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I'm on a Boat Mother f**ker; 5* HD TV RP #1
Topic Started: Jul 9 2009, 10:13 PM (104 Views)
Cage Stryker
Member Avatar
The One Man Legacy
Thursday, 25 June 2009, 17:00PM
Hotel Suite
Columbus, Ohio


“Faith. For some, it is our faith, and only our faith, which keeps us running, the fuel for our engines, the strength to carry on. For others, faith is but an afterthought of little or no importance, something which can be discarded at will, and retrieved again, once our luck begins to spiral out of control. At the very worst of times, the lowliest points in our lives, the last thing to fall back on, is always the exact same thing; faith.

Faith is something which plays a most important role in the life of the Greatest of All Time. But, my faith is not limited to a higher power, not limited to a God. My faith goes far beyond that, reaching into the depths of soul, my faith, is primarily, in myself. The mental belief, that nothing can harm you, nobody can touch you. That, my friends, is my beliefs. That, is my faith. And, let’s face it, my faith, may just be the truest of them all.

Argue the point. Prove me wrong. Show me the flaws in my faith. I dare you to. Being me, is never easy, that, my friends, is something you must all comprehend within those thick skulls of yours. Having to carry an entire company on your shoulders, for a full year, that is never fun, especially when you consider the half-wits that I’m forced to deal with on a daily basis. It is my faith in myself, that has brought me this far. The faith which will continue to carry me to glory.

Forever.

Sometimes, it’s hard for me to get through another miserable, depressing week, here in CzW. To be forced to endure more ridiculous half-wits walking around this company, flashing cocky, shit-eating grins, acting as if they’re the King of the Castle, like it’s merely a matter of time until they have their names in lights…it breaks the heart of this young man standing here before you all today.

Fools.

That is all these men and women are. Trailer trash, ghetto thugs, football rejects. They all have the exact same story, and the exact same method. Call out the big dog, and get famous. But, you see, it doesn’t work like that, oh no. You don’t just call me out, and get what you want. I simply laugh at every single one of you pathetic urchins. There’s a reason I’m a CzW World Heavyweight Champion you know.

Because I earned it.

That’s right kids, Cage Stryker earned it. Gone are the days when a fresh-face could walk in through the doors of the CzW’s front office and simply be inserted into the title picture. Today, you need to prove you belong up here with the likes of me. You need to earn that shot, through painstaking work. Consider it a message to you all. You want a shot? High Definition’s ready, willing and able…so long as you earn it, that is.

Which brings me to the challenger…

The mighty Tim Timmons and Justin Marsham. Two men whom, for reasons unknown to me, seem to have gotten themselves on the good side of the CzW Board of Directors, two men whom have been presented with a multiple golden opportunities. A charade, simply put. Men who “earned” their shots at the CzW Championships, by attacking people from behind.

A “never was“.

Sickening, that, is all it can be described as. A farcical move by the higher-ups of this company, to attempt to have a Champion whom they like. A Champion they feel that they can be proud of, a man who has suckled at their teat since the moment they signed their contracts. A man, like Tim Timmons, devoid of all the attributes which constitute a Champion, a man who is not fit to carry the bags of Rave, let alone Cage Stryker.

Charisma.

When one thinks of the names Tim Timmons or Justin Marsham, what is it that comes to mind first and foremost? Is it a piercing tongue? Rapier wit, which can defeat a man before he even steps in the ring? Is it the ability to connect with all the infidels sitting in the stands, to electrify them at the dropping of a hat? Or, is it the droning, monotonous, depressing voice of a whiny, waste of a grocery store clerk who got lucky?

Take a wild guess.

You, Tim Timmons, are just that. A black hole of charisma, sucking in every drop of entertainment which could ever possibly spew from the orifices of every single being on the planet, and turning it, into an abomination. Instead of attempting to connect with the fans that come to watch Cage Stryker dazzle them with his magic, you merely bore them to tears. But hey, Tim, it’s not just them you’re boring to tears.

Look at my eyes Tim.

Do I look like a man who is entertained by the sheer amount of fecal matter that you produce? I think not. Because you see Tim, there’s more to this business than simply grabbing yourself a little camera, and making a tired, old speech that everyone in the back has heard a million times before. Sure, maybe it tends to work on some of the simpletons back there, but hey, with me Tim, you know what you’re gonna get.

Outsmarted.

