Post by Joey The Bastard on Jul 6, 2014 23:49:29 GMT -5
"Where's my title?"
"Quick, get me some gauze for this wound. Check his neck and back!"
"Where's my title, dammit?"
"Do you know where you are, Joey?"
"I'm backstage, you idiot! Now give me my title!"
"He's showing signs of confusion. He could be concussed. Joey, look in to this light, please..."
"Fuck off! Where's my fuckin' title?"
" Joey, I'm sorry, but..."
"I swear to fuck, I'll kill you for the thing... Give it to me!"
"Joey... You lost."
"What are you talking about, dumbass? I won the Elimination Chamber! I'm the World Champion! Now where's that fuckin' drink?"
"I... I lost?"
"Yes, but there's no shame in..."
"I fucking lost? Wait a minute, where the hell am I?"
"You're in an ambulance on your way to the emergency room. Vince McMahon demanded that you be tended to for possible serious injury."
"Pfft... Fuck him."
***
Shock.
There's no other way to describe they way I feel right now.
I stumble through the curtain under my own power but quickly collapse in a heap on the floor at the gorilla position. A few backstage workers rush over to help me, babbling like idiots in a panic. My head is throbbing. Screw that. My whole damn body is throbbing. There's blood in my eyes and pains me to open them. Two guys help me up by the arms and mumble something along the lines of, "Get yer fuckin' hands off me", but they don't listen, and it pisses me right the fuck off.
Are they deaf? I said don't touch me! I start to flail around and they tighten their grip on my arms. I must be concussed, because I'm staggering like a drunkard, and I know for a fact that I haven't had a drop of alcohol. I try to warn them to let go of me, but they can't understand a thing I'm saying. That's when I think to myself...
Fuck this.
And I start to rage out. I start screaming, and I start to claw at one of the guy's faces, then he starts to scream, and it sounds like a damn riot. He let's go so I kick him in the nuts while squinting through the blood in my eyes. Could they have at least wiped my eyes before they started getting all grabby? Fuckin' douchebags.
The other guy grabs me around the waist and I throw my head backward, connecting with his nose, probably shattering it. They give up, and let me go. I look back and through the blood in my eyes, all I can see is shock.
Yeah, boys, how do you think I feel?
I just lost the most important match of my career! I don't need two ring jabronis trying to help me back to my feet. I was certain that I was gonna become the World Champion... Certain! I can't even remember how it happened. I start to run through the match in my head, but it's foggy. I must have hit my head early, because I can't remember a thing. I stumble toward the catering area, and I collapse through the food table, busting it in half, and causing food to go flying.
What a waste, I think to myself. But, I'm not thinking about the food... I'm thinking about my whole effort. I'm thinking about my whole damn career. A God damn fucking bullshit waste of time.
I struggle to get out of the busted table, covered with pasta sauce and green Jell-O. I can taste it in my mouth mixed with the dried blood, but there's something else that I was wanting to taste, but now I can't. I look over at the beverage table and spot a bottle of champagne, and I crawl over toward it like a heroin addict crawling towards an over dose. I use the table to pull myself up, and I grab the bottle. Then I just stare at it...
Tonight was supposed to be the night where we would be together again. I want to be with you so badly, but I promised myself... only after I became the Champion, and now it's all fucked up! I stare down the champagne, wishing I could just pop the top and chug it all back, but good things come to those who wait.
Fuck that, I should just drink you right now. Screw promises, they mean nothing...
Ah, but they do, don't they? I could throw everything away right now in an instant, and I'd have achieved nothing, or I could put this bottle down and get back to work.
But, it just tastes so damn good!
I scream once again, then yell "I'm sorry!" and smash the bottle against the wall. Then I black out, fall and smash my head against the wall...
***
"Well, everything with your vitals seems to be fine, Mister..."
"Am I concussed, or what, doc?"
"Minorly, yes, but just get some rest on the plane, and take it easy this week.. You should be fine."
"That mean I can get the hell outta here?"
"Yes."
"Peace."
"Well, hold on now, we need to arrange a form of payment."
"Just put it on Vince's tab.."
