Post by Savior X on Nov 6, 2009 0:51:47 GMT -5
( Angel, Jack Ryan and Tara Fenix all sit around a table. Angel and Jack have cigars hanging out of their mouths and Tara is sipping from a wine glass. Jack begins to shuffle some cards when Angel sighs. )
Jack: I know that sigh, whats wrong?
Angel: What the hell is a Death Crab?
Jack: 9.95 at Red Lobster?
Angel: Wait, thats wrong, Death Cab.
Jack: For Cutie? God I hate that band. Alternative rock that admits it sucks, just like the White Stripes.
Angel: The White Stripes admitted they sucked?
Jack: I think its implied in their music.
Angel: That still doesn't answer my question, who the hell is Meth Lab? Deaf Jab? Crest Pad? Whatever the hell his name is.
( Tara face palms and puts her drink down. )
Tara: Death Trap.
Angel and Jack: Huh?
Tara: Death... Trap...
Angel: And what is that, something from the new Saw movie?
Tara: Its your opponents name.
Angel: Oh, Death Trap, that makes sense... Sort of... Though I did like Breast Tab better. Death Trap, sounds pretty creepy. Sorta like that Mysterio guy or Mark Evil.
Tara: Yeah, well he's not.
Angel: Oh really? Well is there anything I should know about him then? Some sort of career defining moment or epic title win or awe inspiring feud that redefined professional wrestling?
( Tara takes several seconds to think about her answer, mean while Jack is dealing out the cards. )
Tara: You know his name now right?
Angel: Death Trap.
Tara: Thats pretty much all you need to know.
Angel: Really? You mean to tell me you don't have some awesome war story to tell me like Kanyon or Campbell.
Tara: Not really.
Angel: Not even a tape to watch where he performed exceptionally well one time?
Tara: To tell you the truth, as good of a wrestler as he is, he's always pretty much just been here.
Angel: I see. So he's just one of those guys that sort of floats around the upper mid card, never exactly mattering but never exactly fading into obscurity either?
Tara: I'd say that defines him pretty well.
Angel: Ah, sweet, well I can't wait to step over him on my way to crushing Chris Cobain's hopes and dreams.
( Angel ashes out his cigar and scoops up his cards. )
Tara: Well, there is one other thing.
Angel: Oh Christ, what?
Tara: He thinks he's the top face in XHF.
( Angel and Jack look at each other then back to Tara like she's lying. )
Angel: He thinks he's what?
Tara: The top face, the one the fans pay to see, the main attraction.
Jack: Aww hell, he's that guy?
Angel: You mean he's the guy with all the lame mannerisms and catch phrases and flashy, yet trendy merchandise that all the twelve year old boys buy? Almost like Steve Awesome, but minus the aviators and nut sack, and far fewer female fans screaming his name? He's that guy with the really sweet looking but essentially ineffective signature move like a fast paced, but fairly standard elbow drop? HE'S THAT GUY!!!???
Tara: Yup.
Angel: Wonderful, does he at least have more than five moves?
Tara: He's actually got a whole new arsenal since he dropped some weight.
Angel: Dropped some weight?
Tara: He was bigger before, but now he's leaner and meaner and all that other crap he likes to say.
Angel: Wonderful, so not only am I dealing with some baby kissing suck up douchebag who "DOES IT FOR THE FANS!" I'm also dealing with a guy who once knew five moves but dropped fifty pounds and figured out how to do a leg drop off the second rope as well as a swinging neck breaker as opposed to the standard one... AWESOME!!! I can't wait to hear all the usual face garbage followed by a half wit joke or two about my choice of clothing. I'm guessing this guy is about as original as store brand soda, all the flavor of the real thing, just completely lacks the quality of a Coca Cola or a Pepsi.
Jack: Stop and Shop Brand Cena?
Angel: Ugh... Isn't he the dude that re enacted Hostel with Harold Campbell on the last pay per view?
Tara: One and the same.
Angel: Wow... That match almost impressed me, if for nothing more than their ability to be on tv for that long without ever doing a single thing that resembles REAL WRESTLING! It must fill one's soul with pride to know you can still get over with the slack jawed retards in the crowd by hitting a few chair shots and lighting a table on fire. I'm guessing he has all the wrestling ability of the Cosby kid I dropped in the toilet earlier.
Tara: I wouldn't go that far.
