Post by Johnny "True Brit" Brown on Aug 26, 2011 14:21:13 GMT -4
Civilisation... at last. If you can call Saint Paul, Minnesota civilisation.
After the surrender monkeys Frenchmen kissed and made up with the natives; the real pioneers from England sorted this place out. After 200 years of leaving yer to it the place is a long way down a slippery slope, but fear not Johnny Brown is here to instantly bring class to the Twin Cities.
First stop is Mac's; an Irish themed chippy near Hamline and Larpenteur. I don't think they put stupid bits of lemon and lime wiv their battered cod, but other than that they're not bad. Chips an' Guinness are two things that don’t seem to travel too well but these are good.
One thing that is guaranteed worldwide is ME, “Cool Britannia”, “True Brit” Johnny Brown. The most sought after man in the world, well other than Gaddafi, but I've never been guilty of "indiscriminate killings of civilians".
As popular as I am in my public appearances; as thousands of people flock to scream friendly abuse at me, mixed with playful death threats, it would seem in the locker room I am far from beloved.
The results of the polls are in… I’ve lost before I’ve truly begun, or so it seems.
Obviously not literally but word around the locker room is that I’m dead in the water. People; who should know better than to underestimate the competition, seem to 'ave forgotten the first rule of competition.
Do I care what people think?
That was a rhetorical question for those who cant keep up.
There are those in this line of work that 'ang on the fans every word, they feel every shift in the “universe” but me... not so much. They can love me (not very likely) or they can 'ate me (that's the one) I couldn't care less. For those less literate than an uneducated Englishman such as my self that is the correct saying by the way.
All my life I 'ave enjoyed being looked upon as nothing that way when I disprove the doubters I makes me nuts twitch a little more.
My whole nation are seen as America's bitch, the once proud England is perceived to be little more than a lapdog. Well that ends at Shockwave.
It's seems like Mike Morrison, the mad bastard that 'e is is open to a real wrestling match between two unlikely gentlemen. To get to this purist 'ighspot we will need to cut down the so-called competition.
It would be an honor to lose to a fellow Brit, even one who is a few slices short of a loaf and a Spurs fan which pretty much means the same thing. Especially if he thinks they're gonna get the Olympic Stadium, West 'am all the way!
Aw $hit, I don't care about football I'm just messin' wiv ya Mike. 'aving spoken about the only opponent that could be worth a damn it's time to turn my attention to the battle royal fodder.
Rather than go the method I frequently use, that of running down my opponents I will point out why I am the best option to win.
Firstly I wear my pants around my waist and not around my arse like Rose, boy you do need a belt but the Tap-Out Title wont be the one. My body isn't stained by pointless ink in a vain attempt to overcome deep-rooted masculinity issues, Knoxville this applies to you too. Those are not qualities of a champion or challenger, those are just the 'ang-ups of a wannabe, mentioning no names of course, well apart from 'opper Rose's but 'e is as about as popular as Lib-Dem M.P in Glasgow (it's a UK thing look it up.)
I don't fancy meself as a 'hoodrat', now as you've seen so far I ain’t no stuck up pounce drinkin' tea wiv me pinkie stuck out. I can get down an' dirty wiv the best of 'em an' there ain’t been a cheap dive I ain't frequented for a pie an' a beer yet even on me worse day I’ve got more class in me big toe than than 'the King of 'ardcore'.
Now those wiv better memories than the pot loving Jason Kash will remember I don't care for golden trinkets, I don’t feel the need to prove my ability wiv gaudy baubles, they just slow me down when I’m blasting the roads wiv me Triumph. My swollen knuckles an' crocked nose are proof that I’m a tough sonoavbitch but if they 'elp me prove that everyone else in the APW are soft pu$$ies then I’m cool wiv that.
Hmmm while some people 'ave to use connections to get by I don't.
'ayley. Knoxville an' Demon all 'ave connections to Kash, did you know that? It 'asn't been brought up much 'as it...
Yes old rivalries can sell tickets, the arenas could sell out... or not...
Wiv fresh blood leading the way APW can thrive and reach 'eights never seen before, OR it can rely on feuds of the past, matches that 'ave long passed their sell-by fate and 'ave no place being dragged out yet again in the year 2011. Take those 'orses out behind the barn and shoot them, let the British Stallion take you for a ride.
That wasn't very PC of me was it, well since I’m on the train out of PC-Land lets stop by the stereotype station on the way.
Yoko; you big moob shaking fatboy. 'old on before you all start burning me in effigy for my comments, first lets hear from Yoko 'imself on the subject. Put down your cheese n' nachos for a minute wideload and tell the world 'ow 'I’ve 'urt ya feelings?
