Post by David Banks on Apr 12, 2007 3:43:18 GMT -5
"I came, I saw, I conquered... and then I came on Jenny Jersey during my post-match celebration. That’s right. To all the guys, gals, and mixtures of both... I’m looking at you, Chad Kurtis, that happened to predict I would lose, do me a favor. Go the route of “Mama” Cass Elliot and choke on a fat one. You see, I realize that I lost focus on my career for a while. But what you placeholders seem to forget is that I am simply the most talented performer in our industry, bar none. It seems like some of you wannabes thought that my passion was gone for good, that I had no interest in reclaiming my spot at the head of the class. Well, let’s make one thing clear. On the stage that is professional wrestling, I’m the lead actor... and the rest of you are just played out extras. The show, this show, revolves around me. Ravager is the Heavyweight Champion. Chris Casino is chasing his strap. Simply Beautiful is chasing his strap on. That’s all fine and dandy. Other people can enjoy their time at the top for right now, but they should just remember one thing... they rest at the top because I allow them to rest at the top. Ravager may be sitting at the top of the mountain, but he knows that the spotlight is continuously on me. I garner all of the attention. Need proof? I’ve make half of the appearances that others in this company do... and I still get paid the big bucks, baby!. Why does Sexy Rexy pay me that kind of dough? It’s because he knows who brings in the ratings. He knows who steals the shows. And he knows who entertains the masses, much like The Doomriders slurps up the masses. If you want to be a star in this business, you gun for the Hateful One. Speaking of which..."
"Tommy Deathrow, I don’t know what type of rinky dink federation made you, but it’s obviously time to return to sender. I know you want to talk about your title shot...I’ve got one, too. You can talk about your accomplishments... I’ve got them, too. You can talk about the various venereal diseases you’ve acquired... you’re all alone on that one, champ. But the simple fact of the matter remains that to a man of my status, you’re worth little more than the blank tape that is used to record any of your piss-poor promos. After I’m done unleashing this verbal salvo on you, you’ll be forgetting entire days and not just apostrophes. It’s just a matter of time before you realize how outmatched you are, and you go back to making music albums that find their way to the $1 bin at your local record store. Then again, that’s better than the silver nickel promos you attempt to put out. “Murdered by David”... put that on your list of movie credits, trick. (BLEEP) this doomriding dickhead. Let’s get on with the show!"
Our screen begins with David Banks standing in line inside a busy bank. His attire? The Charasmatic Colossus is wearing his street clothes, decked out in a white shirt with "H8er" on it, blue jeans cuffed over his white shoes. He's also spoting nice bandage over his forhead, coving up god knows how many stitces. Lots of customers with moustaches and wearing hats everywhere. There are woman too. Some of them are hot and very proud of it.
David Banks: Holy (BLEEP). Could this line move any slower?
A few of the men eye him and inch away with nervous faces. The women eye him and show big smiles. One of them moves closer because he’s like a magnet. She’s wearing a pink shirt and a black skirt.
David Banks: Do you work here?
Woman: No.
David Banks: You should apply for a job here.
Woman: Why do you say that?
David Banks: You could afford some decent clothes.
Woman: That was rude!!
David sneers at one of the bank workers.
David Banks: You won’t be allowed to wear them to work but still.
Then, a bank robber(oh no!) with pantyhose on his head walks in waving a metal gun. Everyone can still tell he has blonde hair and a flat nose.
Bank Robber: STICK EM UP.
All the customers are scared except one.
David Banks: Oh my god you (BLEEP)ing dolt.
Bank Robber: My name is not dolt its Tommy!
David Banks: Thank you for proving my point. Now what the hell do you think you’re doing?
Tommy: I am robbing this bank.
David Banks: I can see that.
Tommy: So what are you asking me for you dumb shit?
David Banks: If you have ever seen Pulp fiction guess which guy is you. I am not going threw a transitional period right now. I don’t have time for this. Even if I do I won’t put up with it.
Tommy: Are you an idiot, I have a gun.
David Banks: I don’t give a moon-rock-praying ass-waving shiite what you have. We all have guns.
Tommy: I should not even be talking to you. I will just shoot you the next time you open your mouth.
David Banks: You are gayer than AIDS for trying to do this without a crew.
Tommy: I don’t need a crew.
David thinks for a minute, rubbing his chin.
David Banks: I like your style. Want a job?
Tommy: Keep talking idiot and you will never walk again.
David Banks: I was kidding. You’re not even a good bank robber. Why would I hire you?
Tommy: I’m the best student ever.
David Banks: Please. You can’t even steal properly. Even with me trying to teach you.
Tommy: I’m shooting you right now.
David Banks: Nope.
Tommy: Yep.
Tommy goes to pull the trigger of his gun, but one of the three large men behind him cracks his pointed head with an inflatable steel chair. He goes down as everyone cheers.
