Post by Malaki Toala on Mar 23, 2014 5:26:19 GMT
You brought a list, seriously?
Hey, there’s a lot of guys to keep track of this week.
A lot? Three people?
Hey, don’t belittle me when I am being organised, just because you found the volume button doesn’t make you the master of the art of promotional speeches.
Malaki shakes his head.
So who is first on your agenda.
I figured we start on a high note and knock the champerino out of the park, why start on a bleached moron and sado-masochistic Paddy when there’s a participant with actual credentials involved.
I’m impressed, you treated Davey with some respect.
Hop-along cripple? He’s a champion so he must be doing something right.
Just… let me handle this.
Joey holds up his hands as he stands by Malaki.
So, Davey, it’s come down to this. A match where there may be a semblance of legitimacy involved instead of the corporate induced farce last month, but let’s not pretend the terms I dictated last month have changed. The fact is, you have something I want and regardless of the unfortunate situation you found yourself in at the hands of the Empire, or Ragnorok, or whatever the hell they call themselves, I have no intention of allowing you to leave with it again.
Last month you were offered to me on a sacrificial platter and regardless of the accusations of stupidity that were thrown my way, I had no intention of becoming Spike Kane’s pet project with a constant target on my back.
But what I did wasn’t out of charity.
I’d have pinned him…
You see, Ortega, there’s a phrase, start as you mean to go on and whilst leaving men incapacitated is certainly on my list, scavenging victories off the back of others isn’t how I will operate as Imperial champion. I want everyone to realise precisely what I am and that’s a phenomenal athlete who should be feared, not a puppet who should be loathed. I have a simple philosophy, I turn up, I toss you around like rag dolls and then I walk away with my hand raised in the air.
It may not be refined, but it works.
I’m not here to play games, or to be cast into this sordid pantomime, I’m here to win and fulfil all of my potential be investing my extraordinary strength into putting men like you down, regardless of who you are. You could be the greatest guy in the world or complete pondlife, none of it makes a difference. To me, you’re just another wall which needs to broken through, an obstacle in my path that must be vanquished.
You went through hell to obtain that prize which we all clamour so greatly for and nobody can take that night away from you, but what you gained from it is a completely different matter.
Since the day I walked in here and proved that the cream always rises I earned this opportunity and failure is not something that I am accustomed to. The moment I won this contract, I promised myself that I wouldn’t be just another monster who sweeps all before him only to be vanquished by a would be David when it matters.
I am here to win.
Nothing else is an option, even though it is a cliché that will be trotted out by everybody else there’s no reason to pretend otherwise. If I fail this weekend, I could tuck my tail between my legs and blame it on the numbers game, or the way Jupiter aligns with Mars or any other excuse people cling to but the fact is I will have to accept I wasn’t good enough.
And that isn’t something I’m willing to do.
Nor am I, do you realise how much money I’ve spent training him?
You used expired coupons to con an elderly Russian, don’t take credit for that.
Sheesh, tough crowd…
Joey pulls at his colour whilst looking away from Malaki as our scene slowly fades to black.
Let me see that.
Malaki grabs Joey’s list.
Davey Ortega, Mike Laszlo, wait… anchovies?
So… it’s a hybrid list.
This is a shopping list with haphazardly names scribbled in between.
I don’t know what hap…whatever means but give me some credit, I’m making an effort.
Let’s get back to the matter at hand, whose next?
Ugh, Mike Laszlo. I tried to forget this guy even existed, talk about a moron, have you ever seen his twitter account? Watching him and Spike trade lustful gazes for ten months has been nauseating.
I don’t use Twitter, Joey, I have a life.
Do you want me to handle this? I’ve got so many things I want to say to this serial failure…
I think for the sake of everyone, I’ll take it from here…
So, Mike, we meet again, so soon after the last time I put my boot down your throat, but I guess this time I can at least be thankful that you appreciate my reasoning for not picking apart Ortega’s bloated corpse like a vulture.
