Post by Deleted on Oct 30, 2016 1:59:04 GMT
Wedding Bells
As you've all seen in weeks past, I'm your narrator for the story as we learn about the Greatest Man Alive, Noah Field. Since we began his story, we've been going over his origins, beginning with his great grandfather, Santino "Sonny" Carmangelo, and just recently we met his grandfather, Anthony Carmangelo. When we last left that story, Sonny was on the verge of death and Anthony was contemplating revenge.
That's when I threw you, the loyal reader, a curveball. At the behest of our subject matter, Noah, we jumped ahead to give insight into Noah as we saw perhaps the events in his life that led him to be, well, Noah Field. The intent was to bring it all back to Sonny with this week's part of the story, but again, we are going do something different.
Don't get me, your wonderful narrator, wrong. We will finish this story. But in the weeks we've been telling this story, a lot of has happened. So my job for the night is to catch all of you up on what you've missed out on.
Since we last really saw Noah outside the ring, there has been a major life change. At only twenty-three years of age, since Noah came into the spotlight almost four years ago, he's been considered one of the most eligible bachelors among the rich and the famous. And to be fair, Noah has fared pretty well. But of course, to hear Noah speak it, look at his face and how could you deny him? Now I don't know about that, but in my experience as a member of Noah's loyal entourage, I've gotten a lot of rollover ass in the past four years just by being with Noah.
But now it looks like as if I, the fearless narrator who DOES have a name other than the narrator, now has to fend for himself.
Noah Field got married to Morgan Kennedy.
Yes, that Morgan Kennedy; the very Morgan Kennedy that is not only his manager, valet, and agent, but also his step-sister. Hey, it's legal. They share no blood.
It was truly a beautiful wedding. But what would you expect from a Kennedy-Field wedding? Two rich and powerful families have a lot of rich and powerful friends and money to waste.
It was on the a black sandy beach in Tahiti in front of, with, I'm guessing, well over five hundred people in attendance. I'm not one to use the term beautiful, but it was beautiful. The black sand coincided with Saint Laurent tuxedo of Noah’s. This sat in perfect contrast to the pure white Sabrina Dahan wedding gown of Morgan’s. It made it not only a wedding, but even akin to a fashion world runway with well over a 40K of designer clothing between the bride and groom.
Only in the Kennedy-Field wedding, right?
It wasn’t just the clothes that was lavish. The cake was ungodly, done by the infamous Sylvia Weinstock. First time I’ve ever seen a 70,000 dollar cake. But I must say, the design of it, towering above everyone, with it’s white on white pallette that looked to be inspired by the floral arrangement carried by the bride. The cake itself was an a moist white cake with coconut and strawberry filling that was definitely a pleasure to eat; though I don’t know about 70 grand worth of pleasure.
Did I mention the music? Somehow they managed to book platinum selling artist Christina Perri. So obviously the first dance was to her hit song, “A Thousand Years”.
Oh, yeah, I also got an Instragram shot with Sam Smith. Yes, that Sam Smith, the British singer. Apparently him and Noah know one another. Where the hell have I been?
So congratulations to Noah and Morgan. Now hopefully next time, we’ll get back to our story at hand.
From the Blog of Noah Field
Making a Diagram
Still 7-0, that's all that matters, right?
My jockeying for position to get a shot at the Imperial Championship was a bust due to the negligence of the front office, but I'll make myself another opportunity; that's what I do. I find an opening and I exploit it.
I'll find an opening; I must. The clock is ticking.
Imperial or Bust!
And I'm a man of my word. A lot of negative can see said about me; egotistical (but why wouldn't I be?), spoiled, expectant; I've even been referred to by many as the poster boy for the millennial attitude (I'll own it, I like being a poster boy). But one thing you can't say about me is that I'm not honest. So just as I said last week; Imperial or Bust. If, by the end of June, I haven't won the belt I'll pack it up and disappear from IWF, never to be seen again.
That makes me feel like Cinderella, waiting for the clock to strike midnight; only the way I dress (I do have a very keen fashion sense), I was ready for the ball long ago.
But I'm getting ahead of myself because before I go on to achieve my destiny and rightful place at the top of the company, I have a minor annoyance that I have to take care of along the way in Mike Phoenix.
