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Burned Cream

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Re: Burned Cream

Post by Red Chocolate on Mon May 14, 2018 9:12 pm

@lastlaughdz via twitter
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Finally got my revenge.



#revengeisadishbestservedcoldlikethebeeratmybarnowhalfoffthisweekincelebration
#youdontownthewordrevengeandrewssuckit

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Re: Burned Cream

Post by Mr. Dashing on Tue May 15, 2018 2:14 am

Honestly thought Dule would complain about White saying that counted as a pin, lol

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Re: Burned Cream

Post by Red Chocolate on Tue May 15, 2018 4:06 pm

I don't like how often you post in here
Your huge sig makes navigating on mobile miserable

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Re: Burned Cream

Post by Red Chocolate on Fri May 18, 2018 4:44 pm

ANGEL: Beautiful, isn't it?


The camera swings around Brett Angel, who's casually leaning against a wall in the hallway backstage, so that we may see what he does. And, boy, it's truly as advertised.





The crowd falls silent.

They're stunned.

Truly in awe at this sight, this masterpiece, this capturing of an incredible moment in CMV history. And then the first clap is heard. Then the second. And soon the thousands in attendance all join along, a rousing standing ovation as these people show their appreciation for being able to witness such a work of art without having their ticket prices raised. The camera cuts away from the arena where this is being shown on the titantron, and returns backstage so that Angel can be heard clearly. He breathes out with a contented sigh.



ANGEL: Feels like a lifetime ago, but, if I close my eyes, it's almost as if I'm back there, reliving that moment exactly as it happened. The crowd cheering, the cameras flashing, the world watching as I made history. They said I couldn't do it. They said something of this scope, of this magnitude, could never be accomplished in our lifetimes. "A wrestler putting ego and agenda aside to be a special guest referee? Impossible!"


Angel tsks while shaking his head.


ANGEL: How quickly they forget. I've built my career on the back of doing the impossible. That night was no different. If there was anyone who was going to break through that glass ceiling, and do what no other wrestler has done before, it was going to be me. That night I oversaw a war. For what felt like hours, I watched as two titans of this industry waged a battle the likes of which have never been seen before. Each strike shook the earth. Every slam left craters in the ground. All attempts to climb the ladder and grab that Anarchy Championship felt like a life or death decision with the odds always in death's favor. Still they took the gamble, but it could only pay off for one man.

Everyone expected me to strike when the competitor's were at their most vulnerable. It was a match between those two, yet they expected me to walk away with the championship. For shame. After everything I've gone through in that bootcamp--the sleepless nights, the awful food, the drill sergeant constantly blowing that whistle in my ear--to throw that all away and violate the referee code of honor...well that just isn't me. I have a new found respect for those men, a forgiveness for any errors that I wouldn't have had before this journey. Despite how easy I may have made being a referee look, it isn't.



Angel glances back at the framed picture--what looks to be a tear begins forming in the corner of his left eye.


ANGEL: A part of me wanted things to be like that forever. I was almost willing to throw my old life away as a wrestler and fully embrace the new me. The referee me. But I couldn't--not when there are still so many loose ends to tie up. Dulé and I still need to pay Kliq back for that twenty-seven second fiasco. And I've stopped counting, but I'm pretty sure I haven't won a single singles match on Genesis yet. At least one of things can be addressed tonight, while the other will come in due time. I knew a D'Angelo once, but he was no prince...and his hair wasn't as nice...


The sound of footsteps echoing in the hall catches Angel's attention. He turns with a smile thing it's Dulé Zaire, but instead he finds himself face to face with his opponent, D'Angelo St. Prince.


PRINCE: Brett, Brett, Brett. What happened to you? You couldn’t cut it as a wrestler anymore so you decided to try and cosplay as a ref? How bad is your attention addiction that you would sink to those levels just to stay relevant?


Angel tries to say something but prince cuts him off.


PRINCE: I wasn’t finished. When you are in the presence of royalty, you speak when you are spoken to. Do you understand, peasant? Multi-time champion, future 1st ballot hall of famer, one of the greatest superstars to ever step into a CMV ring. Now relegated to an insignificant referee, a shell of what he once was. A complete has-been who wasn’t able to defeat a man whose trombone solo lasted longer than his career, and that’s the man whom I’m facing tonight.


