Post by Deleted on May 2, 2011 16:34:04 GMT -5
(A tape recorder is clicked on.)
"Pfft... pfft... pfft! Sorry, I had a hair on my tongue. Hello, WCF Universe. In case the slight hint of New England accent doesn't give it away for you, the voice that you are hearing belongs to none other than "The Young Lion" Phillip Baines! I'm sure that many of you have grown accustomed to the rather elaborate and ambitious wrestling promos that I have staged since my arrival here in WCF. I'm here to tell you that those days are, mostly, gone. You see I've discovered one noble truth: Promos do not impact the outcome of professional wrestling matches, they simply build interest in said matches. Me? I've got the pipes to sell my matches with words alone. When Phillip Baines speaks you listen, and you know that you're being spoken to. You know it like a fish knows how to swim and a dog knows how to hump a leg. The oratory onslaught of Phillip Baines gets all up in your system, infecting your brain, tweaking the very essence of your soul. You want it. You need it. You just gotta have it.
"I don't need to stage elaborate film sequences to prove a point in my promos. I'm not Martin Scorsese. I'm not Quentin Tarantino. Nor am I David Fincher. I am the WCF Hardcore Champion. I am the winner of the 2011 WCF Classic. Baines saves his actions for the ring, where they belong, and when I do it I do it better than anyone else does it. That's right, in case you missed it or in case you need your memory to be refreshed, I won the 2011 WCF Classic last Monday night at Explosion in México City, México by defeating Mr. FPV. I have to give credit to FPV. He was a game opponent and a worthy adversary. He beat me and he bruised me, but as you all know he did not break me. I cannot be broken. I'm not a colt, I'm a "Young Lion". When you poke me and prod me with your stick, I rear back and I lash out with my vicious fangs and claws. That's what I did to Frank Patrick Venable. I took everything that he had, absorbed every amount of punishment that he could inflict upon me, and I dished it right back at him tenfold.
"FPV was not an easy man to finish, an easy man to kill, but obviously I got the job done. FPV fell to my awesome Halcyon Daze, the most devastating move in professional wrestling history, just as all of my previous opponents had fallen to it. When the referee made the three-count and that bell rang, I felt pure jubilation. I couldn't help but drop to my knees. The emotions of the moment were overwhelming for me. I just... I couldn't quite believe that I had achieved one of the greatest feats in professional wrestling history. I couldn't quite believe that I had joined Creeping Death and Torture as the only men to ever have our names etched in the record books as winners of the WCF Classic!"
(Phil takes a deep breath in and then loudly exhales a moment later, obviously neglecting to remove the recorder from proximity of his mouth.)
"It's so typical of this business and this world, isn't it? In order to achieve your dreams you have to destroy another man's dreams. Like I said in my sit-down interview with Hank Brown before Explosion, I don't hate Frank Venable. I don't hate any of the men that I've wrestled in my career. I look at them simply as obstacles on my path to the top. My opponents threaten my safety and my prosperity each time I step into the ring, that is why I must shatter their craniums with my unrelenting fury. That is why I must crack my tyrant's whip, to break their backs and their spirits. Frank Venable is a decent man and an honorable competitor, but he was guilty of aspiring to a level of greatness that he is not equipped to achieve. See, I am destined for great things, not because of any universal power known as destiny, but because of the power and the magic that I contain inside of my massive six-foot five-inch two-hundred and thirty-two pound frame. When has the wrestling public ever witnessed a man of my stature fly around the ring the way that I fly? When has the wrestling public ever witnessed a big man with the speed and agility that I possess? When has the wrestling public ever witnessed an ornery yet wholly composed giant who possesses my level of grappling skill?
"If you were a scientist with expertise in cloning and human genetics you would be hard-pressed to create a specimen that could compare to the man known as Phillip Baines. The worst part for my opponents? I'm not just a pretty face with unparalleled talent, I have the brains and the maturity to harness my gifts and achieve my full potential. The results scream for themselves. Look how far I have come in a mere one month in WCF. It is almost unfathomable that just thirty days ago I was a total unknown who most wrestling pundits had marked for death against Omega Greenfever in the opening round of the WCF Classic. I have stood up on my own two feet and achieved my wildest dreams, but I have not done it alone. Thank you to Bolts Quackenbush, thank you to Bobby Cairo, thank you to Biohazard and thank you to my wonderful girlfriend Gina. Without the four of you none of this would be possible. You are the wind beneath my wings. You are my guiding light in a world of impenetrable darkness. You are the coup to my de grâce. I would have sex with each and every one of you if I could, but because I am a heterosexual male and I believe in monogamy, I will only have sex with Gina. Here's to good friends, and here's to love."