***
So, I made it an effort not to talk to anybody in Thy about Anarchy. I didn't go on Facebook, or Twitter or any other sheeple media, either. I just downloaded a version of Anarchy off of a torrent website and sat down to watch it on the plane. I didn't want to spoil it for myself. I wanted to see it all for myself. To watch it as if I were a fan watching it for the first time. I watched the matches leading up to the Chamber Match, and I was pretty impressed. Thy WWE for sure has the most talented professional wrestlers in the world. Shame that Dems lost, though, but Triana is this company's next big thing.
The Chamber Match started and I watched as I tore the house down. Eliminated dudes left and right. I'm pretty sure I got the most eliminations, but not the one that matters. It was down to three, and was on a roll... Oh, wait a minute, I'm fucked, I'm eliminated. In the seat on the plane, I cringed as I watched myself get counted down for a pin, and I was also a little bit pissed off, but I still watched the end of the match.
I watched, knowing in my heart that Christian Knight was going to retain, and I started to admire him more and more as the match went on. Kick out after kick out, I was positive that Knight was going to take it. I had a new found respect for Christian Knight, but that new found respect was flushed down the toilet when the unthinkable happened...
Blade Lavigne won the Thy WWE World Championship.
Wait a minute... What?
How the fuck does that even happen? Well, it happens the exact same way it happened when I watched it on that plane, obviously. But "how" is not the right question to ask. The real question is...
Why the fuck did that even happen? Blade LaVinge is not better than Christian Knight. Hell, I might not even be better than Christian Knight. Well, I guess I had just watched the proof of that statement just a few minutes before, but I know for a fact that I am better than Blade LaVigne, and he beats the World Champ... the longest reigning World Champ of all time? Something stinks about this!
I sit there staring at my laptop for a few minutes after the show ended. After Blade and family celebrated in the ring to finish off the show.
Then I busted that damn lap top in two, tossing the pieces on the floor beside me. A stewardess approached and asked if something was wrong. I called her fuckin' cunt, and told her piss off. She stormed off in a huff, but I couldn't give a shit.
I had just witnessed the biggest pro wrestling swindle that this business has ever seen...
***
"Blade LaVigne doesn't deserve to be Champion..."
The lights turn on and all we see is a shot Joey the Bastard's face.
"I do!"
The camera pans out to reveal The Bastard standing behind an old time bar that you might find in an Old English Pub. The racks behind him show various bottles of hard liquor. To his left, the beer taps can be seen in an array of different colors. At the top of the bar, a bright green "JTB" neon sign glows. A spotlight shines on JTB and the bar, and the surrounding area is nothing but darkness...
"But that didn't stop him from becoming the champion, now did it? But, did Blade LaVigne truly win that World Title? Or was it just another passing of the torch? Blade could never beat Christian Knight, so that leaves me to believe that there is something more to this than meets the eye. Christian Knight, I'm gonna go on the record here and say that you are the absolute best World Champion that Thy WWE has ever seen. You took on all challenges and left your opponents bloodied and battered. But to go out like this? To end your historic reign by just dropping the title to Vince McMahon's prodigy son like that? How much did they pay you? Nobody had Blade pinned as going out of Anarchy with the title... Nobody! The Vegas lines had him at fifty to one. Did you bet on him, Christian? You threw the game, didn't you? Blade LaVigne is not good enough to hold that title. Maybe one day, but not right now, and you, Christian Knight, are the one to blame for this. But, why, oh why, did you do it? Let's think about it for a second... Nobody could beat you for that title, I'll give you that, but it was only a matter of time before you had to defend it against The Bastard. That would have been a match that you could never win. The fear of actually losing the title for real must have gotten the better of you. You were never gonna lose the thing legit, were you? If you were gonna lose it, you were gonna lose it on your terms and your terms only, am I right? Man, get your head outta your ass! So, instead of being a man, and losing it like a true champion, you hand pick some chump to lay down for instead doing what is right, and losing fair and square to a man who actually deserves it...
Disgusting.
