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Post by Wade Mason on Nov 24, 2009 17:00:34 GMT -5
[TGW Championship Championship Scramble Match] Teresa Quaranta© Vs. Jack Darling Vs. V Vs. Russell Franchise Vs. French Montana
Limit: 2 Each Maximum Final Deadline: Sunday December 6th at 11:59pm EST
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Post by frenchy on Nov 25, 2009 22:43:08 GMT -5
I did not join the revolution to kill people, to kill the nation. Look at me now. Am I a savage person? My conscience is clear… [/color] FRENCH MONTANA "I hung you on a limb Made you bend over Backwards on a sin Quit crying on my shoulder There's nothing left to say We're beautiful garbage Throw it all away"[/i] : When it’s bad, he's bad...But when it’s good, he's really bad. : Newark...Docks by the airport. Two lefts, a right... Fifteen feet to the west. The late evening dark amber glow slowly fades away, giving way to the night. A moving truck carefully pulls out of the building through the dock doors, leaving behind a familiar pearl white 1977 Mustang Cobra II and a 2010 Hummer H3T, fitted with glossy black paint and chrome trim. Left standard on purpose, the flawlessly painted truck sits, angled nose to nose with the muscle car as the only objects within the structure. The sound of metal on metal is heard echoing throughout the hollow followed by a few series of footsteps in between. [/color] "...Push!-Push! Let’s make moves..."Frenchy's voices billows out from the second tier within the building which is accessed by a metal staircase that circles the interior and descends ten feet behind the bay doors. There is no response after waiting a few moments. Footsteps are heard from above drawing closer. Coming down the staircase with three day fuzz on his mug, a maroon t-shirt with gray "Cocaine Revolution" embroidered lettering, under a color coordinated leather racing jacket, fitted and slightly stone-washed black jeans sit atop black boots. Clearly not the daily look, yet it suits the occasion. Finishing his decent with his back to the gape of the building..."...I swear, this kid would be late to his own funeral. Cliché I know, but truth is the only constant in life. Change is inevitable and eternal. In all forms, within this life lies change and inconsistency. So how is one to deal with nothing that remains the same, and yet, remain perpetual to who you are? ...You become apart of the revolution. I don't need a psychological evaluation, or a break down of my 'weaknesses' from the blind sighted to understand that. If I have said it once, I've said it a million times, you can't describe to me what reality is, if you have yet to witness it yourself. Yes, you feel like you know...yes, you probably have people in your ear telling you that your way is righteous. It’s a matter of the blind, leading the blind slighted. What you see with your own eyes isn't always the truth. A simple card trick can prove that. The truth is undeniable. The truth is intangible. Because it may come from the cagey, slithery lips of the deficients on the roster, doesn't quite give it the same meaning. See to them, the truth is what they say, or how they feel."*dramatic pause* "YEEEEAAA, FUCKIN' RIGHT!
A great philosopher Socrates once said, 'I know, that I don't know. That's why I'm the smartest man'. See, in thinking that you know the truth, perpetuates the fact that you don't know shit. It is in this, that I know I am the smartest man. I know that the truth isn't in them... I know what the truth is, and its characteristics. They are consistent in their attributes-so am I. What you saw yesterday, is what you see now, is what you will see in the future. So spare me, the fancy talk, the quirky sideshow, the 'concept' thought process... Tell me the truth. ...Such as, something as mundane as your name...Francis? Q? V...Cordova?"*rolls eyes* "...My, the tangled web of lies we weave to alter 'truth'. All signs point towards not an identity crisis, more like a reality crisis. So unaware of what really is, that you must create a false reality to live in. ...Don't call me this, call me this. It'll add more to the effect... I am here. Standing, in front of you. You seem me in the flesh and what you see is reality. You see where I go, you see what I do. I actually live life. I'm not here to give you a reality show of an altered perceived reality. If I'm in Newark, you see Newark. If I'm in St. Louis... I must be high and looking for an STD but, you see that too...I give you one of the best fights ever, under the Animosity lights. I give you French. I give you the revolution. You know its real, cause it's more than a feeling or emotion. You feed off of my energy when I'm in the room, and you're feasting off of pure reality. Don't it taste...ssssoooo good?
Lick it up, Jake. ...Yea, that's right...every last drop." *chuckling* "Good boy.
SO, it seems as though Mason has been so busy signing faceless riffraff that his control over this 'enterprise' as a whole is suffering. Leading to the simple question...What for? If the refs are the ones causing so many, issues, why is the influx of personnel more voids and not properly trained officials that actually know what a damn ten count is? It truly amazes me how people go on with their normal day, knowing this is an issue of great importance. If we can't trust the officials in the ring, then how can you assure yourself of a properly earned victory? It's something that not many want to admit to... I mean, you've seen how they did Tim Donoughy. Now they act as if his accusation of other rogue refs in the league is, like Jake said, 'crazy talk'.
Spare me.
It’s a complete mockery to those that are able to see truth and read between the lines. Sadly, we have non believers that think some how a 'take over', last but a month and includes whoever decided to show, not real competition. By the way... Norton, you familiar with this Aaron Shadows kid?
Teresa let me know you were both victimized by her and I should ask you about this. I guess you're supposed to tell me about how you two were obliterated and that I have NO idea what I'm getting into...blah blah. Ok?...
K.
Now Teresa, before you bite off more than you can stuff in your mouth, I suggest you take a double take at Francis. Seems like he isn't afraid of you or your Blacklist. And by the way, you're more of a mere pestilence... If you can't even keep the idiot down, what are you REALLY accomplishing? What have ya'll done besides run out people who weren't a factor to begin with?
Cody Only? Nope.
AJ Adams? Not even close.
Blazendork?" *scoff* "...That may be somethin to hang your hat on if you're in the remedial class. Listen clear, cause I know you're watching... This isn't some gimmick as you alluded to with your 'post-revolution' illustration. Coming from a flying banner that is nothing more than a façade to the fact that you: A. Have no real accomplishments in TGW, B. Have no significance as a whole, and C. You have..." *pause* "V. Really...V?"*laughing* "...YYEEEAAA FUCKIN' RIGHT!
He's pure fiction and hardly entertaining. So, where does this lead you to Teresa? You have surrounded yourself with, essentially something as real as a unicorn. Or an imaginary friend. Your cakewalk through TGW doesn't have a yellow brick road and clicking your heels won't get you back to Toronto. Onslaught will be your dead end princess. But at least I'll also be able to do what you seem to not be able to... Keep the idiot down. I mean, he calls me 'Frency'. Idiot? Yes!
Now... I was the first person that said anything last week. You, idiot, had all week to think about how to reply and you come up with that? This may be your best attempt at trying to be disrespectful...
...but you end up sounding like you have a speech impediment.
You couldn't be anymore lame. You wanna know why it’s so easy for someone, rather everyone, to make fun of you? ...THAT'S why. The world needs laughter and that's why you exist, Mr. Big Angry Black Man. You are not even worthy of being in the Championship Scramble match. In my month here, I'm already more of a factor than you. There is a reason why everyone you beat is collectively deemed 'a nobody', because it’s true. You've had the pleasure of being Mr. Irrelevant and you seemed happy with that. We watched your minstrel show, saw you making a monkey out of yourself 'whoopin people's asses'...
