Post by maniac on Jan 28, 2006 19:16:29 GMT -5
As I hear many of you spew off at the mouth, all I can ask is...do you know who I am? Do you know what I am capable of doing to you? Many of you are talking wreckless nowadays and it's sort of giving me an impression telling me otherwise. Like that horrible Roy Jones song said...
Ya'll Musta Forgot.
So allow me to reintroduce myself. My name is Maniac. Some would say I'm a legend in this here wrestling game, while I on the other hand just sum my success up to hard work paying off. I've been your role model way before Chris Casino or D! stepped onto the scene, and I shall continue to be way after they're forced out of the industry due to their inability to provide something with substance. I've been gone from the industry for a while, but everything I've done in this industry remains implanted in your memories as if they were just done yesterday. You all know the name, and with the knowledge of it, one would think that you would tend to keep it from permeating those meat slabs you call lips; at least those with common sense.
Have I mentioned any of you punks so far? You aren't really worth my time, to be honest with you. I've tried being modest so far, but I can already see that modesty is something that you a] don't easily identify, or b] just don't respect, and intuition is telling me that the latter choice seems to tread more along the lines of the truth. For some reason, many of you seem to think that good ole Maniac has gone soft, but on the contrary my friends, because despite what you may think, I'll still leave my boot imprints embedded all over your faces, and I will still smack you hard enough to disable that two celled gathering of tissue that you all call a brain.
I don't know what it is, but some of you just seem to be fiending for attention.
I'll give it to you.
It's your execution and many of you seem to be handing me the same ammunition that I will in turn use to end the waste of time many of you consider careers, lives even. Isn't that ironic? Many people have entered this promotion with one goal in mind, and that goal is to prove themselves superior to everyone else. I have no problem with that, but I just find it so funny that so many of you call my name out, and I just have to wonder if its because of the comfort you get when you realize that your chances of bumping into me somewhere along the line are slim to none.
Are you calling out my name to make yourselves seem important? To build up a little wall of confidence? Talk means nothing to me, and those of you that have seen me in action before, know that I'll easily break through the facade of confidence that you'll display and I'll Jermaine O'neal your asses.
Many of you are trying to make yourselves seem bigger than you really are, but don't you realize that you're only disparaging yourself by trying to stand next to a giant? You're trying to step up, but you don't have the leg strength to carry you up as many steps as you'll need to climb in order to reach my level. I suggest you invest in elevator passes. You're going to need the leg strength for that infamous walk of shame down that same road that many before you have traveled.
This is nothing new to me.
Snot nosed punks have always found reason to put my name in their mouth, and I've always enjoyed slapping my name out of it, along with the taste. But I can't really get mad at you, because as human beings we always tend to aim at the top right off of the bat, never fully understanding the concept of patience. You've got to learn to walk before you can run, and many of you idiots are starting off in a full sprint ... to nowhere.
[Michael Thomas stands in front of a mirror in a non-descript hotel bathroom. He splashes some water on his face and stares at the picture stuck in the corner of the mirror. The devilish grin of the man burns at his very soul, but he refuses to look away...because it's THIS man that's been standing in the way of his goal since he arrived in NAPW. Taking THIS man out has been his mission for weeks, and now, he's only one step away.]
[The face is not that of his opponent next week...though, Maniac knew that it needed to be. Although distracted by his own demons, or angels depending on how you looked at it, D! had his own problems...and problems, was something that Maniac was familiar with. The past year had taken a heavy toll on him. From love, to blackmail, to hate, to his own realization that the man he had become, the man he NEEDED to be, had cut the last rope holding on to his soul.]
[Michael Thomas, always ruggedly handsome, had even let that image of him slip. He now looked at a man with three-day stubble on his chin and cheeks, and eyes that had grown colder and more hardened. He no longer cared about HIS image, he was simply a man seeking to survive in a game run by thieves. He had been robbed all these years of his potential, and now...it was his turn to take, and he wasn't going to be too picky about who he took it from.]
