Post by Lady Munin on Apr 8, 2016 5:35:34 GMT
Electric silver and “Pure Morning” fade away into the interior of Johnny Raike's garage studio. The WARPED star is dressed against the cold, well tailored pea coat hiding all but the tattoo's on the back of his right hand, space heater visible in the back along side an easel, it's contents currently covered by an Adventure Time blanket.
Johnny: “And so it has come to this. By this, I of course mean me, Johnny Raike, discussing his glorious spot main eventing a WARPED show once again. Been a little while since the last time, but I believe the historians in the viewership will be able to tell you who won that one. Hint? You've wanted to sit on his face, and not in the smothering to death kind of way. Best ass in wrestling, aging like Dorian Grey, never beaten in WARPED competition? Think you've got a guess? Is that guess Crowbar? Because if so you're wrong, it was the other guy in that match. Oh well, guess you'll just have to live with never knowing.”
Johnny flicks his hair and turns to look aloofly to the side, before looking over his shoulder at the camera with an amused grin and mouths 'it was me' before tuning his body back to camera, high beam of a smile on his pretty face.
Johnny: “Now, of course there are those that would like to point out that being in the main event of this particular WARPED show isn't exactly unique. That there are some ten other men in the event, how are you going to act like it's a big deal? And to those people I say shut your damn food catcher, of course it matters! It matters to me, because I love the feel of being a main event star; having to share the stage with a group of varied individuals in all shapes and sizes under two-twenty-five in no way, shape, or form taints this for me. My light doesn't dim just because I stand next to others. If anything you'll see clearly just how white hot it burns. This isn't some slapped together bullshit, thrown in with no thought just to pad time, or make sure as many people as possible get a cut of the action. No, no my friends- This is for the WARPED Jr. Heavyweight title. What else could possibly be in the top spot? Hmm?”
The Thigh-High Thriller stops for a moment to pantomime checking his watch.
Johnny: “That's what I thought. This is to crown the inaugural WARPED Jr. Heavyweight champion, to endow upon what might otherwise be just a bit of leather and tin a pedigree to be proud of. I just so happen to believe that a pedigree starting with one Johnny Raike, the Beautiful Nightmare, would put us off to an excellent start. Truly, the best of all available options.”
Raike holds up a hand, forestalling imagined counter arguments.
Johnny: “Now, before too many of you get your underwear all bunched up and twisted, know that I am not trying to cast aspirations on anyone’s talent. You'd better be able to bring it if Patrick Kay has seen fit to grace you with such an amazing opportunity, so I know this crop has talent. Anyone who can't hang will be rooted out accordingly, and the big boys will set about shaking out our initial pecking order. So when I say I'm the best of all options, that doesn't mean I think I'm better than all of you. I mean, I do think that, but we all think that deep in our heart of hearts and it still isn't what that was all about. I mean that I am the one who sells tickets. Helped get WARPED a TV deal. Spend my time and effort promoting WARPED, and I don't make one red cent off of that. I love this company, I gladly talk about it to anyone who will listen. And that talk, why, it puts asses in seats.”
Johnny nods, bedroom eyes to the camera.
Johnny: “It's not just about the ticket sales though. It's not just about how WARPED was the place that first saw true glory in me, with one hell of an assist from Vaughn Ronie. He'd get the nod for first, but I had to change his mind through guts, glory, and gams. Apologies for the old time slang, but the only other fitting g word I could think of was glutinous, and that just didn't trip lightly off the tongue, even so skilled a tongue as mine.”
Johnny pulls a face and sticks his tongue out at the camera, giggling as he finished up. The Hedonistic Hellcat slowly draws his hand in front of his face, leaving himself composed when his hand drops back to his side.
Johnny: “Hell, it's not even about how much I earned it with blood sweat and tears, how I jumped at the call to come back. It's about the big picture. It's about the wrestling industry. We're doing something a little different here, a chance for the boys like us to have a match that doesn't involve chopping down the leg, that doesn't require I stay two steps ahead all night 'cause the moment the other dude catches up he's gonna put his roided up fist through my face. And risks, while a great thing to grow a brand, have to pay off. Moving the company to Japan, headlining with the Jr. Heavyweights, that's a risk right there. Japan loves it giants, which means we need someone sooo talented as our champion that the crowds forget all about whatever seven-footer the other guys have. I am that talented.”
Raike nods along almost unconsciously, hands flying about to emphasize his points.