You fail a drug test, lose your match, then your title, fall to Teresa, then lose to 'Frency'...and your World Title caliber now? Mason, REALLY? Ol' dumb ass loses and loses and loses AND gets in the Championship match? Look..." *surfer tone* ..."bro" *normal tone* "...You're out of your league and in WAY over your head here... See here, is called reality... Your truth is that you've been 'kickin people’s asses all your life'... When reality is you've OBVIOUSLY lost more than your leading on... Giving your track record here, it’s hard to believe you've been on the winning side more times than not. The people you have beaten were nobody special or worth the time mentioning. You are the king of the midcarders, I'll give you that. You totally own the dark matches... So its amazing to me that you can talk about who I fought in the underground, because none of them had fake names...Francis, or 'tard-like catch phrases, or a bogus big angry black man gimmick. These people just wanted to fight. They didn't NO SHOW, Francis, then hold a bullshit press conference. They weren't dumb enough to cheat and lose. That is what Russell Francis does. You are synonymous with every failure, irrelevant, pussy term you can come up with. THAT'S why the world loves a hilarious loser, so we can all sit back and chuck tomatoes at your little 'angry black man' scheme.
Now, 'Massah' says stay in your place... In the hall of shame."French, losing patience turns to his right and calls out..."...Yo! Push! We gotta go man, we got sound check in 30 minutes! Let's move!"*Inaudible response* "Fuck man..."Frenchy reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes, pats the bottom of box on his palm and a cigarette smoothly slides out. He replaces the pack in his hand with a lighter, and takes a drag. His eyes close as his head cocks back. He takes another drag, then lethargically opens his eyes..."...Aye yo, Jack... YOU BEEN OFFLY QUIET!... I thought it was just a week off..." *laughs* "...I mean, I wasn't even quite signed yet, but I obviously had my attention on the escapades in TGW. The last time we heard from you was when you casually stated: "I will tell you this: Teresa, Reina, and V all understand the score. I'm in this up until the moment I'm not. They can trust me to be Jack Darling. As long as being in the Blacklist works for me, I'm in it. The moment I decide that the Blacklist doesn't work for me, I'm gone.
They know it. I know they know it.": Betrayal is the only truth that sticks. : French aggressively switches his posture, his eyes piercing...[/color] "...What-the-fuck, IS that? Prime example of the calamity known as the Blacklist. They appear to operate, neither head, nor tail. Yet, it’s clear who's wearin' the pants in that house... You, Jack, look to have the floral pattern sundress, white nurse shoes, and a mop in you hand. I mean, Francis, fuckin' Jordan Albrecht, some sprinkled in tag matches...
And a bunch of hot air. Not exactly the résumé suited for a title shot.
So it must be the long list of other business’s titles and this Blacklist association that gives you your 'good fortune' here. More opportunity for your 'list associates the odds are, as they always have been, in your favor. Yes, I've heard the talk about the...the rise to fame, if you will, of this venture. All the lifeless bodies left mangled. All the carnage. Yea, yea that's fuckin' nice. But we operate in a 'what have you done for me, lately' business. And let’s be honest, the feuds were...forgettable. Miserable. Time after time it would appear to have this, this immaculate buildup to the ring, only to be let down by poor showings. You can have the biggest trophy case with a collection of hardware, but if you're still in this business and have nothing to show for it lately, it sounds as though you need to start considering leaving this to the guys that can still do it. Or I'm SURE they'll be plenty more Monday nights with you covered in shit.
You carried the eWo torch... *claps lethargically "...and also used it to burn it down. A...'Company Killer' as it's put. Sweet.
But, I want you to realize...you DO know it’s about to be 2010? How long can you get by on this claim to fame that's nearly TWO years in the dust?!...Ah, again the idiocy of Mason rears its god forsaken head. Jack, you 'seem' to be a pretty intelligent guy. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure this shit out. ...You're workin' the system aren't you? ...Creating the Blacklist was signing your soul to the devil in the flesh wasn't it? Doesn't seem to be creating much buzz surrounding YOUR career. ...But, Teresa's doin just fine. For the time being at least. What about V? What's he worth?...No, let me not get ahead of myself. The question is:
Is he fiction?
I mean, last I checked we're on planet earth and people don't just appear outta thin air. SO, this mysterious ronin is added to the mix. It’s clearly an attempt to distract all the 'outsiders' from the title belt. No way in hell this guy wins. He's neither the brains...nor the brawn. He is, exactly what he's supposed to be. A toy soldier. ...Wind him up, an watch 'em go. This is a perfect set up for another closing episode of Blacklists' numbers catching up with everyone else. No, no...Not for me. Fuck that. I DO NOT fear you as a whole, or as fuckin' individuals! I've seen the tape, all the past Animosity's, the big show pay-per-views. I've seen nothing, even close, to the brawls on the concrete that I've had and seen. It's been a patty cake operation. Evil numbers beats the pretty boys. God, haven't we seen this before?...What we haven't seen is V. At all. A couple tag matches...then...nothing. All hype and backstage drama, ala Reina.
Its not hard at all to see through the bullshit, when you're not blind sighted. So Teresa, I expect you to have a plan up your sleeve... I mean, why wouldn't you? That's the way you won the title in the first place. And since that bullshit, you haven't even been forced to defend it. Not one time. Hidden, behind tag partners and no shows, lies the dull jewel in True Glory's crown. Such a foxy one isn't she? ...But yet, with your accomplishments Teresa, what have YOU done lately? Yes, it's more than Jack, but hardly the work ethic of a Champion. You haven't even had to so much as sweat since you won that belt. How is this? I mean...how cleaver Mason declears injustice after I rolled up a weak Francis, but you have an unsanctioned match for the WORLD TITLE and it's upheld? On top of that you don't even have to defend it right away...Your given fresh meat to face in a fuckin' tag match...All the while holding the title belt securely just for ratings at Onslaught? Now I see. Now I know.The sound from a phone ringing fills the office behind the closed door. It rings three times then is answered. Turning his attention away from the door French continues."Well sorry to intrude on your plans but here comes French. This won't be another slaughtered lamb, I am hunting the hunters. I smell blood. You've seen me, just last Monday. Two matches, all easily won. What else is left other then pickin' you off, one by one. Keep in mind that I'm only addressing you as a group cause its easier lumping you fucks in the same cesspool. Shit... Francis is beneath that, so I guess I'm the only hope for someone other than Blacklist to win that title. ...My aspiration was never really on the gold. I just like fightin whoever thinks they're somebody. I didn't choose TGW, it was kind of pointed out to me...the belt is just a .223 round launched from my M-4 rifle, 375 yards away, straight through Wade Mason's skull...pure satisfaction."The door flies open to French's right. Pusher is seen, dressed more lavish than usual as well, with an alarmed look on his face...” Its Elena, French...”French turns towards the door quickly, narrowed eyes..."Ari?"TO BE CONTINUED...