[In the bottom corner of the mirror, Maniac noticed a quickly scribbled note to himself he had written the night before. "8:00 AM - NAPW promo. Ritz ballroom." He picked it off the mirror and winced at the thought of having to get down there, but he had a few words for D!, Mark Miller, and Ravager that needed to be said, and this may be the last opportunity to get them out.]
[Throwing the note in the trash, Maniac started the shower and as he was about to get undressed, the devilish smile caught him again. He picked the picture off the mirror, stared at it, and then, it too, went into the trash.]
["D! is all there is after Monday night."]
[...fade out, and then back in to Maniac, shaved, and somewhat more refreshed, standing in front of an NAPW backdrop...]
MANIAC: Trust. A lot of emphasis has been placed on it this week. Ravager can’t trust me…hell, who could expect him to? Everyone saw what I did to J.C. Cook when he dropped the ball in the last tag team match I was in. Why would I hesitate to do the same thing to Ravager? The answer is I wouldn’t. I’d drop him like a sack of crap just like I dropped Cook. But that’s only if he gets in my way or can’t carry his own weight.
I find it funny, though, that he has the unmitigated gall to suggest I go after the Provincial title while he goes after the NAPW champion. Whatever it is you’re smoking, I suggest you put it out before you show up to Monday Night Fights, because believe me, kid…you make ridiculous suggestions like that and I’ll knock your damn head clean off your shoulders before we’re even introduced. The fact that you’re the number one contender is a complete and total joke. You won a gauntlet match against the bottom feeders of this organization. That means you’re the best of the worst. Don’t kid yourself. You wouldn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell against D! or Chris Casino, and it’s for that reason that I haven’t returned your little phone calls. You want to discuss strategy? You want to act like the captain of this team? You can kiss my ass.
I’ll handle D!, you handle Mark Miller. You wanna sit there and act like you’re above me, like I’m supposed to be in awe of you…Monday night you’ll come crashing back down to reality, kid. I could s(BLEEP)t on you from such a height, you’d think God himself took a crap on your head.
But the fact is, when that bell rings we have to work as a team if we expect to come out as the winners. Now me? I could handle the both of them single handedly, but maybe if you’re lucky I’ll let you in the ring and let you get some shots in. Sort of like when you go to an adult rec-league sporting event, and for the last few minutes they all let their kids play in their place.
But enough about you, you pathetic tool. I wanna talk a bit about D! and Mark Miller.
[He clears his throat and sips a bottle of water before continuing.]
MANIAC: D!...about two weeks ago, you kissed my ass for half of your promo. Now you’re the champion…you beat Chris Casino. Congratulations. But remember what I told you in response to your brown nosing…if you win the title, you become the target. Guess what, little man? You’ve got a giant bullseye on your forehead and you’re in my crosshairs. Once you run through Ravager like diarrhea through a goose, like everyone knows you will, you’re gonna hit a brick wall. A brick wall named the Lord of the Ring…the King of…oh wait, I can’t say that any more, huh? Well, you get the point…the most unpredictable son of an angry bitch is coming straight for you and that piece of tin around your waist. This Monday night, you’re gonna get a small taste of what’s in your future. After that, you’ll get the whole damn package.
And you’re damn right I’m a dangerous man. I’m about the last man you wanted to draw this week. Look at me, I’m on fire! I single handedly took Evan Cartwright, who was nothing more than a lame ass sidekick for The Rat Pack, and turned him into a legitimate contender. All it took me was three weeks. Three weeks! And I taught him more in those three weeks than he’ll ever learn for the rest of his career. And I’m proud of him. But you? Despite the fact that you’ve got that title around your waist…you’ve got a lot to learn, kid. Most people can’t see it because you’re hiding behind the gold…but I see everything. I’m the Jesus of professional wrestling. I see through the title, I see through the front…you’re a green, wet behind the ears rookie and I’m going to eat you alive.
Consider this an official challenge. You. Me. For the title.