Not that I ever asked for your opinion but hey, it’s the nature of the game, right?
You give your opinion, and I give mine and we do this little verbal dance and the folks at home get to pick a winner, the only problem is, I have absolutely no desire to justify myself to you. How I choose to conduct myself, and whether you agree with it are frankly irrelevant, all that matters is that I've proven my quality.
Honestly, Mike, and you can take this any way you see fit, but forgive me for not taking career advice from the guy who lost his title so fast we barely remember he held it and has floated between “almost breakout moment” to embarrassment since his rising star got extinguished by Roberto Verona for three months straight. The fact is, the only example I intend to follow is how not to make the same mistakes as you., because Lord knows I don't want to get caught in a permanent cycle of mediocrity following an abject failure when it matter.
Wow, a cheap shot, I’m impressed.
You embody everything I don’t want to be, you are the guy who everyone was so hot on for so long who burnt out in his finest hour and has taken a whole year to ascend the same platform he failed to launch from once already. Everybody thought you were going to take that next step, you were hot property and were moments away from glory.
A few defeats later and fast forward a year, and you’re just the guy who never fulfilled his potential.
Granted, I imagine you intend to put those demons to bed this weekend and have convinced yourself that this is your chance to redeem yourself and show me how a legacy is built, but then, you would say that, wouldn’t you? Just like I will promise to take home the prize I could have snatched so easily, the only difference is…
He means it.
Whereas you? You just want to believe it? You pray that you can put the nightmares to bed and recapture the adulation that used to follow you around, back in the day where you could waltz out to that ring with a microphone and make all the demands under the sun and because your stock was high people would take notice instead of shake their head and beg you stop. You’ve been living a lie for a long time now, Laszlo, and whether you care what I have to say or think its harsh is frankly irrelevant.
It’s time somebody spoke to you honestly instead of baiting you into making a fool of yourself.
Underneath that cocksure exterior is a man with raw talent, there is a reason why people believed you could be the next big thing once upon a time and whether people care to admit it, somewhere deep down you can still realise that potential and that makes you a genuine threat.
You’re not just here to make up the numbers, you’re here to win.
I would be a liar if I said I wasn’t aware of the threat that you pose, but I’d be a bigger one if I pretended as though I am intimidated by it. For every skill you possess, your arrogant assumption that you can read us all like a book and rip us apart with “scathingly witty” retorts is exactly why you always fail to bring home the big prize.
You spend so long trying to dissect your opponents that you fail to look in the mirror and address the problems closer to home that will continue to plague you, instead you just make empty promises to remedy all of your mistakes and finally prove yourself to be more than what we all see you for.
So consider what I do to you this weekend as an opportunity for clarity, a moment of reflection on where you’re going wrong by observing a rising star whose momentum doesn’t peter out at the final hurdle and maybe, just maybe…
The Roulette could give you an opportunity to remedy your flaws.
Just don’t count on vanquishing your demons at the biggest show of the year either, history has a habit of repeating itself.
Whose left?
Joey rolls his eyes.
Oh great, this guy. Simon de Montfort Junior.
Spike.
I suppose some people call him that, I mean unless he defaults on his copyright again…
That arrogant, pompous jackass…
You’ve clearly met.
Malaki’s lip curls in disgust as he stares at the camera.
His inclusion in the match may not be confirmed, but the fact that Spike Kane is anywhere near the Imperial Championship makes me sick. There is no doubt that he was a dominant champion, but his reign reached its expiry date when he overstretched himself and was laid on his back by Davey Ortega. Yet, because he’s in Simon de Montfort’s back pocket…
That bastard… well figuratively speaking…
He gets chance, after chance, after chance, just by stomping his feet like a spoiled brat begging for the latest action toy. Even if he fails to win this title match he gets to scurry into the Roulette like a rat in search of a meal. It says everything about what is wrong with this company when a man of such ability doesn’t get to absorb the fact his time in the sun is momentarily over because his sugar daddy keeps sweetening the pot to keep him on top.
