Post by Sawtooth Grin on May 29, 2017 3:21:29 GMT
OREGON
THE SAWMILL
5 .22 .17
Piece by piece the shot comes into focus. Inside the refurbished barn on Grin's property, The Sawmill is every bit of the intense, visceral, and unglamorized engagement you would expect it to be. With a raw and elementary, almost primeval feel - where testosterone, adrenaline, and often times substance-fueled misfits partake in customary "recreational" rituals, while servicing all their training needs.
With the GOL Rey De Reyes Championship draped over his thighs, Sawtooth Grin sits cross-legged in the corner of his ring, resting comfortably with his back to the turnbuckle. Outfitted in a mashed up trucker cap and a tattered 2004 Black Dahlia Murder tour shirt, the scrawny Champion whistles along to 'Modern Life' by Devo that's piped in; playing faintly in the background. He finally acknowledges the camera presence and lifts his head.
"Take a gandy.."
Grin winks and adjusts the bill of his hat while simultaneously reaching out of frame. When he pulls his arm back in through the ropes, he proudly reveals a gorgeous super heady glass bong; smiling ear to ear as if it were a Hublot watch.
"Fucking sick, right? One of my absolute favorite artists custom made this for me when he found out I won the title. Hand blown right here in Portland. It's only like a foot and half, but don't sleep on it - this thing is fuckin' FIERCE."
Raving on he places the straight shooter beside him and again lowers his head; using the Championship belt on his lap as tray to break up a tasty nugget of dank.
"Two sets of tree percs.. a diffused downstem.. it's even got an ice pinch for those ulltttraa smooth hits."
He removes the slide and loads the bowl to the brim, putting fire to it almost immediately. The deep, thick chug of the water percolating echoes throughout the empty compound as Grin draws in for a contemplative monster rip.
"Avery Miles.."
Exhaling a massive plume of smoke; the scene is momentarily obscured.
"I'll be the first to admit.. winning the title the way I did wasn't ideal. It's not necessarily my style to swarm a dude when he's vulnerable the way you were, but it happened.. and in this case I won't be striving for verbal resolution, so I think it probably goes with out saying — You won't be getting an apology on that any time soon. Your rematch is guaranteed though, and I wouldn't have it any other way. I've seen how brutal your matches can get.. But, I'm not even gonna front bud, a barbwire match was a huge fuckin' mis-queue on your part. Now, I know you have spent the majority of your career here in GOL with your head buried in your ass, but I would've expected you to at least roll back the footage on my last singles scrap.. Orion's a stud and a former champion, but barbwire didn't really suite him, right? I've got no reason to believe you're gonna fare any different."
The soft-spoken fighter clears his throat before going in for another hit. As the smoke seeps from the sides of his mouth and permeates the air, he plafully smacks his lips; savoring the flavor before continuing his rant.
"You're days of gallivanting around here with your haggard ass lists and outrageous claims are over. I gotta be honest, this whole self-proclaimed GOL savior bullshit just ain't workin' for me.. at all. The real deal doesn't need to flaunt their shit or receive recognition for their achievements. I don't give a fuck whether or not you gotta laundry list of accolades, or your accomplishments rest comfortably on an eyelash. You're delusional out here! And truth be told, me and my partner have had our fingers on the pulse of this promotion since jump - it has, and always will be, OUTLIER territory. Watch the fuckin' opening montage to one of the shows, bruh.. This place was tailor made for ruthless misfits like us. And this hardware? It just makes it official; I'll solidify our sway even further when I legitimize my reign by taking you down a peg or two."
His eyes gloss over and the 'bingers' become more sporadic.
"And I'm gonna use my WILL-forte to do it. The violent art of catch wrestling! The ULTIMATE submission grappling. hooking kinda goes under the radar, but I've been training that old school shit for fuckin' years. These techniques weren’t practiced on a foam-padded mat, in a controlled environment. There were no points. There was no entrance themes. You either decimated your opponent, or you got wrecked. Unfortunately for you, Miles.. I'm well-versed in these devastating secrets. In the gnarly world of catch wrestling - hooks are just another name for submissions, and I'm gonna rely on it all night; good positioning, leverage, and good ol' fashioned pain infliction to square you away. "
With an elevated consciousness Sawtooth leans back and folds his arms; a transcendental celebration.
"Picture this if you will. A vicious rip current pulls you and drags you further out to sea. The sheer power of the current throws you for a loop. You thrash in vain against it, crying out in frustration as your muscles begin to cramp from the effort while you continue to be dragged further and further out to sea. Finally you try swimming parallel to shore, and that frees you from the current's grip, if only for a moment. You drift aimlessly, exhausted. And when you do, at last, get your wind back and take your bearings, you find yourself cast far from any hint of land. No end in sight except your own. There is no more struggle, only surrender. Then everything goes dark -- no matter how much you strain your eyes, you can't see a shred of light. But you faintly hear whispering voices walk the very edge of your hearing. It's the crowd...cursing your name as you sink; paralyzed in fear. Talk about fade to black... Anndd on and on it goes."
"Corrupts, I love you. Go take what's waitin'. I gotta go catch a flight to Tokyo."
With that Sawtooth Grin leans forward and manually ends the transmission.