Johnny: “It's about having someone hold that belt so that when other champions of our industry take a look they don't see someone who's good for a junior heavyweight, they just see someone who's that damn good. I am that damn good. It's about a face people can respect, even, perhaps especially, if they hate your guts. About a performer who doesn't let you down, will never run out on you, or ignore your calls for more than thirty-six hours. It's about having the right man to wear the crown, metaphorical in this instance, to bring in eyes, bring in talent, bring in that sweet, life giving green. Honey, I bring in pounds of green, and I'm not talking about the contents of my travel bag. That's why I am the clear choice.”
Johnny emphasizes his spiel by pointing to himself and looking humbly at the floor. A quick moment passes, and suddenly Johnny claps his hands together as loud as he can, popping his head up with startling speed.
Johnny: “BUT! This isn't about choice, is it? There's no popularity clause that gives me a second turn in the event I get eliminated. No poll the fans can go to WARPED.com and vote on, no demonstration of democracy that will change one very simple fact: I have to actually win. Now, I'm not too worried about that, because I know me. Very, very well I might add. I don't call myself the Brutiful One just because I like the sound of brutiful. My nicknames, cute and alliterative as they tend to be, are true epithets. I am a hellcat, I am a nightmare, I am liberated and you all know I am a thriller. So I'm a little less worried about my chances in this match then I would guess others are.”
Johnny: “And so many others! Now, if you're thinking that this is the part of the promo where I go through my opponents one by one and point out their foibles in a humorous and, dare I say, charming manor...maybe later. I believe in brevity being the soul of wit, and I am aware that many of you watching this have actual shit to be getting to. I also believe in not being half-assed when you know damn well you got it in you to give it all of that ass. So, rather than choose between giving everyone just a sentence or two of my classic Johnny ego skewering, or making this video into an Avengers style two hour epic, I choose to say fuck binary choices, let's do something else. And that's to actually critically examine the field.”
Johnny steps back and pulls the cover off of the easel. On it are written all the names of the other Jr. Heavyweight championship participants, listed alphabetically by first name. Each name is written in a different style, from scratches, to bubble letters, to color forms for the final name, Ryan Smith.
Johnny: “We really do run the gamut on one. WARPED originals like Anton Chase, we got the Dirty Mac, Cameron MacNichol. Who I do hope will be bringing his sister. Nice girl. We've got new to WARPED but world traveled veterans like Ryan “Kick” Smith, who's proof that you don't have to be good with nicknames to do well in this business, or Reginald Dampshaw the third, who I hope has only daughters. We got guys still so wet behind the ears you'd think their ears saw me walk by, and guys that have been doing this day in and day out for five, ten, even fifteen years. Good to see a few of the rook dogs back, by the way, see the young blood sticking around. Pay real close attention to me boys, you might just learn something. What my boots taste like, at the very least. I imagine not great.”
An aggravating shrug of the shoulders.
Johnny: “We got former champions, former coworkers, about the only thing we don't have is a little clam in among the sausage, but, well, once I get the belt you know the ladies will come. I have that kind of power. Real talk; read her body, ask questions, and practice, practice, practice.”
The Party Queen of Queens gives the camera the wink and the gun.
Johnny: “We have an enviable field of talent, quite a few giants for me to stand on the shoulders of. I look forward to representing all of you as Jr. Heavyweight champion, and I say that with no trace of sarcasm or irony. I really do want to make the WARPED locker room proud. Not on an individual, person to person level, mind. On that scale I should just give up now; I'm likely not making more than a few boys in the back proud. I've been told I'm easier to love from afar. But as a group, as a whole, as WARPED, I know you'll be proud of me. Envious of what I achieved, of course, but proud. I have been training like a maniac for weeks. I turned down parties, club nights, a bachelor party all because I was training. My stamina is at an all time high, my kicks are as crisp and deadly as a blizzard in Florida, I am burning with the need, deeply primal, to climb to the top of the mountain. To stand in the spotlight, the fuckboi made good, to stand up and sparkle like a beacon for the marginalized, to carve out a space for us. To be my own man, unbent and uncompromising, and I give it all to you, my creatures of the night, my freaks and faeries. Well, not all. We must all keep a piece for us; never give away so much that you can't find you are. And for you all, and for me, and for the business and the prestige, I will leave Korakuen Hall with that belt around my waist, over my shoulder, at the foot of the bed when I celebrate with the man I...”
