Post by JD Storm on Dec 13, 2010 0:41:50 GMT -4
Scene opens at the former NorthStar Arena. A ring is set up. Several ladders of varying sizes are also set up, in various spots in the arena. A 20-foot ring is standing in the middle of the ring. Perched on the top of the ladder is "Superstar" Bobby Bodacious. A cheaply made championship belt hangs just above Bodacious' head, just out of reach.
"Superstar" Bobby Bodacious
Wine is fine, but whiskey is quicker. Suicide is so enticing. Take a bottle, drown you sorrows.
Listen to those words backwards and you maybe you'll get some subliminal messages. Listen to me and you'll get not-so subtle messages. I plan on being upfront and direct with any messages I send. I don't want any confusion from anybody on what I intended to say or what I might have meant. I don't want any confusion, lawsuits or any of that other garbage. Get it? Got it? Good!
My message, quite simply, is that I want the Suicidal Championship. I don't care whos toes I have to step on to get the title. I don't care who I have to hurt. I don't care if anyone's offended, in the process.
Much like the hicks in this podunk town where my former fed was ran out of, the people of the Long Island area need a certain level of class. Dignity, class and honour will be brought to the area. While this will be met with resistance from all the low brow peasants initially, change will eventually be accepted. Changes will be easier to accept when I start with my future servants.
"Supersonic" Branden Harvey, “The Hardcore Princess” Kristina Blackwell & Rico Casteel. Not an ounce of talent in any of you. Three opponents and none of them are in the same league as I am. I'm a man born of wealth. I'm used to getting what I want. Those that get in my way live just long enough to regret their mistake. I like to ruin the lives of people out of sport, some days.
Massacre on 34th Street won't be a mere sport. I won't be satisfied until I've ruined the careers of my opponents. If it means cramming this ladder where the sun don't shine, then so be it.
Winning will be a lot easier then anyone. It's really like watching lemmings jumping off the cliff to their own deaths. They'll go all out, trying to kill each other for the prestige of the Suicide Championship. I, the sophisticated wrestler that I am, just needs to sit back long enough for the damage to be done. When it's gotten to that point, I'll pick a few of my own spots, just to make sure that everybody stays down. Then, and only then, I'll climb the ladder of success until I've reached the top. I'll stare down at the carnage that's been created. I'll admire the view just before I claim the Suicide Championship for my own.
After I'm announced as the winner, I'll watch the medics cart off your broken, beaten carcasses. Three way career suicide will have been committed, all in the name of claiming the Suicide Championship. All for that small mark in the history books. If the three of you haven't completely destroyed your bodies, I've could always use somebody to work for me. I've always got odd jobs at my California estate. Branden Harvey, I could use someone of your talents doing something like cleaning toilets. Maybe you can wash the dishes, when I hold a few of my parties at my place. They aren't big. Just a few hundred people come by during my functions. The kitchen can be really ugly at the end of the night.
Kristina Blackwell, I could use your talents for something else. You look like you could be an excellent maid. I'll even provide you a very special outfit, something that'll make you look like a respectable woman. Don't need any divas looking like tramps. While we're at it, maybe a little training in how to act like a proper woman. Rico Casteel, I won't have any need for jacked up monkeys like you. Once I've beaten you to an inch of your life, you'll need to go back to that low-class life you held before being a wrestler. I believe you were working some crappy factory job. Considering you call Bismarck home, you'll probably make minimum wage doing the job anyway. This is assuming that you don't get sent to the state nuthome in Jamestown.
Suicide, that's exactly what's happening in Long Island. Unlike Romeo & Juliet, there won't be any drama when it happens. Nobody will be crying for Branden Harvey, Kristina Blackwell or Rico Casteel. They won't even applaud. Not so much as a feigned look of concern. Just a respectful applause as I climb down the ladder as Suicide Champion!
Bodacious slowly climbs down the ladder as the scene fades out.
"Superstar" Bobby Bodacious
Wine is fine, but whiskey is quicker. Suicide is so enticing. Take a bottle, drown you sorrows.
Listen to those words backwards and you maybe you'll get some subliminal messages. Listen to me and you'll get not-so subtle messages. I plan on being upfront and direct with any messages I send. I don't want any confusion from anybody on what I intended to say or what I might have meant. I don't want any confusion, lawsuits or any of that other garbage. Get it? Got it? Good!
My message, quite simply, is that I want the Suicidal Championship. I don't care whos toes I have to step on to get the title. I don't care who I have to hurt. I don't care if anyone's offended, in the process.
Much like the hicks in this podunk town where my former fed was ran out of, the people of the Long Island area need a certain level of class. Dignity, class and honour will be brought to the area. While this will be met with resistance from all the low brow peasants initially, change will eventually be accepted. Changes will be easier to accept when I start with my future servants.
"Supersonic" Branden Harvey, “The Hardcore Princess” Kristina Blackwell & Rico Casteel. Not an ounce of talent in any of you. Three opponents and none of them are in the same league as I am. I'm a man born of wealth. I'm used to getting what I want. Those that get in my way live just long enough to regret their mistake. I like to ruin the lives of people out of sport, some days.
Massacre on 34th Street won't be a mere sport. I won't be satisfied until I've ruined the careers of my opponents. If it means cramming this ladder where the sun don't shine, then so be it.
Winning will be a lot easier then anyone. It's really like watching lemmings jumping off the cliff to their own deaths. They'll go all out, trying to kill each other for the prestige of the Suicide Championship. I, the sophisticated wrestler that I am, just needs to sit back long enough for the damage to be done. When it's gotten to that point, I'll pick a few of my own spots, just to make sure that everybody stays down. Then, and only then, I'll climb the ladder of success until I've reached the top. I'll stare down at the carnage that's been created. I'll admire the view just before I claim the Suicide Championship for my own.
After I'm announced as the winner, I'll watch the medics cart off your broken, beaten carcasses. Three way career suicide will have been committed, all in the name of claiming the Suicide Championship. All for that small mark in the history books. If the three of you haven't completely destroyed your bodies, I've could always use somebody to work for me. I've always got odd jobs at my California estate. Branden Harvey, I could use someone of your talents doing something like cleaning toilets. Maybe you can wash the dishes, when I hold a few of my parties at my place. They aren't big. Just a few hundred people come by during my functions. The kitchen can be really ugly at the end of the night.
Kristina Blackwell, I could use your talents for something else. You look like you could be an excellent maid. I'll even provide you a very special outfit, something that'll make you look like a respectable woman. Don't need any divas looking like tramps. While we're at it, maybe a little training in how to act like a proper woman. Rico Casteel, I won't have any need for jacked up monkeys like you. Once I've beaten you to an inch of your life, you'll need to go back to that low-class life you held before being a wrestler. I believe you were working some crappy factory job. Considering you call Bismarck home, you'll probably make minimum wage doing the job anyway. This is assuming that you don't get sent to the state nuthome in Jamestown.
Suicide, that's exactly what's happening in Long Island. Unlike Romeo & Juliet, there won't be any drama when it happens. Nobody will be crying for Branden Harvey, Kristina Blackwell or Rico Casteel. They won't even applaud. Not so much as a feigned look of concern. Just a respectful applause as I climb down the ladder as Suicide Champion!
Bodacious slowly climbs down the ladder as the scene fades out.
