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| Tweet Topic Started: Aug 20 2012, 11:44 AM (353 Views) | |
| Overly_Critical_Jue | Aug 20 2012, 11:44 AM Post #1 |
Amigo, I ain't anybody but Juan Vasquez!
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ROBERT DONOVAN ---- [Cut to a plain room, so plain it consists of bare concrete walls, an unadorned floor, a few chairs, some bare flourescent lights and not much else. Seated in the chair is a seven foot two, three hundred and fifty-ish pound man, wearing blue jeans, a black t-shirt with "Heritage" scrawled across is in blood-red lettering, boots, and a thoughtful expression. This man is Rob Donovan, and after a few moments of silence he leans forward, preparing to speak.] RD: Nice place, ain't it? [The big man chuckles.] RD: Started this room awhile back, before anybody in the AWA ever mentioned Longhorn Heritage, during a time when I thought I was done with this business. Started it up, got the barebones finished, lights, this chair, an' then I got a call from an old friend, wonderin' if I had it left in me to try to come back one more time. [Donovan pauses.] RD: Well, turns out I did, an' since y'all ain't here for a history lesson I ain't gonna bother goin' on about it. Anyway, since comin' back I ain't had much time to work on this place...came in here this mornin' thinkin' maybe I'd start thinkin' of finishin' somethin' up in here, an' then I realized somethin' almost profound from a guy who's spent most of the past twenty years shruggin' off head injuries. [Donovan slowly stands up, then looks around.] RD: In more ways 'n I wanna admit, this unfinished room is a metaphor for my whole damn career. Almost there but not quite. Damn near a champ but just a little bit short, almost the last man standin' except I couldn't quite make it to the end. Twenty damned years of almost, but not quite. Twenty years o' near-superstar status, twenty years o' bein' the guy the office loves one night an' hates the next, twenty years o' blood, sweat, tears, an' aside from a few weeks o' glory, what's to show for it? [Donovan stops looking around at the room and looks back at the camera, scowling.] RD: A big damn pile o' almost there is what! I thought comin' back here that maybe things'd be different. Here's a place that embraces old school, embraces tradition, a place where I ain't gonna be asked to shred my body night in an' night out, a place that wouldn't bleed me half to death for a crowd of all o' three hundred an' fifty, a place that, most of all, would respect the heritage an' history that the Donovan name used to represent in this business. [Donovan's scowl fades slightly.] RD: Don't get me wrong, I put myself in all those places that asked me to bleed for my paycheck, an' since I like to try an' take some pride in my work I did my damndest to make sure everybody in that audience, whether it was three hundred or thirty thousand, got their money's worth. I bled an' sweat an' paid that price willingly, but I'm gettin' old, so a shot to come back to a place as respected as the AWA an' not bleed for a livin' seemed like a hell of a great way to close things out... [Donovan walks over to one of the unfinished walls, staring at it briefly.] RD: Except it turns out things ain't all that different. I come out, bust my ass to try to make sure that a lowlife like Dave Cooper ain't in a place to be a thorn in our side, an' one of the AWA's own damned office employees, a guy I thought I could call a friend, thinks he can control an unhinged psycho like Cletus Lee Bishop, an' instead of pluckin' that thorn out he drives it in so damn deep that there's a good chance nothin's gonna be able to pluck it. Now, Dave Cooper's goin' on to Blood, Sweat, an' Tears, an' there's a real good chance he walks out with his dirty damned mitts all over the AWA's World Championship. [Donovan slowly turns back to the camera.] RD: Damned if that don't make me angry...but not as angry as these empty walls. Nowhere near as mad as I get thinkin' of how this tournament was my shot at erasing all twenty years of almost theres, my shot at answerin' every doubt anybody's ever had about my career... [The big man trails off for a moment.] RD: Even my own. [That statement's followed by a long silence.] RD: That's why this Rumble is so damn important. The man that walks away from this one walks away with a shot at the World Title, a chance to right the wrong if Dave Cooper or somebody who ain't one of the AWA's own happens to walk out of that buildin' holdin' the strap. For me, it's a chance for validation, redemption, vindication, whatever the hell you wanna call it, it's a shot at finishin' up my days as a wrestler with my head held high, knowin' that I can take pride in the past twenty years, even if it was only at the end that I managed to secure that legacy. Maybe my last chance. So it don't matter if I walk into that Rumble first or last. It don't matter if the people standin' between me an' that chance at the World Title are friend, foe, stranger or known. You get in my way an' I will tear you apart, 'cause I'll be damned to hell 'fore I walk away with my career lookin' like... [Donovan gestures to the empty walls, the bare floor.] RD: This. [Fade.] ***** GUNNAR GAINES --- [An establishing shot shows a house on a wooded hillside. The time is near sunset. This crossfades to a title card on the screen, with white lettering that reads, "A message from Gunnar Gaines." This fades out to a closer shot showing Gunnar seated on a wooden, hand-carved bench on his front porch. His long hair tied back in a pony tail, he's got on jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt and a fleece vest — comfortable at home on a late summer evening.] GG: Welcome to my house. I'm sending this special message because I wanted to take a minute to talk to the fans, as well as everyone else I've crossed paths with so far in the AWA championship tournament. That means you, Ryan Martinez. That means you, Colby Greene. And although I didn't compete with William Craven, we did cross paths, so it also means you. And who's next? James Monosso. [A slight smirk crosses his face.] GG: I'll admit it. Even though I'me a Hall of Famer, I've been out of the game for six years, and it's been even longer since I was a major player. My last run, they considered me an afterthought. So, I think it's pretty sure I came into this tournament as a longshot. Yeah, the fans cheered my return. They made me feel welcome. I appreciate that. It means something to me. But if anyone was considered a dark horse at the beginning of this tournament ... that would be me. [He pauses to gather thoughts.] GG: Well, we're two rounds into this tournament. The Sweet Sixteen, and unlike many others, I'm still here. Still running. Still with a chance to win. Did any of you think I'd outlast Bad Eye McBaine? Playboy Ronnie D? Ron Houston? Supernova? No? [He waits, as if an answer is coming. It's not. But the answer is understood nonetheless.] GG: That's OK. I understand. [He pauses to gather thoughts.] GG: James Monosso, they say that you'll hurt yourself ... just so you can hurt an opponent. They also say you're crazy. These are stories I've heard before. You see, they used to say those sorts of things about me. And you know what? I didn't discourage it. Hell, I used to talk about Grizzly's Law — whatever you did to me, I would do TWICE as hard to you. Then I went out and enforced it. And if you didn't believe it before the match, you sure believed it after. Pretty soon everyone believed it. That's how these things work. You build up a mystique, and people want to get on board. Do you know what happens to mystiques, James Monosso? Because sooner or later, you're going to find out. They go away. That's what happens. And some go away before they even really get started. [He lets that sink in.] GG: I'm here to tell you, James, and I've been around long enough to know. We're never as good as our reputations, and we're never as bad. The reality is, we just go out to the ring and fight. We may play to the crowd, and we may play all kinds of crazy games, getting people to believe all sorts of crazy things. But when we're standing across from each other in that ring at Blood, Sweat and Tears, you're a competitor. Not a movie character. Not a serial killer and not Anton freakin' Chigurh. Just an opponent. A wrestler. But let's be more specific, James. You're more than my opponent. You're my obstacle. You're what's keeping me from getting to the round of eight. And like I've told people, this tournament means something to me. It's not about a paycheck. I'll admit it. When the office called me, that's the first thing they mentioned. Money. But I've got more important things to fight for, like family and a legacy. You notice my son isn't anywhere to be found in this message. That's because I wanted to speak freely. Don't get me wrong. I love my son and I know he's rooting for me to win. And on one level, he even understands what this is all about. But on another level, he doesn't understand. He doesn't understand because he has never lived it. The fact is, James Monosso, I was on top of the world at one time. I hit heights that someday you may reach, or someday you may never. Once my career took off, back when things were really rolling for me, at first things went according to my plans, but then things went out of control. Pretty soon my phone never stopped ringing. It seemed like every week another person wanted to fight me, and every month someone crawled out of the woodwork wanting to claim to be my relative. I'm serious! I'd get these proposals. You don't even want to know. And then later on, the opposite occurred and I was a pariah in this business. No one liked me, no one wanted to help me, and no one would even return my phone calls. Point being, I've seen the highs and the lows. And right now, I'm closer to the end of my career than the beginning. And that being the case, I'd rather experience a few more highs. So when we square up on that canvas, and the crowd is roaring, I can tell you two things that will happen. First, that noise is going to give me such a huge rush that I can't even think. But then, the crowd noise will just drop away and it will be just me, you and a referee. And that's when it begins. The human chess match. The battle of wits. Move against move. Man against man. And that's where I will put everything on the line just to fight one ... more ... day. Because in this tournament, there's no saving it for later. There IS no later. Not for me. There's only now. And right now, I want this. I want to be world champion — or I want to leave everything between the ropes trying. No regrets. No clouds. Just a clear verdict and a satisfied mind. [Gunnar looks down briefly to gather more thoughts, then resumes speaking.] GG: Ryan Martinez, I'm sorry it went down the way it did. Much respect to you, and much gratitude for watching my back. Colby Greene, you were a worthy competitor. You just weren't good enough. James Monosso ... I'll see you in the ring at Blood, Sweat and Tears, and rest assured, I'm willing to spend my blood and my sweat to beat you. But there won't be any tears — win or lose — because IF I walk away, I want to do it knowing I left everything in the ring. But maybe I won't walk away. Maybe I'll continue on to the next round. And just maybe, you'll see why they used to