Angel: I would. See, this is what I've been taking about. Back in the day XHF had class, it had style. Yeah, there were hardcore matches, yeah people bled, bones were broken, careers were shortened, but back in the day it was done with a certain swagger, a certain finesse. Spike Kane didn't just go balls to the wall with some barbed wire and broken glass and say "CUT ME MICK!" like a damn emo kid reading the New Moon series. Guys like him, XHF legends like him, actually had to wrestle, they actually had to be good inside that ring. That is what I want to bring back to this company, that is one of many reasons I want the Chaotic Championship. Not just to hold what should be the most extreme championship in the wrestling world, but take what I consider garbage wrestling and turn it into an art form. I want my matches as that champion to be looked at like one looks at the Mona Lisa or the Sistine Chapel. I want my matches to be permanently etched into the memories of the people who witness them, not just for the brutality of it, but for the sheer beauty of what I'm able to do with another man's life in my hands. I want to paint pictures of horror in that ring unlike anything the world has ever seen before.
( Both Tara and Jack are just sort of staring at Angel right now. )
Jack: K... Jigsaw... Ready to play now or what?
( Angel snaps out of it. )
Angel: Huh? Oh, yeah, sure, I'm ready.
( Angel rifles through his cards for a second, looking over his hand. Tara and Jack roll their eyes as they wait for Angel to begin. )
Angel: Hmmm... Got any 3's?
Jack and Tara: Go Fish....
( Angel reaches into the main deck and grabs a card. )
Tara: We really need to teach him how to play poker.
( The End. )
Jack: I know that sigh, whats wrong?
Angel: What the hell is a Death Crab?
Jack: 9.95 at Red Lobster?
Angel: Wait, thats wrong, Death Cab.
Jack: For Cutie? God I hate that band. Alternative rock that admits it sucks, just like the White Stripes.
Angel: The White Stripes admitted they sucked?
Jack: I think its implied in their music.
Angel: That still doesn't answer my question, who the hell is Meth Lab? Deaf Jab? Crest Pad? Whatever the hell his name is.
( Tara face palms and puts her drink down. )
Tara: Death Trap.
Angel and Jack: Huh?
Tara: Death... Trap...
Angel: And what is that, something from the new Saw movie?
Tara: Its your opponents name.
Angel: Oh, Death Trap, that makes sense... Sort of... Though I did like Breast Tab better. Death Trap, sounds pretty creepy. Sorta like that Mysterio guy or Mark Evil.
Tara: Yeah, well he's not.
Angel: Oh really? Well is there anything I should know about him then? Some sort of career defining moment or epic title win or awe inspiring feud that redefined professional wrestling?
( Tara takes several seconds to think about her answer, mean while Jack is dealing out the cards. )
Tara: You know his name now right?
Angel: Death Trap.
Tara: Thats pretty much all you need to know.
Angel: Really? You mean to tell me you don't have some awesome war story to tell me like Kanyon or Campbell.
Tara: Not really.
Angel: Not even a tape to watch where he performed exceptionally well one time?
Tara: To tell you the truth, as good of a wrestler as he is, he's always pretty much just been here.
Angel: I see. So he's just one of those guys that sort of floats around the upper mid card, never exactly mattering but never exactly fading into obscurity either?
Tara: I'd say that defines him pretty well.
Angel: Ah, sweet, well I can't wait to step over him on my way to crushing Chris Cobain's hopes and dreams.
( Angel ashes out his cigar and scoops up his cards. )
Tara: Well, there is one other thing.
Angel: Oh Christ, what?
Tara: He thinks he's the top face in XHF.
( Angel and Jack look at each other then back to Tara like she's lying. )
Angel: He thinks he's what?
Tara: The top face, the one the fans pay to see, the main attraction.
Jack: Aww hell, he's that guy?
Angel: You mean he's the guy with all the lame mannerisms and catch phrases and flashy, yet trendy merchandise that all the twelve year old boys buy? Almost like Steve Awesome, but minus the aviators and nut sack, and far fewer female fans screaming his name? He's that guy with the really sweet looking but essentially ineffective signature move like a fast paced, but fairly standard elbow drop? HE'S THAT GUY!!!???
Tara: Yup.
Angel: Wonderful, does he at least have more than five moves?
Tara: He's actually got a whole new arsenal since he dropped some weight.
Angel: Dropped some weight?
Tara: He was bigger before, but now he's leaner and meaner and all that other crap he likes to say.
