CRASH 50: Bunkhouse Stampede
- Thread starter jediPREZ
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The Great Eye
I came to cut you up
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(FADEIN: A TV, it shows the coverage of the funeral of Teddy Kennedy. We see the masses in attendance paying their respects to the late Senator. CUTTO: Suddenly the TV jerks to coverage of the funeral of Robert F. Kennedy. Featuring Ted Kennedy speaking about his recently slain brother. CUTTO: The TV now goes black and white. Now showing the procession of the funeral of John F. Kennedy. Jackie Kennedy, in her funeral veil and black walking down the street behind the coffin, flanked by Bobby and Teddy.)
(CUTTO: The camera panning back to show Richard Garfield, better known to the wrestling world as Bloodhunt, sitting on a couch in what appears to be a modest house.)
BLOODHUNT: End of an era...End of a time...I'm to old for this crap really, but what's one more time in the ring? I can do that...I've had things on my mind, ideas, concepts, issues...Just wanted to vent, and well, a company like this gives a man an open mic...He'll take it...
I want to tell ever birther in the world to eat sh*t and die...You ruin everything for everyone. JFK's supposed assassin was killed by a friggin' mob enforcer in the basement of a police department. How stupid is that? How shady does that look? You see anyone who can put 2 and 2 together can say "Holy crap, that's messed up!" you twits...You've hatched a theory about how 48 year old newspapers saying Obama was born in Hawaii are a lie...
Are you kidding me? What was the plot? That this mixed-raced child of a teenage mother was so clearly destined for greatness that we better start covering up his place of birth, so that nearly a half century later when he takes over the Presidency, and he clearly will, it'll look legal?! Are you out of your minds?! Of course you are, you're dumber then dirt...
And the reason why this pisses me off so much is because once they drag one of you kooks on my TV and laugh at you for 5 minutes, the host of the program will say something like "Oh and good luck finding the grassy knoll shooter!"
Because a President being blown away under the most suspect of conditions, with the nature of how his wounds were described totally differing between the hospital he died in, and the hospital he had his autopsy in. The magic f*cking bullet. All of that bullsh*t that the government and the press have told you to buy into...To doubt that is exactly the same thing as to doubt where Barack Obama was born...
You know how we got the magic bullet? Because at the end of the Warren Report's 'tireless' investigation...They got screwed over because they couldn't suppress James Tague. A man who had been struck in the face by a piece of a curb that had been hit by a bullet during the attack on President Kennedy. Before Tague finally made it before the Warren Commission to give his account of being stuck by a shot, they had worked out 'first shot hits JFK in back...Second shot hits Connally...Third shot hits Kennedy in the head and kills him"
Now oh dear lord...This guy screwed it up. Who do we think did it now? The CIA, the Cubans? The KGB? Oil Men from Texas? No, we just invent a new situation to account for the missed shot, just make 1 bullet inflict all the non-lethal damage. And that's the magic bullet...Just a re-telling of the "Oswald did it" story...A really intense investigation they did...
And the best part about this crap is if you turn on the TV, every now and then you'll find people defending it...They'll 'silence the critics' of the Warren Report, they use CGI or they get out some crazy models of human bodies and shot them with rifles to 'prove' it happened this way. When they are rigging all the data to fit their flawed answer to the question...The Discovery channel night as well be "The Warren Report" channel, the way the History Channel is "The Hitler Channel" with all their devotedly worshipful shows defending that abomination.
And yet this is "Insane" this is "Tin foil hat" stuff...This is equal to screaming and yelling "HE IS NOT AN UH-MER-KAN" at rallies while you wave your birth certificate around like an idiot.
In short, you want to talk conspiracy theories.
Everyone important who got shot in the 60's: 100%
9/11: I'm on the fence
Moon Landing: Doubtful
Everything else: Drop dead
I hope that cleared everything up.
(FADEOUT)
(CUTTO: The camera panning back to show Richard Garfield, better known to the wrestling world as Bloodhunt, sitting on a couch in what appears to be a modest house.)
BLOODHUNT: End of an era...End of a time...I'm to old for this crap really, but what's one more time in the ring? I can do that...I've had things on my mind, ideas, concepts, issues...Just wanted to vent, and well, a company like this gives a man an open mic...He'll take it...
I want to tell ever birther in the world to eat sh*t and die...You ruin everything for everyone. JFK's supposed assassin was killed by a friggin' mob enforcer in the basement of a police department. How stupid is that? How shady does that look? You see anyone who can put 2 and 2 together can say "Holy crap, that's messed up!" you twits...You've hatched a theory about how 48 year old newspapers saying Obama was born in Hawaii are a lie...
Are you kidding me? What was the plot? That this mixed-raced child of a teenage mother was so clearly destined for greatness that we better start covering up his place of birth, so that nearly a half century later when he takes over the Presidency, and he clearly will, it'll look legal?! Are you out of your minds?! Of course you are, you're dumber then dirt...
And the reason why this pisses me off so much is because once they drag one of you kooks on my TV and laugh at you for 5 minutes, the host of the program will say something like "Oh and good luck finding the grassy knoll shooter!"
Because a President being blown away under the most suspect of conditions, with the nature of how his wounds were described totally differing between the hospital he died in, and the hospital he had his autopsy in. The magic f*cking bullet. All of that bullsh*t that the government and the press have told you to buy into...To doubt that is exactly the same thing as to doubt where Barack Obama was born...
You know how we got the magic bullet? Because at the end of the Warren Report's 'tireless' investigation...They got screwed over because they couldn't suppress James Tague. A man who had been struck in the face by a piece of a curb that had been hit by a bullet during the attack on President Kennedy. Before Tague finally made it before the Warren Commission to give his account of being stuck by a shot, they had worked out 'first shot hits JFK in back...Second shot hits Connally...Third shot hits Kennedy in the head and kills him"
Now oh dear lord...This guy screwed it up. Who do we think did it now? The CIA, the Cubans? The KGB? Oil Men from Texas? No, we just invent a new situation to account for the missed shot, just make 1 bullet inflict all the non-lethal damage. And that's the magic bullet...Just a re-telling of the "Oswald did it" story...A really intense investigation they did...
And the best part about this crap is if you turn on the TV, every now and then you'll find people defending it...They'll 'silence the critics' of the Warren Report, they use CGI or they get out some crazy models of human bodies and shot them with rifles to 'prove' it happened this way. When they are rigging all the data to fit their flawed answer to the question...The Discovery channel night as well be "The Warren Report" channel, the way the History Channel is "The Hitler Channel" with all their devotedly worshipful shows defending that abomination.
And yet this is "Insane" this is "Tin foil hat" stuff...This is equal to screaming and yelling "HE IS NOT AN UH-MER-KAN" at rallies while you wave your birth certificate around like an idiot.
In short, you want to talk conspiracy theories.
Everyone important who got shot in the 60's: 100%
9/11: I'm on the fence
Moon Landing: Doubtful
Everything else: Drop dead
I hope that cleared everything up.
(FADEOUT)
[FADEIN: Danvers, Massachusetts. Specifically, Motel 6 #1078 off I-95 near the Salem Witch Museum. CUTTO: Poolside. RICH MAHOGANY, ever the early riser, wore nothing but the extra-medium sized bathrobe provided by the Motel. Rich’s sun-lightened brownish-blondish mane of hair wafted around his shoulders lightly in the oncoming breeze. A pair of mirrored cop-shades rested easily on the bridge of his nose and his smiling lips were framed with the thickest, most manly moustache in human existence. Also of note: matching soul-patch.
The smoldering remains of a half smoked Virginia Slim Light 120 hung easily from a cigarette holder dangling from the corner of his mouth. The motel also provided him a tin ashtray and the off-yellow plastic table that it sat on next to a sweating plastic Dixie Cup full of melting ice cubes and Courvoisie and a crumpled, half-empty pack of smokes.
The Ladies Man took a long, lazy drag from the cigarette as he surveyed the area, winking at the somewhat attractive but obviously middle-aged woman sunning on a poolside chair across from him.]
RICH: “Ain’t no doubt about it, brother, Rich Mahogany is up at the crack of noon today! There’ll be no sleeping till after sunset for a good while until a few things have happened right here on the New Frontier!”
[He took another long drag from the cigarette and the overlong ashes at the tip jostled loose of the burning embers and found their way onto the lapel of Rich’s undersized bathrobe.]
RICH: “And first up on The Rich’s agenda? Easy, The Ladies! I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again, Rich Mahogany is here for each and every one of The Ladies that attends an NFW live event or watches at home on television!
Once that bid’ness is taken care of, it’s on to bigger and better things!
First on the list? The Bunkhouse Stampede coming up at CRASH 50! Come on, brother, didja really think The Love Machine was gonna miss out on the chance to stomp a mud hole in some of these ball-tuggin’ pretenders in a pair of true blue snakeskin shít-kickers?”
[He took another drag before pulling the Vantage from between long, thin lips and crushed it out into the ashtray. A plume of bluish smoke hung lazily in the breeze as he continued on his tirade.]
RICH: “So pay attention, brother, because Rich Mahogany is here, and now that the obligatory house show appearance is water under the bridge, it’s time to make my CRASH TV debut, where The Stud can start on his mission to raise the ratings in the females age eighteen (re: fourteen) to sixty-five (re: death) demographics , if you know what I mean, and while he’s at it, he might just take an interest in that NFW Television Title belt that Impulse makes all that fuss about!
Maybe The Rich will just have to run out to Hollywood, find him a big movie producer like Castor Strife, or Spike Lee, and make his jump from the *ahem* [/I]Adult Film Industry[/I] onto the Silver Screen where he can blossom into the kind of star that televisions everywhere can lovingly call their Champion…”
[Pause.]
RICH: “Nay…”
[Mahogany reached over to the nearby table where he retrieved his plastic cup before drinking it all down with one slurp.]
RICH: “Their Hero.”
[Exchanging the empty cup for the crumpled pack of smokes, Rich quickly affixed another of the extra-long Virginia Slim’s to his holder, lit the tip, and inhaled deeply and refreshingly.]
[It’s like heroin, only better.]
RICH: “Ah…”
[He exhaled and took a deep breath of the heady afternoon air, assured that every word he’d spoken was nothing but the easy, simple truth. He was pretty sure.]
RICH: “But you know brother, there ain’t no sense countin’ yer snatches b’fore ya stuff ‘em, ya know what I mean? The Rich knows he’s one of the new guys around these parts, and he knows how much that bureaucratic gentleman that runs this joint has a penchant for his pizzazz and could have any number of aces in the hole for this one!
I mean, it could be anybody! Anybody on the planet!
It could be some guy in a bear suit, or some wannabe guinea prick from New York, or even heaven forbid some kind of nutbag plumber!
Well, The Rich doubts that last one, the plumber’s prob’ly gon’ be a titty bit busy.”
[Wink]
RICH: “BUT THAT’S NOT THE FREAKIN’ POINT!”
[QUICKCUTTO: The shocked faces of a family of four who were contemplating use of the public swimming pool that Rich had made his afternoon pulpit. A small child tugged on his mother’s overstuffed swim suit.]
KID: “Who’s that man talking to?”
MOM: “Ah, nobody, let’s just get back to the room now…”
[QUICKCUTBACK: Rich was not affected.]
RICH: “The point here is that it could be anybody joinin’ up in this here Bunkhouse Battle Rumble Royal deal daddy-o, and The Rich has got to be ready!
If that means cuttin’ back from three packs of smokes a day to two, so be it!
If it means leavin’ The Ladies unsatisfied and begging for more, SO. BE. IT.
It wouldn’t be the first time, GIGGIDY!
And if it means actually doing some exercises for once that don’t include handcuffs, leather straps, and safe-words, than I guess The Rich is just gon’ have to break down and make the sacrifice!”
[To prove his point The Ladies Man immediately started doing jumping-jacks. He breathed deeply of the cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth while the site of Mahogany’s cash and prizes drove off yet another perspective family from enjoying the motel’s one amenity aside from the Continental Breakfast. The viewing public at home can be comforted by the pixilation added in post-production under strict compliance with the FCC. He continued, huffing drags down rather than oxygen to supply the energy needed for his exercise.]
RICH: “Big Daddy Rich has hit the gym… Big Daddy Rich has been training with all’a them little Mexican flippy guys and the big fat light tube-huffing white guys… He’s even sparred with some’a them smarmy catch-as-catch-can bastards from the UK…
[Exhausted, Rich gave up the jumping-jacks.]
[He huffed, and he puffed, and wheezed, but the one thing he didn’t do was shut his yap. He wasn’t so good at that last one.]
RICH: “And do you know what the all said to him?
They said ‘Daddy-o, you know yer the Cat’s Pajaymers! Why’re you even botherin’ to work so hard and train so much for somethin’ as simple as this Outhouse Stampede hullabaloo?’ And I hadda tell ‘em all…
I hadda tell ‘em that Rich Mahogany, Lover of Ladies, Purveyor of Perversion, and Captain of Cunnilingus, would not rest until the NFW Television Title was wrapped as snuggly around his rock-hard abs as the cock-ring wrapped permanently around his Magic Johnson!”
[Pause, wink, sleaze-filled smile.]
RICH: “An’ it all starts with CRASH 50, and an Open Invitation to grab the NFW by the hips and hump it into submission, brother.”
[Satisfied, The Love Machine flopped himself into a thin plastic chair and crushed out his cigarette. He lounged in a way that made the jungle of pixels where his junk resided could be seen by any and all interested parties.]
RICH: “I’ll see you homos in Boston!”
[You never did know when one of The Ladies would catch a glimpse of The Goods and offer him up some Sexual Heeling after a long night of oiled up grappling with men in tight jeans and cowboy boots.]
[*shudder*]
[FADE2PINK]
The smoldering remains of a half smoked Virginia Slim Light 120 hung easily from a cigarette holder dangling from the corner of his mouth. The motel also provided him a tin ashtray and the off-yellow plastic table that it sat on next to a sweating plastic Dixie Cup full of melting ice cubes and Courvoisie and a crumpled, half-empty pack of smokes.
The Ladies Man took a long, lazy drag from the cigarette as he surveyed the area, winking at the somewhat attractive but obviously middle-aged woman sunning on a poolside chair across from him.]
RICH: “Ain’t no doubt about it, brother, Rich Mahogany is up at the crack of noon today! There’ll be no sleeping till after sunset for a good while until a few things have happened right here on the New Frontier!”
[He took another long drag from the cigarette and the overlong ashes at the tip jostled loose of the burning embers and found their way onto the lapel of Rich’s undersized bathrobe.]
RICH: “And first up on The Rich’s agenda? Easy, The Ladies! I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again, Rich Mahogany is here for each and every one of The Ladies that attends an NFW live event or watches at home on television!
Once that bid’ness is taken care of, it’s on to bigger and better things!
First on the list? The Bunkhouse Stampede coming up at CRASH 50! Come on, brother, didja really think The Love Machine was gonna miss out on the chance to stomp a mud hole in some of these ball-tuggin’ pretenders in a pair of true blue snakeskin shít-kickers?”
[He took another drag before pulling the Vantage from between long, thin lips and crushed it out into the ashtray. A plume of bluish smoke hung lazily in the breeze as he continued on his tirade.]
RICH: “So pay attention, brother, because Rich Mahogany is here, and now that the obligatory house show appearance is water under the bridge, it’s time to make my CRASH TV debut, where The Stud can start on his mission to raise the ratings in the females age eighteen (re: fourteen) to sixty-five (re: death) demographics , if you know what I mean, and while he’s at it, he might just take an interest in that NFW Television Title belt that Impulse makes all that fuss about!
Maybe The Rich will just have to run out to Hollywood, find him a big movie producer like Castor Strife, or Spike Lee, and make his jump from the *ahem* [/I]Adult Film Industry[/I] onto the Silver Screen where he can blossom into the kind of star that televisions everywhere can lovingly call their Champion…”
[Pause.]
RICH: “Nay…”
[Mahogany reached over to the nearby table where he retrieved his plastic cup before drinking it all down with one slurp.]
RICH: “Their Hero.”
[Exchanging the empty cup for the crumpled pack of smokes, Rich quickly affixed another of the extra-long Virginia Slim’s to his holder, lit the tip, and inhaled deeply and refreshingly.]
[It’s like heroin, only better.]
RICH: “Ah…”
[He exhaled and took a deep breath of the heady afternoon air, assured that every word he’d spoken was nothing but the easy, simple truth. He was pretty sure.]
RICH: “But you know brother, there ain’t no sense countin’ yer snatches b’fore ya stuff ‘em, ya know what I mean? The Rich knows he’s one of the new guys around these parts, and he knows how much that bureaucratic gentleman that runs this joint has a penchant for his pizzazz and could have any number of aces in the hole for this one!
I mean, it could be anybody! Anybody on the planet!
It could be some guy in a bear suit, or some wannabe guinea prick from New York, or even heaven forbid some kind of nutbag plumber!
Well, The Rich doubts that last one, the plumber’s prob’ly gon’ be a titty bit busy.”
[Wink]
RICH: “BUT THAT’S NOT THE FREAKIN’ POINT!”
[QUICKCUTTO: The shocked faces of a family of four who were contemplating use of the public swimming pool that Rich had made his afternoon pulpit. A small child tugged on his mother’s overstuffed swim suit.]
KID: “Who’s that man talking to?”
MOM: “Ah, nobody, let’s just get back to the room now…”
[QUICKCUTBACK: Rich was not affected.]
RICH: “The point here is that it could be anybody joinin’ up in this here Bunkhouse Battle Rumble Royal deal daddy-o, and The Rich has got to be ready!
If that means cuttin’ back from three packs of smokes a day to two, so be it!
If it means leavin’ The Ladies unsatisfied and begging for more, SO. BE. IT.
It wouldn’t be the first time, GIGGIDY!
And if it means actually doing some exercises for once that don’t include handcuffs, leather straps, and safe-words, than I guess The Rich is just gon’ have to break down and make the sacrifice!”
[To prove his point The Ladies Man immediately started doing jumping-jacks. He breathed deeply of the cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth while the site of Mahogany’s cash and prizes drove off yet another perspective family from enjoying the motel’s one amenity aside from the Continental Breakfast. The viewing public at home can be comforted by the pixilation added in post-production under strict compliance with the FCC. He continued, huffing drags down rather than oxygen to supply the energy needed for his exercise.]
RICH: “Big Daddy Rich has hit the gym… Big Daddy Rich has been training with all’a them little Mexican flippy guys and the big fat light tube-huffing white guys… He’s even sparred with some’a them smarmy catch-as-catch-can bastards from the UK…
[Exhausted, Rich gave up the jumping-jacks.]
[He huffed, and he puffed, and wheezed, but the one thing he didn’t do was shut his yap. He wasn’t so good at that last one.]
RICH: “And do you know what the all said to him?
They said ‘Daddy-o, you know yer the Cat’s Pajaymers! Why’re you even botherin’ to work so hard and train so much for somethin’ as simple as this Outhouse Stampede hullabaloo?’ And I hadda tell ‘em all…
I hadda tell ‘em that Rich Mahogany, Lover of Ladies, Purveyor of Perversion, and Captain of Cunnilingus, would not rest until the NFW Television Title was wrapped as snuggly around his rock-hard abs as the cock-ring wrapped permanently around his Magic Johnson!”
[Pause, wink, sleaze-filled smile.]
RICH: “An’ it all starts with CRASH 50, and an Open Invitation to grab the NFW by the hips and hump it into submission, brother.”
[Satisfied, The Love Machine flopped himself into a thin plastic chair and crushed out his cigarette. He lounged in a way that made the jungle of pixels where his junk resided could be seen by any and all interested parties.]
