Post by Dave D-Flipz on May 23, 2021 15:40:38 GMT -5
*We fade in on the sounds of barking. Some dog is really having at it. The dog sprints across the screen and out of view again. It is a corgi dressed in war armor made of stitched together black hair. And he is chasing a ball. Into frame behind the running dog steps a monster of a man. Covered in hair and sporting a face made of leather, paint, and grime. The Beast of the North, Primal. He turns to look at the screen.*
: "May 25th ... we find ourselves in quite the situation don't we Buttons? Among all these fools out for glory and sport ... among these peons and slaves to society ... stands a team made of two men who make it a point to deny these norms and stamp them out. Two ruthless individuals who have found a like minded ally to help dominate the landscape. On this occasion we get to finally make it explicity clear to everyone involved in NPW who is really in charge. Sure, Gus Arnold may build the cards and pay the checks, but who really calls the shots? Oh I'm sure there are some who would like to think they are the king shits. In Keith Williams's case, QUITE literally. How avant-garde. A picture of your own face for the entirety of your promotional material. HAHA what yucks were had."
*He smirks as the dog lets out a muffled bark with the ball in his mouth.*
: "Oh? Was that not his self-portrait? Hard to tell Buttons, hard to tell."
*He wrenches the ball from the mouth of his compatriot. He winds up to throw.*
: "Despite what the other teams in this event may think ... much like this situation here? We are in charge. We call the shots. And we dictate who gets to the dance and who leaves it in one piece."
*He mimes throwing the ball and Buttons sprints off ... and looks around confused. He runs in circles looking. He whimpers as he has lost his quarry. Then he sees it in the hand of the Beast and lets out a happy yip as Primal tosses it the opposite way over his shoulder and Buttons lurches after it, tongue lolling out of his mouth*
: "In this match we have the reigning champions, a pair of men who could shift mountains with their strength. Men who have a reputation for breaking the rules and making their own, dominating the competition. And men who I have singlehandedly put to the mat. Threats to be sure. But are they really the ones you should be afraid of? With no guiding mind (or hindering body if you believe the lizard man), can they really be relied upon to provide the dominance they want to be known for? Or perhaps we should bet on the aliens from the future. No not the trons ... no not the borgs ... the other ones. The serious ones. The foolish ones. No no, they may have been the champions once before but their TIME has come."
*He chuckles at his comment. See they are time travelers .. and this is Prime Time.*
: "This match is a literal circus. Between the time lords, the meat mountains, the goody-goodies, the literal clown and his clownier friend, the IRA goons, or the other riff-raff ... it's hard to know who is to be taken seriously and who is a joke. Well allow me to elucidate for you. This match is a short form of the rumble that just happened. And only one of us in this match has thrown 9 men to the floor. Only one beast man has the pedigree to carry the victory here. There are legends here in the north that I find oh so delicious. Have you other 14 men ever heard the tales of the Wendigo? The Canadian Algonquins tell tales of a malicious malevolent spirit that can possess men and turn them into monsters, full of greed, hunger, and lust. Turning their desires to the carnal and vicious."
*He grabs the ball from the mouth of the dog and throws it again.*
: "Hollywood and media depict them as combinations of werewolves and sasquatch. But the histories depict a humanoid, hairy monster with sharp teeth and a heart of ice. A foul stench and an uncomfortable chill portend its arrival. I have to admit I wonder if at some point in the future Timeless takes me to the past and they got a good look at me to describe me so well. The wendigo is a human condition, one close to my heart. A savage that takes what he desires. And one that will be in the ring with you fools taking the titles."
*He turns and points to his pet*
: "As I told Keith Williams last show. What you've seen from me so far is just child's play. A game. A spot of fun and merriment. But I've decided that my new mission is to spoil the fun for you all. And to that end ... I may have to get a bit more serious. If I want to defile those tag titles with my form inside of the belt ... I have to simply dump one of each of you seven teams to the floor. Child's play. A spot of fun. Nothing to a man like me. So prepare all you want, get yourselves psyched, figure out how to stand toe to toe with the Colossus. Decide how best to handle the Irish gangs of New York. See what the lizard faced man has in store for you all, look into your knowledge from the future ..."