Go on we're waiting... Oh I’ve forgotten ya can't speaka-da Engrish, how in the world are you going to be a spokesman for the company? Are you gonna let Billy boy run 'is mouth? 'e don't need any more air time than he 'as wasted already. Bow Tie Billy may draw on 'is extensive legal background and cite me for being racist, I don't 'ate Yoko for being foreign I 'ate 'im cos 'e's fat. In all the footage I'm managed to find of 'im he's eating, about to eat or nodding, hardly typical of a world-class athlete. Me 'ome nation has become a nation of big useless fat f'wits sucking the place dry of any benefits they can and it's people like Yoko NeverMisameal that's to blame, ya inspire the idiots at home to think they can stuff their pie-holes and still achieve their dreams. The only plus is that it even easier for me to pick up skanks in the club, one flash of my rock 'ard abs and their dripping like a f'ed fridge.
Yeah... I think I’ll hit a club tonight to show the skanks on the Twin Cities what a real man is supposed to look like, then get rude...
Now back to the human equivalent of bromide; Yoko Misawa and his bitchtits.
Orka could surprise me by wobbling around the ring leaving destruction in 'is wake, given the bulk of his competition that could very well 'appen. But against a man who was schooled in Wigan and swung fists all across Croydon.. FAT CHANCE!
Me motor mouth is in high gear now, I guess its the gulf between the talents of my opponents and me, with me being at the top of the tree of course. Of course a blind man would eventually hit a target and a clock is right twice a day so there is a incredibly slim chance that I may not be the ultimate winner.
There's more chance of Knoxville of mentioning an opponent in a promotional video than me losing (the joke is all he does is talk about revisionist history).
What's worse Knoxville's blabbering or Aeris and Demon hiding in the shadows? Are these actions of a champion? I've never been backward at coming forward, I’ve shown up on Overdrive to help them pop ratings, OK it's just to push the True Brit Brand and makes a few quid more, for me an me sponsors but the
As I’ve mentioned them again, I will reveal my sponsors name soon, cos as soon as the merch deals are done I’m gonna release a load of logo'ed gear and make so much cash the U.S. National debt will pale in comparison.
I'm Johnny Brown an' someone's gonna get their cheques cashed in!
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Pacing up and down like an impatient expected father outside of The Bike Garage, Johnny Brown chews on his knuckles. Despite the warm weather he has his Union jack bomber jacket on yet his shades propped on his shaved head.
Fawking 'ell, 'ow long does it take... my baby better be alright. If I blew her gaskets getting the hell away from that looney the other day I’m gonna be pi$$ed.
A mechanic greatly resembling Futurama's Scruffy, red cap and paintbrush moustache and all, walks up to Brown wiping his hands on a cloth that has seen better days.
Hey buddy, the Triumphs yours right...
Agog, Johnny manages a nod in response to the inquiry.
Just polishing her up now, nothing wrong, she's purring like a kitten. comes the welcome response.
There's no need to pay us, but your Johnny brown right. The new English guy in APW, can you get us tickets me and the boys wanna go but it's been sold out for weeks, but they always keeps tickets back right? You know for special guests? We have a little pool on which one of us could bang those two new chicks, Hayley and the other one with the big knockers and weird name.
Johnny raises a hand at the virtually salivating mechanic.
Firstly Scruffy, yes I know that's not yer name don't correct me I don't care.
Secondly are you fucking stupid... shut up it was rhetorical, despite has the brains ta see my baby is a sweet ride you seem to have no common sense. Now common is something Johnny Brown knows all about. I've always been common who'd want to be royalty? Even if it means ya can bang yer cousin who would want to? Well me cousin is fit but she knows it (shout out to Mike Skinner)
Digression!
Back on track; you drag your wrinkled old arse over here to ask for tickets then bang on about my competition? A pair of skanks only good for three things; washing, cooking and shagging!
I said shut up! Yes I know option 3 is what you want them for too but I doubt you could get it up if you tied a stick to it. Before you ask I don't want you to prove me wrong!
Put yer pants back on an' listen.
None of me so called opponents can hold me crown jewels, 'ayley and Aeris are barely capable of licking me taint, my ball sweat is worth more than Knoxville, Hopper, Misawa an' Demon put together.
Between them they have no idea about the game; its not just about duh! I did this I did that! No one cares about yesterday other than Karen Carpenter and she joined The Jam Underground nearly 30 years ago. Live for today, fight like a man.
Who gives a crap if you run yer mouth then fall flat on yer arse go out with a bang. One of the few things me dad taught me is that if ya fight with all yer 'ave an lose at least you did all ya could but those shower of $hit say nothing...
they do nothing...
It's because they are NOTHING!!!!
Men like me an' Mike Morrison, true f'ing Brits leave it all in the ring, we do what the hell we want when we want, we both couldn’t really give a damn if the other dropped dead tomorrow but we can respect the others balls in being themselves.
We don't put on false airs and swagger like our shit don't stink, we put one trouser leg on at a time an' crap sitting down, that is why we're are going to be on Shockwave fighting for a shot at the Tap-Out title while the others can join you and your boys dreamin' about what could have been.
Now get me feckin' bike it ain’t gonna ride itself I’m on the road to gold an' win, lose or draw SOMEONE is gonna....
you know the rest!!!
