Post by Speede on Aug 22, 2011 16:20:24 GMT -5
There is a light at the end of the long tunnel; the ominous glow in the distance can be seen, and the light begins to approach. Closer and closer, the light draws near, and in the background, the pounding beat of a heart can be heard, louder, louder, faster. THUMP-THUMP! THUMP-THUMP!
Beeeeeeeeeep!
The light floods through, and as the light passes, the scene opens to a mysterious, yet strangely serene white fog. Up, up, higher, and then to a clearing; the white fog below, the white fog above, yet a somehow clear space lays ahead. Across the field stands a tall fence of a shiny golden color, and beyond that rest mansions and mansions and enormous buildings, some the same golden color, others of different colors, some brick, some ceramic, some made of stone in ancient Greek styling; all different types of mansions are visible. On the close side of the cameras stand people of all sorts, short and tall, fat and thin, black and white and oriental and Hispanic and Indian, all in a line up against the fence. To the back of the line, and as the line progresses, one by one people are seen branching off either to the left, beyond the fence, or to the right, only to fall through the fog and disappear. Step... Step... Closer and closer to the front of the line, only to continue to watch people branch off; a big burly black man in a business suit walks beyond the fence with a smile on his face; a skinny-looking white guy wearing nothing but a pair of whitey-tighties falls through the fog, disappearing, and then there stands nobody in line ahead. Looking down, there sits a heroic figure with long white hair and a white beard reading a piece of paper. He sits on a majestic golden throne, and in front of him rests a finished wooden table. He looks up from his paper.
”Wrestling Championship Federation, you have passed away; what do you have to confess, and what do you have to say about getting into heaven?”
Faallllll!!
The scene cuts to Roy Speede, jerking awake in his bed and up to a sitting position; he looks across the room and sees his alarm clock blaring the opening , the time reading 6:30, and he powers it down before swinging his legs out of the bed and to the floor below. He stands up and turns on the light switch overhead, and looks over, noticing the camera.
Roy Speede: “Oh hey, sorry, wasn’t quite prepared to do this thing today. I was just asleep having a bizarre dream, as usual; this one in particular was about the death of the WCF; as some of you may know, the company’s closing, and that’s gonna leave me jobless for a couple days until I can sort through all the contract offers I’ve been getting in the mail the last week or so. This place really put me on the map, and I’m grateful for every second of it... But as far as I was aware, I wasn’t even supposed to have airtime for a promo this week. All I was told was that I was going to have to defend my tag team title belt alongside Mr. FPV, as usual, against two other quote-unquote ‘Championship-Caliber’ teams, the team of Jay Williams and Johnny Reb, and the same damned morons we beat last week, Michael Chevalier and Russell Morris. I’m more than ready to defend these belts, and I’m not going to let this place fold without giving one hell of a final showing; that’s exactly what I’ll do, and these title belts are going to stay around the waists of myself and of Mr. FPV.
The reason I know this, of course, is that our two teams of opponents can’t measure up to us. Take a look at Rusell Morris and Michael Chevalier. They tried their very best last week to beat us, and yet they completely and utterly failed. What makes them think, for a single second, that they have a chance in hell of winning this time, with even two more competitors added to the mix? I’ll tell you exactly what it is. They’re ignorant rednecks who think more with their shotgun shells than the lumps of fat inside those thick misshapen things they try to pass of as skulls. Their primary thoughts are either on hunting, drinking beer, finding women with big breasts and blonde hair to fuck, or who’s gonna win the big NASCAR race. Those fools were bred for one thing, and one thing only, and that was to be a pair of couch potatoes, and they can’t even do that right. There isn’t any way in hell they’re going to accomplish anything in this tag team match.
Then there’s the team of Johnny Reb and Jay Williams. These two are the odds-on favorites to win this match, simply because they did phenomenal in singles wrestling earlier in the year; Johnny Reb beat Brad Kane at Till Death Do Us Part to capture the World Heavyweight Championship, and two months later at Explosion, Jay Williams beat Reb for that very same World Heavyweight Championship. Both those matches were incredible to watch, and both of those matches were major accomplishments on the part of the two wrestlers, but does a successful singles career really mean anything as far as making a good tag team? In all honesty, boys, no it does not. You two are impressive, but I highly doubt you can make the transition from being opponents to being successful teammates that quickly.
