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Byrd Man Member
El Hombre Pájaro
STATUS: "I'm an actor. I will say anything for money." -- Also Charlton Heston 4 yrs ago
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"I'm an actor. I will say anything for money." -- Also Charlton Heston
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4 yrs ago
Starting up a preimum service of content from actors like Radcliffe, Day-Lewis, Bruhl, and Craig. Calling it OnlyDans.
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Please, guys. The status bar is for more important things... like cringe status updates.
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Gotta love people suddenly becoming apolitical when someone is doing something they approve of.
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Deleting statuses? That's a triple cringe from me, dog.
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None of your damn business.
Most Recent Posts
NWA: New Year’s Eve of Destruction
New Orleans Superdome
12/31/1989
Mighty Morgan leaned against the turnbuckle and sucked air. Sweat poured down his face. According to the clock mounted on the timekeepers table the match had only been going on for ten minutes. Halfway through the planned twenty minutes and he was already blown up. He glanced across the ring and saw Rich Money preening to the crowd and flexing his muscles before he ran a thumb across his thick mustache. Even though Money was a heel, Morgan noticed he was getting pops to go with the heat.
“Rich is going over tonight,” Jack Murphy had growled. It wasn’t a request like the last time the NWA had wanted him to drop the belt. This time it was an order. “It’s time, Morgan.”
For almost six months Money had been chasing Morgan and the title across all the NWA territories, their feud building and building until the blowoff match tonight. Going into the weekend Morgan had expected to come out of New Orleans with the title, like he always did at the big pay-per-views. In his mind Rich Money was just another in a long line of challengers he had faced over the years. But Murphy and the rest of the booking committee had other ideas. He argued with Jack, threatening to just walk out with the belt, but the old man made it very clear that with Morgan’s contract set to expire next year, the only way he could get a new one was to play ball and drop the belt.
The reception Morgan got on the way to the ring made him think about Jack Murphy’s words. For over four years, night after night across the country and in Japan, Canada, and Mexico, Morgan came out to sold-out shows eating out the palm of his hand. He would stand on the apron of the ring and flex his mighty muscles as the crowd popped so loud you would need earplugs. But tonight, as he came out to his theme and walked down the ramp towards the ring, he noticed more disinterest among the fans than anything close to respect or awe. He saw a few booing and giving him the thumbs down. Today marked his 1,522 day as NWA World Heavyweight Champion. He was the longest reigning modern day champion. And after tonight it would all be over.
Morgan came out of the corner towards Money. Money flashed a big white smile as the two men locked up,
“Irish whip into the corner,” Morgan whispered into Money’s ear. “German suplex on you and two-count kick out.”
Morgan broke the lock and swung Money into the turnbuckle face first. He hurried and wrapped his two meaty hands around Money’s waist. Morgan took a deep breath and executed a slow, laborious German suplex where he tossed Money over his head, thanks to a little jump from Money to help get more air and sell it. He tossed Money to the mat flatback and tried like hell to catch his breath as he fell to the mat to attempt a pin.
The ref slid down beside the two men with his arm raised. “One!... Two!”
Money kicked out just seconds before the ref’s hand hit the mat on the third count. Morgan sat up, his eyes bugged wide in disbelief. The disbelief had some kayfabe in it, but there was also his reaction to the crowd. They were cheering for Money's kickout.
“The fuck is going on?” Money asked as he pretended to double over in pain. “How am I getting over?”
“It’s not about you,” Morgan said as he gasped for breath. “It’s about me, these dumbass marks. Let’s go home.”
Money put a hand over his jaw to cover up his talking. “We still got eight minutes scheduled.”
Morgan started to stand, speaking softly to Money as he stood. “I don’t care. We’re going home, Rich. Powerbomb reversal into your finisher ”
If Money had a problem with the called finish, he didn’t raise his objections out loud. The plan had been for Money to get in a cheapshot with his famous diamond encrusted brass knuckles. A failed two count pin by Morgan would lead to Morgan complaining to the referee. While they were distracted, Money would pull the knuckles from his trucks and lay the champ out for an easy pinfall. A cheating finish, befitting a heel. But with Morgan’s audible Money would win cleanly.
