The following was posted on FWA.com;
“You all fuckin’ watchin’ that!? Tell me you all fuckin’ seen that?”
Freshly bruised and glistening with sweat, a battered Danny Toner bursts into the gorilla position smacking his blood-speckled chest triumphantly. An backstage producer hustles over and hands Danny a hoodie, a lighter and a big, fat joint. Danny pulls on the black hoodie and shouts out to the already rolling camera man.
”YO! PAL! Get this shit! The champ has somethin’ he wants to freakin’ say!”
The camera focuses on Toner as he lights his joint. He takes a big puff and omits a cloud of smoke.
”WOO!!! That’s the freakin’ stuff!”
Danny laughs and slightly adjusts the two championship belts draped across his chest with a forward roll of his shoulders.
”I nearly felt fuckin’ sorry for you out there, Aly Blue Eyes! Nearly. I’ll give ya credit: you put up a good fuckin’ fight. And I guess… I guess I owe everybody an apology. Danny Toner can admit when he’s wrong. So to everybody watchin’ this - I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to deliver on my promise to completely RIP THE MASK OFF THAT LITTLE PUNKS HEAD! I wanted to, I wanted to show you all the fuckin’ mess I made of that ugly, little fuckers face, truly I did. But that motherfucker actually freakin’ brought it to me. He hit me with some of the hardest shots I’ve ever been on the receiving end of. He hurt me like very few others have hurt me before. He unloaded the full fuckin’ clip… but STILL here I fuckin’ am. You can do whatever you like, bring any weapon you want, gather together a whole fuckin’ army and it won’t matter a fuckin’ damn! I only need one shot to take anybodies fuckin’ head off and I never hesitate. Aly learned that tonight.”
Danny takes a slow toke of his joint.
And so will anybody fuckin’ else that thinks they can step into MY ring! You think I needed a damn insurance policy?”
Danny raises a clenched fist into shot.
”This is my freakin’ insurance policy.”
Danny looks from belt to belt and then back at the camera, speaking softly.
”You think I’m goin’ to let you get your hands on these, Peacock? You did good tonight, bud. But make no mistake about it, this as far as you’re gonna go. I bet you think it’s all settin’ up perfectly for you, Peacock, dontcha? Chris Peacock cashin’ in on Danny Toner basically writes itself. Chris’s little fairytale.”
Danny’s eyes narrow and his nostrils flare as he speaks through gritted teeth.
“Why don’t you go and ask that little fuckin’ freak Devin Golden what happens when the big bad comes along and inserts himself in fairytales? But don’t fret, Peacock.”
Danny turns out the pocket of his hoodie and smiles while holding it.
”If you’re afraid, there’s plenty of room for you to hide in here. You should be used to being in here anyway, bitch.”
Danny’s reddening eyes dance around his head as he laughs crazily.
”As for ol’ Dev’… somebody need to just put the slow bastard out of his misery. Why don’t you focus on that, Peacock? That’s about your level, bud.”
Danny stubs his joint out against the lens of the camera, leaving a stain of ash in the top right hand corner of the screen.
”You wanna talk about my level? You wanna talk about the biggest draw in professional wrestling? I’ve put PPV buy-rates through the fuckin’ roof. I’ve gotten the wcnetwork to pump more money than ever before into production. I’ve single-handedly restored the prestige of what it means to be the champion of the world, just like I put the freakin’ tag team division on my back. I own this fuckin’ shit. Nobody can get anywhere damn near me. Nobody. As we inch closer and closer to a new year, to Back in Business season, you can be sure of one thing…”
Danny takes the two championships off his shoulders and raises them in the air with the faceplates facing away from the camera.
”New challengers.”
Danny turns his back to the camera so that everyone can now view the championship belts in all their glory. His black hoodie has white writing emblazoned onto the back of it - it reads “VIOLET DREYER”. He turns his head so that his side profile is just about visible, and then winks.
”Same champion.”
Static.
Freshly bruised and glistening with sweat, a battered Danny Toner bursts into the gorilla position smacking his blood-speckled chest triumphantly. An backstage producer hustles over and hands Danny a hoodie, a lighter and a big, fat joint. Danny pulls on the black hoodie and shouts out to the already rolling camera man.
”YO! PAL! Get this shit! The champ has somethin’ he wants to freakin’ say!”
The camera focuses on Toner as he lights his joint. He takes a big puff and omits a cloud of smoke.
”WOO!!! That’s the freakin’ stuff!”
Danny laughs and slightly adjusts the two championship belts draped across his chest with a forward roll of his shoulders.
”I nearly felt fuckin’ sorry for you out there, Aly Blue Eyes! Nearly. I’ll give ya credit: you put up a good fuckin’ fight. And I guess… I guess I owe everybody an apology. Danny Toner can admit when he’s wrong. So to everybody watchin’ this - I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to deliver on my promise to completely RIP THE MASK OFF THAT LITTLE PUNKS HEAD! I wanted to, I wanted to show you all the fuckin’ mess I made of that ugly, little fuckers face, truly I did. But that motherfucker actually freakin’ brought it to me. He hit me with some of the hardest shots I’ve ever been on the receiving end of. He hurt me like very few others have hurt me before. He unloaded the full fuckin’ clip… but STILL here I fuckin’ am. You can do whatever you like, bring any weapon you want, gather together a whole fuckin’ army and it won’t matter a fuckin’ damn! I only need one shot to take anybodies fuckin’ head off and I never hesitate. Aly learned that tonight.”
Danny takes a slow toke of his joint.
And so will anybody fuckin’ else that thinks they can step into MY ring! You think I needed a damn insurance policy?”
Danny raises a clenched fist into shot.
”This is my freakin’ insurance policy.”
Danny looks from belt to belt and then back at the camera, speaking softly.
”You think I’m goin’ to let you get your hands on these, Peacock? You did good tonight, bud. But make no mistake about it, this as far as you’re gonna go. I bet you think it’s all settin’ up perfectly for you, Peacock, dontcha? Chris Peacock cashin’ in on Danny Toner basically writes itself. Chris’s little fairytale.”
Danny’s eyes narrow and his nostrils flare as he speaks through gritted teeth.
“Why don’t you go and ask that little fuckin’ freak Devin Golden what happens when the big bad comes along and inserts himself in fairytales? But don’t fret, Peacock.”
Danny turns out the pocket of his hoodie and smiles while holding it.
”If you’re afraid, there’s plenty of room for you to hide in here. You should be used to being in here anyway, bitch.”
Danny’s reddening eyes dance around his head as he laughs crazily.
”As for ol’ Dev’… somebody need to just put the slow bastard out of his misery. Why don’t you focus on that, Peacock? That’s about your level, bud.”
Danny stubs his joint out against the lens of the camera, leaving a stain of ash in the top right hand corner of the screen.
”You wanna talk about my level? You wanna talk about the biggest draw in professional wrestling? I’ve put PPV buy-rates through the fuckin’ roof. I’ve gotten the wcnetwork to pump more money than ever before into production. I’ve single-handedly restored the prestige of what it means to be the champion of the world, just like I put the freakin’ tag team division on my back. I own this fuckin’ shit. Nobody can get anywhere damn near me. Nobody. As we inch closer and closer to a new year, to Back in Business season, you can be sure of one thing…”
Danny takes the two championships off his shoulders and raises them in the air with the faceplates facing away from the camera.
”New challengers.”
Danny turns his back to the camera so that everyone can now view the championship belts in all their glory. His black hoodie has white writing emblazoned onto the back of it - it reads “VIOLET DREYER”. He turns his head so that his side profile is just about visible, and then winks.
”Same champion.”
Static.
