become such a cloud of wrestling dark matter that all space in-between was virtually nonexistent. How I was to explain this to the people who followed my every move had not occurred to me yet. Crippler: …And you’re sure there haven’t been any rumblings about my absence among the people, Godfrey? Godfrey: None that have reached these old ears, sir. Crippler: Odd…they could barely breathe without me hinting to them it was a good idea before. But that’s good news nonetheless. I don’t want their lives to be encumbered by my having to deal with ignoramuses like Chris Wrestling on a weekly basis… I’m glad I can take that burden myself. Chris Wrestling was like a poison to the Perfect Life. My attempts to be an antidote fell on deaf ears and dead veins… now, I had to fight the poison itself while wrestling Jay Wildman. I couldn’t let it spread further. I followed Godfrey downstairs, the morning sunlight hitting me square in the eye as it gleamed through the freshly-washed glass of the front door. I rubbed my eyes and, as my focus returned, I saw Godfrey standing at the open front door, placing an envelope with my hotel reservations in the side pocket of the luggage. As I approached him, he pulled my Singapore cane from the foyer umbrella jar and held it out to me like a relay baton, his wrinkled face showing the visage of a concerned, but proud father figure. In a wordless exchange of gratefulness, I took the cane from his hand and embraced him, but did not waver in my confidence for even a moment. This was likely the last time I’d be home before I shipped off to war. I intended to return as #1 contender to the SVO World Title. I intended to return alive. Act II Marriot Hotel Grand Ballroom, Minneapolis, 11am Growing up having seen the worst of human behavior, you end up desensitized and unprepared for any event that cracks through the homeostatic lull of “normal life.” I fully hoped that meeting with my fans would be as easy as it ever had been—once a week or so, I invited any who would listen to join me downtown for a forum or celebration of our progress. Of course, that was mostly before I began making so many drastic changes in my life… since then, the meetings were spread further apart and the overall mood of the group appeared confused and unsure of itself. I couldn’t blame them—I felt the same way a good deal of the time. Still, I remained sure that this group—my creation—could only grow stronger… right? Charles: Brothers and sisters, Crippler fans one and all, it is my extreme pleasure to announce to you the founder of the Perfect Life Movement and the next #1 contender to the SVO World Championship… CRIPPLER!!! I remained offstage behind a large red curtain for what felt like an eternity. I couldn’t remember a single time when I had actually sweated before one of these meetings; now, it felt as if every bead forming on my forehead was preparing to drown me on its way down. As the crowd cheered in the banquet hall, Charles, smarmy former CWF ring announcer and longtime associate, walked offstage to check on me, only to find me taking a deep breath and stretching my shoulders as if I was preparing for a workout. Charles: Everything alright, Mr C? Crippler: Of course, Charles. Just had to… stretch the Perfect vocal cords a bit. No one wants to hear a raspy Crippler. Charles: Don’t I know it! Should I announce you again? Paras: No need… I should hope no one has forgotten me already… In truth, I wished they had. I spent the better part of a year telling the populace of Minnesota how amazing life could be if they followed my every ridiculous whim. I worked to institute polygamy, tried to usurp the Governor for being “too nice,” and, worst of all, slept with any woman I could charm…or drug…into bed, including many who were married. If the entire state ended up as I was, Minnesota would become a breeding ground for lecherous scumbags. I needed to correct this, but it would take some time…and right now, Jay Wildman had to be a higher priority. I took another breath. Something in the air was amiss, and it wasn’t Charles’ immense amount of cologne. Not able to quite put my finger on it, I resigned to face my fate head-on, stepping through the curtain and out onto the conference stage. The room looked the same as it always had—fully furnished banquet spreads surrounding a collection of wooden dining tables, white lights wrapped around the tall flowering plants dotting the perimeter. The visitors, however, were noticeably scarce; the usual 500-plus attendance figure was stunted by roughly half. The few that were there made me feel welcome, at least, as they donned their Crippler t-shirts and cheered in raucous unison at my appearance. I stepped up to the microphone, noting several cups of my blue punch circulating around the room. Perhaps this wouldn’t be so bad after all. Crippler: Welcome one and all to our first general gathering of March! I know I have been away for a long while, but I bring you all great news of Perfection from my endeavors in Sanctioned Violence Organization, where I will be competing in one of the most dangerous matches in history in two days at Showdown. Half the crowd cheered while the other whispered to its neighbors in awestruck concern. I admired the dichotomy with a smirk and continued. Crippler: The importance of this match is not to be overlooked, as not only will I be facing Jay Wildman who is the current SVO World Champion but the man who has taken it upon himself to decry every aspect of the Perfect Life Chris Wrestling will face Samuel Amos… in the same ring at the same