Post by The DVC on Dec 4, 2016 6:36:13 GMT -5
The following promotion has been paid for by Flash Rotten.
REC. 12/03/16
The grainy lens of a late-nineties model Sony HandyCam blinks to life, and the image of the Legacy and the Animal seated in a couple of office chairs, obviously in their hotel room, gains clarity. A cigarette tray full of butts sits behind Josten on the desk while a fifth of Wild Turkey and a tumbler with ice sits beside Connolly. A blunt hangs out of Connolly’s mouth, thick smoke occasionally shooting from his nostrils in little jets.
"So we, uh…," Connolly begins, looking into the camera and scratching the back of his head awkwardly, "…we’ve heard that we owe the wrestling world an explanation for our actions lately. Go figure."
He sets the blunt in the ashtray and stands up, stepping out of the camera shot for a moment. The sound of a window is heard, and a cough. "Jesus…" Seconds later Connolly sits back down and stares into the camera.
"So as I was saying before this boxed-out Sofia Vergara nightmare got to me was… we've been thinking about what happened at Caged In a lot recently, and reflecting on our actions…"
Connolly diverts his eyes for a moment and takes a heavy pull off the blunt. He reaches the blunt over the Josten, who shakes his head 'no', which cause Connolly to shrug his shoulders. "…we’ve decided that maybe we should set the record straight."
That said, he turns and tops off his glass, then tops off another glass and hands it Erik before taking a long sip, followed by the obligatory "Ahhhhhhh." "Now I know the first thing some of you – and by this I’m referring to the suits – will say, ‘Whoa there… are they smoking blunts and drinking Wild Turkey while informing us of their issues?’ And the answer is yes, on both counts."
The Legacy sets the tumbler back on the tabletop and leans back in his chair.
" *Ahem*…Okay, let’s begin. We just don't get it... time after time, we turn on the WGWF YouTube channel or get on social media and someone new is spewing the same ol' garbage. What garbage you may ask? Well, see there's a narrative that's hanging over this company like a dark cloud. It's the narrative that Flash Rotten is doing a bad job." Connolly looks down, then solemnly up at the camera.
"See... what gets me is that muthafuckas come in here and think that just because they've won a couple of matches against a couple of never-will-be's, that they deserve to be at the top. Or better yet, how about the champion who wins the title, then conveniently goes on vacation for a month, then waltzes back in here acting like the company is so messed up. And let's not forget the old-timer who hasn't wrestled in years, shoehorning themselves into the main event.. or better yet, getting mad cause they're not instantly put there."
He pours another drink. "And all of that is supposed to be Flash's fault, right?" Christian chuckles as Erik shakes his head. "Last I checked, Flash did everything he said he would do. He promised he would give guys opportunities. It was up to them to make something of them. But the truth is, you guys don't want opportunities... you want a handout."
"Well, sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but the time for handouts are over. Strabler brothers, you got your shot coming. Consider it an early Christmas gift. But when we beat you, just like we've done the rest.. we hope that will drive the message home that you're not in our league."
"Tristan Slater.. oh, wait, excuse.. GLORIOUS Tristan Slater.. you got alot of fucking nerve showing up with those losers and blaming us for your shortcomings. All you're doing is what you always do is coast by on your God given talent. You should be sitting on the throne, but instead, you're content prancing around with Terry Borden. But know something.. Caged In, that was your receipt. Now, if you wanna grow a set and continue this, that's cool with us but always remember one thing.. we're the reason you have that title, and we sure as hell can be the reason you lose it."
"To everyone else.. from this moment on, we don't give a damn who you think you are; our time, is now. For six years, we have been here, we have bled, we have laughed, we have sweat, we have cried, while all we get are the scraps. Well we're a couple of big guys and we're hungry. And we won't rest until the World title is around one of our waists."
"It's your move WGWF. Try and stop us."
Appropriately, Connolly raises his glass to the camera before taking a sip.
"Long live the DVC."
The grainy lens of a late-nineties model Sony HandyCam blinks to life, and the image of the Legacy and the Animal seated in a couple of office chairs, obviously in their hotel room, gains clarity. A cigarette tray full of butts sits behind Josten on the desk while a fifth of Wild Turkey and a tumbler with ice sits beside Connolly. A blunt hangs out of Connolly’s mouth, thick smoke occasionally shooting from his nostrils in little jets.
"So we, uh…," Connolly begins, looking into the camera and scratching the back of his head awkwardly, "…we’ve heard that we owe the wrestling world an explanation for our actions lately. Go figure."
He sets the blunt in the ashtray and stands up, stepping out of the camera shot for a moment. The sound of a window is heard, and a cough. "Jesus…" Seconds later Connolly sits back down and stares into the camera.
"So as I was saying before this boxed-out Sofia Vergara nightmare got to me was… we've been thinking about what happened at Caged In a lot recently, and reflecting on our actions…"
Connolly diverts his eyes for a moment and takes a heavy pull off the blunt. He reaches the blunt over the Josten, who shakes his head 'no', which cause Connolly to shrug his shoulders. "…we’ve decided that maybe we should set the record straight."
That said, he turns and tops off his glass, then tops off another glass and hands it Erik before taking a long sip, followed by the obligatory "Ahhhhhhh." "Now I know the first thing some of you – and by this I’m referring to the suits – will say, ‘Whoa there… are they smoking blunts and drinking Wild Turkey while informing us of their issues?’ And the answer is yes, on both counts."
The Legacy sets the tumbler back on the tabletop and leans back in his chair.
" *Ahem*…Okay, let’s begin. We just don't get it... time after time, we turn on the WGWF YouTube channel or get on social media and someone new is spewing the same ol' garbage. What garbage you may ask? Well, see there's a narrative that's hanging over this company like a dark cloud. It's the narrative that Flash Rotten is doing a bad job." Connolly looks down, then solemnly up at the camera.
"See... what gets me is that muthafuckas come in here and think that just because they've won a couple of matches against a couple of never-will-be's, that they deserve to be at the top. Or better yet, how about the champion who wins the title, then conveniently goes on vacation for a month, then waltzes back in here acting like the company is so messed up. And let's not forget the old-timer who hasn't wrestled in years, shoehorning themselves into the main event.. or better yet, getting mad cause they're not instantly put there."
He pours another drink. "And all of that is supposed to be Flash's fault, right?" Christian chuckles as Erik shakes his head. "Last I checked, Flash did everything he said he would do. He promised he would give guys opportunities. It was up to them to make something of them. But the truth is, you guys don't want opportunities... you want a handout."
"Well, sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but the time for handouts are over. Strabler brothers, you got your shot coming. Consider it an early Christmas gift. But when we beat you, just like we've done the rest.. we hope that will drive the message home that you're not in our league."
"Tristan Slater.. oh, wait, excuse.. GLORIOUS Tristan Slater.. you got alot of fucking nerve showing up with those losers and blaming us for your shortcomings. All you're doing is what you always do is coast by on your God given talent. You should be sitting on the throne, but instead, you're content prancing around with Terry Borden. But know something.. Caged In, that was your receipt. Now, if you wanna grow a set and continue this, that's cool with us but always remember one thing.. we're the reason you have that title, and we sure as hell can be the reason you lose it."
"To everyone else.. from this moment on, we don't give a damn who you think you are; our time, is now. For six years, we have been here, we have bled, we have laughed, we have sweat, we have cried, while all we get are the scraps. Well we're a couple of big guys and we're hungry. And we won't rest until the World title is around one of our waists."
"It's your move WGWF. Try and stop us."
Appropriately, Connolly raises his glass to the camera before taking a sip.
"Long live the DVC."