Post by Johnny "True Brit" Brown on Oct 30, 2011 4:09:33 GMT -4
The darkness eats the darkness making it blacker than coal.
A blazing headlight cuts through the night like a hot knife through butter. It sets its sights on a single tree. The roar of the Triumph echo across the reservoir. The rippling water shimmers in the moonlight.
Johnny Brown skids to a halt; sending stone and shingle bouncing across the car park.
A figure steps out from behind the great British Oak.
Turn that light out!
Unstrapping his helmets strap, Johnny lets out a laugh.
Yer sound like someone outta Dad’s Army!? Who do you think you are kidding Mr. Hitler?
Save the loud mouth nonsense for JaMarcus Haze Mr Brown. You sponsors have sent me here in the dead of the night to keep you on the straight and narrow. There is no time for trash talk.
Swaggering like Jagger Jonathan ‘True Brit’ Brown struts over to the mysterious man by the tree… of doooom!!! (it’s just a tree really)
There’s always time fer trash talk mate. When yer dealing with a joke like Haze it comes easy. It roles off ya tongue like a sweet punani.
Wot sort of name is JaMarcus? I think he made it up to sound hard like a tough guy, as the chavitos and chavitas would say EPIC FAIL.
Once upon a time he had a chance ya know, when he got outta chokey he could have left behind his life or crime an’ violence an’ joined a bobsled team., or become a limbo champion but naw he ‘ad to be a bad bwoy and get inta wrestling.
Now he ‘as ta deal wiv me, more fool ‘im. At Asylum I’m gonna kick the red, gold and green outta his Rasta arse.
Very nice Mister Brown, but I’m not here to be the expositional character in your diatribe. You have been on a losing streak that is frankly embarrassing to yourself, yet more importantly your sponsors.
Eff me sponsors, Johnny holds his tongue for a change, who knew he had it in him.
Do ya think I don’t care about losing ya prick? Of course I f**king care. Kash turned me inta pizza topping, Rico CaStole a win then the Dull duo beat me…
…one after the other. I lost ta a pair of walking yawnfests. It grates on me every second of every day!
We all saw your little meltdown last week, thankfully we managed to obtain the footage of your clash with the locals. It cost us a few flat screens and cans of Strongbow to placate them; but we did manage to stop them pressing charges.
Do ya think I care? They are a pound a penny nobodies; I could kick the crap outta them without even breaking a sweat. Jus’ like I’m gonna destroy JaMarcus.
The cigar smoking wanksta is nothing. He had to throw his lot in with a bunch of second rate clowns like RSM to make the lightest of impact. I’ the real effin deal, unlike me soon ta be opponent; I don’t need to hang around strip joints or wave around guns ta feel like a big man. All I need ta do is look in me pants ha ha!
Well done Mr Brown, you’ve made a penis joke, now you can join the rest of your APW cohorts in the juvenile brigade. Back to the matter at hand; your sponsors and I need assurances that you will be a man of your rambling word and pin Haze in the middle of the ring and turn your slide around.
Rambling word? Are ya joining the pack and criticising me promos? Balls to you. Next you’ll be mocking me accent and talking about tea an’ crumpets.
I did hear the Queen cried after hearing one of your speeches Jonathan. Despite your slaughtering of our mother tongue you are still much more eloquent than that pot smoking fellow Kash or this Haze fellow.
During your little rant last week you alluded to finding some allies in APW. Just to make things are perfectly clear… we need to approve of any associations you make, we cannot risk them tarnishing your brand, we have invested a lot of money in you and-
’Old on a freaking minute Captain Rod-up-yer-ass, let me make something perfectly clear I am the f**king brand. The Jonny Brown Cool Britannia True Brit brand has been built by me an’ me alone. You an’ the sponsors jumped on me gravy train ta make cash on merch and the name I’ve built.
If you don’t like it…
…eff off. I aint no side kick an’ if anyone truly thinks that’s all I’ll be then they’re even thicker than JaMarcus’ dreadlocks. I don’t take orders from anybody! Not from Reggie! Not from you! Not from any feckin’ body! I’m done with clandestine meeting bullcrap. Either ya step outta the shadows or yer do one son.
Within seconds the Triumph roars and Johnny is gone, leaving his liaison to scamper away like a scolded cat.
Bar Serengeti
124 Wellingborough Road
Saturday Night
Johnny Brown in his best bomber jacket, white T and jeans combo pushes open the smoked glass door open and enters to a sea of eyeballs. One of the patrons swaggers up to him through the dimly lit room.
