Post by The_Aviator_GB on Apr 25, 2018 19:35:59 GMT
The promo opens in a garage, with Graham Baker and Nick Jameson sitting relatively close to one another, Baker with a barbed-wire bat in hand while Jameson leans on a folded steel chair lined with tacks. Baker pulls a cigarette from between his lips, cracking his neck and beginning to speak.
"So the All-Star Tag Team classic starts off with a big fuckin' bang. Noted ass-kicker and hardcore champion Nick Jameson teams up with the greatest workhorse of our generation, The Aviator Graham Baker. Team's founded on hardcore grit and guts, and perhaps little else. We don't necessarily like one another, but the issue of respect's an issue for another day. We're going to come in, beat the living hell out of Jeremiah Johnson and his mystery partner, tear through every other team in our way, and win this whole fucking thing. Then, at the Anniversary show, we're gonna take the belts off the Invaders-and make good on our promises, as we're wont to do."
Baker pauses and scratches the back of his neck.
"I'll run down the field real quick before I address The Invaders themselves. We'll start with Jeremiah Johnson, a man who, for some odd reason, has been gifted the privilege by Jim Houston to keep his partner private until the day of the tournament. Jim, you've made a big deal out of fucking me over recently, and i'm not quite happy with that, but i'll assume that you've done this simply to benefit Johnson and not fuck anyone else over. Johnson and his partner might be tough-keyword there being might, but compared to the two of us, they're nothing. I'm a bonafide fucking hardcore legend, even if my match-ups here can't necessarily reflect that due to the insistent presence of a certain British submission specialist, but I know my worth. Jameson's a tough motherfucker too, and even if your surprise partner turns out to be Brock fucking Lesnar, we'll still take his ass out and grind him down into the mat. You say you're gonna 'make us tap, or hear us snap'-fuck that. I'll break your arm and lock you in an Emergency Landing until you can't even fucking work because your own tendons have snapped. Be ready to back your shit-talk up, because i'm about done with hearing it."
Nick Jameson:
There's going to be a common theme here during this run down, because I'm looking at Boone and Reynolds, and I'm just feeling like it's all so forced. Straight man, funny man, blah, blah, blah, cut and paste, cookie cutter bullshit, stereotypes for days. Reynolds looks like a Nine Inch Nails roadie with limp wrists; Boone couldn't hack it himself, so he found Reynolds to hitch his wagon to give him some flavor. It's all desperate and transparent, and it's going to be a fucking joy destroying you guys.
"TJ Cole and Jerry Bishop...not much to say here. A clown of a man and a man who needs to have big muscle to back him up-i'll get to that soon. Jerry, I respect you, and i'm not gonna slander you because of that, but TJ Cole's a pretty unimpressive guy who floundered in a world title shot against a man that he should've had beaten. TJ Cole, you really aren't anything that I want to fuck with, not because i'm afraid of you but because it would probably be a decent waste of my time, energy, money...et-cetera, et-cetera. You get the picture. I don't think you're making it past Anarchy, but if you do, by chance, and we happen to run into you, we'll dead-stop you and your momentum. No further comment."
Nick Jameson:
You know, it's cute, Cole and Bishop, these fucking guys, they try to act like fan favorites, good guys for everybody, but really they are a couple of fucking douchebags. They throw their weight around here and try to live off their past accomplishments, like there were any, and are quick to remind the young guys in the back just who they think they are and how glad you should be to be working with them. Tell you what, pusscakes, take a good look at the two men standing in front of the lens, because that's the future of this company. You two are being phased out, and the process begins at the tag tournament. It's not about who you think you are, it's not about what you think you did... this is a game of the future, and you two... don't really have one after we're done with you.