Johnny stops, mind catching up with his mouth, about to say more than he means to. He covers with a coy smile.
Johnny: “Well, that was about to get personal, and I'm sure you all have no interest in my personal life. Totally unrelated note, try to draw inferences from this and I will gut you, but anyone who tries to tell me I didn't earn my spot in WARPED just because Peaks and I happen to be friendly outside of the business as well as in, shut the fuck up. Patrick didn't make me number one WARPED contender, that was me. PKA didn't deign to notice a bottle blond with shitty hair and severe diarrhea of the mouth, and in so noticing make him important to WARPED. That was all me. Hi Sinc! Still never beat me, still pissed off you rode my coattails to glory and stole my pin over Wallace, let's never meet up.”
A flip of the bird is followed by a roll of the eyes and a rueful grin from the Panty Wearing Panty Dropper.
Johnny: “I make friends, it's what I do. If I really had that kinda influence over booking in WARPED, you can bet my perky ass this wouldn't have been a gauntlet rumble. Hell, I was more than a little surprised at this booking, truth be told. I figured Patrick Kay would want to keep me out of the Jr. Heavyweight race, at least to start with. After all, I have been chasing the dream of being WARPED World Champion for well over a year now. Was the official number one contender for almost a full year. I was assuming, I know, that Patrick wouldn't want both the top titles on the same guy. But then here I am, right smack dab in the middle of it all. And I look down at this waist and think, there's room enough for two. There's space to show just what a six foot one, under two-hundred pound slip of a girly boy can really do in this industry. He can, and will, win. He'll have his cake, and eat it too.”
A confident nod and self assured smile from Johnny.
Johnny: “And so there you have it. The plans and goals of the Most Liberated Man in Professional Wrestling. I want it all, I will chase every little bit of glory I can get. I am on the edge of glory, and this time that's not a euphemism for orgasm. But Bowie knows I will fill the cup once I'm standing there, arm raised, hearing all about the NEW WARPED Jr. Heavyweight champion, Johnny Raike.”
Johnny leans back against the wall his garage, head back, leg up, and lights up a cigarette, exhaling deep and sensually, finger waving from behind a screen of smoke, before the video fades back to electric silver and “Pure Morning,” ending with the traditional shot of the Raike in the Cash logo.
Read more: officialpurepro.boards.net/thread/298/all-little-guy-post-warped#ixzz45D6VBDbx
Johnny: “And so it has come to this. By this, I of course mean me, Johnny Raike, discussing his glorious spot main eventing a WARPED show once again. Been a little while since the last time, but I believe the historians in the viewership will be able to tell you who won that one. Hint? You've wanted to sit on his face, and not in the smothering to death kind of way. Best ass in wrestling, aging like Dorian Grey, never beaten in WARPED competition? Think you've got a guess? Is that guess Crowbar? Because if so you're wrong, it was the other guy in that match. Oh well, guess you'll just have to live with never knowing.”
Johnny flicks his hair and turns to look aloofly to the side, before looking over his shoulder at the camera with an amused grin and mouths 'it was me' before tuning his body back to camera, high beam of a smile on his pretty face.
Johnny: “Now, of course there are those that would like to point out that being in the main event of this particular WARPED show isn't exactly unique. That there are some ten other men in the event, how are you going to act like it's a big deal? And to those people I say shut your damn food catcher, of course it matters! It matters to me, because I love the feel of being a main event star; having to share the stage with a group of varied individuals in all shapes and sizes under two-twenty-five in no way, shape, or form taints this for me. My light doesn't dim just because I stand next to others. If anything you'll see clearly just how white hot it burns. This isn't some slapped together bullshit, thrown in with no thought just to pad time, or make sure as many people as possible get a cut of the action. No, no my friends- This is for the WARPED Jr. Heavyweight title. What else could possibly be in the top spot? Hmm?”
The Thigh-High Thriller stops for a moment to pantomime checking his watch.
Johnny: “That's what I thought. This is to crown the inaugural WARPED Jr. Heavyweight champion, to endow upon what might otherwise be just a bit of leather and tin a pedigree to be proud of. I just so happen to believe that a pedigree starting with one Johnny Raike, the Beautiful Nightmare, would put us off to an excellent start. Truly, the best of all available options.”
Raike holds up a hand, forestalling imagined counter arguments.
