Porter MaCleod Main Event
Number of posts : 121 Registration date : 2006-11-30
| Subject: Back to the drawing board June 17th 2008, 8:29 pm | |
| The camera cues in on Porter MacLeod standing inside of an empty JWF arena. He looks around at the empty seats and imagines them to be filled with screaming fans. He hears their droning chants “Pooooorrrrterr…Poooorrrrterrr” Bill Goldberg only wishes his name was chanted at this proficiency. He sees the signs that say “Real Deal” and “Mr. Prime Time”. He shakes his head as he leans on the top rope, the camera zooms in on his face.
Porter: You know, the JWF is just like Mae Young…It’s never going to die. And it’s a lot like The Lad, or as you know him, The Man…or Robert Reeves. It just keeps coming back and coming back. But that’s a good thing in some cases. Look at me, I’m back…And that’s a good thing for everybody. Because, you see…Porter MacLeod is THE most controversial man alive today. And it’s going to be that way for a long, long time. I’ve changed since my first days here in the JWF. Porter MacLeod’s no longer just an pencil pushing office lad, oh no. You see lads, since I’ve departed from the JWF. I’ve became a top contender for various other titles. But that doesn’t matter in this fed, what matters is these titles. And you might as well go ahead and put my name on that little gold plate, boyos. ‘Cause that JWF title is coming home with Porter MacLeod very, very soon. I’ve got me head on straighter now and I know how to actually be serious about a match…well, I’ll change my words on that one. I’m never serious, but anyhow. While I was taking a break from wrestling, Joe Santiago called me and left a voice mail with my assistant/manager Percy Diamond. When I got it, it said “I’m getting the band back together….boy-yo.” The main reason I called him back, is because you fucking Yanks and the rest of you non-Scots don’t know that it’s just one word, boyo, not boy yo. Sound like some fucking white guy making a pathetic attempt at being black. The other reason is because I can’t stand Joe Santifaggo. So, I thought, why not. Go back, give him hell again, make him miserable and have fun while doing it. I’m just kind of sad that The Lad isn’t here to be my verbal punching bag anymore. Anyways, enough about my comeback, I’ll save that for another time. What matters now is this tournament and my opponent Captain Originality.
Porter goes from the rope and jumps on the turnbuckle, except he lies across it.
Porter: Now, I’ve faced some original people in my day boyo. But you of all people are the simple greatest of all time. And if you haven’t noticed, that last comment was soaked with sarcasm. I’d at least find a new nickname…or two…or three, seeing as they are all copyrighted, lad. But do you care? Nooooo. You’re probably too dumb to care, lad. All you care about is fucking ya lass, who vaguely sounds like a lad. Judging by your sample promo, I can see that this is going to be an easy walk in the park for me. It will be like pushing a paraplegic kid down a flight of stairs, only less hilarious. When I saw that promo, I thought to myself…”That lad is just a Johnny Stylez wannabe.” The only difference between you and Johnny Stylez…make that two differences. Johnny Stylez has talent, and Johnny Stylez can actually get the nookie he says he does. Now, apart from being unoriginal, lad. I’m going to just look at your name and ask you what the hell you were thinking. Probably the same thing you were thinking when you fell for the mutt you call a ladyfriend. And if you need me to explain it lad, what I mean is, she’s ugly as a dog. It’s pissing me off that I have explain every little thing to you. What would make it better would be for you to off yourself with a noose, or to just magically disappear. You walk into a room and the IQ of everyone there drops. It’s ridiculous, lad. Out of all the million sperm, you’re the one that made it? For the love of St. Pete’s ghost, were your parents brother and sister? Because that’s probably the only explanation as to how you could turn out the way you did…either that or somebody took a big shit in your gene pool. I’m tired of explaining things to you so I’m just going to let you take that as you will.
Porter places his hands behind his head while he stretches across the top rope.
Porter: I’ll warn ya though, lad. If the ref turns his back, expect something nasty from me. Don’t expect to even come within a hair of winning, lad. It’s not written in your future, or your stars, or whatever the hell you go off of. This time, it’s Porter MacLeod’s time. I’ve been screwed out of title shot after title shot, and believe me. That belt will go home with me, by any means necessary. I’m one of if not the only original in this match, and it’s only fitting that the belt comes home with me. There’s nothing that you, that piece of lawn ornament you call a girlfriend, or anyone else can do about it. I am somewhere between fantastic and amazing, lad. And you’re going to find that out the hard way. When you’re face down drowning from your own blood. I’m going to try and pop that enormous chin of yours back in to where it at least looks half-normal. Jay Leno’s got nothing on you lad. Now, as for Cyber Punk’s proposition. I’ll just leave it at this, you’re all going to be in for a big surprise with what Porter Fucking MacLeod has in store for ya. I’m the Real Deal, Mr. Prime Time. And if ya try me, I’ll make ya famous….boyo.
Fade | |
|