Post by robriot on Feb 6, 2022 16:18:50 GMT -5
“Frank Windsor told you about the present.”
Rob Riot sits on a wooden chair, illuminated by a single white light. The light glares harshly off his shaven head, upon which he drums his fingers. His hands are already bound up in his red ring gloves. Riot isn’t dressed to talk. He’s dressed to fight.
"Frankie told you about the present, and then Billy told you about the past. You boys are all getting temporally schooled at the moment, and you probably think that I'm here to tell you about the future. Well, sorry, gentlemen, but that's not the case. I'm not Charles Dickens, and this is no Christmas Carol. I'm not here to talk about the future. I'm here to tell you…the truth."
Riot reaches up and grabs the light bulb, tilting it towards the camera. The resultant glare makes the screen uncomfortable to look at for a moment until he tilts it back, batting it away and leaving it swinging above his head.
“Did that help any of you? I thought I’d try to shine a little light on the situation for you because it’s obvious to me that you three dipshits have absolutely no idea who you are, who we are, and where you are in relation to us. The Empire? What empire? An empire needs something to rule over, and I don’t see you three chucklefucks ruling over a damn thing. Have you clowns taken too many shots to the head? Which one of you thinks they’re Genghis Khan? Who’s Montezuma? You, Awesome? You, Donzig? Timeless, you surely can’t think it’s you? I see no emperors. I see no leaders. I see three monkeys looking for an organ grinder, and unlike the monkeys of fable, none of them knows when to see, speak, or hear no evil. So with your eyes wide open, your ears pricked, and your tongues hanging loose, pay close attention."
He stands and steps around the chair, clutching it from behind with both hands and bowing his head slightly to avoid the glare of the naked bulb.
“You’re not the rulers. You’re the deposed. Timeless, limping around looking for a way to stay relevant without Primal. Donzig, who’s been ditched by more people than Taylor Swift. Steve Awesome, who’s apparently ended his twentieth retirement to sign up to this loser’s ball. You’re the broken biscuits at the bottom of the barrel. You’re the floaters. You should have called yourself The Unwanted. The Forgotten. The Left Behind. Anything but a name that implies you’re still in control of your own destinies. Choosing such a patently ridiculous name is the first reason I know the three of you are desperate. The second is that when you decided it was time to come and take a swing at somebody, you took a swing at the Bastards.”
The Riot Star laughs and shakes his head and then sits back down, tapping his forefinger against his head like the guy in the "I'm smart" meme.
"Great idea, Broken Biscuits. If you want to climb the ladder of relevancy, throw a few stones at the guys on top of it. Get their attention. Well, congratulations, you've got it, but I wonder how much attention you've been paying to what's been going on around here? Donzig, you told Gus Arnold to send for the Revenants, but when did you last see the Revenants? What happened to the Revenants?”
He pauses for a moment, pretending to search his memory, and then clicks his fingers.
"Oh! That's it. WE happened to the Revenants. They were the big boys around here before we showed up, just like everyone else was a big boy around here before we showed up. See, the Bastards had been out of the game for two whole years before we rolled into NPW, and it took us less than six months to take the tag titles, take the headline spots, and show everybody that we're still where the A-list starts and ends in the business of professional wrestling. Do you want the bad news, Broken Biscuits? What we did in 2021 was just a reminder. That wasn't even Rob Riot, Frank Windsor, and Billy Fowler at full tilt. That was the Bastards delivering on nostalgia. All we were doing was reminding people who we were. We won the tag titles almost by accident. This year is all about showing the world who we are now, and you three were stupid enough not only to get in the way but to volunteer to be first in line. Well done again. No, seriously, I mean it."
Staring deadpan into the camera, Riot offers the Empire a muffled clap through his ring gloves for a good ten seconds.
"I don't know whether you were asleep when we knocked out two seven-foot-tall men purely because they were in the way on the wrong night. I don't know if you were jerking the curtain or jerking each other off when we teamed up with the lizard and smashed the Revenants. I'm guessing you were all cosied up in Steve Awesome's retirement bunker when we took the tag titles. I don't know, and I don't care. What I do care about is making a point, and the point is that when you lay your hands on one of us, you lay your hands on all of us. Nobody punches a Bastard in the mouth and gets away with it apart from another Bastard. Nobody jumps a Bastard and makes it stick. Whatever you do to us will be visited upon you one hundredfold, and you morons have already thrown down hard. You've placed your order. Now the receipt is coming. No count-out? No disqualification? No time limit? No rules?"
Riot sneers.
“For you, that means no hope.”
From somewhere within his ring robe, Riot produces a Jammy Dodger. He takes a bite out of it, winces, and spits it out on the floor.
“See you at Honour, Broken Biscuits.”
He reaches up and crushes the light bulb with his bare hands, plunging the scene into darkness and sending you back to your regular scheduled programming.
