Post by graymalone on Jun 23, 2016 21:05:06 GMT -5
Gray Malone stands on a small, arched bridge, in the center. He leans on the railing, looking out into the creek that the bridge crosses. He has on a Green shirt, and blue jeans. He looks down into the gently flowing water, and sees his reflection, staring back at him.
Malone: Sometimes I wonder what people see when they look in my direction. Do they see a man, full of love? Do they see someone who is so easy to despise? Or is it some has been, who used to be a name in the sport of professional wrestling, only to be nothing more than a stepping stone for today's generation? Four times I have entered a New Generation Ring. And four times I have come out of that Ring as a Loser. I entered a Battle Royal, and I spit venom at anyone that would listen, because that is what I do. Thrown out of that ring, I was. That was loss number one. Instead of being placed into some single file line, of some pathetic division, I offered a challenge to the Unified Heavyweight Champion. Instead, his fiancee took up the challenge. Ashleigh Jericho, the now current Five Lakes Champion. She survived a hurricane of a beating from me, and hooked in her wonderful fiancee's hold. I didn't tap. I wouldn't tap against her, nor would I have been pinned by her. Regardless, I picked up loss number two. Apparently, as a reward of some kind for putting an ass beating on Ashleigh, I was thrown into a triple threat for the Five Lakes title against Shelley Silver, and Kenzie Rydell. And loss number 3 came to fruition. Last, but not least, I was dropped to the bottom of the pile, in a dark match against Koro. And low and behold, I gained loss number four.
He spits into the water, causing his reflection to ripple in the water.
Malone: Can't possibly go any lower, now can I? For I am currently sitting at the very bottom of the totem pole. I am below the likes of John Blade, KEG, and even a few others that haven't won a single match. And why am I below them, you may ask? Because I lost FOUR in a row. That....is the streak I bring into Las Vegas at City of Sin. Now, we look at Jenson Idol. Everyone's favorite fucking Idol. The current and first ever Heritage champion of Indy Pro Wrestling. He has not lost one match since his arrival from whatever gutter strown alley of England he emerged from. As of right now, the man is 9 and zero. Not one loss has blemished his name. That is the streak that Jenson brings into Las Vegas at City of Sin. These two streaks are completely different, and yet there is one single, solitary thing that they have in common. They transpired inside of a wrestling ring. His wins, and my losses took place in a place that I used to hold domain in. But as of late, it seems the younger generation is something, I cannot keep up with.
He lets go of the railing, and turns to face the camera, now leaning back on the railing.
Malone: I asked for this match, Jenson, because of the disrespect you have shown towards me. A streak, or record means different to me as it does to you, and the rest of your generation of athlete. I have not been hand fed any opponent, nor have I chosen to do what everyone else seems to do, and ride the division express in the NGW. I decide who I want to fight, when I want to fight them. I have given you the opportunity to rise above the soybean fields of Indy, and shine on the big stage, in what will be the most awe inspiring contest anyone in both of our companies have ever seen. For that, even though you don't deserve shit from me....you are welcome. Yet this will be no ordinary contest for you. A wrestling ring will only serve as the end for what will be a truly horrific night for everyone's favorite cunt.
He points up to the sky.
Malone: Up in the sky is where you will find me, Jenson. Standing 30 feet above a ring, covered with stacks of tables. I will be positioned on a scaffold, and my fists will be taped and clenched. Wrestling holds will get you nowhere on this night. For the many ways you have found victory in all 9 of your contests, there is only one way to find it where we are going. You have to throw me off of that scaffold, to where I crash through the table strown ring, in front of thousands of Las Vegas fans. Sounds easy to you, I am sure. But the only problem, is on that scaffold, there will be a plethora of items that I will use to bludgeon you with. To carve into your flesh. To leave lasting bruises, and possibles broken bones, in areas of your body that you need to stabilize your weak fucking frame from being tossed down to hell. I created this match in AWA. I have been on both ends of it. I have sent someone crashing through a wood splintering end. They have never been seen again. On the same token, I have been sent on the ride of a lifetime to that mat. Yet I showed up one week later, because simply put...I am GRAY FUCKING MALONE. I am the Angel of Shadows. I cannot be ended by some worthless bloody cunt like you. You don't have what it takes to end a creature the likes of me.
