Bringing that Bad Boy Energy 💀💀
Feb 26, 2020 22:30:49 GMT -5
BonnieBlue, Smith Jones, and 1 more like this
Post by Jubei on Feb 26, 2020 22:30:49 GMT -5
Open to a proscenium stage where lights bask off black hardwood. There, beyond red curtains, Masuda Teijin sits atop a painter’s ladder six feet off the ground. He’s dressed in 90's Mario white coveralls and a pair of flight goggles fixed above his brow. Cameras close in…
”Alpha Pro Wrestling has a nice ring to it. I can see why my uncle enjoyed putting his feet up on your couch. This place is not only a maverick in spirit, but has this potential energy begging to go kinetic. We all feel it. Alpha faithful, you’ve seen it building to this point of no return. When some of the greatest tag teams in all of wrestling converge on a plot of land smaller than the Papal States. So let’s go to war!”
Teijin pulls down his goggles as groups of people in white outfits converge from stage right, left and all cardinal directions. Battle groups form lines in the ancient tradition of bloodshed. They file into ranks and begin their march. Everyone suddenly sprints to a central point. Drone style coverage catches the carnage—simulated by a tossing of colored powders—as olden wood turns every color of a Skittles© bag. Teijin raises his hands, which drops everyone into death spirals until each participant sprawls across the floor in mounds of vibrant powder. A close-up reveals how much caked Teijin with shades of red, orange, blue, green and uranium yellow.
”Welp. That was nuts. Gonna be a pain in the ass to clean up too. Okay… this was supposed to be an allegory, kiddies. Because there’s no gains after total war. Now I’m not some half-Pacific Kurt Vonnegut either. I realize war has its merits. Cleansings of bad blood. However, this tournament aims to bring many flags into what should be all-out carnage. Whom fate leaves standing at the end becomes less a matter of gold or regalia—and we must be honest with ourselves about this—but what spoils will remain for the victors to enjoy.
Forces are gathering over every horizon. Teamwork fortified by great matches. Yet here I stand with a man Irina drew from a top hat, entering us into these proving grounds unbound. Aaron and I have never met. Never shared texts or secondhand smoke. Nothing! However, after watching his harrowing losses, it’s like we’re brothers separated at birth. Two young miscreants born to rebel against the world. Hell raisers bred to survive an apocalypse. Absolutely reckless pieces of shit nobody in their right mind would back in hard cash. And we wouldn’t have it any other way walking into the Yucca Flats of wrestling rings, boundless and bare, embracing irradiated sands as our new home.”
The camera pans to where we see the back of Teijin’s head—his back tie-dyed by that little game—and an empty theater dimmed by absent house lights.
”Who are when nobody is watching? Where are we in the greater course of human experience without an Obama to mediate opposing sides with free pints of American lager? Everyone already knows: We want to make our case for greatness, and wouldn’t sacrifice it for even the cushiest job in the world. We want to win the people, and with them, the ring.
Old Man, and dirtiest bastard of them all, bringing his boomer game to a show that never wanted him to begin with… or do they? I would have conducted a series of Jimmy Kimmel remote interviews, but we didn’t have the production budget. Not even time to rent out this goddamn theater.”
Someone off-screen plays a laugh track.
”We improvise our means of torture… and since this won’t be on ESPN Classic, let’s adjust our screens back to 4K resolution. Old man, can you step aside because you’re just not in picture, my dude. Oh wait. That’s all you have to offer in a match featuring young, rising talent. Swap us some war stories in the locker room instead—when 201 didn’t measure cruiserweights but the sheer volume of cocaine needed to get through your weekly grind. That said, in all due respect, we’re proud of you staying up this long to get a few licks in edgewise. Although we also expect you to be more of a liability than my own partner will be come Monday. Just calling it as I sees it. Good luck either way. And don’t forget your Life Alert© bracelet when you’ve fallen and can’t get up.”
The camera goes back to a close up of his needlessly long grin.
”Because we know this match isn’t about bad boy energy… which, holy fuck, is definitely our team name now. Sorry Aaron! I’m making that executive decision for you!"
A drone shot follows Teijin’s walk to the front of the stage. Still, colorful corpses fade into darkened lights when a red spotlight illuminate Masuda for a final soliloquy.
”Look man, I’m not a prophet. Nor can I tell you exactly how I’m going to win. Evidence, however, is pulling me in that direction. Cray is going to be the only obstacle between skull boy and me advancing to next week. You are all alone in this match. Regardless if you're the most talented person this company has yet to stop and appreciate. Game knows game, guru, and you’re going to be my focus to winning this match. You’re unorthodox—which I super dig btw—but I’m still dunking on you like Brandon Knight. God save your soul on social media.
Yet our only weaknesses slump in our corners. That said, what do you bring the table that’s going to top a Masuda? Just saying, our prowess is kinda legendary around here. How my dead uncle belt whooped this roster in his late 40’s. I’m 23. What chance do you even have against my proven legacy of dominance? Stability in the membrane, maybe, but I’m working on that every week. Got a better therapist and we’re dealing with my double daddy issues. Hell, my partner can throw himself off a bridge for the sake of applause. He’s not getting between those tag belts and my need to fill the void left by two unrewarding father figures. I’ll drag Aaron half-dead all month if I have to, Cray. So whatcha gonna do when everything’s coming up Teijin? Because you’re not going to dance your way out of this one… not this time.”
Lights lower to where the camera barely makes out Teijin’s face.