Fuck Jack Murphy, Morgan thought to himself. It was clear he was losing the crowd, they wanted Money as champ, even if he was a heel. Time to give the people what they wanted. He stood and wrapped his arms around Money’s sternum, bending him down before picking him up for a powerbomb. His grip was loose enough for Money to slip out, which he did. Money delivered a pulled punch to Morgan’s stomach and then grabbed Morgan’s head in a ¾ facelock before turning around and falling to the mat. He took Morgan down with a jawbreaker over Money’s shoulder. The Bank-Breaker, he called it. Morgan fell backwards and sold the move. He stared up at the lights as he felt Money hold up his leg for the pin.
“One… two… three!”
The bell clanged and the crowd went wild as Rich Money was declared the new NWA Heavyweight Champion. Morgan continued to stare up at the lights as commotion ensued through the ring. He couldn’t see it but he knew Money was holding the belt up high for the entire Superdome to see. For all his animosity towards Murphy, the NWA, and even the fans, Morgan decided to let Money have his moment. For the first time in over four years, all eyes were no longer on Mighty Morgan. He take a step back, spend time at home, and rest up. Then when he was healthy and energized, he would do everything goddamn thing in his power to get that belt back.
New Orleans Superdome
12/31/1989
Mighty Morgan leaned against the turnbuckle and sucked air. Sweat poured down his face. According to the clock mounted on the timekeepers table the match had only been going on for ten minutes. Halfway through the planned twenty minutes and he was already blown up. He glanced across the ring and saw Rich Money preening to the crowd and flexing his muscles before he ran a thumb across his thick mustache. Even though Money was a heel, Morgan noticed he was getting pops to go with the heat.
“Rich is going over tonight,” Jack Murphy had growled. It wasn’t a request like the last time the NWA had wanted him to drop the belt. This time it was an order. “It’s time, Morgan.”
For almost six months Money had been chasing Morgan and the title across all the NWA territories, their feud building and building until the blowoff match tonight. Going into the weekend Morgan had expected to come out of New Orleans with the title, like he always did at the big pay-per-views. In his mind Rich Money was just another in a long line of challengers he had faced over the years. But Murphy and the rest of the booking committee had other ideas. He argued with Jack, threatening to just walk out with the belt, but the old man made it very clear that with Morgan’s contract set to expire next year, the only way he could get a new one was to play ball and drop the belt.
The reception Morgan got on the way to the ring made him think about Jack Murphy’s words. For over four years, night after night across the country and in Japan, Canada, and Mexico, Morgan came out to sold-out shows eating out the palm of his hand. He would stand on the apron of the ring and flex his mighty muscles as the crowd popped so loud you would need earplugs. But tonight, as he came out to his theme and walked down the ramp towards the ring, he noticed more disinterest among the fans than anything close to respect or awe. He saw a few booing and giving him the thumbs down. Today marked his 1,522 day as NWA World Heavyweight Champion. He was the longest reigning modern day champion. And after tonight it would all be over.
Morgan came out of the corner towards Money. Money flashed a big white smile as the two men locked up,
“Irish whip into the corner,” Morgan whispered into Money’s ear. “German suplex on you and two-count kick out.”
Morgan broke the lock and swung Money into the turnbuckle face first. He hurried and wrapped his two meaty hands around Money’s waist. Morgan took a deep breath and executed a slow, laborious German suplex where he tossed Money over his head, thanks to a little jump from Money to help get more air and sell it. He tossed Money to the mat flatback and tried like hell to catch his breath as he fell to the mat to attempt a pin.
The ref slid down beside the two men with his arm raised. “One!... Two!”
Money kicked out just seconds before the ref’s hand hit the mat on the third count. Morgan sat up, his eyes bugged wide in disbelief. The disbelief had some kayfabe in it, but there was also his reaction to the crowd. They were cheering for Money's kickout.
“The fuck is going on?” Money asked as he pretended to double over in pain. “How am I getting over?”
