Post by Braddock on Sept 4, 2015 17:36:11 GMT -5
Braddock is shown standing with his arms folded across his chest. His eyes remain focused on something we can’t see and as the shot pulls out, standing several feet in front of him is another man. His blonde hair is slicked back and his black suit is spotless, as are his red shirt and black tie. He looks crisp, like he’s ready to step into a photo shoot for some slick magazine like GQ. Braddock remains in the background and has begun pacing a path that barely takes him off camera on either side of the shot. This new fellow smirks and adjusts his tie before addressing the P.C.W. faithful.
Fellow: Allow me to introduce myself; my name is Warnock Waldgrave and you already know my associate, the man known as Braddock. I have been retained by Braddock to serve as his manager for the time being and I can honestly say I am very excited to be a part of this wonderful company. Can’t help but notice after going over the roster that there’s more than a handful of folks who belong in a puzzle factory roaming these halls. Either this company has a hard on for nut cases or there’s more than one person who needs a gimmick adjustment. Just sayin….
So let’s move onto this week’s match pitting Braddock against three other’s for a belt that is rightfully his. Braddock was on track to take that belt when he was ran off the road and put on the shelf. A lot of fingers were pointed at Cory Steel as being behind the accident but unfortunately, Mayberry’s finest could prove anything. Don’t get too comfortable with that hardware around your waist, Judge, because Braddock is coming for what is rightfully his. You partnered up with Mister Steel, who apparently wants to be known as Jury now. Sir, shaving your head and donning a mask doesn’t change the fact you are a joke. Pathetic. And a waste of a space on the roster that could be giving to a deaf mute or quadriplegic. Either of which would get the crowd more fired up than watching your boring ass stroll down to the ring.
Well, Champ, you got the bullseye firmly attached to you and this week you got two others aside from Braddock gunning for you. High Tide, seriously? P.C.W. hired the pirate guy from Dodgeball? Yet another waste of space on the roster. He does realize he’s in this match as filler, correct? That he has about as much of a chance of winning that belt this week as Bruce Jenner has a chance of winning Miss America. Shit, I have more of a chance of winning that belt this week than High Tide. I understand he has held that belt in the past but, truthfully, that means nothing. Braddock wasn’t here to claim what is rightfully his. The pirate won’t be finding any gold this week, sorry folks.
And onto the cousin fucker. Bubba. You know this guy can barely count to three, let alone tie his damn shoes, he’s got no business holding that belt either. This guy should be wearing a helmet and bagging groceries at the Piggly Wiggly. No business in the ring. We have to have some sort of standard and putting the belt on that bearded, inbred freak just won’t do.
Braddock has stopped pacing and is now standing just over Warnock’s right shoulder.
Warnock: This man is the Ultraviolent Icon. The Underground Championship has always been his. He is now coming to collect. Judge, Tide, and Bubba…. Blood will be spilled. Bones will be broken. And the rightful Underground Champion will be crowned! P.C.W.! You’re Ultraviolent Icon is here! Braddock has risen like a Phoenix and has come home!
Ladies and gentlemen, this week Braddock will be walking out the new Underground Champ. Plain and simple. And there isn’t much anyone can do about it. I’m sure the current Champ and the other two jokers will try their best to prevent Braddock from leaving with the belt. I wouldn’t expect anything less. But Braddock is the Ambassador of Ultraviolence and this is his calling. Now, if you’ll excuse us….
As the shot fades out, the last thing we see is the fire in Braddock’s eyes burning like the pits of Hell. A few hours after the finish of the promo shoot, Braddock and Warnock are standing in front of a sixty-nine Cadillac rag top convertible, where it sides on four bald white walls in a wrecking yard. Warnock is scratching his head, confused, while Braddock grins to himself.
Warnock: It’s a piece of shit….
Braddock scoffs.
You ain’t lookin at what it can be. The guy inside said it runs and drives and he’d make a deal with me. I can have the car and parts I need to repair it so long as I do some sort of advertising for his yard on the show. It’s a win-win!
Warnock just stares at his friend in disbelief.
Warnock: I’ll loan you the cash to buy a real fucking car. A Benz or a Beemer. Fuck this rusted pile of shit….
It’s done. Here he comes with the title now.
A grease stained fellow in his forties arrives with a piece of paper in hand along with a t-shirt and a smile full of crooked teeth.
Warnock: I can’t let you do this, Tyson.
He shrugs.
Not your choice.
