Post by Deleted on Aug 17, 2015 19:44:19 GMT -6
Wrestlers aren't born, they're bred. Sometimes by force, usually by choice.
But once in a blue moon, they come to be by sheer happenstance.
When one's interests, when younger, aren't quite up to snuff, at least according to the status quo, you have two choices:
1) Continue to get bullied, trying to tough it out until high school's over and done with. Maybe go to an extreme by shooting up your school?
2) Don't wait for authority figures to fight your battles for you - even though they really should - and take your future into your own hands... via learning to fight, erm, I mean, defend yourself.
Because a story of someone shooting up a school is pretty heavy and highly sensitive given the emotional climate of the United States these days, let's assume the man in question chose option 2.
Thus is the story of Jerry Slickness.
Actually, there's not much to it yet, so we'll end it here.
No? This is too short a tale? You demand a saga? How about we compromise and just hear from good ol' J-Smooth himself?
The scene: A Preston, Idaho field full of cows.
The date: Today!
The time: Boy, you're getting nosy!
The sounds: Mooooooo's mostly.
The weather: 83°F, Sunny, Precipitation 0%, Humidity 14%, Winds 17mph
The scoop: Jerry Slickness has recently signed with Future Stars of Wrestling after a commending recommendation from wrestling legend NO MATTER WHAT KING FLIP SAYS, current EWC trainer as well as New Japan Fighting Championship manager to The O, Johnny Bonecrusher!
The now: ⇓⇓⇓⇓⇓⇓
"I am a shepherd without a flock."
The man: Oh, right! Jerry Slickness, of course!
He clears his throat and looks around at his environment, chock-full of flocks of cows. No, wait, herds of cows. But still.
"I am hands without a clock. I am a foot without a sock. I am a roll without a rock."
Jerry sighs as he continues to tread carefully across the field.
"I know how this looks, I know how this seems, but I am an island without a man, if you know what I mean."
He ponders on the ways that could be interpreted, but shakes it off.
"My hometown's nice and all, as you can plainly see, but it's not a place you can make history."
He adjusts his shades and slicks back his hair. He feels he needs to mix it up a bit.
"To try, to train, to toughen-up, for future fights fought... wrestling really roughs you up, by breaking bones... you... uuuuuuuuugh!"
He wipes the sweat from his brow, resting that same hand, now closed, dead centre on his forehead, rapping it against it. He is frustrated, defeated, a sensitive artist indeed.
"The truth is, friends, Romans, countrymen... and non-Romans alike... you've lent me your ears, and I've twisted them. Ah, me, my kingdom for a rewind button! All that and more for editing software! But alas and alack, I am back at square one, I have been undone."
He runs that same hand down his face, resting it over his mouth. He looks on, pensively and conflicted. Troubled and humiliated.
"Here I stand alone-"
"MooooOOOOOooo!"
There is a pause. The sensitive artist recollects himself.
"Here, one man stands alone, who must atone, who has no home, who has a home, but cannot return, until he's learned, until he's learned..."
His fist strikes his side.
"To wait his turn. For you see, for you are eyes feasting themselves upon me and yet left wanting, for you see, my love is in prose and verse, but also in blows and worse: professional... wrestling."
He passes by a younger cow, busy munching away at the sweet sweet green blades of nourishment provided for it as far as the eye can see. As he passes, he allows his hand to gently drag across its torso. The softness of its hide contrasting the hardness he must strike with, drop an opponent with, in order to be victorious in the ring. He cannot be like the gentle cow, save in its ballast and endurance. But those qualities can be found in the mighty bull. Jerry Slickness, not acting so slick right now, must become not unlike the horned behemoth of the plains. But will be turn out to be more like Ferdinand than the Red Bull?
"FSW, sooner or later, I'm coming to you to test my mettle. In the meantime, I'm not feeling so terribly slick right now. Maybe I should change my name to Jerry Slackness. Maybe not. Either way, I'll leave with you this:
When I step into that ring, I will clutch, I will hit. Ideally I'll win the match, and you'll look like-"
And just before he can finish his rhyme, caught up in the verse, he neglects to watch where he steps, and, sure enough, you put enough cows on the pasture!
Anyway, he groans in disgust, trying to wipe his foot off on some clean grass.
