Post by Speede on Aug 15, 2011 5:33:33 GMT -5
An excerpt from the cluttered mind of Roy Speede...
Really now?
Really?
They booked me against Russell Morris and his little butt buddy? Who do they think they are? I’m not some jobber for second rate tag teams, and the belt I wear around my waist proves it. And I love how they’re hyping the match I’ve got with Kaylyn at the Revenge Pay-Per-View; they’ve set this up by showcasing my talents... in a tag match.
There’s something wrong here. Not only am I far better than a stupid tag match against a pair of jobbers at opening match level, I’m better than my own partner by miles and miles. And whether I like it or not, I’m still going to be teaming with this guy for a while, until it comes time for me to toss the tag belts aside and look for something different, something where I’m not dragging a madman by his ankle along for the ride. He said it himself, he’s part of the reason why the WCF is a shithole, and if you ask me, his lack of effort ever since he got that gold around his waist is why he’s the biggest part of it. Hell, even Kaylyn James Evans has done more to try and keep this company going than Franky has lately, and it’s just a complete disgrace that I’m tagging with this son of a bitch still. He’s worried about me losing the tag team titles? Well screw that, I don’t want him fucking this team over. I’ve got better things to do that to put all... what, two hundred fifty pounds of his chunky mass worth of weight on my shoulders to lug this team through hell and back; what’s it gotten me? Nothing. As far as I’m concerned, Franky should consider himself lucky I haven’t tossed that belt aside and watched him fail to defend those straps against the likes of someone much more deserving than he is. I can, and he knows in the back of his mind I ain’t afraid to do so, so he should shut his mouth before I do it for him. And he’s on thin ice with me after calling my girlfriend a whore; he’d better watch it before I break him like a toothpick and throw those tag titles in the dumpster for something more deserving of my time.
Now to focus on more important people...
Johnny Reb and Jay Williams are back in action? Well how about that! The three most recent former World Champs are all gonna gang up and take down the current World Champ and his buddies. That’s adorable, like seeing two kittens scratching and clawing at a hound dog after seeing their kitten brother get his tail stepped on or his ear bitten. You know what? I could do better than them. I could shut Odin up single-handedly. Williams and Reb need to grow some balls and go their own separate ways. And judging by how well that worked for Reb last time he broke away from his tag partner, I’d say he should do it again. I mean, Donald Deruty’s already in a hell of a downward spiral, all that leaves is Williams to turn into the next die-hard jobber like Doc Henry. Or maybe Jay Williams will be the one to be successful from the group, and Reb and Doc can go reignite the Redneck Society, buy ‘em some tobacco and beer and set up a Nascar race outside the WCF arenas so the fans have something entertaining to watch until Aubrey’s or my matches start. Then again, maybe, just maybe, Deruty’s time to shine isn’t over yet and he’ll become two-time World Champ and finally put ol’ Ragnarok in his place. Wouldn’t that just be a sight?
Speaking of good ol’ Ragnarok, I wonder how the prehistoric member of the WCF roster is doing now that he’s aligned himself with a winner and a stunt-man reject. Ancient or not, I’ll give the guy props, he defended his title successfully against Donald Deruty, and that isn’t something that’s easy to do I’m sure. I notice he hasn’t been using that cane I got him, or maybe he’s just so far before my time I’ll have to stop by and teach him how to use it myself and hope he doesn’t try to beat me with his club or sick his saber-tooth tiger on me. Or maybe, just maybe, he’ll wise up and actually try to send an animal from this century to attack me, like that pathetic mutt Ryan Blake has following him around everywhere.
And of course, Ryan Blake’s mutt only leads to more and more I could be saying about that pathetic excuse for a Television Champion. It still leaves me in awe how a complete douchebag like Ryan Blake could’ve defeated Kaylyn James Evans for that title belt, but it gives me an idea. Maybe I should find me a greasy old homeless man in a dog suit, go talk to a doctor and a mentally ill psychopath at the same time and strut around like a faggot using a term popularized by fourth graders to describe anything and everything. Now that would be Epic!
See I got the hang of it already!
Now to find a doctor and a psychopath to talk to and I’ll be... Oh yeah, I almost forgot, Doc Henry and Oblivion! They fit that description perfectly! Doc ain’t a real doctor, and Oblivion’s too psychotic for any psychiatrist to help him anyway. What this means, of course, is that their team is a lost cause, a hopeless failure, a miserable defeat, and everything in between. While I may not hold a victory over Oblivion, I think two and zero against Doc Henry’s good enough for a twenty match career, and I bet that number could reach ten and zero before he’s ready to hang up the boots unless he’s a lot smarter than he looks.
Doubtful.
And again I have to stress that Oblivion’s mind is far too gone for even the greatest of experts to bring him back. Hell, send him to the psychiatrist that’s helping Adrian Monk from the TV show Monk, that’s about as real as the state of mind Oblivion is in. While we’re at it, send him to wrestling school and get him some actual talent! And see about getting a two-for-one special if we put a mask over Doc Henry’s face; he needs some help with wrestling too. And with grammar. And with pronunciation. And with social skills. And with knowledge about Nascar. And with hunting. Yeah, he’s so dumb, he can’t even be a good redneck by successfully going hunting one Saturday and returning home to watch the Nascar race with a beer; the closest he could get is fingerfucking Mary with a Bud Light in his hands and his feet up on the coffee table while he sits there in his La-Z-Boy chair. Simply pathetic.
