"Anyone who blasphemes the LORD's name must be stoned to death by the whole community of Israel. Any Israelite or foreigner among you who blasphemes the LORD's name will surely die.” (Leviticus 24:10-16)
(Senester): I suppose you call yourself putting Talon in his place, do you McNeil? Something new? Is that what you wanted from him, what you expected to see? That’s what you’re getting. To differentiate the old from the new would require a comprehension beyond the limitations of your ordinary psyche. Don’t be ashamed by your handicap, most around you suffer the same. Your life up to this point differs very little than most. Who beside you did not grow up with some adversity, some tragedy, some need to imagine themselves greater that what they are in order to rise above their tribulations, or comfort themselves by any means in the realization that they shall never be anything, only to succumb to an existence of wasted space, and self neglect?
How many champions have there been before you McNeil? How many so much better in the ring than you? Dredge who always had your number, Parker, Maniac, Hollis, Lenny, Bridges, yours truly, and the list goes on to Hans, and Talon today. The difference between them and you is that love them, or hate them: from the time their eyelids open in the morning, to when they are seen in public, to when they walk down to that ring, to when they take that flight home, to when they feel the cool crispness of the sheets when they go to bed at night…the whole world “recognizes” them and they command respect. They are bowed to. They are appreciate. They are even worshiped. The difference between you and them McNeil is that you matter to no one. No matter how high you jump, or what you jump off of, no matter what move you pull out of your arsenal, no matter what way you put your body on the line you’ll never have that feeling. You’ll be old and gray man still toying about in the ring waiting for that revelation that will never come. You’ll go to your grave as a man who never was, the little engine that couldn’t, and the only reason will people know who you are is because they’d have become so used to seeing you try over the years.
You dare mock my affections for Talon. Is it that no one has any for you that you find such spite? Your merchandise hardly sells at discount to show you how much you are thought of by the fans. You hold the championship, but who regards you as their champion, but a select few underprivileged you visit who would be just as satisfied by a visit from Bryan Deas. Talon is adored. He is the rippled action figure children fantasize about being. He is the athlete men strive to become. He is the pleasure women and men alike desire. He is my seraphim, the bearer of the word of God, the Sheppard to the masses, who are you but a grain of salt in the sea.
At Fatality when you leave the arena it will be without the HWA Championship. You will go home to your wife already making her preparations to console your misery and pretend that what you do for a living is something she really cares about. Lay your head into her chest Mr. McNeil, and feel the warmth of her breasts against your face, close your eyes and imagine that it’s the warmth of spotlight beaming down on you and know that, that feeling, that moment, will be as close as you’ll ever come to that belt again, and that your wife’s bosom is the only thing left that can give you that sensation. Make your excuses,
You test my patience McNeil, you’ve been testing it for quite some time. Stealing from me, spreading your blasphemous tales. I’ve allowed these things simply because there will be a day when I shall take that paltry thing you call a legacy, I will take the memory of your very name, I will take the image of your existence and I shall bury it in the hole you’ve been digging for years. It’s already deep, but I’ll wait to see just how much deeper you can make it.
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