[ORLANDO] (2) Chip Friendly vs. (6) Bryan Storms

[TH]

Regional semifinal matchup held at the Arena of Champions in Orlando, FL.

One fall to a finish, no time limit, all regular rules apply. Deadline is Friday, April 25th @ 11:59:59 PM EDT, give or take a second.

 

[CuseTroy]

FADE IN...

Bryan Storms sits on a leather armchair at Stately Storms Manor~!, A.K.A. Bryan's richly appointed Orlando home. The hometown boy looks supremely confident, and affirms that with a smirk directed at the camera. Bryan kicks his feet up on a leather footstool, puts both hands behind his head, and smiles again.

BS: Well, well, well.

Look who turned out to be a prophet, children?

I said I was coming home, and believe it or not, here I am. Orlando's Favorite Son, not to mention Your New Favorite Wrestler, riding high into the Oh-So Sweet Sixteen right here in the Happiest Place on Earth.

Shawn Hart's Sister couldn't stop me, ShowTune the Wonder-Tard couldn't even bother to put up a fight, so here I am, having put nary a sweat stain on my custom-tailored tights and hand-made boots, sitting right here in Orlando and awaiting everybody's bestest friend in the whole wide world, Chip Friendly.

Remember me, Chipster?

That guy in A1E that everybody considers to be a tag team specialist? Well, guess what, he's showing the entire world that he -- I -- can do it just as well, if not even better, on his own.

On MY own.

I've shed loose the anchor, I've sprouted from the cocoon, and NEWSFLASH~! folks, I've emerged as a damned butterfly that's gonna fly high over the entire TEAM Invitational and come to a safe landing in the A-T-L for my rendezvous with the big, shiny trophy sitting at the end of the rainbow.

Every time I've stepped out on my own, every single, solitary time, I've turned the head of each and every person watching.

EPW? Didn't get all that much of a shot, but when I did, I showed the world that I was willing to stab an annoying little dwarf's eyes out in order to win.

MCW? Pretty much waltzed right in and won the world title, and despite what some -- er -- contrary elements might want to say, I never, ever lost that belt inside the ring.

UCW? Won the U.S. title in my SECOND FRIGGIN MATCH, then basically got bored and let some other desperate geek have a couple of days in the sun.

TEAM? Walked in, completely unheralded, and nearly stole the Tournament of Champions from the greatest field of finalists ever assembled. And this year, I've walked right back in after a year of wrestling exclusively in tag matches, and I've shown that I'm not just the Second Coming of professional wrestling, I'm not just the futre of this industry...

I'm the real deal RIGHT F***ING NOW, and the rest of you are pretty much a collection of incompentent spazzes and monumental tools.

Which column do you fall into, Chippy?

Just come on down to my home turf and find the hell out.

Because, while you may have that fancy little number "2" stuck next to your name on the bracket sheet, don't think for one moment that you're in any way a favorite, either with my boys here in Orlando or with the bent-noses that set whatever gambling line your local bookie might use.

You have, in my humble and completely right opinion, the single most overinflated reputation in the long and storied history of the known universe.

You can wrestle, and you can do it well, but your name has a serious habit of popping up when that Best on the Planet debate comes up, and I just don't think it deserves to be there.

Chip, you get quite a bit of press because of two ever-present traits.

Numero Uno, and there's no denying this: You are, quite simply, one of the most entertaining men on the face of the planet. You exude charisma, you sweat humor, you might even crap more entertaining monologues than most late-night talk show hosts. You have an undeniable gift of gab, and even a man with the superhuman resolve that I possess is sometimes forced to chuckle when you come on screen.

But, as far as I can tell, they don't hand out World Titles to the guy who can do the best five minute set at Catch a Rising Star. And besides, if I was trying, I could make these mindless asswipes laugh so hard that they'd vomit with glee.

Now, onto...

Point Numero Dos: You have staked so much of your reputation on the simple, incontrivertable fact that you've surrounded yourself, for so much of your career, by far more talented friends. Until very recently, Chip, you've always had the Highland Park Social Club to back you up and to give you all the praise you need.

But, riddle me this, Chipster? If you were THE MAN in the Club, why was Richard Farnswirth the one wearing the A1E World Title on two separate occasions? Why weren't you the man at the top of the marquee, Chip?

Because you're just that nice of a guy?

Pardon me, but even Everyone's Best Friend can't be that much of a saint.

But maybe, just maybe -- and I'm just wildly postulating here, Chip -- you're just not good enough. Deep down, you just don't want to be The Man, and you're far, far more comfortable sitting at the right hand of the throne.

And, to be fair, there've been plenty of wonderful lapdogs throughout history, Chip. You've done an admirable job as Number Two to Dick's Doctor Evil, but hell, you even got booted out of that role.

Maybe, Chip, you can get it done. If you can, by all means come out and try me.

Because my resume, short as it might be, shows that I've got no problem being The Man, and I am primed to take my place in the pantheon of legends. This week, I take Orlando by storm.

You're in the unfortunate position of being my collateral damage.

Sucks to be you.

