Post by Joe Stanton on Apr 28, 2018 7:35:32 GMT
The lights dim and a fog machine starts pumping, a strobe light flashing intensely on the stage as Joe Stanton & Zombie Black step out. They’re dressed in black slacks & button up shirts, Black’s face paint more silver & chrome than usual and Stanton has half his face done too along with his sunglasses & a red bandana. There’s a little dirt on Zombie Black’s shoulders and in his hair. The Japanese press isn’t quite sure what to make of the get-up but Stanton forcefully points to one of the reports & gets their attention.
Japanese World of Sports Journalist: “Hello, yes, I was wondering how you gentlemen felt being apart of this tournament?”
Stanton glances over at Black, smiling at his partner before leaning into the microphone to start them off.
”I feel the pistons drivin’, all revved up, can’t you smell the diesel? I’m fired up, to be apart of a tournament like this one, to potentially be facing the teams we could be facing, to be here with my brother beside me. It feels good to be apart of the Tag Team Tropolis, because behind this dark black glass I can see the whole tag team wrestling world turning. See the the line of no return coming up fast for them, for Black, for me and we’re going to put pedal to the metal and give it the gas till we clear it!”
As loud as he is wild in his behavior, Stanton taps his nose when he asks the reporters if they can smell it. He spins his index finger around & around when talking about the tag team wrestling world before sharply pointing to the horizon when talking of a line of no return. He slaps Black on the back excitedly and bobs his head, as if he’s grooving to some song no one hears.
”Y'know I'm the master of disaster of overreaction, and I feel like putting us up against the kind of talent before us… well that's gonna provoke some opposite and EXCESSIVE violence! See I love to wrestle, I love to tangle, tango, and tarantella, but knockin’ heads and throwin’ punches at Mach 5 is the only way THIS speed racer can find glory between those ropes. I'm piston steel, thrusting, pumping, and DRIIIIIIVING across that proverbial finish line one quarter MILLENNIUM at a time! OWWWWWWWW have mercy!”
I'm not fully sure ANY of that made sense, but that's Zombie Black these days, folks. If it didn’t for anyone else, it apparently did for Joe at least because he howls in approval. Like, really, a genuine howl. He bumps elbows with Black like the two are throwing forearms at each other and he nods his head.
”And, then you got me who will knock your fucking block off with a shimmy and a shake! I’mma hi-fi phono, boy, letting it blast 700 little records, all rock, rhythm and jazz in the art of fisticuffs! Smashing you through those monolithic, eternal, shiny and chrome gates of Valhalla and back, knocking you back onto the city streets that won’t speak of where you’ve been!”
Joe does legitimately a little shimmy behind the podium and he throws a few shadow punches to illustrate his point. With a shark tooth grin he throws back his head and stretches his hands out to the heavens, sounding like a televangelist preacher. His mouth hangs agap when he revels in the glory of Valhalla before pointing down at one particular reporter & acting as if he’s talking to him directly when he speaks of throwing him out into the streets.
Puro Insider Journalist: “Hello, what are your thoughts on your first round opponents, Grievous Bodily Harm? Furthermore I was wondering how your thoughts on the possibility of you winning the tournament?”
”Winning is for winners, not weiners, man. How many winners can there BE in a tournament? Two, in this one. Two towers to the infinite, two beings at the zenith of all things staring down at a veritable backyard bar-be-que of wangitude.”
Zombie stops, opens his mouth to speak, then shuts it. He taps his temple, thinking for a moment. Joe stops his continuing nodding to look at Black, as if this pondering is of the greatest importance.
”As for General Grievous and her Bodily Harem… maaaaan, I don't try that hard and I'm all shiny and chrome up here.”
He shrugs and shakes his head.
”I talk a big game and say some weird shit but at the end of the day I'm high-tech fucking wrestling in a pretty sexy meat sack. It's simple math, all one-hundred-forty-one and two-thirds of it. I'm a spring-loaded jack-o-lantern ready to burn pumpkin-scented ash on the lawns of those who oppose, and GBH seem to fucking… OPPOSE. Josie?”
Black steps back to hand things off to his partner for now. Joe Stanton nods his head, he nods it again, he nods it again, he nods it again, he nods it again. He pauses and he...nods again. Wagging a finger more and more violently in the air, Stanton slams his hand down onto the podium and looks out at the journalists.
”Firstly...he is pretty damn sexy for a meat sack, isn’t he?”
Lazily he gestures to Black and surveys their audience for a reaction. There’s some half hearted claps. A cough. It seems enough for Joe.
”Secondly if there is one thing that my steel reinforced, carbon altered heart CAN NOT ABIDE it is opposers! It is OPPOSITION! Us, Black and I, my amigo and yours truly fight for love, fight for family, we fight for EQUALITY for every man, woman, child, android, kitty, dog, and interdimensional being out there through time and space! We are strong believers in this and we are equal opportunists when it comes to professional wrestling, frek, when it comes to LIFE. We grab opposers from whatever dark recesses of the shadows they lurk and drag them out into the light, crashing through ignorance and prejudice in their minds to create a shining beacon of hope!”
Borderline deranged sounding, Stanton violently pantomimes what Black & he do to opposers.
”Act Three, this right now is like the moment in the darkness before the blinding light, the world standing right before everyone just out of sight. You can hear the thunder start to move, you feel your pulse begin to rise, and we’re like a shock that cuts straight through the night and you and brings you to life. It’ll be a crash that breaks the silence and a thousands voices will be calling our names, like moths that just have to find the flame in the darkness. We will ascend on our Pegasus, ten thousand angels singing for us as we ride our Pegasus, we’ll set fire with the championships as a way to hold back the night!”
