Richard Blonoff
Make America Rassle Again
Leon: Hello everyone I am Leon Kensworth for WZCW.com and I am here with Becky Serra, the General Manager of Ascension. Thanks for joining me Becky.
Becky: My pleasure as always Leon.
Leon: Unscripted was an amazing show, but there was some surprising news that came from the owner of WZCW, Mr. Banks. Meltdown and Ascension both have exclusive rights to Eurasian Title and the Elite Openweight Title respectively. What are your thoughts on Austin Reynolds now bringing such an illustrious title exclusively to your show?
Becky: Well Leon, I can say I am very happy to have the likes of Austin Reynolds as our Elite Openweight Champion. I mean, what a story of redemt
The video cuts out for several moments before returning to a rudimentary video shot of a large black man sitting behind a wooden desk. He wears a tight black shirt and his feet are swung up on the desk, military boots and black pants showing. A single eye patch covers his right eye as he leans back, lighting a large cigar before exhaling a large plume of smoke.
Are we done listening to the chicken head talk? Good because I sure as hell am. WZCW.com belongs to us now. Shit, my boys are better at this hacking then I thought. Oh? You don't know my riding partnahs? I think y'all know them very well now after what they did at Unscripted.
The man takes another puff from his cigar, leaning his head back as he exhales once again. He slides his feet off and crosses his arms in front of his barrelled chest as he stares into the camera.
Fact is, we're here to fuck shit up. We've been sitting back watching the same ol' dog and pony show for way too fuckin' long and it's about time something was done about it. Ain't no one making money anymore when the head honchos wanna take a cut from everyone's profits. All they wanna do is talk talk talk about how they shit don't stank. News flash, ain't no one give a fuck about what you sayin' out there, and ain't no one gonna pay a quarter for your nickel size words.
The man laughs as he takes another drag from his cigar, blowing smoke right into the camera.
This organization has come together for one goal. And that's to tear this motherfucker to the ground. Oh, y'all wanna know who we are? That's for you to find out.
Two men suddenly walk into the picture, one clad in all black, the other in all white. They both carry bats in one hand and a chain in the other, both of their faces completely covered by bandannas and their heads covered with hoods. The one in black swings his chain back and forth, his head tilted back slightly as he stares forward.
And we're gonna make some god damn money starting at the Roulette Round. These are our demandsd Banks. Either you let my boy over here fight or you're gonna be paying up another way.
The black hooded one reaches into his pocket and tosses a sealed brown envelope onto the desk. The one with the eye patch picks it up and pulls out some papers, looking it over as he begins laughing again, a cringe forming on his face.
I mean, y'all don't want this shit getting out to the media do ya Banksy? We wouldn't that little mirage of a proper businessman being broken now would we? I mean, what kinda fuckin' lawyers you got workin' for you to let this type of shit go down and not a fuckin' peep being made about it?
The man cracks a smile as he slides the papers back into the envelope and hands it back off to the one in black. He puts it away as the smile disappears on the man at the desk, his face getting very serious. The one in black and the one in white point their bats towards the screen as the slam the chains down onto the desk.
Reckoning time Banks. My boy fights in your little Roulette Round or we come wreck more shit and expose you for the fraud you are. Every match will be just a beat down from yours truly. Now back to your regularly scheduled talking chicken head. With love, The Hollow Ones.
Becky: My pleasure as always Leon.
Leon: Unscripted was an amazing show, but there was some surprising news that came from the owner of WZCW, Mr. Banks. Meltdown and Ascension both have exclusive rights to Eurasian Title and the Elite Openweight Title respectively. What are your thoughts on Austin Reynolds now bringing such an illustrious title exclusively to your show?
Becky: Well Leon, I can say I am very happy to have the likes of Austin Reynolds as our Elite Openweight Champion. I mean, what a story of redemt
The video cuts out for several moments before returning to a rudimentary video shot of a large black man sitting behind a wooden desk. He wears a tight black shirt and his feet are swung up on the desk, military boots and black pants showing. A single eye patch covers his right eye as he leans back, lighting a large cigar before exhaling a large plume of smoke.
Are we done listening to the chicken head talk? Good because I sure as hell am. WZCW.com belongs to us now. Shit, my boys are better at this hacking then I thought. Oh? You don't know my riding partnahs? I think y'all know them very well now after what they did at Unscripted.
The man takes another puff from his cigar, leaning his head back as he exhales once again. He slides his feet off and crosses his arms in front of his barrelled chest as he stares into the camera.
Fact is, we're here to fuck shit up. We've been sitting back watching the same ol' dog and pony show for way too fuckin' long and it's about time something was done about it. Ain't no one making money anymore when the head honchos wanna take a cut from everyone's profits. All they wanna do is talk talk talk about how they shit don't stank. News flash, ain't no one give a fuck about what you sayin' out there, and ain't no one gonna pay a quarter for your nickel size words.
The man laughs as he takes another drag from his cigar, blowing smoke right into the camera.
This organization has come together for one goal. And that's to tear this motherfucker to the ground. Oh, y'all wanna know who we are? That's for you to find out.
Two men suddenly walk into the picture, one clad in all black, the other in all white. They both carry bats in one hand and a chain in the other, both of their faces completely covered by bandannas and their heads covered with hoods. The one in black swings his chain back and forth, his head tilted back slightly as he stares forward.
And we're gonna make some god damn money starting at the Roulette Round. These are our demandsd Banks. Either you let my boy over here fight or you're gonna be paying up another way.
The black hooded one reaches into his pocket and tosses a sealed brown envelope onto the desk. The one with the eye patch picks it up and pulls out some papers, looking it over as he begins laughing again, a cringe forming on his face.
I mean, y'all don't want this shit getting out to the media do ya Banksy? We wouldn't that little mirage of a proper businessman being broken now would we? I mean, what kinda fuckin' lawyers you got workin' for you to let this type of shit go down and not a fuckin' peep being made about it?
The man cracks a smile as he slides the papers back into the envelope and hands it back off to the one in black. He puts it away as the smile disappears on the man at the desk, his face getting very serious. The one in black and the one in white point their bats towards the screen as the slam the chains down onto the desk.
Reckoning time Banks. My boy fights in your little Roulette Round or we come wreck more shit and expose you for the fraud you are. Every match will be just a beat down from yours truly. Now back to your regularly scheduled talking chicken head. With love, The Hollow Ones.
