Post by Press1269 on Jan 30, 2016 6:41:08 GMT
::His 1998 Harley Davidson Fat Boy pulls into the parking lot of the Starlight Motel at around 11:30p.m. on Thursday, October 27th. It would be a few days before the BombTrax went up against their opponents at the upcoming SW PPV, Illusions, on Sunday. That left them plenty of time to get to one of the production trucks to set up their promo, and ample time to take care of their other business. He pulled the bike up next to an older Pontiac, and flipped the kick stand out with his foot. He swung his legs over the side of the bike, and went about unharnessing his saddle bags. The door to room 18 popped open, and Youth stepped out onto the concrete deck to greet his long time friend. Press stood with the bags draped over his shoulder, and he stepped up onto the concrete as well with a slight smile.::
Youth: So you feeling better about all of this?
Press: Yeah, I just needed a few miles behind me to clear my head is all.
::Youth nods in understanding, and then motions for the door.::
Youth: You tired?
Press: You know what...I'm feeling pretty good actually. How about we go and get this out of the way.
Youth: Which part?
::Press allowed a sadistic grin as he stepped past Youth and threw his bags inside the room. Youth chuckled a little bit, and didn't waste any time in stepping over to the Tempest and hopping in the drivers seat. After a few moments, Press returned to the doorway wearing a long black trench coat. He stepped over to the car, and slid into the passengers seat, pushing dark sunglasses up over his eyes. They shared idle chit chat as they made their way across town, and out of the main section of city and out into the suburbs. Mostly Youth did the talking, relaying all the reconnaissance that he had managed to gather over the past four days.
After about a thirty minute drive they pulled into an alley adjacent to their destination, and Youth cuts the engine as the car rolls to a stop. Both men pop out of the car, and close the doors behind, making their way around to the trunk. The trunk is thrown open, revealing several weapons secured to insure that they didn't break.::
Press: So everything's locked & loaded?
Youth: You know this. I even got the holy water vials filled the other day, and I went ahead and modified the new nail gun so that it fires the stakes now. Try to be more careful with it this time, their starting to get expensive. Not to mention, the more we buy, the more evidence we're leaving for the cops to track us.
Press: yeah, yeah. Tell that to the vamps.
::Youth merely shakes his head as Press reaches down, and picks up the two bandoleers of holy water vials. He slips them on under his coat, then picks up a belt with various tools & stakes strapped to it, and puts it on as well. The Nail Gun in question fits right on his hip like some sort of misshapen revolver, while his last weapon of choice is a pump action special bored 12 gauge. He hooks the gun into a position right in under his right arm, and begins buttoning his coat up. Youth takes the double holsters with the Colt Pythons, and slips them over his tank top. He then grabs a small bag with unknown contents, and fastens it to his belt. He slips on a black leather biker jacket, and before closing the trunk, grabs the curved katana, slipping it in under the jacket behind him so that the handle barely sticks out of the back. The men nod to each other, and turn to make their way out of the alley and onto the sidewalk. Their strides are measured, and butterflies flutter in their stomachs as they approach the front door to the rave club. Two large bouncers stand on the outside, and as they approach Youth brings up what he feels is an important question.::
Youth: You did bring the CD right?
Press: What the fuck....am I an Amateur now?
Youth: Naw...I'm just saying..
Press: Yeah, I got it right here.
::Press pats his chest pocket with a playful grin, and then returns his hands to his side right as they step up to the two bouncers. The techno like music can be heard through the door, and it rattles the metal as it continues on. Every once in awhile they could hear the crowd scream in unison at the DJ, who would pump the music even louder.::
Bouncer 1: You got your ID's on you?
Press: Yeah, right here.
::Both men produce their wallets, and hold up their forms of identification. The bouncer takes a good look at them, and then nods for them to enter. The two push the door open, returning their wallets back into their pockets, and slide through the door. The music hits them immediately. Loud, Panicked, and Distracting. The lights flash randomly all over the place in different colors, and then bright flashes around every 10 seconds that provide a blinding affect if standing near the bulbs. Smoke wafts through the rows and rows of goth kids out on the dance floor, moshing around like one large, writhing enigma of unnatural wonder.
Youth makes his way through the crowd that has amassed around the bar, and comes to a seat that is right next to the ebony counter. Different fetish show banners & advertisements adorn the table top as a clean cut black man steps over to take his order. He waves the man off, who shrugs and goes back to his duties with the many customers calling out drinks to him. He has several tattoos that creep from his shoulders up the back of his neck, but one stands out above the rest. It's funny to him that to the untrained eye....it would almost seemed masked by the other ones.
