Post by Chris Casino on Dec 16, 2005 16:43:47 GMT -5
- Foxxxy Dolls Gentleman's Club -
We find ourselves back inside the plush office of Chris Casino, owner of this fine establishment, and see that something has grabbed his attention. On the wall of monitors behind his mahogany desk all but one are dark and silent. On that one remaining monitor we see the latest promo from the NAPW Champ D!. Chris Casino sits in his leather chair and grins as D! lays into him. Casino takes a puff off of his cigar and breaks gives a polite golf clap for D! as his promo ends. Casino picks up a remote off his desk, mashes a button and all of the monitors return to life, showing the going ons of the huge club. casino tosses the remote back onto the desk and grinds out his cigar in an ashtray.
Casino: D!, your stupidity never fails to amuse me. I always knew you had no talent, but no it's more than obvious you've got no brains either. Of course what did I expect from some jerk off who uses a letter of the alphabet for his ring name? What the Hell does D! stand for anyway? Besides dull...doofus...dick...Or my favorite - delusional. Because that's what you are D!. Delusional. Maybe it's denial that makes you act like a moron when a camera is stuck in your face? Maybe you don't want to accept the fact that your days at the top are all but over and a new era for NAPW is about to begin.
You attempted to make some points in your little speech but as usual you were terribly misinformed. Why does a Canadian hating - good looking - future of wrestling superstar - want a Canadian title? Simple. Because once I win that belt, I get to show you and all of your dirty Canadians that you're all second rate. Imagine it D!, an American holding a Canadian Title. The white trash of Canada would never forgive you for your loss D!. You'd be yet another failure out of that frozen wasteland. I want that NAPW title to hurt you D!. To spit in Canada's face. But most of all...I want it cause you said I couldn't have it.
As far as other wrestling promotions go...Why in the Hell would I waste time in some slum like Gulf South or Full Frontier? I have an image to uphold after all. Anyway if I joined one of those run down going nowhere joints and got handed a title...I'd be just like you D!. And that's the last thing I want. Just because I don't work for one of the soon to be bankrupt UWP American arms doesn't mean I'm some rookie off the street. Unlike you...And 75% of the NAPW roster I don't have to rattle off my title wins and accomplishments to validate myself. Hell...It sounds more like you want me to leave NAPW kid. Maybe despite your mental handicap you finally realize you're in a fight you can't win.
Casino walks around his desk and runs his hands through his blond hair making sure not a strand is out of place.
Casino: As far as the mom and pop situation goes...Well, I really could give a rats ass about them. Dad's off in Club fed and Mom is off probably doing tricks on a corner. I could care less. I got what I wanted from them. Money. Power. Respect. When I told them I was going to be a wrestler I was given the best trainers, sent to Japan and Germany to hone my skills and worked my ass off in the indys to make my name. That's what we do in America. Work. Unlike you, you I doubt could even spell Japan, you simply got handed a title belt from that fat slug Winchell because eh had no one else to give it to. In a promotion filled with dead talent...You smelled the least I suppose.
The smile of Casino's face vanishes.
Casino: Do you think I care about what you or your stupid fans think of me D!? Are you that stupid? You could get eaten by a polar bear and I wouldn't shed a tear. The fans? The fans mean nothing to me. I don't need them to make me feel like a star. If anything I look at the fans and thank God I'm not one of them. The fans, D!, and the rest of Canada can kiss my ass kid. If I want respect...I'll buy it.
Again the smile creeps across the face of Chris Casino. However the eyes never change. They are the eyes of a man who has no remorse for any of his misdeeds.
Casino: I end your title run on Monday D!. By Tuesday you'll be a pathetic little bitch on TV begging for a rematch. On Monday, myself and Terry Brandon take over a Canadian promotion and Americanize it. This goes out to anyone whose watching this...You can't stop me. I'm The Future. And come Monday...D! and his little Canadian butt buddies will be the past.
Casino waves us away and walks back towards his desk.
Casino: (muttering) Respect...What a tool.
