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Post by Osh Vaughan on Apr 24, 2024 10:04:22 GMT
Match 5: Grudge Match - Casimir Laska vs. Ed Stoker
In a battle of the mind games, the spooky and undefeated Casimir Laska squares off against the seasoned veteran Ed Stoker. With personal vendettas and psychological warfare at play, expect a showdown unlike any other as these two clash in a Grudge Match for the ages.
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Post by Casimir Laska on May 3, 2024 18:50:35 GMT
(A lone 25” Zenith Console TV sits alone in a dark room. A greyish spotlight, pointed at the TV, is the only reason you can see the Television. The screen flickers, glitches and displays an intro like a 1950’s Game Show.
As if sent through a time machine – we find ourselves now in the luminous ambiance of the 1950s-themed stage, the air crackled with anticipation as the applause thundered through the hall. Thought the entire scene is a luminous grey - the spotlight illuminated the entrance, where the contestants of the peculiar show emerged, each bearing a starkly different persona.
First came a young boy, his clothes torn and grime-ridden, his eyes cast down as if carrying the weight of despair. Following him was a hulking figure, masked and clad in the distinctive attire of a professional wrestler, his presence exuding an air of intimidating confidence. Completing the trio was a prisoner, their hands shackled in handcuffs, a black-and-white jumpsuit covering their identity, instilling an aura of mystery and intrigue. As the trio took their places on stage, the audience erupted into a chorus of bewilderment and anticipation, eager to witness the unconventional spectacle that lay ahead.
The game show 'Aware or Beware' was a spectacle of excitement and anticipation, drawing in a crowd of 90% housewives who were utterly enamored with the charismatic host, Casimir Laska. Casimir, a man of many talents and enigmatic charm, was known for his mysterious and dark demeanor in his personal life. However, when he stepped onto the stage to host the show, he transformed into a bright, lively, and captivating presence that left the audience spellbound.
The housewives, who made up most of the audience, were drawn to Casimir's magnetic aura. They were captivated by his piercing gaze, his confident smile, and the way he effortlessly commanded the stage. As he welcomed the contestants and introduced the game, his voice boomed through the auditorium, filling the air with an energy that was both infectious and irresistible.) Casimir Laska: Gooooooooooooooooooood evening ladies and……. ladies! Welcome to the only game show brave enough to awake your mind and bold enough to make you fucking lose it. I am your host Casimir Laska and do we…have a show…. for you.
Now without further ado, let’s meet our guest tonight shall we!?!
(As he moved through the crowd, he hugged and kissed the women in the audience, much to their delight. The camera captured their laughter and the sparkle in their eyes as they were showered with attention from the charming host.
Finally, Casimir reached the stage, where the contestants were waiting. The first contestant was a young man, no more than 10 years old, with a dirty stain and a worn-out t-shirt. He looked nervous and out of place, as if he had been dragged onto the stage against his will. Casimir, ever the consummate showman, greeted the young man with a warm smile and a hearty handshake.)
Casimir Laska: Well, what do we have here kid? What a name. Little Casimir welcome to “Aware or Beware”, how are we feeling tonight?
Little Casimir: Thank you for wanting me…
Casimir Laska: Woah, woah – slow down kid. Nobody said they wanted you. You’re a cog in machine little man. You’re a domino. You’re nothing more than the waste your parents threw away, you silly little bastard.
Little Casimir: I am you, though.
(Casimir’s face instantly turns, and his once friendly confident demeanor is now sadistic and frightening. He stares at the young boy, crouching down and whispering in his ear.) Casimir Laska: You are me? I needed to be a child, and I couldn’t. There’s no way little man. I am everything. You are nothing. Don’t you ever fucking forget that, do you understand? Don’t ever have hope. Don’t ever rely on anyone. No one is here to save you and they never, ever will…
(Casimir, sensing the shift in mood, quickly realized his mistake and decided to steer the conversation in a different direction. With a charming smile and a quick change of subject, he had the audience back on his side in no time.)
Casimir Laska: Kid’s say the darndest things…am I right?
(Casimir’s gaze flickered over to contestant two, a large and intimidating figure shrouded in a mysterious mask. The audience held their breath, curious to learn more about this enigmatic participant. Casimir announced that contestant two was a professional wrestler, known for his strength and agility in the ring. However, the masked man appeared to lack confidence and self-worth, a surprising revelation that piqued the audience's interest even further.)
Casimir Laska: Hello.
Sted Oker: …hey.
Casimir Laska: I don’t have much to say to you, so I suggest you make this quick.
Sted Oker: Hello world! I am indeed professional wrestler Sted….
