Post by Metal Dragon on Jul 28, 2010 13:07:50 GMT -5
The scene is a Buffalo Wild Wings in Cleveland. Waitresses scurry around, serving food and refilling drinks in an effort to get good tips. At one table, Metal Dragon and The Proeliator sit across from each other with hot wings in front of them and one bottle of beer within reach of both. As they gnaw away at the delicious sauce-drenched limbs of poultry, they discuss recent GHW happenings.
Pro: "So what was with that segment about beatdowns earlier?"
MD: "I don't know. I liked how apparently three washed-up old guys that never did anything know how to do a beatdown, while a stable that even defeated us, took Vladimir Strife to the limit, and held the King of the Deathmatch belt for quite a few months are considered amateurs."
The Metallic One nods his head and swallows a mouthful of chewed-up wing meat.
"Mmm, these wings are good. Nice and moist and cooked perfectly."
"Cooked to perfection. I love eating here."
"Yeah, good thing the center is nice and moist too. Good chicken."
"Yeah, cooked tender down to the CORE."
"Man, and it's even tender there. It's a good thing, because if the CORE were cold and hard and SOLID, it would suck."
The two Highway Robbers look at the camera, Pro with a raised eyebrow while MD has a devilish grin on his face.
"So basically, Dragon, you're implying that it's not good if something is solid to the core?"
"Yes, then it sucks. Sucks really hard. Here's the deal..."
MD motions for the camera to come closer, meanwhile dipping a wing into a cup full of ranch dressing and then sticking it in his mouth. A bare chicken bone emerges, cleaned of flesh as Dragon chews and swallows the delicacy.
"Take the nostalgia goggles off, guys. The only good things that came out of SCW ended up getting chronic knee problems, getting a fat ass on donuts, or going on a psycho rampage and killing their own company with it. Black Dragon, Crazy Boy, Hawkeye, gotta be one of you, whichever one of you fucks decided to air that special report, stay at home, drink your Ensure, and stay the hell off of TV. You're the past, and it's a testament to how far this industry has gotten that you actually used to be the present. Elevated Hardcore, beds of nails, bloodshed just for the sake of bloodshed in the name of being hardcore. You're no better than the people who diss Metallica for being 'mainstream' or the people who wear Che Guevara shirts because they want to feel like they stand for something. You're all about rebellion for the sake of it, just to look cool when all you do is look like a douche."
Dragon reaches over to grasp the bottle of Budweiser that sits in front of him, taking a gulp and putting the bottle back down on the table.
"Hardcore that's worth a shit, hardcore that will be remembered fondly instead of scoffed at, is all about innovating and progressing, building upon what the previous generation did. Hell, I was able to rise so fast because of people like you actually regressing the art of hardcore. Damn it, most of my opponents I don't even hate enough to want to put them out of work, yet you all treat debilitating injuries as if they were a badge of honor. You're a bunch of fucking neanderthals who prove Darwin right. People like me, people like Proeliator here, Matthew Oliveira, Desperado, Dominik Santiago, the new guard, we've evolved hardcore from your simpleton grunting bullshit. We've combined brains with brawn when you used no brains to try to look like you had brawn. Your era has passed away and the only reason anyone came to the funeral was to make sure it was dead."
"Here sits a tag team made of two people who have set the bar their entire careers and amassed win-loss records that most of you could only dream of having. We're both entering the H-Games, and I won't speak for my friend here, but we're going to innovate further in that tournament. We've had one setback, but it's gonna be an afterthought to all of you. We're redeeming ourselves after Red, White, and Bruised, you'd better believe that."
Pro puts his beer down on the other side of the table and speaks up.
"Hey, about that match, I have something to say..."
TBC Pro
Pro: "So what was with that segment about beatdowns earlier?"
MD: "I don't know. I liked how apparently three washed-up old guys that never did anything know how to do a beatdown, while a stable that even defeated us, took Vladimir Strife to the limit, and held the King of the Deathmatch belt for quite a few months are considered amateurs."
The Metallic One nods his head and swallows a mouthful of chewed-up wing meat.
"Mmm, these wings are good. Nice and moist and cooked perfectly."
"Cooked to perfection. I love eating here."
"Yeah, good thing the center is nice and moist too. Good chicken."
"Yeah, cooked tender down to the CORE."
"Man, and it's even tender there. It's a good thing, because if the CORE were cold and hard and SOLID, it would suck."
The two Highway Robbers look at the camera, Pro with a raised eyebrow while MD has a devilish grin on his face.
"So basically, Dragon, you're implying that it's not good if something is solid to the core?"
"Yes, then it sucks. Sucks really hard. Here's the deal..."
MD motions for the camera to come closer, meanwhile dipping a wing into a cup full of ranch dressing and then sticking it in his mouth. A bare chicken bone emerges, cleaned of flesh as Dragon chews and swallows the delicacy.
"Take the nostalgia goggles off, guys. The only good things that came out of SCW ended up getting chronic knee problems, getting a fat ass on donuts, or going on a psycho rampage and killing their own company with it. Black Dragon, Crazy Boy, Hawkeye, gotta be one of you, whichever one of you fucks decided to air that special report, stay at home, drink your Ensure, and stay the hell off of TV. You're the past, and it's a testament to how far this industry has gotten that you actually used to be the present. Elevated Hardcore, beds of nails, bloodshed just for the sake of bloodshed in the name of being hardcore. You're no better than the people who diss Metallica for being 'mainstream' or the people who wear Che Guevara shirts because they want to feel like they stand for something. You're all about rebellion for the sake of it, just to look cool when all you do is look like a douche."
Dragon reaches over to grasp the bottle of Budweiser that sits in front of him, taking a gulp and putting the bottle back down on the table.
"Hardcore that's worth a shit, hardcore that will be remembered fondly instead of scoffed at, is all about innovating and progressing, building upon what the previous generation did. Hell, I was able to rise so fast because of people like you actually regressing the art of hardcore. Damn it, most of my opponents I don't even hate enough to want to put them out of work, yet you all treat debilitating injuries as if they were a badge of honor. You're a bunch of fucking neanderthals who prove Darwin right. People like me, people like Proeliator here, Matthew Oliveira, Desperado, Dominik Santiago, the new guard, we've evolved hardcore from your simpleton grunting bullshit. We've combined brains with brawn when you used no brains to try to look like you had brawn. Your era has passed away and the only reason anyone came to the funeral was to make sure it was dead."
"Here sits a tag team made of two people who have set the bar their entire careers and amassed win-loss records that most of you could only dream of having. We're both entering the H-Games, and I won't speak for my friend here, but we're going to innovate further in that tournament. We've had one setback, but it's gonna be an afterthought to all of you. We're redeeming ourselves after Red, White, and Bruised, you'd better believe that."
Pro puts his beer down on the other side of the table and speaks up.
"Hey, about that match, I have something to say..."
TBC Pro