FPW All Star Tag Team Classic Pre-Card Promos

[Deleted]

Close your eyes,
and believe,
because I know
who you are.
This is you,
shelled inside a shell,
looking at yourself from afar,
A blank screen
in your mind.
Your eyes closed,
I whisper:

You stare at the microwave to make sure it’s working; though you’ve been staring at it for the past two minutes. You look at the numbers slowly ticking away. You realize you can watch your pathetic life pass you by one moment at a time. The only saving grace in this shitty excuse for existential crisis is that you’ve finally finished heating up your mother’s leftover spaghetti. Hooray. You take the hot plate out of the microwave and wonder why you’re stupid enough to touch a hot ass plate from the microwave. You roughly drop the bowl of spaghetti on the countertop of your miserable dwelling. A few drops of sauce splash on to the counter. You don’t clean it up, nothing you do matters right now anyway. You sit down in your comfy chair (the one that smells like your farts) and turn on the old television you scored from the dumpster outside the house of the girl who friendzoned you. It’s okay, she didn’t know you were there when you took it. You gather a fork and wind a string of spaghetti; your favorite commercial comes on.

Announcer: Are you suffering from depression?

Yes

Announcer: Do you need a pick me up?

Yes

Announcer: Then Grandmas Going Crazy is the dvd set you need!

Yes! But no time for ‘a session’ right now. You have to eat.

Announcer: Call the number on your screen or go to grandmasgonewilddotcom to see the freakiest of the freaky!

Your life was complete when you used the last of your Dungeons and Dragons dice money to pay for the subscription to Grandmas Gone Wild.

Go ahead. Cry about it on Reddit. Cry about how the big bad nasty man just made fun of your hobbies.

You run away and wipe your tears on the body pillow you have in the corner. You talk to the pillow in phrases you looked up on the internet. You were so happy then. All geared up to find an Asian girlfriend. But when they see you, and hear you, and smell you...well there’s a reason you’ve made it through six seasons of Dragon Ball.

You finally put your mom’s spaghetti in your mouth, slurping loudly and smacking every bite. You chew with your mouth open and sauce gets all over your sweater...an old Christmas sweater that you love. It’s July. Your crush bought it for you when she thought you were her gay friend.

Now rap for me bitch.

AWF: Huh what?

The lights come on. The scene is a Psychiatrist’s office. Jeremiah Johnson is in a tweed sports coat, maroon tie, tan shirt and tan slacks. His shoes cost more than your car.

Johnson: I said rap for me, fat fuck.

AWF: I, uh, I don’t know uh-

And the fat little guy on the couch stammers for a while. Stuttering through his words. He has black hair and dark eyes. There’s a small amount of hair on his upper lip, either a sorry attempt at a mustache or a result of bad hygiene, probably both. His shirt isn’t quite clear yet, but there’s writing on it.

Johnson: (looks down over his glasses) You better produce some flow ass bars.

AWF: I didn’t know that’s what I was here for.

Johnson: Well you are. So rap.

AWF: Oh okay. Do-do I get a beat?

Johnson: NO!

AWF: My name is Phan and I’m here to say, I’m gonna rap for you in my special way--

Johnson: LOUDER! STAND UP!

Phan stands up. His shirt is visible now, it reads, “Average Wrestling Fan”

AWF: I got mind-fucked by The Brawler JJ.

Johnson: JJ? JJ? Nobody calls me JJ!

Johnson knocks over a nearby lamp. He stands almost two heads taller than the Average Wrestling Fan, Phan. Johnson kicks Phan in the stomach, then DD-214s him through the couch Phan was just laying on. Johnson addresses the camera.

Johnson: You see that? That’s what I think of the average wrestling fan. You’re all fat ass losers that can’t rap! You all eat your mom’s spaghetti in the basement with one hand while stroking your own egos with the other. You try to show your solidarity by chanting and booing. Well none of you have lived he incredible life I have! None of you even have the balls or ovaries to step through those ring ropes. Look at they guy on the floor; that’s you! I know you’ll all show up to the show anyways, because you need a break from the smell of your overflowing piss bottles and shit buckets. And you know, I’d like to say ‘thanks for showering’ when I see you in the arena, but by the smell of you I can tell that most of you are waffle-stompers. That’s why I choose to do most of my stuff outside, away from your annoying chants and awful smell. If I had it my way, every match I had would be an empty arena match. Hell, if I had it my way then I’d be in the main event of every show.

But the brass at FPW has it their way. And their way is what pays my paychecks. And I love getting paid to hurt people. So whoever my tag teamed opponents are; get ready to feel pain. You will feel your bones break, you will feel your tendons snap; and when you can’t take it anymore; you’ll have no choice but to TAP! Good luck. And to you basement dwelling, internet flaming pieces of walking garbage: TAKE A FUCKING SHOWER!

[Deleted]

Backstage, an enhancement talent sits on a chair, unconcious. It should come as no surprise at this point that a broken guitar can be seen on his cranium. Our Messiah enters the shot, taking a seat next to the local talent. He turns to face the poor jabroni.

MD: Sorry for having to do this to you again, but I'm lacking in Friendmigos at the moment and quite honestly, you're one of the only people I feel I can talk to right now.

Dwyer begins his spiel.

MD: The All-Star Tag Team Classic. Been waiting for this show since I first heard rumor of it, which would've been four to five months ago – from Jerry, no less. Apparently he heard it from Dasha or Ted... or was it Jackson? I don't remember – but I do recall the smile on his face as he told me. Jerry's a very positive guy, but it was the largest smile from him I'd seen in a long time. From that moment forward, we were winning that tourney, him and I – and there wasn't a damn thing anybody could do to stop that!

