Life's A Beach & So are YOU SEE EYE!
Nov 17, 2017 22:57:27 GMT -6
Bonnie Blue, Kevin Bishop, and 1 more like this
Post by SHADOWLOVE on Nov 17, 2017 22:57:27 GMT -6
Somewhere on a secluded island in the Polynesian Island Triangle. . .
The Summertime Blues Of French Polynesia. . .
The following takes place sometime after the events of last Monday’s UCI Overload, sometime before the events of UCI Civil War, and occur in real time sometime during the week of UCI Civil War. . .
Your favorite modern day charismatic and charming, egotistical, narcissistic, politically incorrect, felicitating, self-righteous, second-generation megalomaniac and apex predator, "The Handsome Half-breed" Shadowlove. was stripped to the waist showing off the upper body of a Greek God, with washboard abs, in custom-made Calvin Klein crocodile skinned swim trunks and made no physical movement while sitting barefoot Indian-style, the wagon burning way and not the taxi driving way, in the seven-point meditation posture with a stillness of serene authority, most prized by the Japanese, on the softest powdery white sands that stretched for miles and miles along a hidden private beach.
His heart rate was a very relaxed 40 beats a minute as the oxygen in his blood helped the preternatural powers of his mind’s eye remain focused and alert to the surroundings around him. He seems to be enjoying the quiet, silent lucidity escapism of early retirement from the rigmaroles of everyday life in the United Championship Infinite.
He runs hands through his classic masculine and modern mussed, razor-textured, choppy finished dark brown hair and interlocks them behind his head showing off his chiseled fighter's face with an ice cold stare which radiants from his sparkling blue eyes looking out at the rhythmic rolling of the bluish, green, crystal clear water that were ideal swimming conditions along with the best tasty supersized waves coming in out of the rising sun, satisfying any discerning beachgoers requirements for beauty, relaxation, and adventure.
He had a Blu electronic cigarette (product placement) in his mouth puffing and blowing out a series of vapor rings up into the air and quietly, to himself, appears to be reciting the Hannya-Shin-Kyū, The Heart Mantra, taught to him by his Mother as a child to clear and calm his nerves and synchronize his mind, body, heart, and soul:
“Body is nothing more than emptiness, emptiness is nothing more than body. The body is exactly empty, and emptiness is exactly body. The other four aspects of human existence -- feeling, thought, will, and consciousness -- are likewise nothing more than emptiness, and emptiness nothing more than they. All things are empty: Nothing is born, nothing dies, nothing is pure, nothing is stained, nothing increases and nothing decreases. So, in emptiness, there is no body, no feeling, no thought, no will, no consciousness. There are no eyes, no ears, no nose, no tongue, no body, no mind.There is no seeing, no hearing, no smelling, no tasting, no touching, no imagining.. . .”
“There is nothing seen, nor heard, nor smelled, nor tasted, nor touched, nor imagined. There is no ignorance, and no end to ignorance. There is no old age and death, and no end to old age and death. There is no suffering, no cause of suffering, no end to suffering, no path to follow. There is no attainment of wisdom, and no wisdom to attain.The Bodhisattvas rely on the Perfection of Wisdom, and so with no delusions, they feel no fear, and have Nirvana here and now. All the Buddhas, past, present, and future, rely on the Perfection of Wisdom, and live in full enlightenment. The Perfection of Wisdom is the greatest mantra. It is the clearest mantra, the highest mantra, the mantra that removes all suffering. This is truth that cannot be doubted. . .”
The Infamous Superstar's Mother, Akasha, with her sleek bob of salt and pepper sheared pointed ends slicked back behind her ears and a deep middle part with gelled back fringe covered in a black and taupe floppy straw hat, her off her white-hot, firey red-hot, brilliantly passionate grey eyes of the devil hidden behind a pair of Vintage Revo sunglasses with uniquely shaped blue mirror h20 polarized lenses, slaps her son upside his head in a “You don't write and you never call your sweet and loving mother” style gesture.
Her very slim, classic supermodel-like figure was encased in a Vantablack and stark white Zebra print sundress designed by Valentino with Vantablack leather mesh Christian Louboutin flip-flops was casting her own shadow over her son like a solar eclipse as she spoke with a strong, ethereally supple in a combination of sheer vulnerability and electrifying powerful voice:
"Are you out of your Vulcan mind?. . ."
She has always been able to sense that raging fury in his mind’s eye behind his sparkling blue eyes burning in a predatory manner that shows how passionate he is about defending an organization that has always shown bitter resentment and righteous indignation towards everything that is representative in his very own existence.
"You are absolutely and positively the most dangerously interesting wrestler in the United Championship Infinite and the sports entertainment business today. . ."
He has never been effected or affected by the bitter resentment and righteous indignation shown towards him by The UCI Hierarchy, every velveteen wrestler behind the curtain in the back, and the UCI Fandom, or for that matter, any other second-rate organization with third-rate talent that have burned and scarred his mind, body, heart and soul about everything that is representative by his very own existence.
"If you chose to walk away from the United Championship Infinite and the sports entertainment business would you still be at peace with yourself my son?. . ."
He ponders an answer to his mother’s question and double raises his eyebrows in super slow motion in mock amazement as his patented malevolent, tight wolfish, whiplash smile, slowly appearing on his lips showing off perfectly white even teeth on his chiseled fighter's face in an “That is why they call me, The Face Of The Franchise, The Whole ‘F'N’ Show, Mr. UCI, or whatever expletive that you want to put in front of my name whiplash smile just charms the hell out of everyone in this organization” flamboyant, stylistic supermodel shit-eating grin.
He flicks the Blu electronic cigarette into the camera and his low dusky voice rings out fully, with all the charm and charisma that one can muster, mister and gets down to the business as he starts painting his masterpiece:
"Yes. . ."
She can tell by her son’s body language that his strong feeling of annoyance, displeasure, and hostility that has always been what has kept his concentration in complete focus when it comes to his state of mind in terms of his condescending confidence and antagonistic arrogance and ruthlessly manipulative and unscrupulous influential psychological mindset toughness outside of the squared-circle and physiological skillset toughness inside of the squared-circle and has been tailor-made for the sports entertainment business with his all-around, well-balanced athleticism that rebellious guerrilla warfare was far from being completed even though his concentration and focus seemed to be pulling away lately by the undue influences and manipulations of the mainstream realities of real life outside the space-time continuum of the United Championship Infinite.
Meanwhile, in a galaxy not too far away, but just some few hundred yards away. . .
The Infamous Superstar's Father, a former three-time, three-time World Television Champion, The Hollywood Blonde, with his once mass of long blonde hair now turned platinum with a punk rocker hairstyle that still makes the ladies “rebel-yell” around the world showing off his aged to perfection tanned leathery chiseled face showing off ice cold blue eyes and his world-infamous lip snarl, was sitting on a barstool of an oceanfront private Beach Bar ideal for enjoying the scenery.
He’s dressed in an unbuttoned cornball Hawaiian shirt with classic khaki cargo shorts, stark white socks and custom-made Calvin Klein alligator skinned flip-flops. He was sipping on a traditional Cuban Highball Mojito, mixed white rum, sugar cane juice, lime juice, sparkling water, and mint, shaken, not stirred, poured in a 300 to 410 millilitres Collins glass tumbler.