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Post by teresaquaranta on Nov 29, 2009 1:19:08 GMT -5
.::. probatio diabolica .::. Estelle leaned forward from the waist and tapped the glass, and a crowd of angelfish flew to the vibration in an intense flash of color, like a raucus crowd of kids shoving for place inside a shallow pool. "I loves the aquarium. It's like... it's like somebody cut out a tinny little slice of the ocean and dropped it down out in the boonies of San Diego." This was how William Shakespeare worked. First, Hamlet would plot to murder some people, and then the scene would cut to a couple of drunken palace guards. The last few weeks had been rough on Estelle, and Teresa thought it would be best to squeeze the sponge of dramatic tension a little before giving the girl her next push. Thus, the field trip. Estelle's buoyancy always surprised her - it probably wouldn't be long before she got depressed again, so Teresa resolved to enjoy the good times while they were extant. "What," she said slyly, "is this the first time you've ever been?" " Everytime feels like the first time!" Estelle stretched her arms wide and smiled. "Look at how huge this tank is! I bet they could fit a whale in here. I bet they could fit TWO whales in here! It's probably the next best thing to being in the ocean." "You know," Teresa said sagely, "the fish inside of that tank already believe they're in the ocean." "Well..." Estelle's countenance slowly changed, the bubbly positivity giving way to skepicism for the first time since they'd paid the admission. "I don't know about that. Even if it's a really big tank, it's still just a tank." "That's nonsense. A fish's mind doesn't work on the same level that ours does, eh? They see sea grass, the water's the right temperature, their minds think ocean and that's it." Estelle folded her arms stubbornly. "That doesn't mean anything! It doesn't matter if the fish think it's really the ocean, there's aquarium workers and lights and feeding time, there's, there's a real world going on outside of the tank!" "There's a real world going on outside of the ocean too, you know. The Pacific isn't anymore infinite than this tank is. The question isn't really if something true exists outside of their own experience - the real question is if they have the ability to perceive that truth. A fish doesn't, and they're probably happier that way." A beat. "I've been wondering... maybe we should buy a tank." "That would own." Another beat. She picked at the corner of her blouse and sighed. "Actually, it wouldn't. We travel all the time now. The poor dudes would be by theirselves most of the time." "I'm ahead of you. I was thinking I'd send it to Mom as a present. Our little secret?" "Oh. You haven't talked to her since the whole Blacklist thing." "Nnnnope." "You looking forward to it?" Teresa smiled. "Nnnnope." .::. infinite regression .::. You know, most people in this line of work are marked by their stubbornness. Will to win. Never give up, say die, all of that. Or actually, let's be something closer to accurate : most people in this line of work would like to be marked by those things, even if they fall miles short of the mark. Personally, I've always held myself to the opposite standard. I'm always willing to believe, at any given time, that everything I believe in is wrong. No matter how absurd an idea is, I take a second and weigh it and flip it in my mind, examine whether it's a version of the truth I'd like to adapt as my own. Sometimes it's harder than other times.
You might have noticed French Montana talking about blindsight. Now for those of you that don't know, when you have a little damage done behind your eyes, you develop something called a blind spot - your brain manages to fill in the bits that you're missing, so it's hard to even know you have one. Now when that blind spot becomes a big field that takes over your vision, people can still get small hints of where things are in space, and colors too for reasons we don't understand yet. The other senses fill in, sort of like Daredevil minus the fight scenes and Ben Affleck's immaculate hair. And since this is professional wrestling, there is One Man Who Understands The Absolute Truth And Is Better Than Everyone Else. The problem is that French Montana understands his role in TGW about like he understands science.
Incredibly shittily.
The things that the blindsighted CAN see might be incomplete, but they're accurate. They don't live in a world of delusions or anything like French thinks they do - shapes, colors, sizes all come through. Either way, it's not really a good metaphor for anything that goes on around here.
He was probably looking for Anton's Syndrome. I read this book in high school called The Insult that talks about it : that's when people who are stone brick blind convince themselves they can see despite all evidence to the contrary. Someone with blindslight can tell you whether you have an egg or a coke bottle in their hands, but people with Anton's Syndrome have this irritating tendency to run into walls. Trip over sofas. Fall down staircases.That's French Montana. Anton's Syndrome like a motherfucker. How long can you ignore what's plainly in front of you, smirk into a camera and tell someone that they only beat X, Y, and Z before you start running out of letters in the alphabet? Eventually the story has to stop being "She only beat ABCDEFG," and start being everybody. I've beaten everybody of note in this company with obvious exceptions. Some of them twice.
But French Montana isn't impressed. After all, I only ruined Cody Only, AJ Adams, and David Blazenwing in the course of a month. I'm only World Champion two places at once. I've only not been pinned or submitted since August of 2008. I've only been killing people in Japan, Canada, the United States, Europe, Russia and the Ukraine. OH, and South America, almost forgot that. Which naturally raises the question of... what should I be doing to impress the New Jersey Fight Club champion. Somebody forgot that the first rule of Fight Club is that nobody's given a shit about Fight Clubs since 2002-ish. Do you need this physically illustrated for you?
See this? This is The World. It's a big place. See that little red dot? You might have to squint and get really close to the screen to see it... yeah that's New Jersey. That's French Montana's significance compared to mine. If we gave him a proportionate strap, it would be the size and weight of half a fingernail clipping. So he's probably comparing resumes with mine for same reason he put the syllables that summon me into his throat in the first place : he enjoys losing.
We came here as the hottest free agents in the sport. Then we destroyed everyone. He has a rollup tights grab against Jake Venom. And unless Rob Van Spiderman is going in here, the chances of him leaving here with his skull intact are really really low.
How many people has he rendered unable to compete this month? How many world champions has he beaten this month? I've beaten four. How about French? Oh, is it Zero? Groovy. I've heard 'revolution' from him so often that I'm tired of the metaphor, but this is over. TGW IS dead in a sense. We've seized the land, we've build the settlements, we're getting paid by wealthy benefactors to murder you and keep you in shit conditions for the rest of eternity, and the powers that be are too afraid of losing their jobs to tell us to cut it out or tone it down. And you? You're the fuckbrain screaming to Allah and chucking rocks at tanks decades after the deed is done.
You don't get the land. And the title, that stays with me. But a bloo bloo bloo, I haven't had any title defenses since I won it... two weeks ago. Anton's. The whole world sees what a moron you are but you. Most promotions don't even do title defenses on TV. This place has them biweekly. Maybe if there were fewer of them we wouldn't have Russell Rrrrapido and British Columbia here in the first place. But look at what we've got instead. Maybe Jack Goddard jumps me before the show and becomes new TGW Champion. Maybe Franchise finally gets it done. But either way, everybody gets hope. At least until the bell rings.
