EZieba
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Television Title Match:
Boogie Smallz (C) vs Christian Sands
Boogie Smallz (C) vs Christian Sands
Smallz vs Sands
- Thread starter EZieba
- Start date
B
BuffBellows
Guest
Guess Who.
Fade in...
The interior of a fair-sized aircraft - most likely a private jet. Red curtains frame the windows in the sides of the craft, while the seats are padded in soft material that shares the curtains' pigment. Fluffy clouds stream rapidly by as the plane courses through the sky at a rapid pace, heading towards God-knows where.
After focusing out a window for a moment, the camera pans slowly to the left, bringing another row of seats into view; however, this row is occupied. The occupant in question is tall and rather heavily-built, with dark hair and severe features. He wears a pristine black suit and black leather shoes; a pair of Oakley shades rest on the brim of his nose. The figure is familiar by now to most in GXW: It is none other than Christian Sands.
A very thin smirk touches Sands' face as he turns his head to look at the camera.
"Guess who."
With a tilt of his head, Sands folds his hands in his lap and takes a breath. "Congratulations to you, Mr. Smallz, on a successful title defense on global Pay-Per-View," he says with only the faintest trace of sarcasm. "Too bad draws suck. Oh, but wait... you DID win in a title defense. Against me."
Sands' expression hardens for a moment, then shifts to a mask of neutrality. "Before you go off and start bragging about how you're SO superior to me, let me say this: you may be right. When we met at Onslaught, you were the better man. However, things change, Boogie... oh, how they change. You see, my loss at Onslaught was through a fault of my own: I underestimated your abilities. I came to the ring expecting a cakewalk victory over a drugged-up lump; what I got was a competitor of considerable talent. I congratulate you for exceeding my expectations, Smallz. Perhaps there IS more to you than bongs and blunts."
"However, Smallz, our match at Onslaught had another little... side effect. You see, I may not have won the match, but I gained something valuable: An understanding of what you are capable of. I have indeed learned much about you from our last encounter, and from your encounter with Ricky Gant at Fallout; unfortunately for you, I am not a man to let knowledge go to waste. Nor am I a man who repeats his mistakes. Rest assured that when you and I meet in the middle of that ring in Wembley Stadium, you will be facing a Christian Sands far different than the fool you faced at Onslaught. You will face a Christian Sands who knows your abilities... who knows the mistakes that you make."
"In this industry, second chances don't come very often. I'm sure you know that, Boogie - you've been around. You've been a so-called mainstay in the CSWA long enough to know about those fleeting second chances. I'm sure you also know enough to take that second chance and make it count. Boogie... so do I. I don't know why I was granted this second chance, but rather than looking a gift horse in the mouth, I'll saddle that son of a b*tch up and ride off down the road to glory. ... Are my metaphors a little too much for you? Allow me to put it in plain English for you: I'm going to grind you into hamburger meat and take the Television Title from your waist. This chance may never come again... therefore, I WILL make it count."
"With that said... do me a favor, Boogie boy. Grab a bottle of Tarn-X and a rag and polish up that Television Title real nice and good. Because when I take it from you, I want it to be so shiny that I can use it as a shaving mirror. Believe that."
Sands' eyebrows suddenly rise as he clears his throat; the brows descend again after a second.
"Oh, and Gemini. If you guys are seeing this... don't think I've faded quietly into the good night. Perhaps a contest between us was not yet meant to be... but the time will come, gentlemen. Be ready."
"That just about covers it. I'll see YOU in the UK, gentlemen."
With that, Sands turns his head back to the window, gazing quietly out at the clouds as we fade slowly to black...
Fade in...
The interior of a fair-sized aircraft - most likely a private jet. Red curtains frame the windows in the sides of the craft, while the seats are padded in soft material that shares the curtains' pigment. Fluffy clouds stream rapidly by as the plane courses through the sky at a rapid pace, heading towards God-knows where.
After focusing out a window for a moment, the camera pans slowly to the left, bringing another row of seats into view; however, this row is occupied. The occupant in question is tall and rather heavily-built, with dark hair and severe features. He wears a pristine black suit and black leather shoes; a pair of Oakley shades rest on the brim of his nose. The figure is familiar by now to most in GXW: It is none other than Christian Sands.
A very thin smirk touches Sands' face as he turns his head to look at the camera.
"Guess who."
With a tilt of his head, Sands folds his hands in his lap and takes a breath. "Congratulations to you, Mr. Smallz, on a successful title defense on global Pay-Per-View," he says with only the faintest trace of sarcasm. "Too bad draws suck. Oh, but wait... you DID win in a title defense. Against me."
Sands' expression hardens for a moment, then shifts to a mask of neutrality. "Before you go off and start bragging about how you're SO superior to me, let me say this: you may be right. When we met at Onslaught, you were the better man. However, things change, Boogie... oh, how they change. You see, my loss at Onslaught was through a fault of my own: I underestimated your abilities. I came to the ring expecting a cakewalk victory over a drugged-up lump; what I got was a competitor of considerable talent. I congratulate you for exceeding my expectations, Smallz. Perhaps there IS more to you than bongs and blunts."
"However, Smallz, our match at Onslaught had another little... side effect. You see, I may not have won the match, but I gained something valuable: An understanding of what you are capable of. I have indeed learned much about you from our last encounter, and from your encounter with Ricky Gant at Fallout; unfortunately for you, I am not a man to let knowledge go to waste. Nor am I a man who repeats his mistakes. Rest assured that when you and I meet in the middle of that ring in Wembley Stadium, you will be facing a Christian Sands far different than the fool you faced at Onslaught. You will face a Christian Sands who knows your abilities... who knows the mistakes that you make."
"In this industry, second chances don't come very often. I'm sure you know that, Boogie - you've been around. You've been a so-called mainstay in the CSWA long enough to know about those fleeting second chances. I'm sure you also know enough to take that second chance and make it count. Boogie... so do I. I don't know why I was granted this second chance, but rather than looking a gift horse in the mouth, I'll saddle that son of a b*tch up and ride off down the road to glory. ... Are my metaphors a little too much for you? Allow me to put it in plain English for you: I'm going to grind you into hamburger meat and take the Television Title from your waist. This chance may never come again... therefore, I WILL make it count."
"With that said... do me a favor, Boogie boy. Grab a bottle of Tarn-X and a rag and polish up that Television Title real nice and good. Because when I take it from you, I want it to be so shiny that I can use it as a shaving mirror. Believe that."
Sands' eyebrows suddenly rise as he clears his throat; the brows descend again after a second.
"Oh, and Gemini. If you guys are seeing this... don't think I've faded quietly into the good night. Perhaps a contest between us was not yet meant to be... but the time will come, gentlemen. Be ready."
"That just about covers it. I'll see YOU in the UK, gentlemen."
With that, Sands turns his head back to the window, gazing quietly out at the clouds as we fade slowly to black...
W
WEAVER
Guest
Sandblasting
The camera cuts to a darkened room, shadows and hazy lighting play havoc with the image. Shapes distort and twist, confusing the viewer as the camera pans across the room. One thing is clear though, the voice murmuring in the background.
Gemini: Tick tock... tick tock...
The camera pans back across the room again, Gemini's location is unclear, but his voice echoes in a haunting manner. Slowly, the objects in the room are revealed. A grandfather clock, a sundial, a series of stopwatches hanging from the ceiling.
Gemini: Tick tock... tick tock...
The camera keeps panning the room until it comes to rest on suddenly flaring light. A candle flares into brightness, lit with a match held with elongated fingers on a massive paw. His smiling face is serene... yet disturbing. The black and white mimes makeup doesn't conceal the still swollen shiner, yet Gemini doesn't seem to care. He smirks in a way that hints at mayhem, then sets something on the table next to the candle.
The large hourglass he sets on the table starts immediately to whisper sand away in a slow but inexorable march to the lower bell. Gemini peers down at it, actually kneeling and resting his face on his folded arms. Staring at the sand as it wicks away, the sound gradually picks up what he quietly whispers to himself.
Gemini: Tick tock... tick tock...that's the sound that's driving Christian crazy. He can hear it all the time. It just never goes away. Why did you do it Christian? Gemini is gonna kill you! Tick... Why did you do that? Tock... now he's gonna make you pay! Tick... What were you thinking? Tock... Now you're gonna be destroyed! You know that sound don't you Chrissie. That, is the sound of inevitability. It's the sound of the Gemini freight train roaring down the tracks, and the roaring in your ears is your impending doom.
Gemini abruptly slaps the table, rocking the hourglass and candle and startling the cameraman.
Gemini:And it eats away at Christian. It gnaws. It worries. It nags at him. It feels like a piece of broken glass in his mouth. He'd love to spit it out, but he can't. And that's what makes it worse for poor Chrissie. Because he already fired his opening shot. And now he's got to wait. Wait for us to make the next move. And as everybody knows, our moves tend to be doozies.
Gemini smiles, his cracked and yellow teeth a sad testament to institutional dentistry. It's a chilling smile that few people like to look at. The camera frames it for a long moment.
Gemini:So Christine, you're right. You haven't seen the last of us yet. As a matter of fact, we can guarantee that you WILL see us very, very soon. It's just a matter of time Christine. Your personal countdown to Armageddon has begun. You'll just have to pardon us if we don't give you the exact date.
Gemini leans over and blows out the candle, draping the room in blackness once again.
Gemini:Tick tock Christine... Tick tock...
Gemini moves away into the shadows, his mocking laughter fading away until only the gentle whisper of sand in the hourglass fills the void.
[F2B]
The camera cuts to a darkened room, shadows and hazy lighting play havoc with the image. Shapes distort and twist, confusing the viewer as the camera pans across the room. One thing is clear though, the voice murmuring in the background.
Gemini: Tick tock... tick tock...
The camera pans back across the room again, Gemini's location is unclear, but his voice echoes in a haunting manner. Slowly, the objects in the room are revealed. A grandfather clock, a sundial, a series of stopwatches hanging from the ceiling.
Gemini: Tick tock... tick tock...
The camera keeps panning the room until it comes to rest on suddenly flaring light. A candle flares into brightness, lit with a match held with elongated fingers on a massive paw. His smiling face is serene... yet disturbing. The black and white mimes makeup doesn't conceal the still swollen shiner, yet Gemini doesn't seem to care. He smirks in a way that hints at mayhem, then sets something on the table next to the candle.
The large hourglass he sets on the table starts immediately to whisper sand away in a slow but inexorable march to the lower bell. Gemini peers down at it, actually kneeling and resting his face on his folded arms. Staring at the sand as it wicks away, the sound gradually picks up what he quietly whispers to himself.
Gemini: Tick tock... tick tock...that's the sound that's driving Christian crazy. He can hear it all the time. It just never goes away. Why did you do it Christian? Gemini is gonna kill you! Tick... Why did you do that? Tock... now he's gonna make you pay! Tick... What were you thinking? Tock... Now you're gonna be destroyed! You know that sound don't you Chrissie. That, is the sound of inevitability. It's the sound of the Gemini freight train roaring down the tracks, and the roaring in your ears is your impending doom.
Gemini abruptly slaps the table, rocking the hourglass and candle and startling the cameraman.
Gemini:And it eats away at Christian. It gnaws. It worries. It nags at him. It feels like a piece of broken glass in his mouth. He'd love to spit it out, but he can't. And that's what makes it worse for poor Chrissie. Because he already fired his opening shot. And now he's got to wait. Wait for us to make the next move. And as everybody knows, our moves tend to be doozies.
Gemini smiles, his cracked and yellow teeth a sad testament to institutional dentistry. It's a chilling smile that few people like to look at. The camera frames it for a long moment.
Gemini:So Christine, you're right. You haven't seen the last of us yet. As a matter of fact, we can guarantee that you WILL see us very, very soon. It's just a matter of time Christine. Your personal countdown to Armageddon has begun. You'll just have to pardon us if we don't give you the exact date.
Gemini leans over and blows out the candle, draping the room in blackness once again.
Gemini:Tick tock Christine... Tick tock...
Gemini moves away into the shadows, his mocking laughter fading away until only the gentle whisper of sand in the hourglass fills the void.
[F2B]
EZieba
New member
- Joined
- Jul 8, 1998
- Messages
- 427
- Points
- 0
- Age
- 53
- Location
- Sierra Vista, Arizona
- Website
- www.facebook.com
Ahem ...