He spoke with the Voice of God, not "THE GOD", but, a God, as he preaches a psalm to the choir, as if coming from the bottom of a well:
“Oh, you gotta be fucking kidding me. Do you really mean to tell me that my son has fallen so far that, that fucking idiot Spencer Adams or whoever the mutherfucking booker is in the UCI really thinks that Red Dragon, the face of that famed no-show mop and bucket brigade tag-team with Sah'ta Thor, and some T.E.C. support dude from the land down under really stands a chance against the man who that fucking idiot Spencer Adams himself dubbed The Face of the Franchise, The Whole F’N Show, Mr. UCI, or whatever expletive that the UCI Hierarchy, every velveteen wrestler behind the curtain in the back, and the UCI Fandom really wants to put in front of his name?. . .”
A beautiful topless Polynesian woman wearing a rainbow colored silk flowered headband and a rainbow colored silk flowered Lei with a mini grass skirt, serves The Hollywood Blonde another traditional Cuban Highball Mojito shaken, not stirred, poured in a 300 to 410 millilitres Collins glass tumbler.
“He was the fucking genius after all that put together that A-team of Zombie McMorris, Bonnie Blue, Alex Richards, Kevin Bishop, and Andre Holmes that singlehandedly underperformed and lost to a team filled with third-rate talent in that second-rate organization at Helloween before or after Killing Floor. That must've been one helluva clusterfuck of a match trying to keep all those fucking egos in check in order to become one cohesive United Championship Infinite when all you have are independent thinkers with personal agendas and made quite the alleged buy-rate for a rival second-rate organization, eh Spencer? Your dumbass had the high ground after Kevin Bishop, Bonnie Blue, and my son finished in the Top 10 at that second-rate organization's WAR XVI and you sacrificed that for what? To sooth Kevin Bishop’s hurt ego and giving a stagnant second-rate organization with third-rate talent a UCI booster shot in the ratings for a week? Genius. Pure Wile E. Coyote, Super Genius. Did you get that master plan of kissing Seth Lerch’s ass from the A.C.M.E. Company, too? You didn't even have the common courtesy to ask my son to be a part of that clusterfuck Team UCI and continue to ride the wave of momentum of dominance after WAR XVI over that fucking second-rate organization with third-rate fucking talent you fucking haole. . .”
He takes a quick sip of the Mojito to quench his thirst knowing that you never cough up the high ground to a second-rate organization when you have all the advantages of kicking them in the balls and where some people have the wherewithal to keep their seductively handsome ego in check, saluds Spencer Adams, eyes the beautiful topless Polynesian woman up and down, not bad, not bad at all, the drink, not the beautiful topless Polynesian woman, although both are quite refreshing and knowing that you gotta live a little Hollywood.
“This family's legacy isn't solely based on whether or not you have been a World Television Champion or having any sort of Championships around your waist as everyone would like to believe. The greatest works of this family's legacy comes from knowing that you never sold out your reputation for trinkets of gold even though it keeps shining bright on your pathway to success even when upholding the time-honored tradition of being the voice of reason, the voice of the silent, unsilent majority of the UCI or any other fucking second-rate organization in this pitiful existence of the sports entertainment business. My son was the only one that didn't buy into that non sequitur fallacy known as that fucking second-rate organization's Hellimination for the sake of competing in a non-existent, false-flagged war over hurt feelings and broken promises. . .”
He pours some of his traditional Cuban Highball Mojito onto the soft powdery white sand in tribute symbolizing a shot which should have been enjoyed in respect to those who made the Exodus, those who were incarcerated, and those who had to flee back to the confines of that meaningless fucking second-rate organization.
“My son has never been one that has ever had the need, the want, or the desire to follow in my footsteps in this pitiful existence of the sports entertainment business. He has never had the demand to seize the day of his celebrity in the pitiful existence of the sports entertainment business and treasure those sweet moments inside the pitiful existence of the sports entertainment business and the squared-circle. His passion has always been for the realities of life that comes from the silent lucidity outside of the pitiful existence of the sports entertainment business and the squared-circle. . .”
He takes another swig of his traditional Cuban Highball Mojito shaken, not stirred, poured in a 300 to 410 millilitres Collins glass tumbler, just to wet his parched lips.
“Simply because he already has reached the very pinnacle of life inside and outside of the squared-circle and the pitiful existence of the sports entertainment business with his tailor-made all-around, well-balanced athleticism, his rebellious guerrilla warfare, and his God-given laissez-faire attitude that has been passed down by yours truly, his sweet mother, my lovely wife, and continues into the future with our very sweet and lovely Miyamoto accentuating his condescending confidence and antagonistic arrogance and ruthlessly manipulative and unscrupulous influential psychological mindset toughness outside of the squared-circle and physiological skillset toughness inside of the squared-circle as one of the original central foundational cornerstones in the birth, growth, development, and preservation of the UCI. . .”
The Infamous Superstar's personal bodyguard/valet and “Fashionista Sensei”, Ms. Miyamoto, was laying down relaxing and sunbathing in a stark white fishnet style hammock hanging between two of the majestic palm trees while reading a copy of the Wall St. Journal.
The simply ravishing femme fatale temptress has her raven black hair was pulled back in a French braid showing off her angelic looking face with her intoxicatingly, incandescent almond shaped green eyes hidden behind a pair of RayBan sunglasses. Her attractively well-proportioned, slim, trim, toned body built for sin is dressed for success in a camouflage string bikini, created by Beach Bunny Swimwear.
Her sweet as honey, harmoniously hypnotizing, smooth as silk, smoky voice radiating through her alluring lips as she looks over the top of copy of the Wall St. Journal at the wrestler that seems to have to prove himself to the UCI Hierarchy, every velveteen wrestler behind the curtain, and the UCI Fandom 24/7, 365 days, 52 weeks, and 12 months a year:
“Hai, Gurandomasutā-san! The Handsome Half-breed Shadowlove-san no shinshi-tekina kojin shugi-tekina fudōtoku ni wa, tsuneni kono masshōmen no masshōmen ga arimashita. Sore wa, kono soshiki de kare no shinpai sa rete inai chūmoku ni ataisuru tokutei no kojin ni wa, kan'yo no kisoku o koete imasu. . .”
She was still speaking Japanese three weeks after dragging his son out of Crystal Lake after his loss to Harry Diderot at Killing Floor and two weeks after defeating El Pollo Loco on Overload. She must still be pissed. His Japanese was a little rusty but she was saying, “Yes, Grand Master! There has always been that very shade of authenticity to The Handsome Half-breed Shadowlove-san gentlemanly individualistic immorality that goes way beyond any rules of engagement when it comes to certain individuals who have deserved his unabated and undivided attention in this organization. . .”
He reaches into one of the pockets of his classic khaki cargo shorts and whips out an “old school” Mont Blanc pen and an "old school" event planner. Awkward Pauses. He licks his index finger, looks up and smiles towards the viewing audience at home. Pauses. And starts shuffling through the “old school” event planner, looking at all the history that his son has made, and scribbles something down. And pauses.
