Post by FPV on Jun 3, 2012 14:06:54 GMT -5
Hello, my name is Kevin Conroy.
Do I matter to anyone in the entire WCF? Not at all, all I am is a humble voice-artist. You may remember my memorable role as Batman in Batman: The Animated Series, as well as...well, nothing else really. Perhaps Cheers, I guess, but I'm not the point of all this.
First of all, an explanation. Why am I here, WCF Nation? Simple, a tragedy occured when the beloved, anonymous narrator of WCF wrestler FPV, was tragically killed...by FPV...in his own mind? It doesn't much sense to me either, but nevertheless, the previous narrator has died, and I have been chosen to replace him. It is an honor comparable to that of winning an Oscar, so I shall do my best to do the absolute best job that I can in narrating our crazy friends adventures.
Join me, won't you, as we segue into one of those adventures right now. The name of this adventure? Simple.
THE END IS NIGH
The time? Midnight, Thursday, May 31st. The location? The anti-fabulous city of Gotham City...er...I mean New York, New York.
Ah...night-time in the big city. Truly, this is where all the freaks come to play. Police really can be very incompetent sometimes, y'know. They never notice when a band of four people in ski-masks invade a bank at night-time with intent on total destruction. And as luck would have it, this was exactly what was happening right now. An old, beat up jalopy, pulled up to the front of the bank, an old building that looked like it was built a very long time ago, perhaps the 19th century perhaps, and yet still had regular business from very loyal customers, and just as the car parked, the entire thing just seemed to collapse. On it's dieing legs it was indeed. The driver, wearing a all black get-up that involved a ski-mask, a utility belt filled with all sorts of supplies, and black denim pants, tried to bang his fist on the dashboard to see if he could the car to start up again, but had no luck in getting it to go live again. No matter, he thought, it brought us to our destination safely, and it'll have to do before I can get my Gran Torino out of storage. He looked back at the three other men sitting in the back, all scrunched together, dressed in much the same way as himself, and spoke to them, his voice muffled by the mask.
Do I matter to anyone in the entire WCF? Not at all, all I am is a humble voice-artist. You may remember my memorable role as Batman in Batman: The Animated Series, as well as...well, nothing else really. Perhaps Cheers, I guess, but I'm not the point of all this.
First of all, an explanation. Why am I here, WCF Nation? Simple, a tragedy occured when the beloved, anonymous narrator of WCF wrestler FPV, was tragically killed...by FPV...in his own mind? It doesn't much sense to me either, but nevertheless, the previous narrator has died, and I have been chosen to replace him. It is an honor comparable to that of winning an Oscar, so I shall do my best to do the absolute best job that I can in narrating our crazy friends adventures.
Join me, won't you, as we segue into one of those adventures right now. The name of this adventure? Simple.
THE END IS NIGH
The time? Midnight, Thursday, May 31st. The location? The anti-fabulous city of Gotham City...er...I mean New York, New York.
Ah...night-time in the big city. Truly, this is where all the freaks come to play. Police really can be very incompetent sometimes, y'know. They never notice when a band of four people in ski-masks invade a bank at night-time with intent on total destruction. And as luck would have it, this was exactly what was happening right now. An old, beat up jalopy, pulled up to the front of the bank, an old building that looked like it was built a very long time ago, perhaps the 19th century perhaps, and yet still had regular business from very loyal customers, and just as the car parked, the entire thing just seemed to collapse. On it's dieing legs it was indeed. The driver, wearing a all black get-up that involved a ski-mask, a utility belt filled with all sorts of supplies, and black denim pants, tried to bang his fist on the dashboard to see if he could the car to start up again, but had no luck in getting it to go live again. No matter, he thought, it brought us to our destination safely, and it'll have to do before I can get my Gran Torino out of storage. He looked back at the three other men sitting in the back, all scrunched together, dressed in much the same way as himself, and spoke to them, his voice muffled by the mask.
FPV: We're ready.
