Ammunition #1

Cordozer Stevenson - SWF #35

The abbreviated term of a champion is champ, and what Propaganda have to offer at the Pay Per View. For a month now, although delay has been rampant, Chris Staggs and Tommy Grady have plagued us with week after week of born idoicy and stupidity. I know, chemistry between us may be on a lax point right now, but sooner than later we'll get over that. The point is, by stupidity, we'll get there, and then by sub-duing stupidity, then chemistry will rise. Over "Whatever Fo Sho" is what makes me seem more inept in finding how hard could chemistry be trying to find it.
And the pitfalls amounting between you two are completely on the rise as of now.

Now, Staggs, we've seen each other since February, spinning together on this carosuel and we know almost everything about one another. Wait, my bad, the NARRATOR and I have had battles of the verbal mentality. In the case of dynamic duos in the SWF, these two would fall under the thought of Mark Madsen and Byron Shaw. They may have the talent, but the skill of using that talent is not up to par. I can't really say what is pitiful about this tandem other than that they were basically handed the tag titles out of sheer popularity. There wasn't another team near them, so Chris Carey gives them the titles. And now, you're doomed to repeat history as the worst champions of the SWF's modern history. The first champions are always the first casualties. Staggs, pfft. Grady, equalism effect. All while this, the same outcome will be there, and then...booyah.
In the ring, with your body sprawled out after defeat and the referee, going unnoticed does his job.

|...Rewind...|

I could sit here, listen to almost every single thing on the raido, from politics to goth rock and still nobody would even take a gander at who the hell I'm facing this week

[The scene opens up towards the vage and desolate Marcy Project grounds in New Orleans, paper trails and various bags of shopping dispensary hang around along with bullet holes, small tablets of crack cocaine, otherwise known as "rocks", and the various wide eyed whinos and gangsters. Intersped at the same time happens to be Cordozer Stevenson sitting down in a chair with his eyes focused upon the camera.]
"To me, this is home - where I was born and bred man. My pops, he was a wrestler, and he tried to keep me out of these spots, but still when it came to being on the microphone, not a lyrical typhoon of anybody could take me away from here. This is where hip hop moved into full swing, and I think for a certain thing, not many people understand it. You've got people that can seriously try and take the mic from you when they really can't. That's what its about, hunger to be on top."
[As he begins to get into his ride, a chrome silver Jaguar S-type with twenty four inch wheels with Sprewell rims fitted to them, he speeds off as the camera steady follows him. He looks around, but finding himself directly in Manhattan in less than no time.]
[Opening the door to the ride, he gets out as soon as fans catch sight of him, they been to swirl, almost crying at the sight of him as he steps into the record store. Looking into the rap section, he picks up a copy of his own second disc, "Tha 2nd Comin."]
Cordozer Stevenson: "This is classic right here."
[He points to the camera, shilling his own CD as he puts it back down, since he really does have the master copy at his home.]
"I have alot of distaste with the industry right now, both of them actually. In the wrestling industry, you have people hating on you because you're better than them. Its like I'm the truth, and they're the lesser. They know they aren't even close to how good I am, so they begin hating. You have your Hen's, your Staggs's, your Skizto's, and your Soriano's all wanting a piece of me. Staggs, I'm looking for him personally. Its only natural. Music, you've got everybody wanting to go pop, like you just want sells and fame, but you should be wanting the chance to showcase your skills. I sell more albums than the next man because I have talent, more than any other person in the damn nation."
[Cordozer chuckles.]
Cordozer Stevenson: "Maybe I should pick up X-Tina's new album. I hear its good, but then so is Chris Staggs..."
[He walks up towards the check out desk, looking at the various people around, waving to some of them before placing a CD down on the table, Justin Timberlake's "Justified".]
[The black clerk looks at Cordozer suspiciously, before asking him.]
Store Clerk: "You DO know what you're buying right?"
Cordozer Stevenson: "Yeah, J Tim a problem?"
[The clerk looks around, before leaning in on Cordozer.]
Store Clerk: "Justin Timberlake isn't occasionally popping up in a black man's stereo if you know what I mean. Yeah, the dude can sing, but...."
Cordozer Stevenson: "But what?"
Store Clerk: "HE'S WHITE! A WHITEBOY ON SOME BLACK MUSIC MAN!"
[The clerk screams out exciting some customers whom have somehow have overheard the conversation between Cordozer and the clerk as the man leans back.]
[Cordozer raises an eyebrow.]
Cordozer Stevenson: "And Eminem isn't on some black music? I don't what the hell that Benzino guy is doing, afterall, he's a Vanilla Ice if I've ever heard of it. The man has bastardized The Source man, and all because somebody from half his race is selling more than every other artist. Not to mention that he wasn't the top seller in 2001!"
[The clerk questions.]
Store Clerk: "So, this like a remix of how Chris Staggs has better ratings because he's white but you've taken over his show and become like Public Enemy #1 with him?"
[Cordozer nods.]
Cordozer Stevenson: "Just like that."
Store Clerk: "Cool, cool."
[The clerk relaxes a bit as he scans the Justin Timberlake CD for Cordozer before wrapping it up in a bag.
Store Clerk: "That'll be $13.31."
Cordozer Stevenson: "Nice!"
[Cordozer seems confident with the transcation, he didn't have to spend more than a twenty on a white man CD. He lays down the exact change, thirteen dollars composed of a ten dollar bill and three ones along with thirty one cents, three dimes and a single penny.]
[The clerk registers the sale in the register.]
Store Clerk: "Have a good day, and thank you for getting the white man's music."
Walking out of the store, he looks at the camera.]
Cordozer Stevenson: "See, even a black man can get white service, except when it comes to taxi cabs...YO TAXI!"
[The man gets no response whatsoever from the yellow cars as he sighs to himself, before hopping into his car, burning away at the speed of light.]

[You now see a sitting Cordozer Stevenson, merely watching the television screen, the National Footbal League College Selection or ESPN.]

Cordozer Stevenson: Equalling ways of work are not they Staggs? Selection is quite picky, because you might get teh best of things and also you might get the worst of it. It seems that for your first encounter inside of a professional wrestling ring, it happens to be moi. The darkhorse of the federation all together. Now, it seems that for one final displacement of knowledge to drop on you, I'll just sit here and watch the draft.

[Smile.]

Cordozer Stevenson: Sunday, your time is up. Fo sho.

[Double nod, gone.]