Prince takes a deep breath to calm himself down.


PRINCE: If that’s what has been written. Then let it be true. But I am warning you now. After tonight when I put you down. For your own legacy’s sake just stay down. I like you Brett, but you are nothing but an angel who has fallen from grace, and I would hate for what's left of your fans to have their last image of you be a broken pathetic version of the trash that you are now. After tonight you will bend the knee and respect you Prince. Or I’ll just have to leave your career in a worse state than she was....... See you in the ring champ.


Prince walks off, a look of confidence on his face. Angel's expression in turn is unreadable, even when Zaire actually walks over.


ZAIRE: What was that all about?


Angel looks at the framed pictured, then back at Zaire before sighing and shrugging.


ANGEL: Referees get no respect around here.


They walk off while Zaire excitedly tells Angel about how he layed himself down on Rhys Matthews' face.

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Re: Burned Cream

Post by Red Chocolate on Thu May 24, 2018 8:22 pm

We're treated to the sight of Brulé hanging out in the lunchroom. They sit at the table, trays of food in front of them, getting a quick bite to eat during before the show goes live in a few hours. Zaire is eating a perfectly-toasted grilled cheese sandwich, of course accompanied by a hearty bowl of tomato soup, while Angel has an absurdly large bowl of a variety of French fries set in front of him. There are sweet potato fries, cajun seasoned, chili cheese, curly, funnel, garlic parmesan, baked -- Zaire reaches for one, but Angel slaps his hand away...then takes a fry and dips it into Zaire's soup.

ANGEL: All the damage you've done, and you want to push your luck even more?

ZAIRE: Look, I didn't think that you would actually take the bet. Who in their right mind would try to wrestle with a jacket on?

ANGEL: I was pretty damn close to winning too, but the jacket was so tight I couldn't quite hook Prince's leg, and that slimy bastard got one over on me.

ZAIRE: You really have to resort to insults? There was a time when you could take a loss with grace and good spirits. Where's that Brett Angel?

ANGEL: It's far from an insult, mostly. I don't know what he puts in his hair, but I'm still trying to wash it out of my hands.


To prove his point, Angel sticks the palm of his right hand into Zaire's face for a sniff test forcing Zaire to tilt his head in a variety of angles to keep his nostrils clear of the stench.


ZAIRE: Can't say I lost sleep over the way the bet  played out; no way in hell was I ready to part with this magnificient beard.


Zaire casts an accusatory look in Angel's direction.


ANGEL: What?

ZAIRE: It's time we address the elephant in the room.


They turn simultaneously to the right and the combined might of their fiery stares makes the elephant uncomfortable enough to return from whence it came without further provocation.


ANGEL: How the--

ZAIRE: Don't change the subject--Why?

ANGEL: Why? I don't give a damn what you say; this mustache is working.

ZAIRE: It makes you look like you walked out of an 80's adult video shoot.

ANGEL: Hey, if this wrestling or refereeing thing doesn't work out, it's good to know I have options.


They laugh. Zaire because he actually found the statement funny. Angel to pretend he thinks it's funny while also making a mental note to return to that idea at a later date.

They eat in a serene silence, two brothers who've found themselves allied in a world where genuine friendships never seem to last. Through the downs and the ups, and the lefts and the rights, they've managed to stick together so that they may continue to forge their path to the top of the mountain. Odd as it may sound, they could almost stay like this forever, just two buddies going on their weekly adventures enjoying the good times and making the most out of the bad. But there's too much to do, too much to accomplish for them to rest on their laurels. Zaire is still looking for revenge for what happened to his bar; Angel constantly looking for what he lost when he made his way over to this side of CMV.

For now, they eat.

A piece of bread falls as Zaire takes a bite of his sandwich and before he can get to it, Angel slaps it out, because simply picking it out apparently wasn't an option. The crumb goes flying with incredible force until it strikes D'Angelo Prince in the chest so hard that he staggers back a few steps. There are about a dozen or so people other than these three in the cafeteria, and they all stop what they're doing, keeping their eyes on the scene, feeling that something is about to go down. A hush falls over the once busy room, so quiet you can hear Sons commentating NXT, as everyone waits to see how this will play out.
Prince wipes off his chest and glares and Angel seemingly in anger.