I wear an impenetrable armor Mr. Timmons, I think that is something that you have yet to realize. Every word you say to me, goes in one ear, and out the other. I call it a built-in “bullshit filter” Tim. It allows me to retain only that which I feel I need to. And when it comes to you, there ain’t too much to retain Tim. Do the world a favor buddy, and learn how to shake things up a little to go with that store-bought personality of yours.

Ah, yes…

How about that personality, eh, Justin? They very key to charisma lies deep within our personalities. Our ego. The very thing that makes us who we are in this world. A personality Justin, is something you’re either born with, or born without. And, needless to say my friend, you’ve been tragically born without one. It’s not something that you can buy, it’s not something you just discover lying on the side of the street.

But hey, that didn’t stop you, did it?

Everyone can see it Justin. It’s not exactly something you’ve cleverly disguised beneath a web of intricacy. No, no, with Justin Marsham, things were very, very different. He figured it out! Somewhere, deep within the web of wires, the blocks of fuses, the hulking dashboards that make up the anatomy of Justin Marsham, that personality setting was changed, to attempt - poorly too, I might add - to replicate the personality of High Definition himself.

I was right.

Admit it Justin, it’s okay. It’s not like everybody can’t already tell for themselves. Or was it simply a coincidence? Was that it, Justin? You just happened to find a spare personality lying around after Summer Showdown, prior to which El Pablo had called you on your complete lack of appeal? Admit it Justin. You listened long and hard to what El Pablo had to say. And you absorbed every single word of it. I don‘t blame you.

After all, he was right. And Tim…maybe you should listen to me for once.

I can imagine what ran through your tiny, insignificant mind as you sat in your filthy, run-down locker room in Tupelo, Mississippi, the night of Summer Showdown. You’d come so close. Within an inch, literally, of becoming the CzW Heavyweight Champion for the first time in your career. But, it all went awry. Could it be? Could the man the world knows as Cage Stryker have been right all along? Could YOUR lack of personality have been a key? Cause obviously Marsham’s was.

Nonsense!

That’s what you thought, isn’t it, Tim? Personality plays no role in the ring! It’s silly, surely you were just screwed over by those XtC guys, Mike Monroe and Krimzon Blaze, who aided me in gaining my World Championship, and KB would take your most wanted X-title to boot. It surely couldn’t have been Cage claiming you had all the charisma of a brick that was your undoing. Right?

But then, you realized.

It was. You realized that despite your best efforts to get into the head of Cage Stryker before the biggest match of your career, you had failed. And in the process, you had let me get into your mind, and set up camp there. You had let me do what I do best, play with your head. You were beaten long before you had even entered the ring. And as the realization sunk into your head, you made a decision.

From then on, you’d do the same.

You’d take a page from my playbook. And you try beat me at my own game. It worked against El Fuego twice, but let’s face it kiddo, you got lucky. They are genetic freaks, but you just managed to catch them during their off season. But you Tim, well, to say you’re a thorn in my side…

That’s probably putting it lightly.

But, that’s okay Tim, really, it is. Because that thorn has become less of an annoyance everyday. And come Overdrive this Sunday, that thorn will finally be pulled from beneath my skin, an I’ll send you all the way back down to where you belong, alongside Caleb, Impaler and Rob Wright…wasting valuable space on the roster.

Don’t worry Tim. You’ll be back where you belong, very, very soon.”

Sirena Starr
“Jesus Christ, he’s drinking again?”


El Pablo
“Well…kinda.”


Sirena Starr
“Kinda?”


El Pablo
“See, he’s drinking. But, he doesn’t think he’s drinking. He thinks LoKi is drinking.”


Cage
“Wonderful. Where is he?”

El Pablo
“Hotel bar. Though, he’s not drinking as much as he has been. He’s only had a couple, but I think in his mind, if LoKi drinks them, he can take more, since LoKi apparently once dank Bill Clinton under the table.”


Cage
“Fantastic.”

Columbus, Ohio. It’s another day, just like any other for Cage Stryker and XtC. Ed is drinking, the rest of us are just kicking back, preparing for another day at the office come Sunday night, another easy victory, and the welcoming prospect of inching ever closer to finally putting the dastardly Jesse Montana and his cantankerous band of followers in their places, once and for all. Oh, and Ed is drinking. Did I mention that?

Ed
“I don’t care what anyone says, LoKi, you should be in the NHL Hall of Fame. It’s a travesty that you weren’t drafted!”


