Post by biggs on Jun 2, 2013 0:29:23 GMT -4
“Spacewalker,” by Depeche Mode, plays as the words FIRST CONTACT flash across the starry background in bold, blue letters. The video transitions to Biggs standing outside a German style building complete with the sloped shingle roof. The sun is shining, the air is crisp, and a guy dressed in lederhosen saunters by behind Biggs as he begins to speak.
”Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to Biggs’ First Contact! I am, of course, Biggs, your host, and the man who is one step closer to qualifying for the Test for the Best tournament proper after my victory over Shadow this past Thursday. And while I’m fired up to be moving to the next round of qualifying matches, I have no time to rest on my laurels, because tomorrow night, I find myself back in the ring to face ‘The Killerplauze’ Stefan Raab in a match that will determine the future of Asylum, or as Raabies is so delusionally calling it, Sunday Night Raab-A-Mania.”
“Now as many of you have no doubt noticed, I’m coming to y’all live from what appears to be a quaint German village. But I’m not in Germany, in fact, I’m in Leavenworth, Washington, an old German settlement that is now one of the kitschiest tourist traps in the Pacific Northwest. And sure, the architecture here is traditional German architecture, and you can’t go a stone’s throw without running into one of the many authentic German pubs in this town. But just to give you an idea of just how kitschy this place really is, why don’t we have the camera man turn to his right.”
The camera pans right, and zooms in to focus on a McDonald’s, which has been made up to look like a German pub, although with the Golden Arches prominently displayed. Biggs hops into the frame.
”Now don’t get me wrong, I love me some Mickey D’s every now and then, but to dress one up like an authentic German pub, well, that’s just insulting! It’s a joke! Just like my opponent this Sunday night, Stefan Raab.”
“That’s right, Raabies, I don’t think too highly of you, and quite frankly, I don’t think anyone in APW really does. And granted you’ve embraced this fact by being just the biggest sleazoid you can be. I mean who punches out Reginald’s assistant Bambi and then takes her hostage to bully Reginald into a match? Only a person who thinks so lowly of themselves that they feel that the only way they can get noticed is by doing such ridiculous things. And I know, Raab, that up until your recent streak of fighting authority figures, that you’ve really struggled to find your groove here in APW, that more often than not, you end up finding a way to cost yourself whatever match you’re fighting in. I know that you’ve been frustrated, that you feel like you’ve been ignored, and so it’s only natural that you would have to go to such ridiculous and extreme lengths to make sure that people even somewhat noticed you. But in doing so, Raab, you’ve proved just how sad and desperate of a man you really are.”
“Ever since the Meltdown Super Show, everyone has been asking me why I would agree to go to Asylum, a show I’ve never competed on, a show in which I really have no stake in, in order to try and wrestle control of the show away from you. It’s simple, President Jeff asked me to.”
“He knew that Reginald wasn’t really going to put up any sort of fight against you at Mayhem. But rather than risk any sort of legal action on your part, he decided that he’d let you have your fun for one night, but he also had a plan to make sure that it was only that one night. That’s where I come in.”
“Because you see, Raab, I’ve been in the position that you’re now in before. I was the General Manager of Overdrive for the better part of seven months a couple of years back, and truth be told, I abused my power. Not to the extent that you’re doing now, but I did abuse it. But one thing that I never, ever did, was think that I was bigger than Overdrive. Obviously you don’t have the same stance that I did, because as soon as you defeated Reginald, before he even had a chance to be woken up, you declared that the era of Sunday Night Raab-A-Mania had begun. You used your power to name the show after yourself, showing a hubris and vanity that is well beyond your actual accomplishments.”
“Because the bottom line is this, Raab, nobody is bigger than Overdrive. Nobody is bigger than Asylum. Heck, nobody is even bigger than Meltdown! Not even the APW Undisputed or World Heavyweight Champions are bigger than their respective shows! We don’t see APW Overdrive, starring Level-One! And there is no APW Meltdown, the Guv’nor’s show! And it sure as heck isn’t Terry Marvin’s Sunday Night Asylum! All you did to earn the supposed ‘right’ to rebrand Asylum is knock out an old man who had no business getting into the ring in the first place!”
