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Post by Team Ireland on Nov 19, 2008 16:16:59 GMT -5
W*I*G-SPHERE BACKSTAGE- TEAM IRELAND LOCKER-ROOM
*Aidan Donnelly & Sean McCann are sitting chatting. Sean is rubbing his eyes.*
Sean: Aaah, I'm tellin' ya man, I t'ink I strained 'em.
Aidan: How the fock did you manage to strain your eyes anyway?
Sean: Yesterday. I normally look at meself in d'mirror for 8 hours, right? But yesterday, I have ta tell ya, I was lookin' dat good... I wound up lookin' at meself for 14 hours straight! Toimes like dis I wish I wasn't so unbelievably good-lookin', but then I realoize... it's a cross I have ta carry, y'know?
*Aidan mutters something to himself about "a load of focking bollocks" when Coach O'Hare bursts in.*
O'Hare: Get up off yer arses the pair a' ya! Sean? Are you awright?
Aidan: Don't focking ask? What's the deal here?
O'Hare: The deal is, you two are finally going to do something after sitting on your holes for the past month!
Aidan: Excuse me? Who pinned the focking Pitbulls & 911 a few weeks ago? 'Cause if it wasn't us, it was two dudes who SERIOUSLY resembled us.
O'Hare: Aye, but what have youse done since then, eh? I was talking to that Colvin lad & he said your bird... Y'know the one... Sean, I think you did her a while ago in EWT...
*Sean shrugs.*
Sean: What & you expect me to remember all the names?
O'Hare: Long brown hair... Alexis?
Aidan: Alexa King?
Sean: ... Didn't ride her, I don't think. If you ask her she'll probably deny it anyway. Y'know birds, like...
*He looks around all-shifty like.*
Aidan: Here, anyway, what were you banging on about?
O'Hare: Aye, Colvin says those two lads she's managing need a match & since the pair a' youse have been sitting around scratching yer arses since ya got here...
Aidan: Hey!
Sean: Yep...
O'Hare: ... I asked him to make the match between the two of youse &... erm... her fellas. Whatever ya call them. The Insecticide lad & the Beverly Hillbilly or something.
Aidan: I think you mean, Andy Duke & Vin Beverly. Wait a second is this at going to be at W*I*G Gives Thanks?
O'Hare: Aye. That a problem?
Aidan: That's this focking weekend! Thanks for giving us, loike, plenty of notice & stuff!
O'Hare: You're supposed to be ready & trained all the time, anyway? Sure where do ya think Maeve & Shane are?
*Sean is about to open his mouth to make a vulgar remark. Aidan shakes his head at him & Sean quickly shuts up again.*
O'Hare: Now, come on! Time to get training again. Follow me.
*O'Hare exits. Sean turns to Aidan.*
Sean: Ye know Maeve, yeah? D'ya know I, er, I gave her one, like.
Aidan: ... Would you ever shut the fock up about that?!
*Aidan shoves Sean on out the door & we cut to the next thing.*
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Fannie Package
Local Talent
W*I*G* Women's Champion
Bigger is Better!
Posts: 21
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Post by Fannie Package on Nov 19, 2008 17:31:01 GMT -5
* "Man Eater" by Nelly Furtado begins to play & the fans in the W*I*G-Sphere start cheering. Fannie Package steps out onto the stage wearing a short skirt & a tight black tank top. She struts on down to the ring, pausing to give a slight flex as the fans give another cheer.* Jeannie: When the hell did she get this popular? Tom: Probably after she & Rosie had that unbeliavable match at Halloween Hell. * Fannie gets into the ring & asks for a microphone. As always, her deep, booming voice startles some of the crowd.* Fannie: So, I saw that the Innocent were out here... *Boos.* Fannie: Yeah, as brave as ever too. Beating up some guy in the crowd. *She pauses & pushes her hair back a bit.* Fannie: It got me thinking, I wonder if they're brave enough to actually risk something in a match. That being this... *She looks straight into the camera.* Fannie: When I win at W*I*G Gives Thanks & beat that worthless coward Earnest in the middle of this ring, I want to get a shot at the W*I*G Women's Championship. I know I can do it. I KNOW I can beat Earnest & I KNOW I can beat Rosie & give these fans a champion that, unlike Rosie, unlike Vile & especially, unlike Danny Taylor, they actually CAN be proud of! *Some fans cheer at this remark.* Tom: She wants another shot at that W*I*G Women's Title. Rosie froze her out of contention after beating Fannie last month. Jeannie: Exactly, Rosie beat her & she thinks she can beat Earnest? Fannie: What am I willing to put up if I lose? Here's the thing... I know that I won't! *Fans give another cheer.