As we approach the messy, marauding soul that is Special Ed, it’s nice to hear that he’s only on the NHL right now, meaning he hasn’t put too much into his system. Honestly, if the man claims LoKi could have been a star goalie one more time, I might have to hit him. Hard. And that’s not something I want to do. We could really do without any major internal disputes right now, since we’re so close to achieving our goals.

El Pablo
“Uhh, Ed?”


Ed
“Pablo! Sirena! Cage! Glorious day, isn’t it?”


Sirena Starr
“Uhh, whatever you say Ed…”


I take a sideward glance out the bar’s large window, just to make sure I’m not blind or insane, confirming with myself that it is, indeed, pissing rain and hailstones from the heavens. Yup, Ed’s starting to get just a little bit tipsy at this point. That’s okay, he hasn’t started getting violent, just stupid. Nothing that can’t be handled pretty easily. Johnny picks Ed up off his bar stool, and leads him away, and surprisingly, Ed obliges.

Ed
“I think you’re right, we’d better start getting our minds on Overdrive, and LoKi’s had enough to drink for now.”


“Why do I get the feeling it’s gonna be a really long, shitty day? Could it be that Ed believes it’s LoKi that’s half-drunk on whiskey and not him? Could it be the fact that it’s pouring rain and I have an interview later today, one that’s outside? Or could it be the sinking feeling in the bottom of my gut that I’m gonna head up to my room to find a Tim Timmons promo lying on the bed, in all it’s depressingly mundane glory for me?

Skill

The second piece of the puzzle. The ability to tie your opponent up in knots, to beat him to a bloody pulp, to leave him gasping for breath, on the verge of death. That rare ability to cause pain and suffering, and to look good all the while. Tim Timmons, you lack it. You lack the poise, the sense of calm, to truly defeat the very best this business has to offer, me. You may have the ability to defeat the has-beens, and those who never-were. But against the best of the best, a man yet to reach his prime? Don’t make me laugh, Mr. Timmons.

Intensity.

Whether you know this or not Tim, those vapid, bare, bloodshot eyes of yours tell a very revealing story. They tell the story of a man who is clawing for something, anything, to make him live up to his last name. Timmons. There is no sincerity to your madness Tim. There is no drive, no passion, no fire. There is simply a little boy, trying to play a man’s game. I’ve exposed you once before, and Sunday night, I expose you again.

Rage.

Where is it Tim? Where is the intensity to make me cower? Where is the vexation in your mannerisms that will make me think twice about my approach to defeating you? Does it even exist Tim? Because if it does, I’ve yet to experience it. Even at Summer Showdown, the biggest night of your pathetic little life, you were, strangely, emotionless. Is there fight in Tim Timmons? Or, are you just as over-the-hill as all the others?

Well Tim? Which is it?

Do my words anger you Tim? Do they inspire hate for me? Does it eat away at your very soul having me show you, that while the rest of the world may be blind, I can see all you’ve got to give? For your sake, young Timmons, I sincerely hope so. I wouldn’t want my opponent to think that he can drag his robotic frame to the ring, and merely lay me to rest, as if I were nothing. It would be nothing sort of a major disappointment to me Tim.

And I don’t like to be disappointed.

Alas, what more am I to expect? I’ve been disappointed consistently during the lifespan of the CzW. Countless fools, Tim. Just like you. They’ve all tried their hands at conquering High Definition. But, sooner or later, they’ve al failed. And what makes you any different Tim? What makes you so special, that you can put me away forever? Would you be so kind as to answer that question for me?

No?

I can’t say I blame you. You’re nothing but a distraction, a pesky mosquito perched on my arm, sucking away my time and patience. But it’s alright. Because Sunday night, is your last chance to wear CzW gold. You ain’t the Champion Tim. There’s no rematch clause for you once you lose to me. No third chance. It’s do or die Tim. In the wild, only the strong survive. The lion, the tiger, the rhino.

In CzW, only High Definition survives.

Then there’s still the little matter of Justin Marsham. You’ve got it all worked out in your head, don’t you? At least, you think you do. You think you’ve formulated a plan that will see you leave the St. John Arena with a victory under your belt. But the reality is much different to the dream Justin. The reality sees you leaving the St. John, not a winner, but in the back of an ambulance, a broken, bleeding, shell of a man. El Pablo has a plan for you. What it is, I’m not sure…but damn it…he’ll show you why he took the IC title away from you.

It doesn’t have to be this way.