David Banks: I have snipers on the rooftops too, (BLEEP).
David steps over the red rope and leans on the counter with a winning smile.
David Banks: I should move to the front of the line for that.
Bank Manager: Sorry sir, no you shouldn’t.
David Banks: OK...
David goes back to his place in line and continues bitching about the wait.
Thoughts from the Chrismatic Colossus.
___________________________________________
You will have to excuse me. I may not make the most sense right now because I'm a bit dizzy from all the blood I lose recently. As a result, I may be jumping all over the place with what I say. I’ll try my best to stay on topic though, but I ain’t promising anything.
Well... actually scratch that last one. I am promising something. You see, a lot of you know my name. A lot of you hear the name David Banks and are familiar with who I am and what I do. But to be honest, I don’t think any of you fully understand. This train of thought was derived from taking a look at the NAPW official website. It seems that once again, David Banks is the underdog in a big important match. Now when I saw that, I let out a sigh and I asked a question to the invisible people inside my hotel room... “again?”
You guys have got to be kidding me. How many times do I have to smack the critics in the face with my opponent’s hand before you people start believing in me? It’s crazy. you must not have gotten the memo that said “David Banks is better than you will ever be.” That memo speaks the truth. This ain’t no Texas Chainsaw Massacre, a fictionalised account based on a true story. This is Bowling for Columbine. This is Fahrenheit 9/11. This is whatever documentary that jelly-belly Michael Moore is coming up with next. This is real life ladies and gentlemen. I am real life. And what I’m promising is that after TNF, you all are gonna have a completely different view of David Banks.
Now that may sound generic as hell, but I’m just getting really tired of this routine. Everyone doubts me, which fires me up, and then I go out there and use whoever I’m facing as toilet paper. Just look at the facts... everybody I’ve ever faced has fallen. You hear that? EVER. One way or another, I always stand tall. How can you morons not realize that? I’m David mother(BLEEP)ing Banks! The shooting star, the technical wizard, the ring doctor, the submission exhibition, the commodore of kick-your-ass, the sherpa who carries a heavy backpack up a mountain and inside is YOU tapping the hell out. the Chrismatic Colossus!
Who am I kidding? If you want to try and hold me down, go right ahead. I work best as the underdog anyway. Because as the underdog... I still got something to prove. I walk around with my head in the clouds and now I’ve got my opportunity to fully justify why I love myself so much. Rather than complain about how everyone doubts me all the time, I’m going to do a 180 and ask for you to doubt me. Tell me how much I suck. Here’s your free shot. Put my loud-mouthed ass in line. Tell me I can't beat a "Hardcore Icon" "One of the sickest S.O.B.'s to ever walk the face of the earth".
Deathrow, huh?
Tell me. How many years of your life have you spent slaving over this business? How many times have you been beaten down, bloodied, battered and then expected to keep going? I’d suspect the number cannot be counted, as I can no longer do so with my career and you’ve been in this business much longer than I have. Of course, my mathematical ability leaves much to be desired, but I’m pretty sure I could still count chronologically provided there are no distractions. Like just yesterday I was trying to count apples as I put them into a bag at the grocery store, when a pretty lass happened to bend over in front of me. We’re talking Thong City here, hence the distraction.
But Tommy, after all you’ve been through here, why is it that you have nothing to show for it? I’ll answer that for you.
You suck.
Everything you've ever achieved, you've achieved because your boyfriend, Ill Bill, bailed your ass out. Sure, you're the current tag team champion, but Only because Kryenik carried you most of the time here in NAPW. Think about it. You two ran the tag team scene back in the day. Then The moment he got tired of it, he ditched you and got some success on his own, while you were left there to sink to the bottom. Losing match after match.
One True Icon of Hardcore, my ass... I've heard of Terry Funk... I've heard of Onita... I've heard of Tommy Dreamer... I've even heard of Wifebeater, 'Sick' Nick Mondo, and Zandig. Those are Icons.. you sir are a fraud. A sham. You are no Icon, you're a freakin' wannabe. You think smashing a light bulb over someone's head makes you an Icon? All it does is prove you to be a talentless bitch cause you can't hurt someone with a wrestling hold.
So this week, you got me in a match that gives you the only chance in the world to win. Superstar rules. Well, sunshine, at TNF, I'll beat you at your own game, But I won't sink to your level. You can use all the weapons you want... I'll use my wrestling. Every chair shot you give me, I'll return the favour with a suplex, droping you on your back and neck. You know this, that's why you've yet to say anything. You're tongue is tied at the thought of having to face me. And understandably so because this is your domain, this is your style. A loss for you, makes you look like a little bitch. So everything is on the line for you.
