View Full Version : ST. LOUIS 2ND: Boogie Smallz vs. Victor Molotov

11-21-05, 02:02 AM
The Bluntmaster takes on the Purifier

Boogie Beat

Molotov Beat
The Mighty Impala

Mad Dog
11-27-05, 07:06 PM
(FADE IN to Boogie Smallz leaning back in a black leather recliner. He is puffing a blunt and watching a replay of the first round of the TEAM Invitational Tournament. Smallz is paying close attention to the match between Victor Molotov and The Mighty Impala. Molotov clamps on his version of the dragon sleeper, the Purifying Scourge, and Impala quickly taps out. Smallz nods his head and takes a puff of his blunt.)

BOOGIE SMALLZ: So yo, I got past my first round opponent in the TEAM Invitational Tournament…and now I’m in Round Two. Tha guy I gotta square off against in this round is tha descendant of tha inventor of the Molotov Cocktail...Victor Molotov.

(Boogie sits up in his seat and puffs his blunt.)

Vic, I can’t say I know a lot about you, ‘cuz I don’t. I just know what I hearr. As I understand it, you’ve taken it upon yourself to “purify” tha biz. (Grins.) Damn dawg, sounds like a lost cause to me. Ya’ best take yo’ act sumwherre else, ‘cuz that ish ain’t gonna fly as long as ya got me standin’ in your way.

Now I heard ya out herre durin’ tha last round hoopin’ and hollerin’ about, (In a bad Russian accent.) “Two and a half year” (Back in his normal voice.) this. “Two and a half year” that. Dawg…don’t nobody herre give a ish about you or your little plot against tha bitnuss!

(Puffs his blunt.)

It might have been two and a half years since you had your neck broke…(Looks at his Jacob diamond-encrusted watch.) but you about TWO AND A HALF MINUTES from havin’ ‘dat ISH BROKE AGAIN! (Means mugs the camera.)

My name ain’t Mighty Impala. This ain’t no tune-up match. I’ll split yo’ wig and not think twice about it! (Looks wild-eyed into the camera.) You wanna purify wrestling? Show America how it’s done? (Looks annoyed.) Man, you best take this ish back to Moscow and tell it to Richard Marx or whatever tha kcuf his name is!

I’m sure you’re real proud of bein’ related to the guy that invented the Molotov Cocktail. I’m sure vigilante groups, terrorists, and rioters in third world countries are paying you royalties to this day for making such an invention. (Shakes his head.) Gee…was it really that difficult to come up with? I wonder how Grandfather Molotov came up with that one? How did his genius stumble across this wonderful invention that has changed the world tha way that has?

Now I am sure you know the story passed down to you, but I’m herre to tell tha truth. He was a drunk! Tha guy had one too many shots of Smirnoff and couldn’t find tha kcufin’ cap. Tha dumb triscuit stuffed his crusty-ass snot rag in top, because his drunk clumsy-ass didn’t wanna spill none of his drink. He went to meet up with his wife, she was workin’ tha street corner that night…like she did most nights. Your drunk-ass grandfather certainly wasn’t payin’ tha bills…so she had to sell snatch in order to take care of his retarded ass!

So he met up with her one night, among tha homeless bums and prostitutes. She was huddled up by a fire and your grandpa tried to grab her booty. Well she thought he was a client and turned around to slap him because normally they pay her before they do that. Your grandfather’s hand brushed against the fire and tha rag hangin’ out lit up. He freaked out and started running around in circles like a confused lil’ beeyatch. After seeing that tha fire didn’t go out, he hurled the bottle toward the street and it struck a car. Tha car was ablaze, chaos ensued, and Molotov went down in history.

(Takes a couple of hits off of his blunt and does a sarcastic clap.)

Way to go, Vic. That is somethin’ to be proud of. I wonder if tha dumbass that invented tha urinal cake has a similar story!

I’ve peeped ya out, Vic. I know how ya operate and I honestly don’t think you can hang on my level. I think you and a lot of otha’ fools got it twizted. See only one man can win this tournament. Only one man can outlast all 31 competitors and walk out tha winner. I’m herre to tell ya…you’re lookin’ at that one man.


(Puff his blunt.)

I’m done with this. Fade me out.


11-29-05, 04:22 PM
(Victor Molotov stands in a darkens and otherwise empty gym. A bead of sweat glimmers on his brow.)

MOLOTOV: Mister Smallz...

Mister "Boogie" Smallz...

I am glad to have finally met you. Because you are the exact kind of American land scum that I have come here to this tournament hoping to meet.

Look at you. Look at you as you suck those toxins into your lungs with no regard to the bodily temple the you have been granted. The Temple that you defile as if it were some peasants mud hovel. Do you really think you can step into the ring with clouded mind and poisoned lungs against one such as me.

Look at you. You who mocks my accent and yet can hardly speak the very language into which you were born. I believe you may have sought to mock my heritage, and yet you speak in such a jumbled muttle of words and non-words that I cannot be sure.

"Dat Ish"? "Kcuf"? "Lil beyatch"? These are words?

Perhaps I should make certain to drop you on your head extra hard this week just to see if we can start you making sense.

Because I would hate decieve myself into believing that I am purifying our sport of a true infidel when I am really merely ridding it of just another drug-addled mental deficient that time and self-immulation would have weeded out shortly anyway. Not that I won't take great pleasure in ending your career either way. But I would rather concentrate my efforts on those that nature cannot handle on her own.

Which are you "Boogie"?

The disease infested low-life to be squashed beneath my heel before you can further infect my sport?

Or the heathen, infidel dog to be toppled before you fully corrupt it.

Not that it matters in the end. For the result in the end shal be the same. All cancers both figurative and literal must be removed.

And I cannot allow even the slightest trace of you to survive.

You may well have been a favorite coming into this tournament, but this week it all ends for you. For Vistor Molotov has a far bigger goal than just winning some Silver Chalice. I am here to SAVE wrestling from the likes of you. I am here to remove your stain and cleanse the ring of any trace of you.

I am here to take back for the world all that America would consume and expel as just another once brilliant reminant of your cultural waste.

Welcome to my Feast of Purification, Smallz. Mighty Impala was but the appitizer, you are course number one. And I must consume you for my mission to continue.

12-07-05, 12:22 AM
(Molotov has just finished a further workout at the abandoned gym)

MOLOTOV: Smallz. I suppose you are most likely passed out in some gutter ditch, drunk on fortified wine or subcombed to some other form of drug induced stupor.

It would help you, Smallz.

Not one iota.

No matter how you try to "ease the pain", you fate is sealed. And there is nothing that you can do to avoid the agony of you ultimate destruction.

And I am not talking about some form of existential agony here, "Dawg". I am not talking about some metaphysical destruction. I am going to hurt you. I am going to hurt you badly. I shall inflict such torture upon you that even the Marquis de Sade would take pause and then beg me to end you.

The world must see you suffer, "Home Slice".

You shall be held forth as an example to them all. An example of what they shall become too should they not turn back from the paths of impurity and re-embrace the true SPORT and ART of real Catch as Catch Can Professional Wrestling.

You may be exiting this tounament this week the most painful fashion possible this week, Boogie Smallz. But lament not - for I shall make you a leged. The Cronus to my Zues. The Pompey to my Ceasar. The Nicolas to my Lenin.

For as the historians shall write. the Legend of your ignominious Fall shall be the first pavingstone on the glorious path to Renaissance I shall bring to wrestling upon winning this Tournament.

For it is upon swamp scum like you that the foundations of the most wonderous palaces are built.