RICH: “I’ll see you homos in Boston!”
[You never did know when one of The Ladies would catch a glimpse of The Goods and offer him up some Sexual Heeling after a long night of oiled up grappling with men in tight jeans and cowboy boots.]
[*shudder*]
[FADE2PINK]
Evil James
League Member
[Inside of a wrestling training school gymnasium, a bunch of guys who appear to be dressed as monsters are shown looking from inside the ring toward the camera as it starts rolling. The group of creatures parts and a familiar face in wrestling gear and black T-shirt.
It is Varga, the most despised wrestler in NFW. However, he seems rather jovial at the moment.]
Varga: Hello my NFW-ites. I know that all of you have been missing me so I thought I’d grace you all with a surprise return to the federation. And boy, have I missed you all!
[He continues to smile as he talks.]
Varga: I loved being here in my first tenure. I loved all the wrestlers and all the bookers and all the personalities…
[He then stops smiling and gets a mean, nasty scowl on his face.]
Varga: Who the hell am I kidding? I hated this fucking place and everyone in it. Well now I’m back to be your destroyer.
Your worse fucking nightmare has happened, NFW. James Fucking Varga is back and it’s your apocalypse. You all thought I was gone. Why would I leave when I have so much fun tormenting you all?
[He shakes his head, getting a good chuckle over his last comment before smiling deviously at the camera. You can almost see the wheels turning in that skull of his. He then motions to all the creatures around him.]
Varga: All of these wrestlers in this ring wouldn’t have had a chance in this business if it weren’t for me. And they have training to do so they’re going to get back to it.
[The creatures all leave the ring and now Varga is alone.]
Varga: And none of you would’ve given them a chance. You all called them a “joke” just like you called me a “joke.” But the joke’s really been on all of you.
You see, this place has been falling apart since I left. All you guys have to do is cheer for your so called “heroes.” Your heroes are thieves and liars. They feed off of your applause like leeches feed off of blood. It’s their life force.
For me, it’s a little different. I feed off of all the comments you guys make about me. All of the comments such as some fucktard Presidential asshole using the term “Vargatarded” on the last show. The fact is, everyone was wondering why I keep losing while here.
They told me that I don’t really seem like I’m into my matches and that I didn’t really seem like I wanted to wrestle. That I wasn’t motived. People asked about backstage politics and whatnot but that didn’t have anything to do with it at all.
People kept asking me if I was just acting like I was because I hated one person in particular. I couldn’t find one person that I hated because the fact is that I hate you all.
[As he says this, me makes a motion of a circle to emphasis the word “everyone.”]
Varga: There’s not one person here that I hate more than any other person. So I’m here to be the virus that kills this place and everyone in it.
You’re all going to die a slow, painful death at my hands. I’m on a mission now. All of your so called “stars” are going to fade into the darkness that I bring to this federation. No one is going to be safe from it.
Not Doctor Curiosity, not Rook Black, not Steve Knox, no Randall Knox, not even the great Joe the Plumber will be safe. I don’t give a fuck who they put in the ring with me, that person is going to be in for a world of hurt.
Looking up and down the card for Crash 50, after the Pentagram Match and the National Championship match, nothing really stands out. It’s just a smark love fest with a bunch of guys who couldn’t draw money even with a sex tape.
I mean, let’s go down the list. You have a War Games match with a bunch of luchadore wannabes and various other idiots. I can’t believe that Cameron Cruise has been lumped into this garbage match. I honestly feel sorry for him and Legion. I really do.
Then you’ve got some fan boy jizz matches before Castor fights the Artist Formerly Known as Impulse. I guess he’s not related to Steve anymore. Then the rest is just the same old, same old save for the two main event matches.
What a joke. This is Crash 50, not just another house show. I am going to start an NFW level Extinction Level Event starting at this show. I will take on any of you jobbers any time, anywhere. I don’t care who I’m in the ring with.
[Varga cackles deviously as he scowls at the camera.]
Varga: IF I am back here full time to torment you all, I will throw every match, I will make matches boring on purpose with rest holds, and I will do anything in my power to make NFW as miserable I can for each and every one of you.
[He points at the camera repeatedly after saying this before putting his hand back down.]
Varga: And for you fans of NFW that clap like mindless sheep and Harbor Seals for your heroes, I have a message for you as well. I will do my best to make you all hate me. In fact, I encourage it. I know you all think that I’m weak. I don’t care. I want you all to think I’m weak.
In fact, I already have an alliance set up already upon my arrival. Two people, possibly more. But this much is for certain. Varga’s taking over NFW and there’s not a damn thing any of you can do about it.
FADE TO BLACK
It is Varga, the most despised wrestler in NFW. However, he seems rather jovial at the moment.]
Varga: Hello my NFW-ites. I know that all of you have been missing me so I thought I’d grace you all with a surprise return to the federation. And boy, have I missed you all!
[He continues to smile as he talks.]
Varga: I loved being here in my first tenure. I loved all the wrestlers and all the bookers and all the personalities…
[He then stops smiling and gets a mean, nasty scowl on his face.]
Varga: Who the hell am I kidding? I hated this fucking place and everyone in it. Well now I’m back to be your destroyer.
Your worse fucking nightmare has happened, NFW. James Fucking Varga is back and it’s your apocalypse. You all thought I was gone. Why would I leave when I have so much fun tormenting you all?
[He shakes his head, getting a good chuckle over his last comment before smiling deviously at the camera. You can almost see the wheels turning in that skull of his. He then motions to all the creatures around him.]
Varga: All of these wrestlers in this ring wouldn’t have had a chance in this business if it weren’t for me. And they have training to do so they’re going to get back to it.
[The creatures all leave the ring and now Varga is alone.]
Varga: And none of you would’ve given them a chance. You all called them a “joke” just like you called me a “joke.” But the joke’s really been on all of you.
You see, this place has been falling apart since I left. All you guys have to do is cheer for your so called “heroes.” Your heroes are thieves and liars. They feed off of your applause like leeches feed off of blood. It’s their life force.
For me, it’s a little different. I feed off of all the comments you guys make about me. All of the comments such as some fucktard Presidential asshole using the term “Vargatarded” on the last show. The fact is, everyone was wondering why I keep losing while here.
They told me that I don’t really seem like I’m into my matches and that I didn’t really seem like I wanted to wrestle. That I wasn’t motived. People asked about backstage politics and whatnot but that didn’t have anything to do with it at all.
People kept asking me if I was just acting like I was because I hated one person in particular. I couldn’t find one person that I hated because the fact is that I hate you all.
[As he says this, me makes a motion of a circle to emphasis the word “everyone.”]
Varga: There’s not one person here that I hate more than any other person. So I’m here to be the virus that kills this place and everyone in it.
You’re all going to die a slow, painful death at my hands. I’m on a mission now. All of your so called “stars” are going to fade into the darkness that I bring to this federation. No one is going to be safe from it.
Not Doctor Curiosity, not Rook Black, not Steve Knox, no Randall Knox, not even the great Joe the Plumber will be safe. I don’t give a fuck who they put in the ring with me, that person is going to be in for a world of hurt.
Looking up and down the card for Crash 50, after the Pentagram Match and the National Championship match, nothing really stands out. It’s just a smark love fest with a bunch of guys who couldn’t draw money even with a sex tape.
I mean, let’s go down the list. You have a War Games match with a bunch of luchadore wannabes and various other idiots. I can’t believe that Cameron Cruise has been lumped into this garbage match. I honestly feel sorry for him and Legion. I really do.
Then you’ve got some fan boy jizz matches before Castor fights the Artist Formerly Known as Impulse. I guess he’s not related to Steve anymore. Then the rest is just the same old, same old save for the two main event matches.
What a joke. This is Crash 50, not just another house show. I am going to start an NFW level Extinction Level Event starting at this show. I will take on any of you jobbers any time, anywhere. I don’t care who I’m in the ring with.
[Varga cackles deviously as he scowls at the camera.]
Varga: IF I am back here full time to torment you all, I will throw every match, I will make matches boring on purpose with rest holds, and I will do anything in my power to make NFW as miserable I can for each and every one of you.
[He points at the camera repeatedly after saying this before putting his hand back down.]
Varga: And for you fans of NFW that clap like mindless sheep and Harbor Seals for your heroes, I have a message for you as well. I will do my best to make you all hate me. In fact, I encourage it. I know you all think that I’m weak. I don’t care. I want you all to think I’m weak.
In fact, I already have an alliance set up already upon my arrival. Two people, possibly more. But this much is for certain. Varga’s taking over NFW and there’s not a damn thing any of you can do about it.
FADE TO BLACK
Biron
League Member
- Joined
- Aug 8, 2007
- Messages
- 644
- Points
- 16
(FADE-IN: To KELLY MASTERS, standing before the latest and greatest of NFW artwork - an extravagant "The Great American Smokeout" backdrop, popping with explosive reds, whites, and blues. MASTERS is a far cry from flashy, wearing a pair of loose fit, work faded Silvertabs, a black Camp of Champs Tee Shirt with an outlined wrestler's hand being raised, and black Adidas Superstar 2 sneakers. He rests his thick fingers on his hips, eyes front and center.)
MASTERS: "Crash 50. The Great American Smokeout. If you said, as many have, it's the greatest card in NFW history, I wouldn't disagree. But there's a big difference between the greatest card and the greatest show. One puts the cheeks in the chairs and the other makes a promotion immortal. Head and shoulders above the competition. Fans will buy even more tickets, more merchandise and wrestlers will come from across the heartland, across the globe to step into the spotlight. Hell, it was enough to coax Hornet back onto the wrestling scene. Sean Stevens dragged himself out of EPW, and there'll be more because Mayfield, with dollar signs spinning in his eyes and visions of grandeur, decided that Crash 50 also needed one of the most brutal matches in the sport, the Bunkhouse Stampede, to kick off the show. Not only that, but he makes it an Open Invitational."
(With the slightest of smirks, MASTERS lets out a grunt. He folds his right arm across his chest and onto left bicep. His left hand rubs his week old beard.)
MASTERS: "Eddie 'Keep the Freaks Off My Porch' Mayfield sets up a match that he KNOWS will pull in every vampire and cross-dressing Johnny Come Lately. Imagine the ratings! (scoffs) Title shot on the line and even a big, fat contract from President Mayfield himself. I jumped the first plane outta New York after the MSG show and when I get back to the homestead, I see NFW Headquarters faxed me the match contract for Crash 50. Take it or leave it. Within thirty seconds, that contract was headed right back at 'em. KELLY MASTERS signed on the dotted line."
(MASTERS feigns signing his John Hancock and punctuates it with a emphatic dot. His hands rest back on his hips as he adopts a quizzical look.)
MASTERS: "But it makes you wonder ... why take this goddamn match? It's not the NFW contract because Eddie Mayfield snatched me up quicker than you can say 'submissions expert'. It's not the title shot either. Am I good enough to beat the champions in NFW, right now? I wouldn't be where I am, the kind of wrestler I am, if I said 'no'. And everybody and their grandmother will say that I don't profile as the perfect fit to a Bunkhouse Stampede. The last weapon I picked up was an axe and I was splittin' logs back home with it. Which brings me back to my original question ... why take the match? The answer is simple ... I wrestle. (holds his arms out at his side) As cliche' as it sounds, I live and breath wrestling. When an NFW show rolls around, I'll be on it. (snaps his fingers) From the Fan Expo at Madison Square Garden to the Great American Smokeout in Boston. I've been competing ALL my life and it's ALL I know. I thrive on the competition. Not only that, but the CHALLENGE. I've stepped into the ring with World Champions and Elite Champions, but none of those men offered a challenge like the Bunkhouse Stampede does. Not ONE."
(His cold demeanor is gone, replaced by an energy that glimmers in those emerald green eyes. MASTERS runs a hand through his blond hair as he takes a step closer.)
MASTERS: "I'll be the first to admit that I've never wrestled in a Bunkhouse Match and was never trained in the art of hardcore wrestling. I'd just assume toss a chair aside than smash it over somebody's skull. Maybe people think I'm at a disadvantage, that it stacks the odds against me. Everybody is entitled to their opinion, but, at the end of the day, all I can say is that we're scheduled to step inside a wrestling ring in Boston. Whether anybody wants to admit it or not, this match boils down to the WRESTLING and the MEN inside the ring. I'll be damned if there's a harder working man in this match or company. While you're out chasin' skirts, or preachin' about the JFK Assassination, or plotting to take over the world, I'm putting in the hours, the blood, and the sweat. As far as the wrestling goes, we'll just let the dust settle and see who's standing."
MASTERS: "So bring your trashcan lids, lead pipes, barbwire, and anything else you THINK might help you win the Bunkhouse Stampede. I'll be bringing along weapons of my own. This."
(MASTERS taps his temple.)
MASTERS: "And these."
(MASTERS glances down at his clenched fists. After a few seconds pass, he looks up again.)
MASTERS: "There are no better weapons."
(FADE-OUT as MASTERS looks ahead with a stony expression and those emerald green eyes daring you to prove him wrong.)
MASTERS: "Crash 50. The Great American Smokeout. If you said, as many have, it's the greatest card in NFW history, I wouldn't disagree. But there's a big difference between the greatest card and the greatest show. One puts the cheeks in the chairs and the other makes a promotion immortal. Head and shoulders above the competition. Fans will buy even more tickets, more merchandise and wrestlers will come from across the heartland, across the globe to step into the spotlight. Hell, it was enough to coax Hornet back onto the wrestling scene. Sean Stevens dragged himself out of EPW, and there'll be more because Mayfield, with dollar signs spinning in his eyes and visions of grandeur, decided that Crash 50 also needed one of the most brutal matches in the sport, the Bunkhouse Stampede, to kick off the show. Not only that, but he makes it an Open Invitational."
(With the slightest of smirks, MASTERS lets out a grunt. He folds his right arm across his chest and onto left bicep. His left hand rubs his week old beard.)
MASTERS: "Eddie 'Keep the Freaks Off My Porch' Mayfield sets up a match that he KNOWS will pull in every vampire and cross-dressing Johnny Come Lately. Imagine the ratings! (scoffs) Title shot on the line and even a big, fat contract from President Mayfield himself. I jumped the first plane outta New York after the MSG show and when I get back to the homestead, I see NFW Headquarters faxed me the match contract for Crash 50. Take it or leave it. Within thirty seconds, that contract was headed right back at 'em. KELLY MASTERS signed on the dotted line."
(MASTERS feigns signing his John Hancock and punctuates it with a emphatic dot. His hands rest back on his hips as he adopts a quizzical look.)
MASTERS: "But it makes you wonder ... why take this goddamn match? It's not the NFW contract because Eddie Mayfield snatched me up quicker than you can say 'submissions expert'. It's not the title shot either. Am I good enough to beat the champions in NFW, right now? I wouldn't be where I am, the kind of wrestler I am, if I said 'no'. And everybody and their grandmother will say that I don't profile as the perfect fit to a Bunkhouse Stampede. The last weapon I picked up was an axe and I was splittin' logs back home with it. Which brings me back to my original question ... why take the match? The answer is simple ... I wrestle. (holds his arms out at his side) As cliche' as it sounds, I live and breath wrestling. When an NFW show rolls around, I'll be on it. (snaps his fingers) From the Fan Expo at Madison Square Garden to the Great American Smokeout in Boston. I've been competing ALL my life and it's ALL I know. I thrive on the competition. Not only that, but the CHALLENGE. I've stepped into the ring with World Champions and Elite Champions, but none of those men offered a challenge like the Bunkhouse Stampede does. Not ONE."
(His cold demeanor is gone, replaced by an energy that glimmers in those emerald green eyes. MASTERS runs a hand through his blond hair as he takes a step closer.)
MASTERS: "I'll be the first to admit that I've never wrestled in a Bunkhouse Match and was never trained in the art of hardcore wrestling. I'd just assume toss a chair aside than smash it over somebody's skull. Maybe people think I'm at a disadvantage, that it stacks the odds against me. Everybody is entitled to their opinion, but, at the end of the day, all I can say is that we're scheduled to step inside a wrestling ring in Boston. Whether anybody wants to admit it or not, this match boils down to the WRESTLING and the MEN inside the ring. I'll be damned if there's a harder working man in this match or company. While you're out chasin' skirts, or preachin' about the JFK Assassination, or plotting to take over the world, I'm putting in the hours, the blood, and the sweat. As far as the wrestling goes, we'll just let the dust settle and see who's standing."
MASTERS: "So bring your trashcan lids, lead pipes, barbwire, and anything else you THINK might help you win the Bunkhouse Stampede. I'll be bringing along weapons of my own. This."
(MASTERS taps his temple.)
MASTERS: "And these."
(MASTERS glances down at his clenched fists. After a few seconds pass, he looks up again.)
MASTERS: "There are no better weapons."
(FADE-OUT as MASTERS looks ahead with a stony expression and those emerald green eyes daring you to prove him wrong.)
The Great Eye
I came to cut you up
- Joined
- Jan 29, 2004
- Messages
- 1,337
- Points
- 0
(FADEIN: Bloodhunt, wearing a red button up shirt, grey dress pants, standing in front of an NFW banner.)
BLOODHUNT: Never thought I'd be doing this again...(walks over, holds a section of the banner in his hands) I could give you all a sob story speech about my time in NFW...About how, as best as I can tell, I'm still the only two time NFW World Champion in this company's history. I could go on and on...But why bother? I know why I'm here, just to get a paycheck...Most likely piss off a crowd, this show is in Boston, which is Kennedy Country and I have made my career off the murder of JFK...
But once my little rant came on the air. Then others followed..And then I got the text messages...From wrestlers, in this company, retired, what have you...They all said to me...
Take out Varga...
So I listened to Varga's rant and rave, his screaming and shouting...His attempts at being evil and edgy...And then I told those men my price for a job...And the conditions...Half up front...Half after the job is done...
The money was in my bank account in less then an hour...
Varga...You're a fool, you've stuck your nose in a place where people don't want it...It could be because you offend their believes about wrestling, it could be because you're a talentless hack, it could be for any reason at all...I don't care...
I've gotten my up front payment...And I'd like to collect the final one...The used car lot isn't making the best of business right now...The first half of the payment has most assuredly put us in a good spot for the next few months...But now Emily's talking about wanting a trip to Hawaii...And well...To do that...I gotta put you down Varga...
I know you'll think this is all just a bluff by an old man...But this is deadly serious...But you're going out...You're my final target in this sport...You're the guy who's going to have the honor of going up on these shoulders the final time, of being dumped on your head...
The sad thing is...I tell you all of this...And you still won't see it coming...
JFK knew Dallas was not safe. Aides begged him not to go. Before they landed in Dallas he even turned to Jackie and said "We're heading into nut country"
Yet you watch the film and there he sits, smiling, cheerful, waving to the crowd, completely cool and oblivious to his impending death...
Much as you will know that I am coming for you in the Bunkhouse Stampede, but it won't matter...For the harder you look for me, the easier for me to hide. You pin me in this match, eliminate me...Still won't save you...You can't stop this...
You can't stop the fact that when you least expect it...Up you'll go...Maybe you'll fight a little, maybe you'll struggle...But it won't matter...No...Up you'll go...And DOWN YOU'LL FALL
(Bloodhunt punches his left hand into the palm of his right)
BAM HEADSHOT...
And with that you're off to the hospital...
And I'm off to Hawaii...
