Post by Eddie D. on Jul 23, 2015 15:29:44 GMT
The last time we saw Rob Diamond he was battling a future version of his daughter Hope with assistance from his future old man self, his girl friend the mocha goddess Jazz and his two year old daughter empowered by the Infinity Gauntlet, Hope again.
A burst of unparalleled power sent Rob tumbling through time, when he came too he was standing near the tree line of his father’s large chunk of land looking across the field at a slightly younger version of himself on the porch with his father…
Rob’s Dad: Son…
The younger Rob looked over to his father as he took a drag of his cigarette, older Rob slowly moved across the field so he could hear what was being said.
Rob’s Dad: You know I’m proud of you, right?
The younger Rob just looked at his dad with a titled head and a questioning stare.
Rob’s Dad: I know I’m not the best at expressing myself but… I love you son.
He dad reached out for his younger self and the two embraced in a hug. Present Rob watched, his eyes watering up as time began to ripple around him and suddenly he was sucked back through a black vortex…
When Rob opened his eyes again he was sitting on a wooden bench in a locker room, he was dressed and ready to wrestle, the memories of everything that had happened in the last twenty four hours danced around in his head like a dream slowly slipping away, only his dad’s words remained…
A stage hand peeked his head into the room and told Rob the Joker in the Pack match was next, he nodded.
Suddenly his phone went off, the theme from Doctor Who emanating from his bag on the floor. Rob reached down and quickly pulled it out, the screen read “Mom”. He shook his head, figuring it was just her calling him to wish him good luck or maybe she couldn’t figure out how to turn the blu ray player on again. He swiped right and put the phone on speaker.
Rob: Hey mom.
Rob’s Mom: Rob…
She stammered and took a deep breath.
Rob’s Mom: Your father’s dead…
The world around him went dark; the air completely left his lungs, Rob’s head started to spin as the memories of his crazy adventure suddenly came back, the alternate time line, the words his father spoke to him only a few years ago. They hadn’t spoken in months, his father had some choice words for Rob’s life choices, he’d shunned him, shut him out, hoped that his absence would make his father see how much of an ass he was but now he was gone…
He’s gone…
Rob’s Mom: Rob? Rob are you ok?
Rob: Yeah… I gotta go…
Rob hung up without another word and dropped the phone into his bag. He stood up and walked toward the door, forcing himself to take each step as if his feet were being weighted down by hundred pound cinder blocks. He opened the door to the hall way and Jazz stood there with her black hair tied back in a Rob Diamond t-shirt and jeans, she looked happy to see him but quickly realized something was wrong.
Jazz: Babe, everything ok?
Rob: Yeah. Ducky. I gotta go…
He walked past her like she wasn’t even there and headed toward the stage as they cued up his music. Jazz watched him with worry in her eyes as Rob walked up the steps, his music started and he stepped out through the curtain…
Guess who’s back???
That’s right!!! The ass kicking, show stealing, boobie feeling, Infamous man with a plan ROB MOTHER FUGG’IN DIAMOND!!!!
And I’ve come for the B hole of Mike Laszlo and I don’t care if that sounds homoerotic to you or anyone else because it’s the AngelDamned truth. I am going to beat that sniffling little ball sucker so bad that I haven’t even thought of an analogy good enough to describe and when I am done I am going to get the biggest cactus I can find at walmart, wrap that bastard in barbed wire, drive some nails through it, light it on fire and I am going to viciously fuck Mike Laszlo in his asshole until he is dead!
DEAD!
Not literally dead because technically that isn’t legal inside a wrestling ring… YET!!! But metaphorically dead!!!
However this week isn’t about the sadomasochistic rape that is awaiting Mike Laszlo, this week is about my return to the squared circle in a match against a guy I share a lot of opinions with.
A true American in every sense of the word.
Alexander Atwater.
Which is why I’m standing here today in my Win Hilary Win t-shirt with a pink towel wrapped around my head waving a politically correct gay pride American Flag completely with triangles where the stars should be.
Atwater, you’re a GD hero. You put your life on the line, killed some terrorist bastards and saved this country single handedly American Sniper style all so an egotistical twat like myself could sit back and drink a beer while I pay an underage Asian girl to take off her clothes in a bar on the lower east side of Manhattan.