Now, I don't blame Blade at all... He's just a lackey. Gotta keep the title in the family, right, boys? But he never earned it. You guys let me do all the dirty work, taking out the main threats. I put on one hell of a show, and I came up short, that's fine. I'll be the first to admit it... I lost. I could pack my bags and go home. I could just stop giving a fuck and stop trying to reach the top of the mountain, but I'm not Jacob Senn... I'm not BM Dump... I learn from mistakes and I adapt. I should have known something was afoul when it was just the three of us left in the match. All that was needed was for me to be taken out of that match, and when that happened, you two were free to pull the wool over everybody in the world's eyes.
But wait.
Did Blade truly have anything to do with it? I highly doubt it. The poor sucker probably thinks he actually truly beat you, Christian. He has no idea that you literally laid down on the mat for him for the one two three just so you wouldn't have to eventually lose it to me... FOR REAL! You've made a mockery of Thy WWE, and you've made a mockery of that Thy WWE World Title... Constantly picking the weaker opponents, it's sad, really. But, I guess it's a blessing in disguise, because there's a tournament called the King of the Ring that's come up. Now I don't give a rat's ass about being crowned the King of the Ring... I've already played that game. But, if I need to win this thing to get a one on one shot against Blade LaVigne, than I'm all in, baby! Because crowns don't matter. Cloaks don't matter. Winning a forty man battle royal doesn't matter. The only thing that matters in this business is the World Heavyweight Championship, and as far as I'm concerned, Blade LaVigne is holding something that should rightfully be mine."
The Bastard reaches over and grabs a glass. He tilts the glass and pours a pint of beer with the perfect amount of head. He sets it down on the bar beside him.
"Eight people are all trying to get that one shot. Zak Shields, BM Dump, POT, Undefined... All want a shot, but really, the only two people who have a chance of winning, are meeting in the first round. Joey the Bastard and Bob Cena. Now, I haven't tasted the gold like he has, but judging by his words earlier, he's hungry for it again. But, I'm starving! Cena had his meal, and I'm out here in the cold, trying to find a morsel of food. I'm hungrier than you, Cena. You had your chance to be the top draw, and you failed! You couldn't put the asses in the seats like I can. I heard what you said about me and the fans of Thy WWE, but listen...
If it weren't for those Thy WWE fans, you wouldn't be here! I wouldn't be here! They're the whole reason why you still have a job, do you not realize this? Are you dense? If they didn't respect us, than why the hell do they keep schilling out cash for thousand dollar plus WrestleMania tickets every year? Come on, man, you're smarter than that. I know you are, because we share the same views on the present state of Thy WWE. We know the truth, Bob, and the funny thing is, they know that we know the truth. Why else would we be facing off in the first round? We should meet in the final, but the fact that we're facing off in the first round proves that they see us as a threat. Take one of us early. Put us against each other early to make us beat the living hell outta each other to reignite that old feud - which was awesome by the way. One of my favorite matches, for sure. But, after all the crap that we put each other through, and after all the crap we've said about each other, I know there is a mutual respect, and I know that there is a common goal between us...
So, why do we continue to fight each other? Because we're the two best that this company has to offer, that's why. But, imagine what we could accomplish if we, oh I dunno... say... joined forces?
Yeah, right, that'll be the day. Our egos are too big for that type of thing. The title is the only thing that matters, isn't it? It sure as hell is! And in that first round match, we will do what we do best, and damn near kill each other one more time, and no matter what you say about those fans...
They're gonna love it.
They're gonna love it when I beat you. They're gonna love it when I make the finals, and go win it, and they're gonna love it when I put Blade LaVigne, yet again, in his rightful place and become the new Thy WWE Champion, and you know something, Bobby?
I'm gonna love it, too.
Cause it will be the first time that a low life gutter rat scratched and clawed his way up and actually did the impossible. He became the Thy WWE Champion... and he did it not by kissing asses, not by being in some defunct piece of garbage wrestling federation, not by being a member of an elite club... He did by being exactly who he is, and who he was meant to be...
The biggest, baddest bastard in town... HIMSELF!
I am sick and fucking tired of seeing guys like Christian Knight, and Beno, and all those other sacks of puke parade around like they own the place. People deserve shots, and they have to jump through hoops to get them. So, you know what? I know there are a lot of guys who feel shafted, so to those Thy WWE Superstars who feel like they haven't been given an opportunity, I say to you... Let's burn this shit hole to the ground...
JOIN ME!