[He pauses for a moment, then snickers.]
MANIAC: As for Mark Miller…I’m sorry, but anyone who calls themselves “The Moose” and is actually proud of it, can’t be all that bright. I’ve said it from the moment I won my first World title in 1997…this business is about being the smartest. There isn’t a damn human being on this planet that can outsmart me in that ring. You may think you’ve got the upper hand at times…but I understand that every match has it’s ups and downs. Every match is a rollercoaster. You dish it out, then you take it. But the difference between yours truly and every other Joe Blow out there is I know when to take it, and I know when to dish it out. I have complete control of every match from start to finish, whether you realize it or not.
I told Ravager not to mess with D! because he’ll be eaten alive. I’m passing that same advice on to you, kid. Don’t mess with me, because I will chew you up, spit you out, and feed whatever’s left of you to the dogs. Stick with Ravager. He may not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but then again, neither are you, and the two of you might have some fun together fighting in the background while I teach D! a lesson he’ll never forget.
MANIAC: Let’s switch gears here. At Joker’s Wild, someone sent a package to my wife. A package containing her childhood doll in a bad way. Let me issue this entire organization a warning. You f(BLEEP)k with me, and that’s one thing. You f(BLEEP)k with my career, my legacy, or you question my ability in the ring, and you’ll be taught a lesson. But that’s on a professional level. You f(BLEEP) with my wife and family, and so help me God I will end your life. Ask Jimmy Blast what happens when you make it personal with me. We feuded for seven years. We fought the most hellacious wars you could possibly imagine. We spilled enough blood to fill a damn lake over the years, but it was always on a professional level. Then he went and made it personal….and I broke his damn neck. He was forced to retire, and now he sits at home watching my every move, green with envy, thinking it could have been him.
Whoever sent this package? You made it personal. And rest assured I will find out who you are, and I will seek and destroy you.
[His cell phone rings. He answers it.]
MANIAC: Yeah?...oh, hey babe….what’s the matter?....WHAT?!...are you alright?... I’ll be right there, don’t move.
[He flicks his cell phone shut and storms off the set in a panic.]
[Scene fades to black.]
Ya'll Musta Forgot.
So allow me to reintroduce myself. My name is Maniac. Some would say I'm a legend in this here wrestling game, while I on the other hand just sum my success up to hard work paying off. I've been your role model way before Chris Casino or D! stepped onto the scene, and I shall continue to be way after they're forced out of the industry due to their inability to provide something with substance. I've been gone from the industry for a while, but everything I've done in this industry remains implanted in your memories as if they were just done yesterday. You all know the name, and with the knowledge of it, one would think that you would tend to keep it from permeating those meat slabs you call lips; at least those with common sense.
Have I mentioned any of you punks so far? You aren't really worth my time, to be honest with you. I've tried being modest so far, but I can already see that modesty is something that you a] don't easily identify, or b] just don't respect, and intuition is telling me that the latter choice seems to tread more along the lines of the truth. For some reason, many of you seem to think that good ole Maniac has gone soft, but on the contrary my friends, because despite what you may think, I'll still leave my boot imprints embedded all over your faces, and I will still smack you hard enough to disable that two celled gathering of tissue that you all call a brain.
I don't know what it is, but some of you just seem to be fiending for attention.
I'll give it to you.
It's your execution and many of you seem to be handing me the same ammunition that I will in turn use to end the waste of time many of you consider careers, lives even. Isn't that ironic? Many people have entered this promotion with one goal in mind, and that goal is to prove themselves superior to everyone else. I have no problem with that, but I just find it so funny that so many of you call my name out, and I just have to wonder if its because of the comfort you get when you realize that your chances of bumping into me somewhere along the line are slim to none.
Are you calling out my name to make yourselves seem important? To build up a little wall of confidence? Talk means nothing to me, and those of you that have seen me in action before, know that I'll easily break through the facade of confidence that you'll display and I'll Jermaine O'neal your asses.
