Cripplers vs Assassins vs Boyz

[EZieba]

World Tag Team Title Match:

The Night Cripplers (C) vs The Assassins vs The Monsta Boyz

 

[BuffBellows]

Belts Good... Crips Bad...

Fade in to the interior of a fairly large vehicle - an American Airlines passenger airliner, to be precise. This particular flight is not all that crowded. A few families dot the seats near the front of the plane, and a burly air marshal sits at the back of the plane, watching all that goes on. However, the camera does not focus on these individuals. Instead, the cameraman steps into a row of seats in the middle of the right side of the aisle, crouching down in the seat to focus his camera on a pair of large individuals two rows back.

The first of these individuals, sitting on the right, fills in at about 6'9", with a massively muscular physique covered by khakis and a black "MONSTA CITY LIMITS" T-shirt. Today, his sandy hair has been neatly swept back into a ponytail, and his moustache and goatee are neatly trimmed. A broad grin occupies his face.

The second individual, sitting on the left, possesses an even broader grin - and an even broader waistline. His rich brown skin contrasts with his spiked, bleached-blonde hair; his fierce sideburns, however, are deep black. The fat fellow wears a pair of oversized jeans and a white shirt that reads, "WELCOME TO MONSTA COUNTRY".

Any GXW viewer who hasn't been living under a rock recently would instantly recognize this jovial duo as the Monsta Boyz - Buff Bellows on the right, Fat Farrell on the left.

"Looks like it's off to the UK with us, eh?" Bellows remarks, clasping his hands behind his head. "Sounds like a big ol' bucket of fun. Ya know, I ain't never been to the UK, so I'm kinda lookin' forward to it. There's just so many things I wanna do there. Ride them double-decker buses... visit Big Ben... Steal the fluffy hats off of those guards who don't even move when ya go near them... and of course, win the GXW Tag-Team Championship."

"We oughta get some pictures a' dat, man!" Farrell urges, elbowing his partner. "Ah think it'd look good in da photo album!"

"There'll be plenty a' pics ta be found," Bellows assures his portly companion. "In the highlight reels."

"I heard dat," the Polynesian says emphatically.

Bellows turns his attention back to the camera. "Yeah, it'll really be somethin'," he says. "Ya know. Monsta Boyz with Tag Titles. Smell the ratings! An' I ain't just sayin' that ta be conceited. It's what the fans wanna see, baby. Think about it. Me an' Farrell, we are THE only tag-team in this entire federation who do what we do for the FANS. The rest of you punks, I dunno. But hey, nobody's perfect. And with that in mind... it's time for the part all those fans have been waiting for. That's right: Time for the Monsta Boyz to TALK! SOME! SH*T!!!"

"Sir, please!" chides a leggy stewardess, drawn to the sound of the profanity. "There are children on this flight."

"Eh-heh, uh, my bad," Bellows responds quickly.

As the stewardess turns and strides back down the aisle, Buff looks back to the camera. "Okay... what say we cut down the biggest trees in the forest first, eh? The Night Cripplers. Howdy, guys! How ya doin'? Enjoyin' yer little run with the tag belts? Are ya? Aw, well that's a damn shame. Too bad your title run's about ta slow down to a walk. Guess someone's gonna have to pick up the pace. An' I know just the two guys ta do it. Here's a hint: Combined weight 807 pounds. Big guys. From Monsta Country. Won a battle royal at Fallout. Still don't get it? Here's a hint so obvious even YOU can't miss it: Yer lookin' at 'em."

"Who are dey, man?" inquires Farrell, nudging his teammate.

Bellows snorts a bit. "Uh, I dunno... TLC?" he says. "Us, dipstick."

"Oh," Farrell says, snickering a bit. "Yah, I knew dat."