”For all those watching this week… you’re going to see what a Masuda can do when they’re focused on being one with the company. I’m not above anyone. I’m not entitled to your adoration. I’m going to earn that shit whether you like me or not. This tournament is a proving ground for what I’m going to bring to future of APW. So DVR history before Twitter spoils it for you.”
”Alpha Pro Wrestling has a nice ring to it. I can see why my uncle enjoyed putting his feet up on your couch. This place is not only a maverick in spirit, but has this potential energy begging to go kinetic. We all feel it. Alpha faithful, you’ve seen it building to this point of no return. When some of the greatest tag teams in all of wrestling converge on a plot of land smaller than the Papal States. So let’s go to war!”
Teijin pulls down his goggles as groups of people in white outfits converge from stage right, left and all cardinal directions. Battle groups form lines in the ancient tradition of bloodshed. They file into ranks and begin their march. Everyone suddenly sprints to a central point. Drone style coverage catches the carnage—simulated by a tossing of colored powders—as olden wood turns every color of a Skittles© bag. Teijin raises his hands, which drops everyone into death spirals until each participant sprawls across the floor in mounds of vibrant powder. A close-up reveals how much caked Teijin with shades of red, orange, blue, green and uranium yellow.
”Welp. That was nuts. Gonna be a pain in the ass to clean up too. Okay… this was supposed to be an allegory, kiddies. Because there’s no gains after total war. Now I’m not some half-Pacific Kurt Vonnegut either. I realize war has its merits. Cleansings of bad blood. However, this tournament aims to bring many flags into what should be all-out carnage. Whom fate leaves standing at the end becomes less a matter of gold or regalia—and we must be honest with ourselves about this—but what spoils will remain for the victors to enjoy.
Forces are gathering over every horizon. Teamwork fortified by great matches. Yet here I stand with a man Irina drew from a top hat, entering us into these proving grounds unbound. Aaron and I have never met. Never shared texts or secondhand smoke. Nothing! However, after watching his harrowing losses, it’s like we’re brothers separated at birth. Two young miscreants born to rebel against the world. Hell raisers bred to survive an apocalypse. Absolutely reckless pieces of shit nobody in their right mind would back in hard cash. And we wouldn’t have it any other way walking into the Yucca Flats of wrestling rings, boundless and bare, embracing irradiated sands as our new home.”
The camera pans to where we see the back of Teijin’s head—his back tie-dyed by that little game—and an empty theater dimmed by absent house lights.
”Who are when nobody is watching? Where are we in the greater course of human experience without an Obama to mediate opposing sides with free pints of American lager? Everyone already knows: We want to make our case for greatness, and wouldn’t sacrifice it for even the cushiest job in the world. We want to win the people, and with them, the ring.
Old Man, and dirtiest bastard of them all, bringing his boomer game to a show that never wanted him to begin with… or do they? I would have conducted a series of Jimmy Kimmel remote interviews, but we didn’t have the production budget. Not even time to rent out this goddamn theater.”
Someone off-screen plays a laugh track.
”We improvise our means of torture… and since this won’t be on ESPN Classic, let’s adjust our screens back to 4K resolution. Old man, can you step aside because you’re just not in picture, my dude. Oh wait. That’s all you have to offer in a match featuring young, rising talent. Swap us some war stories in the locker room instead—when 201 didn’t measure cruiserweights but the sheer volume of cocaine needed to get through your weekly grind. That said, in all due respect, we’re proud of you staying up this long to get a few licks in edgewise. Although we also expect you to be more of a liability than my own partner will be come Monday. Just calling it as I sees it. Good luck either way. And don’t forget your Life Alert© bracelet when you’ve fallen and can’t get up.”
The camera goes back to a close up of his needlessly long grin.
”Because we know this match isn’t about bad boy energy… which, holy fuck, is definitely our team name now. Sorry Aaron! I’m making that executive decision for you!"
A drone shot follows Teijin’s walk to the front of the stage. Still, colorful corpses fade into darkened lights when a red spotlight illuminate Masuda for a final soliloquy.
”Look man, I’m not a prophet. Nor can I tell you exactly how I’m going to win. Evidence, however, is pulling me in that direction. Cray is going to be the only obstacle between skull boy and me advancing to next week. You are all alone in this match. Regardless if you're the most talented person this company has yet to stop and appreciate. Game knows game, guru, and you’re going to be my focus to winning this match. You’re unorthodox—which I super dig btw—but I’m still dunking on you like Brandon Knight. God save your soul on social media.
Yet our only weaknesses slump in our corners. That said, what do you bring the table that’s going to top a Masuda? Just saying, our prowess is kinda legendary around here. How my dead uncle belt whooped this roster in his late 40’s. I’m 23. What chance do you even have against my proven legacy of dominance? Stability in the membrane, maybe, but I’m working on that every week. Got a better therapist and we’re dealing with my double daddy issues. Hell, my partner can throw himself off a bridge for the sake of applause. He’s not getting between those tag belts and my need to fill the void left by two unrewarding father figures. I’ll drag Aaron half-dead all month if I have to, Cray. So whatcha gonna do when everything’s coming up Teijin? Because you’re not going to dance your way out of this one… not this time.”
Lights lower to where the camera barely makes out Teijin’s face.
”For all those watching this week… you’re going to see what a Masuda can do when they’re focused on being one with the company. I’m not above anyone. I’m not entitled to your adoration. I’m going to earn that shit whether you like me or not. This tournament is a proving ground for what I’m going to bring to future of APW. So DVR history before Twitter spoils it for you.”