Johnny, you are the one in this match that I must say I fear the most. You’re a... what, a four time tag team champ, there, my boy? Mighty impressive, I must say. Not only have you had success as an individual in the business, but you made a name for yourself on the tag team circuit with Doc Henry by your side for quite a while, and then winning the titles alongside Chuy before teaming up officially with Paul Dangerous. To be honest, Johnny, your tag team success has been something I’ve followed for quite a while, and it was partially your efforts that convinced me to get into the tag division when I won the tag titles for the first time. I’ve always been impressed with your stuff man, and I’m honored to get the chance to face you. However, I promise you this much; you will not walk out of this match victorious. I don’t care that you were someone I looked up to when I was first getting into this business, Johnny, I’m not going to hesitate to pick up the win when you and I step into the match.
And then there’s Jay Williams; you’re quite talented in that ring yourself, aren’t you Jay? What, claiming the tag team title belts with Donald Deruty by winning a handicap match over Oblivion! That was incredible, it truly was! You ganged up on a pathetic, defenseless little psycho! It was almost as if you were facing a guy slowly shifting between sanity and craziness and his teenage friend for those belts. Only that mental guy and his partner are going to be the ones walking out with the victory this time, Jay. We’re going to hold those belts high when this match is over; I promise you that. You will not be victorious.
Finally, I’d like to say a bit to my tag team partner, FPV. Franky, you and I won those belts two months ago, and at that point we were just starting to become friends after I’d previously been a bit pissed at you for taking an unfair win in the WCF Classic. After having held these belts by your side for two months, I’ve all but forgotten about that day all those months ago. You and I, man, we’re the champions. I made you a promise when we first won the belts, Franky. Do you remember that promise? I promised you I wouldn’t let you down, and that we’d hold those belts high. I’ve kept my promise, man, and this time isn’t gonna be different. Let me promise you again, when this match is over, you and I will be the ones with the belts around our waists, and we’ll walk out of this dying company the tag team champions. I’m proud that you and I have become successful as tag team partners, man, and I’m grateful for every day that I get to hold this belt because I know that I can rely on my partner when we’re in a jam. You and I have been successful, and that’s all I could have asked out of you was a successful tag team title reign; now that we’ve had our title reign and this company’s closing, all I’ve got left to say is a ‘thank you’ for holding up your end of the bargain.
To all of the wrestlers in the WCF, I wish you the best of luck wherever your lives may lead now that the WCF has come to a close, and I hope that, should you continue in wrestling, that your careers are successful. Should our paths cross again, I’m going to be looking forward to the chance to possibly face you all again, but if not, the best of luck to you all. Peace.”
The scene fades slowly to black as Roy gets dressed, puts his new black and yellow Nikes on his feet, and walks out the door of his bedroom, closing it behind him.
Beeeeeeeeeep!
The light floods through, and as the light passes, the scene opens to a mysterious, yet strangely serene white fog. Up, up, higher, and then to a clearing; the white fog below, the white fog above, yet a somehow clear space lays ahead. Across the field stands a tall fence of a shiny golden color, and beyond that rest mansions and mansions and enormous buildings, some the same golden color, others of different colors, some brick, some ceramic, some made of stone in ancient Greek styling; all different types of mansions are visible. On the close side of the cameras stand people of all sorts, short and tall, fat and thin, black and white and oriental and Hispanic and Indian, all in a line up against the fence. To the back of the line, and as the line progresses, one by one people are seen branching off either to the left, beyond the fence, or to the right, only to fall through the fog and disappear. Step... Step... Closer and closer to the front of the line, only to continue to watch people branch off; a big burly black man in a business suit walks beyond the fence with a smile on his face; a skinny-looking white guy wearing nothing but a pair of whitey-tighties falls through the fog, disappearing, and then there stands nobody in line ahead. Looking down, there sits a heroic figure with long white hair and a white beard reading a piece of paper. He sits on a majestic golden throne, and in front of him rests a finished wooden table. He looks up from his paper.
”Wrestling Championship Federation, you have passed away; what do you have to confess, and what do you have to say about getting into heaven?”
Faallllll!!
The scene cuts to Roy Speede, jerking awake in his bed and up to a sitting position; he looks across the room and sees his alarm clock blaring the opening , the time reading 6:30, and he powers it down before swinging his legs out of the bed and to the floor below. He stands up and turns on the light switch overhead, and looks over, noticing the camera.
Roy Speede: “Oh hey, sorry, wasn’t quite prepared to do this thing today. I was just asleep having a bizarre dream, as usual; this one in particular was about the death of the WCF; as some of you may know, the company’s closing, and that’s gonna leave me jobless for a couple days until I can sort through all the contract offers I’ve been getting in the mail the last week or so. This place really put me on the map, and I’m grateful for every second of it... But as far as I was aware, I wasn’t even supposed to have airtime for a promo this week. All I was told was that I was going to have to defend my tag team title belt alongside Mr. FPV, as usual, against two other quote-unquote ‘Championship-Caliber’ teams, the team of Jay Williams and Johnny Reb, and the same damned morons we beat last week, Michael Chevalier and Russell Morris. I’m more than ready to defend these belts, and I’m not going to let this place fold without giving one hell of a final showing; that’s exactly what I’ll do, and these title belts are going to stay around the waists of myself and of Mr. FPV.