(Casimir, again, gets directly into his guests’ face.) Casimir Laska: I told you I needed you. I relied on your awareness to get a job done against Jamie Starr and you fucking failed me like everyone else in my God Damn life.
Sted Oker: Listen man, I have no idea…
Casimir Laska: I DIDN’T ASK YOU TO SPEAK!
(The atmosphere in the auditorium was tense as the crowd watched the host, Casimir Laska, engage in a heated exchange with one of the contestants. Casimir, known for his charismatic and composed demeanor, had suddenly found himself in an unexpectedly volatile situation. The contestant, who had just delivered a less-than-stellar performance, was now the target of Casimir's ire.
As the host's voice boomed across the room, the audience could sense the palpable fear that had gripped the contestant. Casimir's face was flushed with anger, and his eyes were locked onto the hapless contestant, who seemed to shrink under the weight of the host's glare. The crowd, sensing the host's wrath, began to murmur amongst themselves, unsure of how to react to this sudden turn of events.
Casimir, realizing that he had lost control of the situation, attempted to regain his composure, and save face in front of the audience.)
Casimir Laska: That’s what we in the business call a work…right brother?
(Casimir turns his attention to the third contestant, a man who stands out from the rest. This contestant, shackled in handcuffs and clad in a prison-issued jumpsuit, is clearly not your average game show participant. The crowd, initially taken aback by the sight of the shackled man, quickly recovers and erupts in a new wave of excitement.) Casimir Laska: Who told this guy it was Halloween? What’s with the get-up man?
Prisoner: Casimir…
Casimir Laska: Prisoner…
Prisoner: I’m your dad.
(The crowd audibly gasps. Casimir, for the third time, gets directly into the contestant’s ear.) Casimir Laska: You are not a dad. You are nothing. I needed you, and you did nothing! Stay in your shackles you pathetic fuck. I am the Father. I am everything. How dare you show up on MY SHOW, during MY TIME – you ignorant, pathetic, low-life piece of...
(Everyone's eyes were fixed on Casimir, the man who had caused this sudden change in mood. His actions towards Contestant three had been nothing short of shocking. The crowd had initially been entertained by the spectacle of the competition, but now they were witnessing something far more sinister.) Casimir Laska: What kind of Star Wars shit is this, am I right people?
(Casimir's joke, delivered with impeccable timing and a disarming smile, shattered the lingering tension that had threatened to dampen the spirits of the crowd. Like a spark igniting a dormant flame, his humor reignited the energy and trust that had been waning. Laughter rippled through the gathering, a wave of mirth that swept away the shadows of doubt and unease. Casimir's jest had transformed the atmosphere, creating a palpable sense of camaraderie and goodwill.) Casimir Laska: THERE WE GO PEOPLE! Now that we have met the contestants, let’s get this show started!!!! Prisoner Man – you are up – please select Box 1 or Box 2.
Prisoner: Casimir, please, give me an opportunity to…
Casimir Laska: Pick a box.
Prisoner: I beg of you son, please…
Casimir Laska: Pick a fucking box.
Prisoner: Box 2.
(Casimir, with a dramatic flourish, approaches the box and slowly opens it, revealing its contents to the audience. Inside the box, a piece of paper is found, but it's not just any piece of paper. It's a piece of paper with the word 'Beware' written in crimson blood while everything else remains grey. The crowd gasps in horror, and the prisoner cowers in fear. The prisoner looks down to find blood pouring from his shackled hands. He falls to his knees as the blood covers the ground around him.) Casimir Laska: Just as it is supposed to be. You’ve made nothing but wrong choices your entire life. You coward. Somebody please take him away.
(In the depths of the dimly lit studio, the sinister laughter of Casimir echoed through the air like a haunting melody. His piercing gaze followed the prisoner as he was dragged away by the burly security guards, his shackles rattling against the cold floor. The prisoner's hands were stained crimson, a grim reminder of the torment he had endured.
The audience, their faces frozen in a mix of horror and morbid curiosity, watched in stunned silence as the guards disappeared behind the heavy steel door, leaving behind a trail of blood and desperation. Casimir laughter grew louder, a cruel and mocking symphony that seemed to mock the prisoner's suffering. It was laughter that chilled and sent shivers down the spines of those who heard it, laughter that spoke of a heart devoid of compassion or remorse. It was the laughter of a man who reveled in the pain of others, a man who had long ago lost his humanity in the pursuit of the revenge of his past.
Casimir signals for the young man to come over.) Casimir Laska: Get over here boy. Pick a box.
(In the hushed stillness of the dimly lit chamber, Casimir stood before a young, tattered, and frightened version of himself. The dirty and disheveled appearance of the younger Casimir betrayed a life of hardship, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and anticipation. The audience, their faces etched with concern and helplessness, watched in silence as Casimir awaited his choice.
