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| A New Fighter, a New Style, a New Beginning; Enter El Lobo | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Jan 31 2005, 09:14 AM (50 Views) | |
| BobPalindrome | Jan 31 2005, 09:14 AM Post #1 |
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[The camera fades in from black, and for a moment all the viewer sees is a FIW logo in the corner of the screen. Then, suddenly, strobe lights begin flashing, illuminating the inside of an arena. Philadelphia residents and stadium buffs would recognize it as Wachovia Center, the site of the upcoming FIW Déjà Vu event. As the lights flicker on and off, though, all that is clearly obvious is that it is a large ring surrounded by security barricades and seating. Eventually, the strobe lights stop, and all is blackness again. But just as quickly as the darkness settled in, it is broken, this time by a spotlight that focuses on the center of the ring. And in the middle of the pool of illumination stands a solitary figure – El Lobo Loco. He is wearing his mask, a black tank-top and jeans held up by a thick brown belt with an even thicker buckle. His head is lowered, his eyes gazing at his boots as he fidgets with a microphone in his hand. Gradually, he lifts his head and then the mic.] El Lobo Loco: Ah… To be in this ring sends a shiver up a spine. To think that my first appearance in the ranks of FIW will be here, at Déjà Vu... I am tingly with anticipation. Of course, it is not because of how many idiota fans will be watching, or even that that deuso title on the line… This arena could be empty. The title could not be empty. And there would not be a thing I would change. For as long as I get to destroy my opponent, that rulacho Kuriyama, I will be satisfied. [As he pauses, five other figures make their way from the shadows, coming up on to the apron of the ring. They move to the sides of El Lobo Loco, their forms obscured save for the outlines of their lean, slender bodies and human faces.] El Lobo Loco: You see, my friends, when we face off, it will not just be a struggle of men. Bill Kuriyama is no man, but a child trapped in a wrestler’s body. He equates temporary success for real achievement, when in reality he will be forgotten by everyone in a couple of years. He won’t have the same kind of impact that I will have. Everything is about to change, my compadres… [The figures surrounding El Lobo Loco fall to their knees and begin crawling to him. As they enter the light, we see that all five are Hispanic women, dressed in identical garb. They wear red flowers in their hair, white spaghetti string tube tops and long, flowing crimson skirts. As they wriggle towards him, they begin stroking his legs, rubbing up against his boots. El Lobo Loco continues to address the camera, unfazed.] El Lobo Loco: It will not be a battle between men, but a conflict of styles. Kuriyama believes he can beat me on the ground, wrapping his arms around me and driving me against the mat over and over. Well, he might like to bounce me to the mat, but it might just be me bouncing off the mat – and him – as I devastate him with body press after body press. And as he writhes in agony, I will relish every moment as he does so, applying move after move on him. How much is it going to take out of you, Bill, lifting me up and throwing me down all night? How many times you think you’re going to have to throw me down before I stay down, Bill? [As he tilts his head toward the camera, likely raising an eyebrow under his mask, one of the girls slithers up El Lobo Loco’s side. She wraps her arms around his waist and rolls her head on his shoulder, her body swaying to unheard music.] El Lobo Loco: Granted, the moves I take are risky. But when you’re as good as I am, your windows of opportunity are going to be small. After all I’ve been through, vato, I strike with such precision and punishment I put most missile systems to shame. And if that inflated self-confidence of yours wavers for just a moment, compañero, I’m going to jump on it and take you out. [Salsa music begins playing on the loudspeakers, softly at first, the beat quickening as the volume rises. The remaining women slide up El Lobo, rubbing against his bare arms, his chest, his back. Soon all that is visible of him is his torso and head, the rest of him covered by females and female body parts.] El Lobo Loco: The lucha style will triumph at Déjà Vu, amigo. You can count on it. And when I walk away with that title—which you don’t deserve anyway, Bill, considering you’re not adding a single thing to its history—I’m going to go on and show this promotion what a true daredevil is. Openweight… Dual Crown… It can all be mine. But I’m not going to care. The most prized thing I will have will be a smile on my face… after I’ve dusted off every single one of the jokers around here. [As the salsa music hits full level, El Lobo throws the microphone away, tossing it outside the ring. He then looks around at the women around him, who seductively move their own faces close to him. A few of them begin dancing to the salsa music, their choreographed moves rocking along with the swift tempo. As the music quickens, so their actions, until they flow like fluid around El Lobo, an aura of human flesh, a gyration of bodies against a pillar. And then just as quickly, the music stops with a bang. As soon it does, the scene jumps from the ring to El Lobo Loco in a match, just as he lands a legdrop from the top rope to an opponent. Another highlight is shown of a moonsault press, then a hurricanrana into a DDT, concluded by a grainy shot of El Lobo Loco screaming, his voice muted. The camera fades to black.] |
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7:07 PM Jul 11
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7:07 PM Jul 11