Post by Deleted on Apr 24, 2014 21:29:19 GMT -6
Tag Team Match
Yuo Phailous & Johnny B. Vs Chad Vargas & Leo Banks
It's an odd pairing, sure, but Vargas has been looking to get his shot on the main show and he finally does. Vargas is known to not like much of anybody besides himself... well neither does The Johnny and even though Johnny didn't advance past Daniel Smart he put on a hell of a fight and rumor has it he's looking to smack Vargas around a bit because his face annoys JB. Phalious had one match so far, but he's a true blue Cowboy, hard working to the bone. Leo Banks on the other hand... he's rich. He's got the money and doesn't understand why somebody would want to be so hard working when you can pay people to do that for you. A lot of combustible elements here, and a lot of odd pairings but who knows... maybe we'll see the start of a couple tag teams.
And so, it has come to pass that The Johnimant Species was Johnimated. The Pre-Millennium Wrestler Johnny B. has finally been defeated, but at least it was by a worthy competitor in the form of Daniel Smart. Now one of those men goes on to Main Event, while the other goes back to jerking off behind the curtains... or so I'm to believe the term goes.
Look up at the first non-dark match of the night at Best of the Best. You see that would-be Main Eventer JBC has been thrown into a seemingly random pairing against another seemingly random pairing in a match with seemingly no implications, no promises of big things to come, nothing but a meaningless battle for a meaningful W or sorry-ass L.
But did you know that The Johnny is an alchemist? Yes, folks, Johnny B., man of many talents, can indeed turn even the most foul of turds into the most brilliant of diamonds!
All it takes is a little bit of pressure.
And to forget it'd still be a shit diamond.
Perceived bullshit whinging aside, our story starts out today in a dim and smoky room, similar to an office's meeting room back in the day when smoking was still allowed indoors. That Bald-Headed Bastard™®© is sitting at the helm, dressed to the nines (or like some sort of mobster wannabe, your pick), and is surrounded by a league of shadowy figures seated around the large round table. He looks around the room in disgust.
Johnny B.: "I want... someone... anyone!... to tell me what happened at Unstoppable! Hmm? You wanna tell me Johnny Legs?"
He turns to one of the faceless mooks, but gets no answer. He flares his nostrils, inhales, and turns to someone else.
Johnny B.: "What about you, Johnny Fists?"
Another faceless goon gives no response. His mouth twitches and his eyes narrow.
Johnny B.: "Johnny Hotcakes?"
He doesn't even look at this one, just points at them. To no one's surprise but JBC's, there's no reply. He pounds his fist on the table and looks like he's about to lose it.
Johnny B.: "No one? No one's got an answer for me. Not Johnny Thumbs, not Johnny Two-Eyes, not Johnny Sevens, what about you, Johnny Bodybags? Don't tell me you don't have an answer for me!"
Nope. Johnny slams both hands onto the table and flies up and out of his seat so strongly that the chair tops over.
Johnny B.: "I've surrounded myself with the finest Johnny's the world has ever seen... the finest! I thought when I gathered you all here that I was in good hands... ha!! I'm up to my neck in tight-lipped mamalukes! Not even yes-men! Uh-duh-men is more like it! Idiots! Losers! Never-beens! What am I even paying you for?!"
He closes his eyes and holds out his hands, taking the time to calm himself down. He methodically sets the chair back up and eases himself back into it, sitting defeatedly slouched.
Johnny B.: "I- okay, all right, whatever. Moving on. Best of the Best. Best... of the Best! Anyone here hear about it yet? -Don't answer, I don't got all night. Thanks to my miscalculations last night, Yours Truly's been paired up with this unusual character called Yugo Phailous. Yugo Phailous, editors at MSW.com! It hasn't been my ish up 'till now, but shit, them guys have been spelling it 'Yuo' this whole time! I dunno why dude hasn't spoken up about it yet, but The Johnny's all over it, not to worry... partner!"
Johnny gives a directionless smirk. Even he doesn't quite know why he's smirking: he's lost his first-ever match in MSW, losing his chance at history in the process, and then got stuffed into a round match through a squared circle. A rookie wrestler might become disenchanted at their pride taking such a major blow, but Johnny B. is no rookie wrestler; while he's known for many great things, a winning streak isn't one of them.