With a shake of his head, Bellows returns his attention to the camera. "All joking aside," he says, "yeah. Come Battlefield Britain, you two are gonna step inta the ring with THE biggest tag-team this federation has EVER seen. Ask yer little featherweight Extreme Tendencies buddies Fernie and Roberts how it feels ta step inta the ring with us. They tried it, an' we kicked their sorry @sses from one side a' the ring ta the other. So maybe ya DO have a few pounds on them two midgets - big freakin' deal. I've seen bigger. Of course, yer used ta hearin' that, since ya hear it every time ya try an' get with a honey. Eh?"

Farrell immediately begins laughing like a hyena. "Woo-hoo-hoo! Ohh-oh man! Dat was... hoo... dat was great!"

Buff grins before turning back to the camera. "So yeah, tough guys. C'mon down to the ring. Come cripple us in the night or whatever it is that ya do. An' bring them tag titles with ya. But be sure ya give 'em one last kiss goodbye before ya come out, 'cause they're comin' home to Monsta Country when all's said and done. Don't believe us? Hell, our win record speaks for us. We've beaten the entire tag-team division ta get here, including..."

A snicker from the still-amused Farrell cuts Bellows off for a moment.

"...the Assassins," continues Bellows after Fat's snickering dies down. "Seriously. Osiris... Orion... what the hell did you guys do ta even GET in this match, anyway? I mean, hell. You didn't win no battle royals. In fact, the way I remember it, the only team you actually outlasted in there was Lap Dog Business. Sh*t, I eliminated the last of yaz myself. Yet heeeeere you are in a Tag title match with us and the Crips. There's a name for people like you in this situation..."

Bellows leans forward a little. "White elephant."

Farrell begins snickering again, but this time Bellows talks over him. "Frankly, you two are sorta useless in this match," he says. "You don't really mean much. When ya look at it, this is gonna be between us an' the Crips. But I suppose you Assassins COULD be a deciding factor... yer the wimpy losers who get pinned. First ta pin an Assassin wins! Why bother fightin' a REAL match with the Crips when we can just stomp an Assassin? It's easy as 1-2-3! Quite literally."

Raising a hand, Buff clears his throat before continuing. "But in any case, 'Sassins, yer chances at them big shiny tag belts are pretty much zero. Yeah, I know yer just itchin' ta take back what's yours and regain your honor and blah blah blah blah blah, but guess what? You CAN'T take back the tag belts 'cause you suck with a capital LOSERS. And that's a fact. You bombed in the battle royal at Fallout. You were one-hit wonders with the tag titles. But there's still one more strike. One more chance to redeem yourselves. But guess what? The Monsta Boyz are on the pitcher's mound, and we throw a hell of a curve ball. That'll make it three strikes. Whoops! Looks like you're out."

"And speaking of out... we are SO outta here. Catch y'all in the UK, dizawgs."

Both Boyz raise their hands and wave mockingly to the camera as the scene fades into blackness...

 

[tylerdurden]

International Assassination

{Fade in to the wide angle view of Trafalgar Square in London, England. The camera zooms in on two figures in the vicinity of the shot, which appears to be the Assassins. As the shot gets closer, we can see that it is indeed Orion and Osiris. Both men wear the usual classy black suits with their hair tied into tight ponytails at the back of their scalps. Orion walks about the square, feeding pieces of bread to pigeons that gather around him. In the background, Osiris talks on the familiar red British payphone. Orion addresses the camera while Osiris carries on a rather candid conversation with whoever’s on the other end of the phone.}

Orion: Well if it isn’t Tweedle-dum and Tweedle {beeping}-dee. I’d just like to say thank you, Buff Bellows and Fat Farrell, for clearing up any misconceptions the general population ever had about you. Indeed, you two are the epitome of pure retardation. While I thoroughly enjoyed watching that little debacle you might consider a promo, I don’t think my friend here…

{Osiris slams his fist into the side of the payphone as he continues to talk to whoever’s on the other end.}

Orion: … thought much of it. You see… we paid special attention to this one in hopes that perhaps you two had actually made some progress since the last match. Unfortunately, as I’m sure you’re quite used to, we had just set ourselves up for quite the let down.