call me the Baddest Thang Running — and why some people still do. [He continues looking into the camera as the shot holds. Then it fades out.] ***** VIOLENCE UNLIMITED --- [The words, "NEW ORLEANS, LOUISIANA" flash across the bottom of the screen, as we open to a nighttime shot of Danny Morton and Jackson Haynes, seated in lawn chairs in front of a portable camping tent. In the background, we see the Lakefront Arena, future site of "Blood, Sweat, and Tears". Haynes and Morton are each in t-shirts and jeans, with a beer in their hand and a cooler by their side. The picture isn't exactly of the highest quality, apparently being shot on some sort of handheld device. Haynes laughs.] JH: What'd I tell you, Bishops? You think we were kiddin' 'bout campin' out to make sure we'd be there for our match? No way in hell, me and Danny are gonna' miss this match. Your sorry butts better believe that this time, there ain't gonna' be no... [He holds up his free hand and makes air quotes.] JH: ..."travel problems". [He turns around to stare at the arena behind him, before turning his attention back to the handheld.] JH: Now, we've been hearin' a whole damn lot 'bout how much damage we've done to Duane Henry Bishop. First, I almost tore that mouthbreathin' moron's arm off in the World Title tournament and then, Danny Morton almost sends him back to his maker with the damnedest lariat anyone's ever seen! Seems like he ended up a concussion...put outta' action for weeks and almost right into retirement! [Haynes chuckles.] JH: That poor bastard...ya' almost gotta' feel sorry for him. Danny...whatta' you think? [Morton grins.] DM: Well, it's not quite "an eye for an eye", Jack...but it's a start! [The Oklahoman cackles, before holding up his broken right arm, still wrapped in the plastered cast.] DM: In just a few weeks, this cast is going to have to come off, but some people think the damage has already been done. [Morton shakes his head.] DM: Not even close! You cost us the National titles...you almost cost me my ARM! If me and Jack intended to really do "damage" to you Bishops, it'd be a hell of a lot more than rattling what Duane Henry considers a brain! JH: We've been waitin' for this moment since the first time you decided you wanted to stick your noses in OUR business! You can make all the backdoor, shady deals with Jim Watkins ya' want! You can slash the tires on a rental car, pray for the man up above to make it rain, and hide underneath all the rings you can, but this is one fight that you ain't avoidin'! DM: The cast might be coming off, but the REAL fight is only just beginning! You might've taken away the cast, but you didn't take away the man! You've taken away an object, but you still have to deal with a weapon! I'll still be here, Bishops! I'll be here, ready to give you the greatest fight of your lives! I'll be right here to reclaim OUR titles! I'll be here, out for revenge! Two more weeks, boys! [Morton gets out of his chair and with his good arm, grabs the camera from its perch, holding it up close to his face.] DM: TWO MORE WEEKS!!! [And with the camera fully focused on the intense, wild-eyed, bearded face of Danny Morton staring directly into our souls...we fade to static.] ***** MACHT KRAFTWERK --- [Shot comes to an interview setup where AWA's Jason Dane stands by next to the longtime German Cruiserweight wrestler, Macht Kraftwerk. Macht, clutching a bottle of water and dressed in a pair of jeans & a basic "AWA" branded T-shirt, looks on into the camera as he smiles broadly from beneath his mask.] JD: Jason Dane here with one of the entrants for the Rumble, and actually a man who earlier in the AWA World Title Tournament, competed in the Second Chance Rumble... Macht Kraftwerk. MK: Ach, Herr Dane, it is much good to see you AND most of all, GREAT to be here in front of the AWA cameras again! JD: Last we saw you, Macht, you had... arranged some sort of deal with City Jack? To train Tin Can Rust for the Tournament? [Macht nods as he takes a swig of water.] MK: Ahh, ja, myself trained the Tin Can for a time. Myself thinks it may have been the City Jack just being a, uh, nice guy. It was, uh... A tough time? [Kraftwerk nods to his own question.] MK: Myself thinks it helped the Tin Can, but do not really know... Seems it was just more talking to the Rusty man. Uh, much was said to the Tin Can, make sure he was ready in the head for his match. JD: I see, so more like you got him mentally prepared. [Macht nods, wagging his finger.] MK: Ja, that is it. Myself could not offer the Tin Can much in way of training. He is very slow and does not move well. Myself? Still fast! Still moves will! Still strong! [Kraftwerk pumps his fist after every attribute.] JD: Well, Macht, let's get to the annual AWA Rumble. What are your thoughts going in to the match? MK: Ha! It will be much fun! Myself enjoys this match of most chaos! It is a match where the crop lets the cream rise. Where the best come to be best. It is a match the fans love! It is a match that myself loves! JD: But your thoughts on the actual match? MK: Thoughts? Thoughts... My only thought is to win! This match! And become new Weltmeisterschaft! Ach, much good there! Myself would - [Kraftwerk pauses to take another gulp of water.] MK: Ahhh, ja, that would be good! And myself can do it! These matches and made for my style - no defense. No stalling or holding like a bore. All offense. All the time. One hundred times the power and fast! The fans will love it! JD: So you think you can do what no one else has - defeating the "King of the Battle Royals" Alphonse Green at his own match? [Macht looks at Dane with a great deal of confusion... and does this for a good, solid, uncomfortable minute.] MK: But it is "Rumble", ja? [The German looks on as Dane nods in response... to which Macht nods in response as the shot cuts out.] ***** TIN CAN RUST --- [Shot comes to the back halls of the show in Mobile. There sitting down by a table with his duffel bag, dressed in jeans & a flannel shirt, is a bruised and banded Tin Can Rust. The big Kentuckian's looks on out into nothing, muttering to himself.] TCR: ...God... da- [Rust pounds his fist down on the table, clenching his teeth... and then wincing in pain afterwards.] TCR: I... Had him... [Rust, frustrated as he replays his match with Blackwater Bart in his head, grips the back of his head as he looks down, wincing once again.] TCR: ... [Rust just shakes his head, over and over, in this position. After a couple moments, however, the large figure of City Jack strides into view. Jack's looks a little glum as he watches his friend for a moment.] CJ: Hey. [No response from Rust.] CJ: Hey! [Again, nothing from his former Kentucky's Pride partner. Jack looks on, now really bothered.] CJ: HEY NOW! [Jack's booming voice snaps Rust out of his spell.] CJ: Now ain't no time to be thinkin' of what was, could of, what may be, what I coulda done and all them other questions ya got rattlin' around there - [City Jack jabs a finger at TCR's temple.] CJ: I done know you for nearly half my life and I never seen ya be one to wallowin' around like this. [Rust slowly looks up at Jack, stone faced.] CJ: I thought ya had him dead to right, but he it was just Bart's night. Really tough loss, I know! But it ain't - TCR: Ain't what, Jack? Huh? Ain't the end? [Tin Can Rust scoffs at his partner's potential optimism.] CJ: You dang'on right it ain't the end! Now I know you wanted to be the first AWA World Champ, jus' like you and me were the first AWA National Tag Team Champs, but that ship done sailed out earlier tonight. And the more you accept that, the more you can get yourself out this whole pity party and get back to doin' what ya came back to do - [Jack, with a nod of his head, gives a sort of stern smile.] CJ: FIGHT ON! And it ain't the end! TCR: Yeah, sure... Almost middle aged... Tryin' to run with the young crowd... I ain't got nothin' left, Jack! I ain't - [Jack quickly loses the smile as he shoves his finger back in Rust's face.] CJ: Now you just shut the hell up and you listen good. I'm standin' here, looking at a man who got within three matches of a chance at a World Title - somethin' many a man in the world can't ever say. Somethin' I can NEVER say. [Rust snaps his head back a bit at Jack's words.] CJ: You a better man than this, Hugh. Win or loss out there, I know you ain't someone to just up and chuck away a chance when it's still there. You proved in this here tourn-a-ment that you still got more mileage than many of them pundits thought was true. So ya ain't goin' to be the first and ya ain't gonna have no easy road either to get another chance. But I ain't hearin' you havin' NO roads! [City Jack pauses, softening a bit as Rust looks down.] CJ: Cause the man I saw out there tonight? The man fightin', throwing down with one of the toughest SOB's ever in wrestling? Same man I done saw twenty some years back, burnin' through Louisville like a hot knife! That was a man who coulda taken on ANYONE in this tourn-a-ment! [Jack reaches to his back pocket, taking out a slip of paper.] CJ: And that's a man that I know has still got a fire in him to fight on! [City Jack stuffs the slip of paper into Rust's shirt pocket.] CJ: So you better make sure that man - the man I know as Tin Can Rust - is out there on Labor Day weekend, throwin' a bunch of other hopeful World Title contenders out of the ring... [Jack, having said his piece, walks off down the hall. As Jack leaves, Rust takes out the slip of paper that Jack gave him and reads it. The shot then fades out as Rust reads on, nodding his head.] ****** TRAVIS LYNCH --- [The Texas flag waves proudly on the screen for a few moments before the gravely voice of the patriarch of the Lynch family, Blackjack Lynch, begins to speak.] BL: Texas is the Lone Star state but I didn't breed just one star. [As the flag continues to wave a black and white picture of Jack Lynch holding the Stampede Cup high over his head fills the middle portion of the screen.] BL: Jack ... [Another black and white image is superimposed over the flag and Jack's picture, this one of James Lynch holding the AWA National Tag Team Championship belt high into the air.] BL: James ... [James picture has a black and white picture of Travis Lynch being hoisted upon the shoulders of Jack and James, holding the PCW Heavyweight Championship Belt tightly to his chest.] BL: And the youngest of them ... Travis. [The image of Travis begins to zoom until his smiling crimson covered face fills the screen. The screen goes black for a brief moment and the voice of Travis Lynch can be heard speaking.] TL: This is where it all begin for me in two thousand and six. [Travis Lynch is standing in a the center of a ring of a barren arena. As the camera zooms in upon the current AWA Superstar, decked out in blue jeans, his black ostrich cowboy boots and a black polo shirt, which as always seems a size too small for his muscular frame, it reveals that he is standing upon a very faded and dry blood stain PCW logo. He slowly takes a few steps towards the right and leans over the rope, looking down to the floor.] TL: I can still hear the screams from the youngsters as I was hung in this very spot by The Lost Boy ... I can hear Hassan screaming to the fans that this is what a Lynch really looks like; the blood dripping from my face to the floor below ... [Travis pauses for a moment as he runs his hand through