TH
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Former A1E Heavyweight Champion vs. another PTC star
ST. LOUIS: Ken Cloverleaf vs. Joe Average
- Thread starter TH
- Start date
Just an Average Joe 2: Blue Collar Blues
How is it that once you had some great, everything else seemed lackluster. Colors seemed faded, food tasted blander, and life seemed slower. It had became that way for Joseph Franklin, aka Joe Average.
Joe Average sat in a lonely apartment room. It had been a far cry from the suburban castle he once enjoyed. There wasn’t much to the apartment, just a pull out bed that Joe slept on and a walk-in kitchen. Square in the middle sat a coffee table that had to be used for more purposes than it was built for. This had been his prison. He had built it himself, brick by brick.
It had not always been that way. He had a perfect life once. He had what every American wanted; a wife, the two and a half kids, a good job, a suburban dream home on Willow Drive, and he even had a Benz. Now? Now, his wife divorced him, taking the house, and he was only able to see his children every other weekend. He had been fired from his job. His Benz, his precious Benz had been totaled in a wreck.
Joseph Franklin had been left with nothing, nothing expect a single flyer. “The flyer,” Joe growled as he sat on the couch. On the coffee table sat a sheet of paper, torn to tiny bits. It had been all that was left of the Primetime Central flyer advertising their annual tournament ‘GTT5’.
As crazy as it may have sounded, Joe blamed all his problems on that single flyer. It had been the rock that started the avalanche down the mountain. When he had been left with nothing else, he risked what he had left (his health) and entered Primetime Central’s Infinite Gauntlet for a chance to enter GTT5. It would have been such a Cinderella story, had he won that is. Having lost everything, battling with pure heart, but it had not been enough. He lost rather quickly (his lack of any actually wrestling talent) and had to retreat into his beggared apartment.
Joseph had become disenchanted. “How?” he would ask himself, over and over, sometimes thirty to forty times a day. Joe fought for the average guy, he fought for the blue class working stiff who hated his boss and longed for early retirement. Yet the average Joe had lost again to their mortal enemy, the upper class. It had been a wealthy researcher who eliminated Joe and ended his GTT5 dreams.
[Buzzzzzz….]
The noise pierced the silence like a screaming police cruiser down a lonely back street. Joe grumbled, not wanting to get up. The noise, that horrible noise, gave him a slitting migraine. Or maybe it had been the fifth of Jack he drank before passing out on the couch. Reaching over, Joe turned off the alarm clock and grabbed his ugly faded red vest that sat beside the clock.
Though still wearing the clothes from the night before, Joe threw the vest over his shoulder and stumbled out of his apartment. After a miserable half hour on the subway trains, Joe stepped out into the busy streets of New York City. Joe hated the city, having always lived in the suburbs outside the city; Joe was use to a quieter lifestyle. He enjoyed have a nice patch of bright green grass and friendly neighbors on each side, as he had in the suburbs (even though one of those friendly neighbors turned out to be a bit too ‘friendly’ with Joe’s wife). But here in the city everything had been so loud and agitated, as if everyone had been tightly wound and ready to snap. More than once Joe had already been robbed on his way back from work.
The harsh life only made Joe bitterer to the life he once had. He felt like a King or a Duke that had been dethroned. He wanted his normality back, to be just like everyone else. But he knew he had that craving inside him, something that begged for more than what he had. He would never be satisfied until he had gold, glory, and respect.
Something he would never find working behind the counter at McPapi’s Fast Burgers.
It had been simply amazing. Never before did Joe think he would ever miss working at Big Bob Browskies’ Super-U or his managers Ken and Chad. While Ken was as bubbling and worthless as any sack of manure, Chad was creepier than a Catholic Priest at a daycare. But either would be a welcomed change to his current boss; Thomas (or Tommy as everyone called him).
“So…uh…let me get…uh…some…actually no make it…uh…a number seven…teen”
Joe rolled his eyes and punched the order into the cashier. He hated the idea of ordering your food by number. It seemed so Orwell-ish. The man paid for his food and stepped aside as he waited to be served.
From behind the fryers came a mildly built boy, looking to be in his early twenties, if not his late teens. “Thomas” his name badge read. Joe sighed, he knew what was coming. “Joseph,” he said, trying his best to sound official (though it fell flatter than a Chinese Hooker). “Do you know what you just did wrong?”
He knew, and he would have had a smart ass reply to the stupid question, but Tommy was able to cut him off. “You did not ask the customer if he wanted any McFries with his order.” To further prove his point Tommy grabbed an order of fries and shook them in front of Joe. Unfortunately for Tommy the oil got on his hand, burning it, and he dropped the fries to the floor.
Joe wanted nothing more than to take Tommy by the head and dunk it into the fryer. Then again, Joe wasn’t sure if he wanted to see all the deep fryer acne that covered the junior assistant manager’s face.
Tommy grabbed one of the broken French fries and pointed it at Joe, “this is the third time today you’ve forgotten to ask them if they want their fries. Do it again and you’re demoted back to toppings.” He took a bit from the fry and turned back toward the burger station. Joe, fuming, slowly moved back to his register, having to grind his teeth to prevent him from shoving the rest of that French fry up a very unfriendly place for the junior assistant manager.
Joseph should have never turned around though. The smart thing would have been to march up to take a break, cool down, and collect himself. He had been worked up, now angry, and was in no shape for customer service; especially when the next customer had serviced his wife before.
His name was Bob, actually his real name was Robert (though he hated the name Robert and preferred Bob). He had lived next to Joe for the better part of four years there on Willow Drive. It wasn’t until one fateful day when Joe had came home early after being laid off from work to discover his neighbor in bed with his wife. Bob had sinned. He hath committed adultery. Didn’t that mean Joe could stone him? Surely somewhere it said Joe was allowed to stone him to death. Even if he could just chuckle a good sized rock at him, he would feel a bit better. Too bad Joe didn’t have a rock now.
“Oh wow! Joe, is that you?” Bob asked. His face was a mixture of surprise and unease. “You’re doing…ugh…well I see.” He tried to fake a smile but it was lost somewhere in the mist of Joe’s fist that had gone flying from over the counter. It was a solid punch, one that knocked Bob flat onto his ass. Joe looked over the counter to see blood running from Bob’s nose like a broken faucet.
“Do you want any fries with that, mother ****er?”
Customers moved back to give the man some room. Hearing the commotion, Tommy came out from the back to see the circle of fast food consumers staring at something. “What in the hell is going on here?” he demanded, looking around for the source of the interruption. He saw only Joe. “Joe!” It had not taken long for him to figure out just what had happened. “You’re fired!”
“No,” Joe told him as he shook his head, there was a slight chuckle to his voice, “I’m not fired.”
“Oh, and why not?” Though the assistant junior manager tried to sound tough, his body gave him away by cowering back.