Two wooden boxes, identical in size and shape, lay before him, each concealing an unknown destiny. The weight of the decision hung heavy in the air, casting a pall of uncertainty over the room. As the younger Casimir's gaze flickered between the boxes, Casimir mirrored his every movement, his heart pounding in his chest. The audience held their breath, their silence a testament to the profound significance of the moment.
The choice the younger Casimir made would not only shape the fate of his younger self but would also ripple through the fabric of their shared existence, forever altering the course of their lives.) Little Casimir: Box 1, sir.
Casimir Laska: You are aware boy. You’ve had no choice in your life. You’ve had no chance to become aware. You’ve only had to beware of anything and everything in front of you. As we have our entire life – when placed with a choice – we make the right one to protect, survive and move on.
But as for you…
(Casimir, with a sudden burst of energy, points angrily at the two boxes that lay before the big, masked man. The boxes, each with a hidden secret, are the key to victory in this high-stakes game. Casimir's anger is evident, as if he is silently conveying the importance of the decision that the big, masked man must make. The choice between the two boxes could mean the difference between triumph and defeat, and Casimir wants to ensure that Contestant Two understands the gravity of the situation.) Casimir Laska: I brought this boy directly to you. Aware. I brought myself directly to you. Aware. You did nothing but show me the inability and incompetence of this World to show any awareness towards those that need it most. You failed, and you will fail again. You fell and you will fall again. This will not be a match; this will be a massacre.
Now pick a God Damn box Ed.
Sted Oker: I don’t know who Ed is, but…
Casimir Laska: PICK THE FUCKING BOX NOW!
(As the intense moment unfolded during the game show 'Aware or Beware,' an eerie silence filled the studio. The crowd, their eyes tightly shut, held their breath in anticipation as Contestant Two faced the dreaded choice between Box 1 and Box 2. With trembling hands, he slowly approached Box 1 and pointed. The suspense reached its peak as Casimir lifted the box's lid. A gasp rippled through the audience as an Ed Stoker Wrestling Doll, its mask emblazoned with the chilling word 'Beware,' stared back at them.
Suddenly, a piercing scream shattered the stillness as Contestant Two's mask area erupted with blood, sending a surge of terror through the room. The crowd's fear intensified as they witnessed the gruesome sight of the doll's ominous warning coming to life before their very eyes. The studio became a cacophony of screams and murmurs, as the realization dawned that the game had taken a sinister turn. Darkness seemed to envelop the room, casting an even more unsettling atmosphere on the already terrifying spectacle.)
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(We are now back from the dream. Casimir once again lay passed out in his chair; his television turned on to “Let’s Make A Deal”. He wakes up from the dream to realize a pool of blood from his nose has started. He wipes the crimson mask from his face.) Casimir Laska: You have no idea what’s next Ed.
Beware.
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Post by Casimir Laska on May 16, 2024 17:26:26 GMT
(The camera, a silent observer, slowly pans across the threshold of the darkened room, its lens struggling to adjust to the meager light filtering in from the hallway. Dust motes dance in the faint beam, illuminating a scene of chilling disarray. A lone figure, hunched and shrouded in shadows, sits on the floor, his back against the wall. As the camera inches closer, it reveals Casimir Laska, his face contorted in a grotesque grimace, his eyes burning with an unsettling intensity. His lips move, whispering words barely audible, yet their tone carries a chilling weight.
He speaks to himself, a chilling monologue that drips with menace, his voice a raspy growl that echoes in the silence. There is a palpable air of menace, a raw, primal fear that emanates from him, radiating outward like a wave of icy dread. His message, though uttered in fragmented whispers, is clear: He is not to be trifled with, his anger is a storm brewing, and anyone who dares cross him will face the full force of its wrath. The camera lingers, capturing the chilling tableau, a silent testament to the dark power that resides within Casimir Laska. It is a warning, a glimpse into the abyss of his rage, and a chilling reminder that some men are best left undisturbed.)April 15th, 1912 –She was perfect. She couldn’t have a flaw. She protected the rich and helped continue to groom their egotistical nature. She gave work to the poor and kept them from the dangerous streets. The women could sing, the children could dance – and nothing could possibly go wrong. …that was until the next morning – when the North Atlantic Ocean became a burial ground for 1500 men, women, and children.
Who’s to blame captain? Who’s responsible for those blood-soaked waters? Are you swimming to safety? Are you gasping for that final, precious, breath? Are you realizing that every so called “perfect” thing in this world is masked by insecurities and broken words?