Footage from Enter Sandman plays on the screen, perhaps representing what our Lord and Savior could possibly have going through his mind right now. Matt and Jerry are about to tag via high-five. Before it connects, we switch to Temple of Doom footage – Jerry Bishop has just landed an elbow right into his former Friendmigo's face. Blood comes from his lip. We cut back to the Messiah.

MD: ... What happened? Rhetorical – we all know the answer. Bloody TJ Cole is what happened. He's bullshitted Jerry so brilliantly that he's broken him. A man I used to call my best friend, a man I respected more than anyone I had ever met – and most possibly ever will – has been turned against me. Turned against all he ever fighted for. It's disgusting. A fast count at New Batch, an assault on Adam Thompson, and then attacking Azrael, then me, at Temple of Doom. To top it all off, he's trying to get help from guys like Orton and Jonesy to fix this mess, instead of just approaching me to do it himself. Surely I would be saddened? Disappointed? Maybe even a little vengeful? The truth is, I'm...

Strangely, Matt smiles.

MD: I'm proud. That despite all this manipulation, no matter how much of a slump he's in right now, he still has Friendmigoship within him. Sure, a bloodied lip for me and worse for Thompson and Azrael are a few steps back – but what he did at Temple of Doom more than made up for it. I mean, he changed the damn outcome of the match! I've been having difficulty reaching out to the little sparkle of justice that still lies within Bishop, but this, without a doubt, is a massive leap in the right direction. And as long as Jerry keeps fighting, I will – because I refuse to give up on a man who never did so himself.

Now, it would seem that I still need to make quite the effort to win Jerry back, but I think I know just how to do it. The easiest way to prove I'm better than Cole would be to kick the absolute shit out of him – but given how eager he is to escape our upcoming match, I'm not gonna bother hunting him down right now. I'm not gonna devalue myself by chasing someone I know can't match up to me in a ring. This means I won't be entering the Classic – besides, I couldn't without my tag team partner. TJ, there are other ways to prove I'm better than you – such as doing all the things you wish you could in this company.

So, where do I begin? Let's start with the most recent thing Cole's failed to do in this company – and that's win a championship. The Hardcore Championship's booked, I don't have a tag team, and I'm busy on Night One – so that empty slot on Night Two is all I have.

Young's Lions Cup holder Marcus Allen Jones vs FPW debutant Elizabeth Karlson for the Cup.

I can work with that.

Now, let me start with Karlson's theory that the filthy mark only won the Young Lion's Cup because she wasn't there. While I could, and would very much like to, see you beating the shit out of Marc, I must question your lack of sources. I would now like to present a theory of my own, and believe me when I tell you I've done the maths to prove this.

It's as simple as follows: If we had Matt "Messiah" Dwyer vs Marcus Allen Jones minus one TJ Cole running interference, we'd end up with the bottom of my boot imprinted on Marc's chin, and one Young Lion's Cup hoisted above my head. While I can't say with certainty I'd beat you too, Ms. Karlson – I can say that, due to being the only one who was screwed out their tourney match, I'm the most deserving of another shot at the Cup. Which would then make me the number one contender.

But... I don't really want to take the shot away from you, given it's your debut and all... now that I think of it, there just might be room for the both of us in the match. Which means you get a shot, I get a shot and Marc gets less chance of defending! Win for you, win for me, and win for everybody else that isn't a filthy mark!

Houston, you know what to do.

Dwyer turns back to address the still knocked out jobber.

MD: Nobody just gets me like you do, my dude. Get well soon.

Our Messiah pats his "counsellor" on the back, and exits the shot.

[veggieleezy]

*Canera comes up in a dimly-lit room. Lining the walls are autographed photos of various wrestlers, including Joey Ryan, Shane Helms, Colt Cabana, and Jervis Cottonbelly. As we pan along the wall, we hear the sound of a sink running. The camera reaches an open door, where we see Jerry Bishop with his back to the camera looking at a mirror.*

JB: (to himself) Well, old boy, looks like you’re in quite the pickle.

*Bishop washes his hands and pulls one of his gloves on.*

JB: On the one hand, TJ and Matt have been at each other’s throats for months, and you’ve been stuck in the middle. Matt’s been saying some mean things about TJ, and vice versa, and there’s not really much of anything you can do about it. You’re gonna be in a match against one of your oldest friends...

*He pulls the other glove on*

JB: On the other hand, she had a mole.

*Bishop chuckles slightly and then sighs*

JB: But seriously. On the other hand, now that you’re teamed up with TJ, you finally have another shot at a championship. All those miles and matches and you could finally have something to show for it other than your own pride and the cheers.

*Bishop walks to his bed and sits down to lace up his boots. On the nightstand is a framed picture of the original League of Friendmigos lineup smiling arm in arm. We hear a jingling sound, like a bell on a collar.*

JB: C’mere, Foz!

*A small black bear with a collar reading “Fozzie” and “mask” coloring around his eyes bounds around a corner and nuzzles at Bishop’s legs. Bishop pulls a fish from the nightstand drawer and feeds it.*

JB: I know, buddy. It’s a tricky time for us. But we’ve just gotta keep our chins up, right? It’ll all work itself out in the end.

*Fozzie growls cheerfully*

JB: As always, your small stature belies your vast wisdom, my friend.

*Fozzie gallumphs happily to a large purple velvet pillow and plops himself down chewing on his fish. Bishop reaches back into his nightstand and pulls out his signature mask.*

JB: One thing we know for sure though, Fozzie.. *puts on the mask* ...I am not a dick. ...well, goodnight, little buddy!

*Fozzie growls in return. Bishop swings his legs onto his bed and claps twice. The lights in the room go out and Bishop tucks himself in. The camera pans over to a small nightlight in the shape of a clown’s face before fading out.*