Thank you.
Is that what you’ve been looking for? Just one of us lazy American assholes to thank you? I mean, because you’ve been bitching about this country long enough that I’m starting to think you and Thani pray in the same Mosque.
I mean, did you really think that you’d put your life on the line, live and come home to a heroes welcome? Are you really that fucking blind and stupid to not realize that this war on terror has been the most unpopular war in the history of the country and regardless of what talk show host you chose to blindly listen to and follow there is no ignoring the fact that the overwhelming majority of this country are sick and tired of our sons and daughters dying for sand loving assholes who strap bombs to their kids chests all in the belief that they will find eternal peace and unlimited pussy.
And you want to be thanked and appreciated for killing these people?
Well thanks Alex, thank you for participating in a war that no one with half a brain and both sleeves on their shirts wants, thank you for shooting women and children, thank you for then coming home to remind us basically on a daily basis that we all owe you something.
THANK YOU FOR DOING YOUR JOB!!!!
Listen, maybe you’re a little slow on the uptake here but if you need to tell people to thank you for doing what it is you signed on to do then maybe they don’t really appreciate it and you don’t need or deserve their respect.
Get my meaning?
Now I know I’m pissing you off and setting myself up for some kind of big patriotic rant but hear me out kid. I’m a red blooded American myself, I literally shit red, white and blue and love to blow stuff up every fourth of July. I’m not mocking your service to this country, your love for this country or the passion you have for your beliefs.
What I’m saying is I’m a professional wrestler, it’s my job and what I want to do and I don’t for a second expect anyone of the lovely people in the crowd to thank me for what I do. They provide me with a comfortable living and the knowledge that as long as they react to my presence then I’m doing a good job.
I’m not like Mike Laszlo who begs for the respect and admiration of the people around me and your little political rants and American dream speeches come off as you being a bitter whiny bitch who just wants someone to get on their knees and suck you off like a red rocket pop and catch your load in the American flag.
Grow the fuck up.
You claim to be a man, a war veteran, possibly some sort of hit man and a professional wrestler yet you spend most of your time blogging about how fucking worthless the majority of this country is?
It is my right and duty as an American to uphold my first amendment rights and tell you to SHUT THE FUCK UP.
I mean honestly kid, nobody cares. Not me, not the kids in the front row, not the dads who bought the tickets or the moms who wish the men in her life would not take her kids to over physical and occasionally brutal and generally too sexual wrestling events.
We don’t care.
And yeah it is a sign of the decay of this country but guess what brother, no empire lasts forever and the Romans, Mayans, Persians, Soviets and British can all attest to the fact that whatever rises eventually has to fall and maybe it’s just our time. Maybe it’s time America was brought down to the same level as every other corrupt little dictatorship in the world and the people were driven so far into poverty as to be laughable by today’s over indulgent standards.
Or maybe it’s time for you to get out from behind the keyboard, put down the iphone, throw on a pair of casual dress slacks and throw your hat into the political arena and bring about the change you so desperately are crying for because sobbing over your desk top isn’t going to change anything.
As for this match?
Straight up I’m going to kick the shit out of you.
I don’t care how big and bad you are, I don’t care how many people you’ve shot and killed from a hundred yards away through your scope and rifle, I don’t care how many hand to hand battles you’ve had that ended with you being the only one left standing. I care about this match in that ring and exactly how far you’re willing to go to put me down and I promise you Alex, it isn’t half as far as me.
I’m not a blood thirty professional killer, I’m a fucking professional wrestler with absolutely no compassion or empathy for the man across the ring from me unless his name is Michael Kane, the rest of you little piss ants are just fucking sheet rock walls for me to kick down on my way to where I belong and that’s on top of the mountain.
I’m no hero.
I’m no villain.
I’m a man who isn’t afraid to do whatever needs to be done to get to the top. I’ll cheat. I’ll lie. I’ll steal every single second I can in the spot light until this whole mother fucking world recognizes me as the Greatest of All Time.
I’m a world killing, soul stealing, Dark Lord of the Sith and the second the referee blinks an eye I will whip kick you so hard in the balls you’ll wish Ahkmed had shot you in the head and ended your ball busting pain before it began because you my friend are going down.
Ball kick.
Diamond Cutter.