{Orion smirks, then continues to feed some bread to the pigeons at his feet.}

Orion: So why bother fightin' a REAL match with the Crips when you can just stomp an Assassin? Well Buff, to put it simply… because you can’t. You think you’re the ones who’re gonna’ pick up the pace in the Tag division? That’s funny coming from a team who’s been stuck in a sea of mediocrity for the past few months. You say we’re one hit wonders Buff? Hmm… interesting…

{Orion looks back and forth from Osiris to himself… back to Osiris, back to himself.}

Orion: Wouldn’t that make you…. No hit wonders? At least we’ve BEEN there, chumpstain. You can talk all the {beep} you want, but it won’t mean jack until you’ve got those tag belts strapped around your waists. So here WE are… “up to bat” as you put it. And you’re throwing us curve balls? {waving hands around mockingly} Whoa now, watch out… Christ… cut the metaphorical bull{beep}. Bottom line is, we’re going to whip your asses.

{Suddenly, Osiris lets out a large growl in the phone booth. He repeats over and over the words “NO NO NO”. The scene proves to be quite humorous as we see the large Samoan trying to maneuver in the booth. Orion turns around and looks on in wonder. He then turns back around to address the camera.}

Orion: You see Boyz, that’s what separates us. That’s what separates the losers from the winners. You talk game… we run it. Last time we had a two on two match, we basically wiped the floor with your asses. You’ve got mouths on ya’… you certainly CAN talk some {beep}. But I wouldn’t worry about forming any complete sentences after we’re through with ya’. You can’t really talk that much {beep} when you’re sitting in a wheelchair slurping your dinner through a straw. But hey, maybe this beating will give you the opportunity to learn the English language all over again, seeing as how it appears you didn’t quite grasp it the first time. I’ll make sure to have the higher ups schedule some speech therapy into your rehabilitation program. Sounds like a plan, doesn’t it “dizawg”?

{Orion smirks and crouches near the ground, picking up one of many loose flyers that blow through the square. The wind begins to blow the sheet in his hand, but he drops the bread he was feeding the pigeons to control it.}

Orion: {Reading aloud.} “For the GXW Tag Team Titles… The Monsta Boyz versus the Assassins versus The Night Cripplers”.

{Orion crumples the paper up and tosses it behind him, where the wind catches it and blows it off to the side.}

Orion: Great to see GXW’s already making an impact on the United Kingdom. So what if it’s only in the form of littering? Well, anyways… like the flyer said, the match is going down. Boyz, Assassins, Crips. Three teams… six men… two winners. Triple Threat. Which means… the Cripplers don’t have to be pinned to lose those straps. But don’t worry guys, we won’t take the p*ssy way out as our friends the Monsta Boyz seem to be planning. No… we’ll win those belts with a pinfall over YOUR sorry asses. Just to keep the bitching and whining at a minimum. Besides… we owe you one.

{Orion cracks his knuckles, staring down at the ground, off in thought. Suddenly we hear Osiris slam the phone down in the background, swearing up a storm. He walks out of the booth and into the foreground where Orion is still thinking.}

Osiris: Well that’s that. Just got off the phone with customs. Seems the fed heads decided NOT to pay the shipping on the Chevelle. Looks like we’ve gotta hoof it

{Orion snaps out of his daze.}

Orion: Yeah… whatever. It’s alright man, we can walk.

{Osiris shrugs. He then notices the camera, and begins to speak.}

Osiris: Hey, this on? Yeah, hey… I just wanted to say a few things to our little #####-to-be the Monsta Boyz. Listen up, and listen good. That little battle royal you won? It doesn’t mean {beep}. Look, where’d it get you? Sure, you got your shot against the Crips. But wait… so did… we? That’s right. Now we’re going to take your opportunity and flush it right down the {beep}ing toilet. You’re not the number one contenders… the only thing you’re in contention for is an ass kicking. Same goes for you Crips. You’re the tag team champions, sure. But what have you done since you took those belts? Absolute zilch. You went on and on about how you were the swift kick in the ass this division needed, but what it comes down to is that you’re just another boring replacement. The only team who can give this division the flavor it needs is the Assassins. We win those belts… and the first step we’re taking is to kick each and every other team’s asses…. One by one. You hear that Zieba? You’re the big man in charge now, right? We win those belts… you schedule us a title defense on every show. I don’t care if it’s Revolution… Xperience… Onslaught… house shows…. Whatever. We’ll keep it going like a breadline. A team steps up for a {beep}ing beating… we move on to the next. So the way I figure it, with the amount of depth this division has, every team can expect at least 4 ass-kickings in one month.