“And even though I’m an Overdrive guy, even though I’ve never stepped foot in an Asylum ring to compete, I am more than happy to fight for the honor of Asylum, because I’m fighting for the honor of APW as a whole! As it stands right now, we’ve got Overdrive, Meltdown, and Sunday Night Raab-A-Mania. One of these three is not like the others, and come tomorrow night, the odd one out will be gone!”
“If you think that you’ll be able to outsmart me tomorrow night, or that you could pull a few strings to get the match in your favor, don’t count on it, Raab. Because for all your dirty tricks and shortcuts, Raab, for all of your cheating, don’t forget who you’re going up against. I know the APW Rulebook forwards, backwards, up and down, left to right, right to left, you name a rule, I know it well enough to be able to exploit it! I may be on the side of angels now, but it wasn’t too long ago that I was doing anything and everything to win a match, no matter how despicable it was! The reason why I agreed to fight you, Raab, is because I see you as a less talented version of my old self, who left to their own devices, would kill APW Asylum. When I ran Overdrive, yes, I made my fair share of mistakes, but I was never so vain as to think that the show revolved around me. Face it Raab, by beating Reginald at Mayhem, you went from being a wrestler to being an authority figure! And no matter how much you like to think otherwise, Raab, authority figures don’t put butts in the seats, wrestlers do.”
“As much as you think running Asylum will help your star to rise, as much as you think it’s going to benefit you, Raab, I can guarantee you right now that things will not turn out the way you hoped they would. I could be all cliché and say something like heavy is the head that wears the crowd, but I don’t think you realize just what you got yourself into running Asylum. Because as the General Manger, not only do you have the power to make the matches, but you have the responsibility to make the matches. You have the responsibility to the fans, not to mention the guys in the back, to set up the best show possible, week in and week out, no excuses! Because if you don’t put together a show that fans are willing to pay money to see live, or that they’re willing to sit through commercials at home for, than your promotion will go belly-up quicker than a two dollar prostitute!”
“Simply put, Raab, I do not believe in your ability to effectively run Asylum. You proved as much by the desperate lengths you were willing to go to acquire it. You proved it by renaming Asylum after yourself. You proved it by being ‘The Killerplauze’ Stefan Raab, the biggest joke in all of professional wrestling! Well, tomorrow night, the joke ends, and I can assure you, you won’t be laughing. Instead, you’ll be laying flat on your back, staring into the bright lights above you, wondering why the heck you even wanted to be GM in the first place! And I can guarantee this. Why? Because I’m quite simply OUT OF THIS WORLD!”
First Contact comes to a close with “Spacewalker” playing again, and the APW logo and copyright showing up at the bottom of the screen.
Saturday, June 1
8:30 pm
Somewhere above Texas
”Ugh…Could the view be any more boring!?” ‘Stunning’ Stan Everdeen exclaims, staring out the window of my private jet. The Stud Muffins and I are flying from Leavenworth, Washington, down to Lafayette, Louisiana, so that I can be there in time for my match with ‘The Killerplauze’ Stefan Raab on tomorrow nights’ episode of Asylum. I refuse to refer to it by the ridiculous name Raab gave it, because quite frankly, it’s insulting. The fact that a German Madman has taken it upon himself to rebrand one of the APW shows in his own image makes my blood boil. Even at my most arrogant, even at my most vain, I never would have taken it that far, and I ran Overdrive for over half a year. Still, I’m pretty confident heading into the match, considering the fact that Raab’s win-loss record in matches against non-authority figures is skews more towards the L column than the W column. Still, I can’t let myself become cocky to the point to where I don’t take him seriously in the ring. Because if I don’t win tomorrow night’s match, I’ll be letting not just the entire Asylum roster down, but all of APW. President Jeff has entrusted me with this task, and by golly, I intend to see it through.
