Post by JD Storm on Dec 12, 2010 22:13:08 GMT -4
Scene opens in a small, dumpy hotel room. The room seems to resemble something out of a horror movie, possibly involving the Bates Motel. A few rather large roaches are scattering about, apparently unaffected when sprayed heavily with a can of Raid. The view of the room slowly changes until seeing Gambler holding the can of Raid, cursing under his breath.
Gambler
Damned roaches. Fuckers could probably survive a nuclear holocaust. Them and the fucking Twinkie.
Gambler shakes the can of Raid see how much is left. Realizing he emptied it, he chucks it across room where the Raid lands in small trash can.
Gambler
He shoots! He scores!
Smiling
That's going to be just what happens at Massacre on 34th Street on December 19th. Wild Card Match. Rules change every few minutes. You just don't know what's going to happen or when it's going to happen. There's only a few things that anybody can be certain of. The only part that matters is that I'm qualifying for the Insane Championship Match later in the night. The roach that I have to exterminate first is The Paragon of Hardcore himself.
A smirk comes over Gambler's face.
Paragon of Hardcore. Cute. Real cute. All I need to do is put you in a nice, tidy package, put a ribbon on you and call send you to my buddy, Jared. Maybe by hanging out with Jared for a few minutes, people might give you the same dopey line that's used on those idiotic jewelry commericals.
Personally, that won't do you a bit of good. I could use any number of adages I could bring up. Can't polish a turd. Can't bring an idiot up to your standards. Can't teach an old dog new tricks.
You call yourself a Paragon of Hardcore, Trevor? Seriously? A Paragon? Paragon of shit, might be a bit more accurate. Some people might refer to themselves as the standard bearer. Others claim to be the measuring stick in this business. Some like to claim to be the Gold Standard. Think I once heard somebody referred to as "Da Man!" Yeah...none of that really applies to you, champ. I've actually done stuff in my career that actually means something, stuff that means more then being some King of Hardcore.
I was one of the main draws for the former Wrestling Revolution Federation, during it's heyday. Every two-bit punk that came into the promotion thought they'd be the next big star, thinking they could steamroll past me like I wasn't there. I wouldn't even bother breaking into a sweat when I chased them out of the promotion. I would set a record in the company by being the first three time United States Champion. Only one man would be capable of breaking that record. I was the man that held the main event scene together when there was a revolving door of wrestlers coming through the promotion.
I actually made the United States Championship the most important title in the promotion, making it worth even more then the WRF Title itself. The title held such high prestige that I defended it several times a week. House shows. Pay-Per-Views. Supercards. Regular Television programming. Didn't matter. I would get random opponents each time. I never had the champions benefit of knowing who I was facing, until the absolute last minute. The odds would often be stacked against me, just to see what I could survive. Even the promoter himself had refered to me as nothing more then some 80's reject, having a gimmick that never worked.....until I first appeared in the WRF.
Don't think that my success is limited to in-ring action, either. I'm actually a manager of champions in another promotion. Currently, I've led a stable of mine to several huge matches in Sports Nuts Wrestling. Led one of my men to an SNW Texas Heavyweight Championship, the highest title that can be won in the promotion. I've led another to a 30 Man Battle Royal, which guarantes a #1 Contenders Spot for the Winner. During my time as their manager, I've even taken the remaining two to the Texas Tag Team Championship match at an upcoming Pay-Per-View.
In my short time as a manager, I've gained more success then I could imagine. I haven't even had a long stint as a wrestler and yet, managed to do more in a short time then most people could hope to do. On top of that, I even managed to co-own a own promotion for nearly a year in an area that typically doesn't get wrestling.
You want to call yourself a Paragon, Trevor? You're nothing more then a roach. Like the roaches that infest this flea bag motel, I won't be able to get rid of you with a can of Raid. Oh, I'm going to need to do a lot more then use some crappy can of bug spray. Freaks like you seem to mutate quickly, adapting to any crappy situation that comes your way. Eeking a living in places that I wouldn't waste my time at. Surviving things better then my long dead liver. Outliving this idiotic look that I've been accused of still having.
Go ahead and be the standard bearer of hardcore wrestling. Go be the gold standard of extreme wrestlers worldwide. Be a model for the idiots who want to wrestle continously with concussions. While you do that, I'm going to make a different kind of risk. Unlike yourself, I actually take calculated risks. I could beat you in tic-tac-toe, if it means going on to the Fourway Elimination Match, later in the evening. You, on the other hand, are nothing more then a one trick pony, capable of doing nothing more then repeating the same tired trick over and over again. One trick ponies never make it far. Not in WRF. Not in SNW. Not even here in IWC.
If you have any desire of being the Insane Champion, you'd better learn some new tricks quickly. It's going to take more then a good poker face to beat me. There will be no bluffing your way through this match. Either you learn how to adapt quickly or you fold. Wild Card Match.....the Joker will become synonamis with Trevor Blackwell.
