GreggG
Moderator
- Joined
- Jan 1, 2000
- Messages
- 810
- Points
- 18
(CUT TO: "The New Manager of Champions" Calvin Carlton, in his tuxedo, bow-tie, tophat formal wear, stands between "FABULOUS" FRANKIE FARGO and "THE NEW AMERICAN STUD" BRANDON MUELLER -- wearing tux-tails, bowties, and Confed flag theme shorts. Calvin is swinging his tennis racket around wildly.)
CALVIN: When OH when is this show going to get on the road? You see, I am a many of many traits but one trait I lack is PATIENCE. You get that way when you're me. Born and bred in Bel Air's. My momma... that angel whose eyes light up the nighttime sky with the power of 101 candlelabras... she is Bel Air's most beautiful, most powerful, wealthiest black woman. Our family lineage runs deep. The Carlton family has ALWAYS been on top. Be it in politics. Be it in finance. Be it in wrestling. We've ALWAYS set our sights on one thing -- control. And we've ALWAYS obtained it.
That's why... that's why I'm here. The two men you see in front of you right now need no introduction. They are The Original ShowStoppers. The OSS. Fabulous Frankie and The American Stud. THREE ESS-- The Southern Sex Squad. The greatest tag team of yesterday, today and tomorrow. Two men with fine, upstanding Southern lineages bent on one thing and one thing only -- ensuring their legacy as THE greatest tag team this sport has ever seen. That's why THEY're here. I manage them to the top, I gain control. They win the titles, they ensure their place in history.
But you see, I don't think it will be too hard to get control of this place. I mean, they can't even get a decent tag team tournament going! I'm sure if I wanted to, I could call my momma and she could call her banker and then call her lawyer and then call whoever runs this place and have him or her so intimidated and so scared they'd hand her the deed and the mortgage which she could pay off no problem. But you see, we COULD do that but we won't. Because while I can buy anything I want... even love... I'd rather see people bleed at the hands of my charges so I can see the looks in the eyes of the fallen... and laugh right in their impatago-infected faces. And THEN my momma can buy this promotion out and fold it for a tax write-off... but not until we first prove our dominance.
Now, our first round opponents didn't even show up. Two Texan low-lives who are busy doing what Texans do best... that's reacharounds and happy endings in men's room stalls. Unless you're a member of the Bush family, which what you do best is whatever momma tells you to do, since her mutual funds are what dictates this country's foreign policy. So we've already set our sights on our future opponents. Here's a few words on who we fear the most...
(All three men are silent. Then, after ten seconds, they start cackling in laughter.)
We fear NO men and NO team. But there is one team I have my eyes set upon, on seeing their destruction and physical suffering. And that's the team a lot of pundits say is the best in this field... and that's the Project.
Joey Melton, my man... ZOOM THAT CAMERA IN ON MY FACE, I WANT THAT MAGGOT TO LOOK IN MY EYES... it wasn't that long ago when you were the LYNCHPIN of Calvin Carlton Enterprises. You see, Joey Melton, I took you under my wing in NFW for one reason. PITY. I remembered you from my childhood, Joey Melton, and I remembered how great you were. You were a real inspirational story, Melton. Some New York greaseball slimebag who made something of himself via chickanery and prestidigation. A man me and my momma could rally behind. So, Melton, I found you lying in the gutter from whence you came and brought you back to do one thing and one thing only -- procure me and my momma the NFW Ultratitle. And, Joey Melton, this is what you failed to do. Instead, you got caught up chasing some ugly rape baby Lindsay Troy and following her fad diet and fad politics. Because, Joey Melton, despite your best attempts, I knew you would ultimately fail me and my momma... AND NO ONE FAILS MY MOMMA. Joey Melton, you're nothing more than the son of a bag lady. I gave you a chance to prove your worth, you blew your chance at having some dignity, and now I'm going to send you back to the tick-infested church cot I found you sleeping on. You and your little circle jerk pal can play "tag team" all you want, Joe Joe... but you're going to get yours, you little horse-faced, snaggletoothed down syndromed New York scumbag.