Pin fall.
Rob Mother Loving Diamond is back and if you’re not down with that then I got two words for you.
SUCK IT!
A burst of unparalleled power sent Rob tumbling through time, when he came too he was standing near the tree line of his father’s large chunk of land looking across the field at a slightly younger version of himself on the porch with his father…
Rob’s Dad: Son…
The younger Rob looked over to his father as he took a drag of his cigarette, older Rob slowly moved across the field so he could hear what was being said.
Rob’s Dad: You know I’m proud of you, right?
The younger Rob just looked at his dad with a titled head and a questioning stare.
Rob’s Dad: I know I’m not the best at expressing myself but… I love you son.
He dad reached out for his younger self and the two embraced in a hug. Present Rob watched, his eyes watering up as time began to ripple around him and suddenly he was sucked back through a black vortex…
When Rob opened his eyes again he was sitting on a wooden bench in a locker room, he was dressed and ready to wrestle, the memories of everything that had happened in the last twenty four hours danced around in his head like a dream slowly slipping away, only his dad’s words remained…
A stage hand peeked his head into the room and told Rob the Joker in the Pack match was next, he nodded.
Suddenly his phone went off, the theme from Doctor Who emanating from his bag on the floor. Rob reached down and quickly pulled it out, the screen read “Mom”. He shook his head, figuring it was just her calling him to wish him good luck or maybe she couldn’t figure out how to turn the blu ray player on again. He swiped right and put the phone on speaker.
Rob: Hey mom.
Rob’s Mom: Rob…
She stammered and took a deep breath.
Rob’s Mom: Your father’s dead…
The world around him went dark; the air completely left his lungs, Rob’s head started to spin as the memories of his crazy adventure suddenly came back, the alternate time line, the words his father spoke to him only a few years ago. They hadn’t spoken in months, his father had some choice words for Rob’s life choices, he’d shunned him, shut him out, hoped that his absence would make his father see how much of an ass he was but now he was gone…
He’s gone…
Rob’s Mom: Rob? Rob are you ok?
Rob: Yeah… I gotta go…
Rob hung up without another word and dropped the phone into his bag. He stood up and walked toward the door, forcing himself to take each step as if his feet were being weighted down by hundred pound cinder blocks. He opened the door to the hall way and Jazz stood there with her black hair tied back in a Rob Diamond t-shirt and jeans, she looked happy to see him but quickly realized something was wrong.
Jazz: Babe, everything ok?
Rob: Yeah. Ducky. I gotta go…
He walked past her like she wasn’t even there and headed toward the stage as they cued up his music. Jazz watched him with worry in her eyes as Rob walked up the steps, his music started and he stepped out through the curtain…
Guess who’s back???
That’s right!!! The ass kicking, show stealing, boobie feeling, Infamous man with a plan ROB MOTHER FUGG’IN DIAMOND!!!!
And I’ve come for the B hole of Mike Laszlo and I don’t care if that sounds homoerotic to you or anyone else because it’s the AngelDamned truth. I am going to beat that sniffling little ball sucker so bad that I haven’t even thought of an analogy good enough to describe and when I am done I am going to get the biggest cactus I can find at walmart, wrap that bastard in barbed wire, drive some nails through it, light it on fire and I am going to viciously fuck Mike Laszlo in his asshole until he is dead!
DEAD!
Not literally dead because technically that isn’t legal inside a wrestling ring… YET!!! But metaphorically dead!!!
However this week isn’t about the sadomasochistic rape that is awaiting Mike Laszlo, this week is about my return to the squared circle in a match against a guy I share a lot of opinions with.
A true American in every sense of the word.
Alexander Atwater.
Which is why I’m standing here today in my Win Hilary Win t-shirt with a pink towel wrapped around my head waving a politically correct gay pride American Flag completely with triangles where the stars should be.
Atwater, you’re a GD hero. You put your life on the line, killed some terrorist bastards and saved this country single handedly American Sniper style all so an egotistical twat like myself could sit back and drink a beer while I pay an underage Asian girl to take off her clothes in a bar on the lower east side of Manhattan.
Thank you.
Is that what you’ve been looking for? Just one of us lazy American assholes to thank you? I mean, because you’ve been bitching about this country long enough that I’m starting to think you and Thani pray in the same Mosque.
