Post by sh17 on Aug 7, 2009 17:13:33 GMT -6
Bright lights, loud sounds, and the smell of cigarettes and lost money permeates the scene as the hustling and bustling casino scene is in full effect. People are casting away their hard earned money on one spin of the roulette or one turn of a card. We are cast over to the bar area, where Samuel and Marcus are sitting watching the latest Katrina offering on one of the many TVs provided for the casino patrons. Samuel is drinking rum and coke, and Marcus is drinking Jack Daniels. Missing their third party, the camera swings around a couple of times, only to find Myke Rhines sitting at a craps table surrounded by spectators and scantily clad women who keep betting for Myke as he stares at their breasts. Samuel and Marcus watch for a moment, and shake their heads.
How that man has not been shot or had his wiener fall off yet amazes me to no end. Speaking of, what is this crap? "You can't say that on television, you can't say that on television..." blah blah blah. Who is she, the FCC or something? And calling me a pencil? She would know what that's like, she hangs around with that oaf Jack Clinton. That height of his has to be over-compensating for down south of the border. Chris Angel, well she used to do Margera so it's not like Angel has too much to live up too.
Go figure, typical woman. Worried more about television censors and her precious little darling's ears than about the match she has to face us in. Well, Katrina I hope you set your v-chip on your TV so that Damien can not see his mommy wrestle on Saturday. Because I doubt he wants to see her getting kicked in the face, her pretty little fragile face. I'm double positive she doesn't want him to see her tied up and being forced to tap out like the little bitch she is. Though, I don't doubt she's been tied up before...
WATCH OUT SAMUEL, YOU CAN'T SAY THAT ON TELEVISION! WATCH OUT, DUCK! WE MUST HIDE FROM THE FCC POLICE!
Samuel and Marcus both jump off their bar stools and hide below the bar. The patrons close look at them, and shake their heads talking about the "crazy wrestlers." They both peek their heads out and look around, see no danger, and retake their seats.
Oh wait, there are no FCC police. Because quite frankly the FCC doesn't give a damn what we here at SNW say. Especially if we are speaking the truth, which we are. Katrina and Emo Kid, you can sit and make your claims and tell us what we can and can not say. The fact of the matter is, we are just better than you. We are the team, you're just two B-rate spares thrown together to create television ratings because people want to see conflict. Well, guess what that is exactly what they are going to get. Except, this conflict won't end well for either of you. Come the end of the match, the striking of the ending bell, we will stand victorious as the superior beings. There is just two things for you to decide: Who wants to be the bigger man and take the fall, and how do you want to take it? Your time is coming, and the clock strikes midnight Saturday night. And just like Cinderella...oh shit not again.
Samuel is interrupted by a disturbance over by a certain craps table. The two large black bouncers were arguing with Myke, who has apparently gotten too handsy with one of the waitresses. Marcus and Samuel looked at each other, sighed, and went over to once again bail out their sage manager from the jaws of criminal prosecution.
How that man has not been shot or had his wiener fall off yet amazes me to no end. Speaking of, what is this crap? "You can't say that on television, you can't say that on television..." blah blah blah. Who is she, the FCC or something? And calling me a pencil? She would know what that's like, she hangs around with that oaf Jack Clinton. That height of his has to be over-compensating for down south of the border. Chris Angel, well she used to do Margera so it's not like Angel has too much to live up too.
Go figure, typical woman. Worried more about television censors and her precious little darling's ears than about the match she has to face us in. Well, Katrina I hope you set your v-chip on your TV so that Damien can not see his mommy wrestle on Saturday. Because I doubt he wants to see her getting kicked in the face, her pretty little fragile face. I'm double positive she doesn't want him to see her tied up and being forced to tap out like the little bitch she is. Though, I don't doubt she's been tied up before...
WATCH OUT SAMUEL, YOU CAN'T SAY THAT ON TELEVISION! WATCH OUT, DUCK! WE MUST HIDE FROM THE FCC POLICE!
Samuel and Marcus both jump off their bar stools and hide below the bar. The patrons close look at them, and shake their heads talking about the "crazy wrestlers." They both peek their heads out and look around, see no danger, and retake their seats.
Oh wait, there are no FCC police. Because quite frankly the FCC doesn't give a damn what we here at SNW say. Especially if we are speaking the truth, which we are. Katrina and Emo Kid, you can sit and make your claims and tell us what we can and can not say. The fact of the matter is, we are just better than you. We are the team, you're just two B-rate spares thrown together to create television ratings because people want to see conflict. Well, guess what that is exactly what they are going to get. Except, this conflict won't end well for either of you. Come the end of the match, the striking of the ending bell, we will stand victorious as the superior beings. There is just two things for you to decide: Who wants to be the bigger man and take the fall, and how do you want to take it? Your time is coming, and the clock strikes midnight Saturday night. And just like Cinderella...oh shit not again.
Samuel is interrupted by a disturbance over by a certain craps table. The two large black bouncers were arguing with Myke, who has apparently gotten too handsy with one of the waitresses. Marcus and Samuel looked at each other, sighed, and went over to once again bail out their sage manager from the jaws of criminal prosecution.