* Fannie: Earnest cost me my chance at the W*I*G Women's Championship... It's only right I beat his ass to get another shot. Earnest... I hope you're ready for the beating of a lifetime. I'm not some fan you can toss around as you please & I'm not like one of your buddies who always has to have someone watch their back! I'm the BIGGEST, BADDEST, BRAWNIEST BITCH in W*I*G! After this Sunday, that's something you won't soon forget! *"Man Eater" plays again as Fannie leaves.* Tom: Fannie Package sure seems confident heading into W*I*G Gives Thanks. Jeannie: I think she's being a bit over-confident, Tom. She's still feeling the effects of Halloween Hell. She can't man-handle Earnest. She can't Suplex him, he's too big. And I don't knpw that she could manage to get him up for the "Dirty Little Secret" again. Tom: We'll know what she can do after she faces Earnest this Sunday. *Fannie gives another show of her massive physique at the top of the ramp before she heads through the curtain.*
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Post by Hardcore Hensley on Nov 19, 2008 18:27:13 GMT -5
"I'll Whip Ya Head Boy" hits the W*I*G Sphere unexpectedly. Hardcore Hensley charges out from the back, his face seemingly on fire. He heads straight to the ring, shaking off the hands of his fans along the way. A microphone is tossed into the ring for him, and he quickly takes it up.
Hensley: JOSHUA!
His shouting silences the crowd, echoing sharply.
Hensley: You white bread chicken shit bitch! Did you feel big? Do you still feel big now? No, it's bad enough you did what you did, but that you brought on your damn cronies again really pisses me off because quite frankly, I wouldn't have been surprised to have seen Ryan handle your punk ass all by himself! No, the Innocent, you all are all about that numbers game. Dammit, Joshua, I'm handling your ass Sunday, and Earnest, you're not far off.
He wipes his mouth, bowing his head for a moment.
Hensley: I had told one of my mom's old friends, back before Summer even started, that I wanted her to come watch me perform. I wanted to make her proud. Now, I'll admit, I'm no stranger to dealing with sick motherfuckers like you Josh. One in particular, I mean. He was always after me, even took as far as to catch me in public, endangering some little kids. Still, I was forever his lone target. He wasn't out to get anybody but me.
Again, he hangs his head.
Hensley: When I can't even invite a friend out here, just looking to put on a show for em, when I can't do that because I gotta worry about a group of sadistic-
He cuts himself off, in search of anything to pounce on.
Hensley: You stretched it, Josh. You wanna play it hard, you think you're going too hard, I'm gonna show you. I talked to James already, and if you haven't noticed yet, allow me to inform you. This Sunday, when we're all giving thanks, the only thing you're gonna be given from me is an ass beating! Monster's Ball ain't satisfy me. It wasn't enough. No ordinary hardcore match is gonna do it now. No worries though, I pitched to James, and he liked. A first, Mercy match, feel free to call it a Hardcore Hensley Original. No disqualifications, no count outs, falls count anywhere. First man to beg for mercy, or cry Uncle, loses. This is a match for men, Josh, so I understand you probably won't be as into as myself. I'm gonna make you scream like a little bitch.
He looks to exit, but halts suddenly.
Hensley: I hope you're glad with your actions. You wanna say my fans are weak, we'll see. I'll have their strength with me Sunday. You talk about repent. Reverend Joshua, I'm gonna need the Lord when I come out of the carnage. After I'm through with you, I might just have to go stay at my church for the remainder of the year, maybe next.
He turns toward a cameraman on the apron.
Hensley: No disqualifications, no count outs, falls count anywhere. First man to beg for MERCY, or cry Uncle, loses. Amen.
With that, the mic falls from his grasp. "I'll Whip Ya Head Boy" returns as he rolls out of the ring, and retires to the back. A promo about Thanksgiving follows, the announce team left speechless.
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Post by Jason Hereford on Nov 23, 2008 23:29:34 GMT -5
*Fading into the back areas of the backstage zone of the W*I*G-Sphere, Jason Hereford, leaning against a wall in one of the less-visited parts of the arena, has his greasy hair over his eyes and face and his arms folded over his chest, looking down to his feet.*
Jason: So it comes to this. Here comes yet another shot at the belt. Since the first wildcard match for the Number 1 Contendership, I’ve been fighting to have my way. Beaten to the pin by Coltrane. Barely eking a win against Chaz Stone. Being pinned by Coltrane. Being beaten in the ladder match by Chaz Stone. It really doesn’t seem all that impressive, now does it? No, it doesn’t. But luck hasn’t exactly been on my side after my…fiscal troubles.
