Post by Streets Wilson on Aug 18, 2008 1:35:55 GMT -4
(The busy streets of Stamford, Connecticut can be seen. A hub for business and wealth. The streets are overflowing with people. This is not unusual, but somethings wrong. Children are crying. Women are screaming. Men are grabbing their wives and children and shoving them violently into their vehicles before speeding off at unheard of speeds. Throughout the streets one phrase can be hear being yelled more than anything else. “He’s Back” As the streets continue to empty themselves out, slowly, a familiar figure can be seen coming down the street from a distance. His eyes blocked out by darkness. His knuckles glistening with silver. As he gets closer and closer, the intensity of the streets hightens. Riots are now breaking out, people are smashing windows and looting. Running in all directions. One man runs by with blood running from an open wound on his head. A woman is running by screaming “MY BABY, WHERE IS MY BABY!!!”, but wait, the figure is getting closer now. I can hear it breathing. HE’S HERE)
Part 2
( The camera focuses in as the man we all know as Streets Wilson can be seen sitting in a large golden chair. He is smiling widely as he spews out orders to some very large looking Italian men.)
Streets Wilson( with saliva flying out of his mouth at every other word): You heard me. I WANT TO KNOW EVERYTHING. Where’s this bitch sleep? Where’s her family live, where did she go to school. Does she even have a family? What’s her favorite FREAKIN color. Don’t come back till you know EVERYTHING
(Wilson laughs hysterically as the large Italians get up and walk out calmly. Streets Wilson looks down at the solid gold throne he is sitting on. He looks over at his famous “Silver Knuckles” that are sitting nicely over on the end-table. He smiles once again. Wilson then picks up his fedora and places it atop his head. Twisting it ever so slightly to the right. He gets up and walks over to some sort of intercom device on the wall and presses a large red button as he speaks)
Streets Wilson: Yeah Sue, send them in now
Sue: Yes sir.
(Streets stands in front of his throne and waits impatiently, tapping his foot on the ground as he does so. After about 2 minutes the door swings open and 3 people walk in. One is holding a camera and one is holding a large mic. The third individual steps up to Wilson and holds out his hand)
Man: Hello there Mr. Wilson my name is Chet Chetson, “Channel 4 News, and stay off that booze!”
(Wilson stares at the man unimpressed)
Chet: I’ve heard so much about you!
(Wilson stares at the man with a look of disgust on his face, before slapping the mans outstretched hand to the side.)
Streets Wilson: Just ask the questions Fatsy
Chet: Well the name is actually..
Streets Wilson: THE NAME IS FATSY IF I SAY IT IS. FATSY.
Fatsy: Uh yes sir.
Streets Wilson: Good now ask some questions
Fatsy: Well, you are considered by most to be a legend. The most dangerous man to ever step into the ring.
Streets Wilson( as he casually slaps Fatsy out of the shot): The fact of the matter is this Fats, I am Streets Wilson. Its not to hard to figure out that I am the most dangerous man you have ever seen in your life. (in the background Fatsy can be heard smashing through some glass. They used to call me the Grandfather of Extreme, because I was the first ever UWF Extreme Champion. They called me the King of the Streets. For obvious reasons. I have faced all the so called, “mentally disturbed” “pushed over the edge” “nothing to lose” fools there is to offer. I always come out on top. There is no reason I shouldn’t is there? I’m better than everyone else. I can do what I want, when I want. AND THERES ABSOUTELY NO ONE OUT THERE WHO CAN STOP ME. So now they have the audacity to book me in a match with a… “female”. How in the hell can anybody justify this? This poor woman obviously has no idea what she’s getting herself into. The fury that will be brought down upon her. Streets Wilson does not hold back, even for a woman. I know this “woman” will not be holding back, so neither will I. She’s just another stepping stone on my way to the top. So now, I have been handed my first loss in the APW. So be it. Its not as if I didn’t jump up immediately and squash the insignificant little bug that had the “MISFORTUNE” of beating me. BECAUSE ITS GOING TO BECOME VERY APPARENT THAT A VICTORY OVER STREETS WILSON IS NOT A VICTORY AT ALL, IM NOT SOMEONE YOU WANT TO HAVE AS AN ENEMY, IM
(He suddenly stops for a second, and seems to regain his composure)
Streets Wilson: Sorry, sometimes get carried away. The point is, Streets Wilson will never stop doing the things that I do. What is it that I do? I beat peoples asses. I beat them senseless. I beat them so decisively they start to question their own worth. And Kristina Blackwell, if you get in my face… I will beat you into a coma. Like it or not, wrestling is not a sexual sport… and therefore is no place for a woman. You long legs won’t help you, because I will have no problem breaking them. Your sexual advances, which are no doubt soon to come, will have no effect on me. Its only natural you would be drawn in by my rugged good looks though. But know this. You can come up with whatever the hell you want to say to me. Because your words will not help you. I’ve heard it all before. I’ve heard all the stupid clichés “My father was an alcoholic” “My mother committed suicide” “my brother was gunned down in the streets of Los Angeles” Quite frankly I don’t give a rat’s ass if they were. Let me tell you a little story, a story of a thirteen year old boy. The boy is obviously me. Both my parents were shot and killed in front of me in a common mugging. Well, maybe it wasn’t so common now that I think about it. Since as the murderer of parents was walking away, I stabbed him.
