[SV and Geoff are sitting at a table in an empty room, with a camera across the room from them, with a man ready to operate it. This room has to be in the arena for the next show, since they're just passers passing by trying to pass as average dudes passing the bare minimum for passing to live. Passed, sweet. Like an A, or an A+, like this arena. Huge, like the spirit of the Japanese. But empty, like the heads of many who have entered the arena in its lifetime. SV stands, and Geoff follows his move. SV points to the camera man, and the light starts to blink on and off on the camera.]
SV: Okay, Geoff, I’ve brought you here today to refine some of your skill. Plain and simple, your ranting ability. While given, your rants aren’t bad in the least, but simply…they’re rough. They need some work, so today, we’re going to do what I’m going to call, *insert massive reverb*RANTERS….DE…LIGHTTTTT!*ultra panic zooming in and out* So Geoff, lets start off with the basics of a rant. A simple start, with a joke about your opponents’ mother. Watch my example.
*>_> <_<* Eric Helms, you’re mother’s so fat, when I told her she had a phat ass, she said “which one?”
Okay Geoff, lets see what you’ve got.
Houston: *thinking* Clipper, Kannon, I’ve got a little question for the two of you. What’s the difference between a duck and your mothers?
SV: what’s that? ! ?
Houston: One’s a mallard, and…I can’t remember the rest, but your mothers were whores.
SV: YES! *signals for touchdown* Great start to the rant. But now we get down and dir-tay. The next part, to a good rant, is to put the fear into them…the fear that they’ll never be as funny as you, as witty as you, as anything as you. You’re setting the stage of superiority, and well, you need to be super to be superior, and hell, that’s why I’m super. Super duper. Not a pooper scooper. But maybe a looper blooper. Or a cooper mini? Hell if I know, the idea is to, if possible, listen to their rants and raves about you, and then just piss all over their so-called erection speeches. Like for example, my first opponent in CPW, Eric Helms went nuts in his erection speech to me. So, I analyze him, not anally of course, but I look at his speech. I look at the tone, I find the miniscule sign of weariness, and I echo it out until I find the antidote to his erection. In this case, I’m lucky I found it rather easily.
Eric Helms…did your little speech make you feel like a bigger man? Did it give you the testosterone fueled raging hard-on you wanted? I hope it did, because I’m about to burst your bubble, even if it doesn’t last more than minute long. Thanks for welcoming me out of retirement, as everyone knows you can’t just walk away in your prime. I am clearly in mine. I mean, lookie here. I’ve got a match with you, Eric. I hope you aren’t letting frustration build up inside you, because everyone know that causes cancer of many forms; testicular, prostate, bladder, horseface, and so on. But everyone knows, frustration just leads to one thing; more frustration. So don’t get frustrated when you can’t take out your frustration out on me frustratingly, frustrating isn’t it? I’d hope so.
I hope this is a beating, because that’s all I’ll ever expect from an inferior individual such as yourself, Eric. I don’t want anyone to respect anything I’ve ever done, because if they do, they just might get let down, like you’re about to be, Eric. Don’t respect me, don’t acknowledge, don’t do any of those things, because we all know you’re going to make some mistake in the match. Sure if I don’t take advantage of it, I’m damn sure mister Dave Helms will. I don’t know him, but as long as he’s fine with me and doesn’t touch me, I’m fine with him. So if in our match, he just decides to completely knock any last bit of talent out of you, I will just snicker, as …IT WASN’T MY FAULT. Piss on you and your little whineries.
Walnuts? Seriously Eric, what kind of man eats a fucking walnut? Everyone knows real men eat pistachios. And I’m a real man. I eat pistachios. And they taste GOOD. LIKE FUCKING CHEESE. FUCK-ING CHEE-SE. REAL GOOD. I scoff at you, I BITE MY GOD DAMNED THUMB AT YOU. I don’t care if you’ve been beaten. IT’S FUCKING FUN. WANT TO STOP BEING RIDICULED? THEN STOP FUCKING SUCKING AND HAVE A DAMN TALENTED MATCH FOR ONCE. Sure jobbing to AJ may be you’re idea of being a talented star, but me, no. Not looking for a great technical battle, or a submission victory? Well no shit, because I wouldn’t expect that from an untalented little brawler shit like you. Stop bullshitting yourself. I am a god damn brawler. I am a spotfest. I couldn’t give two shits less about whether I win by a submission, KO, pin, DQ, count out or anything. I’m in it to win, and it’s simple as that. So quit your bitching about that, becauser you can’t do otherwise from brawling like a drunk Sooner.
This head full of steam you speak of? It’s just a handful of shit to me. I don’t need confidence to beat you. Tch, you have so much confidence in yourself that you’re going to make the first mistake. That’s all I need to beat you. Once I beat you, and send you back to another year of midcard hell, we’ll see who’s who and where they belong in the hall of fame. I plan on you being just the first of many I throw fist-i-cuffs with in CPW. Like you said, I have no skill, no brains, no talent, no charisma, no anyhting. So with that in mind…I ask you one simple question, Eric Helms:
If I bring no talent, no skill, no charisma, no brains, no anything to the match, just what the fuck exactly do you bring to this match? Because from what I have seen thus far, you’re just a motormouth fool with a large head, tiny balls, and some slut to make you dinner. So I ask, what do you bring to the match?
…See Geoff, that’s a fucking rant right there baby. The meat and potatoooooes. You give it a try now.