*He lunges at the camera and gets right in its face*
: "And then LEARN IT WAS ALL USELESS SHIT! Because there is no preparing or game planning.... for the beast of the north. Tuesday night is Prime Time. And none of you all will ever forget it!"
*He violently throws the camera away from him*
: "May 25th ... we find ourselves in quite the situation don't we Buttons? Among all these fools out for glory and sport ... among these peons and slaves to society ... stands a team made of two men who make it a point to deny these norms and stamp them out. Two ruthless individuals who have found a like minded ally to help dominate the landscape. On this occasion we get to finally make it explicity clear to everyone involved in NPW who is really in charge. Sure, Gus Arnold may build the cards and pay the checks, but who really calls the shots? Oh I'm sure there are some who would like to think they are the king shits. In Keith Williams's case, QUITE literally. How avant-garde. A picture of your own face for the entirety of your promotional material. HAHA what yucks were had."*He smirks as the dog lets out a muffled bark with the ball in his mouth.*
: "Oh? Was that not his self-portrait? Hard to tell Buttons, hard to tell."*He wrenches the ball from the mouth of his compatriot. He winds up to throw.*
: "Despite what the other teams in this event may think ... much like this situation here? We are in charge. We call the shots. And we dictate who gets to the dance and who leaves it in one piece."*He mimes throwing the ball and Buttons sprints off ... and looks around confused. He runs in circles looking. He whimpers as he has lost his quarry. Then he sees it in the hand of the Beast and lets out a happy yip as Primal tosses it the opposite way over his shoulder and Buttons lurches after it, tongue lolling out of his mouth*
: "In this match we have the reigning champions, a pair of men who could shift mountains with their strength. Men who have a reputation for breaking the rules and making their own, dominating the competition. And men who I have singlehandedly put to the mat. Threats to be sure. But are they really the ones you should be afraid of? With no guiding mind (or hindering body if you believe the lizard man), can they really be relied upon to provide the dominance they want to be known for? Or perhaps we should bet on the aliens from the future. No not the trons ... no not the borgs ... the other ones. The serious ones. The foolish ones. No no, they may have been the champions once before but their TIME has come."*He chuckles at his comment. See they are time travelers .. and this is Prime Time.*
: "This match is a literal circus. Between the time lords, the meat mountains, the goody-goodies, the literal clown and his clownier friend, the IRA goons, or the other riff-raff ... it's hard to know who is to be taken seriously and who is a joke. Well allow me to elucidate for you. This match is a short form of the rumble that just happened. And only one of us in this match has thrown 9 men to the floor. Only one beast man has the pedigree to carry the victory here. There are legends here in the north that I find oh so delicious. Have you other 14 men ever heard the tales of the Wendigo? The Canadian Algonquins tell tales of a malicious malevolent spirit that can possess men and turn them into monsters, full of greed, hunger, and lust. Turning their desires to the carnal and vicious."*He grabs the ball from the mouth of the dog and throws it again.*
: "Hollywood and media depict them as combinations of werewolves and sasquatch. But the histories depict a humanoid, hairy monster with sharp teeth and a heart of ice. A foul stench and an uncomfortable chill portend its arrival. I have to admit I wonder if at some point in the future Timeless takes me to the past and they got a good look at me to describe me so well. The wendigo is a human condition, one close to my heart. A savage that takes what he desires. And one that will be in the ring with you fools taking the titles."*He turns and points to his pet*
: "As I told Keith Williams last show. What you've seen from me so far is just child's play. A game. A spot of fun and merriment. But I've decided that my new mission is to spoil the fun for you all. And to that end ... I may have to get a bit more serious. If I want to defile those tag titles with my form inside of the belt ... I have to simply dump one of each of you seven teams to the floor. Child's play. A spot of fun. Nothing to a man like me. So prepare all you want, get yourselves psyched, figure out how to stand toe to toe with the Colossus. Decide how best to handle the Irish gangs of New York. See what the lizard faced man has in store for you all, look into your knowledge from the future ..."*He lunges at the camera and gets right in its face*
: "And then LEARN IT WAS ALL USELESS SHIT! Because there is no preparing or game planning.... for the beast of the north. Tuesday night is Prime Time. And none of you all will ever forget it!"*He violently throws the camera away from him*