So maybe that's what the smirk's about then - he's taking this Best of the Best match of his and plans on turning it into something to talk about. Sure, there's no titles on the line, no promises of any, not even a chance at anything beyond maybe a relatively higher-profile tag-team match in the future for the winning team, but all the same, 15 years in the business is going to come down hard on Phailous in order to turn him into a better wrestler, and come down on Vargas and Banks in order to turn them into shark chum.
Johnny B.: "Chad Fartgas and Leo Stanks. Now, don't let my insulting names get you mad. Actually, wait, yes, let them get you mad, like I give a f***, actually!
Vargas, you're some Confederate bumpkin whose the great grandson of Strom Thurmond, lover of the General Lee car, and a guy who spends a lot of money on detergent to keep his white... sheets... their whitest! And you'll see - he won't even f***in' deny any of this! Dat motherf***er's dead!!
And who should he be teamed up with, none other than Banks, Capitalism's best friend, pastes Donald Trump posters in his bedroom, basically has a more smug, douche-y punchable face than even Vargas does!"
Thinking about those lowly villainous mugs fills The Johnny with a disdain unending. The MSW might have some greater villains, but those are in the realms of supervillainy, so theirs is an evil fueled by madness. When it comes to Vargas and Banks, however, their wretchedness is realer and more understandable... all too well. Each represent a Deadly Sin: Vargas is Wrath manifested, while Banks is Greed personified.
Both men are a virus, albeit weak ones. Now, this shouldn't be misconstrued as Vargas and Banks being weak wrestlers, nothing could be further from the truth. They're viruses who only start off weak; if they're left to their own devices, they'll grow stronger and eventually take over... everything.
Now, The Johnny ain't no superhero - in fact, he's fairly morally ambiguous - but even he sees that Vargas and Banks are a pair of Kings, and both of them are wild! It'll take the combined efforts of a pair of Jacks to neutralize the threat.
Also, Johnny really hates Chad Vargas!
Johnny B.: "Yugo, it's gonna soon be time that we have a little titty-tit (tête-à-tête) to discuss the best way to deal with these numpty-ass bitches. You name the time and place - only, please refrain from suggesting some redneck bar. The Johnny don't do beer or country music. Now..."
Johnny calmly rests his hands on the table and rises to his feet. He straightens his suit out and clears his throat.
Johnny B.: "You've all been such a help this evening. I'm so glad I gathered you all here today for this brainstorm session. I've learned a lot hearing all your differing points of view."
He smiles widely and insincerely, then sneers.
Johnny B.: "Now f*** off, I got work ta do!"
And with that, Johnny leaves the room, but before doing so, he flicks the lights back on... to reveal seated at each seat a scarecrow with a jack-o-lantern head. Each fixed jagged mouth has a lit cigar toothpicked to them. Johnny narrows his eyes at this ragtag - but mostly rag - group of characters, then leaves, slamming the door behind him. One of the "men" plops forward, its head falling off and rolling off the other side of the table, ideally not starting a fire.
Look up at the first non-dark match of the night at Best of the Best. You see that would-be Main Eventer JBC has been thrown into a seemingly random pairing against another seemingly random pairing in a match with seemingly no implications, no promises of big things to come, nothing but a meaningless battle for a meaningful W or sorry-ass L.
But did you know that The Johnny is an alchemist? Yes, folks, Johnny B., man of many talents, can indeed turn even the most foul of turds into the most brilliant of diamonds!
All it takes is a little bit of pressure.
And to forget it'd still be a shit diamond.
Perceived bullshit whinging aside, our story starts out today in a dim and smoky room, similar to an office's meeting room back in the day when smoking was still allowed indoors. That Bald-Headed Bastard™®© is sitting at the helm, dressed to the nines (or like some sort of mobster wannabe, your pick), and is surrounded by a league of shadowy figures seated around the large round table. He looks around the room in disgust.
Johnny B.: "I want... someone... anyone!... to tell me what happened at Unstoppable! Hmm? You wanna tell me Johnny Legs?"
He turns to one of the faceless mooks, but gets no answer. He flares his nostrils, inhales, and turns to someone else.
Johnny B.: "What about you, Johnny Fists?"
Another faceless goon gives no response. His mouth twitches and his eyes narrow.
Johnny B.: "Johnny Hotcakes?"
He doesn't even look at this one, just points at them. To no one's surprise but JBC's, there's no reply. He pounds his fist on the table and looks like he's about to lose it.
Johnny B.: "No one? No one's got an answer for me. Not Johnny Thumbs, not Johnny Two-Eyes, not Johnny Sevens, what about you, Johnny Bodybags? Don't tell me you don't have an answer for me!"
