Post by Lady Munin on Apr 8, 2016 5:40:57 GMT
A gold background and “Pure Morning” return us to the garage of Johnny Raike, dressed against the early March chill in skinny jeans and an unzipped green hoodie.
Johnny: “Hello hello my faeries, freaks, and fuckbois, your savior is once again among you, inviting you back into his little kingdom in Queens. Kinda thought the weather would be nicer by now, but eh- still March.”
Johnny shrugs and lights an American Spirit, taking a deep pull to get things going.
Johnny: “I come before you, giggle, to speak about one William Wallace; the largely disappeared from wrestling, former top of the WARPED food chain who felt it necessary to interupt my moment of triumph. Again. Without really gaining anything. Again. Still pissed off about that time you got pinned by Sinc? Still pissed off that I burst onto the scene in WARPED and became the hot new thing, the it boy, while you sat there and tried to justify selling your title belt? Angry that you faded into history while I remained, forging a path for those with the guts to follow? Or is living in Scotland really that bad? Unending shitty weather, a people who rise to rugged at the best of times and constant sheep fucking jokes would leave me pretty pissed off, too. But hey, at least it's not Wales, am I right?”
A quick hand pop frames The Beautiful Nightmare's insincerely conspiratorial smile.
Johnny: “Though, while we've touched on the sheep fucking thing, can we just talk about your outfit from the last time I saw you. At least now I feel a little better about that rumor I heard about you wanting to get inside a sheep. That's for averting the stereotype. But man, you must have been popular back home. How many people have asked you if you kept the costume, and to follow up, how many had that look in their eye? You know the one I mean. Just remember, bah means no.”
An intentionally sanctimonious raise of the eyebrows and nod of the head from the Hedonistic Hellcat.
Johnny: “I kid of course. They'd all lose interest the moment they figured out you could speak. What's the point if they talk back, right? You'd know. But what I don't know- is why bother with the costume at all? It's not like the ref tried to stop the match, even though you clearly weren't Phreak and just as clearly weren't a junior heavyweight. They didn't stop when you attacked, hell they decided that Mark Storm got the belt. Side note. I do not recognize Mark Storm as my champion. I count him as luckier than me that night, I count him as impressive, but I did not lose that match by any means which will allow me to tip my head and acknowledge Storm as my better. Resuming.”
Johnny shakes his hair out and makes a few small throat clearing noises.
Johnny: “I was pissed that night. Just, emotional, hateful, ready to say and do stupid, insane things. Thankfully, I had a flight home from Japan to deal with before I could get out here to my little slice of heaven, and it made me think. And then I kept thinking, while I was training, fighting other fights, being a professional wrestler. And now, as I come back around to what you did to me, and just how you do it, well, now I just feel righteous.”
A content yet focused look slides across the face of the American Wet Dream.
Johnny: “See, now that I've had time to think it through, I get it. This was about you desperately needing a return to relevance. You're terrified that the crowds might have forgotten you, scared that if you just came out and signed up they might not cheer you or boo you, that they just might not have cared. Couldn't stand the idea. But you knew, hey, if I take down Johnny, especially when he's about to win the gold that just keeps getting kicked out of his reach, well that will definitely sell tickets. They'll remember me then.”
A coolly challenging stare from the Thigh High Thriller.
Johnny: “And it worked. I have raised you back into the main event. I have given you your platform, off of my back have you pushed yourself once more into the echelons of the top, the places for the best. You saw me, who's settled into your old spot like a cock to a condom, and you knew whose sexy ass would make you important again.”
Raike stage whispers 'Mine!' and underscores it with a quick swat on the butt.
Johnny: “But of course it goes further than that. So desperate are you, Wallace, to prove, after running away with your tail between your legs, that you are still WARPED, still one of us, that you went out and found a Sheep Sheep costume. Had to guarantee the crowd would look at you. After all, they haven't seen you for a while, maybe they wouldn't have remembered just what your ugly mug looked like. And it's good for a cheap pop, too. Certainly wouldn't want to have to earn it; that would be silly. And hey, not having to look upon your jacked up face- probably worth it. Maybe you should think about a mask full time.”