Rob Riot sits on a wooden chair, illuminated by a single white light. The light glares harshly off his shaven head, upon which he drums his fingers. His hands are already bound up in his red ring gloves. Riot isn’t dressed to talk. He’s dressed to fight.
"Frankie told you about the present, and then Billy told you about the past. You boys are all getting temporally schooled at the moment, and you probably think that I'm here to tell you about the future. Well, sorry, gentlemen, but that's not the case. I'm not Charles Dickens, and this is no Christmas Carol. I'm not here to talk about the future. I'm here to tell you…the truth."
Riot reaches up and grabs the light bulb, tilting it towards the camera. The resultant glare makes the screen uncomfortable to look at for a moment until he tilts it back, batting it away and leaving it swinging above his head.
“Did that help any of you? I thought I’d try to shine a little light on the situation for you because it’s obvious to me that you three dipshits have absolutely no idea who you are, who we are, and where you are in relation to us. The Empire? What empire? An empire needs something to rule over, and I don’t see you three chucklefucks ruling over a damn thing. Have you clowns taken too many shots to the head? Which one of you thinks they’re Genghis Khan? Who’s Montezuma? You, Awesome? You, Donzig? Timeless, you surely can’t think it’s you? I see no emperors. I see no leaders. I see three monkeys looking for an organ grinder, and unlike the monkeys of fable, none of them knows when to see, speak, or hear no evil. So with your eyes wide open, your ears pricked, and your tongues hanging loose, pay close attention."
He stands and steps around the chair, clutching it from behind with both hands and bowing his head slightly to avoid the glare of the naked bulb.
“You’re not the rulers. You’re the deposed. Timeless, limping around looking for a way to stay relevant without Primal. Donzig, who’s been ditched by more people than Taylor Swift. Steve Awesome, who’s apparently ended his twentieth retirement to sign up to this loser’s ball. You’re the broken biscuits at the bottom of the barrel. You’re the floaters. You should have called yourself The Unwanted. The Forgotten. The Left Behind. Anything but a name that implies you’re still in control of your own destinies. Choosing such a patently ridiculous name is the first reason I know the three of you are desperate. The second is that when you decided it was time to come and take a swing at somebody, you took a swing at the Bastards.”
The Riot Star laughs and shakes his head and then sits back down, tapping his forefinger against his head like the guy in the "I'm smart" meme.
"Great idea, Broken Biscuits. If you want to climb the ladder of relevancy, throw a few stones at the guys on top of it. Get their attention. Well, congratulations, you've got it, but I wonder how much attention you've been paying to what's been going on around here? Donzig, you told Gus Arnold to send for the Revenants, but when did you last see the Revenants? What happened to the Revenants?”
He pauses for a moment, pretending to search his memory, and then clicks his fingers.
"Oh! That's it. WE happened to the Revenants. They were the big boys around here before we showed up, just like everyone else was a big boy around here before we showed up. See, the Bastards had been out of the game for two whole years before we rolled into NPW, and it took us less than six months to take the tag titles, take the headline spots, and show everybody that we're still where the A-list starts and ends in the business of professional wrestling. Do you want the bad news, Broken Biscuits? What we did in 2021 was just a reminder. That wasn't even Rob Riot, Frank Windsor, and Billy Fowler at full tilt. That was the Bastards delivering on nostalgia. All we were doing was reminding people who we were. We won the tag titles almost by accident. This year is all about showing the world who we are now, and you three were stupid enough not only to get in the way but to volunteer to be first in line. Well done again. No, seriously, I mean it."
Staring deadpan into the camera, Riot offers the Empire a muffled clap through his ring gloves for a good ten seconds.
"I don't know whether you were asleep when we knocked out two seven-foot-tall men purely because they were in the way on the wrong night. I don't know if you were jerking the curtain or jerking each other off when we teamed up with the lizard and smashed the Revenants. I'm guessing you were all cosied up in Steve Awesome's retirement bunker when we took the tag titles. I don't know, and I don't care. What I do care about is making a point, and the point is that when you lay your hands on one of us, you lay your hands on all of us. Nobody punches a Bastard in the mouth and gets away with it apart from another Bastard. Nobody jumps a Bastard and makes it stick. Whatever you do to us will be visited upon you one hundredfold, and you morons have already thrown down hard. You've placed your order. Now the receipt is coming. No count-out? No disqualification? No time limit? No rules?"
Riot sneers.
“For you, that means no hope.”
From somewhere within his ring robe, Riot produces a Jammy Dodger. He takes a bite out of it, winces, and spits it out on the floor.
“See you at Honour, Broken Biscuits.”
He reaches up and crushes the light bulb with his bare hands, plunging the scene into darkness and sending you back to your regular scheduled programming.