PRINCE: How dare you throw crumbs at me like I’m one of these bottom feeding peasants that chose to live in this god forsaken city. I am Royalty, dammit, and you will respect me as such you irrelevant waste of space.


D’Angelo steps back to calm himself down as this wasn’t the reason for his appearance.


PRINCE: You know what? I’ll let that one go, only for the reason that we are teammates tonight, and I need you to not screw this up. Which brings me to the reason I came, is this how you prepare for a match??? It’s beyond me how you became a champion with pre-match activities like this. No wonder you two didn’t win the titles.

ANGEL: Now hang on a second--

ZAIRE:   What a cheap shot.

ANGEL: --or twenty-seven seconds, to be exact.

PRINCE: Excuses are all I’m hearing. Brett you may be stuck in your ways that worked in the yesteryear, but that’s not how things work anymore. Zaire, how’d you do in the invitational again?

ZAIRE: It’s been a while since I’ve had to do math, but if my calculations are correct….  


He pulls out his phone and quickly delivers a succession of taps on the screen.


ZAIRE:  ...I finished with the same record you did last year.


Prince is caught off guard as he is reminded about his own Cyborg Invitational failure in the past. He gives Dulé a death stare and then continues.


PRINCE: Anyways.... as for tonight, I’m the only one who has held gold this season, so that makes me the de facto leader. Those 3 have something that we want. Shay has my Anarchy title that he doesn’t deserve, and you two are in the hunt for tag team gold, right? Well the so-called good brothers are standing in your way. Plus Xander and I have some unfinished business to address. Just follow my lead, and don’t screw this up, ok? Because if either of you cost me what is mine... Well Dulé, that bar will be the least of your worries.


Prince pauses and looks back at Brett and then at the crumb from earlier.


PRINCE: Keep him in line. I’d hate for you to lose another partner in an “accident.”


Prince smirks and walks off.


ANGEL: What does he mean Shay doesn’t deserve the title? I was there...I saw him deserve it with my own two eyes.

ZAIRE:   That’s what stood out to you? Not that I’m apparently gonna die in some acci--


He’s interrupted when Prince steps back into the frame.


PRINCE: By the way. It’s 100% Pure Jamaican Coconut Oil with a hint of Lemongrass. Keeps my hair in line and looking Royal.


Prince looks at the table and then at Brett, then back at the previously mentioned bowl of fries. Prince then proceeds to take a fry, dip it in Zaire’s soup, and he walks off.


PRINCE: And do something with that mustache, will you? Makes you look like you’re in the wrong business...


As the camera fades to black, we just barely catch Zaire giving Angel an “I told you so” look.

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Re: Burned Cream

Post by Red Chocolate on Wed Jun 06, 2018 12:33 am

The cameras cut away to backstage where Brulé can be seen preparing for their match later on in the show against a duo with no equals: Vintage.

Angel is pacing back and forth completely lost in his own thoughts, while Zaire casually leans against a wall, tapping away at his phone. Whatever's on his screen has his eyes open wide. He shakes his head and tucks the phone into the back of his trunks. He speaks out loud, his words intended for nobody in particular.



ZAIRE: I've been telling y'all: Slate is a punk. Destroying bars, this time a marriage. Shit, now I gotta call my wife and tell her, again, that what Rhys did was unprovoked, unsolicited and his feelings are unrequited. Let's be honest, I could do way better than him.


The easy alley oop set up for an Angel joke goes ignored, the ball flies out of bounds and somewhere into the stands. Zaire looks up, sees that Angel state of being hasn't really changed for however long they've been there. The Laugh walks over to his tag partner and places a hand on his shoulder. Angel snaps around, and it takes a moment for his wild-eyes gaze to transform into an expression that, at the very least, gives some kind of impression of sanity.


ANGEL: Watch this--


Angel turns to face the camera with a disarming smile on his face.