The Panty Wearing Panty Dropper pantomimes a mask that would cover all of William Wallace's head. He flashes a thumbs up, then gives a knowing smirk to the camera.
Johnny: “But you know, over and above your desperate need for approval, you showed me something out there. Not just that you're still saying your prayers and eating your quasi-legal vitamins, though that is obviously true. No, what you showed me is that you are afraid. There I was, jet lagged, nursing a beating from about sixteen hours before, focused on finishing the job against Mark Storm, and still you had to sneak attack me. I see you still remember the lashings I gave you that night you fucked up and let the belt walk out around the waist of the least WARPED man it could have ever gone to. Another night you chose blindsiding and bullshittery over daring to face me eye to eye. And I'd have to be in my heels for that, just FYI. Oh, and all that is before I even mention the knuckle dusters you came outfitted with. Just weren't leaving a damn thing up to chance, huh? Smart. In a way.”
The Party Queen of Queens whispers 'little bit', holding his thumb and pointer finger close together. Johnny relights his long forgotten cigarette and takes a quick puff, shaking his head as he brings himself back on track.
Johnny: “You fear me Wallace. You know I am more dedicated, more determined, more dangerous than you. You must, it's the only thing that makes sense as to why a genetic outlier, likely performance enhanced, can't stand nose to nose with a six-one, sub two-hundred pound slip of a sissyboy. You know that when I am prepared, and sweet heart, I am prepared, I'll have your number. See, your mistake wasn't just in preventing me from taking what I have earned, wasn't just in drawing my anger and unwavering attention. Your mistake was in not finishing the job. You should have followed me out, pulled me from the wreckage of the announce table, broken my damn neck, snapped my fucking spine in as many places as you could think to land a blow! You should have taken me out and you didn't. And know, you are going to pay.”
Johnny gives his best annoying smirk and a quick smoke ring to the camera.
Johnny: “What's great about all this, is that I should be afraid of you, Wallace. I should be nervous about facing off with one of the most dominant WARPED champions. Should be me finding costumes and coming to the ring loaded for bear. But I'm not. Because you've shown me just what you think about trying to face me. You actions mark me with respect, they show the world that you're a fantastic judge of character, but you also show the world that the great Willie Wallace is as human as the rest of us. Prone to just as many foibles.”
Johnny pauses to consider something for a moment.
Johnny: “Yeah, foibles is the word I want there. And it's not as though I haven't given Wallace ample reason to fear me. I've been saying for years I want people to have their blood run cold when they know I'm coming for them. I do have more than a bit of a giant killer streak in me, bigger and heavier than Wallace. I've been mutilated by sicker, and I think he knows that, so kudos for searching for a shortcut around me. Too bad there isn't one. You're terrified that you won't get away from me a second time, that you won't be able to resist a Pleasure Seeker once again, all fluttery in the stomach at the thought of what if would be like to go Full Frontal in front of the Japanese. Don't worry, they're impressed by anything. They think I'm huge, and one standard deviation at best. Little more if I take the right kinds of something. Ahem. Anyway. Wallace, you know what I can and have done to you when I have to fight off a second asshole. Get ready, very, very ready, for what I can do when I don't have to split my focus.”
Johnny takes a long drag, features sliding into a rueful face.
Johnny: “You cost me my belt. Again. You waited until I was already going through hell. Again. And when all this is said and done, I am to leave you in a heap so devastated that all you'll want to do is leave. Again. I'm coming off a bad spat of late. My heads been all over the place. And one of the places it's been a lot is on you, Wallace. Now, I finally get a chance to have an... airing of grievances with you. To settle all those little loose ends up, and get back to the real task at hand, the WARPED world championship. And what better way to reaffirm my status as number one contender and uncrowned champion than with a main event win over the former final WARPED world champion? I can't think of any.”
Johnny takes one last puff before extinguishing his cig.
Johnny: “The Japanese love a monster. They love someone who can come in and just tear some shit apart, tower over them as they cower in fear and watch as he vents power and rage into his enemies. Man, they are gonna worship me. Make sure you book a round trip from Scotland, honey. I don't think you'll fit too well in a Japanese hospital bed.”
A finger wave from the Idol of Idolatry, full bedroom eyes and all, fades into gold and is soon joined by the Raike in the Cash logo.