(Wilson begins to laugh now, and a very sincere smile comes over his face)
Streets Wilson: I stabbed him real good. In the back. 23 times. Until he stopped breathing. This hat (he points to the fedora on top of his head) I took it from “Him”. Its MINE NOW. He took my parents, so I took his life. And his hat. I like the hat. This knife. (He produces a blade from out of nowhere) This is the blade that was inside “his” back. In and out of his flesh 23 times. It felt good to kill him. It felt great. In fact, he is probably the reason I am here today. Look at me now. Very far from the streets I grew up on. I sit on gold chairs. I eat whatever I want. I train in the most technologically advanced facilities in the country. But I will continue to represent the place that I came from in combat. I will bring the glory back to the streets. Where it belongs. For as long as Streets Wilson competes. The young kids on the streets will have someone to look up to. They will know that they can be someone if they just do what needs to be done. See inside that ring someone’s station in life doesn’t matter. Their money cannot help them. Their “gimmick” cannot help them. The only thing that matters then is if you know how to brawl. If you can cut it inside the squared circle with the likes of a legend such as myself. And believe me, that’s exactly what I am. Do the research. Streets Wilson is not a myth, and that’s what makes my opponents so scared. Because I am the absolute real thing. I am the reason they lock their doors and windows at night. No, I may not be a “deadman”, or a cliché “technical wrestler” or even your more common “street brawler” I may not have come from a distinctive wrestling family. I have not even had any formal wrestling training. I trained in the most deadly fighting arts known to man. So when it comes time to break a neck or two, I don’t hesitate, and its easy. It would be easy for me anyway. You can’t just go out and take Karate or some shit and expect that you know how to fight now. You have to know how to fight anyway. You have to have it in you. You have to be willing to know that while you are pounding this mans face in, he may not ever get up. Well, I’ll see you later Sue, I’m going to eat some eggs,
Chet: My name isn’t Sue it’s
(As he is speaking the doors swing open aggressively and knock him in the side of the face, as the large Italians from earlier can be seen walking in)
Italian: Here is that info you required Streets
(Streets Wilson snatches the papers out of his hands aggressively)
Streets Wilson: Mmm. Yes. I suspected as much. This will help.
( Wilson goes back to his golden throne and sits down, deep in thought)
Part 2
( The camera focuses in as the man we all know as Streets Wilson can be seen sitting in a large golden chair. He is smiling widely as he spews out orders to some very large looking Italian men.)
Streets Wilson( with saliva flying out of his mouth at every other word): You heard me. I WANT TO KNOW EVERYTHING. Where’s this bitch sleep? Where’s her family live, where did she go to school. Does she even have a family? What’s her favorite FREAKIN color. Don’t come back till you know EVERYTHING
(Wilson laughs hysterically as the large Italians get up and walk out calmly. Streets Wilson looks down at the solid gold throne he is sitting on. He looks over at his famous “Silver Knuckles” that are sitting nicely over on the end-table. He smiles once again. Wilson then picks up his fedora and places it atop his head. Twisting it ever so slightly to the right. He gets up and walks over to some sort of intercom device on the wall and presses a large red button as he speaks)
Streets Wilson: Yeah Sue, send them in now
Sue: Yes sir.
(Streets stands in front of his throne and waits impatiently, tapping his foot on the ground as he does so. After about 2 minutes the door swings open and 3 people walk in. One is holding a camera and one is holding a large mic. The third individual steps up to Wilson and holds out his hand)
Man: Hello there Mr. Wilson my name is Chet Chetson, “Channel 4 News, and stay off that booze!”
(Wilson stares at the man unimpressed)
Chet: I’ve heard so much about you!
(Wilson stares at the man with a look of disgust on his face, before slapping the mans outstretched hand to the side.)
Streets Wilson: Just ask the questions Fatsy
Chet: Well the name is actually..
Streets Wilson: THE NAME IS FATSY IF I SAY IT IS. FATSY.
Fatsy: Uh yes sir.
Streets Wilson: Good now ask some questions
Fatsy: Well, you are considered by most to be a legend. The most dangerous man to ever step into the ring.