ANGEL: I am--


Those two words are all Angel has to say before the crowd picks up from where he left off. Even after all this time, the saying has clearly resonated with the CMV fanbase to the point where it's completely etched into their memories. When they finish, Angel is still smirking, his satisfaction written all over his face.


ANGEL: Those words will follow me for the rest of my life. The good and the bad that I've done in my life--the triumphs and low points in my career--every decision and misstep that brought me from UnMatched to Genesis, they all define me. And it's funny how the more things change, the more they stay the same.

Everybody thinks that Brett Angel is washed up, that I'm a joke, that I simply can't quite get it done anymore. They think that until they need a hero--until they need their asses pulled up out of the grave they dug for themselves. You think I called myself an outcast because I needed something cute printed on a t-shirt?



Angel smirks and shrugs.


ANGEL: Yes, but "outcast" was also a word that cut right to the point. I've never felt like I belonged on Genesis; I still don't. You and I, Dulé -- we exist on the fringes, watching as everyone else gets the acknowledgment, the accolades, the praise, the appreciation when we've busted our asses and work twice as hard only for our efforts to get swept under the rug. We walk on water to the sound of crickets while the rest have their asses kissed for swimming in the shallow end of the pool and not drowning.

But see we don't brag about it. We don't tweet about it, and it's partly our fault because it's the squeaky wheel that gets the grease. It's the people who have to tell you that they're great again and again and AGAIN -- like broken records with no other material to work with -- who brainwash people into thinking that they may be onto something. It's the insecure and the petty who have to tear other people down because they don't have two legs, their own merits, to stand on. You know why I let people like D'Angelo St. Prince talk and walk away and then wrestle him with a hat and jacket on?


ZAIRE: Because you can't turn down a bet?

ANGEL: Because I don't give a damn about what he thinks. I didn't become who I am by listening to what other people say. While he can tell me who I lost to on the sixteenth of December and that it was a full moon and the Yankees lost three-five to the Red Sox and I had a slice of pizza and warm water for dinner, it's still a privilege for him to get into that ring with me. Give me a few months, and when I'm Alpha Champion, Prince will be in NGW telling the youngins about the time he beat Brett Angel.

And what will truly be the insult to me is when, just like Rubik, he can't make use of the victory and catapult his way to bigger and better things. The Anarchy Championship will be the peak of his career. Then he'll fade into obscurity, only to become the next faceless name to be used against me when somebody desperately needs to land a cheap shot.  


ZAIRE: Instead of "you lost to a guy whose trombone solo lasted longer than his career," for Prince they'll change it to: "you lost to a guy whose hair was longer than his championship reigns."


Zaire can’t help but laugh at his own joke, and Angel is kind enough to give him a second to cool down.


ANGEL: And the cycle will continue for an eternity as the Joe Schmoes trip over each other to replace themselves because I WILL outlive every naysayer and "damning" piece of criticism. I'm the sleeping giant, and people in the locker room are taking turns trying to see who will be the one stupidest enough to wake me up. But what they don't get is that it will take a hell of a lot more than words and insulting my dead fiancee to get a rise out of me. My flaws and the chinks in my armor are all out there, I don't shy away or run from them. I've heard it all before.

If snark and punchlines were all it took to get to the top, Ziegler would be the most decorated champion in CMV history, instead he's the only one on Team Fusion to get eliminated at Coming Home.


ZAIRE: Yeah, you think he'd be the last one standing on a squad with Kiteley--

ANGEL: Did you see his hair?

ZAIRE: Don't. Pierre Thompson was also on the team.  

ANGEL: Who?

ZAIRE: And Andrew Briggs.

ANGEL: Who?!

CROWD: Cares!

ZAIRE: Amber's brother.

ANGEL: Right. She's doing really well for herself these days, co-main event of Implosion even. Good for her.

ZAIRE: It's all just pretty sad when you look at who Genesis sent into battle. There's Wolf, who has more impressive tweets than matches. Valentine, who can't buy a win or decent wardrobe. Reed, who apparently bleeds yellow but won't get it checked out by a doctor. And then there's Ortiz, who has had such a bad attitude lately that we'd ask what's stuck up his ass, but we can't say that to him specifically because it may be perceived as offensive since he's, you know....


