Post by koro on Jun 14, 2016 9:05:13 GMT -5
Ust-Ordinsky Collective, Siberia, years ago
*Translated from Russian*
“Stop! Papa! Uncle Vanya! No!”
A small voice cut through the cold night air, above the chaos surrounding the ramshackle farm house. Four armed men in dark gray wool coats with royal blue piping along the seams dragged a desperately flailing man from his bed. Across the sparsely furnished room, another armed man drove the butt of an AK-47 into the jaw of a large bearded man. A heavyset woman wrapped in a worn knit shawl clutched a young boy to her chest, trying to shield his eyes from the grisly scene unfolding.
From the floor, the bearded man slurred through swollen bleeding lips, “Why, comrades? We are poor farmers here. We contribute our food to the good of the Soviet Union. What is the meaning of this?”
Towering over him, the officer who had previously struck him snarled, “Someone in this village has been sending encoded messages to the Americans. If someone doesn’t step forward immediately and admit to their treachery, the KGB will have no choice but to kill every man, woman, and child in the entire Ust-Ordinsky Collective.”
The woman screamed in fear. From outside, sounds of similar conflicts began to ride in on the icy wind through the open door. Rising up from the blood beginning to pool on the rough hewn wood floor, the bearded man slowly begins to speak, “Then I will admit to whatever claims you bring against me, to protect the lives of my family and-”
His words were cut short as a short staccato of gunfire split the room. He slumped lifeless back to the floor. The woman wailed, “Dmitri, no!” as the man with the gun rounded on the man restrained by the other officers. With a cold sneer on his lips, he said, “How could you live under the same roof as this traitor, Vanya, unless you too were spilling our Soviet secrets to the Americans?”
Before Vanya could take a breath to respond, his chest erupted in crimson blossoms. The young boy fell from his mother’s arms, crying uncontrollably. The KGB officer launched himself across the room and grabbed the woman by the throat, slamming her against the wall. “Take care of your boy, Olga, lest you raise another traitor under this roof!”
He spun on his heel, starting to walk away, when he stopped and turned back to the sobbing woman. “Just as a reminder…” Like a flash, he drove a steel toed boot into her knee, dropping her to the floor.
After the officers left, she dragged herself over to the boy and tried to calm him, despite her own suffering. “Your father and uncle were good men, my son, just like you will be, my little Koro.”
Penthouse suite at the unfinished Fontainebleau resort and casino, Las Vegas, Nevada. Today.
“...one by one they will fall to the mat, as I stand over them, and I look into their dazed eyes, and I whisper.......
You Lose.”
Gray Malone’s words spill out of the 60 inch flat screen hanging on the wall. Sprawled out across an overstuffed sofa, Koro watches his opponent's latest promo.
Malone’s threat hangs in the silence for a long moment as The Russian Concussion processes this threat.
Slowly, like thunder rolling in across Lake Baikal, Koro begins to chuckle. The chuckle turns into a full fledged belly laugh as Koro slaps his hand against his thigh. “Oh, Gray Malone, you giving Koro so much ammunition for using against you, da? Where to even starting?”
Koro scoots into a seated position from his previous sprawl as he continues. “First, letting Koro checking one thing.” He reaches over to a dark wood end table and grabs his phone.
“Siri, Googling 'scrotum scrubber’ please?” He peers intently at the screen for an instant. “Da, this is what Koro was thinking.”
Koro shakes his head slowly, trying not to smile. “Gray Malone calling Koro's friend Detroit Pete “scrotum scrubber” like insult. Detroit Pete scrubbing his scrotum every day. Koro not having stinky friends. Koro scrubbing Koro’s scrotum every day too! Does Gray Malone not washing his balls? Do Angelz not washing their balls? This making so many horrible questions.”
Koro stands up and walks to his kitchen. While making a sandwich using 6 different meats and 3 different cheeses, he continues. “Koro could spending time talking more about the mostest perfectest lady in the world, your late wife Tina. Koro could spending time talking about the other mostest perfectest woman in the world, Janell. Gray Malone’s love life sounding like old Russian paperback romance stories from grocery store checking outs!”
He holds up two fingers toward the camera while he slathers mayonnaise across sourdough with the other hand. “Two things, Gray Malone. If Janell is so wonderful, why keeping her from your daughter? Family is important, da? No child should growing up without mother or father. Life is too short to wasting time.”
The smile drops from his face as he reaches his second point. “Also? Gray Malone, you thinking you are only one with sad times in your life, and your sad times making you powerful. Koro’s papa was gunned down in front of Koro when Koro was boy. Uncle Vanya, too. KGB breaking mama’s knee. She still walking with terrible limp, even after these years. Koro’s life has having sad times too, but sad times are not who Koro is. Tragedy makes Koro stronger, da, but so does happy times. So does anger and greed and lust and joy and work. The future making Koro stronger, because every day making Koro better. Gray Malone living in past, longing for lost love or for Pat on the back from mentors or glorying days from some fed you are not wrestling in now.”
Koro brings the sandwich to his mouth and pauses before he takes a bite. “The past belonging to you, maybe, Gray Malone, but the future belonging to Koro! All your training and focus has leading you to now, where you losing three matches in row. Telling Koro more about how Gray Malone is technical assassin or technically lizard or whatever big words you wanting to throw around. Saying anything you wanting to saying, Gray Malone, because Koro can seeing that behind all your talking, you are still sad little loser! Stay home with daughter and Janell, Gray Malone, and saving yourself embarrassment of losing four times in row, da?”
