Post by joe on Nov 21, 2013 16:39:50 GMT -5
In the morning din of the workforce maneuvering its way through rush hour around the city, there was a vast collection of individuals dressed in their various uniforms driving a plethora of vehicles. Some wore suits, some aprons or collared shirts with an assortment of insignia. Some headed into jobs they loved, others to assignments they dreaded. Regardless of whether or not they ran things at the head of a company or served the customer at the bottom rung of the retail ladder, not a single one of them was visible on the poorly maintained street in front of the ‘Sleep 4 Cheap’ motel.
The derelict pocket of destitution sat in the morning sun undisturbed by the hand of progress. Its position just off the highway made it subject to the cacophony of morning travelers; however no one seemed to claim it as a destination. From the weeds growing up through the fractures in the sidewalk out front, to the burned out halogen sign that flickered to life every so often, the location was nearly the archetype for the sort of place one would expect a police raid on.
It was here, inside one of the ramshackle rooms that the buzz saw-like snoring of one Joe Martinez announced his current state of deep sleep. The big-boned brawler lay on a mattress that had been weathered deeply by the ages. The blankets matched nothing else in the room, though archaic and unfashionable were really hard to coordinate with.
“I don’t… eggs. Well then choke…” the banter of vivid dreams didn't have to make sense to the rest of the world.
The loud thump startled Joe to life, the impact of his frame crashing down off the bed onto a carpet that was discolored, ripped in various spots, and had far too many cigarette burns. The wrestler groaned as he slowly hefted himself off the floor and yawned a proclamation announcing his intent to actually start the day. After taking care of his business and hygiene in the bathroom, he got dressed and wandered out into the world. Stopping by the hole in the wall that posed as an office, he dropped off another twenty dollar bill for another day’s stay and poured himself a cup of the tar-like substance that was pretending to be coffee. He looked up at the image of a moderately attractive woman that spewed the doom and gloom they called news and noticed the time somewhere in the jumble of scrolling headline bars.
“Aw fer cryin’ out loud.” He muttered to himself, realizing he was late for an engagement.
Joe rushed out of the room and hurried to the bus stop, stepping over the sea of tiny rocks that filled in for actual paving. As he got to the bus bench he nodded to a man that wore a red flannel shirt and a haircut from decades past. The transport was rounding the corner just as he took a seat. Joe pulled a few wadded up single dollar bills from his pocket, paid his fare and was soon on his way. Or so he had hoped.
One stop later a young man with ripped up clothing tried to barter for a bus ride. He pleaded, giving a sob story about trying to get home and getting beat up. The driver urged him to call the police. The youth repeated street rhetoric about “snitching.” Finally Joe decided to walk to the front and paid the fare for him. Satisfied, the driver kept on his route and the kid nodded thanks and took a seat at the back of the bus.
The rushing scenery finally placed the bulky bruiser at ease. It would be poor form to show up late for his second meeting at his new job. Once again fate placed a delay in his path. What seemed like a normal guy got on board, he paid his fare then proceeded to stop in the isle. “You know my brother was a warrior? He was hardcore, taught me what it is!” he shouted while taking off his shirt. Joe groaned, he was too close for this to hold him up. He approached the man who was now going on about sub-dermal implants and pointing to his nipple.
“Look, crazy guy, do you mind sitting down for at least a few more stops? I gotta get to work.” said the bulky bruiser.
“But don’t you see the tower of Babylon’s got its eye on you?” he replied, gesturing wildly.
“Whatever, listen pal, if you put your shirt on and sit down for a bit we can all get moving. I think everyone here would appreciate that.” A few nodding heads agreed with the sentiment.
“You’re just trying to silence the truth! Do you know yourself? Who bounds your ties? Look at the meaning inside the meaning!” more gesticulating.
Joe resigned himself to a peaceful solution here, making open threats to crack skulls on public transport didn't sound like something that would go over too well. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a five dollar bill. He presented it to the man. “Have a seat and keep quiet, this’ll be yours when I get off.” The raving man obliged.
Joe finally made his way into the address he was given and was ushered into a large vehicle bay, noticing a clock on the wall he decided fifteen minutes wasn't too bad of a delay.
“Finally he shows up. Come on man, we’re behind schedule now.” A crew of some sort stood in the bay, behind a garbage truck. Joe was handed some coveralls. “Put those on, we gotta get moving.”