And we can make this place better where everybody gets an equal chance. We can make a change, and if we have to destroy Thy WWE in the process, than so fuckin' be it, because in it's place, we will build the greatest wrestling company that the world has ever seen! And it all starts with extinction of every last dinosaur that ever reared it's ugly mug in this place. Christian Knight, Beno, Jonny Freeman, Alex Kendall, Sheamus, Austin Starr... the list goes on, but I suggest to all you others in the back watching this...
Pick a side.
Because war is inevitable.
And this week, war is back in session when Joey the Bastard takes on The Professor of Thuganomics in the main event for a shot at the Thy WWE Championship. I say that because whoever wins this match... JTB vs POT... The winner WILL win the King of the Ring, and the winner of this match WILL be the next Thy WWE Champion, and check this is out... The winner will be Jay to the Bee to the Tee, and I know management doesn't like me. I wouldn't have it any other way, but to the powers that be who don't want me to win. WHEN I win, you can all blow me!
And to anybody else who doesn't like me...
Well...
BITE ME!
Cause I couldn't give two drops of diarrhea who's with me or against me. I'll take this whole company on by my damned self! I am as focused as I have ever been in my entire life, and I WILL NOT BE DENIED! So, Blade LaVigne, the definition of a transitional champion, I hope you collect some fond memories with that belt, because at Oppression it all comes to an end. And by proving yourself to be just another one of Vince McMahon's puppets, you Blade, have made me a very dangerous enemy, because now I see you as what you really are...
The youngest dinosaur I've ever seen.
Guilty by association, boyo...
Guilty by association."
The Bastard grabs the beer and looks down at it.
"I know what you're thinking... He's gonna crack and drink it! Well, not yet... I made a promise to myself that I wouldn't have a drink until I win that title, and I'm not gonna go back on my word, but trust me... My tongue will taste this sweet nectar in the near future, and my tongue will soon by tasting the gold, too... So I'll save this one for later."
The Bastard sets the beer on the counter and starts to laugh. He continues to laugh as he reaches up and grabs a chain hanging down from the ceiling. The pulls the chain, and the scene turns blacks. All we hear is The Bastard's laugh fade out, then nothing but dead air.
"Quick, get me some gauze for this wound. Check his neck and back!"
"Where's my title, dammit?"
"Do you know where you are, Joey?"
"I'm backstage, you idiot! Now give me my title!"
"He's showing signs of confusion. He could be concussed. Joey, look in to this light, please..."
"Fuck off! Where's my fuckin' title?"
" Joey, I'm sorry, but..."
"I swear to fuck, I'll kill you for the thing... Give it to me!"
"Joey... You lost."
"What are you talking about, dumbass? I won the Elimination Chamber! I'm the World Champion! Now where's that fuckin' drink?"
"I... I lost?"
"Yes, but there's no shame in..."
"I fucking lost? Wait a minute, where the hell am I?"
"You're in an ambulance on your way to the emergency room. Vince McMahon demanded that you be tended to for possible serious injury."
"Pfft... Fuck him."
***
Shock.
There's no other way to describe they way I feel right now.
I stumble through the curtain under my own power but quickly collapse in a heap on the floor at the gorilla position. A few backstage workers rush over to help me, babbling like idiots in a panic. My head is throbbing. Screw that. My whole damn body is throbbing. There's blood in my eyes and pains me to open them. Two guys help me up by the arms and mumble something along the lines of, "Get yer fuckin' hands off me", but they don't listen, and it pisses me right the fuck off.
Are they deaf? I said don't touch me! I start to flail around and they tighten their grip on my arms. I must be concussed, because I'm staggering like a drunkard, and I know for a fact that I haven't had a drop of alcohol. I try to warn them to let go of me, but they can't understand a thing I'm saying. That's when I think to myself...
Fuck this.
And I start to rage out. I start screaming, and I start to claw at one of the guy's faces, then he starts to scream, and it sounds like a damn riot. He let's go so I kick him in the nuts while squinting through the blood in my eyes. Could they have at least wiped my eyes before they started getting all grabby? Fuckin' douchebags.
The other guy grabs me around the waist and I throw my head backward, connecting with his nose, probably shattering it. They give up, and let me go. I look back and through the blood in my eyes, all I can see is shock.