Press peeled off in a different direction, fighting the crowd of moshers to get to the DJ's podium which was high above the crowd on a pedestal. Being 6 foot 10, and 365lbs made this fairly easy, and he threw more than a few helpless goth kids out of his way. Once reaching the podium, he allowed a big grin, nodding his head with the music and producing a CD from an unseen pocket. ::
Press: HEY BRO!
::He had to yell so that the DJ would hear him, and instinctively as the man atop the podium looked down he saw a strange reflection of light in his eyes like the shimmering of a cat's eyes in the moonlight. Press's smile grew as he reached up and handed the CD to the DJ. He yelled once more for instruction.::
Press: THIS SHIT IS OFF THE CHAIN!! GIVE IT A WHIRL!
::The DJ nods, popping open his Sony Disc Changer, and slapping the CD down into one of the empty slots. He closes the tray, and pops up the code on the lap top computer that controls everything. The deep bass beat slowly fades out, and is replaced by some crappy 8bit music like off of the original Nintendo. It's much quieter, but everyone in the club stops their dancing, and turns to the DJ's position. He looks at the screen quizzically, and then looks back down at the man who gave it to him. Press smiles, his coat completely unbuttoned now, and his hand reaching back behind him to swing the 12 gauge up and into his waiting arms. There is a pause as the DJ's eyes go wide, as he realizes his mistake.::
Press: That's the Music they play when Simon Belmont puts the Smackdown on Dracula in the original NES Castlevania....
::With that said the Shot Gun pops up into his arms, and before anyone can react the first shot is fired right up into the DJ's face. His head explodes under the pressure of the full weight slug, and his body dissipates to ash right before his eyes. For a moment there is complete silence through out the entire structure, and then like a swift slap in the face the 8bit rendition starts back up, and the people go into a panic. That was the way it always was with hunting vampires, and why it made it so easy to tell enemy from civilian. The humans would always run, so just shoot the ones that weren't.
He pumped the shotgun, turning to see one of the bouncers rushing him from the side. Before the guy could even reach him he reversed his hold on the weapon, and jabbed straight out with the butt of the gun. It caught the bouncer right in the face as he approached, dropping him down to the floor howling. Press quickly reversed direction on the gun, pointing it down into the back of the guys head...he spotted no tattoo. Just a regular old human. Just as he looked up he saw the next guy coming, shimmering eyes....The shot gun was up in an instant...BOOM! One slug through the shoulder sent the guy spiraling down to the floor, but the big man already knew that wouldn't be enough. He pumped the shot gun again, just as the creature rose before him, elongated teeth & ugly grimace all intact. BOOM! This time the guy was missing his midsection, and once again he was blown back to the floor. One more pump, BOOM! Right down into his throat point blank, which dislodged his head right from his body. The murder evidence quickly turned to ash, as Press pumped the 12 gauge one more time and turned to find a new target.
Youth already had his hands on his Pythons as soon as the music hit the PA System, and when the expression on the black mans face turned allot uglier, he had the massive revolvers out and pointed. The crowd scattered from the bar instinctively as that first shotgun blast sounded off, and then was followed by the cannon fires of the Colt Python. He squeezed the triggers simultaneously sending two bullets at a time pumping into the bartender. The first two hit him in the chest, staggering him back into his many alcoholic choices. The next two hit him in the gut and dropped him to his knees. This time Youth was moving, sliding up and over the bar to stand right over top of his prey. The vampire turned to him and offered a gurgled his as the final two bullets caved in his skull. Dust scattered the bar floor as Youth turned and looked for his friend in the sea of humans making their way for the exit.
Press felt unnaturally strong hands grip him around the shoulders, and fling him to the floor. He did his best to turn, landing on his back with the shot gun out in front of him. He wasn't quick enough however as the Vamp was already down ontop of him, using the shotgun as leverage, and pushing it down to try and choke the big man. The ugly abomination had his fangs in full view, and was hissing and nipping at his hands while he pushed back to keep from being choked. He wrestled with the creature for only a few seconds before maneuvering his knee in-between him and the beast, and he used this new leverage to shove the vamp off of him. The gun was pointed quickly as the vamp came back up to his feet, and then BOOM! Through the Jaw, but not decapitating. BOOM! Through the chest, knocking him backwards. Press rolls up to his feet, and takes aim yet again..BOOM! Through the guys midsection blowing a descent side chunk out of him. BOOM! Another midsection shot. BOOM!! And this time the upper body & lower body are no longer connected. Finally, one last shot to the head ends it, with the creature turning to dust right before his eyes. BOOM!
