Post by wwjbcd on Oct 24, 2014 23:48:53 GMT
Date: Sunday - November 02, 2014
Location: South Beach Biloxi Hotel & Suites in Biloxi, Mississippi
(Seating capacity of 1,000 people)
Commentary: Matthew Baily and West Newhaven
(Card Subject to Change)
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
- Singles Match -
Chris Williams w/ Robert Garland vs. "Perfectly Sane" Maxwell Schneider
After his "victory" against Frank Washington, Garland decided to reward Chris Williams with a shot against the current front runner in The Contest of Conquest. The goal here would be for Williams to pick up a victory and tie up the bracket, but a victory for Maxwell could put him well ahead of the pack and help secure his current #1 position. This is sure to be an important match in our contest's history and will be one to keep an eye on.
He who doesn't laugh, laughs worst! The Prince was infidel-ed. But the good ol' US of A didn't win. Egypt didn't win. Xenophobia continues its centuries-old winning str
eak. Stories f or other days. The now: bloodshot eyes focused on a man fallen from grace, but when Chris Williams crosses The Portland Madman, he'll be falling in GREASE. Fried alive for his foray into villainy. Chris my heart and hope to die.
One day. A stroll. In the dead of night. Through a local park known for its utter dangerousness. The vermin were in full force: drug dealers, gang-bangers, junkies, thieves, and the occasional psychopath or two.
Apropos of nothing, our hero "Perfectly Sane" Maxwell Schneider wades amongst the slime. They don't puff out their chests at him, test him for false might or true aggression. No, they know better. They are the fools of the world, and even they know who this man is. Many in this industry are known for their exploits in the ring, seldom are known for... other reasons.
How does he know people here? His territory is the west coast. The best coast. He might fit in here, in the south, a hairy, wild, rough and tumble sort of chap, minus the pickup truck, the Confederate flag, the beer-gut, and the gun. Stereotypes. Shame. Anyway, he fits right in anywhere he goes, not because he adapts per se, rather, because his very aura forces his immediate environment to suit his needs. This is merely a convoluted way of saying hardly anyone fucks with him. Might makes right, fear makes problems disappear.
Eyes. All on him. A superstar of the night. A celebrity amongst the trash. A god among roaches. Equal in the levels of soul-darkening, uncontested power.
"Schneider, what took you so long?" said a voice from within the box. Familiar, but not enough for you to figure out who it is. Could be nobody worthwhile. Could be...
"I took the scenic route!" Schneider replied. "Anyway, you wanted ta see me?"
"Oh, I just wanted to congratulate you on your latest victory in the RWD, no big deal." the voice responded with a casual tone. "You're a sneaky devil, I'll give you that."
Schneider chuckles with a cloyingly knowing eye roll. "Aw, shucks."
"Yeah, it's too bad none of that's going to be worth a damn against your latest opponent."
Schneider suddenly frowns, cocking his head ever so slightly to the side. "...What?"
"You heard me." the voice said with impunity. "That KONSTANTINE, yeah, he was a major threat, and yeah, you won, but you let him live, and now, he's going to grow into a villain of epic proportions, you'll see. And that Prince Assad, yeah, he was a big time challenge, and yeah, you won that one too, but AGAIN, you let him live, and he's just going to want to perpetually exact revenge, forever lash out, until it's his way or the highway."
Schneider narrows his eyes, "Just what're you gettin' at?"
"What I'm GETTING at, is that so far, you've been lucky. LUCKY! When it's all said and done, you're not the big bad wolf you think you are."
"Well, that's where yer WRONG, PAL!" Schneider said, clearly offended to not be considered nothing less than a rabid typhoon. "Do ya see the crowds? Do ya hear 'em SCREAM when I show up? What matches are YOU watchin'?!"
The disembodied voice chuckles. "Oh, I've been watching, man. I SAID, you've been doing pretty well for yourself... for a shweet widdle shmoopy doopy puppy wuppy doggie doo!"