Yeah, boys, how do you think I feel?
I just lost the most important match of my career! I don't need two ring jabronis trying to help me back to my feet. I was certain that I was gonna become the World Champion... Certain! I can't even remember how it happened. I start to run through the match in my head, but it's foggy. I must have hit my head early, because I can't remember a thing. I stumble toward the catering area, and I collapse through the food table, busting it in half, and causing food to go flying.
What a waste, I think to myself. But, I'm not thinking about the food... I'm thinking about my whole effort. I'm thinking about my whole damn career. A God damn fucking bullshit waste of time.
I struggle to get out of the busted table, covered with pasta sauce and green Jell-O. I can taste it in my mouth mixed with the dried blood, but there's something else that I was wanting to taste, but now I can't. I look over at the beverage table and spot a bottle of champagne, and I crawl over toward it like a heroin addict crawling towards an over dose. I use the table to pull myself up, and I grab the bottle. Then I just stare at it...
Tonight was supposed to be the night where we would be together again. I want to be with you so badly, but I promised myself... only after I became the Champion, and now it's all fucked up! I stare down the champagne, wishing I could just pop the top and chug it all back, but good things come to those who wait.
Fuck that, I should just drink you right now. Screw promises, they mean nothing...
Ah, but they do, don't they? I could throw everything away right now in an instant, and I'd have achieved nothing, or I could put this bottle down and get back to work.
But, it just tastes so damn good!
I scream once again, then yell "I'm sorry!" and smash the bottle against the wall. Then I black out, fall and smash my head against the wall...
***
"Well, everything with your vitals seems to be fine, Mister..."
"Am I concussed, or what, doc?"
"Minorly, yes, but just get some rest on the plane, and take it easy this week.. You should be fine."
"That mean I can get the hell outta here?"
"Yes."
"Peace."
"Well, hold on now, we need to arrange a form of payment."
"Just put it on Vince's tab.."
***
So, I made it an effort not to talk to anybody in Thy about Anarchy. I didn't go on Facebook, or Twitter or any other sheeple media, either. I just downloaded a version of Anarchy off of a torrent website and sat down to watch it on the plane. I didn't want to spoil it for myself. I wanted to see it all for myself. To watch it as if I were a fan watching it for the first time. I watched the matches leading up to the Chamber Match, and I was pretty impressed. Thy WWE for sure has the most talented professional wrestlers in the world. Shame that Dems lost, though, but Triana is this company's next big thing.
The Chamber Match started and I watched as I tore the house down. Eliminated dudes left and right. I'm pretty sure I got the most eliminations, but not the one that matters. It was down to three, and was on a roll... Oh, wait a minute, I'm fucked, I'm eliminated. In the seat on the plane, I cringed as I watched myself get counted down for a pin, and I was also a little bit pissed off, but I still watched the end of the match.
I watched, knowing in my heart that Christian Knight was going to retain, and I started to admire him more and more as the match went on. Kick out after kick out, I was positive that Knight was going to take it. I had a new found respect for Christian Knight, but that new found respect was flushed down the toilet when the unthinkable happened...
Blade Lavigne won the Thy WWE World Championship.
Wait a minute... What?
How the fuck does that even happen? Well, it happens the exact same way it happened when I watched it on that plane, obviously. But "how" is not the right question to ask. The real question is...
Why the fuck did that even happen? Blade LaVinge is not better than Christian Knight. Hell, I might not even be better than Christian Knight. Well, I guess I had just watched the proof of that statement just a few minutes before, but I know for a fact that I am better than Blade LaVigne, and he beats the World Champ... the longest reigning World Champ of all time? Something stinks about this!
I sit there staring at my laptop for a few minutes after the show ended. After Blade and family celebrated in the ring to finish off the show.
Then I busted that damn lap top in two, tossing the pieces on the floor beside me. A stewardess approached and asked if something was wrong. I called her fuckin' cunt, and told her piss off. She stormed off in a huff, but I couldn't give a shit.
I had just witnessed the biggest pro wrestling swindle that this business has ever seen...
***
"Blade LaVigne doesn't deserve to be Champion..."
The lights turn on and all we see is a shot Joey the Bastard's face.
