Post by D! on Jan 11, 2006 4:57:20 GMT -5
(Lights up. It's the parking lot outside of the NAPW arena, and the picture seems a little off, almost SCTV-ish. The man who will entter the steel cage once again for the NAPW Title, D!, walks in frame with a large gym bag and, conspicuous even in the dead of winter, his green toque.)
D!: It's been a short while since I've had a chance to address the NAPW locker room, so I'm making the time now. Y'see, it's been three weeks . . . three weeks I knew I had to wait if I was going to get a fair rematch against Chris Casino, and now, people have forgotten. Not forgotten who I am, because the crowd was chanting my name Monday Night just fine. Some people seemed to forget that I had a rematch clause against Casino and never lost it, but they're getting the picture now . . . some quicker than others. But what people around here have seemed to have forgotten . . . is how we do things around here.
I got this camera from the NAPW Video Department. It's an old tube camera that was just lying around in building storage. The technology in this thing's been obsolete for twenty years. They were just going to throw it out. I've decided to give it one last hurrah, in a segment we're calling:
Let's get it on. I'm gonna start off by addressing two people--my best buddy Chris Casino!, and a new guy, Tommy Deathrow. Both of you guys--and this is the best part--independently came up with the genius notion of attacking or making fun of the mentally disabled. Way to go, fellas, way to go. It really does me glad to see the the NAPW, the house that I built, a promotion that's been working so hard to get recognised regionally, nationally, internationally, get treated like your own personal urinal. 'Cause nothing's gonna bring in more fans than your ignorant asses. You guys aren't funny, like clowns. You're sad. Like clowns. Deathrow, win a damn match, and we'll take it from there. And Casino, if this is what the Casino reign is going to be like, well . . . you may be richer than God, but you sure as Hell don't understand business, chump. If I don't dethrone you at Joker's Wild, then this house I built's gonna collapse . . . you know, kinda like the Rat Pack did.
(He reaches into his gym bag and pulls out two rolled-up tubes of paper, tied with ribbons.)
Here you are, guys! Two high-school diplomas!
(He tosses them at the camera, and they bounce off the lens.)
They're not real. But that's okay. You've never earned them.
Predator! You had a killer debut, you've got presence, you've got ring skills, you've got every chance in the world. And you've also had the most spit-take-inducing interview I've seen to date, where you threatened to kill Lobo, butcher the carcass, and make a tent out of his skin. (Grimaces.) Now, granted, it's notable that like the Indians, you plan on using very part of Lobo's body. Which is more than Lobo ever did. But know what, Predator? Came on a little too strong. Just a little. Like I said, you've got a lot of talent, but you need to calm down and curb the homicidal intent. So here!
(Pulls out a soda can.)
Have a Fresca!
(He tosses the Fresca, which caroms off of the lens and hit the pavement, fizzing.)
Oh, and speaking of you, Lobo, you've never had an NAPW Title shot! I let you compete for a title shot, and twice at that! And I beat you both times! So that also cuts out the "bowing to you" part you seem to remember. Memory failing ya, big guy? Too many chair-shots to the head?
(He digs out a vitamin bottle.)
Gingko-biloba ahoy!
(Huck.)
Coach Jago, you sound like Harvey Fierstein. I liked you better when you didn't talk.
(Throws a whistle at the camera.)
Ravager, once again, you're a record player without a needle and you're missing the point. I haven't cost you jack. You think you were lined up for the NAPW Title? You weren't. First of all, if you think I was ever out of the picture, then you've never learned anything about me. And secondly, you're not in any title picture at the moment, Ravager. And not because of me. I know why, and I'll tell it to you straight.
You see, Ravager . . . (sticks his thumb up). You're good. Damn good. People tell you that, you tell yourself, and I'm telling you right now. Provincial Title? Been there! Done that! Held it longer than anyone else, too. In fact, you're so good, Ravager . . . that Chris Casino would have done anything to deny you that opportunity. Backstage politics, making you run the Mouseketeer gauntlet, if it happened in WCW, it would have happened to you. You'd see Joey Malone challenge for the title before you did, and what's more, you know it. Because as good as you are . . . (thumbs down) you're not that good that you can demand anything from anyone. You lost to the current Provincial Champion. Twice. Stop pretending like it's magically my fault, get in line, and earn your title shot. Here are your Kleenexes.