...FADE OUT

 

[MrWest]

(ORLANDO, FL: The Arena of Champions: Chip Friendly's Locker Room: is where we find Chip)

CHIP: Wow. This is a rare and special honor. I mean, here I am in the third round of the TEAM Invitational Tournament getting ready to take on one of my bestest A1E buddies in his very own home town of Orlando.

Lucky, lucky me.

Lucky me.

So tell me, Bryan Storms; do you really think that everyone in our home fed only sees you as a tag team specialist. Because I don't. (Do you see yourself merelt as a tage team specialist perhaps?)

You see; to me, in order to be considered a "specialist" at something, you really should in fact be good at it, right? And the only thing that Second Coming seems to be "good" at is - well - coming in second. (Which I am sure is completely your partners fault, right? I mean who can depend a guy with a stinking Swedish Flag tatoo on his body.)

So - no - from what I have seen in A1E I would never accuse you of being a "Tag Team Specialist".

A "Cookie Eating Specialist"? Sure, I can see you as that.

A "Blkue Tinted Sunglass Specialist"? I can buy that one too.

A "Falling Short in the Clutch Specialist"? Most definitely.

Oh, an speaking of your tendency for falling short in the clutch, have I mentioned how lucky I feel to be facing you this week in the third round of the Team Invitational Tournament.

Not that I expect you to choke again this week. (Because losing to Everyone's True Best Friend could never be considered a choke.) But let's be honest, this is kind of a high pressure situation for you, isn't it?

(Chip looks around the room for a moment and then jumps at the camera)

CHIP: BOO!

(Chip stands up straight and smiles.)

CHIP: So'd that scare you a little bit there, Bryan?

Just a bit?

Did you jump?

Flinch?

Nah, I am sure you didn't. I mean you are a cool cucumber, aren't you, Bry?

Because you are totally primed to take you place amongst the pantheon of legends (or so I have heard.) You totally have no problem being "The Man".

(It sounds so much more convincing when you say it in the mirror, doesn't it? But - trust me - you have me convinced that you believe it. No...really.)

I mean the way you have me all figured out, I really don't see any way you could possibly lose this week.

Oh wait, this isn't MCW, we aren't fighting for a U.S. Title, and I am not some annoying little dwarf just standing there and waiting to get stabbed in the eye.

This is the TEAM INVITATIONAL TOURNAMENT - Bryan - and I am The Chipster.

You see, Pal-o-Mino, while you are right that in the past I have been willing to step aside and subvert my own ascent to assist in any way possible in glorfication of my Friends in the Highland Park Club, this time it's different.

This time, Your True Best Friend is doing a little something for himself.

I have come to TEAM for ME and me alone. An I will walk out what whatever Chad trophey is being given out this time in my very own hand - and my very own hand alone.

And when all is said and done, you can go back to figuring out whatever it is you really "specialize in". Because one thing it won't be is deafeating Chip Friendly.

 

[CuseTroy]

FADE IN...

Bryan Storms, wearing a black Second Coming t-shirt over his wrestling gear, sits on a chair in his locker room at Orlando's Arena of Champions, finishing off the taping of his wrists before his Sweet Sixteen matchup with Chip Friendly. He finishes off the tape job, picks up a magic marker and writes a "B" on the left wrist and an "S" on the right one before capping the marker, setting it down and looking up to smirk at the camera.

BS: So, Chip, after all this time, it's finally, at long last, all about Teh Chipster.

Good for YOOOOU, Jack!

CHEESY GRIN~! FINGER POINT~!

BS: Congratulations, Chipperooni, for finally getting the cojones to strike out on your own into the big, bad wilderness of professional wrestling and finally go after that big, fat pot of gold.

It's taken long enough, pal.

I'm glad to see your looking out for Ol' Number One, trying to grab that brass ring for the Holy Trinity of Me, Myself and I, making sure you go home with "That Chad Trophy Thing". I've been watching you for so damn long, Chip, that I've been waiting, pulling my hair out waiting for "The Real Chip Friendly" to finally show up.

And here in Orlando, I get to see if the man talking about finally going out and staking his own damn claim is the real Chip Friendly.

Or, if the real Chip Friendly is the man who would basically give up a world title shot if it Dick Farnswirth needed someone to pick up his dry cleaning or walk his chihuahua.

Which one are you, Chip? Are you the asskicker ready to bust out and show the world what he's really made of, or are you a guy who's been backed up by a bigger, better and badder crew for so long that he's got just a wee bit of false confidence?

Needless to say, we'll all get the answer in the Sweet Sixteen. Neither you nor I has had to break much of a sweat to get to this point, so we'll see, with both of us fresh and at the top of our games, if you can hang with someone who's younger than you, who's faster than you, who's more athletic than you, and who can do things inside a wrestling ring that you couldn't accomplish in your WILDEST F***ING DREAMS.

You want to know what I specialize in, Chip? That's my mother-humping speciality.

I turn people inside-out when I get into the squared circle, Chip. I make internet geeks heads' spin like Linda Frikkin' Blair, and I elicit more "THIS IS AWESOME~!" chants with one move than the entire nation of Japan can in an entire calendar year.