*Hereford puts his hands in his pockets and turns his head, seeing a janitor cleaning the floors of the dimly-lit corridor, and turns back.*
Jason: You see this place? This darkness, dankness, and squalor all characterize my current abode. I’ve been lucky enough to at least secure my car in a parking garage free of charge, but that’s not saying much. No man nor woman with any degree of intelligence would steal that piece of crap I’m forced to drive out of sheer necessity. Hell, that’s the only major thing I’ve bought. I’ve stored my money carefully and haven’t hardly spent a penny. These pants? They’re the same ones I’ve had. I just fixed them up a little bit. Scavenged and redid them a bit, but otherwise they’re still the same ones.
*Jason Hereford clears his throat and brushes his hair back behind his head.*
Jason: I’ve lived in this section of the arena since my first major match, away from the disdain of the others. Everyone looks down upon me. “Oh Jason Hereford, the poor little guy?” “That greasy weakling with the awful smell?” “The…thing…that keeps trying to run off with the title?” Those are not paraphrases…that’s what people have been saying, sometimes even right in front of me. Every little thing they say makes me feel more and more driven. Everything they do makes me hate them more. If I wasn’t flat broke, you know who’d be laughing? ME. I’d be making them feel downcast and I’d be rubbing it in their hideous faces. I’d be doing that to everyone. Those wrestlers…their fans…everyone here disgusts me for their arrogance, but they don’t see the big picture. Oh no. Take my two upcoming opponents. To them it’s a matter of “Oh, look at me, I’m so amazing and capable and awesome! I’ll be taking that win and the title. Your wrestling skills? Oh! HAHA! Neither of us can compare to you all-around, but damned if we don’t have some kind of advantage that gives us that win! And you know why? Because we’re better and you suck, you moron!”
*Jason’s face is becoming extremely red, but realizing his point his just about across, he sighs and returns to normal.*
Jason: That’s how they think. I mean, Coltrane didn’t even trick the referee or anything. I played defensive on him and psyched him the hell out. I had that win and then he comes along and headbutts me right in my groin, and the referee doesn’t even care enough to notice. He just looks on. Oh, ignore the fact that greasy man with the long hair and the beard is clutching himself and wailing in pain as the man who was clearly not in control takes control just by moving his head. Because we ALL know we intentionally give up the biggest match of our career in such a manner! Or take my match with Chaz Stone. Now that one wasn’t a clear win for me. Both of us had it. But oh, once again do the officials ignore the situation at hand and let Chaz take the win. They forget the stipulation. But he remembered it. I remembered it. I had to go to the back and campaign to James Colvin that I was unfairly left out of the win there. Neither of us lost. But hey, I’m not important enough. So they give the big brute the win and let him bask in the glory of the win. And hell, I think I know why both of these debacles took place.
*He tilts his head, a proverbial light bulb exploding right above his cortex.*
Jason: I know exactly why! It’s their bias against me. Everyone here hates me. No, that’s not a mental delusion of some half-wit maniac who hits everyone with a chair to make his point. No really, think about it. What kind of a representative for the federation’s most prestigious title is a homeless man who hasn’t bathed in over two months? Really. Put that through the eyes of the referees. James Colvin, now he’s a reasonable guy. But these officials are just outright biased in an attempt to prevent me from reaching the belt. They can't let someone like me set that precedent on their watch, as the belt becomes "dirtied." So far, they’ve been successful. So far, they’ve made me, Jason Hereford, have to use my intellect not to win, but simply to remain in the game. I've had to plot and scheme to keep up. If you put either of my opponents for W*I*G Gives Thanks in that situation, they’d fail miserably. “Chaz who?” And “what’s a Coltrane? Wasn’t he that guy that played jazz music?” And do you know why? Because they’re unfit to compete in the same level that I am—that’s why. They’re a pair of imbalanced, untalented hacks that I made a living out of chewing up and spitting out in my days in TJT. They lack my polish…they lack my strategy…and they lack my drive. They’re getting used to things being easy for them and the officials handing them matches, and they’re ripe to slip up when things don’t quite go as they’ve planned. And as for you officials, I have two strikes on you—one more and you’ll all be in the unemployment line so I advise you to shape up. So when W*I*G Gives Thanks, I can assure both of you, Chaz and Coltrane, that when I have both of you out cold, courtesy of the Dead End Driver, you’ll soon be feeling my disenfranchisement and disillusionment as I return to my former lifestyle and the back halls get themselves two brand-new disrespected residents.