(FADEOUT)
BLOODHUNT: Never thought I'd be doing this again...(walks over, holds a section of the banner in his hands) I could give you all a sob story speech about my time in NFW...About how, as best as I can tell, I'm still the only two time NFW World Champion in this company's history. I could go on and on...But why bother? I know why I'm here, just to get a paycheck...Most likely piss off a crowd, this show is in Boston, which is Kennedy Country and I have made my career off the murder of JFK...
But once my little rant came on the air. Then others followed..And then I got the text messages...From wrestlers, in this company, retired, what have you...They all said to me...
Take out Varga...
So I listened to Varga's rant and rave, his screaming and shouting...His attempts at being evil and edgy...And then I told those men my price for a job...And the conditions...Half up front...Half after the job is done...
The money was in my bank account in less then an hour...
Varga...You're a fool, you've stuck your nose in a place where people don't want it...It could be because you offend their believes about wrestling, it could be because you're a talentless hack, it could be for any reason at all...I don't care...
I've gotten my up front payment...And I'd like to collect the final one...The used car lot isn't making the best of business right now...The first half of the payment has most assuredly put us in a good spot for the next few months...But now Emily's talking about wanting a trip to Hawaii...And well...To do that...I gotta put you down Varga...
I know you'll think this is all just a bluff by an old man...But this is deadly serious...But you're going out...You're my final target in this sport...You're the guy who's going to have the honor of going up on these shoulders the final time, of being dumped on your head...
The sad thing is...I tell you all of this...And you still won't see it coming...
JFK knew Dallas was not safe. Aides begged him not to go. Before they landed in Dallas he even turned to Jackie and said "We're heading into nut country"
Yet you watch the film and there he sits, smiling, cheerful, waving to the crowd, completely cool and oblivious to his impending death...
Much as you will know that I am coming for you in the Bunkhouse Stampede, but it won't matter...For the harder you look for me, the easier for me to hide. You pin me in this match, eliminate me...Still won't save you...You can't stop this...
You can't stop the fact that when you least expect it...Up you'll go...Maybe you'll fight a little, maybe you'll struggle...But it won't matter...No...Up you'll go...And DOWN YOU'LL FALL
(Bloodhunt punches his left hand into the palm of his right)
BAM HEADSHOT...
And with that you're off to the hospital...
And I'm off to Hawaii...
(FADEOUT)
fugginVOSS
The REAL Funk U. T-shirt
(FADE IN: on a manmade habitat. Thick tufts of bamboo gently swaying in the breeze, surrounding a babbling brook which gently crashes against the pebbles that lay in the bed of the brook. Standing, in ponderous formation, one foot on a rock with his elbow on said knee and chin resting on fist was AMERICAN PANDA in full flight of thought. He did not acknowledge the camera yet he did speak to it.)
PANDA "The fermented dreadlocks of tree-huggin' hippies saw the fruition of a war. A chemical imbalance between creatures of the Japanese wilderness and the monsters of the squared-circle."
(Stretching an arm out over the horizon, PANDA's eyes followed the hand as it passed.)
PANDA "A hatred grew amidst the war which saw the castration of the letter F..." (he cupped his groin) "...and the appropriation of the letter E. In spite of which it is that we all believe... a dark cloud formed and the peace which once thrived amongst the creatures and the monsters turned into a delicate blood-feud of epic proportions."
(He snarled his best panda snarl, unforgiving with the emotion his words bulged with.)
PANDA "A blood-feud inspired that those who reach enlightment through empowering their breasts to be free of a bra's constriction and support. Those whose personal hygiene was tossed to the four winds, freeing their under arms to grow without remorse. To let said winds blow through those underarm hairs, leg hairs and vivacious verile va-jay-jay locks of wonder."
(PANDA dropped his head, out of the woe which fulfilled him thinking of the peons that disembowled a wrestling franchise.)
PANDA "Getting the F out saw grave consequences. A conglomerate which found it's enemies and gobbled them up like a sucubus... just like Sarah Palin on one of her famous cougar hunts... prowling through the night to find new victims. Find new foe. Find fresh meat. The fickle finger of fate forbid the fondling of favoured federations and filled the void vivaciously with wondrous shades of colour. The colour gray. It has painted the inductry gray in a blatant disregard to it's new... natural... enemy."
(AMERICAN PANDA clenched a fist and pulled it down like he were plucking an apple from a tree.)
PANDA "With blatant disregard for the creature's feelings, the monsters ventured forth and watched as a challenge arose in the South. The Splendiferic Sasquatch of Slapnut Proportions stepped forth with a challenge to the AlmightE. A veritable opponent? Worthy foe? I think not. The AlmighE turned it's back like the gang did to the one armed man trying to encroach the circle jerk. The AlmightE not giving the Splendiferic Sasquatch of Slapnut Proportions the time of day. A substantial slap in the face so it feasted from the AlmightE's garbage bin to find the eleven secret herbs and spices. All the while, painting it's portraits with shades of gray... gray... gray!"
(Palming his face, PANDA let his hand run down the length of it.)
PANDA "Yet the creature lurks having found a freedom fighter with the ferocity of a Mexican family locked out of KFC at 10 minutes to quittin' time. Standing forth with the valour of a noble steed and twice the tripodic leg length of him was their saviour. Born and bred in WRESTLING FOLKLORE... *cough*bywayofmelbourneaustralia*cough*... was the conqueror who would relinquish the animosity. Avenge the misunderstanding of panda-kind and they're perpetual love for professional wrestling. Eliminating the stigma associated with them bamboo-chompin'-selves. Strike it down... along with these shades of gray. Turning the AlmightE into a reputtable black and white. Well... someday."
(Finally, PANDA turned to the camera.)
PANDA "But this biznitch gotta start some place, yeah? Gotta kick out the jams on a Frontier. Like a NEW Frontier. NEW... FRON! TIER... RASSLIN'!" (pounds his heart with his fist) "Coz I'ma go to market."
(He grabbed a hold of his thumb and wiggled it.)
PANDA "THIS! little panda went to market. THIS! little panda stayed home." (wiggling index and moving onto middle {aka RUDE!} finger) "...THIS! little panda had bamboo! And THIS! little panda had NONE!" (moving onto the ring finger and finally onto the pinky) "...AAAAAAND THIS! little panda went all the way to the Bunkhouse Stampede and handed 72 and change chumpy chimps their ass AAAAALLLLLLL over CRASH! FITTY! HOMMES!"
(Heart pound. Heart pound. Heart pound.)
PANDA "Standin' up in this biznitch... the ENN! EFF! DUB!... folks gotta recognise that the rules are there ARE! no rules. That folks come in all shapes and sizes. Attitudes big as Sally Struther's left ass cheek and change... Masks in more colours than the toilet bowl after a meal at the Olsen house... Faces uglier than the winner of the truck chasin' contest... ENN! EFF! DUB! gots them all. They gots naughty nudey film makers. They got mask chasin' bat chasers. There's a drunk and his future self. There's a shit stained pipe peddler as the World champ. Theys ALL! here, folks. ALL! here.
"But wadin' through the filth, debris and festid careers comes a man able to slap the tail feathers off a duck's ass up at the Garden. Then he heads 'cross to Boston to step up. Step up, step forth and be counted. Counted as the toughest sonofapandasnatch y'all EVER! did saw. Who am I talkin' 'bout? Sheeeeeet. I ain't cryptic. Though them crosswords is kinda cooky. I dunno what them things is on about. I likes a SU! DO! KU! Keeps the brain trained and ya wits sharp as tacks. But much like the victim of a cross-eyed knife wiedling maniac... I'm missing the point.
"The POINT! is I'm a cold-hearted killer jus' like Conrad Murray. I'm like OJ with a wife in his mouth. Shake it 'til she dead. Bunkhouse Stampede I'm bringin' everythin' I gots to get me a shiny-bling-bada-bling shot at some shiny-bling-bada-bling belt. I'ma PWNZ y'all, son. There'll be every man and his dog, Quasar's not included, queuein' to get inta the Bunkhouse brawl fer all and but they's all gunna get slapped upside the head quicker than Kelly Masters' pappy did him when he seen him trying to choke his chicken out.
"At CRASH... FITTY!... American Panda's gonna relinquish the stranglehold pro-wrestlin's had on the giant panda's conscience. He aint't to blame. Blame them dirty nuckers who wipe their ass with a leaf then share it round the commune. Then they all goes and SMOKES! it. That shit ain't right. It ain't. One-by-one-by-one I'll send them all packin' their bag and high-tailin' it back in the direction they came from coz AMERICAN PANDA! GOTTA STRANGLEHOLD! ON! YOU! And when he locks that bad-boy-sucka-ass on all'a y'all ya know what's comin'. Right?"
(Camera zoomed in on a close up of PANDA's face.)
PANDA "I'ma chew ya fuggin jugula-"
(Suddenly through the bamboo bursts a snarling giant panda, obviously angered by the trespassers invading the privacy of it's enclosure.)
PANDA "HOLY SHIT! RUN FER YA MOTHERFUGGIN LIVES, HOMMES! THIS THANG'S FROTHIN' AT THE MOUTH MORE THAN RHIANNA AFTER TALKIN' BACK TO HER MAN!"
(Rushing toward the camera man, AMERICAN PANDA grabbed the boom operator and shoved him to the ground.)
CAMERA MAN "What're you doin'?"
PANDA "Hommes... we just gotta run faster than that poor sonofabitch. You comin' or you interested in bein' panda hors d'houevres?"
CAMERA MAN "Point made."
(Together, AMERICAN PANDA and the CAMERA MAN ran to safety as the giant panda began to stalk the boom operator. The CAMERA MAN ran backwards, so he could capture the footage.)
PANDA "Good idea. We can sell that to the National Geographic or some shit. OOOO! Let's put Sagat's kids through college! America's Funniest Home Videos... HERE! WE! COME! Turn that shit off... Mayfield will flog the footage to the highest bidder before we get the chance to think 'bout the chicken dinners we can splurge on."
(PANDA's hand covered the lens and we FADE2BLACK!)
PANDA "The fermented dreadlocks of tree-huggin' hippies saw the fruition of a war. A chemical imbalance between creatures of the Japanese wilderness and the monsters of the squared-circle."
(Stretching an arm out over the horizon, PANDA's eyes followed the hand as it passed.)
PANDA "A hatred grew amidst the war which saw the castration of the letter F..." (he cupped his groin) "...and the appropriation of the letter E. In spite of which it is that we all believe... a dark cloud formed and the peace which once thrived amongst the creatures and the monsters turned into a delicate blood-feud of epic proportions."
(He snarled his best panda snarl, unforgiving with the emotion his words bulged with.)
PANDA "A blood-feud inspired that those who reach enlightment through empowering their breasts to be free of a bra's constriction and support. Those whose personal hygiene was tossed to the four winds, freeing their under arms to grow without remorse. To let said winds blow through those underarm hairs, leg hairs and vivacious verile va-jay-jay locks of wonder."
(PANDA dropped his head, out of the woe which fulfilled him thinking of the peons that disembowled a wrestling franchise.)
PANDA "Getting the F out saw grave consequences. A conglomerate which found it's enemies and gobbled them up like a sucubus... just like Sarah Palin on one of her famous cougar hunts... prowling through the night to find new victims. Find new foe. Find fresh meat. The fickle finger of fate forbid the fondling of favoured federations and filled the void vivaciously with wondrous shades of colour. The colour gray. It has painted the inductry gray in a blatant disregard to it's new... natural... enemy."
(AMERICAN PANDA clenched a fist and pulled it down like he were plucking an apple from a tree.)
PANDA "With blatant disregard for the creature's feelings, the monsters ventured forth and watched as a challenge arose in the South. The Splendiferic Sasquatch of Slapnut Proportions stepped forth with a challenge to the AlmightE. A veritable opponent? Worthy foe? I think not. The AlmighE turned it's back like the gang did to the one armed man trying to encroach the circle jerk. The AlmightE not giving the Splendiferic Sasquatch of Slapnut Proportions the time of day. A substantial slap in the face so it feasted from the AlmightE's garbage bin to find the eleven secret herbs and spices. All the while, painting it's portraits with shades of gray... gray... gray!"
(Palming his face, PANDA let his hand run down the length of it.)
PANDA "Yet the creature lurks having found a freedom fighter with the ferocity of a Mexican family locked out of KFC at 10 minutes to quittin' time. Standing forth with the valour of a noble steed and twice the tripodic leg length of him was their saviour. Born and bred in WRESTLING FOLKLORE... *cough*bywayofmelbourneaustralia*cough*... was the conqueror who would relinquish the animosity. Avenge the misunderstanding of panda-kind and they're perpetual love for professional wrestling. Eliminating the stigma associated with them bamboo-chompin'-selves. Strike it down... along with these shades of gray. Turning the AlmightE into a reputtable black and white. Well... someday."
(Finally, PANDA turned to the camera.)
PANDA "But this biznitch gotta start some place, yeah? Gotta kick out the jams on a Frontier. Like a NEW Frontier. NEW... FRON! TIER... RASSLIN'!" (pounds his heart with his fist) "Coz I'ma go to market."
(He grabbed a hold of his thumb and wiggled it.)
PANDA "THIS! little panda went to market. THIS! little panda stayed home." (wiggling index and moving onto middle {aka RUDE!} finger) "...THIS! little panda had bamboo! And THIS! little panda had NONE!" (moving onto the ring finger and finally onto the pinky) "...AAAAAAND THIS! little panda went all the way to the Bunkhouse Stampede and handed 72 and change chumpy chimps their ass AAAAALLLLLLL over CRASH! FITTY! HOMMES!"
(Heart pound. Heart pound. Heart pound.)
PANDA "Standin' up in this biznitch... the ENN! EFF! DUB!... folks gotta recognise that the rules are there ARE! no rules. That folks come in all shapes and sizes. Attitudes big as Sally Struther's left ass cheek and change... Masks in more colours than the toilet bowl after a meal at the Olsen house... Faces uglier than the winner of the truck chasin' contest... ENN! EFF! DUB! gots them all. They gots naughty nudey film makers. They got mask chasin' bat chasers. There's a drunk and his future self. There's a shit stained pipe peddler as the World champ. Theys ALL! here, folks. ALL! here.
"But wadin' through the filth, debris and festid careers comes a man able to slap the tail feathers off a duck's ass up at the Garden. Then he heads 'cross to Boston to step up. Step up, step forth and be counted. Counted as the toughest sonofapandasnatch y'all EVER! did saw. Who am I talkin' 'bout? Sheeeeeet. I ain't cryptic. Though them crosswords is kinda cooky. I dunno what them things is on about. I likes a SU! DO! KU! Keeps the brain trained and ya wits sharp as tacks. But much like the victim of a cross-eyed knife wiedling maniac... I'm missing the point.
"The POINT! is I'm a cold-hearted killer jus' like Conrad Murray. I'm like OJ with a wife in his mouth. Shake it 'til she dead. Bunkhouse Stampede I'm bringin' everythin' I gots to get me a shiny-bling-bada-bling shot at some shiny-bling-bada-bling belt. I'ma PWNZ y'all, son. There'll be every man and his dog, Quasar's not included, queuein' to get inta the Bunkhouse brawl fer all and but they's all gunna get slapped upside the head quicker than Kelly Masters' pappy did him when he seen him trying to choke his chicken out.
"At CRASH... FITTY!... American Panda's gonna relinquish the stranglehold pro-wrestlin's had on the giant panda's conscience. He aint't to blame. Blame them dirty nuckers who wipe their ass with a leaf then share it round the commune. Then they all goes and SMOKES! it. That shit ain't right. It ain't. One-by-one-by-one I'll send them all packin' their bag and high-tailin' it back in the direction they came from coz AMERICAN PANDA! GOTTA STRANGLEHOLD! ON! YOU! And when he locks that bad-boy-sucka-ass on all'a y'all ya know what's comin'. Right?"
(Camera zoomed in on a close up of PANDA's face.)
PANDA "I'ma chew ya fuggin jugula-"
(Suddenly through the bamboo bursts a snarling giant panda, obviously angered by the trespassers invading the privacy of it's enclosure.)
PANDA "HOLY SHIT! RUN FER YA MOTHERFUGGIN LIVES, HOMMES! THIS THANG'S FROTHIN' AT THE MOUTH MORE THAN RHIANNA AFTER TALKIN' BACK TO HER MAN!"
(Rushing toward the camera man, AMERICAN PANDA grabbed the boom operator and shoved him to the ground.)
CAMERA MAN "What're you doin'?"
PANDA "Hommes... we just gotta run faster than that poor sonofabitch. You comin' or you interested in bein' panda hors d'houevres?"
CAMERA MAN "Point made."
(Together, AMERICAN PANDA and the CAMERA MAN ran to safety as the giant panda began to stalk the boom operator. The CAMERA MAN ran backwards, so he could capture the footage.)
PANDA "Good idea. We can sell that to the National Geographic or some shit. OOOO! Let's put Sagat's kids through college! America's Funniest Home Videos... HERE! WE! COME! Turn that shit off... Mayfield will flog the footage to the highest bidder before we get the chance to think 'bout the chicken dinners we can splurge on."
(PANDA's hand covered the lens and we FADE2BLACK!)
Evil James
League Member
[Varga, the scourge of wrestling, appears on screen shaking his head in disbelief. He is in full wrestling gear and has on a black T-shirt with a picture of the planet Earth being hit by an asteroid on the front of it. He is in a dimly lit boiler room somewhere, most likely his wrestling school in Las Vegas.]
Varga: I was going to keep quiet but then some old man with Alzheimer's is on here rambling incoherantly for no apparent reason than to pander to the mutant, humanoid sideshow freaks that make up our audience using me as his target so I must grace you all with my presence once again.
What I was alluding to earlier was a certain old man in the match named Bloodhunt who is on here rambling on and on like a meth addicted schizophrenic about the Kennedy assassination. If I wanted to hear about conspiracies, I’d just turn on an X-Files episode and listen to Fox Mulder.
So Bloodhunt is going to take me out. He said I was screaming and shouting when nothing is further from the truth. If I was screaming and shouting, then I’D BE YELLING LIKE THIS FOR MY ENTIRE PROMO!
[He stops and composes himself before continuing.]
Varga: The fact remains that you are nothing but another sad, pathetic jobber trying to make a name for himself by leeching off of me. An ancient wonder returning to NFW to get back the glory that you once had and have since lost due to your own shortcomings.
You’re one to call me a fool. You came back for money. I, however, came back for the opposite. I came back to make this company LOSE money.
[He smirks deviously.]
Varga: So basically you’ve been paid to take me down once and for all. Well you’re going to be in a wrestling ring with me and inside of a wrestling ring, I become a savage. I'm an uncontrollable, violent animal with no remorse and no empathy for my opponents. I’ve made men bleed and I’ve wiped the smiles off the faces of the jackasses dumb enough to make fun of me.
And probably some of them are the ones who paid you. You see, I’ve had my share of problems with limp dicks in this industry so that is not surprising.
The fact that you think I don’t see it coming shows already how much you underestimate me. I knew that I was your target the moment you opened your mouth. Why is that, you ask?
OF COURSE I’m your target. You’re just another pathetic do-gooder who panders to these humanoids in the audience. Sad, potato chip eating drunkards who cheer for "heroes" that are worst sort of scum on the face of this Earth.
These idiots who watch NFW programming cheer for plumbers. They cheer for unicorns. They cheer for doctors. They may cheer for you now but the first chance they get, they’ll stab you right in the back like the criminals they are.
You probably think that they’ll cheer for you since you're a returning jackass...I mean, icon but they won’t. They’ll cheer for you for as long as they need a hero but when someone else comes along, it’s back to the piped in cheers and the midcard for you. That’s how this industry works.
