Post by The Predator on Jun 13, 2012 0:25:32 GMT -6
The shot is a simple one, simply a well decorated room, pictures adorning the walls. A massive trophy case takes up the back wall in which the camera faces; It is packed to the gills with title belts, from FCW to GEW to LCW heavyweight championships, television championships, and novelty championships. The Predator wanders into the shot, dressed to the nines in a slick Armani suit that looks somewhat comical on his massive frame.
He speaks, somewhat incredulously. "Is that thing on? We sure this is a good idea?"
A male voice from off camera, Johnny's, pipes up. "Sure, champ. We film you, you say whats on your mind. And that's all. All the professional wrestlers are doing it these days!"
The Predator raises an eyebrow. "Oh, and we're trying to be hip now, are we?"
A female voice speaks up, also off camera. "Come on. You've been ranting nonstop for the past 3 days. Just say it on camera and put it out there. It's good marketing."
The Predator adjusts his tie, and nods. He faces the camera, and dons a serious expression. A pause. "Are we gonna introduce this with some kind of voice over, or..."
"CHAMP!!!"
"Right, sorry. I joined USPW because I loved the promotion, and because that competitive fire still burned within me. Wrestling lost it's novelty, it's thrill for me when I retired initially, primarily because it was a damn rollercoaster. I never felt in control of my career till the day I decided to stop giving a damn about decorum and take what I wanted. I won a guaranteed title shot, then I cashed it in, won the title, and retired champion. It capped off a career full of accolades, and I had found myself as a man. I had identity, I had greatness, and I left behind an incredibly legacy. It was time to pursue other ventures."
He grows sick of the tie, and just pulls it off.
"I invested all my money, bought a posh house. Married some production intern. And woke up one morning, realizing that I didn't recognize myself in the mirror without a belt, without my body, without scars, and that I didn't feel like myself without aches, without yearning, without thoughts of my matches and my opponents to come. I am an athlete, and I am a competitor. I revealed to my close friends and family a desire to compete again. It did not go over well."
His face grows stoney.
"I ended up alone. Nobody wanted to believe an older guy with a half a decade off could just head back to the big leagues and succeed again. But I know I can. And I've proved it. I won a triple threat match, and I beat Matt Hawk, the legend, the former champion, the asshat, again. And yet, here I am, feeling that all too familiar sensation of losing control of the direction of my career."
His volume begins to rise.
"I didn't ask for those jerkoffs to interfere with my match. I didn't ask to be put in a rematch with a guy I pinned less than 2 weeks ago. I didn't ask for the guy whose ass I so looked forward to kicking to be given even more excuses and reasons to run his big, inflated mouth. And it all got given to me, despite what I had and had not asked for. "
He points back to his trophy case.
"These started coming to me when I stopped taking crap and started making waves. I didn't want to start out showing an attitude...But I don't need to worry about heat from the brass. I'm one of the most popular, beloved legends the USPW has on its roster. And the fans love that I'm willing to challenge myself and take on the best."
He takes several steps towards the camera.
"So I'm gonna take on the schizo with a glandular problem this week. I'm going to beat him. Again. And then, I'm going to demand to be given the matches I deserve. The dream matches with my fellow legends. The title shots. All of it. And if I'm not taken seriously, I WILL make waves, I WILL cause damage, and I'll do it with a smile on my face and the fans chanting my name. Because I'm a champion, I'm a competitor, and I came here to kick stirling, thoroughbred, premium ass, and I intend to do it. I will settle my scores. I will win those belts. And I will make my mark on USPW, because that is just what the Predator does."
Pause.
"That felt good. I think I'm done."
Small clapping begins off screen. The Predator smiles, and bows.
Blackout
He speaks, somewhat incredulously. "Is that thing on? We sure this is a good idea?"
A male voice from off camera, Johnny's, pipes up. "Sure, champ. We film you, you say whats on your mind. And that's all. All the professional wrestlers are doing it these days!"
The Predator raises an eyebrow. "Oh, and we're trying to be hip now, are we?"
A female voice speaks up, also off camera. "Come on. You've been ranting nonstop for the past 3 days. Just say it on camera and put it out there. It's good marketing."
The Predator adjusts his tie, and nods. He faces the camera, and dons a serious expression. A pause. "Are we gonna introduce this with some kind of voice over, or..."
"CHAMP!!!"
"Right, sorry. I joined USPW because I loved the promotion, and because that competitive fire still burned within me. Wrestling lost it's novelty, it's thrill for me when I retired initially, primarily because it was a damn rollercoaster. I never felt in control of my career till the day I decided to stop giving a damn about decorum and take what I wanted. I won a guaranteed title shot, then I cashed it in, won the title, and retired champion. It capped off a career full of accolades, and I had found myself as a man. I had identity, I had greatness, and I left behind an incredibly legacy. It was time to pursue other ventures."
He grows sick of the tie, and just pulls it off.
"I invested all my money, bought a posh house. Married some production intern. And woke up one morning, realizing that I didn't recognize myself in the mirror without a belt, without my body, without scars, and that I didn't feel like myself without aches, without yearning, without thoughts of my matches and my opponents to come. I am an athlete, and I am a competitor. I revealed to my close friends and family a desire to compete again. It did not go over well."
His face grows stoney.
"I ended up alone. Nobody wanted to believe an older guy with a half a decade off could just head back to the big leagues and succeed again. But I know I can. And I've proved it. I won a triple threat match, and I beat Matt Hawk, the legend, the former champion, the asshat, again. And yet, here I am, feeling that all too familiar sensation of losing control of the direction of my career."
His volume begins to rise.
"I didn't ask for those jerkoffs to interfere with my match. I didn't ask to be put in a rematch with a guy I pinned less than 2 weeks ago. I didn't ask for the guy whose ass I so looked forward to kicking to be given even more excuses and reasons to run his big, inflated mouth. And it all got given to me, despite what I had and had not asked for. "
He points back to his trophy case.
"These started coming to me when I stopped taking crap and started making waves. I didn't want to start out showing an attitude...But I don't need to worry about heat from the brass. I'm one of the most popular, beloved legends the USPW has on its roster. And the fans love that I'm willing to challenge myself and take on the best."
He takes several steps towards the camera.
"So I'm gonna take on the schizo with a glandular problem this week. I'm going to beat him. Again. And then, I'm going to demand to be given the matches I deserve. The dream matches with my fellow legends. The title shots. All of it. And if I'm not taken seriously, I WILL make waves, I WILL cause damage, and I'll do it with a smile on my face and the fans chanting my name. Because I'm a champion, I'm a competitor, and I came here to kick stirling, thoroughbred, premium ass, and I intend to do it. I will settle my scores. I will win those belts. And I will make my mark on USPW, because that is just what the Predator does."
Pause.
"That felt good. I think I'm done."
Small clapping begins off screen. The Predator smiles, and bows.
Blackout