Almost as pathetic, mind you, as my opponents this week, Russell Morris and Michael Chevalier. These two have been in the company for less than two months between them and are already getting to face the tag team champions, even in a non-title match? Who was the genius who booked this match, Sloth from the Goonies? HAYY YOU GUYS ME MAKE MATCH NOW! That definitely sounds like how much actual thought was put into scheduling this match. Let alone the fact that the two of them seem to be a desperate attempt by WCF management to recreate the same atmosphere Club Cool came into this company with for them, giving them a match against a couple of experts in the business and seeing what they can do. Are they nuts? Franky and I will do to Russell and Michael what Oblivion did to Franky a month and a half ago, we’ll choke them out with barbed wire and throw them in the back of a broom closet somewhere where their careers belong, the ‘memories’ trunk. Michael’s speech is already more slurred than most drunks, and I’ll bet you twenty bucks the only reason that guy knows what drunk is, is because he is completely drunk twenty-four hours a day seven days a week. Hell, even Doc Henry has his moment sober, but this guy’s just pathetic. And what’s with Russell Morris, huh? Paying some hooker to say she’s your fiancé or whatever is about as low as you can go, buddy. At least I won my girlfriend’s heart with caring and compassion and love, and not money and dime-store liquor.
Ahh yes, my girlfriend, the beautiful, lovely miss Aubrey Summers. She and I are the most talented wrestlers on this roster, and we both know it, and I’m so lucky to be dating such an amazing girl. Putting up with Kaylyn James Evans is worth it for her, and I hope she knows just how much I love her...
Kaylyn James Evans. Why is she always the center of my focus? It’s because she’s without a doubt the worst bully I’ve ever seen. She’s picked on Aubrey far too long, and it’s time she gets her just desserts. I don’t give a damn about this tag match, because come Revenge, I’ll be getting just that against the girl that’s caused my baby’s life to be a living hell for the last two and a half months, and that’s all there is to it is just is that she’s going to be defeated, and she’s going to be punished for her actions...
Anyway, I’d better be getting some sleep before flying back up to Minneapolis tomorrow morning; I’ll figure out a strategy later if I decide I need one; as far as I’m concerned, Russell Morris and Michael Chevalier are nothing but a couple of deadbeat losers. This match belongs to Mr. FPV and Roy Speede.
Really?
They booked me against Russell Morris and his little butt buddy? Who do they think they are? I’m not some jobber for second rate tag teams, and the belt I wear around my waist proves it. And I love how they’re hyping the match I’ve got with Kaylyn at the Revenge Pay-Per-View; they’ve set this up by showcasing my talents... in a tag match.
There’s something wrong here. Not only am I far better than a stupid tag match against a pair of jobbers at opening match level, I’m better than my own partner by miles and miles. And whether I like it or not, I’m still going to be teaming with this guy for a while, until it comes time for me to toss the tag belts aside and look for something different, something where I’m not dragging a madman by his ankle along for the ride. He said it himself, he’s part of the reason why the WCF is a shithole, and if you ask me, his lack of effort ever since he got that gold around his waist is why he’s the biggest part of it. Hell, even Kaylyn James Evans has done more to try and keep this company going than Franky has lately, and it’s just a complete disgrace that I’m tagging with this son of a bitch still. He’s worried about me losing the tag team titles? Well screw that, I don’t want him fucking this team over. I’ve got better things to do that to put all... what, two hundred fifty pounds of his chunky mass worth of weight on my shoulders to lug this team through hell and back; what’s it gotten me? Nothing. As far as I’m concerned, Franky should consider himself lucky I haven’t tossed that belt aside and watched him fail to defend those straps against the likes of someone much more deserving than he is. I can, and he knows in the back of his mind I ain’t afraid to do so, so he should shut his mouth before I do it for him. And he’s on thin ice with me after calling my girlfriend a whore; he’d better watch it before I break him like a toothpick and throw those tag titles in the dumpster for something more deserving of my time.
Now to focus on more important people...
Johnny Reb and Jay Williams are back in action? Well how about that! The three most recent former World Champs are all gonna gang up and take down the current World Champ and his buddies. That’s adorable, like seeing two kittens scratching and clawing at a hound dog after seeing their kitten brother get his tail stepped on or his ear bitten. You know what? I could do better than them. I could shut Odin up single-handedly. Williams and Reb need to grow some balls and go their own separate ways. And judging by how well that worked for Reb last time he broke away from his tag partner, I’d say he should do it again. I mean, Donald Deruty’s already in a hell of a downward spiral, all that leaves is Williams to turn into the next die-hard jobber like Doc Henry. Or maybe Jay Williams will be the one to be successful from the group, and Reb and Doc can go reignite the Redneck Society, buy ‘em some tobacco and beer and set up a Nascar race outside the WCF arenas so the fans have something entertaining to watch until Aubrey’s or my matches start. Then again, maybe, just maybe, Deruty’s time to shine isn’t over yet and he’ll become two-time World Champ and finally put ol’ Ragnarok in his place. Wouldn’t that just be a sight?