Me thinks ya lost bwoy, howz about ya turnaround and go back to yer Skinhead convention snowflake?
The fact that Johnny is the only white face in the room is lost on no-one, and was actually Brown’s intention.
Are yer judging me on me skin colour or me haircut bruv? There aint no sign on the door that says blacks only is there?
Three more patrons step alongside the initial man creating an ebony wall of muscle. A voice climbs over their thick shoulders.
Let him in bwoys, dontcha know who this Babylon is? He’s that Brawn dude who JaMarcus Haze is gonna smack up next week.
Brown smugly laughs as he pushes his way through the 4 tops. His smirk drops as the bar mans words sink in.
’Old up son, you don’t know my name? Me Johnny Brown the most feared man in this town and about a dozen others. But ya know the name of some Jamaican dude from a thousand miles away. That’s effed up man.
Slamming down a beer with too much head the barman reveals a row of yellow teeth as he laughs heartily.
Unlike you and your kind we look out fer our own. Haze he’s one of us, and he’s gonna kick some colour inta you Casper. Now drink ya drink and chip before the boys get ‘jungle fever’ and kick yer racist arse out.
Johnny takes sip of the Northampton’s finest Carlsberg, brewed just a few miles away fact fans. He licks the frothy head from his top lip now he is in control.
I suggest you chose yer words more carefully barkeep, ya see people could misconstrue them as being racist. It happens ta me all the time, I make one like off-colour comment and the PC brigade get all up in arms.
Now ya bwoy JaMarcus he can act all stereotypical hanging out in sweat pits talking with riddem and shit an’ he’s OK? The brother has set race relations back a hundred years, now he’s joined RSM putting further divisions up.
Now look you boys seem ok with sitting at the back of the bus… ah ha calm down, ok you can have the front of the bus, I’ll take the back, that’s where all the cool guys sit anyway.
Why should there be places people can’t go cos of their colour? I’m no Nazi! What I have short hair an’ wear a bomber jacket so I salute a one-balled corpse? Fuck that I do what I want an’ go where I want. I don’t care if ya white, black, yellow or bright f**king purple I hate all of ya. I don’t do what I do for anyone but me. The fans, the APW bosses, me sponsors can go eff themselves.
Since you guys seem like wrestling fans for you I’ll cut a promo live from this pit, what do ya say?
The natives get restless, four more joining the quartet already looking for a fight. The barman raises his hands to back the goon squad down.
Let him speak bwoys I wanna see how brave he in real life, we’ve seen him run him mouth on TV, let him do it an’ see how big his balls are.
Brown flicks his collar as the gang backs off. He looks around making sure he looks everyone of them in the eye as the back away.
You boys take yer seats an’ watch a true master at work, forget all ya know about JaMarcus an’ ‘is blink an’ ya miss it style. I don’t need to chew on a stoogie ta stretch things out. I chew up me competition with me solid gold trash-talking mouth.
Haze I’m gonna leave ya begging for mercy, I don’t care which dumbass nickname you attach to ya ludicrous name, you are a poser, more concerned with looking tough than backing it up.
As ya point up I lost me Tap-Out title to chick, a dumb-ass skanky chick at that. Yep I lost to a bitch, but unlike you I’ve never been someone’s bitch. I heard when you were doin’ time you had to bite down on the pillow every night as the REAL gangsters used yer arse.
Week after week you had to go to the doc for a cold, but it would turn out you were just full of jizz, it would run outta yer nose, ears, mouth and battered brown eye.
But the backdoor beating ya took in there are gonna pale in comparison to the head to toe arse kicking I’m gonna give ya. You will yearn for the days where you lived in a corrugated tin shack back in Kiiiiiingston townnnnnn…
... what haven’t you boys heard of UB40?
Ah you prefer Lord Creator… what ya didn’t think I knew that?
Back on topic!
Do ya see my hand? Do ya see it? Get used to it yer little prick cos yer gonna see it over an’ over as I smash yer face in. Then I’m gonna EDL you head off!!
Back off boys over there it’s just the name of one of me finishers; any links to the pro-Britain organisation are strictly co-incidental. JaMaHa, that’s my new name for ya by the way, you better lube yerself up cos I'm gonna smash yer dumb fuck grill down yer throat, I guess it’s gonna be hard to crap back out bruv.
Get ready for a dirt nap UK style, if ya lucky I’ll pay ta ship your rotting carcass back to yer motherland so they can bury ya with ya kin.
At Asylum from L.I you are gonna get yer feckin’ head kicked in!
