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| Addressing these so-called challengers.; Blake loves the sound of his own voice. | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Mar 27 2008, 03:56 AM (49 Views) | |
| Poirot | Mar 27 2008, 03:56 AM Post #1 |
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[Once again we starwipe open to our scene.] [It's a beautiful day in London, the sun is glaring down and the birds are singing. Taxes are down, crime is down, employment and education are up. In general life is good for all. The camera view is suprisingly shoddy and almost out of focus. Blake Orange is seen sitting outside on the terrace of The River Cafe overlooking the Thames (which despite all the pollution, is glimmering in the spring heat) after a wonderful lunch and is surrounded by beautiful ladies. Blake is wearing the same loud shirt/jacket combo from when we last saw him only with a light maroon shirt on. His trademark aviators hand round his neck. The ladies are all giggling and chuckling and it's a scene of some merriment. It becomes obvious to us that Blake is taking some time out from short selling the stockmarket and is telling the ladies a joke.] Blake Orange: And then the Irishman said, 'No, I thought you were Ash Koopa!' [They errupt into laughter as Blake eats up their attention. A rather stiff looking waiter approaches the table and whispers something in Blake's ear. As Blake recieves word from the waiter his face becomes serious for a moment, then back to smiles as he talks to the ladies.] Blake Orange: Now ladies, I'm afraid you'll have to excuse me, I have some very important work to be getting on with. [After their protests fall on deaf ears, the ladies all gather their belongings and leave. Blake sits patiently for a while until our cameraman arrives, looking redfaced, out of breath and generally a mess. He shambles over to Blake's table and attempts to take a seat, but Blake points the large video camera resting on the table and our cameraman gives a groan as he stands up and shoulders it, giving us an infinitely better shot of the surroundings and Blake.] Blake Orange: Where have you been? I've been fumbling with that thing for hours. I'm not sure if it's even on. Cameraman: Sorry, you neglected to let me know which Cafe you'd be at. I've been to nearly every place in the West End. I ran out of money and had to run from the last taxi driver. He chased me with a bit of wood! Blake Orange: Nevermind, you're here now, that's what is important, are we ready? Cameraman: Yes. [Blake straightens himself up and faces the camera. He makes a steeple out of his fingers, looking wise, or at least attempting to look wise. Blake clears his throat - ready to deliver.] Cameraman: Rolling. Blake Orange: When Blake Orange speaks, obviously everybody stops and listens to what he has to say. It is all over. The match is already over. The fates have rolled their dice and I have emerged the winner. Although we on this plain of existence have yet to catch up, Blake Orange is your winner at Anarchy In The UK. Yet there are people out there that will disagree with that outcome, no matter how much they believe it to be true in their hearts. So, I'm pleading, put me in as the number 1 entrant in this Gauntlet match. I'm begging for a chance to beat every single one by one and not even break a sweat. One by one you'll all enter my ring and one by one I'll send you back to the locker room, beaten, bloody and shamefaced. You all think that you're good. That you can acheive something. That you are worthy to be on this card. That you show promise and you're right of course, except that when you climb into that ring, and when you realise that it's Blake Orange that you're going head to head with, all of that means nothing. No matter how promising your careers are. No matter how worthy you feel to be on this card, you've all ran into a monstrous road block in the form of Blake Orange. [Blake pauses for breath from talking about how great he thinks he is and draws our attention to some colour coded files that lay on the table next to him.] Blake Orange: My excellent lawyer Padraig O'Dim has been keeping me well informed of the comings and goings of FIW before I arrived to take over. On the table in front of me is a file about each of my opponents in the Gauntlet match this Sunday I have studied over and over again. Taking into account each of your strengths and weaknesses, I have applied cold hard logic on to them. And the solution to, what could only be described as a 'mathmatical problem' is as such... [Blake holds up a piece of paper that reads:] ![]() Blake Orange: As with any problem, to find the solution, all I had to do was take every factor in to account. The Extreme Ninja poses no threat to me. Heroes of the East is one of my favourite films and as such I know exactly how to counteract any ninja moves that you come up with. That was my solution to Extreme Ninja #2. Colbert Tottington on the other hand is a completely different game. You are from where, Cambridgeshire? So this must be a very important match to you. A chance to win the rights to challenge for the Fighting Spirit title or the Undisputed International title, and in front of your home crowd as well. Only you won't win. You didn't deserve the Flycore title any more than