Joe shook the hand of the sanitation department employee who stood beside the truck. “I’m Joe, thanks for letting me do this. Sorry about bein’ late, bit’a trouble on the way over here.”
The worker nodded, “Lou. No worries pal, thanks for comin’ down. We ready?”
Joe nodded and the crew gave a thumb up, soon they were on their way.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Joe hangs on to the back of a garbage truck, a smile that’s missing a few teeth is visible from somewhere under his beard. As the truck starts to slow down he waves his hand in a simple greeting then gets off the truck.
“You know I came down today to work with the trash truck because I wanted some firsthand experience of tossing garbage away.”
Joe takes a step towards the side of an alley and grabs an aluminum trash can by the handle. In one quick motion he dumps the refuse into the back of the vehicle.
“I mean after all it seems to be par the course for me so far here at PURE wrestling. The Main Attraction may have blown away like a plastic bag in an updraft but Lucien Mephisto was certainly crumpled by the wallop I gave him and thrown away like yesterday’s newspaper.”
Joe grabs on to the back of the truck. He points to the pile he just loaded in.
“We got quite a few of those here. No headlines about it though, heck no highlights are even written about our match. I guess being dominated is nothing worth talking about.”
The truck starts up again. Joe raises his voice and shouts over the rumble of the engine.
“This upcoming week though, it seems that we've got a new batch to deal with. Of course I can’t speak for Alessandra, I assume she’s got her own way to prepare. But me, I ain't got no mind of getting’ down and dirty. If you can’t roll up your sleeves and get down in the trenches to work, what good are ya in the ring, right?”
The truck stops once more and Joe once again hauls a heap of trash into the back of the large vehicle. This time he flips a switch and the compactor comes down squashing the mishmash of old and dirty items.
“It’s either that or be crushed!” says Joe, a silly grin on his face as he points.
As he reverses the compactor he address the viewer once more, “You know I've seen the value of hard work, though it hasn't paid off too much in the past, I’m finally starting to see that it can getcha somewhere if you really hunker down and focus. As far as our upcoming opponents go, it seems both of them are the type of guys with their eyes on the prize.”
Joe hops onto the back of the truck and signals for it to move on.
“First we got this She-annlong guy. From what I understand he’s some sorta travelling monk kung fu master. I gotta say I’m impressed, a little confused as to why he’d decide a pro-wrestling ring was the place to reach enlightenment or whatever, but still impressed that he decided on PURE as a stomping ground. Now as I understand it these types of folks are known for being humble and taking vows of poverty and all that. So why he thought it would be appropriate to be in an arena on TV in front of a buncha folks strokin’ his ego is beyond me, but I would think it messes up his karma’n’chi and all that stuff.”
Another stop, this time a large collection of trash bags and wicker furniture await Joe. He grabs every single bag, which seems to be quite the load, with one hand and grunts as he flings the contents into the back of the truck. The wicker furniture gets pitched in without a break from his cadence.
“Now Mister Shinlong. I know you’re a guy who values humility and that’s something I can respect. The hard work and dedication you put into learning your craft is something I admire, guys like you get to be the hero after all. I just hope you remember when we step into the ring that this is wrestling and not a reenactment of Fist of the Iron Cobra and stop my heart with a palm strike or somethin'. As much expertise as you have, I gotta say though, I’m pretty confident in my chances. Why, you ask? Well a very famous martial artist once said ‘I fear not the man who has practiced ten thousand kicks once, I fear the man who has practiced one kick ten thousand times.’ Well mister, I gotta say when it comes to my fists, the same principles apply. You see these two sets of knuckles have taken on an army’s worth of opposition and come out on top time and time again. These arms have controlled even the most ornery roughnecks and beaten’em down so bad they chose to submit rather than continue the punishment. I know you may think you've got an iron will, but your body is made of flesh and bone just like the rest of us, and I've gotten mighty good at leaving bodies bruised and battered. If ya don’t believe me, why dontcha ask Lucien how his head is feeling after I busted it open like a certain comedian taking a sledgehammer to a ripe melon.”
Joe is once more on the truck as it now exits the alley and heads over to the next block. A couch and more trash cans await him. He hauls the trashcans and then takes hold of the couch and hefts the rather large piece of furniture into the back of the truck. Once again he brings down the compactor.