He laughs to himself, thinking of something.
Malone: You will get into my head these next few weeks. You will spatter out of that Maddux loving mouth of yours how bad of a father I am. How my daughter should spit in my direction for being a shit...or rather a shiite dad to her. How I am never in her life. Or better yet, how I continuously try to disrupt your friend's love life. Or even how you have opened back up the heart of a woman that apparently I ended up breaking.
He shrugs to the camera.
Malone: I want you to understand who you will be standing there with, high in the sky at City of Sin. You are simply, nothing more than some bum from the streets of Nottingham or Rotterham, or whatever fucking ham there is in that pathetic excuse of a country. You have a few lucky wins, against hand selected opponents that couldn't even shoehorn my boots, much less lace them motherfuckers. You are brash, cocky and arrogant, and because of that...you fit the mold for today's piece of shit generation whose hopes and dreams are about to turn upside down at the hands of a Revelation of biblical proportions. I, on the other hand, am cursed. I am cursed with weathered skin. I am deduced to nothing more than a fucking lion that feeds on bright spots, and proud moments. I have bled for this business more than you know. I have been broken, beaten, bloodied, bruised and even buried for this business. Yet here I stand on this bridge, over this peaceful creek.....still breathing. Still fuming. Still hungry, even at 36 years old. Even after 4 fucking losses. I still want to compete at the highest level, for those fans that still want to see me dispatch a puny Brit, and put him to sleep...shocking the entire world of corn growing Indy Fed Pricks who think they amount to anything. I hope they all show up and watch you disappoint them Jenson. Deep down, they all fucking hate you. They want you to be thrown from the heavens by the Angel you see before you.
Gray starts to walk slowly down the arched bridge, with his hands clasped behind his back. As he walks, he thinks of something, and laughs to himself, before speaking.
Malone: I find funny that you think I actually need to prove myself to you, the IPW, or even the NGW. I have nothing left to prove in this industry that I have ruled at one time. Corey Bull, another name that you shamelessly, and dim wittingly drag in the mud, had absolutely nothing left to prove in this industry. Damon Graves and Aurora Knight have everything to prove, and unless you are hidden under a rock, or in your case....hidden under the moniker of being some rebound for a hopeless woman whose heart I supposedly broke after just 3 dates, you should know, those two will not be stopped. As for me, Jenson, I come from the age, where streaks mean jack shit. Back in the age where professional wrestlers were men and women of steel, that tested their wills, and their bodies in epic battles for the fans. I have emerged from that age, in the best shape of my life, with a heart that beats with rage at the thought of consistently punching you about the face, and watching you lose that battle with gravity as you fall before the eyes of every single one of my critics, and crash into a thousand splinters of wood, and the reality.
He continues walking to the bottom of the bridge, and comes upon his grey Chevy Silverado. He walks to the bed of the truck, and leans on the side of it. He looks out at the open field opposite of the creek.
Malone: I have been criticized in the past, that I don't focus on my opposition as much in these complacent, and bullshit interviews....or what those that are nerds in the business call, promos. Perhaps I find it difficult to enter into a childish banter, or a pointless back and forth to try and sell a match, that was already due to be gold because the name Gray Malone was involved. See, Jenson..it is YOU that sound stupid, and completely moronic when you say something like I have dragged this match down as low as it is, and that it is due to You're name, making this match rise up in the card. See, again, your arrogance fills your mind into thinking you are unbeatable and unerasable in this business. It is true, you may be a true superstar in that barnyard shindig, we in the industry like to call Indy Pro Wrestling, but when you look at a superstar of the World of wrestling stigma, then superstar would be the label given to the creature that will look into your eyes at City of Sin on the last bit of solid footing you will feel for awhile after I throw you from reality.
He turns to look into the camera. To look into Jenson's eyes, wherever he may be.
Malone: God Save the Queen? I think not, you pathetic minor leaguer.