French Montana can howl at his lungs that he Understands The Absolute Truth, but as long as just the yelling is backing it, nobody's going to care, and that's because truth is the LEAST constant thing in life. It's incredibly deniable, and completely subjective. Never forget that Socrates died, at the hands of people who weren't wiser than him or had a better grip on some objective truth - they had numbers. They had power. And they felt like rubbing him out. The End.
Truth is what the most powerful person in the room feels like it is. And what do you know... that's me.
Russell Franchise... ah Russell, I feel like it was only last week that I was cataloging all the reasons you're a complete failure on every level. Oh... is WAS last week? Oh well, time flies when you're bored to death. You're probably mad that Reina got sicced on you last week. By the way, it is Amazing how well she's doing with that shoulder isn't it? She's a real warrior, a trooper. Anyway, you're probably mad that this thing went to a countout. Seeking restitution. Looking to prove yourself and all that.
Which would be the point. Truth being objective and all that, you get to say that you got screwed and now it's your time to survive the Onslaught and get the title you just missed out on on the last big show. And I get to say that you're a fucking joke and nobody cares about you. And we both get to be equally right until we leave Texas, don't we? You can't forget that I didn't expect it to be this way, didn't expect to be world champion, didn't expect this deck of cards to go flying everywhere when I blew on it. It just happened and I just took advantage of it.
And honestly, Franchise? It's not self aggrandizement when I say I don't tell you that you suck to make myself look good. I make myself look good because you suck. That's my job: to tell you how great I am. And then to show you how great I am. And I've done such a good job of it that you've internalized it : half your promo was you boohooing against reality, pitying yourself because yes, in my infinite mercy I did decide to prop up TGW. You're somewhere between being enraged and pitying yourself, which I like.
This has always been meant to be... a process of illumination? You're gonna bring your rage at me, and your rage at your own failures, and we're gonna do this again and again until you decide that you just can't beat me. And THEN, something interesting will happen.
You lose your mind probably, Norton Style. Ask him about it.
Anyways. The main question of the evening.
We could accomplish everything as a group, but there's only so much gold to go around. Allocation of resources and all that. It's a reflection of humanity, it works the same way everywhere, why should the Blacklist be any different?
Why indeed.
There's Jack, who believe it or not, won a whole bunch of titles in 2009 too, even if eWo didn't make it long enough to send him a cool slip of paper for next month. I don't feel like making the truth that Jack Darling has some big glaring weakness or anything. He won the qualifier, he's in the title match. So I don't know how everything shoehorns into discussion of gender roles around here. Two weeks ago, Jack was the guy who made the Blacklist work and I made him the ham sandwiches and kept everything tidy. Now I've got a title and suddenly he's wearing a floral patterned dress. See this? This is why we ALWAYS win. You're too busy jockeying for position instead of making things work by any means. Things are as they always were. It's an alliance with a goal.
And if your name is on the card with him, you know what you'll be getting yourself into. Yeah. We all knew that going into this. But I've got this advice, if this isn't working for you, come tell me and THEN start scheming. You get any revelations in the middle of this match and I'll probably take it personally. And I'm... more of a people person than you are?
Hm. I didn't forget anybody, did I?
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Post by frenchy on Dec 5, 2009 21:00:18 GMT -5
CONTINUED... I did not join the revolution to kill people, to kill the nation. Look at me now. Am I a savage person? My conscience is clear… [/color] FRENCH MONTANA ”…The fuck are you talkin’ about?””Look, I told you that I will do everything I can. But there is only so much that can be defended French. When I get a call from the St. Louis Attorney Generals’ office, that’s not exactly something I can just, sweep under the rug…There’s litigation's and proper channels we can address this through…”Sitting legs seductively crossed on her perfectly finished oak wood desk, she leans closer to French with a caring look, running her olive hand through his hair… ”…Now, have I ever let you down?” ”No, Elena look…” She repositions her self straight. ”French!...You fucking fired a gun five times in a public place! What did you really expect to happen? All those little bitches screaming on stage, went to the police when you left. I just got the call…Have you SEEN the tape French?!”French casually sags back into his seat with a smirk and prepared his mouth to speak, but as usual, she beat him to it.”…FELONIES French. FELONIES! And you sit there with that…fucking look…”*RING-RING-RING* Her auburn colored hair sways as she is interrupted by her desk phone. She slides her 5’5”, exquisitely proportionate frame off of the desk and walks around to her leather chair and receives the phone call glaring at French. Because of his egregious reputation of impulse reactions, her phone was ringing off the hook with people in high places, looking for answers. French ignores her stare by looking at his finger nails and scraping the dirt from under them using other nails. Pusher sits behind him on a lounge couch text messaging on his phone, completely detached from the discussion. French abruptly looks behind him…”Are you on that fuckin’ Twitter shit again?””Nah man…Texas Hold ‘Em. I don’t fucking Twitter…that much.””Yea, well these people are trying to put me UNDER the jail. You know, that whole St. Louis thing…”*chuckling* ”Classic shit man.””…I guess the timing is right now huh? I got superwoman on the case. I’m not doin’ a single fuckin’ day! Fuck that. Pssshhh…You saw how the city was, can you imagine the jails? How many tyrannies, fiends, and Venom’s married cousins you’d run into?...Nah, fuck that.””Well what is she talking about?””I don’t know, she’s giving me the whole ‘woman’ thing. You know…bawk,b-b-bawk, bawk, b-b-bawk!” *laughing* ”Excuse me, can you hold a second?...Thanks.”Clearly irritated, she rolls her eyes and places her hand over the speaker of the phone. Eyes darting towards the two…”Shut-the-fuck-up! The both of you! I am on the damn phone!...Pusher since it’s so funny, YOU can get the fuck out!French faces Elena, trying to hide the smirk on his face…”OK, OK…Chill. Just do your thing princess…”You can’t call me princess…Anyway…”She continues her conversation as if nothing happened. French reaches into his pocket and produces a joint. Using his body to shield the joint from her he smirks and catches the attention of Push. He nods in agreement as the two simultaneously reach their feet and exit through the office door. Once out of the office there is a long hallway with a door on each end. The two head towards the backside of the office building to a small patio. Once through the doors the blistering frigid air takes hold of the two as French produces a lighter and sparks the joint. He takes a few hits, gathering the smoke in his lungs and passes it to Push as he exhales.”Shit, it can’t be anything she can’t handle ya know? … I mean, if we have to we can make a few witness’s disappear, or recant their statement…””…Mis” *cough, cough* ” ‘Misremember’…”Push passes the joint back to French. He turns towards the night downtown skyline, which is clearly visible from the third floor patio of the office building.”…What do you see Push? Looking out th- there?” *coughing* ”A fuckin’ dump” *laughing* ”Yea, yea…but other than that though. What do you see?””…I see, potential.””Right. Potential energy can be easily made kinetic. There is no use of being just in the ‘potential state’, and never become kinetically charged. I think it should be a sin if you don’t use your gifts for bad, rather than to never use them at all. Bit of a skewed way of thinking, but I guess if it works for me then that’s the truth I follow. …Teresa, dearest. That woman should REALLY never speak. I mean, when you look at her she is a pleasant sight. Decently put together.
