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Violence Fetish (The First Taste of Blood)

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October 17, 2022, 02:23:05 pm The Wretched Nobody says: https://youtu.be/cjXLAeaV07o
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October 22, 2018, 09:47:51 am Moonchild says: Ultimate Online Wrestling

To anyone who is interested…


Ultimate Online Wrestling is currently looking to expand its roster this year for Season 2 of our heavily story driven E-Fed that sort of reads and feels like a comic book. We’ve been open for 14 months and have posted 12 well written shows on the SteemIt platform. We have over 1600 followers on there and we use the platform to make a little money from the hobby that we love. We are a laid back E-Fed for adults and we only do about 1 show a month. There is a 2 Role Play limit per show with no word limit on individual role plays.


We are a unique E-Fed in that I reward my role player’s with the Crypto-Currency XP Coin which can be converted into Bitcoin on online exchanges. We also write and do our shows in a way that concentrates on an actual audience that reads our work on the SteemIt community network. So our work isn’t just consumed by people involved in the E-Fed, but also fans of our work on SteemIt and Twitter.


If you’re interested joining our roster and learning how we do things at Ultimate Wrestling you can join our discord channel link below. Our roster and staff are very friendly and willing to answer any questions you might have.


Discord Channel: r/https://discord.gg/mj6Msrf


Below are some of our shows so that you can get a feel for my writing style and our story-lines.


https://steemit.com/fiction/@ultimatewrestlin/ultimate-online-wrestling-ch-4-friday-night-clash-episode-1


https://steemit.com/fiction/@ultimatewrestlin/ultimate-online-wrestling-ch-8-ultra-slam-pay-per-view-event


https://steemit.com/fiction/@ultimatewrestlin/ultimate-online-wrestling-ch-11-friday-night-clash-7
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Author Topic: Violence Fetish (The First Taste of Blood)  (Read 289 times)
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The New York Nightmare Trevor Blackwell
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Gender: Male
Wrestler: Trevor Blackwell
Hometown: Patchogue, New York
Weight: 275 lbs
Height: 6'5"
Finishers: The Full Throttle, The Pain Threshold, and The Solitary Confinement
W/L/D Record: 6/4/0...
Posts: 291



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« on: December 02, 2014, 06:09:07 am »

Clever got me this far
Then tricky got me in
Eye on what I'm after
I don't need another friend
Smile and drop the cliche
'Til you think I'm listenin'
I take just what I came for
Then I'm out the door again

Peripheral on the package
Don't care to settle in
Time to feed the monster
I don't need another friend
Comfort is a mystery
Crawling out of my own skin
Just give me what I came for, then I'm out the door again

Lie to get what I came for
Lie to get just what I need
Lie to get what I crave
Lie and smile to get what's mine

Eye on what I'm after
I don't need another friend
Nod and watch your lips move
If you need me to pretend
Because clever got me this far
Then tricky got me in
I'll take just what I came for
Then I'm out the door again

Lie to get what I came for
Lie to get what I need now
Lie to get what I'm craving
Lie and smile to get what's mine


   No, they're not my words.  They belong to Maynard James Keenan of A Perfect Circle and Tool fame.  I'm not looking to plagiarize or use another man's words for my benefit.  I just needed to prove a point.  These words are true and accurate and very fitting to the situation you now find yourself in.  Clicking on the link that led you to this story is an action that you can never take back.  You will now bare witness.  You will tell your grandchildren about this moment (that's a bit dramatic but just run with me here).  And I honestly couldn't think of a more fitting way to start Trevor Blackwell's career in World Wrestling Generation.  Don't think of it as a warning.  Just a harbinger of things to come.  Remember those song lyrics, they may just come in handy.