Swim on over to Daddy, he’ll pull you up. He’ll make sure you’re safe. He doesn’t hold your toxicity against you, does he? Daddy ain’t gonna pull you up because Daddy ain’t there. The quicker you quit asking for help, the sooner you start to piece together how imperfect this fucking World is – well, that’s about the time you accept your disaster.
You did this.
(The camera, unwavering in its focus, remained locked on the face of Casimir Laska. His features, previously etched with a chilling, silent fear, had transformed into a mask of simmering rage. He had risen from his hunched position, his body now taut with a newfound energy, and his voice, once a hushed whisper, boomed across the room, demanding attention. Every word that left his lips was laced with a raw, unbridled anger, each syllable punctuated by a forceful gesture, as if he were trying to shake the very air around him.
His eyes, previously filled with a haunted uncertainty, now blazed with a fire that threatened to consume everything in its path. The camera captured every twitch of his brow, every tightening of his jaw, every flicker of the raw, primal emotion that now dominated his being. Casimir Laska, once a victim of fear, had now become its embodiment, his voice a thunderclap shattering the silence, his presence a storm about to break.) April 26th, 1986 – the fourth reactor explodes. Thirty-one die and radioactive poison leeches out and contaminates most of Western Europe. What do you do when the world is on fire? Who guides you as you watch the world burn? Who do you blame?
Are you sacrificing a scapegoat to save face? Are you running from the neglect and part you played in the disaster? Do you dig through the rubble to find answers – or do you accept that it was designed to fail from the beginning?
Where do you run? Who do you run to?
Are Momma’s arms opened wide for her baby boy to run into? Or does she realize the absolute failure you have become. Is Momma to blame for the disgusting poison you let leech out around you? Does Momma watch the world burn by your side – or does she finally address the fault in the cog that’s been there the entire fucking time?
Momma ain’t there, boy. The quicker you quit needing a hug from Momma and reassurance from a world that never assured a fucking thing for you in the first place – well, that’s about the time you accept your failure.
You did this. (The camera, with a slow, deliberate pan, settles on Casimir Laska. His demeanor is a chilling paradox – a strange mix of serenity and menace. He sits, impossibly still, in a chair that seems to have been birthed from a nightmare. Crimson blood, thick and viscous, pours from the seat, staining the floor beneath it a shocking red. The walls behind him, previously hidden in shadows, are now bathed in the stark light, revealing a horrifying truth: they too are drenched in blood, a grotesque tapestry of violence. Laska's face, pale and gaunt, is framed by a halo of dark hair. His eyes, usually bright and alive, are now empty, reflecting the chilling emptiness of the room. The camera lingers on Laska's face, capturing the terrifying intensity of his gaze, the cold, calculated madness that burns in his eyes. His message, delivered in a chillingly calm tone, reverberates through the room, a chilling promise of violence and despair.) September 11th, 2001- disaster strikes again, boy. Our insecurities became evident, our fears became apparent, our protection became intercepted, and our identity insulted. We held hands, we sang songs together, we waved flags together – we watched mothers, fathers and children being buried and demanded to bury those that did this to us.
Your insecurities became evident – because the truth always comes forward. Your fears became apparent because of the nightmares you’ve created. Your protection intercepted because of your lackadaisical, laze faire bullshit. Your identity insulted? Your identity is built on nothing more than who can I blame? Where can I run?
There’s no hand of Daddy to hold. There are no arms of Momma’s to run into. The quicker you understand that you are nothing more than a sheep to graze and a pawn to move – well, that’s about the time you accept how nothing you really are.
You did this.
(The camera's relentless focus upon Casimir Laska's visage amplifies the chilling intensity of his presence. His piercing gaze, etched with a profound sense of foreboding, seems to penetrate the very souls of his viewers. With each utterance, his voice reverberates with an ominous authority, instilling a deep-seated fear in the hearts of those who dare to listen. His words, like venomous darts, strike with precision, painting a bleak and despairing vision of the future. Casimir Laska emerges as a harbinger of doom, his unwavering conviction and chilling rhetoric sending shivers down the spines of all who encounter his presence.) May 19th, 2024 – the Colossal Wrestler becomes the next colossal disaster. I don’t need to play mind games anymore with someone as mindless as you Edward. I no longer need to remind you of the pathetic fuck up you are.
I did this. I sought you. I offered you protection. I offered you hope. I offered you awareness.
I did this. You are my colossal disaster, Edward. But I don’t acknowledge scapegoats and victims. I don’t look for a hand to pull me up or arms to run into. I fix my fucking mistakes. Your silence is evidence of your fear. I look forward to taking anything you possibly have left in that insecure, fear-ridden body away from you.
You are aware now, aren’t you?
Too, fucking, late.
beware.
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