his dirty blonde hair.] TL: I struggled and gasped for breath wondering if on the very night my career began that it was ending. [Travis steps away from the ropes and once again faces the camera.] TL: But with Blood, Sweat and Tears a few weeks away, we all can see that my career far from ended that night. But that memory, well it's been etched in my mind, a constant reminder of what could have been if the madman had been a bit more vicious, a bit more unstable ... more willing to cross whatever lines where in front of him to get to his end game ... what if in two thousand and six it was my opponent at Blood, Sweat and Tears that was gripping that microphone cable ... that was laughing maniacally as my legs flayed side to side. What if the man who hung me was William Craven? [Travis pauses as the camera zooms in a bit upon his face.] TL: Would I still be standing here preparing for a war, preparing to take the next step towards the AWA World Heavyweight Championship belt? Honestly, I don't know the answer to that, but I do know that since it wasn't the Motor City Madman that night, I have had the chances to brawl with Ebola Zaire, Bruno Verhoeven, Muteesa, and even Bruno Bradley. Night after night for nearly five years these men would have no reservations about spilling my blood, trying to break my bones, heck on a number of occasions they actually did. [Travis pauses once again as he kneels in the center of the ring by the PCW logo.] TL: And each and every battle, each drop of blood that hit this mat has prepared me for Blood, Sweat and Tears. You see William, I've seen you gnaw your opponents foreheads, I've seen you lick your own blood from your lips, drag your opponents head across the unforgiving steel; as you fought in cages, battle on scaffolds ... hell I've even watched the lengths you will go to just eliminate a legend like Alex Martinez from the AWA. [Travis slowly runs his hand over the PCW logo.] TL: William, there's no doubt you have the experience, the desire and the blood lust that strikes fear in the hearts of men but I'm not terrified of you William, not one damn bit! [The camera focuses on the Adonis like face of Travis.] TL: But I can admit that I'm nervous to step into the ring with you ... yes, 'cause there's no doubt in my mind this is the biggest match in my career to ... and I know this is a match you need to win, a match you have to win 'cause at forty-five. [Travis exhales.] TL: Well, you know the number of chances for a world championship are slipping ... and William I mean no disrespect. I've seen you in the ring and when you're on top of your game ... it's really hard to see a forty-five year old man, 'cause you can only see the beast; the Motor City Madman. [Travis stands to his feet and as he does so the camera pans back to see a tall gentleman, with large hands that have gnarled knuckles, hair which is grey and thinning, and there are wrinkles on his face, obviously Blackjack Lynch. The patriarch of the Lynch family slaps his hand upon, his son's shoulder.] BL: My boy, there's no need to be nervous. The blood that flows through your veins is the blood of champions and it is pumped through them by a heart of lion. [Blackjack pats the chest of Travis and the resounding thud of the impact radiates through the barren arena.] BL: The AWA World Heavyweight Championship is your destiny and no man or beast is going to stop you from attaining it. [Travis looks at his father and nods his head as all slowly fades to black.] ***** SUPERNOVA --- [Cut to an AWA backdrop, which Supernova stands in front of. Supernova has his face painted as usual and wears a black AWA T-shirt and blue jeans. He has an intense look on his face.] S: So we are fast approaching the time to rumble... the time to get down and dirty in the trenches as some would say! And everyone knows that I've been down this road before... that I know what it's like to have to get through 29 other men who are seeking a shot at glory! Now, there are those who might say, "Supernova, you've got a pretty big target on your back, don't ya? After all, you won the whole thing more than a year ago, so everyone's gotta be gunnin' for ya and wantin' to make a name of themselves, right?" Well... [A slight laugh.] S: All 29 of you other men are welcome to take your best shot, because right now, I'm more than a little upset about the things that have been going down... like what I watched William Craven do to Rashaan Hill last Saturday Night Wrestling! Now, I know I was the one who called out Craven and who delivered a message to him a few weeks earlier... but if Craven is going to be using innocent guys like Hill to send messages back to me... that's when I start drawing the line, folks! So for those of you who are in the Memorial Day Rumble... my apologies in advance to some of you who I just might get a little too rough with to send my message right back to Craven! [He pounds his fist into his open hand.] S: Now, guys like Robert Donovan... I have nothing but respect for him and I know he's a heavy hitter. And I know he believes he's been long overdue for a shot at the top prize in our sport, so I know he'll understand if I come out, intent on hitting him a little harder than I would otherwise... and I would certainly expect no less from him. And I know Glenn Hudson is on the trail of Dave Bryant, and I definitely back him up on that trail, but I'm sure he'll understand that the trail I'm taking in a couple weeks is one in which he happens to be in way and that I'll be hitting him a little harder than I would otherwise... and at the same time, I expect no less from him, either. And yeah... there's Juan Vasquez. Again, I don't know what's going through his mind these days and he's certainly taken some twists and turns I never expected he would take... but he knows me well enough that I'm not going to just stand aside and let him tear through everyone. Juan, I do respect you, but just as with Donovan and Hudson, I'll be coming out hitting a little harder than I have before, and as with you, I would expect no less But I'll warn you... if you start treading into that territory Craven likes to occupy, you better believe that you _will_ answer to me! [Beat.] S: But the one guy I definitely have my sights on is Alphonse Green... the guy that likes to call himself the king of the battle royale. Well, Green, you owe a lot to Dave Bryant for helping you retain that title back on the Fourth of July, but this time around, I don't think you'll find Bryant in your corner... but I can guarantee you you'll find me right in your face! The rumble is my territory, Green, and I can promise you that, if you and I are in the ring together, the target will be on your back and I'm gonna be the bullet heading straight for it! [He grunts, his face becoming more intense.] S: So, let's get it on, men... and let's see just how many of you are gonna be able to take the heat... and stop me from not just sending a message back to William Craven, but to be the first man to become a two-time rumble winner! [With that, he cups his hands to his mouth and howls. Fade out.] ***** THE RAVE --- [We open up to a scene from... the Playboy Mansion. I'm not kidding. We're outside the Playboy Mansion. And standing here is the one and only "Nature Manspawn" Jerbalud Jezz. Wearing his banana yellow "designer tailored suit" with splotches of tropical colors in various places and red/green/navy Ray-Bans, the recently-changed Rave member has his hair dyed in tones that attempt to equate to gold, silver, and bronze. Alongside him is Shizz Dawg OG, who still has the silverish grey sparkled hair from Saturday Night Wrestling, which makes it look like his hair is made of disco ball. He is still wearing a lime green suit jacket, tangerine pants, electric magenta undershirt, and rainbow-swirl tie, along with the thick-rimmed glasses and brown dress shoes, two normal items that look out of place on him somehow.] JJ: Attention, protosheep! Everytime we go, all the loseweaker kidscrubs ask, "What's causaliting all of this?" Four-point-five-three-six kilograms of electrum, around one winhaving body. The AWA World Half Wildstyling Novelfight Championship. Stevie Scott, snarf a look at where the world is going. [Jezz opens his jacket to show the snazzy orange lining of his jacket, and does a slow spin as he keeps talking.] JJ: Thirty-seven thousand globbecredits worth of the topshiftest hempshreds that creds can buy! My stanzly macrosphere... you call it a "house" in anciespeak... you scope behind me! In the year 2032, nohumie wilds and styles like the "Nature Manspawn"! SDOG: This is the life of a champstar wildstyler, and you're trying to spill it to the timeflow by reflowing history on behalf of Senator Hoy... the evil gyzzrus senator that is the enemy of Senator Wilde. Stevie Scott, in 2032, Jezz and I are the emperkings of wildstyling, and the postprotosheep worshipize us! They look to their champstars for inspiratory direction, and that's where you made the ultimafinal mistake! We snarfed a whiz at the AWA "tapes", primitive as they are, and saw that the last timefragemnt that we had to reflow spacetime to counter the last timefragment when our scrumunder roilspur... you... we ended up changing our own futurepast! JJ: And Stevie, Stevie, you set loose a luxurcraft ridin, spacecruiser-flying, kiss-snarfing, hovering-credcovering, spawn-of-a-pulse-blaster! I frally ought to gratz you, but when you slide this pro, everyhumie wants to hax you down! At Blood, Sweat, and Tears, we're going to vape you from the timeflow forever! And all of your firmbody haremdrones can come slink on over to Jerbalud and Shizzward, and we'll sling them on a timeslide through Spacetime Mountain! ALLLLLL DEMISEQUENCE LONG! [JERBYGRIN~!] SDOG: We already know that Jezz didwill snarf the World Half Wildstyling Novelfight Championship, because that's what chronotriggered our transmogrification to the supreme champstars of 2032. We mindloaded the dataforms of the historic records of his inevitable Superior Countout Victory of everybody he faces. We already know who didwill win all of the half wildstyle novelfights, and how we didwill defeaterize all opponents! JJ: So Stevie Scott, brainlock this: time keeps on flowing, the borscht will be growing, carbonmatrices are forever, and so is Jerbalud Jezz! [Another JERBYGRIN~, and that's when the camera pans back to see several security guards flanking the Rave.] Security: You're trespassing on private property. You have one minute to clear out or we'll tase you and hand you to the cops. SDOG: Tasers? *phhpt* In the year 2032, those old a-fax are only used by oldcreps to clear sinuses. We use proton reversers! [A 300 pound security guard has heard enough, and he starts dragging Shizz off by the face. Three others start hustling Jezz out as he protests loudly.] JJ: You protosheep can't devoice me! I'm Jerbalud Jezz! In 2032, I own this whole microsector! That's my macrosphere! I'll go back to when you were all spawnfluid and make sure you were never copulated! You'll deexist so fast that your cranicaps will... [He keeps ranting as a hand is clamped over the camera lens, and we cut.] ***** THE LONGHORN RIDERS --- [We open to a bar, somewhere in Texas. It is dark, the building is made of brick and roughly-done wood. Neon and old beer signage provide the decor, and a thin veil of grey smoke hangs in the air. Two men stand here near