---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------



   *The camera shot opens up on the entrance to the underground parking garage beneath the Magnolia Court Boutique Hotel in East Melbourne.  Its a shame we have to start this way but all things must have a beginning, no matter how unattractive.  And it doesn't get much more unattractive than Steven Beckett, esq.  Mr Beckett is a deplorable human being.  Most people never get to see any kind of redeeming value in this man... but the subject of this story is not most people.  To Steve Beckett's one and only client, he is indispensable.  Beckett wears many hats, none of which are manager.  His client doesn't need a manager to be his mouthpiece or to make his business decisions.  What he needs is a miracle worker.  At 5'7" tall and 310 pounds of unathletic fat, this man doesn't look like much.  His face is long and haggard and ends in jowls.  His armpit sweat stained suit looks expensive but shabbily ironed.  Even on a day when he doesn't have to meet with anyone or impress anyone, Beckett is only truly comfortable in a suit.  His hair is just as long now as it was when he was in his 20's... twentysomething years ago, in a loose ponytail that runs down his sweat stained back..  But now, his hairline kinda starts by his ears.  But though he won't be gracing any modeling magazines, this man is paid as well as he is for a reason.   Steve Beckett is sometimes a bag carrier or a financial advisor or a public relations specialist or a hotel booker and road manager or someone to watch his back at ringside.  He's even been his defense attorney a couple of times.  Again, Steven Beckett, esq. isn't the star of this show but he's very important to it.  Even our hero takes him for granted at times. 
   This is one of those times.  Steve isn't really needed to do this job.  This is just his client being lazy.  He'd rather be in his room, relaxing than standing out here in this sticky, humid, Australian weather.  Steve Beckett comes from New York, where its roughly 20 degrees out.  But not today, even in the shade down here, its 85.  So Steven Beckett esq. is not in the greatest mood when the shipping truck backs into it's with loud, annoying, repetitive beeps.  He taps his foot impatiently and waves away any attempt at idle chitchat from the workers.  He just shoos them along as they open up the back of the box truck and wheel out a pristinely maintained and painstakingly restored but somewhat scarred and battered 1979 Harley Davidson Fatboy.  Mr. Beckett walks around the bike, eyeing it appraisingly as he rubs his many chins.  He nods and mumbles something the camera doesn't catch as he signs a paper on a clipboard and hands the grateful worker $200 Australian.  The portly man checks his gold Rolex and curses under his breath, motioning for the cameraman to follow and running off like the white rabbit to see the Queen of Hearts as the camera fades out.  Steven Beckett, Esq.‘s client has never needed him more than he does today.  Every Apocalypse must have a herald.
   When we return, Steve Beckett is straightening his suit as he stands outside room number 19.  He takes a deep breath and glances at the camera before putting in a key card and walking in.  The moment the door opens, Beckett coughs and clears his throat.  A thick haze of psychotropic smoke hangs in the air as he quickly darts into the bathroom and finds a couple of small, abrasive hotel towels to stuff under the door.  Storming into the main room, his face is red, only some of it from the weather.*


Beckett:  Jesus, Trev.  You do know that marijuana is still illegal in Australia, don't you?  Maybe you want to ease up a bit?

*The shades are drawn and our hero blinks like a prisoner coming up from underground as his troubleshooter flicks on a light.  The large man sitting on the couch brushes his long, black curly hair out of his red tinged ice blue eyes, giving a slight cough as he takes a deep hit of the joint in his hand.  The coffee table in front of him has a couple of dime bags and a small hill of ground up pot in the center.  Across his lap is his trusty Singapore Cane.  An Eton Senior Rattan School Punishment Cane with Paracord Handle to be exact.  3 ft long and 12 mm thick.  This weapon is never outside of arm's reach, even when he's relaxing in a hotel room in a country he doesn't know, preparing for a debut in a wrestling federation where he hasn't made any enemies yet or even when taking a dump.  Made of the flexible yet iron-like skin of the Kooboo Rattan plan cut into long slats and tied together with heavy thread... when the threads are left loose it slaps as sharp as a bullwhip.  But when you pull the ropes tight like this man likes to... it becomes solid as an iron rod.  The flicker of the small flat screened television illuminates his face as he flips his hair away from his eyes again.  Marksman's eyes... cold and unflinching.  He doesn't take those eyes from the screen but answers his associate anyway.*

Man:  No its not, they made it legal here...

*Steve Beckett sighs and shakes his head as he pulls up a lounge chair.*

Beckett:  Medicinally...

*The large man takes another long pull from the bomber between his fingers.*

Large Man:  Yeah... well... I get headaches and ****...

*This time the portly man laughs as he settles his wide ass into the plush chair, almost falling into it.*

Beckett (the portly man):  That's from taking too many unprotected chairshots, Trev.

