Post by robriot on Jul 8, 2021 11:06:08 GMT -5
BZZZZZZZZT.
That was a burst of static, interrupting your regularly scheduled NPW programming. When it clears, a British flag fills the screen, rippling majestically in the wind. If you’ve been paying attention recently, you already know what’s coming next.
BEEP. CLICK. BEEP BEEP. CLICK.
“Take it Easy, Chicken” by Mansun kicks into life, and the flag fades away to be replaced by Rob Riot of the Galactic Sex Pirates. He’s joined by a man in a bear suit. Riot, dressed impeccably in a white shirt, tweed jacket, and black corduroy trousers, appears to be unaware of the bear’s presence as he begins to speak.
ROB RIOT: Well, Northern Pro Wrestling, here we are. The moment we’ve all been waiting for. You all want to know why we’re here, and now we’re….ARGH!
The “bear” lunges forward, biting Riot’s arm. Riot grimaces, trying to pull away as the bear mauls him. After a few awkward moments of thrashing and struggling, the Englishman manages to fend off the “bear.” It crashes to the floor, at which point the head of the costume falls off, revealing the man inside the suit to be one Frank Windsor. Windsor stands up, dusting himself off.
FRANK WINDSOR: That was a bit rough, Rob.
ROB RIOT: Yeah, sorry. I got carried away. Anyway, ReVenants, what you just saw…
Windsor interrupts.
FRANK WINDSOR: Do you need me for this next bit?
ROB RIOT: What? No. You’re doing your own, aren’t you?
Windsor nods.
ROB RIOT: OK, cool. No, that was it.
FRANK WINDSOR: Can I keep the costume? It’s comfy.
ROB RIOT: Absolutely.
Windsor, seemingly happy with that, wanders into the darkness that exists beyond the camera’s range.
ROB RIOT: Anyway. As I was saying. ReVenants, what you just saw was a re-enactment of the most climactic scene in the movie that made you relevant six years ago. I think that was you, anyway. If not, you're probably going to have to deal with a copyright lawsuit in the near future because DiCaprio doesn't stand for infringement. The thing is, boys, this isn't really about you. You just had the misfortune to be in the same tournament as us a month ago, and now you've become victims of circumstance. I don't have anything against you. In fact, I'm going to offer you a little advice like the locker room leader I am.
Riot lowers his tone a little, taking a step toward the camera like he’s offering sage advice to a friend. If it wasn’t for the smirk, you could mistake his demeanour for sincerity.
ROB RIOT: Rob Garcia, you probably want to take the night off. Claim you've pulled a hamstring. Go and take a concussion test or something because from what I can make out, you've been carrying one of those for the past God-knows-how-long anyway. You're not the sharpest tool in the shed, kid, so you have no idea how much trouble you'll get in by stepping in the ring with men like Frank Windsor and me. I mean, I don't want to make this personal, but I ate a curry and drank six beers last night, and what I shat out into the porcelain this morning was smarter than you. I wrote the book on ring psychology, whereas you desperately need to ring a psychologist. Flipping around like a damn chipmunk isn't going to get you anywhere. And as for you, Mr. "Great White Terror…"
Riot takes a step back again, returning to his usual tone. Rob Garcia got “friendly advice.” The same courtesy apparently won’t be extended to Keith Williams.
ROB RIOT: Keith. The man who'll do anything to win. The man who thinks of himself as a technical magician that's rough around the edges. Jack of all trades, master of none. What exactly is supposed to be so terrifying about you? The fact you're still listening to Led Zeppelin in the 2020s? Your moustache? The fact your parents looked upon their newborn baby and said, "we're going to call this one Keith?" Look, if my parents called me Keith, I'd be angry with the world as well, but I can't help you with that. What I can help you with is a demonstration of why you're not the great technician you think you are, and you're going to get that on July 15th. See, I think you boys have missed the point. Let me help you.
Riot takes a step away from the screen. When he comes back, he’s clutching a dictionary. It’s the Oxford English Dictionary - none of that American or Canadian filth. He thumbs through the pages until he finds what he’s looking for.
ROB RIOT: “Revenant.” Noun. A person who has supposedly returned from the dead.
He slams the book shut.
ROB RIOT: I know there’s been some weird stuff happening around here ever since the Von Krauss ghouls turned up, but as far as I can make out, you two kids aren’t dead. Never have been. You can’t be revenants until someone’s taken care of that for you. Fortunately for you, your friendly neighbourhood Bastards are more than qualified for the task. You came up with the name, guys. All we’re going to do is help you earn it. What happens to you on July 15th will be all in a night’s work for the greatest unit professional wrestling has ever seen. The Bastards are back in business, and you’re our first customers. Our most sincere congratulations, with our apologies that you’re not much going to enjoy your reward.
Pleased with himself, Riot tosses the dictionary away and runs a hand across his freshly shaved skull. He has one more thing to add.
ROB RIOT: Now, I know a lot of you want to know the real reason the Galactic Sex Pirates are here. My answer to that is…
He looks left and right as if he’s about to impart a secret.
ROB RIOT: …wait and see.
