Post by Technical Perfection on Feb 15, 2018 18:04:09 GMT -5
CHOOO-HOOO! What up wrestling fans. It’s that time of the week again, that time to open up your damn ears and let my mellow voice flow into your domepiece, it’s time for your boy Taane. And don’t any of y’all be looking to get a tan because I am about to throw so much shade that I am gonna get classified with a sunscreen factor.
Let’s start this shit on a positive note. Last week I talked about pride. Last week I talked up how I was gonna bring the fight to Lucas Walker. And he’ll be the first to admit, damn straight I did. We stepped up and threw down. You hear what the crowd chanted when the time keeper rang the bell? “Fight forever.” “Fight forever.” Lemme tell you, I could have done just that. And I didn’t give the big man credit for his cardio because he didn’t tire. He’d have stuck it out and if it wasn’t for stupid arbitrary limits on the match I would not be speaking to you now because we’d still be knocking seven shades of shit outta each other.
I’ll tell you straight from the horse’s mouth. I came into this federation for a challenge. And Luc’ offered me that challenge. Neither of us is gonna back down from a fight, neither of us is gonna hand out easy matches and I FUCKING LOVE IT. Gods gave me two fists and I’m gonna punch suckers with them and I know that big ol’ redwood is all rowdy and ‘bout it the same way I am. So any time you want a rematch, Luc’, holler at your boy and we’ll get boss man to sort it out. Because Spike Kane loves violence. And what we brought to that ring is, in the words of my daddy, “VIOLENCE… at its FINEST.”
Damnit y’all gonna want me to say it now. Not leaning on my daddy’s style too hard but… BOO-YAH!
~~
Big Chris: You sorted, T?
Taane: Yeah, yeah. Gots to make an effort. Town’s gonna be crazy tonight.
Taane and Big Chris’ appartment. The voice of the Polynesian Prodigy drifts in from the bathroom as his hyped up friend checks his shirt collar is straight in the living room mirror. Chris taps his foot hyperactively, anxiously waiting for Taane to finish sharpening himself up for the night out to come. Valentine’s Day is always crazy for singles and Boston isn’t going to prove any different. The larger of the two Polynesians pipes up again.
Big Chris: C’mon man! Time’s a wasting. We have gots to get out there. It ain’t like some fine ass fafine is gonna just walk through the damn door.
There is a knock at the door. It creaks open and… a fine ass fafine walks through. Big Chris kind of stands there, stunned at this turn of events.
Big Chris: He..wh...hell...whu.. good even.. aftern..
Sala: Talofa, Chris.
Taane wanders in casually from the bathroom, dressed to the nines. He walks over to the woman in the room and kisses her on both cheeks.
Taane: Kia ora, sis.
Sala: Kia ora, bro.
Big Chris’ jaw drops.
Taane: Aren’t you gonna welcome my sister properly?
Big Chris: Sister?
Taane: You remember Sala, right?
Big Chris: Well, ummm, yeah. But you were…
Sala: Slightly chubby? Spotty? Braces? You don’t have to hold it back. My teenage years were a mess, Chris. But we all grow up. Man, I’m gonna show my kids that graduation photo and they are gonna laugh it up.
Big Chris: You got kids?
Taane: If she had, would that make you stop gaping like a moron?
Sala: No, Chris. Besides if there’s one of us that looks preggo, it’s you.
Chris’ face falls.
Taane: Chill, Sala. Chris is a good guy.
Sala: I’m only, what would daddy call it, “Taking the piss?”
Sala does a very over the top impersonation of her dad’s accent at it’s most New Zealand. Up to the point where the word “piss” comes out nearer to “pus”
Sala: Look bro. I’m gonna hit the bathroom. Gotta fix my makeup for tonight. Your place is fucking awful to find.
Taane: No worries. Just dump the shit that’s on the sink onto the edge of the shower or something, dig?
Salamasina Tuipolotu slinks off into the bathroom to give her face a little touch up.
Big Chris: You never told me your sister was coming out with us tonight.
Taane: Shit. Yeah. Should have remembered, brah. Gonna be a problem.
Big Chris: Nononononononono. And T?
Taane: Yeah, man.