"I do!"
The camera pans out to reveal The Bastard standing behind an old time bar that you might find in an Old English Pub. The racks behind him show various bottles of hard liquor. To his left, the beer taps can be seen in an array of different colors. At the top of the bar, a bright green "JTB" neon sign glows. A spotlight shines on JTB and the bar, and the surrounding area is nothing but darkness...
"But that didn't stop him from becoming the champion, now did it? But, did Blade LaVigne truly win that World Title? Or was it just another passing of the torch? Blade could never beat Christian Knight, so that leaves me to believe that there is something more to this than meets the eye. Christian Knight, I'm gonna go on the record here and say that you are the absolute best World Champion that Thy WWE has ever seen. You took on all challenges and left your opponents bloodied and battered. But to go out like this? To end your historic reign by just dropping the title to Vince McMahon's prodigy son like that? How much did they pay you? Nobody had Blade pinned as going out of Anarchy with the title... Nobody! The Vegas lines had him at fifty to one. Did you bet on him, Christian? You threw the game, didn't you? Blade LaVigne is not good enough to hold that title. Maybe one day, but not right now, and you, Christian Knight, are the one to blame for this. But, why, oh why, did you do it? Let's think about it for a second... Nobody could beat you for that title, I'll give you that, but it was only a matter of time before you had to defend it against The Bastard. That would have been a match that you could never win. The fear of actually losing the title for real must have gotten the better of you. You were never gonna lose the thing legit, were you? If you were gonna lose it, you were gonna lose it on your terms and your terms only, am I right? Man, get your head outta your ass! So, instead of being a man, and losing it like a true champion, you hand pick some chump to lay down for instead doing what is right, and losing fair and square to a man who actually deserves it...
Disgusting.
Now, I don't blame Blade at all... He's just a lackey. Gotta keep the title in the family, right, boys? But he never earned it. You guys let me do all the dirty work, taking out the main threats. I put on one hell of a show, and I came up short, that's fine. I'll be the first to admit it... I lost. I could pack my bags and go home. I could just stop giving a fuck and stop trying to reach the top of the mountain, but I'm not Jacob Senn... I'm not BM Dump... I learn from mistakes and I adapt. I should have known something was afoul when it was just the three of us left in the match. All that was needed was for me to be taken out of that match, and when that happened, you two were free to pull the wool over everybody in the world's eyes.
But wait.
Did Blade truly have anything to do with it? I highly doubt it. The poor sucker probably thinks he actually truly beat you, Christian. He has no idea that you literally laid down on the mat for him for the one two three just so you wouldn't have to eventually lose it to me... FOR REAL! You've made a mockery of Thy WWE, and you've made a mockery of that Thy WWE World Title... Constantly picking the weaker opponents, it's sad, really. But, I guess it's a blessing in disguise, because there's a tournament called the King of the Ring that's come up. Now I don't give a rat's ass about being crowned the King of the Ring... I've already played that game. But, if I need to win this thing to get a one on one shot against Blade LaVigne, than I'm all in, baby! Because crowns don't matter. Cloaks don't matter. Winning a forty man battle royal doesn't matter. The only thing that matters in this business is the World Heavyweight Championship, and as far as I'm concerned, Blade LaVigne is holding something that should rightfully be mine."
The Bastard reaches over and grabs a glass. He tilts the glass and pours a pint of beer with the perfect amount of head. He sets it down on the bar beside him.
"Eight people are all trying to get that one shot. Zak Shields, BM Dump, POT, Undefined... All want a shot, but really, the only two people who have a chance of winning, are meeting in the first round. Joey the Bastard and Bob Cena. Now, I haven't tasted the gold like he has, but judging by his words earlier, he's hungry for it again. But, I'm starving! Cena had his meal, and I'm out here in the cold, trying to find a morsel of food. I'm hungrier than you, Cena. You had your chance to be the top draw, and you failed! You couldn't put the asses in the seats like I can. I heard what you said about me and the fans of Thy WWE, but listen...