Somebody knows better than to post in another person's RP thread ...
Tisk tisk ...
Erik Z
Co-Owner GXW
Somebody knows better than to post in another person's RP thread ...
Tisk tisk ...
Erik Z
Co-Owner GXW
My balls and my word...
(FADE IN as we see the GXW Television champion, Boogie Smallz, sitting on the steps outside of a building, in what appears to be Brooklyn. He’s wearing a black First Down jacket, with fur around the collar. He has a hood covering his head and is lighting up a blunt, as he looks around to make sure no police are present. He leans back a bit and looks up at the sky. He puffs his blunt and sits back up.)
BOOGIE SMALLZ: So they tell me that my extended vacation from GX-Dub is bein’ cut short because tha whole gang is headed overseas to England. (Puffs his blunt and shakes his head.) You think my idea of spendin’ New Year’s Day is with a bunch of mofos that look and sound like that rotten-tooth ba$+ard Lawrence Stanley? Oh…HELL NO!
(Puffs his blunt and looks into the camera.)
This is the big mega-show to bring the year to an end…and what a year it’s been. I broke out solo and comin’ to GXW has been tha best move I’ve ever made. With tha lack of work in CSWA, I gotta keep stackin’ my paper…and that’s what I’ve been doin’ all along herre. I captured tha TV title, I have gone undefeated since my arrival, and no-diggity-no-doubt I am the top grosser this company has. I put asses in seats and advertisers are lined up payin’ top dollar just to have TV time so their commercial can run after my matches! Crazy…just crazy.
Now I know tha culprit, tha sonovabitch who has been causing me nothin’ but trouble since I came herre. (Puffs his blunt.) JP, what is it? Tha ice around my neck? All tha hoez I be bangin’? What? I know you’re jealous, we all see you hatin’, it’s not like we can’t see tha mustache formed around your mouth from all HATERADE you’ve been guzzlin’! JP, you’re a lil’ b!+ch, plain and simple. For some reason you’re all on my jock, tryin’ to hop on my bandwagon in hopes that maybe you can take credit one day for my success. Maybe I’m wrong…why don’t you tell me?
(Boogie puffs his blunt and lets the smoke slowly roll out. He hits it once again and then begins to speak.)
Now on this mega-show, this huge spectacular, they want to dub this a dream card. Whose dream is it? What group of people got together and thought putting me in yet another match with some punk I already disposed of would be people’s dream? I heard some good ideas. Some people wanted me to face Wicked Sight, which wouldn’t have been a bad idea, but I’ve already kicked his ass. Ya’ know that medallion he wears around his neck, tha one of the pot leaf…my boy Inferno punked his ass out and snatched it. He ain’t ish.
Then someone said what about Kevin Powers? That would be a great match. Get the pothead and the drunk, have them go at it, loser goes to rehab…it would draw a great buy rate. (Puffs his blunt.) Nah, instead they sign Powers up to a match against Dan Ryan, and somehow…someway…they think a Boogie Smallz dream match is against Christian Sands? (Chuckles.) A man who goes out on national TV and talks doing somethin’ with a horse’s mouth and then wearing a saddle. Man…I don’t know what tha hell you’re tryin’ to say, but you need to keep those sick fetishes to yourself. Whoadie…I don’t even know if I want this match…futhamuckin’ sicko. Grindin’? Meat? Just hold it there dawg, don’t go any further than that.
(Boogie winces in disgust, then hits his blunt to help comfort him. He hits it once again before speaking.)
Puttin’ that aside, Sands…like you so nicely pointed out, I have beaten you before. And like so many other things, history tends to repeat itself. You can swear up and down that you were underestimatin’ me, but I’m tha damn TV champ…ah-ight. I had already been layin’ chumps out, I know you knew this…hell, you stayed up late at night watchin’ hours of footage…hopin’ that you could find a chink in the armor and exploit it. But that didn’t happen, did it? And now that I wrestled my last match to a draw…you think you’ve found the answer? (Puffs his blunt and smiles.) I had that hater, Gant, beat down. He was seconds away from tappin’ out and some busta’ he paid off rang tha damn bell too early! Is that your route, dawg? You tryin’ to bribe officials? Well go ahead, do what you gotta do, but please believe that when it comes down to the match…no matter how much help you buy off…it still won’t be enough to buy yourself a win over me.
And anyway…you seem to distracted with Gemini to be up for a title match. Is he gonna get you…when he gets you…I’m tired of hearin’ all the scenarios. Point is, you think you’re focused on me…when it sounds like anything but. You wannabe tha TV champ? You wannabe tha next big breakout star in wrestling? Then go to another fed, because as long as tha B To Tha Z is herre…I’m takin’ that spot…and ain’t no nada gone take it from me! WORD IS BOND!
(FADE TO BLACK as Boogie mean mugs the camera and puffs his blunt, blowing smoke into the camera.)
(FADE IN as we see the GXW Television champion, Boogie Smallz, sitting on the steps outside of a building, in what appears to be Brooklyn. He’s wearing a black First Down jacket, with fur around the collar. He has a hood covering his head and is lighting up a blunt, as he looks around to make sure no police are present. He leans back a bit and looks up at the sky. He puffs his blunt and sits back up.)
BOOGIE SMALLZ: So they tell me that my extended vacation from GX-Dub is bein’ cut short because tha whole gang is headed overseas to England. (Puffs his blunt and shakes his head.) You think my idea of spendin’ New Year’s Day is with a bunch of mofos that look and sound like that rotten-tooth ba$+ard Lawrence Stanley? Oh…HELL NO!
(Puffs his blunt and looks into the camera.)
This is the big mega-show to bring the year to an end…and what a year it’s been. I broke out solo and comin’ to GXW has been tha best move I’ve ever made. With tha lack of work in CSWA, I gotta keep stackin’ my paper…and that’s what I’ve been doin’ all along herre. I captured tha TV title, I have gone undefeated since my arrival, and no-diggity-no-doubt I am the top grosser this company has. I put asses in seats and advertisers are lined up payin’ top dollar just to have TV time so their commercial can run after my matches! Crazy…just crazy.
Now I know tha culprit, tha sonovabitch who has been causing me nothin’ but trouble since I came herre. (Puffs his blunt.) JP, what is it? Tha ice around my neck? All tha hoez I be bangin’? What? I know you’re jealous, we all see you hatin’, it’s not like we can’t see tha mustache formed around your mouth from all HATERADE you’ve been guzzlin’! JP, you’re a lil’ b!+ch, plain and simple. For some reason you’re all on my jock, tryin’ to hop on my bandwagon in hopes that maybe you can take credit one day for my success. Maybe I’m wrong…why don’t you tell me?
(Boogie puffs his blunt and lets the smoke slowly roll out. He hits it once again and then begins to speak.)
Now on this mega-show, this huge spectacular, they want to dub this a dream card. Whose dream is it? What group of people got together and thought putting me in yet another match with some punk I already disposed of would be people’s dream? I heard some good ideas. Some people wanted me to face Wicked Sight, which wouldn’t have been a bad idea, but I’ve already kicked his ass. Ya’ know that medallion he wears around his neck, tha one of the pot leaf…my boy Inferno punked his ass out and snatched it. He ain’t ish.
Then someone said what about Kevin Powers? That would be a great match. Get the pothead and the drunk, have them go at it, loser goes to rehab…it would draw a great buy rate. (Puffs his blunt.) Nah, instead they sign Powers up to a match against Dan Ryan, and somehow…someway…they think a Boogie Smallz dream match is against Christian Sands? (Chuckles.) A man who goes out on national TV and talks doing somethin’ with a horse’s mouth and then wearing a saddle. Man…I don’t know what tha hell you’re tryin’ to say, but you need to keep those sick fetishes to yourself. Whoadie…I don’t even know if I want this match…futhamuckin’ sicko. Grindin’? Meat? Just hold it there dawg, don’t go any further than that.
(Boogie winces in disgust, then hits his blunt to help comfort him. He hits it once again before speaking.)
Puttin’ that aside, Sands…like you so nicely pointed out, I have beaten you before. And like so many other things, history tends to repeat itself. You can swear up and down that you were underestimatin’ me, but I’m tha damn TV champ…ah-ight. I had already been layin’ chumps out, I know you knew this…hell, you stayed up late at night watchin’ hours of footage…hopin’ that you could find a chink in the armor and exploit it. But that didn’t happen, did it? And now that I wrestled my last match to a draw…you think you’ve found the answer? (Puffs his blunt and smiles.) I had that hater, Gant, beat down. He was seconds away from tappin’ out and some busta’ he paid off rang tha damn bell too early! Is that your route, dawg? You tryin’ to bribe officials? Well go ahead, do what you gotta do, but please believe that when it comes down to the match…no matter how much help you buy off…it still won’t be enough to buy yourself a win over me.
And anyway…you seem to distracted with Gemini to be up for a title match. Is he gonna get you…when he gets you…I’m tired of hearin’ all the scenarios. Point is, you think you’re focused on me…when it sounds like anything but. You wannabe tha TV champ? You wannabe tha next big breakout star in wrestling? Then go to another fed, because as long as tha B To Tha Z is herre…I’m takin’ that spot…and ain’t no nada gone take it from me! WORD IS BOND!
(FADE TO BLACK as Boogie mean mugs the camera and puffs his blunt, blowing smoke into the camera.)
B
BuffBellows
Guest
My Boot and Your Teeth
Ah, the ever-popular task of fading in...
This appears to be the interior of an expensive hotel room overlooking the skyline of London. The beige curtains are half-drawn, though the noontime light still filters through, leeching the colour out of the few articles of furniture visible in this shot. After a moment, the image pans to the right to bring a thickly-padded chair into the shot.
Seated in this chair is the all-too-familiar figure of Christian Sands, draped in street clothes - a pair of jeans and a plain black T-shirt. He sits with his right leg crosses over his left. However, his hands each hold something rather interesting: Metal implements bent into shapes reminiscent of popular Christmas figures.
"Amazing little implements, cookie cutters," Sands remarks, raising the cookie cutter in his right hand to examine it idly. "They come in SO many different shapes. Strangely, I have yet to find the one shaped like Boogie Smallz...."
Sands' attention shifts over to the camera. "In case you're missing my metaphors, Smallz... you're cookie-cutter. Your insults, especially, are cookie-cutter. I waste 20 minutes out of my life to address you, and how do you respond? By lighting up a fat blunt and labeling me a gay zoophile. How... unoriginal. But really now. Perhaps you DON'T know what a metaphor is, Smallz, so I'll go back and clarify another one for you. In slow, simple tones, of course. There is not... really... a gift... horse. And... I'm not... really... going... to riiiiide it. Get all that? Good; there'll be a quiz later."
"But with that in mind, I have to agree with you on one thing: Whoever considered this a dream match must have been drunk at the time. I haven't exactly been pissing myself in anticipation for the chance to lock up for a second time with the aaaaaalmiiiiighty Boogie Smallz. I'd rather hoped to bide my time and map out a plan of attack. Unfortunately, fate - and the front office - have chosen to deny me that time. Oh well. Guess I'll just have to make do. Because this may not BE much of a dream match at first glance... but Boogie, nightmares are dreams too. And I'm more than happy to make this match a nightmare for you."
"As for the issue of Ricky Gant... maybe he did bribe that official. Maybe he didn't. But to level the same claim towards me is foolish. Why should I waste my money for something unnecessary? Why should I throw away my hard-earned cash for the dubious pleasure of another nice, controversial Zero vs. Hellfighter at Global Warfare screwjob ending? Thanks, but I do have my credibility to think about here. If I'm going to beat you, Smallz - which I am - I'm going to beat you by my own devices."
"You may think that you've got me beat already... but you're wrong, Boogie. You see, while you've been busy defending the Television Title and squashing losers up in Greensboro, I've been busy honing my skills and replacing the old crap in my bag of tricks with a few new surprises. Indeed - this old dog has learned some new tricks. As I said before, the Sands you faced last time is all but gone now. This time around, I might just surprise you. Oh, but wait: you've beaten me once before, right? I'm NOTHING compared to the mighty Boogie Smallz, right? I guess I'm just bullsh*tting. This match is gonna be a piece of cake for you! But Boogie, you can't judge a cake by it's icing... you might just bite into it and find something that leaves a foul taste in your mouth. ...Too bad you're going to twist that into sexual innuendo. See? I DO know how you work."