the pool table. Clad in long white dusters, jeans, and button-up white shirts, the Longhorn Riders stand before us. Jim and Pete Colt strike very different yet menacing figures... Jim the lanky, tall one while Jim is the wide-shouldered muscular one. Jim has a straight reddish-brown mullet and a thin horseshoe mustache; Pete has short wavy reddish-brown hair and a thick horseshoe mustache. Despite the different shapes and hairstyles, their facial features resemble one another; they're obviously brothers. Pete speaks first, in a loud husky voice.] PC: Welcome to Gun Barrel City, Texas! This ain't no college town, and we don't take to no snot-nosed college kids shootin' their mouth in these parts. You wanna shoot off at the lip in front of the Longhorn Riders, you better load up more than just your mouths. [Jim follows. In contrast to his brother, his voice is calm, level... and more than a hint of menace.] JC: We hear them Anton boys is jealous that they ain't the only brother act in town no more. Envy. Ya know, envy can get a man killed if he lets it take to his head, Pete. PC: It does, it does. Antons, you don't know who we are. Obviously. So lemme give ya all ya need to know. We didn't come into wrestling to follow our daddy's footsteps, to make him proud, or to be like him. If we do that, that's good, but it ain't why we're here. We're here to make a pile of money and we're here because we want a fight! JC: We saw ya like to throw around boys that can't match up, Antons. That's good. That's real good. Shows you're mean. We like 'em mean. We like them to be big, mean, and ready to put someone's head out. I just hope you can back all that up when you're facin' men instead of boys. PC: You wanna prove somethin', Antons, you called out the right men. We ain't gonna sit there an' play punchin' bag like them scrubs you roughed up last time out! JC: Maybe we oughta show them what that feels like from the other side, Pete. PC: Ain't no college punks from *spit* Illinois is gonna come down to Texas and try to ride on our turf! Antons, get ready, because your lips just booked you a trip to Boot Hill! [Jim makes a gun with his finger, and 'pulls the trigger' in the direction of the camera as Pete wraps up, and we cut.] ***** ALPHONSE GREEN --- JD: In a few moments, we have highlights from Alphonse Green's tour. Now, while none of these matches are sanctioned by the AWA, Green informed us that he is willing to put his spot in the Rumble, the "King of the Battle Royals" spot, on the line. CP: You know, none of these guys are likely to make it to the promised land otherwise. Eliminating Alphonse Green and winning a battle royal to earn his spot in this Rumble would give some fortunate wrestler a fantastic opportunity. I'm looking forward to these highlights! Roll 'em! [Fade to a familiar looking booth, in fact, it's one of the booths in City Jack's very own restaurant "Big Jack's Flapjacks and Stacks", and sitting at the booth is none other than Alphonse Green. Green is digging into some pancakes, and from the looks of the empty plates next to him, it seems like he's been busy!] AG: Hello Gang Green! Your favorite superstar, Alphonse Green, is here loading up with some fantastic fuel before hitting the road, performing for all of you guys I have yet to see! [Green takes a huge chunk of pancakes and shoves the chunk in his mouth, chewing thoroughly!] AG: MMMMM.. this is sooooo good. Hey City Jack, y'all should ask me to come help shoot your next commercial! You'll get so many people coming in here, you'll be needing to build a Scrooge McDuck kind of money bin to swim in all that money that will be coming in! [A heavy-set waitress enters the scene.] Waitress[in a gravely voice.]: We get great business, hon. [The waitress leans over and sees that Green's cleared his plate.] Would ya like some more pancakes? AG: Yes please. More orange juice too, gotta fill up! Waitress: Ain't ya cute, twelve pancakes already! Alright, sweetie, three more comin' up. I'll get that orange juice right on out to ya. [The waitress leaves, as Green turns back towards the camera.] AG: Why is it that I get all the chain smokin' ladies when I eat anywhere? At least she provides great service, and I always tip well. Advice to all my beautiful Gang Green followers out there. Tip your waitresses. Thank you! [Green grins his unsettling grin.] AG: Anyway, I got some highlights for ya. It's been intense 24 hours a day, 7 days a week since I set out on my tour, but thanks to all of you out there, you've al;l given me the strength to survive. It's a nice little montage, set to some very fitting music! Enjoy! [Fade to Alphonse Green jogging on a beach. The words "Alphonse Green Battle Royal Tour" pop up on screen in Comic Sans. The 80s pop tune "No Easy Way Out" by Robert Tepper begins to play.] [We see him continuing to jog on the beach, before fading to him in a gym, lifting weights, before fading to a shot of him in a battle royal. There appear to be ten others in this particular battle royal. We don't see much action in this one, as it quickly fades to the last two men in this battle royal. Green, and a man who looks like he stepped out of a Milli Vanilli video. Green is in the ropes, as the other man starts to dance all funky like. The man charges at Green, who ducks and backdrops the other man over the top rope. Green drops to his knees as he wins this battle royal!] ??[in a squeaky voice]: Fabrice is eliminated! Alphonse Green wins! [The song resumes as we see more highlights of Green training. We also see Green sitting in an Applebee's, surrounding by waiters and waitresses singing him a Happy Birthday, despite his birthday not falling anywhere close to one of his tour dates. A fade to another battle royal, and this time Green is in the ring with a really fat man wearing a hard hat and a tool belt has Green in trouble!] ??[An older gentleman who is speaking pretty fast]: Looks like Bill the Breaker has Green in trouble! He throws him over the top rope and Bill is celebrating! Could he break him? Yes he can! Wait a minute! Green held on to the top rope! He skinned the cat! Bill doesn't see him and Green dropkicks him in the back of the head! Bill goes over the top rope! No! Green wins! [Green celebrates, as we fade to a shot of Green jump roping with intensity. Then, we see Green in a Chuck E. Cheese eating a pizza with intensity, and also playing skee ball with intensity. Then, we're shown the inside of an armory somewhere, and another battle royal. We're down to three men in this one. Green, and two men in generic black bodysuits and black masks, with a bone on each mask.] ??[Sounding monotone.]: Looks like Snarl and Spit, the Rottweiler Brothers are about to bury Alphonse Green like a bone. [In case you can't tell them apart, Snarl has "SNARL" in block letters on the front of his bodysuit, while Spit has "SPIT" in block letters. Spit sneaks up behind Green and holds him for Snarl to hit. Snarl reaches back, and with all his might, unleashes a right hand.. which catches Spit in the jaw after Green ducks. Green then grabs both men by their heads and hits them with a double noggin nocker! Both men stumble over to the ropes, and Green clotheslines the both of them up and over.] ??: Oh my. The Rottweiler Brothers are on their way to the pound. Alphonse Green wins. [Fade back to Green doing pushups and sit ups, breathing hard the entire time. Then we fade to Camp Snoopy, where Green is enjoying himself. He sees a plaque with a big photo on it. The plaque says "At this very spot, Steve Spector(pictured here in a Charlie Brown costume), uses a Good Grief Stunner to defeat Jak Martin for the MLWO World Heavyweight Championship in a falls count anywhere match on..." Instead of finishing, Green just rolls his eyes, shakes his head, and walks away. Fade to another battle royal, this time it's being held outdoors. Green is seen eliminating a blonde man wearing yellow trunks and white boots. Standing in the far corner is a man in jean shorts, Doc Martens, and a tie dye shirt and headband.] ??[Sounding fuzzy]: And there goes "Devious" Drake Phillips! Eliminated by the Gang Green Flying Machine! Now it's down to Green and our resident hippie, Lemon Billy Sisyphus. Hold on! Sisyphus has a mic! LBS: Dude, all this fighting in this battle royal is killin' my buzz, man. I'm out of here. Violence is not the answer. Enjoy your worthless monarchy! [With that, Sisyphus steps over the top rope, eliminating himself. Green falls to his knees and celebrates like crazy. The song fades back in, as Alphonse Green is cracking eggs, and drinking the egg yolks. Fade to Green opening up a can of protein powder, and preparing a protein shake to drink. Then, the music slows down once again as we fade into a wrestling ring inside of a high school, with a basketball hoop dangerously close to the action. Fast foward a bit, and there are three men left in this particular battle royal. One is wearing black trunks, a black vest, and a brightly colored bandana around his stringy black hair. The other man is balding, with a peppered hair and goatee, wearing a red singlet with a white anchor on the butt. Green, of course, is watching the other two men fight.] ??[Sounding like a young woman]: Rico Suave and "Salty Sea Dog" Mike Boatman are looking to eliminate each other right now. Here comes Alphonse Green! He sends them both up and over the top rope! The King wins again! [The music plays once again, as Green is seen doing pull ups, sweating profusely. Then, we see Green posing for some fans at the side of a road. The fans don't seem as enthused to see Green, as Green is to see members of 'Gang Green'. We then fade back to another battle royal in some bingo hall somewhere. Green looks to be in trouble, as a man wearing black cargo pants, a black wifebeater, and a black bandana has Green overhead in a press slam. The man runs over to the ropes, looking to throw Green out, when Green slips behind him! Realizing that he lost Green, the man sails over the top rope!] ??