God Save Jenson Idol.
He opens his door, and gets inside. He shuts the door, and starts the engine. The scene fades to black as he drives away.
Malone: Sometimes I wonder what people see when they look in my direction. Do they see a man, full of love? Do they see someone who is so easy to despise? Or is it some has been, who used to be a name in the sport of professional wrestling, only to be nothing more than a stepping stone for today's generation? Four times I have entered a New Generation Ring. And four times I have come out of that Ring as a Loser. I entered a Battle Royal, and I spit venom at anyone that would listen, because that is what I do. Thrown out of that ring, I was. That was loss number one. Instead of being placed into some single file line, of some pathetic division, I offered a challenge to the Unified Heavyweight Champion. Instead, his fiancee took up the challenge. Ashleigh Jericho, the now current Five Lakes Champion. She survived a hurricane of a beating from me, and hooked in her wonderful fiancee's hold. I didn't tap. I wouldn't tap against her, nor would I have been pinned by her. Regardless, I picked up loss number two. Apparently, as a reward of some kind for putting an ass beating on Ashleigh, I was thrown into a triple threat for the Five Lakes title against Shelley Silver, and Kenzie Rydell. And loss number 3 came to fruition. Last, but not least, I was dropped to the bottom of the pile, in a dark match against Koro. And low and behold, I gained loss number four.
He spits into the water, causing his reflection to ripple in the water.
Malone: Can't possibly go any lower, now can I? For I am currently sitting at the very bottom of the totem pole. I am below the likes of John Blade, KEG, and even a few others that haven't won a single match. And why am I below them, you may ask? Because I lost FOUR in a row. That....is the streak I bring into Las Vegas at City of Sin. Now, we look at Jenson Idol. Everyone's favorite fucking Idol. The current and first ever Heritage champion of Indy Pro Wrestling. He has not lost one match since his arrival from whatever gutter strown alley of England he emerged from. As of right now, the man is 9 and zero. Not one loss has blemished his name. That is the streak that Jenson brings into Las Vegas at City of Sin. These two streaks are completely different, and yet there is one single, solitary thing that they have in common. They transpired inside of a wrestling ring. His wins, and my losses took place in a place that I used to hold domain in. But as of late, it seems the younger generation is something, I cannot keep up with.
He lets go of the railing, and turns to face the camera, now leaning back on the railing.
Malone: I asked for this match, Jenson, because of the disrespect you have shown towards me. A streak, or record means different to me as it does to you, and the rest of your generation of athlete. I have not been hand fed any opponent, nor have I chosen to do what everyone else seems to do, and ride the division express in the NGW. I decide who I want to fight, when I want to fight them. I have given you the opportunity to rise above the soybean fields of Indy, and shine on the big stage, in what will be the most awe inspiring contest anyone in both of our companies have ever seen. For that, even though you don't deserve shit from me....you are welcome. Yet this will be no ordinary contest for you. A wrestling ring will only serve as the end for what will be a truly horrific night for everyone's favorite cunt.
He points up to the sky.
Malone: Up in the sky is where you will find me, Jenson. Standing 30 feet above a ring, covered with stacks of tables. I will be positioned on a scaffold, and my fists will be taped and clenched. Wrestling holds will get you nowhere on this night. For the many ways you have found victory in all 9 of your contests, there is only one way to find it where we are going. You have to throw me off of that scaffold, to where I crash through the table strown ring, in front of thousands of Las Vegas fans. Sounds easy to you, I am sure. But the only problem, is on that scaffold, there will be a plethora of items that I will use to bludgeon you with. To carve into your flesh. To leave lasting bruises, and possibles broken bones, in areas of your body that you need to stabilize your weak fucking frame from being tossed down to hell. I created this match in AWA. I have been on both ends of it. I have sent someone crashing through a wood splintering end. They have never been seen again. On the same token, I have been sent on the ride of a lifetime to that mat. Yet I showed up one week later, because simply put...I am GRAY FUCKING MALONE. I am the Angel of Shadows. I cannot be ended by some worthless bloody cunt like you. You don't have what it takes to end a creature the likes of me.
