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Bill Kuriyama calls someone out.; Anyone. He don't care. Bring it, bitches
Topic Started: Jan 27 2005, 01:03 PM (93 Views)
Minister Wighty
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Opossum Queen of FIW
Admin
The funky plucking of Tomoyasu Hotei's "Battle Without Honor of Humanity" grooves its way over the audience as the house lights dim and several spotlights begin searching about the audience, finally focusing on the stage as the music hits a short pause before...


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A wall of gold fireworks EXPLODE from the entryway, rising in time with the crescendo, and out through the shower of sparks steps Bill Kuriyama! He chews arrogantly on his piece of butter rum gum before stepping a ways down the walkway. He stops, looks around, and whips off his sunglasses, tossing them over his head as a second crescendo hits, along with a second wall of gold fireworks! Bill walks the rest of the way, stepping between the ropes before strutting toward a turnbuckle where he verbally berates the fans and shows off his awesome musculature to them. The music dies and Bill accepts a mic from a ring monkey. He raises it to his lips, but stops to listen to the fans' booing. Eventually he puts the mic back.

BK: Yeah, that's real cute. Bill Kuriyama can make a cow noise too. Or were you going for a ghost?

The crowd boos harder, which is of course the only logical path when you've just been insulted.

BK: Whatever. Bill Kuriyama's not out here to talk to the fans. Since when is he? No, today I'm out here to talk to EEEEVERYONE backstage.

Bill carefully turns around to face the stage, the ropes still supporting his feet.

BK: See, in case your jackknobs haven't noticed, all the "talent" contending for Bill Kuriyama's title have either disappeared or left the company. Heh. Too scared to take on some real competition, I guess.

Bill grins and the fans boo, 'cuz they like Savage, Stevens, and whoever the hell else thought they could tango with Bill and lead.

BK: Anyway, anyway. There's a whole mess of wrestlers backstage. I saw 'em. Hell, I see 'em every week. They sit back their in their high-class dressing rooms, hanging out with their sexy girlfriends, drinking expensive champagne and experiencing the luxury of all the latest entertainment equipment... oh... oh, no. Wait. That's me. I'm sorry.

Bill is clearly anything but sorry, grinning almost like an idiot. The fans continue to boo him, though, which is exactly what he wanted.

BK: So, yeah. Bill Kuriyama says 'come on out'! Bring your Max Coronas, bring your Carlos Kanes, bring your Elricks, your Toans, your Vinjindigities. Bring 'em all, Bill Kuriyama'll take 'em all on at once and STILL come out the Fighting Spirit Champion.

He waits for a moment while the crowd gives their mixed reaction of booing Bill and cheering the championship and the proposed challengers.

BK: Go on, come out here. Somebody, anybody. Bill Kuriyama wants a little something he hasn't had here in FIW, and that's COMPETITION. I've had to deal with Chris Daniels' evil twin brother, had to deal with some idiot claiming to be "Greatness" when he's CLEARLY facing off against the greatest wrestler on this good green-ness! I've faced the fifth incarnation of Pee-Wee in the "Gorgeous Gangsta", and he didn't get nothin' but trounced by the--

Bill stops mid-sentence and takes a serious face, looking at one of the ladies in the crowd.

BK: SEX. Machine gun.

She doesn't cream her jeans, and instead waves her big neon pink "I LUV MAX CORONO" sign up higher, shouting "BOOOOOOO!" at Bill.

BK: Yeah, boo me all you like, bitch. You think Bill Kuriyama'd wanna get with you, with your ratty bleach-blonde hair and your trailer park trash clothing choices? You think Bill Kuriyama'd wanna invest himself in your daddy's favorite crawlspace, right there between your legs?

The bitch is mad, boyee. She tries to jump the rail, but security dudes stop her. Good 'ol security dudes.

BK: Yeah, that's right. Come get a piece of the champ. But before you do? Learn how to spell, ya slack-tittied sack of chicken-feed.

The crowd half-boos and half-laughs. 'Cuz c'mon. Slack-tittied sack of chicken-feed? I'd laugh at that. I am right now. Ha. Ha ha. Well, you know what laughter sounds like. Bill turns back to the stage.

BK: Come on out, I ain't got all day! These people are wasting my time out here! I damn sure can't insult 'em all! Come on, someone get their ass out here and accept my challenge! Pay-per-view match! For free! Hell, Torrie can get her ass out here for all I care, she'd like to be on a PPV I reckon. Haven't been on too many of those, right? Forget about it, you're not worth my three count.

He grins and waits, bouncing slightly on the ropes. He looks around, then back to the mic.

BK: COME ON!!!

Suddenly, Bill is interrupted by some VERY unexpected musics.
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BobPalindrome
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The beat of squealing horns blares over the loudspeakers, soon accompanied by thumping percussion and short outbursts from a guitar. A man’s gruff voice begins singing – almost talking – in fast-paced Spanish…

Dorado y creciendo maduro en mi tierra
Listo para volar mientras mi gente espera…


As the voice and music trail off, silence reigns for a split second before pyros explode around the entrance. As the myriad sparkles of bright light fly high and then begin their descent, a figure makes its way out of the shadows and into the dazzling glow. It is none other than El Lobo Loco, sporting his silver-and-black mask and wearing black-and-white Adidas trainers. The top is half unzipped, so a good portion of his scarred chest is visible. His hands – one of which holds a microphone – are at his hips as he begins a slow walk to the ring.