Read more: officialpurepro.boards.net/thread/372/thing-fdr-said-wrpd#ixzz45D83lEWO
Johnny: “Hello hello my faeries, freaks, and fuckbois, your savior is once again among you, inviting you back into his little kingdom in Queens. Kinda thought the weather would be nicer by now, but eh- still March.”
Johnny shrugs and lights an American Spirit, taking a deep pull to get things going.
Johnny: “I come before you, giggle, to speak about one William Wallace; the largely disappeared from wrestling, former top of the WARPED food chain who felt it necessary to interupt my moment of triumph. Again. Without really gaining anything. Again. Still pissed off about that time you got pinned by Sinc? Still pissed off that I burst onto the scene in WARPED and became the hot new thing, the it boy, while you sat there and tried to justify selling your title belt? Angry that you faded into history while I remained, forging a path for those with the guts to follow? Or is living in Scotland really that bad? Unending shitty weather, a people who rise to rugged at the best of times and constant sheep fucking jokes would leave me pretty pissed off, too. But hey, at least it's not Wales, am I right?”
A quick hand pop frames The Beautiful Nightmare's insincerely conspiratorial smile.
Johnny: “Though, while we've touched on the sheep fucking thing, can we just talk about your outfit from the last time I saw you. At least now I feel a little better about that rumor I heard about you wanting to get inside a sheep. That's for averting the stereotype. But man, you must have been popular back home. How many people have asked you if you kept the costume, and to follow up, how many had that look in their eye? You know the one I mean. Just remember, bah means no.”
An intentionally sanctimonious raise of the eyebrows and nod of the head from the Hedonistic Hellcat.
Johnny: “I kid of course. They'd all lose interest the moment they figured out you could speak. What's the point if they talk back, right? You'd know. But what I don't know- is why bother with the costume at all? It's not like the ref tried to stop the match, even though you clearly weren't Phreak and just as clearly weren't a junior heavyweight. They didn't stop when you attacked, hell they decided that Mark Storm got the belt. Side note. I do not recognize Mark Storm as my champion. I count him as luckier than me that night, I count him as impressive, but I did not lose that match by any means which will allow me to tip my head and acknowledge Storm as my better. Resuming.”
Johnny shakes his hair out and makes a few small throat clearing noises.
Johnny: “I was pissed that night. Just, emotional, hateful, ready to say and do stupid, insane things. Thankfully, I had a flight home from Japan to deal with before I could get out here to my little slice of heaven, and it made me think. And then I kept thinking, while I was training, fighting other fights, being a professional wrestler. And now, as I come back around to what you did to me, and just how you do it, well, now I just feel righteous.”
A content yet focused look slides across the face of the American Wet Dream.
Johnny: “See, now that I've had time to think it through, I get it. This was about you desperately needing a return to relevance. You're terrified that the crowds might have forgotten you, scared that if you just came out and signed up they might not cheer you or boo you, that they just might not have cared. Couldn't stand the idea. But you knew, hey, if I take down Johnny, especially when he's about to win the gold that just keeps getting kicked out of his reach, well that will definitely sell tickets. They'll remember me then.”
A coolly challenging stare from the Thigh High Thriller.
Johnny: “And it worked. I have raised you back into the main event. I have given you your platform, off of my back have you pushed yourself once more into the echelons of the top, the places for the best. You saw me, who's settled into your old spot like a cock to a condom, and you knew whose sexy ass would make you important again.”
Raike stage whispers 'Mine!' and underscores it with a quick swat on the butt.
Johnny: “But of course it goes further than that. So desperate are you, Wallace, to prove, after running away with your tail between your legs, that you are still WARPED, still one of us, that you went out and found a Sheep Sheep costume. Had to guarantee the crowd would look at you. After all, they haven't seen you for a while, maybe they wouldn't have remembered just what your ugly mug looked like. And it's good for a cheap pop, too. Certainly wouldn't want to have to earn it; that would be silly. And hey, not having to look upon your jacked up face- probably worth it. Maybe you should think about a mask full time.”
The Panty Wearing Panty Dropper pantomimes a mask that would cover all of William Wallace's head. He flashes a thumbs up, then gives a knowing smirk to the camera.
