Smackdown 12/7/13 - EC3/Fandango vs. Callihan/Lee
OOC: Best believe we're going 2-2 this week homie.
Heads Up, Hands Down...
[video=youtube;h5lbnPh0zpM]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h5lbnPh0zpM[/video]
"Battalion of Zero" by Philip. H. Anselmo and the Illegals blasts through the arena PA and the capacity crowd cheers as Sami Callihan and Brodie Lee walk out on to the stage. Callihan's crazed eyes, augmented by some devilish shadows, dart frantically around the stadium – what they're looking for could be anyone's guess or worst nightmare ever. Darkly. Contrariwise, Brodie Lee seems focused, perhaps even apathetic, as he walks straight down towards the ring without acknowledging the positive fan reaction. The tandem quickly reaches ringside and Callihan slides under the ropes before going across the squared circle to rab a pair of mics. Lee, meanwhile, steps on to the apron and over the top rope, reminding the lockerroom and all the kids at home that he's like, really tall and stuff. Callihan tosses his homeboy a microphone and they begin.
Callihan: UWF Smackdown... what's good?
The crowd cheers because he addressed them. Several hundred take it very personally and get all flustered and blushy. Sami Callihan, some will note, could be this generations Hardy Boys as far reaching that insecure teen girls demo goes. You know – those girls who sit in the living room and complain while their little brothers watch wrestling for hours on end but secrelty love seeing a few of the guys get out there and get all sweaty and perserverant doing their thing. Those girls. Callihan has yet to answer any of their fan mail.
Callihan: Alright, alright... so last week... last week... well fuck, you all saw it, right? Me and my boys Eddie Guerrero and, uh, Shark Boy were out here, same ring, doin' our thing, reppin' it up and kickin' ass when alls of a sudden we have ourselves one of those good old fashioned tag team... uh... ya know...
Lee: Clusterfuck?
Callihan: Yep, one of those, and while I'm busy beating Carlito to death with his skull, which I'm pretty sure I pulled out of his face at some point shortly before that, I get all blindsided by the Last King of Scotland and pinned. First night on the job and I get fuckin' pinned. Man, what a bummer. Not a bad showing before that, granted, but let me tell ya kids, that ain't they way to sell yourself to the uh, the powers that be on debut night. Whatever. I get backstage, blitz a dart or two, go on a drunk and wake up to realize that I had yet to ask myself where the fuck you were man?
Callihan turns to Brodie, eyes inflmaed and all accusatory.
Lee: Me?
Callihan: Well ain't no one else here yet...
Brodie scratches his beard thoughtfully for a moment before replying.
Lee: Well shux buddy, I don't think I even got invited to the show last week.
Callihan: Yeah, so I noticed. Or didn't noticed... notice... you... cause you weren't there... dude.
Lee: Well you had uh... Eddie Guerrero there didn't ya? And, what was that other fishy guy? The Shark... fella?
Callihan: You're supposed to me the muscle though, ya know? My heat. The fixer. The guy that solves the problems before I even have to think about having them. The manager. The distraction. The interferer. The Prestige. The uh... the tall bearded guy who kicks the shit outta confused Houstonians before they scissorkick my damn head off!
Lee: I.... uh... forgot?
Callihan: Well no more fucking forgetting. Tonight... tonight will be a night to remember, boys and girls. The real horror show gets... real... more real.... reality bending... cause for the first time ever, Sami Callihan, aka The New Horror teams up with Brodie Lee aka The Human Truck aka Optimus Prime aka Treebeard – the first showing of the Thoroughbred American Violence aka T.I.O.C. - that's the Tire Iron Original Crew, kids – aka future UWF Tag Team Champions of the world.