[Sounding like a poor man's Gordon Myers]: There goes Ray Kwan! [The song slows down, as we Fast forward to later, when Green grabs a man in orange trunks, wearing a Green Day T-Shirt, by the mohawk. He then casually tosses the mohawked man over the ropes.] ??: There goes "Punk Rock" Ernie Isaac! [Fast forward some more to the last two men in this battle royal. Green, and a man wearing green trunks and a green mask. The masked man, instead of going after Green, asks for a microphone!] ??: This newcomer, The Unidentified Man, has a microphone! Unidentified Man: I finally found you, Alphonse Green! [The man reaches up to his mask, and removes it. It's Matt Ginn! Listen to the place erupt in a lukewarm reaction!] MG: .. and I'm going to humiliate you in front of all these stupid smelly rednecks once and for all! [Green asks for a mic of his own.] AG: Excuse me, have we met? I don't know who you are. MG: Wh.. WHAT?? You don't know me? You RUINED MY CAREER!! [Ginn pulls at his hair in frustration.] MG: I'm going to tell all of you pathetic peons who I am and what I'm about to do! [Ginn turns his back to Green. Big mistake.] MG: My name is Matt Ginn! I am a top flight wrestler, and I'm going to.. HEY! [Green sneaks up on Ginn, and sends him flying over the top rope, the latest victim of the Gang Green Flying Machine!] ??: Alphonse Green has eliminated this man, whoever he is! Another battle royal victory for the so-called King of the Battle Royals! [The camera zooms in on Green, who flashes his unsettling smile. The camera fades out, then fades back to the Center Stage Studio.] CP: You might not care for him, but you gotta admit that Alphonse Green's improved by leaps and bounds this year, and has had some impressive showings on his little tour. You gotta think that he's a favorite for the Rumble. JD: I agree that he's improved considerably, he doesn't have to be such a constant jerk about it though. Besides, you see some of those guys in that video package? Not exactly top tier competition. In fact, one of them even eliminated himself! CP: True, but those were just warm ups, you know that! JD: And speaking of 'top tier competition', earlier today I received a video from someone who doesn't agree with Green's self created title of "King of the Battle Royals". It's.. [Dane pauses, trying to hold in laughter, as it's obvious that he's already seen the video.] JD: Well, take a look for yourselves. [Fade in to a plain green backdrop. Standing in front of a backdrop is a tall man, with stringy dark hair. The hair looks freshly washed. The large man also sports a five o-clock shadow, looking as if he only shaved a day or two earlier. He's also wearing blue overalls with a white shirt underneath. However, both the overalls and shirt are clean. Standing next to the tall man is a man wearing a costume that's a couple of sizes too small for him. He's dressed up like a Prohibition era gangster, and is carrying around some sort of plastic toy gun, one you see in one of those 99 cent stores somewhere. The smaller man points the gun at the camera.] ??: RAT-A-TAT-TAT-TAT!!!! [The man in the ill fitting 1920s gangster costume blows 'smoke' from his 'tommy gun' before speaking in a horrible Edward G. Robinson impression.] ??: All youse mugs out there in AWA land better listen and listen good. The name's Fast Freddie Fingers, see? I get the job done! I'm the man with the plans, see, and I have a plan I'm gonna lay on all youse mooks out there. FFF: I'm hearin' there's some stool pigeon out there who claims that HE is the King of the Battle Royals, see, and me and my man take offense to that. You mooks know what a man like me does to stool pigeons? [Fingers mock fires his 'tommy gun' again.] FFF: RAT-A-TAT-TAT-TAT!!! Sleepin' with the fishes. That would mean, however, that my man here would take offense to me puttin' Alphonse Green six feet under. This man right here. [Fingers points to the larger man and slaps him on the chest. The larger man flinches, like he didn't expect the chest slap.] FFF: His name, see, is Saul "The Blue Ox" Bunyan! Look at him! Seven foot two, four hundred fifty pounds. [It does appear that Fingers is exaggerating Bunyan's size. Bunyan appears to be about 6'7" and 320 lbs. Still, a formidable sized fellow.] FFF: This man has never lost a single battle royal, and all people care about is some punk snitch from some backwater hick promotion. No matter, we got Green apparently comin' in to our toif two nights before your so called "Blood, Sweat, and Tears" show, see, and we're gonna take that mook out, and once Bunyan takes him to the cleaners, he's gonna take that punk Green's spot in your precious little Rumble deal, and he's gonna win it, see? Then he's gonna cash in his title shot and become the AWA World Champion! Got that? [Again, Fingers mock fires his 'tommy gun'] FFF: RAT-A-TAT-TAT-TAT!!! [The camera fades back to Jason Dane and Colt Patterson as Bunyan is heard exclaiming 'Geez man you didn't have to slap me so hard, that hurt!". Dane and Patterson just look at each other in disbelief.] CP: Well.. at least that guy is big! He might have to give the Combat Corner a call. JD: [Composes himself]. I'm sorry, that video's funnier the second time around. I'll say this, Bunyan's got the size to actually be a threat to Green's 'title'. I'm sorry, why would a gangster hang out with a country bumpkin? This makes no sense! CP: Wrestling has a way of creating strange bedfellows. [Fade to black.] ***** NENSHOU --- [We open to the study of "The Collector Of Oddities" Percy Childes. As seen a month ago on Saturday Night wrestling, Percy's study is his trophy/ego room. Mahogany walls, lined with books of many colors, featuring navy carpeting and brass ornamental work... the place looks like an expensive library in the home of the wealthy. Various display cases display various "Oddities" that Percy has collected over the years. Percy himself stands in front of his huge antique desk, wearing a dark yellow dress shirt, navy slacks, and a navy tie. The bald-headed, dark-goateed manager has his walking stick in one hand... and the Longhorn Heritage Title belt in the other. Naturally, that's a copy of the belt nenshou wore; the AWA had to purchase a new one to fit Rob Donovan when he won it.] PC: Days away from the changing of the eras. Can you feel it? This belt I have in my hands was the first Longhorn heritage Championship Belt, and it remains in my study as an Oddity that I have collected. It is an Oddity because the very notion of the title is absurd. It celebrates the past... all of the dead companies who failed and went out of business. No other industry does this. The airline industry does not lionize the memory of Pan Am, the computer industry does not glorify Commodore, and the retail sales industry does not so much as remember the name Ames. Failures, you see, that's why they're not around. In wrestling, we build championships to glorify the memories of our failures. And then we resurrect their trademarks... let me tell you all a secret. There IS no Empire Sports. [Percy starts to walk through the study, which is a very large room. He has a line of mannequins upon which hang some of Nenshou's to-ring robes and hoods.] PC: But that is why the setting is perfect. We will end the era by taking one of these unjustly-hallowed memories, and crushing it beneath our heel. Blood, Sweat, and Tears. Presented by *pffft* Empire Sports. The last time that happened, Empire Sports filed for Chapter 11 that year. And the AWA, in it's finite wisdom, has decided that this is a road with following. Ah, but there is a difference. We have finally made the wise... very wise... decision to abandon the old National ways and become what we are destined to be. Global. A World Champion. The name on the belt matters little... as I have said many times, "Longhorn Heritage" is worthless. Fit only for... [Percy puts the belt back in a display case, closes the glass front, and locks it in place.] PC: ...an exhibit. But while my Nenshou wore it, it had meaning. Why? Because a true champion is never, ever given meaning and prestige by a championship. He gives meaning and prestige TO a championship. The AWA is starting fresh, cleansing the palate of failed former champions such as Kolya Sudakov, Ron Houston, and... regrettably... Stevie Scott. The new day is dawning, and my Nenshou shall be the Rising Son. Born of the old era. Master of the new era. Ironically, William Craven is correct in his assessment that the time is due for a revolution. It may even be to his liking... but the odds are against it. The revolution will have nothing to do with the mode of violence employed, and everything to do with the hands that will shape the new reality. The kowtowing to the names of yesteryear will end... did anyone do this in 1997? 1998? Ask James Monosso; they had already forgotten 1995 and 1996, and started new. So it shall be from here on. We will erase the artifical shadows that hang over the sport of wrestling. Gone will be the echoes of Laredo, Los Angeles, New York, St. Louis, Biloxi, Portland, and Toronto. They will be set in their display case and reduced to a curiosity... an Oddity. In their place shall stand Nenshou, becoming the first new legend of the new era. His name will rise above their names, and blot them out of memory. That was what his orders to me were when he hired me; and now it shall come to pass. The new Golden Age of Wrestling begins in the ashes of the old. Blood, Sweat, Tears, Empire... Dead, Gone, Buried, Never Spoken Of Again. And how fitting that it begins with Rick Marley. Ah, yes, Rick. You have foreseen this, haven't you? You tried to warn the world, didn't you? But it is too late. You spent the entire era struggling and striving for a place at the big-boy table. You were a middle-of-the-show talent in New York, which was ostracized and ignored by the other territories of the day, despite pulling at least as many fans. You were not respected in a place which got no respect... just a rookie, not ready for greater things yet. New York died and you went to St. Louis, but you still were not ready. St. Louis died and you went to Toronto, but Toronto was already starting to die and rot. But by the time you got to Phoenix, you were finally ready. Finally became the top star you always craved. But by then, top stars weren't what they used to be, were they, Rick? Everyone still wanted the top stars of 1998 and 1999 and 2000, everyone was stuck in the past and refused to see that the legends of the day were in front of their faces. You were forced out of Phoenix and now you're in Dallas... trying so hard once again to grab your place in the Hall. You know the one. Trying to become a legend in a day where there are no legends. And you face the horrible, shocking, unthinkable fate that more people still remember Rick Styles than Rick Marley. [Faux sympathy crosses Percy's face.] PC: I feel for you on that one. We're going to tear it all down and start over, Rick. All the hard work, all the years of sacrifice, the growth you had to accomplish, the suffering you had to endure, all to add your name to the list of legends? Meaningless. The list will be burned and lost to the winds, as will all of your accomplishments. Of course, just as wrestling starts over, so, too, do you have the opportunity. You are still one of the top wrestlers in the sport. Perhaps you can grab a piece of immortality, here at the end of all things. And the beginning of all things that will matter. Now is the time to get in on the ground floor of greatness, after all. But unfortunately, Nenshou has taken offense to you, and will ensure that you remain the obscure historical bynote you were always destined to be. Not for your achievements, no, no, those are gone. It will be as an unremarkable name on the list of people Nenshou defeated to ascend to his glory. You'll be joined by three others. It matters not who. Perhaps Stevie Scott will revisit his failures as Nenshou rises over him, lamenting the lost opportunity he had to be what Nenshou will become... the start of a new age. Perhaps Craven will see the true revolution first-hand, and be consumed by it. Perhaps Travis Lynch will be exposed to the folly of trying to win something outside of Texas. Perhaps Supreme Wright will be forced to face the reality that he can never live up to his name so long as Nenshou lives. Perhaps the gullible Sultan will be forced to admit "Japan, Number One". Perhaps... so many possibilities. One result. And as all of the rest of you go about your business, dealing with meaningless grudges and fu |
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| Overly_Critical_Jue | Aug 20 2012, 11:45 AM Post #2 |
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Amigo, I ain't anybody but Juan Vasquez!