A fist had not came at him, just a vest, name badge, and an idiotic McPapi’s hat. Tommy stared in confusion as he held the remains of Joe’s employment.
“Because I quit!”
Joe turned away and started to walk out. Slowly the people that had gathered around Bob moved away to give Joe room. He made no eye contact though, instead he kept his gaze on the door and left McPapi’s, vowing never to return.
The air outside felt more crisp than it had before he came into work. Taking in a deep breath, Joe felt alive for the first time in a very long time. Something just felt right, releasing his anger like that. His parents had always told him that expressing anger was wrong and that violence was not the answer. That had not felt wrong or evil to Joe. It felt natural.
Joe just knew that humans weren’t suppose to bottle their emotions up and seal them away. They were meant to live, and live to the fullest.
The tie had started to choke him. He felt it become harder to breath. Joe loosened the tie around his neck until it was removed from around his neck. He looked at the idiotic tie McPapi’s made him wear. It had green cloverleaves on a white background. Joe rubbed his neck, taking in a deep breath of fall air. Cutting down a back alley, Joe threw the tie into the nearest trash can.
“Hey, did you hear?”
Joe froze, looking around for the source of the noise. He thought of backing away and leaving quietly, but something told him to say. Like a voice inside of him speaking, commanding him to stay. Joe peered around the corner to see two of his former co-workers of McPapi’s. They were younger than Joe, each in their late teens. “Slackers”, Joe thought to himself. The two were always hanging out in the back instead of doing their work. Not that it mattered, they usually came to work too stoned to work anyways.
“About the new wrestling school opening up?”
Ken, the smaller of the two, jumped onto the trash can and leaned against the brick wall. “Yeah, it just opened. It is suppose to be a private school. Going to be actually here in New York City.”
The blood started to pump in Joe’s veins. “A new wrestling school?” he thought to himself, “this could be my chance.” Joe could not help but feel excited. He knew he needed experience if he ever wanted to actually get a second chance after his lost in Infinite Gauntlet, Joe had just never knew where to go for that experience. It was a sad fact that Joe had been so out of touch with the wrestling community that the idea of a school to train you was foreign to him.
“Isn’t it ran by that former Global champion?” Ken's stoner buddy Hoyt asked. Hoyt looked around, possibly feeling the eyes of Joe on him. “Uh, what’s his name?”
“Chris Storm,” came the quick shot reply. The name didn’t ring any bells in Joe, but then again Joe had about as much knowledge of wrestling as he had of advanced physics. “There is supposed to be some kind of try-out tomorrow down at Vick’s Gym around noon.”
Ken pulled a tennis ball he stole from the local country club, and started to bounce it off the brick wall opposite him. Hoyt watched with increasing anxiety as the ball got closer and closer to his head. Joe moved back, feeling his presence might have been the reason for Hoyt’s edginess.
“So you want to go check it out?” Ken finally asked; his voice nearly lost between the raps of the ball against the wall.
Looking over his shoulder (for the third time now), Hoyt just shook his head, “nah, I hear that guy isn’t so great anyways. I would rather spend the day smoking that bag I got yesterday.”
With that, Ken's eyes grew to twice their normal size. “You still got some of that ****?” he asked, drool already forming at the corners of his mouth. “**** the second half of our shift then, let’s go smoke that ****.” Ken hoped off his trash can and pocketed the tennis ball, just as he had removed it.
Once the two were out of view, Joe stepped forward out of the darkness. His fist was clinched at his side in a ball. Joe wore a satisfied grin. This was great. He would get his second chance at stardom now. He would capture his spotlight for sure. All he needed was for this ‘Global Champion’ to train him and he would be on his way. After all, he had passion. He had desire. What more did he need? Right?
Part Three: Day of Training coming soon…
How is it that once you had some great, everything else seemed lackluster. Colors seemed faded, food tasted blander, and life seemed slower. It had became that way for Joseph Franklin, aka Joe Average.
Joe Average sat in a lonely apartment room. It had been a far cry from the suburban castle he once enjoyed. There wasn’t much to the apartment, just a pull out bed that Joe slept on and a walk-in kitchen. Square in the middle sat a coffee table that had to be used for more purposes than it was built for. This had been his prison. He had built it himself, brick by brick.
It had not always been that way. He had a perfect life once. He had what every American wanted; a wife, the two and a half kids, a good job, a suburban dream home on Willow Drive, and he even had a Benz. Now? Now, his wife divorced him, taking the house, and he was only able to see his children every other weekend. He had been fired from his job. His Benz, his precious Benz had been totaled in a wreck.
Joseph Franklin had been left with nothing, nothing expect a single flyer. “The flyer,” Joe growled as he sat on the couch. On the coffee table sat a sheet of paper, torn to tiny bits. It had been all that was left of the Primetime Central flyer advertising their annual tournament ‘GTT5’.
As crazy as it may have sounded, Joe blamed all his problems on that single flyer. It had been the rock that started the avalanche down the mountain. When he had been left with nothing else, he risked what he had left (his health) and entered Primetime Central’s Infinite Gauntlet for a chance to enter GTT5. It would have been such a Cinderella story, had he won that is. Having lost everything, battling with pure heart, but it had not been enough. He lost rather quickly (his lack of any actually wrestling talent) and had to retreat into his beggared apartment.
Joseph had become disenchanted. “How?” he would ask himself, over and over, sometimes thirty to forty times a day. Joe fought for the average guy, he fought for the blue class working stiff who hated his boss and longed for early retirement. Yet the average Joe had lost again to their mortal enemy, the upper class. It had been a wealthy researcher who eliminated Joe and ended his GTT5 dreams.
[Buzzzzzz….]
The noise pierced the silence like a screaming police cruiser down a lonely back street. Joe grumbled, not wanting to get up. The noise, that horrible noise, gave him a slitting migraine. Or maybe it had been the fifth of Jack he drank before passing out on the couch. Reaching over, Joe turned off the alarm clock and grabbed his ugly faded red vest that sat beside the clock.
Though still wearing the clothes from the night before, Joe threw the vest over his shoulder and stumbled out of his apartment. After a miserable half hour on the subway trains, Joe stepped out into the busy streets of New York City. Joe hated the city, having always lived in the suburbs outside the city; Joe was use to a quieter lifestyle. He enjoyed have a nice patch of bright green grass and friendly neighbors on each side, as he had in the suburbs (even though one of those friendly neighbors turned out to be a bit too ‘friendly’ with Joe’s wife). But here in the city everything had been so loud and agitated, as if everyone had been tightly wound and ready to snap. More than once Joe had already been robbed on his way back from work.
The harsh life only made Joe bitterer to the life he once had. He felt like a King or a Duke that had been dethroned. He wanted his normality back, to be just like everyone else. But he knew he had that craving inside him, something that begged for more than what he had. He would never be satisfied until he had gold, glory, and respect.
Something he would never find working behind the counter at McPapi’s Fast Burgers.