Now I'm not the kinda guy to chase around trophies and medals like some fuckin boy scout, try-hard, athlete type go-getter who needs a fuckin' plaque to validate his existance. Neither is Brodie. Far as I'm concerned, long as I get to my boot where some guy's nose should be for the entertainment of the masses least once a week, I'm gold as right there. As for Brodie, well he just likes to hit folks hard as he can, and he was too racist for pro football. We're not really the “no harm, no foul” type, in that we're mostly just here for a good ol' fashioned blood on your knuckles but more blood on the other guy's face fist fight. Now the underground we crawled out of to get here, well it accomidated us pretty well. Lots of ultra-violent, no rules, wrap it in barbed wire sorta matches. It was home – always will be, and we loved it there. But we're here now, and we wanna enjoy ourselves while the ride lasts.
That said, we, uh, well we recognize some guys just wanna play nice, save their pretty faces for those Hollywood dreams they sleep for every night – don't wanna get too rough in here if they can help it. And hey, to each his own, but that ain't us. No sir. As guys curtaintly hanging out at the bottom of the uh, proverbial ladder, we recognize we gotta take what we can get. So a six-man tag last week, no problem. A non-title bout with the champs this week? We'll take it. And hey, if I ever got a shot at that Hardcore title, well I sure wouldn't mind showing Kennedy how much blood you have too lose to get fans to stop calling you a pussy to your face. But tag team titles, or hey, maybe even one of them “world titles” some day, well that's serious clout. You win one those and hold it long enough, you get some political pull, call some shots, make some suggestions, gets some sway, start changing things for the better round here. And that's what we aim to do. Change it, make our new home feel a little more like our old home. Maybe win us some Tag Titles, and, since I know there's a few of them around now, maybe make us some “Hardcore Tag Team Titles”. Call me a dreamer, only call me that cause Tommy Dreamer is so fuckin' rad. We're here to give back, revolutionize, and rock the boat. We' kickin things off with the uh, Modern Day Double Dragons. Let's see what we can do, eh?
The crowd cheers as Callihan turns to face the stage.
Callihan: Now we've never actually met these guys before, so far be it for me to talk any trash until they get down here and show us what we're workin with here. Fellas?
-----------------------
[video=youtube;h5lbnPh0zpM]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h5lbnPh0zpM[/video]
"Battalion of Zero" by Philip. H. Anselmo and the Illegals blasts through the arena PA and the capacity crowd cheers as Sami Callihan and Brodie Lee walk out on to the stage. Callihan's crazed eyes, augmented by some devilish shadows, dart frantically around the stadium – what they're looking for could be anyone's guess or worst nightmare ever. Darkly. Contrariwise, Brodie Lee seems focused, perhaps even apathetic, as he walks straight down towards the ring without acknowledging the positive fan reaction. The tandem quickly reaches ringside and Callihan slides under the ropes before going across the squared circle to rab a pair of mics. Lee, meanwhile, steps on to the apron and over the top rope, reminding the lockerroom and all the kids at home that he's like, really tall and stuff. Callihan tosses his homeboy a microphone and they begin.
Callihan: UWF Smackdown... what's good?
The crowd cheers because he addressed them. Several hundred take it very personally and get all flustered and blushy. Sami Callihan, some will note, could be this generations Hardy Boys as far reaching that insecure teen girls demo goes. You know – those girls who sit in the living room and complain while their little brothers watch wrestling for hours on end but secrelty love seeing a few of the guys get out there and get all sweaty and perserverant doing their thing. Those girls. Callihan has yet to answer any of their fan mail.
Callihan: Alright, alright... so last week... last week... well fuck, you all saw it, right? Me and my boys Eddie Guerrero and, uh, Shark Boy were out here, same ring, doin' our thing, reppin' it up and kickin' ass when alls of a sudden we have ourselves one of those good old fashioned tag team... uh... ya know...
Lee: Clusterfuck?