There is a way out. It can all end for you Justin Marsham, or, it can continue, under a new guise. I can heal you Justin. I can mend you, and cleanse you of your pitiful ways. I can make you into what you have always craved to be. I can make you great. And all you have to do, is swallow your foolish pride. To lay down, to roll over, and to find Redemption. Wave the white flag, Tim. It’s what’s best for you.

Entrapment.

A shallow, muddy creek of quicksand, gripping tightly, firmly, pulling you down beneath the suffocating ineptitude of mediocrity that can only be summarized by one acronym - CzW. That unrelenting wave of stupidly, which serves no purpose other than to erode the brain cells of the intelligent and warp them, as if it were a plague, into one of them - an unrelenting, mindless zombie horde - absent of all independent thought, starving to be set free, hungry to be released from their shackles, and led through the desert, to The Promised Land.

That, CzW, is what you are. You’ve allowed Jesse and his Entourage to plague you far too long.

A Messiah, a Savior, that is what you long for. The Sheppard to herd the mindless cattle that you all have festered into; to take you over the hills, far away, to a land where the grass is green, the buy rates are higher than The Undertaker after a particularly good smoke, and where your pay check is more than fifty bucks a week. A man, who can lead you to glory, a man who can heal the suffering and the pain of yet another Jesse Montana booked Pay Per View, a man whom can spare you from the inane drone of a Tim Timmons.

A man, like me.

Friends, we are at our time of need. We are entering into dark days, as we are faced with the prospect of the two of the most incredibly bland, yet somehow, hyperactive in-ring, simpletons that the universe has ever seen colliding head on in a sheer cataclysm of unrelenting boredom, as the terrifying possibility of Justin Marsham and Tim Timmons squaring off with the CzW World Champion and the CzW Intercontinental Champion. High Five Star Definition is here to save what few brain cells Tim hasn’t killed yet and bring you all quality entertainment. Please…let us help you.

May God have mercy on our souls.

The sheerly depressing prospect, which shall usher in a new dark age - a time when demons shall break free of the shackles of hell, as you the mere mortals, and I, the Messiah, who dwell within this realm of consciousness, are forced to endure what will surely be the rapture of the CzW- as two forces of sheer evil collide. I am sorry to say, that my friends, it shall be the end of us all. The process starts small...so small you may not even notice. Suddenly, it happens.

Those fifty bucks?

Montana pats you on the butt - something he's well known for doing - he tells you that you were great out there tonight. Next thing you know, those fifty bucks, are twenty bucks. Next thing you know, those eight thousand fans who scream for you every night you walk through those curtains - are two and a half thousand - struggling to keep their heavy eyelids open. And that's when it happens. Those buy-rates plummet, becoming non-existent, and then those non-existent buy-rates plummet even father - deep, to the depths of the ninth level of Hell, where Satan himself resides, delighted that his scheme to send two of his most loyal minions to put the world though the unimaginable horrors of a wrestling match between the two has worked so well, he cackles a laugh to send shivers down your spine, a cackle which will shatter bone, a cackle which will cause your ear drums to explode from the sheer pain.

And then, where will you be?

The grim reality of it all is, I'm sure, failing to sink in through those thick skulls of yours. So, allow me to spell it out for you, nice and slowly, in plain, simple English - so even you can understand what I‘m saying.. You know Bob? Yeah, you do. You know him to see him. He's that guy, in his mid-forties, you see in the street every Saturday when you go to pick up your groceries. He's a qualified lawyer you know - he had it all. Now? He sleeps on the side of a road, under a door if he's lucky, wearing clothes soaked in his own excrement - dreaming of the past - dreaming.

Thinking.

He's thinking of what once was. Fortune. Happiness. Prosperity. "The Good Ol' Days." What would have happened? What could have been? That's what Bob thinks, as he wallows in his own filth like a swine. What would life be like, had he evolved with time? What would things be like, if he had tried new things? What could life have meant, if he hadn't served up the same bullshit, time after time?

Do you catch my drift? No?

Tim Timmons, for months now, has bored us to tears - me especially. Justin Marsham, has shouted some random crap since he walked in the door. And these men have been...successful? Honestly - I guess miracles really do happen. And now...we stare at the prospect of these two worthless sacks of shit, facing two champions. Good Lord, lay your blessing upon the CzW, that it may survive the train wreck it may very well be approaching. God, why has it happened? Why have you allowed us, for so long, to suffer, and now, you allow us to be tortured with the mere thoughts of these two men clashing?