This line of accusatory commentary resounded with Schneider; KONSTANTINE had been the first to state how ol' Maxie was akin to a puppy or stuffed teddy bear. This sentiment had been shared with the fans of RWD: they saw Schneider as a lovable monster, like a Mankind or Kane, not the way he saw himself, a panic-storm like Abdullah the Butcher or Cactus Jack. It wasn't enough that he was successful thus far; he wanted to be a holy terror, too.
"Ya know," Schneider said, his voice slightly atremble with that sort of edge-of-sanity laughter mingled in-between the pauses. "I didn't come here ta have some, some, some VOICE thumbin' its nose at me!"
"'Its'?" the voice said, insulted by Schneider's words. "I'm clearly a 'he', Schneider. And besides, you got a problem with me, come get me!"
Schneider's eyes widen, "All right, it's go-time!" he says as he slaps his hands together, ready to destroy the box and the contents within.
"Hold up!"
Schneider was even closer to the box, and could have torn it apart, but something compelled him to wait. To be reasonable. To basically act completely out of character.
"Now before you kill me, let's talk about Chris Williams."
Schneider knew that this Williams character was his next opponent already. He knew this was what it was all coming down to, with his "friend". They took the "scenic route", as it were, to get to this point.
"Oh? You changed your mind about attacking me? Huh. Well, anyway, yeah! Chris Williams! He's quite the character. Back in Missouri, he was a favourite of the fans, but that all changed when he suddenly aligned himself with the good friend of the owner of RWD, Robert "Badger" Garland."
Schneider shrugged, not getting the point of all this. "And?"
"AND, you numbskull, that alliance weathered through the death of Missouri. If you haven't noticed, you ignorant ape, Williams is basically the crown jewel of the Revolutionary Wrestling Division. Yeah, Williams is the jewel, Garland the crown, and Rech the head it all rests on."
"AND?!" Schneider said, growing more and more impatient and insulted.
"ANNNND, you half-wit, you chattering baboon, you, you, you- ah, whatever. Anyway, Garland's the General Manager. Rech is the CEO. That makes Williams teflon, nothing sticking to him. An Indian cow, untouchable. They're going to throw every monkey wrench available to them. They're going to try to screw you so bad, you'll look like Frankenstein."
"Don't ya mean Frankenstein's Monster?"
"Oh, well, if you don't want my advice, then..."
"Hey, facts are facts!"
"Yeah, well, anyway... so... I mean, even if you DO happen to win, you think they're going to let that slide? Let you live that down? It'll look like nine points on paper, and it'll look like nine points through your BACK... if you know what I mean."
Schneider strokes at his beard harshly, gritting his teeth at the inevitability, the set-in-stone fate that was laid out before him. This would be too much for most people. This would be frustrating. A career flashing by in the blink of an eye. Any normal person would shrink. Wilt. Cower.
But Schneider just smiled.
"Is that all?"
"Is that all?!" the voice exclaimed, "It's EVERYTHING! On top of Chris Williams' associations, he's an incredibly talented individual! He's champion material WITHOUT the backup, WITH it, he's un-stop-able! Do you read me, you dumb ox?! UN! STOP! A! BLE! You're done! Over! Finished!"
The grin just got bigger.
"Ha ha. Heh heh. Ha ha ha. Hahaha! Heh heh heh heh heh! HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HAAAAA!!!"
"WHAT'RE YOU LAUGHING AT, YOU IDIOT?! YOU'VE FINALLY LOST THE LAST GOOD SENSE YOU HAD!!"
Schneider throws his arms up, and without stopping his insane laughter, he reaches into the box.
"Hey, gets your dirty hands off of me!"
Schneider pulls back, revealing a hand mirror. He stops laughing as he looks into it. "Brother, I've never made MORE sense in my entire LIFE! If Williams wants a war, if Garland wants a war, if Mister RECH wants a war, then I wanna be enlisted, no reserves, I'm goin' in for the loooooong hauuuuuul! HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HAAAAA!!! You never looked so pretty in all yer LIFE!"
