Post by HUNTER on Jan 20, 2017 12:28:15 GMT -5
The following was brought to you by "That's My Dog."
SAMMY: And a great big, how the fuck are you, ladies and gents?? It's Sammy Van Zant once again bringing you a latest and greatest product that you probably won't give a shit about but hey - I gotta make a buck and chances are you're sitting on the couch stroking yourself so what do either of us got to lose?? I'm talking to you today about "That's My Dog." What the fucking frak is "That's My Dog?" It's a kennel service that will sneak into your backyard when your mangy, flea-infested canine is minding their own business while doing their business, snatch them up, inject them with cocaine, and send them on their merry way back home.
What the fuck did you think it was? Some sort of dog recovery service? Fuck that noise. The less four-legged, piss and shit machines that walk the earth the less I have to see those God damned "Adopt me, I'm so fucking adorable" ads come up on my Facebook feed! Hell yes I'm going to endorse a product like this! Is there a better public service out there? NOPE!
So call the number at the bottom of your screen now and we'll come to your home and inject your pup with the best shit on the black market today! That's right, call 1-800-994-7-SUCK IT and we'll make sure Fido feels like a street walking, crack whore in no time!
That's 1-800-994-7-SUCK IT! Call right now and we'll throw in a tasty milk bone laced with meth - FOR FREE!
I'm Sammy Van Zant and I'll see you next time!
_______________________________________________
DIRECTOR: We're clear. Thanks, Sammy. Great job, as always.
Sammy turns off camera to speak to someone we can't see.
SAMMY: He's just being nice, right, Hunt. I mean - I said "fucking frak." That's a bit much, isn't it? I mean, was the "frak" really necessary? No one knows what it even means unless they -
Hunter walks into the show and puts an arm around Sammy who steps down off a stool making him significantly shorter than Hunter.
HUNTER: Sammy, you've been doing this for me a few months now and I have to say - the director is right. You're a pro. Don't worry so much about the words. Just worry about the message.
SAMMY: You're so nice to me, Hunter. Not like my last boss. I'd step inside that recording booth and all he wanted to do was throw up naked pictures of Fabio on the screen while I was trying to read. Then he'd walk me out to my car and smack me on the ass right before I got in and tell me he liked the jeans I was wearing. Hunt - I don't even own a pair of jeans.
Hunter seems a bit disgusted.
HUNTER: You know, Sammy - there are some things you should just keep to yourself...or at the very least for someone who'd be interested. Get home safe and tell the wife I said hello.
SAMMY: The wife? Hunt I'm not -
Hunter pushes him by and smacks him on the ass.
HUNTER: That's a good boy.
Sammy walks off leaving Hunter alone in the parking lot to spark up a cigar. His phone rings and he doesn't look happy to answer it. But, alas, he does.
HUNTER: Seriously? You're calling me?
FEMALE VOICE: That's pretty obviously what I'm doing. Where the fuck are you? It's getting late.
HUNTER: Well, I'm currently standing in a parking lot - alone - smoking a Cohiba and enjoying a brisk Florida evening before heading home to my dog and bottle of KY. Possibly a congac. How's your day?
FEMALE VOICE: I'm sitting here in the bath tub drinking wine and waiting for you. I can even make sure there's cognac and KY if you get here soon...
Hunter ashes his cigar and starts to walk to his car. He chuckles and shakes his head.
HUNTER: How many times are you going to make these attempts to get me over there? At first it was sexy as hell. Now it's borderline pathetic, Trish.
TRISH: We had an amazing night, didn't we? I mean - I've never experienced an orgasm like that in my life.
He pulls out his keys and starts his Lexus automatically before getting inside and settling into the driver's seat.
HUNTER: When I met you three months ago - I paid for you. You were a whore then and you're a whore now. You only have my phone number because you went through my phone when I was asleep. I could have very easily blocked you, changed my number, and possibly slapped a restraining order on you. But I'm a nice guy, you're a great lay, and I'd prefer to have the option of a second go-around when I'm ready. Key being when I'M ready.
TRISH: You're an asshole, Hunter.
HUNTER: Guilty. Yet you just keep calling.
He hits "end" on his steering wheel and takes another long drag of his cigar as he gets out onto the road.
________________________________________
Sure, I fucked a hooker. Who hasn't? I mean, really. When you live the life of a rock star you meet some unsavory people. Trish happens to be pretty damn unsavory while at the same time maintaining a level of class that separates her from the dirty, STD-ridden street walker you might see on a normal street corner. I had to call and get her sent to me.
As I said - classy.
