Post by John Cavanagh on Dec 14, 2020 21:11:32 GMT -5
Yo, Johnnie!
The heavy New York accent of a muscular, stout, bald Puerto Rican man is heard followed by the yip of a puppy.
Que lo que Spanish?
John looked up from his phone to see Raul “Spanish” Colon walking towards him with a puppy Corgi in his hand.
What the fuck is that?
I don’t know man, you tell me, it came to the Blarney with your name on it.
John looked at the name tag, he read “To: John Cavanagh From: LD”
That thing won’t last five minutes with my Pits. Send it back.
Man, really? My niece would love this little thing.
So make it disappear or I’ll show that prick Dominicus evil and let it go play in traffic.
Raul looks at John perplexed—John was always a dog person, Raul wondered what his problem was. Raul walked off with the Corgi to an off camera section of John’s Irish pub, The Blarney Stone, in Hell’s Kitchen. John looked to his side, there sat a green bottle with a gold label that read Jameson. John poured himself a shot, he took the shot and poured another.
Tick, tock. Our time for running our mouths, training and putting together our final bits of strategy is all but over. It’s just about that time for John Cavanagh to go into Crowning of a Champion and be CROWNED THE CHAMPION. It’s time for The One Man Dynasty to sit his royal ass upon the throne of the NPW and have that golden beauty placed upon his shoulder by Gus Arnold as if I were Charlemagne receiving his crown from Pope Leon III on coronation day! You other boys you can sit around and do whatever the hell it is that you do in your spare time. Hit up the Church, domesticate wild animals, gift some puppies—shit, whatever floats your boat, I won’t judge you.
John took the shot that sat next to him, he thought for a moment and then poured another.
Swann, Dominicus…we’ve been comrades so far here in the NPW but not by choice. Swann and I, we qualified for this battle royal together. Then, Swann and I were joined by Dominicus to defeat Leon Van Zandt, Alex Turner and Lou Natic—two other men who are in this battle royal. Swann and Dominicus it was nice to meet you guys, nice to share a winner’s purse with you guys but all that pleasant, amicable bullshit is about to fly right outta the window. The first opportunity I get to send one you two over the top rope, you better bet your asses I’ll do it. And, oh yeah, Dominicus, if I were you though I’d screw my head on straight pal, stop giving away puppies and visiting Santa Claus. Cheat all the fuck you want, it’s a battle royal—last I checked there ain’t no disqualifications.
John heard the buzz of his phone against the table he was seated at. John looked down to see the screen. John picked up his phone, he began to type on the screen. After a moment he completed and clicked "send". He placed his phone down and returned to the camera.
Leon Van Zandt and Alex Turner, you both probably have a bit of an idea of what I’m capable of after your losing efforts with Louie Boy. Get used to see me winning matches and you guys dropping the ball because its about to happen again on the seventeenth. Timeless seems too distracted with his ability to fuck to really give a rat's ass about this match anyway, maybe that's why you couldn't back up your teammate Lou last time we all shared a ring--guess you and Dominicus need to get your heads straight.
John looks down to the shot of whiskey in front of him. He daydreams off to the golden liquid momentarily--gold was a great color, and John already knew that gold had a great look on him. Each time he stepped foot in a new promotion he would survey the landscape, figure out who the biggest challenges were, who he would have to beat to secure the promotion's top prize and he would hone in, study them, figure out their strengths and weaknesses and then, when the opportunity presented itself, he would strike with all of his might. This time, it was different, he couldn't employ the strategy that he had become accustomed to using throughout his career. John begins to speak while looking at the whiskey.
Each and every person in this match can run their mouth in whatever ways they see fit, they can conjure up any illusions of grandeur capable in their imaginations, they can want to prove their worth to the fans, they can want to set the entire god damned locker room on fire, be the best fuck in the locker room, be the evilest son of a bitch on the planet...good for them. The only thing I want is to hoist that championship high above that head, just like the other twelve pieces of shit I'll share the ring with. But why?
John brings his ice blue eyes back to the camera.
Plain and fucking simple. Some of these assholes want to hold that championship because they want to maintain their dominance over the NPW or over XHF, some because it will bring them money and some, let's face it, knows being the champion will finally make them somebody in a sport that is filled with plenty of nobodies. Well, I ain't winning it for that--John Cavanagh is winning the battle royal to make the NPW North American Double Crown Championship mean something, give that championship a little prestige off of the bat, give it a nice little extra shimmer, make it the belt that EVERYONE wants right after I beat the best XHF has to offer.