Just like when I faced that mutt, Dio Muerte, I've got nothing to lose but some bullshit points, so I plan on going balls to the wall. Tommy Deathrow, just like your no-neck life partner, you're going down this week in some Hardcore action. And once again, I will prove to you and everyone esle, that I can't be stopped. Don't worry too much about the head problems to come... I make sure you have a bag of ice.
Pro wrestling..
I run this shit like a marathon, son, and you’re just another Heather Mills... you can’t keep up with me on one leg. Please, I’m begging you to respond to this. The quicker you decide to give me even more of a reason to embarrass your ass in front of the entire world, the faster I can send your ass back to the booze. After this, the only “ice” you’ll see will be at the bottom of your last glass of rum and coke. Ah, who am I kidding? You can’t even see me right now! When it comes to this hate, I make it rain on you hoes!
"Tommy Deathrow, I don’t know what type of rinky dink federation made you, but it’s obviously time to return to sender. I know you want to talk about your title shot...I’ve got one, too. You can talk about your accomplishments... I’ve got them, too. You can talk about the various venereal diseases you’ve acquired... you’re all alone on that one, champ. But the simple fact of the matter remains that to a man of my status, you’re worth little more than the blank tape that is used to record any of your piss-poor promos. After I’m done unleashing this verbal salvo on you, you’ll be forgetting entire days and not just apostrophes. It’s just a matter of time before you realize how outmatched you are, and you go back to making music albums that find their way to the $1 bin at your local record store. Then again, that’s better than the silver nickel promos you attempt to put out. “Murdered by David”... put that on your list of movie credits, trick. (BLEEP) this doomriding dickhead. Let’s get on with the show!"
Our screen begins with David Banks standing in line inside a busy bank. His attire? The Charasmatic Colossus is wearing his street clothes, decked out in a white shirt with "H8er" on it, blue jeans cuffed over his white shoes. He's also spoting nice bandage over his forhead, coving up god knows how many stitces. Lots of customers with moustaches and wearing hats everywhere. There are woman too. Some of them are hot and very proud of it.
David Banks: Holy (BLEEP). Could this line move any slower?
A few of the men eye him and inch away with nervous faces. The women eye him and show big smiles. One of them moves closer because he’s like a magnet. She’s wearing a pink shirt and a black skirt.
David Banks: Do you work here?
Woman: No.
David Banks: You should apply for a job here.
Woman: Why do you say that?
David Banks: You could afford some decent clothes.
Woman: That was rude!!
David sneers at one of the bank workers.
David Banks: You won’t be allowed to wear them to work but still.
Then, a bank robber(oh no!) with pantyhose on his head walks in waving a metal gun. Everyone can still tell he has blonde hair and a flat nose.
Bank Robber: STICK EM UP.
All the customers are scared except one.
David Banks: Oh my god you (BLEEP)ing dolt.
Bank Robber: My name is not dolt its Tommy!
David Banks: Thank you for proving my point. Now what the hell do you think you’re doing?
Tommy: I am robbing this bank.
David Banks: I can see that.
Tommy: So what are you asking me for you dumb shit?
David Banks: If you have ever seen Pulp fiction guess which guy is you. I am not going threw a transitional period right now. I don’t have time for this. Even if I do I won’t put up with it.
Tommy: Are you an idiot, I have a gun.
David Banks: I don’t give a moon-rock-praying ass-waving shiite what you have. We all have guns.
Tommy: I should not even be talking to you. I will just shoot you the next time you open your mouth.
David Banks: You are gayer than AIDS for trying to do this without a crew.
Tommy: I don’t need a crew.
David thinks for a minute, rubbing his chin.
David Banks: I like your style. Want a job?
Tommy: Keep talking idiot and you will never walk again.
David Banks: I was kidding. You’re not even a good bank robber. Why would I hire you?
Tommy: I’m the best student ever.
David Banks: Please. You can’t even steal properly. Even with me trying to teach you.
Tommy: I’m shooting you right now.
David Banks: Nope.
Tommy: Yep.
Tommy goes to pull the trigger of his gun, but one of the three large men behind him cracks his pointed head with an inflatable steel chair. He goes down as everyone cheers.
David Banks: I have snipers on the rooftops too, (BLEEP).
David steps over the red rope and leans on the counter with a winning smile.
David Banks: I should move to the front of the line for that.
Bank Manager: Sorry sir, no you shouldn’t.
David Banks: OK...
David goes back to his place in line and continues bitching about the wait.
Thoughts from the Chrismatic Colossus.
___________________________________________
You will have to excuse me. I may not make the most sense right now because I'm a bit dizzy from all the blood I lose recently. As a result, I may be jumping all over the place with what I say. I’ll try my best to stay on topic though, but I ain’t promising anything.
