Post by JD Storm on Dec 29, 2010 1:12:45 GMT -4
Scene opens on the deck of a mega yacht a few miles out in the Pacific. The yacht is moving at a slower speed. "Superstar" Bobby Bodacious is sitting at a small table, finishing off his lobster dinner. A deck hand is clearing away the last of the dishes.
"Superstar" Bobby Bodacious
The fine life. Most people have wet dreams about stuff like this. Going yachting whenever I please. Not having to rent some rinky-dink tugboat, like some losers. Owning one of the finest yachts currently in existance. I could go on & on, but I think you can see just how well my life is.
Professionally, well.....that seems to be a bit of a different story, at the moment. Massacre on 34th Street didn't quite go as well as I had intended. Four way ladder match for the Suicide Championship. So close and yet so far. Like people always say, close only counts in horse shoes and hand grenades. The fact that I couldn't pull it off apparently doesn't change my future. My options have simply changed, unlike my opponent.
I have up to three matches that I absolutely must win in order to become the IWC Tap Out Champion. All three matches must be won by submission. No two ways around it. This is great if you're a Superstar, such as myself. A Hardcore Princess, not so much. Kristina, you're not going to feel like much of a princess once I've turned you into a human pretzel. Before I go any further, I really need to ask something. Which sorry sap had to kiss the toad to turn you into a princess? What moron thought he could get a Cinderella story out of you? I think I and the rest of the IWC community needs to know this. Whoever did this deserves to be bitch slapped for dumping your pathetic carcass into the professional wrestling business.
A princess, you'll never be Katrina. Hardcore? Barely. Only thing that makes you hardcore is some of your extra curricular activities. Gambler showed me a video where the "star" looked an way too similar to you. I hate to break the bad news, but that barely registered as softcore. I've seen better work out of amateurs then anything you've ever accomplished, in or out of the ring.
What you may not realize, Katrina, is that you won't be able to pull of your hardcore antics against me this week. I've done a pretty good job holding my own in this Wild West environment that some of you call "wrestling". I'm treating everybody to true wrestling during our one night tournament. You'll get to see what it's like to actually compete, instead of the usual garbage matches that you involve yourself in. No ladder matches. No extreme thumbtacks. No naked Pilgrims & Indians. It's pure, straight up wrestling. This is going to be a bit out of your element, Katrina, as pure wrestling isn't something that you or the rest of the hacks around here know anything about. Considering who you're involved with, it really doesn't surprise me that your a no talent hack, either. Considering you hang out with the likes of Trevor Blackwell, well, I can expect nothing less then mediocrity. Mediocrity, sloppiness & probably some laziness.
Ironic point. Trevor failed to beat Gambler on Massacre on 34th Street. You failed to beat me on the exact same show. If either one of you expect to make a true name for yourselves in this business, you'd better bring your A-Game on Sunday. Not like it's going to help you much. You, like your wrestling style, is about as old and worn out as the 1976 Pacer I saw you driving a couple weeks back. Damned Pacer probably has a licorice dispenser in it. I know I saw the same paint job that was used for Wayne's World. You're clothing style is even more dated, looking like the same hippie bell bottoms your momma would've worn during her drug induced state during the 60's. I'm pretty sure you'll still find some good hash in one of the pockets, if you bother to check.
Princess, do yourself a favor and settle down. Retire. Find your Prince Charming, or more suitably, some trailer park trash. Maybe you'll be lucky enough that some drunken idiot will actually knock you up. You can pop out a few kids, go on welfare and remember the glory days. You'll be able to brag to all your white trash friends, while talking through your tooth, about how you were finally shamed into retirement by the One True Superstar of this business, Bobby Bodacious. You'll be able reminisce about how I showed you what a real wrestler looked like, how a real wrestler acted, how a real wrestler actually competed. Maybe you'll even feel like telling all your trashy friends about how I had my limo driver take you to the nearest Waffle House, where I graciously spent the $2.99 on your final meal as a wrestler.
Babe, I promise not to screw up your body too badly. You'll still need to make a living in order to keep welfare off your backside. While you're keeping welfare off your ass, I'll be the hottest thing to ever hit the IWC.