Johnny: “Now, before too many of you get your underwear all bunched up and twisted, know that I am not trying to cast aspirations on anyone’s talent. You'd better be able to bring it if Patrick Kay has seen fit to grace you with such an amazing opportunity, so I know this crop has talent. Anyone who can't hang will be rooted out accordingly, and the big boys will set about shaking out our initial pecking order. So when I say I'm the best of all options, that doesn't mean I think I'm better than all of you. I mean, I do think that, but we all think that deep in our heart of hearts and it still isn't what that was all about. I mean that I am the one who sells tickets. Helped get WARPED a TV deal. Spend my time and effort promoting WARPED, and I don't make one red cent off of that. I love this company, I gladly talk about it to anyone who will listen. And that talk, why, it puts asses in seats.”
Johnny nods, bedroom eyes to the camera.
Johnny: “It's not just about the ticket sales though. It's not just about how WARPED was the place that first saw true glory in me, with one hell of an assist from Vaughn Ronie. He'd get the nod for first, but I had to change his mind through guts, glory, and gams. Apologies for the old time slang, but the only other fitting g word I could think of was glutinous, and that just didn't trip lightly off the tongue, even so skilled a tongue as mine.”
Johnny pulls a face and sticks his tongue out at the camera, giggling as he finished up. The Hedonistic Hellcat slowly draws his hand in front of his face, leaving himself composed when his hand drops back to his side.
Johnny: “Hell, it's not even about how much I earned it with blood sweat and tears, how I jumped at the call to come back. It's about the big picture. It's about the wrestling industry. We're doing something a little different here, a chance for the boys like us to have a match that doesn't involve chopping down the leg, that doesn't require I stay two steps ahead all night 'cause the moment the other dude catches up he's gonna put his roided up fist through my face. And risks, while a great thing to grow a brand, have to pay off. Moving the company to Japan, headlining with the Jr. Heavyweights, that's a risk right there. Japan loves it giants, which means we need someone sooo talented as our champion that the crowds forget all about whatever seven-footer the other guys have. I am that talented.”
Raike nods along almost unconsciously, hands flying about to emphasize his points.
Johnny: “It's about having someone hold that belt so that when other champions of our industry take a look they don't see someone who's good for a junior heavyweight, they just see someone who's that damn good. I am that damn good. It's about a face people can respect, even, perhaps especially, if they hate your guts. About a performer who doesn't let you down, will never run out on you, or ignore your calls for more than thirty-six hours. It's about having the right man to wear the crown, metaphorical in this instance, to bring in eyes, bring in talent, bring in that sweet, life giving green. Honey, I bring in pounds of green, and I'm not talking about the contents of my travel bag. That's why I am the clear choice.”
Johnny emphasizes his spiel by pointing to himself and looking humbly at the floor. A quick moment passes, and suddenly Johnny claps his hands together as loud as he can, popping his head up with startling speed.
Johnny: “BUT! This isn't about choice, is it? There's no popularity clause that gives me a second turn in the event I get eliminated. No poll the fans can go to WARPED.com and vote on, no demonstration of democracy that will change one very simple fact: I have to actually win. Now, I'm not too worried about that, because I know me. Very, very well I might add. I don't call myself the Brutiful One just because I like the sound of brutiful. My nicknames, cute and alliterative as they tend to be, are true epithets. I am a hellcat, I am a nightmare, I am liberated and you all know I am a thriller. So I'm a little less worried about my chances in this match then I would guess others are.”
Johnny: “And so many others! Now, if you're thinking that this is the part of the promo where I go through my opponents one by one and point out their foibles in a humorous and, dare I say, charming manor...maybe later. I believe in brevity being the soul of wit, and I am aware that many of you watching this have actual shit to be getting to. I also believe in not being half-assed when you know damn well you got it in you to give it all of that ass. So, rather than choose between giving everyone just a sentence or two of my classic Johnny ego skewering, or making this video into an Avengers style two hour epic, I choose to say fuck binary choices, let's do something else. And that's to actually critically examine the field.”
Johnny steps back and pulls the cover off of the easel. On it are written all the names of the other Jr. Heavyweight championship participants, listed alphabetically by first name. Each name is written in a different style, from scratches, to bubble letters, to color forms for the final name, Ryan Smith.