Scene focuses on a roach climbing up a wall near Gambler. A rolled up newspaper swats the roach, ending the scene.
Gambler
Damned roaches. Fuckers could probably survive a nuclear holocaust. Them and the fucking Twinkie.
Gambler shakes the can of Raid see how much is left. Realizing he emptied it, he chucks it across room where the Raid lands in small trash can.
Gambler
He shoots! He scores!
Smiling
That's going to be just what happens at Massacre on 34th Street on December 19th. Wild Card Match. Rules change every few minutes. You just don't know what's going to happen or when it's going to happen. There's only a few things that anybody can be certain of. The only part that matters is that I'm qualifying for the Insane Championship Match later in the night. The roach that I have to exterminate first is The Paragon of Hardcore himself.
A smirk comes over Gambler's face.
Paragon of Hardcore. Cute. Real cute. All I need to do is put you in a nice, tidy package, put a ribbon on you and call send you to my buddy, Jared. Maybe by hanging out with Jared for a few minutes, people might give you the same dopey line that's used on those idiotic jewelry commericals.
Personally, that won't do you a bit of good. I could use any number of adages I could bring up. Can't polish a turd. Can't bring an idiot up to your standards. Can't teach an old dog new tricks.
You call yourself a Paragon of Hardcore, Trevor? Seriously? A Paragon? Paragon of shit, might be a bit more accurate. Some people might refer to themselves as the standard bearer. Others claim to be the measuring stick in this business. Some like to claim to be the Gold Standard. Think I once heard somebody referred to as "Da Man!" Yeah...none of that really applies to you, champ. I've actually done stuff in my career that actually means something, stuff that means more then being some King of Hardcore.
I was one of the main draws for the former Wrestling Revolution Federation, during it's heyday. Every two-bit punk that came into the promotion thought they'd be the next big star, thinking they could steamroll past me like I wasn't there. I wouldn't even bother breaking into a sweat when I chased them out of the promotion. I would set a record in the company by being the first three time United States Champion. Only one man would be capable of breaking that record. I was the man that held the main event scene together when there was a revolving door of wrestlers coming through the promotion.
I actually made the United States Championship the most important title in the promotion, making it worth even more then the WRF Title itself. The title held such high prestige that I defended it several times a week. House shows. Pay-Per-Views. Supercards. Regular Television programming. Didn't matter. I would get random opponents each time. I never had the champions benefit of knowing who I was facing, until the absolute last minute. The odds would often be stacked against me, just to see what I could survive. Even the promoter himself had refered to me as nothing more then some 80's reject, having a gimmick that never worked.....until I first appeared in the WRF.
Don't think that my success is limited to in-ring action, either. I'm actually a manager of champions in another promotion. Currently, I've led a stable of mine to several huge matches in Sports Nuts Wrestling. Led one of my men to an SNW Texas Heavyweight Championship, the highest title that can be won in the promotion. I've led another to a 30 Man Battle Royal, which guarantes a #1 Contenders Spot for the Winner. During my time as their manager, I've even taken the remaining two to the Texas Tag Team Championship match at an upcoming Pay-Per-View.
In my short time as a manager, I've gained more success then I could imagine. I haven't even had a long stint as a wrestler and yet, managed to do more in a short time then most people could hope to do. On top of that, I even managed to co-own a own promotion for nearly a year in an area that typically doesn't get wrestling.
You want to call yourself a Paragon, Trevor? You're nothing more then a roach. Like the roaches that infest this flea bag motel, I won't be able to get rid of you with a can of Raid. Oh, I'm going to need to do a lot more then use some crappy can of bug spray. Freaks like you seem to mutate quickly, adapting to any crappy situation that comes your way. Eeking a living in places that I wouldn't waste my time at. Surviving things better then my long dead liver. Outliving this idiotic look that I've been accused of still having.
Go ahead and be the standard bearer of hardcore wrestling. Go be the gold standard of extreme wrestlers worldwide. Be a model for the idiots who want to wrestle continously with concussions. While you do that, I'm going to make a different kind of risk. Unlike yourself, I actually take calculated risks. I could beat you in tic-tac-toe, if it means going on to the Fourway Elimination Match, later in the evening. You, on the other hand, are nothing more then a one trick pony, capable of doing nothing more then repeating the same tired trick over and over again. One trick ponies never make it far. Not in WRF. Not in SNW. Not even here in IWC.
If you have any desire of being the Insane Champion, you'd better learn some new tricks quickly. It's going to take more then a good poker face to beat me. There will be no bluffing your way through this match. Either you learn how to adapt quickly or you fold. Wild Card Match.....the Joker will become synonamis with Trevor Blackwell.
Scene focuses on a roach climbing up a wall near Gambler. A rolled up newspaper swats the roach, ending the scene.