You and all the rest are going to get yours. Send out an OSS. Because you're going to cross paths with The OSS! (The three strut off camera. FTB)
CALVIN: When OH when is this show going to get on the road? You see, I am a many of many traits but one trait I lack is PATIENCE. You get that way when you're me. Born and bred in Bel Air's. My momma... that angel whose eyes light up the nighttime sky with the power of 101 candlelabras... she is Bel Air's most beautiful, most powerful, wealthiest black woman. Our family lineage runs deep. The Carlton family has ALWAYS been on top. Be it in politics. Be it in finance. Be it in wrestling. We've ALWAYS set our sights on one thing -- control. And we've ALWAYS obtained it.
That's why... that's why I'm here. The two men you see in front of you right now need no introduction. They are The Original ShowStoppers. The OSS. Fabulous Frankie and The American Stud. THREE ESS-- The Southern Sex Squad. The greatest tag team of yesterday, today and tomorrow. Two men with fine, upstanding Southern lineages bent on one thing and one thing only -- ensuring their legacy as THE greatest tag team this sport has ever seen. That's why THEY're here. I manage them to the top, I gain control. They win the titles, they ensure their place in history.
But you see, I don't think it will be too hard to get control of this place. I mean, they can't even get a decent tag team tournament going! I'm sure if I wanted to, I could call my momma and she could call her banker and then call her lawyer and then call whoever runs this place and have him or her so intimidated and so scared they'd hand her the deed and the mortgage which she could pay off no problem. But you see, we COULD do that but we won't. Because while I can buy anything I want... even love... I'd rather see people bleed at the hands of my charges so I can see the looks in the eyes of the fallen... and laugh right in their impatago-infected faces. And THEN my momma can buy this promotion out and fold it for a tax write-off... but not until we first prove our dominance.
Now, our first round opponents didn't even show up. Two Texan low-lives who are busy doing what Texans do best... that's reacharounds and happy endings in men's room stalls. Unless you're a member of the Bush family, which what you do best is whatever momma tells you to do, since her mutual funds are what dictates this country's foreign policy. So we've already set our sights on our future opponents. Here's a few words on who we fear the most...
(All three men are silent. Then, after ten seconds, they start cackling in laughter.)
We fear NO men and NO team. But there is one team I have my eyes set upon, on seeing their destruction and physical suffering. And that's the team a lot of pundits say is the best in this field... and that's the Project.
Joey Melton, my man... ZOOM THAT CAMERA IN ON MY FACE, I WANT THAT MAGGOT TO LOOK IN MY EYES... it wasn't that long ago when you were the LYNCHPIN of Calvin Carlton Enterprises. You see, Joey Melton, I took you under my wing in NFW for one reason. PITY. I remembered you from my childhood, Joey Melton, and I remembered how great you were. You were a real inspirational story, Melton. Some New York greaseball slimebag who made something of himself via chickanery and prestidigation. A man me and my momma could rally behind. So, Melton, I found you lying in the gutter from whence you came and brought you back to do one thing and one thing only -- procure me and my momma the NFW Ultratitle. And, Joey Melton, this is what you failed to do. Instead, you got caught up chasing some ugly rape baby Lindsay Troy and following her fad diet and fad politics. Because, Joey Melton, despite your best attempts, I knew you would ultimately fail me and my momma... AND NO ONE FAILS MY MOMMA. Joey Melton, you're nothing more than the son of a bag lady. I gave you a chance to prove your worth, you blew your chance at having some dignity, and now I'm going to send you back to the tick-infested church cot I found you sleeping on. You and your little circle jerk pal can play "tag team" all you want, Joe Joe... but you're going to get yours, you little horse-faced, snaggletoothed down syndromed New York scumbag.
You and all the rest are going to get yours. Send out an OSS. Because you're going to cross paths with The OSS! (The three strut off camera. FTB)
