Disposable Hero
October 13th, 2006, 09:06 PM
We do a quick cut to the back, where we see Drake Vinaldi sitting in a steel chair in his locker room. The Sicilian Shooter is slumped back in his chair with his face raised to the ceiling. Let the profanity begin.
Drake Vinaldi:
”How long has it been? Three f*ckin’ weeks? To be honest, I don’t think I’ve ever felt this much pain in such a short period of time in my entire life.”
Drake keeps his head held up into the air, but now reaches back and scratches the back of his head as he speaks.
Drake Vinaldi:
”I’ve been choked out, punched in the face, kicked in the face, thrown into sh*t, thrown off of sh*t, had my neck slammed into the ground, been busted open a few times…
… but damn if I don’t love it all.”
Drake has himself a chuckle and leans forward in the chair, cupping his hands and looking at the ground.
Drake Vinaldi:
”This sport… it’s all about violence. If you’re a wrestler, then you might love it simply for the wrestling aspect, but deep down, everybody has a gets a few sh*ts and giggles from kicking some other assh*le in the face. Harvey Birdman that I have to take on tonight might want to deny that, but he knows it’s true.
‘Hey guys. I love wrestling. I love the people. I hate violence. I’m going to go masturbate to pictures of Batman and Superman having gay sex now.’
… That’s basically how I interpreted what my ‘superhero’ of an opponent had to say.”
Drake now throws his head up and looks into the camera.
Drake Vinaldi:
”Crimson Hawk, if you’re here for good, clean wrestling all the time, in every single match, then maybe you need to go find another company. There’s always going to be violence in wrestling, ‘filth’ as you like to call it. F*cking cope. I’ve personally got nothing against you, but you sounded like a f*cking retard earlier. You can’t have wrestling without violence. Even trying to imply that makes you sound like a dumbass. But whatever. Keep working towards your stupid little goal. I’ll just kick your head off in the process. Tonight isn’t really about you. It’s about me working my way towards that Pro Wrestling Warriors Championship. In all of my career, I’ve never held a belt that signifies you as being the best in the company. Even though I’ve kicked ass and taken names in the ring, I’ve never truly been considered the best in a company.
That ends tonight.
Crimson, you said that if I get too rough, you’re going to have to give me a crimson mask of my own.
Do it. I dare you. I’ve been tasting my own blood a lot lately, so if you want to bust me open, go for it. It’s only going to piss me off. And Lord knows when I’m f*cking pissed, I take it into overdrive. I’ve got a goal, Hawk. That goal is to capture the Pro Wrestling Warriors Championship. I’ve proven myself to be one of the goddamn best that this entire business has to offer. I’ve been jumped on top of by Darius Falcon, choked out by Seth Frost, and gotten the sh*t kicked out of me by Roderick Brookes. But guess what?
I’m still standing. Ever after all the beatings, after all the hard hits, after all the blood, the sweat, and the tears… I’m still f*cking standing.”
Drake Vinaldi stands up from his chair and glares into the camera with intent.
Drake Vinaldi:
”I’m still standing, and you can try to f*cking knock me down if you want. But I won’t let you. I want that f*cking belt. Nobody’s gonna’ stop me from taking it. And if you think otherwise, you know how the old saying goes…
You f*cking love boys.”
The Sicilian Shooter continues to stare into the camera… and this one’s a wrap.
Drake Vinaldi:
”How long has it been? Three f*ckin’ weeks? To be honest, I don’t think I’ve ever felt this much pain in such a short period of time in my entire life.”
Drake keeps his head held up into the air, but now reaches back and scratches the back of his head as he speaks.
Drake Vinaldi:
”I’ve been choked out, punched in the face, kicked in the face, thrown into sh*t, thrown off of sh*t, had my neck slammed into the ground, been busted open a few times…
… but damn if I don’t love it all.”
Drake has himself a chuckle and leans forward in the chair, cupping his hands and looking at the ground.
Drake Vinaldi:
”This sport… it’s all about violence. If you’re a wrestler, then you might love it simply for the wrestling aspect, but deep down, everybody has a gets a few sh*ts and giggles from kicking some other assh*le in the face. Harvey Birdman that I have to take on tonight might want to deny that, but he knows it’s true.
‘Hey guys. I love wrestling. I love the people. I hate violence. I’m going to go masturbate to pictures of Batman and Superman having gay sex now.’
… That’s basically how I interpreted what my ‘superhero’ of an opponent had to say.”
Drake now throws his head up and looks into the camera.
Drake Vinaldi:
”Crimson Hawk, if you’re here for good, clean wrestling all the time, in every single match, then maybe you need to go find another company. There’s always going to be violence in wrestling, ‘filth’ as you like to call it. F*cking cope. I’ve personally got nothing against you, but you sounded like a f*cking retard earlier. You can’t have wrestling without violence. Even trying to imply that makes you sound like a dumbass. But whatever. Keep working towards your stupid little goal. I’ll just kick your head off in the process. Tonight isn’t really about you. It’s about me working my way towards that Pro Wrestling Warriors Championship. In all of my career, I’ve never held a belt that signifies you as being the best in the company. Even though I’ve kicked ass and taken names in the ring, I’ve never truly been considered the best in a company.
That ends tonight.
Crimson, you said that if I get too rough, you’re going to have to give me a crimson mask of my own.
Do it. I dare you. I’ve been tasting my own blood a lot lately, so if you want to bust me open, go for it. It’s only going to piss me off. And Lord knows when I’m f*cking pissed, I take it into overdrive. I’ve got a goal, Hawk. That goal is to capture the Pro Wrestling Warriors Championship. I’ve proven myself to be one of the goddamn best that this entire business has to offer. I’ve been jumped on top of by Darius Falcon, choked out by Seth Frost, and gotten the sh*t kicked out of me by Roderick Brookes. But guess what?
I’m still standing. Ever after all the beatings, after all the hard hits, after all the blood, the sweat, and the tears… I’m still f*cking standing.”
Drake Vinaldi stands up from his chair and glares into the camera with intent.
Drake Vinaldi:
”I’m still standing, and you can try to f*cking knock me down if you want. But I won’t let you. I want that f*cking belt. Nobody’s gonna’ stop me from taking it. And if you think otherwise, you know how the old saying goes…
You f*cking love boys.”
The Sicilian Shooter continues to stare into the camera… and this one’s a wrap.