"Oh... and in regards to Gemini? Yes, they do occupy my thoughts. Luckily, I'm not stupid enough to become so preoccupied with them that I'll make careless mistakes in that ring. For now, Smallz, you are in the path of the Sandstorm. And Gemini... I will deal with them when the time is right."
"I'll leave you to twist my words into sex jokes and bestiality suggestions now, Boogie... have a nice day."
Fade out as Sands goes back to examining the cookie cutters....
Ah, the ever-popular task of fading in...
This appears to be the interior of an expensive hotel room overlooking the skyline of London. The beige curtains are half-drawn, though the noontime light still filters through, leeching the colour out of the few articles of furniture visible in this shot. After a moment, the image pans to the right to bring a thickly-padded chair into the shot.
Seated in this chair is the all-too-familiar figure of Christian Sands, draped in street clothes - a pair of jeans and a plain black T-shirt. He sits with his right leg crosses over his left. However, his hands each hold something rather interesting: Metal implements bent into shapes reminiscent of popular Christmas figures.
"Amazing little implements, cookie cutters," Sands remarks, raising the cookie cutter in his right hand to examine it idly. "They come in SO many different shapes. Strangely, I have yet to find the one shaped like Boogie Smallz...."
Sands' attention shifts over to the camera. "In case you're missing my metaphors, Smallz... you're cookie-cutter. Your insults, especially, are cookie-cutter. I waste 20 minutes out of my life to address you, and how do you respond? By lighting up a fat blunt and labeling me a gay zoophile. How... unoriginal. But really now. Perhaps you DON'T know what a metaphor is, Smallz, so I'll go back and clarify another one for you. In slow, simple tones, of course. There is not... really... a gift... horse. And... I'm not... really... going... to riiiiide it. Get all that? Good; there'll be a quiz later."
"But with that in mind, I have to agree with you on one thing: Whoever considered this a dream match must have been drunk at the time. I haven't exactly been pissing myself in anticipation for the chance to lock up for a second time with the aaaaaalmiiiiighty Boogie Smallz. I'd rather hoped to bide my time and map out a plan of attack. Unfortunately, fate - and the front office - have chosen to deny me that time. Oh well. Guess I'll just have to make do. Because this may not BE much of a dream match at first glance... but Boogie, nightmares are dreams too. And I'm more than happy to make this match a nightmare for you."
"As for the issue of Ricky Gant... maybe he did bribe that official. Maybe he didn't. But to level the same claim towards me is foolish. Why should I waste my money for something unnecessary? Why should I throw away my hard-earned cash for the dubious pleasure of another nice, controversial Zero vs. Hellfighter at Global Warfare screwjob ending? Thanks, but I do have my credibility to think about here. If I'm going to beat you, Smallz - which I am - I'm going to beat you by my own devices."
"You may think that you've got me beat already... but you're wrong, Boogie. You see, while you've been busy defending the Television Title and squashing losers up in Greensboro, I've been busy honing my skills and replacing the old crap in my bag of tricks with a few new surprises. Indeed - this old dog has learned some new tricks. As I said before, the Sands you faced last time is all but gone now. This time around, I might just surprise you. Oh, but wait: you've beaten me once before, right? I'm NOTHING compared to the mighty Boogie Smallz, right? I guess I'm just bullsh*tting. This match is gonna be a piece of cake for you! But Boogie, you can't judge a cake by it's icing... you might just bite into it and find something that leaves a foul taste in your mouth. ...Too bad you're going to twist that into sexual innuendo. See? I DO know how you work."
"Oh... and in regards to Gemini? Yes, they do occupy my thoughts. Luckily, I'm not stupid enough to become so preoccupied with them that I'll make careless mistakes in that ring. For now, Smallz, you are in the path of the Sandstorm. And Gemini... I will deal with them when the time is right."
"I'll leave you to twist my words into sex jokes and bestiality suggestions now, Boogie... have a nice day."
Fade out as Sands goes back to examining the cookie cutters....
Not so fresh feeling?
[updated:LAST EDITED ON Dec-12-02 AT 04:00 PM (EST)](FADE IN to a scene from the old British comedy, the Benny Hill Show. As we see Benny dressed up like a criminal, wearing an old-school stripped jail uniform, running around being chased by a mob. Benny hides behind trees and bushes, and somehow escapes capture. Smoke begins to set into the picture. As the camera pans back, we can see Boogie Smallz’ feet propped up in a La-Z-Boy, puffing a blunt, and trying to watch the show. He turns the TV off with a remote and turns around to face the camera.)
BOOGIE SMALLZ: Dumb ass futhamuckin’ TV show. Damn Brits, I just don’t get ‘em. (Puffs his blunt.) I ain’t ever done a show in England, before. I’ve been to Japan, to Germany, I even went to Africa…but not never no London. I heard some shizz about what goes on therre. They hang out in pubs. They call each other blokes. They smoke fags. And they have one of tha worst dental hygiene epidemics tha world has ever seen. Tha ma’fuckin’ queen has jacked up teeth…tha queen! What kind of ish is that? (Puffs his blunt.) But tha thing that really caught my eye, what really interested me in goin’, wasn’t that I ain’t never been therre before, but tha fact that it’s the home of Parliament! (Takes a puff.) Ya know, P-Funk…George Clinton, Bootsy Collins…tha group that helped errybody be one nation under a groove, that hit ya with tha bop gun, and that turned on tha flashlight. Hip Hop wouldn’t be where it is today with out some good ol’ Parliament Funkadelic.
(The cameraman gets out of focus and whispers something to Boogie.)
Wrong Parliament? What other Parliament is therre? (Cameraman whispers again.) What? They wear wigs and discuss tha law? (Looks confused.) They cross-dress? Man, I ain’t too sure I’m gonna like it therre…but I’m sure my opponent, Christian Sands, will be comfortable therre. (Puffs his blunt.) But then again, maybe I’m wrong. I mean, tha guy comes out herre and argues a good case. He says he ain’t tha same man he was a few months ago, when we squared off. He seems to think that after his loss to me, he took it up a notch. (Puffs his blunt.) Dawg, I’ve watched tha tapes since our match…ya got a lil’ skill and you very well could be a contender one day…hell you could even be a TV champ just like me…just not any time soon. (Smiles) Now that I think about it, tha only footage I could find was you attacking Gemini and an incident you had with a soda machine. I would say I saw you wrestle at the pay per view…but OH DAMN, I forgot, you weren’t ready for prime time. Now all tha sudden you think you are? You spent too much time investin’ in tryin’ to get Mister Skullhead over and not enough time investin’ on your own career. You think I’m sellin’ you short…maybe I am, but until you prove to me otherwise…I call a spade a spade. Tha sayin’ goes…game recognize game. (Puffs his blunt and scratches his head.) I gotta tell ya’, if that’s tha case…you don’t look familiar to me at all.
(Boogie puffs his blunt as he watches the Christian Sands interview. He listens to Sands’ new metaphor and cracks a smile. He shakes a head with how ridiculous it all seems to him, before he speaks.)
Damn, you done ruined me. You figured out my gimmick and now what am I gonna do? If I can't twist your words around and use them against you…I just won’t stand a chance! (Shakes his head.) Man, who you think your kcufin’ with? At least my ish is original and I ain’t bitin’ off somethin’ somebody said way back when. If you don’t like gettin’ cut-down on your corny metaphors, herre’s a simple solution…don’t use ‘em! (Puffs his blunt.)
Christian Sands goes out and buys a book on metaphors. He’s been metaphorin’ his opponents to death tha past couple of weeks, thinkin’ it’s gettin’ over…thinkin’ it’s gettin’ HIM over. Why not throw some clichés in there too? (Shakes his head.) Since we’re headed to tha UK, how about limericks? (Shakes his head and hits his blunt.) But I guess since I can’t cut you down on your last little spiel, I decided to try a metaphor of my own. Herre it goes…
You’re a pu$$y…and you’ve got a yeast infection. Well you’re lookin’ at tha douche that’s gonna wipe you out. (Puffs his blunt and ponders a thought for a moment.) Now how dumb did that just sound? And how dumb do you think it sounds when you spit those? Peep this…cut tha ish out, ‘cuz it ain’t helpin’ ya’, triscuit.
(Boogie picks up a remote control and presses a button. Christian Sands’ last match, with Boogie, begins to air. He puffs his blunt and turns back around to the camera.)
All my life has been an uphill struggle and now that I got a lil’ fame…seems like tha struggle is even harder. Mo’ money…mo’ problems…that’s the way it goes. Right now my problem is you, Sandy, you big yeast-infected pu$$y! Big Deadly? You need to change you’re name to Summer’s Eve and get rid of that shizz you got! (Puffs his blunt.) I know…I know, I’ll try not to resort to cheap name callin’…but dawg, that’s what I do and with you bein’ such an easy target…a nizzo couldn’t resist. (Smiles.) Cookie cuttin’ ass trick. Now if ya don’t mind, I gotta catch tha Concorde in a few hours. PEACE!
(Boogie throws up the peace sign with his hand, puffs his blunt, and the scene begins to FADE TO BLACK.)
[updated:LAST EDITED ON Dec-12-02 AT 04:00 PM (EST)](FADE IN to a scene from the old British comedy, the Benny Hill Show. As we see Benny dressed up like a criminal, wearing an old-school stripped jail uniform, running around being chased by a mob. Benny hides behind trees and bushes, and somehow escapes capture. Smoke begins to set into the picture. As the camera pans back, we can see Boogie Smallz’ feet propped up in a La-Z-Boy, puffing a blunt, and trying to watch the show. He turns the TV off with a remote and turns around to face the camera.)
BOOGIE SMALLZ: Dumb ass futhamuckin’ TV show. Damn Brits, I just don’t get ‘em. (Puffs his blunt.) I ain’t ever done a show in England, before. I’ve been to Japan, to Germany, I even went to Africa…but not never no London. I heard some shizz about what goes on therre. They hang out in pubs. They call each other blokes. They smoke fags. And they have one of tha worst dental hygiene epidemics tha world has ever seen. Tha ma’fuckin’ queen has jacked up teeth…tha queen! What kind of ish is that? (Puffs his blunt.) But tha thing that really caught my eye, what really interested me in goin’, wasn’t that I ain’t never been therre before, but tha fact that it’s the home of Parliament! (Takes a puff.) Ya know, P-Funk…George Clinton, Bootsy Collins…tha group that helped errybody be one nation under a groove, that hit ya with tha bop gun, and that turned on tha flashlight. Hip Hop wouldn’t be where it is today with out some good ol’ Parliament Funkadelic.
(The cameraman gets out of focus and whispers something to Boogie.)
Wrong Parliament? What other Parliament is therre? (Cameraman whispers again.) What? They wear wigs and discuss tha law? (Looks confused.) They cross-dress? Man, I ain’t too sure I’m gonna like it therre…but I’m sure my opponent, Christian Sands, will be comfortable therre. (Puffs his blunt.) But then again, maybe I’m wrong. I mean, tha guy comes out herre and argues a good case. He says he ain’t tha same man he was a few months ago, when we squared off. He seems to think that after his loss to me, he took it up a notch. (Puffs his blunt.) Dawg, I’ve watched tha tapes since our match…ya got a lil’ skill and you very well could be a contender one day…hell you could even be a TV champ just like me…just not any time soon. (Smiles) Now that I think about it, tha only footage I could find was you attacking Gemini and an incident you had with a soda machine. I would say I saw you wrestle at the pay per view…but OH DAMN, I forgot, you weren’t ready for prime time. Now all tha sudden you think you are? You spent too much time investin’ in tryin’ to get Mister Skullhead over and not enough time investin’ on your own career. You think I’m sellin’ you short…maybe I am, but until you prove to me otherwise…I call a spade a spade. Tha sayin’ goes…game recognize game. (Puffs his blunt and scratches his head.) I gotta tell ya’, if that’s tha case…you don’t look familiar to me at all.
(Boogie puffs his blunt as he watches the Christian Sands interview. He listens to Sands’ new metaphor and cracks a smile. He shakes a head with how ridiculous it all seems to him, before he speaks.)
