Post by Dustin Delta on Aug 8, 2011 18:37:52 GMT -5
Ray Ban kicks out quickly, just barely breaking the ref's two count. Frustrated, Delta locks his arm around the head of the debutant, raising him back to a vertical base and then Irish Whipping him to the ropes. Double D runs forward towards him and rolls over to a headstand and spring-boarding over Ban, landing behind him. The Philadelphia native stops short and before he gains the opportunity to turn around and face his foe, the Floridian Falcon lifts RB up to the Argentine Clutch and flips him over, delivering a striking knee to the jaw as The Black Swan connects. Before Double D can get the pinfall on Ray, the Pennsylvanian rolls out of the ring, and Delta attempts to go after him. The referee stops the Human Fighter Jet, pushing him back before they get into a verbal dispute. Since the arbiter is distracted, Carson and Millson deliver a double-team onslaught to Ban, tossing him down onto the thin padding and delivering a destructive barrage of punches and kicks. Before the referee can see them, Nicky Boy pries Triple M off of Ray and rolls the debutant into the ring. Grinning with mischief, Delta waits in the corner, stalking his prey as it slowly rises to it's feet. Using the ropes, Ray Ban pulls himself back to a vertical base, although a groggy one. Double-D-Dawg runs up to Ray and delivers the Lynx Des Fin, knocking the lights out off Ban, who drops to his knees, allowing Delta to finish him off with the Superhero Slayer. The Everglades Exemplar hooks the leg to get the pin.
"1!"
"2!"
"3!"
"Ladies and gentlemen, your winner, Dustin Delta!"
Epica's"Martyr of the Free Word" kicks in on the P/A again, the crwth echoing throughout the GHW Arena as the referee raises Delta's arm in victory. Nicholas and Mighty Man step into the ring to celebrate with him as Double D's theme music plays. The celebration is brief, as Dustin demands a microphone from the staff at ringside. They deny his demand, but as his fists becomes tightly clenched, they comply. Delta takes the microphone and stands in the ring with that ever-lasting smirk on his face as he begins to speak, the music fading.
"My theme music portrays exactly what I am. A martyr of the free word. As I showed you all last Sunday at Red, White and Bruised, I have the balls to push my freedom of speech to it's limits. I don't fear consequence. Simply put, I'm not a pussy. I'm not Hayden HardKore. I'm not Dominick Santiago. I'm not Ryan Hughes. I'm Dustin Delta, which means I operate on an entirely different spectrum. And the airwaves on my spectrum are uncensored and free. An idea that I praise, that Carson and Millson praise, but Glory and Honor Wrestling frowns on. See, GHW loves their precious reputation. If they aren't a shining example of good wrestling and entertainment, they aren't content. And let's be honest. I say shit that keeps this company from being a shining example. I'm not quite the exemplar I claim to be, I mean kids watch this show and I've already said shit, pussy, and balls. I sound like a scat porn director, quite honestly. I don't want to abide by these standards and rules that GHW has set, I'm not Smarky Smark's dick-sucking lap dog. And like I said earlier tonight, that makes me an Outcast. I'm not exactly normal. I'm unprecedented, uncensored, although I know that all those assholes in the production truck want to do is turn off this weapon in my hand. If Tuesday Night Triumph went picture-perfect according to this corporation, Dustin Delta would walk out here every week, do some flashy kicks, appeal to the crowd, and kiss the General Manager's ass backstage. But it doesn't go that way, does it? And it's not only their fault. All you people are to blame, just as well. All of you assholes who come to these shows every week and cheer for me, I have two words for you. Fuck off. Do you have any idea how hard it is to focus on my match when I hear you people chanting my name? And when I'm half-awake at 3 AM at my god-damn hotel and you knock on the door of my room asking for a picture, or an autograph, or cunnilingus. You people and GHW's staff make me this pissed off, irritated person I am. And if you weren't all frustrating, pestering cretins, I wouldn't have all this pent-up rage festering into my voice that I shout into this microphone. So when I don't autograph your stupid pin-ups, when I don't take a picture with your ugly inbred sister and loose mother, when I don't comply to GHW's standards of what's 'good', when I join the Outcasts, when I go out on a quest to break Dominick Santiago's neck and bust Smarky's balls it's ALL. YOUR. FAULT."
