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| Kerosene | |
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| Topic Started: Oct 1 2010, 04:39 AM (146 Views) | |
| Johnny Kerosene | Oct 1 2010, 04:39 AM Post #1 |
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United States Champ
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The camera fades in to Johnny slouching on a beat-up couch, legs propped on a coffee table that doesn't look in much better condition with his title belt lying next to him. Johnny: Hey there all y'all, and welcome to another episode of your favorite czwwrestling.com exclusive even if you don't know it yet, Kerosene's Garage. Yeah, since the last episode, good ol' Beautiful Agony's had to disband, so... it would probably be good to have a moment of silence. Johnny solemnly bows his head for a few seconds. Johnny: But I sure as hell ain't gonna let a setback like that stop me. And I haven't, 'cause I am still one half of your Global Tag Team Champions, and I am damn proud of that. But enough about me, let's get to our guest for this show. A man who needs no introduction, the one, the only, the real Kimo Newton! The camera cuts over to a cardboard cutout of Kimo Newton, complete with a liquor bottle with a handwritten label reading “NOT RUM” duct taped to one of the hands. A sound effect of crickets chirping is heard. Johnny: Wait, wait, hold on... no. Nope, that... that one's just a cardboard cutout. I swear, is the real Kimo Newton around here anywhere? Johnny takes his legs off the coffee table, sits up with better posture and stares directly into the camera. Johnny: I very highly doubt it. Johnny smiles and starts to relax again. Johnny: You see Kimo, I don't know what you got in your head or how you got it in your head or why you got it in your head or whatever, but you've been on your crusade to inform the world how everything and everyone in this business is fake. No one's persona is real. Everyone's here to play to the crowd, for better or worse. Well, allow me to be a good man and assist you on this crusade. I'm sure you're going to be accusing me of being quite fake next, if you haven't already. Therefore, let me be the first to say... Johnny takes off his headband, placing it on the coffee table. He then clears his throat a few times, completely dropping his British accent. Johnny: You're right. I'm fake. Of course I'm fake! It would be a insult to every person who buys a ticket, every person who tunes into Showtime to insinuate that Johnny Kerosene is real. Do I act like this every second of every day? Of course not! I don't expect anyone to think that. So then let me ask you something. Why is playing to the crowd a bad thing? Why is making the fans cheer a bad thing? Why, at all, is being fake a bad thing? Let me tell you a story. A story about way back, back before I knew or gave anything about this crazy wrestling business. Back when I was just a kid, and me and some of my buds decided to go and form a band together. Good days, good days indeed, but that's not the point. I looked at the bands that were out there, I looked at the essence of rock itself and I saw a being, a persona that I could have a lot of fun with. And as such, I became... Johnny Kerosene. See, that's what it's about, Kimo. It's having fun and enjoying what you do. I've always been the kind of person to go ahead and say that if you can't have fun doing something, then it just ain't worth doing. I am Johnny Kerosene because I enjoy it. I have fun with it, the fans have fun with it, and somehow I seriously doubt that either of us cares that I'm being fake. So why should you care? Furthermore, why should you be going onto this entire crusade, exposing everyone for who they really are, when- let's be honest- everyone knows who we really are. The only people whose intelligence you might not be insulting are little kids, who really probably shouldn't be watching Overdrive in the first place. There's a lot of blood, a lot of language (cuntpissers), a lot of violence, and if y'all out there let your kids watch it, you're awesome, but I can't say I'd blame you if you didn't. And another thing. Okay, so we're all fake. Everything is fake. We've established that. Whoop-de-goddamn-do. Do you expect me to believe that you're real and not just another persona? Do you expect anyone to? Think about it, Kimo. Do real people act like this? Do real people go on rampages of random assault and scare grandmothers into heart attacks? Hell no. There might be a few people like that in the world, but those that do, the real people that do... are psychotic. Bloodraging misanthropes like the kind of person you claim is the real you are most likely either in a mental institution or prison. And somehow I don't believe you'd care to be in either of those places. I don't believe you'd fit in too well there either. You know why? Because this isn't the real you, and just because you say it is don't mean shit. Go ahead, say it a hundred times. A thousand times. A million times! Print up a billion flyers and drop 'em from blimps onto stadiums all over the world; it doesn't matter and it won't matter because everyone can tell that you're just as fake as everyone you're calling out. Besides, come on man. You're telling me that you hated the crowd cheering for you all the time? You're telling me that you hated being the guy who could do nothing but yell "FISHDAWWWWWWWG!" and get a bunch of cheap pop? There's wrestlers out there that would kill for that kind of reception, and you're gonna piss it away all because you want to be whatever the hell you claim is real? Alright, fine, so you don't like Jamaican rum. You think it tastes like grandmothery goat piss, or however you described it; I can't be bothered to pay complete attention to your diatribes. So what? Dump out the bottle and put something else in there. Nobody's gonna notice. Or maybe you just hate alcohol altogether, in which case, well... I apologize, but the ship on that feud has sailed. Quite thoroughly. Granted, that one's not really your fault, but still. I feel the pain on that one. And so all this talk and walk about being whatever real is has clearly pissed off the wrong people. As if there's anyone worth pissing off around here, but anyway. Derek Damage has put you in a Damage Control match against The Spectacle. The undefeated tag team champions. And you know something? I pity you. I really do, because even you don't deserve this. Damage clearly has the power to fire anyone he wants, any time he wants. So then, he clearly could've fired you a long time ago. Yet he hasn't. Instead he's putting you in match after match, culminating with a handicap match against me and Brian. Like I said, he could fire you whenever he wants. But no. He wants to see you suffer. And not only that, but think for a second. Is there anything stopping him from putting you in another Damage Control match? Hell, Eddie Rowan's going for his second. Is there anything stopping him from firing you on the spot the second the bell rings? So maybe, just maybe, you should lay down. End the pain. Because we sure as hell ain't going to lay down on you. I'd want this to be a fair fight. As tough as you make yourself out of be, you know as well as I do that two on one really isn't fair. But that's just not what fate has in store. You're going to fight us, because you feel like you have to, and in a way I guess you do. We're going to fight you, because we damn sure aren't going to become collateral damage for all the vein-popping bullshit Damage has in store. And trust me, he does have a lot in store. At first, I didn't know what to think about Damage Control. Separating the wheat from the chaff never sounds like a bad idea in theory, and it's already gotten rid of a lot of the scourge of CZW: Alan Fiscus, Jesse Montana, Chris Tolwar. But where is it going to end? How is it going to end? The second Eddie got put into his second match I realized something. This isn't finding the cream of the crop. This isn't even bloodsport for bloodsport's sake. This is Derek Damage going on six kinds of ego trip, taking out everyone he feels is a threat to his control of the company, and not giving two shits about whoever falls by the wayside. Like I told you, Kimo, you damn sure picked the wrong guy to piss off. And so then I pity you. I feel terrible. Not terrible enough to throw the match, of course, as I have my own ass to save, but terrible enough to tell you that I wish it didn't have to be this way. I didn't mind you. Well, not this you. And probably not the actual real you if you think you can pass off this you as the genuine article. But the "FISHDAWWWWWWG!" you? He was pretty awesome. Johnny puts his headband back on, clears his throat, and his British accent returns. Johnny: And so that's it for another episode of Kerosene's Garage. As always, I am one half of your Global Tag Team Champions, Johnny... actually, no. This ain't it. Hold on a second. Johnny leaves for a few seconds, as the camera holds on the empty set. He finally returns carrying the Kimo cutout, which he places atop the coffee table. Johnny: I promised the people an interview, and I'm a man of my word. I'm giving them a goddamn interview. Johnny roots around for a microphone before finding one and calmly beginning. Johnny: So Kimo, you say that this is the real you. Is that really the case? Kimo doesn't talk. Probably because he's made of fucking cardboard. Johnny: Hmm? Speak up. No one can hear you. Kimo still says nothing. Surprise, surprise. Johnny: Nothing to say? Well then, let me give a demonstration then. You, of course, are supposedly the real you. And here's the you people actually want to cheer for. Johnny grabs the bottle of rum and chugs a good deal of it before smashing the bottle onto the coffee table. Johnny: YEAAAAAAAH DOOOOOOOOG! Johnny runs offscreen, then returns with an icepick, winding up and slamming it into the throat of cardboard Kimo, knocking it over. He then continues slamming into it over and over again. Johnny: Yeah! *thunk* I'm the man! *thunk* I'm the dog! *thunk* I'm the fishdog! *thunk* I'm Kimo! Johnny tosses the icepick into the couch, then kneels down and begins pounding at his cardboard adversary. Johnny: That's right! I'm the hoodlum! I'm from Hawaii! Or maybe Jamaica! Or possibly Brooklyn, why not? Yeah dog son! Johnny stands the cutout up, ripping at the arms to apply a makeshift full nelson, then slams the cutout with a Facemelter into the coffee table, flattening it in the process. Johnny stands up, triumphant. Johnny: EVERYBODY EVERYBODY YEEAAAAH DOOOOOOOOG! Johnny stares directly into the camera, breathing heavily, fire in his eyes. Johnny: Now then, Kimo... are you sure... you made... the right decision? |
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