Let’s be blunt, Spike, you don’t deserve to be anywhere near this belt, you had your chance to keep our grubby little fingers off it but in the end, you ran out of steam and kissed goodbye to everything you got your hands bloody to retain. Now… now you get to persue a jilted lover month after month because a man in a suit has decided to enable your desires to achieve his own twisted ends, you’re nothing but a puppet who is blind to his strings.
This weekend, I know you will do anything in your power to get back what you so pompously believe is your God given right based on an achievement accomplished months ago, but you will have to employ your inventive methods of suppression to stop me from doing everything in my power to ensure you are sent back down the ladder where you belong.
Don’t be so sure, this guy is like the turd you just can’t flush.
Really?
What? It felt like a good analogy.
This is exactly why I said to let me do the talking.
Joey opens his mouth but swiftly raises his arms and steps back, conceding to the significantly larger Toala.
Spike, you and I may never see eye to eye, and quite frankly I could care less what you think of me, the fact is I think you’re a crooked little weasel devoid of honour and filled with a twisted sense of entitlement but underneath that spiteful exterior still beats the heart of a veteran whose ability far surpasses 90% of this roster.
You’re dangerous, and I won’t overlook it based on my personal feelings.
You could easily dispatch Xander, regardless of his skill, and walk into this match and render the Roulette entry irrelevant and Lord knows you’d fit right back on that throne built atop the bodies of your vanquished foes without even batting an eyelid.
But fairytales, grim or otherwise, are just that. Fairytales.
If you somehow manage to slither past Xander, believe me when I say this, I will make sure that you have to expel a little more energy and face lady luck in the Roulette because the time for new blood is upon us. You’re a relic of a bygone age and I am the future, not Davey, not Laszlo. I will never pretend to be a wrestling addict or come from an impressive pedigree of wrestling royalty, I know what I am and quite frankly when push comes to shove, where we come from is irrelevant.
I will walk into High Stakes the marauding outsider who game from nowhere and I will leave the Imperial Champion.
No ifs, no buts, no excuses.
This weekend is do, or die.
The Age of Toala has begun!
Really? The Age of Toala?
Did you have a better idea?
Not ending my promo sounding like a jackass?
Malaki turns back to the camera.
Mark my words gentlemen, no matter what you do, you cannot stop me accomplishing my goal. A new sun is rising, on a reign which will never set. You can either bask in its glory, or envy it in the shade.
I have come to finish what I started when I was crowned the IWF Gladiator all those months ago.
I promise.
Malaki turns again, walking out of frame as Joey soon realises he has his list.
Oh, shit, make sure you add mozzarella, my lady friend loves cheese and tomato toasties.
Is the lady friend you.
Just add it!
Joey shouts after Malaki, chasing him out of shot as our scene slowly fades to black.
Hey, there’s a lot of guys to keep track of this week.
A lot? Three people?
Hey, don’t belittle me when I am being organised, just because you found the volume button doesn’t make you the master of the art of promotional speeches.
Malaki shakes his head.
So who is first on your agenda.
I figured we start on a high note and knock the champerino out of the park, why start on a bleached moron and sado-masochistic Paddy when there’s a participant with actual credentials involved.
I’m impressed, you treated Davey with some respect.
Hop-along cripple? He’s a champion so he must be doing something right.
Just… let me handle this.
Joey holds up his hands as he stands by Malaki.
So, Davey, it’s come down to this. A match where there may be a semblance of legitimacy involved instead of the corporate induced farce last month, but let’s not pretend the terms I dictated last month have changed. The fact is, you have something I want and regardless of the unfortunate situation you found yourself in at the hands of the Empire, or Ragnorok, or whatever the hell they call themselves, I have no intention of allowing you to leave with it again.
Last month you were offered to me on a sacrificial platter and regardless of the accusations of stupidity that were thrown my way, I had no intention of becoming Spike Kane’s pet project with a constant target on my back.