(A slight slurping sound can be heard.)
"Ahh... that's good rum. It's funny how life works. Yes it can be cruel, but it can also be sweeter than wine. Six months ago I was working at a grocery store in Connecticut. It was a dead-end job with no opportunity for advancement. In short, it sucked shit. I was struggling to make ends meet, struggling to pay the rent on my shitty, stinky, sweaty, little apartment every month. I could barely afford to buy a plate of pork fried rice for dinner at the Big Tang Chinese Restaurant. Sometimes I would come up thirteen cents or so short and Mr. Tang would let me slide, and he would even toss in a complimentary egg roll. That's a good person right there, an upstanding human being. Back to me: I was broke, I was alone and I was miserable. Now? Now I'm preparing to sign a deed on a townhouse, my first real home, and what's more: I'll be moving in with the woman of my dreams. Gina and I spend so much time together on the road that it feels like we're already living together, but now we'll have a permanent residence that we can call our own. No more being alone and broke as a joke for me. I'm living and I'm loving. I'm rolling in pork fried rice and I've got egg rolls up the ying yang."
(The opening strains of "I Made It" by Kevin Rudolf kick in and your head immediately begins to nod to the beat.)
"All bets are off now, motherfuckers. You chose the wrong wigga to give money to. Now that I've come this far does anybody in their right mind honestly believe for one moment that Phillip Baines is going to sit back like a docile, little, kitty cat licking his paws and genitalia while the rest of the WCF roster throws down Battle Royale style on Slam? That's a precarious bet that you're placing on your shoulders if you believe that. Bin Laden might be dead, but my libido is alive and well. But Baines, you're thinking, you're not even booked for Slam tonight! But that, my friend, is the point. I'm not booked on Slam, but I don't have to be in order to wreak havoc. You see, my victory in the finals of the WCF Classic guarantees that I will be WCF World Champion, and I don't need an invitation to make it happen. That title is coming to me whenever I want it, just like my girlfriend. All I need is a WCF referee and a WCF ring to make it official. The title change that is, not sex with my girlfriend. I would have cashed in my title shot at Explosion, but the medical staff diagnosed me with a bruised sternum after my match against FPV and they wouldn't let me go back out there. Goddamn Mexican quacks.
"Will I cash in my title shot tonight on Slam? Hmmm... I must admit that I'm feeling antsy. I've had a busy week between all of the media interviews and promotional appearances in the wake of my Classic victory. I appeared on The View, Good Morning America and The Colbert Report. I even stopped by the Royal Wedding to give my blessing to Will and Kate. All I can say is that I'm fixing for some action. All of that promotional stuff was fun, but it ate into my training time with Bolts, and I'm a man who likes to work. I like to keep it real. I like to revisit my roots every day in training... every goddamn day. Jay Williams? Congratulations on your World Title victory over Johnny Reb, but you better watch your back, mofo. That's all I'm gonna say to you. Watch your back, Williams... just watch your goddamn back. You will be World Champion for only so long as I allow it. When I make my move... YOU'RE DONE.
"Speaking of people who need to watch their back... I guess this motherfucker Greenfever has a deathwish, literally. For those who are unaware, at XIII it's kill or be killed. I, Phillip Baines, will be defending my Hardcore Championship against Omega Greenfever in the first-ever Flatliner match. The only way to win this match is to make your opponent's heart stop beating. Wow... just wow. What sort of diabolical mind could come up with such a stipulation? Oh yeah, it was Greenfever. He threw out the challenge to me, probably hoping that I would be too scared to accept, and guess what? I accepted in a heartbeat. Ironic, ain't it? I have a few words for Greenfever, just in case he's listening to this. Greenie, you have made a mistake that is going to cost you not just your career, but your life on May 13th. You're a dead man walking and you don't even realize it. Do you remember the last time that we wrestled, when I gave you the Halcyon Daze through a flaming table and pinned you to capture the very WCF Hardcore Championship that you're now challenging me for? This time around I'm going to cut out the middleman. I'm not going to set a table on fire, I'm going to set you on fire. You're not going to be green anymore, Greenfever. You're going to be charred black. Cajun chefs in New Orleans are going to serve your body as an entrée.