Have a little compassion!

We cry out, Lord in Heaven above! We pray to you, send us a lifeline! Send us something, anything, someone, anyone! Send help, please!" That, is the lament of the CzW. That is what the buffoons chant in unison, screaming to the Heavens, longing, to be saved from the immanent torture. CzW, I bring you good news, for, God has sent the Savior! The man who has been given the talents, the blessings, the gifts, to save you. And he‘s been here for over a year to boot!

And, its me.

Yes, indeed, my companions, it is I who shall lead you to the greener pastures you seek. It is I who can, and will become your martyr - the man to bear the burden, the agony, the pain, and who shall bear it with pride. I am that man, who shall carry this company on his back, and carry it to the great heights which it deserves, and which I, and only I, can provide.

Salvation.

That is what awaits you CzW. I ask you, not to fear it. I ask you, to please, not resist. I'm not here to hurt you CzW. Embrace my creed - feel my wisdom. My words you may not understand - I understand the difficulties faced by hollow minds when it comes to comprehending words of this magnitude - but alas, I ask you - to relax. To enjoy it. The short sufferings I bring, will be nothing, compared to the long-term damage that shall be done by Satan's greatest minions. Hush, CzW.

Breathe.

I‘ve got you. You‘re safe, in my hands. Let me be your star, your guiding light. Allow my disciples to carry out my bidding. Allow us to give this company the wholesome, family friendly environment it craves. We can fix CzW. We can change it, and shape it. CzW can become a beacon of hope for all professional wrestling organizations, an example to follow. But…it can only be done, with High Definition and XtC in the driver’s seat.

Hand us the keys.

We want to make CzW great. If possible, we’ll do it through love. If necessary we’ll do it by force. It is your choice, my brethren. Do you want war, or do you want peace? I sincerely hope it is peace that you desire…bloodshed, simply would not do, now, would it?

“A quick peck on the cheek, and I throw my coat around myself. On my way out the door, I open the little fridge in the hotel room, and extract something from it. She scowls at me, I tell her not to worry - CzW pays for it’s employees hotel expenses, and even if it didn’t I’d still pay for what I took. Maybe. Wholesome, that’s me alright. Off I go to downtown Denver, where a camera crew no doubt awaits me, despite the terrible rain.

“Ah, there the miserable f**kers are.”

Sopping wet, I see them lined along a side street, and I approach cautiously - you never know when Jeff-Jeff may choose to try surprise you with a couple hired goons. No sign of any goons, just a gimp, as there, in all her miserable glory, stands Jenny Jacobs, a single sound guy and a strangely familiar looking cameraman…must be my imagination. Jenny greets me with a smile.

Jenny Jacobs
“How delightful…”


Cage
“Blow it out your ass.”

Jenny Jacobs
“Jesus, what’s got you in a bad mood?”


Cage
“No, High Definition doesn’t like having his time wasted by high-school drop outs. Now c’mon, turn that shit on, and let’s do this, I got a f**kin‘ house show later.”

Cameraman
“Action!”


Jenny Jacobs
“Welcome ladies and gentlemen to an exclusive interview with the current CzW World Heavyweight Champion himself, ‘High Definition’, Cage Stryker! And Cage, you’re just days away from your first match since you captured it at Summer Showdown, when you square off against one of your arch rivals, and the man many people feel should have been the rightful champion at Summer Showdown, Tim Timmons. What are your thoughts heading into this match?”


Cage
“Jinkies, Jenny, you sure do ask the hard questions, don’t ya? Every single time I grace you with my presence, you ask me the exact same question, and every single time you get a different answer. And today is no different. I’m America’s Role Model for a reason, Jenny, because I’m good TV.

Jenny Jacobs
“That you are.”


“Why, thank you very much Jenny, it’s always nice to be appreciated by the little people such as yourself. Really makes it all worth while, you know what I’m saying? Now, anyway. Tim Timmons, you know, very strange individual, very vapid, very boring, but he’s got a hell of a voice, you know, I heard him laying down some R’n’B beats on the internet, I gotta give the devil his due you now, talented singer.”

Jenny Jacobs
“Umm, that’s not the same guy. They’re two different people…”


Cage
“Really? You can’t be serious!”

Jenny Jacobs
“No, no, I’m really quite serious.”