*Too many chairshots.  Yeah, that's a bit of an understatement.  Or maybe it was the time he was DDT'd off a balcony through a flaming table covered in thumbtacks.  Or that plate glass window he's was thrown through.  Or the time he was crucified.  No, seriously.  Nails through his palms and everything.  Ask him to take off his gloves sometime... just make sure you haven't just eaten.  This man has put his body through all of that and more.  Its why he always wears a t-shirt in the ring... you don't want to invite this guy to a pool party.  This guy is Trevor Blackwell.  He's been known as The **** Icon... The Career Killer... The Excellence of Extreme... The New York Nightmare.. and any number of other badass sounding names.  He's earned them too.  Trevor Blackwell has plied his trade all over the US, Canada, Japan... and now Australia. 

Australia.  Its amazing where people can live these days.

The New York Nightmare smirks slightly as he talks to the man he calls his Troubleshooter though he still watches the monitor*


Trevor:  Y’know, I’ve been watching this pay per view. Absolution… and I gotta say… I have no **** clue who any of these people are.  I mean, seriously, not one of them.  Don’t get me wrong, these guys and girls are talented and all but its been a long time since I’ve been in a wrestling federation where I’ve never heard of anyone.

*He finally exhales the hit, and like a cartoon character, Blackwell’s head is completely enveloped in fragrant smoke for a moment before it all wafts towards Beckett.  Trevor holds the joint out but pulls it back and hits it again when his associate waves it off.*

Trevor:  Suit yourself, Man.  This Wretched Nobody guy seems interesting.  He’s fuckin’ huge.  Still, I’ve slain monsters in the past.  The little blonde chick he’s got with him is pretty hot in a Devil’s Rejects kinda way.

*Steve Beckett moves his chair out of the way of the smoke.  The cameraman coughs as our view shakes up and down a bit.*

Beckett:  I think she’s his girlfriend.

*Blackwell almost chokes on his hit.*

Trevor:  Wow… guy must be packing something…  What’s with the camera guy?

*Steve waves a dismissing hand at him, starting to get high off just being in the middle of all this.*

Beckett:  Oh, he’s just probably not used to being in a room of smoke like this.  Hazard of the job.  I’m sure he’ll be fine.

*The Excellence of Extreme glances at his protégé and then does a double take.  He switches off the television set and turns his full attention to the two of them now… talking very slowly as if to a particularly slow child.*

Trevor:  No… why is there a cameraman here, Steve?  I don’t even have a match yet.

*Steven Beckett, esq… one of the most talented and confident men in the world… just looks at his shoes like a battered wife.  He knew this was coming and he knew his client wasn’t going to like this entire thing.  He’d been practicing what he was going to say over and over on his walk up here from the underground parking garage… how exactly to put it so as not to set this volatile man off.  So, naturally, he decides to pawn it off on someone else.*

Beckett:  Well, you see… the powers that be sent this guy down because they want you to shoot a debut promo.

*The man who will quickly become notorious as The New York Nightmare cuts his eyes towards his troubleshooter unbelievingly as he takes the last hit of his joint and snubs the roach out.  As he talks, he reaches into a red and black duffel bag by his feet, rummages through it and pulls out a metal breath mint tin… putting it with the rest of his collection.*

Trevor:  What are you talking about, Man?  Are you really telling me that this Luscious guy…

*Steve Beckett quickly glances at the cameraman and clears his throat, making the potentially dangerous mistake of interrupting this guy.*

Beckett:  Its Licious, Trev.  The boss’s name is Licious…

*The Excellence of Extreme waves his hand dismissively as if it really doesn’t matter.*

Trevor:  Whatever.  It’s a stupid name.  It makes him sound like a Chippendales dancer.

*The Troubleshooter starts to say something else but Blackwell doesn’t give him a chance, he just continues as if he doesn’t notice.*

Trevor:  So you’re telling me this Licious **** sent a cameraman all the way from his busy show just to film me doing a debut promo?  I haven’t even had a match yet.  He’s had three people join this week.  I already saw some homeless guy and some chick that looks like an extra from a Quentin Tarantino flick.  I even heard a few people around here say that no one really cares whether you do a debut or not anyway.  This whole thing seems like a gigantic waste of time.  I still don’t understand why you’re so adamant about me getting back into this business after so long.  I’m finally healed, Steve!  I’m in the best shape of my life.  Now I’m going to go back to putting my body on the line week in and week out again?  For what?  Its not like I need the money.  I think I’m too old for this ****…