The fact of the matter is that they don't need somebody to cheer...they need somebody to hate and I'm that guy. I'm the guy they need. They have too much to cheer for. Now I think it's time somebody brought the hate out of them.
The fact that you compare me to JFK, some rich liberal politician from the same state the show is being held in, is just another pathetic attempt to get over by you. I am going to put you in a headlock for ten minutes straight just to bore these mindless sheep to death more than a Biff Busey and Normal Human Beings promo.
Then if you escape, it’ll be a twenty minute wristlock or perhaps a full hour of me only using rest holds. Hell, I might even let the Teenage Mutant Ninja Panda kick you around for awhile.
I’m going to bore the mindless zombies of the audience to death at your expense. I said that I would throw every match, make every match boring on purpose, and I will do anything to make NFW miserable for you all. I meant every word of it Bloodhunt and you’re going to find that out first hand.
This company doesn’t deserve the success it has achieved and the fan base doesn’t deserve matches as good as the ones put on here because they’re all a bunch of pathetic leeches who feed off of the carnage they see on the ring when NFW comes to town or is shown on the television.
Bloodhunt, I am more technically sound than anybody will ever give me credit for. I’ve wrestled over an hour many times in my career and I’ve won over thirty five championships. So this is my word of warning for you.
Stay at the rest home. Stay there with the rest of the almost dead retirees and live the good life before I take it all away from you. By the time I’m done, you’re going to be sitting at home crying more than President Mayfield after he got his tax returns.
You’re going to be the first star extinguished in this soon to be dead galaxy. No one will be spared my wrath, not even an elderly piece of crap like you.
[Varga turns and starts walking away but then stops for some reason to address the camera once more.]
Varga: And Bloodhunt, tell your wife the vacation is OVER.
[Varga walks away as the scene fades to black.]
Varga: I was going to keep quiet but then some old man with Alzheimer's is on here rambling incoherantly for no apparent reason than to pander to the mutant, humanoid sideshow freaks that make up our audience using me as his target so I must grace you all with my presence once again.
What I was alluding to earlier was a certain old man in the match named Bloodhunt who is on here rambling on and on like a meth addicted schizophrenic about the Kennedy assassination. If I wanted to hear about conspiracies, I’d just turn on an X-Files episode and listen to Fox Mulder.
So Bloodhunt is going to take me out. He said I was screaming and shouting when nothing is further from the truth. If I was screaming and shouting, then I’D BE YELLING LIKE THIS FOR MY ENTIRE PROMO!
[He stops and composes himself before continuing.]
Varga: The fact remains that you are nothing but another sad, pathetic jobber trying to make a name for himself by leeching off of me. An ancient wonder returning to NFW to get back the glory that you once had and have since lost due to your own shortcomings.
You’re one to call me a fool. You came back for money. I, however, came back for the opposite. I came back to make this company LOSE money.
[He smirks deviously.]
Varga: So basically you’ve been paid to take me down once and for all. Well you’re going to be in a wrestling ring with me and inside of a wrestling ring, I become a savage. I'm an uncontrollable, violent animal with no remorse and no empathy for my opponents. I’ve made men bleed and I’ve wiped the smiles off the faces of the jackasses dumb enough to make fun of me.
And probably some of them are the ones who paid you. You see, I’ve had my share of problems with limp dicks in this industry so that is not surprising.
The fact that you think I don’t see it coming shows already how much you underestimate me. I knew that I was your target the moment you opened your mouth. Why is that, you ask?
OF COURSE I’m your target. You’re just another pathetic do-gooder who panders to these humanoids in the audience. Sad, potato chip eating drunkards who cheer for "heroes" that are worst sort of scum on the face of this Earth.
These idiots who watch NFW programming cheer for plumbers. They cheer for unicorns. They cheer for doctors. They may cheer for you now but the first chance they get, they’ll stab you right in the back like the criminals they are.
You probably think that they’ll cheer for you since you're a returning jackass...I mean, icon but they won’t. They’ll cheer for you for as long as they need a hero but when someone else comes along, it’s back to the piped in cheers and the midcard for you. That’s how this industry works.
The fact of the matter is that they don't need somebody to cheer...they need somebody to hate and I'm that guy. I'm the guy they need. They have too much to cheer for. Now I think it's time somebody brought the hate out of them.
The fact that you compare me to JFK, some rich liberal politician from the same state the show is being held in, is just another pathetic attempt to get over by you. I am going to put you in a headlock for ten minutes straight just to bore these mindless sheep to death more than a Biff Busey and Normal Human Beings promo.
Then if you escape, it’ll be a twenty minute wristlock or perhaps a full hour of me only using rest holds. Hell, I might even let the Teenage Mutant Ninja Panda kick you around for awhile.
I’m going to bore the mindless zombies of the audience to death at your expense. I said that I would throw every match, make every match boring on purpose, and I will do anything to make NFW miserable for you all. I meant every word of it Bloodhunt and you’re going to find that out first hand.
This company doesn’t deserve the success it has achieved and the fan base doesn’t deserve matches as good as the ones put on here because they’re all a bunch of pathetic leeches who feed off of the carnage they see on the ring when NFW comes to town or is shown on the television.
Bloodhunt, I am more technically sound than anybody will ever give me credit for. I’ve wrestled over an hour many times in my career and I’ve won over thirty five championships. So this is my word of warning for you.
Stay at the rest home. Stay there with the rest of the almost dead retirees and live the good life before I take it all away from you. By the time I’m done, you’re going to be sitting at home crying more than President Mayfield after he got his tax returns.
You’re going to be the first star extinguished in this soon to be dead galaxy. No one will be spared my wrath, not even an elderly piece of crap like you.
[Varga turns and starts walking away but then stops for some reason to address the camera once more.]
Varga: And Bloodhunt, tell your wife the vacation is OVER.
[Varga walks away as the scene fades to black.]
terence
assfag
message to big assfag slice
fadein on me wearing a combnation of macho man randy savge clothes plus my own clothes which nlcude megadeth tshirt.
first off f*ck you evil james its time for you to sit down and shut the f*ck up before i take this beyond roleplay. if you thik my charcter is tough in this then wait till you saw me in real life cuz i dont play word gmes with internet assfags.
now i also have somethng to say to big slice. but before i do that i want everyone here to know I AM NOT A RACIST!!!! the only time in my life i was a racist was when i watched american history x for the first time and also was listning to lot of pantera and the vulgar display of power album.
with tht said i wanna say right now to big slice, you need to come challenge me motherf*cker and ill be at the bunkhouse stampede OOOOH YEEEAAAH DIG IT!!!!!
i have four reasons to wanna fight you. first you disrespected hornet and you should now better. who the f*ck are you dude??? hornets a f*cking legend have some f*cking respect. who cares if hes old? im 30 does that make me old??? and why would u be so dumb to call out hornet when you know the guy who writes him also owns fantrasy wrestling???? i hope he f*cking bans your turd ass for acting out of line. and if i were hornet id ban the entire world of fantasy wrestling if i didnt win. also hornet i have your back for the pnetagram match!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
second reason i need to fight you is cause the guy who writes you also wrote a gay dude who kept stalking me in tww. and dude i dont f*ckin care what anybody f*ckin says.........if you rp a character thats that good at being gay, your f*ckin gay in real life dude. and its bad enough when i got to communty college today to do late registration that i see two lesbians who are not even hot sitting on a bench holding hands like theyre waiting for me to say somethng. b*tch what the f*ck am i gonna say??? that your the female version of assfags and that i hope you die a white hot death???? so you reminded me of that and its f*cking pitiful and i dont need that **** in my wrestling life or in real life either or in BOTH LIVES!!!!!
dont think im racist towrds lesbians i just dont like the ones that look like they came outta my ass like a turd. if you watch showtime at night then u know what im talkin about cause i like those ones.
and the thrd reason i wanna fight is cause your friends with joe the plumber and he ripped off all my rps i ever did. oh really joe??? whered you get the idea to curse and say your dirty and wanna f*ck peoples skulls??? oh i dunno maybe from my F*CKING TWW RPS YOU F*CKING ASSFAG!!!!
i was writin that **** last year and then he ripped off and your friends with him for that sh*t???? nah dude now i have to f*ck you up right in your fat asshole. like i said im not racist against black people or lesbians but i do reserve the right to f*ck you up if your tuggin on my ball hairs th wrong way.
so i wanna fight you on a youtube street fight and we can play it for crash 50.
also who owns this fed cause if i win i wanna be in the pentragram match??? how do i sign up for that too????
by the way the bunkhouse is a gay bar near my house hahahaha. no i didnt f*ckin go there but everyone knows it exists. my bus in 8th grade used to drive by it everyday and we'd be like 'wow i bet assfags are having beers in there'. probibly didnt wear condoms either thats why the buttpirates dripped with aids when i met them hahaha.
f*ckin ROCK OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNNNNNN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
fadeout
fadein on me wearing a combnation of macho man randy savge clothes plus my own clothes which nlcude megadeth tshirt.
first off f*ck you evil james its time for you to sit down and shut the f*ck up before i take this beyond roleplay. if you thik my charcter is tough in this then wait till you saw me in real life cuz i dont play word gmes with internet assfags.
now i also have somethng to say to big slice. but before i do that i want everyone here to know I AM NOT A RACIST!!!! the only time in my life i was a racist was when i watched american history x for the first time and also was listning to lot of pantera and the vulgar display of power album.
with tht said i wanna say right now to big slice, you need to come challenge me motherf*cker and ill be at the bunkhouse stampede OOOOH YEEEAAAH DIG IT!!!!!
i have four reasons to wanna fight you. first you disrespected hornet and you should now better. who the f*ck are you dude??? hornets a f*cking legend have some f*cking respect. who cares if hes old? im 30 does that make me old??? and why would u be so dumb to call out hornet when you know the guy who writes him also owns fantrasy wrestling???? i hope he f*cking bans your turd ass for acting out of line. and if i were hornet id ban the entire world of fantasy wrestling if i didnt win. also hornet i have your back for the pnetagram match!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
second reason i need to fight you is cause the guy who writes you also wrote a gay dude who kept stalking me in tww. and dude i dont f*ckin care what anybody f*ckin says.........if you rp a character thats that good at being gay, your f*ckin gay in real life dude. and its bad enough when i got to communty college today to do late registration that i see two lesbians who are not even hot sitting on a bench holding hands like theyre waiting for me to say somethng. b*tch what the f*ck am i gonna say??? that your the female version of assfags and that i hope you die a white hot death???? so you reminded me of that and its f*cking pitiful and i dont need that **** in my wrestling life or in real life either or in BOTH LIVES!!!!!
dont think im racist towrds lesbians i just dont like the ones that look like they came outta my ass like a turd. if you watch showtime at night then u know what im talkin about cause i like those ones.
and the thrd reason i wanna fight is cause your friends with joe the plumber and he ripped off all my rps i ever did. oh really joe??? whered you get the idea to curse and say your dirty and wanna f*ck peoples skulls??? oh i dunno maybe from my F*CKING TWW RPS YOU F*CKING ASSFAG!!!!
i was writin that **** last year and then he ripped off and your friends with him for that sh*t???? nah dude now i have to f*ck you up right in your fat asshole. like i said im not racist against black people or lesbians but i do reserve the right to f*ck you up if your tuggin on my ball hairs th wrong way.
so i wanna fight you on a youtube street fight and we can play it for crash 50.
also who owns this fed cause if i win i wanna be in the pentragram match??? how do i sign up for that too????
by the way the bunkhouse is a gay bar near my house hahahaha. no i didnt f*ckin go there but everyone knows it exists. my bus in 8th grade used to drive by it everyday and we'd be like 'wow i bet assfags are having beers in there'. probibly didnt wear condoms either thats why the buttpirates dripped with aids when i met them hahaha.
f*ckin ROCK OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNNNNNN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
fadeout
- Joined
- Feb 4, 2005
- Messages
- 1,143
- Points
- 38
In an age, desperate for heroes. An age where the darkness consumes the light one day at a time. An age where the norm is violence, sex, greed, destruction, death and mayhem… heroes rise, unyielding in their fight to punish the wicked and unjust…
Unfortunately, we don’t really have the budget to produce such heroes and Christopher Nolan and Bryan Singer were too busy washing their hair to return our phone calls. Or so they say. So in the meantime you’ve got these guys…
Oh, ****…
It’s still days before we’re set to take the likes of NFW’s latest and possibly greatest card. The fiftieth milestone of the New Frontier and “The Great American Smokeout. Just outside the TD Garden, still days before showtime, but we’re still privy to seeing the spectacular red, white, and blue motif being pulled off. The card from top to bottom is a virtual who’s who of Sports Entertainment and Professional Wrestling phenomenon. Right now, the inner walls of the TD Garden are empty but standing just outside its walls, letting a mammoth hand rest against the New Frontier Wrestling poster is none other than one of its newest tag team prospects, Captain Justice.
Rocking a United States flag-themed body suit complete with a mask built in, the burly superhero keeps a hand on the poster, taking in the wonderful art adorning the poster that seems to touch his heart in such a way that if Scarlett Johansson were to touch a male, they’d go, “Oh, yeah. That’s nice.”
CAPTAIN JUSTICE: (whispering to himself, wiping a tear from his eye) Isn’t she beautiful, Ultrajira?
Behind him stood a man of about equal height but with a much stouter frame. The man had a clean-shaven (short, not bald) head and rocked a pair of black pants and shoes with a white shirt. The man’s face was also caked with various tattoos and art form, one of a dragon, two of what appeared to be moths, one of a cat’s claw and two tattoos beneath him. Shaking his head and looking completely uncomfortable in the clothing he was in, he shrugged.
CAPTAIN JUSTICE: Jira, what we have here is a proud symbol of why it’s great to be a part of this great country. The proud colors of America. The whites representing the purity of its first-class citizens looking to create opportunity and wealth for themselves. The blues brilliantly depicting the wondrous skies that we see with each rising sun that I want us and our future children to witness one day. And the red being… uh… oh, yes! Back when Sir Smythe Justice of Plymouth Rock once came over here with nothing but his boat and a dream and quickly eradicated the foreign menace, paving a road of gruesome blood to eventually be the foundation of building our country into the awesome superpower it is today! As I recall, he may or may not have also had his gun and a host of weird diseases foreign, and therefore deadly to the land's inhabitants.
With a disgruntled sigh, his kaiju partner in crime says nothing, simply deciding to let him have his moment.
CAPTAIN JUSTICE: We, sir, once we are through displaying our awesome talents as both a team and as monsters fighting on the side of good, we must traverse across this New Frontier we call home in order to conquer the demons. That, sir, is why I volunteered us to compete in the Bunkhouse Stampede!
Clenching his fists, he turns to face Ultrajira and puts said fist to his heart.
CAPTAIN JUSTICE: Rumor has it that the winner of said brawl may be the recipient of treasures beyond one’s wildest imagination. We face the other NFW competitors not as children of greed who would sell out their own mother for a nickel, but as children of justice, suckling from the teats of truth, feeding us with their awesome justice-y milk power, chock full of necessary nutrients like Vitamin D! The Hollywood Wrecking Crew have been running roughshod through the ranks of tag teams with the NFW Everett Memorial Tag Team Titles in tow, both flaunting their power, wealth, incredibly chiseled double chins and their artificially enhanced Diddly-Dingers in people’s faces! Jira, you know how I feel about Diddly-Dingers being waved around in my face.
Ultrajira says nothing. WAY too easy. Like, picking on James Varga easy.
CAPTAIN JUSTICE: But alas, my brother from another mother on the other side of the Pacific… we may have very well sealed our own death warrants!
Shrugging… and quite possibly against his better judgment, he lets his vociferous partner-in-crime continue.
CAPTAIN JUSTICE: During my reconnaissance missions to spy on the other competitors, I may have made a grievous error in underestimating how far and how low these people called our opponents are willing to stoop in order to achieve their own respectable goals out of this race! They speak of filth! They talk of all kinds of gross, horrid material of the lowest kind, even going so far as to… *Gasp*… talk about… UGH! I dare not repeat their filth, lest I wish to have my own mouth rinsed out with sulfuric acid of the highest potency!
Crumbling to his knees against the sidewalk, the torn hero slams a fist into the ground as he grits his teeth. Ultrajira tries his best to comfort Captain Justice, but also do it in such a way people won’t think he’s associated in any way, shape, form, or manner with this patriotic fruitcake.
CAPTAIN JUSTICE: And who are we, Jira? We are but servants of truth, justice, and the Japo-American way! We are held to higher standards, morals and principals than that of any and all opponents who stand across from us in that Bunkhouse Stampede. They speak with loosened tongues of the highest caliber, talking all kinds of smut and using a cornucopia of degrading insults, enough to make the most thick-skinned people have their feelings hurt. It’s enough to make my blood boil and my stomach turn!
Continuing to sob with his face buried in both hands, he sniffles for a minute as he looks to the skies.
CAPTAIN JUSTICE: If only I had traveled down the path of darkness, I, too, could conjure my inner demons and let loose my own fury upon the world! I want so bad for us to be able to slander our opponents. I want to be able to look James Varga in the eye and tell him that he sucks so hard, if he were on the radio, he’ll pull the waves back into the transmitters! How I long for the day I can walk up to that festering pimple on the backside of life and pop him until I squeezed every last ounce of puss and grime out of his scrawny body. But alas, then I, too, would succumb to the darkness that lives within his soul. I would see the lives of hundreds of bodies and possibly thousands more supporting characters flash before my very eyes! It would unleash never-ending sprays of venom and blood-curding screams in my brain until every last cell huddled up in the corner and die… at least, that’s how I’d perceive it.
By this point, Ultrajira looked around sheepishly, trying his best to wave off a couple of passers-by who are wondering who this costumed lunatic is sobbing in front of the building. The color in his face had gone away as he kept a hand on the shoulder of the Captain, still sobbing.
CAPTAIN JUSTICE: Jira, I’m afraid that we’ve not the fortitude to dare tell off a legend like Bloodhunt! This man isn’t just anybody making an appearance in NFW, this is a man who’s a former two-time NFW World Champion! A man who is hellbent on proving that our very own United States government is an egg containing a yolk full of conspiracies and he’s hankerin’ to bust it wide open! If we were of that dark side, sir, we could easily tell the guy to take off his tin-foil hat and finally stop locking himself in his basement, huffing many cans of paint while reading about the moon landing! We could show this man that the CHANGE Lord Obama spoke of wasn’t some ratty old punchline like “Come Help A Nigga Get Elected!” We could tell him that without him ranting about politics, he’d pretty much be a refrigerator… no heat.
With a heavy sigh, Justice looks down and frowns.
CAPTAIN JUSTICE: But alas, Ultrajira. We’re forever doomed to sit here and revel in our own fate. We’re forced to sit here and swallow the horrid and vulgar rhetoric being uttered by a gentleman by the name of Rich Mahogany. And because we fight on the side of good, I can’t even tell him the ironic thing is that they only way he’d even get so much as a clap from the audience would be if a prostitute he was with happened to be in attendance! But we shan’t do that. I won’t stoop to their level and I won’t be caught dead telling him that in this competition, he doesn’t register even on NASA’s satellite. Just so many things that we wouldn’t be caught dead saying. That is our fate. This is the career path we chose and now, we must suffer the consequences.
Now back to his feet, the Americanimal casts his gaze towards the heavens and nods.
CAPTAIN JUSTICE: But sweet Lady Liberty and… whatever… dragon thing Ultrajira here happens to worship…
The silent beast just sighs to himself while the Captain remains steadfast. It’s clear that despite his particular conundrum, it is not shaking him any longer.