“Now seeing as how I’m getting to be quite the expert on rubbish, I should know Jordan Caliban pretty well. After all when I try to think of synonyms for it, your name tops the list bud. I’m supposed to fear a nonsense-spewing behavioral problem on legs with a complex. I saw how you treated the reporters who came to interview you. Just folks tryinna make a living and you have to make it that much harder for’em. Shows me that you treat the little guy a lot like you wanna to be treated. Seeing you dump on them makes me sick.”
The couch is only half smashed; suddenly Lou the driver steps out from the truck. “Hey pal don’t pick up couches, they’re too big they gotta get picked up by the large item guys.”
“Oh sorry, what do we do now?”
“I guess just crush the other half, we’ll take it fer now, no more though.” Lou hops back up into the cab of the truck.
“Gotcha.” Joe yells as he salutes. He pushes in the rest of the seat and then turns back to the camera as the crusher comes down once more.
“Now back to you, Caliban the lowest caliber. I’d almost fear ya if I hadn't seen ya wrestle. Now it seems they stuck me in a match with all the carnival performers in the company, everybody’s some kinda high flying fancy dancer. There’s a distinct difference between Alessandra Nayara, the gal in my corner who pulls off the deft-defying stuff and what you do, wanna guess what that is? Talent. Nayara trains hard and executes her moves with a textbook like perfection. It’s poetry in motion. Agility combined with skill. You hurl yourself around like I toss trash bags. It’s not just reckless it’s haphazard and prone to failing; perfect for a guy like me to exploit. Now I stay grounded because I’m about as heavy a hitter as they come. I can sense that you’d like to do what I do, after all who doesn't wanna pummel the opposition? Here’s the problem with that though, you ain't got the guts to stand toe to toe with me. I can already picture you planning an escape route and tryinna pull some sorta tomfoolery on me – well it ain't gonna work.
If you had enough trouble squaring off against four other competitors I got bad news for you because I got ten fingers in two fists that are just dying to lay into ya, pounding that yellow belly of your black and blue. I pack the kinda punch that makes ya upchuck your lunch. I got the gifta gab and the meanest jab. At this next PURE I’m gonna be a tidal force of devastation.”
Joe hops back onto the truck as they pull forward a few feet. Another few cans and a fridge await the garbage crew. Joe picks up the massive two-door fridge with minimal effort. Lou immediately hops out, “Hey pal, we ain't taking that fridge.”
“Why not? It’s smaller’n the couch.” asks Joe.
“It’s got Freon in it.” Replies Lou.
“Well if it’s free, what’s the big deal; you need a new one or somethin’?” Joe shrugs.
“No, Freon, the hazardous chemical. It's an ozone pollutant. These folks gotta call the appliance recycling people to come get this.” Lou walks back to continue driving.
“Ah. Gotcha.” Says Joe as he returns the stainless steel box and loads the waste.
The pair load up to continue when a man in a bathroom comes rushing out, “Wait, wait. You guys have to take the refrigerator!” he yells after them.
Joe hops off and does his best to explain, “Look man, we can’t take the fridge, it’s got freeze-ons in it, that’s bad for the air and the birds’n’stuff. You need to call the appliance folks downtown.”
The man rolls his eyes, “Just do your job you lazy drone, before I report you to your supervisor and get your fired.” He shoves his finger into the center of Joe’s chest.
The bulky bruiser adopts a menacing tone and his smile turns to a predatory grin, “Izzat a fact now? I guess it’s good I’m volunteering as I just happen to have an actual job that I do really well. Maybe you’d like a demo.” he says as he begins to roll up his sleeve.
Suddenly Lou is there, patting Joe on the back and handing a small card to the man.
“Hey buddy; this is the number for the appliance folks.” Lou nods to Joe and the duo head back to work.
Joe returns to his previous task as the truck takes off once more.
“Now that was an example of the kind of folks Crap-liban is associated with. People who look down at people they don’t deem to be at their level. I’m a bully beater that’s gonna make sure you don’t undercut my uppercut come PURE. See they paired up the dynamic duo once again and gave us targets. So my plan is pretty simple; reel you in, take ya down beat'cha up, and knock you out. Not a lot of flare in what I do but why bother with all the flash and theatrics when the fans come to see me take care of business, not prance around like some kinda ballerina. Leave the showboating to the artists, much like the countless folks that work hard every day to eke out a living, there’s no point in the extras when basics will cut it. Now Chi-enlong I can at least consider to be a decent guy as I've seen him do nothing but buckle down and work hard. He at least talks to folks with dignity and respect, but the other dork they set us up against is just the type of trash I’m primed to throw down, defeat, and deliver to the dump. Once that bell rings though, make no mistake, these hands won’t discriminate, they’ll disseminate and decimate whoever they come upon. Now if you’ll excuse me I got a shift to finish, see you between the ropes.”