But then you go on get to guys who means even less than that, like the Hardcases. These guys barely even pretend to be relevant... which maybe makes them dangerous, because they have nothing to lose in the first place. Except, of course, the ability to stand upright after we snap their fucking necks. But even more pathetic than them are two guys who have convinced themselves they are something bigger than any of these idiot failures, Bob Orton and Jack Sevren. Sevren likes to act like it's some great favor to this company that Titan lets him come and do shows for FPW. Like they were using him in the first place. And Orton runs around and spitting his bullshit about being betrayed and this and that, trying to manufacture an edge for himself when the fact of the matter is he couldn't cut it with the big boys. And now he wants to try to throw his weight around here, when he can't even beat a guy like Zeke. ZEKE! Don't get me started there...
"The Sons of Cerberus and Azazel and Davey Jones...well, we've only got history with some of these teams. Sons of Cerberus are scary motherfuckers, but they're just that-they're big dumb motherfuckers who we'll steer into the ground if they manage to make it to face us. Azazel...Jameson beat you when you went for the Hardcore Title, and Davey Jones was too scared to face either of us in a FCA Deathmatch. If he couldn't do that, how the fuck does he expect to face the two of us at the same time? He's got no shot-and neither do The Invaders, who I now have a personal problem with. You and MAJ want to act like you're all big and muscly and fucking terrifying, well we're not scared of you. Once Jameson and I have left every other team in this tournament battered and bloodied, we're coming for you. We're coming for your tag titles, not just because we want them, but to keep them off you. Your buddy MAJ made me look like a clown, now i'm gonna make you and all your Takeover buddies look like a bunch, too.
Nick Jameson:
The common thread of delusion continues to spiral through our opponents, who all think they are something or somebodies, and all want to just act like they've been looked over and deserve everything handed to them. Problem is, they aren't ready to out work us, they aren't ready to outfight us, and they damn sure can't match our hunger. We've come together for a purpose... it's not some big mystery what we want. The gold. Period. We're coming for all of the gold, and we're sticking the flag in Freedom Pro, because it now belongs to us. And we are going to scorch the fucking Earth behind us and leave anything and everything you all used to hold dear in a pile of ashes and blood. We don't think we are anything that we are not... we're all killer, and somebody's gonna die.
Baker and Jameson share a glance as the camera feed cuts out and fades to black...
"So the All-Star Tag Team classic starts off with a big fuckin' bang. Noted ass-kicker and hardcore champion Nick Jameson teams up with the greatest workhorse of our generation, The Aviator Graham Baker. Team's founded on hardcore grit and guts, and perhaps little else. We don't necessarily like one another, but the issue of respect's an issue for another day. We're going to come in, beat the living hell out of Jeremiah Johnson and his mystery partner, tear through every other team in our way, and win this whole fucking thing. Then, at the Anniversary show, we're gonna take the belts off the Invaders-and make good on our promises, as we're wont to do."
Baker pauses and scratches the back of his neck.
"I'll run down the field real quick before I address The Invaders themselves. We'll start with Jeremiah Johnson, a man who, for some odd reason, has been gifted the privilege by Jim Houston to keep his partner private until the day of the tournament. Jim, you've made a big deal out of fucking me over recently, and i'm not quite happy with that, but i'll assume that you've done this simply to benefit Johnson and not fuck anyone else over. Johnson and his partner might be tough-keyword there being might, but compared to the two of us, they're nothing. I'm a bonafide fucking hardcore legend, even if my match-ups here can't necessarily reflect that due to the insistent presence of a certain British submission specialist, but I know my worth. Jameson's a tough motherfucker too, and even if your surprise partner turns out to be Brock fucking Lesnar, we'll still take his ass out and grind him down into the mat. You say you're gonna 'make us tap, or hear us snap'-fuck that. I'll break your arm and lock you in an Emergency Landing until you can't even fucking work because your own tendons have snapped. Be ready to back your shit-talk up, because i'm about done with hearing it."