But what I did wasn’t out of charity.
I’d have pinned him…
You see, Ortega, there’s a phrase, start as you mean to go on and whilst leaving men incapacitated is certainly on my list, scavenging victories off the back of others isn’t how I will operate as Imperial champion. I want everyone to realise precisely what I am and that’s a phenomenal athlete who should be feared, not a puppet who should be loathed. I have a simple philosophy, I turn up, I toss you around like rag dolls and then I walk away with my hand raised in the air.
It may not be refined, but it works.
I’m not here to play games, or to be cast into this sordid pantomime, I’m here to win and fulfil all of my potential be investing my extraordinary strength into putting men like you down, regardless of who you are. You could be the greatest guy in the world or complete pondlife, none of it makes a difference. To me, you’re just another wall which needs to broken through, an obstacle in my path that must be vanquished.
You went through hell to obtain that prize which we all clamour so greatly for and nobody can take that night away from you, but what you gained from it is a completely different matter.
Since the day I walked in here and proved that the cream always rises I earned this opportunity and failure is not something that I am accustomed to. The moment I won this contract, I promised myself that I wouldn’t be just another monster who sweeps all before him only to be vanquished by a would be David when it matters.
I am here to win.
Nothing else is an option, even though it is a cliché that will be trotted out by everybody else there’s no reason to pretend otherwise. If I fail this weekend, I could tuck my tail between my legs and blame it on the numbers game, or the way Jupiter aligns with Mars or any other excuse people cling to but the fact is I will have to accept I wasn’t good enough.
And that isn’t something I’m willing to do.
Nor am I, do you realise how much money I’ve spent training him?
You used expired coupons to con an elderly Russian, don’t take credit for that.
Sheesh, tough crowd…
Joey pulls at his colour whilst looking away from Malaki as our scene slowly fades to black.
The sun beams down on a small wooden house as the sound of waves lapping up against a golden shore can be heard in the distance as tropical birds swoop overhead. Walking up a small path we can see Joey Leroux, complete with a tacky handheld fan and large sunglasses, flanked by Malaki Toala who appears to be lecturing Joey.
Malaki Toala: Whatever you do, don’t treat her like a savage.
Joey Leroux: What do you take me for, an idiot?
Malaki tilts his head slightly.
Joey Leroux: Okay, don’t answer that
Malaki Toala: I mean it, try to activate whatever etiquette you have locked away in there from the silver spoon you were born with.
Joey Leroux: Oh, ouch, the spoiled rich kid jibe, way to trample on my feelings.
Malaki Toala: I wasn’t aware you had any.
Malaki smiles at Joey sarcastically before knocking on the door, which is opening briefly after a few moment by a small, frail looking Samoan lady, whose eyes light up when they spot Malaki.
Maria Toala: Malaki!
Pushing the bug net aside she steps out and embraces the huge frame of Toala as Joey steps back.
Maria Toala: It’s so good to see you!
Malaki Toala: It’s nice to see you too mom… have the cheques been arriving like I promised?
She nods.
Maria Toala: Yes, yes. Let’s not talk about money, why don’t you introduce me to your friend?
Joey suddenly perks up sheepishly, straightening his tie and clearing his throat.
Malaki Toala: Mom, this is my… agent, Joey Leroux.
Maria Toala: So this is the famous Joey.
Joey bows awkwardly.
Joey Leroux: It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.
Reaching forward Joey grabs her hand and gently kisses it before pulling himself away as Malaki glares down at him.
Maria Toala: My, aren’t you a charming young man.
Malaki Toala: Oh, he’s sure something alright…
Maria Toala: Malaki! Don’t be rude to our guest.
Malaki Toala: I…
Maria stares at Malaki who immediately gets the hint.
Joey Leroux: Forgive him, he’s been spending too much time with American’s lately, he appears to have absorbed their lack of manners.
Malaki Toala: Are you kidding me?
