Can you Powerbomb a feeling?
Nov 28, 2020 14:42:14 GMT -5
Mongo the Destroyer, SWAT Team, and 3 more like this
Post by The Colossus on Nov 28, 2020 14:42:14 GMT -5
Angus Skaaland, well, you had to hand it to him. When it came to composure in the face of what could at best be described at Stooges(band, not comedy act) levels of absurdity, he has sipped his coffee, nodded when appropriate, and above all tried to make sure that whatever nonsense was going on was controlled to some degree.
Now, of course, things were going to have to change. Angus had seen something at The Last Chance Battle Royal he had been both dreading and certain was going to happen at some point. The Mountain won. His immobile stronger than a bull ox in rut of a monster had won and gotten himself into a pretty position in the battle royal.
Angus was up early, because Scott’s snoring, which for the record was nearly a floor and a half away from his own bunk was like the early morning cawing of a rooster. Bearing this burden as well as any human can be expected to, Angus simply turned on the coffee pot, waited patiently for it to brew, before stepping out into the pleasantly brisk New Orleans just ever so slightly civil twilight. The colors of sunrise bleeding over the horizon as steam swirled out from his cup.
Sipping it, considering this and that, a man wearing what appeared to be an insect mask jogged down the opposite side of the road.
Angus wasn’t sure why this didn’t feel out of place. So he ignored it and chalked it up to the year we are in. If guys want to run around dressed like what he assumed was a third-rate superhero, who was he to judge?
The dogs, as we are going to call them, had brought a tangible spark of joy into Angus’ life. Scott may have fed him whatever he found, most of which was actually food, and Lil’ Eric was precocious enough, but it had settled him into a relatively normal rhythm.
Of course. This meant that The Mountain was going through what could be considered his “pet shop” phase. Angus grimaced that The Mountain had somehow subdued an opossum and domesticated it, and it was now scurrying around CCFC eating garbage and generally making life uncomfortable for everyone not named Scott Steel.
Angus sighed. He heard the dogs talking in borks, LDog and Lil’ Eric were chasing the Opossum, which Scott had named “Iron” for some reason.
It’s not foreshadowing trust me.
The mountain chose this time to rumble into the morning sunlight, wearing his wrestling gear and sunglasses. The opossum clinging to his, Atlas broad shoulders on his black leather vest. Clearly, Scott Steel is ready to step out on to the town.
Angus, as has become his won’t lately, is making sure no offending city buses are running.
“Idea Scott.”
Scott stoically ignores him. The Mountain had been veering between rage and solemnity, a word he didn’t know. Since Cassie Hunter had been taken out. He had planned grand revenge on the male portion of that tag team, who were not remotely involved in his upcoming match. Stating on one occasion
“IWILLPOWEROMBTHEMSOHARDTHEIRANCESTORSINTHEPRESENTDAYWILLDECIDETONOTMATE”
In what may be the most lucid set of words to ever come out of the Mountain’s mouth. Eric Dane had been present and nodded. This fit with the scheme he was building towards total dominance. The Mountain knew his role well in the upcoming Battle Royal, Dane had explained it in layman’s terms(he actually just showed Scott a video of Scott Steel Powerbombing various people and things. There isn’t much of a difference at work there.). Steel had smiled that unnerving smile and rubbed his hands together in anticipation. Steel, had been building up what he called his “powerbomb stamina” since the Last Chance Battle Royal, by Powerbombing Tractor Tires in the gym.
This had made training for the other wrestlers who attended, a little more spartan than Angus would have liked. One tire was labeled “VALENTINE” and had been notably thrown from outside of the training ring into the dead center. It wasn’t that Steel didn’t know how to send a message, he just preferred to do it with feats of strength and power right at the borderline of being questionable.
Angus had already ordered a new ring. Because The Mountain was going to likely destroy the current one.
“Why don’t you and Iron head back inside?”
Scott would shrug if he wasn’t pumped to the gills with all-natural supplements. Note that none of the side effects of his “vitamins” actually indicates the growth of gills. But the labels are in what you would hope is in Russian. But you never know, and you have a lot of questions about labels suddenly. Comrade.
Вы хаси укол.
Earlier in the week, when Scott had still been fuming about Cassie Hunter, and on what would generously be described as a warpath. Angus had suggested he and the Mountain get some fresh air. This is never a good idea, and Angus had forgotten why until they hit the park. A horse-pulled carriage for couples had come along. Written in large letters on the side was the companies name. “TIMELESS carriage rides.” The Mountain probably reacted because of the name, and not because of his misunderstood sadness. Angus saw it happen in slow motion.
Scott saw the words “TIMELESS”.
Scott’s eyes went V.E.I 8.
Scott exploded with raw power directly into the horse knocking it cold with a Lariat that would do Stephen Greer proud, as the horse floundered to the ground, it’s driver, being a wise man hopped out of the cart as The Mountain Flipped it over the downed horse, sending wood splinters and bits of lined and cushion everywhere. All while screaming incoherently about making Alex Turner pay for knocking him out with a robotic hand. At least that was Angus’ take away.