CAPTAIN JUSTICE: One thing that we must not do is give into temptation. No, that’s the easy way out, sir. No matter how much I’d love to tell American Panda that he makes about as much sense as a Caucasian man in Afghanistan wearing an “I Heart America” t-shirt and that there is NOTHING patriotic about a black and white monster from Commie Country! Or even go so far as to tell Kelly Masters that he should really be covered with rainbow jimmies because he’s the most vanilla wrestler I’d ever laid my eyes on and his promo skills are about the same as listening to a bag of kittens in a trash compactor. No, sir, we will find a way to face these insurmountable odds. Because without us, Jira, the greatest evil that could ever occur on top of all that is for good men to sit idly by and do nothing. We will win this. We will persevere. We will no longer be subject to the Hollywood Wrecking Crew and their fake, artificially enhanced Diddly-Dingers being flaunted into the faces of the lower tax brackets! New Frontier, look out! We’re coming to clean up NFW and its halls one win at a time!
Finishing it off with a heroic pose, Captain Justice places both hands on his hips and fires off a smile so bright, it could be seen from space. While Ultrajira is off in the corner, silently praying for a new line of work, the cameraman can be heard clearing his voice.
STEVE: (off-camera) TALK.
CAPTAIN JUSTICE: (whispering through smiling teeth): What?
BEEF: (off-camera) Trash talk. You need give them trash talk or this piece won’t work, Captain!
The Americanimal paused for a moment, then snapped a finger. A very confident grin etched itself across his face.
CAPTAIN JUSTICE: Oh, yes! I haven’t forgotten why we came out here, Citizens Mega Job. Bloodhunt, Rich Mahogany, American Panda, Masters Varga, and anybody else who dare stand across us when that bell rings…
Your mothers are so stupid, they sit on TV and watch the couch!
STATIC
Unfortunately, we don’t really have the budget to produce such heroes and Christopher Nolan and Bryan Singer were too busy washing their hair to return our phone calls. Or so they say. So in the meantime you’ve got these guys…
Oh, ****…
It’s still days before we’re set to take the likes of NFW’s latest and possibly greatest card. The fiftieth milestone of the New Frontier and “The Great American Smokeout. Just outside the TD Garden, still days before showtime, but we’re still privy to seeing the spectacular red, white, and blue motif being pulled off. The card from top to bottom is a virtual who’s who of Sports Entertainment and Professional Wrestling phenomenon. Right now, the inner walls of the TD Garden are empty but standing just outside its walls, letting a mammoth hand rest against the New Frontier Wrestling poster is none other than one of its newest tag team prospects, Captain Justice.
Rocking a United States flag-themed body suit complete with a mask built in, the burly superhero keeps a hand on the poster, taking in the wonderful art adorning the poster that seems to touch his heart in such a way that if Scarlett Johansson were to touch a male, they’d go, “Oh, yeah. That’s nice.”
CAPTAIN JUSTICE: (whispering to himself, wiping a tear from his eye) Isn’t she beautiful, Ultrajira?
Behind him stood a man of about equal height but with a much stouter frame. The man had a clean-shaven (short, not bald) head and rocked a pair of black pants and shoes with a white shirt. The man’s face was also caked with various tattoos and art form, one of a dragon, two of what appeared to be moths, one of a cat’s claw and two tattoos beneath him. Shaking his head and looking completely uncomfortable in the clothing he was in, he shrugged.
CAPTAIN JUSTICE: Jira, what we have here is a proud symbol of why it’s great to be a part of this great country. The proud colors of America. The whites representing the purity of its first-class citizens looking to create opportunity and wealth for themselves. The blues brilliantly depicting the wondrous skies that we see with each rising sun that I want us and our future children to witness one day. And the red being… uh… oh, yes! Back when Sir Smythe Justice of Plymouth Rock once came over here with nothing but his boat and a dream and quickly eradicated the foreign menace, paving a road of gruesome blood to eventually be the foundation of building our country into the awesome superpower it is today! As I recall, he may or may not have also had his gun and a host of weird diseases foreign, and therefore deadly to the land's inhabitants.
With a disgruntled sigh, his kaiju partner in crime says nothing, simply deciding to let him have his moment.
CAPTAIN JUSTICE: We, sir, once we are through displaying our awesome talents as both a team and as monsters fighting on the side of good, we must traverse across this New Frontier we call home in order to conquer the demons. That, sir, is why I volunteered us to compete in the Bunkhouse Stampede!
Clenching his fists, he turns to face Ultrajira and puts said fist to his heart.
CAPTAIN JUSTICE: Rumor has it that the winner of said brawl may be the recipient of treasures beyond one’s wildest imagination. We face the other NFW competitors not as children of greed who would sell out their own mother for a nickel, but as children of justice, suckling from the teats of truth, feeding us with their awesome justice-y milk power, chock full of necessary nutrients like Vitamin D! The Hollywood Wrecking Crew have been running roughshod through the ranks of tag teams with the NFW Everett Memorial Tag Team Titles in tow, both flaunting their power, wealth, incredibly chiseled double chins and their artificially enhanced Diddly-Dingers in people’s faces! Jira, you know how I feel about Diddly-Dingers being waved around in my face.
Ultrajira says nothing. WAY too easy. Like, picking on James Varga easy.
CAPTAIN JUSTICE: But alas, my brother from another mother on the other side of the Pacific… we may have very well sealed our own death warrants!
Shrugging… and quite possibly against his better judgment, he lets his vociferous partner-in-crime continue.
CAPTAIN JUSTICE: During my reconnaissance missions to spy on the other competitors, I may have made a grievous error in underestimating how far and how low these people called our opponents are willing to stoop in order to achieve their own respectable goals out of this race! They speak of filth! They talk of all kinds of gross, horrid material of the lowest kind, even going so far as to… *Gasp*… talk about… UGH! I dare not repeat their filth, lest I wish to have my own mouth rinsed out with sulfuric acid of the highest potency!
Crumbling to his knees against the sidewalk, the torn hero slams a fist into the ground as he grits his teeth. Ultrajira tries his best to comfort Captain Justice, but also do it in such a way people won’t think he’s associated in any way, shape, form, or manner with this patriotic fruitcake.
CAPTAIN JUSTICE: And who are we, Jira? We are but servants of truth, justice, and the Japo-American way! We are held to higher standards, morals and principals than that of any and all opponents who stand across from us in that Bunkhouse Stampede. They speak with loosened tongues of the highest caliber, talking all kinds of smut and using a cornucopia of degrading insults, enough to make the most thick-skinned people have their feelings hurt. It’s enough to make my blood boil and my stomach turn!
Continuing to sob with his face buried in both hands, he sniffles for a minute as he looks to the skies.
CAPTAIN JUSTICE: If only I had traveled down the path of darkness, I, too, could conjure my inner demons and let loose my own fury upon the world! I want so bad for us to be able to slander our opponents. I want to be able to look James Varga in the eye and tell him that he sucks so hard, if he were on the radio, he’ll pull the waves back into the transmitters! How I long for the day I can walk up to that festering pimple on the backside of life and pop him until I squeezed every last ounce of puss and grime out of his scrawny body. But alas, then I, too, would succumb to the darkness that lives within his soul. I would see the lives of hundreds of bodies and possibly thousands more supporting characters flash before my very eyes! It would unleash never-ending sprays of venom and blood-curding screams in my brain until every last cell huddled up in the corner and die… at least, that’s how I’d perceive it.
By this point, Ultrajira looked around sheepishly, trying his best to wave off a couple of passers-by who are wondering who this costumed lunatic is sobbing in front of the building. The color in his face had gone away as he kept a hand on the shoulder of the Captain, still sobbing.
CAPTAIN JUSTICE: Jira, I’m afraid that we’ve not the fortitude to dare tell off a legend like Bloodhunt! This man isn’t just anybody making an appearance in NFW, this is a man who’s a former two-time NFW World Champion! A man who is hellbent on proving that our very own United States government is an egg containing a yolk full of conspiracies and he’s hankerin’ to bust it wide open! If we were of that dark side, sir, we could easily tell the guy to take off his tin-foil hat and finally stop locking himself in his basement, huffing many cans of paint while reading about the moon landing! We could show this man that the CHANGE Lord Obama spoke of wasn’t some ratty old punchline like “Come Help A Nigga Get Elected!” We could tell him that without him ranting about politics, he’d pretty much be a refrigerator… no heat.
With a heavy sigh, Justice looks down and frowns.
CAPTAIN JUSTICE: But alas, Ultrajira. We’re forever doomed to sit here and revel in our own fate. We’re forced to sit here and swallow the horrid and vulgar rhetoric being uttered by a gentleman by the name of Rich Mahogany. And because we fight on the side of good, I can’t even tell him the ironic thing is that they only way he’d even get so much as a clap from the audience would be if a prostitute he was with happened to be in attendance! But we shan’t do that. I won’t stoop to their level and I won’t be caught dead telling him that in this competition, he doesn’t register even on NASA’s satellite. Just so many things that we wouldn’t be caught dead saying. That is our fate. This is the career path we chose and now, we must suffer the consequences.
Now back to his feet, the Americanimal casts his gaze towards the heavens and nods.
CAPTAIN JUSTICE: But sweet Lady Liberty and… whatever… dragon thing Ultrajira here happens to worship…
The silent beast just sighs to himself while the Captain remains steadfast. It’s clear that despite his particular conundrum, it is not shaking him any longer.
CAPTAIN JUSTICE: One thing that we must not do is give into temptation. No, that’s the easy way out, sir. No matter how much I’d love to tell American Panda that he makes about as much sense as a Caucasian man in Afghanistan wearing an “I Heart America” t-shirt and that there is NOTHING patriotic about a black and white monster from Commie Country! Or even go so far as to tell Kelly Masters that he should really be covered with rainbow jimmies because he’s the most vanilla wrestler I’d ever laid my eyes on and his promo skills are about the same as listening to a bag of kittens in a trash compactor. No, sir, we will find a way to face these insurmountable odds. Because without us, Jira, the greatest evil that could ever occur on top of all that is for good men to sit idly by and do nothing. We will win this. We will persevere. We will no longer be subject to the Hollywood Wrecking Crew and their fake, artificially enhanced Diddly-Dingers being flaunted into the faces of the lower tax brackets! New Frontier, look out! We’re coming to clean up NFW and its halls one win at a time!
Finishing it off with a heroic pose, Captain Justice places both hands on his hips and fires off a smile so bright, it could be seen from space. While Ultrajira is off in the corner, silently praying for a new line of work, the cameraman can be heard clearing his voice.
STEVE: (off-camera) TALK.
CAPTAIN JUSTICE: (whispering through smiling teeth): What?
BEEF: (off-camera) Trash talk. You need give them trash talk or this piece won’t work, Captain!
The Americanimal paused for a moment, then snapped a finger. A very confident grin etched itself across his face.
CAPTAIN JUSTICE: Oh, yes! I haven’t forgotten why we came out here, Citizens Mega Job. Bloodhunt, Rich Mahogany, American Panda, Masters Varga, and anybody else who dare stand across us when that bell rings…
Your mothers are so stupid, they sit on TV and watch the couch!
STATIC
The Great Eye
I came to cut you up
- Joined
- Jan 29, 2004
- Messages
- 1,337
- Points
- 0
(FADEIN: A darkened room, Bloodhunt stands in front of old school spool to spool film projector.)
BLOODHUNT: This old baby, oh how I'd run the Zapruder Film through, again and again...All the little details, all the little...Events...It's so horrible how cold and unfeeling a man can become, watching another man being brutally murdered before his very eyes...But you see it 50, 100, 500 times, and it's not even like it's real...Oh the look of shock and horror on Jackie's face is real every time. The fact that every time it happens she crawls on the back of the car to retrieve a piece of her husband's brain.
Can you imagine that, how horrible, how beyond a nightmare would that moment be, you're trying to gather up a piece of brain from your spouse, who's just been murdered in your arms...
And we know this is what happened, we know this is proof of a shot from the front and a conspiracy, why? Because John Connally and his wife Nelly were in the seat in front of Jackie. Mr. Connally was busy trying to not die himself having just had a bullet rip through his chest, but before he blacked out, he heard Jackie, as did Nellie, and you know what she said?
"They murdered my husband, my God, I have his brains in my hands."
So either you have to apply logic and reason and accept that Jackie crawled out of the car, grabbed some brain off the back of the car, returned to the car and said this...Or you have to live in the land of unicorns and pixies and say that she just left the car for no frigging reason...That she returned to the car of her own will...Mind you, Clint Hill, the Secret Service agent who 'raced' to the car...Never makes contact with her...Never 'pushes' her back into the car as the Lone Gunman idiots claim...And that she then sits down next to her dead husband with his head blown off and blood everywhere, and just decides for fun to grab some loose brain matter off the back seat and hold it...
See, there's logic, and then there's stupidity, and Varga, you're stupid...Call me a jobber, say I'm trying to mooch heat. I didn't know you from Adam. I got a series of phone calls to put you on a spine board, that's it...I'm not here to "get over" on you, I'm here to get paid because of you...That wasn't the plan to start, the plan at the start was to just yell at birthers, get a cheap boo for being an NFW old timer, and go on my way...
But now, with a payday that doesn't suck staring me in the eye, it's time to put you on your ass Varga...It's time to send you out of the ring on a spineboard...And I'm not important, you're mad at me? Be mad at the people who paid me to do this...I'm just the tool, to be angry at me is to be outraged at a gun, or a bullet...I'm just the one carrying out the action, others, who have paid me very well, have been the ones who wanted this action carried out...
You've made enemies Varga...Like Kennedy...Powerful enemies...It's why no truth ever came out of that mess in Dallas, why no truth ever will...You want to blame me? Blame me? I'm just a patsy like Oswald, I'm the public face of the plot to put you down...A footnote in a history book for people to jeer and hate, while the power behind me continues on, unnoticed, unstopped...
You think you'll destroy the NFW, just like Kennedy thought he'd break the CIA...You'll find that such groups, such organizations don't fall so easy...They fight back...And the vast majority of the time...They win...
You said something about 35 titles? (Smiles) that's just creepy you would say that Varga...JFK...35th President of the USA...Maybe when you touch down at Logan, they'll be a nice open topped limo waiting to ride you into the arena...Just let you feel like the man you share so much with...
And just like him...You will be ended...With a Headshot...
(FADEOUT)
BLOODHUNT: This old baby, oh how I'd run the Zapruder Film through, again and again...All the little details, all the little...Events...It's so horrible how cold and unfeeling a man can become, watching another man being brutally murdered before his very eyes...But you see it 50, 100, 500 times, and it's not even like it's real...Oh the look of shock and horror on Jackie's face is real every time. The fact that every time it happens she crawls on the back of the car to retrieve a piece of her husband's brain.
Can you imagine that, how horrible, how beyond a nightmare would that moment be, you're trying to gather up a piece of brain from your spouse, who's just been murdered in your arms...
And we know this is what happened, we know this is proof of a shot from the front and a conspiracy, why? Because John Connally and his wife Nelly were in the seat in front of Jackie. Mr. Connally was busy trying to not die himself having just had a bullet rip through his chest, but before he blacked out, he heard Jackie, as did Nellie, and you know what she said?
"They murdered my husband, my God, I have his brains in my hands."
So either you have to apply logic and reason and accept that Jackie crawled out of the car, grabbed some brain off the back of the car, returned to the car and said this...Or you have to live in the land of unicorns and pixies and say that she just left the car for no frigging reason...That she returned to the car of her own will...Mind you, Clint Hill, the Secret Service agent who 'raced' to the car...Never makes contact with her...Never 'pushes' her back into the car as the Lone Gunman idiots claim...And that she then sits down next to her dead husband with his head blown off and blood everywhere, and just decides for fun to grab some loose brain matter off the back seat and hold it...
See, there's logic, and then there's stupidity, and Varga, you're stupid...Call me a jobber, say I'm trying to mooch heat. I didn't know you from Adam. I got a series of phone calls to put you on a spine board, that's it...I'm not here to "get over" on you, I'm here to get paid because of you...That wasn't the plan to start, the plan at the start was to just yell at birthers, get a cheap boo for being an NFW old timer, and go on my way...
But now, with a payday that doesn't suck staring me in the eye, it's time to put you on your ass Varga...It's time to send you out of the ring on a spineboard...And I'm not important, you're mad at me? Be mad at the people who paid me to do this...I'm just the tool, to be angry at me is to be outraged at a gun, or a bullet...I'm just the one carrying out the action, others, who have paid me very well, have been the ones who wanted this action carried out...
You've made enemies Varga...Like Kennedy...Powerful enemies...It's why no truth ever came out of that mess in Dallas, why no truth ever will...You want to blame me? Blame me? I'm just a patsy like Oswald, I'm the public face of the plot to put you down...A footnote in a history book for people to jeer and hate, while the power behind me continues on, unnoticed, unstopped...
You think you'll destroy the NFW, just like Kennedy thought he'd break the CIA...You'll find that such groups, such organizations don't fall so easy...They fight back...And the vast majority of the time...They win...
You said something about 35 titles? (Smiles) that's just creepy you would say that Varga...JFK...35th President of the USA...Maybe when you touch down at Logan, they'll be a nice open topped limo waiting to ride you into the arena...Just let you feel like the man you share so much with...
And just like him...You will be ended...With a Headshot...
(FADEOUT)
Frozen Atlantic
League Member
- Joined
- Jul 4, 2007
- Messages
- 202
- Points
- 0
- Age
- 38
Ch-Ch-Ch... Ah Screw It.
“There is nothing like returning to a place that reminds unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself have altered.”
- Nelson Mandela
"I don't feel like I've missed much."
No background music this time, just Teresa Quaranta in the town hall of a place bloggy twittery people will soon deduce is Sao Paulo, Brazil. Her NFW T-Shirt (and the snazzy high dev production values) are the only real sign she's cutting a promo. There's a crowd taking pictures for reasons we aren't going to talk about for a while.
"I don't just mean the trash-talk for this match, of course... I mean New Frontier Wrestling in general. There's like eight different revolutions going on. Impulse is still irrationally yet somehow adorably idealistic. Eddie Mayfield is still a dick. Joe the Plumber, goddess help us all, is still NFW Champion. Somebody wants to murder James Varga. Despite all that sameyness, I think it would be a bit remiss of me to just step in here like it's another day at the office.
Let's face it, my last few months in NFW were a little hectic, a little personal - year long blood feud this, glass cage match that, Ric Flair promo the other thing. I was so consumed with my personal well being, sanity, survival, that I never had a chance to sit at home, to watch this show, to see the big picture. And it's a great picture. The New Frontier's marching on, stronger than ever, and the roster you're going to see at Crash 50 is the best roster from top to bottom that I've seen in any promotion. We were a promotion that was in serious danger of having David Tui being a person of consequence around here, and we had lots and lots and lots and lots of delays and stumbles along the way.
But we were patient. And we were passionate. All of us, from the locker room to the crew behind the scenes to each and every person who bought tickets to these shows and passed out flyers and watched those big moments, we all walked bravely into... dare I say it? A New Frontier. And now? Well, now I'm back. And if you enjoyed those moments, if you laughed at the promos, if you gasped at the death defying dives, if you told your friends about that five star match (yeah, i think i was in a couple of those)... if you had belief... if you rode that rollercoaster ride with me... then it's time for one more ride into one... more... destination."
It goes without saying, but it gets said anyway.
"The New Frontier Wrestling World Heavyweight Championship."
