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Yesterday; What was.
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Topic Started: Jun 1 2012, 11:48 PM (219 Views)
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Spencer
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Jun 1 2012, 11:48 PM
Post #1
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- Posts:
- 432
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- September 11, 2010
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New Era Wrestling Live Event York Hall, London, UK
And you open the door and you step inside. We're inside our hearts.
"This Is Your Life" explodes over the PA system as Spencer Riggs emerges from behind the small stage, to an absolute upheave of boos and animosity. Microphone in hand, he slides under the ropes and bouncing around the ring. Some of the smarkier London fans chant "3-0", but soon quiet down after receiving an unexpected death glare from Spencer. He leans against the ropes and stares intently, waiting for the whole place to be completely silent.
"You know, it's been a while since I came out here, and just talked to all of you. Honestly, it feels even longer...this is what I feed off of. This is what drives me towards accomplishing every goal and new height I set for myself. Having this job, being able to come out here, entetain you, communicate with all of you...it makes all the bumps, bruises, blood, sweat, and politics worthwhile."
Spencer lifts his head and lets the crowd respond.
"So thank you. Thank you so very much. Without all of you, I wouldn't be able to stand in the center of my ring, look in any direction, and see people that I am infinitely better than."
More boos. Spencer stands patiently and awaits their return to calmness once again.
"Make no mistake, I am better than you. And I don't mean just in the sense that I make more money than you, or that I have raw, natural talent, or the fact that I'm on television being watched by millions of people week in and week out...I'm simply just a better human being."
The crowd goes to boo again, but Spencer cuts them off, continuing on with his diatribe.
"I'm capable of deep, introspective thought, thought that is so engulfing and intellectually bloated it actually distracts me from time to time. I've risen to a higher plain of thinking...no, scratch that; a higher plain of existence. Look up. You see the roof of this arena. Look down...you see your shoes, the ground, the pieces of trash you threw that some poor, underpaid soul is going to have to clean."
Spencer shakes his head.
"If we were outside, you'd say you see the sky, or the stars, or the planets, or if you really wanted to be pretentious, the entire universe. What I see...is nothing. I see a blank, clean slate. Beneath me, around me, inside of me, is just the purest form of limp, vapid darkness. When I think, I don't think in words, or images. I think in energy. When I touch, when I am touched, it's not a feeling being transferred, it's a whole system, a wonderous spectrum of color, light, fluids, atoms, nerves...and when I speak, I'm not just floating out carbon, or syllables and vowels...I'm floating out knowledge. I'm channeling sincere concern, understanding, and-"
Spencer pauses and looks around...he smiles.
"Some of you are staring at me all wide-eyed. You're not sure how to react, because you can't grasp any of what I just said. So here's the shortened version...humans as a whole, the way we function and communicate, the walls we break down and boundaries we continue to push and force to evolve; we are wasted. We're wasted on mediocrity, complacence. I talk like I already have all the answers, but I really don't. I just have the stubborn, unwavering desire, the NEED to be more than what this world wants to let me be. That's why I've created my own world. That's why I've taken consequences, feelings, tradition, everything that makes the world you live in so outdated and burnt them to the ground, until the only trace left of their existence was the black, staining ash on the palms of my hands. I've scorched this earth, this disgusting way of life society is pumping into your veins, and I'm in the process of helping reboot, upgrade your systems. People are eating each other's brains, hearts, faces. That's the most visceral form of revolution, of breathing in new life. That's madness without a method...but sometimes, the best methods can lead only to madness. And sometimes...just sometimes...madness is what you need to really get people's attention."
Spencer holds the microphone with both hands, lowering his head and speaking in a softer tone.
"So here we are. June 1st, 2012. The day all of the dirt sheets and media outlets are going to say Spencer Riggs has officially lost it. And I can't really blame them, it' so easy for herds of sheep to get lost; you can't expect anything more or less. You're all going to leave here today talking about what an asshole I am, and you know what? You're right. I'm an asshole. I might be the biggest asshole on the planet. I stand here...above all of you, figuratively and literally, asserting my endless superiority, pointing out how truly insignificant and vacuous your existence is, and as a result, you've developed a resonable hatred for me. You recognize when you're being talked down to, and I don't mind giving you credit for that. Well, at least I didn't...until a man named XXX came along."
