Post by Johnny Vachon on Nov 24, 2017 21:27:15 GMT -5
The night is cold and damp as the wind blows gently through the darkened sky. We hear a knocking noise as the camera pans in on a bar. The wind is knocking the old open side back and forth, bouncing off of the window outside. Music is playing inside of the bar, but is muffled from the outside. We hear a commotion as the sound of glass shattering shakes the camera. Suddenly, the door opens violently and we hear some yelling from inside the bar. Two large Security members step out of the bar dragging a intoxicated Punk between them. He is shouting and spitting as they simple toss him to the ground. The Punk stands to his feet and eyes the Security members.
"Piss off the both of you! My tab'll get covered when I'm good and fucking ready! Until then you can swallow my load!"
The Punk, known as Johnny Vachon, grabs his package and flicks off both of the Security guards. They stand unfazed by this Punks actions. Johnny steps up as the two cross their arms. He eyes them up and down before snorting and spitting a warm loogie into their faces. They wipe it off and look at eachother before nailing Johnny directly in the face simultaneously. Johnny falls back into the garbage cans as the two chuckle and head back inside. Johnny sits up as the door slams and wipes blood from his nose. He looks back at the bar and screams out in anger.
"BITCHES!"
Johnny then grabs and lobs a half empty liquor bottle towards the door. It shatters on impact, creating a disgusting and sticky mess on the door. Johnny stumbles to his feet as he wipes his nose again with his jacket sleeve. He begins to feel his jacket as he searches for something. He sighs as he mutters to himself. Vachon then notices the camera as he turns to the cameraman.
"Got a cig?"
The camera shuffles before a pack of cigarettes appears in view. Johnny grabs one and tucks it behind his ear before grabbing another and lighting it up. The pack disappears behind the camera as Johnny plops himself down on the curb. He taps himself on the side of the head with the cigarette as he wipes some more blood from his nose and the corner of his mouth.
"Oh shit! Sorry, I was a little distracted by those fuckwits. So what's this about again? Oh right. Burning Hammer and Union Battleground. I gotta' say, this'll be the most normal match I've had in a long time. I'm used to getting to the nitty gritty and slinging around a steel chair into someones skull. But now I'm stepping into a normal match where I gotta' actually out wrestle my opponent. This should be a piece of cake!"
Johnny takes another drag from the cigarette as he sniffles, blood going right back up his nose and dripping down onto his shirt. Johnny doesn't care though. He's wearing rags for fucks sake.
"Now I'm not slouching on my opponent. HammerSTAIN is coocoo for cocoa puffs! He's been around the bank for a while, throwing hands and what not. Used to be all about the fans, now all about himself. Sounds a lot like me actually. See, I used to roll with a group of guys who were down to party every single night. Fans loved us and BY GAWD did we get a lot of chicks. Donna Rotten... how you doing? But then I decided to step out of their little ego clan and go off on my own. Make a name for myself. That brings me right here to Union Battleground. I heard about this joint quite a lot. It's quickly grown a name for itself. And when I got word about a free for all show deal. I hopped on the fucking train!"
Johnny chuckles. His left eye is now beginning to swell up. He mutters to himself as he accidentally touches it and winches in pain. He mouths the word fuck before continuing.
"Burning Hammer is gonna' be a night to remember. People from all over the world competing just to get their name out there. Now Hammerstain's already got his name out in the open. People know who the hell you are. But ol' Johnny Boy here is still relatively unknown. You've been doing this how long Chump? I'm just getting started in this game! I'm going in ready to make a name for myself. What are you going in for? Fame? Glory? Cuz ain't nothing on the line between us except some bragging rights. And what does that do for you? Maybe you're here for the competition. I've heard Union Battleground hosts the best in the world. Is that what it is Hammerstein? Are you one of these best in the worlders?"
Johnny puts his hands up in a questioning manner. He shrugs before continuing.
"Well whatever the reason, I'm here to hopefully kick the damn door open and take a little piece of the Battleground for myself. I just came off a Championship run and I'm already aching for another! I hear Emery defends against whoever, whenever. Maybe that fiery haired beaut'll give ol' Johnny Boy a shot! Or maybe I'll just go ahead and take it like I did with my last strap!"
Johnny licks his lips as the thought of Emery and the strap. Johnny's lust for Gold has increased since he just lost the DTW Eternal Warfare Championship. A belt he wanted to hold and represent proudly. Johnny takes another drag from the cigarette before his eyes widen. He looks at the camera with sudden excitement in his eyes.
"Quick question here though. Where are you Hammerstain? Cuz I haven't heard a damn peep from you since the match was announced aside from that one single Tweet thanking Santa. If you're thanking Santa you best call me the Grinch, cuz I'm about to ruin Christmas for you. It's not hard to imagine. I'm grumpy, my hearts probably three sizes too small, and I've got green hair that stands up. Only thing I'm missing is a jacked up nose and a beer belly. I'll eventually get the jacked up nose from all these damn Deathmatches. And if I stop working out I'll get a beer belly in no time. See, I am the fucking Grinch!"
