Our Right
[updated:LAST EDITED ON Oct-27-02 AT 11:11 PM (EST)]Fade in...
"Gah... that stings."
The exclamation in question is emitted by a rather large man of Swedish origin, garbed in a teal Hawaiian shirt and green jeans. Buff Bellows, the undisputed leader of the Monsta Boyz, currently sits on a table in a white-walled doctor's office, wincing as a thin man with grey hair applies medication to the burns that Bellows suffered during the hardcore triple-threat match at X-Perience recently. Fat Farrell sits in a corner, a row of stitches already visible in his forehead.
"I swear," says the doctor disapprovingly as he begins to wrap Bellows' burn with a bandage. "I don't know why you wrestlers do this to yourselves."
"Hey, it's all about makin' the fans happy," Bellows says, wincing a bit as the bandage is applied.
The doctor tsks as he finishes applying the bandage. "There are ways to make people happy that don't involve killing yourself," he says critically.
A nurse suddenly leans into the room. "Urgent call for you, doctor," she says.
The old medic nods, then looks at his two huge patients. "I'll be right back," he says, quietly following the nurse out of the room.
Immediately, Farrell crosses the small room to stand near his partner. "You doin' okay, brotha'?" he asks, concern in his voice as he clasps his comrade's shoulder with a meaty hand.
"Yeah, I'll live," replies Buff, removing Farrell's hand from his shoulder. "You know me, man. I bounce back. Don't worry, I'll be okay by Fallout."
"Fallout, man," echoes Farrell.
"Yeah, we got a hell of an opportunity," Bellows says. He glances over to where the cameraman sits. "'Cause ya see, we may not have come outta X-Perience in mint condition, but come Fallout, the Monsta Boyz are gonna be kickin' at a hundred percent. And with a shot at the Tag-Team Titles on the line, we got added incentive ta go in there an' do some real damage."
Farrell remains silent, folding his arms over his chest and moving his gaze towards the camera.
Bellows inhales slowly, moving his right hand up to rub his left shoulder. "Ya know, rumor has it that the Elites turned tail an' ran when we answered their challenge," he says. "But I really hope they show up at the battle royal. I've been waitin' a long time ta kick their candy a**es inta next week. Coupla a' big mouths, they are. If they got the, uh, the testicular fortitude ta show up at Fallout, they're gonna learn real quick that ya don't talk smack about the Monsta Boyz unless yer ready ta get mauled."
"Hell yeah," Farrell says in agreement.
"But anyway," Bellows says, "Onto the teams who are actually worth something. First off, TLC. So ya finally won a match. The streak is over. Congrats. But there's one thing that nags at me... how'd they win that match, Farrell?"
"Dey cheated out Horra' Business," informs the fat man.
Bellows nods, then looks back to the camera. "Cheated," he echoes. "That just proves what I been sayin' all along - that the most graphically-colorful tag team in all of sports entertainment has faded a lot. Ya know, TLC, you two used ta be contenders. But now, yer just a shadow a' yer former selves. Ya can't even win one single match without cheatin'. Hell, even when ya cheat, you usually lose. Yer nothin' nowadays. Now maybe ya think that this battle royal is yer big chance ta climb back ta yer days of glory, maybe win the Tag titles again?" The big man shakes his head slowly. "Think again. All the cheatin' in the world ain't gonna help ya at Fallout, boys. Yer pretty much the weakest link in the tag division, so yer chances are pretty slim, especially since yer in there with the biggest tag-team in GXW."
"Dat's us!" Farrell adds in.
"You should do yerselves a favor an' just stay home," Bellows finishes, "since you ain't gonna be winnin' nothin. And yeah, X-Perience was a fluke. But keep in mind that lightning don't strike twice."
Scowling, the big Swede tugs at the bandage on his arm. "This itches," he grumbles.
Farrell nods very slightly. "I know how ya feel."
Bellows lowers his arm after a moment and looks back to the camera. "Next on the list, we got Horror Business. Ya know, us and you, we go way back. We came inta this fed together, had a few matches, then went our separate ways. Ya pulled out a fluke win over us at Global Warfare and went on ta start dismantlin' the GXW tag scene, only ta have yer undefeated streak ended by... TLC? Yeah yeah, I know it was a fluke, but still. That's an ugly stain on yer record, guys. But if I know you two at all, I know yer comin' inta Fallout lookin' ta avenge yerselves by claimin' that title shot." The big man shakes his head- "Sorry. No deal. You want that title shot, ya gotta go through the Monsta Boyz. And this time, there ain't gonna be no flukes. There ain't gonna be no rolling offa the table at the last second ta pull off the upset win. Last time we met on Pay-Per-View, ya won; this time, it ain't gonna happen like that. Me an' Farrell have worked our a**es off ta get this far. We've EARNED a title shot. No way in hell we're lettin' you two psychos take what's ours."
Bellows raises a hand to clear his throat. He looks up again. "As fer the rest of the GXW tag-teams, take a hike. Not that there are very many teams left ta do any hikin' anyway. Whatever happened ta Fast Lane and Mason & Tate? On second thought, I don't care. What I DO care about is this title shot that's on the line. You other guys can fight over it all ya want, but we ain't gonna let ya have it. That title shot is gonna be ours. It's the Monsta Boyz' ticket ta somethin' we've been shootin' for since day one: The Tag-Team gold. Make no mistake: Me an' Farrell are gonna take that title shot an' bring the Tag Titles home ta Monsta Country. Got a problem with that? Too damn bad. We Monstaz deserve this title shot probably more than anyone out there right now, and by God, we're gonna take it."
Farrell crosses his arms over his chest, scowling. "Ain't nobody gonna be holdin' da Monstaz back dis time," he declares.
Bellows offers a slow nod. "The jokes are over now, fellas," he says seriously. "The Monsta Boyz like havin' fun, but this match ain't gonna be fun and games. So come Fallout, we ain't jokin' around. We ain't even gonna roll out a truck full a' midgets. Come Fallout, yer gonna be facin' a pair of Monstaz more determined than ever before - a pair of Monstaz totally focused on winnin' that title shot. So ya better just clear out, or we'll stomp ya inta the ground an' keep on rollin'."
As Bellows finishes speaking, the doctor reenters the room, and both Monstaz look over at him. The medic blinks, then glances at the cameraman. "I won't even ask," he says blankly.
"Works for me," says Bellows.
"Good," answers the doctor. "Now give me your other arm."
Sighing, Bellows extends his unbandaged arm to the doctor. Farrell steps back as the medic moves in, taking up his bottle of medication. The last thing we see is Bellows wincing as the medication is applied to his burns, an image which slowly fades to black...