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To be broken Feelings are intense Words are trivial Pleasures remain So does the pain Words are meaningless And forgettable." ~Depeche Mode - "Enjoy The Silence"~ ...but this isn't one of those promos. God knows you get enough of them already. So where are we then? It's tough to say...I see grass...dirt...I'm being vague about this, no? Well, if it helps, you're coming to the home of Major League Baseball's best and brightest phenom...The Rally Monkey. For those of you who don't follow baseball, or opt not to watch Sportscenter, The Rally Monkey resides in Edison International Field, otherwise called the home stadium of The Anaheim Angels. Who, at least in the HWF, shows enough loyalty to said team? None other than Jonathan Storm. In a sleeveless Anaheim Angels t-shirt, which apparently now sports his last name and number on the back, a backwards Anaheim Angels cap (I know, it seems he doesn't have much clothing, right?), his blue Oakleys hanging on his head, some matching basketball shorts, and some Nike sneakers, Storm keeps swinging away for the fences with that bat of his. The white streak comes, and the white streak goes. Where it lands, nobody knows. Storm just keeps swinging, and the hits just keep coming. Finally, the silence that was only broken by the sound of cowhide meeting wood is broken by a man's voice.* Chris Davison: So...were you taking notes, Jon? After all, I've shown you how to win quite a few times these days. Jonathan "The Impact" Storm: I don't need to take notes, Chris. It's really that simple. Here I am, a 24-year old at the peak of my career, and I'm facing two former World Champions. Remember the last World Champ they made me face? He's sitting behind a desk now. Honestly, man....I think my own blueprint for success has worked well for me. If it's good enough to beat Sterling...it'll be good enough to beat Coens and Trey. Storm: So maybe I haven't had the same success against you in the ring as I do on the diamond, but Chris, you can't deny what I've done...and you can't deny where I'm going. Whether you like it or not, I'm a freakin' genius. I kidnapped the Vice President of this company, and held him hostage. What did I get? I got my wish. The entire Inner Circle is in the King of Violence tournament. I manipulated, pulled strings, and then went and used my talent to succeed and beat Night Stalker and Renegade...I didn't even need to say a word. I did, however, and it made the night that much stronger. Chris...these people love to hate me. YOU love to hate me. I mean, why would you be here breaking kayfabe if you didn't have some ounce of respect for what I've done? I don't even need to say a word to you, but you hate me. You think about the time I put Tempest in The Big Fuck You, and your blood boils. Well, I can get your blood boiling again...I just won't be doing it against Tempest. I can showboat, show off, and show my skills this weekend against Gavin and Trey. I know you've had some success against these two "legends", but who made them legends? Is it a couple of good stories they managed to tell? Is it the fact that those two have bled for us on stage? No...it is simply because some internet mark decided to say that. Gavin Coens is a legend. Three years, and he loses the belt in his first defense. Michael Trey...the one chance that he has to get the HWF Grand Slam, and he chokes. Those are hardly qualifications of legends, Chris. Me? I have already blazed a path nobody will forget. A win over not one, not two, but three former World Champions already. Starr, Sterling, and Trey. I lead the most influential stable in this company, and I own the strongest demon in this little Pandora's Box we call the Hardcore Wrestling Federation. Chris, you may have the physical victory over me in the HWF...but hey, I've gotten a few of my own as well. So what do I do this weekend? What SHOULD I do? Storm: I'll just do what I do best. I'll cheat, lie, manipulate, buy and sell souls...I'll do it all, if it means getting the job done on Saturday. Gavin and Trey think they've gotten good at that? They haven't even begun to understand that book. After all I wrote it, edited it, and then rewrote it when everyone learned my tricks. Like Gavin. The man we refer to as "God". Well, the diety appeared quite mortal after last weekend against your fiancee. He didn't appear so divine. With me being the card carrying agnostic that I am, I don't see me being intimidated by a man with delusions of grandeur. After all if it's pomp, grandiose, and a spectacle you want, look no further than me. That's why people watch me, my friend...I'm a whole freakin' festival rolled up into one. Chris, watching those two and their pathetic attempts to try what I've done before sickens me. I mean, only a few months ago, I had a man that despised me in Johnny Drake, slam a chair into a rival for the simple purpose of swerving everyone who thought they had an answer. Then what happens? What do I see? Davison: I see you whiffing a perfect pitch. Storm: Go to hell...*smirking* just don't go yet...I mean, I haven't even started on Michael Trey. A man who I need to preserve, if only for the fact I need some form of backup in the MTT2 tournament. A man that needs me to survive. After all, he's reading my book. The man's studied my mannerisms, my motives, and my actions to the point where he may easily accidentally say that he's Jonathan Storm in his next promo. Watch him closely, Christopher. I swear he's reading my early work and re-saying it verbatim. Michael is indeed the broken alarm clock you say he is...but at the same time, he's also a newborn baby. Christopher, he's new at the game he's playing. He's never been the villian of the pack. What happens? He has to learn. Who better to learn from than the most despised man in the company? He watches, he learns, he absorbs it like a sponge. I can now read the boy better than I could myself, and it's all because I know what he's thinking now. If I didn't hate Michael for the career choices he's made, I'd almost take him under my wing as if he were my own child. Why? To teach him...to help him grow. Inferna: Looks like someone needs to learn how to swing a bat all over again...*chuckles* Storm: It was an accident...could happen to anyone, babe. Besides, you should've seen me use Davison as a launch pad earlier. I used him the same way that I'll use Gavin and Trey on Saturday. But you know what's funny guys? Once the cameras stop rolling, and once this TV time ends...there's silence. The average person may completely forget about everything I've just said the minute the fade begins. This promo will have been for naught. A human's short term memory tends to be absolutely terrible. I can look both of you straight in the eye and honestly tell you that nobody but myself and Davison remember each home run I've hit. I can also tell you that Michael Trey is no more a long storied legend than he is a broken down crybaby. "Get The F*ck Off My Porch" he says? I say...You can have your porch...I've got the rest of the yard. Stay the f*ck out of my yard, Trey...only real people are allowed here. Trey, Gavin...once upon a time you had the gold, and once upon a time you could call the shots... ...but we've all forgotten about that and we've moved on. We'll forget about this, just like we've forgotten about everything else. All this TV time may wind up being remembered as nothing but silence...and that may wind up being for the best...at least for you guys, and your massively large egos. Until next time, this has been Your Icon telling you to...
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