Many of you are trying to make yourselves seem bigger than you really are, but don't you realize that you're only disparaging yourself by trying to stand next to a giant? You're trying to step up, but you don't have the leg strength to carry you up as many steps as you'll need to climb in order to reach my level. I suggest you invest in elevator passes. You're going to need the leg strength for that infamous walk of shame down that same road that many before you have traveled.
This is nothing new to me.
Snot nosed punks have always found reason to put my name in their mouth, and I've always enjoyed slapping my name out of it, along with the taste. But I can't really get mad at you, because as human beings we always tend to aim at the top right off of the bat, never fully understanding the concept of patience. You've got to learn to walk before you can run, and many of you idiots are starting off in a full sprint ... to nowhere.
[Michael Thomas stands in front of a mirror in a non-descript hotel bathroom. He splashes some water on his face and stares at the picture stuck in the corner of the mirror. The devilish grin of the man burns at his very soul, but he refuses to look away...because it's THIS man that's been standing in the way of his goal since he arrived in NAPW. Taking THIS man out has been his mission for weeks, and now, he's only one step away.]
[The face is not that of his opponent next week...though, Maniac knew that it needed to be. Although distracted by his own demons, or angels depending on how you looked at it, D! had his own problems...and problems, was something that Maniac was familiar with. The past year had taken a heavy toll on him. From love, to blackmail, to hate, to his own realization that the man he had become, the man he NEEDED to be, had cut the last rope holding on to his soul.]
[Michael Thomas, always ruggedly handsome, had even let that image of him slip. He now looked at a man with three-day stubble on his chin and cheeks, and eyes that had grown colder and more hardened. He no longer cared about HIS image, he was simply a man seeking to survive in a game run by thieves. He had been robbed all these years of his potential, and now...it was his turn to take, and he wasn't going to be too picky about who he took it from.]
[In the bottom corner of the mirror, Maniac noticed a quickly scribbled note to himself he had written the night before. "8:00 AM - NAPW promo. Ritz ballroom." He picked it off the mirror and winced at the thought of having to get down there, but he had a few words for D!, Mark Miller, and Ravager that needed to be said, and this may be the last opportunity to get them out.]
[Throwing the note in the trash, Maniac started the shower and as he was about to get undressed, the devilish smile caught him again. He picked the picture off the mirror, stared at it, and then, it too, went into the trash.]
["D! is all there is after Monday night."]
[...fade out, and then back in to Maniac, shaved, and somewhat more refreshed, standing in front of an NAPW backdrop...]
MANIAC: Trust. A lot of emphasis has been placed on it this week. Ravager can’t trust me…hell, who could expect him to? Everyone saw what I did to J.C. Cook when he dropped the ball in the last tag team match I was in. Why would I hesitate to do the same thing to Ravager? The answer is I wouldn’t. I’d drop him like a sack of crap just like I dropped Cook. But that’s only if he gets in my way or can’t carry his own weight.
I find it funny, though, that he has the unmitigated gall to suggest I go after the Provincial title while he goes after the NAPW champion. Whatever it is you’re smoking, I suggest you put it out before you show up to Monday Night Fights, because believe me, kid…you make ridiculous suggestions like that and I’ll knock your damn head clean off your shoulders before we’re even introduced. The fact that you’re the number one contender is a complete and total joke. You won a gauntlet match against the bottom feeders of this organization. That means you’re the best of the worst. Don’t kid yourself. You wouldn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell against D! or Chris Casino, and it’s for that reason that I haven’t returned your little phone calls. You want to discuss strategy? You want to act like the captain of this team? You can kiss my ass.
I’ll handle D!, you handle Mark Miller. You wanna sit there and act like you’re above me, like I’m supposed to be in awe of you…Monday night you’ll come crashing back down to reality, kid. I could s(BLEEP)t on you from such a height, you’d think God himself took a crap on your head.