Streets Wilson( as he casually slaps Fatsy out of the shot): The fact of the matter is this Fats, I am Streets Wilson. Its not to hard to figure out that I am the most dangerous man you have ever seen in your life. (in the background Fatsy can be heard smashing through some glass. They used to call me the Grandfather of Extreme, because I was the first ever UWF Extreme Champion. They called me the King of the Streets. For obvious reasons. I have faced all the so called, “mentally disturbed” “pushed over the edge” “nothing to lose” fools there is to offer. I always come out on top. There is no reason I shouldn’t is there? I’m better than everyone else. I can do what I want, when I want. AND THERES ABSOUTELY NO ONE OUT THERE WHO CAN STOP ME. So now they have the audacity to book me in a match with a… “female”. How in the hell can anybody justify this? This poor woman obviously has no idea what she’s getting herself into. The fury that will be brought down upon her. Streets Wilson does not hold back, even for a woman. I know this “woman” will not be holding back, so neither will I. She’s just another stepping stone on my way to the top. So now, I have been handed my first loss in the APW. So be it. Its not as if I didn’t jump up immediately and squash the insignificant little bug that had the “MISFORTUNE” of beating me. BECAUSE ITS GOING TO BECOME VERY APPARENT THAT A VICTORY OVER STREETS WILSON IS NOT A VICTORY AT ALL, IM NOT SOMEONE YOU WANT TO HAVE AS AN ENEMY, IM
(He suddenly stops for a second, and seems to regain his composure)
Streets Wilson: Sorry, sometimes get carried away. The point is, Streets Wilson will never stop doing the things that I do. What is it that I do? I beat peoples asses. I beat them senseless. I beat them so decisively they start to question their own worth. And Kristina Blackwell, if you get in my face… I will beat you into a coma. Like it or not, wrestling is not a sexual sport… and therefore is no place for a woman. You long legs won’t help you, because I will have no problem breaking them. Your sexual advances, which are no doubt soon to come, will have no effect on me. Its only natural you would be drawn in by my rugged good looks though. But know this. You can come up with whatever the hell you want to say to me. Because your words will not help you. I’ve heard it all before. I’ve heard all the stupid clichés “My father was an alcoholic” “My mother committed suicide” “my brother was gunned down in the streets of Los Angeles” Quite frankly I don’t give a rat’s ass if they were. Let me tell you a little story, a story of a thirteen year old boy. The boy is obviously me. Both my parents were shot and killed in front of me in a common mugging. Well, maybe it wasn’t so common now that I think about it. Since as the murderer of parents was walking away, I stabbed him.
(Wilson begins to laugh now, and a very sincere smile comes over his face)
Streets Wilson: I stabbed him real good. In the back. 23 times. Until he stopped breathing. This hat (he points to the fedora on top of his head) I took it from “Him”. Its MINE NOW. He took my parents, so I took his life. And his hat. I like the hat. This knife. (He produces a blade from out of nowhere) This is the blade that was inside “his” back. In and out of his flesh 23 times. It felt good to kill him. It felt great. In fact, he is probably the reason I am here today. Look at me now. Very far from the streets I grew up on. I sit on gold chairs. I eat whatever I want. I train in the most technologically advanced facilities in the country. But I will continue to represent the place that I came from in combat. I will bring the glory back to the streets. Where it belongs. For as long as Streets Wilson competes. The young kids on the streets will have someone to look up to. They will know that they can be someone if they just do what needs to be done. See inside that ring someone’s station in life doesn’t matter. Their money cannot help them. Their “gimmick” cannot help them. The only thing that matters then is if you know how to brawl. If you can cut it inside the squared circle with the likes of a legend such as myself. And believe me, that’s exactly what I am. Do the research. Streets Wilson is not a myth, and that’s what makes my opponents so scared. Because I am the absolute real thing. I am the reason they lock their doors and windows at night. No, I may not be a “deadman”, or a cliché “technical wrestler” or even your more common “street brawler” I may not have come from a distinctive wrestling family. I have not even had any formal wrestling training. I trained in the most deadly fighting arts known to man. So when it comes time to break a neck or two, I don’t hesitate, and its easy. It would be easy for me anyway. You can’t just go out and take Karate or some shit and expect that you know how to fight now. You have to know how to fight anyway. You have to have it in you. You have to be willing to know that while you are pounding this mans face in, he may not ever get up. Well, I’ll see you later Sue, I’m going to eat some eggs,
Chet: My name isn’t Sue it’s
(As he is speaking the doors swing open aggressively and knock him in the side of the face, as the large Italians from earlier can be seen walking in)
Italian: Here is that info you required Streets
(Streets Wilson snatches the papers out of his hands aggressively)
Streets Wilson: Mmm. Yes. I suspected as much. This will help.
( Wilson goes back to his golden throne and sits down, deep in thought)