As Stan and Armando continue to complain about how boring Texas is from 12,000 feet in the air, I’m suddenly overtaken by an intense dizziness, the likes of which I’ve never experienced. The plane is spinning all around me, my vision is blurring, and I feel like I’m on the verge of blacking out. It doesn’t take my friends long to realize that something’s wrong.
”Biggs! Biggs! Are you okay?!” Sr. Guapo yells, placing his hands on both of my shoulders, shaking me a bit.
”Don’t shake him, you idiot! That’ll just make things worse!”
I don’t hear the rest of their argument, or rather, I hear it, but I don’t comprehend any of it. They’re still yelling at each other as I snap out of it.
”Whoa, that was a headrush right there…” I say, trying to play down the severity of what I just experienced.
”Listen, man, I know that you got medical clearance from Doctor Mann, and that you’ve got that big match tomorrow night, but dude, that was scary.”
”Yeah, mi amigo, you had us really worried there!”
”It’s no big deal, I just got a little dizzy, that’s all. It happens to the best of us…” I try to reassure them. I know that the Stud Muffins know me well enough to know when I’m trying to lie, but still, I feel like if I don’t face Raab tomorrow night, than I’m letting APW down.
”Once we land, I’m calling Jeff to let him know that he needs to find a replacement for tomorrow night’s match!” Stan says, with a concerned look on his face. This pisses me off.
”I’m fine! I already told you, it’s nothing! I will fight Raab tomorrow night.”
”You ought to reconsider. Your head, it’s not so good right now. You’re just coming back from concussion, you don’t have to be Sr. Machismo!”
”I agree with Armando, Biggs. You’re just coming back, and yet you’re in three matches in one week. You should be easing back into competition, not trying to prove that you’re the toughest son of a gun in APW!”
”I don’t need to prove anything to anybody! If it’ll make you guys feel better, I’ll go lie down for a bit. We should be in Louisiana in a couple of hours anyways. I’m fine…”
I can feel Stan and Armando glaring at the back of my head as I storm off to the private room in the back of the plane. I don’t give them the satisfaction of turning back to look them in the eyes. Maybe they are right. Maybe I am taking things too quickly in my comeback. And maybe I do feel like I need to prove something. Not to anybody else, mind you, but myself.
”Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to Biggs’ First Contact! I am, of course, Biggs, your host, and the man who is one step closer to qualifying for the Test for the Best tournament proper after my victory over Shadow this past Thursday. And while I’m fired up to be moving to the next round of qualifying matches, I have no time to rest on my laurels, because tomorrow night, I find myself back in the ring to face ‘The Killerplauze’ Stefan Raab in a match that will determine the future of Asylum, or as Raabies is so delusionally calling it, Sunday Night Raab-A-Mania.”
“Now as many of you have no doubt noticed, I’m coming to y’all live from what appears to be a quaint German village. But I’m not in Germany, in fact, I’m in Leavenworth, Washington, an old German settlement that is now one of the kitschiest tourist traps in the Pacific Northwest. And sure, the architecture here is traditional German architecture, and you can’t go a stone’s throw without running into one of the many authentic German pubs in this town. But just to give you an idea of just how kitschy this place really is, why don’t we have the camera man turn to his right.”
The camera pans right, and zooms in to focus on a McDonald’s, which has been made up to look like a German pub, although with the Golden Arches prominently displayed. Biggs hops into the frame.
”Now don’t get me wrong, I love me some Mickey D’s every now and then, but to dress one up like an authentic German pub, well, that’s just insulting! It’s a joke! Just like my opponent this Sunday night, Stefan Raab.”
“That’s right, Raabies, I don’t think too highly of you, and quite frankly, I don’t think anyone in APW really does. And granted you’ve embraced this fact by being just the biggest sleazoid you can be. I mean who punches out Reginald’s assistant Bambi and then takes her hostage to bully Reginald into a match? Only a person who thinks so lowly of themselves that they feel that the only way they can get noticed is by doing such ridiculous things. And I know, Raab, that up until your recent streak of fighting authority figures, that you’ve really struggled to find your groove here in APW, that more often than not, you end up finding a way to cost yourself whatever match you’re fighting in. I know that you’ve been frustrated, that you feel like you’ve been ignored, and so it’s only natural that you would have to go to such ridiculous and extreme lengths to make sure that people even somewhat noticed you. But in doing so, Raab, you’ve proved just how sad and desperate of a man you really are.”