{Osiris shakes his head and starts to laugh in the background.}

Osiris: No man, I’m serious. I’m sick of this crap. You want those belts Boyz? You think you can beat the Crips? Well step into the ring and we’ll shove that smack you talk right back into your {beep}ing faces! Battleground: Britain… The Assassins are walking out with the mother {beep}ing tag titles! Bottom line… end of story! You wanna’ play around Farrell? You think this is a {beep}ing baseball game Bellows? Games… are for Boyz…. And BOYZ… don’t belong… in the ring.

{Osiris takes gives the camera one last hard stare before turning around and walking off with Orion. They continue their conversation as the camera fades out. We can hear them talking in the background very faintly.}

Osiris: {beep}ing England. Now I’m in a bad mood.

Orion: We could always piss on Buckingham palace.

{Fade to black.}

 

[BuffBellows]

...And A Hap-py New Yeeeear

[updated:LAST EDITED ON Dec-15-02 AT 01:50 AM (EST)]Cut to a shot of a plain white backdrop bearing a grey, blue, and black GXW logo. Two stools are set up in front of the backdrop, and each is occupied by an individual... a rather small individual. Very small. In fact, each stool is occupied by a midget in midget-sized mock-ups of the Assassins' ring attire. Midget Osiris even sports a tattoo identical to the real Osiris' design. The diminutive pair do their best to glare maliciously into the camera, but the effect doesn't come across quite right; rather, they both appear constipated.

"Grrrrr!" says Midget Orion, doing his damnedest to appear ferocious. "We are the Assassins! We saw the latest video masterpiece by the Monsta Boyz, and we are angry! We know that we can't even dream of waging a war of words with them, 'cause all we really know is cookie-cutter insults and half-assed bragging! But that's okay, 'cause we're gonna KILL EVERYONE!!!"

Midget Osiris gives a derisive little snort, then bares his teeth. "Yes, we will make you drink all your meals through a straw!" declares the short fellow. "We are better than you! You are mediocre! And we are better than you despite the fact that we got our asses handed to us by the Crips ONE MONTH after we defeated Fast Lame for the titles! But that doesn't mean anything, 'cause we're gonna KICK YOUR ASSES!"

"Yeah!" midget Orion pipes in.

Two large figures walk into the shot as the midgets fall silent. We shall dispense with the already-familiar descriptions of the duo and simply state that they are Buff Bellows and Fat Farrell. Both men move to stand against the backdrop, grinning as they clasp their hands behind their backs.

"That's all, fellas," Buff tells the midgets, fishing a few British pounds out of his pocket and handing them to the midgets. "Go grab yerself some tea an' crumpets, eh?"

The two midgets nod an affirmative before departing.

Buff turns his attention back towards the camera as he and Farrell each take a seat in the now-empty stools - Buff on the right, Fat on the left. "Now that we've given the fans here in jolly ol' Great Britain something ENTERTAINING to watch... and by entertaining, I mean 'the opposite of an Assassins promo'... let's get down to business."