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JAMES MONOSSO --- [We open to another cheap motel room, where James Monosso has set up a camcorder for an interview. The grainy footage shows the tall, wide-shouldered man with greying stringy black hair seated in a chair. He is wearing a plain grey shirt and black pants.] JM: So have any of you ever been to Hell? Not Texas. Not New Jersey. Not Afghanistan. They're close. But _Hell_. It's a real place. I spent years there. I don't know how many years, because there's no windows in Hell. No calendars. There's white walls, stained with body fluids. Some yours, some the people who came before. The place smells like that and antiseptic mixed. The walls have padding, which is dumb because the buttons that hold the stuff on can be pulled off and once the stuff isn't snug against the wall behind it, it don't really pad so well. In Hell, your meals are basically gruel... when they remember to feed you. They forgot me... let's see... twenty times that I remember. Probably more than that. Hell has guards. The guards have clubs. There are dozens of them, and when they get bored sometimes they slap you around. Then they gave the guards tasers, and now they don't even wait to get bored. They're all large men with small minds that want to be a god to everyone under them, so they treat your life like a plaything. And if there is a God, beg him not to let you into Hell if you're female. The guards get away with everything. All because the people that get sent to Hell are forgotten. Immediately forgotten. Imagine being taken away from your home, people did whatever they wanted to you all the time, you were always restrained and could do nothing about it, it was all legal and noone would ever care or help you, forever. Hell, you see. Now imagine getting out of Hell. You were there for years, and now you see the sky and can eat real food and can go a day without big goons holding you down and beating you. Sound good? Sound like maybe you'd appreciate life a bit more? Now imagine that you have to go back someday. You don't know when. You don't know how. But you can't escape it. You know it is real because you were there. You remember in your nightmares every night what it is to be abandoned in a hole in a straitjacket where you can't move or take a full breath, and the ants, roaches, and rats crawl around you. You're free, but you'll never be free. You're just out on a one-time leave, and that leave only lasts for as long as you can fight. [Monosso puts his head on his hand in a vague approximation of the Willy Wonka meme.] JM: Tell me again about how doing anything and everything to escape a fate worse than death is immoral and wrong. Tell me what you wouldn't do. Tell me what depths you wouldn't sink to. I remember when they raped a guy with a billy club. The only reason it wasn't me is because I nearly killed one of them when they tried. I'm going back to Hell someday. Whenever Percy Childes fails to report in on my progress. He's the one they released me to. He's the one I got to answer to. He keeps a little engraved image of the asylum building in that crystal of his. Do I gotta paint you a picture? [Monosso lifts his head and glares at the camera.] JM: There's one way out. Only one. Money. I get enough of it, and I can live again. Because that shows the board I can take care of myself, you see. Have you seen the mental health laws for the certified insane on the books? You gotta have benchmarks to prove you can be a part of society again. There's a couple different ways, but needless to say the things I had to do since I got out throw all the 'good behavior' ones away. No, all I got left is income. And the only way I'm gonna get it... above board and applicable... is to get World Champion paychecks. But then I wouldn't have to work for Percy anymore, now would I? So now you see the picture. Juan Vasquez, you're between me and freedom. Me and life. If I don't beat you, I'm worse than dead! And if I don't beat four other guys, startin' with Gunnar Gaines, odds are it'll end up the same. Percy's already groomin' my replacement! How would you people feel? Imagine this! Imagine you got out of Hell, and could stay out as long as you did your job... and then the boss was groomin' your replacement, usin' you to do it. What would you think? What would you DO? Anything. EVERYTHING. Five matches in two nights. And I just fought Carver, who messed me up, and then I fought McBaine, who messed me up more. This is it. This is the twelve labors of Hercules, but unlike Hercules I'm a real human being! I exist! I'M A REAL PERSON! [James stands up, briefly getting worked up... until he flops back in his chair, looking down at his feet, despondent.] JM: ...until they lock me back in that cell and everyone forgets me again. Or, best case, I somehow get out of going back to the asylum, and then I'll be a crippled old wrestler who can't do anything else in life and dies in the street... forgotten again. That's the best case, if I don't get that money. If I don't get that title. [No... the thought of it renews his resolve. His expression hardens, and his eyes return to the camera in a Kubrick glare.] JM: I _will_ get that title. Over your dead bodies, if necessary. And you'd have to be _INSANE_ to think otherwise. [The scene cuts to static, and then ends.] BLACKWATER BART --- [The camera fades in on a generic sound stage area. Reflected on the green screen is a rather - shall we say - cheap looking rendition of a Texas landscape done in faded colors. The sun is setting, the mesa's are windblown, and if you look closely enough? You may even see a Native American or two proudly racing through the desert. Seriously, I mean it... It's an awesome background. But we digress. Splashed across that impressive background in angry red bold face type is one word. In fact, it may be the only one word that matters in this situation. You see, because that word? That word describes the man standing in front of this background where none other can. The word, of course, is "Cowboy", and the man it describes? Is Blackwater Bart. The LWC vet is dressed in his usual uniform, dirty and ripped jeans, cowboy boots, and a faded "Sam Willis" t-shirt that is straining to contain his gut. A yellowed ten gallon hat is pushed back on his head, showing the scabbed remains of his battle with Tin Can Rust, just another cut that joins the myriad wounds and bruises that have been his career. In one hand Bart grips the now familiar dog chain, and the other? Well, the other is pointed at the camera as the huge man begins his rant.] Bart: Was that it, boy? [Bart snaps the chain, links rattling as they hit the mat.] Bart: Is that all ya' had for me son? A little ol' cut across my forehead? Heh... Hell, I got cut up worse fighting Tex once or twice and that lil' boy ain't done nothing more in his life than walk around and look depressed. [Bart's free hand reaches down, gripping the faded buckle of his Wal-Mart brand belt.] Bart: Ah done guess you don't even get to be in the running for the Blackwater Grand Championship belt now do ya' boy? Why don't you get to running back with your little friend there and find yourself a nice lil' tag team match to get into huh? You done leave the fight to the real men now. [Another snap of the chain.] Bart: Problem is though? Aint no such thing as no real men left in this damned lil thing. William Craven? [Bart looks confused for a minute.] Bart: Ain't he one of those fools that dresses up like some damned Star Wars character and runs around in the forest with some other like minded boys on the weekend? Hell son, ya' come at me some time with that lil ol' stick ya' carry. Ya' come at me, if ya can stop talking long enough, and Ah'll make damned sure that ya' never get backed up again and improve ya' posture at the same time! [Bart pushes the hat down more firmly on his head.] Bart: Gunnar Gaines? Well, Gaines ain't never been nothing but a footnote anyway, so ain't worth my time. Ya' let someone send that tall drink of water into fight with me and Ah done promise it will the last time he ever tries to step back in the ring. Man gets to be his age? Its awfully damned hard to come back from a broken neck! [Bart slaps the Piedra arm.] Bart: And if you think Ah'm wrong Gaines? Just try to think how damned well hard it would done be to wrap yer little geriatric hand around my throat without this big ol' arm come crashing down upside yer neck. Ya' ask Tin Can Rust what that feels like boy... When he wakes up. [Bart warms to his topic, face growing flushed.] Bart: Now they done got me in the ring with some young fat kid. Got himself a nice lil' pretty mask that spits smoke or some nonsense. Ya' know Mammoth? One of the welfare moms back at the trailer park? She done got something just like that for Halloween one year. Silly little plastic skull headed thing that made it all kinds of hard to see when Ah was coming back from the bar that night. Course, Ah had done had a few too many and Ah thought that thing was some damned spooky fool Ah fought back in the day. [Bart grins.] Bart: Woke up the next morning and half the damn thing was on one side of the trailer park... Was picking pieces of plastic out my arm for a week. [Side track aside] Bart: But Mammoth? Ya' ain't some lil' plastic Halloween toy now are ya? Nah, ya' just another sumbitch that grew up watching those wierd ol' Japanese cartoons with the half nekkid women and the octopusses all doing things that ya' have to pay fifty bucks for in Mexica to see. Got yerself all worked up and went on over to Japan... Got yourself that purty mask... Got yourself some tights and realized you could lay on top of some lil' men to win some matches. Well Mammoth, come get ya' a look at me boy. [Bart slams the chain wrapped fist against his chest.] Bart: Do Ah look like Ah'm some lil' Japanese man? Do Ah look like Ah'm gonna put me on a pair of lil' tights and wrassle you? Do Ah look like Ah'm gonna try and arm bar yer fat ass? Hell no! [Bart spits off to the side.] Bart: Ah done made myself a career of taking boys like ya' down a peg. Ah done made a life of getting in that ring and payin for the repairs on my truck by crushing yer hopes and dreams down with a powerbomb and a Piedra! Come Blood, Sweat, and Tears? Ah'm gonna come at ya' like something you done never seen boy! Ya' see, Ah don't care about no pretty belt... Ah don't care about who done what ta' who and who has some deep kind of issues with momma that make them wear a mask. Ah don't