Big Chris: Your sister is hot.
Taane: Try not to bring it up too often…
~~
Yeah, I know where I come from. But let’s concentrate on where I’m at. Second round. Combat Wrestling Title. Ethan King. Rich bitch. Technically sound grappler. Loves to cheat. To quote Jay-Z, "Y'all know the type, loud as a motorbike but couldn't bust a grape in a fruit fight." And people like him are like fucking taxis in pro wrestling. One passes you by, just hold your thumb out and there is gonna be another two come along in minutes. Some day I’m gonna get my own promotion and let every single rich motherfucker who cheats rather than use their technical prowess fight in a tournament. Might take a few months but I’m sure it’d get some people watching.
Lemme tell you something. Something nice and personal, Ethan. I got me a ton of pride, you heard that last week. And you got none. Because if you had an ounce of professional pride you would check yourself and realise that you don’t need the shortcuts to be good. You don’t need your wahine to distract the ref. You don’t need to go for the low blow, the foreign object, the cheap shot. No pride. Maybe if you didn’t you could go watch the damn tape with your friends, if you got any, and not have them point out what a bitch it makes you look like. I’m damn sure some of your old college wrestling buddies see you taking the easy way out in the ring and bury their damn heads in their hands because you’re lowering the rep of your class by existing. They get no pride from your because you got no pride.
If you did rock an ounce of professional pride, you’d hop off the cheating gravy train before it’s all anyone associates you with. Because I hear the shit fans say and all I hear when Ethan King gets mentioned, “You mean that dude who cheats?”. And you’ll walk into a federation down the line, you’ll want to point out that you’re a great technician, you’ll try to explain that you got mad props in Japan for your style and grace in the ring. And the management won’t be able to overlook the fact you’re a known cheat and that’s all they’re gonna expect from you. Good? Bad? Indifferent? That won’t matter any more. You’re not valuable, Ethan. You fill a fucking niche.
But, hey, you probably don’t care about how other people see you, right? The whole no pride thing, again. It's all about you keeping on racking up the dubyas? All about you coming out of every match on top no matter who gives a shit? Because that’s an interesting rep to have, to want or at least to give so little a fuck about having that you let that hang around you. You’re gonna win a few more matches through back stabbing and double dealing and short cuts. You treat it all like some big business deal after all. The last thing you’ll realise, the last thing you’ll spot is that you’re building a huge house of cards and it’s all gonna fall down. Because you’re gonna make people resent you and when you’re looking at how it’s all come crashing down and you’re laying there, down and out, ain’t nobody gonna offer you a hand up. You live by the sword, you die by the sword. You live by the knife in the back, you’re gonna wind up bleeding out on the floor somewhere. You may be one hell of a mouthy little bitch, Ethan. Karma's a bigger one.
See, Ethan, I don’t care if your bank balance is nice and round and fat in the black. Because the only black I care about is an All Black, shout out to Sonny Bill Williams. And if you want to play mind games with me, I’m gonna play my own special mind games. It’s called, “Can I kick your skull in so hard your mind flies out your earhole?” Spoiler alert. I can. Check it. See I ain’t playing the subtle card in our match. I am stomping my way through you like King Kapisi in his big islander jandals. I’m putting you on full blast, I don’t give two shits about whether you survive the rocking your face is going to get.
You rose to this position in the industry through having a little baseline skill, then you rounded it off through being a scumbag. You have cheated your way into a position of some repute, some notoriety. Just know your position is unsustainable. You’ll run out of glad handers and back scratchers and people who are willing to put up with your shit faster than you think, Ethan. I got a lift in this industry because of who my daddy is, that’s for sure. But I’m making my way because I’m faster than other guys my size, I hit harder than other guys my size and, for my size, I wreck an unbelievable amount of face.
What size are you again? 6’3, 240?
Hope your many business interests carries good insurance.
I'm Taane. Unlike you, I'm proud of who I am. I'm proud of what I'm doing. And I'll be damn proud when I end you. I'm Taane. I'm gonna lay waste to you like you were nothing. And they only person that's gonna care when they scrape your ass off the canvas is Spike 'cause the cleaning bill is on him. I'm Taane. You dream small, Ethan. I can tell because you ain't already run from this nightmare. I'm Taane. I don't give a fuck about your plans, 'cause you ain't got plans for these here hands.