“As history has shown, my son has never, ever shied away from offering some creative criticism of his own on matters of unimportance to him in regards to other people's pitiful existence in the sports entertainment business after they choose to enter their thoughts and testimonials, no matter who they are, no matter what they are, and no matter how prestigious their reputation is supposed to be, into the kangaroo court of public opinion. . .”
He starts shuffling through the “old school” event planner once again and scribbles something down with his “old school” Mont Blanc pen and shakes his head at the very thought of the kind of trouble he would get in the modern age social media back in the day.
"If the UCI Hierarchy, every velveteen wrestler behind the curtain in the back, and the UCI Fandom really think that my son's career in the pitiful existence of the sports entertainment business is over, then you've really got another thing coming. . ."
He starts twirling the “old school” Mont Blanc pen between his fingers and slams shut his “old school” event planner and slides it back into one of the pockets of his classic khaki cargo shorts.
“Wouldn't it be absolutely fabulous if the instability civility of the assholes of the world could actually stabilize this organization with their thoughts and actions from their humbling humility?. . .”
He throws the “old school” Mont Blanc pen into the air to test the theory of relativity and the opens the pocket of his unbuttoned cornball Hawaiian shirt. A few moments later, the “old school” Mont Blanc pen lands perfectly into the pocket of his unbuttoned cornball Hawaiian shirt.
Meanwhile, coming in out of the rising sun, about a mile out. . .
An MH-X Stealth Black Hawk helicopter cruises at over a 140 knots per hour somewhere over the rhythmic rolling of the bluish, green, crystal clear water in attack formation.
On board piloting the helicopter was a Japanese chauffeur, black chauffeur fighter pilot helmet with the ultraviolet visor down hiding the facial features, custom-made black Giorgio Armani black flight suit along with a couple of salty looking Japanese dudes named Kyodai and Shatei, both sporting jet-black crew-cut hair, black sunglasses, custom-made black Giorgio Armani business suits.
Meanwhile, back along the shoreline of the softest powdery white sands that stretched for miles and miles along a hidden private beach. . .
His mother’s very slim, classic supermodel-like figure encased in a Vantablack and stark white Zebra print sundress designed by Valentino with Vantablack leather mesh Christian Louboutin flip-flops was still casting her own shadow over him like a solar eclipse.
“You’ve lost that loving feeling that everyone fears because forces way beyond your control have been pulling you away from the idealistic ideology of the quiet, silent lucidity escapism from the rigmaroles of everyday life in the United Championship Infinite and you’ve ventured more into the realities of normalcy outside the space-time continuum of this organization. . .”
He tilts his head over looking around his mother casting her own shadow over him like a solar eclipse and sees a hard to make out shadowy shape within the sun that seems to appear to be flying towards them with his sparkling blue eyes.
“That intense feeling of deep-seated affection and deep-seated romantic attachment that you share with our sweet and lovely Miyamoto has always been the driving force behind your strong feelings of annoyance, displeasure, and hostility that has always kept your concentration in complete focus when it comes to your state of mind in terms of your condescending confidence and antagonistic arrogance and ruthlessly manipulative and unscrupulous influential psychological mindset toughness outside of the squared-circle and physiological skillset toughness inside of the squared-circle. . .”
His mother slides her hand through his classic masculine and modern mussed, razor-textured, choppy finished dark brown hair and pinches his ear between her thumb and index finger and raises him up to his feet and walks him over towards his Father and their sweet and lovely Miyamoto.
“And considering the family dynamic within this organization, it has been very easy to see why people like Red Dragon and T.E.C. are in dire straits when compared to a true role-model and a perfect specimen that the United Championship Infinite’s Hierarchy, every velveteen wrestler behind the curtain in the back, and the United Championship Infinite’s Fandom find totally unredeemable and incorrigible in this organization. You my son and our sweet and lovely Miyamoto have never, ever been like these superficial bigger-than-life whiney, umm, winning personalities, these dames to kill for, and these stranger than strange butt ugly and frightening imaginary monsters that currently reside within this organization. You my son and our sweet and lovely Miyamoto have been very lucky to do most things that most dysfunctional family members only dreamed about doing, seeing the things that were worth seeing, experiencing the things that were worth experiencing, and living life that was worth living while traveling throughout the world. . .”
His father decides to chime in his two-cents worth of unsolicited opinion about how superficial people behave in a certain way that shows just exactly how superficially shallow that these inconsequential people really are in this organization, simply because his son and our sweet and lovely Miyamoto aren't the byproduct of a broken family as it seems to be for everyone else in this organization in order to fit in with the status quo of this establishment to save his son, because he knows how the very sweet and lovely women in this family are like when they are having a religious moment, but still can't get a word in edgewise.
“The United Championship Infinite’s Hierarchy, every velveteen wrestler behind the curtain in the back, and the United Championship Infinite’s Fandom believes that you have lost your too intense for younger viewers edge since your loss at Killing Floor to Harry Diderot, hence all these clusterfuck, pardon my French, matches with El Payaso Loco and now with Red Dragon and T.E.C. on Overload. Now the only way to silence all these half-baked and half-assed, pardon my French, criticisms about your career and prove these dumb son-of-a-bitches, pardon my French, wrong, is to go back and start from the very beginning. . .”
His Father finally getting a word in edgewise and chimes in his two-cents worth of unsolicited opinion and points to his wife as she getting comfortable on a Wave Chaise Lounge with Cushion designed by Source Outdoor.
“Yeah, what she said. . .”
His Mother's body language speaking more volume than her words to our sweet and lovely Miyamoto. . .
"The Fashionista Sensei” Ms. Miyamoto has always had a particular intensive well-trained set of skills in international business etiquette and diplomatic protocol along with an excellent mixture of hand-to-hand combative martial arts that transforms her into a very mysterious and seductive femme fatale temptress whose allure and charm will ensnare both men and women, often leading them into very compromising, very dangerous, and very deadly situations.
She seems to mysteriously be conjuring up a mystical spell over him just by her mere presence as she takes her proper place cradling against his muscular body and moving very little, never turning her head, or revealing any kind of expression that gives the viewing audience at home a clue as to her innermost thoughts with the exception of a very sharp and penetrating affection and devilishly delicious, malevolent and pleasurable, mischievously smile coming from her very luscious and alluring lips while caressing his muscular chest with her fingers.
“So the United Championship Infinite’s Hierarchy, every velveteen wrestler behind the curtain in the back, and the United Championship Infinite’s Fandom really believes that this enigmatic bandito creature along with that perennial minister of the Mop and Bucket Brigade actually stands a chance against The Handsome Half-breed Shadowlove-san going into the civil unrest of Civil War?. . .”
She lowers her RayBan sunglasses down her perfectly flawless nose on her angelic looking face showing off her intoxicating and incandescent almond shaped green eyes of the Goddess of the Rising Sun and a 21st century female samurai warrior known for her bravery and strength. Her intoxicating and incandescent almond shaped green eyes were scanning back and forth like The Terminator searching for a target, or in this case, targets that will be terminated on Overload.
