Post by Phillip Rocca on Jul 31, 2006 11:18:03 GMT -5
OOC - its shorter than usual...but i have little to go on against a guy i barely know. It'll get better 
*************
I'm back
And better than ever
Got a knack
For making things better
Face facts
'Cause your opinion don't matter
This maniac
Is gonna step on whoever
It's time
Get in line
'Cause I'm gonna make some changes
Kickin' ass
Takin' names
Screamin', "I'm so famous!"
I'm burnin' out the dead wood
Burnin' down time
'Cause it's only my way
So get your ass in line
Afternoon…an overcast afternoon like any other. He had just gotten off the plane…he had just gotten off the WCF sponsored flight to Sunday Slam. The artist had been brought to the canvas.
Time to paint a masterpiece.
He had gotten a few pats on the back already. He had gotten his glad-handing…his sanctimonious little smirks that seemed to say “Good luck…but I don’t give a shit.”
People were the same everywhere.
Time to make them change.
But it was something he loved…and complaining was just water under the bridge. His bags were unpacked. His hotel room was booked, and promptly urinated in after the long…bathroom-less flight. Cheapest fucking airline ever.
Still, all that transpires outside of the war-zone does not matter when the guns start firing. There’s not excuse about having a bad breakfast…or a horrible day when you’re in the line of fire.
Time to go to war. No excuses.
He was in the studio now…and the cameras were on him.
Ah….A long ass time ago, it took God seven days to create the world. Just seven days. But let’s face facts boys and girls…the world is far from being a perfect place. We have war, famine, show tunes, and Barbara Streisand. That’s why it took the big man upstairs so long to finally get his crap together…and create Perfection Personified; Phillip-Motherfucking-Rocca.
But I’m afraid we’ll have to cut that course of conversation a bit short. I mean…I could talk about how, now that the WCF has signed Phillip Rocca, it will bear witness to the most accomplished mat technician ever to grace the squared circle. I can talk about how, instead of seeing all that flashy “all show, no substance” wrestling, they will get a taste of pure wrestling at its apex. I can talk about how I am the best damn pure mat wrestler in this age or any other.
But I won’t.
Introductions are a bit too cliché. Instead…I’d like to talk for a bit about a dying subject…about honor and wrestling.
Honor and wrestling…like oil and water. As with all of the old honor codes….chivalry…bushido…the honor code in wrestling is fading with the elder generation. Those who practice it get fewer and fewer in number with each passing day. No more “Ricky Steamboats”…no more “Billy Grahams.”
Some people have made cheating to win an art. And I’ve done some artful dodges in the past myself. If it came down to the wire, I’d STILL do it. But it is something to think about…With wrestling turning into what it is…I do wonder if we haven’t lost something in the translation. Something we’ll never get back.
But the past is the past I suppose. I don’t care much for honor myself. Hell, I’ll do what I fucking have to pick up the “W” on my resume at the end of the night. I’m sure my opponent Drake Kencedro feels the same way.
Yes…”THE” Drake Kencedro…the man who ran down to the ring and screwed JJ Biggs out of the Television title…the man who’s been getting all the hype in the world for that little move. It…was dishonorable…yes indeed. A dirty move. But he did what he felt he had to do in order to gain some recognition. No faulting that. And he’s gotten a mountain of credit for it.
Ooh…one small problem…
IT WASN’T HIS FUCKING WIN! Wake up people! Drake Kencedro didn’t do a damn thing out there! He ran down and attacked a man who had his back turned! He’s just another generic human being of a wrestler…who has “Drake” for a first name…that happened to be hired out by a title holder! Saying he has momentum is like saying Tyson Tomko had personality!
Do you know how many “Drake Kencedro’s” are in the damn wrestling world? I could buy and sell eight thousand of them at the dollar store, and still be back to the WCF arena on time to whip the ass of the Drake Kencedro that WE purchased. He isn’t breaking the damn mold! He IS the mold…the slimy primordial mold from which every uninspired boring wrestler oozes out of.