The part of me that knows I'm too good for this match; that I'm above this belt I'm carrying, wants to just go in there, lay down on my back for three seconds, and rid myself of this ball and chain called Invictus that's holding me back, but the competitor in me that wants to be the best (I'm attempting to be humble; we all know I'm the best), no matter how distasteful this championship and this match is, I just can't do it.
I can be a bit of nerd. We’ve already learned I know my comic book lore. And just like a lot of people who know their comic book lore, I know what a phoenix is. A phoenix dies and then is born anew from it’s ashes.
The problem with Mike Phoenix is that he isn’t born anew. Sure, his looks change with his every whim due to his indecisiveness and insecurities, but it doesn't change who or what Mike Phoenix is (And trust me, you need to change, desperately. I’m embarrassed for you.), a washed up hack who’s playing wrestler with the big boys when you're small time (And I’m anything but).
Other than the obvious, (my immense talent and good looks versus his lack of any substantial ability), there’s one huge contrast in Phoenix and myself. I’m an innovator. Love me or hate me, I bring something new and fresh to the table. Love me or hate me, you know my name, you know who I am, you know what I do. I stand out. I’m that guy who you see me in the ring, you take home my match. You hear me on the microphone, you are captivated. For that matter, after you’ve heard me once, you can blindfold yourself and listen and STILL know it’s me because I’m distinctive and I stand out.
Mike Phoenix is far from an innovator. He’s the same formula as every other guy who came before him and every other guy who will come after him. Other than change his look like a chameleon changes colors (can I get your make-up guys number?), what makes Mike Phoenix special? Is it that he spouts the same thing every week? Or that he has this superpower to find some pornstar look alike who, for some odd reason, wants to drape herself all over him? He’s a dime a dozen talent in a machine that is fresh out of quarters.
And this is what they want me to fight? They think this guy deserves to share the ring with me? I know the thinking on it; they want me derailed. Put me against someone as pathetic and sad as Phoenix and maybe I’ll lower myself to his level and make a mistake. But I’m Noah Field (synonym for perfection), I don’t make mistakes. My flawless win-loss record is a testament to that.
You know what? I’m wasting my time and breath. I’m sure even as short as this is, I’ve already lost the attention span of Mike Phoenix so I’ll wrap this up by drawing a diagram of exactly how our match will go….
As you've all seen in weeks past, I'm your narrator for the story as we learn about the Greatest Man Alive, Noah Field. Since we began his story, we've been going over his origins, beginning with his great grandfather, Santino "Sonny" Carmangelo, and just recently we met his grandfather, Anthony Carmangelo. When we last left that story, Sonny was on the verge of death and Anthony was contemplating revenge.
That's when I threw you, the loyal reader, a curveball. At the behest of our subject matter, Noah, we jumped ahead to give insight into Noah as we saw perhaps the events in his life that led him to be, well, Noah Field. The intent was to bring it all back to Sonny with this week's part of the story, but again, we are going do something different.
Don't get me, your wonderful narrator, wrong. We will finish this story. But in the weeks we've been telling this story, a lot of has happened. So my job for the night is to catch all of you up on what you've missed out on.
Since we last really saw Noah outside the ring, there has been a major life change. At only twenty-three years of age, since Noah came into the spotlight almost four years ago, he's been considered one of the most eligible bachelors among the rich and the famous. And to be fair, Noah has fared pretty well. But of course, to hear Noah speak it, look at his face and how could you deny him? Now I don't know about that, but in my experience as a member of Noah's loyal entourage, I've gotten a lot of rollover ass in the past four years just by being with Noah.
But now it looks like as if I, the fearless narrator who DOES have a name other than the narrator, now has to fend for himself.
Noah Field got married to Morgan Kennedy.
Yes, that Morgan Kennedy; the very Morgan Kennedy that is not only his manager, valet, and agent, but also his step-sister. Hey, it's legal. They share no blood.
It was truly a beautiful wedding. But what would you expect from a Kennedy-Field wedding? Two rich and powerful families have a lot of rich and powerful friends and money to waste.
It was on the a black sandy beach in Tahiti in front of, with, I'm guessing, well over five hundred people in attendance. I'm not one to use the term beautiful, but it was beautiful. The black sand coincided with Saint Laurent tuxedo of Noah’s. This sat in perfect contrast to the pure white Sabrina Dahan wedding gown of Morgan’s. It made it not only a wedding, but even akin to a fashion world runway with well over a 40K of designer clothing between the bride and groom.