“T.E.C.-san you still have that fresh new car smell in the United Championship Infinite even though you come from a long line of junkies from the land down under. Unfortunately for you, there is no one in this organization that is as addictive with excessive indulgence and sensual pleasures more than The Handsome Half-breed Shadowlove-san. You will try your best to avoid your craving for him but in the end you will lose yourself in his psychedelic shadowy underworld of reliving your dysfunctional family's unpleasant emotion caused by the belief that The Handsome Half-breed Shadowlove-san is so dangerous, so likely to cause pain, so threatening to your livelihood that he will put the fear of God, not The God, but a God into you just to send a message to those that have had their moments of doubt that he is the only one that maintains the sanctity of this organization. . .”
Taking one good look at “The Handsome Half-breed” Shadowlove posing like a fashion supermodel next to his sweet and lovely Miyamoto and you know that there is only one true messiah that ministers evil darkness in this organization and it isn't that crimson lizard, Red Dragon.
“Spencer Adams should've been more concerned about protecting his weak and defenceless rising stars just a tad bit more better. T.E.C. support will be fleeting once you are in the squared-circle with me, so much so that you will be living up to your mother's reputation and perform seppuku, ritual suicide on yourself and wishing you still suffered from the aftereffects of your momma’s opiate addiction. Red Dragon, if your weren't orphaned like T.E.C., then you are definitely shit out of luck but luckily for you this organization has sent you some support in your time of hardship to relieve you of your extreme high anxiety, sorrow, and pain with your assisted suicide. Pleased to meet you. . .”
His patented malevolent, tight wolfish, whiplash smile, slowly appearing on his lips showing off perfectly white even teeth on his chiseled fighter's face in a “I have the one thing that every man, woman, and child fears, my sweet and lovely Miyamoto. And I will take you to the one place that everyone fears and deliver upon you, The Dark Gift. You see, The Dark Gift isn't like any other finisher in the sports entertainment business. Oh, no, some people need a handful of finishers just to survive Red Dragon and T.E.C. But why, when all you only need is just ONE. ONE to defeat Red Dragon and T.E.C. The Dark Gift is that living, breathing omnipotence, omnipresence, omniscience and truly ostentatious indulgence when it takes on a life of its own and simply ends Red Dragon and T.E.C., just like you never even existed at Overload” Jake The Snake Roberts stylistic shit-eating grin.
“Maybe, my love, we should apologize to T.E.C.-san and Red Dragon-san for our Verbal Kent-san physical and emotional and mental harassment and refrain from any more offensive verbal sparring since everything is so politically correct these days? Then again, we aren't like the Guardians looking to save face when looking for honor, prestige, and glory within the space-time continuum for the sake of survival in this organization. . .”
“The Handsome Half-breed” Shadowlove along with his sweet and lovely Miyamoto ceremonially bows towards the UCI Hierarchy, every velveteen wrestler behind the curtain in the back, and the UCI Fandom with his sparkling blue eyes and her intoxicating and incandescent almond shaped green eyes burning a black hole into T.E.C. and Red Dragon’s souls watching at home and telling a different story by obtaining a financial advantage of taking the high ground through deception.
“We aren't in the UCI for just our own benefit because we have time to spare nor are we here to fight for UCI Hierarchy, every velveteen wrestler behind the curtain in the back, and the UCI Fandom welfare state of mind when it comes to bowing down to the opinions of certain third-rate talented individuals in a second-rate organization. Only one thing and one thing only matters to yours truly. Me, myself, and I, my sweet and lovely Miyamoto, and very, very supportive parents, The Hollywood Blonde and Akasha. All of whom are very, very understanding, very, very calculating, and very, very knowledgeable of the star power of my all-around, well-balanced athleticism, and rebellious guerrilla warfare that comes from my condescending confidence and antagonistic arrogance and ruthlessly manipulative and unscrupulous influential psychological mindset toughness outside of the squared-circle and physiological skillset toughness inside of the squared-circle. . .”
She starts twirling his classically masculine and modern mussed, razor-textured, choppy finished dark brown hair through her fingers with carnal fascination and malignant pleasure and down his muscular chest and washboard abs and flicks fake beads off her fingers in a "The Handsome Half-breed Shadowlove-san doesn't sweat you, T.E.C.-san, or you, Red Dragon-san, because life's a beach and both of you are his bitch on Overload" style gesture.
“This family's legacy has never undergone to any kind of obedience training especially when It comes to following a certain set of rules of engagement when dealing with the hierarchy of this organization or any other second-rate organization. Worrying about deliberately avoiding the welfare of certain individuals of this organization or any other second-rate organization that deserves our unabashed, unabated and undivided attention when entering into a conflict of interest with reckless abandon. Never to refuse or back down from answering any challenge without question in order to continue in a course of action even in the face of dangerous combative liaisons with little no prospect for success. The Handsome Half-breed Shadowlove-san only obligation is towards his family and he has upheld his family's time-honored tradition of being the hero, anti-hero of the anti-establishment, establishment voice of reason, voice of the silent, unsilent majority of the United Championship Infinite. . .”
“PERSONAL JESUS” by Depeche Mode starts to play on the Bose® (product placement) SoundTouch® (product placement) indoor/outdoor surround sound system:
He runs his fingers through his his classically masculine and modern mussed, razor-textured, choppy finished dark brown hair and making his hair perfect in super slow motion then raises his arms up and straight out to his sides and bows his head, as if, being crucified on a cross. And on the third day, Jesus, wept.
"HER STRUT" by Bob Seger & The Silver Bullet Band starts to play on the Bose® (product placement) SoundTouch® (product placement) indoor/outdoor surround sound system:
She exudes fantastic supermodel energy, moving at a regular and fairly slow pace by lifting and setting down each foot in turn, never having both feet off the ground at once, with a stiff, erect, and apparently arrogant and conceited "Strut" around him as if he was being crucified on the cross.
She lowers her RayBan sunglasses down her perfectly flawless nose of her angelic looking face showing off her intoxicatingly, incandescent almond shaped green eyes, nodding in approval at such a Magnificent Specimen, while tapping a rolled-up copy of the Wall St. Journal into the palm of her hand.
She takes her proper place cradling against his muscular body and moving very little, never turning her head, or revealing any kind of expression that gives the viewing audience at home a clue as to her innermost thoughts with the exception of a very sharp and penetrating affection of a devilishly delicious, malevolent and pleasurable, mischievously smile coming from her very luscious and alluring lips as she starts caressing his muscular chest with her fingers.
He slowly raises his head in super slow motion and double raises an eyebrows in mock amazement as his patented malevolent, tight wolfish, whiplash smile, slowly appearing on his lips showing off perfectly white even teeth on his chiseled fighter's face in a “Does he really look like he even cares who he will be facing at Civil War? That is why they call me, The Face Of The Franchise, The Whole ‘F'N’ Show, Mr. UCI, or whatever expletive that you want to put in front of my name whiplash smile just charms the hell out of everyone in this organization” flamboyant, stylistic supermodel deus ex machina shit-eating grin.
Quietly, to himself, he appears to be lip syncing a song, “CIVIL WAR” by Guns N’ Roses, that he was starting to listen to on his (product placement) custom-made special edition Beats Studio gloss white wireless headphones:
She pauses. Then. . .
She looks at the viewing audience at home with her intoxicatingly, incandescent almond shaped green eyes and showing no emotion on her angelic looking face then slices her own throat from her left carotid artery to her right carotid artery with her right index finger and makes an imaginary blood explosion style gesture with her left hand.
Then. . .