R.I.P Nisha Haze. R.I.P Lataisha Johnson. R.I.P JaMarcus Haze
A blazing headlight cuts through the night like a hot knife through butter. It sets its sights on a single tree. The roar of the Triumph echo across the reservoir. The rippling water shimmers in the moonlight.
Johnny Brown skids to a halt; sending stone and shingle bouncing across the car park.
A figure steps out from behind the great British Oak.
Turn that light out!
Unstrapping his helmets strap, Johnny lets out a laugh.
Yer sound like someone outta Dad’s Army!? Who do you think you are kidding Mr. Hitler?
Save the loud mouth nonsense for JaMarcus Haze Mr Brown. You sponsors have sent me here in the dead of the night to keep you on the straight and narrow. There is no time for trash talk.
Swaggering like Jagger Jonathan ‘True Brit’ Brown struts over to the mysterious man by the tree… of doooom!!! (it’s just a tree really)
There’s always time fer trash talk mate. When yer dealing with a joke like Haze it comes easy. It roles off ya tongue like a sweet punani.
Wot sort of name is JaMarcus? I think he made it up to sound hard like a tough guy, as the chavitos and chavitas would say EPIC FAIL.
Once upon a time he had a chance ya know, when he got outta chokey he could have left behind his life or crime an’ violence an’ joined a bobsled team., or become a limbo champion but naw he ‘ad to be a bad bwoy and get inta wrestling.
Now he ‘as ta deal wiv me, more fool ‘im. At Asylum I’m gonna kick the red, gold and green outta his Rasta arse.
Very nice Mister Brown, but I’m not here to be the expositional character in your diatribe. You have been on a losing streak that is frankly embarrassing to yourself, yet more importantly your sponsors.
Eff me sponsors, Johnny holds his tongue for a change, who knew he had it in him.
Do ya think I don’t care about losing ya prick? Of course I f**king care. Kash turned me inta pizza topping, Rico CaStole a win then the Dull duo beat me…
…one after the other. I lost ta a pair of walking yawnfests. It grates on me every second of every day!
We all saw your little meltdown last week, thankfully we managed to obtain the footage of your clash with the locals. It cost us a few flat screens and cans of Strongbow to placate them; but we did manage to stop them pressing charges.
Do ya think I care? They are a pound a penny nobodies; I could kick the crap outta them without even breaking a sweat. Jus’ like I’m gonna destroy JaMarcus.
The cigar smoking wanksta is nothing. He had to throw his lot in with a bunch of second rate clowns like RSM to make the lightest of impact. I’ the real effin deal, unlike me soon ta be opponent; I don’t need to hang around strip joints or wave around guns ta feel like a big man. All I need ta do is look in me pants ha ha!
Well done Mr Brown, you’ve made a penis joke, now you can join the rest of your APW cohorts in the juvenile brigade. Back to the matter at hand; your sponsors and I need assurances that you will be a man of your rambling word and pin Haze in the middle of the ring and turn your slide around.
Rambling word? Are ya joining the pack and criticising me promos? Balls to you. Next you’ll be mocking me accent and talking about tea an’ crumpets.
I did hear the Queen cried after hearing one of your speeches Jonathan. Despite your slaughtering of our mother tongue you are still much more eloquent than that pot smoking fellow Kash or this Haze fellow.
During your little rant last week you alluded to finding some allies in APW. Just to make things are perfectly clear… we need to approve of any associations you make, we cannot risk them tarnishing your brand, we have invested a lot of money in you and-
’Old on a freaking minute Captain Rod-up-yer-ass, let me make something perfectly clear I am the f**king brand. The Jonny Brown Cool Britannia True Brit brand has been built by me an’ me alone. You an’ the sponsors jumped on me gravy train ta make cash on merch and the name I’ve built.
If you don’t like it…
…eff off. I aint no side kick an’ if anyone truly thinks that’s all I’ll be then they’re even thicker than JaMarcus’ dreadlocks. I don’t take orders from anybody! Not from Reggie! Not from you! Not from any feckin’ body! I’m done with clandestine meeting bullcrap. Either ya step outta the shadows or yer do one son.
Within seconds the Triumph roars and Johnny is gone, leaving his liaison to scamper away like a scolded cat.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Bar Serengeti
124 Wellingborough Road
Saturday Night
Johnny Brown in his best bomber jacket, white T and jeans combo pushes open the smoked glass door open and enters to a sea of eyeballs. One of the patrons swaggers up to him through the dimly lit room.
Me thinks ya lost bwoy, howz about ya turnaround and go back to yer Skinhead convention snowflake?