But then she opens her mouth and it just screams out the Southwest Airlines commercial… You know… The one were the two guys are playing the Wii baseball game in the living room? And instead of using the remote to throw the ball, he throws the ENTIRE control at the flat screen breaking it in pieces and sending it crashing through the glass table…
Wanna get away?”: It is better to remain silent, and thought a fool, then to open your mouth and remove all doubt. : French continues to smoke the joint, completely forgetting about Pusher. He chuckles to himself and continues…[/color] ”She completely becomes a wreck once she talks…Nah, more like a fifteen car pileup during rush hour. …You know is gonna be ugly if you look over, but you JUST can’t help it. ‘The Insult’ is not the shock of losing sight, it’s how she further degenerates herself by ‘appearing’ to be knowledgeable about ANYTHING.
She could check Web MD again. I’m SURE that’s where she found her information.
You’ll find that Anton’s Syndrome is caused directly or indirectly by another source. Such as a gunshot, as she mentioned in ‘The Insult’. Yea, I’ve read it too. Not one that I would bring up as if it’s something to remember, but hey, we’ll work with her. *sigh* ” Blind sight has not been proven to be caused directly or indirectly by ANY outside source. Therefore, it’s called a phenomenon. It’s unexplained in newborn babies; more than shapes and forms can be skewed, but also perception of reality due to the state of the mental and psychological wellness. Its a difference as obvious as a human's 'reality' versus a dog's. Therefore my declaration of them ALL being blind sighted is more accurate than Anton’s. I mean, she was just ‘awful’ in school, right?...So you give her some tights and a wrestling belt and now she is this dramatic philanthropist? A philosopher?
Stick to wrestling and promos please... Remember, you're just a pseudonym.
Oh, Teresa, Teresa…You’re killing me. I held you to a higher standard…”: Fool me once, shame on me…Fool me twice, shame on her. : [/color] ”…I don’t know anymore. I don’t know. ARE there any pretty faces with beautiful minds? Is that a combination in females that just doesn’t exist?... Well, Elena’s probably the closest I’ve seen… I mean, it would be such a ‘winning’ statement if I trained in schools and was adopted into prominent wrestling families, all in the climax of me being a…’wrestler’. But I live life and take what comes. Shit, I fight for self entertainment, not training for the one eventful day when I get to be a wrestling champion, in two places… *scoff* You DON'T even posess your other title.
Spare me the shameless affiliate plug and the drama from it. We should all have DVRs by now.
…I didn’t have a belt. We didn’t do this tough talk leading up to the event… We showed up. We fought. They lost. So I’m ‘crowned’ champ. That’s it. It wasn’t my aspiration in life. It wasn’t my pinnacle. It was just, something to do… This True Glory venture?...Something that was pointed out to me. A great place for a revolution. Mass obliteration. Another opportunity where we can show up…We fight. …And of course, you lose. You can keep the belt Teresa… I wouldn’t wanna wake you from your childhood dream with the horrific nightmare of reality. I know you earned that title. We all saw you. YOU, ‘DID IT’. But it’s funny to me that you didn’t have to follow the ‘rules’ to win the belt, but you follow the ‘rules’ when it’s time to defend it? So its, tyrannize, tyrannize, get the belt illegally…then, its biweekly defenses cause you now wanna follow ‘rules’?
Is that enough Alahu Akbar for ya?
Now that you have shined the spotlight on yourself, lets talk. I’m looking around at New Jersey … We’re a dot because of the size of the land, not the population. Now, I’m sure you had a blast on your trips around the world. But, can you still generate any interest in ANY of those ‘promotions’ now?...I’m SURE you didn’t turn down the bright lights of the famine griped Ukraine grounds where the politics of identity, including HISTORY text books, are FRAGMENTED and tailored to reflect whoever the stronger political party is…just to come to True Glory Wrestling? SURELY, your appeal brought in mass crowds and made that ‘promotion’ a juggernaut in this industry today right?... Or how about the leaf hut locker rooms in Kazakhstan where you spent some time holding a banana peel on your shoulder for a belt, cause I heard through the grapevice that nobody there pays you any seriousness, so they play keep away from the brunette bastard. OH, OH…Lets not forget the pinnacle of wrestling in South America . Where you were…killing people. SURELY out of that huge continent we must know of at least ONE grand ‘promotion’ Teresa’s talking about right?... No. It was all in your mind. Anton’s. Almost forgot that.
Wrestling polar bears and monkeys, though very admirable, isn’t that entertaining. Its not as if True Glory is where the pinnacle of wrestling is…SO, why are you here Teresa? If success overseas was so great, which in most cases is, why would you come to…of all places San Diego ? You mention country after country and killings upon killings…but you’re just like the rest of us… Checking into San Diego every week. I mean, shit, if I had the opportunity to do traveling like that, why would I come back? Your money is stretched four times over once you get overseas. You’re treated as royalty if you have ANY kind of fame. If this is the life of an overseas celebrity, then who in their right mind would turn that down just to visit one of, if not THE most, in debt states in the US... Every week? Teresa. Our ‘Champion’. You’re a real gem. But I need you to compose your ignorance long enough to not irritate me to death. I’m on life support.”French finishes the joint and tosses it over the balcony rail. He blows warm air into his cupped hands and then stuffs them into his leather jacket. He continues to look out over the skyline…”I don’t know man… I got this case now. Then there’s this weekend. We got an interesting end of ’09 comin’…Its imperative that we stay focused and keep the grass cut. Let all the pawns play out. Watch the board. There is no doubt in my mind that there will be plenty of things that need to be accomplished, but this sets in motion a series of events that can significantly increase our odds of success. There’s no need to fear the backstage antics, or worry about all the hot air and world map visuals from the Blacklist. Their demise is imminent and they can’t even see it yet. It’s Newton ’s Law right in front of our very eyes…Wanna check facts with that one Teresa? Oh wait, then we’ll see that you’re an awkward, lengthy, senseless response away from being Miss Teen America South Carolina …just a face. No Substance.
No morals either… *chuckles* That’s a good thing. But no brain trumps that card. So I’ll fold.
But don’t get me wrong, this isn’t Jeopardy. My response isn’t given in the form of a question…it’s given in the form of a revolution. Teresa, we'll see if you're willing to stand in front of an armored tank in the middle of the Tiananmen Square while I'm driving...
¿Los sueños de un hígado qué? … Como todos los soñadores, ella confunde el desencanto con VERDAD.": Translation - 'The Dreams of a Liver huh?...Like all dreamers, she confuses disenchantment with TRUTH.' : [/color] "...Now did I[/u] forget anyone?...Oh yea, I did, but none of them matter. We agree on one thing Teresa, TGW IS dead. Time to destroy and rebuild. [/color]
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Post by Russell Francis on Dec 6, 2009 19:37:27 GMT -5
Franchise cuts on the his trusty webcam and it shows a new place other than the friendly confines of Franchise's San Diego loft. Instead, it is a nice homestead. A lot of pictures of family members surrounding Franchise as a little kid up to his current role now hang on the wall, including a replica of the TGW Volititionary Title that he won months ago.