“It’s not about you,” Morgan said as he gasped for breath. “It’s about me, these dumbass marks. Let’s go home.”
Money put a hand over his jaw to cover up his talking. “We still got eight minutes scheduled.”
Morgan started to stand, speaking softly to Money as he stood. “I don’t care. We’re going home, Rich. Powerbomb reversal into your finisher ”
If Money had a problem with the called finish, he didn’t raise his objections out loud. The plan had been for Money to get in a cheapshot with his famous diamond encrusted brass knuckles. A failed two count pin by Morgan would lead to Morgan complaining to the referee. While they were distracted, Money would pull the knuckles from his trucks and lay the champ out for an easy pinfall. A cheating finish, befitting a heel. But with Morgan’s audible Money would win cleanly.
Fuck Jack Murphy, Morgan thought to himself. It was clear he was losing the crowd, they wanted Money as champ, even if he was a heel. Time to give the people what they wanted. He stood and wrapped his arms around Money’s sternum, bending him down before picking him up for a powerbomb. His grip was loose enough for Money to slip out, which he did. Money delivered a pulled punch to Morgan’s stomach and then grabbed Morgan’s head in a ¾ facelock before turning around and falling to the mat. He took Morgan down with a jawbreaker over Money’s shoulder. The Bank-Breaker, he called it. Morgan fell backwards and sold the move. He stared up at the lights as he felt Money hold up his leg for the pin.
“One… two… three!”
The bell clanged and the crowd went wild as Rich Money was declared the new NWA Heavyweight Champion. Morgan continued to stare up at the lights as commotion ensued through the ring. He couldn’t see it but he knew Money was holding the belt up high for the entire Superdome to see. For all his animosity towards Murphy, the NWA, and even the fans, Morgan decided to let Money have his moment. For the first time in over four years, all eyes were no longer on Mighty Morgan. He take a step back, spend time at home, and rest up. Then when he was healthy and energized, he would do everything goddamn thing in his power to get that belt back.
Private Game.
Way to hurt my feelings
In
Absolute Comics Presents - What If? [A DC & Marvel One Universe RP]
→
11 mos ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
SUICIDE SQUAD
SUICIDE SQUAD
SUICIDE SQUAD
“I will have but one mistress and no master” -- Elizabeth I
C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T _________________________________________________________C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T  _________________________________________________________ C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y _________________________________________________________C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y Sir Richard Flagg (Commander) Lloyd Lawton (Welsh assassin and master archer) Eve Eden (Witch) George Harkness (Highwayman) Father Christopher "Peacemaker" Smith (Debauched Priest) The Blackguard (Scottish bandit) _________________________________________________________ Mercenary Unut | England _________________________________________________________ Multiverse 1345 Open to Collaborators C H A R A C T E R N O T E S C H A R A C T E R N O T E S P O S T C A T A L O G P O S T C A T A L O G | W H A T I F...? W H A T I F...? The Suicide Squad went medieval on someone? ________________________________________________________________________________________ Led in the field by disgraced knight Sir Richard Flagg, the War Bastards are a motley rabble of condemned men -- and one woman -- pulled from prisons and gallows across England with one last shot at freedom: Complete high risk and dangerous quests for King and Country. if you survive, you're free to go, if you run or attempt to bite the hand that feeds you, you will be put down on the spot. Overseen by Lady Amanda Waller and reporting directly to King Edward III, the Bastards are sometimes crudely referred to as a suicidal. Currently they find themselves in Normandy as part of Edward's vanguard claim the French throne for himself. P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) Historical middle ages combat with a ragtag motley crew of fuck ups and dangerous characters. What's not to love? |
I was hoping for a few more but i may say fuck it and roll. I already have the opening post written, I'll probably get it put up by Friday
Hell yeah I remember this game
Well check out the ooc thread!
Hello.
Let's see what Jim Cornette says about this sheet...
That's his way of saying
APPROVED
OOC thread is here:
roleplayerguild.com/topics/191877-ter…
roleplayerguild.com/topics/191877-ter…
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