Johnny chuckles as he stands to his feet and pulls out a flask. He unscrews the cap and tips it back, but nothing comes out. Johnny tips it upside down and a single drip comes out. He mutters the word fuck again before screwing the cap back on and slides the empty flask back in his jacket. He adjusts his jacket closed as he looks back to the camera, first leaning against a mailbox.
"Anyways, Hammerstain, I'll be at the Hammerstein Ballroom on December third. I'm hoping you won't play hooky like you've been doing and actually show up ready to fight. I'd love to see if the hype behind you is anything but verbal diarrhea."
Johnny throws up the peace sign before turning it to a middle finger as he takes the last drag off of his cigarette and flicks it at the camera. The butt hits it and bounces off as Johnny walks off into the night, attempting to find another bar or liquor store still open.
Post by hammerstein on Nov 26, 2017 21:30:00 GMT -5
Are you kidding me, Hammie?
Dave Buchanan, Hammerstein's “agent/manager/babysitter” facepalms as Hammerstein walks out of his hotel room, decked out in Philadelphia Eagles gear. Buchanan shakes his head, because Hammerstein's gear matches his.
Dude, why did you buy this Eagles stuff for? You know we're gonna have to fight our way to and from The Hammerstein Ballroom and the whole time we're there filming. And you also know I can't fight. That's it. We're gonna die on Thirty-fourth street in New York City, wearing gear for a team I don't even like in a sport I don't even watch.
Hammerstein laughs and slaps Dave on the shoulder.
Nah, man. We ain't gonna die.
Hammer rips the Eagles jacket off, revealing a New York Giants hoodie. He reaches into the pocket of the hoodie and pulls out a Giants beanie to replace the Eagles ball cap he was wearing. He turns and begins walking down the hallway.
At least not both of us.
*********” Hammerstein is standing under the marquee for The Manhattan Center, the home of The Hammerstein Ballroom.
He looks into the camera, cocks his head, smiles goofily, and waves
Hiiiii.
Hello everybody at Union Battleground,long time no see. Now I know it’s been awhile since I’ve been in your ring, and I know I’ve changed a lot since the last time you all have seen me, but there’s one thing that hasn’t changed. The fans of The Union Battleground are still as loud and raucous as any group of fans in the world. They love a good wrestling match and they love a good fight. And coming up on December Third, at the Hammerstein Ballroom, you’re gonna get both, when yours truly meets “The Punk” Johnny Vachon.
The American Monster scratches his head, as if in thought.
Now if memory serves me, you’re the same Johnny Vachon that stabbed your best friend in the back and burned y’alls little clubhouse down. Well, while I’ve never taken part in arson, I did commit what, outside the ring, would be considered felonious assault on several people that I called friend.
But, that’s the past, and I’m a right now kind of guy. And right now, I’m thinking of how much product it takes to keep that mohawk up. Wait, no, that’s not exactly true. Right now, what I’m really thinking of is how much you had to pay to get someone to come up with the HammerSTAIN thing, cause it’s obvious you ain’t smart enough to come up with something as moderately witty as HammerSTAIN. No, that’s not really what I’m thinking, either. That’s the stuff that the old Hammerstein would’ve come up with. What I’m really REALLY thinking of is how was I so lucky to get paired up with another fuck-it-all let’s fight type of guy like Johnny ‘Gutter Trash Scum’ Vachon?
I know that there’s no special stipulations on our match. It’s not a Texas Death Match, or C-4 Barbwire Exploding Ring Pirhana Tank Match. Hell, this ain’t even a Judy Bagwell on a Pole Match. This is a straight up wrestling match. And I’ve become one of the better actual wrestlers in this sport. I got more than enough moves and holds to put you down and keep you down, Johnny Boy, but let’s be honest. The Union Battleground fans, especially the ones that are gonna be at the Hammerstein Ballroom, don’t wanna see us trade standing wristlocks and collar and elbow tie-ups. They wanna see us kick the hell out of each other. Now, usually, I could give two fucks what the fans think, but since we’re gonna be in the house that bears my name, let’s give the fans what they really want: blood, violence, and aggression.
Hammerstein smiles wickedly.
I ain’t strapped for cash, so I’m more than willing to voluntarily give up my share of the gate and just say fuck it, let’s fight! What do you say,Johnny Boy? You got the stones to throw caution to the wind and get your hands dirty for free? You'd better be, cause I ain't coming to go hold for hold and counter for counter.
I coming to knock your teeth down your fucking throat.
I hope what they say about the New York City fans being tough as hell and hardcore is true, because on Friday night at The Hammerstein Ballroom, it won't be a Miracle on 34th Street, it'll be a goddamn massacre.
Hammerstein again cocks his head, grins, and waves.