Well... actually scratch that last one. I am promising something. You see, a lot of you know my name. A lot of you hear the name David Banks and are familiar with who I am and what I do. But to be honest, I don’t think any of you fully understand. This train of thought was derived from taking a look at the NAPW official website. It seems that once again, David Banks is the underdog in a big important match. Now when I saw that, I let out a sigh and I asked a question to the invisible people inside my hotel room... “again?”
You guys have got to be kidding me. How many times do I have to smack the critics in the face with my opponent’s hand before you people start believing in me? It’s crazy. you must not have gotten the memo that said “David Banks is better than you will ever be.” That memo speaks the truth. This ain’t no Texas Chainsaw Massacre, a fictionalised account based on a true story. This is Bowling for Columbine. This is Fahrenheit 9/11. This is whatever documentary that jelly-belly Michael Moore is coming up with next. This is real life ladies and gentlemen. I am real life. And what I’m promising is that after TNF, you all are gonna have a completely different view of David Banks.
Now that may sound generic as hell, but I’m just getting really tired of this routine. Everyone doubts me, which fires me up, and then I go out there and use whoever I’m facing as toilet paper. Just look at the facts... everybody I’ve ever faced has fallen. You hear that? EVER. One way or another, I always stand tall. How can you morons not realize that? I’m David mother(BLEEP)ing Banks! The shooting star, the technical wizard, the ring doctor, the submission exhibition, the commodore of kick-your-ass, the sherpa who carries a heavy backpack up a mountain and inside is YOU tapping the hell out. the Chrismatic Colossus!
Who am I kidding? If you want to try and hold me down, go right ahead. I work best as the underdog anyway. Because as the underdog... I still got something to prove. I walk around with my head in the clouds and now I’ve got my opportunity to fully justify why I love myself so much. Rather than complain about how everyone doubts me all the time, I’m going to do a 180 and ask for you to doubt me. Tell me how much I suck. Here’s your free shot. Put my loud-mouthed ass in line. Tell me I can't beat a "Hardcore Icon" "One of the sickest S.O.B.'s to ever walk the face of the earth".
Deathrow, huh?
Tell me. How many years of your life have you spent slaving over this business? How many times have you been beaten down, bloodied, battered and then expected to keep going? I’d suspect the number cannot be counted, as I can no longer do so with my career and you’ve been in this business much longer than I have. Of course, my mathematical ability leaves much to be desired, but I’m pretty sure I could still count chronologically provided there are no distractions. Like just yesterday I was trying to count apples as I put them into a bag at the grocery store, when a pretty lass happened to bend over in front of me. We’re talking Thong City here, hence the distraction.
But Tommy, after all you’ve been through here, why is it that you have nothing to show for it? I’ll answer that for you.
You suck.
Everything you've ever achieved, you've achieved because your boyfriend, Ill Bill, bailed your ass out. Sure, you're the current tag team champion, but Only because Kryenik carried you most of the time here in NAPW. Think about it. You two ran the tag team scene back in the day. Then The moment he got tired of it, he ditched you and got some success on his own, while you were left there to sink to the bottom. Losing match after match.
One True Icon of Hardcore, my ass... I've heard of Terry Funk... I've heard of Onita... I've heard of Tommy Dreamer... I've even heard of Wifebeater, 'Sick' Nick Mondo, and Zandig. Those are Icons.. you sir are a fraud. A sham. You are no Icon, you're a freakin' wannabe. You think smashing a light bulb over someone's head makes you an Icon? All it does is prove you to be a talentless bitch cause you can't hurt someone with a wrestling hold.
So this week, you got me in a match that gives you the only chance in the world to win. Superstar rules. Well, sunshine, at TNF, I'll beat you at your own game, But I won't sink to your level. You can use all the weapons you want... I'll use my wrestling. Every chair shot you give me, I'll return the favour with a suplex, droping you on your back and neck. You know this, that's why you've yet to say anything. You're tongue is tied at the thought of having to face me. And understandably so because this is your domain, this is your style. A loss for you, makes you look like a little bitch. So everything is on the line for you.
Just like when I faced that mutt, Dio Muerte, I've got nothing to lose but some bullshit points, so I plan on going balls to the wall. Tommy Deathrow, just like your no-neck life partner, you're going down this week in some Hardcore action. And once again, I will prove to you and everyone esle, that I can't be stopped. Don't worry too much about the head problems to come... I make sure you have a bag of ice.
Pro wrestling..
I run this shit like a marathon, son, and you’re just another Heather Mills... you can’t keep up with me on one leg. Please, I’m begging you to respond to this. The quicker you decide to give me even more of a reason to embarrass your ass in front of the entire world, the faster I can send your ass back to the booze. After this, the only “ice” you’ll see will be at the bottom of your last glass of rum and coke. Ah, who am I kidding? You can’t even see me right now! When it comes to this hate, I make it rain on you hoes!