All four men exited the car and went over to the trunk, getting out various large bags out the trunk.All of the bags are apparently very heavy, as most everyone has to struggle to get them out. The four men gather around in a circle, and set down the bags to review their plan.
FPV: Okay men, you ready to do something in the very name of treachery itself? Are ya?!
The other three men, Johnny Nova, Da Funk, and the fucking Face of Treachery himself, Logan, all shout out "TREACHERY!" into the night sky, their war cry for their gambit of the night. All four men have codenames for the night, in case someone is recording them,. That way, no one shall be prosecuted. FPV is "Shinigami," Logan is "Wolverine," Nova is "Rockstar," and Da Funk is "Ecstasy."
FPV: You all know the plan. Inside that bank is money that has been confirmed by my sources to belong to WCF World Champion, Pantheon ringmaster, and king of the boudles, Jonny Fly!
The others boo at the very mention of Fly's name, but FPV calms them down so he can finish.
FPV: Our plan is simple. Inside these bags, Ecstasy has cooked up some mighty potent explosives out of a couple of spare glow-sticks he had. How he can make a bomb out of glow-sticks, I have no idea.
Da Funk: You can read it on the Internet, man. The dude who runs this drum and bass podcast I like sent me the plans.
FPV: Damn, that sounds like a hardcore podcast. Gimme the links when we're done here. Anyways, Ecstasy has tested everything out, it works just fine. Each of these bombs are connected via the timer here in my pocket...
FPV Tapped his pocket, indicating where the timer was.
FPV: We're going to split up. Me and Wolverine'll take the first floor, Rockstar and Ecstasy will take the second floor. Spread the devices all out evenly so as to ensure the entire building goes down. Everyone got that?
The three men nod in agreement.
FPV: Well, anyone got any questions before we start this?
Logan: Yeah, I got one.
FPV turned to look over to Logan.
Logan: Can we TAKE any of the money before we blow this trashcan to smithereenies?
FPV: Sure, I don't see why not.
Da Funk: Good, cause I'm hankering for some Del Taco after we're done with, I'm starving and broke!
FPV: What about that $20 bucks I gave you this morning?
Da Funk: I spent it on the glowsticks man!
FPV: Aight, whatever, but remember guys, this is NOT a robbery. This is much more epic than a robbery, so treat it accordingly. Any other questions?
No one says anything.
FPV: Well, if that's it, then let's go!
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The men had no trouble kicking down the doors of the building. There were no guards around to knock out, so they were able to run in headfirst, jumping over the counters to the back of the tellers area. There Da Funk saw a stack of money under the counter, perhaps left behind by mistake by a lazy teller, perhaps? He saw the oppurtunity and quickly swiped it before catching up with the others, who had already advanced into the back room, and area mostly dominated by vaults, that would have some men clamoring to break into and just steal everything. The group was not here to steal, though, they were here to destroy! Also inside this room was a stairway to the upper levels, which Funk and Nova ascended, leaving FPV and Logan in the bottom floor.
As both FPV and Logan began to apply the glowstick bombs, each covering one end of the room, Logan covering the entrance and FPV covering the vaults, up on the top floor, Da Funk covers the windows near the east end of the bank with his insane creations, as Nova takes care of the rest of the vaults in the room. Back down on the bottom floor, FPV and Logan begin to conversate.
Logan: You think you can take him?
FPV: Who, Gein?
Logan: Yeah, that mofo.
FPV: Well...he's certainly an interesting individual. From what I've seen of him he's been devoting almost all of his time to cutting Waylon Cash down a peg. Sometimes I wonder if he's even dedicated to that Hardcore title, he just looks way to distracted with Waylon, amongst other things. I mean...let's be honest here...all Waylon Cash really is is a young and poor version of Doc Henry. And even then, we both know how much of a tough mofo that dude is. I mean, think about it. If Gein ever decided to try and take on the ToT, the first person he'd aim in his sights would either be me, after I humiliate him after Sunday, or Doc, because he's so used to southern dudes. Well, either way, he'll be in for it. All of the fucking way.