*Jason simply turns around and walks off, turning a corner and disappearing as the camera fades out.*
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Post by The Hardcore Disciple on Nov 24, 2008 11:58:07 GMT -5
*We focus on the mug of Chaz Stone. Slightly red and sweaty, it's fair to assume he's exerting himself a bit right now. That, however, doesn't keep him from being able to chat for a spell...*
Chaz: Ach, an' a pleasan' day ta all of ye, but aye've sumthin' on me mind, I do. So Jason Hereford decided to cry foul an' get hisself inserted in my first shot at th' W*I*G Heavyweight Championship, did he? Good fer 'im, he kin still negotiate nicely. But bein' a good negotiator dun mean ye're a good wrestler, an' ye've got ta be dat ta win somethin' like this.
*We zoom out a little bit, and we see that Chaz is working out--his arms are pumping up and down sorta quickly, so he's bench-pressing a rather light weight.*
Chaz: Dun get me wrong, ye know yer way aroun' th' ring, but yer nay as good as ye think ye are. Course, who e'er is? Most people, from mah experience, anyhow, think high'r of themselves den dey oughta. Jason an' Coltrane both do this, an' it kinda chafes my arse. Hereford, there's nay a conspiracy agains' ye--ye're nay important enough fer sumptin' like dat. An' honestly, iff'n yer dat bad off, ye kin always clean up at a public library or a homeless shelter or sumptin', so yer jes bein' nasty fer de sake o' the thin', so please keep ot'ers in mind. 'Course, ye could jes be too proud ta fall back ta that. 'S foolish ta have pride if'n ya dun have ennything ta be proud of. If ye coulnae beat Coltrane b'fare, what makes ye thin' ye'll beat both o' us now? Ye should've held onto yer complaint until a better time showed up. Nay a smart move on yer part. Coltrane, yer good at what ye do, no doubts, but ah know yer type, an' dey're much worse. No personality his own, nary a move he's nay stolen. Ye should be thankin' yer lucky stars Hereford got in--ye'd have a crazy hard time doin' ta me what I kin do ta you, an' since dat's about all ye kin do, well, ye'd be screwed agains' me. I've not seen ye get a clean win o'er anyone anyhow, so why ya bandie about callin' yerself undefeated when those wins 'ardly count? Yer a sham, an' I dun like shams like ye. Dun worry abou' keepin' up da charade much longer--I'll expose ye as a fraud in short order.
*We zoom fully out to see that Chaz is bench-pressing the mysterious young lady that's accompanied him thus far, explaining the lack of weight.*
Chaz: 48...49...50. A'ight, Lana, ah'm done. Git ready, yer set's next.
*Chaz sits up and grabs a towel at the next bench over, while Lana warms up a bit. She sits at the bench, and Chaz takes spotter position.*
Chaz: People of W*I*G, change is comin', an' it's cause I'll make it come. Coltrane, I'll be takin' what's yers now sooner than ye think. W*I*G will be givin' thanks for a long taim ta come on Sunday, 'cause after dat, dey'll finally have a champion dey kin be proud ta call big man on campus--Chaz Stone.
*Fade to commercial.*
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Post by Dimitri Konstantinos on Nov 29, 2008 21:35:22 GMT -5
*Backstage, Inactive Messiah’s “T.C.D.D.” plays as Dimitri Konstantinos faces the camera, a hand on his hip.*
Konstantinos: In my first truly important match here in W*I*G I have been disgraced. I know damn well I could have done better and I failed to. Success goes to those who deserve it and Coltrane gained success over me. And so for weeks and weeks I have trained to reassess my abilities. Now I should be something more than I was before. But I will not let defeat get me down like this again…Coltrane is out of my reach for now but I must simply fight harder to get to him and that belt he holds! After W*I*G Gives Thanks you can expect me back in action. And Dimitri Konstantinos is here to stay…no matter what happens to me.
*Fade out.*
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Coltrane
Opener
First Ever W*I*G* Champion
Posts: 29
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Post by Coltrane on Dec 1, 2008 18:01:47 GMT -5
*A camera shot fizzles into life on the W*I*G-Screen. Coltrane's back in his old darkened room again. Presumably this is the same place he took Alexa as we can see from the scant lighting that there is some dried blood on the floor. Coltrane looks into the camera.*
Coltrane: So, now we've heard from Jason... & we've heard from Charles... And you fans are probably wondering, "Why haven't we heard from the W*I*G Champion? Is he a coward?" The truth is, I'm no coward. While the two morons who seek to dethrone me have been arguing & bickering, I have been enhancing the prestige of the prize we all quarrel over.