"Enough about that clown Greenfever. His day of reckoning will come soon enough. There's something else that's been bugging me lately: Why does no one know how to spell my first name? It's Phillip with two L's, not one. I've addressed this before in a previous promo, but I guess nobody paid attention. Either that or they willfully ignored my message. Now that doesn't just bug me, that makes me mad. Baines is pissed now! Grrr..."
(The tape recorder is clicked off.)
(The tape recorder is clicked on.)
"I think I may have a drinking problem. I don't mean that I have a problem drinking-- I CAN drink. I drink too much. That's the problem... if there is in fact a problem. Last Monday before Explosion, I told Hank Brown that I don't drink on the day of a match. That was a lie. I'd drank two forties of Steel Reserve with my eggwhite omelet that morning. After Hank left I mixed a bottle of José Cuervo with a pitcher of iced tea and drank that whole sucker down while I was finishing up my smoked salmon. I would never admit to any of this in front of the camera, but for some reason talking into a tape recorder makes it easier. It's like I'm confiding to a priest, although I'm not Catholic so... that doesn't really make sense. Maybe I'm drunk right now? Maybe that's why I'm spilling the beans? Yeah, that's it. Lady Bligh has worked her magic on me once again, the only woman that I've ever cheated on Gina with... and the only one who I ever will.
"That's right. I drink Lady Bligh. She tastes the same as Captain Morgan and she's like thirty-percent cheaper. Sure I've got money to burn now, but I'm a man who appreciates a good deal. Always have been, always will. I appreciate the value of a buck. That's what comes from growing up in a working class household. Plus I'm straight so I'll take a Lady over a Captain any day of the week."
(Phil laughs uproariously.)
"I'm a funny man. Not ha-ha funny necessarily, but funny in the sense that I'm real. I'm real... I'm real interested in visiting the World Arena in Colorado Springs, Colorado tonight."
(The tape recorder is abruptly... clicked off.)
"Pfft... pfft... pfft! Sorry, I had a hair on my tongue. Hello, WCF Universe. In case the slight hint of New England accent doesn't give it away for you, the voice that you are hearing belongs to none other than "The Young Lion" Phillip Baines! I'm sure that many of you have grown accustomed to the rather elaborate and ambitious wrestling promos that I have staged since my arrival here in WCF. I'm here to tell you that those days are, mostly, gone. You see I've discovered one noble truth: Promos do not impact the outcome of professional wrestling matches, they simply build interest in said matches. Me? I've got the pipes to sell my matches with words alone. When Phillip Baines speaks you listen, and you know that you're being spoken to. You know it like a fish knows how to swim and a dog knows how to hump a leg. The oratory onslaught of Phillip Baines gets all up in your system, infecting your brain, tweaking the very essence of your soul. You want it. You need it. You just gotta have it.
"I don't need to stage elaborate film sequences to prove a point in my promos. I'm not Martin Scorsese. I'm not Quentin Tarantino. Nor am I David Fincher. I am the WCF Hardcore Champion. I am the winner of the 2011 WCF Classic. Baines saves his actions for the ring, where they belong, and when I do it I do it better than anyone else does it. That's right, in case you missed it or in case you need your memory to be refreshed, I won the 2011 WCF Classic last Monday night at Explosion in México City, México by defeating Mr. FPV. I have to give credit to FPV. He was a game opponent and a worthy adversary. He beat me and he bruised me, but as you all know he did not break me. I cannot be broken. I'm not a colt, I'm a "Young Lion". When you poke me and prod me with your stick, I rear back and I lash out with my vicious fangs and claws. That's what I did to Frank Patrick Venable. I took everything that he had, absorbed every amount of punishment that he could inflict upon me, and I dished it right back at him tenfold.