Theatrically he postures to the skies above Black & him, acting as if they’re triumphantly lifting championships up into the air. Black joins him, pumping his arms up and down, shouting “belts, belts” as he does.
Japanese World of Sports Journalist: “Hello, yes, I was wondering how you gentlemen felt being apart of this tournament?”
Stanton glances over at Black, smiling at his partner before leaning into the microphone to start them off.
”I feel the pistons drivin’, all revved up, can’t you smell the diesel? I’m fired up, to be apart of a tournament like this one, to potentially be facing the teams we could be facing, to be here with my brother beside me. It feels good to be apart of the Tag Team Tropolis, because behind this dark black glass I can see the whole tag team wrestling world turning. See the the line of no return coming up fast for them, for Black, for me and we’re going to put pedal to the metal and give it the gas till we clear it!”
As loud as he is wild in his behavior, Stanton taps his nose when he asks the reporters if they can smell it. He spins his index finger around & around when talking about the tag team wrestling world before sharply pointing to the horizon when talking of a line of no return. He slaps Black on the back excitedly and bobs his head, as if he’s grooving to some song no one hears.
”Y'know I'm the master of disaster of overreaction, and I feel like putting us up against the kind of talent before us… well that's gonna provoke some opposite and EXCESSIVE violence! See I love to wrestle, I love to tangle, tango, and tarantella, but knockin’ heads and throwin’ punches at Mach 5 is the only way THIS speed racer can find glory between those ropes. I'm piston steel, thrusting, pumping, and DRIIIIIIVING across that proverbial finish line one quarter MILLENNIUM at a time! OWWWWWWWW have mercy!”
I'm not fully sure ANY of that made sense, but that's Zombie Black these days, folks. If it didn’t for anyone else, it apparently did for Joe at least because he howls in approval. Like, really, a genuine howl. He bumps elbows with Black like the two are throwing forearms at each other and he nods his head.
”And, then you got me who will knock your fucking block off with a shimmy and a shake! I’mma hi-fi phono, boy, letting it blast 700 little records, all rock, rhythm and jazz in the art of fisticuffs! Smashing you through those monolithic, eternal, shiny and chrome gates of Valhalla and back, knocking you back onto the city streets that won’t speak of where you’ve been!”
Joe does legitimately a little shimmy behind the podium and he throws a few shadow punches to illustrate his point. With a shark tooth grin he throws back his head and stretches his hands out to the heavens, sounding like a televangelist preacher. His mouth hangs agap when he revels in the glory of Valhalla before pointing down at one particular reporter & acting as if he’s talking to him directly when he speaks of throwing him out into the streets.
Puro Insider Journalist: “Hello, what are your thoughts on your first round opponents, Grievous Bodily Harm? Furthermore I was wondering how your thoughts on the possibility of you winning the tournament?”
”Winning is for winners, not weiners, man. How many winners can there BE in a tournament? Two, in this one. Two towers to the infinite, two beings at the zenith of all things staring down at a veritable backyard bar-be-que of wangitude.”
Zombie stops, opens his mouth to speak, then shuts it. He taps his temple, thinking for a moment. Joe stops his continuing nodding to look at Black, as if this pondering is of the greatest importance.
”As for General Grievous and her Bodily Harem… maaaaan, I don't try that hard and I'm all shiny and chrome up here.”
He shrugs and shakes his head.
”I talk a big game and say some weird shit but at the end of the day I'm high-tech fucking wrestling in a pretty sexy meat sack. It's simple math, all one-hundred-forty-one and two-thirds of it. I'm a spring-loaded jack-o-lantern ready to burn pumpkin-scented ash on the lawns of those who oppose, and GBH seem to fucking… OPPOSE. Josie?”
Black steps back to hand things off to his partner for now. Joe Stanton nods his head, he nods it again, he nods it again, he nods it again, he nods it again. He pauses and he...nods again. Wagging a finger more and more violently in the air, Stanton slams his hand down onto the podium and looks out at the journalists.
”Firstly...he is pretty damn sexy for a meat sack, isn’t he?”
Lazily he gestures to Black and surveys their audience for a reaction. There’s some half hearted claps. A cough. It seems enough for Joe.
”Secondly if there is one thing that my steel reinforced, carbon altered heart CAN NOT ABIDE it is opposers! It is OPPOSITION! Us, Black and I, my amigo and yours truly fight for love, fight for family, we fight for EQUALITY for every man, woman, child, android, kitty, dog, and interdimensional being out there through time and space! We are strong believers in this and we are equal opportunists when it comes to professional wrestling, frek, when it comes to LIFE. We grab opposers from whatever dark recesses of the shadows they lurk and drag them out into the light, crashing through ignorance and prejudice in their minds to create a shining beacon of hope!”
Borderline deranged sounding, Stanton violently pantomimes what Black & he do to opposers.
”Act Three, this right now is like the moment in the darkness before the blinding light, the world standing right before everyone just out of sight. You can hear the thunder start to move, you feel your pulse begin to rise, and we’re like a shock that cuts straight through the night and you and brings you to life. It’ll be a crash that breaks the silence and a thousands voices will be calling our names, like moths that just have to find the flame in the darkness. We will ascend on our Pegasus, ten thousand angels singing for us as we ride our Pegasus, we’ll set fire with the championships as a way to hold back the night!”
Theatrically he postures to the skies above Black & him, acting as if they’re triumphantly lifting championships up into the air. Black joins him, pumping his arms up and down, shouting “belts, belts” as he does.
