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Bill reminds everyone he's a heel.; Plus, Fiddle Faddle!
Topic Started: Apr 4 2005, 05:25 PM (43 Views)
Minister Wighty
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Opossum Queen of FIW
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NOTE: The views expressed in this RP do not necissarily express the views of Wightraven, or FIW. It doesn't even really express Bill's opinions, he's just taking the piss outta Lobo.

Looks like we're oceanside in the lovely country of England. Bill's sitting on a bench next to a dummy of his own; this one is a nice cinnamon color, and is wearing a mockup of El Lobo Loco's mask. Bill's eating some fiddle faddle, or other such candied popcorny treat. He stops tossing them into his mouth, chews, swallows, and speaks.

BK: Actually, Lobo, before I get into anything else? I'm half black, half Japanese. And while that still qualifies me to be a gringo, it doesn't qualify my ass to be vanilla. It's actually a lovely mocha shade.

Bill eats some more fiddle faddle, but dispenses with the nicety of chewing and swallowing before speaking. Don't worry, it isn't gross. He's not a child, just has a promo to do and also wants to eat his fiddle faddle. Bill drapes his arm around his dummy.

BK: You like my friend here? I've named him El Perro Estupido. He's kinda like you. See, he's Mexican, he wears a mask, he's often used in a wrestling ring, and he's just about as talented.

Bill smiles at his little jab, then moves on.

BK: But see, Perro here illustrates the difference between you and I. You'll notice that Perro is wearing the Fighting Spirit Championship.

Bill pats the title around the dummy's waist to help illustrate this.

BK: That's because he begged me for it. He NEEDS it to continue living. Perro can't stand the thought of going through his career without finding some honor in the form of a tacky, ugly gold-and-leather pants retaining system. It's what he lives for. It's what his father did, his grandfather, his uncle, and his son, Papito, also wants to become a professional wrestler to get himself a piece of that shiny glory. But... what is he gonna do with it?

Bill stands up and takes the dummy with him, moving along the pier as he talks and gesticulates.

BK: But what good is that gonna do him, the title? You can't eat it. What leather there is on it is painted over, and iron stomachs though you Mezzicans have, paint chips are never good for anyone. He might be able to sell it, and buy his family a car so all 47 of them can pile into it and try to sneak across the border... but that's some risky business.

Bill reaches the end of the pier and holds up the dummy to look into its "face".

BK: Y'know what? I don't think Perro deserves his title.

Bill reaches behind and unsnaps the strap, letting it fall to the wooden dock below.

BK: Because he-- just like you, Lobo --is living the REAL Mexican dream. It's funny you should talk about how my career is dying. Because you, like every single other border-jumper out there, is only out to do one thing; steal the careers of hard-working citizens like myself.

Bill waits for the audience to get all angry at him.

BK: Yeah, I said it. And it's true, isn't it? I mean, why else would you be so concerned about ending my career? You clearly want to take it, and I bet you'll take it for less pay, too, so long as you get a siesta at some point. Let's not even dig into your little cheap imitation of my girlfriend in there. You're probably tryin' to steal her, too. Bet you think about her every night, waxin' your little burrito to an 8x10 glossy, sayin' "Oh yeah, mami! Do it for me, do it for Loboooooo!"

Bill ends his humorous imitation and straightens up, sobering his face.

BK: Lemme tell you the difference between you and me, Lobe; I don't NEED that title. What I NEED is to prove a point. That undeniably, undisputedly, unequivicolly I am... better than you. I'm going to do that at Anarchy, Lobo. I haven't been training to toughen myself up just to look good for the fans. I haven't been training to learn how to fight, FIGHT, not wrestle... just for my own personal safety. I've been training so that I could whup your ass one last time, just to prove to everyone that I am the better man, I am the superior wrestler, and remind them all that I AM... THE... best damn wrestler on this good green-ness!

Bill pauses for effect, though it's likely just a ploy to gather his thoughts and seem dramatic about it.

BK: There's the difference. What've you been doing since we fought, Lobo? Getting easy victories over Bradley Johanssen, Max Miller Lite? I've been fighting against Vinj and Brighty, fighting those higher up the ladder than me, proving my worth instead of eating mouthfuls of easy victory like creamy mashed taters. What've you done to step up your training? Skipped rope? Played on a trampoline? I've been fighting 500-pound guys and practising against a legend of the ring. I am ready for anything, and you've got only one thing to give me, Lobo. NOW!

Ahhh, it's been a while since Bill's done that. Rant and end with a shouted word. Brings chills to me, it does.

BK: I'm gonna do with Perro what some border guard should've done with your talentless ass years ago.

Bill takes the dummy, drops it, and punts it in the groin mid-air. The dummy flips backward and sails off into the grey British waters. Bill collects his title, walks past the camera, SMACKS it, and walks away up the pier, the scene fading on his non-vanilla ass.
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