even care if I walk out that night with a win or a loss! [Bart grins.] Bart: What Ah care about Mammoth? Is adding another notch to this here belt. What Ah care about, is putting yer fat, useless, never will be ass as high in the air as Ah can lift ya? And then slamming you down through that mat with a powerbomb! [Bart's nostrils flare.] Bart: Mammoth! Ah don't even think yer old enough to deserve to be hit with the Peidra son! Ah don't think yer squat lil self needs that kind of... Whatcha call it.. Recognition... [Bart laughs.] Bart: But tell you what son. Come Sunday? After Ah send yer ass plummeting down into the mat? Ah'll done give ya' a good one if ya' fight hard enough. Ah'll end ya with the Piedra. [One last smash of his chest.] Bart: And then? It will be on ta' the next fool. ***** SUPREME WRIGHT --- [We open to a shot of Supreme Wright, standing by with Jason Dane, as the former Combat Corner student is greeted by a decisively mixed chorus of cheers and boos by the Center Stage Studios audience. Wright is dressed in a three-piece grey tweed suit, with red vest and bowtie, along with a pair of black-rimmed glasses. His hair, as always, is pulled back tightly in cornrows. He stands there in the background with a stoic look on his face, as Jason Dane speaks to the camera.] JD: Folks, I'd like to introduce a man right now, who on the last edition of Sa-... [Dane shakes his head.] JD: Well, let me be honest...I didn't think he had a prayer against Jeff Matthews. I'm not sure many people did, but he managed to shock the world. That was an amazing win, Supreme Wright. [Wright simply nods.] SW: It was a good win. [Jason Dane seems a bit confused by Wright's low-key reaction.] JD: That's it? For most people, that "good win" can make an entire career. SW: Isn't it about time you realized, Mr. Dane...that I'm not like "most people"? [He stares at Dane with a stern look on his face, before breaking the tension with a big grin.] SW: Some people might be satisfied by one win...but you have to remember...I'm aiming much, MUCH higher. JD: You've made that _very_ clear over the course of the tournament, but after your big win on Saturday Night Wrestling, you seemed to have a change of heart... offering to take down the so-called "undesirables" left in the World Title tournament...a classification that some people may argue that you, yourself belong to. As a result, your path to the World Title doesn't become any easier, as you face the so-called "Sword of Damacles"...Dave Cooper in the third round. Once again, we're left wondering..."Why?" SW: It was simply a matter of getting...what I wanted. [Dane frowns at that answer.] JD: What...you "wanted?" An apology from Todd Michaelson? [Wright shakes his head.] SW: Competition, Mr. Dane. [He chuckles softly to himself.] SW: An apology from Mr. Michaelson would just be icing on the cake. [Dane gives an exasperated sigh.] JD: I honestly don't get you. You deliberately put yourself into difficult situations. You practically BEGGED Jeff Matthews to try to break your arm. And now...this. It's almost like you have some sort of death wish. [Supreme is silent for a moment, before calmly removing his glasses and placing them into his suit pocket. He then proceeds to lean in close to Dane.] SW: How do you build a legend, Mr. Dane? [Supreme leans in closer, assaulting our intrepid interviewer with a barrage of questions.] SW: How do you create a hero? What can turn a common man into a GREAT man? What makes...a REAL champion? [Once again, Wright breaks the tension with a smirk.] SW: Adversity. [Just saying the word seems to give him goosebumps.] SW: The greatest men that this sport has ever seen, were all capable of overcoming the odds, fighting beyond their limits and always finding a way to persevere. Look at a man like Mr. Matthews. He suffered through more adversity than anyone in this sport should ever have to...but he found the resolve to survive. [An unsettling grin.] SW: And it made him THAT much stronger. [Dane finds some resolve of his own, finally finding the words to battle back against Wright's twisted ideology.] JD: But he had no control over that! He was the victim of sick and demented men out to destroy him! What you do...it's almost all self-inflicted. You come out here and CREATE adversity for yourself! [Supreme takes this all in and doesn't so much as bat an eyelash.] SW: And what if I do? [He shrugs.] SW: All I care about is being the best, Mr. Dane, and there's no sacrifice too great to be made for me to achieve that. [Just as suddenly as the words came to him, Jason Dane once again finds himself speechless.] SW: I've traveled all around this world and wrestled in every arena, stadium, high school gym, rec center and county fair I've possibly could. I've won at every level. I just choked out one of the greatest wrestlers this world has ever seen, right in the middle of the ring... [He lowers his head, shaking it.] SW: ...yet I'm still considered an underdog in this tournament. I'm still an unknown quantity. I STILL have to go out there night after night and wrestle my butt off, just to prove that I belong! [A dejected sigh.] SW: And you stand there asking me why I put myself through that sort of Hell? Because I have to. Because I NEED to. Because if I can inch just _one_ step closer towards greatness...it all would've been worth it. [Supreme lowers his head, laughing without mirth.] SW: When you think about it, it's a pretty damn pathetic existence, ain't it, Mr. Dane? [Wright suddenly looks up and grins big.] SW: Almost as pathetic as Dave Cooper's! [This seems to catch Dane off-guard.] JD: ...What? SW: I told you before and I'll tell you again...the man aiming to be world champion should place NO ONE above himself. [Supreme shakes his head.] SW: But not DAVE. [Dane mouths "Dave." to himself, before coming to the realization that Wright didn't address him as "Mr. Cooper", opening his eyes in mild surprise.] SW: Nope. DAVE...is selfless. DAVE is willing to sacrifice body and soul to build up the myth, the legend, the prestige and glory... [A look of eloquent disdain crosses Wright's face.] SW: ...of a man he freely admits is BETTER than him. [You can FEEL the disgust that Supreme holds for Cooper.] SW: The fact is...Dave Cooper, is a damn fine professional wrestler, capable of dismantling any man inside that ring. He's a veteran of this sport respected for his experience and skill. So I have to ask... ...where's his professional pride? [Suddenly, Supreme's face lights up, beaming with pride.] SW: While 15 men are aiming for greatness... [Wright frowns.] SW: ...Dave Cooper is content to settle for mediocrity. [His face once again lights up, brimming with hope.] SW: While 15 men are looking to bathe in the brilliant glow of the World Title... [He rolls his eyes and winces, almost as if he's in pain.] SW: ...Dave Cooper dreams to live in another man's shadow. [A long, drawn out, frustrated sigh.] SW: Now, I'm not against a man fighting for what he believes in. I'm not against a man, willing to sacrifice himself for a noble cause. But when did it become acceptable for a man known as "The Professional"... [He turns and looks directly into the camera.] SW: ...to be Mark Langseth's DOG? [Did he just say the name of the forbidden one? Supreme turns to Jason Dane and demurely covers his mouth, as if to say, "Oops!", before turning his attention back to the camera.] SW: And you've been an obedient, old dog, haven't you? Faithfully following your master's orders to fetch him that world title. But the thing is...you've got a NEW master now, boy. [A big grin forms on Wright's face...as a look of concern forms on Jason Dane's face.] JD: A "dog?" Supreme...Dave Cooper is a man that's been terrorizing this organization for months. If he wins the world title, who knows what's going to happen to the AWA. You should-... SW: Treat this situation a bit more seriously? [He narrows his eyes at Dane, who manages to slowly nod his head at him.] SW: I treat _everything_ seriously, Mr. Dane. [Wright turns back to the camera.] SW: But that's exactly what he is. A DOG; Barkin', slobberin', and makin' a mess of his new master's home: MY ring. [A smirk.] SW: Not exactly "professional" behavior, is it? [Grin.] SW: It was amusing at first, but now we're all growing tired of the old boy's act, aren't we? DAVE sure as hell has proven that he knows "speak" and "fetch"...but I think it's time for the old dog...to learn a new trick. [He turns to Dane...] SW: At "Blood, Sweat, and Tears", why don't we show the world just how Dave Cooper... [...as a fierce, intense, dangeorus-looking smile forms on his face.] SW: ...can roll over and play dead? [Dane can only stare at Wright, unable to respond. Once again, Supreme is forced to break the tension.] SW: WOOF! [The bark causes Dane to jump back, as Wright laughs wildly at his reaction. He ruffles the interviewer's hair and walks off, leaving a mentally exhausted Dane behind.] JD: ... [Jason Dane turns to the camera, as if he wants to say something.] JD: ... [Instead, he slumps his head and shoulders, looking drained by the whole experience. He motions for the camera to fade out as we go to black.] ***** DAVE COOPER --- [Fade in: "The Professional" Dave Cooper by himself, standing before the camera, a pretty shaky shot. He is dressed in a button-down shirt, blue jeans and wears a neck brace, a defiant look on his face.] DC: Well, well, look who was the lamb that got sent to the slaughter at the hands of The Professional... Supreme Wright. The man that just beat Jeff Matthews. The man who taunted Matthews' family, who riled him up, who ticked him off in any way imaginable, just because he wanted Matthews to be gunning at him and giving him his best. And the man who was supposed to be the pride of the Combat Corner, now wants to tell everyone how sorry he is and how he wants to make it up to everyone and come save the AWA... and now gets his chance to do that. [A smirk.] DC: Hey, Wright, you can go ahead and take shots at whoever in my family you want to take shots at... call out my wife, my mother, my father, my grandma and my cousins, for all I care, because I don't need any more motivation than what I've already got... and that's this farce of a tournament to crown a champion because the AWA refuses to recognize the rightful National champion. But if you think for one minute anyone is taking you seriously about you wanting to come to the rescue of the AWA and that you're truly sorry about whatever wrongs you did -- I don't buy