Millson's theme song, "I Come From Money", hits the sound system as Delta nods, enjoying the variety in theme music. The trio laughs and stands on their own turnbuckles, taunting towards the capacity crowd of quote-unquote 'assholes' as they laugh. The three exit the sacred squared circle, and ascend the ramp towards the locker room, a strong and definitive statement made on their first night out.
"1!"
"2!"
"3!"
"Ladies and gentlemen, your winner, Dustin Delta!"
Epica's"Martyr of the Free Word" kicks in on the P/A again, the crwth echoing throughout the GHW Arena as the referee raises Delta's arm in victory. Nicholas and Mighty Man step into the ring to celebrate with him as Double D's theme music plays. The celebration is brief, as Dustin demands a microphone from the staff at ringside. They deny his demand, but as his fists becomes tightly clenched, they comply. Delta takes the microphone and stands in the ring with that ever-lasting smirk on his face as he begins to speak, the music fading.
"My theme music portrays exactly what I am. A martyr of the free word. As I showed you all last Sunday at Red, White and Bruised, I have the balls to push my freedom of speech to it's limits. I don't fear consequence. Simply put, I'm not a pussy. I'm not Hayden HardKore. I'm not Dominick Santiago. I'm not Ryan Hughes. I'm Dustin Delta, which means I operate on an entirely different spectrum. And the airwaves on my spectrum are uncensored and free. An idea that I praise, that Carson and Millson praise, but Glory and Honor Wrestling frowns on. See, GHW loves their precious reputation. If they aren't a shining example of good wrestling and entertainment, they aren't content. And let's be honest. I say shit that keeps this company from being a shining example. I'm not quite the exemplar I claim to be, I mean kids watch this show and I've already said shit, pussy, and balls. I sound like a scat porn director, quite honestly. I don't want to abide by these standards and rules that GHW has set, I'm not Smarky Smark's dick-sucking lap dog. And like I said earlier tonight, that makes me an Outcast. I'm not exactly normal. I'm unprecedented, uncensored, although I know that all those assholes in the production truck want to do is turn off this weapon in my hand. If Tuesday Night Triumph went picture-perfect according to this corporation, Dustin Delta would walk out here every week, do some flashy kicks, appeal to the crowd, and kiss the General Manager's ass backstage. But it doesn't go that way, does it? And it's not only their fault. All you people are to blame, just as well. All of you assholes who come to these shows every week and cheer for me, I have two words for you. Fuck off. Do you have any idea how hard it is to focus on my match when I hear you people chanting my name? And when I'm half-awake at 3 AM at my god-damn hotel and you knock on the door of my room asking for a picture, or an autograph, or cunnilingus. You people and GHW's staff make me this pissed off, irritated person I am. And if you weren't all frustrating, pestering cretins, I wouldn't have all this pent-up rage festering into my voice that I shout into this microphone. So when I don't autograph your stupid pin-ups, when I don't take a picture with your ugly inbred sister and loose mother, when I don't comply to GHW's standards of what's 'good', when I join the Outcasts, when I go out on a quest to break Dominick Santiago's neck and bust Smarky's balls it's ALL. YOUR. FAULT."
Millson's theme song, "I Come From Money", hits the sound system as Delta nods, enjoying the variety in theme music. The trio laughs and stands on their own turnbuckles, taunting towards the capacity crowd of quote-unquote 'assholes' as they laugh. The three exit the sacred squared circle, and ascend the ramp towards the locker room, a strong and definitive statement made on their first night out.