Youth watches his friends struggle from behind the bar, and then eventually sees the attackers death. With a grin he hops up on top of the bar counter, and see's two vamps approaching his way. He turned the pythons their way, angling out so that both were now in his sights and following them as they took to the sky with an unearthly jump that would bring them right down ontop of him. He squeezed the trigger's of both Pythons rapidly, unloading round after round until the revolver finally made a clicking sound signaling that he was done. Both vamps dropped to the floor lifelessly with a thud, but neither turned to dust as they began to pull themselves back together. He returned the Pythons to his holsters, and reached back behind him gripping the hilt of the sword. As one tried to pull himself up to his hands and knee's, Youth yanked the sword free from it's scabbard and brought it around over head with both hands to stab straight down into the vamps heart. The dust released the sword, and he whirled quickly bringing the sword out in a slashing maneuver taking the hands of the next vamp who had reached his feet and tried for an attack. He hissed at the loss of his hands, and Youth wasted no time in going to work..slash after slash until there was very little left of the thing to make it recognizable as a humanoid shape. He ended it with a hard thrust through it's breastplate, and through it's heart, and again...the dust released the sword.
Press counted four dark figures moving through the crowd who had almost emptied the large club. He readied & trained his shot gun on one of the figures firing into them as soon as they cleared the humans. BOOM! It dropped, but didn't dissipate. He quickly turned, and fired at another one as it came closer. BOOM! It caught it squarely in the face, taking it down and turning it to dust. He turned to the next closest one, and CLICK!....CLICK! He gave a look of surprise, and dropped the out of ammo weapon, reaching down and clutching at two vials of holy water. The two remaining vamps on their feet came to a halt, sliding across the floor to try and escape what they knew the big man held in his hand. He chucked the water at them like a relief pitcher, and the vials struck one, breaking open and attacking his skin. He fell to the ground, writhing & screaming, as Press reached for two more vials. The other vamp was still in flight as he rared back, but it was the one that he had shot before that caught this newest assault. After tossing the vials at the recovered vamp, and putting him back to the floor, he reached down into his coat pockets, and came back out with a pare of brass knucks fitted with a 8 inch spike right in the center. He came over to the two Vamps on the ground, and stabbed straight down, catching both squarely in the heart. They dissipated to dust, and he then stood in a fighters stance as five more came to surround him.
Youth watched on from the bar top as his friend was surrounded by the vile creatures. He reached down to his side, and pulled a bag free that hung on his side. He wound the bag up, and then threw it end over end out at where Press stood. The contents of the bag came flying out across the floor, and all the vamps took a cautious step back. But when nothing happened, they began their advance once again, that is till they heard the buzzing sound down below them. They returned their gaze to the floor, where the tiny balls separated to reveal what looked like a bulb. One of the beasts snarled down at the thing, just as it sent off a bright flash of UV light frying the creatures eyes, and burning their flesh. All five of the creatures began to howl as Press began his work of punching each in the chest. He has almost gotten three, when Youth joined in to take out the other two with his sword. The two men were surrounded by piles of ash everywhere, and an empty room. They nodded, and quickly gathered their weapons.::
Press: Cops will be here soon. We gotta get this show on the road.
Youth: I know, I know. But these bulbs can changed and reused. We got to start keeping our expenses down.
Press: Yeah, I know.
::Press hopped up onto the DJ's podium where the sounds of Castlvania can still be heard, and he pops the CD out of the tray.::
Youth: Hey, Press?
Press: Yeah?
Youth: Where's the nail gun?
Press: It's right here...
::Press reaches down for the modified weapon, and finds that it is missing from his belt. His eyes go wide with surprise, and then he gives Youth a sheepish grin when he sees the young man eyeballing him in suspicion. Youth leans down, and starts picking up parts of some sort. He looks to Press again with a scowl, and chunks the parts back to the floor. Press imply shrugs with an amused expression.::
Press: I never even got the chance to use it!
Youth: No, but you sure as hell didn't waste any time breaking it.