Cage
“Shame, shame. But you know, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, after all, the Tim Timmons that we’re used to and talent don’t exactly go hand in hand with one another, now, do they? You see, Tim Timmons is obviously quite liked by the people who make the decisions and whatnot around here, Jess Jess especially. That’s the only way to explain how I the blue hell the kid’s managed to get himself another shot at greatness. But, allow me to show the world exactly where Tim Timmons is.

Reaching into my coat pocket, I take the small package I removed from the fridge in the hotel room out, and open it. A deck of cards. Why do they always put them in the fridge anyway? Isn’t that a little bit pointless? Anyway, I digress. So I take the joker card, and I hold it up to that freakishly familiar cameraman.

“This, is Tim Timmons.”

*Cage shuffle the deck.*

“Now, where in this deck is he? You don’t know, I don’t know. Tim Timmons, is simply put, lost in the shuffle. Never has a rival of mine been so distant from me. Never has a man or woman gunning for my gold strayed so far away from me. Where are you Tim? Did you get lost along he way? Or, could it be something else Tim? Could it be that which we all fear?

Could you have become irrelevant? Shockingly Tim, the answer, is a yes. You’ve become nothing. You’re simply a blind man being led to war by Jess Jess and his cronies in a fleeting hope that they can move the championship away from me, away from High Definition, away from it’s home.

Tim Timmons, you’d like to think of yourself as the master of the ring. Well Tim, I have some very bad news for you, because guess what? You cannot be the master of the master, and I Tim, am the master. High Definition is the Chosen One, Tim, it’s as clear as the nose on your face. And the Chosen One does not make it a habit of losing, nor does he make a habit of staying out of the spotlight.

And I would venture to say Tim, that you’re unhappy with how you’ve been left out of the spotlight, replaced by Ace King, a man whom DD happens to be much higher on than yourself. That’s why you’ve been left out of the limelight Tim. That’s why you’re just sitting there. It’s because you’re out of favor with your only supporters. You’ve been cast aside, and for what?

It’s your last shot at stardom Tim Timmons, your final curtain, the chance for you to be in the Main Event for one more show before High Definition revolutionizes the World Division like I did the X, the opportunity to set a new record.

But Tim…how could you possibly take all the excitement of a tag, and turn it into a pile of festering feces?

I’ve said it time and again about you Mr. Timmons. You’re boring. You’re generic. You lack the ‘it’ factor. But then again, so does the vast majority of the CzW roster. Those that possess ‘it’ are known to the world as XtC and Brian Kirkland. It must be depressing Tim, having less charisma, originality, and connection with the fans than even LoKi has. You’ve been bested by a coconut monkey. There’s no shame in it. LoKi knocked out Justin too.”

*Suddenly, a gruff, deep voice pipes up from behind Cage.*

Unknown Male
Ahem.. what do you mean, "even Loki"? I'll have you know I was drawing in 5-star ratings before you were even a nebula in the CZW Universe!


*Cage spins sharply round 180 degrees, to find himself face to face.. with the blond coconut himself, hovering eerily above a long black raincoat. Jenny screams, while Cage just stands there with a look of complete confusion on his face.*

"Loki"
What's the matter Jenny? This can't be the first time you've found yourself face-to-face with a big, hairy nut! Bet it's the first time one's made you scream though, am I right!? Who's got me up top?


*Loki's raincoat suddenly starts moving about, almost as if a small animal had crawled inside and was struggling to break free. After a second or two, a hand wearing a fingerless glove emerges from the sleeve, and raises into the air, as if in anticipation of a high-five. Cage, however, declines the invitation, deciding instead to unzip the mac and pull it open. When he does, it reveals "The Five Star Superstar" El Pablo hunched inside, one arm through the sleeve of the coat, and the other holding onto a coconut shy, obviously supporting Loki and the raincoat itself. EP grins sheepishly as Cage steps back.*

El Pablo
Sup?


Cage
Pablo!? Erm.. what the hell are you doing?

El Pablo
"Well.. it's raining..."


Cage
I realize that.

El Pablo
"And, erm.. my boas will get wet..."


Cage
"Could you not just.. leave them indoors?"

*EP gasps theatrically.*

El Pablo
"And expose my face to the world!? That's crazy talk! Almost as crazy and talkative as you whenever someone mentions Tim Timmons!"


*Cage stares at El Pablo a little longer.*

Cage
“Damn…you’re right Eeps.”

Pablo
“I am?”