It had been simply amazing. Never before did Joe think he would ever miss working at Big Bob Browskies’ Super-U or his managers Ken and Chad. While Ken was as bubbling and worthless as any sack of manure, Chad was creepier than a Catholic Priest at a daycare. But either would be a welcomed change to his current boss; Thomas (or Tommy as everyone called him).
“So…uh…let me get…uh…some…actually no make it…uh…a number seven…teen”
Joe rolled his eyes and punched the order into the cashier. He hated the idea of ordering your food by number. It seemed so Orwell-ish. The man paid for his food and stepped aside as he waited to be served.
From behind the fryers came a mildly built boy, looking to be in his early twenties, if not his late teens. “Thomas” his name badge read. Joe sighed, he knew what was coming. “Joseph,” he said, trying his best to sound official (though it fell flatter than a Chinese Hooker). “Do you know what you just did wrong?”
He knew, and he would have had a smart ass reply to the stupid question, but Tommy was able to cut him off. “You did not ask the customer if he wanted any McFries with his order.” To further prove his point Tommy grabbed an order of fries and shook them in front of Joe. Unfortunately for Tommy the oil got on his hand, burning it, and he dropped the fries to the floor.
Joe wanted nothing more than to take Tommy by the head and dunk it into the fryer. Then again, Joe wasn’t sure if he wanted to see all the deep fryer acne that covered the junior assistant manager’s face.
Tommy grabbed one of the broken French fries and pointed it at Joe, “this is the third time today you’ve forgotten to ask them if they want their fries. Do it again and you’re demoted back to toppings.” He took a bit from the fry and turned back toward the burger station. Joe, fuming, slowly moved back to his register, having to grind his teeth to prevent him from shoving the rest of that French fry up a very unfriendly place for the junior assistant manager.
Joseph should have never turned around though. The smart thing would have been to march up to take a break, cool down, and collect himself. He had been worked up, now angry, and was in no shape for customer service; especially when the next customer had serviced his wife before.
His name was Bob, actually his real name was Robert (though he hated the name Robert and preferred Bob). He had lived next to Joe for the better part of four years there on Willow Drive. It wasn’t until one fateful day when Joe had came home early after being laid off from work to discover his neighbor in bed with his wife. Bob had sinned. He hath committed adultery. Didn’t that mean Joe could stone him? Surely somewhere it said Joe was allowed to stone him to death. Even if he could just chuckle a good sized rock at him, he would feel a bit better. Too bad Joe didn’t have a rock now.
“Oh wow! Joe, is that you?” Bob asked. His face was a mixture of surprise and unease. “You’re doing…ugh…well I see.” He tried to fake a smile but it was lost somewhere in the mist of Joe’s fist that had gone flying from over the counter. It was a solid punch, one that knocked Bob flat onto his ass. Joe looked over the counter to see blood running from Bob’s nose like a broken faucet.
“Do you want any fries with that, mother ****er?”
Customers moved back to give the man some room. Hearing the commotion, Tommy came out from the back to see the circle of fast food consumers staring at something. “What in the hell is going on here?” he demanded, looking around for the source of the interruption. He saw only Joe. “Joe!” It had not taken long for him to figure out just what had happened. “You’re fired!”
“No,” Joe told him as he shook his head, there was a slight chuckle to his voice, “I’m not fired.”
“Oh, and why not?” Though the assistant junior manager tried to sound tough, his body gave him away by cowering back.
A fist had not came at him, just a vest, name badge, and an idiotic McPapi’s hat. Tommy stared in confusion as he held the remains of Joe’s employment.
“Because I quit!”
Joe turned away and started to walk out. Slowly the people that had gathered around Bob moved away to give Joe room. He made no eye contact though, instead he kept his gaze on the door and left McPapi’s, vowing never to return.
The air outside felt more crisp than it had before he came into work. Taking in a deep breath, Joe felt alive for the first time in a very long time. Something just felt right, releasing his anger like that. His parents had always told him that expressing anger was wrong and that violence was not the answer. That had not felt wrong or evil to Joe. It felt natural.
Joe just knew that humans weren’t suppose to bottle their emotions up and seal them away. They were meant to live, and live to the fullest.
The tie had started to choke him. He felt it become harder to breath. Joe loosened the tie around his neck until it was removed from around his neck. He looked at the idiotic tie McPapi’s made him wear. It had green cloverleaves on a white background. Joe rubbed his neck, taking in a deep breath of fall air. Cutting down a back alley, Joe threw the tie into the nearest trash can.
“Hey, did you hear?”
Joe froze, looking around for the source of the noise. He thought of backing away and leaving quietly, but something told him to say. Like a voice inside of him speaking, commanding him to stay. Joe peered around the corner to see two of his former co-workers of McPapi’s. They were younger than Joe, each in their late teens. “Slackers”, Joe thought to himself. The two were always hanging out in the back instead of doing their work. Not that it mattered, they usually came to work too stoned to work anyways.
“About the new wrestling school opening up?”
Ken, the smaller of the two, jumped onto the trash can and leaned against the brick wall. “Yeah, it just opened. It is suppose to be a private school. Going to be actually here in New York City.”
The blood started to pump in Joe’s veins. “A new wrestling school?” he thought to himself, “this could be my chance.” Joe could not help but feel excited. He knew he needed experience if he ever wanted to actually get a second chance after his lost in Infinite Gauntlet, Joe had just never knew where to go for that experience. It was a sad fact that Joe had been so out of touch with the wrestling community that the idea of a school to train you was foreign to him.
“Isn’t it ran by that former Global champion?” Ken's stoner buddy Hoyt asked. Hoyt looked around, possibly feeling the eyes of Joe on him. “Uh, what’s his name?”
“Chris Storm,” came the quick shot reply. The name didn’t ring any bells in Joe, but then again Joe had about as much knowledge of wrestling as he had of advanced physics. “There is supposed to be some kind of try-out tomorrow down at Vick’s Gym around noon.”
Ken pulled a tennis ball he stole from the local country club, and started to bounce it off the brick wall opposite him. Hoyt watched with increasing anxiety as the ball got closer and closer to his head. Joe moved back, feeling his presence might have been the reason for Hoyt’s edginess.
“So you want to go check it out?” Ken finally asked; his voice nearly lost between the raps of the ball against the wall.
Looking over his shoulder (for the third time now), Hoyt just shook his head, “nah, I hear that guy isn’t so great anyways. I would rather spend the day smoking that bag I got yesterday.”
With that, Ken's eyes grew to twice their normal size. “You still got some of that ****?” he asked, drool already forming at the corners of his mouth. “**** the second half of our shift then, let’s go smoke that ****.” Ken hoped off his trash can and pocketed the tennis ball, just as he had removed it.
Once the two were out of view, Joe stepped forward out of the darkness. His fist was clinched at his side in a ball. Joe wore a satisfied grin. This was great. He would get his second chance at stardom now. He would capture his spotlight for sure. All he needed was for this ‘Global Champion’ to train him and he would be on his way. After all, he had passion. He had desire. What more did he need? Right?