He then kisses the mirror, breaks it over his own head, then storms off.
But from behind the box, a mysterious figure peeks through.
"You perfectly INsane bastard you..."
He who doesn't laugh, laughs worst! The Prince was infidel-ed. But the good ol' US of A didn't win. Egypt didn't win. Xenophobia continues its centuries-old winning str
eak. Stories f or other days. The now: bloodshot eyes focused on a man fallen from grace, but when Chris Williams crosses The Portland Madman, he'll be falling in GREASE. Fried alive for his foray into villainy. Chris my heart and hope to die.
One day. A stroll. In the dead of night. Through a local park known for its utter dangerousness. The vermin were in full force: drug dealers, gang-bangers, junkies, thieves, and the occasional psychopath or two.
Apropos of nothing, our hero "Perfectly Sane" Maxwell Schneider wades amongst the slime. They don't puff out their chests at him, test him for false might or true aggression. No, they know better. They are the fools of the world, and even they know who this man is. Many in this industry are known for their exploits in the ring, seldom are known for... other reasons.
How does he know people here? His territory is the west coast. The best coast. He might fit in here, in the south, a hairy, wild, rough and tumble sort of chap, minus the pickup truck, the Confederate flag, the beer-gut, and the gun. Stereotypes. Shame. Anyway, he fits right in anywhere he goes, not because he adapts per se, rather, because his very aura forces his immediate environment to suit his needs. This is merely a convoluted way of saying hardly anyone fucks with him. Might makes right, fear makes problems disappear.
Eyes. All on him. A superstar of the night. A celebrity amongst the trash. A god among roaches. Equal in the levels of soul-darkening, uncontested power.
A particular pair of eyes peers at the leviathan as he rumbles closer. The eyes are found i n s i d e a cardboard box. Too dark to see much. So how do you know there's eyes looking from within, smartypants? Could Schneider just be going to talk to an empt
y box? No one would hold it past him, that's for sure.
"I took the scenic route!" Schneider replied. "Anyway, you wanted ta see me?"
"Oh, I just wanted to congratulate you on your latest victory in the RWD, no big deal." the voice responded with a casual tone. "You're a sneaky devil, I'll give you that."
Schneider chuckles with a cloyingly knowing eye roll. "Aw, shucks."
"Yeah, it's too bad none of that's going to be worth a damn against your latest opponent."
Schneider suddenly frowns, cocking his head ever so slightly to the side. "...What?"
"You heard me." the voice said with impunity. "That KONSTANTINE, yeah, he was a major threat, and yeah, you won, but you let him live, and now, he's going to grow into a villain of epic proportions, you'll see. And that Prince Assad, yeah, he was a big time challenge, and yeah, you won that one too, but AGAIN, you let him live, and he's just going to want to perpetually exact revenge, forever lash out, until it's his way or the highway."
Schneider narrows his eyes, "Just what're you gettin' at?"
"What I'm GETTING at, is that so far, you've been lucky. LUCKY! When it's all said and done, you're not the big bad wolf you think you are."
"Well, that's where yer WRONG, PAL!" Schneider said, clearly offended to not be considered nothing less than a rabid typhoon. "Do ya see the crowds? Do ya hear 'em SCREAM when I show up? What matches are YOU watchin'?!"
The disembodied voice chuckles. "Oh, I've been watching, man. I SAID, you've been doing pretty well for yourself... for a shweet widdle shmoopy doopy puppy wuppy doggie doo!"
This line of accusatory commentary resounded with Schneider; KONSTANTINE had been the first to state how ol' Maxie was akin to a puppy or stuffed teddy bear. This sentiment had been shared with the fans of RWD: they saw Schneider as a lovable monster, like a Mankind or Kane, not the way he saw himself, a panic-storm like Abdullah the Butcher or Cactus Jack. It wasn't enough that he was successful thus far; he wanted to be a holy terror, too.