“Ever since the Meltdown Super Show, everyone has been asking me why I would agree to go to Asylum, a show I’ve never competed on, a show in which I really have no stake in, in order to try and wrestle control of the show away from you. It’s simple, President Jeff asked me to.”
“He knew that Reginald wasn’t really going to put up any sort of fight against you at Mayhem. But rather than risk any sort of legal action on your part, he decided that he’d let you have your fun for one night, but he also had a plan to make sure that it was only that one night. That’s where I come in.”
“Because you see, Raab, I’ve been in the position that you’re now in before. I was the General Manager of Overdrive for the better part of seven months a couple of years back, and truth be told, I abused my power. Not to the extent that you’re doing now, but I did abuse it. But one thing that I never, ever did, was think that I was bigger than Overdrive. Obviously you don’t have the same stance that I did, because as soon as you defeated Reginald, before he even had a chance to be woken up, you declared that the era of Sunday Night Raab-A-Mania had begun. You used your power to name the show after yourself, showing a hubris and vanity that is well beyond your actual accomplishments.”
“Because the bottom line is this, Raab, nobody is bigger than Overdrive. Nobody is bigger than Asylum. Heck, nobody is even bigger than Meltdown! Not even the APW Undisputed or World Heavyweight Champions are bigger than their respective shows! We don’t see APW Overdrive, starring Level-One! And there is no APW Meltdown, the Guv’nor’s show! And it sure as heck isn’t Terry Marvin’s Sunday Night Asylum! All you did to earn the supposed ‘right’ to rebrand Asylum is knock out an old man who had no business getting into the ring in the first place!”
“And even though I’m an Overdrive guy, even though I’ve never stepped foot in an Asylum ring to compete, I am more than happy to fight for the honor of Asylum, because I’m fighting for the honor of APW as a whole! As it stands right now, we’ve got Overdrive, Meltdown, and Sunday Night Raab-A-Mania. One of these three is not like the others, and come tomorrow night, the odd one out will be gone!”
“If you think that you’ll be able to outsmart me tomorrow night, or that you could pull a few strings to get the match in your favor, don’t count on it, Raab. Because for all your dirty tricks and shortcuts, Raab, for all of your cheating, don’t forget who you’re going up against. I know the APW Rulebook forwards, backwards, up and down, left to right, right to left, you name a rule, I know it well enough to be able to exploit it! I may be on the side of angels now, but it wasn’t too long ago that I was doing anything and everything to win a match, no matter how despicable it was! The reason why I agreed to fight you, Raab, is because I see you as a less talented version of my old self, who left to their own devices, would kill APW Asylum. When I ran Overdrive, yes, I made my fair share of mistakes, but I was never so vain as to think that the show revolved around me. Face it Raab, by beating Reginald at Mayhem, you went from being a wrestler to being an authority figure! And no matter how much you like to think otherwise, Raab, authority figures don’t put butts in the seats, wrestlers do.”
“As much as you think running Asylum will help your star to rise, as much as you think it’s going to benefit you, Raab, I can guarantee you right now that things will not turn out the way you hoped they would. I could be all cliché and say something like heavy is the head that wears the crowd, but I don’t think you realize just what you got yourself into running Asylum. Because as the General Manger, not only do you have the power to make the matches, but you have the responsibility to make the matches. You have the responsibility to the fans, not to mention the guys in the back, to set up the best show possible, week in and week out, no excuses! Because if you don’t put together a show that fans are willing to pay money to see live, or that they’re willing to sit through commercials at home for, than your promotion will go belly-up quicker than a two dollar prostitute!”