Part Three: Day of Training coming soon…
kcloverleaf
League Member
Dumb & Dumber
"Boy...you are one pathetic loser."
Fade into an empty room that once held a press conference. Chairs that were once in perfect, straight lines are now out of alignment, and packets of paper are on some of the chairs while others are strewn about on the floor. A podium with a microphone is still at the front of the room with the TEAM backdrop behind it. Suddenly, a door from the side of the room opens, and everybody's favorite perfect, outstanding superstar Ken Cloverleaf walks toward the podium dressed in street clothes. He adjusts the microphone, clears his throat and begins to speak.
KC:You know, I got a call on my cell phone the other day...
And it was from one of my good friends telling me that a new federation called TEAM was opening its doors, and they need a star to build their promotion around.
Especially with the gigantic TEAM Invitational tournament coming up...
And who could blame my good pal for coming to me. I mean, what better wrestler, than a perfect, outstanding, superstar like Ken Cloverleaf could anybody choose to develop an entire federation around.
So seeing that I am CLEARLY the best superstar to ever grace a professional wrestling ring and obvious choice to become the sturdy foundation that launches this new promotion to heights it can only dream of reaching, I decided to oblige...
But nothing could prepare me for what was about to happen...
Ken pauses for a moment, and takes a deep breath before he continues
KC: As soon as I stepped foot in the door, I realized this place was in trouble...big time trouble...
And without the sheer presence of Ken Cloverleaf, or even the mention of my name, we may not be having this tournament...
So to make things even easier for their star performer, the TEAM higher-ups decided to give Ken Cloverleaf the equivilent of a first-round bye, and drag some poor sucker off the street, to let me pound the crap out of him for about five minutes before I send him home.
Now don't get me wrong, I appreciate the gesture from the big wigs...really I do...
Problem is, this guy doesn't realize the big picture of things, and thinks he has a chance at winning this match...
Ken takes another deep breath while he shakes his head in disgust and moves on
KC: Plain and simple, this guy is a pretty big waste of life...
His wife's a big slut, and knows that he is a loser, he worked at a fast-food restauraunt, but he couldn't even do that right, and now he thinks that he can just magically transform himself from a piece of garbage into a professional wrestler overnight.
It's not going to happen. Especially against one of the greatest wrestlers in the entire world buddy.
And you will fail at professional wrestling, just like you failed at everything else you ever did in your life...
I suggest that you crumple up that wrestling flyer and throw it away...
Because when we step into the ring, I'm going to teach you things that Chris Storm doesn't even know, and could never learn even if I trained him...
Face it buddy, you're getting a world-class, ass kicking free of charge this week because I actually feel bad for you, and that's the kind of nice guy that I am.
So enjoy your time getting your ass handed to you in the ring this week with one of professional wrestling's legends...
Maybe I'll decide to break your legs...
Dislocate your jaw...
Or even snap your neck out there this week...depends on what kind of mood I'm in...
One thing is for certain...
This will be the best five minutes that you ever had in your entire life...
Fade out
"Boy...you are one pathetic loser."
Fade into an empty room that once held a press conference. Chairs that were once in perfect, straight lines are now out of alignment, and packets of paper are on some of the chairs while others are strewn about on the floor. A podium with a microphone is still at the front of the room with the TEAM backdrop behind it. Suddenly, a door from the side of the room opens, and everybody's favorite perfect, outstanding superstar Ken Cloverleaf walks toward the podium dressed in street clothes. He adjusts the microphone, clears his throat and begins to speak.
KC:You know, I got a call on my cell phone the other day...
And it was from one of my good friends telling me that a new federation called TEAM was opening its doors, and they need a star to build their promotion around.
Especially with the gigantic TEAM Invitational tournament coming up...
And who could blame my good pal for coming to me. I mean, what better wrestler, than a perfect, outstanding, superstar like Ken Cloverleaf could anybody choose to develop an entire federation around.
So seeing that I am CLEARLY the best superstar to ever grace a professional wrestling ring and obvious choice to become the sturdy foundation that launches this new promotion to heights it can only dream of reaching, I decided to oblige...
But nothing could prepare me for what was about to happen...
Ken pauses for a moment, and takes a deep breath before he continues
KC: As soon as I stepped foot in the door, I realized this place was in trouble...big time trouble...
And without the sheer presence of Ken Cloverleaf, or even the mention of my name, we may not be having this tournament...
So to make things even easier for their star performer, the TEAM higher-ups decided to give Ken Cloverleaf the equivilent of a first-round bye, and drag some poor sucker off the street, to let me pound the crap out of him for about five minutes before I send him home.
Now don't get me wrong, I appreciate the gesture from the big wigs...really I do...
Problem is, this guy doesn't realize the big picture of things, and thinks he has a chance at winning this match...
Ken takes another deep breath while he shakes his head in disgust and moves on
KC: Plain and simple, this guy is a pretty big waste of life...
His wife's a big slut, and knows that he is a loser, he worked at a fast-food restauraunt, but he couldn't even do that right, and now he thinks that he can just magically transform himself from a piece of garbage into a professional wrestler overnight.
It's not going to happen. Especially against one of the greatest wrestlers in the entire world buddy.
And you will fail at professional wrestling, just like you failed at everything else you ever did in your life...
I suggest that you crumple up that wrestling flyer and throw it away...
Because when we step into the ring, I'm going to teach you things that Chris Storm doesn't even know, and could never learn even if I trained him...
Face it buddy, you're getting a world-class, ass kicking free of charge this week because I actually feel bad for you, and that's the kind of nice guy that I am.
So enjoy your time getting your ass handed to you in the ring this week with one of professional wrestling's legends...
Maybe I'll decide to break your legs...
Dislocate your jaw...
Or even snap your neck out there this week...depends on what kind of mood I'm in...
One thing is for certain...
This will be the best five minutes that you ever had in your entire life...
Fade out
Just an Average Joe: Day of Training
They said you only get one chance in life. The problem was that Joe had already used his one shot and failed. He needed a second chance to rectify his dire situation. He needed to realize his goal. He only had two things in life as was, his health and his goal.
Anxiety filled Joe as he stood outside the old worn down gym. He knew inside those walls was his goal.
Someone brushed by Joe, pushing him aside. “Watch it, buddy!” Joe said nothing, but rather grinded his teeth. He hated being pushed aside as if he was nothing, just because he didn’t walk with 250 pounds of muscles slapped on his body. Joe caught the door before it closed and followed in behind the rude man.
Inside the gym had been just like any other in America. It was clean and had an assortment of different machines covering the floor. There was a door off to the back corner that had a small sign taped to it. Joe followed a few guys through the door where they entered a back room of the gym. In the side of the room was a large ring, much more like a boxing ring than a wrestling ring. There were rows of chairs set up in front of the ring.