Damn, you done ruined me. You figured out my gimmick and now what am I gonna do? If I can't twist your words around and use them against you…I just won’t stand a chance! (Shakes his head.) Man, who you think your kcufin’ with? At least my ish is original and I ain’t bitin’ off somethin’ somebody said way back when. If you don’t like gettin’ cut-down on your corny metaphors, herre’s a simple solution…don’t use ‘em! (Puffs his blunt.)
Christian Sands goes out and buys a book on metaphors. He’s been metaphorin’ his opponents to death tha past couple of weeks, thinkin’ it’s gettin’ over…thinkin’ it’s gettin’ HIM over. Why not throw some clichés in there too? (Shakes his head.) Since we’re headed to tha UK, how about limericks? (Shakes his head and hits his blunt.) But I guess since I can’t cut you down on your last little spiel, I decided to try a metaphor of my own. Herre it goes…
You’re a pu$$y…and you’ve got a yeast infection. Well you’re lookin’ at tha douche that’s gonna wipe you out. (Puffs his blunt and ponders a thought for a moment.) Now how dumb did that just sound? And how dumb do you think it sounds when you spit those? Peep this…cut tha ish out, ‘cuz it ain’t helpin’ ya’, triscuit.
(Boogie picks up a remote control and presses a button. Christian Sands’ last match, with Boogie, begins to air. He puffs his blunt and turns back around to the camera.)
All my life has been an uphill struggle and now that I got a lil’ fame…seems like tha struggle is even harder. Mo’ money…mo’ problems…that’s the way it goes. Right now my problem is you, Sandy, you big yeast-infected pu$$y! Big Deadly? You need to change you’re name to Summer’s Eve and get rid of that shizz you got! (Puffs his blunt.) I know…I know, I’ll try not to resort to cheap name callin’…but dawg, that’s what I do and with you bein’ such an easy target…a nizzo couldn’t resist. (Smiles.) Cookie cuttin’ ass trick. Now if ya don’t mind, I gotta catch tha Concorde in a few hours. PEACE!
(Boogie throws up the peace sign with his hand, puffs his blunt, and the scene begins to FADE TO BLACK.)
B
BuffBellows
Guest
... Bag
[updated:LAST EDITED ON Dec-12-02 AT 06:45 PM (EST)]Fade in to a room backstage at Wembley Stadium, illuminated by a couple of light panels overhead. A steel chair has been set up in the center of the room, upon which sits a familiar individual: Christian Sands, garbed in street clothes. He sits with his hands folded in his lay and gazes into the camera.
"Wow," Sands says with feigned amazement. "That... that was absolutely fantastic. I've never heard anybody weave a metaphor like that before! Really. Yeast-infected p*ssies... douches... hot sh*t, Boogie, that's gold. You should write poetry. You could make millions. Think about it. Boogie's Poetry Corner. You could sit up there and weave your brilliant metaphors all day long. I really think you should go for it."
A very faint smirk touches Sands' face; he pauses for a moment.
"But really, Boogie. I agree with your little metaphor. You are a douche... bag. I do hope you realize that you asked for that one."
"Now, then. Let's talk business, Smallz. I'm going to address your claim that nothing I've done in GXW supports my claim that I've bettered myself. Hmm... actually, you raise a valid point - one that I'll gladly concede to you. Unfortunately, you seem to have neglected the fact that there IS life outside of GXW. While you were busy bickering with Ricky Gant, I was off signing a contract. Since the end of last Onslaught I've been down in SCW, mangling some of their most prominent warriors with ease. Yes, yes, I know... 'It doesn't matter where you've been!' In this case, you're wrong. True, wins and losses elsewhere mean nothing, but EXPERIENCE follows you everywhere. I fully intend to put these new experiences to good use in our match at Battleground Britain."
"So you think I'm not original hmm? Oh, wow. You've got me there. You're SO much more original than I am. The pot-smoking, Ebonics-slinging black guy look is SO original. You, sir, should be commended for your astounding originality. Nevermind that hundreds of wrestlers WORLDWIDE have that sort of image. Nevermind that half the movies out there include a pot-smoking, Ebonics-slinging black guy. That doesn't matter because you're SO original. Give me a break, Smallz. Pot, kettle, black. Maybe I'm not original, but you're in absolutely no position to talk. Come back when an original thought pops into your head. Too bad there's no chance of that, seeing as it's near impossible to punch through the clouds of pot smoke that permanently enwreath your skull. Oh well."
"As for my, shall we say... metaphorical habit. Do you honestly think I'm using it as a tool to 'get over', as you so delicately put it? Well, listen here, Captain Kayfabe. I roll out the metaphors because THAT'S THE WAY I TALK. And seeing as we're going down the road of speech habits, you're one to talk. Half the time you sound like you're chewing on a sock, Smallz. It's getting to the point where I'm ready to invest in an Ebonics-to-English dictionary just to understand your little promos. I'd continue, but this line of thought IS rather petty. Shame on you for tempting me into taking it."
Sands clears his throat rather noisily before continuing.
"So, your whole life has been an uphill struggle, Boogie? Is that supposed to make me feel sorry for you? Oh, look at me. I've got tears in my eyes. Poor little Boogie Smallz had a hard life. Bah! Don't talk uphill struggles to me. I've had plenty of pain and loss in my own life - don't try and foist yours on me. But back to my point. We're both climbing that hill, Smallz. Problem is, only one of us can keep on going up. But don't worry - once I take the Television Title and keep on climbing, it's all downhill for you. Down... down... down... down the hill, right back to the bottom."
Sands leans forward for a moment, the smirk on his face vanishing. "Let me be frank with you, Smallz. You have, beyond a shadow of a doubt, proven that you are championship material. You have, beyond a shadow of a doubt, proven that you can back up your words in the ring. You have, beyond a shadow of a doubt, proven that you have what it takes to succeed in GXW. However, there are two lanes in this particular road to success. You're in one of them. I'm in the other. Unfortunately, the road narrows ahead. For your own sake, hit the brakes, or you may experience a rather... messy traffic accident. You may not survive. Unfortunately, the movies lied to you: all dawgs DON'T go to heaven."
"Well, that's just about all from this easy target... I'll leave you now to smoke up and wallow in the ignorance that comes with being Boogie Smallz. Enjoy."
Sands gets up and walks out of the shot as we fade to black...
[updated:LAST EDITED ON Dec-12-02 AT 06:45 PM (EST)]Fade in to a room backstage at Wembley Stadium, illuminated by a couple of light panels overhead. A steel chair has been set up in the center of the room, upon which sits a familiar individual: Christian Sands, garbed in street clothes. He sits with his hands folded in his lay and gazes into the camera.
"Wow," Sands says with feigned amazement. "That... that was absolutely fantastic. I've never heard anybody weave a metaphor like that before! Really. Yeast-infected p*ssies... douches... hot sh*t, Boogie, that's gold. You should write poetry. You could make millions. Think about it. Boogie's Poetry Corner. You could sit up there and weave your brilliant metaphors all day long. I really think you should go for it."
A very faint smirk touches Sands' face; he pauses for a moment.
"But really, Boogie. I agree with your little metaphor. You are a douche... bag. I do hope you realize that you asked for that one."
"Now, then. Let's talk business, Smallz. I'm going to address your claim that nothing I've done in GXW supports my claim that I've bettered myself. Hmm... actually, you raise a valid point - one that I'll gladly concede to you. Unfortunately, you seem to have neglected the fact that there IS life outside of GXW. While you were busy bickering with Ricky Gant, I was off signing a contract. Since the end of last Onslaught I've been down in SCW, mangling some of their most prominent warriors with ease. Yes, yes, I know... 'It doesn't matter where you've been!' In this case, you're wrong. True, wins and losses elsewhere mean nothing, but EXPERIENCE follows you everywhere. I fully intend to put these new experiences to good use in our match at Battleground Britain."
"So you think I'm not original hmm? Oh, wow. You've got me there. You're SO much more original than I am. The pot-smoking, Ebonics-slinging black guy look is SO original. You, sir, should be commended for your astounding originality. Nevermind that hundreds of wrestlers WORLDWIDE have that sort of image. Nevermind that half the movies out there include a pot-smoking, Ebonics-slinging black guy. That doesn't matter because you're SO original. Give me a break, Smallz. Pot, kettle, black. Maybe I'm not original, but you're in absolutely no position to talk. Come back when an original thought pops into your head. Too bad there's no chance of that, seeing as it's near impossible to punch through the clouds of pot smoke that permanently enwreath your skull. Oh well."
"As for my, shall we say... metaphorical habit. Do you honestly think I'm using it as a tool to 'get over', as you so delicately put it? Well, listen here, Captain Kayfabe. I roll out the metaphors because THAT'S THE WAY I TALK. And seeing as we're going down the road of speech habits, you're one to talk. Half the time you sound like you're chewing on a sock, Smallz. It's getting to the point where I'm ready to invest in an Ebonics-to-English dictionary just to understand your little promos. I'd continue, but this line of thought IS rather petty. Shame on you for tempting me into taking it."
Sands clears his throat rather noisily before continuing.
"So, your whole life has been an uphill struggle, Boogie? Is that supposed to make me feel sorry for you? Oh, look at me. I've got tears in my eyes. Poor little Boogie Smallz had a hard life. Bah! Don't talk uphill struggles to me. I've had plenty of pain and loss in my own life - don't try and foist yours on me. But back to my point. We're both climbing that hill, Smallz. Problem is, only one of us can keep on going up. But don't worry - once I take the Television Title and keep on climbing, it's all downhill for you. Down... down... down... down the hill, right back to the bottom."
Sands leans forward for a moment, the smirk on his face vanishing. "Let me be frank with you, Smallz. You have, beyond a shadow of a doubt, proven that you are championship material. You have, beyond a shadow of a doubt, proven that you can back up your words in the ring. You have, beyond a shadow of a doubt, proven that you have what it takes to succeed in GXW. However, there are two lanes in this particular road to success. You're in one of them. I'm in the other. Unfortunately, the road narrows ahead. For your own sake, hit the brakes, or you may experience a rather... messy traffic accident. You may not survive. Unfortunately, the movies lied to you: all dawgs DON'T go to heaven."
"Well, that's just about all from this easy target... I'll leave you now to smoke up and wallow in the ignorance that comes with being Boogie Smallz. Enjoy."
Sands gets up and walks out of the shot as we fade to black...
Takin' tha kidz to tha pool...
(FADE IN to a plane flying over the Atlantic Ocean on a clear blue day. The scene quickly shifts to inside the plane, as we see several people seated and a stewardess is pushing a cart down the middle aisle. Towards the back of the plane is a familiar face, the GXW Television champion, Boogie Smallz. He is checking’ out the stewardess and she makes her way to him.)
STEWARDESS: Excuse me sir; can I interest you in a beverage?
BOOGIE: Nah…but you can interest me in some of you! You make a lot of these flights, you already a member of tha Mile High Club? And if not, can I help you make that happen?
STEWARDESS: Sir, I’m a married woman. I am flattered, but I’m just trying to do my job.
BOOGIE: You think you might be able to prop one of these windows open, I gotta this fatty I need to smoke. England is a long ways away.
STEWARDESS: There is no smoking on the airplane; it’s a federal law.
BOOGIE: Damnit! Alright…can you make me a gin and juice, light on tha juice?
(The stewardess makes the drink and goes on to the next row of seats. Boogie takes a few sips and then notices the bathroom sign in the front of the plane. He gets up out of his seat and makes his way there. He steps into the bathroom and makes an ugly face due to the stench. He waves his hand in front of his nose and then retrieves a blunt he had rolled up in his pocket. He lights it up and quickly “deodorizes” the room with the weed smoke. After a few puffs a strange look comes over his face.)
BOOGIE: Damn, I gotta take a $hit!
(Boogie sits down on the toilet, blunt dangling from his mouth, as he pinches a loaf.)
BOOGIE: Ahh…much better. I’m sure I feel the same relief in a few days when I get that chump-ass busta, Christian Sands, out of my way once and for all and I can go on to tha next foe. (Puffs his blunt and squints his eyes, as we here a splash beneath him in the toilet.) But Sandy, he ain’t gonna go out without a fight. I can definitely tell he’s got more confidence goin’ into this match…but when did confidence win matches? While he’s playin’ with cookie cutters and talkin’ about his total dominance in SCW, it makes me wonder what kind of fed it is…if a guy like THAT is a star. (Shakes his head.)