(He tosses a Kleenex box at the camera.)
And if you're gonna keep hanging out in my neighbourhood, I'm gonna start charging you rent.
Maniac! The Lord of the Ring, the King of Kings! I know all about you, man. You're a tape trader's dream come true! I've been ordering your fights for years, ever since I saw you and Jimmy Blast make Taker / Foley look like Teletubbies. I couldn't believe it when I found out it was you coming to the fed where I work . . . I want a match with you, and soon, and it'll be my damn honour to fight you.
But you're barking up the wrong tree right now, Maniac. Casino's not your fight. He's mine. And that means you've gotta get in line, just like everyone else. But hey! While you're waiting, I bought you a paperback novel.
(He tosses a paperback at the camera lens. Apparently, it's The Bourne Identity.)
Good reading.
Terry Brandon! The best! The top of the heap! The alpha and the omega! As a wrestler, Terry, you've given so many generations of fans so many memories, and you've given performances that the rest of us are still trying to top! As a manager, Terry . . . well, what the Hell was Monday? Do your Mouseketeers, and us, a favour by not trying to live vicariously through others, let the legend of Terry Brandon rest peacefully, and maybe spend time with the family or something.
(He pulls out a coffee mug that reads "World's Greatest Grandpa", and throws it at the camera. It hits the lens and shatters, the camera seemingly intact. D! rushes right up to the lens.)
Holy crap! This is a good camera!
(He steps back a little.)
And even if I've already mentioned you, Casino, you get extra-special treatment, just like you're used to. You can talk tough now when you're surrounded by your buddies, but the way you turned tail Monday night's a different story, isn't it? You had a plan the last time we met in that cage, Casino, and it worked so well, it earned you the NAPW Title. What plan will you have this time that I won't be expecting? Don't tell me, Chris. You know how I love surprises.
My plan? It's actually pretty simple.
(And in a flash, D! jumps, his boot coming towards us in a black-and-red blur, the sound of impact, and we have Lights Down, the hard way!)
D!: It's been a short while since I've had a chance to address the NAPW locker room, so I'm making the time now. Y'see, it's been three weeks . . . three weeks I knew I had to wait if I was going to get a fair rematch against Chris Casino, and now, people have forgotten. Not forgotten who I am, because the crowd was chanting my name Monday Night just fine. Some people seemed to forget that I had a rematch clause against Casino and never lost it, but they're getting the picture now . . . some quicker than others. But what people around here have seemed to have forgotten . . . is how we do things around here.
I got this camera from the NAPW Video Department. It's an old tube camera that was just lying around in building storage. The technology in this thing's been obsolete for twenty years. They were just going to throw it out. I've decided to give it one last hurrah, in a segment we're calling:
HUCKING STUFF AT THE CAMERA
Let's get it on. I'm gonna start off by addressing two people--my best buddy Chris Casino!, and a new guy, Tommy Deathrow. Both of you guys--and this is the best part--independently came up with the genius notion of attacking or making fun of the mentally disabled. Way to go, fellas, way to go. It really does me glad to see the the NAPW, the house that I built, a promotion that's been working so hard to get recognised regionally, nationally, internationally, get treated like your own personal urinal. 'Cause nothing's gonna bring in more fans than your ignorant asses. You guys aren't funny, like clowns. You're sad. Like clowns. Deathrow, win a damn match, and we'll take it from there. And Casino, if this is what the Casino reign is going to be like, well . . . you may be richer than God, but you sure as Hell don't understand business, chump. If I don't dethrone you at Joker's Wild, then this house I built's gonna collapse . . . you know, kinda like the Rat Pack did.
(He reaches into his gym bag and pulls out two rolled-up tubes of paper, tied with ribbons.)
Here you are, guys! Two high-school diplomas!
(He tosses them at the camera, and they bounce off the lens.)
They're not real. But that's okay. You've never earned them.
