Lt. Boxy Angelman
I WILL EAT THIS GAME
And I may just be subjecting myself to a prolonged death, but at this point, fuck it. Has to be done.
@CD jr ... you, sir, are a 4-time MK Champion, a cerebral shogun, and an all-around awesome fellow whose kung fu standards I've aspired to reach.
Which is exactly why, when you issued this Cyrax challenge, I knew I had to respond.
See...I know I'm nothing remotely close to the top of the tier.
I'm not yet the fighter people seek out for the most extreme of battles.
I have yet to cause the damage necessary to make a name for myself...and that's the point.
I need a ceiling to which I can build my Boxy tower and obliterate.
A driving cause to motivate me to stop fucking around and put my name on the board.
I don't just want to be a champion anymore...I NEED to be. I crave it. Like a goddamn vampire hunting for blood. Kratos for Zeus. Wolves for prey.
They say every creation must one day overtake his creator...well, while I know for good and all that real life will keep me from ever being able to spread the force of Box as you and the lot spread the wrath of VSM, it makes it all that much more motivating...because up until this point, I've been relying on the wrong kinds of pillars...hope, and chance, and all that fortunate finger-crossing happy horseshit that keeping John Doe Kombat standing, until a true warrior stands against him and puts him in his place. And while the pair of showings I've managed to make haven't exactly gone as planned due to all number of ridiculous reasons, I know that even if they had, I still wouldn't have been ready to wield a blade against the top-tier armada.
This time...I'm sharpening my sword until it's edge can cut the devil himself.
And I swear on all worth swearing on, I WILL be ready and waiting come June time.
So, in light of having no use for a 2'nd penis, I issue my own challenge.
My Robo-Cyrax. Your Smoke. The Midnight Pit.
No resets whatsoever from my robot.
I could give a shit about money, but I know at this particular moment, I'm not exactly the most threatening individual for you to be concerned with, so for the sake of making it interesting and giving you proper motivation, we'll say...$50 bucks if you are victorious. I'm a broke-ass ninja, but like an AC hooker with standards, I'll put out for the right price.
However...if I win, there's something I want in return. More important than money.
Something not just from you, but from New York. From my hometown, the players who fill it and make this game great. From the seemingly-impossible fingertips of victory resting between the jaws of defeat.
If by the grace of god, the skin of my teeth, and the hairs on my chinny-chin-chin, I can defeat you...If the great-guy-meh-fighter stigma I've been stuck with can be broken, and I do find a way to come out on top...
I want to earn my colors, and be bestowed the title of VSM.
Seeing as I know that were it not for the real life/distance between myself and the Stream, I'd be there every thursday with cookies and Corona for everyone, you fellows have been my team to root for since I discovered the scene.
The reason I strive to get better, to become great, to become a champion.
Up until now, in spite of my passion and pursuits, I've never had a particular or specific drive to motivate what I do...it was always kind of just "Show up, kick ass, hope for best, prepare for worst..." and as has been proven, it's gotten me nowhere.
No more.
Cyrax got me into this. And that yellow motherfucker is gonna get me out.
And PROVE, for good and all, that Boxy-O isn't just here to spread good will and cheer.
It's time to stop cracking smiles and start cracking skulls.
And this...this would be just the ticket to get me there.
Ask Maxter ... if nothing else, he knows how much the climb has meant to me, he knows how bad I want it, he's seen the fire in these Boxy eyes...anyone who knows of me knows how bad I want to earn my place in MK, and it's BURNING, Manny, like a fucking EN Hellfire, I watch and I study and I scheme, I learn and I burn and I learn some more, and there's always SOMETHING in the way between me and the body count I deserve...well, there's a little under 100 days until Morristown bears witness to the next perfect storm in the northeast, and by the time said day is upon us, that SOMETHING, whatever it may be, is gonna be dead, buried, and fucking konsumed.
No more fear. No more hesitation. No more waiting.
As Kakurot and Scoot McGee have both told me in the past, and it's only now I see how right they were...you can't afford to fear any man. Because beneath the surface, beneath whatever victories or accomplishments we may carry on our shoulders...no one's invincible.
So here's to hoping the Elder Gods of the Valley approve.
Because while I may never be able to wander the entirety of the path the strongest the Monsters have taken...I know, I FUCKING KNOW, I have the ruthless, calculating mind, the beating, bloodthirsty heart, and the infuriated passion necessary to earn the right to walk it.