She raises her RayBan sunglasses up her perfectly flawless nose on her angelic looking face while hiding her intoxicatingly, incandescent almond shaped green eyes with her middle finger.
The Summertime Blues Of French Polynesia. . .
The following takes place sometime after the events of last Monday’s UCI Overload, sometime before the events of UCI Civil War, and occur in real time sometime during the week of UCI Civil War. . .
Your favorite modern day charismatic and charming, egotistical, narcissistic, politically incorrect, felicitating, self-righteous, second-generation megalomaniac and apex predator, "The Handsome Half-breed" Shadowlove. was stripped to the waist showing off the upper body of a Greek God, with washboard abs, in custom-made Calvin Klein crocodile skinned swim trunks and made no physical movement while sitting barefoot Indian-style, the wagon burning way and not the taxi driving way, in the seven-point meditation posture with a stillness of serene authority, most prized by the Japanese, on the softest powdery white sands that stretched for miles and miles along a hidden private beach.
His heart rate was a very relaxed 40 beats a minute as the oxygen in his blood helped the preternatural powers of his mind’s eye remain focused and alert to the surroundings around him. He seems to be enjoying the quiet, silent lucidity escapism of early retirement from the rigmaroles of everyday life in the United Championship Infinite.
He runs hands through his classic masculine and modern mussed, razor-textured, choppy finished dark brown hair and interlocks them behind his head showing off his chiseled fighter's face with an ice cold stare which radiants from his sparkling blue eyes looking out at the rhythmic rolling of the bluish, green, crystal clear water that were ideal swimming conditions along with the best tasty supersized waves coming in out of the rising sun, satisfying any discerning beachgoers requirements for beauty, relaxation, and adventure.
He had a Blu electronic cigarette (product placement) in his mouth puffing and blowing out a series of vapor rings up into the air and quietly, to himself, appears to be reciting the Hannya-Shin-Kyū, The Heart Mantra, taught to him by his Mother as a child to clear and calm his nerves and synchronize his mind, body, heart, and soul:
“Body is nothing more than emptiness, emptiness is nothing more than body. The body is exactly empty, and emptiness is exactly body. The other four aspects of human existence -- feeling, thought, will, and consciousness -- are likewise nothing more than emptiness, and emptiness nothing more than they. All things are empty: Nothing is born, nothing dies, nothing is pure, nothing is stained, nothing increases and nothing decreases. So, in emptiness, there is no body, no feeling, no thought, no will, no consciousness. There are no eyes, no ears, no nose, no tongue, no body, no mind.There is no seeing, no hearing, no smelling, no tasting, no touching, no imagining.. . .”
“There is nothing seen, nor heard, nor smelled, nor tasted, nor touched, nor imagined. There is no ignorance, and no end to ignorance. There is no old age and death, and no end to old age and death. There is no suffering, no cause of suffering, no end to suffering, no path to follow. There is no attainment of wisdom, and no wisdom to attain.The Bodhisattvas rely on the Perfection of Wisdom, and so with no delusions, they feel no fear, and have Nirvana here and now. All the Buddhas, past, present, and future, rely on the Perfection of Wisdom, and live in full enlightenment. The Perfection of Wisdom is the greatest mantra. It is the clearest mantra, the highest mantra, the mantra that removes all suffering. This is truth that cannot be doubted. . .”
The Infamous Superstar's Mother, Akasha, with her sleek bob of salt and pepper sheared pointed ends slicked back behind her ears and a deep middle part with gelled back fringe covered in a black and taupe floppy straw hat, her off her white-hot, firey red-hot, brilliantly passionate grey eyes of the devil hidden behind a pair of Vintage Revo sunglasses with uniquely shaped blue mirror h20 polarized lenses, slaps her son upside his head in a “You don't write and you never call your sweet and loving mother” style gesture.
Her very slim, classic supermodel-like figure was encased in a Vantablack and stark white Zebra print sundress designed by Valentino with Vantablack leather mesh Christian Louboutin flip-flops was casting her own shadow over her son like a solar eclipse as she spoke with a strong, ethereally supple in a combination of sheer vulnerability and electrifying powerful voice:
"Are you out of your Vulcan mind?. . ."
She has always been able to sense that raging fury in his mind’s eye behind his sparkling blue eyes burning in a predatory manner that shows how passionate he is about defending an organization that has always shown bitter resentment and righteous indignation towards everything that is representative in his very own existence.
"You are absolutely and positively the most dangerously interesting wrestler in the United Championship Infinite and the sports entertainment business today. . ."
He has never been effected or affected by the bitter resentment and righteous indignation shown towards him by The UCI Hierarchy, every velveteen wrestler behind the curtain in the back, and the UCI Fandom, or for that matter, any other second-rate organization with third-rate talent that have burned and scarred his mind, body, heart and soul about everything that is representative by his very own existence.
"If you chose to walk away from the United Championship Infinite and the sports entertainment business would you still be at peace with yourself my son?. . ."
He ponders an answer to his mother’s question and double raises his eyebrows in super slow motion in mock amazement as his patented malevolent, tight wolfish, whiplash smile, slowly appearing on his lips showing off perfectly white even teeth on his chiseled fighter's face in an “That is why they call me, The Face Of The Franchise, The Whole ‘F'N’ Show, Mr. UCI, or whatever expletive that you want to put in front of my name whiplash smile just charms the hell out of everyone in this organization” flamboyant, stylistic supermodel shit-eating grin.
He flicks the Blu electronic cigarette into the camera and his low dusky voice rings out fully, with all the charm and charisma that one can muster, mister and gets down to the business as he starts painting his masterpiece:
"Yes. . ."
She can tell by her son’s body language that his strong feeling of annoyance, displeasure, and hostility that has always been what has kept his concentration in complete focus when it comes to his state of mind in terms of his condescending confidence and antagonistic arrogance and ruthlessly manipulative and unscrupulous influential psychological mindset toughness outside of the squared-circle and physiological skillset toughness inside of the squared-circle and has been tailor-made for the sports entertainment business with his all-around, well-balanced athleticism that rebellious guerrilla warfare was far from being completed even though his concentration and focus seemed to be pulling away lately by the undue influences and manipulations of the mainstream realities of real life outside the space-time continuum of the United Championship Infinite.
Meanwhile, in a galaxy not too far away, but just some few hundred yards away. . .
The Infamous Superstar's Father, a former three-time, three-time World Television Champion, The Hollywood Blonde, with his once mass of long blonde hair now turned platinum with a punk rocker hairstyle that still makes the ladies “rebel-yell” around the world showing off his aged to perfection tanned leathery chiseled face showing off ice cold blue eyes and his world-infamous lip snarl, was sitting on a barstool of an oceanfront private Beach Bar ideal for enjoying the scenery.
He’s dressed in an unbuttoned cornball Hawaiian shirt with classic khaki cargo shorts, stark white socks and custom-made Calvin Klein alligator skinned flip-flops. He was sipping on a traditional Cuban Highball Mojito, mixed white rum, sugar cane juice, lime juice, sparkling water, and mint, shaken, not stirred, poured in a 300 to 410 millilitres Collins glass tumbler.
