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Post by +Donald $. Carlos+ on Feb 16, 2007 16:53:38 GMT
  CCW National Heavyweight Championship
Triple Threat Match:
"The Heartland Hero"
Al Woodbridge
vs.
Cowards (C)
vs.
"The Overlooked Soldier"
Griffin Young3 of CCW's brightest will battle it out for a stepping stone to the top; The CCW National Heavyweight Championship.
To the victor go the spoils . . .
(2 Promos Each; Now Let's DO The Damn Thing) |
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Post by †SamuraiFoochs† on Feb 22, 2007 23:51:19 GMT
The camera starts fully black, and then a TV screen in the room flicks on. The low hiss of the television static is the only thing audible, and a shadow is slightly visible in the faint light of the “snowy” screen. A voice begins speaking in a low, focused tone.
Man: Without a signal, a television is useless. An output of worthless noise and faint light. There’s nothing to distinguish one moment from the next. It all flows together without any sense of time or meaning. It’s all the same. It’s both everything and nothing. There is no message in the noise, yet words are unnecessary. We know what it means. That static is there just as a placeholder for a void.
The man turns toward the TV, his back now facing the camera as he speaks.
Man: The past month or so, I’ve been in this static state. You haven’t seen hide nor hair of me, and there’s a reason for that. I took a few weeks off to collect my thoughts…refocus myself. I’ve been losing sight of who I am. What’s worse, I’ve lost sight of who I’m going to be. But no longer. Things have never been clearer. Coming soon is CCW’s Night of the Immortals II. The biggest night in CCW history. I swear that on that night, I will begin my ascension to greatness. No one will be able to forget that night, least of all whatever opponent or opponents I end up having.
The man pauses, his voice still even, almost mechanical.
Man: It’s confusing being static. All lights and noise, no direction. Caught in the flow, unable to break free, forced to coast along. Going through the motions simply thanks to the cocktail of habit and survival instinct. But it’s also enlightening. That one moment where you remember the mission. That one moment where you remember the destiny you want to seize.
The man picks up something off camera, and it’s unclear what it is but it seems to be fairly large and heavy.
Man: How long’s it been now? Probably about 9 months…9 months since my first moment of awakening. I’ve been everywhere, from the highest highs to the lowest lows. I’ve both broken bodies and been broken, won and lost, soared and fallen. But through it all, I was never static. Until what I did at Resurrection finally occurred to me. I realized what had happened, and suddenly nothing made sense. I didn’t know who I was. I could have killed a man that night. And yet, even when I thought long and hard about what happened, I didn’t regret any of it.
The man takes a deep breath before continuing to speak.
Man: It disturbed me. Was I a killer? Did I lose all my humanity that night in favor of temptation? Those doubts became the static, deafeningly loud, torturing my eyelids with every closing of my eyes. So I decided to take a couple weeks off. They passed in a moment and yet were an eternity. I barely spoke to anyone. I was deep within myself, unable to escape, until one moment happened. I was watching Ressurection, when that moment passed by on my screen. That static-inducing moment. In a horrified rage, I broke my TV, and immediately dissolved into triumphant laughter. It did wonders. I’m now more focused than I’ve ever been. I realize now that I didn’t lose my humanity, no. I just kept my promise to myself, that NOTHING would stand in my way. He knew what he was getting into when he decided to interfere. I can’t be held accountable. I am now at peace. The path is clear, the prize is desirable again. I ache for the thrill of victory. My soul cries for the roar of an unforgettable moment, a crowd in unified celebration, bolstering my own rush. That is my vision. That is my dream. That is my destiny.
The man wields the object more purposefully now, bringing it into his hands as opposed to letting it dangle at his side.
Man: There is no more noise. There is no more static. The signal is once again clear. All that USELESS STATIC IS GONE!
The last four words are a scream, and with that the man swings the object at the TV. The screen shatters and the frame explodes into a small ball of fire. In the spark of the explosion, it’s clear that the object is a baseball bat. The man’s figure is now better illuminated by the small fire, though it is still the only source of light in the otherwise pitch-black room. He turns away from the screen, hoisting the bat over his shoulder and the crowd pops explosively as they realize it’s none other than Griffin Young.
Griffin: It’s been awhile, CCW. Griffin Young has been off the transmission. But soon, very soon, we return to our regularly scheduled programming. Come Night of the Immortals, I realize my dream. Come NOTI, even the best die Young.