Logan: Amen.
Meanwhile, up on the top floor, Da Funk and Nova continued to apply their glowstick bombs.
Da Funk: So...why exactly do you not smoke, I mean, what's the harm in it, it's not like you're doing heroin or something.
Nova: My mother died of lung cancer caused from second-hand smoke. That shit wrecked me for a good long time, so I'd suggest you shut up about it, it's still a sore subject with me.
Da Funk: ...Oh. Sorry I brought it up then.
Nova: Meh, don't sweat it too much. There was no way you could've known, I'm just touchy about it.
Da Funk: Aight.
There was a short silence between the two, until Nova spoke again.
Nova: You know, you never talk about your parents. What's up with that?
Da Funk: Not much to say. My parents were boring ass fucks. They wanted me to get a (airquotes) "real" job, so the minute I turned 18 I told them "Fuck you, I'm doing what I want," and then I left their bitch asses home. Changed my name to Da Funk while I was at it.
Nova: Damn...that's harsh. What was your name before.
Da Funk stared off into space, confused, before giving his reply.
Da Funk: You know...it's been so long...I've actually forgotten what my name was.
Nova merely shook his head.
Nova: *sigh* You just don't know how sad that is. You just...don't know.
We are brought back to FPV and Logan. They had finished setting up all the glowstick bombs in the room, and FPV called out to the two men above them.
FPV: HEY! Rockstar and Ecstasy! You almost done up there?
Nova: Just about. You ready to ditch this place?
FPV: Ready when you are.
A few minutes passed before Da Funk and Nova came rushing down the steps to Logan and FPV.
Da Funk: We're ready.
FPV: Good. Logan called up Doc a while ago, he should be on his way. We got about three minutes to ditch this place before it blows. Let's get the hell out of here!
All four men rushed out the room and through the doors that they had kicked down. Once they were outside, they began waiting for Doc to arrive in the getaway vehicle. A minute passed, Doc was still not there. Logan got out his cellular and phoned up Doc.
Logan: FOR FUCK'S SAKE, GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE DOC!
Doc: I'm trying guys! Traffic is a bitch right now!
Logan: FUCK THOSE GUYS, THIS PLACE IS ABOUT TO EXPLODE!
Doc: I'M COMING, ALLRIGHT? Hold your horses!
Doc hung up on Logan. Another minute passed, and still Doc had not shown up. Nova began to get worried.
Nova: This is it. We're all going to die tonight. All because Doc is a shitty driver! That's it! We're DOOMED!
FPV noticed a headlight coming up in the distance.
FPV: No we're not, look!
The car was in full focus of everyone, a large SUV that could easily hold everyone...and in the drivers seat was Doc the Cock himself, flustered as all hell.
Doc: GET IN!
Not missing a beat, FPV opened the door to the inside of the car, and all four men climbed inside, not even bothering with buckling their seat belts. As soon as the door closed, Doc slammed his foot down on the gas pedal and the ToT members sped away from the doomed bank. Just seconds later, the four men looked back as they saw what used to be the well respected Third National Bank of New York, established in 1845, go up in a huge fireball, in plain view of damn near everyone in New York. What a sight it was, I tell ya'. Getting an up-front view of a building that has been around since at least 1845 go up in flames....it brings a tear to your eye, doesn't it? And with that bank, a large portion of Jonny Fly's funds were destroyed. *Tsk-tsk-tsk* What a drag, eh Fly?
FPV: Y'see Fly, even the narrator hates your guts.
Nova: Uh...dude. What are you talking about?
Yeah, asshat, you're not supposed to let them know you can hear me.
FPV: Oh, right. My bad.
*Groan* Well, anyways, the team of five had just managed to escape the explosion by the skin of their teeth, and doc started to slow down a bit, and relax. Relax to the point where he began to stop paying attention the road. At one point, a 18-wheel Mack truck almost ran the SUV over, had Doc not caught himself in the nick of time and take a sharp turn right, jerking everyone in the back violently to to the side. They were pretty much sandwiched up between each other. All four of them yelped out in pain.
