Post by The Plague on Nov 19, 2005 16:41:58 GMT -5
"What? You want to meet where? You...listen, I'll call you back. I'm not having this conversation! -klik-"
[He closes the cel phone and sets it on the table next to his beer. His name is The Plague. It even says so on his driver's license. Here, I'll show you. Oh, too slow.
Currently, he's on Whyte Avenue in the Black Dog pub, quiet booth to himself. Beer in front of him. "Never Trust The Beast" t-shirt on. Plague looks into the camera with a smug grin on his face. Of course, we can't forget the healing black eye, tell-tale sign of several nights ago...]
D!. World champion, one letter saidrealloud, hospital escapee. The whole health care thing I don't get myself, anyways. Why would I want MY tax dollars paying for suckers to take up valuable emergency room space because "my tummy hurts." [Plague snorts.] Now, D!, you weren't exactly there with a tummy ache, where you? I'll give you this much credit, kid. I put you on the SHELF...but here you are. Worse for wear, but you decided to come back and step into the ring with me one more time.
[Plague points to his eye, still bruised from a microphone shot and subsequent big kick.]
Oh yeah, D!. That was from you. Hey, I don't need to be a "tough guy." I didn't think you were going to rise from that hospital bed, much less have the strength to do what you did after Action!. I bet you feel pretty good, huh? You left me laying in the middle of that ring, and on Monday night you're going to get a chance to get your hands on me one last time before Black Thursday. Soften me up, maybe? Cause your team a disqualification because you want to kick my ass so bad? Something like that.
Thing is, it doesn't matter. I look at Monday night, this "Champions Tag Match", as just another opportunity in a long line to take you to school like it's 1937, and it's my god-given right to beat you and humiliate you in front of your peers.
[Plague stops to take a sip of his beer, looking relaxed and confident. Cocky, even. Kid Rocky.]
So D!, I'm not worried about you. And I'm not worried about you and Ravager walkin' around Whyte Avenue, doing your little 'bonding' gig pre-match. Hey, Ravager, you're wasting your time you know. You coulda been the greatest. For a little bit of time there, I was considering introducing myself to you and forming one hell of a tag team to storm the NAPW like nobody's ever seen. But instead, you went and lost your title. And not like I did, by some fluke to a rookie. You lost it to a better man. Now granted, I think Static's insane. Bill Fleming? Unofficial NAPW champion of worms. But hey, Static, you'vegot it in the ring, and that's what counts. I don't feel too badly about having you as my partner in this match...
[The pause hangs in the air as Plague seems to be considering some ugly idea. Finally, he speaks again, with great disdain in his voice.]
...but I don't feel the same about Lobo. The only man in the match to NOT hold a title in the NAPW. Oh sure, the Olympic Shot Put champion. Lobo, you lost your shot against Static, beat him up, and yet here we are: All three of us on the same team. As if the odds weren't stacked ENOUGH against Ravager & D! with just Static & The Plague, we get you. You're not too happy about that, are you? Big three-way coming up against Static and Ravager at Black Thursday.
[His expression darkens, he leans forward.]
You listen and you listen good, Lobo. You can be as unhappy as you want, but you have a JOB to do Monday night. You suck it up, you tag me and avoid Static if that's what it takes, but you act like a PROFESSIONAL. If you do a thing - A SINGLE THING - to somehow screw this up for Static and I, then as soon as I take my NAPW Championship back from D! I'm going to request a special match against you. I'll even make it a title match. And then I'll humiliate you in front of the entire wrestling world to pay you back. You're not in my league, Lobo. Truth told I don't know that anybody is, but you're the sore thumb in this "Champions Match." You keep yourself in check, jumbo. If you know what's good for you.
[Plague smirks and leans back, suddenly relaxed. Pull of his beer. Oh, the smirk.]
So Monday night, D! & Ravager, you bring your best. I'm sure after your greasy Marco's burgers you two'll be bosom buddies, ready to take on the world together. So help me God, don't make a theme song out of it. Bring your best. Just don't be too disappointed when it's not enough, boys. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a phone call to make.
...Hello, Fleming? Put your man on the line. What? What exactly do you mean by "he's busy with the snakes?"...Just put him on the phone, man! For the love of...
