Time And Relative Dimension In Wrestling
Dec 20, 2020 17:21:26 GMT -5
Dave D-Flipz and Oh-Oh like this
Post by bloodiedfox on Dec 20, 2020 17:21:26 GMT -5
Nemo stares out into the forest through the broken stained glass window. His eyebrows are knotted, his face a picture of deep thought as he ponders a logistical conundrum.
How exactly, Mr Steel, do you intend to “cut off one of my dimensions”?
He gives the question time to settle before approaching it again.
After all, removing one of my dimensions would make me two dimensional, therefore flat. I suppose you could achieve that with a steam roller, but that isn't “cutting”, is it? More crushing, really. If you were going for cutting then there's always skinning. You could deglove me whole and spread my skin out. It would certainly make for an interesting visual, though the rest of me would still have three dimensions. Also, that strikes me as the sort of endeavour that requires more finesse than you possess. After all, you're effectively the avatar of blunt force trauma, as well as a patron saint of idiots.
I suppose it is churlish of me to insult your intelligence, just because you utterly lack any. After all, you still achieved your purpose as a self-propelled foreign object in gifting Eric Dane victory, and you eliminated me from the match for the North American Double Crown. This apparently still hasn't settled your grievance with me though, as you continue to rant insensibly at me because an associate of mine ate a dog. I would suggest taking it up with him rather than me, since I was not involved in the fiasco, but apparently you already plan on also doing that by bullying your way into a cruiserweight tournament that he isn't even an entrant in.
Nemo pauses, then cocks his head, as though trying to make two plus two equal five. He sighs and shakes his head.
There's a word for what you are, Mr Steel, but the XHF Network contract I signed explicitly states I can't use it. Also, to be frank, using it would probably be unfair to the people with that category of mental handicap, because I'm pretty sure they're actually smarter than you.
He waves a hand.
Anyway, you're a problem for a later time. I do not doubt I will have to go through you to get to Dane and the Double Crown, but the first step on the path back to the top must be focused on. In the wake of my failure to claim the title, I must now re-establish my credentials in the eyes of management. To do that requires not just victory over my three opponents, but dominance. A tall order, given the imposing physiques of Shawn Kutter and Joe Ghaven, and the wealth of experience of Johnnie Valentine. But these men do not intimidate me. I have fought bigger men. I have fought wiser men. I have fought every kind of opponent that you can conceive.
And I have been victorious.
I have not been defeated, merely delayed. Oblivion will enclose NPW soon enough. No-one can stop it: not Kutter, Ghaven, or Valentine. Not Alex Turner. Not Lord Dominicus. Not Eric Dane. And certainly not an overgrown steroid addicted manchild incapable of making a coherent threat. In fact, here's an example you can learn from, Mr Steel: stay out of our business, or I will force feed you each and every animal you've acquired alive, until you choke on them.
I trust even you can understand that.
How exactly, Mr Steel, do you intend to “cut off one of my dimensions”?
He gives the question time to settle before approaching it again.
After all, removing one of my dimensions would make me two dimensional, therefore flat. I suppose you could achieve that with a steam roller, but that isn't “cutting”, is it? More crushing, really. If you were going for cutting then there's always skinning. You could deglove me whole and spread my skin out. It would certainly make for an interesting visual, though the rest of me would still have three dimensions. Also, that strikes me as the sort of endeavour that requires more finesse than you possess. After all, you're effectively the avatar of blunt force trauma, as well as a patron saint of idiots.
I suppose it is churlish of me to insult your intelligence, just because you utterly lack any. After all, you still achieved your purpose as a self-propelled foreign object in gifting Eric Dane victory, and you eliminated me from the match for the North American Double Crown. This apparently still hasn't settled your grievance with me though, as you continue to rant insensibly at me because an associate of mine ate a dog. I would suggest taking it up with him rather than me, since I was not involved in the fiasco, but apparently you already plan on also doing that by bullying your way into a cruiserweight tournament that he isn't even an entrant in.
Nemo pauses, then cocks his head, as though trying to make two plus two equal five. He sighs and shakes his head.
There's a word for what you are, Mr Steel, but the XHF Network contract I signed explicitly states I can't use it. Also, to be frank, using it would probably be unfair to the people with that category of mental handicap, because I'm pretty sure they're actually smarter than you.
He waves a hand.
Anyway, you're a problem for a later time. I do not doubt I will have to go through you to get to Dane and the Double Crown, but the first step on the path back to the top must be focused on. In the wake of my failure to claim the title, I must now re-establish my credentials in the eyes of management. To do that requires not just victory over my three opponents, but dominance. A tall order, given the imposing physiques of Shawn Kutter and Joe Ghaven, and the wealth of experience of Johnnie Valentine. But these men do not intimidate me. I have fought bigger men. I have fought wiser men. I have fought every kind of opponent that you can conceive.
And I have been victorious.
I have not been defeated, merely delayed. Oblivion will enclose NPW soon enough. No-one can stop it: not Kutter, Ghaven, or Valentine. Not Alex Turner. Not Lord Dominicus. Not Eric Dane. And certainly not an overgrown steroid addicted manchild incapable of making a coherent threat. In fact, here's an example you can learn from, Mr Steel: stay out of our business, or I will force feed you each and every animal you've acquired alive, until you choke on them.
I trust even you can understand that.