Champions

[GreggG]

(CUT TO: Troy Windham, looking like the missing third member of The White Stripes, sitting in the back of his stretch HumVee.)

TROY: So, this is what passes for a world champion these days? I thought I read in Entertainment Weekly that this whole Nu-Metal stuff went away in 1999. Hey, Icon, guess what? Fred Durst called, he wants his everything back.

You can talk all you want about the CSWA. Just to let you know, in that company, I wave the flag and the banner, they call me Mister CSWA. You can demean that company all you want but you and I and the millions of people watching me talk right now know you would give both of your testicles, your kidneys, your wife, your mother and your first-born son away if it meant that you could mop the floor of Chad Merrit's penthouse restroom. The so-called champ right now has the title because I let him-- Ryan and everyone else knows that if I wasn't so damn important acting as the guest host of Real World/Road Rules:The Tower of Doom I'd have the title around my slender, attractive waste.

Icon-- if you stepped foot in the CSWA and called out the who's who's list, you'd be laughed out as soon as you came in, rolled in a garbage can, beaten, degraded and sent out of this sport. I step foot in YOUR league, I tell you I'm going to spit in your eye, slap you in the face and use your title as a coaster for my mixed drinks and I have to wait a week for a response. Did you have to have your comments approved from your boss? Wondering where I was coming from and what you could say to not make things already worse for you?

Icon, you and I and the rest of the world knows where you stand and where this middling promotion stands. I'll put it in terms you might be able to resort to, duuuuuude. I'm Kurt Cobain. I'm Mick Jagger. I'm McCartney and Lennon. I'm areal icon who accomplishes more in an hour than you will in a lifetime.

You? You're Fred Durst-- the chairperson of the under five foot tall midget *sshole convention. You may wear a backwards red visor, you may be filled with a lot of bravado... but in reality, you're compensating for what you lack in the size of your manhood. You're this generations Kip Winger, Bret Michaels or the drummer from Great White. You're some fad of the moment popular to people who don't know any better.

Icon, come down to my match. Watch a real icon in action. Then bow your head and respect The King of All Wrestling... because just by evening mentioning your name, I made you more famous than you've ever been in your worthless career.

Now excuse me. I have to dictate MORE orders to your leagues comissioner, who will properly do whatever I tell him to do.
(FTB)

 

[SteelCitySon]

WTF?

Fade in to a shot of John Miller standing in front of a rather plain looking GXW backdrop. He speaks directly into the camera.

Miller: Windham? WHAT... THE F*CK... ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? Do you even (beep)in' listen to yourself? You're godd*mn juvenile. I'm Fred Durst? I represent Nu Metal? Uhhh.... yeah. RIGHT. You, yourself, don't even have a f*ckin' clue what it is you're sayin. You know me how? You couldn't have watched me on tv, due to your busy schedule with "ROAD RULES" and all... but seriously... what the f*ck? You're gonna label me after seeing a fistful of my f*ckin' promos? Howabout this, you sack of f*cking dogsh*t... after you do your little fairie dance at Battleground, and maybe come lookin' for a beating at my hands... YOU go back to swinging from Merritt's balls. You know, you just might be right about me comin' to CSWA, Troy. I come there, maybe people WILL laugh at me for makin' challenges... but you know what? I'll never f*ckin' hear it... because the only way for that to happen would be if a godd*mn show came out. You're right... they'll be laughin' their asses off Troy... and so will you... because we all know that the idea of someone actually DOING SOMETHING in the wrestling biz is completely ludicrous. Sorry I haven't been so prompt with my replies, dick... unfortunately I'm actually defending a title right now. What're you doin' again? Ohhhh... right... midcard or somethin. Listen... you didn't LET Dan Ryan have any titles... you weren't BEGGED by anyone to be here. And trust me... no one gives two flying f*cks whether or not you even show up at Global Warfare. You're gonna spit in my eye... you're gonna use my title as a coaster... you'll do this... you'll do that. Guess what? I haven't seen you do a damn thing but bull**** your way through a couple promos. Go ahead b*tch... come spit in my eye. Come lay a finger on my title. GO AHEAD AND DO SOMETHIN'... ANYTHING... because your rambling makes NO SENSE WHATSOEVER. Better yet... here's a suggestion... go f*ck yourself.

You know where I'll be.

Fade to black as Miller stares intensely into the camera.

 

[GreggG]

Compare Yourself To A REAL Man

(CUT TO: Troy Windham, in the back of his stretch HumVee, cool as a cucumber, shades on.)

TROY: I'd come out here and respond a lot more, but really, what else needs to be said?

When the world champion of a promotion stands at a whopping 4 foot 3 inches tall and froths at the mouth like a retarded 5-year-old enjoying his first Vanilla Fribble at Dairy Queen, a man of class and dignity doesn't really need to respond.

Yo, Miller-- next time you want to address a REAL man, take a Xanax, take a few deep breaths and inhale. That way, you can use better phrases than "dogsh*t" in your responses back to the man who is widely regarded to be the best mic-worker in the history of this sport.

Advice given-- don't open your mouth when you've already gotten buried. Why? Because you look like a bigger douchebag than you already are.

I've already buried you on the microphone, Miller. Next, I'm going to bury you at your own Pay-Per-View. I'm going to find you, slap you across the face just like I do to a groupie who won't let me go anal... and then take the worthless tin you call a title and use it as a bookend at one of my many mansions.

Keep quiet, and maybe you won't continue to be the biggest laughingstock in the history of pro wrestling. (FTB)

 

[SteelCitySon]

take a look in the mirror...

Fade in...John Miller stands in front of the same background as last time.

Miller: What else needs to be said? I can think of a thing or two. First off, your sh*t is tired... can't you come up with anything better than the trash you're spewin? And you say YOU'RE the best mic-worker in this business? Doesn't say a whole hell of a lot for the business then, now does it?

What you are is a delusional little c*cksucker who thinks he's a level above the rest, when in reality he should be scrubbing the **** out my toilet. You're not a champion, you're not the best mic-worker, and I'm willing to bet you sure as hell aren't much in ANYONE'S mind. Maybe THAT'S why you came frolicking over to GXW, Troy? Can't cut it anywhere else, so you figure hey, I'll take the midcard in GXW... right?

You've buried me on the microphone? *****, please... if anything you've dug your OWN grave. See how far all this sh*t gets you at Battleground Britain. You think your speaking "skills" mean a damn when you step into that ring? Hell, you could be begging for mercy for all I f*ckin' care... and I'd still whip the living p*ss out of you just to say I did. You handle your opponents like you handle a mic and I can guarantee you're in for one of the longest nights of your life.

And about the groupie thing... you might wanna talk to some of your CSWA brethren on that whole "anal" topic. Just a word of advice... they're probably pretty experienced with the matter. But then again, like I said before...

...you COULD just go f*ck yourself.

Kiss my ass, Windham. You wanna fight... you know where I'll be. The words stay the same... quit bein' a ***** and BACK UP some of that sh*t you're talkin'. Right now you're just blowin' hot air, chachi.

Fade to black as John steps off of the set.