You don’t like my metaphor? Dumbass…I was bein’ sarcastic, it wasn’t meant to be liked…it was meant to make fun of you and how idiotic you sound! You think I would leave myself open to let a puss like you call me a douche-bag? Dawg, you must be mistaken me for tha Reaver or John Battles…or maybe one of those guys you beat in SCW…but that ain’t me.
(Puffs his blunt, squints his eyes once more, as a splash is heard from beneath.)
You gotta come with more than just some Boogie’s Poetry Corner and all that “experience” flim-flam, to get one over on me. You wanna talk experience? Don’t go therre with me, ‘cuz I’ve been in this game for damn near 10 years…I done seen ‘em come and seen ‘em go…and guess what, I’m still herre. (Puffs his blunt.) So while you run your mouth and talk about how I’m a stereotype…I just don’t see it.
Could you name off the 100 wrestlers that smoke weed? How about out of all those, which ones are black? Huh…what? That’s what I thought. Talkin’ all this shizz and can’t back up a damn bit of it. Wanna talk about how you can’t understand what I say…and yet you’re able to respond…so some of it must be decipherable!
(Puffs his blunt and squeezes out another, as a splash is heard. He puffs his blunt again.)
You wanna talk about a two lane highway and how you gonna run me off the road or whatever. Wow…that’s great, but unfortunately for you this isn’t tha Fast & The Furious or even NASCAR, this is GX-Dub. We don’t get in cars and race, we beat tha ish out of tha man in front of us and get paid a lot of money in tha process. Maybe you should find another line of work…or maybe I should FORCE you into somethin’ else. See Sandy, I’m not that bad of a guy, but when you kcuf with me…then we got issues. We got issues, dawg…then we most definitely have problems. (Puffs his blunt.)
Our last match was supposed to be a Table Match, I said f*ck tha tables and decided to kick your ass outright. Now we’re scheduled for a regular match…what tha hell you think I’m gonna do this time? Oh, you already lost so I owe you one, right? Maybe that’s your line of thinkin’? (Shakes his head and puffs his blunt.) Well you’re wrong. And all your talk of nightmares and cookie cutters ain’t gonna get tha job done.
(He puffs his blunt and clinches up, lets out a big fart, followed by a plopping sound inside the water. He takes another puff, then speaks again.)
And just like all this shizz right here, that’s you Sandy…a big piece of shizz, you’re gonna get flushed back down…all tha way to tha bottom. I don’t wanna see you again, I don’t wanna see us signed up to another match. I have proved that I can beat you and this time I’m gonna make sure I put you away…permanently. Forget what Gemini is gonna do to ya’ and worry about what this thugged out killa’ might do. You’re a waste of my time and I got more important thangs to deal with than a soon to be two-time loser to Boogeezey. Think about it, marinate in it, but most importantly…BELIEVE ‘DAT!
(Boogie reaches around and flushes the toilet. He begins to stand up as the scene begins to FADE TO BLACK.)
(FADE IN to a plane flying over the Atlantic Ocean on a clear blue day. The scene quickly shifts to inside the plane, as we see several people seated and a stewardess is pushing a cart down the middle aisle. Towards the back of the plane is a familiar face, the GXW Television champion, Boogie Smallz. He is checking’ out the stewardess and she makes her way to him.)
STEWARDESS: Excuse me sir; can I interest you in a beverage?
BOOGIE: Nah…but you can interest me in some of you! You make a lot of these flights, you already a member of tha Mile High Club? And if not, can I help you make that happen?
STEWARDESS: Sir, I’m a married woman. I am flattered, but I’m just trying to do my job.
BOOGIE: You think you might be able to prop one of these windows open, I gotta this fatty I need to smoke. England is a long ways away.
STEWARDESS: There is no smoking on the airplane; it’s a federal law.
BOOGIE: Damnit! Alright…can you make me a gin and juice, light on tha juice?
(The stewardess makes the drink and goes on to the next row of seats. Boogie takes a few sips and then notices the bathroom sign in the front of the plane. He gets up out of his seat and makes his way there. He steps into the bathroom and makes an ugly face due to the stench. He waves his hand in front of his nose and then retrieves a blunt he had rolled up in his pocket. He lights it up and quickly “deodorizes” the room with the weed smoke. After a few puffs a strange look comes over his face.)
BOOGIE: Damn, I gotta take a $hit!
(Boogie sits down on the toilet, blunt dangling from his mouth, as he pinches a loaf.)
BOOGIE: Ahh…much better. I’m sure I feel the same relief in a few days when I get that chump-ass busta, Christian Sands, out of my way once and for all and I can go on to tha next foe. (Puffs his blunt and squints his eyes, as we here a splash beneath him in the toilet.) But Sandy, he ain’t gonna go out without a fight. I can definitely tell he’s got more confidence goin’ into this match…but when did confidence win matches? While he’s playin’ with cookie cutters and talkin’ about his total dominance in SCW, it makes me wonder what kind of fed it is…if a guy like THAT is a star. (Shakes his head.)
You don’t like my metaphor? Dumbass…I was bein’ sarcastic, it wasn’t meant to be liked…it was meant to make fun of you and how idiotic you sound! You think I would leave myself open to let a puss like you call me a douche-bag? Dawg, you must be mistaken me for tha Reaver or John Battles…or maybe one of those guys you beat in SCW…but that ain’t me.
(Puffs his blunt, squints his eyes once more, as a splash is heard from beneath.)
You gotta come with more than just some Boogie’s Poetry Corner and all that “experience” flim-flam, to get one over on me. You wanna talk experience? Don’t go therre with me, ‘cuz I’ve been in this game for damn near 10 years…I done seen ‘em come and seen ‘em go…and guess what, I’m still herre. (Puffs his blunt.) So while you run your mouth and talk about how I’m a stereotype…I just don’t see it.
Could you name off the 100 wrestlers that smoke weed? How about out of all those, which ones are black? Huh…what? That’s what I thought. Talkin’ all this shizz and can’t back up a damn bit of it. Wanna talk about how you can’t understand what I say…and yet you’re able to respond…so some of it must be decipherable!
(Puffs his blunt and squeezes out another, as a splash is heard. He puffs his blunt again.)
You wanna talk about a two lane highway and how you gonna run me off the road or whatever. Wow…that’s great, but unfortunately for you this isn’t tha Fast & The Furious or even NASCAR, this is GX-Dub. We don’t get in cars and race, we beat tha ish out of tha man in front of us and get paid a lot of money in tha process. Maybe you should find another line of work…or maybe I should FORCE you into somethin’ else. See Sandy, I’m not that bad of a guy, but when you kcuf with me…then we got issues. We got issues, dawg…then we most definitely have problems. (Puffs his blunt.)
Our last match was supposed to be a Table Match, I said f*ck tha tables and decided to kick your ass outright. Now we’re scheduled for a regular match…what tha hell you think I’m gonna do this time? Oh, you already lost so I owe you one, right? Maybe that’s your line of thinkin’? (Shakes his head and puffs his blunt.) Well you’re wrong. And all your talk of nightmares and cookie cutters ain’t gonna get tha job done.
(He puffs his blunt and clinches up, lets out a big fart, followed by a plopping sound inside the water. He takes another puff, then speaks again.)
And just like all this shizz right here, that’s you Sandy…a big piece of shizz, you’re gonna get flushed back down…all tha way to tha bottom. I don’t wanna see you again, I don’t wanna see us signed up to another match. I have proved that I can beat you and this time I’m gonna make sure I put you away…permanently. Forget what Gemini is gonna do to ya’ and worry about what this thugged out killa’ might do. You’re a waste of my time and I got more important thangs to deal with than a soon to be two-time loser to Boogeezey. Think about it, marinate in it, but most importantly…BELIEVE ‘DAT!
(Boogie reaches around and flushes the toilet. He begins to stand up as the scene begins to FADE TO BLACK.)
B
BuffBellows
Guest
A New Train Of Thought
[updated:LAST EDITED ON Dec-13-02 AT 01:53 PM (EST)]Fade in to a gym somewhere in Britain. At this time of day, very few people can be seen in this facility - maybe they're out to lunch or off at work. Who knows. However, there IS one individual still present here. The camera moves closer to the lone fellow, who is currently squatting an enormous amount of weight. It is Christian Sands - as if you were expecting anyone else. His torso is bare save for a towel across his shoulders, protecting his skin from the somewhat rough surface of the metal; other than that, he wears only a pair of red sports pants and plain shoes.
After a few more squats, the big man heaves the weight off his shoulders and deposits it on a nearby rack. He takes a seat on a bench against the white brick wall, picking up a half-empty bottle of water and drinking from it.
Placing the water back on the bench, Sands looks towards the camera, wiping sweat from his face with the back of a hand. "Nice to hear from you again, Smallz," he says with a slight tilt of his head. "I always enjoy your little promos. They give me something to laugh about."
"But trite insults aside, Smallz, you're right. I AM coming into this encounter far more confident than I did in our last. But at the same time, Smallz, you are also very, very wrong. One would think that with your considerable experience in this business, you would've learned that the body and the mind function as a unit. A man's state of mind can be just as important in determining the victor as his physical conditioning. Last time we fought, my mind was cluttered by false assumptions and - admittedly - doubt in my own abilities. Those thoughts cost me that match, Smallz. This time, the tale unfolds somewhat differently. This time, I know precisely who and what I am dealing with - but more importantly, I know that defeating you IS something that I am capable of."
"I sense that you're thinking something different, though. When I listen to your promos, I can easily detect an air of foolish confidence. You believe that I am a minor annoyance, someone to be brushed aside like so much dust. There is a name for that line of thinking, Smallz - it's called foolish arrogance. That's understandable, though. You DID defeat me... once. But as I've repeatedly endeavored to inform you, things change... people change. Unfortunately, you refuse to acknowledge the idea that I just may have changed enough to surprise you with a defeat. That stubborn refusal gives me yet another edge over you. I know that you expect to face the Christian Sands from two months ago... but what you WILL face is the Christian Sands of now."
"I'm not going to waste my time rattling off statistics in regards to 100 black wrestlers who smoke pot. You know as well as I do that your look has been done."
"Instead, I'm going to come out and say that you're right. You don't owe me a thing. If anything, I owe YOU one. As much as I dislike you, Smallz, you DID show me something in our last match that I didn't realize before. You showed me that I'm not infallible as I once thought I was. But that realization led me to another small epiphany: Neither are you. For all your overwhelming self-confidence and windy claims that you're going to shut me down for good, you overlook the fact that you're imperfect, just as I am. Some in this company have called your rise to stardom here superhuman, but I know better. You ARE human... and like the rest of us, you are flawed. Luckily for me, I have a pretty good idea of where your flaws lie... and I intend to use them to my advantage."
"Still with me? Good. Wouldn't want you running off to hit the Secret Stash now."
"You brought up another interesting point, Smallz - one that I agree with. I DON'T want to see you and I signed to compete again... because quite frankly, a third match between us would be unnecessary, at least for me. After Battleground Britain, I will have taken exactly what I want from you - the Television Title. You can call that statement arrogant if you wish... I call it a statement of my beliefs. I fully believe that when you and I square off for this second battle, it will be YOU who will leave the ring empty-handed. You humiliated me once in the squared circle, Smallz. You shall not do so twice."
Sands pauses for a moment and takes a slow breath.
"Go back to the pound, 'dawg.' There's a new dog on the block. I'm it."
Fade out...
[updated:LAST EDITED ON Dec-13-02 AT 01:53 PM (EST)]Fade in to a gym somewhere in Britain. At this time of day, very few people can be seen in this facility - maybe they're out to lunch or off at work. Who knows. However, there IS one individual still present here. The camera moves closer to the lone fellow, who is currently squatting an enormous amount of weight. It is Christian Sands - as if you were expecting anyone else. His torso is bare save for a towel across his shoulders, protecting his skin from the somewhat rough surface of the metal; other than that, he wears only a pair of red sports pants and plain shoes.