I’ve had to fight many a “Drake Kencedro” throughout my career. The unoriginal little twenty-something year-old bodyguards who talk all about how they are the future of the business…who come out and run their mouths about being the next big thing…who say that they “seek opportunities and seize them.” Well believe me kid…having the chance to fight “Perfection Personified” Phillip Rocca is the first and last opportunity you’ll be getting around here.
After you go toe to toe with The Man in Shades…after you try and rumble with a man who is no stranger to a world class strap…after I make you tap out in the center of that ring…people will finally see just how bland and tasteless your oatmeal ass is. They’ll do what they always do when I sign to a promotion…stop focusing on the losers…and start respecting the Perfection!
But here’s a free piece of advice from a multi-time world champion, Drake Generico…Go home…take a pen and paper…scribble down a few new ideas for a cutsey little gimmick that people will love…date around a bit…improve your social skills…and then try coming back to where the big boys play. Then…maybe…JUST MAYBE…I’ll give a damn .You’re like that Slayer album that everyone has lost behind their bookshelf somewhere. The first time people listen to you, it’s kind of cool. After that, it just gets boring and hurts your ears.
There are people who dare question whether I “have what it takes” to get it done, because Drake showed “no mercy” at Aftermath. But all they’re doing is choosing the devil they know…over the devil they don’t. Drake, I’ve shown less mercy on contenders, champions, and wannabes than your father showed on your asshole.
Those boys down at WCF writing the card? They got it all wrong. It isn’t going to be me, who’s going to have to pull out something special in order to beat, big bad “Drake Generic.” It’s going to be you who’s going to need a miracle to get past the championship toting, legend-smoking, Mr. Bulletproof! It’s going to be YOU whose career is either going to be made or broken based on whether you wrestle shitty…or less shitty.
It’s going to be YOU…who’ll have his name in lights if he beats ME. And unfortunately for you…perfection is above upsets.
The truth about honor in wrestling is this: its dying because it is a weakness…a liability. To have honor in wrestling is to walk down to that ring and say “There are some things I just will not do to get the job done.” When an honorable wrestler comes up against a dishonorable one…chances are he’ll most often lose because while he holds back, his opponent is willing to do whatever it takes…pay any price…sacrifice anything to walk out of the arena on a winning note.
The most dangerous enemy is a suicide bomber…one willing to do anything and everything to win.
I am willing.
If you want a fight with honor…then I’ll be happy to put you through a mat-wrestling clinic….I’ll be happy to test your limits in that ring…I’ll be happy to make the pain shoot up your nerve endings…sending signals into your brain that its time to give the fuck up. Mano e mano does not frighten me in the least bit.
But if you want a fight without honor… then by god…there’ll be NO DAMN HONOR!!…and unlike JJ Biggs, my back won’t be turned. I’ll be looking straight at you from across that ring...and I won’t be flinching. Bring Shaun Sexton! Bring Shaun White! Bring Sean Penn! I’ll make all of those motherfuckers and their grandmothers tap!
I am willing to fight any way, at any cost…by any means necessary. Are you?
All you are is a damn crutch for a champion with a broken leg. And we all know how useless a crutch is when it has no leg to support. At Sunday Slam…I’m going to break the crutch in half…and laugh as that cripple of a Television champion Shaun Sexton hobbles along.
The era of perfection is upon the WCF….and you’ll be food for the fire.
They say that war gets easier with experience…with more and more time spent on the battlefield. They were right.
Each studio…each upstart opponent…each war….they all feel the same. But it doesn’t make him less happy doing it.
Time to do it again.
Lace up the boots, slip into the tights, adjust your jockstrap, and tighten the bandages on your knuckles. There are rookies whose faces are begging to be kicked in.
Time to shine.
Time for an entrance.
They all talk
They say that I've lost it
But chop me down
And I swear it's gonna cost ya'
Now I'm back
The boss of you morons
To never count me out is one thing you can count on
It's time
Get in line
'Cause I'm gonna make some changes
Kickin' ass
Takin' names
Screamin', "I'm so famous!"