The scene cuts to static.
The heavy New York accent of a muscular, stout, bald Puerto Rican man is heard followed by the yip of a puppy.
Que lo que Spanish?
John looked up from his phone to see Raul “Spanish” Colon walking towards him with a puppy Corgi in his hand.
What the fuck is that?
I don’t know man, you tell me, it came to the Blarney with your name on it.
John looked at the name tag, he read “To: John Cavanagh From: LD”
That thing won’t last five minutes with my Pits. Send it back.
Man, really? My niece would love this little thing.
So make it disappear or I’ll show that prick Dominicus evil and let it go play in traffic.
Raul looks at John perplexed—John was always a dog person, Raul wondered what his problem was. Raul walked off with the Corgi to an off camera section of John’s Irish pub, The Blarney Stone, in Hell’s Kitchen. John looked to his side, there sat a green bottle with a gold label that read Jameson. John poured himself a shot, he took the shot and poured another.
Tick, tock. Our time for running our mouths, training and putting together our final bits of strategy is all but over. It’s just about that time for John Cavanagh to go into Crowning of a Champion and be CROWNED THE CHAMPION. It’s time for The One Man Dynasty to sit his royal ass upon the throne of the NPW and have that golden beauty placed upon his shoulder by Gus Arnold as if I were Charlemagne receiving his crown from Pope Leon III on coronation day! You other boys you can sit around and do whatever the hell it is that you do in your spare time. Hit up the Church, domesticate wild animals, gift some puppies—shit, whatever floats your boat, I won’t judge you.
John took the shot that sat next to him, he thought for a moment and then poured another.
Swann, Dominicus…we’ve been comrades so far here in the NPW but not by choice. Swann and I, we qualified for this battle royal together. Then, Swann and I were joined by Dominicus to defeat Leon Van Zandt, Alex Turner and Lou Natic—two other men who are in this battle royal. Swann and Dominicus it was nice to meet you guys, nice to share a winner’s purse with you guys but all that pleasant, amicable bullshit is about to fly right outta the window. The first opportunity I get to send one you two over the top rope, you better bet your asses I’ll do it. And, oh yeah, Dominicus, if I were you though I’d screw my head on straight pal, stop giving away puppies and visiting Santa Claus. Cheat all the fuck you want, it’s a battle royal—last I checked there ain’t no disqualifications.
John heard the buzz of his phone against the table he was seated at. John looked down to see the screen. John picked up his phone, he began to type on the screen. After a moment he completed and clicked "send". He placed his phone down and returned to the camera.
Leon Van Zandt and Alex Turner, you both probably have a bit of an idea of what I’m capable of after your losing efforts with Louie Boy. Get used to see me winning matches and you guys dropping the ball because its about to happen again on the seventeenth. Timeless seems too distracted with his ability to fuck to really give a rat's ass about this match anyway, maybe that's why you couldn't back up your teammate Lou last time we all shared a ring--guess you and Dominicus need to get your heads straight.
John looks down to the shot of whiskey in front of him. He daydreams off to the golden liquid momentarily--gold was a great color, and John already knew that gold had a great look on him. Each time he stepped foot in a new promotion he would survey the landscape, figure out who the biggest challenges were, who he would have to beat to secure the promotion's top prize and he would hone in, study them, figure out their strengths and weaknesses and then, when the opportunity presented itself, he would strike with all of his might. This time, it was different, he couldn't employ the strategy that he had become accustomed to using throughout his career. John begins to speak while looking at the whiskey.
Each and every person in this match can run their mouth in whatever ways they see fit, they can conjure up any illusions of grandeur capable in their imaginations, they can want to prove their worth to the fans, they can want to set the entire god damned locker room on fire, be the best fuck in the locker room, be the evilest son of a bitch on the planet...good for them. The only thing I want is to hoist that championship high above that head, just like the other twelve pieces of shit I'll share the ring with. But why?
John brings his ice blue eyes back to the camera.
Plain and fucking simple. Some of these assholes want to hold that championship because they want to maintain their dominance over the NPW or over XHF, some because it will bring them money and some, let's face it, knows being the champion will finally make them somebody in a sport that is filled with plenty of nobodies. Well, I ain't winning it for that--John Cavanagh is winning the battle royal to make the NPW North American Double Crown Championship mean something, give that championship a little prestige off of the bat, give it a nice little extra shimmer, make it the belt that EVERYONE wants right after I beat the best XHF has to offer.
The scene cuts to static.