Cage
“Yeah…damn…you’ve reminded me yet again at how much Tim keeps pissin me off. I have no more beef with him. I’m not the X-Division Champion anymore and he’s still hounding me. Let me guess…his new song is…The World Title is my destiny…it’s what I’ve wanted all along and Cage…you have it. Now me and The Next Generation are gonna beat you up some more.”

El Pablo
“Oh yeah, that’s already been done.”


Cage
“Damn it… I can’t help but wonder if it’d been any different if someone else won the titles.”

El Pablo
“More than likely.”


*Cage notices an envelope attached to LoKi.*

Cage
“What’s that?”

El Pablo
“An envelope.”


Cage
“Thank you Eeps…you are very…informative…”

El Pablo
“Thanks. It’s for you. LoKi found it outside your hotel room.”


*Cage opens the envelope and pulls out a yellow piece of paper. El Pablo tries to peak over his shoulder.*

Cage
“Hey, it’s from a sweepstakes I entered a few months back while I was still nursing my injuries during my hiatus.”

El Pablo
“What’s it say…what’s it say?”


Cage
“Wow…a free boat ride for three. Hm…who should I take.”

*El Pablo smiles as he looks at Cage trying to act all important. Cage smiles.*

Cage
“El Pablo.”

El Pablo
YES!!


Cage
And…Mr. T

*The camera pans over to an olive skinned man with a Mohawk.*

Mr. T
I pity the fool!!


*The scene ripples out and returns with Cage, Mr. T, and El Pablo standing by a boat.The rain had ceased.*

Cage
“Aww shit!! Get your towels ready it's about to go down. Everybody in the place hit the f**kin deck. But stay on your motherf**kin toes. We runnin this, let's go.”

*Cage and El Pablo waste no time running up onto the boat. Mr. T goes to get on with a shady figure runs into him knocking him into the water. Then quickly rushes up onto the boat as it begins to set sail.*

Mr. T
“I’m gonna get you sucka!!”


*As the camera pans back…the assailant turns out to be none other than Jenny Jacobs smiling and laughing at Mr. T.*

Jenny
“Sweet, check this out. I'm on a boat. Everybody look at me cause I'm sailin on a boat.
I'm on a boat. Take a good hard look at the motherf**kin boat.”


*Jenny turns around and sees Cage and El Pablo staring at her weirdly*

Jenny
“What…he didn’t have a ticket..”


*Cage and Pablo chuckle before going to wherever they want. Cage goes to the pilot area while El Pablo goes down into the rooms. Jenny chooses to follow Cage.

Cage
“This f**kin rocks. I'm on a boat motherf**ker take a look at me Tim. Straight flowin on a boat on the deep blue sea. Bustin five knots, with the wind whippin out my coat
You can't stop me motherf**ker cause I'm on a boat.”

Jenny
“Wow Cage, you seem to be havin too much fun with this.”


Cage
“What you talkin bout Jenny?”

Jenny
“Well, you seem to be acting more like the fun loving Cage we at CzW have grown to love and adore. You have to admit…you went way out there a couple of weeks ago.”


Cage
“Hell, why shouldn’t I? Take a picture, trick. I'm on a boat, bitch. We drinking Santana champ, cause it's so crisp. I got my swim trunks, and my flippie-floppies. I'm flippin burgers, and Tim is at a bar straight flippin coins. Bout the only wins he can get these days…save for the luck he had a few weeks back when he managed to beat me in a Tag match. I‘m hoping Pablo and I don‘t have to relive that blasphemy when we team up again…this time two on two…Eeps and I versus Tim and Justin.”

Jenny
“Speaking of Pablo…where is he?”


*Cage smiles and looks out the window.*

Cage
“He’s out ridin dolphins.”

*Cage and Jenny step out on the starboard bow and watch El Pablo.*

El Pablo
“Cage…Cage…check this out. I'm ridin on a dolphin, doin flips and shit. The dolphin's splashin, gettin everybody all wet. But this ain't Seaworld, this is real as it gets. I'm on a boat, don't you ever forget.”


*Cage helps pull El Pablo back on board. El Pablo then walks up to the front og the boat and holds out his arms.*


El Pablo
“I'm on a boat and, it's goin fast and I got a nautical themed pashmina afghan. I'm the king of the world, on a boat like Leo If you're on the shore, then you're sure not me.”


Cage
“f**k land, I'm on a boat, motherf**ker..”

El Pablo
“f**k trees, I climb buoys, motherf**ker.”


Cage
“I'm on the deck with my boys, motherf**ker
This boat engine make noise, motherf**ker.”