The West Coast Rumble is upon me...us...or whatever. Heading into my first Rumble in years - I have plenty to say about this year's group as well as peel the curtain back on my thoughts about my now partner in crime - Chris Page. Say that out loud a few times. I promise you still won't believe it.
Let's start there.
My homie. My brotha. My deadliest enemy turned bff. Chris fucking Page. Legend not only in his own mind but in the minds of anyone who's watched a match whether he's won or lost. The man has a legacy that transcends time and space. Matches that will be classics long after Donald Trump destroys America and welcomes in Kanye West as his predecessor in 2020 to "Make America Yeezy Again."
I can't believe I just said "Yeezy."
You were so sweet telling Essex what you did about me, Chris. Truly brought a tear to my eye. Almost.
A tag team legend, I believe you called me. Ya know I've never really considered myself as such. Maybe it's because of the partner I had for all three of my title runs. Maybe it's because I never truly gave much weight to a championship carried by two people. Maybe it's because I haven't had anyone to run with that could make those belts great again. Until now, of course.
We are two of the most respected faces in pro wrestling history, Chris. We haven't always been liked...but we've always been respected. People always come to see us headline the card be it Brawl or any Pay Per View at any time during the year. You're after your eighth World Championship and second Rumble win. I'm after my second World Title and first win at this event.
Well, let's be honest...it should be the other way around. Don't you think?
The way I see it - yes, Chris - you owe me one. But we can't go back and re-write history from years past. All we can do is hope we're both still in the mix at the same time so we can once again be the final two. Only this time - go face to face and finish it the right way.
There are plenty of faces in this year's Rumble I've never seen before. Plenty of faces that have probably only heard the name Hunter...or even Hunter Ryan...who still probably don't respect my legacy or anything I've done in this business. That's fine. Shit I prefer it that way. I'm all about punching you in the mouth and reminding you what my name is and then, after I spear you in half, forcing you to say my name as you bleed internally and it drips into a pool around your head.
That's probably too graphic, right? Too intense a description? I'm a nice guy so I'm not supposed to go there, right?
Nice guys can be sons of bitches when they want to be.
Instead of running down the list of those entering this historic match - I'll simply say this...
Good luck to the former champs and the future has beens. Good luck to the pretty boys and the ugly giants. Good luck to the rookies and the rough necks. Good luck to the former friends and newfound enemies. Good luck to the dreamers and the wishers. Good luck to all of you. I say good luck to all of you because at the end of the day...you'll still need more than that. You'll need more than luck. More than skill. More than friends, alliances, or "right place, right time."
You'll simply need yourself. Trust only yourself. Figure out your own game plan. Pray that the cards fall the way you need them to and that you enter the match at the right time. That's all you can do. The rest is left to fate.
Chris, we'll meet again inside that ring just as we did so many years ago. Fate will see to that. How it plays out from there - no one really knows. We can sit here and spit our predictions and self-promotion all we want. The fact remains - what is meant to be will be. Even if the referee doesn't see it. Even if the millions watching around the world don't like it.
What is meant to be - will always be.
Three times a World Champion. Three times a Tag Team Champion. Multiple other singles titles between multiple companies. A Hall of Famer. My legacy always winds up right back here - the WGWF. No matter what I think, no matter when I think my time is up - I always come home. My personal accolades are great. It's nice to say them out loud and stare at those replicas hanging on my wall at home. I've done so much in this business in over a decade of blood, sweat, tears, and loss.
But I've never won a Rumble. I've never been the last man standing among all others. I've never punched my ticket to Main Event at WrestleWars and Monday night - fate will decide if I can notch one more accolade to that resume. Shine up that legacy even brighter and then - one day, whenever that day truly comes - I can walk into the sunset and feel like I truly have done it all.
_____________________________________________
Hunter's car pulls into the driveway and he sits there finishing his cigar. He turns up the music and the sounds of classic 80s rock fill the cabin. His chair slides back and he closes his eyes taking one last, long drag of his stogie. What was he thinking?
Legacy. Fate.
The Rumble.
Was he really ready for this? One more dip into the vast ocean that is professional wrestling - a life and a business he swore he was done with less than a year ago. Could he do it?
No, it wasn't a lack in confidence. He never lacked that. It was more wanting to be so sure that in the event he walks out the winner - can he handle what comes next? What comes along with being the winner of the West Coat Rumble. Headlining the biggest stage in sports entertainment. Possibly even - becoming a three-time WGWF Champion and on top of the wrestling world for the fourth time in his career. Can he handle that?
He flicks the butt of his cigar out the window and finally turns the car off.
Of course he can handle that.
Just as he's walking up his driveway his phone rings.
HUNTER: Jesus Chris on a cross.
He hits "reject" and heads inside.
The one thing he couldn't handle anymore - crazy, stalker bitches.