Franchise sits in his chair.
Franchise: Wassup everybody! I hope you guys had a great and safe Thanksgiving. As you can see, I'm not in San Diego, I'm actually back at my mom's house in Charlotte, enjoying time in my family. It's good to be back at home, espicially with all the stuff that has been going on in San Diego. The drug allegations and such, me losing the title. I'll say this, real talk, even after losing everything, when you got family, you got everything you need to get you by....but that's not saying I don't want more!!! But, hey, my mom's in here, I'm going to try to get her on my cam.
Franchise picks up the computer and walks over to the kitchen.
Franchise: My mom made a mess of food for Sunday dinner. Deep fried turkey with stuffing, mashed potatoes, chitlins, ham, greens. Now, she's making me some of her famous Sweet Potato pie. (finds his mother) Hey, Mom, say hi to the TGW UNIVERSE!
Ma Francis: (stirs a pot of sweet potatoes ) Get that camera out of my face!
Franchise: Come on, let them see your pretty face!
Ma Francis: (Laughing) I ain't got my makeup on! Now get that camera out of my kitchen before I whoop your ass!
Franchise: Now, Mom, I'm a grown man, you can't be doing that anymore!
Ma Francis: Try me!
Ma Francis lifts her spoon up in a playful manor and swings it towards Franchise's direction. Franchise laughs it off and runs from the kitchen back to his original position at the Lay-Z-Boy Chair.
Franchise: What can I say, I love it! I love the hype going into Onslaught! I love what I did to Teresa! I told you, Teresa, you can use all the most complicated, convoluted vocabulary in the world. But I like to do my best work in the ring! And after that Franchise Tag I gave you in front of your crew, I would have thought you would have known by now, I'm the worst person to be pissing off right now! And thanks to the brilliant interference by Frenchy Kiss Montana, I'm in the Scramble and best believe, kid, I'm going after you with everything in my heart and soul. A lot of people questioned my intent Monday when I told Wade Mason that I was going to finish what he could not stop. I'm going to stop the Blacklist from causing any more trouble in TGW. It's not because I don't like you, I HATE YOU! You stand for everything wrong. People who just show up and think they can run everybody out the organization. Teresa, you do more damage holding on to a title you don't deserve than you actually do in the ring. And yes, you can keep playing the same broken record, that I'm a gimmick and I'm pitiful and will never make it to the big time. The fact that I'm in the Main Event for 2...count that....1,2...yes, I can count...2 pay per view in a role either tells you I'm either lucky as hell or I'm one of the best at what I do! I AM THE CONSTANT OF TGW! I've been here when we started and as God as my witness, I'll be here when you leave without the belt!
Teresa, my question is, who can you trust in the scramble? I mean, it's me, V, Hannah "Frenchy" Montana, and then it's 2 members of the Blacklist, Teresa Quarantine and Jack Off Darling! Now, I'm not saying you can't trust him, but really, is he looking after your best interest? If he manages to get somebody out of pinning you, what's to stop him from pinning you for the glory? You see, as my mom always says, when you sleep with dogs, you always get fleas! And Jack is the worst flea to have. I promise you this, if Jack doesn't even attempt to cover you in the ring at Onslaught, I'll be impressed! That means he's the team member you can trust in! That's he's looking into your best interest! But, you, me, and the whole world knows that this isn't possible!
I would tell you to watch your back, but then, I would be alerting you to the fact that I'm gunning after you too! So, at Onslaught, it doesn't matter how many times I Franchise Tag to the match and pin you, the only thing that matters is the final pin, in which I pin you for the TGW World Title! You and Jack Darling need to get a game plan ready, because if you're not ready for me, you'll end up on the wrong side for the Champion's Parade route!
But unto somebody that doesn't read the news. Frenchy, for the past 2 weeks, all I hear you talk is about me! Nothing but me! It's almost like you have a man crush on me. You keep talking about me physically using drugs to up my game! Plus you come to the conclusion that I use the word...(surfer tone) BRO...(regular voice) all the damn time!
Now first, Frenchy, I gotta say while I'm flattered that you have such a huge crush on me, but I’m not into dude! Strictly for the chicks! Second, when do you ever hear me say the word “Bro”! I’m not that stereotypical! Now, I do say, “I going to beat that white ass all day long!,” but that’s granted! Third, as we have proven, after 2 weeks of discussion, it was that weasel , A.J. Adams, who put the drugs into my drink that I drunk to get me on drug charges! I could see how you and your New Jersey public education couldn’t read the same context clues that everybody else read, but don’t worry! After Onslaught, it’s not like you’re going to be able to reproduce!
You see, Frenchy, you haven’t won any fans on your side! Blacklist don’t like you, the fans don’t like you, and you know I don’t like you! I mean, you brought in a “fake” referee to win the match, and you call me a cheater! Frenchy, let’s be real! You’re nothing but “fake in a bottle”! You talk a lot of shit just to hear yourself speak, but in the end, you say nothing! You call yourself an Underground Fighting champion! You couldn’t stop me if your life depended on it!
Trust me, there is no escaping me this PPV! Even if I don’t win the Championship, I will do my best to end your stupid career! You will see why I’m the “A” Game and why my game is just so “A-MAZING”! And at the end, the world will see the new TRUE GLORY CHAMPION! I promise everyone, I’m not going to stop till the evil is purged out of TGW!
If that means stopping Teresa Tequilla ….I’ll do it!
If that means stopping , Frenchy Montana…I’ll do it!
It’s time for the “A” Game to finally step up and get what is his! LET’S FINISH THE DAMN THING!
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Post by v on Dec 6, 2009 23:49:32 GMT -5
He had blood on his face, but none of it was his so it was alright. The federation of the night was one of those indie companies crazy and desperate enough to take on someone with a reputation like his, and it was assured that his most important job here was done-- the gate would be back next week after he was gone. Not that anyone was announcing over the loudspeakers that his chances of being back next week were as good as a coin flip; consistency was an issue. It was all about finding that middleground between 'work' and 'play' and figuring out which was which to begin with.
"...because he's a fucking idiot! And so are you! He almost broke my leg again so don't expect me to feel sorry for him!" Teresa Quaranta... well, hadn't come out of the exchange quite as well. She rounded the corner, and leaned against the wall face pulled and red, breathing heavily and limping. Where she got the energy to TALK so much after all of that was beyond him. "This is a hundred percent your fault, Donovan." She says it only half joking. "You should find side gigs where they don't try to legit murder you. They are out there, you know."
"I didn't exactly kidnap you, throw you in my trunk, and make you come." He paused, rolling that phrase over in his head and concluded that it was indeed amusing. "Not everybody's cup o' tea, admittedly."
"I wanna say I don't know what I was thinking...but I know what I was thinking. Be hardcore. Walk the razor's edge between sanity and madness." She slumped in the doorway and winced. "And you know, mission accomplished on that one. It's not the speed or the violence that's different, more like the..."