"Is it going to be a smooth ride on a Japanese bullet train, coasting breezily and easily over the bodies of weak opposition who can barely let out a dramatic NOOOOO as they're run over? Unlikely. This is going to be a rocky road. It's a road with guys like Steve Knox, a man who, my own obvious distractions at the time aside, I haven't beaten yet. It's a road with Felix Red, WFW Champion, one of the all-time greats, and someone I'd put above pretty much anybody who's going in the first round of your pro-wrestling fantasy draft."
A smirk and a roll of the eyes.
"It's a road with a man who's spent half of the buildup to the biggest match of his career talking about me, despite the fact that this is the first time I've devoted a complete sentence to Sean Stevens since making him tap out at Wrestlestock a really long time ago. Hey Sean, really glad I was able to form such a deep dark shadow over your conscious mind, and I appreciate the shoutouts, but you have a wrestling match with 4 other people and maybe you should focus on them instead of proclaiming to the heavens that I owned you so bad that you had to snap my leg to keep from suffering an emotional breakdown.
Ever heard the saying "Don't think of an elephant?" You are subliminally reinforcing how much of a total failure you are in a fed where the likes of Jared Wells and Larry Tact and Ice Tre aren't around for you to showcase your "dominance". I could be EPW champion if I felt like it. So could Steve Knox. So could Impulse. Know why none of us are over there? Because Empire Pro Is A Joke, that's why. Luckily, I'm here to explain your suckitude superliminally: you are one of the most awful promo "artists" ever to main event for a national promotion, Kin Hiroshi included, and for all your annoying emphasized words and C level trash talk and boring boring boring recountings of ancient history, you have zero self awareness and even less grasp of your opponents motivations and psychology. I don't remember promising you any love, prison-style or otherwise, the last time we met, but you seem mighty comfortable with the buttsex humor, walking as you are into what I think would be a pretty textbook gangrape scenario in Boston.
I'm not sure what you did to get into the Crash 50 main event, but you better not drop the soap while you're enjoying the rewards. And there's Joe the Plumber, who, like it or not, believe it or not, is still NFW Champion. We'll talk about him later. Trust me.
Is a field like that one going to be easy to clear? No. But anybody who has seen me work knows this isn't exactly going to be a heartwarming underdog story either. I wreck people. Emotionally, physically, mentally, check check check. It's in the records. And while I'm going to talk plenty about how I'm awesome, gonna kick people in the face, et cetera. I'm already in a stage of my young career where I wouldn't have to if I didn't want to.
Your ears can hear things after all. And your eyes can see, can't they? And you can tell the difference between the genuine article and a newbie out for bragging rites, right? Beautiful. You know what to expect from the High Priestess by now. A little carnage, a little chaos, a nice big dollop of postmodern pretentious hipster irony- the usual fun times.
Of course, there's still a very big first step I need to make before I can take my vaulting leap to my rightful place in line for the title. And that, future minions, is winning a match known as the Bunkhouse Stampede. I didn't need to hit Wikipedia to know what the drill was. Something like a rumble match, except with a lot more pointy objects. So much of a match like this comes down to random chance - you can certainly improve your chances in a melee like this by keeping aware of your opponenets and generally knowing how to handle yourself, but no matter how good you are you can't really guarantee a win - Dickdick Dingalingpenis might bite your ankle twenty minutes in, and over the top you go. But I can say this. Looking at the lineup so far, I like my chances.
We'll have plenty of time to talk about who, hows and whys, I guess. And usually we're very subtle and artsy with these things, but let's bring it to the forefront just this once."
Teresa pulls a card out of her pocket.
"The Judgment sign represents resolution to a long postponed problem. It also symbolizes resurrection - the return after a lengthy absence."
The smile's probably going to get twisted over the course this match, into extreme condescension or outright mockery. But for the first promo at least, it's a real one.
"I'm looking forward to it."
*~*~*~*~*
“There is nothing like returning to a place that reminds unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself have altered.”
- Nelson Mandela
*~*~*~*~*
"I don't feel like I've missed much."
No background music this time, just Teresa Quaranta in the town hall of a place bloggy twittery people will soon deduce is Sao Paulo, Brazil. Her NFW T-Shirt (and the snazzy high dev production values) are the only real sign she's cutting a promo. There's a crowd taking pictures for reasons we aren't going to talk about for a while.
"I don't just mean the trash-talk for this match, of course... I mean New Frontier Wrestling in general. There's like eight different revolutions going on. Impulse is still irrationally yet somehow adorably idealistic. Eddie Mayfield is still a dick. Joe the Plumber, goddess help us all, is still NFW Champion. Somebody wants to murder James Varga. Despite all that sameyness, I think it would be a bit remiss of me to just step in here like it's another day at the office.
Let's face it, my last few months in NFW were a little hectic, a little personal - year long blood feud this, glass cage match that, Ric Flair promo the other thing. I was so consumed with my personal well being, sanity, survival, that I never had a chance to sit at home, to watch this show, to see the big picture. And it's a great picture. The New Frontier's marching on, stronger than ever, and the roster you're going to see at Crash 50 is the best roster from top to bottom that I've seen in any promotion. We were a promotion that was in serious danger of having David Tui being a person of consequence around here, and we had lots and lots and lots and lots of delays and stumbles along the way.
But we were patient. And we were passionate. All of us, from the locker room to the crew behind the scenes to each and every person who bought tickets to these shows and passed out flyers and watched those big moments, we all walked bravely into... dare I say it? A New Frontier. And now? Well, now I'm back. And if you enjoyed those moments, if you laughed at the promos, if you gasped at the death defying dives, if you told your friends about that five star match (yeah, i think i was in a couple of those)... if you had belief... if you rode that rollercoaster ride with me... then it's time for one more ride into one... more... destination."
It goes without saying, but it gets said anyway.
"The New Frontier Wrestling World Heavyweight Championship."
"Is it going to be a smooth ride on a Japanese bullet train, coasting breezily and easily over the bodies of weak opposition who can barely let out a dramatic NOOOOO as they're run over? Unlikely. This is going to be a rocky road. It's a road with guys like Steve Knox, a man who, my own obvious distractions at the time aside, I haven't beaten yet. It's a road with Felix Red, WFW Champion, one of the all-time greats, and someone I'd put above pretty much anybody who's going in the first round of your pro-wrestling fantasy draft."
A smirk and a roll of the eyes.
"It's a road with a man who's spent half of the buildup to the biggest match of his career talking about me, despite the fact that this is the first time I've devoted a complete sentence to Sean Stevens since making him tap out at Wrestlestock a really long time ago. Hey Sean, really glad I was able to form such a deep dark shadow over your conscious mind, and I appreciate the shoutouts, but you have a wrestling match with 4 other people and maybe you should focus on them instead of proclaiming to the heavens that I owned you so bad that you had to snap my leg to keep from suffering an emotional breakdown.
Ever heard the saying "Don't think of an elephant?" You are subliminally reinforcing how much of a total failure you are in a fed where the likes of Jared Wells and Larry Tact and Ice Tre aren't around for you to showcase your "dominance". I could be EPW champion if I felt like it. So could Steve Knox. So could Impulse. Know why none of us are over there? Because Empire Pro Is A Joke, that's why. Luckily, I'm here to explain your suckitude superliminally: you are one of the most awful promo "artists" ever to main event for a national promotion, Kin Hiroshi included, and for all your annoying emphasized words and C level trash talk and boring boring boring recountings of ancient history, you have zero self awareness and even less grasp of your opponents motivations and psychology. I don't remember promising you any love, prison-style or otherwise, the last time we met, but you seem mighty comfortable with the buttsex humor, walking as you are into what I think would be a pretty textbook gangrape scenario in Boston.
I'm not sure what you did to get into the Crash 50 main event, but you better not drop the soap while you're enjoying the rewards. And there's Joe the Plumber, who, like it or not, believe it or not, is still NFW Champion. We'll talk about him later. Trust me.
Is a field like that one going to be easy to clear? No. But anybody who has seen me work knows this isn't exactly going to be a heartwarming underdog story either. I wreck people. Emotionally, physically, mentally, check check check. It's in the records. And while I'm going to talk plenty about how I'm awesome, gonna kick people in the face, et cetera. I'm already in a stage of my young career where I wouldn't have to if I didn't want to.
Your ears can hear things after all. And your eyes can see, can't they? And you can tell the difference between the genuine article and a newbie out for bragging rites, right? Beautiful. You know what to expect from the High Priestess by now. A little carnage, a little chaos, a nice big dollop of postmodern pretentious hipster irony- the usual fun times.
Of course, there's still a very big first step I need to make before I can take my vaulting leap to my rightful place in line for the title. And that, future minions, is winning a match known as the Bunkhouse Stampede. I didn't need to hit Wikipedia to know what the drill was. Something like a rumble match, except with a lot more pointy objects. So much of a match like this comes down to random chance - you can certainly improve your chances in a melee like this by keeping aware of your opponenets and generally knowing how to handle yourself, but no matter how good you are you can't really guarantee a win - Dickdick Dingalingpenis might bite your ankle twenty minutes in, and over the top you go. But I can say this. Looking at the lineup so far, I like my chances.
We'll have plenty of time to talk about who, hows and whys, I guess. And usually we're very subtle and artsy with these things, but let's bring it to the forefront just this once."
Teresa pulls a card out of her pocket.
"The Judgment sign represents resolution to a long postponed problem. It also symbolizes resurrection - the return after a lengthy absence."
The smile's probably going to get twisted over the course this match, into extreme condescension or outright mockery. But for the first promo at least, it's a real one.
"I'm looking forward to it."
Evil James
League Member
[FADE IN: Varga appears on the screen sitting on a couch. He’s wearing a Black and White New World Order T-shirt and jeans. He has a smirk on his face as he begins to speak.]
Varga: Okay folks, it appears to me that all of you sad, pathetic fans aren’t the only ones sad and pathetic in NFW. I mean, is this the best you guys could come up with?
First off Terence…nah, you’re not even worth it. I’d rather watch Unicorn Mask and Dos Equis spooning backstage like they normally do than even listen to you rant like Rush Limbaugh on Oxycontin again.
Now to my main source of material, the retired geezer by the name of Bloodhunt. A man who probably gets off at night by watching the JFK footage over and over. You’re a sick, vile, perverted freak just like all the other “heroes” that these mindless zombies cheer for.
You’re paid to take me out yet do I give a shit? No. It’s all a bunch of hollow threats. Psychological mind games played by a man who didn’t even remember where he put his car keys this morning.
Go ahead, try and send me out on a spine board. I’ll send you out in a BODYBAG right to cemetery. Your career’s been dead for awhile so I might as well finish the job and make you a corpse before you do the same to me.
You think I’m mad at you? HAHAHA! YOU FOOL! Why would I want to be mad at you?! What would I do without you? I’m a sociopath maniac! I hate everybody! Let me put it this way.
[Varga motions to his chest.]
Varga: Outside it’s all skin and flesh but inside there’s nothing but circuitry and wires. I have no heart, I have no soul, and the only emotion I have is hate. I have no quarrel with you, just with other idiots infesting NFW like a cockroach colony.
As usual it’s a conspiracy against me so thank you for confirming that old man. You also confirm that you have a plan coming into the match, too. Picked up on that. Like I said, underestimating me is a BIG mistake.
Speaking of plans, I have one too. Then, after that, you start rambling like Fox Mulder again talking about conspiracies. Although going by your age, you might be the Smoking Man.
Try and take me down, old man. I’m willing to take you down in the most boring, snore inducing fashion I can imagine. That’s my plan. To ruin every match I’m in just for the hell of it.
From the way you’re talking, you must be a goon for Mayfield. And actually the exact number is thirty seven so I guess I’m not going to be assassinated…I’m going to be impeached.
As far as destroying NFW goes, I’m going to finish the job one borefest of a match at a time. Now regarding the match ending with a headshot, I don’t think so. It’s going to end with you breathing your last breath...
[Varga smiles deviously.]
Varga: Teresa Quaranta is also throwing her hat into the mix. Nice to see someone as pessimistic and underutilized as I am in this God forsaken match.
This is a show filled with hypocrites and liars, much like the audience that will be attending the show. You’re going to be tough competition for me. Hopefully Rich Mahogany doesn’t ass rape you at some point during the match.
[He laughs before going on to his next target.]
Varga: And lastly we have Captain Justice, another pathetic attempt at a marketing a do-gooder for all the pot smoking eight year olds in the audience.
You’re nothing but a Captain America wanna-be partnered up with a cross between Dragon Dragon and Minya. You want to be the bastion of truth, justice, and the American way when you fail to realize that America is nothing but a wild, savage wasteland.
This country is filled with scum that you wish to appease with your pitiful attempts at hero work. You talk about being all good and whatnot and yet you use lame jokes that you read off of popsicle sticks at my expense.
The good news is you’re the only one in this whole match who realizes my potential for full scale destruction. The darkness inside me is NOTHING compared to the darkness that has taken over the nation that you love.
Darkness is a part of everyday life. Those of us like me who embrace it because we see the truth of reality. And people like you deny it. If you’re not happy with reality, then maybe you’re not happy with yourself. That leads to grown men dressing up in costumes everyday much like yourself.
Speaking of costumes, I have one last thing to say. There is a match on this card that has a Lucha Libre mask removal stipulation. What the fuck kind of shit is that? Cameron Cruise is in it and I feel sorry for him.
Now mind you, I don’t like him but he’s stuck in a match beneath his talents much like I am against these horndogs, super heroes, and old geezers. Cruise should be on the upper card but instead is languishing in a shitbox War Games match.
So Cruise, I am going to win this match as a tribute to you and the other mishandled talents in this industry. I’m going to tear this place down. Speaking in Captain Justice terms, if this was Gotham City, then I would be the Joker. I’m the Agent of Chaos in this match.
And you’re all gonna burn.
[Fade to Black]
Varga: Okay folks, it appears to me that all of you sad, pathetic fans aren’t the only ones sad and pathetic in NFW. I mean, is this the best you guys could come up with?
First off Terence…nah, you’re not even worth it. I’d rather watch Unicorn Mask and Dos Equis spooning backstage like they normally do than even listen to you rant like Rush Limbaugh on Oxycontin again.
Now to my main source of material, the retired geezer by the name of Bloodhunt. A man who probably gets off at night by watching the JFK footage over and over. You’re a sick, vile, perverted freak just like all the other “heroes” that these mindless zombies cheer for.
You’re paid to take me out yet do I give a shit? No. It’s all a bunch of hollow threats. Psychological mind games played by a man who didn’t even remember where he put his car keys this morning.
Go ahead, try and send me out on a spine board. I’ll send you out in a BODYBAG right to cemetery. Your career’s been dead for awhile so I might as well finish the job and make you a corpse before you do the same to me.
You think I’m mad at you? HAHAHA! YOU FOOL! Why would I want to be mad at you?! What would I do without you? I’m a sociopath maniac! I hate everybody! Let me put it this way.
[Varga motions to his chest.]
Varga: Outside it’s all skin and flesh but inside there’s nothing but circuitry and wires. I have no heart, I have no soul, and the only emotion I have is hate. I have no quarrel with you, just with other idiots infesting NFW like a cockroach colony.
As usual it’s a conspiracy against me so thank you for confirming that old man. You also confirm that you have a plan coming into the match, too. Picked up on that. Like I said, underestimating me is a BIG mistake.
Speaking of plans, I have one too. Then, after that, you start rambling like Fox Mulder again talking about conspiracies. Although going by your age, you might be the Smoking Man.
Try and take me down, old man. I’m willing to take you down in the most boring, snore inducing fashion I can imagine. That’s my plan. To ruin every match I’m in just for the hell of it.
From the way you’re talking, you must be a goon for Mayfield. And actually the exact number is thirty seven so I guess I’m not going to be assassinated…I’m going to be impeached.
As far as destroying NFW goes, I’m going to finish the job one borefest of a match at a time. Now regarding the match ending with a headshot, I don’t think so. It’s going to end with you breathing your last breath...
[Varga smiles deviously.]
Varga: Teresa Quaranta is also throwing her hat into the mix. Nice to see someone as pessimistic and underutilized as I am in this God forsaken match.
This is a show filled with hypocrites and liars, much like the audience that will be attending the show. You’re going to be tough competition for me. Hopefully Rich Mahogany doesn’t ass rape you at some point during the match.
[He laughs before going on to his next target.]
Varga: And lastly we have Captain Justice, another pathetic attempt at a marketing a do-gooder for all the pot smoking eight year olds in the audience.
You’re nothing but a Captain America wanna-be partnered up with a cross between Dragon Dragon and Minya. You want to be the bastion of truth, justice, and the American way when you fail to realize that America is nothing but a wild, savage wasteland.
This country is filled with scum that you wish to appease with your pitiful attempts at hero work. You talk about being all good and whatnot and yet you use lame jokes that you read off of popsicle sticks at my expense.
The good news is you’re the only one in this whole match who realizes my potential for full scale destruction. The darkness inside me is NOTHING compared to the darkness that has taken over the nation that you love.
Darkness is a part of everyday life. Those of us like me who embrace it because we see the truth of reality. And people like you deny it. If you’re not happy with reality, then maybe you’re not happy with yourself. That leads to grown men dressing up in costumes everyday much like yourself.
Speaking of costumes, I have one last thing to say. There is a match on this card that has a Lucha Libre mask removal stipulation. What the fuck kind of shit is that? Cameron Cruise is in it and I feel sorry for him.
Now mind you, I don’t like him but he’s stuck in a match beneath his talents much like I am against these horndogs, super heroes, and old geezers. Cruise should be on the upper card but instead is languishing in a shitbox War Games match.
So Cruise, I am going to win this match as a tribute to you and the other mishandled talents in this industry. I’m going to tear this place down. Speaking in Captain Justice terms, if this was Gotham City, then I would be the Joker. I’m the Agent of Chaos in this match.
And you’re all gonna burn.
[Fade to Black]
Biron
League Member
- Joined
- Aug 8, 2007
- Messages
- 644
- Points
- 16
(FADE-IN: To KELLY MASTERS, clean shaven and blond locks wet with perspiration, standing inside the universal gym he added on to his home in La Crosse, Wisconsin, wearing gray Adidas sweatpants and a sweat-soaked, black KING OF SUBMISSIONS Tee which clings to his broad shoulders and thick chest. A generic white gym towel rests on his left shoulder and, over that shoulder, you can see several unrecognizable faces are working through their circuit training. MASTERS rubs his hands together at sternum level, revealing wrists wrapped in white athletic tape and forearms and biceps glistening with sweat from a hard workout earlier, as the occasional plate or dumbbell clatters after falling to the gym floor in the background. MASTERS is smirking slightly, but his demeanor says he's got a bone to pick.)
MASTERS: "A long time ago, before I ever suplexed anybody on their head, an old coach of mine told me, 'Measure twice, cut once'. It's an old carpenter's sayin'. Precision over speed, quality over quantity. Less is more, and sometimes more is less. I figured I'd do a handful of ya a favor and pass that wisdom along because you just don't GET IT. All the talking your mouth can handle doesn't bring you any closer to winning that Bunkhouse Stampede. Maybe, that's just me. I'd rather spend less time in front of this camera and more time working in the gym. (quarter neck turn and head tilt back toward the gym) Call me old-fashioned, but I always thought that's where the WORK got done. Nowadays, wrestlers sit in front of a camera, cut ten or fifteen promos, and call it a week's work. That just ain't me, can't do it. Check my answerin' machine, which I'm tossin' out the window after Crash 50, and Fiona Love is on RED ALERT tryin' to find me 'cause apparently I've got some video to watch and it's not match tape, yanno, something that MATTERS. Instead, it's ten pointless videos with the usual BAD jokes, CLOWN costumes, INANE ramblings, and, of course, Bloodhunt's (shakes his head) conspiracy theories."
