Post by Adrien | Adam on Jan 20, 2018 13:06:56 GMT -5
“Motherfucker…”
Cameras open up in the streets of Oakland, California. The hometown and current residence...if one could call it that...of one Christopher Samuel Marks. He’s standing in the middle of a sidewalk during a breezy evening in Oakland. The thirty-five-year-old takes out a cigarette and begins to light it before looking back at the camera. His cold eyes turn back to the camera as he sticks the lit cigarette in the corner of his mouth.
“You know what’s not fucking funny? Having the deck stacked against you. Which has been my entire little game with West Coast Genesis. I keep getting told that if I win this or I win that, they will finally give me permanent and gainly employment. And who do I keep getting in these fucking matches? Champions! I’ve held my tongue for the most part, but I’ve wanted to tell these stupid ass school girls they’ve had running this damn ship, ‘Bitch, most of your fucking roster can’t win these fucking matches you giving me as tryouts.’ But I digress…”
Chris Marks puffs on his cancer stick, blowing smoke into the California sky.
“Because this one will be...fun for me.”
Marks moves his eyebrows up and down in a very perverse manner.
“Let’s be real here for a moment. The more talented person stepping into the ring at this Unscripted is the one holding the fucking belt. I’m getting the fucking shaft once more because West Coast Genesis General Manager with no dick wants to dangle a fucking carrot in front of me and say that if I win, I’ll get a job. No one else on this fucking roster has had to go through this. And guess what, I’m more than likely not going to win this one. Yeah, I don’t fucking care if wrestlers aren’t supposed to say this shit. It’s fucking true. I’m not.
“BUT there is a silver lining. My sweet Julianna DiMaria. Beautiful and angelic. You can run from me on Twitter. You can threaten to block me and all that good stuff. But guess what, now you gotta step into a ring with me. Now you’re forced to confront the man that you deemed ‘below your standards’ and the only thing you can do to get away from me now is for you to pin my body to the mat for a three count. Are you going to be able to do that? Are you going to be able to touch me without wanting to run away?
“You chose that pretty boy over me. And I’m gonna admit, that upset me. And now I have the chance to do something about it. I might not win this match. Once you’re able to get over the fact you’re in the ring with me, your talent will come through. But every moment of this match, every ounce of uncomfortability that comes from you, I’m going to treasure it. I’m going to fucking take in every second of this match. And if I’m lucky, I’ll avenge the fact that you decided that Christopher Samuel Marks wasn’t good enough for you. And I’ll show you that I fucking am. I deserved more respect that you gave me, Julianna. And now, I’m going to make sure you fucking do.”
Chris Marks takes one last puff on his cigarette before tossing it and walking off camera.
Cameras open up in the streets of Oakland, California. The hometown and current residence...if one could call it that...of one Christopher Samuel Marks. He’s standing in the middle of a sidewalk during a breezy evening in Oakland. The thirty-five-year-old takes out a cigarette and begins to light it before looking back at the camera. His cold eyes turn back to the camera as he sticks the lit cigarette in the corner of his mouth.
“You know what’s not fucking funny? Having the deck stacked against you. Which has been my entire little game with West Coast Genesis. I keep getting told that if I win this or I win that, they will finally give me permanent and gainly employment. And who do I keep getting in these fucking matches? Champions! I’ve held my tongue for the most part, but I’ve wanted to tell these stupid ass school girls they’ve had running this damn ship, ‘Bitch, most of your fucking roster can’t win these fucking matches you giving me as tryouts.’ But I digress…”
Chris Marks puffs on his cancer stick, blowing smoke into the California sky.
“Because this one will be...fun for me.”
Marks moves his eyebrows up and down in a very perverse manner.
“Let’s be real here for a moment. The more talented person stepping into the ring at this Unscripted is the one holding the fucking belt. I’m getting the fucking shaft once more because West Coast Genesis General Manager with no dick wants to dangle a fucking carrot in front of me and say that if I win, I’ll get a job. No one else on this fucking roster has had to go through this. And guess what, I’m more than likely not going to win this one. Yeah, I don’t fucking care if wrestlers aren’t supposed to say this shit. It’s fucking true. I’m not.
“BUT there is a silver lining. My sweet Julianna DiMaria. Beautiful and angelic. You can run from me on Twitter. You can threaten to block me and all that good stuff. But guess what, now you gotta step into a ring with me. Now you’re forced to confront the man that you deemed ‘below your standards’ and the only thing you can do to get away from me now is for you to pin my body to the mat for a three count. Are you going to be able to do that? Are you going to be able to touch me without wanting to run away?
“You chose that pretty boy over me. And I’m gonna admit, that upset me. And now I have the chance to do something about it. I might not win this match. Once you’re able to get over the fact you’re in the ring with me, your talent will come through. But every moment of this match, every ounce of uncomfortability that comes from you, I’m going to treasure it. I’m going to fucking take in every second of this match. And if I’m lucky, I’ll avenge the fact that you decided that Christopher Samuel Marks wasn’t good enough for you. And I’ll show you that I fucking am. I deserved more respect that you gave me, Julianna. And now, I’m going to make sure you fucking do.”
Chris Marks takes one last puff on his cigarette before tossing it and walking off camera.