If it weren't for those Thy WWE fans, you wouldn't be here! I wouldn't be here! They're the whole reason why you still have a job, do you not realize this? Are you dense? If they didn't respect us, than why the hell do they keep schilling out cash for thousand dollar plus WrestleMania tickets every year? Come on, man, you're smarter than that. I know you are, because we share the same views on the present state of Thy WWE. We know the truth, Bob, and the funny thing is, they know that we know the truth. Why else would we be facing off in the first round? We should meet in the final, but the fact that we're facing off in the first round proves that they see us as a threat. Take one of us early. Put us against each other early to make us beat the living hell outta each other to reignite that old feud - which was awesome by the way. One of my favorite matches, for sure. But, after all the crap that we put each other through, and after all the crap we've said about each other, I know there is a mutual respect, and I know that there is a common goal between us...
So, why do we continue to fight each other? Because we're the two best that this company has to offer, that's why. But, imagine what we could accomplish if we, oh I dunno... say... joined forces?
Yeah, right, that'll be the day. Our egos are too big for that type of thing. The title is the only thing that matters, isn't it? It sure as hell is! And in that first round match, we will do what we do best, and damn near kill each other one more time, and no matter what you say about those fans...
They're gonna love it.
They're gonna love it when I beat you. They're gonna love it when I make the finals, and go win it, and they're gonna love it when I put Blade LaVigne, yet again, in his rightful place and become the new Thy WWE Champion, and you know something, Bobby?
I'm gonna love it, too.
Cause it will be the first time that a low life gutter rat scratched and clawed his way up and actually did the impossible. He became the Thy WWE Champion... and he did it not by kissing asses, not by being in some defunct piece of garbage wrestling federation, not by being a member of an elite club... He did by being exactly who he is, and who he was meant to be...
The biggest, baddest bastard in town... HIMSELF!
I am sick and fucking tired of seeing guys like Christian Knight, and Beno, and all those other sacks of puke parade around like they own the place. People deserve shots, and they have to jump through hoops to get them. So, you know what? I know there are a lot of guys who feel shafted, so to those Thy WWE Superstars who feel like they haven't been given an opportunity, I say to you... Let's burn this shit hole to the ground...
JOIN ME!
And we can make this place better where everybody gets an equal chance. We can make a change, and if we have to destroy Thy WWE in the process, than so fuckin' be it, because in it's place, we will build the greatest wrestling company that the world has ever seen! And it all starts with extinction of every last dinosaur that ever reared it's ugly mug in this place. Christian Knight, Beno, Jonny Freeman, Alex Kendall, Sheamus, Austin Starr... the list goes on, but I suggest to all you others in the back watching this...
Pick a side.
Because war is inevitable.
And this week, war is back in session when Joey the Bastard takes on The Professor of Thuganomics in the main event for a shot at the Thy WWE Championship. I say that because whoever wins this match... JTB vs POT... The winner WILL win the King of the Ring, and the winner of this match WILL be the next Thy WWE Champion, and check this is out... The winner will be Jay to the Bee to the Tee, and I know management doesn't like me. I wouldn't have it any other way, but to the powers that be who don't want me to win. WHEN I win, you can all blow me!
And to anybody else who doesn't like me...
Well...
BITE ME!
Cause I couldn't give two drops of diarrhea who's with me or against me. I'll take this whole company on by my damned self! I am as focused as I have ever been in my entire life, and I WILL NOT BE DENIED! So, Blade LaVigne, the definition of a transitional champion, I hope you collect some fond memories with that belt, because at Oppression it all comes to an end. And by proving yourself to be just another one of Vince McMahon's puppets, you Blade, have made me a very dangerous enemy, because now I see you as what you really are...
The youngest dinosaur I've ever seen.
Guilty by association, boyo...
Guilty by association."
The Bastard grabs the beer and looks down at it.
"I know what you're thinking... He's gonna crack and drink it! Well, not yet... I made a promise to myself that I wouldn't have a drink until I win that title, and I'm not gonna go back on my word, but trust me... My tongue will taste this sweet nectar in the near future, and my tongue will soon by tasting the gold, too... So I'll save this one for later."
The Bastard sets the beer on the counter and starts to laugh. He continues to laugh as he reaches up and grabs a chain hanging down from the ceiling. The pulls the chain, and the scene turns blacks. All we hear is The Bastard's laugh fade out, then nothing but dead air.