I'm burnin' out the dead wood
Burnin' down time
'Cause it's only my way
So get your ass in line
*************
I'm back
And better than ever
Got a knack
For making things better
Face facts
'Cause your opinion don't matter
This maniac
Is gonna step on whoever
It's time
Get in line
'Cause I'm gonna make some changes
Kickin' ass
Takin' names
Screamin', "I'm so famous!"
I'm burnin' out the dead wood
Burnin' down time
'Cause it's only my way
So get your ass in line
Afternoon…an overcast afternoon like any other. He had just gotten off the plane…he had just gotten off the WCF sponsored flight to Sunday Slam. The artist had been brought to the canvas.
Time to paint a masterpiece.
He had gotten a few pats on the back already. He had gotten his glad-handing…his sanctimonious little smirks that seemed to say “Good luck…but I don’t give a shit.”
People were the same everywhere.
Time to make them change.
But it was something he loved…and complaining was just water under the bridge. His bags were unpacked. His hotel room was booked, and promptly urinated in after the long…bathroom-less flight. Cheapest fucking airline ever.
Still, all that transpires outside of the war-zone does not matter when the guns start firing. There’s not excuse about having a bad breakfast…or a horrible day when you’re in the line of fire.
Time to go to war. No excuses.
He was in the studio now…and the cameras were on him.
Ah….A long ass time ago, it took God seven days to create the world. Just seven days. But let’s face facts boys and girls…the world is far from being a perfect place. We have war, famine, show tunes, and Barbara Streisand. That’s why it took the big man upstairs so long to finally get his crap together…and create Perfection Personified; Phillip-Motherfucking-Rocca.
But I’m afraid we’ll have to cut that course of conversation a bit short. I mean…I could talk about how, now that the WCF has signed Phillip Rocca, it will bear witness to the most accomplished mat technician ever to grace the squared circle. I can talk about how, instead of seeing all that flashy “all show, no substance” wrestling, they will get a taste of pure wrestling at its apex. I can talk about how I am the best damn pure mat wrestler in this age or any other.
But I won’t.
Introductions are a bit too cliché. Instead…I’d like to talk for a bit about a dying subject…about honor and wrestling.
Honor and wrestling…like oil and water. As with all of the old honor codes….chivalry…bushido…the honor code in wrestling is fading with the elder generation. Those who practice it get fewer and fewer in number with each passing day. No more “Ricky Steamboats”…no more “Billy Grahams.”
Some people have made cheating to win an art. And I’ve done some artful dodges in the past myself. If it came down to the wire, I’d STILL do it. But it is something to think about…With wrestling turning into what it is…I do wonder if we haven’t lost something in the translation. Something we’ll never get back.
But the past is the past I suppose. I don’t care much for honor myself. Hell, I’ll do what I fucking have to pick up the “W” on my resume at the end of the night. I’m sure my opponent Drake Kencedro feels the same way.
Yes…”THE” Drake Kencedro…the man who ran down to the ring and screwed JJ Biggs out of the Television title…the man who’s been getting all the hype in the world for that little move. It…was dishonorable…yes indeed. A dirty move. But he did what he felt he had to do in order to gain some recognition. No faulting that. And he’s gotten a mountain of credit for it.
Ooh…one small problem…
IT WASN’T HIS FUCKING WIN! Wake up people! Drake Kencedro didn’t do a damn thing out there! He ran down and attacked a man who had his back turned! He’s just another generic human being of a wrestler…who has “Drake” for a first name…that happened to be hired out by a title holder! Saying he has momentum is like saying Tyson Tomko had personality!
Do you know how many “Drake Kencedro’s” are in the damn wrestling world? I could buy and sell eight thousand of them at the dollar store, and still be back to the WCF arena on time to whip the ass of the Drake Kencedro that WE purchased. He isn’t breaking the damn mold! He IS the mold…the slimy primordial mold from which every uninspired boring wrestler oozes out of.