I'm Taane.
I was BORN TO DO THIS.
Let’s start this shit on a positive note. Last week I talked about pride. Last week I talked up how I was gonna bring the fight to Lucas Walker. And he’ll be the first to admit, damn straight I did. We stepped up and threw down. You hear what the crowd chanted when the time keeper rang the bell? “Fight forever.” “Fight forever.” Lemme tell you, I could have done just that. And I didn’t give the big man credit for his cardio because he didn’t tire. He’d have stuck it out and if it wasn’t for stupid arbitrary limits on the match I would not be speaking to you now because we’d still be knocking seven shades of shit outta each other.
I’ll tell you straight from the horse’s mouth. I came into this federation for a challenge. And Luc’ offered me that challenge. Neither of us is gonna back down from a fight, neither of us is gonna hand out easy matches and I FUCKING LOVE IT. Gods gave me two fists and I’m gonna punch suckers with them and I know that big ol’ redwood is all rowdy and ‘bout it the same way I am. So any time you want a rematch, Luc’, holler at your boy and we’ll get boss man to sort it out. Because Spike Kane loves violence. And what we brought to that ring is, in the words of my daddy, “VIOLENCE… at its FINEST.”
Damnit y’all gonna want me to say it now. Not leaning on my daddy’s style too hard but… BOO-YAH!
~~
Big Chris: You sorted, T?
Taane: Yeah, yeah. Gots to make an effort. Town’s gonna be crazy tonight.
Taane and Big Chris’ appartment. The voice of the Polynesian Prodigy drifts in from the bathroom as his hyped up friend checks his shirt collar is straight in the living room mirror. Chris taps his foot hyperactively, anxiously waiting for Taane to finish sharpening himself up for the night out to come. Valentine’s Day is always crazy for singles and Boston isn’t going to prove any different. The larger of the two Polynesians pipes up again.
Big Chris: C’mon man! Time’s a wasting. We have gots to get out there. It ain’t like some fine ass fafine is gonna just walk through the damn door.
There is a knock at the door. It creaks open and… a fine ass fafine walks through. Big Chris kind of stands there, stunned at this turn of events.
Big Chris: He..wh...hell...whu.. good even.. aftern..
Sala: Talofa, Chris.
Taane wanders in casually from the bathroom, dressed to the nines. He walks over to the woman in the room and kisses her on both cheeks.
Taane: Kia ora, sis.
Sala: Kia ora, bro.
Big Chris’ jaw drops.
Taane: Aren’t you gonna welcome my sister properly?
Big Chris: Sister?
Taane: You remember Sala, right?
Big Chris: Well, ummm, yeah. But you were…
Sala: Slightly chubby? Spotty? Braces? You don’t have to hold it back. My teenage years were a mess, Chris. But we all grow up. Man, I’m gonna show my kids that graduation photo and they are gonna laugh it up.
Big Chris: You got kids?
Taane: If she had, would that make you stop gaping like a moron?
Sala: No, Chris. Besides if there’s one of us that looks preggo, it’s you.
Chris’ face falls.
Taane: Chill, Sala. Chris is a good guy.
Sala: I’m only, what would daddy call it, “Taking the piss?”
Sala does a very over the top impersonation of her dad’s accent at it’s most New Zealand. Up to the point where the word “piss” comes out nearer to “pus”
Sala: Look bro. I’m gonna hit the bathroom. Gotta fix my makeup for tonight. Your place is fucking awful to find.
Taane: No worries. Just dump the shit that’s on the sink onto the edge of the shower or something, dig?
Salamasina Tuipolotu slinks off into the bathroom to give her face a little touch up.
Big Chris: You never told me your sister was coming out with us tonight.
Taane: Shit. Yeah. Should have remembered, brah. Gonna be a problem.
Big Chris: Nononononononono. And T?
Taane: Yeah, man.
Big Chris: Your sister is hot.