Skaaland had realized that until The Mountain was clear of this battle royal and his feelings for Cassie Hunter, it might be best to keep him in the gym, even if it was going to be hell on his insurance premiums.
Angus really needed another day off.
Now, of course, things were going to have to change. Angus had seen something at The Last Chance Battle Royal he had been both dreading and certain was going to happen at some point. The Mountain won. His immobile stronger than a bull ox in rut of a monster had won and gotten himself into a pretty position in the battle royal.
Angus was up early, because Scott’s snoring, which for the record was nearly a floor and a half away from his own bunk was like the early morning cawing of a rooster. Bearing this burden as well as any human can be expected to, Angus simply turned on the coffee pot, waited patiently for it to brew, before stepping out into the pleasantly brisk New Orleans just ever so slightly civil twilight. The colors of sunrise bleeding over the horizon as steam swirled out from his cup.
Sipping it, considering this and that, a man wearing what appeared to be an insect mask jogged down the opposite side of the road.
Angus wasn’t sure why this didn’t feel out of place. So he ignored it and chalked it up to the year we are in. If guys want to run around dressed like what he assumed was a third-rate superhero, who was he to judge?
The dogs, as we are going to call them, had brought a tangible spark of joy into Angus’ life. Scott may have fed him whatever he found, most of which was actually food, and Lil’ Eric was precocious enough, but it had settled him into a relatively normal rhythm.
Of course. This meant that The Mountain was going through what could be considered his “pet shop” phase. Angus grimaced that The Mountain had somehow subdued an opossum and domesticated it, and it was now scurrying around CCFC eating garbage and generally making life uncomfortable for everyone not named Scott Steel.
Angus sighed. He heard the dogs talking in borks, LDog and Lil’ Eric were chasing the Opossum, which Scott had named “Iron” for some reason.
It’s not foreshadowing trust me.
The mountain chose this time to rumble into the morning sunlight, wearing his wrestling gear and sunglasses. The opossum clinging to his, Atlas broad shoulders on his black leather vest. Clearly, Scott Steel is ready to step out on to the town.
Angus, as has become his won’t lately, is making sure no offending city buses are running.
“Idea Scott.”
Scott stoically ignores him. The Mountain had been veering between rage and solemnity, a word he didn’t know. Since Cassie Hunter had been taken out. He had planned grand revenge on the male portion of that tag team, who were not remotely involved in his upcoming match. Stating on one occasion
“IWILLPOWEROMBTHEMSOHARDTHEIRANCESTORSINTHEPRESENTDAYWILLDECIDETONOTMATE”
In what may be the most lucid set of words to ever come out of the Mountain’s mouth. Eric Dane had been present and nodded. This fit with the scheme he was building towards total dominance. The Mountain knew his role well in the upcoming Battle Royal, Dane had explained it in layman’s terms(he actually just showed Scott a video of Scott Steel Powerbombing various people and things. There isn’t much of a difference at work there.). Steel had smiled that unnerving smile and rubbed his hands together in anticipation. Steel, had been building up what he called his “powerbomb stamina” since the Last Chance Battle Royal, by Powerbombing Tractor Tires in the gym.
This had made training for the other wrestlers who attended, a little more spartan than Angus would have liked. One tire was labeled “VALENTINE” and had been notably thrown from outside of the training ring into the dead center. It wasn’t that Steel didn’t know how to send a message, he just preferred to do it with feats of strength and power right at the borderline of being questionable.
Angus had already ordered a new ring. Because The Mountain was going to likely destroy the current one.
“Why don’t you and Iron head back inside?”
Scott would shrug if he wasn’t pumped to the gills with all-natural supplements. Note that none of the side effects of his “vitamins” actually indicates the growth of gills. But the labels are in what you would hope is in Russian. But you never know, and you have a lot of questions about labels suddenly. Comrade.
Вы хаси укол.
Earlier in the week, when Scott had still been fuming about Cassie Hunter, and on what would generously be described as a warpath. Angus had suggested he and the Mountain get some fresh air. This is never a good idea, and Angus had forgotten why until they hit the park. A horse-pulled carriage for couples had come along. Written in large letters on the side was the companies name. “TIMELESS carriage rides.” The Mountain probably reacted because of the name, and not because of his misunderstood sadness. Angus saw it happen in slow motion.
Scott saw the words “TIMELESS”.
Scott’s eyes went V.E.I 8.
Scott exploded with raw power directly into the horse knocking it cold with a Lariat that would do Stephen Greer proud, as the horse floundered to the ground, it’s driver, being a wise man hopped out of the cart as The Mountain Flipped it over the downed horse, sending wood splinters and bits of lined and cushion everywhere. All while screaming incoherently about making Alex Turner pay for knocking him out with a robotic hand. At least that was Angus’ take away.
Skaaland had realized that until The Mountain was clear of this battle royal and his feelings for Cassie Hunter, it might be best to keep him in the gym, even if it was going to be hell on his insurance premiums.
Angus really needed another day off.