that fool Jimmy Carter deserved to be President, Colbert. Shaun Wilson beat you twice and that my friend makes you drop down not only in my estimation but the estimation of your foolish British fans. Who was it that came begging for the US of A's help in World War II? Your home country Colbert, the UK. If I'm honest, I don't want to spend a single second longer than I have to in this disgusting country. It's because of countries like this that America can't reach its full potential. Always begging us for help and dragging us down with your petty disputes. The trouble with you British is that you're stuck in the past, with your Lords, Dukes and Queens. Always rambling on about your once mighty empire. Pax Britanica?? Pfft. You're all too stuborn to accept the Pax Americana. Peace through the power of the United States of America. When was the last time America started a war? People like my grandfather saved your countries ass in WWII Colbert so I don't have a problem kicking yours. You'll be disposed of within seconds. [Blake pauses once again, being ill informed of just about everything, including Colbert's true nationality, before he launches once again into a rather long-winded speech.] Blake Orange: Shaun Wilson. The man who took the Flycore title from our friend Colbert. I should respect you Shaun. A former Flycore champion and a man whom Daisuke Tanaka would accept into his Zaibatsu is somebody I would have to respect. But I don't respect you Shaun. You let the title slip through your fingers. If it were me, I would have made it certain that I would walk away from that eight man ladder match with the title clasped tightly in my hands and my head held high after outperforming my opponents. But you Shaun didn't because you do not have what it takes and that is why Drake Love walked away with your belt. [Blake considers something for a moment before continuing on his crusade.] Blake Orange: Drake Love - who added you into this mix? I've been reading the file on you and you haven't done one worthwhile thing since you've been in FIW. Yet you're added to my match. I don't know who you think you are but I know who you really are. And that is a man who knows that he is not as good as Blake Orange. A man who wishes he was Blake Orange. A man who knows he has accomplished nothing of any significance and is after some final scraps of glory before Blake Orange ends his excuse for a career. If this were anything but a Gauntlet match I'd grant you mercy and tell you to stay out of my way, but as it is, I'll have to bestow the beating of a life-time on you Drake. And now to move on to my next victim. [Blake begins to grin after remembering his joke to the ladies before.] Blake Orange: And that brings us to Ashley Koopa. You went whining to management about holding my match in your tiny shit-splat town of Reading. [Blake pronounces Reading as in "to read a book".] Blake Orange: Reading? A town known only for a moronic rock festival that hasn't had any credible musicians since... well, never. Ash I might just beat the painted on beard off your face and then leave the ring, my work completed. To be honest that would be entirely more satisfying than winning the match. There are just some things that I do better than you Ash. You didn't win last week on ReVolt Ash, no matter which way you put it. You can cry your eyes out and say that "Oh it was Colbert who tapped out not me!" or "Waaaaah! Blake only fought the Dragon!" but that doesn't matter to me Ash. You lost your match. I won mine. Your little pal Colbert begged Allen for mercy as well so that doesn't give me much of an opinion of you Rejects. And you sit on your little choochoo train blabbing on and on about the intricicies of your matches, but you're not seeing the big picture Ash - Blake Orange is a winner. Ash Koopa is not a winner. If I were you I'd think about a change of career. As long as it's not motivational speaking. Because I am going to give you the beatdown you requested. Locking you in Murders and Executions and listening to you scream and beg for mercy in your home country will be a highlight of my career. Hell, I might even retire. But of course I won't. I will go on to win the match and become the number one contender. [Blake stops ranting and raging about his opponents and collects the files on the table. He pulls out a silver zippo lighter with the Orange Family Crest etched on its reflective sterling face. Blake ignites the files and holds them in his left hand and watches them smolder for a few seconds, before turning back to address us again.] Blake Orange: There are people like me and there are people like my opponents. People like me take everything into account. Memorize all the facts and then let your instinct work out what to do next. That's why I was the CEO of a multinational conglomerate and that's why I will win this gauntlet match. So come Anarchy In The UK - Blake Orange will be going purely on instinct. But it won't be an uninformed instinct. [Blake continues to stare into the camera, his rant thankfully over as the flames lick away at the paper as we fade out.] [But we still have sound.] Blake Orange: That's a wrap. Make sure you starwipe this thing at the begining and the end. Cameraman: Yessir. [Pointless starwipe out.] |
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