Spener nods his head as the crowd cheers.
"Give yourselves a nice pat on the back, because you just proved the point I was about to make before I even made it. You all cheered for Xavier when he attacked me from behind following my match, ahem, I mean my dismantling of Zoe McDraven. He shut me up, down, whatever. He was giving me a taste of my own medicine. I can understand you supporting an action like that; but if any of you feel the same about XXX after watching his latest promo...you're more clueless than I thought."
Spencer hops up on the turnbuckle and thinks for a moment. He tilts his head.
"Let's break everything he said down, shall we?" Spencer clears his throat and sucks in a completely uncessary amount of air. "I'm great, in fact, way better than you and everybody else. I'm rich. I donate obscene amounts of money to charitable organizations on a whim just to prove how rich and awesome I am. I call myself an icon...wait no...I AM THE ICON. I have the flashy name, persona, finishing moves, and list of accomplishments to back it up. Blah blah blah blah, this condescending bullshit goes on and on until I'm finished talking. The only reason any of you with even the slightest hint of commen sense cheer for me is because I have "Face" penciled in on my bio."
Spencer hops back down.
"Let's be honest. If I said any of that, in fact I kind of have been saying all of that, you'd want to tear my head off. The big, key difference is, when I do it, it's insulting. When XXX does, it's empowering. It's inspirational! If he can do it, so can you! He doesn't say that, of course, he's the anti-hero after all, right? But this guy, this guy that you like, has achieved success...and in doing that, the impusilve belief that any success is possible for anybody is radiated onto you. I tell you it's not possible, it's unrealistic...XXX makes you believe that it isn't, that I'm wrong. I tell you the truth in the hopes of bettering you...Xavier Xannon Xander lies to your face."
Spencer awaits some sort of response...the audience is still unsure of which one to give him though.
"Wow. Nothing? I'll just go ahead and guess you're in the apparently slow process of choosing not to believe me. So let me shift my focus from trying to help you ingrates, to shedding some light on who this XXX guy really is. He's an accomplished superstar. It's not like I had to dig to figure this out, his New Era Wrestling application actually says it. Xavier is a long time wrestler, a multiple time world champion, a former fed owner, and an older wrestler looking to touch greatness for one last time inside of the confines of New Era Wrestling. Think back to a couple of weeks ago...the header of newerawrestling.us had some fresh superstars and the word future on it. Let's forget the fact that I was mysteriously missing...let's just remember who was front and center; Xavier Xannon Xanders. The older wrestler. The guy looking to reclaim whatever former glory he admittedly did have at some point. He's the future, over somebody like me. How interesting."
Spencer shakes his head.
"He's only been here for a little bit, and I'm already tired of hearing his name, seeing his smug smile, watching him cut those generic, lowest common demoniator promos. If it hasn't been done already, come London Brawl I'm going to extinguish this fire that's supposed to be the rise, or...re-rise of the ICON. Because nobody, NOBODY represents the future more than motherfucking Spencer Riggs. MFSR. Implant it in your memory. The second coming of Troy Turner, the savior this company so desperately needs is here. It's not Randy Altzer, it sure as shit isn't Doc Holiday...it's me. And I don't do what I do because I expect appreciation or gratitude in return...but someday, you'll thank me for who I am, what I've done, what I'm going to do. And when that day comes, I'm going to shake your hand, look you in the eyes...
and spit in your fucking face."
Spencer drops the microphone and goes to exit the ring-
"Wait! Hold on!"
Spencer stops and his tracks and looks around, as a short, fat bald man emerges from the sea of fans.
"Spence, it's me, Bruno."
Spencer stares on in disbelief as UIWF alumni Bruno Sammartino is allowed to pass through the barricade by security. A mic already in hand, he tenatively gets onto the apron and in the ring, not taking his eyes off Spencer for a second. The two stand across from each other, only the distance of the ring separating them. Spencer bends down and picks up his mic.
"What are you doing here..."
"I just wanted to talk to you. I got in contact Jihad and he agreed to let me come out here, I figured I'd wait until you were finished talking."
Spencer scratches his beard and stares at the mat. Bruno looks around at the audience.