With that, Koro takes a bite of his gargantuan sandwich as he walks off camera, humming his own entrance music.
*Translated from Russian*
“Stop! Papa! Uncle Vanya! No!”
A small voice cut through the cold night air, above the chaos surrounding the ramshackle farm house. Four armed men in dark gray wool coats with royal blue piping along the seams dragged a desperately flailing man from his bed. Across the sparsely furnished room, another armed man drove the butt of an AK-47 into the jaw of a large bearded man. A heavyset woman wrapped in a worn knit shawl clutched a young boy to her chest, trying to shield his eyes from the grisly scene unfolding.
From the floor, the bearded man slurred through swollen bleeding lips, “Why, comrades? We are poor farmers here. We contribute our food to the good of the Soviet Union. What is the meaning of this?”
Towering over him, the officer who had previously struck him snarled, “Someone in this village has been sending encoded messages to the Americans. If someone doesn’t step forward immediately and admit to their treachery, the KGB will have no choice but to kill every man, woman, and child in the entire Ust-Ordinsky Collective.”
The woman screamed in fear. From outside, sounds of similar conflicts began to ride in on the icy wind through the open door. Rising up from the blood beginning to pool on the rough hewn wood floor, the bearded man slowly begins to speak, “Then I will admit to whatever claims you bring against me, to protect the lives of my family and-”
His words were cut short as a short staccato of gunfire split the room. He slumped lifeless back to the floor. The woman wailed, “Dmitri, no!” as the man with the gun rounded on the man restrained by the other officers. With a cold sneer on his lips, he said, “How could you live under the same roof as this traitor, Vanya, unless you too were spilling our Soviet secrets to the Americans?”
Before Vanya could take a breath to respond, his chest erupted in crimson blossoms. The young boy fell from his mother’s arms, crying uncontrollably. The KGB officer launched himself across the room and grabbed the woman by the throat, slamming her against the wall. “Take care of your boy, Olga, lest you raise another traitor under this roof!”
He spun on his heel, starting to walk away, when he stopped and turned back to the sobbing woman. “Just as a reminder…” Like a flash, he drove a steel toed boot into her knee, dropping her to the floor.
After the officers left, she dragged herself over to the boy and tried to calm him, despite her own suffering. “Your father and uncle were good men, my son, just like you will be, my little Koro.”
Penthouse suite at the unfinished Fontainebleau resort and casino, Las Vegas, Nevada. Today.
“...one by one they will fall to the mat, as I stand over them, and I look into their dazed eyes, and I whisper.......
You Lose.”
Gray Malone’s words spill out of the 60 inch flat screen hanging on the wall. Sprawled out across an overstuffed sofa, Koro watches his opponent's latest promo.
Malone’s threat hangs in the silence for a long moment as The Russian Concussion processes this threat.
Slowly, like thunder rolling in across Lake Baikal, Koro begins to chuckle. The chuckle turns into a full fledged belly laugh as Koro slaps his hand against his thigh. “Oh, Gray Malone, you giving Koro so much ammunition for using against you, da? Where to even starting?”
Koro scoots into a seated position from his previous sprawl as he continues. “First, letting Koro checking one thing.” He reaches over to a dark wood end table and grabs his phone.
“Siri, Googling 'scrotum scrubber’ please?” He peers intently at the screen for an instant. “Da, this is what Koro was thinking.”
Koro shakes his head slowly, trying not to smile. “Gray Malone calling Koro's friend Detroit Pete “scrotum scrubber” like insult. Detroit Pete scrubbing his scrotum every day. Koro not having stinky friends. Koro scrubbing Koro’s scrotum every day too! Does Gray Malone not washing his balls? Do Angelz not washing their balls? This making so many horrible questions.”
Koro stands up and walks to his kitchen. While making a sandwich using 6 different meats and 3 different cheeses, he continues. “Koro could spending time talking more about the mostest perfectest lady in the world, your late wife Tina. Koro could spending time talking about the other mostest perfectest woman in the world, Janell. Gray Malone’s love life sounding like old Russian paperback romance stories from grocery store checking outs!”
He holds up two fingers toward the camera while he slathers mayonnaise across sourdough with the other hand. “Two things, Gray Malone. If Janell is so wonderful, why keeping her from your daughter? Family is important, da? No child should growing up without mother or father. Life is too short to wasting time.”
The smile drops from his face as he reaches his second point. “Also? Gray Malone, you thinking you are only one with sad times in your life, and your sad times making you powerful. Koro’s papa was gunned down in front of Koro when Koro was boy. Uncle Vanya, too. KGB breaking mama’s knee. She still walking with terrible limp, even after these years. Koro’s life has having sad times too, but sad times are not who Koro is. Tragedy makes Koro stronger, da, but so does happy times. So does anger and greed and lust and joy and work. The future making Koro stronger, because every day making Koro better. Gray Malone living in past, longing for lost love or for Pat on the back from mentors or glorying days from some fed you are not wrestling in now.”
Koro brings the sandwich to his mouth and pauses before he takes a bite. “The past belonging to you, maybe, Gray Malone, but the future belonging to Koro! All your training and focus has leading you to now, where you losing three matches in row. Telling Koro more about how Gray Malone is technical assassin or technically lizard or whatever big words you wanting to throw around. Saying anything you wanting to saying, Gray Malone, because Koro can seeing that behind all your talking, you are still sad little loser! Stay home with daughter and Janell, Gray Malone, and saving yourself embarrassment of losing four times in row, da?”
With that, Koro takes a bite of his gargantuan sandwich as he walks off camera, humming his own entrance music.