time… but this match will be the gateway… the precipice from which the Crippler will glide straight into the gleaming yellow sun that is the SVO World Heavyweight Championship, just as we have all dreamed! Another cheer and round of applause arose from the hall as a tinge of guilt suddenly bit at my conscience. My attention immediately panned down at an empty front row table… the one that the man who first encouraged me to fight for the World Title, Dr. Jacobs, would normally sit at before our falling out several months ago. Unable to look to him for advice, I forced myself to believe that I wouldn’t need it anyway… I was the Crippler, damn it. I could do it all on my own. Crippler: Speaking of our dreams, fans, I want to assure you that the goals of the Perfect Life have not changed since our original conception. We shall still strive to achieve fulfillment, love, and glory in all that we do… only, I warn you that there are many facets of life that will overwhelm, if not taint the weakened soul if one lets them. Let Chris Wrestling be an example for all of us… he allowed the allure of being “pain free” subdue his very being, and now he has emerged a simple lap dog to a bitter old hag. The Perfect Life, however, does not allow for such spiritual maleficence and will, some day, hopefully save the soul of Chris Wrestling as we originally intended. In the meantime, I will look to beat the World Champion Jay Wildman. My supporters, though fewer in number due to my absence, were still behind me, a fact that would undoubtedly give me an edge over Jay Wildman. Wildman had no fans outside of horny old women. My apologies to the horny old ladies— at Showdown, I will beat their hero. Epilogue Crowd: PERFECT LIFE, NOT PERFECT DEATH! PERFECT LIFE, NOT PERFECT DEATH! The fans were on my side…I was sure of it. Of course, the angry mob of protesters outside the hotel certainly shook my confidence. I slowly headed toward the parking space containing my car, but my path was soon obstructed by a flood of Minnesota citizens holding wooden signs bearing such phrases as “Perfection Kills” and “No Perfect Drug.” I gazed wide-eyed at the group, the Minnesota air growing colder with every passing second. I’d had protesters at my rallies before, but those were mostly out-of-staters who didn’t quite grasp the concept that a professional wrestler who owns all the financial assets in the state rallying a cult in his image was a good thing. These people were Perfect Lifers…and they did not look pleased. As the hotel employees attempted to keep the protesters out of the pickup lanes to maintain order, I swung my cane up to my shoulder, marching into the lion’s den with either brash valiance or blunt stupidity, depending on your point of view. Protester: There he is! PERFECT LIFE, NOT PERFECT DEATH! I strode up to the tall, bald man who had curiously screamed out this battle cry in my face and narrowed my eyes at him. The rest of the crowd fell silent, but I could tell by their stern frowns that many of them would likely take issue with me if I were not armed. I planned my words carefully to avoid anyone getting hurt. Crippler: What can I do for you, friends? Protester: Don’t play dumb with us, Crippler. You’ve done enough already! Crippler: Sir, if I were playing dumb, don’t you think I’d wear a more accurate Chris Wrestling disguise? I didn’t expect him to respond to my humor. He didn’t. Protester: We’re done with all your preaching and your drugs. It’s tearing apart our community and instead of doing anything about it, you’re off wrestling in Vegas and leaving us to deal with the consequences! Where were you when we struggled? Where were you for Elise?! There was that name again. The man’s veins bulged from his hairless skull as he passionately chastised me for a crime I apparently committed without having any knowledge of it. In reality, I had set most of the state up for life. I used their donations to build new housing and created new jobs through my business alliances. When morale was down, I made sure their focus on my control over every situation would reassure them…bring them joy. There was nothing that I didn’t do for this man or this “Elise.” I was untouchable. Crippler: Humor me, peon… who is Elise? The man’s eyes lit up, although I couldn’t tell if it was anger or surprise that consumed him. The other protestors babbled amongst each other before the man forcefully pushed a copy of the Star Tribune into my chest. I nonchalantly grabbed the newspaper and smirked before looking down at the page the man had folded over. I didn’t get a chance to scan over two paragraphs before my expression sank, my pride shattered, and my cane rattled as it fell to the paved sidewalk... ST. PAUL- A teenage girl was admitted to intensive care at United Hospital Tuesday morning due to acute drug and alcohol poisoning. Elise, a 15-year-old sophomore at St. Croix Lutheran High School, was found unconscious in her bedroom by her mother, surrounded by several open containers of liquor and bottles of a blue liquid substance most recognized for its recreational use among wrestler Crippler’s Perfect Life Movement, of which she was reportedly a member. Hale’s BAC was at a critical level at admission and she is reportedly in serious condition. The hospital has not released further information. Crippler and his employer, Sanctioned Violence Organization of Las Vegas, Nevada, were not available for comment. …Chris wasn’t the poison of the Perfect Life. I was. To be continued… |
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2:30 PM Jul 11