“Simply put, Raab, I do not believe in your ability to effectively run Asylum. You proved as much by the desperate lengths you were willing to go to acquire it. You proved it by renaming Asylum after yourself. You proved it by being ‘The Killerplauze’ Stefan Raab, the biggest joke in all of professional wrestling! Well, tomorrow night, the joke ends, and I can assure you, you won’t be laughing. Instead, you’ll be laying flat on your back, staring into the bright lights above you, wondering why the heck you even wanted to be GM in the first place! And I can guarantee this. Why? Because I’m quite simply OUT OF THIS WORLD!”
First Contact comes to a close with “Spacewalker” playing again, and the APW logo and copyright showing up at the bottom of the screen.
***
Saturday, June 1
8:30 pm
Somewhere above Texas
”Ugh…Could the view be any more boring!?” ‘Stunning’ Stan Everdeen exclaims, staring out the window of my private jet. The Stud Muffins and I are flying from Leavenworth, Washington, down to Lafayette, Louisiana, so that I can be there in time for my match with ‘The Killerplauze’ Stefan Raab on tomorrow nights’ episode of Asylum. I refuse to refer to it by the ridiculous name Raab gave it, because quite frankly, it’s insulting. The fact that a German Madman has taken it upon himself to rebrand one of the APW shows in his own image makes my blood boil. Even at my most arrogant, even at my most vain, I never would have taken it that far, and I ran Overdrive for over half a year. Still, I’m pretty confident heading into the match, considering the fact that Raab’s win-loss record in matches against non-authority figures is skews more towards the L column than the W column. Still, I can’t let myself become cocky to the point to where I don’t take him seriously in the ring. Because if I don’t win tomorrow night’s match, I’ll be letting not just the entire Asylum roster down, but all of APW. President Jeff has entrusted me with this task, and by golly, I intend to see it through.
As Stan and Armando continue to complain about how boring Texas is from 12,000 feet in the air, I’m suddenly overtaken by an intense dizziness, the likes of which I’ve never experienced. The plane is spinning all around me, my vision is blurring, and I feel like I’m on the verge of blacking out. It doesn’t take my friends long to realize that something’s wrong.
”Biggs! Biggs! Are you okay?!” Sr. Guapo yells, placing his hands on both of my shoulders, shaking me a bit.
”Don’t shake him, you idiot! That’ll just make things worse!”
I don’t hear the rest of their argument, or rather, I hear it, but I don’t comprehend any of it. They’re still yelling at each other as I snap out of it.
”Whoa, that was a headrush right there…” I say, trying to play down the severity of what I just experienced.
”Listen, man, I know that you got medical clearance from Doctor Mann, and that you’ve got that big match tomorrow night, but dude, that was scary.”
”Yeah, mi amigo, you had us really worried there!”
”It’s no big deal, I just got a little dizzy, that’s all. It happens to the best of us…” I try to reassure them. I know that the Stud Muffins know me well enough to know when I’m trying to lie, but still, I feel like if I don’t face Raab tomorrow night, than I’m letting APW down.
”Once we land, I’m calling Jeff to let him know that he needs to find a replacement for tomorrow night’s match!” Stan says, with a concerned look on his face. This pisses me off.
”I’m fine! I already told you, it’s nothing! I will fight Raab tomorrow night.”
”You ought to reconsider. Your head, it’s not so good right now. You’re just coming back from concussion, you don’t have to be Sr. Machismo!”
”I agree with Armando, Biggs. You’re just coming back, and yet you’re in three matches in one week. You should be easing back into competition, not trying to prove that you’re the toughest son of a gun in APW!”
”I don’t need to prove anything to anybody! If it’ll make you guys feel better, I’ll go lie down for a bit. We should be in Louisiana in a couple of hours anyways. I’m fine…”
I can feel Stan and Armando glaring at the back of my head as I storm off to the private room in the back of the plane. I don’t give them the satisfaction of turning back to look them in the eyes. Maybe they are right. Maybe I am taking things too quickly in my comeback. And maybe I do feel like I need to prove something. Not to anybody else, mind you, but myself.