Maria Toala: Don’t make me put you over my knee young man! I may be old and fragile but I will still beat some manners into you.
Malaki Toala: Mom, I’m not a kid anymore.
Joey Leroux: He’s not normally like this, I swear.
Joey smiles, putting Maria at ease as Malaki tries to cool down.
Maria Toala: You boys both look starving.
Joey Leroux: I must confess, we are parched and poor Malaki has been craving your wonderful home cooked food for months now.
Maria Toala: Then come on in, the table is already laid for you both.
Joey Leroux: Well, only if isn’t too much trouble?
Maria Toala: Not at all! Please, follow me young man.
Maria turns and walks back into the house as Malaki looks at Joey in complete disbelief.
Malaki Toala: Who are you, and what have you done with Joey Leroux?
Malaki stares at Joey.
Joey Leroux: I love this woman!
Malaki follows Joey into the house, barely containing his rage before closing the door behind him as our scene slowly fades to black.
Let me see that.
Malaki grabs Joey’s list.
Davey Ortega, Mike Laszlo, wait… anchovies?
So… it’s a hybrid list.
This is a shopping list with haphazardly names scribbled in between.
I don’t know what hap…whatever means but give me some credit, I’m making an effort.
Let’s get back to the matter at hand, whose next?
Ugh, Mike Laszlo. I tried to forget this guy even existed, talk about a moron, have you ever seen his twitter account? Watching him and Spike trade lustful gazes for ten months has been nauseating.
I don’t use Twitter, Joey, I have a life.
Do you want me to handle this? I’ve got so many things I want to say to this serial failure…
I think for the sake of everyone, I’ll take it from here…
So, Mike, we meet again, so soon after the last time I put my boot down your throat, but I guess this time I can at least be thankful that you appreciate my reasoning for not picking apart Ortega’s bloated corpse like a vulture.
Not that I ever asked for your opinion but hey, it’s the nature of the game, right?
You give your opinion, and I give mine and we do this little verbal dance and the folks at home get to pick a winner, the only problem is, I have absolutely no desire to justify myself to you. How I choose to conduct myself, and whether you agree with it are frankly irrelevant, all that matters is that I've proven my quality.
Honestly, Mike, and you can take this any way you see fit, but forgive me for not taking career advice from the guy who lost his title so fast we barely remember he held it and has floated between “almost breakout moment” to embarrassment since his rising star got extinguished by Roberto Verona for three months straight. The fact is, the only example I intend to follow is how not to make the same mistakes as you., because Lord knows I don't want to get caught in a permanent cycle of mediocrity following an abject failure when it matter.
Wow, a cheap shot, I’m impressed.
You embody everything I don’t want to be, you are the guy who everyone was so hot on for so long who burnt out in his finest hour and has taken a whole year to ascend the same platform he failed to launch from once already. Everybody thought you were going to take that next step, you were hot property and were moments away from glory.
A few defeats later and fast forward a year, and you’re just the guy who never fulfilled his potential.
Granted, I imagine you intend to put those demons to bed this weekend and have convinced yourself that this is your chance to redeem yourself and show me how a legacy is built, but then, you would say that, wouldn’t you? Just like I will promise to take home the prize I could have snatched so easily, the only difference is…
He means it.
Whereas you? You just want to believe it? You pray that you can put the nightmares to bed and recapture the adulation that used to follow you around, back in the day where you could waltz out to that ring with a microphone and make all the demands under the sun and because your stock was high people would take notice instead of shake their head and beg you stop. You’ve been living a lie for a long time now, Laszlo, and whether you care what I have to say or think its harsh is frankly irrelevant.
It’s time somebody spoke to you honestly instead of baiting you into making a fool of yourself.
Underneath that cocksure exterior is a man with raw talent, there is a reason why people believed you could be the next big thing once upon a time and whether people care to admit it, somewhere deep down you can still realise that potential and that makes you a genuine threat.
You’re not just here to make up the numbers, you’re here to win.