I’ve had to fight many a “Drake Kencedro” throughout my career. The unoriginal little twenty-something year-old bodyguards who talk all about how they are the future of the business…who come out and run their mouths about being the next big thing…who say that they “seek opportunities and seize them.” Well believe me kid…having the chance to fight “Perfection Personified” Phillip Rocca is the first and last opportunity you’ll be getting around here.
After you go toe to toe with The Man in Shades…after you try and rumble with a man who is no stranger to a world class strap…after I make you tap out in the center of that ring…people will finally see just how bland and tasteless your oatmeal ass is. They’ll do what they always do when I sign to a promotion…stop focusing on the losers…and start respecting the Perfection!
But here’s a free piece of advice from a multi-time world champion, Drake Generico…Go home…take a pen and paper…scribble down a few new ideas for a cutsey little gimmick that people will love…date around a bit…improve your social skills…and then try coming back to where the big boys play. Then…maybe…JUST MAYBE…I’ll give a damn .You’re like that Slayer album that everyone has lost behind their bookshelf somewhere. The first time people listen to you, it’s kind of cool. After that, it just gets boring and hurts your ears.
There are people who dare question whether I “have what it takes” to get it done, because Drake showed “no mercy” at Aftermath. But all they’re doing is choosing the devil they know…over the devil they don’t. Drake, I’ve shown less mercy on contenders, champions, and wannabes than your father showed on your asshole.
Those boys down at WCF writing the card? They got it all wrong. It isn’t going to be me, who’s going to have to pull out something special in order to beat, big bad “Drake Generic.” It’s going to be you who’s going to need a miracle to get past the championship toting, legend-smoking, Mr. Bulletproof! It’s going to be YOU whose career is either going to be made or broken based on whether you wrestle shitty…or less shitty.
It’s going to be YOU…who’ll have his name in lights if he beats ME. And unfortunately for you…perfection is above upsets.
The truth about honor in wrestling is this: its dying because it is a weakness…a liability. To have honor in wrestling is to walk down to that ring and say “There are some things I just will not do to get the job done.” When an honorable wrestler comes up against a dishonorable one…chances are he’ll most often lose because while he holds back, his opponent is willing to do whatever it takes…pay any price…sacrifice anything to walk out of the arena on a winning note.
The most dangerous enemy is a suicide bomber…one willing to do anything and everything to win.
I am willing.
If you want a fight with honor…then I’ll be happy to put you through a mat-wrestling clinic….I’ll be happy to test your limits in that ring…I’ll be happy to make the pain shoot up your nerve endings…sending signals into your brain that its time to give the fuck up. Mano e mano does not frighten me in the least bit.
But if you want a fight without honor… then by god…there’ll be NO DAMN HONOR!!…and unlike JJ Biggs, my back won’t be turned. I’ll be looking straight at you from across that ring...and I won’t be flinching. Bring Shaun Sexton! Bring Shaun White! Bring Sean Penn! I’ll make all of those motherfuckers and their grandmothers tap!
I am willing to fight any way, at any cost…by any means necessary. Are you?
All you are is a damn crutch for a champion with a broken leg. And we all know how useless a crutch is when it has no leg to support. At Sunday Slam…I’m going to break the crutch in half…and laugh as that cripple of a Television champion Shaun Sexton hobbles along.
The era of perfection is upon the WCF….and you’ll be food for the fire.
They say that war gets easier with experience…with more and more time spent on the battlefield. They were right.
Each studio…each upstart opponent…each war….they all feel the same. But it doesn’t make him less happy doing it.
Time to do it again.
Lace up the boots, slip into the tights, adjust your jockstrap, and tighten the bandages on your knuckles. There are rookies whose faces are begging to be kicked in.
Time to shine.
Time for an entrance.
They all talk
They say that I've lost it
But chop me down
And I swear it's gonna cost ya'
Now I'm back
The boss of you morons
To never count me out is one thing you can count on
It's time
Get in line
'Cause I'm gonna make some changes
Kickin' ass
Takin' names
Screamin', "I'm so famous!"
I'm burnin' out the dead wood
Burnin' down time
'Cause it's only my way
So get your ass in line