"Ya know," Schneider said, his voice slightly atremble with that sort of edge-of-sanity laughter mingled in-between the pauses. "I didn't come here ta have some, some, some VOICE thumbin' its nose at me!"
"'Its'?" the voice said, insulted by Schneider's words. "I'm clearly a 'he', Schneider. And besides, you got a problem with me, come get me!"
Schneider's eyes widen, "All right, it's go-time!" he says as he slaps his hands together, ready to destroy the box and the contents within.
"Hold up!"
Schneider was even closer to the box, and could have torn it apart, but something compelled him to wait. To be reasonable. To basically act completely out of character.
"Now before you kill me, let's talk about Chris Williams."
Schneider knew that this Williams character was his next opponent already. He knew this was what it was all coming down to, with his "friend". They took the "scenic route", as it were, to get to this point.
"Oh? You changed your mind about attacking me? Huh. Well, anyway, yeah! Chris Williams! He's quite the character. Back in Missouri, he was a favourite of the fans, but that all changed when he suddenly aligned himself with the good friend of the owner of RWD, Robert "Badger" Garland."
Schneider shrugged, not getting the point of all this. "And?"
"AND, you numbskull, that alliance weathered through the death of Missouri. If you haven't noticed, you ignorant ape, Williams is basically the crown jewel of the Revolutionary Wrestling Division. Yeah, Williams is the jewel, Garland the crown, and Rech the head it all rests on."
"AND?!" Schneider said, growing more and more impatient and insulted.
"ANNNND, you half-wit, you chattering baboon, you, you, you- ah, whatever. Anyway, Garland's the General Manager. Rech is the CEO. That makes Williams teflon, nothing sticking to him. An Indian cow, untouchable. They're going to throw every monkey wrench available to them. They're going to try to screw you so bad, you'll look like Frankenstein."
"Don't ya mean Frankenstein's Monster?"
"Oh, well, if you don't want my advice, then..."
"Hey, facts are facts!"
"Yeah, well, anyway... so... I mean, even if you DO happen to win, you think they're going to let that slide? Let you live that down? It'll look like nine points on paper, and it'll look like nine points through your BACK... if you know what I mean."
Schneider strokes at his beard harshly, gritting his teeth at the inevitability, the set-in-stone fate that was laid out before him. This would be too much for most people. This would be frustrating. A career flashing by in the blink of an eye. Any normal person would shrink. Wilt. Cower.
But Schneider just smiled.
"Is that all?"
"Is that all?!" the voice exclaimed, "It's EVERYTHING! On top of Chris Williams' associations, he's an incredibly talented individual! He's champion material WITHOUT the backup, WITH it, he's un-stop-able! Do you read me, you dumb ox?! UN! STOP! A! BLE! You're done! Over! Finished!"
The grin just got bigger.
"Ha ha. Heh heh. Ha ha ha. Hahaha! Heh heh heh heh heh! HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HAAAAA!!!"
"WHAT'RE YOU LAUGHING AT, YOU IDIOT?! YOU'VE FINALLY LOST THE LAST GOOD SENSE YOU HAD!!"
Schneider throws his arms up, and without stopping his insane laughter, he reaches into the box.
"Hey, gets your dirty hands off of me!"
Schneider pulls back, revealing a hand mirror. He stops laughing as he looks into it. "Brother, I've never made MORE sense in my entire LIFE! If Williams wants a war, if Garland wants a war, if Mister RECH wants a war, then I wanna be enlisted, no reserves, I'm goin' in for the loooooong hauuuuuul! HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HAAAAA!!! You never looked so pretty in all yer LIFE!"
He then kisses the mirror, breaks it over his own head, then storms off.
But from behind the box, a mysterious figure peeks through.
"You perfectly INsane bastard you..."
THE END.
so quickly so sad!