Taane: Try not to bring it up too often…
~~
Yeah, I know where I come from. But let’s concentrate on where I’m at. Second round. Combat Wrestling Title. Ethan King. Rich bitch. Technically sound grappler. Loves to cheat. To quote Jay-Z, "Y'all know the type, loud as a motorbike but couldn't bust a grape in a fruit fight." And people like him are like fucking taxis in pro wrestling. One passes you by, just hold your thumb out and there is gonna be another two come along in minutes. Some day I’m gonna get my own promotion and let every single rich motherfucker who cheats rather than use their technical prowess fight in a tournament. Might take a few months but I’m sure it’d get some people watching.
Lemme tell you something. Something nice and personal, Ethan. I got me a ton of pride, you heard that last week. And you got none. Because if you had an ounce of professional pride you would check yourself and realise that you don’t need the shortcuts to be good. You don’t need your wahine to distract the ref. You don’t need to go for the low blow, the foreign object, the cheap shot. No pride. Maybe if you didn’t you could go watch the damn tape with your friends, if you got any, and not have them point out what a bitch it makes you look like. I’m damn sure some of your old college wrestling buddies see you taking the easy way out in the ring and bury their damn heads in their hands because you’re lowering the rep of your class by existing. They get no pride from your because you got no pride.
If you did rock an ounce of professional pride, you’d hop off the cheating gravy train before it’s all anyone associates you with. Because I hear the shit fans say and all I hear when Ethan King gets mentioned, “You mean that dude who cheats?”. And you’ll walk into a federation down the line, you’ll want to point out that you’re a great technician, you’ll try to explain that you got mad props in Japan for your style and grace in the ring. And the management won’t be able to overlook the fact you’re a known cheat and that’s all they’re gonna expect from you. Good? Bad? Indifferent? That won’t matter any more. You’re not valuable, Ethan. You fill a fucking niche.
But, hey, you probably don’t care about how other people see you, right? The whole no pride thing, again. It's all about you keeping on racking up the dubyas? All about you coming out of every match on top no matter who gives a shit? Because that’s an interesting rep to have, to want or at least to give so little a fuck about having that you let that hang around you. You’re gonna win a few more matches through back stabbing and double dealing and short cuts. You treat it all like some big business deal after all. The last thing you’ll realise, the last thing you’ll spot is that you’re building a huge house of cards and it’s all gonna fall down. Because you’re gonna make people resent you and when you’re looking at how it’s all come crashing down and you’re laying there, down and out, ain’t nobody gonna offer you a hand up. You live by the sword, you die by the sword. You live by the knife in the back, you’re gonna wind up bleeding out on the floor somewhere. You may be one hell of a mouthy little bitch, Ethan. Karma's a bigger one.
See, Ethan, I don’t care if your bank balance is nice and round and fat in the black. Because the only black I care about is an All Black, shout out to Sonny Bill Williams. And if you want to play mind games with me, I’m gonna play my own special mind games. It’s called, “Can I kick your skull in so hard your mind flies out your earhole?” Spoiler alert. I can. Check it. See I ain’t playing the subtle card in our match. I am stomping my way through you like King Kapisi in his big islander jandals. I’m putting you on full blast, I don’t give two shits about whether you survive the rocking your face is going to get.
You rose to this position in the industry through having a little baseline skill, then you rounded it off through being a scumbag. You have cheated your way into a position of some repute, some notoriety. Just know your position is unsustainable. You’ll run out of glad handers and back scratchers and people who are willing to put up with your shit faster than you think, Ethan. I got a lift in this industry because of who my daddy is, that’s for sure. But I’m making my way because I’m faster than other guys my size, I hit harder than other guys my size and, for my size, I wreck an unbelievable amount of face.
What size are you again? 6’3, 240?
Hope your many business interests carries good insurance.
I'm Taane. Unlike you, I'm proud of who I am. I'm proud of what I'm doing. And I'll be damn proud when I end you. I'm Taane. I'm gonna lay waste to you like you were nothing. And they only person that's gonna care when they scrape your ass off the canvas is Spike 'cause the cleaning bill is on him. I'm Taane. You dream small, Ethan. I can tell because you ain't already run from this nightmare. I'm Taane. I don't give a fuck about your plans, 'cause you ain't got plans for these here hands.
I'm Taane.
I was BORN TO DO THIS.