The fact that Johnny is the only white face in the room is lost on no-one, and was actually Brown’s intention.
Are yer judging me on me skin colour or me haircut bruv? There aint no sign on the door that says blacks only is there?
Three more patrons step alongside the initial man creating an ebony wall of muscle. A voice climbs over their thick shoulders.
Let him in bwoys, dontcha know who this Babylon is? He’s that Brawn dude who JaMarcus Haze is gonna smack up next week.
Brown smugly laughs as he pushes his way through the 4 tops. His smirk drops as the bar mans words sink in.
’Old up son, you don’t know my name? Me Johnny Brown the most feared man in this town and about a dozen others. But ya know the name of some Jamaican dude from a thousand miles away. That’s effed up man.
Slamming down a beer with too much head the barman reveals a row of yellow teeth as he laughs heartily.
Unlike you and your kind we look out fer our own. Haze he’s one of us, and he’s gonna kick some colour inta you Casper. Now drink ya drink and chip before the boys get ‘jungle fever’ and kick yer racist arse out.
Johnny takes sip of the Northampton’s finest Carlsberg, brewed just a few miles away fact fans. He licks the frothy head from his top lip now he is in control.
I suggest you chose yer words more carefully barkeep, ya see people could misconstrue them as being racist. It happens ta me all the time, I make one like off-colour comment and the PC brigade get all up in arms.
Now ya bwoy JaMarcus he can act all stereotypical hanging out in sweat pits talking with riddem and shit an’ he’s OK? The brother has set race relations back a hundred years, now he’s joined RSM putting further divisions up.
Now look you boys seem ok with sitting at the back of the bus… ah ha calm down, ok you can have the front of the bus, I’ll take the back, that’s where all the cool guys sit anyway.
Why should there be places people can’t go cos of their colour? I’m no Nazi! What I have short hair an’ wear a bomber jacket so I salute a one-balled corpse? Fuck that I do what I want an’ go where I want. I don’t care if ya white, black, yellow or bright f**king purple I hate all of ya. I don’t do what I do for anyone but me. The fans, the APW bosses, me sponsors can go eff themselves.
Since you guys seem like wrestling fans for you I’ll cut a promo live from this pit, what do ya say?
The natives get restless, four more joining the quartet already looking for a fight. The barman raises his hands to back the goon squad down.
Let him speak bwoys I wanna see how brave he in real life, we’ve seen him run him mouth on TV, let him do it an’ see how big his balls are.
Brown flicks his collar as the gang backs off. He looks around making sure he looks everyone of them in the eye as the back away.
You boys take yer seats an’ watch a true master at work, forget all ya know about JaMarcus an’ ‘is blink an’ ya miss it style. I don’t need to chew on a stoogie ta stretch things out. I chew up me competition with me solid gold trash-talking mouth.
Haze I’m gonna leave ya begging for mercy, I don’t care which dumbass nickname you attach to ya ludicrous name, you are a poser, more concerned with looking tough than backing it up.
As ya point up I lost me Tap-Out title to chick, a dumb-ass skanky chick at that. Yep I lost to a bitch, but unlike you I’ve never been someone’s bitch. I heard when you were doin’ time you had to bite down on the pillow every night as the REAL gangsters used yer arse.
Week after week you had to go to the doc for a cold, but it would turn out you were just full of jizz, it would run outta yer nose, ears, mouth and battered brown eye.
But the backdoor beating ya took in there are gonna pale in comparison to the head to toe arse kicking I’m gonna give ya. You will yearn for the days where you lived in a corrugated tin shack back in Kiiiiiingston townnnnnn…
... what haven’t you boys heard of UB40?
Ah you prefer Lord Creator… what ya didn’t think I knew that?
Back on topic!
Do ya see my hand? Do ya see it? Get used to it yer little prick cos yer gonna see it over an’ over as I smash yer face in. Then I’m gonna EDL you head off!!
Back off boys over there it’s just the name of one of me finishers; any links to the pro-Britain organisation are strictly co-incidental. JaMaHa, that’s my new name for ya by the way, you better lube yerself up cos I'm gonna smash yer dumb fuck grill down yer throat, I guess it’s gonna be hard to crap back out bruv.
Get ready for a dirt nap UK style, if ya lucky I’ll pay ta ship your rotting carcass back to yer motherland so they can bury ya with ya kin.
At Asylum from L.I you are gonna get yer feckin’ head kicked in!
R.I.P Nisha Haze. R.I.P Lataisha Johnson. R.I.P JaMarcus Haze