Da Funk: Dammit Doc, watch where you're driving, dude!
Doc: Sorry, didn't have any coffee today, I'm sorta running on empty.
FPV: Man...you almost put me in the second car wreck of my life. Chill out man.
As everyone got themselves re-situated in the back of the van, FPV began to look out the window, memories comming back to him of that crash years before.
It was just any regular old day in the life of the young adult Frank Venable. That is to say...it was boring as da fuck. He woke up, went to his boring-ass job at the local Wal-Mart, got home, and did close to nothing for a good half an hour. He just layed back in his bed, thinking about all sorts of philosophical issues. "What is the meaning of life?" "Does God really exist?" "Will I ever find true love?" But most important of all questions...
"What the hell is there to DO today?!"
So, the lazy bum mustered up all of his strength, and looked at the local newspaper he forgot he even picked up, and looked to see what movies were playing that day. Not like he really cared what movie he saw, he just wanted something to do. So, in the listings, he found this movie called "The Crying Game."
Franky: Why the fuck not?
So, taking his precious time with it, Franky hoped into his dinky little-hoopty ride and drove off to the theater, spending much of his remaining paycheck on the ticket (don't worry, he was smart and bought all of his groceries before-hand.) He walked into the theater, saw the movie, and walked out, disgusted.
Franky: Eeeergh, chick-dick. Gross.
Franky got back in his sad excuse for a car and drove off into the rainy road. It was pouring down rain, which is a horrible time for the windshield wipers to go bad, but alas, they actually did. Now Franky was driving practically blind, as panic started to fall over him.
Franky: Gotta' get home, gotta' get home, gotta' get...
Too late, another car had slid on the slippery road and crashed right into Franky's car. Both cars were absolutely totaled. The driver of the other car, a man in his mid to late thirties, made it out allright. Franky, however, required medical assistance. Luckily, the man was considerate and called 911. Franky was loaded up onto the ambulance on a stretcher, and after staying at the hospital for a while, he was discharged and ready to go back out into the world. There was one gaping problem though...
Franky: Damn, I need to get another car!
We are now brought back to the present. FPV had been staring out the window for quite a while, and Nova was starting to get worried.
Nova: You allright bro?
FPV: Oh yeah, I'm fine, just thinking about...when I was younger. That's all.
Da Funk: Dude...after you're done at Del Taco you won't even want to think about ANYTHING maaaaaaan.
As needlessly drawn-out as that last word was, FPV could see funk's point. So he just chilled and shot the bull until they got to The Allmighty Del Taco.
About 8 tacos, four Pepsis and 2 batches of Nachoes later, FPV's stomach felt like it was going to explode. The drive back to Reading was a long one, and many pit stops were made in order to use various gas stations restroom. Once the trip had been completed, FPV had Doc drop him off at his house after going to Del Taco, and he layed down on his couch as he passed out.
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We now cut to Sunday morning, the day of Slam...and the day of FPV's Hardcore Title Shot. This isn't FPV's first rodeo with the title, and although he's failed to capture it in the past, this time will be different, FPV could feel it throughout his entire body: Gein Spector is going down. He must go down, in the name of all that is holy in the world, in the name of decency and in the name of treachery, Gein Spector will be going down!
There was a sense of victory in the air as FPV walked inside the ToT's personal locker room, psyching himself up for his match that night. He opened a bottle of Dasani Water and took a moderate swig. He looked into the camera that had followed him in here, and laughed a bit, before addressing it.
FPV: Gein...Motherfucking...Specter. I'm sorry, I should just refer to you as Gein...Spector, shouldn't I? I mean, you've done nothing worthwhile in this company to earn the distinguished middle name of "Motherfucking." Only the best in the business can use that name, and you...*chuckle*...well, you don't seem like the best in the business now, do you?