"First off, Orion... I gotta ask you. Who's yer hook-up? For the drugs, I mean. 'Cause yer obviously doped up. You kicked our asses last time we had a 2-on-2 match, huh? News flash: WE'VE NEVER HAD A 2-ON-2 MATCH. NOT EVEN AT THE HOUSE SHOWS. So how in the name of all things holy can ya hand us our asses 2-on-2 if we've never BEEN in the ring 2-on-2 with ya, huh? Or even 2-on-2-on-2? Or have you somehow developed the ability to gaaaaaaaaaze into the future an' predict the outcome of our little match at Battleground Britain? Well, let me tell ya something, Miss Cleo. Ya better get that sixth sense of yours inta the shop for a tune-up, 'cause that little prediction of yers? Ain't a chance in hell it's comin' true. Ya see, the little image in MY crystal ball says it's the other way around - that yer in for a big-time @ss-beatin' straight outta Monsta Country. Go ahead, prove me wrong. Read some tea leaves, flip over a few tarot cards... or better yet, develop some actual WRESTLING TALENT. Too bad you ain't gonna change THIS future. It's kinda set in stone, ya know?"

"Rock-solid, man," Farrell pipes in, nodding his head vigorously.

Buff shrugs a bit, then looks at the camera. "But anyway," he says. "So let's get back to the show. So you've been to the top. Way to state the obvious, Poindexter. Contrary ta popular belief, I ain't stupid. I know damn well that you were the Tag Champs. Key word: WERE. 'Cause ya lost the damn things pretty much immediately. Way ta go, guys. Wonderful. You really showed the world that yer the best GXW has ta offer. But hey, just 'cause you WERE the Tag Champs don't mean yer better than the Monsta Boyz - oh no sirree. I, uh, I think we pretty much proved who's better than who at Fallout, when I eliminated yer little team from the running. ...As I recall, we DID kick yer asses for about half the match. And that's a fact, buckaroos. Oh, wait... that battle royal didn't matter, riiiiight?"

"Wrong. That battle royal at Fallout proved, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Buff Bellows an' Fat Farrell are the two toughest sons of b*tches in the entire damn tag-team division. We stepped inna that ring with all the other challengers in the federation and basically kicked all yer asses with minimal effort. Like it or not, the Monsta Boyz have PROVED that we are a dominant duo in this federation and that we're damn worthy of a shot at the Crips. Still don't believe me, huh? Well, there's another lesson comin', 'Sassins, when we pummel ya from ringpost ta ringpost an' take home the Tag-Team Titles. An' if ya still haven't learned, please, do come back for more - we got no problem kickin' yer @sses many times over. Not too many, though. Wouldn't wanna make you look like even bigger fools than you already are."

"Oh, an' as for it bein' the 'p*ssy way out' ta win the titles by pinfall over an Assassin an' not a Crippler... I don't think so. Check the rules. TRIPLE THREAT MATCH. It's all legal, brother. I can pin any one of yas an' still win the titles. Then I can kick yer @sses in the 2-on-2 rematch if yer really that desperate. But one way or another, these good ol' Boyz right here are gonna walk outta that ring with good, shiny GXW gold - an' you know damn well the fans are gonna love it. Then again, given the choice between us and the, uh, somewhat lackluster alternatives presented... how could they not, eh?"

"Well told," Farrell says solemnly, nodding his head in a strong affirmative. "Well told."

"Thanks, brother," Bellows replies.

Buff looks back to the camera after clearing his throat. "Incidentally," he says. "Hey, Night Cripplers! This is yer wake-up call. Wake up! Wake up! Say somethin'! ... Or don't, I don't care... it's bad enough listenin' ta the Assassins babble. Two more lunatics rantin' an' ravin' an' carryin' on would just give me such a huge freakin' migraine. But hey. Just do me one favor: Give them tag belts a big kiss goodbye, 'cause they're comin' home with the big boyz. An' that's a fact."

"Well, that's a wrap. Catch y'all in the ring."

Fade out as the Boyz grin into the camera....

 

[tylerdurden]

Nyuk Nyuk, retards..