*Jenny scratches her head in confusion.*

Jenny
“All this over a boat ride.”


Cage
“Yeah. Why not? Yeah, never thought I'd be on a boat It's a big blue watery road. Poseidon~!! Look at me.”

El Pablo
“All hands on deck.”


Cage
“Never thought I'd see the day when a big boat comin my way. Believe me when I say, I f**ked a mermaid.”

*Sirena is seen dressed as Ariel from the Little Mermaid.*

*Cage and El Pablo can contain themselves no longer as they bost start busting up laughing.*


Cage
“Heh…alright…nuff with the randomness. I just wanna take a moment to thank The Lonely Island Boys for inspiring me to do that. Hopefully you’ve all had a good laugh…or a good snooze…whatever…because now…I need to get serious. A few weeks back…I pissed off a lot of people.”

El Pablo
Dratz…I got my boas wet. Now I gotta go dry them off.


*Cage smirks as El Pablo goes back down into the rooms.*

Cage
“I told him to leave them at home. Anyway…back to Overdrive and my actions as of late. As I said…a couple of weeks ago…I pissed a lot of people off. And at the time…I thought I had too. I thought that was the only way I could go into that match at 110%…by trying to break all ties I had with all those around me. I needed to piss everyone off…then I would have nothing holding me back from claiming either belt. However…looking at it now…sure…I stand before you the NEW CzW World Heavyweight Champion…but at what cost? Now that isn’t to say I don’t cherish this title…it’s a great accomplishment in my wrestling career. This makes me the top of the mountain…the man everyone else has to look up to because I’m the man they want to be. However…right now…I don’t feel like a champion…I feel like guys like Tim and Justin. Two men who thrive on the hatred of others. That is how they excel at whatever they do. They succeed through making the World hate them…that’s not me…that’s not Cage Stryker. That is not what High Definition represents. With hatred…comes failure. It was bad enough I was facing several of my most trusted allies in that match…but then I had to go trash on them too… I became that which I despise…”

Jenny
“What’s that?”


Cage
“A version of Tim Timmons with gold. That’s not me Jenny, anyone who has dealt with me in my time here in the CzW…knows that I’m the people’s hero…not the people’s chump. So…again, I wish to send an apology out to all the fellas in the back who I may have scorned a couple of weeks. Kirkland and XtC being the tops of that. Not this week though…this week I’m going to try and right my wrongs. I’m teamed with XtC member El Pablo against our two rivals…Justin Marsham and Tim Timmons. Heh, Eeps said it best…I go all crazy eyed whenever Tim is ever mentioned. How many more times am I going to have to beat him before he shuts up…and leaves me be… Shoot, that reminds me…I need to make a call right quick.”

*Cage picks up his cell and starts crunching numbers. After a few moments, he appears to have contacted someone.*

Cage
“Yes, hello Dr. Love.”



Cage
“No, I’m fine. Thanks for the concern though.”



Cage
“What!? No, she’s fine too, I was actually calling for a coworker of mine. He seems to be havin some serious problems.”



Cage
“Well…the other day he was talking about eating thunder and shitting excellence. That didn’t sound to healthy to me.”



Cage
“No, I don’t think that’s some street term for any kind of drugs that I know of.”



Cage
“Yeah, well, no. I was just calling to see if you knew of some remedy for that or something…is there like some sort of anal plug or suppository he can take.”



Cage
“No? Well okay doctor…thank you. Yeah, you can send that to him. We’ll be in Columbus Sunday. You can fed ex it or something.”

*Cage hangs up and looks back at Jenny.*

Cage
“What, I’m, just trying to help him. But anyway, like I was sayin…Sunday I hope to revert to who I really am. I’m not this pompous asshole like Justin…or this punk like Tim. I oppose all of that…and when I get in the ring with those two Sunday…I’m going to show them exactly why I am the World Champion. And I’m going to be who I am meant to be. XtC and I go back quite a ways…and I would hate for anything to destroy that. So yeah, when me and Eeps stare face to face with Marsham and Timmons…and prove to them once and for all…we are CzW…and we will show them why we hold gold…and they don’t. It’s time for me to be who I’m destined to be…”

Jenny
“Cage…as always, it’s been a pleasure chatting with you. How much longer is this boat ride anyway?”


*Cage shrugs as they continue sailing into the sunset.*






Edited by Cage Stryker, Jul 11 2009, 04:12 AM.
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