At this time I would like to introduce the new Championship Wrestling Association X Champion, Lennon Foley.
The crowd chants.
Foley Foley Foley…
Foley walks through the curtain with his arms outstretched, soaking up the adulation. He is wearing a black waistcoat, black jeans and his CWA X Title around his waist. He walks slowly down the ramp, making sure to slap every hand he can. He walks around the ring until he meets a kid with a sign. It reads:
‘I’ll Kick Ya Ass
I’ll End Ya Career
I’ll Destroy Ya Life.’
Foley takes the sign and holds it above his head then lifts the kid up too. He leaves them both down and continues his path around the ring. He is handed a microphone by the ring announcer and he slides into the ring underneath the bottom rope. He does his little razorramonesque motion with his arms and then throws his right arm into the air. He lifts the CWA Microphone to his mouth and…
Woooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo. The New CWA X Champion. Wow, it’s exactly how I imagined it. I have dreamed about this day for years, and now it is finally here, I have finally climbed the mountain. This is the greatest day of my life.
Well, not really, winning this piece of tin right here makes me feel as accomplished as someone who got the lid of their can of tuna. I do not see what is so great about this thing, it’s just a belt, not unlike any other I have worn. Trish was no better than any other wrestler I have beaten, in fact she was a hell of a lot worst than most. But hey she’s a woman, it’s not like I expected a challenge.
The majority of the crowd boos but a small, vocal section continues to chant his name.
Yeah, I know, it didn’t take too long. I am already wicked bored with CWA. This federation and its dead crowds and lame wrestlers and their really bad entrance themes make for some horrible television viewing. I mean if this was any other other federation, I would take off this belt like this.
Foley takes off his belt and the fans stand in anticipation.
I would lift it above my head and throw it into the 10th row.
Foley raises the belt above his head and prepares to throw it, but when he does it lands a few feet in front of him. He picks it up and puts it back on.
But there is one positive thing about CWA, but I’ll get to that in a few minutes.
First I have to deal with a few issues. I feel it is my duty, as the holder of the prestigious X Title, to tell the CWA what exactly they are doing wrong and why exactly they blow ass.
You want me to start at the bottom or at the top?
Hell it doesn’t matter, the guys on top can’t go, and the guys they hold down don’t deserve an opportunity.
Okay, first name comes into my head is that of Barker. This guy just waltzes in here, and just acts as if he is the shit. Whereas I, holder of the prestigious X Title, have to share a locker-room with the common oafs and jabronis, you get your own locker-room with one of those little name things on your door. Why did the company screw me out of one of those? I want my name to be on a door, don’t I deserve it, am I not good enough, am I considered inferior to the fine piece of thing known as Barker. Fuck You Barker, Fuck CWA.
And I’ve seen the inside of that thing, I’ve seen the awesome sofa, the television, the good damn mini fuckin bar. I am Lennon Foley and the biggest perk I’ve gotten from this company is a pen. A fucking blue pen so that I can sign autographs. The little pen says Championship Wrestling Association; I was given it to advertise the company while I sign autographs. I am a piece of meat to that office and they want to whore me out in every way possible, to get every single possible dime I can draw and the flush the carcass down the toilet when they are done. Fuck CWA.
Gothic sucks. It’s that simple.
And from one little bitch to another, Jeff baby, why don’t you just grow the fuck up bruvva. I mean dude, you may whine about people associating you with your blood, but they are always gonna do that. Just grow out of it. You don’t need to breaking out these lame insults about how dumbness is contagious and yelping on about how your opponents can’t spell. They can’t spell, dude, I have heard that in about 3 years, and the last guy who said it now spends his days sucking his own dick, but hey that’s another story for another time, I need not got into it now. Just lay off the lame insults.
New Age Aggression. What the hell? I mean dudes, chiquitas, whatever, you gotsda be kidding me. I mean brothers, some of those kids know how to go, and hey I think that Christian dude, as unfortunate as his name is, is funny as hell. But funny guys don’t draw kid; you wouldn’t draw money if you were dragged through a bank. I ain’t gonna beef with you doode, I’d kick ya ass back to comedy central, but I like you, don’t make me hurt you.
As for the ladies, I mean I ain’t looking to step anywhere near you; I’ll try to avoid pissing on you, if you’ll avoid ragging on me. That goes out to Trish, Jordyn and Shaun.
But hey, I do have a problem with this little clique and it comes in the form of Cage. This is exactly why I am on this planet. This is why wrestling is my calling in life. This is maybe the solitary reason for my existence. I NEED to kick this guys teeth in.
Dude, I come out here, I don’t make jokes. I am the funniest man on the planet but the only person who would get the jokes is me. If I know I can’t make the fans laugh, I DON’T try. You aren’t funny, believe me, I know funny, Christian is funny, Jerry Seinfeld is funny, you, you are to wrestling what Dharma & Greg is to sitcoms. There I said it, it’s out there, and I’m not taking it back.