The reaction of the audience is mixed – partly shock (considering only the most diehard wrestling/FIW fans know who El Lobo is) and partly elation (because someone has finally come out to interrupt Kuriyama). When the microphone rises to his mouth, the crowd hushes up to listen.

El Lobo Loco: You think you’re hard, ese? Well, Kuriyama, I happened to be passing through and I heard you making your challenge out here. It sounds like you’re pretty sure of yourself. You don’t think there’s anyone out there who poses any threat to you. You walk around that ring as if you’ve seen it all… Like you’re the best there ever was.

Well, hombre, you can think all that if you like… But personally, I think it’s la mierda del toro… 100% bullshit.

The fans like this, and cheer accordingly. Most of them have no idea who this guy is, but if he’s out to deflate Kuriyama’s ego, they seem to give more power to him.

El Lobo Loco: Truth be told, Bill, you’ve been spoiled. Spoiled facing the same guys night after night… Corona, Elrick, Toan, Vinj… You’ve learned how to deal with them and how to walk away with a victory. Well, Bill, I’m going to offer you something new… A chance to take on someone unexpected. Someone with moves that show no fear of death, someone who shows no aversion to pain, someone who lacks any sense of mercy… I’m El Lobo Loco, hombre, and I accept your challenge.

El Lobo drops the microphone and poses, staring down at the ring with clenched fists, tilted head and tightened lips. The crowd begins shouting again, just happy to be cheering against Kuriyama. Suddenly, El Lobo brings the mic back up and turns to the fans.

El Lobo Loco: Shut up, idiotas! I’m not doing this for you pendejos! I couldn’t care less what you all think. And Bill was right about one thing… That girl seemed like a total puta to me too.

The crowd turns on their perceived “hero” and starting booing him. The fans by the railings on either side of El Lobo begin heckling him loudly, forcing him to raise his voice over the din.

El Lobo Loco: Truth be told, I don’t care much about that fancy little title of yours. You can pawn it for some body oil to anoint yourself with when you “pleasure yourself” to your own reflection. The sad thing is that if you spent as much time learning, watching matches as you do looking in the mirror, maybe your arrogance would be justified.

The reality you aren’t prepared to accept, my friend, is that you’re getting stale. Same old suplexes, same old kicks and elbows. Boh-ring! El Lobo Loco is not afraid to stand on a turnbuckle and risk his neck… as long as it means hurting some worthless cabrón like you. Unlike Corona or Rage, I don’t have a limosiune or any bottles of champagne. Not even any lager like McQueen drinks. I come from the barrio, Bill, and after God knows how many death matches, all I have to show for it are my scars… and my pride.

You’ve never faced anyone with nothing to lose, Bill. Not like me. I put the suicida in tope suicida, amigo. And I’m willing to prove it to you. That is… assuming you’re man enough…?

El Lobo shrugs his shoulders and smirks, letting the question hang in the air. The crowd reacts positively again, waiting to see how Kuriyama replies to this relatively unknown challenger.
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Minister Wighty
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Opossum Queen of FIW
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Bill doesn't speak right away. He looks to the left, he looks to the right. He hops down softly from his perch on the rope, and takes one step in El Lobo Loco's direction.

BK: You--

Bill cuts himself off and lowers the mic, tapping his foot and running his hand over his hair, careful not to pull out the pony tail.

BK: Who in the BLUE HELL are YOU?

... what the hell? Did the crowd just pop... FOR BILL KURIYAMA!?

BK: Shut the fuck up. Nobody asked for your input. You pay your ticket prices, you watch your show, you buy your t-shirts, you don't sway BK, ass nuggets.

He looks back to Lobo and raises a hand, pointing.

BK: Look. I don't care what barrio you crawlled out of, essa. I don't care what deathmatches you've been in, I don't care what you feel you've got to prove, I don't care about when your mom sucked your tiny little dick after no one would take your ass to prom, and I sure as HELL don't care what you think about my style. MY STYLE. Bill Kuriyama... IS style. He is the originator. The innovator. I pull SUPLEXAAAAAAHHHHS you've never even DREAMED of! Just 'cuz I'm not dumb enough to risk my neck flying off the top rope for a so-called "high impact" maneuver doesn't mean SHIT. I'd like to see you take a stalling brainbuster... and get right back up. I'd like to see you sustain a KURIYAMA KICKKKUUUUUHHHHHHH!!! And RISE off the canvas again! But nah-ah-ah-ah-AH! You won't!

Bill wags his finger, a grin taking hold of the corner of his mouth.

BK: You won't. But I will. And when you hit your three-sixty triple rotation suicide dive of doom? YOU ain't gettin' up, whether your tilt-a-whirlie Mexican ass hits me or not! NOW!

Bill stops to take a deep breath, closing his eyes, then opening them after he exhales.

BK: You accept my challenge? Then I accept your acceptance. I'll see you, amigo, at the pay-per-view. You and me? We'll go round and round for this here gold, whether you want it or not. And Bill Kuriyama! Bill Kuriyama is gonna walk out of this ring, gonna walk up that walkway, stroll through the back, stop at his locker room to get his gym bag, get into his corvette and drive on to the next arena... the victor, the better man, and MOST importantly... the CHAMPION. NOW!

Bill pauses, building suspense for the expected...

BK: CAN! YOU! FANCY! THAT!?
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