[bannedsycho] The CHAMP was THERE!

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[bannedsycho] The CHAMP was THERE!
Tweet Topic Started: Feb 17 2012, 08:41 PM (158 Views)
sychosys	Feb 17 2012, 08:41 PM Post #1
This Space For Rent Posts: 4,192 Group: Super Members Member #300 Joined: March 18, 2008	[With the Crockett Coliseum about 50 yards in the background, we get a slightly jerky video of the back of a man in a leather jacket and blue jeans, with a large duffel bag slung over his left shoulder, walking towards the arena. The man, recognizable as Joe Petrow, turns back to address the camera while he keeps walking forward.] JP: You know, I said I wasn't going to come back here to protest any more...but this time, I'm here to compete! Those fools in the AWA have invited every reigning champion in the world for a chance at a National title shot. Check in the bag, man! [The camera runs up to get a shot of the open duffel bag...on top rests the IIWF Eternal World's Heavyweight Championship belt, then cuts back to a shot of the arena that Petrow continues walking towards, now close enough to see a lone security guard talking on a telephone.] JP: Still recognized to this day! I've got the papers, I've got medical clearance from my doctors, and a binding verbal contract from the AWA to stake my claim. And this guy carrying the camera for me, in case they try something funny. Hey, pal, over here! [The guard must have been calling for reinforcements, as they number eight men strong now, the largest coming forward to confront Petrow direct. SG: Mr. Petrow, you are no longer associated with the AWA, and I have strict orders not to let you onto the premises! JP: Pal, I'm going to do much more than you deserve and treat you like a human being. I am here because the AWA has invited every reigning champion in the world for a shot at the National championship. [Petrow reaches into the duffel bag and pulls out the championship belt] JP: ...and I am prepared for every eventuality! I brought my gear, I brought the championship belt, which took me months to fumigate the Martinez ass-smell out of! [Petrow ruffles inside again, plucking out a folder with paperwork inside] JP: I have a notarized document from IIWF Holdings Inc., the official owners of the IIWF trademark, verifying that they still recognize me as their champion! And a doctor's note proclaiming that I have recovered from my broken jaw and am medically cleared to compete! SG: Mr. Petrow... [Petrow, still ruffling, pulls out...a "WWF Bad Boy McCade" 80's style metal lunchbox?] JP: You don't even have to feed me! I got my lunch right here! And...[more ruffling...and with both hands he pulls out a big yellow and red squeeze bottles] I even brought my own condiments! I'm not gonna let you guys drug me in the catering room! SG: Mr. Petrow, you are not to be allowed onto the premise for any reason! JP: Well that's a... [Petrow is passed by a Japanese man with two helpers, the remaining security staff quickly wisk him inside.] JP: Yoshinari Taguchi!? You've got to be kidding me! 4M went at that guy with a barbed wire light-tube once, and he ran away screaming like a little girl! [Petrow shouts towards the departing Taguchi!] FUZAKENNA, KUSOYARO! SG: Now listen... JP: No, you listen! This decision is obviously over your head, so get Watkins or Taylor or somebody out here who can make a decision right now! SG: I've made a decision! If you don't leave by yourself right this second, then all of us are going to force you to leave! And not gently! JP: I can't believe this! What have I done to deserve this treatment!? You let guys like Taguchi inside! You let jokers like [Petrow turns around to face whomever happens to be approaching...and his eyes grow wide at the sight of who he sees coming] OhoHO! Now you rent-a-cops can do your job and keep this homicidal Neanderthal off of me! HEY! TOUCH ME AND I'LL SUE THE AWA FOR EVERYTHING THEY DON'T HAVE! SAS: PETROW! [Uh, oh. THAT "homicidal Neanderthal". A swath of reddish-brown cloth comes on-screen as Sultan Azam Sharif enters the picture. He is garbed in bisht, kaffiyeh, and agal, and is also carrying his enormous Iranian flag.] SAS: I hope dot you come back for good, so dot I can get you in deh ring un make you humbail! Un I hope dot you bring dot phony, Mark Lonset who cost me shampwonship because he couldunt vin it himself! JP: Oh, I know that you want no part of Mr. Langseth! You're too afraid to even say his name on television, so just imagine what he'd do to you in the ring, you infantile Iraqi scum! SAS: I om deh only vun who said his name, un I say it again! Mark Lonset! JP: Then just tell Watkins to bring him back, so you can "hook 'em up"! [Petrow twirls his mustard bottle in time with a mocking tone.] Only call him "Mark Langseth", so he knows who the hell you're talking about! SAS: I KNOW DOT I DON'T SPEAK AINGLASH GOOD, BUT IT VAS BETTAIR DEN YOU SPEAK FARSI OR ARAHBIC! You diddunt do anything in AWA but disraspec all AWA wrastlairs, un you disraspec me un my country, un vat did you think vas going to hoppen? I'm not like you! I don't make ampty threat! JP: Respect for Iran!? Respect for YOU!? Fine! Here's your respect! [Quick as a flash, draws his condiment arms and sends a spray of red and yellow directly at the Sultan, splattering ketchup and mustard all over his person, his headdress...and the Iranian flag! JP: HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY, ASSHOLE! [Petrow takes several steps backwards, as he realizes that even eight security guards will have their hands full holding back the irate soiled Iranian, the camera following Petrow away from the commotion.] SAS: I GUNNA BREAK YOU BACK, YOU MUNAFIQ! JP: This isn't over Sharif, or whatever your name is! I'll be waiting for you at the Kwik-E-Mart, you مرتد فطری! [Turning his back to the Crockett Coliseum and the camera, Petrow walks away from the scene to the sound of exotic Iranian screams, holding up the ketchup and delivering one final spray into the air.] JP: U-S-A! U-S-A! U-S-A! U-s-... [Fade out]


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