Post by The Plague on Nov 26, 2005 12:20:24 GMT -5
[I'm telling you. It's The Plague. Oh, he's in the gym, busy training. Currently...he's bench pressing a respectable amount of three-hundred and twenty-pounds. It's a strain, and he's grunting as the spotter - your average gym employee with tank-top and fanny-pack - pushes him on. With a guttural roar, Plague puts the bar up one more time, and then CLANG. Drops it on the frame, the spotter steadying it. Plague sits up and grabs a towel, mopping the sweat off of his brow. He jerks a thumb at the spotter, telling him to take off.]
You maintain a six-foot five, two-hundred seventy-nine pound statistic one of two ways: Either you dedicate yourself to the gym and a healthy diet or you take up permanent residence at McDonald's. I'm sure Marco's would do about as well for that purpose. Unless you're an idiot (and there sure as heck are a lot of idiots in the NAPW), you can see I'm more about that mass being honed muscle and sinew. I'm big, oh yeah. But I haven't given up my agility or speed for something like something like...*Lobo's* figure. You know. Block of granite, and about as much mobility as one.
[Plauge smirks.]
Lobo, listen, I know our 'kind' aren't supposed to make challenges to each other, but you went and did the EXACT. OPPOSITE. of what you should've done Monday. You screwed over Static and I, Lobo! But I'll tell you what: When I win back my NAPW Championship, I'll give you the first shot at it...simply so that I can have the pleasure of kicking your Strong-Mad ass all around Edmonton. You know.
[Cheesy grin.]
For kicks.
[Plague stands up. It's a WALK AND TALK.]
But Lobo, you aren't my worry. Ravager? You chump. My money's on one man in that Provincial Title match, and that's Static. Speaking of Static, though, what's with all the masks in NAPW? Misery, Mirage, Static, Nightmare, and I'm sure some other green rookies I'm forgetting. If I didn't know better, I'd swear Edmonton's been overrun by the mythical Snow Mexicans of the Northern Wastes.
[Plague shrugs, smirking.]
D!, look around you. I'm not here to 'educate' you on the virtues of PROPER BENCH PRESS TECHNIQUE or the art of developing your body for wrestling. I want you to understand, D!. For over ten years I've been dedicated. Disciplined. I've honed my body to being one of the best wrestling bodies that could exist. I've got power, I've got speed, I've got agility, I've got resiliency. And it's taken the last third of my time on this earth, kid. It's not like I ENJOY being here day in, day out, eating my six meals a day. You sacrifice little pleasures like cheeseburgers 'as big as your head' whenever you want, or ice cream, blah blah blah. But you know what I get in return? All the tools I need to raise a ruckus in any promotion in the world...or beat the crap out of people who ask for it.
[The locker room door is near. Plague flings the towel over his shoulder and turns to face the camera.]
You know why I put my career on the line? It's why I eat, sleep and breathe this whole gym lifestyle. Professional wrestling championship GOLD, of course. Pride, of course. But mostly...because I know you don't have what it takes to do it one more time. I've dedicated my entire adult LIFE to being the best! I'm IT, kid. I'm the zealot. You might get a lucky pin in our match at Black Thursday, but that's all you're going to get. I've worked way too hard and way too long for some snot-nosed little punk like you to put me out of the game now. Day in, day out, D!. DAY IN, DAY OUT, and you think YOU of all people is going to end my career? Only ONE man, one man ALONE decides when and where the career of THE PLAGUE ends ---
[Snarl.]
I. DECIDE. You convince yourself otherwise D!, you pretend that you've got the vaccination, antidote or cure, but the reality is, nobody can stop The Plague. Enjoy the last week of your title, kid! The gold is coming home, daddy, and The Plague is going to be riding high once more! Now get outta my face. Ya bother me.
[Plague bashes open the locker room door and stomps in. Camera...fade out!]
You maintain a six-foot five, two-hundred seventy-nine pound statistic one of two ways: Either you dedicate yourself to the gym and a healthy diet or you take up permanent residence at McDonald's. I'm sure Marco's would do about as well for that purpose. Unless you're an idiot (and there sure as heck are a lot of idiots in the NAPW), you can see I'm more about that mass being honed muscle and sinew. I'm big, oh yeah. But I haven't given up my agility or speed for something like something like...*Lobo's* figure. You know. Block of granite, and about as much mobility as one.
[Plauge smirks.]
Lobo, listen, I know our 'kind' aren't supposed to make challenges to each other, but you went and did the EXACT. OPPOSITE. of what you should've done Monday. You screwed over Static and I, Lobo! But I'll tell you what: When I win back my NAPW Championship, I'll give you the first shot at it...simply so that I can have the pleasure of kicking your Strong-Mad ass all around Edmonton. You know.
[Cheesy grin.]
For kicks.
[Plague stands up. It's a WALK AND TALK.]
But Lobo, you aren't my worry. Ravager? You chump. My money's on one man in that Provincial Title match, and that's Static. Speaking of Static, though, what's with all the masks in NAPW? Misery, Mirage, Static, Nightmare, and I'm sure some other green rookies I'm forgetting. If I didn't know better, I'd swear Edmonton's been overrun by the mythical Snow Mexicans of the Northern Wastes.
[Plague shrugs, smirking.]
D!, look around you. I'm not here to 'educate' you on the virtues of PROPER BENCH PRESS TECHNIQUE or the art of developing your body for wrestling. I want you to understand, D!. For over ten years I've been dedicated. Disciplined. I've honed my body to being one of the best wrestling bodies that could exist. I've got power, I've got speed, I've got agility, I've got resiliency. And it's taken the last third of my time on this earth, kid. It's not like I ENJOY being here day in, day out, eating my six meals a day. You sacrifice little pleasures like cheeseburgers 'as big as your head' whenever you want, or ice cream, blah blah blah. But you know what I get in return? All the tools I need to raise a ruckus in any promotion in the world...or beat the crap out of people who ask for it.
[The locker room door is near. Plague flings the towel over his shoulder and turns to face the camera.]
You know why I put my career on the line? It's why I eat, sleep and breathe this whole gym lifestyle. Professional wrestling championship GOLD, of course. Pride, of course. But mostly...because I know you don't have what it takes to do it one more time. I've dedicated my entire adult LIFE to being the best! I'm IT, kid. I'm the zealot. You might get a lucky pin in our match at Black Thursday, but that's all you're going to get. I've worked way too hard and way too long for some snot-nosed little punk like you to put me out of the game now. Day in, day out, D!. DAY IN, DAY OUT, and you think YOU of all people is going to end my career? Only ONE man, one man ALONE decides when and where the career of THE PLAGUE ends ---
[Snarl.]
I. DECIDE. You convince yourself otherwise D!, you pretend that you've got the vaccination, antidote or cure, but the reality is, nobody can stop The Plague. Enjoy the last week of your title, kid! The gold is coming home, daddy, and The Plague is going to be riding high once more! Now get outta my face. Ya bother me.
[Plague bashes open the locker room door and stomps in. Camera...fade out!]