A man with blond dyed hair sat on the apron of the ring and watched each person as they entered, studying them. Joe had no doubts that the person had to be Chris Storm. He certainly looked the part of a professional wrestler. He had the bronzed body, muscles rippling from every inch, yet at the same time he seemed tired. Like his body had been through so much already and he just wanted to crawl into a bed and go to sleep.
“If everyone wants to take a seat, we can get started,” the man called out. Slowly the various people started to fill into the available chairs. When everyone was settled in Joe counted a total of eleven people (including himself) that were there. One of them had arrived late, to which Storm gave him a look that should have killed the man on the spot.
Joe took a moment to look over the others there. It made him feel out of place horrible. He did not have the bodybuilder look many of them had. They were all wearing t-shirts supporting various famous wrestlers or organizations. Joe just had on his Disney World t-shirt he had bought when him and his family visited two summers ago. Feeling like he shouldn’t have bothered to even show up, Joe sank into his chair in hopes of being ignored.
“So, how many of you here have actually wrestled a match in front of an audience before?” The question seemed to have caught the people off guard, as no one raised their hand. Joe looked around surprised. Out of all the muscle-bound people here, little Joe Franklin was the only one to have even competed in a real match before?
Joe returned to sitting upright and proudly held his hand in the air. Chris looked over at him out of the corner of his eye. “Ok, tell us about it then.”
“Uh,” Joe started, not knowing just what to say, “I saw this advertisement for something called the GTT5 so I entered an this open invitation match called Infinite Gauntlet. The winner was suppose to be proposed a spot in GTT5. I lost though, pretty badly in fact.”
Joe looked around. All the others seemed in awe of his short story. Chris brushed it off with a bit of laughter.
“Ah yes,” he said, “I remember that match. There was a number of unknown people in that match.”
‘He knew of the match?’ Joe thought to himself, shocked. “Uh how did you know of the match, sir?”
Chris used the ropes and pulled himself upright so that he now stood on the apron. Standing above all the people there, it made Chris seem larger than life (which undoubtedly was the effect he was going for). “In case you didn’t know, that match you had was sponsored by Primetime Central. And I just so happened to be a former Global Champion, or as some would call it, World champion of PTC. So I tend to keep tabs on the place.”
Joe smiled to himself, he left like he was just used so that Chris could boast about his own accomplishments. Hopefully that edge of experience would help him when Chris decided who to train.
After a short monologue about the hardships of life as a wrestler, Chris ordered all the people into the ring for bump work. One by one he had them perform (or in some of the people’s cases, attempt to perform) a front flip onto their back. After that, Chris had them go through a series of drills that tested each area of their wrestling knowledge. Joe felt he had did well enough, but was still nervous none the less. He knew some of the others were able to catch on to different things Chris showed him better than he had.
Three hours passed (with only one stop for a break) and Chris finally stopped everyone. “That is enough for today. I feel I have enough information to make my decision. The person I decide to train will know by tomorrow. Everyone is dismissed.” Like that it had came to an end. As everyone started to file out, complaining about a sore this or an aching that, Joe took a seat in one of the steel chairs by the ring. He allowed his head to drop into his hands.
As everyone left, Chris started to put everything away. Turning to grab the chairs, he noticed Joe still there. “Average, right?”
“Uh?” Joe asked, finally noticing Chris was still there.
“That is what you wrestled under right? Joe Average I believe.” Chris had a warm and friendly smile on his face, something Joe had not seen from anyone in this harsh city in a long time.
“Oh yeah, it was something the booker called me when doing the advertising material for the match. Felt Joe Franklin wasn’t that appealing.”
Chris laughed and took a seat next to Joe, “yeah, those bookers don’t usually like to yes real names. Which is good as it helps to protect identities. You know though, I use to know a guy wrestling under the name Joe Average.”
Joe’s eyes grew three sizes larger. ‘Someone else had the same name?’
“He was a good guy, hell he made the Hall of Fame for the WIW. I don’t know him personally granted. I just remember him through conversations. You see the guy who trained me use to tag up with Joe.”
The air went silent. Joe wasn’t really sure what to say. It felt weird knowing that someone else wrestled under the same name. More so that they were famous with the name. It made Joe feel like he had suddenly fallen into someone’s shadow, and a rather large shadow at that. Joe knew he needed help now if he ever wanted to live up to the level of the original Joe Average.
“Are you going to train me?” Joe finally asked. His hungry eyes stayed locked on Chris, like a street dog on a butcher’s bone.
Chris looked down, “I’m sorry” he said solemnly. “You are good, and could even be a professional wrestler with the right training. But I don’t have enough time to train someone like you. I need a guy who will learn fast and can easily pick up the basics.”
Joe felt crushed inside. He could feel his goals slipping from his, his second chance disappearing. He had tried so hard, yet still came up short.
Chris patted him on the shoulder and pulled himself up. “Look,” Chris said, pulling something out of his pocket. “There is this open tournament. I tell you what, you win the tournament and I’ll train you. If for nothing else, it will get you scouted and more experience.”
Chris placed the entry form into Joe’s hands and gave him another pat on the shoulder before walking off. Joe stayed there, in that chair, and looked over the entry form. That same anger he felt at the McPapi’s started to over come him. He had decided at that moment, that if he was going to become a professional wrestler, he was going to have to do it on his own.
Joe walked out of the room to the membership desk at the gym and grabbed one of their pens. He started to fill out the form.
“TEAM, here I come.”
They said you only get one chance in life. The problem was that Joe had already used his one shot and failed. He needed a second chance to rectify his dire situation. He needed to realize his goal. He only had two things in life as was, his health and his goal.
Anxiety filled Joe as he stood outside the old worn down gym. He knew inside those walls was his goal.
Someone brushed by Joe, pushing him aside. “Watch it, buddy!” Joe said nothing, but rather grinded his teeth. He hated being pushed aside as if he was nothing, just because he didn’t walk with 250 pounds of muscles slapped on his body. Joe caught the door before it closed and followed in behind the rude man.
Inside the gym had been just like any other in America. It was clean and had an assortment of different machines covering the floor. There was a door off to the back corner that had a small sign taped to it. Joe followed a few guys through the door where they entered a back room of the gym. In the side of the room was a large ring, much more like a boxing ring than a wrestling ring. There were rows of chairs set up in front of the ring.
A man with blond dyed hair sat on the apron of the ring and watched each person as they entered, studying them. Joe had no doubts that the person had to be Chris Storm. He certainly looked the part of a professional wrestler. He had the bronzed body, muscles rippling from every inch, yet at the same time he seemed tired. Like his body had been through so much already and he just wanted to crawl into a bed and go to sleep.
“If everyone wants to take a seat, we can get started,” the man called out. Slowly the various people started to fill into the available chairs. When everyone was settled in Joe counted a total of eleven people (including himself) that were there. One of them had arrived late, to which Storm gave him a look that should have killed the man on the spot.