Something was about to be done about that.
SAMMY: And a great big, how the fuck are you, ladies and gents?? It's Sammy Van Zant once again bringing you a latest and greatest product that you probably won't give a shit about but hey - I gotta make a buck and chances are you're sitting on the couch stroking yourself so what do either of us got to lose?? I'm talking to you today about "That's My Dog." What the fucking frak is "That's My Dog?" It's a kennel service that will sneak into your backyard when your mangy, flea-infested canine is minding their own business while doing their business, snatch them up, inject them with cocaine, and send them on their merry way back home.
What the fuck did you think it was? Some sort of dog recovery service? Fuck that noise. The less four-legged, piss and shit machines that walk the earth the less I have to see those God damned "Adopt me, I'm so fucking adorable" ads come up on my Facebook feed! Hell yes I'm going to endorse a product like this! Is there a better public service out there? NOPE!
So call the number at the bottom of your screen now and we'll come to your home and inject your pup with the best shit on the black market today! That's right, call 1-800-994-7-SUCK IT and we'll make sure Fido feels like a street walking, crack whore in no time!
That's 1-800-994-7-SUCK IT! Call right now and we'll throw in a tasty milk bone laced with meth - FOR FREE!
I'm Sammy Van Zant and I'll see you next time!
_______________________________________________
DIRECTOR: We're clear. Thanks, Sammy. Great job, as always.
Sammy turns off camera to speak to someone we can't see.
SAMMY: He's just being nice, right, Hunt. I mean - I said "fucking frak." That's a bit much, isn't it? I mean, was the "frak" really necessary? No one knows what it even means unless they -
Hunter walks into the show and puts an arm around Sammy who steps down off a stool making him significantly shorter than Hunter.
HUNTER: Sammy, you've been doing this for me a few months now and I have to say - the director is right. You're a pro. Don't worry so much about the words. Just worry about the message.
SAMMY: You're so nice to me, Hunter. Not like my last boss. I'd step inside that recording booth and all he wanted to do was throw up naked pictures of Fabio on the screen while I was trying to read. Then he'd walk me out to my car and smack me on the ass right before I got in and tell me he liked the jeans I was wearing. Hunt - I don't even own a pair of jeans.
Hunter seems a bit disgusted.
HUNTER: You know, Sammy - there are some things you should just keep to yourself...or at the very least for someone who'd be interested. Get home safe and tell the wife I said hello.
SAMMY: The wife? Hunt I'm not -
Hunter pushes him by and smacks him on the ass.
HUNTER: That's a good boy.
Sammy walks off leaving Hunter alone in the parking lot to spark up a cigar. His phone rings and he doesn't look happy to answer it. But, alas, he does.
HUNTER: Seriously? You're calling me?
FEMALE VOICE: That's pretty obviously what I'm doing. Where the fuck are you? It's getting late.
HUNTER: Well, I'm currently standing in a parking lot - alone - smoking a Cohiba and enjoying a brisk Florida evening before heading home to my dog and bottle of KY. Possibly a congac. How's your day?
FEMALE VOICE: I'm sitting here in the bath tub drinking wine and waiting for you. I can even make sure there's cognac and KY if you get here soon...
Hunter ashes his cigar and starts to walk to his car. He chuckles and shakes his head.
HUNTER: How many times are you going to make these attempts to get me over there? At first it was sexy as hell. Now it's borderline pathetic, Trish.
TRISH: We had an amazing night, didn't we? I mean - I've never experienced an orgasm like that in my life.
He pulls out his keys and starts his Lexus automatically before getting inside and settling into the driver's seat.
HUNTER: When I met you three months ago - I paid for you. You were a whore then and you're a whore now. You only have my phone number because you went through my phone when I was asleep. I could have very easily blocked you, changed my number, and possibly slapped a restraining order on you. But I'm a nice guy, you're a great lay, and I'd prefer to have the option of a second go-around when I'm ready. Key being when I'M ready.
TRISH: You're an asshole, Hunter.
HUNTER: Guilty. Yet you just keep calling.
He hits "end" on his steering wheel and takes another long drag of his cigar as he gets out onto the road.
________________________________________
Sure, I fucked a hooker. Who hasn't? I mean, really. When you live the life of a rock star you meet some unsavory people. Trish happens to be pretty damn unsavory while at the same time maintaining a level of class that separates her from the dirty, STD-ridden street walker you might see on a normal street corner. I had to call and get her sent to me.
As I said - classy.
The West Coast Rumble is upon me...us...or whatever. Heading into my first Rumble in years - I have plenty to say about this year's group as well as peel the curtain back on my thoughts about my now partner in crime - Chris Page. Say that out loud a few times. I promise you still won't believe it.