But the fact is, when that bell rings we have to work as a team if we expect to come out as the winners. Now me? I could handle the both of them single handedly, but maybe if you’re lucky I’ll let you in the ring and let you get some shots in. Sort of like when you go to an adult rec-league sporting event, and for the last few minutes they all let their kids play in their place.
But enough about you, you pathetic tool. I wanna talk a bit about D! and Mark Miller.
[He clears his throat and sips a bottle of water before continuing.]
MANIAC: D!...about two weeks ago, you kissed my ass for half of your promo. Now you’re the champion…you beat Chris Casino. Congratulations. But remember what I told you in response to your brown nosing…if you win the title, you become the target. Guess what, little man? You’ve got a giant bullseye on your forehead and you’re in my crosshairs. Once you run through Ravager like diarrhea through a goose, like everyone knows you will, you’re gonna hit a brick wall. A brick wall named the Lord of the Ring…the King of…oh wait, I can’t say that any more, huh? Well, you get the point…the most unpredictable son of an angry bitch is coming straight for you and that piece of tin around your waist. This Monday night, you’re gonna get a small taste of what’s in your future. After that, you’ll get the whole damn package.
And you’re damn right I’m a dangerous man. I’m about the last man you wanted to draw this week. Look at me, I’m on fire! I single handedly took Evan Cartwright, who was nothing more than a lame ass sidekick for The Rat Pack, and turned him into a legitimate contender. All it took me was three weeks. Three weeks! And I taught him more in those three weeks than he’ll ever learn for the rest of his career. And I’m proud of him. But you? Despite the fact that you’ve got that title around your waist…you’ve got a lot to learn, kid. Most people can’t see it because you’re hiding behind the gold…but I see everything. I’m the Jesus of professional wrestling. I see through the title, I see through the front…you’re a green, wet behind the ears rookie and I’m going to eat you alive.
Consider this an official challenge. You. Me. For the title.
[He pauses for a moment, then snickers.]
MANIAC: As for Mark Miller…I’m sorry, but anyone who calls themselves “The Moose” and is actually proud of it, can’t be all that bright. I’ve said it from the moment I won my first World title in 1997…this business is about being the smartest. There isn’t a damn human being on this planet that can outsmart me in that ring. You may think you’ve got the upper hand at times…but I understand that every match has it’s ups and downs. Every match is a rollercoaster. You dish it out, then you take it. But the difference between yours truly and every other Joe Blow out there is I know when to take it, and I know when to dish it out. I have complete control of every match from start to finish, whether you realize it or not.
I told Ravager not to mess with D! because he’ll be eaten alive. I’m passing that same advice on to you, kid. Don’t mess with me, because I will chew you up, spit you out, and feed whatever’s left of you to the dogs. Stick with Ravager. He may not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but then again, neither are you, and the two of you might have some fun together fighting in the background while I teach D! a lesson he’ll never forget.
MANIAC: Let’s switch gears here. At Joker’s Wild, someone sent a package to my wife. A package containing her childhood doll in a bad way. Let me issue this entire organization a warning. You f(BLEEP)k with me, and that’s one thing. You f(BLEEP)k with my career, my legacy, or you question my ability in the ring, and you’ll be taught a lesson. But that’s on a professional level. You f(BLEEP) with my wife and family, and so help me God I will end your life. Ask Jimmy Blast what happens when you make it personal with me. We feuded for seven years. We fought the most hellacious wars you could possibly imagine. We spilled enough blood to fill a damn lake over the years, but it was always on a professional level. Then he went and made it personal….and I broke his damn neck. He was forced to retire, and now he sits at home watching my every move, green with envy, thinking it could have been him.
Whoever sent this package? You made it personal. And rest assured I will find out who you are, and I will seek and destroy you.
[His cell phone rings. He answers it.]
MANIAC: Yeah?...oh, hey babe….what’s the matter?....WHAT?!...are you alright?... I’ll be right there, don’t move.
[He flicks his cell phone shut and storms off the set in a panic.]
[Scene fades to black.]