He spoke with the Voice of God, not "THE GOD", but, a God, as he preaches a psalm to the choir, as if coming from the bottom of a well:
“Oh, you gotta be fucking kidding me. Do you really mean to tell me that my son has fallen so far that, that fucking idiot Spencer Adams or whoever the mutherfucking booker is in the UCI really thinks that Red Dragon, the face of that famed no-show mop and bucket brigade tag-team with Sah'ta Thor, and some T.E.C. support dude from the land down under really stands a chance against the man who that fucking idiot Spencer Adams himself dubbed The Face of the Franchise, The Whole F’N Show, Mr. UCI, or whatever expletive that the UCI Hierarchy, every velveteen wrestler behind the curtain in the back, and the UCI Fandom really wants to put in front of his name?. . .”
A beautiful topless Polynesian woman wearing a rainbow colored silk flowered headband and a rainbow colored silk flowered Lei with a mini grass skirt, serves The Hollywood Blonde another traditional Cuban Highball Mojito shaken, not stirred, poured in a 300 to 410 millilitres Collins glass tumbler.
“He was the fucking genius after all that put together that A-team of Zombie McMorris, Bonnie Blue, Alex Richards, Kevin Bishop, and Andre Holmes that singlehandedly underperformed and lost to a team filled with third-rate talent in that second-rate organization at Helloween before or after Killing Floor. That must've been one helluva clusterfuck of a match trying to keep all those fucking egos in check in order to become one cohesive United Championship Infinite when all you have are independent thinkers with personal agendas and made quite the alleged buy-rate for a rival second-rate organization, eh Spencer? Your dumbass had the high ground after Kevin Bishop, Bonnie Blue, and my son finished in the Top 10 at that second-rate organization's WAR XVI and you sacrificed that for what? To sooth Kevin Bishop’s hurt ego and giving a stagnant second-rate organization with third-rate talent a UCI booster shot in the ratings for a week? Genius. Pure Wile E. Coyote, Super Genius. Did you get that master plan of kissing Seth Lerch’s ass from the A.C.M.E. Company, too? You didn't even have the common courtesy to ask my son to be a part of that clusterfuck Team UCI and continue to ride the wave of momentum of dominance after WAR XVI over that fucking second-rate organization with third-rate fucking talent you fucking haole. . .”
He takes a quick sip of the Mojito to quench his thirst knowing that you never cough up the high ground to a second-rate organization when you have all the advantages of kicking them in the balls and where some people have the wherewithal to keep their seductively handsome ego in check, saluds Spencer Adams, eyes the beautiful topless Polynesian woman up and down, not bad, not bad at all, the drink, not the beautiful topless Polynesian woman, although both are quite refreshing and knowing that you gotta live a little Hollywood.
“This family's legacy isn't solely based on whether or not you have been a World Television Champion or having any sort of Championships around your waist as everyone would like to believe. The greatest works of this family's legacy comes from knowing that you never sold out your reputation for trinkets of gold even though it keeps shining bright on your pathway to success even when upholding the time-honored tradition of being the voice of reason, the voice of the silent, unsilent majority of the UCI or any other fucking second-rate organization in this pitiful existence of the sports entertainment business. My son was the only one that didn't buy into that non sequitur fallacy known as that fucking second-rate organization's Hellimination for the sake of competing in a non-existent, false-flagged war over hurt feelings and broken promises. . .”
He pours some of his traditional Cuban Highball Mojito onto the soft powdery white sand in tribute symbolizing a shot which should have been enjoyed in respect to those who made the Exodus, those who were incarcerated, and those who had to flee back to the confines of that meaningless fucking second-rate organization.
“My son has never been one that has ever had the need, the want, or the desire to follow in my footsteps in this pitiful existence of the sports entertainment business. He has never had the demand to seize the day of his celebrity in the pitiful existence of the sports entertainment business and treasure those sweet moments inside the pitiful existence of the sports entertainment business and the squared-circle. His passion has always been for the realities of life that comes from the silent lucidity outside of the pitiful existence of the sports entertainment business and the squared-circle. . .”
He takes another swig of his traditional Cuban Highball Mojito shaken, not stirred, poured in a 300 to 410 millilitres Collins glass tumbler, just to wet his parched lips.
“Simply because he already has reached the very pinnacle of life inside and outside of the squared-circle and the pitiful existence of the sports entertainment business with his tailor-made all-around, well-balanced athleticism, his rebellious guerrilla warfare, and his God-given laissez-faire attitude that has been passed down by yours truly, his sweet mother, my lovely wife, and continues into the future with our very sweet and lovely Miyamoto accentuating his condescending confidence and antagonistic arrogance and ruthlessly manipulative and unscrupulous influential psychological mindset toughness outside of the squared-circle and physiological skillset toughness inside of the squared-circle as one of the original central foundational cornerstones in the birth, growth, development, and preservation of the UCI. . .”
The Infamous Superstar's personal bodyguard/valet and “Fashionista Sensei”, Ms. Miyamoto, was laying down relaxing and sunbathing in a stark white fishnet style hammock hanging between two of the majestic palm trees while reading a copy of the Wall St. Journal.
The simply ravishing femme fatale temptress has her raven black hair was pulled back in a French braid showing off her angelic looking face with her intoxicatingly, incandescent almond shaped green eyes hidden behind a pair of RayBan sunglasses. Her attractively well-proportioned, slim, trim, toned body built for sin is dressed for success in a camouflage string bikini, created by Beach Bunny Swimwear.
Her sweet as honey, harmoniously hypnotizing, smooth as silk, smoky voice radiating through her alluring lips as she looks over the top of copy of the Wall St. Journal at the wrestler that seems to have to prove himself to the UCI Hierarchy, every velveteen wrestler behind the curtain, and the UCI Fandom 24/7, 365 days, 52 weeks, and 12 months a year:
“Hai, Gurandomasutā-san! The Handsome Half-breed Shadowlove-san no shinshi-tekina kojin shugi-tekina fudōtoku ni wa, tsuneni kono masshōmen no masshōmen ga arimashita. Sore wa, kono soshiki de kare no shinpai sa rete inai chūmoku ni ataisuru tokutei no kojin ni wa, kan'yo no kisoku o koete imasu. . .”
She was still speaking Japanese three weeks after dragging his son out of Crystal Lake after his loss to Harry Diderot at Killing Floor and two weeks after defeating El Pollo Loco on Overload. She must still be pissed. His Japanese was a little rusty but she was saying, “Yes, Grand Master! There has always been that very shade of authenticity to The Handsome Half-breed Shadowlove-san gentlemanly individualistic immorality that goes way beyond any rules of engagement when it comes to certain individuals who have deserved his unabated and undivided attention in this organization. . .”
He reaches into one of the pockets of his classic khaki cargo shorts and whips out an “old school” Mont Blanc pen and an "old school" event planner. Awkward Pauses. He licks his index finger, looks up and smiles towards the viewing audience at home. Pauses. And starts shuffling through the “old school” event planner, looking at all the history that his son has made, and scribbles something down. And pauses.
“As history has shown, my son has never, ever shied away from offering some creative criticism of his own on matters of unimportance to him in regards to other people's pitiful existence in the sports entertainment business after they choose to enter their thoughts and testimonials, no matter who they are, no matter what they are, and no matter how prestigious their reputation is supposed to be, into the kangaroo court of public opinion. . .”
