Post by duncanaries on Sept 4, 2020 20:24:57 GMT -5
Static.
And then, we open.
Open on a smirking face, a pair of eyes covered by olive tinted Pilot sunglasses, a torso clad in a simple gray t-shirt, denim jacket, stonewash jeans, and brown boots.
"I sure as fuck hope it was worth it, Swann. By the way, how many of you untalented fuckfaces are there? Were the Swann women known to be so fucking loose? Eh, anyways. After all of it, all the attention grabbing bullshit, after biting off more than you could chew, what did it get ya, huh? It got my boot up your ass and my fist down your throat. Understand this, Swann, let it seep in real good, kid. You're as green as goose shit and you are lucky, damn lucky, I allowed you to be relevant as long as I did, just enough for me to enjoy bringing you back down to Earth and making you realize you fucked with the wrong certifiable wrestling god. Let that be a lesson to you, shit for brains, nobody, and I mean NOBODY fucks with Duncan Aries and gets away with it. But hey, look at it this way, you can tell whatever spawns you bring into this world that once, after being a fucking petulant little child, stealing property that didn't belong to you, and smashing it, again, like a little bitch, you got to get your ass handed to you in front of the whole world AND what's that? Yeah, back to the irrelevancy that suits you."
"You're nothing, Swann. Back of the line with you, bitch."
Aries lowers his shades with a wink, before hooking them on his shirt.
"You know, I could have got upset about all of the crap that punk ass piece of shit Swann pulled, but I realized that first and foremost, a title doesn't make Duncan Aries, it's the other way around, and second, that title was kind of a piece of garbage unbefitting of a man a caliber of excellence such as yours truly, so I guess, in the end, thank you, Swann? Because in the end, fuck you, fuck your loose mother, fuck FWA and their inability to provide their champion with a new, and more prestigious championship, because from this moment on, THIS will be the FWA Professional Wrestling championship worn by your resident certifiable wrestling god!"
Aries reaches off camera and grabs a navy blue drawstring bag, opening it and revealing an ice blue and white championship belt, emblazoned with spade sideplates and a large flaming ice blue spade in the center, his name underneath, and FWA Professional Wrestling Championship above. Aries admires the new gold, slinging it over his shoulder.
"For over 190 days now, I have been your champion, your example of excellence, your resident asshole and certifiable wrestling god, and nobody, not one single soul, has been able to change that reality. Make no mistake about it, folks, I am the keeper of my own destiny, I am the one who decides my own fate in this business, and I am the one who knows when that hourglass has finally emptied. Chances are, I'm the fucker who will just turn that hourglass back over and start again. I don't give a damn who you are or who the fuck you THINK I am. What is known, what is crystal clear is that nobody, not now, not over the last two fucking decades, his done this better than me. That's the shit all you bitter jealous fucks are going to read on my tombstone."
"Duncan Aries. Nobody does it better."
Aries saunters off, new title and all, as we slowly fade out.
And then, we open.
Open on a smirking face, a pair of eyes covered by olive tinted Pilot sunglasses, a torso clad in a simple gray t-shirt, denim jacket, stonewash jeans, and brown boots.
"I sure as fuck hope it was worth it, Swann. By the way, how many of you untalented fuckfaces are there? Were the Swann women known to be so fucking loose? Eh, anyways. After all of it, all the attention grabbing bullshit, after biting off more than you could chew, what did it get ya, huh? It got my boot up your ass and my fist down your throat. Understand this, Swann, let it seep in real good, kid. You're as green as goose shit and you are lucky, damn lucky, I allowed you to be relevant as long as I did, just enough for me to enjoy bringing you back down to Earth and making you realize you fucked with the wrong certifiable wrestling god. Let that be a lesson to you, shit for brains, nobody, and I mean NOBODY fucks with Duncan Aries and gets away with it. But hey, look at it this way, you can tell whatever spawns you bring into this world that once, after being a fucking petulant little child, stealing property that didn't belong to you, and smashing it, again, like a little bitch, you got to get your ass handed to you in front of the whole world AND what's that? Yeah, back to the irrelevancy that suits you."
"You're nothing, Swann. Back of the line with you, bitch."
Aries lowers his shades with a wink, before hooking them on his shirt.
"You know, I could have got upset about all of the crap that punk ass piece of shit Swann pulled, but I realized that first and foremost, a title doesn't make Duncan Aries, it's the other way around, and second, that title was kind of a piece of garbage unbefitting of a man a caliber of excellence such as yours truly, so I guess, in the end, thank you, Swann? Because in the end, fuck you, fuck your loose mother, fuck FWA and their inability to provide their champion with a new, and more prestigious championship, because from this moment on, THIS will be the FWA Professional Wrestling championship worn by your resident certifiable wrestling god!"
Aries reaches off camera and grabs a navy blue drawstring bag, opening it and revealing an ice blue and white championship belt, emblazoned with spade sideplates and a large flaming ice blue spade in the center, his name underneath, and FWA Professional Wrestling Championship above. Aries admires the new gold, slinging it over his shoulder.
"For over 190 days now, I have been your champion, your example of excellence, your resident asshole and certifiable wrestling god, and nobody, not one single soul, has been able to change that reality. Make no mistake about it, folks, I am the keeper of my own destiny, I am the one who decides my own fate in this business, and I am the one who knows when that hourglass has finally emptied. Chances are, I'm the fucker who will just turn that hourglass back over and start again. I don't give a damn who you are or who the fuck you THINK I am. What is known, what is crystal clear is that nobody, not now, not over the last two fucking decades, his done this better than me. That's the shit all you bitter jealous fucks are going to read on my tombstone."
"Duncan Aries. Nobody does it better."
Aries saunters off, new title and all, as we slowly fade out.