I would be a liar if I said I wasn’t aware of the threat that you pose, but I’d be a bigger one if I pretended as though I am intimidated by it. For every skill you possess, your arrogant assumption that you can read us all like a book and rip us apart with “scathingly witty” retorts is exactly why you always fail to bring home the big prize.
You spend so long trying to dissect your opponents that you fail to look in the mirror and address the problems closer to home that will continue to plague you, instead you just make empty promises to remedy all of your mistakes and finally prove yourself to be more than what we all see you for.
So consider what I do to you this weekend as an opportunity for clarity, a moment of reflection on where you’re going wrong by observing a rising star whose momentum doesn’t peter out at the final hurdle and maybe, just maybe…
The Roulette could give you an opportunity to remedy your flaws.
Just don’t count on vanquishing your demons at the biggest show of the year either, history has a habit of repeating itself.
We rejoin Malaki and Joey as the pair walk out of the little house onto a small wooden porch, the cool breeze breaking up the humidity of the Samoan sun for a brief moment. Joey looks up at Malaki, a little concerned.
Joey Leroux: Did I make a fool of myself?
Malaki Toala: When don’t you make a fool of yourself?
Joey Leroux: Stop side stepping the question!
Malaki Toala: Amazingly, no, you didn’t.
Malaki pauses, before continuing reluctantly.
Malaki Toala: She actually… kind of likes you…
Joey is slightly taken aback.
Joey Leroux: Excuse me?
Malaki Toala: She thinks you’re… charming, in your own way.
Joey Leroux: Are you trying to mock me?
Malaki Toala: I wish I was…
Joey suddenly begins to develop a grin, before wrapping an arm around Malaki.
Joey Leroux: She has fine taste, you could be looking at your future step father…
Malaki Toala: Don’t push it…
Joey Leroux: Oh I mean it, didn’t you taste those mashed potatoes?
Malaki shakes his head.
Malaki Toala: Odds were somebody would be able to tolerate you eventually, don’t get carried away. This just means I won’t be able to kick you to the curb quite so easily…
Joey Leroux: Hey, without me you wouldn’t be back in this title match this weekend!
Malaki Toala: You have your uses.
Joey Leroux: I suppose a thank you is a little too much to ask?
Malaki glares at Joey.
Joey Leroux: Still a little peeved at the whole “I’m Simon’s son and was hired to whore you out like a cheap slut” thing then huh…
Malaki Toala: I’d tried to forget about it, if you were smart you’d stop bringing it up.
Joey Leroux: I keep feeling like I should have said something…
Malaki Toala: Like sorry?
Joey Leroux: No, that’s not it…
Malaki’s nostrils flare but just before he can slap Joey around the back of the head he is forced to yank his arm behind his back as his mother calls back from the porch.
Maria Toala: Malaki! You leave Joseph alone!
Joey turns around, oblivious to what was about to befall him.
Malaki Toala: He had a bug on him…
Joey Leroux: Oh, crap, really!? Where? Get it off! Don’t let it lay eggs in my brain!
Joey runs away, his arms flailing wildly in the air as Malaki rolls his eyes, his mother slowly making his way down the path to her son.
Maria Toala: I want you to promise me something Malaki.
Malaki Toala: Sure mom, whatever you want.
Maria Toala: You look after that boy.
Malaki Toala: Who, Joey?
Maria nods her head slowly, smiling.
Maria Toala: I know he’s a little eccentric, but inside he’s just a little boy craving the father figure he never had, you need to look out for him.
Malaki Toala: You got all that from dinner?
Maria Toala: No, Google. Did you never think to read up on his family?
Malaki closes his eyes, resisting the urge to say “D’oh”.
Malaki Toala: Ok, mom… I promise.
Maria smiles, stepping back a little.
Maria Toala: You two boys have a safe trip!
Malaki Toala: We will…
Malaki leans down and embraces her, kissing her on the cheek before turning and grabbing Joey who is still wildly throwing his arms about screaming. As he drags Leroux away our scene begins to fade to black, closing on Maria shaking her head, a satisfied smile on her face.