*Steven Beckett, esq. takes a deep breath and composes himself before continuing.  Taking a step back from the conversation and thinking before he speaks so as to find the perfect words to fit the situation has always been one of his strong points.  Some would say he has a way with words.  Others would say far less flattering things.*

Beckett:  First of all, you’re not too old, Trev.  You’re only 35.  You just feel that way because you’ve been wrestling a very intense style on a very grueling schedule for fifteen years.  You’re going to feel like a new man.  You’ll see.  All of these shmucks you’ll be facing will be beaten and battered and sore from doing at least one match a week.  You’ll be fresh.  It’ll be an advantage.  Last time you were this fresh, you had zero experience.  Now that you’re in your prime, being fresh will make you damn near unstoppable.  You need  to wrestle, Trevor.  Not because you need the money but because you need the outlet.  You’re a very violent person by nature, Big Guy.  When you don’t have wrestling as an outlet… its bad.  Very bad.  I can’t keep getting you off on plea bargains.  We keep getting the same **** judge for Christ’s sake!  Even I’m not that good…

*The New York Nightmare glances at the cameraman then at his Troubleshooter, then back down at the coffee table.  Steve looks down at the coffee table for the first time, himself, and sees that his client is rolling another joint.  From the smell of this room and the red of Blackwell’s eyes, this must be at least the tenth one today.*

Beckett:  As far as your debut goes… Fine.  I admit it.  Licious didn’t send this cameraman down to see you.  I requested him.  I thought it would be a good idea for you to shake off a bit of the rust and do a debut promo before it actually counts towards something.  I mean, it has been almost three years, Trev and…

*But The **** Icon cuts him off there, his manner erratic and manic and easily excitable as per usual.*

Trevor:  WAIT!  You invited him here???  ****!  You know I **** hate debut promos!  Why the **** couldn’t you have at least asked me first???  I never know what the **** I’m supposed to say in these things.  I’m much better at match promos.  At least then I have my opponent’s promo and history to work off of.  And if that doesn’t work, I like to let my Singapore Cane do my talking for me. 

*He brandishes said cane and the cameraman backs up a bit.  Beckett smirks and motions to the WWG employee that he has nothing to fear.  At least, he doesn’t think he does…*

Beckett:  Well, its no big deal.  Like I said, its not like this counts for anything.  You’ve been training for days at your wrestling school in New York.  Consider this practice.  All they ever really want to know is who you are and what they should expect from you… And maybe you should put that joint away.  Haven’t you had enough?  Is this really the first impression that you want to make in a new company?

*Trevor smirks at that as he puts the joint between his lips.  Just like that, Blackwell’s whole demeanor has changed.  He’s gone from being moments away from swinging at someone to a playful, sadistic smirk.  Telling you, this guy just isn’t **** right in the head.  He looks his Troubleshooter dead in the eyes and, despite his words of caution, and defiantly lights the joint.  But that isn’t enough.  He takes a hard, long, deep hit off the well rolled spliff and blows two streams of smoke.  One into Steve Beckett’s face, the other directly into the camera.*

Trevor:  Nah, they want to see me?  Let them see me for who I really am.  I don’t hide **** and you know it.  What you see with me is mostly what you get.  I’m not much of a manipulator.  That was always Kristina’s job.  I’m a **** ass kicker.  And I’m a brutal one at that.

*He turns to the camera, half of his face hidden by a cloud of psychotropic smoke.  His ice blue eyes sparkling from the gloom*

Trevor:  I suppose you can say I have a little bit of a violence fetish…

*Steve Beckett snorts laughter and mumbles under his breath, “a little bit…”.  Trevor doesn’t seem to notice, though.  He’s begun one of his manic rants and doesn’t seem to notice much of anything when that happens.*

Trevor:  By definition, a fetish is an excessive and irrational commitment to something.  An obsession.  And Steve is correct in that.  I need an outlet for that obsession or it comes out in public where its far less socially acceptable.  Who am I?  I’m just a man.  I’m an angry man.  I’m a physical man.  You could say my testosterone is off the charts.  And I love to take that testosterone out on my opponents.  Where else but wrestling can I be encouraged, even cheered and loved by the public for hurting people.  I’ve become a master at using everything at my disposal to do that too.  And I feed off those cheers.  There’s nothing more I love than being adored by the fans.  I feed off their cheers and stomps and chants.  It gives me an adrenaline rush that makes me damn near unkillable.  More than human… I suppose you could call me a **** Wrestler because I’m not satisfied with just using my fists or my boots to accomplish that.  I love to use chair and thumbtacks and barbed wire and broken glass.  I love blood.  I love to see it oozing from new orifices that I created in my opponent.  I love the taste of it on my lips and the feel of it on my hands.  I love to see the look in a person’s eyes when they realize that I get off on it.