Callihan: Yep, one of those, and while I'm busy beating Carlito to death with his skull, which I'm pretty sure I pulled out of his face at some point shortly before that, I get all blindsided by the Last King of Scotland and pinned. First night on the job and I get fuckin' pinned. Man, what a bummer. Not a bad showing before that, granted, but let me tell ya kids, that ain't they way to sell yourself to the uh, the powers that be on debut night. Whatever. I get backstage, blitz a dart or two, go on a drunk and wake up to realize that I had yet to ask myself where the fuck you were man?
Callihan turns to Brodie, eyes inflmaed and all accusatory.
Lee: Me?
Callihan: Well ain't no one else here yet...
Brodie scratches his beard thoughtfully for a moment before replying.
Lee: Well shux buddy, I don't think I even got invited to the show last week.
Callihan: Yeah, so I noticed. Or didn't noticed... notice... you... cause you weren't there... dude.
Lee: Well you had uh... Eddie Guerrero there didn't ya? And, what was that other fishy guy? The Shark... fella?
Callihan: You're supposed to me the muscle though, ya know? My heat. The fixer. The guy that solves the problems before I even have to think about having them. The manager. The distraction. The interferer. The Prestige. The uh... the tall bearded guy who kicks the shit outta confused Houstonians before they scissorkick my damn head off!
Lee: I.... uh... forgot?
Callihan: Well no more fucking forgetting. Tonight... tonight will be a night to remember, boys and girls. The real horror show gets... real... more real.... reality bending... cause for the first time ever, Sami Callihan, aka The New Horror teams up with Brodie Lee aka The Human Truck aka Optimus Prime aka Treebeard – the first showing of the Thoroughbred American Violence aka T.I.O.C. - that's the Tire Iron Original Crew, kids – aka future UWF Tag Team Champions of the world.
Now I'm not the kinda guy to chase around trophies and medals like some fuckin boy scout, try-hard, athlete type go-getter who needs a fuckin' plaque to validate his existance. Neither is Brodie. Far as I'm concerned, long as I get to my boot where some guy's nose should be for the entertainment of the masses least once a week, I'm gold as right there. As for Brodie, well he just likes to hit folks hard as he can, and he was too racist for pro football. We're not really the “no harm, no foul” type, in that we're mostly just here for a good ol' fashioned blood on your knuckles but more blood on the other guy's face fist fight. Now the underground we crawled out of to get here, well it accomidated us pretty well. Lots of ultra-violent, no rules, wrap it in barbed wire sorta matches. It was home – always will be, and we loved it there. But we're here now, and we wanna enjoy ourselves while the ride lasts.
That said, we, uh, well we recognize some guys just wanna play nice, save their pretty faces for those Hollywood dreams they sleep for every night – don't wanna get too rough in here if they can help it. And hey, to each his own, but that ain't us. No sir. As guys curtaintly hanging out at the bottom of the uh, proverbial ladder, we recognize we gotta take what we can get. So a six-man tag last week, no problem. A non-title bout with the champs this week? We'll take it. And hey, if I ever got a shot at that Hardcore title, well I sure wouldn't mind showing Kennedy how much blood you have too lose to get fans to stop calling you a pussy to your face. But tag team titles, or hey, maybe even one of them “world titles” some day, well that's serious clout. You win one those and hold it long enough, you get some political pull, call some shots, make some suggestions, gets some sway, start changing things for the better round here. And that's what we aim to do. Change it, make our new home feel a little more like our old home. Maybe win us some Tag Titles, and, since I know there's a few of them around now, maybe make us some “Hardcore Tag Team Titles”. Call me a dreamer, only call me that cause Tommy Dreamer is so fuckin' rad. We're here to give back, revolutionize, and rock the boat. We' kickin things off with the uh, Modern Day Double Dragons. Let's see what we can do, eh?
The crowd cheers as Callihan turns to face the stage.
Callihan: Now we've never actually met these guys before, so far be it for me to talk any trash until they get down here and show us what we're workin with here. Fellas?
-----------------------
OOC: Best believe we're going 2-2 this week homie.