Whose left?
Joey rolls his eyes.
Oh great, this guy. Simon de Montfort Junior.
Spike.
I suppose some people call him that, I mean unless he defaults on his copyright again…
That arrogant, pompous jackass…
You’ve clearly met.
Malaki’s lip curls in disgust as he stares at the camera.
His inclusion in the match may not be confirmed, but the fact that Spike Kane is anywhere near the Imperial Championship makes me sick. There is no doubt that he was a dominant champion, but his reign reached its expiry date when he overstretched himself and was laid on his back by Davey Ortega. Yet, because he’s in Simon de Montfort’s back pocket…
That bastard… well figuratively speaking…
He gets chance, after chance, after chance, just by stomping his feet like a spoiled brat begging for the latest action toy. Even if he fails to win this title match he gets to scurry into the Roulette like a rat in search of a meal. It says everything about what is wrong with this company when a man of such ability doesn’t get to absorb the fact his time in the sun is momentarily over because his sugar daddy keeps sweetening the pot to keep him on top.
Let’s be blunt, Spike, you don’t deserve to be anywhere near this belt, you had your chance to keep our grubby little fingers off it but in the end, you ran out of steam and kissed goodbye to everything you got your hands bloody to retain. Now… now you get to persue a jilted lover month after month because a man in a suit has decided to enable your desires to achieve his own twisted ends, you’re nothing but a puppet who is blind to his strings.
This weekend, I know you will do anything in your power to get back what you so pompously believe is your God given right based on an achievement accomplished months ago, but you will have to employ your inventive methods of suppression to stop me from doing everything in my power to ensure you are sent back down the ladder where you belong.
Don’t be so sure, this guy is like the turd you just can’t flush.
Really?
What? It felt like a good analogy.
This is exactly why I said to let me do the talking.
Joey opens his mouth but swiftly raises his arms and steps back, conceding to the significantly larger Toala.
Spike, you and I may never see eye to eye, and quite frankly I could care less what you think of me, the fact is I think you’re a crooked little weasel devoid of honour and filled with a twisted sense of entitlement but underneath that spiteful exterior still beats the heart of a veteran whose ability far surpasses 90% of this roster.
You’re dangerous, and I won’t overlook it based on my personal feelings.
You could easily dispatch Xander, regardless of his skill, and walk into this match and render the Roulette entry irrelevant and Lord knows you’d fit right back on that throne built atop the bodies of your vanquished foes without even batting an eyelid.
But fairytales, grim or otherwise, are just that. Fairytales.
If you somehow manage to slither past Xander, believe me when I say this, I will make sure that you have to expel a little more energy and face lady luck in the Roulette because the time for new blood is upon us. You’re a relic of a bygone age and I am the future, not Davey, not Laszlo. I will never pretend to be a wrestling addict or come from an impressive pedigree of wrestling royalty, I know what I am and quite frankly when push comes to shove, where we come from is irrelevant.
I will walk into High Stakes the marauding outsider who game from nowhere and I will leave the Imperial Champion.
No ifs, no buts, no excuses.
This weekend is do, or die.
The Age of Toala has begun!
Really? The Age of Toala?
Did you have a better idea?
Not ending my promo sounding like a jackass?
Malaki turns back to the camera.
Mark my words gentlemen, no matter what you do, you cannot stop me accomplishing my goal. A new sun is rising, on a reign which will never set. You can either bask in its glory, or envy it in the shade.
I have come to finish what I started when I was crowned the IWF Gladiator all those months ago.
I promise.
Malaki turns again, walking out of frame as Joey soon realises he has his list.
Oh, shit, make sure you add mozzarella, my lady friend loves cheese and tomato toasties.
Is the lady friend you.
Just add it!
Joey shouts after Malaki, chasing him out of shot as our scene slowly fades to black.
Well howdy there pardner.