He starts shuffling through the “old school” event planner once again and scribbles something down with his “old school” Mont Blanc pen and shakes his head at the very thought of the kind of trouble he would get in the modern age social media back in the day.
"If the UCI Hierarchy, every velveteen wrestler behind the curtain in the back, and the UCI Fandom really think that my son's career in the pitiful existence of the sports entertainment business is over, then you've really got another thing coming. . ."
He starts twirling the “old school” Mont Blanc pen between his fingers and slams shut his “old school” event planner and slides it back into one of the pockets of his classic khaki cargo shorts.
“Wouldn't it be absolutely fabulous if the instability civility of the assholes of the world could actually stabilize this organization with their thoughts and actions from their humbling humility?. . .”
He throws the “old school” Mont Blanc pen into the air to test the theory of relativity and the opens the pocket of his unbuttoned cornball Hawaiian shirt. A few moments later, the “old school” Mont Blanc pen lands perfectly into the pocket of his unbuttoned cornball Hawaiian shirt.
Meanwhile, coming in out of the rising sun, about a mile out. . .
An MH-X Stealth Black Hawk helicopter cruises at over a 140 knots per hour somewhere over the rhythmic rolling of the bluish, green, crystal clear water in attack formation.
On board piloting the helicopter was a Japanese chauffeur, black chauffeur fighter pilot helmet with the ultraviolet visor down hiding the facial features, custom-made black Giorgio Armani black flight suit along with a couple of salty looking Japanese dudes named Kyodai and Shatei, both sporting jet-black crew-cut hair, black sunglasses, custom-made black Giorgio Armani business suits.
Meanwhile, back along the shoreline of the softest powdery white sands that stretched for miles and miles along a hidden private beach. . .
His mother’s very slim, classic supermodel-like figure encased in a Vantablack and stark white Zebra print sundress designed by Valentino with Vantablack leather mesh Christian Louboutin flip-flops was still casting her own shadow over him like a solar eclipse.
“You’ve lost that loving feeling that everyone fears because forces way beyond your control have been pulling you away from the idealistic ideology of the quiet, silent lucidity escapism from the rigmaroles of everyday life in the United Championship Infinite and you’ve ventured more into the realities of normalcy outside the space-time continuum of this organization. . .”
He tilts his head over looking around his mother casting her own shadow over him like a solar eclipse and sees a hard to make out shadowy shape within the sun that seems to appear to be flying towards them with his sparkling blue eyes.
“That intense feeling of deep-seated affection and deep-seated romantic attachment that you share with our sweet and lovely Miyamoto has always been the driving force behind your strong feelings of annoyance, displeasure, and hostility that has always kept your concentration in complete focus when it comes to your state of mind in terms of your condescending confidence and antagonistic arrogance and ruthlessly manipulative and unscrupulous influential psychological mindset toughness outside of the squared-circle and physiological skillset toughness inside of the squared-circle. . .”
His mother slides her hand through his classic masculine and modern mussed, razor-textured, choppy finished dark brown hair and pinches his ear between her thumb and index finger and raises him up to his feet and walks him over towards his Father and their sweet and lovely Miyamoto.
“And considering the family dynamic within this organization, it has been very easy to see why people like Red Dragon and T.E.C. are in dire straits when compared to a true role-model and a perfect specimen that the United Championship Infinite’s Hierarchy, every velveteen wrestler behind the curtain in the back, and the United Championship Infinite’s Fandom find totally unredeemable and incorrigible in this organization. You my son and our sweet and lovely Miyamoto have never, ever been like these superficial bigger-than-life whiney, umm, winning personalities, these dames to kill for, and these stranger than strange butt ugly and frightening imaginary monsters that currently reside within this organization. You my son and our sweet and lovely Miyamoto have been very lucky to do most things that most dysfunctional family members only dreamed about doing, seeing the things that were worth seeing, experiencing the things that were worth experiencing, and living life that was worth living while traveling throughout the world. . .”
His father decides to chime in his two-cents worth of unsolicited opinion about how superficial people behave in a certain way that shows just exactly how superficially shallow that these inconsequential people really are in this organization, simply because his son and our sweet and lovely Miyamoto aren't the byproduct of a broken family as it seems to be for everyone else in this organization in order to fit in with the status quo of this establishment to save his son, because he knows how the very sweet and lovely women in this family are like when they are having a religious moment, but still can't get a word in edgewise.
“The United Championship Infinite’s Hierarchy, every velveteen wrestler behind the curtain in the back, and the United Championship Infinite’s Fandom believes that you have lost your too intense for younger viewers edge since your loss at Killing Floor to Harry Diderot, hence all these clusterfuck, pardon my French, matches with El Payaso Loco and now with Red Dragon and T.E.C. on Overload. Now the only way to silence all these half-baked and half-assed, pardon my French, criticisms about your career and prove these dumb son-of-a-bitches, pardon my French, wrong, is to go back and start from the very beginning. . .”
His Father finally getting a word in edgewise and chimes in his two-cents worth of unsolicited opinion and points to his wife as she getting comfortable on a Wave Chaise Lounge with Cushion designed by Source Outdoor.
“Yeah, what she said. . .”
His Mother's body language speaking more volume than her words to our sweet and lovely Miyamoto. . .
"The Fashionista Sensei” Ms. Miyamoto has always had a particular intensive well-trained set of skills in international business etiquette and diplomatic protocol along with an excellent mixture of hand-to-hand combative martial arts that transforms her into a very mysterious and seductive femme fatale temptress whose allure and charm will ensnare both men and women, often leading them into very compromising, very dangerous, and very deadly situations.
She seems to mysteriously be conjuring up a mystical spell over him just by her mere presence as she takes her proper place cradling against his muscular body and moving very little, never turning her head, or revealing any kind of expression that gives the viewing audience at home a clue as to her innermost thoughts with the exception of a very sharp and penetrating affection and devilishly delicious, malevolent and pleasurable, mischievously smile coming from her very luscious and alluring lips while caressing his muscular chest with her fingers.
“So the United Championship Infinite’s Hierarchy, every velveteen wrestler behind the curtain in the back, and the United Championship Infinite’s Fandom really believes that this enigmatic bandito creature along with that perennial minister of the Mop and Bucket Brigade actually stands a chance against The Handsome Half-breed Shadowlove-san going into the civil unrest of Civil War?. . .”
She lowers her RayBan sunglasses down her perfectly flawless nose on her angelic looking face showing off her intoxicating and incandescent almond shaped green eyes of the Goddess of the Rising Sun and a 21st century female samurai warrior known for her bravery and strength. Her intoxicating and incandescent almond shaped green eyes were scanning back and forth like The Terminator searching for a target, or in this case, targets that will be terminated on Overload.
“T.E.C.-san you still have that fresh new car smell in the United Championship Infinite even though you come from a long line of junkies from the land down under. Unfortunately for you, there is no one in this organization that is as addictive with excessive indulgence and sensual pleasures more than The Handsome Half-breed Shadowlove-san. You will try your best to avoid your craving for him but in the end you will lose yourself in his psychedelic shadowy underworld of reliving your dysfunctional family's unpleasant emotion caused by the belief that The Handsome Half-breed Shadowlove-san is so dangerous, so likely to cause pain, so threatening to your livelihood that he will put the fear of God, not The God, but a God into you just to send a message to those that have had their moments of doubt that he is the only one that maintains the sanctity of this organization. . .”