"Man, a lot of time's passed. I'm sure a lot of you don't remember me, or don't know who I am at all...my name's Bruno. I wrestled in the UIWF, back when lil Spence over here was cutting his teeth as the best unpaid Intern in the business."
Bruno smiles as the few in attendance laugh knowingly.
"I mean...shit kid. I remember when you were 14, running around peeing in Bobby Heenan's coffee."
Spencer jerks his head to the side and quickly inches forward.
"You do not talk about that."
Bruno lowers his head and shrugs.
"Alright, alright...I get it. You got a reputation to uphold. I used to think that way, till I realized life's too short to spend so much of it trying to get people to hate you."
Bruno moves forward, still staying in a wide, defensive stance.
"I...I never thought I'd say this 4 or 5 years ago when I first met you, back when you were dancing to Tom Jones and getting farted on by Troy Turner...but the kid, the man, this force that you've become...it reminds me so much of me, what I was."
Spencer continues staring at the mat, gripping the microphone, veins bulging out of his forehead and neck.
"And I want to help you. I want to make sure you don't make the same mistakes I did, I want-"
"Shut your fucking mouth."
Spencer gets right in Bruno's face and sneers.
"That's what this is about huh? You want to help me? What you want to do is the same thing everybody else wishes they could do, you want to CONTROL me."
Bruno backs away.
"Spence, that's not what this is about...all I'm saying is-"
"Nothing. That's all your saying. I don't need your help, not now, not ever. I remind you so much of yourself because I'm everything you wish you could've been. You're not good enough stand in my ring, you never were. You're too old, too broken, too stale, too predictable, too cliched, too contrived. You had the talent, you had every opportunity in the world to become something bigger, but you lacked the vision, the vision that I now possess. You're a rip off of a rip off, and you will never amount to anything more than the shell of a great man. A facsimilie of a star. You don't even have the decency to call yourself Vein anymore."
Bruno, the former Vein, runs his hand over his face, not wanting to believe the verbal beatdown he's recieving is actually at the hands of Spencer.
"If there's anybody I'd want to model myself after, to strive to be...it'd be a better version of Vein. But now, I look and I see what he's turned into. A sad, pathetic, missed opportunity...and nothing makes me angrier than seeing a person with all the tools necessary to succeed do everything but that."
Spencer puts a hand on Vein's shoulder.
"Get out of my ring, Bruno. You're not to me what Mickey was to you, and you never can be. Now get out...get the fuck out, before I have to break you."
Vein smirks and breathes in deep, looking all around the arena. He raises his eyebrows and looks Spencer dead in the face.
"Try me, Inter-"
Before Vein can even finish saying Intern, Spencer kicks his legs out from under him and begins pummeling him with viscious elbows and forearms. He grabs Vein's mic and starts hitting him in the face with it, drawing blood and rendering the microphone useless in the process. Spencer gets to his feet and tears off Vein's shirt He places him on his stomach, standing tall over his limp, bloody body, arms raised high in the air. Spencer removes his own shirt and wipes blood on his chest. He picks up the microphone.
"Vein...Bruno...I always liked you. You were my one real friend in this business when nobody elsed wanted to be. But you're not ready. You never were...ready..."
Spencer's eyes begin to water as he looks down at what he's done to Vein.
"You just aren't."
Spencer breathes in deep and wraps his arm around Vein's neck, sitting down on his flat back. He stares up at the ceiling and closes his eyes...
DRAGON CLUTCH!
The fans erupt into an asbolute frenzy as Spencer cranks back, contorting Vein and screaming at the top of his lungs, eyes bulging out of both of their heads. Spencer refuses to let go, rolling on his side and locking Vein in a grapveine, pulling harder and harder until finally...
Vein taps out.
The crowd falls into shocked silence as Spencer pushes a barely mobile Vein off of him. Spencer lays on the mat, staring straight up, breathing heavily. He sits back upright, surverying the reaction of those having the unfortunate privelage to watch what just happened. He turns his head away from Vein, and grabs the microphone once again.
"London Brawl."
Spencer throws the mic out of the ring and exits, walking away with his head down as the medical staff comes pouring in to assist Vein.
Cut to black.
Edited by Spencer, Jun 2 2012, 12:06 AM.
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