With a smile and a wink, Rob Riot fades out.
That was a burst of static, interrupting your regularly scheduled NPW programming. When it clears, a British flag fills the screen, rippling majestically in the wind. If you’ve been paying attention recently, you already know what’s coming next.
BEEP. CLICK. BEEP BEEP. CLICK.
“Take it Easy, Chicken” by Mansun kicks into life, and the flag fades away to be replaced by Rob Riot of the Galactic Sex Pirates. He’s joined by a man in a bear suit. Riot, dressed impeccably in a white shirt, tweed jacket, and black corduroy trousers, appears to be unaware of the bear’s presence as he begins to speak.
ROB RIOT: Well, Northern Pro Wrestling, here we are. The moment we’ve all been waiting for. You all want to know why we’re here, and now we’re….ARGH!
The “bear” lunges forward, biting Riot’s arm. Riot grimaces, trying to pull away as the bear mauls him. After a few awkward moments of thrashing and struggling, the Englishman manages to fend off the “bear.” It crashes to the floor, at which point the head of the costume falls off, revealing the man inside the suit to be one Frank Windsor. Windsor stands up, dusting himself off.
FRANK WINDSOR: That was a bit rough, Rob.
ROB RIOT: Yeah, sorry. I got carried away. Anyway, ReVenants, what you just saw…
Windsor interrupts.
FRANK WINDSOR: Do you need me for this next bit?
ROB RIOT: What? No. You’re doing your own, aren’t you?
Windsor nods.
ROB RIOT: OK, cool. No, that was it.
FRANK WINDSOR: Can I keep the costume? It’s comfy.
ROB RIOT: Absolutely.
Windsor, seemingly happy with that, wanders into the darkness that exists beyond the camera’s range.
ROB RIOT: Anyway. As I was saying. ReVenants, what you just saw was a re-enactment of the most climactic scene in the movie that made you relevant six years ago. I think that was you, anyway. If not, you're probably going to have to deal with a copyright lawsuit in the near future because DiCaprio doesn't stand for infringement. The thing is, boys, this isn't really about you. You just had the misfortune to be in the same tournament as us a month ago, and now you've become victims of circumstance. I don't have anything against you. In fact, I'm going to offer you a little advice like the locker room leader I am.
Riot lowers his tone a little, taking a step toward the camera like he’s offering sage advice to a friend. If it wasn’t for the smirk, you could mistake his demeanour for sincerity.
ROB RIOT: Rob Garcia, you probably want to take the night off. Claim you've pulled a hamstring. Go and take a concussion test or something because from what I can make out, you've been carrying one of those for the past God-knows-how-long anyway. You're not the sharpest tool in the shed, kid, so you have no idea how much trouble you'll get in by stepping in the ring with men like Frank Windsor and me. I mean, I don't want to make this personal, but I ate a curry and drank six beers last night, and what I shat out into the porcelain this morning was smarter than you. I wrote the book on ring psychology, whereas you desperately need to ring a psychologist. Flipping around like a damn chipmunk isn't going to get you anywhere. And as for you, Mr. "Great White Terror…"
Riot takes a step back again, returning to his usual tone. Rob Garcia got “friendly advice.” The same courtesy apparently won’t be extended to Keith Williams.
ROB RIOT: Keith. The man who'll do anything to win. The man who thinks of himself as a technical magician that's rough around the edges. Jack of all trades, master of none. What exactly is supposed to be so terrifying about you? The fact you're still listening to Led Zeppelin in the 2020s? Your moustache? The fact your parents looked upon their newborn baby and said, "we're going to call this one Keith?" Look, if my parents called me Keith, I'd be angry with the world as well, but I can't help you with that. What I can help you with is a demonstration of why you're not the great technician you think you are, and you're going to get that on July 15th. See, I think you boys have missed the point. Let me help you.
Riot takes a step away from the screen. When he comes back, he’s clutching a dictionary. It’s the Oxford English Dictionary - none of that American or Canadian filth. He thumbs through the pages until he finds what he’s looking for.
ROB RIOT: “Revenant.” Noun. A person who has supposedly returned from the dead.
He slams the book shut.
ROB RIOT: I know there’s been some weird stuff happening around here ever since the Von Krauss ghouls turned up, but as far as I can make out, you two kids aren’t dead. Never have been. You can’t be revenants until someone’s taken care of that for you. Fortunately for you, your friendly neighbourhood Bastards are more than qualified for the task. You came up with the name, guys. All we’re going to do is help you earn it. What happens to you on July 15th will be all in a night’s work for the greatest unit professional wrestling has ever seen. The Bastards are back in business, and you’re our first customers. Our most sincere congratulations, with our apologies that you’re not much going to enjoy your reward.
Pleased with himself, Riot tosses the dictionary away and runs a hand across his freshly shaved skull. He has one more thing to add.
ROB RIOT: Now, I know a lot of you want to know the real reason the Galactic Sex Pirates are here. My answer to that is…
He looks left and right as if he’s about to impart a secret.
ROB RIOT: …wait and see.
With a smile and a wink, Rob Riot fades out.