"FPV was not an easy man to finish, an easy man to kill, but obviously I got the job done. FPV fell to my awesome Halcyon Daze, the most devastating move in professional wrestling history, just as all of my previous opponents had fallen to it. When the referee made the three-count and that bell rang, I felt pure jubilation. I couldn't help but drop to my knees. The emotions of the moment were overwhelming for me. I just... I couldn't quite believe that I had achieved one of the greatest feats in professional wrestling history. I couldn't quite believe that I had joined Creeping Death and Torture as the only men to ever have our names etched in the record books as winners of the WCF Classic!"
(Phil takes a deep breath in and then loudly exhales a moment later, obviously neglecting to remove the recorder from proximity of his mouth.)
"It's so typical of this business and this world, isn't it? In order to achieve your dreams you have to destroy another man's dreams. Like I said in my sit-down interview with Hank Brown before Explosion, I don't hate Frank Venable. I don't hate any of the men that I've wrestled in my career. I look at them simply as obstacles on my path to the top. My opponents threaten my safety and my prosperity each time I step into the ring, that is why I must shatter their craniums with my unrelenting fury. That is why I must crack my tyrant's whip, to break their backs and their spirits. Frank Venable is a decent man and an honorable competitor, but he was guilty of aspiring to a level of greatness that he is not equipped to achieve. See, I am destined for great things, not because of any universal power known as destiny, but because of the power and the magic that I contain inside of my massive six-foot five-inch two-hundred and thirty-two pound frame. When has the wrestling public ever witnessed a man of my stature fly around the ring the way that I fly? When has the wrestling public ever witnessed a big man with the speed and agility that I possess? When has the wrestling public ever witnessed an ornery yet wholly composed giant who possesses my level of grappling skill?
"If you were a scientist with expertise in cloning and human genetics you would be hard-pressed to create a specimen that could compare to the man known as Phillip Baines. The worst part for my opponents? I'm not just a pretty face with unparalleled talent, I have the brains and the maturity to harness my gifts and achieve my full potential. The results scream for themselves. Look how far I have come in a mere one month in WCF. It is almost unfathomable that just thirty days ago I was a total unknown who most wrestling pundits had marked for death against Omega Greenfever in the opening round of the WCF Classic. I have stood up on my own two feet and achieved my wildest dreams, but I have not done it alone. Thank you to Bolts Quackenbush, thank you to Bobby Cairo, thank you to Biohazard and thank you to my wonderful girlfriend Gina. Without the four of you none of this would be possible. You are the wind beneath my wings. You are my guiding light in a world of impenetrable darkness. You are the coup to my de grâce. I would have sex with each and every one of you if I could, but because I am a heterosexual male and I believe in monogamy, I will only have sex with Gina. Here's to good friends, and here's to love."
(A slight slurping sound can be heard.)
"Ahh... that's good rum. It's funny how life works. Yes it can be cruel, but it can also be sweeter than wine. Six months ago I was working at a grocery store in Connecticut. It was a dead-end job with no opportunity for advancement. In short, it sucked shit. I was struggling to make ends meet, struggling to pay the rent on my shitty, stinky, sweaty, little apartment every month. I could barely afford to buy a plate of pork fried rice for dinner at the Big Tang Chinese Restaurant. Sometimes I would come up thirteen cents or so short and Mr. Tang would let me slide, and he would even toss in a complimentary egg roll. That's a good person right there, an upstanding human being. Back to me: I was broke, I was alone and I was miserable. Now? Now I'm preparing to sign a deed on a townhouse, my first real home, and what's more: I'll be moving in with the woman of my dreams. Gina and I spend so much time together on the road that it feels like we're already living together, but now we'll have a permanent residence that we can call our own. No more being alone and broke as a joke for me. I'm living and I'm loving. I'm rolling in pork fried rice and I've got egg rolls up the ying yang."
(The opening strains of "I Made It" by Kevin Rudolf kick in and your head immediately begins to nod to the beat.)
"All bets are off now, motherfuckers. You chose the wrong wigga to give money to. Now that I've come this far does anybody in their right mind honestly believe for one moment that Phillip Baines is going to sit back like a docile, little, kitty cat licking his paws and genitalia while the rest of the WCF roster throws down Battle Royale style on Slam? That's a precarious bet that you're placing on your shoulders if you believe that. Bin Laden might be dead, but my libido is alive and well. But Baines, you're thinking, you're not even booked for Slam tonight! But that, my friend, is the point. I'm not booked on Slam, but I don't have to be in order to wreak havoc. You see, my victory in the finals of the WCF Classic guarantees that I will be WCF World Champion, and I don't need an invitation to make it happen. That title is coming to me whenever I want it, just like my girlfriend. All I need is a WCF referee and a WCF ring to make it official. The title change that is, not sex with my girlfriend. I would have cashed in my title shot at Explosion, but the medical staff diagnosed me with a bruised sternum after my match against FPV and they wouldn't let me go back out there. Goddamn Mexican quacks.