Joe took a moment to look over the others there. It made him feel out of place horrible. He did not have the bodybuilder look many of them had. They were all wearing t-shirts supporting various famous wrestlers or organizations. Joe just had on his Disney World t-shirt he had bought when him and his family visited two summers ago. Feeling like he shouldn’t have bothered to even show up, Joe sank into his chair in hopes of being ignored.
“So, how many of you here have actually wrestled a match in front of an audience before?” The question seemed to have caught the people off guard, as no one raised their hand. Joe looked around surprised. Out of all the muscle-bound people here, little Joe Franklin was the only one to have even competed in a real match before?
Joe returned to sitting upright and proudly held his hand in the air. Chris looked over at him out of the corner of his eye. “Ok, tell us about it then.”
“Uh,” Joe started, not knowing just what to say, “I saw this advertisement for something called the GTT5 so I entered an this open invitation match called Infinite Gauntlet. The winner was suppose to be proposed a spot in GTT5. I lost though, pretty badly in fact.”
Joe looked around. All the others seemed in awe of his short story. Chris brushed it off with a bit of laughter.
“Ah yes,” he said, “I remember that match. There was a number of unknown people in that match.”
‘He knew of the match?’ Joe thought to himself, shocked. “Uh how did you know of the match, sir?”
Chris used the ropes and pulled himself upright so that he now stood on the apron. Standing above all the people there, it made Chris seem larger than life (which undoubtedly was the effect he was going for). “In case you didn’t know, that match you had was sponsored by Primetime Central. And I just so happened to be a former Global Champion, or as some would call it, World champion of PTC. So I tend to keep tabs on the place.”
Joe smiled to himself, he left like he was just used so that Chris could boast about his own accomplishments. Hopefully that edge of experience would help him when Chris decided who to train.
After a short monologue about the hardships of life as a wrestler, Chris ordered all the people into the ring for bump work. One by one he had them perform (or in some of the people’s cases, attempt to perform) a front flip onto their back. After that, Chris had them go through a series of drills that tested each area of their wrestling knowledge. Joe felt he had did well enough, but was still nervous none the less. He knew some of the others were able to catch on to different things Chris showed him better than he had.
Three hours passed (with only one stop for a break) and Chris finally stopped everyone. “That is enough for today. I feel I have enough information to make my decision. The person I decide to train will know by tomorrow. Everyone is dismissed.” Like that it had came to an end. As everyone started to file out, complaining about a sore this or an aching that, Joe took a seat in one of the steel chairs by the ring. He allowed his head to drop into his hands.
As everyone left, Chris started to put everything away. Turning to grab the chairs, he noticed Joe still there. “Average, right?”
“Uh?” Joe asked, finally noticing Chris was still there.
“That is what you wrestled under right? Joe Average I believe.” Chris had a warm and friendly smile on his face, something Joe had not seen from anyone in this harsh city in a long time.
“Oh yeah, it was something the booker called me when doing the advertising material for the match. Felt Joe Franklin wasn’t that appealing.”
Chris laughed and took a seat next to Joe, “yeah, those bookers don’t usually like to yes real names. Which is good as it helps to protect identities. You know though, I use to know a guy wrestling under the name Joe Average.”
Joe’s eyes grew three sizes larger. ‘Someone else had the same name?’
“He was a good guy, hell he made the Hall of Fame for the WIW. I don’t know him personally granted. I just remember him through conversations. You see the guy who trained me use to tag up with Joe.”
The air went silent. Joe wasn’t really sure what to say. It felt weird knowing that someone else wrestled under the same name. More so that they were famous with the name. It made Joe feel like he had suddenly fallen into someone’s shadow, and a rather large shadow at that. Joe knew he needed help now if he ever wanted to live up to the level of the original Joe Average.
“Are you going to train me?” Joe finally asked. His hungry eyes stayed locked on Chris, like a street dog on a butcher’s bone.
Chris looked down, “I’m sorry” he said solemnly. “You are good, and could even be a professional wrestler with the right training. But I don’t have enough time to train someone like you. I need a guy who will learn fast and can easily pick up the basics.”
Joe felt crushed inside. He could feel his goals slipping from his, his second chance disappearing. He had tried so hard, yet still came up short.
Chris patted him on the shoulder and pulled himself up. “Look,” Chris said, pulling something out of his pocket. “There is this open tournament. I tell you what, you win the tournament and I’ll train you. If for nothing else, it will get you scouted and more experience.”
Chris placed the entry form into Joe’s hands and gave him another pat on the shoulder before walking off. Joe stayed there, in that chair, and looked over the entry form. That same anger he felt at the McPapi’s started to over come him. He had decided at that moment, that if he was going to become a professional wrestler, he was going to have to do it on his own.
Joe walked out of the room to the membership desk at the gym and grabbed one of their pens. He started to fill out the form.
“TEAM, here I come.”
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kcloverleaf
League Member
The impossibility of reason
Fade into a luxurious hotel room of the Ritz-Carlton in St. Louis. Joe Average's latest segment is playing on the television in front of Ken Cloverleaf, who is resting in a hot tub. Ken leans back, and laughs to himself, shaking his head as he begins to speak.
KC: You just don't get it do you?
You're not any good!
You're a loser! A waste of life who will never amount to anything!
That talentless hack Chris Storm even knows it himself, but he was nice enough to sugarcoat it for you by saying that "With proper training then maybe...just maybe one day you'll become a professional wrestler."
Well I'm not going to beat around the bush Joe, I'm going to do you a favor, and tell you the truth...
After watching you bump in the middle of the ring in that little soap opera you gave all of us, you might be the worst professional wrestler I ever saw in my illustrious career...
You should probably save all the heartache that is coming your way after I defeat you this week, and just kill yourself now...
We can all see it...
And deep down inside, even Storm knows you will never get anywhere with his training...
He even said it himself whenever he told you that he didn't have enough time to train anybody like YOU, and he needed somebody who could learn fast, and pick up the BASICS!
THE BASICS Joe!
If you can't pick up an elementary back bump with ease, you might as well quit professional wrestling right now...
And keep in mind YOU are the ONLY person in your class to ever compete in a professional wrestling ring, and you STILL aren't good enough!
And that free ticket to training by Storm doesn't mean a thing because you aren't going to even make it past the first five minutes of this match let alone win the tournament, and he knows it too.
Why do you think he gave you the offer? Because he likes you?
Let's face it kid, nobody likes you...
That offer by Storm is like me telling you that I'm going to throw you head first off the Gateway Arch, and if you survive I will train you myself...
Hell, I don't want to train you, and neither does he, I'd much rather see you dead as would Chris Storm, and that's why you're facing Ken Cloverleaf in the center of the ring this week...
Because I'm going to dismantle you, and demolish your self-worth, and self-esteem so badly that it will most likely drive you to suicide...
