Z
ZMalmgren
Guest
[updated:LAST EDITED ON Aug-28-02 AT 00:40 AM (EDT)]Fade in on a moving shot of a stretch limousine. The shot follows the limo as it speeds down a busy street, passing slower vehicles left and right. After a few moments the shot cuts to the inside of the limo. The black leather coats the bulk of the interior of the limo, matching the color of its occupant’s clothes. “Career Ender” Chris Lehew sits hunched in the back of the car, his feet propped up on the seats to the left of him. He quietly drinks from a can of soda, the label scratched off, as he watches the news on a small television screen near the front of the vehicle. Lehew glances at the camera briefly, moving to turn down the volume on the television, then with a grin he begins to speak.
Lehew: Ah gots mah first mayatch in da Cee-Ess-Dubya-A! Y’all talk lahk raytards in da souf.
He rolls his eyes.
Lehew: How a redneck beat my good friend Dan Ryan, I’ll never know. The best of the GXW can more than stand toe to toe with the best of this overhyped federation of whiners, whinos and catch phrase spewers, and I intend to prove it. I might not be as well known as some of my fellow ‘invaders’, but that doesn’t mean I can’t fend for myself. In my relatively short career I’ve fought some of the best in this business—I took Evan Aho to his limit in just the second match of my career, and I’ve done nothing but improve since then.
Lehew runs a pale hand through his raven black hair.
Lehew: The way you people make yourself look all tough, like the whole world cares, is almost depressing. I didn’t give two tugs of a rotting corpse’s balls about this place until I was channel surfing and recognized a few faces—namely Kevin Powers and Dan Ryan—verbally obliterating everyone who had the balls to call them out. I STILL don’t know, nor care to know, half of everyone to do with this place. I’m here to help prove a point, not make friends. You act like everyone in the GXW is captivated by you foolish bastards, and that we’re obsessed with you. But no one I can think of in the GXW CARES about you.
The ‘Career Ender’ pauses to take a drink from his can of soda.
Lehew: I can’t wait for this match. Plett and I vs. Southern and his mystery friend. Oooh! I hope he’s as fun to listen to as you are. And you better hope he has some talent. The pressure in this match lies mostly on you, redneck. Oh sure, if Plett and I lose it’s a victory for the CSWA over the GXW. You’ll have won a battle, but not a decisive one. I’ve been called ‘Captain No-Name’ for chrissake. I kind of like that nick name, too. It makes it that much more painful when I kick the crap out of you. How will you be looked upon by your peers if captain no name himself, Chris Lehew, has a win over you? It won’t look good, to say the least. Your title belt doesn’t scare me. I’ve beaten people with bigger chunks of gold over their shoulder than you without taking much of a beating at all. And your mystery partner doesn’t scare me, either. Nine times out of ten these mystery partners turn out to be some rookie who wants to debut big by teaming with a bigger name than he’ll ever be. And the other one time it’s usually washed up old talent who can barely walk anymore, let alone put up much of a fight. Wicked Sight and Captain No Name. We’re ready, redneck. We’re ready.
As Lehew finishes speaking the limo slows to the stop at the side of the road. Lehew pushes the vehicle’s door open and steps out onto the sidewalk. As he walks across the sidewalk towards a set of swinging doors, he mutters to himself.
Lehew: Pah. Captain No Name my ass. Everyone knows who I am.
Lehew pushes through the doors, then walks down a set of stairs into a familiar looking bar. Everyone in the bar suddenly looks up from their drinks as he enters and shouts, ‘Chris!’. The theme from Cheers cues up as the screen fades to black.
Where everybody knows your name…
Lehew: Ah gots mah first mayatch in da Cee-Ess-Dubya-A! Y’all talk lahk raytards in da souf.
He rolls his eyes.
Lehew: How a redneck beat my good friend Dan Ryan, I’ll never know. The best of the GXW can more than stand toe to toe with the best of this overhyped federation of whiners, whinos and catch phrase spewers, and I intend to prove it. I might not be as well known as some of my fellow ‘invaders’, but that doesn’t mean I can’t fend for myself. In my relatively short career I’ve fought some of the best in this business—I took Evan Aho to his limit in just the second match of my career, and I’ve done nothing but improve since then.
Lehew runs a pale hand through his raven black hair.
Lehew: The way you people make yourself look all tough, like the whole world cares, is almost depressing. I didn’t give two tugs of a rotting corpse’s balls about this place until I was channel surfing and recognized a few faces—namely Kevin Powers and Dan Ryan—verbally obliterating everyone who had the balls to call them out. I STILL don’t know, nor care to know, half of everyone to do with this place. I’m here to help prove a point, not make friends. You act like everyone in the GXW is captivated by you foolish bastards, and that we’re obsessed with you. But no one I can think of in the GXW CARES about you.
The ‘Career Ender’ pauses to take a drink from his can of soda.
Lehew: I can’t wait for this match. Plett and I vs. Southern and his mystery friend. Oooh! I hope he’s as fun to listen to as you are. And you better hope he has some talent. The pressure in this match lies mostly on you, redneck. Oh sure, if Plett and I lose it’s a victory for the CSWA over the GXW. You’ll have won a battle, but not a decisive one. I’ve been called ‘Captain No-Name’ for chrissake. I kind of like that nick name, too. It makes it that much more painful when I kick the crap out of you. How will you be looked upon by your peers if captain no name himself, Chris Lehew, has a win over you? It won’t look good, to say the least. Your title belt doesn’t scare me. I’ve beaten people with bigger chunks of gold over their shoulder than you without taking much of a beating at all. And your mystery partner doesn’t scare me, either. Nine times out of ten these mystery partners turn out to be some rookie who wants to debut big by teaming with a bigger name than he’ll ever be. And the other one time it’s usually washed up old talent who can barely walk anymore, let alone put up much of a fight. Wicked Sight and Captain No Name. We’re ready, redneck. We’re ready.
As Lehew finishes speaking the limo slows to the stop at the side of the road. Lehew pushes the vehicle’s door open and steps out onto the sidewalk. As he walks across the sidewalk towards a set of swinging doors, he mutters to himself.
Lehew: Pah. Captain No Name my ass. Everyone knows who I am.
Lehew pushes through the doors, then walks down a set of stairs into a familiar looking bar. Everyone in the bar suddenly looks up from their drinks as he enters and shouts, ‘Chris!’. The theme from Cheers cues up as the screen fades to black.
Where everybody knows your name…