it, son. Because I know the truth about you. [Beat.] DC: You see, I have insider information that tells me that you weren't the hot shot of the Combat Corner as much as you pretend you were. In fact, son, my insider info says that Todd Michaelson wasn't embarassed just because you waved a dismissive hand at him and trashed everything he stood for... he was embarassed because you embarassed him every single day in the Combat Corner, to the point he just used you as an example of how NOT to get it done in the wrestling ring. And I know enough about wrestling schools to know what teachers do to those who think they are hot stuf and then show they only know two things, jack and squat... those teachers use those students as whipping boys to provide an example to the rest of the students about what NOT to do in that ring! [A slight laugh.] DC: Of course, Michaelson is the last guy I'd be recommending for a teacher, given that part of his lesson is how to be corrupt behind the scenes, but the point is that you embarassed him so much with the way you botched everything in your lessons that he made you his whipping boy to teach you a lesson or two, and you didn't like it one bit! So then you made up some story about how you were too good for the Combat Corner and Michaelson, rather than telling everyone the truth, decided to be too diplomatic for his own good. [Beat.] DC: And that's the reason why Michaelson was basically telling you that if you don't get it done against me, then you better not expect forgiveness from him. And I can assure you that you won't be getting that forgiveness, because I am going to whip your hide just like Michaelson whipped it every day in Combat Corner. And once I get through with the whipping boy, I'm gonna go right through the whole rest of the field... and whether it's Stevie Scott, Sultan Azam Sharif, Travis Lynch, November, Blackwater Bart, Nenshou... it doesn't matter who it is, I will beat them down just like I'll beat the whipping boy down, and move on to Night Two to finish the job I started... ...and that is the END of the discussion! [Fade out.] ***** NOVEMBER --- [Once again we go backstage. This time there is no Jason Dane, at least on camera. Instead we are faced with an AWA backdrop geared and styled specifically for Blood, Sweat and Tears. Before it stands November. The pale cruiserweight is dressed in silver ring gear: trunks, kickpads and boots, knee pads. He wears a sleeveless ring jacket over this, wide hood laying across his shoulders. The jacket itself is silver as well with a water drop styling coming from the top and "dripping" downwards in printed rivulets. Most telling is a white wrapping going halfway down a shin and halfway up his thigh.] N: History lesson time. A long time ago I finally made it from high school gyms and armories into the big leagues. It was in Los Angeles, after tons of off air matches against local talent that Todd Michaelson finally signed me to my first real contract. And so I showed up every night in every city and big arena we went to. I was just another guy in the company that never really got any attention from the locker room and rightfully so. [A smirk breaks his composure.] N: I was... different. I get that. I get why no one liked me. I was in some tiny little locker room with the other local talents. Guys getting tryouts. Guys like me and Matt Saunders and Juan Vasquez and Derek Irvin and a bunch of other guys that have vanished into wrestling lore. The whole group of us, we drove together. We shared hotel rooms to save a few bucks. We busted our asses in opening matches, in dark matches, doing the non television shows that the big stars got to take off. Going out every night, all the time, working harder then anyone in the business and still, here I was in the same locker room. And I get it. I truly, truly get why. I was always trying to be this dark, brooding kid. The long dark hair, the promos in the rain, the sullen speeches and weird sayings. I look way back and I know why... well... the boys didn't like it, didn't like me and I am fine with it. Ten years later and I am not sure I liked that kid. But then things changed. The Empire crumbled and everyone went on their own merry way. Guys quit the business. Guys like Juan became the very best in the world. [He pauses again, more to catch his breath and gather his thoughts before continuing.] N: And here I am ten years later, fifteen years in the business and in alot of ways and finally getting THAT break. Some say I got it way back in the Empire, beating guys like Shane Destiny, being in the ring with the likes of Caleb Temple and Jeff Matthews and Juan Vasquez. But that wasn't a break. It SHOULD have been, but because I was a dumb kid, it never was. I never took advantage of the huge opportunities given to me. Todd and Chris gave me a _chance_. A chance to become one of the very best. But when things changed I gave up. I went away and decided it was easier to just coast and float instead of dive in and start all over somewhere. And so I floated and coasted around the world. I drifted in the big sea of wrestling. [Another pause, his eyes steel solid.] N: Then... then... then I saw land. I saw the promised land after all those years. I dived in and I swam and I swam and I swam. I am swimming towards that shore and every match in the AWA World Title Tournament has gotten me a bit closer to the shore, to dry land, to... ...well... ...the promised land. And that promise land isn't what everyone things. Not wholly. It isn't just about the title at the end of the road. That is a symbol of what we work for and strive to get. What we are swimming for is what I said last time I stepped in front of a microphone. It's about being THE BEST. It's not about beating a specific guy. It's not about setting vendettas straight. It's being the best. Not to everyone else, but to yourself. About finally showing yourself that all the years was worth it. The blood we shed on floors and hospital rooms. The sweat that poured out of us under hot lights, in front of tens of thousands, as we wrestled for thirty or fourty minutes. The tears we cried when we won or lost. When we were in constant pain. When we lost out on chances. When one of the boys retired or got hurt or got a divorce and we got together at a bar and shared the pain with him. [Sullen silence.] N: When we missed our families and wives and kids. Yeah, we're normal people believe it or not. We are people just like the people watching this at home. Just with a different purpose, reaching for different goals and prizes. We may do spectacular things. Guys in this business can do some amazing things. This business is the land of the best athletes in the very world. No doubt. But we're people. We have dreams. And over two nights, on Labor Day Weekend, in New Orleans, Louisiana one man will make his dream come true. He will fight four other guys fighting for their own dreams and at the end of the night be able to call themselves THE BEST. What a dream! What a night it will be for that one wrestler. He will have bled and sweat and there'll be tears. And he'll be the best. Buuuuut... [A finger comes up in pause.] N: He ain't alone. Fifteen other men are ALL vying to be the best and in these two nights they will bring just that, their best. No one will have an easy match. Legends made. Heroes born. Careers reignited or started. The VERY BEST from each and every guy. Jerbauld Jezz, MAMMOTH, Travis Lynch, Sultan, Supreme Wright, Marley, Nenshou, Pure X... myself. Each and every one will have a different message. Everyone will say why they are here but their actions will speak louder. They will ALL fight their hardest. The will ALL do their damndest to win four matches in a row. Everyone of us will do the thing they think they cannot do, even in the darkest moment, in the most pain we will all believe we are the best... or... at least pretend we are. [He chuckles despite himself.] N: But one of us. One of us sixteen will end the weekend as the AWA World Champion. One of us will be the best. Will it be me? Bum knee, facing a dangerous man like Pure X in the first round, facing a field of guys like William Craven and Blackwater Bart and Gunnar Gaines... can I possibly do it? [He pauses again, craning a neck and then turning around perpendicular to the banner behind him. He looks it up and down, reaching out to brush his fingers against it. He takes a deep breath, anticipation flaring his nostrils. He turns his head back.] N: Will it be me at the end of the night at Blood, Sweat and Tears? I wouldn't be here if I didn't believe it. [And fade.] |
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| sychosys | Aug 20 2012, 03:40 PM Post #3 |
This Space For Rent
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No Stevie Scott promo! Squash win for Jerbauld Jezz coming up! 
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| StevieScott | Aug 20 2012, 09:55 PM Post #4 |
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...EVEN CHILDREN!
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Stevie doesn't do preview shows. It's a rider in his contract. |
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"Destruction of Hell" start playing as Mason drop the mic and exit the ring as fans throw stuffs at him but he punch out most of the fans even children. | |
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| Overly_Critical_Jue | Aug 20 2012, 11:26 PM Post #5 |
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Amigo, I ain't anybody but Juan Vasquez!
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And Juan Vasquez doesn't even have to show up for the shows inbetween supercards anymore! |
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| sychosys | Aug 21 2012, 03:04 AM Post #6 |
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This Space For Rent
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Not sure why you think Zack Ryder can help you. He'll just make things even squashier! |
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| StevieScott | Aug 21 2012, 08:05 AM Post #7 |
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...EVEN CHILDREN!
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Just wait until Heath Slater shows up! |
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"Destruction of Hell" start playing as Mason drop the mic and exit the ring as fans throw stuffs at him but he punch out most of the fans even children. | |
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11:32 AM Jul 13