With that Joe points at the camera as the truck drives away and the screen fades to black.
The derelict pocket of destitution sat in the morning sun undisturbed by the hand of progress. Its position just off the highway made it subject to the cacophony of morning travelers; however no one seemed to claim it as a destination. From the weeds growing up through the fractures in the sidewalk out front, to the burned out halogen sign that flickered to life every so often, the location was nearly the archetype for the sort of place one would expect a police raid on.
It was here, inside one of the ramshackle rooms that the buzz saw-like snoring of one Joe Martinez announced his current state of deep sleep. The big-boned brawler lay on a mattress that had been weathered deeply by the ages. The blankets matched nothing else in the room, though archaic and unfashionable were really hard to coordinate with.
“I don’t… eggs. Well then choke…” the banter of vivid dreams didn't have to make sense to the rest of the world.
The loud thump startled Joe to life, the impact of his frame crashing down off the bed onto a carpet that was discolored, ripped in various spots, and had far too many cigarette burns. The wrestler groaned as he slowly hefted himself off the floor and yawned a proclamation announcing his intent to actually start the day. After taking care of his business and hygiene in the bathroom, he got dressed and wandered out into the world. Stopping by the hole in the wall that posed as an office, he dropped off another twenty dollar bill for another day’s stay and poured himself a cup of the tar-like substance that was pretending to be coffee. He looked up at the image of a moderately attractive woman that spewed the doom and gloom they called news and noticed the time somewhere in the jumble of scrolling headline bars.
“Aw fer cryin’ out loud.” He muttered to himself, realizing he was late for an engagement.
Joe rushed out of the room and hurried to the bus stop, stepping over the sea of tiny rocks that filled in for actual paving. As he got to the bus bench he nodded to a man that wore a red flannel shirt and a haircut from decades past. The transport was rounding the corner just as he took a seat. Joe pulled a few wadded up single dollar bills from his pocket, paid his fare and was soon on his way. Or so he had hoped.
One stop later a young man with ripped up clothing tried to barter for a bus ride. He pleaded, giving a sob story about trying to get home and getting beat up. The driver urged him to call the police. The youth repeated street rhetoric about “snitching.” Finally Joe decided to walk to the front and paid the fare for him. Satisfied, the driver kept on his route and the kid nodded thanks and took a seat at the back of the bus.
The rushing scenery finally placed the bulky bruiser at ease. It would be poor form to show up late for his second meeting at his new job. Once again fate placed a delay in his path. What seemed like a normal guy got on board, he paid his fare then proceeded to stop in the isle. “You know my brother was a warrior? He was hardcore, taught me what it is!” he shouted while taking off his shirt. Joe groaned, he was too close for this to hold him up. He approached the man who was now going on about sub-dermal implants and pointing to his nipple.
“Look, crazy guy, do you mind sitting down for at least a few more stops? I gotta get to work.” said the bulky bruiser.
“But don’t you see the tower of Babylon’s got its eye on you?” he replied, gesturing wildly.
“Whatever, listen pal, if you put your shirt on and sit down for a bit we can all get moving. I think everyone here would appreciate that.” A few nodding heads agreed with the sentiment.
“You’re just trying to silence the truth! Do you know yourself? Who bounds your ties? Look at the meaning inside the meaning!” more gesticulating.
Joe resigned himself to a peaceful solution here, making open threats to crack skulls on public transport didn't sound like something that would go over too well. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a five dollar bill. He presented it to the man. “Have a seat and keep quiet, this’ll be yours when I get off.” The raving man obliged.
Joe finally made his way into the address he was given and was ushered into a large vehicle bay, noticing a clock on the wall he decided fifteen minutes wasn't too bad of a delay.
“Finally he shows up. Come on man, we’re behind schedule now.” A crew of some sort stood in the bay, behind a garbage truck. Joe was handed some coveralls. “Put those on, we gotta get moving.”
Joe shook the hand of the sanitation department employee who stood beside the truck. “I’m Joe, thanks for letting me do this. Sorry about bein’ late, bit’a trouble on the way over here.”
The worker nodded, “Lou. No worries pal, thanks for comin’ down. We ready?”