Finally, he points at his sullied shoe, simply saying, "That."
But once in a blue moon, they come to be by sheer happenstance.
When one's interests, when younger, aren't quite up to snuff, at least according to the status quo, you have two choices:
1) Continue to get bullied, trying to tough it out until high school's over and done with. Maybe go to an extreme by shooting up your school?
2) Don't wait for authority figures to fight your battles for you - even though they really should - and take your future into your own hands... via learning to fight, erm, I mean, defend yourself.
Because a story of someone shooting up a school is pretty heavy and highly sensitive given the emotional climate of the United States these days, let's assume the man in question chose option 2.
Thus is the story of Jerry Slickness.
Actually, there's not much to it yet, so we'll end it here.
No? This is too short a tale? You demand a saga? How about we compromise and just hear from good ol' J-Smooth himself?
The scene: A Preston, Idaho field full of cows.
The date: Today!
The time: Boy, you're getting nosy!
The sounds: Mooooooo's mostly.
The weather: 83°F, Sunny, Precipitation 0%, Humidity 14%, Winds 17mph
The scoop: Jerry Slickness has recently signed with Future Stars of Wrestling after a commending recommendation from wrestling legend NO MATTER WHAT KING FLIP SAYS, current EWC trainer as well as New Japan Fighting Championship manager to The O, Johnny Bonecrusher!
The now: ⇓⇓⇓⇓⇓⇓
"I am a shepherd without a flock."
The man: Oh, right! Jerry Slickness, of course!
He clears his throat and looks around at his environment, chock-full of flocks of cows. No, wait, herds of cows. But still.
"I am hands without a clock. I am a foot without a sock. I am a roll without a rock."
Jerry sighs as he continues to tread carefully across the field.
"I know how this looks, I know how this seems, but I am an island without a man, if you know what I mean."
He ponders on the ways that could be interpreted, but shakes it off.
"My hometown's nice and all, as you can plainly see, but it's not a place you can make history."
He adjusts his shades and slicks back his hair. He feels he needs to mix it up a bit.
"To try, to train, to toughen-up, for future fights fought... wrestling really roughs you up, by breaking bones... you... uuuuuuuuugh!"
He wipes the sweat from his brow, resting that same hand, now closed, dead centre on his forehead, rapping it against it. He is frustrated, defeated, a sensitive artist indeed.
"The truth is, friends, Romans, countrymen... and non-Romans alike... you've lent me your ears, and I've twisted them. Ah, me, my kingdom for a rewind button! All that and more for editing software! But alas and alack, I am back at square one, I have been undone."
He runs that same hand down his face, resting it over his mouth. He looks on, pensively and conflicted. Troubled and humiliated.
"Here I stand alone-"
"MooooOOOOOooo!"
There is a pause. The sensitive artist recollects himself.
"Here, one man stands alone, who must atone, who has no home, who has a home, but cannot return, until he's learned, until he's learned..."
His fist strikes his side.
"To wait his turn. For you see, for you are eyes feasting themselves upon me and yet left wanting, for you see, my love is in prose and verse, but also in blows and worse: professional... wrestling."
He passes by a younger cow, busy munching away at the sweet sweet green blades of nourishment provided for it as far as the eye can see. As he passes, he allows his hand to gently drag across its torso. The softness of its hide contrasting the hardness he must strike with, drop an opponent with, in order to be victorious in the ring. He cannot be like the gentle cow, save in its ballast and endurance. But those qualities can be found in the mighty bull. Jerry Slickness, not acting so slick right now, must become not unlike the horned behemoth of the plains. But will be turn out to be more like Ferdinand than the Red Bull?
"FSW, sooner or later, I'm coming to you to test my mettle. In the meantime, I'm not feeling so terribly slick right now. Maybe I should change my name to Jerry Slackness. Maybe not. Either way, I'll leave with you this:
When I step into that ring, I will clutch, I will hit. Ideally I'll win the match, and you'll look like-"
And just before he can finish his rhyme, caught up in the verse, he neglects to watch where he steps, and, sure enough, you put enough cows on the pasture!
Anyway, he groans in disgust, trying to wipe his foot off on some clean grass.
Finally, he points at his sullied shoe, simply saying, "That."