After a few more squats, the big man heaves the weight off his shoulders and deposits it on a nearby rack. He takes a seat on a bench against the white brick wall, picking up a half-empty bottle of water and drinking from it.
Placing the water back on the bench, Sands looks towards the camera, wiping sweat from his face with the back of a hand. "Nice to hear from you again, Smallz," he says with a slight tilt of his head. "I always enjoy your little promos. They give me something to laugh about."
"But trite insults aside, Smallz, you're right. I AM coming into this encounter far more confident than I did in our last. But at the same time, Smallz, you are also very, very wrong. One would think that with your considerable experience in this business, you would've learned that the body and the mind function as a unit. A man's state of mind can be just as important in determining the victor as his physical conditioning. Last time we fought, my mind was cluttered by false assumptions and - admittedly - doubt in my own abilities. Those thoughts cost me that match, Smallz. This time, the tale unfolds somewhat differently. This time, I know precisely who and what I am dealing with - but more importantly, I know that defeating you IS something that I am capable of."
"I sense that you're thinking something different, though. When I listen to your promos, I can easily detect an air of foolish confidence. You believe that I am a minor annoyance, someone to be brushed aside like so much dust. There is a name for that line of thinking, Smallz - it's called foolish arrogance. That's understandable, though. You DID defeat me... once. But as I've repeatedly endeavored to inform you, things change... people change. Unfortunately, you refuse to acknowledge the idea that I just may have changed enough to surprise you with a defeat. That stubborn refusal gives me yet another edge over you. I know that you expect to face the Christian Sands from two months ago... but what you WILL face is the Christian Sands of now."
"I'm not going to waste my time rattling off statistics in regards to 100 black wrestlers who smoke pot. You know as well as I do that your look has been done."
"Instead, I'm going to come out and say that you're right. You don't owe me a thing. If anything, I owe YOU one. As much as I dislike you, Smallz, you DID show me something in our last match that I didn't realize before. You showed me that I'm not infallible as I once thought I was. But that realization led me to another small epiphany: Neither are you. For all your overwhelming self-confidence and windy claims that you're going to shut me down for good, you overlook the fact that you're imperfect, just as I am. Some in this company have called your rise to stardom here superhuman, but I know better. You ARE human... and like the rest of us, you are flawed. Luckily for me, I have a pretty good idea of where your flaws lie... and I intend to use them to my advantage."
"Still with me? Good. Wouldn't want you running off to hit the Secret Stash now."
"You brought up another interesting point, Smallz - one that I agree with. I DON'T want to see you and I signed to compete again... because quite frankly, a third match between us would be unnecessary, at least for me. After Battleground Britain, I will have taken exactly what I want from you - the Television Title. You can call that statement arrogant if you wish... I call it a statement of my beliefs. I fully believe that when you and I square off for this second battle, it will be YOU who will leave the ring empty-handed. You humiliated me once in the squared circle, Smallz. You shall not do so twice."
Sands pauses for a moment and takes a slow breath.
"Go back to the pound, 'dawg.' There's a new dog on the block. I'm it."
Fade out...
Busted!
(FADE IN to the London Luton Airport, in London England. Several airport security and police are waiting outside Gate D12, for passengers to step off of the plane. As the people start filing in, it seems a few are almost running to get off. As the crowd dwindles down, Boogie Smallz steps off the plane and through the gate. He looks around at all the security and doesn’t understand what’s going on.)
BS:What’s goin’ on herre? A terrorist threat or some ish?
COP: No sir, we are here to place you under arrest, for violating a few laws while you were on your trip over.
BS:A few laws? Since when is it a crime to stink up a bathroom?
(The stewardess that Boogie hit on earlier comes out with a bag and hands it to the police. The cop looks in and examines the contents.)
COP: This blunt roach right here…is a crime. I’m sorry, I’m gonna have to read you your rights.
(Boogie looks upset, but he brought it upon himself. As the police read him his rights, he is handcuffed and escorted through a side hallway, for authorized personnel only. They lead him to a holding room, which has a TV installed from the ceiling. They uncuff one of his hands and cuff the other end to a long rail.)
COP: Just sit tight, we need to get some more eye witness accounts and see if we can gather any more evidence on the plane.
BS:Man…why you tryin’ to set me up? I didn’t do nothin’. I got a match in a few days…I can’t be dealin’ with this ish!
COP: Look pal, make it easy on yourself…sit tight and shut up.
(Boogie looks at the cop with an angry look on his face. The cop leaves the room and looks around the room, he notices the bag of evidence sitting on the table near him, that the cops carelessly left behind. He reaches over and can barely touch, but it able to grasp it with his fingertips. He slides it towards him and opens the bag up. He pulls out the blunt roach and pats down his pockets, in search of a lighter. He finds it and fires it up.)
BS:I gotta get rid of this evidence. I can’t be catchin’ a case in England and causin’ a huge Inna’national incident. I don’t wanna see my lil’ nizzos out therre creatin’ a Free Boogie campaign. (Boogie takes a few huge hits, to help burn it down.) That damn ho-ass stewardess, if I woulda’ known her husband was po-po, I wouldn’t have tried to holla’ at her. But you never know unless ya’ try. (Smiles and takes another big hit.) They better go get Sherlock Holmes or some of them old heads down at Scotland Yard to come down herre and get down to tha bottom of this ish! (Puffs his blunt.) Don’t think I don’t know what Holmes has in his ma’fuckin’ pipe…he was gettin’ TORE DOWN tryin’ to solve murder cases and shizz.
(Boogie puffs his blunt and looks up at the corner at the TV. It happens to be airing a show hyping GXW Battleground Britain. A clip airs of Christian Sands’ latest promo. Boogie looks on and puffs his blunt. He shakes off Sands’ comments and watches the clip until the end. Clips of their last match begin to air and Jason Grant can be heard pushing the match.)
BS:Ain’t no need for me to pay attention to that, we all know tha outcome. Now Sands, you wanna run your mouth and say ish like “foolish” or “arrogance”, and then in tha same promo…you yourself do what you say I’m doin’. I ain’t about to get into that, instead I’m gonna tell you a lil’ sumthin’ about what makes Boogie Smallz tick. See, I’m tryin’ to build a foundation to carry my career on further and coughin’ up tha TV title to you isn’t part of my strategy. It seems that erry damn person that has held tha TV title in tha past year, only keeps it for a few shows…so tha odds aren’t in my favor. However, I plan on changin’ that trend. Instead of havin’ paper champions, who don’t hold up to expectations…now GXW has a champ that can actually BRING BACK all tha prestige this title once had. (Puffs his blunt.)
Am I tha poster champion? Blonde hair, blue-eyed, signin’ autographs and shizz…no. What I am though, is a man that has been fed crap for all of his career. I get to GXW and things change, yeah sure I am bein’ taken advantage of, but I’ll deal with that in time. Right herre, right now…I’m doin’ sumthin’ for myself…sumthin’ I never had tha chance to do in tha CSWA…and that’s make it on my own, and I’ve been doin’ a damn good job of it! Now you wanna come in and take food off of my plate? Take away my TV title? (Puffs his blunt and shakes his head.) I know you’re hungry dawg. I know you want to be a champion more than anything. But I want it more! You don’t take from me…I take from you! You come into this match with your head held high…and I’ma’ knock it off your shoulders!
You sayin’ people think my rise to stardom is superhuman? Really? I don’t see it that way…because I do know I’m human…and I also know that erryone I beat along tha way herre, just wasn’t on my level. See, I’m way up herre. (Tries to raises his arm, but realizes it’s cuffed, so he uses the other one.) And erryone I beat is way down herre (Lowers arm.), includin’ you Sands.
(Boogie takes one final puff, before burning his fingers. He swallows the roach to get rid of any evidence.)
BS:I think you are championship material, I really do. Thang is, you gotta drop a few pounds to be in tha Cruiserweight division! (Smiles) Or maybe you can get a partner and try for tha tag titles…’cuz those are tha only avenues I see you takin’ to get some gold. That is, unless you order one of those replica titles off of gxwwrestling.com. (Laughs) I know, enough of tha jokes. Sands, you got an opportunity to shine herre, take advantage of it…you are in tha spotlight due to tha hottest act in tha biz…tha B To Tha Z. Regardless of tha ish I talk, I ain’t gonna take you lightly this time, I’m gonna be prepared, and I will shine tha belt up before tha match…only ‘cuz I wanna step out and make my debut at Wembley Stadium lookin’ so fresh…and so clean!
(The doors open up and the police notice the cloud of smoke that has gathered in the room. Boogie quickly reaches into his pocket and lights a Newport, acting as if he was chain-smoking cigarettes.)
COP: Damnit, there’s that evidence bag. (Grabs the bag and notices its empty.) What the…where did it go, buddy? You better confess.
BS:I ain’t sayin’ ish, you got me messed up! Tha glove don’t fit…you must acquit.
COP: How did you get a hold of it. I know you smoked it up in here, I can smell.
BS:Nah man, I’m just nervous…been smokin’ cigs, excuse me…fags, like crazy.
COP: We couldn’t find anything on the plane, but we’re gonna hold you here for a while.
BS:This is bull…ya’ best let me out of these cuffs, I got a show to do in a few days.
COP: We’ll see about that.
(The scene fades out as Boogie stands up out of his chair and gets in the cop’s face.)
(FADE IN to the London Luton Airport, in London England. Several airport security and police are waiting outside Gate D12, for passengers to step off of the plane. As the people start filing in, it seems a few are almost running to get off. As the crowd dwindles down, Boogie Smallz steps off the plane and through the gate. He looks around at all the security and doesn’t understand what’s going on.)
BS:What’s goin’ on herre? A terrorist threat or some ish?
COP: No sir, we are here to place you under arrest, for violating a few laws while you were on your trip over.
BS:A few laws? Since when is it a crime to stink up a bathroom?
(The stewardess that Boogie hit on earlier comes out with a bag and hands it to the police. The cop looks in and examines the contents.)
COP: This blunt roach right here…is a crime. I’m sorry, I’m gonna have to read you your rights.
(Boogie looks upset, but he brought it upon himself. As the police read him his rights, he is handcuffed and escorted through a side hallway, for authorized personnel only. They lead him to a holding room, which has a TV installed from the ceiling. They uncuff one of his hands and cuff the other end to a long rail.)
COP: Just sit tight, we need to get some more eye witness accounts and see if we can gather any more evidence on the plane.
BS:Man…why you tryin’ to set me up? I didn’t do nothin’. I got a match in a few days…I can’t be dealin’ with this ish!
COP: Look pal, make it easy on yourself…sit tight and shut up.
(Boogie looks at the cop with an angry look on his face. The cop leaves the room and looks around the room, he notices the bag of evidence sitting on the table near him, that the cops carelessly left behind. He reaches over and can barely touch, but it able to grasp it with his fingertips. He slides it towards him and opens the bag up. He pulls out the blunt roach and pats down his pockets, in search of a lighter. He finds it and fires it up.)
BS:I gotta get rid of this evidence. I can’t be catchin’ a case in England and causin’ a huge Inna’national incident. I don’t wanna see my lil’ nizzos out therre creatin’ a Free Boogie campaign. (Boogie takes a few huge hits, to help burn it down.) That damn ho-ass stewardess, if I woulda’ known her husband was po-po, I wouldn’t have tried to holla’ at her. But you never know unless ya’ try. (Smiles and takes another big hit.) They better go get Sherlock Holmes or some of them old heads down at Scotland Yard to come down herre and get down to tha bottom of this ish! (Puffs his blunt.) Don’t think I don’t know what Holmes has in his ma’fuckin’ pipe…he was gettin’ TORE DOWN tryin’ to solve murder cases and shizz.
(Boogie puffs his blunt and looks up at the corner at the TV. It happens to be airing a show hyping GXW Battleground Britain. A clip airs of Christian Sands’ latest promo. Boogie looks on and puffs his blunt. He shakes off Sands’ comments and watches the clip until the end. Clips of their last match begin to air and Jason Grant can be heard pushing the match.)