I do what other people can't, Chip. I defy the laws of physics by being as incredibly and unbelievably great as I am, and I'm pretty sure Galileo and Sir Isaac Newton would probably want my head on a silver platter for the number of times I've broken the damn rules of nature.

That's my speciality, Chipster.

What's yours? Giving Richie the best damn shoeshine on the planet?

Wanna cookie?

Yeah, Chip, this is the TEAM Invitational Tournament. This is the ever-loving Sweet Sixteen, and I do draw Chip Friendly in what some might consider a high-pressure situation.

And I couldn't be feeling any better about it than if Jess Chapel had decided to cancel the whole tournament and kneel at my feet with "That Chad Trophy Thing" and annoint me to my rightful position of the best damn wrestler on the planet.

Wanna know why, Chippy-Do?

Because I'm not the one who cracks under pressure. I'm not the one with the history of shying away from the spotlight.

I'm the man that rises to the occasion, and you're the one who creeps back into the shadows and lets the better men accomplish greater things.

You may be better than an annoying little bastard that was scared by a piece of glass to the eye. You may be better than the men I beat in UCW or MCW. You might, just might, be a little bit better than some of the folks I waltzed past in the Tournament of Champions, Chip.

But, I fail to see where that makes you better than me, Chip.

And, while my tag team career may not be the greatest in the broad and lengthy history of the universe, there is one thing, alone or with a partner, that doesn't happen with me. Nobody beats me when I'm at my best. Free of handicaps, free of weights holding me down, fresh and ready, you've got to be a hell of a lot better than me to even have a shot.

I'm fresh, I'm ready, and I've got nothing holding me down, Chip. I'm figuring you've got to be Superman to get me down for three seconds.

And it's just -- well -- I've always figured you as more of the Jimmy Olsen type, pal. Jimmy, he never got to be the hero. He just got to look at the hero as he did something great.

That's the position you'll be in when we hit the ring, Chipper. I'll be faster than a speeding bullet and all that other fancy-ass crap, and you'll be stuck looking on in awe, saying...

"Gee, I sure wish I could be as great as THAT guy."

You'll get to play second-fiddle again, Chipper. But, that's the role you've grown accustomed too, and you're damn good at it. The problem comes when the second fiddle tries to step into the lead.

Because that's where I'm standing, Friendzoid, and you might as well consider me to be both Unstoppable Force and Immovable Object. Your just a witness to my ascension, Jimmy Olsen.

Maybe you should bring a camera, get a few snapshots of the King before he claims his throne. Could be worth a buncha money someday.

There's not a single outcome that plays out without you leaving Orlando a broken, sad little man. When it comes down to it, Chip, I'm your better.

And there's no falling short in the clutch for me. If you want to stand a chance, you better have the Spanish ******* Armada lined up in front of you. 'Course, I'll still blow them and you totally out of the water.

Hope you know how to swim. It's a long way to the shore.

...FADE OUT

 

[MrWest]

(The Chip Friendly Locker Room.)

CHIP: To answer your question, Bryan - yes.

Yes, I would like a cookie.

Oatmeal, please - if you would.

Now I just have to sit back an hope that you turn out to be a better baker than you are a competitor. {Which isn't to say that I think you utterly suck rotton moose nuts as a competitor - even if you picture does happen to be on this months cover of Rotton Moose Nut Sucker Quarterly.}

Seriously though, Bry, I just want to check here and make sure that I am getting you straight here. You are saying that there is something wrong about the fact that I have assisted some of the best in the business on there successful quests to achieve greatness? You are saying that it is to my detriment that those that acquaint themselves with The Chipper enivitably find themselves standing at new apexes in their career? You are saying that just because I have held every title imaginable over my illustrious career short of the World Belts that my pals somehow keep finding in their possession shows that I am somehow lacking in skill and/or fortitude?

Is that what you are saying?

Just to be clear.

Well, Bryan Storm, to that I say it is better to be playing secong fiddle to World Champions than it is to be backing up Matt "Flippin'" Johannson.

I mean, come on now Bry-Guy. Do you really think that it does you any good to condemn me for tending to Dickie Farnswirth's ACK Award Winning Chihauhaus when we all know that those exact same pooches are better champions that you could ever hope to me?

Really.

And to brag about the fact that a bunch of computer geeks and rice eating foreigners rave over you as you destry your body for their enjoyment...hey - if a shorten career and multiple-concussion syndrome turns you on, let me be the first to buy to a slop spoon for the babyfood your wet nurse is going to be serving you just a few short years down the road.

Because seriously, you may be younger than me and you may be faster than me and you may be more athletic than me (heck why don't I toss you stronger than me and better looking than me as well). But that does change the fact that I am smarter than you and I am better than you - Bryan.

And this week, in your home town of Orlando, I am going to beat you in the Team Invitaional Tournament.

So trust me on this - whether or not I walk out broken - or I walk out little - I most certainly will walk out one way.

I wll walk out victoriously.