Predator! You had a killer debut, you've got presence, you've got ring skills, you've got every chance in the world. And you've also had the most spit-take-inducing interview I've seen to date, where you threatened to kill Lobo, butcher the carcass, and make a tent out of his skin. (Grimaces.) Now, granted, it's notable that like the Indians, you plan on using very part of Lobo's body. Which is more than Lobo ever did. But know what, Predator? Came on a little too strong. Just a little. Like I said, you've got a lot of talent, but you need to calm down and curb the homicidal intent. So here!
(Pulls out a soda can.)
Have a Fresca!
(He tosses the Fresca, which caroms off of the lens and hit the pavement, fizzing.)
Oh, and speaking of you, Lobo, you've never had an NAPW Title shot! I let you compete for a title shot, and twice at that! And I beat you both times! So that also cuts out the "bowing to you" part you seem to remember. Memory failing ya, big guy? Too many chair-shots to the head?
(He digs out a vitamin bottle.)
Gingko-biloba ahoy!
(Huck.)
Coach Jago, you sound like Harvey Fierstein. I liked you better when you didn't talk.
(Throws a whistle at the camera.)
Ravager, once again, you're a record player without a needle and you're missing the point. I haven't cost you jack. You think you were lined up for the NAPW Title? You weren't. First of all, if you think I was ever out of the picture, then you've never learned anything about me. And secondly, you're not in any title picture at the moment, Ravager. And not because of me. I know why, and I'll tell it to you straight.
You see, Ravager . . . (sticks his thumb up). You're good. Damn good. People tell you that, you tell yourself, and I'm telling you right now. Provincial Title? Been there! Done that! Held it longer than anyone else, too. In fact, you're so good, Ravager . . . that Chris Casino would have done anything to deny you that opportunity. Backstage politics, making you run the Mouseketeer gauntlet, if it happened in WCW, it would have happened to you. You'd see Joey Malone challenge for the title before you did, and what's more, you know it. Because as good as you are . . . (thumbs down) you're not that good that you can demand anything from anyone. You lost to the current Provincial Champion. Twice. Stop pretending like it's magically my fault, get in line, and earn your title shot. Here are your Kleenexes.
(He tosses a Kleenex box at the camera.)
And if you're gonna keep hanging out in my neighbourhood, I'm gonna start charging you rent.
Maniac! The Lord of the Ring, the King of Kings! I know all about you, man. You're a tape trader's dream come true! I've been ordering your fights for years, ever since I saw you and Jimmy Blast make Taker / Foley look like Teletubbies. I couldn't believe it when I found out it was you coming to the fed where I work . . . I want a match with you, and soon, and it'll be my damn honour to fight you.
But you're barking up the wrong tree right now, Maniac. Casino's not your fight. He's mine. And that means you've gotta get in line, just like everyone else. But hey! While you're waiting, I bought you a paperback novel.
(He tosses a paperback at the camera lens. Apparently, it's The Bourne Identity.)
Good reading.
Terry Brandon! The best! The top of the heap! The alpha and the omega! As a wrestler, Terry, you've given so many generations of fans so many memories, and you've given performances that the rest of us are still trying to top! As a manager, Terry . . . well, what the Hell was Monday? Do your Mouseketeers, and us, a favour by not trying to live vicariously through others, let the legend of Terry Brandon rest peacefully, and maybe spend time with the family or something.
(He pulls out a coffee mug that reads "World's Greatest Grandpa", and throws it at the camera. It hits the lens and shatters, the camera seemingly intact. D! rushes right up to the lens.)
Holy crap! This is a good camera!
(He steps back a little.)
And even if I've already mentioned you, Casino, you get extra-special treatment, just like you're used to. You can talk tough now when you're surrounded by your buddies, but the way you turned tail Monday night's a different story, isn't it? You had a plan the last time we met in that cage, Casino, and it worked so well, it earned you the NAPW Title. What plan will you have this time that I won't be expecting? Don't tell me, Chris. You know how I love surprises.
My plan? It's actually pretty simple.
(And in a flash, D! jumps, his boot coming towards us in a black-and-red blur, the sound of impact, and we have Lights Down, the hard way!)