What Cage lacks in funny he makes up in arrogance. While growling and spitting he yells out that no one can beat him and no one is better than he. Hey maybe you are right. If you are I’ll eat my own ass. I just ask you to prove it. I ask you, I don’t demand, I don’t challenge, I don’t spit and growl, I just ask you to back up one of the most ridiculous and outlandish statements I have ever heard.
What I can’t understand is, this guy tries his ass off, he really tries to sell himself as a bad ass, a thug, a violent individual. And in true bad ass fashion he uses… a lawn mower analogy. Oh dude, oh brother, of man. A lawn mower analogy. Seriously dude, a lawn mower analogy. Dude the only people who use those are 12 year old and hicks. Now dude, please, dude, what the hell?
Yeh, while we speak of 12 year old crap, what the fuck is it with this guys insults. He rips on Jericho for not being a man, a man, and then he babbles on happy meals and the likes. God damn Happy Meals. Dude, if you life live a kid try to hide it a least, try to intimidate at the very least.
Some of the stuff this guy spews is actually funny. I mean, I know this puta down in ol’ Mexico who I likes to have a good time with, so I spend a lot of time down there. I have never been part of AAA or anything; trips to Mexico are usually strictly pleasure but I have some experience with the wrestling down there. And I swear to you, Cage is the very first person claim to be the best damn lucha-libre ever born. Jackass.
But hey dude, I’m going to stop right there. I mean, I have heard you loud and clear boy, I won’t be messing with you. That tongue of yours is like a lethal weapon. Seriously dude, I cannot deal with the emotional anguish of you calling me a fool again. It’s just too much.
But hey that’s my bitching out of the way for today. You guys wanna know why the house show attendances suck and why the rating are in the toilet I just told you. As far as everyone else goes, you know my feelings on Chris Bond. Kelly Powell hasn’t done anything to piss me off. I like Urge, Ted Hurd is the man and if I haven’t mentioned you here, you haven’t got my attention.
Now the attentive members of the audience may or may not have noticed that Slate is not with me. Slate is currently on his way back to the States. After I won the strap, I kinda went out for a night on the town which totally pissed him off. He scolded me like a child which pissed me off. We decided that the best thing would be for him to fly to Canada and begin the promotion for my arrival. This will give me a bit of breathing space, give him some time to plot and whip the Canucks into a frenzy for my arrival.
This Friday I have a match with one mountain of a man in Fred Rickter. Now I listened to what he had to say about me, and unlike with the other jabronis I actually listened to Fred. I listened to every insult, to every put down and allowed it to sink in and imprint on my skull.
And I agreed with every single world.
You see my career has been born out of imitation. Long time fans will remember periods of chaos and anarchy which led me to imitate John Lennon, Mick Foley, Raven, Steven Richards, The Undertaker and of course Marilyn Manson. That’s what I used to elevate myself, I mimicked what they did and it worked for me. I truly believe there are parts of those guys inside of me, willing me on to succeed.
But you hit the nerve, jerk ass. You fucking dick, I could have continued through my career imitating and making a living off it. Now you have made me see the wrong in my ways, I will force myself to change Thank you very much dude, you have ruined my life.
Nah, I’m just pissing you, I am like totally enlightened now, and from now on you will be seeing the true and very real Lennon Foley. Oh dude, will that even be my name? So many questions need to be answered; it sure is going to be interesting.
But first we have a match on Friday. Rickter, my brother, this piece of tin may mean shit to me, but that don’t mean I won’t defend it with my life. I’ll die for it. I dunno why but there is an awful sense of attachment, to this thing. Dude you are big, how can I argue otherwise. But kiddo, I have seen ‘em and beaten ‘em much bigger than you. Your appearance doesn’t mean shit, look at me, I am living proof that dynamite comes in oddly shaped packages.
But Friday is just another day for me. I am thinking beyond it. I am thinking about personalising Lennon Foley. How about we toss the corny catchphrase?
I’ll Kick Ya Ass
I’ll End Ya Career
I’ll Destroy Ya Life.
It’s passé now. From now on every thought, idea, plan, feeling or opinion I have will be summarised in two words, four letters each.
Fuck Yawl.
Okay, okay, I’m really liking that. How about from now on, I use real music instead of this rap crap. How about a little rock n roll? Play it dipshit, put on the only band that matter.
‘Shoot To Thrill’ by AC/DC begins to play through the PA system.
Goodnight, and to every CWA fan and wrestler, Fuck Yawl.
Foley throws the microphone into the crowd and rolls out of the ring underneath the bottom rope. The crowd reaction is for the most part negative but there are obviously still some Foley marks out there as his name is being chanted by a small section. He disappears through the curtain as the scene fades to black.