BS:Ain’t no need for me to pay attention to that, we all know tha outcome. Now Sands, you wanna run your mouth and say ish like “foolish” or “arrogance”, and then in tha same promo…you yourself do what you say I’m doin’. I ain’t about to get into that, instead I’m gonna tell you a lil’ sumthin’ about what makes Boogie Smallz tick. See, I’m tryin’ to build a foundation to carry my career on further and coughin’ up tha TV title to you isn’t part of my strategy. It seems that erry damn person that has held tha TV title in tha past year, only keeps it for a few shows…so tha odds aren’t in my favor. However, I plan on changin’ that trend. Instead of havin’ paper champions, who don’t hold up to expectations…now GXW has a champ that can actually BRING BACK all tha prestige this title once had. (Puffs his blunt.)
Am I tha poster champion? Blonde hair, blue-eyed, signin’ autographs and shizz…no. What I am though, is a man that has been fed crap for all of his career. I get to GXW and things change, yeah sure I am bein’ taken advantage of, but I’ll deal with that in time. Right herre, right now…I’m doin’ sumthin’ for myself…sumthin’ I never had tha chance to do in tha CSWA…and that’s make it on my own, and I’ve been doin’ a damn good job of it! Now you wanna come in and take food off of my plate? Take away my TV title? (Puffs his blunt and shakes his head.) I know you’re hungry dawg. I know you want to be a champion more than anything. But I want it more! You don’t take from me…I take from you! You come into this match with your head held high…and I’ma’ knock it off your shoulders!
You sayin’ people think my rise to stardom is superhuman? Really? I don’t see it that way…because I do know I’m human…and I also know that erryone I beat along tha way herre, just wasn’t on my level. See, I’m way up herre. (Tries to raises his arm, but realizes it’s cuffed, so he uses the other one.) And erryone I beat is way down herre (Lowers arm.), includin’ you Sands.
(Boogie takes one final puff, before burning his fingers. He swallows the roach to get rid of any evidence.)
BS:I think you are championship material, I really do. Thang is, you gotta drop a few pounds to be in tha Cruiserweight division! (Smiles) Or maybe you can get a partner and try for tha tag titles…’cuz those are tha only avenues I see you takin’ to get some gold. That is, unless you order one of those replica titles off of gxwwrestling.com. (Laughs) I know, enough of tha jokes. Sands, you got an opportunity to shine herre, take advantage of it…you are in tha spotlight due to tha hottest act in tha biz…tha B To Tha Z. Regardless of tha ish I talk, I ain’t gonna take you lightly this time, I’m gonna be prepared, and I will shine tha belt up before tha match…only ‘cuz I wanna step out and make my debut at Wembley Stadium lookin’ so fresh…and so clean!
(The doors open up and the police notice the cloud of smoke that has gathered in the room. Boogie quickly reaches into his pocket and lights a Newport, acting as if he was chain-smoking cigarettes.)
COP: Damnit, there’s that evidence bag. (Grabs the bag and notices its empty.) What the…where did it go, buddy? You better confess.
BS:I ain’t sayin’ ish, you got me messed up! Tha glove don’t fit…you must acquit.
COP: How did you get a hold of it. I know you smoked it up in here, I can smell.
BS:Nah man, I’m just nervous…been smokin’ cigs, excuse me…fags, like crazy.
COP: We couldn’t find anything on the plane, but we’re gonna hold you here for a while.
BS:This is bull…ya’ best let me out of these cuffs, I got a show to do in a few days.
COP: We’ll see about that.
(The scene fades out as Boogie stands up out of his chair and gets in the cop’s face.)
GXW Insider
(FADE IN to the set of GXW Insider, hosted by Jason Grant. Grant is seated in a chair and holding a clipboard. He smiles into the camera and begins to speak.)
JG: Good evening fans and welcome to another terrific edition of GXW Insider. I’m your host Jason Grant and today’s guest has been on the show before. Lets take a look at a clip from his first show.
(The tape airs of Boogie’s intro on GXW television.)
JG: Well, I did a little in college, but since I got married and have kids…I gave it up. It left me without drive. I wouldn’t be here today if I kept smoking that stuff.
BOOGIE: It has different effects for different people. As for me? It fuels my rage, it makes me calm, it helps me balance my emotions. ‘Cuz if I didn’t smoke this…Boogie Smallz would be a very irritated individual! (Looking at Grant.) Now come on, either you hit this or you and I are gonna have issues, son. (Pauses) SMOKE THIS S(BLEEP)!
(After Boogie gives an intimidating stare at Grant, he takes the blunt from his hands and nervously takes a puff. Grant begins coughing uncontrollably and Boogie watches on laughing.)
JG: (Coughing) Can someone please get me some water? (Coughs) Are you happy now? (Coughing)
BOOGIE: (Laughing) Man, I was just f(BLEEP)in’ with you! You didn’t really have to smoke that. I was just givin’ you a hard time, dog.
(Grant looks shocked and a little angry. The effects of the toke he took begin to take effect and he now looks a little more mellowed out.)
JG: (Opening a bottle of water someone off the screen handed him.) No, its cool. I hope I don’t lose my job over this. (Drinking from the bottle.)
(The tape ends and the camera is back on Grant, live in the studio.)
JG: Folks, here he is…the GXW Television champion…BOOGIE SMALLZ!
(CUE UP: “Black Superman” by Above The Law. Boogie makes his way onto the set with a blunt in his mouth and the TV title draped over his shoulder. Grant stands up to shake his hand and Boogie starts doing some “secret” handshake that Grant has no idea what’s going on. Boogie takes a seat and props his feet up on the coffee table in front of him. The music dies down and Grant takes a seat near him.)
JG: Great to have you on the show again. I made sure to get you an ashtray this time.
BOOGIE: Thanks dawg. You wanna blaze up? (Grant shakes his head no, which Boogie shrugs his shoulders at.) Whatever…your loss.
JG: Lets get down to business. You have come a long way in a short time here and in the process you have impressed a great deal of people. Not only in management, but some of the wrestlers in the back as well. Of course when you are successful, there are others that want to try and knock you, and it seems like your opponent for Battleground Britain has been doing just that. Christian Sands has made it clear that he is going to beat you and walk out the TV champion, in just a few shorts days from now.
BOOGIE: (Puffs his blunt.) I hear so much stuff, I try to tune it out. He can think what he wants to, but look at tha facts. His last match herre was against me, which he lost, what gives him tha right to have a title shot in tha first place? Because he can beat some low-rung jobbers in SCW, I’m supposed to bow out gracefully and just hand him over my title? (Shakes his head.) Nah, Jay G, it don’t work like that. I done came up and I ain’t about to step down from tha throne!
JG: Lets go back to the last card, when you defended the title against Ricky Gant. (Clips of the match air as Grant continues to speak.) It ended in somewhat controversial fashion, as the 15 minute allotted time-limit ran out. Some would argue that you had Gant beat before the bell, but others would also say that maybe you are losing some of the steam you have built up over the half a year that you’ve been here. (Cuts back to inside the studio.) What do you think?
BOOGIE: I think that this 15 minute ish is for tha birds. If I had 30 more seconds I woulda’ had him tappin’. I just hope for GXW’s sake that they waive the time-limit for this bout, because I want a clear and decisive winner…I don’t want any excuses from Christian Sands when I beat him a second time. I hope tha suits are listenin’ and heard that. My name ain’t Tully and this ain’t 1987, with some damn Dusty finishes, ya heard!? While we’re at it, let’s have a bunkhouse stampede, too!
JG: Stampede…right. (Looks at his clipboard.)
BOOGIE: I got something to show, can I have a minute?
JG: Sure, go right ahead.
BOOGIE: Can I cue up some footage I gave tha director before tha interview? This herre I think you guys will find rather interesting. Hit it up.
(A paused image of Christian Sands appears. It is from one of his earlier promos, upon his arrival to England. The image unpauses and plays.)
SANDS: As I said before, the Sands you faced last time is All Butt Gone now.
(The tape ends and the scene cuts back to a shot of Boogie Smallz, with a smile on his face.)
BOOGIE: Let me get this right. Tha last pay per view I did, JP forces me to wear a shirt advertisin’ this crap, some futhamuckin’ anal wart remover! And Christian Sands is tha first guy to admit that he is a proud user of this product? (Winces in disgust.) You mean to tell me that all tha ish JP has been doin’ is actually workin’? Tha mutli-million dollar contract he got with this company is already payin’ off for them and it’s all thanks to Christian Sands? You are a brave man…I must admit. For you to come out on national TV, before a WorldWide pay per view and endorse your use of this product…it took some guts. I gotta tell ya’, Jay G, a guy with those kind of guts makes me a lil’ nervous for this match. If he’ll do that, what will he do to take tha TV title away from me?
JG: (Chuckling.) Whoa…excellent point there, Boogie. (Laughs and then tries to regain his composure, but continues to laugh.) We gotta take a break…stay tuned.)
(A commercial airs for All Butt Gone, with a clip of Christian Sands proclaiming his use of the product, inserted at the end.)
JG: Well it didn’t take long for JP to get a use out of that phrase. Maybe he’ll leave you alone and start getting Sands to advertise for him.
BOOGIE: I plan on squashin’ this ish real soon with JP. I expect him to have somethin’ up his sleeve for tha pay per view, but best believe I’ll be ready for whatever. (Puffs his blunt.)
JG: With all the matches on this card, a lot of folks seem to be saying that they are looking forward to this one the most. You and Sands have exchanged some very heated words with one another, and in just a short time its all gonna come to a head.
BOOGIE: I wanna address Christian Sands, straight up. I see in your eyes that you want this title. I sense it in your voice that you will go to any lengths to take it from me. But look me in my eyes, and cameraman zoom in real close so he can get a good look when he’s watchin’ this. (Boogie mean mugs the camera, with his eyes full of rage and intensity.) I don’t give a damn who you are or what you come with, but ain’t nobody takin’ this belt away from me until I feel like relinquishin’ it. You better do a job search on monster.com and get a new career lined up for your return to tha States…because if I have anything to say about it…you WON’T be returnin’ to wrestlin’ any time soon. Doubt it…say it won’t happen…but before it’s too late you better BELIEVE ‘DAT!
(Boogie walks off the set and Jason Grant sits alone in the studio.)
JG: Folks, that is your Televsion champion. We’ll be back next with our Milk Carton Corner, where we find out what happened to stars of the past that have competed in GXW. Our topic this week…John J Battles. (Sarcastically.) Oh boy…I can’t wait.
(FADE TO BLACK)
(FADE IN to the set of GXW Insider, hosted by Jason Grant. Grant is seated in a chair and holding a clipboard. He smiles into the camera and begins to speak.)
JG: Good evening fans and welcome to another terrific edition of GXW Insider. I’m your host Jason Grant and today’s guest has been on the show before. Lets take a look at a clip from his first show.
(The tape airs of Boogie’s intro on GXW television.)
JG: Well, I did a little in college, but since I got married and have kids…I gave it up. It left me without drive. I wouldn’t be here today if I kept smoking that stuff.
BOOGIE: It has different effects for different people. As for me? It fuels my rage, it makes me calm, it helps me balance my emotions. ‘Cuz if I didn’t smoke this…Boogie Smallz would be a very irritated individual! (Looking at Grant.) Now come on, either you hit this or you and I are gonna have issues, son. (Pauses) SMOKE THIS S(BLEEP)!
(After Boogie gives an intimidating stare at Grant, he takes the blunt from his hands and nervously takes a puff. Grant begins coughing uncontrollably and Boogie watches on laughing.)
JG: (Coughing) Can someone please get me some water? (Coughs) Are you happy now? (Coughing)
BOOGIE: (Laughing) Man, I was just f(BLEEP)in’ with you! You didn’t really have to smoke that. I was just givin’ you a hard time, dog.
(Grant looks shocked and a little angry. The effects of the toke he took begin to take effect and he now looks a little more mellowed out.)
JG: (Opening a bottle of water someone off the screen handed him.) No, its cool. I hope I don’t lose my job over this. (Drinking from the bottle.)
(The tape ends and the camera is back on Grant, live in the studio.)
JG: Folks, here he is…the GXW Television champion…BOOGIE SMALLZ!
(CUE UP: “Black Superman” by Above The Law. Boogie makes his way onto the set with a blunt in his mouth and the TV title draped over his shoulder. Grant stands up to shake his hand and Boogie starts doing some “secret” handshake that Grant has no idea what’s going on. Boogie takes a seat and props his feet up on the coffee table in front of him. The music dies down and Grant takes a seat near him.)