{Fade in to a shot of Wembley Stadium. Both Assassins, Orion and Osiris, are perched high in the stadium seats, looking down at the ring which has been constructed for GXW. A large Battlegound:Britain banner hangs behind the two figures, flapping in the gentle breeze. Orion and Osiris both wear their traditional attire, the black suits with a pair of black sunglasses. Both men have their hair down, hanging on the sides of their face. Osiris sits back and sips a beverage out of a straw which leads to a large stadium container.}

Orion: Well now... it appears as though somebody's scratchin and clawin' for some attention here, now doesn't it? I must admit men, that whole "bring a midget out to impersonate the opposition" thing, that's so damn original. And oh Christ is it hilarious too! Oh my, I just about rolled out of my seat I was so "entertained". {rolls eyes}
And wait... what about this line? "Now that we've given the fans here in jolly ol' Great Britain something ENTERTAINING to watch... and by entertaining, I mean 'the opposite of an Assassins promo" Holy {beep} Buff, where'd you think that one up? Jesus... try not to be so harsh next time... you {beeping} chode.

Osiris: Listen boyz, you can play all the games you want, you can say you're just as good as the Assassins, if not better, and NOBODY, is going to take you seriously. Just because we WERE the tag team champions doesn't make us better than you? Right. And what does? Winning a meaningless battle royal that apparently got you absolute {beep}? That's right fatass, I DID say it didn't mean {beep}. We're in the same position you are... and the funny thing is, you guys were the ones who were SUPPOSED to get the shot. Why the hell you think we're even involved in this match? Everyone probably started freaking out when they found out the Monsta Boyz were the number one contenders. "No... jesus no... we can't have that". Well rest assured everyone, we are here to save the {beep}ing day. There's no way in hell Dumb and Dumber are gonna get their fat, greasy fingers all over the GXW Tag Titles...

{Orion lets loose a little grin and sits back in his chair.}

Orion: You know... I must apologize, Boyz. I looked back in the history books, and apparently we never HAVE faced you in a 2 on 2 match. I'm sorry, it gets so hard to distinguish faces when you kick the living {beep} out of everyone you wrestle. See, it really doesn't matter, I guess. You'll be entering that match the Monsta Boyz, you'll be leaving as just another loser. Just another tag team who couldn't make it to the top. Just another fart in the wind...

{Osiris pushes his hair to the side, beginning to speak.}

Osiris: Yes Boyz... we know this is a triple threat match. Well... double threat with a maybe an added nuisance, but still. Either way you put it, you're right... it's legal to pin any man in that ring. But just because you're afraid of the tag team champs doesn't mean you shouldn't try. {Osiris grins slightly}. See, the way I see it, you ARE a bunch of pussies. "Awww, we can't pin the tag team champions easily... let's try the Assassins". Whatever... you're a crock of {beep} Buff Bellows. We're the ones who need to develop some wrestling talent? That's right Buff... lord knows we can only hope to become as good as you two. Pfff. You're a {beep}ing joke. God... I can just see the Fat Farrell training program now. 12 twinkies a day, a shake in the afternoon, and a couple SQUATS on the can in the evening. Look, Buff, maybe you should shut the {beep} up about wrestling talent. We're not the ones with the stay puffed marshmallow man for a teammate. Why is Farrell here? Because he's 8000 pounds. He can't wrestle... he can sit on people. If that's the case, we can just bring in Orion's mother in law for the next show.

{Orion laughs out loud then slugs Osiris in the arm.}

Orion: Seriously though... Bellows... we ARE the better team. We can out wrestle you, we can out perform you, and we sure as hell can out talk you. Seeing as how everytime you two touch a mic it ends up looking like a retard spelling bee.

{Orion holds a hand to his chest and makes a goofy facial expression.}

Orion: "kkkk...kkkk....keep on tryin junior... " things will work out for you one day, I'm sure. Christ. And WE'RE the lackluster alternatives.

{Orion looks over to Osiris and shakes his head. He turns back to the camera.}

Orion: This coming from two men who come out to the ring wearing cheap hawaiian shirts. Listen... Gilligan... Skipper... we've got more talent in our pinky fingers than you two have combined, and if you want us to prove it, we'll be glad to do so on January 1st. And we don't need a {beep}ing crystal ball to see that one, either. It's not a prediction, it's just the plain truth.