I mean, did you really think that you’d put your life on the line, live and come home to a heroes welcome? Are you really that fucking blind and stupid to not realize that this war on terror has been the most unpopular war in the history of the country and regardless of what talk show host you chose to blindly listen to and follow there is no ignoring the fact that the overwhelming majority of this country are sick and tired of our sons and daughters dying for sand loving assholes who strap bombs to their kids chests all in the belief that they will find eternal peace and unlimited pussy.
And you want to be thanked and appreciated for killing these people?
Well thanks Alex, thank you for participating in a war that no one with half a brain and both sleeves on their shirts wants, thank you for shooting women and children, thank you for then coming home to remind us basically on a daily basis that we all owe you something.
THANK YOU FOR DOING YOUR JOB!!!!
Listen, maybe you’re a little slow on the uptake here but if you need to tell people to thank you for doing what it is you signed on to do then maybe they don’t really appreciate it and you don’t need or deserve their respect.
Get my meaning?
Now I know I’m pissing you off and setting myself up for some kind of big patriotic rant but hear me out kid. I’m a red blooded American myself, I literally shit red, white and blue and love to blow stuff up every fourth of July. I’m not mocking your service to this country, your love for this country or the passion you have for your beliefs.
What I’m saying is I’m a professional wrestler, it’s my job and what I want to do and I don’t for a second expect anyone of the lovely people in the crowd to thank me for what I do. They provide me with a comfortable living and the knowledge that as long as they react to my presence then I’m doing a good job.
I’m not like Mike Laszlo who begs for the respect and admiration of the people around me and your little political rants and American dream speeches come off as you being a bitter whiny bitch who just wants someone to get on their knees and suck you off like a red rocket pop and catch your load in the American flag.
Grow the fuck up.
You claim to be a man, a war veteran, possibly some sort of hit man and a professional wrestler yet you spend most of your time blogging about how fucking worthless the majority of this country is?
It is my right and duty as an American to uphold my first amendment rights and tell you to SHUT THE FUCK UP.
I mean honestly kid, nobody cares. Not me, not the kids in the front row, not the dads who bought the tickets or the moms who wish the men in her life would not take her kids to over physical and occasionally brutal and generally too sexual wrestling events.
We don’t care.
And yeah it is a sign of the decay of this country but guess what brother, no empire lasts forever and the Romans, Mayans, Persians, Soviets and British can all attest to the fact that whatever rises eventually has to fall and maybe it’s just our time. Maybe it’s time America was brought down to the same level as every other corrupt little dictatorship in the world and the people were driven so far into poverty as to be laughable by today’s over indulgent standards.
Or maybe it’s time for you to get out from behind the keyboard, put down the iphone, throw on a pair of casual dress slacks and throw your hat into the political arena and bring about the change you so desperately are crying for because sobbing over your desk top isn’t going to change anything.
As for this match?
Straight up I’m going to kick the shit out of you.
I don’t care how big and bad you are, I don’t care how many people you’ve shot and killed from a hundred yards away through your scope and rifle, I don’t care how many hand to hand battles you’ve had that ended with you being the only one left standing. I care about this match in that ring and exactly how far you’re willing to go to put me down and I promise you Alex, it isn’t half as far as me.
I’m not a blood thirty professional killer, I’m a fucking professional wrestler with absolutely no compassion or empathy for the man across the ring from me unless his name is Michael Kane, the rest of you little piss ants are just fucking sheet rock walls for me to kick down on my way to where I belong and that’s on top of the mountain.
I’m no hero.
I’m no villain.
I’m a man who isn’t afraid to do whatever needs to be done to get to the top. I’ll cheat. I’ll lie. I’ll steal every single second I can in the spot light until this whole mother fucking world recognizes me as the Greatest of All Time.
I’m a world killing, soul stealing, Dark Lord of the Sith and the second the referee blinks an eye I will whip kick you so hard in the balls you’ll wish Ahkmed had shot you in the head and ended your ball busting pain before it began because you my friend are going down.
Ball kick.
Diamond Cutter.
Pin fall.
Rob Mother Loving Diamond is back and if you’re not down with that then I got two words for you.
SUCK IT!
Well howdy there pardner.