Press: Come on Justin. I didn't mean to do it.
::Youth just shakes his head, and makes his way for the exit leaving Press with his arms outstretched in a denying faction. He hops down, and rushes for the exit as well. The sirens can be heard in the distance as they hop in the Pontiac, and Youth fires up the engine. They pull out of the alleyway, and make their way in the opposite direction, back towards the inner city. They pass a few cops en-route, and they watch nervously as they whiz by. This was their lives, and it never got any easier. They would go to the next location, to the next gig, and do the same thing until they had been everywhere, and located every last one of the evils of the world. And they would leave them dead, bodies strewn across the streets.::
**********
::Press had been asleep for some time now, and hadn't given the slightest hint that he might be waking anytime soon. Youth was sitting there, watching the news on the TV with the volume low. He grimaced as the camera view showed the cops searching the area, and he could only hope that no one would finany loose evidence. The two had learned to be fairly careful about how they handled their weapons, and their gear. They weren't so much worried about someone IDing them considering that they were one of many gothic kids there that night. There would be a long line of questions that would come up during this investigation, but none would give the cops their answers. It was the same at every city that they had been to. Some had been a little more quiet than this one, and some were even louder. All in all he took the gravity of the situation in, and congratulated himself on a job well done by taking a beer out of the mini-fridge. He barely took a sip before a knock came at the door.
He gave a quizzical expression towards the door, and stopped with the beer can at his lips, listening intently so as to make sure that he hadn't dreamed it. As if to answer him, the knock came again, more persistent than the first. He stood then, placing the beer on top of the TV, and grabbing for the pump action 12gauge. He checked to make sure it was loaded, and ready to fire when the knock came a third time. He slowly made his way over to the door, and peered through the peep hole. What he saw surprised him. He quickly leaned down, and slid the gun under his bed, and then returned to the door as the knocking returned as more of a banging. He popped the door open just as a female fist was about to be launched one more time.::
Young Woman: Oh..um..Hello.
::Youth held his hands up defensively, and the dark haired beauty looked on in confusion for a few moments before realizing that her fist was still in the air. She gave a sweet laugh that had him captivated, and she returned her hand to her side.::
Young Woman: Dear me, I'm sorry about that. I'm afraid if you had opened the door one second sooner you would have been woliped.
Youth: I'm sure the pleasure would have been all mine.
::She allowed a strained laugh, and then brushed her hands through her thick hair. She had an accent that went deeper than just her voice. She seemed to beautiful for Canada...hell, too beautiful for anywhere really. Her dark eyes, and hair gave him an inclination, however, and so he went with his instincts.::
Youth: Italian, right?
::She started to speak, and then showed a surprised expression that quickly blended into pleased all at the same time. She nodded in confirmation, and shifted her feet in under her so that she now rested on her heels as if trying to get a better look at the man before her. She looked him up and down, and he felt odd under her scrutiny until finally she nodded, and crossed her arms in front of her ample breasts.::
Young Woman: Yes, you must be the one they call Flaming Youth. Born Justin Lance Armstrong from Longdale, Rhode Island.
Youth: Whoa, Whoa, Whoa...how do you know all this about me.
Young Woman: Well, it's here in your file.
::She reached down, and picked up a briefcase in which she popped open, and then pulled forth a document. She handed it to him, and he then flipped the manila folder open to see a detailed background of himself within. He looked up at the woman much more serious now, his mind shooting back to the segment on the news about their handiwork.::
Youth: Who are you?
Young Woman: I'm Alicia Marcil...Your new representative from the Storm Corporation.
::Youth's eyes went wide, and he stepped back into the motel room beckoning for her to follow. He made his way towards the bathroom sink, slapping his partners foot as he went by. Alicia stepped into the room, closing the door behind her as she heard a grunt from under the large mound over on the far bed. Press lifted his head while rubbing his eyes at the same time, and then looked in her direction. A confused expression creeped over his face, and then he quickly covered up realizing that he was in nothing but his skivvies. She smirked as she averted her eyes from the big man, and watched as Youth ran cold water over his face repeatedly, looking into the mirror as if he had just seen a ghost. She sat her briefcase on the hotel's shabby table which had a pizza box laid out on top of it. She sat down in one of the rickety old chairs, and made herself comfortable as Press found his pants somewhere on the ground near his bed, and brought them under the covers with him.::
Press: Uh....Who's our guest Justin?