Let's start there.
My homie. My brotha. My deadliest enemy turned bff. Chris fucking Page. Legend not only in his own mind but in the minds of anyone who's watched a match whether he's won or lost. The man has a legacy that transcends time and space. Matches that will be classics long after Donald Trump destroys America and welcomes in Kanye West as his predecessor in 2020 to "Make America Yeezy Again."
I can't believe I just said "Yeezy."
You were so sweet telling Essex what you did about me, Chris. Truly brought a tear to my eye. Almost.
A tag team legend, I believe you called me. Ya know I've never really considered myself as such. Maybe it's because of the partner I had for all three of my title runs. Maybe it's because I never truly gave much weight to a championship carried by two people. Maybe it's because I haven't had anyone to run with that could make those belts great again. Until now, of course.
We are two of the most respected faces in pro wrestling history, Chris. We haven't always been liked...but we've always been respected. People always come to see us headline the card be it Brawl or any Pay Per View at any time during the year. You're after your eighth World Championship and second Rumble win. I'm after my second World Title and first win at this event.
Well, let's be honest...it should be the other way around. Don't you think?
The way I see it - yes, Chris - you owe me one. But we can't go back and re-write history from years past. All we can do is hope we're both still in the mix at the same time so we can once again be the final two. Only this time - go face to face and finish it the right way.
There are plenty of faces in this year's Rumble I've never seen before. Plenty of faces that have probably only heard the name Hunter...or even Hunter Ryan...who still probably don't respect my legacy or anything I've done in this business. That's fine. Shit I prefer it that way. I'm all about punching you in the mouth and reminding you what my name is and then, after I spear you in half, forcing you to say my name as you bleed internally and it drips into a pool around your head.
That's probably too graphic, right? Too intense a description? I'm a nice guy so I'm not supposed to go there, right?
Nice guys can be sons of bitches when they want to be.
Instead of running down the list of those entering this historic match - I'll simply say this...
Good luck to the former champs and the future has beens. Good luck to the pretty boys and the ugly giants. Good luck to the rookies and the rough necks. Good luck to the former friends and newfound enemies. Good luck to the dreamers and the wishers. Good luck to all of you. I say good luck to all of you because at the end of the day...you'll still need more than that. You'll need more than luck. More than skill. More than friends, alliances, or "right place, right time."
You'll simply need yourself. Trust only yourself. Figure out your own game plan. Pray that the cards fall the way you need them to and that you enter the match at the right time. That's all you can do. The rest is left to fate.
Chris, we'll meet again inside that ring just as we did so many years ago. Fate will see to that. How it plays out from there - no one really knows. We can sit here and spit our predictions and self-promotion all we want. The fact remains - what is meant to be will be. Even if the referee doesn't see it. Even if the millions watching around the world don't like it.
What is meant to be - will always be.
Three times a World Champion. Three times a Tag Team Champion. Multiple other singles titles between multiple companies. A Hall of Famer. My legacy always winds up right back here - the WGWF. No matter what I think, no matter when I think my time is up - I always come home. My personal accolades are great. It's nice to say them out loud and stare at those replicas hanging on my wall at home. I've done so much in this business in over a decade of blood, sweat, tears, and loss.
But I've never won a Rumble. I've never been the last man standing among all others. I've never punched my ticket to Main Event at WrestleWars and Monday night - fate will decide if I can notch one more accolade to that resume. Shine up that legacy even brighter and then - one day, whenever that day truly comes - I can walk into the sunset and feel like I truly have done it all.
_____________________________________________
Hunter's car pulls into the driveway and he sits there finishing his cigar. He turns up the music and the sounds of classic 80s rock fill the cabin. His chair slides back and he closes his eyes taking one last, long drag of his stogie. What was he thinking?
Legacy. Fate.
The Rumble.
Was he really ready for this? One more dip into the vast ocean that is professional wrestling - a life and a business he swore he was done with less than a year ago. Could he do it?
No, it wasn't a lack in confidence. He never lacked that. It was more wanting to be so sure that in the event he walks out the winner - can he handle what comes next? What comes along with being the winner of the West Coat Rumble. Headlining the biggest stage in sports entertainment. Possibly even - becoming a three-time WGWF Champion and on top of the wrestling world for the fourth time in his career. Can he handle that?
He flicks the butt of his cigar out the window and finally turns the car off.
Of course he can handle that.
Just as he's walking up his driveway his phone rings.
HUNTER: Jesus Chris on a cross.
He hits "reject" and heads inside.
The one thing he couldn't handle anymore - crazy, stalker bitches.
Something was about to be done about that.