Joe nodded and the crew gave a thumb up, soon they were on their way.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Joe hangs on to the back of a garbage truck, a smile that’s missing a few teeth is visible from somewhere under his beard. As the truck starts to slow down he waves his hand in a simple greeting then gets off the truck.
“You know I came down today to work with the trash truck because I wanted some firsthand experience of tossing garbage away.”
Joe takes a step towards the side of an alley and grabs an aluminum trash can by the handle. In one quick motion he dumps the refuse into the back of the vehicle.
“I mean after all it seems to be par the course for me so far here at PURE wrestling. The Main Attraction may have blown away like a plastic bag in an updraft but Lucien Mephisto was certainly crumpled by the wallop I gave him and thrown away like yesterday’s newspaper.”
Joe grabs on to the back of the truck. He points to the pile he just loaded in.
“We got quite a few of those here. No headlines about it though, heck no highlights are even written about our match. I guess being dominated is nothing worth talking about.”
The truck starts up again. Joe raises his voice and shouts over the rumble of the engine.
“This upcoming week though, it seems that we've got a new batch to deal with. Of course I can’t speak for Alessandra, I assume she’s got her own way to prepare. But me, I ain't got no mind of getting’ down and dirty. If you can’t roll up your sleeves and get down in the trenches to work, what good are ya in the ring, right?”
The truck stops once more and Joe once again hauls a heap of trash into the back of the large vehicle. This time he flips a switch and the compactor comes down squashing the mishmash of old and dirty items.
“It’s either that or be crushed!” says Joe, a silly grin on his face as he points.
As he reverses the compactor he address the viewer once more, “You know I've seen the value of hard work, though it hasn't paid off too much in the past, I’m finally starting to see that it can getcha somewhere if you really hunker down and focus. As far as our upcoming opponents go, it seems both of them are the type of guys with their eyes on the prize.”
Joe hops onto the back of the truck and signals for it to move on.
“First we got this She-annlong guy. From what I understand he’s some sorta travelling monk kung fu master. I gotta say I’m impressed, a little confused as to why he’d decide a pro-wrestling ring was the place to reach enlightenment or whatever, but still impressed that he decided on PURE as a stomping ground. Now as I understand it these types of folks are known for being humble and taking vows of poverty and all that. So why he thought it would be appropriate to be in an arena on TV in front of a buncha folks strokin’ his ego is beyond me, but I would think it messes up his karma’n’chi and all that stuff.”
Another stop, this time a large collection of trash bags and wicker furniture await Joe. He grabs every single bag, which seems to be quite the load, with one hand and grunts as he flings the contents into the back of the truck. The wicker furniture gets pitched in without a break from his cadence.
“Now Mister Shinlong. I know you’re a guy who values humility and that’s something I can respect. The hard work and dedication you put into learning your craft is something I admire, guys like you get to be the hero after all. I just hope you remember when we step into the ring that this is wrestling and not a reenactment of Fist of the Iron Cobra and stop my heart with a palm strike or somethin'. As much expertise as you have, I gotta say though, I’m pretty confident in my chances. Why, you ask? Well a very famous martial artist once said ‘I fear not the man who has practiced ten thousand kicks once, I fear the man who has practiced one kick ten thousand times.’ Well mister, I gotta say when it comes to my fists, the same principles apply. You see these two sets of knuckles have taken on an army’s worth of opposition and come out on top time and time again. These arms have controlled even the most ornery roughnecks and beaten’em down so bad they chose to submit rather than continue the punishment. I know you may think you've got an iron will, but your body is made of flesh and bone just like the rest of us, and I've gotten mighty good at leaving bodies bruised and battered. If ya don’t believe me, why dontcha ask Lucien how his head is feeling after I busted it open like a certain comedian taking a sledgehammer to a ripe melon.”
Joe is once more on the truck as it now exits the alley and heads over to the next block. A couch and more trash cans await him. He hauls the trashcans and then takes hold of the couch and hefts the rather large piece of furniture into the back of the truck. Once again he brings down the compactor.
“Now seeing as how I’m getting to be quite the expert on rubbish, I should know Jordan Caliban pretty well. After all when I try to think of synonyms for it, your name tops the list bud. I’m supposed to fear a nonsense-spewing behavioral problem on legs with a complex. I saw how you treated the reporters who came to interview you. Just folks tryinna make a living and you have to make it that much harder for’em. Shows me that you treat the little guy a lot like you wanna to be treated. Seeing you dump on them makes me sick.”