Johnny: “We really do run the gamut on one. WARPED originals like Anton Chase, we got the Dirty Mac, Cameron MacNichol. Who I do hope will be bringing his sister. Nice girl. We've got new to WARPED but world traveled veterans like Ryan “Kick” Smith, who's proof that you don't have to be good with nicknames to do well in this business, or Reginald Dampshaw the third, who I hope has only daughters. We got guys still so wet behind the ears you'd think their ears saw me walk by, and guys that have been doing this day in and day out for five, ten, even fifteen years. Good to see a few of the rook dogs back, by the way, see the young blood sticking around. Pay real close attention to me boys, you might just learn something. What my boots taste like, at the very least. I imagine not great.”
An aggravating shrug of the shoulders.
Johnny: “We got former champions, former coworkers, about the only thing we don't have is a little clam in among the sausage, but, well, once I get the belt you know the ladies will come. I have that kind of power. Real talk; read her body, ask questions, and practice, practice, practice.”
The Party Queen of Queens gives the camera the wink and the gun.
Johnny: “We have an enviable field of talent, quite a few giants for me to stand on the shoulders of. I look forward to representing all of you as Jr. Heavyweight champion, and I say that with no trace of sarcasm or irony. I really do want to make the WARPED locker room proud. Not on an individual, person to person level, mind. On that scale I should just give up now; I'm likely not making more than a few boys in the back proud. I've been told I'm easier to love from afar. But as a group, as a whole, as WARPED, I know you'll be proud of me. Envious of what I achieved, of course, but proud. I have been training like a maniac for weeks. I turned down parties, club nights, a bachelor party all because I was training. My stamina is at an all time high, my kicks are as crisp and deadly as a blizzard in Florida, I am burning with the need, deeply primal, to climb to the top of the mountain. To stand in the spotlight, the fuckboi made good, to stand up and sparkle like a beacon for the marginalized, to carve out a space for us. To be my own man, unbent and uncompromising, and I give it all to you, my creatures of the night, my freaks and faeries. Well, not all. We must all keep a piece for us; never give away so much that you can't find you are. And for you all, and for me, and for the business and the prestige, I will leave Korakuen Hall with that belt around my waist, over my shoulder, at the foot of the bed when I celebrate with the man I...”
Johnny stops, mind catching up with his mouth, about to say more than he means to. He covers with a coy smile.
Johnny: “Well, that was about to get personal, and I'm sure you all have no interest in my personal life. Totally unrelated note, try to draw inferences from this and I will gut you, but anyone who tries to tell me I didn't earn my spot in WARPED just because Peaks and I happen to be friendly outside of the business as well as in, shut the fuck up. Patrick didn't make me number one WARPED contender, that was me. PKA didn't deign to notice a bottle blond with shitty hair and severe diarrhea of the mouth, and in so noticing make him important to WARPED. That was all me. Hi Sinc! Still never beat me, still pissed off you rode my coattails to glory and stole my pin over Wallace, let's never meet up.”
A flip of the bird is followed by a roll of the eyes and a rueful grin from the Panty Wearing Panty Dropper.
Johnny: “I make friends, it's what I do. If I really had that kinda influence over booking in WARPED, you can bet my perky ass this wouldn't have been a gauntlet rumble. Hell, I was more than a little surprised at this booking, truth be told. I figured Patrick Kay would want to keep me out of the Jr. Heavyweight race, at least to start with. After all, I have been chasing the dream of being WARPED World Champion for well over a year now. Was the official number one contender for almost a full year. I was assuming, I know, that Patrick wouldn't want both the top titles on the same guy. But then here I am, right smack dab in the middle of it all. And I look down at this waist and think, there's room enough for two. There's space to show just what a six foot one, under two-hundred pound slip of a girly boy can really do in this industry. He can, and will, win. He'll have his cake, and eat it too.”
A confident nod and self assured smile from Johnny.
Johnny: “And so there you have it. The plans and goals of the Most Liberated Man in Professional Wrestling. I want it all, I will chase every little bit of glory I can get. I am on the edge of glory, and this time that's not a euphemism for orgasm. But Bowie knows I will fill the cup once I'm standing there, arm raised, hearing all about the NEW WARPED Jr. Heavyweight champion, Johnny Raike.”
Johnny leans back against the wall his garage, head back, leg up, and lights up a cigarette, exhaling deep and sensually, finger waving from behind a screen of smoke, before the video fades back to electric silver and “Pure Morning,” ending with the traditional shot of the Raike in the Cash logo.
Read more: officialpurepro.boards.net/thread/298/all-little-guy-post-warped#ixzz45D6VBDbx