Post by The Predator on Jun 15, 2012 23:03:26 GMT -6
June 15th's Freedom has been a stunning success. The raucous, hard core crowd has gotten their money's worth and is drunk on violence, pageantry, and a good time. Debate rages amongst their ranks as to just which match was the most deserving of their unofficial, oh-so-strict praise. The arena is just beginning to rise to clear out, when Fort Minor's pump up theme, iconic as it is, hits the loudspeakers and sends the crowd into a tizzy. The Predator stalks to the ring, microphone in hand, and looks mildly taken aback by the mutual adulation of thousands. He lets a smirk creep on to his features, and chooses to enter the ring by way of the top rope. He pauses to pose, and the crowd goes wild. His elbow and knee pads get chucked into the crowd, and his T-shirt follows. Pandemonium has returned to the crowd post-Freedom.
The Predator lifts the mic to his lips, smiling. "You know, I come out here ready to blow my top where everybody can hear me, and I get blindsided with just how great you fans are to me, to the rest of us in the back who work hard for your respect. Truly, I chose the right place to return. God bless USPW."
The arena erupts. Cheers blow the top of the building, and the crowd enthusiastically chants Predator's name at the top of their lungs, in horrible cadence and in different time, but it's enough to bring laughter from the object of the adulation.
"You know, it's been a blast performing in front of you fans. You lifted me up when I was rusty, and it was on that energy that I manage to make the highlights with a Final Glory through a ladder. I loved firing you up when I rode out the Triple Threat from hell with 'The Franchise" Decca and the Gravedigger."
He chuckles.
"I beat McDonald's and a schizophrenic off your backs, people. Give 'em all a pat, will ya?"
The crowd laughs.
"Then I beat Matt Hawk for the second time in as many tries. I'm no cocky SOB...Matt Hawk is a W that is supposed to take you places. The win that rockets you up the ladder. Instead, it's the win that complicated my life. You see, I had to beat Matt Hawk TWICE to record that fall. I had to deal with shenanigans from screw ups backstage, I had to deal with a distraction, and I had to restrain some angry bastard from delivering a kiss from the Steel Bitch in the middle of MY grudge match!"
The crowd boos, and continues to chant "Predator!"
"So I do what any self respecting former champ with an ounce of dignity would have; I beat Matt Hawk anyway, pinned him 123, and then tried to force a rematch that I believed HE deserved, to shut him up an unprecedented THIRD time, and what happens?"
The crowd begins to chant "Knock him out! Knock him out!"
"The Idol's lapdog, Mr. Mischoff, subverts my request, puts me in a meaningless match tonight, and does it with a simpering smile and a claim I'm moving up. I don't give a shit about moving up right now, USPW! I've got an itch to scratch!"
The crowd roars.
"Matt Hawk IS an itch. He's a genital disease, a cancer. He never shuts up, he blathers on, and he targets below the belt every damn chance he can. Kicking his ass was a privilege, and all I wanted to do was do it again! But they told me wait, hold off, hold up, I played the part of the good company boy, and I came out here to pin the Gravedigger and move on. Then I see the interviews, Matt Hawk admitting that he was gonna run from me, duck me, dodge me, put him tail between his legs to cover his asshole and spew the shit out his mouth while he backed away from me, and then, and then this guy comes to the ring during MY match, and tries to take MY win from me!"
The crowd boos.
"And then, when his jackassery fails to do the trick and I win anyway, he gets petulant, like the Big Baby he is, and storms the ring to face plant me. Fucking nice, right?"
More boos, whistles, catcalls.
"Well, I know you really didn't want to have to face me again, Hawk, but the squeaky wheel gets the grease in the big leagues...Maybe if you and your boss removed your lips from the Idol's ass, you could make enough noise to get what you want!"
The crowd cracks up at this.
"I got what I want, Hawk! I have 60 minutes with you, all to myself. I'm going to make you tap, I'm going to pin you, I'm going to whip you like a low-rent dockworker, and I'm gonna run up that score so high, there won't be any excuses left for you to hide behind. You want to talk shit this bad, Daddy? I'm more than happy to beat whatever you got left right out of you!"
Pred! Pred! Pred! Pred!
"One hour with the Predator, Hawk. Considering you struggled enough with twenty minutes and still went down 2-0, I'm thinking you might want to address your strategy a touch, just a piece of friendly advice."
You got pinned! You got pinned! You got pinned!
"And one more thing...If any of you backstage, any of my colleagues or peers get ANY idea about butting your head into MY business, giving these fans anything less than two pissed off champions beating the ever loving snot out of eachother, if you grab my leg, if you grab his leg, if you so much as bring a chair within 15 feet of this ring, so help me God, I will take that chair, turn it around, dust it off, spit on it, and shove it straight up your ass!"
He grins.
"You and me, Matt. One hour. No breaks. No interruptions. Man to man, fall for fall. Winner take all. And if anybody backstage comes out to spoil our fun, we beat them down, send em back, and get back down to business. I love John Wayne movies; First thing he does when riding into town as the new sheriff is lay down the law. Well folks, my fellow stars of USPW, this ring is my town, that Iron Man match is my hood, and if anybody wants in on high noon, I'll end you. Period."