*He holds his Championship Belt up.*
Coltrane: This means much more than it did even when I first won it. I have been to Japan defending the honour of this company & making sure that this belt is truly deserving to be one of the most sought after gems in the realm of this Sport of Kings. Jason & Charles have both given very nice speeches, "I'm so smart... I'm so strong..." well, allow me add something to the list of superlatives, "I'm so passionate." I took this title & elevated it to a status that not many have acheived, this belt is now more valuable than it ever was before & consequently, it means more to me right now than it has at any time in the past. Jason & Charles may be great competitors. I'm modest enough to admit that they might even outshine me in certain areas... but they cannot hope to match my drive & devotion to remain as the W*I*G WORLD Heavyweight Champion!
*Coltrane reaches out & shuts off the camera & the screen goes static again.*
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Post by Super Shiny Puppy on Dec 2, 2008 18:48:43 GMT -5
-We greeted in the backstage area by the sight of a strange new comer. Sitting on a crate with a crooked smile across her face, she lifts a few fingers and wiggles them about to offer an introduction.-
?: Salutations.
-With her orange hair and funky Raggedy Ann-ish attire, she is definitely a bizarre sight.-
Molly: I'm Molly Ringworm.
-She directs a thumb towards herself as her eyes slowly dart about in an almost paranoid manner-
Molly: And you may not know this..
-Leaning forward, her voice drops down to a whisper-
Molly: ..but I'm here to save you..
-Sliding down from the crate, she rises to a standing position-
Molly: And I don't mean in a "you're such a reprobate that I have to save you" kind of way. I'm sure you're a very good person! I'm here to save you from a threat. Now, I'm not entirely sure what that threat is yet, but I know it's big. Mind altering, perception altering events.
-The walking rag doll taps at her chin in thought-
Molly: And you may wonder how I got here in the world of professional wrestling. Well, as I recall, something came to me one night and brought me to life. Pulled some strings and spun me about. Then I sprang up and began to shout.
"My arms, my legs, my heart, my face they're alive!"
-Directing her palms towards the heavens as her head creaks backwards-
Molly: It said to me.."You are the chosen One, the one who will deliver the message. A message of hope for those who choose to hear it and a warning for those who do not".
-Limbs falling back to her sides with a light shrug-
Molly: Professional wrestling is kind of a weird platform, sure, but who am I to argue? I have my goal. You believe me? ..Don't you? ..Good!
-The figure quickly bows before shooting out of sight-
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Post by Archibald Barnes on Dec 8, 2008 21:57:54 GMT -5
*Cutting to the Colvitron, black and white footage of wrestling from years ago begins to stream on the screen.*
Narrator: A legend for the ages...
*A man with a receding hairline, handlebar mustache and long tights hits a running lariat on another wrestler.*
Narrator: A powerful and dauntless force with unbreakable will...
*That same man with the receding hairline is in a Boston Crab, but is able to slip out and delivers a hanging neckbreaker to the man who had applied it.*
Narrator: His never-say-die tactics and noble style inspired an era...
*The man with receding hair and the mustache leaps off a turnbuckle and hits a splash on an opponent outside the ring.*
Narrator: And now...he brings his legacy to a new battleground...
...Archibald Barnes...coming soon to Wrestling's...INNOVATIVE...GENESIS!
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Post by Team Raft Shack on Dec 15, 2008 23:44:51 GMT -5
As we return to the view of the WIGSphere, we see the crowd looking eagerly on, perhaps looking to forward to the next upcoming match. However as they await, suddenly the Colvintron lights up with a rainbow of colors, looking like a rather strange image across the screen. Suddenly, these colors vanish, as things become more of a black and white tone. Slowly, text starts to appear, leaving a rather cryptic message.
Can you figure it out?
I dare you to try!
This text soon vanishes from the screen, as another much more garbled set of words begin to appear on the screen, staying there just long enough for people to get a chance to read them.
Down Do I Yuk
Catering Homey
Eat By Regretted
Aid Hyena Ow
Cease Where Lull
A Megawatt Foot
Soon enough, this text is gone as well, the crowd looking rather confused, talking amongst themselves seemingly trying to figure out what this might mean. As they do so, the Colvintron shuts off almost instaneously, having delivered it's bizarre message for now it appears.
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