Speaking of good ol’ Ragnarok, I wonder how the prehistoric member of the WCF roster is doing now that he’s aligned himself with a winner and a stunt-man reject. Ancient or not, I’ll give the guy props, he defended his title successfully against Donald Deruty, and that isn’t something that’s easy to do I’m sure. I notice he hasn’t been using that cane I got him, or maybe he’s just so far before my time I’ll have to stop by and teach him how to use it myself and hope he doesn’t try to beat me with his club or sick his saber-tooth tiger on me. Or maybe, just maybe, he’ll wise up and actually try to send an animal from this century to attack me, like that pathetic mutt Ryan Blake has following him around everywhere.
And of course, Ryan Blake’s mutt only leads to more and more I could be saying about that pathetic excuse for a Television Champion. It still leaves me in awe how a complete douchebag like Ryan Blake could’ve defeated Kaylyn James Evans for that title belt, but it gives me an idea. Maybe I should find me a greasy old homeless man in a dog suit, go talk to a doctor and a mentally ill psychopath at the same time and strut around like a faggot using a term popularized by fourth graders to describe anything and everything. Now that would be Epic!
See I got the hang of it already!
Now to find a doctor and a psychopath to talk to and I’ll be... Oh yeah, I almost forgot, Doc Henry and Oblivion! They fit that description perfectly! Doc ain’t a real doctor, and Oblivion’s too psychotic for any psychiatrist to help him anyway. What this means, of course, is that their team is a lost cause, a hopeless failure, a miserable defeat, and everything in between. While I may not hold a victory over Oblivion, I think two and zero against Doc Henry’s good enough for a twenty match career, and I bet that number could reach ten and zero before he’s ready to hang up the boots unless he’s a lot smarter than he looks.
Doubtful.
And again I have to stress that Oblivion’s mind is far too gone for even the greatest of experts to bring him back. Hell, send him to the psychiatrist that’s helping Adrian Monk from the TV show Monk, that’s about as real as the state of mind Oblivion is in. While we’re at it, send him to wrestling school and get him some actual talent! And see about getting a two-for-one special if we put a mask over Doc Henry’s face; he needs some help with wrestling too. And with grammar. And with pronunciation. And with social skills. And with knowledge about Nascar. And with hunting. Yeah, he’s so dumb, he can’t even be a good redneck by successfully going hunting one Saturday and returning home to watch the Nascar race with a beer; the closest he could get is fingerfucking Mary with a Bud Light in his hands and his feet up on the coffee table while he sits there in his La-Z-Boy chair. Simply pathetic.
Almost as pathetic, mind you, as my opponents this week, Russell Morris and Michael Chevalier. These two have been in the company for less than two months between them and are already getting to face the tag team champions, even in a non-title match? Who was the genius who booked this match, Sloth from the Goonies? HAYY YOU GUYS ME MAKE MATCH NOW! That definitely sounds like how much actual thought was put into scheduling this match. Let alone the fact that the two of them seem to be a desperate attempt by WCF management to recreate the same atmosphere Club Cool came into this company with for them, giving them a match against a couple of experts in the business and seeing what they can do. Are they nuts? Franky and I will do to Russell and Michael what Oblivion did to Franky a month and a half ago, we’ll choke them out with barbed wire and throw them in the back of a broom closet somewhere where their careers belong, the ‘memories’ trunk. Michael’s speech is already more slurred than most drunks, and I’ll bet you twenty bucks the only reason that guy knows what drunk is, is because he is completely drunk twenty-four hours a day seven days a week. Hell, even Doc Henry has his moment sober, but this guy’s just pathetic. And what’s with Russell Morris, huh? Paying some hooker to say she’s your fiancé or whatever is about as low as you can go, buddy. At least I won my girlfriend’s heart with caring and compassion and love, and not money and dime-store liquor.
Ahh yes, my girlfriend, the beautiful, lovely miss Aubrey Summers. She and I are the most talented wrestlers on this roster, and we both know it, and I’m so lucky to be dating such an amazing girl. Putting up with Kaylyn James Evans is worth it for her, and I hope she knows just how much I love her...
Kaylyn James Evans. Why is she always the center of my focus? It’s because she’s without a doubt the worst bully I’ve ever seen. She’s picked on Aubrey far too long, and it’s time she gets her just desserts. I don’t give a damn about this tag match, because come Revenge, I’ll be getting just that against the girl that’s caused my baby’s life to be a living hell for the last two and a half months, and that’s all there is to it is just is that she’s going to be defeated, and she’s going to be punished for her actions...
Anyway, I’d better be getting some sleep before flying back up to Minneapolis tomorrow morning; I’ll figure out a strategy later if I decide I need one; as far as I’m concerned, Russell Morris and Michael Chevalier are nothing but a couple of deadbeat losers. This match belongs to Mr. FPV and Roy Speede.