Youth: She's a Storm Corp representative.
::Press shot the woman a surprised glance, and then almost blanched as he hid his face under the covers. He pulled his pants on quickly, and then hopped up out of bed in search of a shirt. She offered him some assistance by throwing him the one that had been draped over the chair she was sitting in. He nodded in thanks, and then slipped it over his head. He shared a look with Youth that was obvious that they both felt the same way about this turn of events. Both men sat down in the seats across from her, and stared at her like she was some sort of illusion. She shook her dark locks from her face, and then leaned forward with her hands steepled much like Johnny Storm would do. Before she ever spoke, they both knew that this woman was going to be good at her job. Very good.::
Alicia: I'm assuming by now that your employer has told you who suggested you come to work for him. And I'm sure that you were both surprised to hear that, and eager. Always eager. BUT....just because your orders come from a new source, doesn't mean that your contract with the Storm Corporation is up. We still own the rights to The BombTrax, not to mention the wrestling persona's known as Flaming Youth & Press.
::This made both men come forward in their seats as if about to respond, but they were cut short by the beautiful woman's promptness.::
Alicia: But, after deliberating with Mr. Storm, he has decided to allow you this stint in Sin Wrestling while under the employ of your new source. That, however, doesn't mean that you are exempt from the rules & regulations of being a Storm Corp. employee. You will need a business manager, and also someone to look out for your interests while apart of SW. So after a request for some field work after working as a CEO for Storm Corp Europe, Mr. Storm has decided to grant me my wish by representing you as valet/manager.
::Both men looked to each other, and shrugged their shoulders before turning back to the woman across from them. It wasn't that awful of an idea to have the curvaceous woman in their corner.::
Alicia: I can assure you, I'm here to make sure your stay in SW is a memorable one. I won't get in your way for the most part, and my main functions will make sure that the bills get paid, the checks get signed, and the matches get won. Other than that, this is still your show. Consider me just an extra boost of insurance.
Press: What's the catch?
Alicia: What do you mean?
Press: The catch! The catch? Don't play coy with me...we've both worked with Johnny Storm in the past, and know his methods. The bastard will stab you in the back just as soon as look at you. So if you don't mind me saying so, I think this is a sham. So I'll repeat myself. What is the catch?
Alicia: There is no catch as far as I know, Mr. Jones. Perhaps we will learn about Mr. Storm's plans together.
::The two men exchanged glances once again, and then Press finally conceded with a nod, the most sincere thing to an apology he would afford the woman. She stood up then, taking her suitcase in one hand while extending the other. The two men stood as well, Press shaking, and then Youth who seemed almost eager to touch her.::
Alicia: Well gentleman, I hope you have a nice rest, and I'll see you at the PPV.
Press: Right. You..uh...have a nice night.
Youth: Goodnight, Mrs. Marcil.
::And then she was gone, exiting through the door she had entered, and heading towards her car. Press closed the door, and turned back towards Youth with a slight smirk. In a mocking voice he reiterated.::
Press: Goodnight, Mrs. Marcilllllll...
Youth: Man, you know what....Fuck you. Go back to bed.
::Press only chuckled as he slipped back into one of the seats. His mind then wandered that long ago meeting that he had with Johnny Storm in the TCWF. He had been Storm's right hand man back then, but when "Mr. Fantastic" turned on you that meant he didn't just leave you...he destroyed you. He remembered the feeling as the silver stretch limo struck him, sending him up onto the car hood and through the front windshield. He thought of the broken bones, and the many months in surgery after surgery in the hopes of repairing his injured back. The doctors said there would be no hope, and there wouldn't have been if not for Redemption. He pushed those memories out of his mind, not wanting to rewalk those roads. He wasn't as optimistic of this beauty as his young friend was. He had learned long ago to look past physical appearance to the person within. If she was trusted by Johnny Storm with this assignment, then it was a sure bet that he would have to keep his eyes on her. Both of them.::
**********
::The scene opens as the camera's begin to roll, and both Press & Youth sit off to the side of a projection screen, watching last week's Impulse, and their debut. The car explodes, and right on cue you see Press & Youth come walking up to Tony Millennia who doesn't really know what the hell gimmick he wants to run with. The view then shifts to a match of Bareback Jack & Hotrodder, and Press & Youth both turn around in their seats to face the camera.::
Press: You know, I have no idea what to think about you guys. You show up on the card, you walk away with a couple of victories over nameless jobbers, but other than that you don't do anything. You don't make an impact, and if you don't make an impact that leave the impression that maybe you don't have anything to say, and if you don't have anything to say, sit back, shut up, and listen...cause we can cover that for all of you.
