Showing posts with label R-Truth. Show all posts
Showing posts with label R-Truth. Show all posts

Tuesday, July 8, 2025

The Marsellus Wallace Speech: AEW Edition

 (OOC: I read a blog post today about how Marsellus Wallace's speech to Butch in Pulp Fiction can be applied to any relatable scenario, so I did a parody myself, just like the author did. Ready? Here we go:


We fade in on Bryan Danielson, a 44-year-old pro-wrestler who’s one broken neck away from being confined to a wheelchair. He sits across the table wearing a plain white T-shirt (because he doesn’t believe in consumerism). Sitting on the opposite side off screen is Tony Khan, the Head Honcho at All Elite Wrestling, where Bryan works. Tony sounds like a cross between a delusional billionaire and a giddy fanboy.


TONY (O.S.)

What do you think you’re gonna find when your decades-long career is over? I think you’re gonna find yourself one broken down, sad-ass motherfucker. The thing is, Bryan, you have a shitload of five-star matches. But as painful as it may seem, five-star matches won’t save your life, and yours is over the minute you take another bump. That’s a hard motherfucking fact of life, and it’s one your ass is gonna have to get realistic about. The wrestling business is filled to the brim with unrealistic motherfuckers who say they’re gonna retire but never do. Motherfuckers who thought their asses would age like wine. If you mean it turns to vinegar like Ric Flair and Chris Jericho, it does. If you mean it gets better with age like R-Truth and Trish Stratus? It don’t. Besides, Bryan, how many five-star matches do you got left in you? Two? Wrestlers don’t have an Old-Timer’s League. It was called Heroes of Wrestling and it sucked ass. You came close, but you made it only a handful of times. If you were gonna make it again, you would have done it already. 


Tony holds release papers just out of Bryan’s reach.


TONY (O.S.)

You actually gonna retire this time?


BRYAN

Certainly appears so.


Bryan takes the release papers from Tony’s hand.


TONY

Night of your final retirement speech, you’re gonna feel a slight sting. That’s pride fucking with you. Fuck pride! Pride only hurts, probably about as bad as Jon Moxley suffocating you with a plastic bag. It never helps. You gotta fight through that shit. ‘Cause a year from now when you’re at home banging Brie Bella and hanging out with your two kids Birdie and Buddy, you’re gonna say to yourself, “Tony Khan was right”, which is something I hear from Dave Meltzer pretty much regularly. 


BRYAN

Yeah, me too.


TONY

At AEW Revolution, you job to Jon Moxley. Say it.


BRYAN

At AEW Revolution, I job to Jon Moxley.


The original blog post: https://www.kingdomoffailure.com/post/f-ck-pride-it-only-hurts-it-never-helps

Friday, January 10, 2020

The Ballad of Sam Corleone


Every other weekend and twice on Sundays
Smashing skulls for a living on Mondays
Looking like bloodshed in khakis and boots
Fuck the spandex trunks, fuck corporate suits
Heavy metal T-shirt around his big old gut
Messy brown hair above a face full of cuts
He stood in the ring crackling his knuckles
Maybe his opponent pussed out and buckled
Then comes R-Truth and the mid-card clowns
Chasing the champ all over the fucking town
All of this comedy for an ugly green strap
Time to put an end to this silly little crap
Grabbing a steel chair from under the ring
Whacking Truth across the back so he could sing
Repeated shots across his nonexistent spine
Crushing ribs into a powder so damn fine
The pin fall was as easy as one, two, three
A new 24/7 Champ on your TV screen
While Truth boy was carried out on a stretcher
The mid-carders ran away forever and ever
New champ took the mike after taking his throne
“My motherfucking name is Sam Corleone
I’ll bring seriousness to this comedy title
Hold onto this strap for a long ass while”
Drake Maverick sneaked up from behind
Threw a chair shot to Sam’s steel spine
The no-sell motel was open for business
Sam turned around to face this idiot
Yanked his ankles, pancaked him on the mat
With one stomp, Drake’s nuts went splat
The poor fucker puked up blood eternally
Carried to the back and to the infirmary
Nobody else dared challenge the king
Even if he was unconscious in the ring
Sam Corleone kept the belt for a year
Instilling in everyone pants-shitting fear
From Strowman to Roman, Dain to Kane
Big Show to Ohno, they all got owned
Then he burned the title in a garbage can
Who’s laughing now? Not a single man
Get used to Sam having main even status
Even if it makes little kids the saddest
“Merry Christmas to all and to all a goodnight!
You’ve got two options: fuck off or fight!”