He laughs to himself, thinking of something.
Malone: You will get into my head these next few weeks. You will spatter out of that Maddux loving mouth of yours how bad of a father I am. How my daughter should spit in my direction for being a shit...or rather a shiite dad to her. How I am never in her life. Or better yet, how I continuously try to disrupt your friend's love life. Or even how you have opened back up the heart of a woman that apparently I ended up breaking.
He shrugs to the camera.
Malone: I want you to understand who you will be standing there with, high in the sky at City of Sin. You are simply, nothing more than some bum from the streets of Nottingham or Rotterham, or whatever fucking ham there is in that pathetic excuse of a country. You have a few lucky wins, against hand selected opponents that couldn't even shoehorn my boots, much less lace them motherfuckers. You are brash, cocky and arrogant, and because of that...you fit the mold for today's piece of shit generation whose hopes and dreams are about to turn upside down at the hands of a Revelation of biblical proportions. I, on the other hand, am cursed. I am cursed with weathered skin. I am deduced to nothing more than a fucking lion that feeds on bright spots, and proud moments. I have bled for this business more than you know. I have been broken, beaten, bloodied, bruised and even buried for this business. Yet here I stand on this bridge, over this peaceful creek.....still breathing. Still fuming. Still hungry, even at 36 years old. Even after 4 fucking losses. I still want to compete at the highest level, for those fans that still want to see me dispatch a puny Brit, and put him to sleep...shocking the entire world of corn growing Indy Fed Pricks who think they amount to anything. I hope they all show up and watch you disappoint them Jenson. Deep down, they all fucking hate you. They want you to be thrown from the heavens by the Angel you see before you.
Gray starts to walk slowly down the arched bridge, with his hands clasped behind his back. As he walks, he thinks of something, and laughs to himself, before speaking.
Malone: I find funny that you think I actually need to prove myself to you, the IPW, or even the NGW. I have nothing left to prove in this industry that I have ruled at one time. Corey Bull, another name that you shamelessly, and dim wittingly drag in the mud, had absolutely nothing left to prove in this industry. Damon Graves and Aurora Knight have everything to prove, and unless you are hidden under a rock, or in your case....hidden under the moniker of being some rebound for a hopeless woman whose heart I supposedly broke after just 3 dates, you should know, those two will not be stopped. As for me, Jenson, I come from the age, where streaks mean jack shit. Back in the age where professional wrestlers were men and women of steel, that tested their wills, and their bodies in epic battles for the fans. I have emerged from that age, in the best shape of my life, with a heart that beats with rage at the thought of consistently punching you about the face, and watching you lose that battle with gravity as you fall before the eyes of every single one of my critics, and crash into a thousand splinters of wood, and the reality.
He continues walking to the bottom of the bridge, and comes upon his grey Chevy Silverado. He walks to the bed of the truck, and leans on the side of it. He looks out at the open field opposite of the creek.
Malone: I have been criticized in the past, that I don't focus on my opposition as much in these complacent, and bullshit interviews....or what those that are nerds in the business call, promos. Perhaps I find it difficult to enter into a childish banter, or a pointless back and forth to try and sell a match, that was already due to be gold because the name Gray Malone was involved. See, Jenson..it is YOU that sound stupid, and completely moronic when you say something like I have dragged this match down as low as it is, and that it is due to You're name, making this match rise up in the card. See, again, your arrogance fills your mind into thinking you are unbeatable and unerasable in this business. It is true, you may be a true superstar in that barnyard shindig, we in the industry like to call Indy Pro Wrestling, but when you look at a superstar of the World of wrestling stigma, then superstar would be the label given to the creature that will look into your eyes at City of Sin on the last bit of solid footing you will feel for awhile after I throw you from reality.
He turns to look into the camera. To look into Jenson's eyes, wherever he may be.
Malone: God Save the Queen? I think not, you pathetic minor leaguer.
God Save Jenson Idol.
He opens his door, and gets inside. He shuts the door, and starts the engine. The scene fades to black as he drives away.