And to answer your question...Yes I do mind if you call me Franky. I don't like it when people below me try to call me by that name. It's like they're trying to get me to like them by referring to me by my nickname. So just...cut it out, will ya'? It ain't cool. You shall refer to your master by the name "Mr. FPV" and you will fucking like it.
I call myself the master, because at Sunday, plan and simple...I am going to own you. Plain and simple. I'm not going to hide behind this aura of being this tough, irreverent athlete, no no no, this is the fucking HARDCORE division of the WCF, where athleticism means almost nothing. You see dude, no matter how much you may try to get professional wrestling to open it's eyes and see how much it was supposedly "falling apart," all you have to realize...is that you're just deluding yourself. You think it's falling apart, when really, all it's doing is moving on. Everything must move on at some point. Otherwise, you end up like Gravedigger, still clinging to past glories and fluke victories. If one doesn't change...well then how the fuck is he supposed to lean anything from the world? Answer that question for me Gein...how?
FPV took another big swig out of his water bottle. His throat enjoyed the nice blast of cool-ness from the water.
FPV: You know where I'm getting at with this Gein? You remind me of someone. You remind me of the crazy homeless dude who parades every street corner he can find, holding up his lovingly-homemade plywood sign, saying "The End is Nigh" preaching about how screwed the world is, and how it's all going to come to an end. and you know what regular people like me do to that guy, Gein? I IGNORE him! I TAUNT him! I show him how much of a paranoid FOOL he is! That's your main deal Gein, you are afraid.
Sure, you put on a very well made facade of being this tough guy who hates everyone, but really, you "hate" them because...deep down inside...all you are is an antisocial fuck who doesn't know how to properly socialize with the world. A classic Walter Kovacs if there ever was one. I wonder if you even have a true friend...Johnny Slick tried to help you, and what do you do? You cripple him. And don't go saying that FGI are your friends, because all they're doing is using you as dumb muscle...which, I must say, is a pretty accurate way to describe you. Anyways, the more one looks into it, the sadder and sadder you look, Gein. You don't need that Hardcore title, what you need is a friend. Just don't come crying to me asking if I can be your friend. That ain't what I'm here for. I'm here to take that Hardcore Title.
Quite frankly Gein, I don't think you're hardcore at all. You're just a guy who got a fluke win. Let me see what kind of hardcore activities you have partaken in Gein? Let's see....pretty much all you've done is beat up a redneck, hang out with rich snobs, and angst over yourself in some house you're squatting in. Boo. Now when you like at the fucking shit I"VE done, you may actually cry a little bit. I've put myself inside the Euthanasia Chamber WILLINGLY, ON MY OWN ACCORD, just so I could get rid of Roy Speede. I've gone toe-to-toe with Greenfever, and I've even managed to co-exist with him so I could get rid of Super FPV. I FUCKING BLEW MYSELF UP, DIED, CAME BACK FROM THE DEAD, THEN BEAT THE EVER LOVING FUCK OUT OF OBLIVION!! The next time you want to parade yourself as Hardcore Champion, take some fuckin' notes.
FPV took one last drink from the bottle, then crumpled it up in his hand and tossed it into the waste bin.
FPV: Gein, I just want you to remember something, one last, tiny little detail before I obliterate you tonight. Blake said on Twitter, and I quote "This week, FGI put's FPV to rest." you do not even fucking know how much that tweet made me laugh Gein. The FGi is a poor excuse for a wrestling stable if I ever did see it. I might even go as far as to say you're trying...and failing, might I add...to leech off of the ToT in terms of being a relevent stable. We're two totally different things, and yet I can sense that you want to be us, badly. There's a big difference between us and you, Gein. All the Future Gods care about is money and fame. Money and fame won't get you much anymore, both of those things are fleeting. Now treachery...
FPV got up right into the camera, giving it an extreme close up of his face as he growled his last phrase.
FPV:TREACHERY IS FOREVER!
The scene fades to black.
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