Taking one good look at “The Handsome Half-breed” Shadowlove posing like a fashion supermodel next to his sweet and lovely Miyamoto and you know that there is only one true messiah that ministers evil darkness in this organization and it isn't that crimson lizard, Red Dragon.
“Spencer Adams should've been more concerned about protecting his weak and defenceless rising stars just a tad bit more better. T.E.C. support will be fleeting once you are in the squared-circle with me, so much so that you will be living up to your mother's reputation and perform seppuku, ritual suicide on yourself and wishing you still suffered from the aftereffects of your momma’s opiate addiction. Red Dragon, if your weren't orphaned like T.E.C., then you are definitely shit out of luck but luckily for you this organization has sent you some support in your time of hardship to relieve you of your extreme high anxiety, sorrow, and pain with your assisted suicide. Pleased to meet you. . .”
His patented malevolent, tight wolfish, whiplash smile, slowly appearing on his lips showing off perfectly white even teeth on his chiseled fighter's face in a “I have the one thing that every man, woman, and child fears, my sweet and lovely Miyamoto. And I will take you to the one place that everyone fears and deliver upon you, The Dark Gift. You see, The Dark Gift isn't like any other finisher in the sports entertainment business. Oh, no, some people need a handful of finishers just to survive Red Dragon and T.E.C. But why, when all you only need is just ONE. ONE to defeat Red Dragon and T.E.C. The Dark Gift is that living, breathing omnipotence, omnipresence, omniscience and truly ostentatious indulgence when it takes on a life of its own and simply ends Red Dragon and T.E.C., just like you never even existed at Overload” Jake The Snake Roberts stylistic shit-eating grin.
“Maybe, my love, we should apologize to T.E.C.-san and Red Dragon-san for our Verbal Kent-san physical and emotional and mental harassment and refrain from any more offensive verbal sparring since everything is so politically correct these days? Then again, we aren't like the Guardians looking to save face when looking for honor, prestige, and glory within the space-time continuum for the sake of survival in this organization. . .”
“The Handsome Half-breed” Shadowlove along with his sweet and lovely Miyamoto ceremonially bows towards the UCI Hierarchy, every velveteen wrestler behind the curtain in the back, and the UCI Fandom with his sparkling blue eyes and her intoxicating and incandescent almond shaped green eyes burning a black hole into T.E.C. and Red Dragon’s souls watching at home and telling a different story by obtaining a financial advantage of taking the high ground through deception.
“We aren't in the UCI for just our own benefit because we have time to spare nor are we here to fight for UCI Hierarchy, every velveteen wrestler behind the curtain in the back, and the UCI Fandom welfare state of mind when it comes to bowing down to the opinions of certain third-rate talented individuals in a second-rate organization. Only one thing and one thing only matters to yours truly. Me, myself, and I, my sweet and lovely Miyamoto, and very, very supportive parents, The Hollywood Blonde and Akasha. All of whom are very, very understanding, very, very calculating, and very, very knowledgeable of the star power of my all-around, well-balanced athleticism, and rebellious guerrilla warfare that comes from my condescending confidence and antagonistic arrogance and ruthlessly manipulative and unscrupulous influential psychological mindset toughness outside of the squared-circle and physiological skillset toughness inside of the squared-circle. . .”
She starts twirling his classically masculine and modern mussed, razor-textured, choppy finished dark brown hair through her fingers with carnal fascination and malignant pleasure and down his muscular chest and washboard abs and flicks fake beads off her fingers in a "The Handsome Half-breed Shadowlove-san doesn't sweat you, T.E.C.-san, or you, Red Dragon-san, because life's a beach and both of you are his bitch on Overload" style gesture.
“This family's legacy has never undergone to any kind of obedience training especially when It comes to following a certain set of rules of engagement when dealing with the hierarchy of this organization or any other second-rate organization. Worrying about deliberately avoiding the welfare of certain individuals of this organization or any other second-rate organization that deserves our unabashed, unabated and undivided attention when entering into a conflict of interest with reckless abandon. Never to refuse or back down from answering any challenge without question in order to continue in a course of action even in the face of dangerous combative liaisons with little no prospect for success. The Handsome Half-breed Shadowlove-san only obligation is towards his family and he has upheld his family's time-honored tradition of being the hero, anti-hero of the anti-establishment, establishment voice of reason, voice of the silent, unsilent majority of the United Championship Infinite. . .”
“PERSONAL JESUS” by Depeche Mode starts to play on the Bose® (product placement) SoundTouch® (product placement) indoor/outdoor surround sound system:
He runs his fingers through his his classically masculine and modern mussed, razor-textured, choppy finished dark brown hair and making his hair perfect in super slow motion then raises his arms up and straight out to his sides and bows his head, as if, being crucified on a cross. And on the third day, Jesus, wept.
"HER STRUT" by Bob Seger & The Silver Bullet Band starts to play on the Bose® (product placement) SoundTouch® (product placement) indoor/outdoor surround sound system:
She exudes fantastic supermodel energy, moving at a regular and fairly slow pace by lifting and setting down each foot in turn, never having both feet off the ground at once, with a stiff, erect, and apparently arrogant and conceited "Strut" around him as if he was being crucified on the cross.
She lowers her RayBan sunglasses down her perfectly flawless nose of her angelic looking face showing off her intoxicatingly, incandescent almond shaped green eyes, nodding in approval at such a Magnificent Specimen, while tapping a rolled-up copy of the Wall St. Journal into the palm of her hand.
She takes her proper place cradling against his muscular body and moving very little, never turning her head, or revealing any kind of expression that gives the viewing audience at home a clue as to her innermost thoughts with the exception of a very sharp and penetrating affection of a devilishly delicious, malevolent and pleasurable, mischievously smile coming from her very luscious and alluring lips as she starts caressing his muscular chest with her fingers.
He slowly raises his head in super slow motion and double raises an eyebrows in mock amazement as his patented malevolent, tight wolfish, whiplash smile, slowly appearing on his lips showing off perfectly white even teeth on his chiseled fighter's face in a “Does he really look like he even cares who he will be facing at Civil War? That is why they call me, The Face Of The Franchise, The Whole ‘F'N’ Show, Mr. UCI, or whatever expletive that you want to put in front of my name whiplash smile just charms the hell out of everyone in this organization” flamboyant, stylistic supermodel deus ex machina shit-eating grin.
Quietly, to himself, he appears to be lip syncing a song, “CIVIL WAR” by Guns N’ Roses, that he was starting to listen to on his (product placement) custom-made special edition Beats Studio gloss white wireless headphones:
She pauses. Then. . .
She looks at the viewing audience at home with her intoxicatingly, incandescent almond shaped green eyes and showing no emotion on her angelic looking face then slices her own throat from her left carotid artery to her right carotid artery with her right index finger and makes an imaginary blood explosion style gesture with her left hand.
Then. . .
She raises her RayBan sunglasses up her perfectly flawless nose on her angelic looking face while hiding her intoxicatingly, incandescent almond shaped green eyes with her middle finger.
THIS IS THE END, MY ONLY FRIEND. . . THE END!