He drops the mic as his music plays, and the crowd, hoarse and frenzied though it is, struggles to cheer again. The Predator rushes into the crowd, and the fans struggle to touch him, pat him on the back, lift him up. The Predator finds a fan with a replica title belt, a young boy, and lifts him onto his shoulders. Borrowing the belt, the screen fades to black as the little boy waves excitedly, the Predator poses with the replica title, and the flash of camera's and cell phones reaches a cacophony of color.
Blackout
The Predator lifts the mic to his lips, smiling. "You know, I come out here ready to blow my top where everybody can hear me, and I get blindsided with just how great you fans are to me, to the rest of us in the back who work hard for your respect. Truly, I chose the right place to return. God bless USPW."
The arena erupts. Cheers blow the top of the building, and the crowd enthusiastically chants Predator's name at the top of their lungs, in horrible cadence and in different time, but it's enough to bring laughter from the object of the adulation.
"You know, it's been a blast performing in front of you fans. You lifted me up when I was rusty, and it was on that energy that I manage to make the highlights with a Final Glory through a ladder. I loved firing you up when I rode out the Triple Threat from hell with 'The Franchise" Decca and the Gravedigger."
He chuckles.
"I beat McDonald's and a schizophrenic off your backs, people. Give 'em all a pat, will ya?"
The crowd laughs.
"Then I beat Matt Hawk for the second time in as many tries. I'm no cocky SOB...Matt Hawk is a W that is supposed to take you places. The win that rockets you up the ladder. Instead, it's the win that complicated my life. You see, I had to beat Matt Hawk TWICE to record that fall. I had to deal with shenanigans from screw ups backstage, I had to deal with a distraction, and I had to restrain some angry bastard from delivering a kiss from the Steel Bitch in the middle of MY grudge match!"
The crowd boos, and continues to chant "Predator!"
"So I do what any self respecting former champ with an ounce of dignity would have; I beat Matt Hawk anyway, pinned him 123, and then tried to force a rematch that I believed HE deserved, to shut him up an unprecedented THIRD time, and what happens?"
The crowd begins to chant "Knock him out! Knock him out!"
"The Idol's lapdog, Mr. Mischoff, subverts my request, puts me in a meaningless match tonight, and does it with a simpering smile and a claim I'm moving up. I don't give a shit about moving up right now, USPW! I've got an itch to scratch!"
The crowd roars.
"Matt Hawk IS an itch. He's a genital disease, a cancer. He never shuts up, he blathers on, and he targets below the belt every damn chance he can. Kicking his ass was a privilege, and all I wanted to do was do it again! But they told me wait, hold off, hold up, I played the part of the good company boy, and I came out here to pin the Gravedigger and move on. Then I see the interviews, Matt Hawk admitting that he was gonna run from me, duck me, dodge me, put him tail between his legs to cover his asshole and spew the shit out his mouth while he backed away from me, and then, and then this guy comes to the ring during MY match, and tries to take MY win from me!"
The crowd boos.
"And then, when his jackassery fails to do the trick and I win anyway, he gets petulant, like the Big Baby he is, and storms the ring to face plant me. Fucking nice, right?"
More boos, whistles, catcalls.
"Well, I know you really didn't want to have to face me again, Hawk, but the squeaky wheel gets the grease in the big leagues...Maybe if you and your boss removed your lips from the Idol's ass, you could make enough noise to get what you want!"
The crowd cracks up at this.
"I got what I want, Hawk! I have 60 minutes with you, all to myself. I'm going to make you tap, I'm going to pin you, I'm going to whip you like a low-rent dockworker, and I'm gonna run up that score so high, there won't be any excuses left for you to hide behind. You want to talk shit this bad, Daddy? I'm more than happy to beat whatever you got left right out of you!"
Pred! Pred! Pred! Pred!
"One hour with the Predator, Hawk. Considering you struggled enough with twenty minutes and still went down 2-0, I'm thinking you might want to address your strategy a touch, just a piece of friendly advice."
You got pinned! You got pinned! You got pinned!
"And one more thing...If any of you backstage, any of my colleagues or peers get ANY idea about butting your head into MY business, giving these fans anything less than two pissed off champions beating the ever loving snot out of eachother, if you grab my leg, if you grab his leg, if you so much as bring a chair within 15 feet of this ring, so help me God, I will take that chair, turn it around, dust it off, spit on it, and shove it straight up your ass!"
He grins.
"You and me, Matt. One hour. No breaks. No interruptions. Man to man, fall for fall. Winner take all. And if anybody backstage comes out to spoil our fun, we beat them down, send em back, and get back down to business. I love John Wayne movies; First thing he does when riding into town as the new sheriff is lay down the law. Well folks, my fellow stars of USPW, this ring is my town, that Iron Man match is my hood, and if anybody wants in on high noon, I'll end you. Period."
He drops the mic as his music plays, and the crowd, hoarse and frenzied though it is, struggles to cheer again. The Predator rushes into the crowd, and the fans struggle to touch him, pat him on the back, lift him up. The Predator finds a fan with a replica title belt, a young boy, and lifts him onto his shoulders. Borrowing the belt, the screen fades to black as the little boy waves excitedly, the Predator poses with the replica title, and the flash of camera's and cell phones reaches a cacophony of color.
Blackout