The reason I know this, of course, is that our two teams of opponents can’t measure up to us. Take a look at Rusell Morris and Michael Chevalier. They tried their very best last week to beat us, and yet they completely and utterly failed. What makes them think, for a single second, that they have a chance in hell of winning this time, with even two more competitors added to the mix? I’ll tell you exactly what it is. They’re ignorant rednecks who think more with their shotgun shells than the lumps of fat inside those thick misshapen things they try to pass of as skulls. Their primary thoughts are either on hunting, drinking beer, finding women with big breasts and blonde hair to fuck, or who’s gonna win the big NASCAR race. Those fools were bred for one thing, and one thing only, and that was to be a pair of couch potatoes, and they can’t even do that right. There isn’t any way in hell they’re going to accomplish anything in this tag team match.
Then there’s the team of Johnny Reb and Jay Williams. These two are the odds-on favorites to win this match, simply because they did phenomenal in singles wrestling earlier in the year; Johnny Reb beat Brad Kane at Till Death Do Us Part to capture the World Heavyweight Championship, and two months later at Explosion, Jay Williams beat Reb for that very same World Heavyweight Championship. Both those matches were incredible to watch, and both of those matches were major accomplishments on the part of the two wrestlers, but does a successful singles career really mean anything as far as making a good tag team? In all honesty, boys, no it does not. You two are impressive, but I highly doubt you can make the transition from being opponents to being successful teammates that quickly.
Johnny, you are the one in this match that I must say I fear the most. You’re a... what, a four time tag team champ, there, my boy? Mighty impressive, I must say. Not only have you had success as an individual in the business, but you made a name for yourself on the tag team circuit with Doc Henry by your side for quite a while, and then winning the titles alongside Chuy before teaming up officially with Paul Dangerous. To be honest, Johnny, your tag team success has been something I’ve followed for quite a while, and it was partially your efforts that convinced me to get into the tag division when I won the tag titles for the first time. I’ve always been impressed with your stuff man, and I’m honored to get the chance to face you. However, I promise you this much; you will not walk out of this match victorious. I don’t care that you were someone I looked up to when I was first getting into this business, Johnny, I’m not going to hesitate to pick up the win when you and I step into the match.
And then there’s Jay Williams; you’re quite talented in that ring yourself, aren’t you Jay? What, claiming the tag team title belts with Donald Deruty by winning a handicap match over Oblivion! That was incredible, it truly was! You ganged up on a pathetic, defenseless little psycho! It was almost as if you were facing a guy slowly shifting between sanity and craziness and his teenage friend for those belts. Only that mental guy and his partner are going to be the ones walking out with the victory this time, Jay. We’re going to hold those belts high when this match is over; I promise you that. You will not be victorious.
Finally, I’d like to say a bit to my tag team partner, FPV. Franky, you and I won those belts two months ago, and at that point we were just starting to become friends after I’d previously been a bit pissed at you for taking an unfair win in the WCF Classic. After having held these belts by your side for two months, I’ve all but forgotten about that day all those months ago. You and I, man, we’re the champions. I made you a promise when we first won the belts, Franky. Do you remember that promise? I promised you I wouldn’t let you down, and that we’d hold those belts high. I’ve kept my promise, man, and this time isn’t gonna be different. Let me promise you again, when this match is over, you and I will be the ones with the belts around our waists, and we’ll walk out of this dying company the tag team champions. I’m proud that you and I have become successful as tag team partners, man, and I’m grateful for every day that I get to hold this belt because I know that I can rely on my partner when we’re in a jam. You and I have been successful, and that’s all I could have asked out of you was a successful tag team title reign; now that we’ve had our title reign and this company’s closing, all I’ve got left to say is a ‘thank you’ for holding up your end of the bargain.
To all of the wrestlers in the WCF, I wish you the best of luck wherever your lives may lead now that the WCF has come to a close, and I hope that, should you continue in wrestling, that your careers are successful. Should our paths cross again, I’m going to be looking forward to the chance to possibly face you all again, but if not, the best of luck to you all. Peace.”
The scene fades slowly to black as Roy gets dressed, puts his new black and yellow Nikes on his feet, and walks out the door of his bedroom, closing it behind him.