Youth: You see, the problem with talent now-a-days is that they don't know how to get themselves over. Back in the day the crowd went wild for your gimmick style wrestlers. Guys who were regular guys outside the ring, but could transform when they went through those ropes. They became killer clowns, and cowboys, and fireman, hell...one guy even made his career being a trash man. Yet, as funny and comical as that era was, the reality of television & movies sunk in to america's hearts, and they thirsted for something a little more viscous. Your fan favorite maneuver was no longer a standard elbow drop. It was an elbow drop from the top rope. You could get a win with a regular old leg drop back then, but if you tried that now....your opponent would just kick out, and look at you like you were stupid. The fans changed.....that meant the wrestling had to change.
Press: Yet, You two neanderthals are running around here in cowboy hats, and boots...trying to lasso your opponents, and spitting in a shiny brass bucket. What the fuck is wrong with you? That era died for a reason, and from within that reason spawned a new brand of violence. A group of warriors that would set the bar for every type of hardcore match that you could think of. The mind began to unravel, and the matches became much more than just stupid contests for entertainment. They became cerebral death matches, that ended with someone either tasting the spoils of war, or the famine & shame of defeat. Victory is now the only option. Back then you used to be able to hold your head up high even if you lost. Now, even if you win, you have to constantly watch your back. Look for the next attack, or the next screw-job, or the next person who wants what you have. You are in a pack of wolves dressed up like a couple of kids on Halloween.
Youth: Is that what we are to you? Fucking Halloween party favors? Maybe we should have confetti come down after we stomp the shit out of you at Illusions. Maybe if we were queer, gun toting, faggots we could run around in cowboy costumes too. Do you guys just wear the get up, or do you actually try to live this way? Do you really ride horses, and lasso cattle? Do you raise pigs, and slaughter chickens? Are you even from a farm, or are you just wannabe rednecks? Do you fuck your mothers? Well let me be the first to say Yee Haw you piss-ant hillbillies. Come Sunday it isn't going to make a shit what song and dance you try to pull out of your ass, because just like that era from our yesteryear's...you are going to be snuffed out by a younger, and better talent. You are going to be dropped right into that big old pit of reality where we don't still play dress up. After Sunday, you assholes will be coming out in sun dresses in flower prints! Now won't that be a Daisy?!?!
::Press looks over at Youth who looks back to him and shrugs. Press simply shakes his head, and returns his gaze to the camera.::
Press: You know, just for the record, I don't care what your gimmick is. It's asinine, and maybe even on par with a retarded midget. BUT, regardless, you are still our opponents. I'm not looking past you to the Tag Team Champions. I'm looking dead at you. When this is all over, the reality will strike inside of your heads that maybe this isn't the life for you. I'm not just here to win matches, and take home gold. I'm here to hurt people. It's what I do. It's what I love to do. So I'm not asking you southern boys to be intimidated, I'm just asking that you be prepared for the road ahead...for it is wrought with misery & heartache if you continue to find yourselves in the path of us.
Oh, and Tony.....I noticed your promo, and I have to say that I'm a little offended, but not at all surprised. I tried to make myself clear last week, but maybe it needs to be said one more time. I know it's not Sesame Street, but maybe even you can follow along with me...O.K....real slow now.
We weren't there to intimidate you, just to deliver a message from our employer.
Although I can't really admit to ever seeing the 'F' word so eloquently used in a promo anywhere else other than on a Johnny Storm interview about Chris Damm.....well, let me just say, I'm glad you were so impressed with us. I mean...to dedicate half of your time to us when you had something like a World Title match to focus on. I think you've just given us our very first media props here in SW.
Oh, and one more thing. If you were going to try and piss us off, you would probably try ignoring us.
But let's face it...You're a fucking moron, so we'll be expecting your attack. Just remember....
Youth: FIGHT US IF YOU WANT TO..
Press: PIN US IF YOU CAN.......
Press & Youth: BEAT US YOU WILL NEVER!
::Both men rise from their seats with grave, serious expressions, and make their way towards the camera, bumping past the cameraman. The camera continues to roll on the footage of Bareback Jack & Hotrodder until finally fading to black, and then.......Static.::