Johnny: “But you know, over and above your desperate need for approval, you showed me something out there. Not just that you're still saying your prayers and eating your quasi-legal vitamins, though that is obviously true. No, what you showed me is that you are afraid. There I was, jet lagged, nursing a beating from about sixteen hours before, focused on finishing the job against Mark Storm, and still you had to sneak attack me. I see you still remember the lashings I gave you that night you fucked up and let the belt walk out around the waist of the least WARPED man it could have ever gone to. Another night you chose blindsiding and bullshittery over daring to face me eye to eye. And I'd have to be in my heels for that, just FYI. Oh, and all that is before I even mention the knuckle dusters you came outfitted with. Just weren't leaving a damn thing up to chance, huh? Smart. In a way.”
The Party Queen of Queens whispers 'little bit', holding his thumb and pointer finger close together. Johnny relights his long forgotten cigarette and takes a quick puff, shaking his head as he brings himself back on track.
Johnny: “You fear me Wallace. You know I am more dedicated, more determined, more dangerous than you. You must, it's the only thing that makes sense as to why a genetic outlier, likely performance enhanced, can't stand nose to nose with a six-one, sub two-hundred pound slip of a sissyboy. You know that when I am prepared, and sweet heart, I am prepared, I'll have your number. See, your mistake wasn't just in preventing me from taking what I have earned, wasn't just in drawing my anger and unwavering attention. Your mistake was in not finishing the job. You should have followed me out, pulled me from the wreckage of the announce table, broken my damn neck, snapped my fucking spine in as many places as you could think to land a blow! You should have taken me out and you didn't. And know, you are going to pay.”
Johnny gives his best annoying smirk and a quick smoke ring to the camera.
Johnny: “What's great about all this, is that I should be afraid of you, Wallace. I should be nervous about facing off with one of the most dominant WARPED champions. Should be me finding costumes and coming to the ring loaded for bear. But I'm not. Because you've shown me just what you think about trying to face me. You actions mark me with respect, they show the world that you're a fantastic judge of character, but you also show the world that the great Willie Wallace is as human as the rest of us. Prone to just as many foibles.”
Johnny pauses to consider something for a moment.
Johnny: “Yeah, foibles is the word I want there. And it's not as though I haven't given Wallace ample reason to fear me. I've been saying for years I want people to have their blood run cold when they know I'm coming for them. I do have more than a bit of a giant killer streak in me, bigger and heavier than Wallace. I've been mutilated by sicker, and I think he knows that, so kudos for searching for a shortcut around me. Too bad there isn't one. You're terrified that you won't get away from me a second time, that you won't be able to resist a Pleasure Seeker once again, all fluttery in the stomach at the thought of what if would be like to go Full Frontal in front of the Japanese. Don't worry, they're impressed by anything. They think I'm huge, and one standard deviation at best. Little more if I take the right kinds of something. Ahem. Anyway. Wallace, you know what I can and have done to you when I have to fight off a second asshole. Get ready, very, very ready, for what I can do when I don't have to split my focus.”
Johnny takes a long drag, features sliding into a rueful face.
Johnny: “You cost me my belt. Again. You waited until I was already going through hell. Again. And when all this is said and done, I am to leave you in a heap so devastated that all you'll want to do is leave. Again. I'm coming off a bad spat of late. My heads been all over the place. And one of the places it's been a lot is on you, Wallace. Now, I finally get a chance to have an... airing of grievances with you. To settle all those little loose ends up, and get back to the real task at hand, the WARPED world championship. And what better way to reaffirm my status as number one contender and uncrowned champion than with a main event win over the former final WARPED world champion? I can't think of any.”
Johnny takes one last puff before extinguishing his cig.
Johnny: “The Japanese love a monster. They love someone who can come in and just tear some shit apart, tower over them as they cower in fear and watch as he vents power and rage into his enemies. Man, they are gonna worship me. Make sure you book a round trip from Scotland, honey. I don't think you'll fit too well in a Japanese hospital bed.”
A finger wave from the Idol of Idolatry, full bedroom eyes and all, fades into gold and is soon joined by the Raike in the Cash logo.
Read more: officialpurepro.boards.net/thread/372/thing-fdr-said-wrpd#ixzz45D83lEWO