It hung on the air for a moment before he presumed to try to fill in the blank. "Intensity, maybe?" That was, more or less, it for him. But everyone likely experienced this shit differently. "I don't know. Most people in this business, they go so far and they hit this hesitancy. The kinda stuff most people have to just hitting another person."
"I was going for...desperation." Teresa snapped her fingers. From the tone of her voice it sounded like she wanted to give a long explanation, maybe on when people felt cornered or wanted to get themselves a headline, but about halfway through she'd decided it wasn't worth the effort. Instead her mind went to earlier times in the States - mostly in the Northeast. Sport of kings and all of that. "I'd say I can't believe anybody would do that, but... yeah I can believe it. I thought LA was supposed to be chilled out - instead everybody's hopped up on fucking pills doing their best Tyler Durden impersonation."
"Desperation I like. Desperation's the source." The stuff on his face, he gauged, was getting dry enough to rub off soon. It was that feeling of skin moving and resistance. "Isn't that this entire business these days? You'd think they'd get over that fucking movie, it's been ten years. Find something new. I like Chuck Palahniuk too, but fuck's sake. It's a story, not a way of life. Wonder where we'd all be if they'd decided to make Lullaby a movie instead." It wasn't dry enough, though. He settled for unwrapping his hands. "Wonder what they'd do if they found out he's gay."
"First of all, nobody read the book, because nobody reads books and that's fucked everything up." In the back of her head she gets that it's a weird thing to complain about after almost beating someone to death but that was just how things went nowadays. Either way, she rambled and attributed it to exhaustion. "Words are for.. getting across complex ideas. Everything is visual now, so people don't do shades. Everybody does pictures. And the fucked up thing is it's the same pictures."
She looked around nervously for a few seconds.
"Was there a second-of-all? It's a story whether it's a movie or a book. And they were virtually identical." It was an absurd nitpick, and thus he cut himself off. "Second of all, what are we going to do?"
She robotically turned and turned the latch. "I'm going to change before I notice the smell, hopefully. And then I'm getting out of here before somebody decides to kill me or sue me or throw a drink at me or call me a slut or something. And then I'm getting out of town and then - or are you asking about the thing we haven't talked about yet?"
"Well, it's sort of an elephant in the room, and I don't like that. So yeah."
It wasn't supposed to be like this, a pain in the ass. Onslaught was supposed to be easy - a trip overseas, Blazenwing's head on a spike like in that one movie, about fifteen awkward minutes at the end, and a satisfying flight back home. That she hadn't put the obvious together when Blazenwing got jumped in that hallway - normally she'd feel stupid about it, but she had a feeling it was God (linguistic shorthand aside here) at work and not herself. "You remember, right? The idea was to get with a few people I really, really didn't want to have a match with, ever. So this is just... wonderful." This didn't pass well for quality pre-fight putdowns but eh. She looked him in the eye and opened her eyes. "Earlier. That was what I was thinking. But it wasn't everything I was thinking."
That stopped him. The tape crinkled in one hand and he strategically countered the urge to lip-bite-- you never knew what these fuckers had, he probably needed a good round of STD testing from the amount of contact he'd had already. He scrubbed at his face with his fingertips, little flakes of rust crumbling off like mud. "So the obvious question is, what were you thinking?" There were a few options on the column of expected answers, but it was Teresa, so something not on that list was almost more common.
"I figured I'd feel less pause if I came out of your thing better than you did tonight. That's how I've been measuring myself lately. As it is..." She bit her lip, but she did it so often that it barely counted as a worthwhile tell. "I feel pretty well paused. Plan B was going to Jersey to spinkick homeless people, but this was cost-effective."
The look was almost pained, furrowing forehead and tight lips. "It won't be 'my thing' though. Multiman clusterfucks aren't. TGW doesn't seem to be." The adrenaline was dissipating. "For all we're pretty much hitting every goal we make, it's still sort of a big pile of shit. And I don't think the culprit there is us. And this can always be... arranged. I'm not taking the Finger Poke for you, but... damned if I give a shit about this company's belt."
She gives him a long second's worth of visible shock. She starts to think but you're supposed to give a shit!, but no he really wasn't. He was the anti-that, actually. "Title. Rah rah. I won't say I'm not getting anything at all out of it, but it's more that I want to see what happens here in another month. I'm not finger poking, but I'm not maiming anybody either. This needs to roll even after Franchise has A-Game stomped all of us below the stadium. Of course..." Here she trails off. "Have you talked to Jack?"
"... nope. Only person I've talked to for a while now's you." Out of their little group, naturally. Most of the other suggestions registered less as 'talking to' and more of 'watching mouth move in amusement'. "I really wanted to show French Montana the contents of his own spleen. Goddamn pity."
"That's just excellent. Really the only relief is that we'll know exactly what he thinks by the time that..." She glanced around the room again and looked V up and down. After a few seconds she stood and moved towards him, first nervously and looking back and forth, but then smoothly, in a manner more clinical than clipped, before moving past him and turning around. With a deep breath and a little pressure on his shoulders, she leaned downward and whispered into his ear.
"Ah, fuck."
Teresa. French.
Apologies to my cohort, but you two do realize you just spent the better part of two weeks arguing over an irrelevant ocular metaphor? I mean, I've been known to have my head up my own ass before in the past, but even I've never been quite this... mincing.
I know very little about the fine science of optometry. However, I used to live in Pennsylvania for a good long time. I sort of concluded that New Jersey seemed to be full of sore, red, pulsating, swampy, angry, funny-looking hippopotamous vag. Not that I met every resident of the state, but that was my determination from a considerably large sampling. Basically, the state flag should rightfully consist of a silkscreened photo of Bon Jovi in those lavendar leather pants from the Runaway video (oh the damage the eighties wrought on my mind as a youth). And French Montana has yet to dissuade me.
In fact, the last person from New Jersey I worked alongside not only fucked his sister, but married her and had a kid with her-- oh, the wacky world of pro wrestling. I'd cite names, because I'm sure you think that's an exaggeration, but everybody in this company is waiting in the wings with their Google toolbar at ready to dig up pieces of the past that they didn't witness and few in the audience are familiar with, and are thus irrelevant. None better than the shit that got aired before mine.
Truth is, I'm here because whoever put this shit together thought it'd be interesting to stick as many people in the Blacklist in this tourney as they could in hope that we all did wind up right here-- and we're all pretty much good, so we did. Where I'd be more interested in messing with? The Volitionary Title. Because I could probably imagine up one hell of a stipulation.
Hey Russell... it's a pity about that drug test of yours. I wonder how that happened.
It's a battle cry around here TGW is dead. After this pay per view, looks like it's not just pffft, fuck this noise dead. It's I WISH I HAD A HYDROGEN BOMB SO I COULD WATCH YOU POINTLESS FUCKING ANIMALS FLASHBURN INTO VAPOR AND GREASE AND ASHES IN THE SHAPE OF A SKELETON. I can't decide if it's better to do that or just condemn you all to being... you.