And not only will you lose this match...
But you will lose your second chance at life...
You will lose your goal of becoming a professional wrestler...
And if you're lucky, you might even lose your health...
Fade out
Fade into a luxurious hotel room of the Ritz-Carlton in St. Louis. Joe Average's latest segment is playing on the television in front of Ken Cloverleaf, who is resting in a hot tub. Ken leans back, and laughs to himself, shaking his head as he begins to speak.
KC: You just don't get it do you?
You're not any good!
You're a loser! A waste of life who will never amount to anything!
That talentless hack Chris Storm even knows it himself, but he was nice enough to sugarcoat it for you by saying that "With proper training then maybe...just maybe one day you'll become a professional wrestler."
Well I'm not going to beat around the bush Joe, I'm going to do you a favor, and tell you the truth...
After watching you bump in the middle of the ring in that little soap opera you gave all of us, you might be the worst professional wrestler I ever saw in my illustrious career...
You should probably save all the heartache that is coming your way after I defeat you this week, and just kill yourself now...
We can all see it...
And deep down inside, even Storm knows you will never get anywhere with his training...
He even said it himself whenever he told you that he didn't have enough time to train anybody like YOU, and he needed somebody who could learn fast, and pick up the BASICS!
THE BASICS Joe!
If you can't pick up an elementary back bump with ease, you might as well quit professional wrestling right now...
And keep in mind YOU are the ONLY person in your class to ever compete in a professional wrestling ring, and you STILL aren't good enough!
And that free ticket to training by Storm doesn't mean a thing because you aren't going to even make it past the first five minutes of this match let alone win the tournament, and he knows it too.
Why do you think he gave you the offer? Because he likes you?
Let's face it kid, nobody likes you...
That offer by Storm is like me telling you that I'm going to throw you head first off the Gateway Arch, and if you survive I will train you myself...
Hell, I don't want to train you, and neither does he, I'd much rather see you dead as would Chris Storm, and that's why you're facing Ken Cloverleaf in the center of the ring this week...
Because I'm going to dismantle you, and demolish your self-worth, and self-esteem so badly that it will most likely drive you to suicide...
And not only will you lose this match...
But you will lose your second chance at life...
You will lose your goal of becoming a professional wrestler...
And if you're lucky, you might even lose your health...
Fade out
*Dunno if the deadline is past or not, but I had this wrote during the weekend when I found out about the extension but I wasn't able to post it due to my girlfriend having two games this weekend. I just want to post it to keep the storyline going. Hopefully I made the deadline though. 
*
He had failed. It was twice now he had failed to accomplish what he had set out to do. He had failed to place into the GTT5 and he had failed to get the training he felt he needed. Sadly this had started to become a trend for Joe. Something he wanted to break desperately.
The taxi cab pulled up to the building and Joe paid the driver. Stepping out of the cab, he looked up at the building that served as the post for the TEAM Open Tournament. After faxing in his application, TEAM had mailed him a letter about reporting for match placement. Joe had showed up to know who he would be facing in his first round.
Looking at the building, it looked just as Joe had figured. It was tall, with the company logo plastered anywhere it would allow. Windows covered the walls. Joe wondered what happened in their offices.
Inside Joe met up with the person that had been assigned as his road agent for the match. It was an old man, one that loved to go on about his own glory days as a wrestler. Which sadly enough consisted of Tag Gold in some league Joe had never heard of.
“So, uh, I was told that I might be needed for some promotional material. What is that? I just have never been part of a tournament before.”
The man, Clarence Days, looked through some paperwork, seemingly ignoring what Joe had said. “Uh, sir,” Joe asked again.
“No need,” came Days’ reply as he put down the papers. “All the promotional work was done. They decided not to bother featuring a rookie, had bigger names to focus on.”
The reply annoyed Joe greatly. Nothing bothered him more than being overlooked. “What do you mean? I needed that extra paycheck from the P.R. work!” It was true too, as Joe’s rent came up before he would be seeing any cash flow from the tournament. Employment did not bring in enough money to pay for Joe’s apartment, even as crappy as the apartment was.
Clarence pushed past Joe and walked down the hallway where he kept himself busy but fiddling with various things. “They focused mostly on Ken Cloverleaf, he’s an A1E Heavyweight Champion and people know his name. He’s also your first opponent. So we didn’t think we would bother much with promoting you as we don’t think you will be there for very long.”
“What is that suppose to mean?” Joe asked, cutting Days off once more. Joe now stood in front of Days, sucking in air in an attempt to look larger than he really was.
Taking out his flip phone, Clarence opened it up and pressed it against his ear without pressing any numbers. “Hi, Vegas, yeah what is the odds for Joe vs. Cloverleaf? A million to one you say? Ok thanks.” Closing the phone, Days slipped it back into his pocket.
Joe was seething now. Even though no one there had any idea of what he could do, they simply wrote him off as another easy win for Ken Cloverleaf. And why? Because the man could brag a lot? Joe had no plans of taking that kind of insult laying down, and before he could stop himself, he slipped into a monologue.
“Just because I don’t run around boosting about being this and being that, doesn’t mean I can’t throw a left hook. Heavyweight Champion? **** the Heavyweight Championship. Last time I checked, I wasn’t in A1E, hell I never even heard of the place. So clearly he did not easily walk all over me to win the belt. And since he never beat me, that means I couldn’t care less about his stupid title he won here or there. I’m sick and tired of those so called perfect jackasses acting like they can walk all over me just because I wasn’t born with perfect hair and a pearly white smile. I’ll admit I’m like the scraggly dog wondering the back alleys for food, but when the dog gets backed into a corner, that dog will be more vicious than any pure breed beast. And right now I’m a pissed off middle American with nothing to lose. I have no job, no family, and my apartment is barely livable! Do you think Mr. Cloverleaf could survive one day in my life? No! And if everyone just thinks I’m going to back down and take a beating, they and Ken, have another thing coming.”
In a fury of passion, Joe turned around and stormed out of the building. He had became hell bent on proving them all wrong. He WAS going to defeat Ken Cloverleaf and he WAS going to win this tournament. To hell with proper training and ring experience. Joe was going to throw down and fight. He was going to show them the power of middle America. And may God have mercy on their souls. Because that white t-shirt, navy tie, and khaki wearing mother****er was not.
*He had failed. It was twice now he had failed to accomplish what he had set out to do. He had failed to place into the GTT5 and he had failed to get the training he felt he needed. Sadly this had started to become a trend for Joe. Something he wanted to break desperately.
The taxi cab pulled up to the building and Joe paid the driver. Stepping out of the cab, he looked up at the building that served as the post for the TEAM Open Tournament. After faxing in his application, TEAM had mailed him a letter about reporting for match placement. Joe had showed up to know who he would be facing in his first round.
Looking at the building, it looked just as Joe had figured. It was tall, with the company logo plastered anywhere it would allow. Windows covered the walls. Joe wondered what happened in their offices.