"Will I cash in my title shot tonight on Slam? Hmmm... I must admit that I'm feeling antsy. I've had a busy week between all of the media interviews and promotional appearances in the wake of my Classic victory. I appeared on The View, Good Morning America and The Colbert Report. I even stopped by the Royal Wedding to give my blessing to Will and Kate. All I can say is that I'm fixing for some action. All of that promotional stuff was fun, but it ate into my training time with Bolts, and I'm a man who likes to work. I like to keep it real. I like to revisit my roots every day in training... every goddamn day. Jay Williams? Congratulations on your World Title victory over Johnny Reb, but you better watch your back, mofo. That's all I'm gonna say to you. Watch your back, Williams... just watch your goddamn back. You will be World Champion for only so long as I allow it. When I make my move... YOU'RE DONE.
"Speaking of people who need to watch their back... I guess this motherfucker Greenfever has a deathwish, literally. For those who are unaware, at XIII it's kill or be killed. I, Phillip Baines, will be defending my Hardcore Championship against Omega Greenfever in the first-ever Flatliner match. The only way to win this match is to make your opponent's heart stop beating. Wow... just wow. What sort of diabolical mind could come up with such a stipulation? Oh yeah, it was Greenfever. He threw out the challenge to me, probably hoping that I would be too scared to accept, and guess what? I accepted in a heartbeat. Ironic, ain't it? I have a few words for Greenfever, just in case he's listening to this. Greenie, you have made a mistake that is going to cost you not just your career, but your life on May 13th. You're a dead man walking and you don't even realize it. Do you remember the last time that we wrestled, when I gave you the Halcyon Daze through a flaming table and pinned you to capture the very WCF Hardcore Championship that you're now challenging me for? This time around I'm going to cut out the middleman. I'm not going to set a table on fire, I'm going to set you on fire. You're not going to be green anymore, Greenfever. You're going to be charred black. Cajun chefs in New Orleans are going to serve your body as an entrée.
"Enough about that clown Greenfever. His day of reckoning will come soon enough. There's something else that's been bugging me lately: Why does no one know how to spell my first name? It's Phillip with two L's, not one. I've addressed this before in a previous promo, but I guess nobody paid attention. Either that or they willfully ignored my message. Now that doesn't just bug me, that makes me mad. Baines is pissed now! Grrr..."
(The tape recorder is clicked off.)
(The tape recorder is clicked on.)
"I think I may have a drinking problem. I don't mean that I have a problem drinking-- I CAN drink. I drink too much. That's the problem... if there is in fact a problem. Last Monday before Explosion, I told Hank Brown that I don't drink on the day of a match. That was a lie. I'd drank two forties of Steel Reserve with my eggwhite omelet that morning. After Hank left I mixed a bottle of José Cuervo with a pitcher of iced tea and drank that whole sucker down while I was finishing up my smoked salmon. I would never admit to any of this in front of the camera, but for some reason talking into a tape recorder makes it easier. It's like I'm confiding to a priest, although I'm not Catholic so... that doesn't really make sense. Maybe I'm drunk right now? Maybe that's why I'm spilling the beans? Yeah, that's it. Lady Bligh has worked her magic on me once again, the only woman that I've ever cheated on Gina with... and the only one who I ever will.
"That's right. I drink Lady Bligh. She tastes the same as Captain Morgan and she's like thirty-percent cheaper. Sure I've got money to burn now, but I'm a man who appreciates a good deal. Always have been, always will. I appreciate the value of a buck. That's what comes from growing up in a working class household. Plus I'm straight so I'll take a Lady over a Captain any day of the week."
(Phil laughs uproariously.)
"I'm a funny man. Not ha-ha funny necessarily, but funny in the sense that I'm real. I'm real... I'm real interested in visiting the World Arena in Colorado Springs, Colorado tonight."
(The tape recorder is abruptly... clicked off.)