JG: Great to have you on the show again. I made sure to get you an ashtray this time.
BOOGIE: Thanks dawg. You wanna blaze up? (Grant shakes his head no, which Boogie shrugs his shoulders at.) Whatever…your loss.
JG: Lets get down to business. You have come a long way in a short time here and in the process you have impressed a great deal of people. Not only in management, but some of the wrestlers in the back as well. Of course when you are successful, there are others that want to try and knock you, and it seems like your opponent for Battleground Britain has been doing just that. Christian Sands has made it clear that he is going to beat you and walk out the TV champion, in just a few shorts days from now.
BOOGIE: (Puffs his blunt.) I hear so much stuff, I try to tune it out. He can think what he wants to, but look at tha facts. His last match herre was against me, which he lost, what gives him tha right to have a title shot in tha first place? Because he can beat some low-rung jobbers in SCW, I’m supposed to bow out gracefully and just hand him over my title? (Shakes his head.) Nah, Jay G, it don’t work like that. I done came up and I ain’t about to step down from tha throne!
JG: Lets go back to the last card, when you defended the title against Ricky Gant. (Clips of the match air as Grant continues to speak.) It ended in somewhat controversial fashion, as the 15 minute allotted time-limit ran out. Some would argue that you had Gant beat before the bell, but others would also say that maybe you are losing some of the steam you have built up over the half a year that you’ve been here. (Cuts back to inside the studio.) What do you think?
BOOGIE: I think that this 15 minute ish is for tha birds. If I had 30 more seconds I woulda’ had him tappin’. I just hope for GXW’s sake that they waive the time-limit for this bout, because I want a clear and decisive winner…I don’t want any excuses from Christian Sands when I beat him a second time. I hope tha suits are listenin’ and heard that. My name ain’t Tully and this ain’t 1987, with some damn Dusty finishes, ya heard!? While we’re at it, let’s have a bunkhouse stampede, too!
JG: Stampede…right. (Looks at his clipboard.)
BOOGIE: I got something to show, can I have a minute?
JG: Sure, go right ahead.
BOOGIE: Can I cue up some footage I gave tha director before tha interview? This herre I think you guys will find rather interesting. Hit it up.
(A paused image of Christian Sands appears. It is from one of his earlier promos, upon his arrival to England. The image unpauses and plays.)
SANDS: As I said before, the Sands you faced last time is All Butt Gone now.
(The tape ends and the scene cuts back to a shot of Boogie Smallz, with a smile on his face.)
BOOGIE: Let me get this right. Tha last pay per view I did, JP forces me to wear a shirt advertisin’ this crap, some futhamuckin’ anal wart remover! And Christian Sands is tha first guy to admit that he is a proud user of this product? (Winces in disgust.) You mean to tell me that all tha ish JP has been doin’ is actually workin’? Tha mutli-million dollar contract he got with this company is already payin’ off for them and it’s all thanks to Christian Sands? You are a brave man…I must admit. For you to come out on national TV, before a WorldWide pay per view and endorse your use of this product…it took some guts. I gotta tell ya’, Jay G, a guy with those kind of guts makes me a lil’ nervous for this match. If he’ll do that, what will he do to take tha TV title away from me?
JG: (Chuckling.) Whoa…excellent point there, Boogie. (Laughs and then tries to regain his composure, but continues to laugh.) We gotta take a break…stay tuned.)
(A commercial airs for All Butt Gone, with a clip of Christian Sands proclaiming his use of the product, inserted at the end.)
JG: Well it didn’t take long for JP to get a use out of that phrase. Maybe he’ll leave you alone and start getting Sands to advertise for him.
BOOGIE: I plan on squashin’ this ish real soon with JP. I expect him to have somethin’ up his sleeve for tha pay per view, but best believe I’ll be ready for whatever. (Puffs his blunt.)
JG: With all the matches on this card, a lot of folks seem to be saying that they are looking forward to this one the most. You and Sands have exchanged some very heated words with one another, and in just a short time its all gonna come to a head.
BOOGIE: I wanna address Christian Sands, straight up. I see in your eyes that you want this title. I sense it in your voice that you will go to any lengths to take it from me. But look me in my eyes, and cameraman zoom in real close so he can get a good look when he’s watchin’ this. (Boogie mean mugs the camera, with his eyes full of rage and intensity.) I don’t give a damn who you are or what you come with, but ain’t nobody takin’ this belt away from me until I feel like relinquishin’ it. You better do a job search on monster.com and get a new career lined up for your return to tha States…because if I have anything to say about it…you WON’T be returnin’ to wrestlin’ any time soon. Doubt it…say it won’t happen…but before it’s too late you better BELIEVE ‘DAT!
(Boogie walks off the set and Jason Grant sits alone in the studio.)
JG: Folks, that is your Televsion champion. We’ll be back next with our Milk Carton Corner, where we find out what happened to stars of the past that have competed in GXW. Our topic this week…John J Battles. (Sarcastically.) Oh boy…I can’t wait.
(FADE TO BLACK)
B
BuffBellows
Guest
The Moments Tick Away...
Static abruptly crackles across the airwaves, then gives way with a startling flicker of the screen to a black-and-white shot of Christian Sands sitting in the locker room of Wembley Stadium. He is already dressed in his ring attire and sits on a bench, his hands clasped together. The shot is tilted about fifteen degrees to the left, suggesting that Sands has placed the camera on an angle.
"The moments tick away," Sands says grimly into the camera, intensity burning in his eyes as he speak. "The moments tick away as Battleground Britain draws closer... the moments tick away as GXW steams towards slamming across the airwaves straight from this cesspool of a country that is laughingly called 'Great' Britain... and the moments tick away for Boogie Smallz' reign as Television Champion."
"It pleases me to see that Mr. Smallz has finally risen above cutting his promos in jail cells and airplane washrooms. Good. Unfortunately, no matter what sort of setting you surround a retard with, he is still a retard."
"Smallz, you are petty. If your idea of a clever insult is twisting my words to give the... impression that I advocate the product that you so proudly endorse... then I'd hate to see your idea of a stupid insult. Do take a moment to rise above your childish insults, and heed these final words of mine before our upcoming clash."
"You claim to be on a level above me... but your vision is clouded by your arrogance. You believe that no man you face can hold a candle to you, much less equal you. A shortsighted opinion... Smallz, I have said this time and time again, but perhaps this time it will sink in. People change. When we last met in the ring, I was indeed not at a level sufficient to emerge the victor. But people change... I change. You refuse to take me at my word when I say that I am now capable of dethroning you... but that's alright. If you refuse to heed my words, then I shall make my point in a tried-and-true manner... by stepping into the ring and leaving you a crippled mess. One way or the other, Boogie, my point will be driven home."
"Perhaps in the absence of the Television Title, you can look back and say to yourself, 'Why? Why did I let my foolish pride blind me to the truth?' It will give you something to consider as you fall back to toil in the lower echelons of the Onslaught card."
"Understand this, Smallz. You are not as prominent a star in this company as you claim to be. What have you accomplished that makes you such a big shot? You've squashed a few no-name losers, won a third-string title by pinning the Reaver of all people thanks to interference from a confirmed homosexual, and BARELY defeated me on one of my bad days. An... interesting list of achievements indeed. Unfortunately, that list of achievements is about to be updated. After Battleground Britain, your resume will read 'Former GXW Television Champion'. For make no mistake, Smallz: I REFUSE to fail twice. If you've paid any attention at all, you know that I am not a man accustomed to the taste of defeat. You handed me my first and only career loss, and for that I have some small amount of respect you; but respect only goes so far. That is why, despite that minimal respect, I have no qualms about ending your undefeated streak. If need be, I have no qualms about inflicting severe damage upon your body. I have absolutely no qualms about leaving you a bloody, mangled wreck. And most of all, I have absolutely no qualms whatsoever about taking your title."
"But as much as I want the Television Title, Smallz, there is something more that I want from you."
"Redemption."
"The title is simply the icing on the cake... it is the scoop of ice cream with my apple pie. It is a nice little door prize that I get to take home after I pay you back for defeating me at Onslaught. Yes, I would indeed enjoy being the Television Champion... and I will enjoy it... but above all, I will relish the reversal of fates that I will bring to pass at Battleground Britain. This time, it will not be I whose shoulders are pinned to the mat... this time, the roles are reversed. This time, you are Polonius to my Hamlet, tasting the business end of my figurative rapier. No, I'm not going to bluster and threaten to kill you. I am not childish enough to promise death in a wrestling match."
"But once I get through with you... you'll WISH that you could die in the ring."
"See you shortly... champ."
Sands reaches forward and hits something on the camera, prompting the shot to go to static...
Static abruptly crackles across the airwaves, then gives way with a startling flicker of the screen to a black-and-white shot of Christian Sands sitting in the locker room of Wembley Stadium. He is already dressed in his ring attire and sits on a bench, his hands clasped together. The shot is tilted about fifteen degrees to the left, suggesting that Sands has placed the camera on an angle.
"The moments tick away," Sands says grimly into the camera, intensity burning in his eyes as he speak. "The moments tick away as Battleground Britain draws closer... the moments tick away as GXW steams towards slamming across the airwaves straight from this cesspool of a country that is laughingly called 'Great' Britain... and the moments tick away for Boogie Smallz' reign as Television Champion."
"It pleases me to see that Mr. Smallz has finally risen above cutting his promos in jail cells and airplane washrooms. Good. Unfortunately, no matter what sort of setting you surround a retard with, he is still a retard."
"Smallz, you are petty. If your idea of a clever insult is twisting my words to give the... impression that I advocate the product that you so proudly endorse... then I'd hate to see your idea of a stupid insult. Do take a moment to rise above your childish insults, and heed these final words of mine before our upcoming clash."
"You claim to be on a level above me... but your vision is clouded by your arrogance. You believe that no man you face can hold a candle to you, much less equal you. A shortsighted opinion... Smallz, I have said this time and time again, but perhaps this time it will sink in. People change. When we last met in the ring, I was indeed not at a level sufficient to emerge the victor. But people change... I change. You refuse to take me at my word when I say that I am now capable of dethroning you... but that's alright. If you refuse to heed my words, then I shall make my point in a tried-and-true manner... by stepping into the ring and leaving you a crippled mess. One way or the other, Boogie, my point will be driven home."
"Perhaps in the absence of the Television Title, you can look back and say to yourself, 'Why? Why did I let my foolish pride blind me to the truth?' It will give you something to consider as you fall back to toil in the lower echelons of the Onslaught card."
"Understand this, Smallz. You are not as prominent a star in this company as you claim to be. What have you accomplished that makes you such a big shot? You've squashed a few no-name losers, won a third-string title by pinning the Reaver of all people thanks to interference from a confirmed homosexual, and BARELY defeated me on one of my bad days. An... interesting list of achievements indeed. Unfortunately, that list of achievements is about to be updated. After Battleground Britain, your resume will read 'Former GXW Television Champion'. For make no mistake, Smallz: I REFUSE to fail twice. If you've paid any attention at all, you know that I am not a man accustomed to the taste of defeat. You handed me my first and only career loss, and for that I have some small amount of respect you; but respect only goes so far. That is why, despite that minimal respect, I have no qualms about ending your undefeated streak. If need be, I have no qualms about inflicting severe damage upon your body. I have absolutely no qualms about leaving you a bloody, mangled wreck. And most of all, I have absolutely no qualms whatsoever about taking your title."
"But as much as I want the Television Title, Smallz, there is something more that I want from you."
"Redemption."
"The title is simply the icing on the cake... it is the scoop of ice cream with my apple pie. It is a nice little door prize that I get to take home after I pay you back for defeating me at Onslaught. Yes, I would indeed enjoy being the Television Champion... and I will enjoy it... but above all, I will relish the reversal of fates that I will bring to pass at Battleground Britain. This time, it will not be I whose shoulders are pinned to the mat... this time, the roles are reversed. This time, you are Polonius to my Hamlet, tasting the business end of my figurative rapier. No, I'm not going to bluster and threaten to kill you. I am not childish enough to promise death in a wrestling match."
"But once I get through with you... you'll WISH that you could die in the ring."
"See you shortly... champ."
Sands reaches forward and hits something on the camera, prompting the shot to go to static...