Post by The Plague on Oct 25, 2005 11:23:18 GMT -5
Zoom in on The Plague sitting at the bar of his favorite pub in NYC. He's got a rye and coke in one hand... wearing a loose shirt and a leering smirk. He turns around on his stool and faces the camera.
So here we are, not far away from the first show in the NAPW, and I still can't figure out if the promoters are brilliant or retarded. They're smart enough to put THE PLAGUE into the main event on their first show... but they put me up against some drunken Welshmen like THE DRAGON? Well, they're from Alberta, they're probably drunk too.
Plague grunts laughter. He throws back his hi-ball and yells to the bartender for another one.
(to bartender) and this time don't short me on the shot! (back to the camera) Listen, Dragon. I know you're coming all the way from that little mudball island you call home to wrestle in the NAPW. And hey, I respect that. Travel 500, 1000, 2000 miles...it doesn't change the facts. Come our title match at MONDAY NIGHT FIGHTS, I WILL be crowned NAPW Champion. Plague throws back his new hi-ball in one motion and slams the glass down on the bar. THE PLAGUE can't be stopped by quarantine, vaccination or antidote, and it sure as hell isn't going to be stopped be some drunken lizard from Wales. The Plague stands up and slaps a single ten dollar bill on the bar. He flashes an ugly grin and walks out the door. Behind him, the bartender shakes his head in disgust. "Cheap tip," he mutters.
So here we are, not far away from the first show in the NAPW, and I still can't figure out if the promoters are brilliant or retarded. They're smart enough to put THE PLAGUE into the main event on their first show... but they put me up against some drunken Welshmen like THE DRAGON? Well, they're from Alberta, they're probably drunk too.
Plague grunts laughter. He throws back his hi-ball and yells to the bartender for another one.
(to bartender) and this time don't short me on the shot! (back to the camera) Listen, Dragon. I know you're coming all the way from that little mudball island you call home to wrestle in the NAPW. And hey, I respect that. Travel 500, 1000, 2000 miles...it doesn't change the facts. Come our title match at MONDAY NIGHT FIGHTS, I WILL be crowned NAPW Champion. Plague throws back his new hi-ball in one motion and slams the glass down on the bar. THE PLAGUE can't be stopped by quarantine, vaccination or antidote, and it sure as hell isn't going to be stopped be some drunken lizard from Wales. The Plague stands up and slaps a single ten dollar bill on the bar. He flashes an ugly grin and walks out the door. Behind him, the bartender shakes his head in disgust. "Cheap tip," he mutters.