There’s a pause and they exchange a look.


ANGEL: Ugly.

ZAIRE: Right. And in all that chaos and dysfunction they never once gave us a call to invite us onto the team. Instead we were the backups, apparently, the B-team who weren't considered until the eleventh hour when they thought they'd throw a hail Mary. Which was rich coming from Wolf when he played me by saying he'd rather face you in the invitational.

ANGEL: I don't blame him. The way I see it, Reed and his goons did us a favor by keeping us out of that match. I've been through this with UnMatched already. They tried to move past me. Tried to act like it could survive without Brett Angel--until someone had to step up and defend the brand's honor against Intensity. And just who did the brand lean on to save it? Who was the last man standing in the end? You're looking at him. And, like leeches, once they got what they needed out of me, once I bled and sweat everything and shed my last tear, I was cast out.

With the way Genesis parades everyone else as the next big thing, but treats poor Brett Angel as an inconvenience, history was bound to repeat itself at Home Coming, as Bret Angel--


ZAIRE:   --and friend--

ANGEL: --saved the day as usual when the “next big things” couldn’t pull their weight. Or maybe it would have been a clean sweep in Fusion’s favor.


Zaire nods his head in agreement as though he had no problem envisioning that possibility.


ZAIRE: Thanks to Reed, I guess we’ll never know.

ANGEL: Our  gift to you and your friends, Reed, is this calm before the storm. The ends don’t quite justify the means.

ZAIRE: If you asked us nicely, you might have gotten the same results. We could have called out sick. I have a great fake cough.


He coughs.


ANGEL: Or at least bribed us under the table with some Shari’s Berries. The white chocolate is to die for.

ZAIRE: Two gold-dipped roses from Steven Singer--or I guess just one, I know times are tough for you.

ANGEL: Some broadway tickets would have been nice. I’ve been hearing great things about Dear Evan Hansen.

ZAIRE: Forget spending your money on that, pay the baby sitter and you would have been good in my books.

ANGEL: So many paths you could have taken, but you chose the wrong one. And it’s gonna cost you.

ZAIRE: But tonight we deal with Vintage, two men, despite all odds, who have come together to form one of the toughest tandems this side of CMV.

ANGEL: Everyone doubted you Jefe, but you showed that you can hang with the best. I even took some notes on how to win a match that I’ll be sure to study back in my hotel room.

ZAIRE: Whether the people want to believe it or not, you two are the team to beat, and when Brett and I win the tag team championships, there’s no doubt that you’ll end up being one of our toughest challengers for years to come. Might as well get a feel for you tonight.


Angel makes a face.


ANGEL: A feel and a sniff. Do you see how dirty that shirt is Bacon wears?

ZAIRE: Maybe that’s the key.

ANGEL: Well, I don’t wanna be the guinea pig.

ZAIRE: Point is, Vintage, that we know you’ve got some tricks up your sleeve. We know that El Jefe is operating on a different level since the rumble, that loss at Home Coming be damned. And we know Joey Bacon will fucking eat us if we’re not careful, but we’re still going to go out there, and we’re gonna bring the fight to you, and one way or another we’re gonna take you down.

ANGEL: Let’s make no bones about it, this is our toughest challenge to date--the biggest obstacle we’ll have to find a way to overcome--and we are gonna find that way. If we’re able to push ourselves and get past Vintage then those tag team championships are the next logical step. Kliq has been slipping through our fingers too many times now, and they know the writing is on the wall. At some point that luck is gonna run out. There’s was the twenty-seven second catastrophe.

ZAIRE: The partner swap fiasco.  

ANGEL: Prince falling asleep in the corner tomfoolery.

ZAIRE: You can’t fun forever, boys.

ANGEL: If you try, I bet it won’t take long for us to catch up. Those titles will be ours sooner rather than later or our name isn’t--

CROWD: Brulé!


Angel sighs and walks off. Instead of following, Zaire pulls out his phone again, presumably to watch that bombshell video that was dropped earlier in the night.


ZAIRE: See, that’s why I shower at home.

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Re: Burned Cream

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