(MASTERS folds his arms across his chest, letting the last line sink in.)
MASTERS: "I'm not interested in jaw jackin' or runnin' anybody into the ground, but I'll speak my piece. Bloodhunt, two-time NFW Champion, nobody can ever take that away from ya, but you and James Varga are headed down the wrong road, my friend. Hunt, I don't know your reasonin' for entering the Bunkhouse, maybe for one last go, which I'd be happy to give ya, or maybe it's just to take out Varga. Either way, I'd be worryin' less about each other an' more about the REST of the field. Varga thinks he's gonna ruin NFW with his crap wrestling and boring promos? (grins) What's changed? I'd be more concerned with Teresa Quaranta showin' up if I were you two. Hell, she's beaten a buncha people that she reminded us of right away. Of course, none 'a those people are in THIS match. Seems like the field is focused on their own personal agendas and histories instead of on what really matters ... the Bunkhouse Stampede. That's fine by me, get consumed by personal issues an' past accolades ... but, my mind is on the ENTIRE field. I do have somethin' to say to one entrant in particular, however. I'll square up with the rest of ya later."
(The gym is scorching and MASTERS finally runs the gym towel over his face before tossing it back across his shoulder. His smirk has faded, his disposition hardening a bit.)
MASTERS: "Captain Justice, yanno, you're not the first person to call me 'bland', bud. Couple weeks back, America Panda said the same thing. The two brutes with costumes and masks seem to think alike ... NOT MUCH. You can call me vanilla, boring, bland, or any other word you pluck out of the Thesaurus. I never claimed to light up an interview session and I really don't care. This isn't Hollywood, and it's not Halloween either. You can talk a mile a minute, see how far it gets you. (holds up a finger) You know what, I'll tell you how far it'll get you. It'll get you to Boston, MA for the Great American Smokeout. If that's all you care about, gettin' on the show, then congratulations because you're already there. But, it's not goin' to WIN you that Bunkhouse Stampede. That will be this vanilla wrestler, who spends his days watchin' tape and workin' out rather than practicin' his lines in front of a mirror. Which is fine, you practice your lines and I'll practice my transition holds into the Achilles' Heel. You work on your next costume, and I'll work so goddamn hard I could wrestle two Bunkhouse Stampedes and ask 'what now'. That's just the way I was brought up, the way I operate. Cap'n, guys like Panda, Mahogany an' you, especially you, just don't GET IT."
" 'cause as much as you talk about representing and protecting America, Cap'n, you sure don't understand much about it. The backbone of this country is its workers. Blue collar folk, workin' their eight, ten, maybe twelve hour days, and livin' vanilla, bland, ordinary lives. While you might be a hit with the little kids watchin' Saturday Morning Cartoons, do you really think people want to see some superhero oaf make a MOCKERY out of what they helped build? The HELL they do. I'll tell ya what they can relate to, Cap'n. A good ol' country boy, who bleeds, sweats, speaks the truth, tells people what's on his damn mind, and works hard for everything he gets, that's somebody they can relate to. They can turn to their drinkin' buddies, sons, daughters, and say 'this guy does it right, that's the kind of person you oughta be'. I ain't a role model, Cap'n, and never plan on bein' one, but I'm a hella of a lot better WRESTLER AND MAN than you'll EVER be."
(MASTERS pauses, running his hand down his face and flicking the accumulated sweat to the floor ahead of him.)
MASTERS: "I'll leave ya'all with another old sayin' you can roll around a bit. Sometimes it's best just to let a sleepin' dog lie. Of course, sometimes people need to learn the hard way, too."
(FADE OUT as MASTERS, grinning now, picks the towel off his shoulder and tosses it toward the camera.)
MASTERS: "A long time ago, before I ever suplexed anybody on their head, an old coach of mine told me, 'Measure twice, cut once'. It's an old carpenter's sayin'. Precision over speed, quality over quantity. Less is more, and sometimes more is less. I figured I'd do a handful of ya a favor and pass that wisdom along because you just don't GET IT. All the talking your mouth can handle doesn't bring you any closer to winning that Bunkhouse Stampede. Maybe, that's just me. I'd rather spend less time in front of this camera and more time working in the gym. (quarter neck turn and head tilt back toward the gym) Call me old-fashioned, but I always thought that's where the WORK got done. Nowadays, wrestlers sit in front of a camera, cut ten or fifteen promos, and call it a week's work. That just ain't me, can't do it. Check my answerin' machine, which I'm tossin' out the window after Crash 50, and Fiona Love is on RED ALERT tryin' to find me 'cause apparently I've got some video to watch and it's not match tape, yanno, something that MATTERS. Instead, it's ten pointless videos with the usual BAD jokes, CLOWN costumes, INANE ramblings, and, of course, Bloodhunt's (shakes his head) conspiracy theories."
(MASTERS folds his arms across his chest, letting the last line sink in.)
MASTERS: "I'm not interested in jaw jackin' or runnin' anybody into the ground, but I'll speak my piece. Bloodhunt, two-time NFW Champion, nobody can ever take that away from ya, but you and James Varga are headed down the wrong road, my friend. Hunt, I don't know your reasonin' for entering the Bunkhouse, maybe for one last go, which I'd be happy to give ya, or maybe it's just to take out Varga. Either way, I'd be worryin' less about each other an' more about the REST of the field. Varga thinks he's gonna ruin NFW with his crap wrestling and boring promos? (grins) What's changed? I'd be more concerned with Teresa Quaranta showin' up if I were you two. Hell, she's beaten a buncha people that she reminded us of right away. Of course, none 'a those people are in THIS match. Seems like the field is focused on their own personal agendas and histories instead of on what really matters ... the Bunkhouse Stampede. That's fine by me, get consumed by personal issues an' past accolades ... but, my mind is on the ENTIRE field. I do have somethin' to say to one entrant in particular, however. I'll square up with the rest of ya later."
(The gym is scorching and MASTERS finally runs the gym towel over his face before tossing it back across his shoulder. His smirk has faded, his disposition hardening a bit.)
MASTERS: "Captain Justice, yanno, you're not the first person to call me 'bland', bud. Couple weeks back, America Panda said the same thing. The two brutes with costumes and masks seem to think alike ... NOT MUCH. You can call me vanilla, boring, bland, or any other word you pluck out of the Thesaurus. I never claimed to light up an interview session and I really don't care. This isn't Hollywood, and it's not Halloween either. You can talk a mile a minute, see how far it gets you. (holds up a finger) You know what, I'll tell you how far it'll get you. It'll get you to Boston, MA for the Great American Smokeout. If that's all you care about, gettin' on the show, then congratulations because you're already there. But, it's not goin' to WIN you that Bunkhouse Stampede. That will be this vanilla wrestler, who spends his days watchin' tape and workin' out rather than practicin' his lines in front of a mirror. Which is fine, you practice your lines and I'll practice my transition holds into the Achilles' Heel. You work on your next costume, and I'll work so goddamn hard I could wrestle two Bunkhouse Stampedes and ask 'what now'. That's just the way I was brought up, the way I operate. Cap'n, guys like Panda, Mahogany an' you, especially you, just don't GET IT."
" 'cause as much as you talk about representing and protecting America, Cap'n, you sure don't understand much about it. The backbone of this country is its workers. Blue collar folk, workin' their eight, ten, maybe twelve hour days, and livin' vanilla, bland, ordinary lives. While you might be a hit with the little kids watchin' Saturday Morning Cartoons, do you really think people want to see some superhero oaf make a MOCKERY out of what they helped build? The HELL they do. I'll tell ya what they can relate to, Cap'n. A good ol' country boy, who bleeds, sweats, speaks the truth, tells people what's on his damn mind, and works hard for everything he gets, that's somebody they can relate to. They can turn to their drinkin' buddies, sons, daughters, and say 'this guy does it right, that's the kind of person you oughta be'. I ain't a role model, Cap'n, and never plan on bein' one, but I'm a hella of a lot better WRESTLER AND MAN than you'll EVER be."
(MASTERS pauses, running his hand down his face and flicking the accumulated sweat to the floor ahead of him.)
MASTERS: "I'll leave ya'all with another old sayin' you can roll around a bit. Sometimes it's best just to let a sleepin' dog lie. Of course, sometimes people need to learn the hard way, too."
(FADE OUT as MASTERS, grinning now, picks the towel off his shoulder and tosses it toward the camera.)
LQJT86C
Where's my money, Chad?
(CUTTO: PROBLEM CHILD, staring at the screen, blinking)
PC: Not that I'm in this match or anything...
But I heard Varga say something about underutilized talent and thought, "Now there's an idea!"
Say no more, V-Man, 'cause I've got the main event for Crash 51 right here in my pocket!
CRASH 51: "Underutilized Talent Collide!"
Main Event, for the undisputed Underutilized Heavyweight Championship, PENTAGRAM MATCH! James Varga vs. Cameron Cruise vs. Jean Rabesque vs. Killer Bee vs. Problem Child
You know the difference between me and you, dude? Self-awareness. See, I'm the type of guy that's accepted his role as this company's toilet paper. You on the other hand...well, you're like that kid on the hockey team who gets benched every game, and says to himself "If ONLY the coach's son wasn't out there, I'd be scoring hat-tricks!"
Well Varga, today's your lucky day! I'm like your seedy white trash underworld conscience, so listen up. If you read any newspapers lately instead of eatin' off them, you'd see yourself (trails finger) waaaaayyy down on the undercard...every show...like clockwork. And in the boxscore you might notice that big thing that resembles an L...every show...like clockwork. You don't see a U for "underutilized," you see an L for "YOU F*CKING LOST, DOUCHEBAG!"
Believe me, if Eddie Mayfield thought he was sittin' on some diamond in the rough, he wouldn't let him languish in the depths of undercard hell.
I bet you and Cruise sit there in the locker room like "MAN, if only we were headlining, this company'd be making money HAND over F*CKING FIST!"
Now I'm no Quasimoto, but I'm willing to predict another hardlucky future for you, Varga. I'm peering into my crystal ball and it says..."HEADSHOT!"
When it happens, you're gonna look up...and I'M gonna be there, saying "Welcome to the rest of your life!"
Underutilized...get the f*ck outta here. My left hand is underutilized. James Varga is used JUST RIGHT. Take it from me kid: I'm 36 and still the Problem Child.
(FADE)
PC: Not that I'm in this match or anything...
But I heard Varga say something about underutilized talent and thought, "Now there's an idea!"
Say no more, V-Man, 'cause I've got the main event for Crash 51 right here in my pocket!
CRASH 51: "Underutilized Talent Collide!"
Main Event, for the undisputed Underutilized Heavyweight Championship, PENTAGRAM MATCH! James Varga vs. Cameron Cruise vs. Jean Rabesque vs. Killer Bee vs. Problem Child
You know the difference between me and you, dude? Self-awareness. See, I'm the type of guy that's accepted his role as this company's toilet paper. You on the other hand...well, you're like that kid on the hockey team who gets benched every game, and says to himself "If ONLY the coach's son wasn't out there, I'd be scoring hat-tricks!"
Well Varga, today's your lucky day! I'm like your seedy white trash underworld conscience, so listen up. If you read any newspapers lately instead of eatin' off them, you'd see yourself (trails finger) waaaaayyy down on the undercard...every show...like clockwork. And in the boxscore you might notice that big thing that resembles an L...every show...like clockwork. You don't see a U for "underutilized," you see an L for "YOU F*CKING LOST, DOUCHEBAG!"
Believe me, if Eddie Mayfield thought he was sittin' on some diamond in the rough, he wouldn't let him languish in the depths of undercard hell.
I bet you and Cruise sit there in the locker room like "MAN, if only we were headlining, this company'd be making money HAND over F*CKING FIST!"
Now I'm no Quasimoto, but I'm willing to predict another hardlucky future for you, Varga. I'm peering into my crystal ball and it says..."HEADSHOT!"
When it happens, you're gonna look up...and I'M gonna be there, saying "Welcome to the rest of your life!"
Underutilized...get the f*ck outta here. My left hand is underutilized. James Varga is used JUST RIGHT. Take it from me kid: I'm 36 and still the Problem Child.
(FADE)
PaulNJ21
I shunned a voodoo witch, decapitated a black cat
Marxism Returns
::Marx is styling in his Armani suit jacket, leaning against his limo outside of Starbucks, slowing drinking his coffee::
JONATHAN MARX: For years I've been sitting at home watching that slob Joe the Plumber make a mockery out of the NFW with his profanity laced tirades, making drug references left and right.... it just makes me sick to see what has happened to this league since I've left.
Right now you are probably thinking, Jonathan Marx, Season One point leader has come back to make some proclamation that he has returned to NFW to restore old school wrestling and bring about a second golden age by winning the Bunkhouse Stampede... you would be the wrong. Dead wrong.
I don't need to come back. The solution to the bubonic plague known as Joe the Plumber is already in the title match.
::Jonathan Marx opens up his Armani suit jacket to reveal a “Team Hornet” t-shirt::
I believe in Hornet. When I was a mere boy, my father Arthur, who use to wrestle under the named Werewolf, used to tell of a match that Hornet had with Zack Sirius. Now to really appreciate this, you have to know who Zack Sirius was. Zack Sirius was the modern day equivalent of Doc Silver, but a lot more devious and there was nothing he wouldn't do to win. He went up and down the circuit and he was racking up the titles left and right, there looked like there was no stopping him. That is when Zack Sirius stood up and took aim at the one title he didn't have, the EN Superleague Championship held by Hornet. It was the ultimate good guy against the ultimate bad guy and despite all of his cheating, despite giving everything he had, good triumphed over evil and Zack Sirius finally fell at the hands of Hornet.
Now, there have been numerous others over the years and while the names change and some may have actually got the better of Hornet for awhile, Hornet always wound up winning in the end.
Joe, you can't win. Just hand over the title and get it over with. You've had a great run. There is an old saying that history teachers throughout time have repeated over and over again and as you get older, you really realize how true it is, “Those who don't learn from history are doomed to repeat it.”
I've seen greater men then you have their spirits crushed as they are looking up at the lights and the crowd is counting along.... ONE! TWO! THREE!.. have their spirits crushed as the announcer screamed “HORNET WINS! HORNET WINS! HORNET WINS!” As he is hoisted on the shoulders of the fans and carried out of the arena with your title belt over his shoulder.
And that is why I had to be there live and be a part of the show, because there are some moments that simply watching at home on your big screen HD television can't do justice... I already have my finest bottle champaign all picked out. Joe, the equivalent of imported beer for you, except for someone with a much more defined pallet like mine.
As for me and the Bunkhouse Stampede, I plan on winning the match and donating the money to the ever expanding retirement home of Hornet's Rogue Gallery because at the end of the day, one of the few forces even greater than Hornet, love and compassion always wins.
FTB
::Marx is styling in his Armani suit jacket, leaning against his limo outside of Starbucks, slowing drinking his coffee::
JONATHAN MARX: For years I've been sitting at home watching that slob Joe the Plumber make a mockery out of the NFW with his profanity laced tirades, making drug references left and right.... it just makes me sick to see what has happened to this league since I've left.
Right now you are probably thinking, Jonathan Marx, Season One point leader has come back to make some proclamation that he has returned to NFW to restore old school wrestling and bring about a second golden age by winning the Bunkhouse Stampede... you would be the wrong. Dead wrong.
I don't need to come back. The solution to the bubonic plague known as Joe the Plumber is already in the title match.
::Jonathan Marx opens up his Armani suit jacket to reveal a “Team Hornet” t-shirt::
I believe in Hornet. When I was a mere boy, my father Arthur, who use to wrestle under the named Werewolf, used to tell of a match that Hornet had with Zack Sirius. Now to really appreciate this, you have to know who Zack Sirius was. Zack Sirius was the modern day equivalent of Doc Silver, but a lot more devious and there was nothing he wouldn't do to win. He went up and down the circuit and he was racking up the titles left and right, there looked like there was no stopping him. That is when Zack Sirius stood up and took aim at the one title he didn't have, the EN Superleague Championship held by Hornet. It was the ultimate good guy against the ultimate bad guy and despite all of his cheating, despite giving everything he had, good triumphed over evil and Zack Sirius finally fell at the hands of Hornet.
Now, there have been numerous others over the years and while the names change and some may have actually got the better of Hornet for awhile, Hornet always wound up winning in the end.
Joe, you can't win. Just hand over the title and get it over with. You've had a great run. There is an old saying that history teachers throughout time have repeated over and over again and as you get older, you really realize how true it is, “Those who don't learn from history are doomed to repeat it.”
I've seen greater men then you have their spirits crushed as they are looking up at the lights and the crowd is counting along.... ONE! TWO! THREE!.. have their spirits crushed as the announcer screamed “HORNET WINS! HORNET WINS! HORNET WINS!” As he is hoisted on the shoulders of the fans and carried out of the arena with your title belt over his shoulder.
And that is why I had to be there live and be a part of the show, because there are some moments that simply watching at home on your big screen HD television can't do justice... I already have my finest bottle champaign all picked out. Joe, the equivalent of imported beer for you, except for someone with a much more defined pallet like mine.
As for me and the Bunkhouse Stampede, I plan on winning the match and donating the money to the ever expanding retirement home of Hornet's Rogue Gallery because at the end of the day, one of the few forces even greater than Hornet, love and compassion always wins.
FTB
Frozen Atlantic
League Member
- Joined
- Jul 4, 2007
- Messages
- 202
- Points
- 0
- Age
- 38
"Kelly Masters, right?"
We fade in on Teresa Quaranta in a nice hotel in Sao Paulo with an equally nice view of the city in the background. We can hear somebody rummaging around a kitchen behind the camera. It's just after sunrise - our heroine's leaned back on the sofa with a white "Here to Make Friends" T-shirt with interlocking circles of various colors behind the slogan.
"You can go for quality over quantity when you're in front of the camera. A handful of people can split the difference between both. What you don't want to do is fail to deliver on neither. When you step in front of a camera and do the whole hardcore I'm training all the time so I don't have the energy to be entertaining after all those pushups thing, but you don't understand the basic principles of the match you're claiming to take so seriously, you look like... well, you start to look like a really kick in the faceable kind of guy. And since you're in a match with one great talent in myself, and two respectable talents in Bloodhunt and Varga, you're already going into this as a sizable underdog - and you're shredding what very thin margin of error you've got already.
See, the match you're in right now is an open invitational match. Which means there's an open invitation extended to anyone who wants to attend, which means as far as smack talk goes, the entire wrestling world is my oyster. If I wanted to limit myself to the people who've already submitted pieces to this little shindig, I'd be forcing myself to share my theories on the Kennedy assassination or my heavily nuanced stance on Truth and Justice. More importantly, kid, I specifically mentioned beating just one person in the last promo, and that was mostly because they spent most of their time this week talking about Yours Truly. And I mentioned my record here because, well... I've done those things and I've earned that right."
A shrug.
"If, for some reason, it bothers you that nobody in the Pentagram match - or any other match on the Crash 50 card - is likely to utter the name Kelly Masters without sniggering, well, get on camera and say something more interesting than I'm a pure wrestling wrestler who wrestles a lot, and you better watch out because I'll wrassle you and I'll wrassle you good. Then get some noteworthy, um, y'know, accomplishments?
And if you were thinking I'd pretend to be on equal footing with you and Rich Mahogany for the sake of adding extra dramatics to these proceedings, well, that'd be two dissapointments you've got coming to you before we leave Boston."
This is followed with a smirk and a patronizing clasp of the hands. Someone owes Lindsay Troy a nickel.