{The camera switches over to Osiris, who is imitating a fortune teller. He holds his hands in a position that would suggest he's got a crystal ball in front of him. He closes his eyes and begins to talk.}

Osiris: I see.... I see... I see a great, fat, obnoxious man, getting his ass kicked. And I see... I see... wait I can't see anything else, that man's ass is taking up the entire ball. {Going back to normal.} But seriously fella's... let's not make too big of a deal out of this one, alright? We're going to walk in there, we're going to kick the living snot out of you, and we're going to take back our Tag Team Titles. Wham, bam, thank you ma'am. There's no debating, no question... we're just going to kick the {beep} out of you and continue on our merry way.

Orion: And Bellows, you can quit it with your little wake up call. I don't think the Crips are even gonna' show their faces for this one. And hey, the sad thing is... they're actually looking better than you guys in the process. At least I'm not being forced to watch Scott Hunter try and fuddle around with a microphone. Or Chris Titan, for that matter.

Osiris: Boyz, that little show you put on for us, having your little 2 foot friends come in and save the day for your sorry asses... it was quite the entertainment. But next time, I suggest you find someone who can actually get the facts straight. You see, if you consider your promos a masterpiece, then we might as well be {beep}ing Da Vincis. Like I said before Boyz, you would have served yourselves better by just keeping your traps shut and taking the beating like the pathetic pieces of trash you are. But no, you just had to step up and let the world know the extent of your retardation.

{Osiris claps and continues speaking.}

Osiris: We don't HAVE to make you look like a bunch of assh*les, you're doing the job just fine on your own. Look, come Battleground: Britain, the talk ceases. The battle ensues, and no midget is going to save your ass from a complete assassination. That is unless of course, you decide to have them wrestle the match for ya'. And that actually wouldn't come as that much of a surprise to me, either. Seeing as how right now you've gotta have them cut a promo for you to make it the slightest bit entertaining.

Orion: Go ahead... {beep} around with midgets. Play with all the crystal balls you want to. Go ahead and throw us some more {beep}ing "curveballs". You're {beep} is tired... and so is your game. On January 1st... we walk out with the Tag Titles... two time champions. Matter of fact, Boyz, that reminds me. You were right on one thing... the Crips CAN kiss their titles goodbye, because they're comin' home with us.

Osiris: What was that little saying you used to toss out all the time Bellows? Oh yeah... Well... looks like we've gotta change things up. Get down on YOUR knees... and kiss my ass... because there's no way in hell you or your heterolifemate Tons of Fun are going to beat us.

Orion: {chuckling slightly} See ya soon boyz... see ya reeeeal soon.

{Orion and Osiris kick up their feet and lean back in their chairs, smiling, as the promo fades to black.}

 

[BuffBellows]

Who Stole The Recycling Bins?

"Hey, Farrell."

"What?"

"Is it me, or are the recycling bins missing?"

The screen remains black, but the words can be heard quite clearly. The source of the two deep voices soon becomes apparent, however, as we fade in to the backstage area of Wembley Stadium. Two large, Hawaiian-shirted figures stand at a junction in the back halls, appearing to be thinking deeply. Any GXW fan who hasn't been on the moon recently would immediately recognize the duo as Buff Bellows and Fat Farrell.

"Yeah, man," Farrell says, nodding his head vigorously. "Da bins is missin'. You got any idea where dey went?"

"I think I know where they went," Bellows says a bit glibly.

"Where dey at?"

Buff turns and smiles at the camera quite innocently. "The Assassins stole 'em."

"Man, ah knew it!" Farrell exclaims, grinning broadly into the camera. "Ah KNEW somethin' smelled fishy 'bout dat promo a' theirs!"