Bodacious gets out of his chair and heads into the yacht. His personal crew takes care of any last minute cleaning as the scene comes to an end.
"Superstar" Bobby Bodacious
The fine life. Most people have wet dreams about stuff like this. Going yachting whenever I please. Not having to rent some rinky-dink tugboat, like some losers. Owning one of the finest yachts currently in existance. I could go on & on, but I think you can see just how well my life is.
Professionally, well.....that seems to be a bit of a different story, at the moment. Massacre on 34th Street didn't quite go as well as I had intended. Four way ladder match for the Suicide Championship. So close and yet so far. Like people always say, close only counts in horse shoes and hand grenades. The fact that I couldn't pull it off apparently doesn't change my future. My options have simply changed, unlike my opponent.
I have up to three matches that I absolutely must win in order to become the IWC Tap Out Champion. All three matches must be won by submission. No two ways around it. This is great if you're a Superstar, such as myself. A Hardcore Princess, not so much. Kristina, you're not going to feel like much of a princess once I've turned you into a human pretzel. Before I go any further, I really need to ask something. Which sorry sap had to kiss the toad to turn you into a princess? What moron thought he could get a Cinderella story out of you? I think I and the rest of the IWC community needs to know this. Whoever did this deserves to be bitch slapped for dumping your pathetic carcass into the professional wrestling business.
A princess, you'll never be Katrina. Hardcore? Barely. Only thing that makes you hardcore is some of your extra curricular activities. Gambler showed me a video where the "star" looked an way too similar to you. I hate to break the bad news, but that barely registered as softcore. I've seen better work out of amateurs then anything you've ever accomplished, in or out of the ring.
What you may not realize, Katrina, is that you won't be able to pull of your hardcore antics against me this week. I've done a pretty good job holding my own in this Wild West environment that some of you call "wrestling". I'm treating everybody to true wrestling during our one night tournament. You'll get to see what it's like to actually compete, instead of the usual garbage matches that you involve yourself in. No ladder matches. No extreme thumbtacks. No naked Pilgrims & Indians. It's pure, straight up wrestling. This is going to be a bit out of your element, Katrina, as pure wrestling isn't something that you or the rest of the hacks around here know anything about. Considering who you're involved with, it really doesn't surprise me that your a no talent hack, either. Considering you hang out with the likes of Trevor Blackwell, well, I can expect nothing less then mediocrity. Mediocrity, sloppiness & probably some laziness.
Ironic point. Trevor failed to beat Gambler on Massacre on 34th Street. You failed to beat me on the exact same show. If either one of you expect to make a true name for yourselves in this business, you'd better bring your A-Game on Sunday. Not like it's going to help you much. You, like your wrestling style, is about as old and worn out as the 1976 Pacer I saw you driving a couple weeks back. Damned Pacer probably has a licorice dispenser in it. I know I saw the same paint job that was used for Wayne's World. You're clothing style is even more dated, looking like the same hippie bell bottoms your momma would've worn during her drug induced state during the 60's. I'm pretty sure you'll still find some good hash in one of the pockets, if you bother to check.
Princess, do yourself a favor and settle down. Retire. Find your Prince Charming, or more suitably, some trailer park trash. Maybe you'll be lucky enough that some drunken idiot will actually knock you up. You can pop out a few kids, go on welfare and remember the glory days. You'll be able to brag to all your white trash friends, while talking through your tooth, about how you were finally shamed into retirement by the One True Superstar of this business, Bobby Bodacious. You'll be able reminisce about how I showed you what a real wrestler looked like, how a real wrestler acted, how a real wrestler actually competed. Maybe you'll even feel like telling all your trashy friends about how I had my limo driver take you to the nearest Waffle House, where I graciously spent the $2.99 on your final meal as a wrestler.
Babe, I promise not to screw up your body too badly. You'll still need to make a living in order to keep welfare off your backside. While you're keeping welfare off your ass, I'll be the hottest thing to ever hit the IWC.
Bodacious gets out of his chair and heads into the yacht. His personal crew takes care of any last minute cleaning as the scene comes to an end.