Only in the Kennedy-Field wedding, right?
It wasn’t just the clothes that was lavish. The cake was ungodly, done by the infamous Sylvia Weinstock. First time I’ve ever seen a 70,000 dollar cake. But I must say, the design of it, towering above everyone, with it’s white on white pallette that looked to be inspired by the floral arrangement carried by the bride. The cake itself was an a moist white cake with coconut and strawberry filling that was definitely a pleasure to eat; though I don’t know about 70 grand worth of pleasure.
Did I mention the music? Somehow they managed to book platinum selling artist Christina Perri. So obviously the first dance was to her hit song, “A Thousand Years”.
Oh, yeah, I also got an Instragram shot with Sam Smith. Yes, that Sam Smith, the British singer. Apparently him and Noah know one another. Where the hell have I been?
So congratulations to Noah and Morgan. Now hopefully next time, we’ll get back to our story at hand.
From the Blog of Noah Field
Making a Diagram
Still 7-0, that's all that matters, right?
My jockeying for position to get a shot at the Imperial Championship was a bust due to the negligence of the front office, but I'll make myself another opportunity; that's what I do. I find an opening and I exploit it.
I'll find an opening; I must. The clock is ticking.
Imperial or Bust!
And I'm a man of my word. A lot of negative can see said about me; egotistical (but why wouldn't I be?), spoiled, expectant; I've even been referred to by many as the poster boy for the millennial attitude (I'll own it, I like being a poster boy). But one thing you can't say about me is that I'm not honest. So just as I said last week; Imperial or Bust. If, by the end of June, I haven't won the belt I'll pack it up and disappear from IWF, never to be seen again.
That makes me feel like Cinderella, waiting for the clock to strike midnight; only the way I dress (I do have a very keen fashion sense), I was ready for the ball long ago.
But I'm getting ahead of myself because before I go on to achieve my destiny and rightful place at the top of the company, I have a minor annoyance that I have to take care of along the way in Mike Phoenix.
The part of me that knows I'm too good for this match; that I'm above this belt I'm carrying, wants to just go in there, lay down on my back for three seconds, and rid myself of this ball and chain called Invictus that's holding me back, but the competitor in me that wants to be the best (I'm attempting to be humble; we all know I'm the best), no matter how distasteful this championship and this match is, I just can't do it.
I can be a bit of nerd. We’ve already learned I know my comic book lore. And just like a lot of people who know their comic book lore, I know what a phoenix is. A phoenix dies and then is born anew from it’s ashes.
The problem with Mike Phoenix is that he isn’t born anew. Sure, his looks change with his every whim due to his indecisiveness and insecurities, but it doesn't change who or what Mike Phoenix is (And trust me, you need to change, desperately. I’m embarrassed for you.), a washed up hack who’s playing wrestler with the big boys when you're small time (And I’m anything but).
Other than the obvious, (my immense talent and good looks versus his lack of any substantial ability), there’s one huge contrast in Phoenix and myself. I’m an innovator. Love me or hate me, I bring something new and fresh to the table. Love me or hate me, you know my name, you know who I am, you know what I do. I stand out. I’m that guy who you see me in the ring, you take home my match. You hear me on the microphone, you are captivated. For that matter, after you’ve heard me once, you can blindfold yourself and listen and STILL know it’s me because I’m distinctive and I stand out.
Mike Phoenix is far from an innovator. He’s the same formula as every other guy who came before him and every other guy who will come after him. Other than change his look like a chameleon changes colors (can I get your make-up guys number?), what makes Mike Phoenix special? Is it that he spouts the same thing every week? Or that he has this superpower to find some pornstar look alike who, for some odd reason, wants to drape herself all over him? He’s a dime a dozen talent in a machine that is fresh out of quarters.
And this is what they want me to fight? They think this guy deserves to share the ring with me? I know the thinking on it; they want me derailed. Put me against someone as pathetic and sad as Phoenix and maybe I’ll lower myself to his level and make a mistake. But I’m Noah Field (synonym for perfection), I don’t make mistakes. My flawless win-loss record is a testament to that.
You know what? I’m wasting my time and breath. I’m sure even as short as this is, I’ve already lost the attention span of Mike Phoenix so I’ll wrap this up by drawing a diagram of exactly how our match will go….
Well howdy there pardner.