Angel: Wonderful, so not only am I dealing with some baby kissing suck up douchebag who "DOES IT FOR THE FANS!" I'm also dealing with a guy who once knew five moves but dropped fifty pounds and figured out how to do a leg drop off the second rope as well as a swinging neck breaker as opposed to the standard one... AWESOME!!! I can't wait to hear all the usual face garbage followed by a half wit joke or two about my choice of clothing. I'm guessing this guy is about as original as store brand soda, all the flavor of the real thing, just completely lacks the quality of a Coca Cola or a Pepsi.
Jack: Stop and Shop Brand Cena?
Angel: Ugh... Isn't he the dude that re enacted Hostel with Harold Campbell on the last pay per view?
Tara: One and the same.
Angel: Wow... That match almost impressed me, if for nothing more than their ability to be on tv for that long without ever doing a single thing that resembles REAL WRESTLING! It must fill one's soul with pride to know you can still get over with the slack jawed retards in the crowd by hitting a few chair shots and lighting a table on fire. I'm guessing he has all the wrestling ability of the Cosby kid I dropped in the toilet earlier.
Tara: I wouldn't go that far.
Angel: I would. See, this is what I've been taking about. Back in the day XHF had class, it had style. Yeah, there were hardcore matches, yeah people bled, bones were broken, careers were shortened, but back in the day it was done with a certain swagger, a certain finesse. Spike Kane didn't just go balls to the wall with some barbed wire and broken glass and say "CUT ME MICK!" like a damn emo kid reading the New Moon series. Guys like him, XHF legends like him, actually had to wrestle, they actually had to be good inside that ring. That is what I want to bring back to this company, that is one of many reasons I want the Chaotic Championship. Not just to hold what should be the most extreme championship in the wrestling world, but take what I consider garbage wrestling and turn it into an art form. I want my matches as that champion to be looked at like one looks at the Mona Lisa or the Sistine Chapel. I want my matches to be permanently etched into the memories of the people who witness them, not just for the brutality of it, but for the sheer beauty of what I'm able to do with another man's life in my hands. I want to paint pictures of horror in that ring unlike anything the world has ever seen before.
( Both Tara and Jack are just sort of staring at Angel right now. )
Jack: K... Jigsaw... Ready to play now or what?
( Angel snaps out of it. )
Angel: Huh? Oh, yeah, sure, I'm ready.
( Angel rifles through his cards for a second, looking over his hand. Tara and Jack roll their eyes as they wait for Angel to begin. )
Angel: Hmmm... Got any 3's?
Jack and Tara: Go Fish....
( Angel reaches into the main deck and grabs a card. )
Tara: We really need to teach him how to play poker.
( The End. )
Say my name and his in the same breath
I dare you to say they taste the same
Let the leaves fall off in the summer
And let December glow in flames
Brace myself and let go
Start it over again in Mexico
These friends, they don't love you
They just love the hotel suites now
I don't care what you think, as long as it's about me
The best of us can find happiness in misery
I said I don't care what you think, as long as it's about me
The best of us can find happiness in misery
Oh, take a chance, let your body get a tolerance
I'm not a chance, but a heat wave in your pants
Pull a breath like another cigarette
Pawn shop, I'm trading up (trading up)
I'm the oracle in my chest
Let the guitar scream like a fascist
Sweat it out, shut your mouth
Free love on the streets, but
In the alley, it ain't that cheap, now
I don't care what you think, as long as it's about me
The best of us can find happiness in misery
I said I don't care what you think, as long as it's about me
The best of us can find happiness in misery
I dare you to say they taste the same
Let the leaves fall off in the summer
And let December glow in flames
Brace myself and let go
Start it over again in Mexico
These friends, they don't love you
They just love the hotel suites now
I don't care what you think, as long as it's about me
The best of us can find happiness in misery
I said I don't care what you think, as long as it's about me
The best of us can find happiness in misery
Oh, take a chance, let your body get a tolerance
I'm not a chance, but a heat wave in your pants
Pull a breath like another cigarette
Pawn shop, I'm trading up (trading up)
I'm the oracle in my chest
Let the guitar scream like a fascist
Sweat it out, shut your mouth
Free love on the streets, but
In the alley, it ain't that cheap, now
I don't care what you think, as long as it's about me
The best of us can find happiness in misery
I said I don't care what you think, as long as it's about me
The best of us can find happiness in misery