"So, Assassins," Bellows says, his attention now fully on the camera. "That's yer latest work of art, huh? That's the best you two self-styled Da Vincis can come up with? Well, damn. Coulda fooled me, 'cause all I saw was the same old bullsh*t that's been tossed out in wrestling promos since the dawn of time. Ya know... 'All victims look the same to us, you have no talent, the midgets aren't original, you're fat, you wear gay clothes, kiss my @ss.' Yeah yeah yeah, throw it back in the recycle bin. I'd expect that sorta sh*t from TLC, but from you two, I was expectin' somethin JUST a little more advanced. Buuuuuuuut I guess I learned my lesson: Never expect an Assassin ta do anything right. I suppose yer tag title reign AND yer performance in the battle royal shoulda taught us that."

"But in any case... I'm gonna shoot down a little misconception about how that battle royal didn't mean nothin. Bull. Aside from what we've already layed down, there's an added benefit. Ya see, I been told by the Big Z himself that should this little match here at Battlefield Britain NOT go in our favor, we still get the shot at the Tag Titles at Revolution - as stipulated. An' if ya don't believe it comin' from MY mouth, go ask Zieba yerself. Just don't be too disappointed when he tells ya, 'The Monsta Boyz ARE the number one contenders to the tag titles.' Too bad yer gonna twist that ta make us look like chickens with a safety net. But quite frankly, that shot at Revolution? It ain't gonna be necessary, since we're gonna take the tag titles here in the UK."

"As for our promos being, uh, retard spelling bees. Spelling bees? Last I checked, we didn't cut promos in text. Hey, guys. THIS IS TELEVISED. THIS IS A VIDEO. WE DO NOT CUT OUR PROMOS ON MICROSOFT WORD. You'd think that you guys would realize that by now, huh? Nah... didn't think so. Stupid."

"So ya think we should just shut up an' take our @ss-beatin' like men, huh? Uh, no. Maybe you two punks have forgotten this, but part of our job is ta PROMOTE THE DAMN MATCH. An' we can't promote the match if we don't say anythin', now can we? Ya got that? Good. Wouldn't wanna go too fast for ya."

Buff snorts derisively, breaking off his promo for a moment.

"Are fat jokes the best you two can come up with? Well, damn. You sure showed us. Aren't you a couple of regular Einsteins! Ooooh, what an intelligent and devastating insult. Bah! Please. It was at least FUNNY when TLC tried ta insult us, but you're just stupid. I mean, God knows me an' Farrell ain't exactly cruiserweights. But damn, man - fat jokes? Could you GET any more immature? Could you get any more POINTLESS, for that matter? But if retarded, childish insults are the way ya wanna go, I'm game. Here's my rebuttal: 'Assassins like sassy @sses! Assassins like sassy @sses! Neener neener neener!' There - a stupid rebuttal to a stupid line of thought."

"But ya see, 'Sassins... I'm gonna tell ya a little secret. There's a fundamental difference between Monsta Boyz and Assassins that you may not know about. Ya know what it is? The Monsta Boyz put @sses in seats. We're the ones the fans come ta see in this tag-team division. Sure, maybe we're not world-class Greco-Roman wrestlers or nutty high-fliers, but we get the job done - and most importantly, we keep the fans happy. On the other hand, you two Assassins keep @sses OUT OF seats. Next time yer music cues up on that sound system, take a look at the crowd. You'll notice a surprising amount a' people gettin' up an' goin' ta grab a snack or headin' to the can ta take a piss. Ya know why? 'CAUSE THE PEOPLE KNOW YOU SUCK. They know that despite yer pretentious blustering, you choke come crunch time. They know that when an Assassins promo sliiiiiides onto the airwaves, it's gonna be the same old worn-out sh*t that you've regurgitated time and time again. The fans don't give a DAMN about a couple a' dull, boring, stupid, cookie-cutter @ss-clowns like you two who sit around and do nothing but brag about how yer gonna assassinate people an' make 'em eat through straws. No... they wanna see THE biggest, baddest team ever ta hit GXW's tag-team division. They wanna see Buff Bellows. They wanna see Fat Farrell. An' they wanna see us holdin' those big gold belts high in victory. An' if that's what the fans wanna see... well... that's what we're gonna give 'em."

"See ya later, boys."

Fade out...