The couch is only half smashed; suddenly Lou the driver steps out from the truck. “Hey pal don’t pick up couches, they’re too big they gotta get picked up by the large item guys.”
“Oh sorry, what do we do now?”
“I guess just crush the other half, we’ll take it fer now, no more though.” Lou hops back up into the cab of the truck.
“Gotcha.” Joe yells as he salutes. He pushes in the rest of the seat and then turns back to the camera as the crusher comes down once more.
“Now back to you, Caliban the lowest caliber. I’d almost fear ya if I hadn't seen ya wrestle. Now it seems they stuck me in a match with all the carnival performers in the company, everybody’s some kinda high flying fancy dancer. There’s a distinct difference between Alessandra Nayara, the gal in my corner who pulls off the deft-defying stuff and what you do, wanna guess what that is? Talent. Nayara trains hard and executes her moves with a textbook like perfection. It’s poetry in motion. Agility combined with skill. You hurl yourself around like I toss trash bags. It’s not just reckless it’s haphazard and prone to failing; perfect for a guy like me to exploit. Now I stay grounded because I’m about as heavy a hitter as they come. I can sense that you’d like to do what I do, after all who doesn't wanna pummel the opposition? Here’s the problem with that though, you ain't got the guts to stand toe to toe with me. I can already picture you planning an escape route and tryinna pull some sorta tomfoolery on me – well it ain't gonna work.
If you had enough trouble squaring off against four other competitors I got bad news for you because I got ten fingers in two fists that are just dying to lay into ya, pounding that yellow belly of your black and blue. I pack the kinda punch that makes ya upchuck your lunch. I got the gifta gab and the meanest jab. At this next PURE I’m gonna be a tidal force of devastation.”
Joe hops back onto the truck as they pull forward a few feet. Another few cans and a fridge await the garbage crew. Joe picks up the massive two-door fridge with minimal effort. Lou immediately hops out, “Hey pal, we ain't taking that fridge.”
“Why not? It’s smaller’n the couch.” asks Joe.
“It’s got Freon in it.” Replies Lou.
“Well if it’s free, what’s the big deal; you need a new one or somethin’?” Joe shrugs.
“No, Freon, the hazardous chemical. It's an ozone pollutant. These folks gotta call the appliance recycling people to come get this.” Lou walks back to continue driving.
“Ah. Gotcha.” Says Joe as he returns the stainless steel box and loads the waste.
The pair load up to continue when a man in a bathroom comes rushing out, “Wait, wait. You guys have to take the refrigerator!” he yells after them.
Joe hops off and does his best to explain, “Look man, we can’t take the fridge, it’s got freeze-ons in it, that’s bad for the air and the birds’n’stuff. You need to call the appliance folks downtown.”
The man rolls his eyes, “Just do your job you lazy drone, before I report you to your supervisor and get your fired.” He shoves his finger into the center of Joe’s chest.
The bulky bruiser adopts a menacing tone and his smile turns to a predatory grin, “Izzat a fact now? I guess it’s good I’m volunteering as I just happen to have an actual job that I do really well. Maybe you’d like a demo.” he says as he begins to roll up his sleeve.
Suddenly Lou is there, patting Joe on the back and handing a small card to the man.
“Hey buddy; this is the number for the appliance folks.” Lou nods to Joe and the duo head back to work.
Joe returns to his previous task as the truck takes off once more.
“Now that was an example of the kind of folks Crap-liban is associated with. People who look down at people they don’t deem to be at their level. I’m a bully beater that’s gonna make sure you don’t undercut my uppercut come PURE. See they paired up the dynamic duo once again and gave us targets. So my plan is pretty simple; reel you in, take ya down beat'cha up, and knock you out. Not a lot of flare in what I do but why bother with all the flash and theatrics when the fans come to see me take care of business, not prance around like some kinda ballerina. Leave the showboating to the artists, much like the countless folks that work hard every day to eke out a living, there’s no point in the extras when basics will cut it. Now Chi-enlong I can at least consider to be a decent guy as I've seen him do nothing but buckle down and work hard. He at least talks to folks with dignity and respect, but the other dork they set us up against is just the type of trash I’m primed to throw down, defeat, and deliver to the dump. Once that bell rings though, make no mistake, these hands won’t discriminate, they’ll disseminate and decimate whoever they come upon. Now if you’ll excuse me I got a shift to finish, see you between the ropes.”
With that Joe points at the camera as the truck drives away and the screen fades to black.