Griffin swings his bat at the camera, clearly destroying it, to another massive pop, and then tosses the bat away as the screen flickers and the feed eventually fades to black…
Second promo to come...
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Post by Cowards on Feb 28, 2007 15:54:19 GMT
We cut to Cowards sat facing the camera, with a darkened background. He has the National Championship slung over his right shoulder. His face is glum, and somewhat menancing. Far from the typical joyfull Cowards that we have grown accustomed to in recent months, even if he never was that joyful...
Cowards: Look, I can be all whacky and attempt to be humourous, but I'm afraid that 99% of the time, if I do that, my points will fall on deaf ears. I could tell you how much I want to walk out of Night of the Immortals, the Second, with the belt around my waist whilst I juggle ostrich eggs on a unicycle, but you just won't believe me. You won't take me serious. Which is a fucking shame, because most of what I have to say is the bee's knees of what is being said... (He pauses) Well, a teeny bit was.
Looking down onto his right shoulder, Cowards smiles as he reads his name on the title belt.
Cowards: No matter how I acted away from the ring, I was always serious when it came to kicking ass. And I've got much more to show for it than almost everyone in the locker room. I have possesion. I have pay bonus. I have gold! Sure, it's gold that has been sprayed onto a sheet of alluminium, but it's gold nonetheless. Something that only one person can say they have... in the form of a title belt... representing Nationia... for CCW... as in, this one.
Cowards eyes shift around the room, as if thinking of what the buggy hell he's going to say next
Cowards: So... My point is, I've put in serious hours to get this belt. What this belt needs is greatness. This belt is exactly like a freshly implated kidney: It WILL reject you if you're not good enough for it. And I think CCW has had enough beastialty, necrophillia and incestual embarrasment for them to have a title belt reject it's holder, so I don't understand why I'm being put in this match. Can't the CC-dub see... see dub... that this match is NOT GOOD for biscuits... sorry, buisness. What if, and I REALLY mean IF, I were to be cheated out of a victory in this match, and one of the other competitors, whom I really don't wish there names to be uttered, due to the negative aspect it will have on myself, were to wi... no STEAL this belt from my perfectly formed shoulders?! What would happen to the company then?! Who would watch a federation carried on it's not as perfectly formed shoulders by an American 'Rock and Roll' loving ne'erdowell? Who would watch a federation being carried by a... I don't even know what the other guy can be stereotypically defined as! A drunk? Whatever, who would want to watch that?! I've an answer for you... NOT ME!! And Cowards, as a representative of the Upper Class citizens of this country know exactly what the idiots will want to watch. This God fucking country is ran by geniuses, by lived in by idiots. And as a genius, myself, I know exactly what the audience wants to see... And it's name ends in 'Owards'. The first syllable goes "Moo". That's right...
Peering down into his lap, Cowards turns over the page of a cleverly concealed script, from which he is reading.
Cowards: Your Mommaowards!! Ha haa!
Cowards stands up, the paper audibly falling to the ground, and peers RIGHT down the lens of the camera.
Cowards: All you need to know is. I WILL PREVAIL on Sunday! I WILL WIN on Sunday! I WILL STILL BE NATIONAL CHAMPION on Sunday! And no one, no matter how young or ugly, will be able to stop me from doing so! And that...
Cowards steps back and climbs up onto his chair. However, only his legs are shown to be on screen.
Cowards: Is... Erm.
He jumps back down and adjusts the camera to a higher angle. Cowards turns back around and clambers back up onto his ceiling touching position on the chair.
Cowards: THAT!!
Cowards raises his belt above his head, banging his hand on the ceiling, but grimaces as not to show any emotions of the (probable) immense pain the Cowardly bugger is in.
FADE TO BLACK
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Post by Moeru Toukon on Feb 28, 2007 17:55:52 GMT
It's the fucking National championship.
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Post by Cowards on Feb 28, 2007 18:16:15 GMT
I know... I thought I corrected it all after I re-realised. I DID check it, but I wrote it wrong. Don't blame me, I'm with the MONKAY!
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Post by Moeru Toukon on Feb 28, 2007 20:19:26 GMT
Johnny Vegas = a fat and hairy waste of semen.
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Post by Cowards on Feb 28, 2007 21:11:50 GMT
I was actually quoting Recess, but you are totally right
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