*Steve reaches for the joint and plucks it from Blackwell’s fingers without the large man even realizing it.  He takes a small, brief hit and blows it out of his nostrils before returning it.*

Beckett:  You’re a sick ****, Trevor.  You know that, don’t you?

*The Excellence of Extreme smiles for the first time today.  Not a smirk but a true, playful smile that spreads across his lips… spreads like a plague.  But it doesn’t make him look happy or jovial.  Somehow this expression succeeds in making him look even more terrifying.  He turns his attention from the camera for a moment and his long time associate can’t help but shrink back slightly under the insane glare of those ice blue eyes.*

Trevor:  Why am I sick?  Do you honestly believe that there’s something wrong with me?  That I need to take something to make me well?  I think the rest of the world is sick.  I’m the only one in touch with who I truly am.  Do you think others don’t feel these impulses?  Do you think I’m the only one who wants to smash someone in the face with a steel chair?  Do you think I’m the only one who wants to feel a person’s skin peel off their face as he rakes him with a cheese grater?  No, the rest of you just deny it and hold it back and then finally explode one day.  There’s a monster within all of us.  I just feed mine regularly and give him something to chew on to keep him satisfied.  It’s the rest of you that are sick.  Those of you that starve your monsters until they finally chew away at the bars and escape and you can’t control them.  You’re the sick ones.  You’re the ones that need help.  But I don’t mind being a mentor.  As a matter of fact, I’m rather good at it.  In the CWF, I had The Future Shock.  In WWC, I had The Unholy Alliance and The Revolution.  In APW, I had Sex and Violence.  I’ve had disciples everywhere I go that want to learn to better take care of their monsters.  I’m sure I’ll find them here in WWG as well.  Man… I miss Tony and Kristina… they’re the only ones who ever really got me.

*Steven Beckett, esq. looks as if he’s about to add something but Trevor just steamrolls him again as he turns back to the camera.*

Trevor:  So, yeah, I suppose you could call me a **** wrestler.  But I don’t like being pigeonholed into that category because there’s more to me than that.  There’s more to me than using weapons and having a high threshold for pain.  I truly enjoy inflicting it.  I love to drop people on their heads with suplexes.  I love to pick apart a body part until you can’t walk… or use your arm… or breath without pain in your back and ribs… or move your neck.  And then I crank on submission holds.  Beating a person until they can’t move… until they can’t answer that three count is fun… but to make a person scream and cry and beg for mercy as I turn their own bodies against them… to make them admit that they can’t take it anymore and must frantically tap that mat until I finally have mercy and let them go… or until I destroy them… at my own whim… at my own discretion.  That is truly satisfying.  That is what makes my monster finally relax and fall asleep.  That is what truly drives me.  Do I want to be champion?  Sure, its nice to have the world acknowledge that I am the best there is at what I do.  But I don’t need it to validate me.  I elevate the championship.  Not the other way around?  What can you expect from me?  Even I’m not sure anymore… I suppose we’ll just have to wait and see.  Am I sick?  Then let the healing begin…

*Steve Beckett applauds.  He can’t help himself.  Trevor just hasn’t been the same in the last couple of years.  He missed this guy.*

Beckett:  See?  That wasn’t so hard, was it?

*The New York Nightmare smiles again and leans back… his whole body seems to relax as he take another deep pull on his joint and strokes his Singapore Cane like a well loved pet.*

Trevor:  No, I suppose it wasn’t.  It did feel good.  I did miss this after all.  Now, go.  Take the rest of the day off.  My monster and I need a little one on one bonding time….

*With that, the camera fades out.*   
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Trine Larsen
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« Reply #1 on: December 02, 2014, 09:01:36 am »

Holy cow, he is freaking intense!! I like your writing style it really gets you to feel something as you're reading.