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Post by teresaquaranta on Dec 6, 2009 23:50:01 GMT -5
.::. truth is a social construct twisted to the whim of the powerful like beauty is a social construct twisted to the whim of the powerful like manners are a social construct twisted to the whim of the powerful so fashioning your reality around any of these things is REALLY REALLY POINTLESS! .::. "No. Seriously." I fold my fingers together in a gesture of supplication, a digital camera insistently poking out. "I'm not going to hurt him, despite... this. We're gonna have a civil chat." "With a camera? Seems like a stunt for some Pay-Per-View." This is... a BIG GUY in the doorway, with a thick red beard. "You get through here over my head body. The door breaks off the hinges. Not a cool movie Chuck Norris breaking, and he's back on his feet in a second, but it does make my point to McShane, a bright eyed young fucktard murdering other people with Daddy's money. Viking Biker Guy (sorry Eklund, but I think about it all the time now) gets up and comes at me, but we're broken up when the promoter holds a hand up and waves me in. Oh by the way, I'm not going to say which promotion because Nobody Cares. This is TGW. I'm here for TGW. And while the sidestories are a blast... I'd hate for anyone to need to do French Montana amounts of investigative journalism to keep up here. I'm still in my ring gear, of course : no changing back there. There's nothing threatening about my posture, but my presence, especially given what's happened today, is an implicit threat. He looks behind me, as if looking for a second metaphorical shoe to drop. "Where's V?" "Donovan's busy," I say pleasantly. "I told him I'd handle it." McShane grips the edge of his chair and glances at his phone, deciding whether he should call some big guy in here to mess with me and get me out - it's not terribly wise, not because I'm the biggest badass in the world or anything (remember that I've just gotten the lights knocked out upstairs and I'm exhausted) but because it's not a club situation where someone is going to look at me hard and I'll go weak in the knees - whoever comes in here is going to need to do the actual deed. Anyway, I wave at him before he bothers and take a seat across from him. "Don't worry about it, it won't come to that." I hold up a small cassette. It's weird to say that since someone only attempted to get this footage I wasn't offended, but as a woman in this line of work... well let's say that it makes you lower your expectations for the male gender specifically and humanity in general. "A few minutes more and it would have. Come to that I mean. As it is, I figured there were more equitable ways to deal." "Like?" I shake the camera up and down. "Like an open exchange of information. Tell me tell me tell me what drove you to it, what inspired you to take the potential damage to your professional reputation?" "Aw," he says blushing. "It's a little controversial but I don't think it's going to get me... blacklisted?" I raise an eyebrow and leaned forward. "Releasing my naked bits to the internet wasn't going to rate above controversial? In which universe is this?" "I was planning to edit any of that out, actually." "Uh huh." "Notice how there isn't anything in the shower area? No, this was about authenticity. As much as we present something that looks true on stage through the action, I always think that the fans suspect that there is some second truth. Something deeper, something REAL. And I thought this would be my chance to present that truth." "What's the moral of this story? Your answer is important?" He takes a long breath and decides to make nice. "Some motherfuckers are always trying to prove their intellectual superiority? And failing?" It's not Keats, but neither is he. (Why yes, I have memorized every Kelly Godless promo. Is that creepy?) "Close enough. Here's the deal." I toss both cameras at him. "You can release that one... if you release that one." .::. no seriously read that last bit again dudes it's gonna make you sound less dumb, we don't respect you enough to lie to you .::. Hey British Columbia. Wanna hear something really really hilarious?
Two months ago, a fat aging "tag specialist" type from Japan, after getting verbally and emotionally decimated and desperately trying to keep his fast loosening grip on relevance, looked into a camera and said that I didn't have what it took to ever be world champion anywhere. Said I was a choke artist and compared me to... I think it was Tony Romo? And that I wouldn't be shit until I beat him.
A few days ago or yesterday or today I don't remember exactly because I'm putting so much boot to so much head lately, after getting verbally and emotionally decimated and desperately trying to keep his fast loosening grip on relevance, you looked into a camera and said that the TWO that I'd won since were both elaborate hoaxes and I didn't do anything or beat anybody and I can't be that good if I'm working for TGW and Russia has the same social order or... something, honestly you started to ramble incomprehensibly there so pardon if I zoned out some. I get the overarcing message here, though, which is that I ain't shit until I beat you.
A few weeks from tonight, 8 other people are going to look at the tapes of this place, crack up laughing, and call me a faggot because I "just" beat French Montana, New Jersey Fight Club Champion. They will all say some variant of the idea that I ain't shit until I beat them.
It's called Probatio Diabolica : just as countless pencilnecked bullshit peddling theologists have made a living from the fact that no one has been able to disprove their Flying Spaghetti Deity of Choice, countless meatheaded bullshit peddling fighters have gained some small amount of comfort from the knowledge that I've yet to crack open every single fighter on the planet, and even if I have, I haven't beaten them... and if I have then it was the old them, back before the gold was on the line or they found their smiles or they decided they (gasp) really really hated me.
The only real problem with this is that as they scour the websites of every company I've ever drawn a paycheck from like stat crunching social rejects and compare all of my opponents to them and make (and I need to stress this) completely wrong observations about phenomenons, they tend to lose sight of the bigger picture.
Stop me if this sounds familiar.
Actually, who are we fooling? If you could stop me, you wouldn't be making quite the fool of yourself, would you? I thought about printing a WebMD article to drive the point home, but it turns out they didn't have one. They asked me if I was going for "blindside" instead. Funny, as loud as I've announced this, you're pretty determined not to see this coming. And everytime a little light almost gets into your eyes, you start whining about why I'm here - San Diego of all places, California of all places, America of all places, since TGW is so above my station.
Which is a little like asking why a scientists sprays makeup into a rat's eyes instead of something bigger.
It's too bad you went everywhere the internet had to offer instead of THIS place's website, because I went into longwinded detail about it the first time I stepped in front of a TGW camera. For those just getting here : I am fighting God. I am fighting fate. I am fighting the tendency of everything to revert to the status quo. Since that exists everywhere, TGW is as good a place as anywhere to experiment.
Happy to help, British. We will change the history textbooks, your disposable fucking successors and I : you're staring at the barrel of going from "revolution guy" to "yeah but you just beat Blazenwing and French Montana so you suck". and whether that speech is in two weeks or a month or three months... it doesn't matter as much, because I'll be the one waiting at the end of the road. So you can couple your disappointment in me as a woman with your disappointment with yourself as a man when we've wrapped here.
Russ. So many words, so few worth responding to. I'm glad you're here. I hope you stay here for a LONG time. Guys who think good things in life are to be deserved make my job fun and easy. Don't get discouraged and don't think of how Wade handed you BOTH those main event spots. Like any fun-loving being worth it's salt, I'll only kill you once I'm done having fun with you. And I'm not yet. TGW is dead in a boat leaving a dock and having pieces replaced sense. But seeing as matter can't be created or destroyed, there's still something here. Let's not finish the damn thing.
Not any time soon.
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