"And yes, Kelly, I appreciate that you're trying to have your breakthrough match in this organization, and you see a lot of big deal guys around you, and you're hoping it'll make you a big deal too. And I hate to puncture your enthusiasm, but as far as the spectacle and ultraviolence goes? I've been there. I've done that. I've got the stitches. For me, all the bashing and kicking and hurting is just the means to an end. When I step into that ring in Boston, the World Title is going to be first and foremost in my mind. It doesn't mean I'm looking past you or American Panda or Val Venis or whoever. It means I'm looking at you, and doing so like you're Nova and Manson and Troy Windham all rolled into one."
Teresa bites her lip quizzically.
"Not sure how long that illusion'll last, but whatever. On to more interesting people."
She stops here and samples a cup on tea on a nearby table, slowly enough that you think she's forgotten about the match altogether for a moment. But after a few seconds, she sets it down and returns to the couch.
"Varga. Let's chat. I'm still, believe it or not, an officially registered supervillian."
She pulls out a purse, digs around for a few seconds, and then flashes it to the camera. Name, height, weight, official seal, primary trope (Evil Overlord), subtropes (Laughably Evil, Genre Savvy, Large Ham, Dark Action Girl) - thing looks official as hell. Let's hope Captain Justice is too busy tightening his mask and doing pushups to watch these promos too closely, eh?
"Can I extend you a little professional courtesy? I looked over the handbook, and you're in violation of rule twelve. You know, 'I will run my plans by a five year old and if he can spot an obvious flaw in the plan, I'll scrap it'? Not blaming you personally, there's a lot of these rules to keep up with, but... did you know there's people out there that actually like boring wrestling? If you headlock Marx for long enough, sure you'll bore some of the NFW faithful who are used to cocaine and blood and dropkicks, but for everyone you turn away, you'll draw two people who'll think you're technically sound. Ten minutes of restholds in, and you'll have an army of smarks telling each other that you turned a mediocre hardcore cluster**** into a five star classic. I kid you not. And you might be thinking that there's some kind of uncanny valley of resthold boringdom, some threshold of bearhugging and begging off that'll convince the most diehard technical fan that what they're watching is legitimately terrible. But, serious question here : have you ever heard of Bryan Danielson?"
A miserable looks crawls across her face.
"Then you throw in the people who'll pretend to like stuff no matter how awful it is because it makes them seem smart?"
Down on the streets below, someone fires up a Kayo Dot record, and is promptly shot. In the face.
"And plus, no matter how many wristlocks you use, you have to throw people over in order to win the match. And even if you've been really boring beforehand, people are gonna cheer because the match is a little closer to being over. Plus on top of that, it's a Bunkhouse Stampede, and plus on top of that we're all gonna have weapons so while you're focused on doing your best Sean Stevens impersonation out there, I dunno... one of these guys... are probably gonna try and hurt you with stuff.
Anyway, if you're dissapointed you haven't been addressed yet... eh. We have plenty of time together, and I've got an appointment."
Without further drama, we, you guessed it... fade to black.
We fade in on Teresa Quaranta in a nice hotel in Sao Paulo with an equally nice view of the city in the background. We can hear somebody rummaging around a kitchen behind the camera. It's just after sunrise - our heroine's leaned back on the sofa with a white "Here to Make Friends" T-shirt with interlocking circles of various colors behind the slogan.
"You can go for quality over quantity when you're in front of the camera. A handful of people can split the difference between both. What you don't want to do is fail to deliver on neither. When you step in front of a camera and do the whole hardcore I'm training all the time so I don't have the energy to be entertaining after all those pushups thing, but you don't understand the basic principles of the match you're claiming to take so seriously, you look like... well, you start to look like a really kick in the faceable kind of guy. And since you're in a match with one great talent in myself, and two respectable talents in Bloodhunt and Varga, you're already going into this as a sizable underdog - and you're shredding what very thin margin of error you've got already.
See, the match you're in right now is an open invitational match. Which means there's an open invitation extended to anyone who wants to attend, which means as far as smack talk goes, the entire wrestling world is my oyster. If I wanted to limit myself to the people who've already submitted pieces to this little shindig, I'd be forcing myself to share my theories on the Kennedy assassination or my heavily nuanced stance on Truth and Justice. More importantly, kid, I specifically mentioned beating just one person in the last promo, and that was mostly because they spent most of their time this week talking about Yours Truly. And I mentioned my record here because, well... I've done those things and I've earned that right."
A shrug.
"If, for some reason, it bothers you that nobody in the Pentagram match - or any other match on the Crash 50 card - is likely to utter the name Kelly Masters without sniggering, well, get on camera and say something more interesting than I'm a pure wrestling wrestler who wrestles a lot, and you better watch out because I'll wrassle you and I'll wrassle you good. Then get some noteworthy, um, y'know, accomplishments?
And if you were thinking I'd pretend to be on equal footing with you and Rich Mahogany for the sake of adding extra dramatics to these proceedings, well, that'd be two dissapointments you've got coming to you before we leave Boston."
This is followed with a smirk and a patronizing clasp of the hands. Someone owes Lindsay Troy a nickel.
"And yes, Kelly, I appreciate that you're trying to have your breakthrough match in this organization, and you see a lot of big deal guys around you, and you're hoping it'll make you a big deal too. And I hate to puncture your enthusiasm, but as far as the spectacle and ultraviolence goes? I've been there. I've done that. I've got the stitches. For me, all the bashing and kicking and hurting is just the means to an end. When I step into that ring in Boston, the World Title is going to be first and foremost in my mind. It doesn't mean I'm looking past you or American Panda or Val Venis or whoever. It means I'm looking at you, and doing so like you're Nova and Manson and Troy Windham all rolled into one."
Teresa bites her lip quizzically.
"Not sure how long that illusion'll last, but whatever. On to more interesting people."
She stops here and samples a cup on tea on a nearby table, slowly enough that you think she's forgotten about the match altogether for a moment. But after a few seconds, she sets it down and returns to the couch.
"Varga. Let's chat. I'm still, believe it or not, an officially registered supervillian."
She pulls out a purse, digs around for a few seconds, and then flashes it to the camera. Name, height, weight, official seal, primary trope (Evil Overlord), subtropes (Laughably Evil, Genre Savvy, Large Ham, Dark Action Girl) - thing looks official as hell. Let's hope Captain Justice is too busy tightening his mask and doing pushups to watch these promos too closely, eh?
"Can I extend you a little professional courtesy? I looked over the handbook, and you're in violation of rule twelve. You know, 'I will run my plans by a five year old and if he can spot an obvious flaw in the plan, I'll scrap it'? Not blaming you personally, there's a lot of these rules to keep up with, but... did you know there's people out there that actually like boring wrestling? If you headlock Marx for long enough, sure you'll bore some of the NFW faithful who are used to cocaine and blood and dropkicks, but for everyone you turn away, you'll draw two people who'll think you're technically sound. Ten minutes of restholds in, and you'll have an army of smarks telling each other that you turned a mediocre hardcore cluster**** into a five star classic. I kid you not. And you might be thinking that there's some kind of uncanny valley of resthold boringdom, some threshold of bearhugging and begging off that'll convince the most diehard technical fan that what they're watching is legitimately terrible. But, serious question here : have you ever heard of Bryan Danielson?"
A miserable looks crawls across her face.
"Then you throw in the people who'll pretend to like stuff no matter how awful it is because it makes them seem smart?"
Down on the streets below, someone fires up a Kayo Dot record, and is promptly shot. In the face.
"And plus, no matter how many wristlocks you use, you have to throw people over in order to win the match. And even if you've been really boring beforehand, people are gonna cheer because the match is a little closer to being over. Plus on top of that, it's a Bunkhouse Stampede, and plus on top of that we're all gonna have weapons so while you're focused on doing your best Sean Stevens impersonation out there, I dunno... one of these guys... are probably gonna try and hurt you with stuff.
Anyway, if you're dissapointed you haven't been addressed yet... eh. We have plenty of time together, and I've got an appointment."
Without further drama, we, you guessed it... fade to black.
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terence
assfag
fadein on me again wearin pretty much the same sh*t as last time
thanks for explaining the f*cking rules to us now lick my scrotum b*tch. whats he suposed to do just magically change his f*cking character and f*ck a circus animal on tv so you can say it was entertaing? f*ck that sh*t if yu want entertnment you can come to me cause i give it whatever whenever however whoever the f*ck ever and thats the bottom line cause i said so.
and also teresa send me a picture of yourslef so i can pump a buttload of semen onto my sammy haggar shirt. then maybe ill take it easy on you in this match were gonna have. none of you should write sh*t cause you know im winning this easy. i was god in tww they wouldnt just bring me in like this to lose. and if they did it would be f*cking gay. that bald girl in yur avtar better not be teresa qaruntao cause i could never hold a bone with her for more then 5 mintues. i think if a chick is bald i should be abke to kick her ass an not get in trouble cause its obvious she wants to be a man. also is teresa are you fighting or commentating?? cause if commentating i wont hit you but if ur in the match then get the f*ck ready cause yur playing with men now b*tch. dont think i wont do to a woman what i do to assfags all over this forum when they meet me in the ring.
ROCK OOOOOOON
also big slice ur a f*ckn queef for not responding to me yet.
later assfags.
ROCK OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONNNN!!!!!!
thanks for explaining the f*cking rules to us now lick my scrotum b*tch. whats he suposed to do just magically change his f*cking character and f*ck a circus animal on tv so you can say it was entertaing? f*ck that sh*t if yu want entertnment you can come to me cause i give it whatever whenever however whoever the f*ck ever and thats the bottom line cause i said so.
and also teresa send me a picture of yourslef so i can pump a buttload of semen onto my sammy haggar shirt. then maybe ill take it easy on you in this match were gonna have. none of you should write sh*t cause you know im winning this easy. i was god in tww they wouldnt just bring me in like this to lose. and if they did it would be f*cking gay. that bald girl in yur avtar better not be teresa qaruntao cause i could never hold a bone with her for more then 5 mintues. i think if a chick is bald i should be abke to kick her ass an not get in trouble cause its obvious she wants to be a man. also is teresa are you fighting or commentating?? cause if commentating i wont hit you but if ur in the match then get the f*ck ready cause yur playing with men now b*tch. dont think i wont do to a woman what i do to assfags all over this forum when they meet me in the ring.
ROCK OOOOOOON
also big slice ur a f*ckn queef for not responding to me yet.
later assfags.
ROCK OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONNNN!!!!!!
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Evil James
League Member
[FADE IN: Varga appears on the screen in workout gear training with his Wii Fit. He puts it on pause and turns to the camera.]
Varga: I’m back…AGAIN, to address the ever growing number of people who are targeting me in this match. First up, Kelly Masters.
[He clears his throat before he begins speaking.]
Varga: Masters, I’m not going to argue with you over your thoughts about that no name chump Captain Justice. However you made one mistake when it comes to your thoughts on me…
I don’t have an agenda in this match. I’ve got all you idiots fooled and that proves it. I bet all of the people in this match, including yourself, think I’m a strong threat.
However, I’m the weakest competitor in it and that can be used to someone's advantage if they are smart.
I haven’t won any matches in ages, I have a bad win-loss record here in NFW, and I’m the most hated person here. What chance do I have? Little to none. So the best move for any one of you would be to take me to the end of the match because of that reason.
I’m weak and I have no chance of winning against any of you. The smart move would be to take me to the end as I have no chance against any of you.
The smartest person is the one who will join up with me, keep me in the match, and then beat the weakest wrestler in the match at the end. That’s smart planning.
However most of the idiots much like yourself will probably wear yourselves out with big moves and weapons.
Alas, I do think my rest hold strategy will work. It may be the only thing that saves me from making the same mistakes as the rest of you geniuses. While everyone else will be sucking wind, I’ll be well rested and ready to wrestle even longer.
Speaking of “geniuses,” there are some more I need to address.
[He shakes his head and rolls his eyes before talking once more.]
Varga: Now I see Problem Child running his mouth, as usual. He even admits that he sucks. Well basically your entire monologue is directed at me. Now Problem Child, the last thing this match needs is another man-boy like you in.
Honestly, anything you say has no effect on me. I’m weak. And the fact that you called me a douche bag just shows how low your intelligence level is. If you want to use that middle school style trash talk to impress your “God” Joe the Plumber and the rest of the imbeciles in the audience, go right ahead.
And let me point this out. If I’m such a feeble jobber as you are implying, then how come I’m the target of everyone in this match? That tells me I’m either a threat or this match is filled with fucking idiots.
Probably both.
Now go ahead, keep talking to a wall. Keep sucking up to Bloodhunt like one of these leeches in the audience. Be your own man.
[He smiles deviously.]
Varga: Next on my list is Karl Marx…I mean, Jonathon Marx. His father was a werewolf. His mother was an Irish Setter.
And his gay lover is Hornet apparently judging by his comments.
[He starts giggling for a moment before getting himself composed.]
Varga: Now Quaranta seems to be the only intelligent person in this match beside myself. You said that people like watching boring matches? Well you’re RIGHT. My bad. I forgot that the normal wrestling fan is a mindless zombie who watches the garbage and filth produced in Stamford and Orlando.
I do like your stance though, especially in regards to these internet smarks who get sexed up over good wrestling matches. It’s all they care about. They sit at their computers and circle jerk each other about puro and indy matches that nobody else gives a crap about.
However, I do have a back up strategy in full effect. I’m smarter than most of the plebeians NFW give me credit for. But the over the top rope thing is a big problem.
Oh well. I’ll deal with it. Thanks for the advice. It’s nice to know there’s someone with some intelligence in the match. And in return Teresa, I’ll give you some advice too. Get all your shots in order and get a metal pair of panties or something to protect yourself from getting DP’d by Terence and Mahagony.
[Varga smiles deviously.]
Varga: Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go back to training.
[He goes back to playing his Wii Fit as the scene fades to black.]
Varga: I’m back…AGAIN, to address the ever growing number of people who are targeting me in this match. First up, Kelly Masters.
[He clears his throat before he begins speaking.]
Varga: Masters, I’m not going to argue with you over your thoughts about that no name chump Captain Justice. However you made one mistake when it comes to your thoughts on me…
I don’t have an agenda in this match. I’ve got all you idiots fooled and that proves it. I bet all of the people in this match, including yourself, think I’m a strong threat.
However, I’m the weakest competitor in it and that can be used to someone's advantage if they are smart.
I haven’t won any matches in ages, I have a bad win-loss record here in NFW, and I’m the most hated person here. What chance do I have? Little to none. So the best move for any one of you would be to take me to the end of the match because of that reason.
I’m weak and I have no chance of winning against any of you. The smart move would be to take me to the end as I have no chance against any of you.
The smartest person is the one who will join up with me, keep me in the match, and then beat the weakest wrestler in the match at the end. That’s smart planning.
However most of the idiots much like yourself will probably wear yourselves out with big moves and weapons.
Alas, I do think my rest hold strategy will work. It may be the only thing that saves me from making the same mistakes as the rest of you geniuses. While everyone else will be sucking wind, I’ll be well rested and ready to wrestle even longer.
Speaking of “geniuses,” there are some more I need to address.
[He shakes his head and rolls his eyes before talking once more.]
Varga: Now I see Problem Child running his mouth, as usual. He even admits that he sucks. Well basically your entire monologue is directed at me. Now Problem Child, the last thing this match needs is another man-boy like you in.
Honestly, anything you say has no effect on me. I’m weak. And the fact that you called me a douche bag just shows how low your intelligence level is. If you want to use that middle school style trash talk to impress your “God” Joe the Plumber and the rest of the imbeciles in the audience, go right ahead.
And let me point this out. If I’m such a feeble jobber as you are implying, then how come I’m the target of everyone in this match? That tells me I’m either a threat or this match is filled with fucking idiots.
Probably both.
Now go ahead, keep talking to a wall. Keep sucking up to Bloodhunt like one of these leeches in the audience. Be your own man.
[He smiles deviously.]
Varga: Next on my list is Karl Marx…I mean, Jonathon Marx. His father was a werewolf. His mother was an Irish Setter.
And his gay lover is Hornet apparently judging by his comments.
[He starts giggling for a moment before getting himself composed.]
Varga: Now Quaranta seems to be the only intelligent person in this match beside myself. You said that people like watching boring matches? Well you’re RIGHT. My bad. I forgot that the normal wrestling fan is a mindless zombie who watches the garbage and filth produced in Stamford and Orlando.
I do like your stance though, especially in regards to these internet smarks who get sexed up over good wrestling matches. It’s all they care about. They sit at their computers and circle jerk each other about puro and indy matches that nobody else gives a crap about.
However, I do have a back up strategy in full effect. I’m smarter than most of the plebeians NFW give me credit for. But the over the top rope thing is a big problem.
Oh well. I’ll deal with it. Thanks for the advice. It’s nice to know there’s someone with some intelligence in the match. And in return Teresa, I’ll give you some advice too. Get all your shots in order and get a metal pair of panties or something to protect yourself from getting DP’d by Terence and Mahagony.
[Varga smiles deviously.]
Varga: Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go back to training.
[He goes back to playing his Wii Fit as the scene fades to black.]
Last edited:
terence
assfag
sorry but im not doing anothr fadein. i did like 8 of them and wat else could i possbly fadein on?? i like to write but fadein gets f*ckin annoying dude i can only be in so mny place as at once.
anyway heres my rp
first i wanna say i was at my employee thing for taco bell when i watchd the video on sexual harassment. i f*ckin laughed my ass of but also i know that what james assvargular said to terersa qarinto was also sexaul harassment. i just wanna know *this is not part of my rp dude* if i did that would i get in trouble???
ok assuming i dont get in trouble terisa this is what your f*ckin man terry is gonna do to you at random rumble........
and also this.........
THATS SO F*CKING METAL YOU DONT KNOW IT!!!!!!!!!!!
varga the penis sucker can shut his mouth now cuz i typed in james varga on facebook and he looks like this......
hahaha dude now you f*ckin think twice about chellenging your man terry assfag!!!!! ooooh dude are these the movies you made when you were five????
f*ckin douchebag. why thef*ck is problem chld 3 called junior in love?? he already f*ckng fell in love in the second one why did they feel to make the third and call it that? that makes more sense than yur f*ckin weak promos assfag.
and tira qurente can suck the cheese off my f*ckin dick too cuz she changed her picture cuz i called her ugly!!!!!
now you all bow to me like a god cause i had pople like truy windham mark out for me while u keep wishin your vag was on my guitar neck.
ROCK OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!11
anyway heres my rp
first i wanna say i was at my employee thing for taco bell when i watchd the video on sexual harassment. i f*ckin laughed my ass of but also i know that what james assvargular said to terersa qarinto was also sexaul harassment. i just wanna know *this is not part of my rp dude* if i did that would i get in trouble???
ok assuming i dont get in trouble terisa this is what your f*ckin man terry is gonna do to you at random rumble........
and also this.........
THATS SO F*CKING METAL YOU DONT KNOW IT!!!!!!!!!!!
varga the penis sucker can shut his mouth now cuz i typed in james varga on facebook and he looks like this......
hahaha dude now you f*ckin think twice about chellenging your man terry assfag!!!!! ooooh dude are these the movies you made when you were five????
f*ckin douchebag. why thef*ck is problem chld 3 called junior in love?? he already f*ckng fell in love in the second one why did they feel to make the third and call it that? that makes more sense than yur f*ckin weak promos assfag.
and tira qurente can suck the cheese off my f*ckin dick too cuz she changed her picture cuz i called her ugly!!!!!
now you all bow to me like a god cause i had pople like truy windham mark out for me while u keep wishin your vag was on my guitar neck.
ROCK OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!11