Nope. Johnny slams both hands onto the table and flies up and out of his seat so strongly that the chair tops over.
Johnny B.: "I've surrounded myself with the finest Johnny's the world has ever seen... the finest! I thought when I gathered you all here that I was in good hands... ha!! I'm up to my neck in tight-lipped mamalukes! Not even yes-men! Uh-duh-men is more like it! Idiots! Losers! Never-beens! What am I even paying you for?!"
He closes his eyes and holds out his hands, taking the time to calm himself down. He methodically sets the chair back up and eases himself back into it, sitting defeatedly slouched.
Johnny B.: "I- okay, all right, whatever. Moving on. Best of the Best. Best... of the Best! Anyone here hear about it yet? -Don't answer, I don't got all night. Thanks to my miscalculations last night, Yours Truly's been paired up with this unusual character called Yugo Phailous. Yugo Phailous, editors at MSW.com! It hasn't been my ish up 'till now, but shit, them guys have been spelling it 'Yuo' this whole time! I dunno why dude hasn't spoken up about it yet, but The Johnny's all over it, not to worry... partner!"
Johnny gives a directionless smirk. Even he doesn't quite know why he's smirking: he's lost his first-ever match in MSW, losing his chance at history in the process, and then got stuffed into a round match through a squared circle. A rookie wrestler might become disenchanted at their pride taking such a major blow, but Johnny B. is no rookie wrestler; while he's known for many great things, a winning streak isn't one of them.
So maybe that's what the smirk's about then - he's taking this Best of the Best match of his and plans on turning it into something to talk about. Sure, there's no titles on the line, no promises of any, not even a chance at anything beyond maybe a relatively higher-profile tag-team match in the future for the winning team, but all the same, 15 years in the business is going to come down hard on Phailous in order to turn him into a better wrestler, and come down on Vargas and Banks in order to turn them into shark chum.
Johnny B.: "Chad Fartgas and Leo Stanks. Now, don't let my insulting names get you mad. Actually, wait, yes, let them get you mad, like I give a f***, actually!
Vargas, you're some Confederate bumpkin whose the great grandson of Strom Thurmond, lover of the General Lee car, and a guy who spends a lot of money on detergent to keep his white... sheets... their whitest! And you'll see - he won't even f***in' deny any of this! Dat motherf***er's dead!!
And who should he be teamed up with, none other than Banks, Capitalism's best friend, pastes Donald Trump posters in his bedroom, basically has a more smug, douche-y punchable face than even Vargas does!"
Thinking about those lowly villainous mugs fills The Johnny with a disdain unending. The MSW might have some greater villains, but those are in the realms of supervillainy, so theirs is an evil fueled by madness. When it comes to Vargas and Banks, however, their wretchedness is realer and more understandable... all too well. Each represent a Deadly Sin: Vargas is Wrath manifested, while Banks is Greed personified.
Both men are a virus, albeit weak ones. Now, this shouldn't be misconstrued as Vargas and Banks being weak wrestlers, nothing could be further from the truth. They're viruses who only start off weak; if they're left to their own devices, they'll grow stronger and eventually take over... everything.
Now, The Johnny ain't no superhero - in fact, he's fairly morally ambiguous - but even he sees that Vargas and Banks are a pair of Kings, and both of them are wild! It'll take the combined efforts of a pair of Jacks to neutralize the threat.
Also, Johnny really hates Chad Vargas!
Johnny B.: "Yugo, it's gonna soon be time that we have a little titty-tit (tête-à-tête) to discuss the best way to deal with these numpty-ass bitches. You name the time and place - only, please refrain from suggesting some redneck bar. The Johnny don't do beer or country music. Now..."
Johnny calmly rests his hands on the table and rises to his feet. He straightens his suit out and clears his throat.
Johnny B.: "You've all been such a help this evening. I'm so glad I gathered you all here today for this brainstorm session. I've learned a lot hearing all your differing points of view."
He smiles widely and insincerely, then sneers.
Johnny B.: "Now f*** off, I got work ta do!"
And with that, Johnny leaves the room, but before doing so, he flicks the lights back on... to reveal seated at each seat a scarecrow with a jack-o-lantern head. Each fixed jagged mouth has a lit cigar toothpicked to them. Johnny narrows his eyes at this ragtag - but mostly rag - group of characters, then leaves, slamming the door behind him. One of the "men" plops forward, its head falling off and rolling off the other side of the table, ideally not starting a fire.
THE END.