[Out.]
[He closes the cel phone and sets it on the table next to his beer. His name is The Plague. It even says so on his driver's license. Here, I'll show you. Oh, too slow.
Currently, he's on Whyte Avenue in the Black Dog pub, quiet booth to himself. Beer in front of him. "Never Trust The Beast" t-shirt on. Plague looks into the camera with a smug grin on his face. Of course, we can't forget the healing black eye, tell-tale sign of several nights ago...]
D!. World champion, one letter saidrealloud, hospital escapee. The whole health care thing I don't get myself, anyways. Why would I want MY tax dollars paying for suckers to take up valuable emergency room space because "my tummy hurts." [Plague snorts.] Now, D!, you weren't exactly there with a tummy ache, where you? I'll give you this much credit, kid. I put you on the SHELF...but here you are. Worse for wear, but you decided to come back and step into the ring with me one more time.
[Plague points to his eye, still bruised from a microphone shot and subsequent big kick.]
Oh yeah, D!. That was from you. Hey, I don't need to be a "tough guy." I didn't think you were going to rise from that hospital bed, much less have the strength to do what you did after Action!. I bet you feel pretty good, huh? You left me laying in the middle of that ring, and on Monday night you're going to get a chance to get your hands on me one last time before Black Thursday. Soften me up, maybe? Cause your team a disqualification because you want to kick my ass so bad? Something like that.
Thing is, it doesn't matter. I look at Monday night, this "Champions Tag Match", as just another opportunity in a long line to take you to school like it's 1937, and it's my god-given right to beat you and humiliate you in front of your peers.
[Plague stops to take a sip of his beer, looking relaxed and confident. Cocky, even. Kid Rocky.]
So D!, I'm not worried about you. And I'm not worried about you and Ravager walkin' around Whyte Avenue, doing your little 'bonding' gig pre-match. Hey, Ravager, you're wasting your time you know. You coulda been the greatest. For a little bit of time there, I was considering introducing myself to you and forming one hell of a tag team to storm the NAPW like nobody's ever seen. But instead, you went and lost your title. And not like I did, by some fluke to a rookie. You lost it to a better man. Now granted, I think Static's insane. Bill Fleming? Unofficial NAPW champion of worms. But hey, Static, you'vegot it in the ring, and that's what counts. I don't feel too badly about having you as my partner in this match...
[The pause hangs in the air as Plague seems to be considering some ugly idea. Finally, he speaks again, with great disdain in his voice.]
...but I don't feel the same about Lobo. The only man in the match to NOT hold a title in the NAPW. Oh sure, the Olympic Shot Put champion. Lobo, you lost your shot against Static, beat him up, and yet here we are: All three of us on the same team. As if the odds weren't stacked ENOUGH against Ravager & D! with just Static & The Plague, we get you. You're not too happy about that, are you? Big three-way coming up against Static and Ravager at Black Thursday.
[His expression darkens, he leans forward.]
You listen and you listen good, Lobo. You can be as unhappy as you want, but you have a JOB to do Monday night. You suck it up, you tag me and avoid Static if that's what it takes, but you act like a PROFESSIONAL. If you do a thing - A SINGLE THING - to somehow screw this up for Static and I, then as soon as I take my NAPW Championship back from D! I'm going to request a special match against you. I'll even make it a title match. And then I'll humiliate you in front of the entire wrestling world to pay you back. You're not in my league, Lobo. Truth told I don't know that anybody is, but you're the sore thumb in this "Champions Match." You keep yourself in check, jumbo. If you know what's good for you.
[Plague smirks and leans back, suddenly relaxed. Pull of his beer. Oh, the smirk.]
So Monday night, D! & Ravager, you bring your best. I'm sure after your greasy Marco's burgers you two'll be bosom buddies, ready to take on the world together. So help me God, don't make a theme song out of it. Bring your best. Just don't be too disappointed when it's not enough, boys. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a phone call to make.
...Hello, Fleming? Put your man on the line. What? What exactly do you mean by "he's busy with the snakes?"...Just put him on the phone, man! For the love of...
[Out.]