- Cut to a commercial for Las Vegas -
We find ourselves back inside the plush office of Chris Casino, owner of this fine establishment, and see that something has grabbed his attention. On the wall of monitors behind his mahogany desk all but one are dark and silent. On that one remaining monitor we see the latest promo from the NAPW Champ D!. Chris Casino sits in his leather chair and grins as D! lays into him. Casino takes a puff off of his cigar and breaks gives a polite golf clap for D! as his promo ends. Casino picks up a remote off his desk, mashes a button and all of the monitors return to life, showing the going ons of the huge club. casino tosses the remote back onto the desk and grinds out his cigar in an ashtray.
Casino: D!, your stupidity never fails to amuse me. I always knew you had no talent, but no it's more than obvious you've got no brains either. Of course what did I expect from some jerk off who uses a letter of the alphabet for his ring name? What the Hell does D! stand for anyway? Besides dull...doofus...dick...Or my favorite - delusional. Because that's what you are D!. Delusional. Maybe it's denial that makes you act like a moron when a camera is stuck in your face? Maybe you don't want to accept the fact that your days at the top are all but over and a new era for NAPW is about to begin.
You attempted to make some points in your little speech but as usual you were terribly misinformed. Why does a Canadian hating - good looking - future of wrestling superstar - want a Canadian title? Simple. Because once I win that belt, I get to show you and all of your dirty Canadians that you're all second rate. Imagine it D!, an American holding a Canadian Title. The white trash of Canada would never forgive you for your loss D!. You'd be yet another failure out of that frozen wasteland. I want that NAPW title to hurt you D!. To spit in Canada's face. But most of all...I want it cause you said I couldn't have it.
As far as other wrestling promotions go...Why in the Hell would I waste time in some slum like Gulf South or Full Frontier? I have an image to uphold after all. Anyway if I joined one of those run down going nowhere joints and got handed a title...I'd be just like you D!. And that's the last thing I want. Just because I don't work for one of the soon to be bankrupt UWP American arms doesn't mean I'm some rookie off the street. Unlike you...And 75% of the NAPW roster I don't have to rattle off my title wins and accomplishments to validate myself. Hell...It sounds more like you want me to leave NAPW kid. Maybe despite your mental handicap you finally realize you're in a fight you can't win.
Casino walks around his desk and runs his hands through his blond hair making sure not a strand is out of place.
Casino: As far as the mom and pop situation goes...Well, I really could give a rats ass about them. Dad's off in Club fed and Mom is off probably doing tricks on a corner. I could care less. I got what I wanted from them. Money. Power. Respect. When I told them I was going to be a wrestler I was given the best trainers, sent to Japan and Germany to hone my skills and worked my ass off in the indys to make my name. That's what we do in America. Work. Unlike you, you I doubt could even spell Japan, you simply got handed a title belt from that fat slug Winchell because eh had no one else to give it to. In a promotion filled with dead talent...You smelled the least I suppose.
The smile of Casino's face vanishes.
Casino: Do you think I care about what you or your stupid fans think of me D!? Are you that stupid? You could get eaten by a polar bear and I wouldn't shed a tear. The fans? The fans mean nothing to me. I don't need them to make me feel like a star. If anything I look at the fans and thank God I'm not one of them. The fans, D!, and the rest of Canada can kiss my ass kid. If I want respect...I'll buy it.
Again the smile creeps across the face of Chris Casino. However the eyes never change. They are the eyes of a man who has no remorse for any of his misdeeds.
Casino: I end your title run on Monday D!. By Tuesday you'll be a pathetic little bitch on TV begging for a rematch. On Monday, myself and Terry Brandon take over a Canadian promotion and Americanize it. This goes out to anyone whose watching this...You can't stop me. I'm The Future. And come Monday...D! and his little Canadian butt buddies will be the past.
Casino waves us away and walks back towards his desk.
Casino: (muttering) Respect...What a tool.
- Cut to a commercial for Las Vegas -