Be the Cell to my Gohan, CD Jr.
Give me a reason to ascend.
@CD jr ... you, sir, are a 4-time MK Champion, a cerebral shogun, and an all-around awesome fellow whose kung fu standards I've aspired to reach.
Which is exactly why, when you issued this Cyrax challenge, I knew I had to respond.
See...I know I'm nothing remotely close to the top of the tier.
I'm not yet the fighter people seek out for the most extreme of battles.
I have yet to cause the damage necessary to make a name for myself...and that's the point.
I need a ceiling to which I can build my Boxy tower and obliterate.
A driving cause to motivate me to stop fucking around and put my name on the board.
I don't just want to be a champion anymore...I NEED to be. I crave it. Like a goddamn vampire hunting for blood. Kratos for Zeus. Wolves for prey.
They say every creation must one day overtake his creator...well, while I know for good and all that real life will keep me from ever being able to spread the force of Box as you and the lot spread the wrath of VSM, it makes it all that much more motivating...because up until this point, I've been relying on the wrong kinds of pillars...hope, and chance, and all that fortunate finger-crossing happy horseshit that keeping John Doe Kombat standing, until a true warrior stands against him and puts him in his place. And while the pair of showings I've managed to make haven't exactly gone as planned due to all number of ridiculous reasons, I know that even if they had, I still wouldn't have been ready to wield a blade against the top-tier armada.
This time...I'm sharpening my sword until it's edge can cut the devil himself.
And I swear on all worth swearing on, I WILL be ready and waiting come June time.
So, in light of having no use for a 2'nd penis, I issue my own challenge.
My Robo-Cyrax. Your Smoke. The Midnight Pit.
No resets whatsoever from my robot.
I could give a shit about money, but I know at this particular moment, I'm not exactly the most threatening individual for you to be concerned with, so for the sake of making it interesting and giving you proper motivation, we'll say...$50 bucks if you are victorious. I'm a broke-ass ninja, but like an AC hooker with standards, I'll put out for the right price.
However...if I win, there's something I want in return. More important than money.
Something not just from you, but from New York. From my hometown, the players who fill it and make this game great. From the seemingly-impossible fingertips of victory resting between the jaws of defeat.
If by the grace of god, the skin of my teeth, and the hairs on my chinny-chin-chin, I can defeat you...If the great-guy-meh-fighter stigma I've been stuck with can be broken, and I do find a way to come out on top...
I want to earn my colors, and be bestowed the title of VSM.
Seeing as I know that were it not for the real life/distance between myself and the Stream, I'd be there every thursday with cookies and Corona for everyone, you fellows have been my team to root for since I discovered the scene.
The reason I strive to get better, to become great, to become a champion.
Up until now, in spite of my passion and pursuits, I've never had a particular or specific drive to motivate what I do...it was always kind of just "Show up, kick ass, hope for best, prepare for worst..." and as has been proven, it's gotten me nowhere.
No more.
Cyrax got me into this. And that yellow motherfucker is gonna get me out.
And PROVE, for good and all, that Boxy-O isn't just here to spread good will and cheer.
It's time to stop cracking smiles and start cracking skulls.
And this...this would be just the ticket to get me there.
Ask Maxter ... if nothing else, he knows how much the climb has meant to me, he knows how bad I want it, he's seen the fire in these Boxy eyes...anyone who knows of me knows how bad I want to earn my place in MK, and it's BURNING, Manny, like a fucking EN Hellfire, I watch and I study and I scheme, I learn and I burn and I learn some more, and there's always SOMETHING in the way between me and the body count I deserve...well, there's a little under 100 days until Morristown bears witness to the next perfect storm in the northeast, and by the time said day is upon us, that SOMETHING, whatever it may be, is gonna be dead, buried, and fucking konsumed.
No more fear. No more hesitation. No more waiting.
As Kakurot and Scoot McGee have both told me in the past, and it's only now I see how right they were...you can't afford to fear any man. Because beneath the surface, beneath whatever victories or accomplishments we may carry on our shoulders...no one's invincible.
So here's to hoping the Elder Gods of the Valley approve.
Because while I may never be able to wander the entirety of the path the strongest the Monsters have taken...I know, I FUCKING KNOW, I have the ruthless, calculating mind, the beating, bloodthirsty heart, and the infuriated passion necessary to earn the right to walk it.
Be the Cell to my Gohan, CD Jr.
Give me a reason to ascend.
.
. I also am quite saddened by this news.