Bravo man! Seriously!
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The New York Nightmare Trevor Blackwell
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Gender: Male
Wrestler: Trevor Blackwell
Hometown: Patchogue, New York
Weight: 275 lbs
Height: 6'5"
Finishers: The Full Throttle, The Pain Threshold, and The Solitary Confinement
W/L/D Record: 6/4/0...
Posts: 291



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« Reply #2 on: December 02, 2014, 10:27:48 am »

Aw, thanks.  Does that mean I'm onto something?  That means a lot.  C'mon, guys and gals.  Let me hear what you think
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« Reply #3 on: December 02, 2014, 11:18:51 am »

Not bad, I liked it.  You also earned bonus points for using Raven as that was my first ever pic base.  Only thing I'd complain about here is the color choice as that blue is awful hard to read on this gray background (at least on my monitor).  Some bits felt like you went a little overboard on the descriptions, but not so much it took away from the story.
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The New York Nightmare Trevor Blackwell
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Gender: Male
Wrestler: Trevor Blackwell
Hometown: Patchogue, New York
Weight: 275 lbs
Height: 6'5"
Finishers: The Full Throttle, The Pain Threshold, and The Solitary Confinement
W/L/D Record: 6/4/0...
Posts: 291



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« Reply #4 on: December 02, 2014, 01:17:16 pm »

Thanks for the compliment and suggestions, Leif. Where are Licious, Carr, and Spider. Anyone else is welcome too. Nick? Chris? Manson?
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jacegryphon
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« Reply #5 on: December 02, 2014, 02:02:10 pm »

Also, it worries me that you call that short...
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Wrestler: Derrick Trotter, Leader of Dell's Rangers.
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« Reply #6 on: December 02, 2014, 11:59:31 pm »

Yeah like Leif says that blue is a little hard on the eyes, for me it was a little long and again like Leif says the descriptions were a little full on may be get straight to the point at what your describing we shall get what you mean.

But there just nit picking on my part it was really hard to find a fault on this role play, Well done young sir.
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The New York Nightmare Trevor Blackwell
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Gender: Male
Wrestler: Trevor Blackwell
Hometown: Patchogue, New York
Weight: 275 lbs
Height: 6'5"
Finishers: The Full Throttle, The Pain Threshold, and The Solitary Confinement
W/L/D Record: 6/4/0...
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« Reply #7 on: December 03, 2014, 12:10:39 am »

Thank you, Chris
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« Reply #8 on: December 03, 2014, 01:16:24 am »

No worries dude anytime.
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The New York Nightmare Trevor Blackwell
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« Reply #9 on: December 03, 2014, 01:22:54 am »

I look forward to facing you
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« Reply #10 on: December 03, 2014, 01:25:06 am »

I was hoping for some feedback from J-Dub or Carr or the boss...
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« Reply #11 on: December 03, 2014, 01:25:54 am »

They will do just give them time.
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1x Absolute Champion (Derrick Trotter)
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« Reply #12 on: December 03, 2014, 01:27:02 am »

Should be a good match if and when we fight each other but on this evidence I think you shall walk it.
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1x Absolute Champion (Derrick Trotter)
2x Carnage Champion. (Derrick Trotter)
1x Pyscho  Champion (Derrick Trotter)
1x Carnage Champion (Rodney Trotter)
The New York Nightmare Trevor Blackwell
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Gender: Male
Wrestler: Trevor Blackwell
Hometown: Patchogue, New York
Weight: 275 lbs
Height: 6'5"
Finishers: The Full Throttle, The Pain Threshold, and The Solitary Confinement
W/L/D Record: 6/4/0...
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« Reply #13 on: December 03, 2014, 01:31:13 am »

Have more confidence than that.  Never defeat yourself before it even starts, Man.
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Finishers: The Market Stall (Powerbomb) Cashing in (Spear)
Posts: 1405



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« Reply #14 on: December 03, 2014, 01:33:13 am »

I know, I know but it will have to be something quite special from my to beat most of these guys including you, it's all just fun for me and i love watching the characters grow and how there story lines pan out.
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1x Absolute Champion (Derrick Trotter)
2x Carnage Champion. (Derrick Trotter)
1x Pyscho  Champion (Derrick Trotter)
1x Carnage Champion (Rodney Trotter)
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