Nick Jameson:
There's going to be a common theme here during this run down, because I'm looking at Boone and Reynolds, and I'm just feeling like it's all so forced. Straight man, funny man, blah, blah, blah, cut and paste, cookie cutter bullshit, stereotypes for days. Reynolds looks like a Nine Inch Nails roadie with limp wrists; Boone couldn't hack it himself, so he found Reynolds to hitch his wagon to give him some flavor. It's all desperate and transparent, and it's going to be a fucking joy destroying you guys.
"TJ Cole and Jerry Bishop...not much to say here. A clown of a man and a man who needs to have big muscle to back him up-i'll get to that soon. Jerry, I respect you, and i'm not gonna slander you because of that, but TJ Cole's a pretty unimpressive guy who floundered in a world title shot against a man that he should've had beaten. TJ Cole, you really aren't anything that I want to fuck with, not because i'm afraid of you but because it would probably be a decent waste of my time, energy, money...et-cetera, et-cetera. You get the picture. I don't think you're making it past Anarchy, but if you do, by chance, and we happen to run into you, we'll dead-stop you and your momentum. No further comment."
Nick Jameson:
You know, it's cute, Cole and Bishop, these fucking guys, they try to act like fan favorites, good guys for everybody, but really they are a couple of fucking douchebags. They throw their weight around here and try to live off their past accomplishments, like there were any, and are quick to remind the young guys in the back just who they think they are and how glad you should be to be working with them. Tell you what, pusscakes, take a good look at the two men standing in front of the lens, because that's the future of this company. You two are being phased out, and the process begins at the tag tournament. It's not about who you think you are, it's not about what you think you did... this is a game of the future, and you two... don't really have one after we're done with you.
But then you go on get to guys who means even less than that, like the Hardcases. These guys barely even pretend to be relevant... which maybe makes them dangerous, because they have nothing to lose in the first place. Except, of course, the ability to stand upright after we snap their fucking necks. But even more pathetic than them are two guys who have convinced themselves they are something bigger than any of these idiot failures, Bob Orton and Jack Sevren. Sevren likes to act like it's some great favor to this company that Titan lets him come and do shows for FPW. Like they were using him in the first place. And Orton runs around and spitting his bullshit about being betrayed and this and that, trying to manufacture an edge for himself when the fact of the matter is he couldn't cut it with the big boys. And now he wants to try to throw his weight around here, when he can't even beat a guy like Zeke. ZEKE! Don't get me started there...
"The Sons of Cerberus and Azazel and Davey Jones...well, we've only got history with some of these teams. Sons of Cerberus are scary motherfuckers, but they're just that-they're big dumb motherfuckers who we'll steer into the ground if they manage to make it to face us. Azazel...Jameson beat you when you went for the Hardcore Title, and Davey Jones was too scared to face either of us in a FCA Deathmatch. If he couldn't do that, how the fuck does he expect to face the two of us at the same time? He's got no shot-and neither do The Invaders, who I now have a personal problem with. You and MAJ want to act like you're all big and muscly and fucking terrifying, well we're not scared of you. Once Jameson and I have left every other team in this tournament battered and bloodied, we're coming for you. We're coming for your tag titles, not just because we want them, but to keep them off you. Your buddy MAJ made me look like a clown, now i'm gonna make you and all your Takeover buddies look like a bunch, too.
Nick Jameson:
The common thread of delusion continues to spiral through our opponents, who all think they are something or somebodies, and all want to just act like they've been looked over and deserve everything handed to them. Problem is, they aren't ready to out work us, they aren't ready to outfight us, and they damn sure can't match our hunger. We've come together for a purpose... it's not some big mystery what we want. The gold. Period. We're coming for all of the gold, and we're sticking the flag in Freedom Pro, because it now belongs to us. And we are going to scorch the fucking Earth behind us and leave anything and everything you all used to hold dear in a pile of ashes and blood. We don't think we are anything that we are not... we're all killer, and somebody's gonna die.
Baker and Jameson share a glance as the camera feed cuts out and fades to black...