Inside Joe met up with the person that had been assigned as his road agent for the match. It was an old man, one that loved to go on about his own glory days as a wrestler. Which sadly enough consisted of Tag Gold in some league Joe had never heard of.
“So, uh, I was told that I might be needed for some promotional material. What is that? I just have never been part of a tournament before.”
The man, Clarence Days, looked through some paperwork, seemingly ignoring what Joe had said. “Uh, sir,” Joe asked again.
“No need,” came Days’ reply as he put down the papers. “All the promotional work was done. They decided not to bother featuring a rookie, had bigger names to focus on.”
The reply annoyed Joe greatly. Nothing bothered him more than being overlooked. “What do you mean? I needed that extra paycheck from the P.R. work!” It was true too, as Joe’s rent came up before he would be seeing any cash flow from the tournament. Employment did not bring in enough money to pay for Joe’s apartment, even as crappy as the apartment was.
Clarence pushed past Joe and walked down the hallway where he kept himself busy but fiddling with various things. “They focused mostly on Ken Cloverleaf, he’s an A1E Heavyweight Champion and people know his name. He’s also your first opponent. So we didn’t think we would bother much with promoting you as we don’t think you will be there for very long.”
“What is that suppose to mean?” Joe asked, cutting Days off once more. Joe now stood in front of Days, sucking in air in an attempt to look larger than he really was.
Taking out his flip phone, Clarence opened it up and pressed it against his ear without pressing any numbers. “Hi, Vegas, yeah what is the odds for Joe vs. Cloverleaf? A million to one you say? Ok thanks.” Closing the phone, Days slipped it back into his pocket.
Joe was seething now. Even though no one there had any idea of what he could do, they simply wrote him off as another easy win for Ken Cloverleaf. And why? Because the man could brag a lot? Joe had no plans of taking that kind of insult laying down, and before he could stop himself, he slipped into a monologue.
“Just because I don’t run around boosting about being this and being that, doesn’t mean I can’t throw a left hook. Heavyweight Champion? **** the Heavyweight Championship. Last time I checked, I wasn’t in A1E, hell I never even heard of the place. So clearly he did not easily walk all over me to win the belt. And since he never beat me, that means I couldn’t care less about his stupid title he won here or there. I’m sick and tired of those so called perfect jackasses acting like they can walk all over me just because I wasn’t born with perfect hair and a pearly white smile. I’ll admit I’m like the scraggly dog wondering the back alleys for food, but when the dog gets backed into a corner, that dog will be more vicious than any pure breed beast. And right now I’m a pissed off middle American with nothing to lose. I have no job, no family, and my apartment is barely livable! Do you think Mr. Cloverleaf could survive one day in my life? No! And if everyone just thinks I’m going to back down and take a beating, they and Ken, have another thing coming.”
In a fury of passion, Joe turned around and stormed out of the building. He had became hell bent on proving them all wrong. He WAS going to defeat Ken Cloverleaf and he WAS going to win this tournament. To hell with proper training and ring experience. Joe was going to throw down and fight. He was going to show them the power of middle America. And may God have mercy on their souls. Because that white t-shirt, navy tie, and khaki wearing mother****er was not.
kcloverleaf
League Member
Money in the bank
Fade into Ken Cloverleaf's, Ritz-Carlton hotel room again. Ken Cloverleaf is seen leaning back in a leather chair, while in front of a laptop computer, and talking on his cell phone. The camera listens in on the end of the conversation as Ken speaks
KC: So Dicky, what are the Vegas odds on my match with Average Joe again this week?
Pause
KC: You say they've raised to FIVE million to one?!?
Pause
KC: Wow, that much in 30 minutes eh? This guy must be worse than I originally expected?
Pause
KC: Well thanks for the update, it's good to see the A1E World Heavyweight Championship back in the Highland Park Social Club again.
Ken hangs up the phone, and turns to the camera as he shakes his head, and begins to speak.
KC: Well there you have it Average Joe. From the best businessman in the industry, current A1E World Heavyweight Champion, and my good friend, Richard Farnswirth himself...
Vegas odds rose from one million to FIVE million to one in just 30 minutes...
And that means Ken Cloverleaf is going to make A LOT of people rich when I easily defeat you this week...
It's not even going to be CLOSE Average Joe...
Hell, I'll even LET you come down to the ring, and take the first shot at me with that oh so DREADED left hook of yours...
Because I don't care how mad you think you are this week it's not going to help you gain an advantage...
You can get as angry as you want, and wait until your face turns red or your skin turns green and you bust out of your wrestling attire...
I'll be there to place my hand on your forehead, and hold you back as you swing your fists wildly at me...
People have me winning this entire tournament Joe...
And whether you like it or not, I'm walking out of St. Louis, and moving into the next round...
You might not know who I am now, or where the A1E is located on the map of professional wrestling...
But you'll soon find out why I am one of the greatest wrestlers in the entire world...
Because you'll be lucky to make it five minutes in the ring with me, before I dispose of you, and send you onto your next huge embarrassing failure...
Fade out
Fade into Ken Cloverleaf's, Ritz-Carlton hotel room again. Ken Cloverleaf is seen leaning back in a leather chair, while in front of a laptop computer, and talking on his cell phone. The camera listens in on the end of the conversation as Ken speaks
KC: So Dicky, what are the Vegas odds on my match with Average Joe again this week?
Pause
KC: You say they've raised to FIVE million to one?!?
Pause
KC: Wow, that much in 30 minutes eh? This guy must be worse than I originally expected?
Pause
KC: Well thanks for the update, it's good to see the A1E World Heavyweight Championship back in the Highland Park Social Club again.
Ken hangs up the phone, and turns to the camera as he shakes his head, and begins to speak.
KC: Well there you have it Average Joe. From the best businessman in the industry, current A1E World Heavyweight Champion, and my good friend, Richard Farnswirth himself...
Vegas odds rose from one million to FIVE million to one in just 30 minutes...
And that means Ken Cloverleaf is going to make A LOT of people rich when I easily defeat you this week...
It's not even going to be CLOSE Average Joe...
Hell, I'll even LET you come down to the ring, and take the first shot at me with that oh so DREADED left hook of yours...
Because I don't care how mad you think you are this week it's not going to help you gain an advantage...
You can get as angry as you want, and wait until your face turns red or your skin turns green and you bust out of your wrestling attire...
I'll be there to place my hand on your forehead, and hold you back as you swing your fists wildly at me...
People have me winning this entire tournament Joe...
And whether you like it or not, I'm walking out of St. Louis, and moving into the next round...
You might not know who I am now, or where the A1E is located on the map of professional wrestling...
But you'll soon find out why I am one of the greatest wrestlers in the entire world...
Because you'll be lucky to make it five minutes in the ring with me, before I dispose of you, and send you onto your next huge embarrassing failure...
Fade out
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