Warnock heads back to his parked Benz, shaking his head as he climbs in, he chuckles to himself as he fires up the engine. He watches as Braddock/Tyson accepts the keys, paperwork, and t-shirt before shaking the grimy paw of the mechanic. There’s a moment where it doesn’t look like the Caddy is going to start and then, with a belch of black smoke from the tailpipe, the engine roars to life. The dummy is actually going to drive that piece of shit…..
Fellow: Allow me to introduce myself; my name is Warnock Waldgrave and you already know my associate, the man known as Braddock. I have been retained by Braddock to serve as his manager for the time being and I can honestly say I am very excited to be a part of this wonderful company. Can’t help but notice after going over the roster that there’s more than a handful of folks who belong in a puzzle factory roaming these halls. Either this company has a hard on for nut cases or there’s more than one person who needs a gimmick adjustment. Just sayin….
So let’s move onto this week’s match pitting Braddock against three other’s for a belt that is rightfully his. Braddock was on track to take that belt when he was ran off the road and put on the shelf. A lot of fingers were pointed at Cory Steel as being behind the accident but unfortunately, Mayberry’s finest could prove anything. Don’t get too comfortable with that hardware around your waist, Judge, because Braddock is coming for what is rightfully his. You partnered up with Mister Steel, who apparently wants to be known as Jury now. Sir, shaving your head and donning a mask doesn’t change the fact you are a joke. Pathetic. And a waste of a space on the roster that could be giving to a deaf mute or quadriplegic. Either of which would get the crowd more fired up than watching your boring ass stroll down to the ring.
Well, Champ, you got the bullseye firmly attached to you and this week you got two others aside from Braddock gunning for you. High Tide, seriously? P.C.W. hired the pirate guy from Dodgeball? Yet another waste of space on the roster. He does realize he’s in this match as filler, correct? That he has about as much of a chance of winning that belt this week as Bruce Jenner has a chance of winning Miss America. Shit, I have more of a chance of winning that belt this week than High Tide. I understand he has held that belt in the past but, truthfully, that means nothing. Braddock wasn’t here to claim what is rightfully his. The pirate won’t be finding any gold this week, sorry folks.
And onto the cousin fucker. Bubba. You know this guy can barely count to three, let alone tie his damn shoes, he’s got no business holding that belt either. This guy should be wearing a helmet and bagging groceries at the Piggly Wiggly. No business in the ring. We have to have some sort of standard and putting the belt on that bearded, inbred freak just won’t do.
Braddock has stopped pacing and is now standing just over Warnock’s right shoulder.
Warnock: This man is the Ultraviolent Icon. The Underground Championship has always been his. He is now coming to collect. Judge, Tide, and Bubba…. Blood will be spilled. Bones will be broken. And the rightful Underground Champion will be crowned! P.C.W.! You’re Ultraviolent Icon is here! Braddock has risen like a Phoenix and has come home!
Ladies and gentlemen, this week Braddock will be walking out the new Underground Champ. Plain and simple. And there isn’t much anyone can do about it. I’m sure the current Champ and the other two jokers will try their best to prevent Braddock from leaving with the belt. I wouldn’t expect anything less. But Braddock is the Ambassador of Ultraviolence and this is his calling. Now, if you’ll excuse us….
As the shot fades out, the last thing we see is the fire in Braddock’s eyes burning like the pits of Hell. A few hours after the finish of the promo shoot, Braddock and Warnock are standing in front of a sixty-nine Cadillac rag top convertible, where it sides on four bald white walls in a wrecking yard. Warnock is scratching his head, confused, while Braddock grins to himself.
Warnock: It’s a piece of shit….
Braddock scoffs.
You ain’t lookin at what it can be. The guy inside said it runs and drives and he’d make a deal with me. I can have the car and parts I need to repair it so long as I do some sort of advertising for his yard on the show. It’s a win-win!
Warnock just stares at his friend in disbelief.
Warnock: I’ll loan you the cash to buy a real fucking car. A Benz or a Beemer. Fuck this rusted pile of shit….
It’s done. Here he comes with the title now.
A grease stained fellow in his forties arrives with a piece of paper in hand along with a t-shirt and a smile full of crooked teeth.
Warnock: I can’t let you do this, Tyson.
He shrugs.
Not your choice.
Warnock heads back to his parked Benz, shaking his head as he climbs in, he chuckles to himself as he fires up the engine. He watches as Braddock/Tyson accepts the keys, paperwork, and t-shirt before shaking the grimy paw of the mechanic. There’s a moment where it doesn’t look like the Caddy is going to start and then, with a belch of black smoke from the tailpipe, the engine roars to life. The dummy is actually going to drive that piece of shit…..
