Post by "The Game" Triple H on Jun 2, 2006 15:11:43 GMT -5
The SNME camera pans to a beautiful, luminous day on Florida’s prominent beach. Surfer’s riding waves, children playing close to shore, boats riding along the ocean in the background, and fish swimming in the ocean.
The camera slowly pans from the water to the populated beach. In the distance Triple H strolls just along where the water hits the shore, just able not to get wet. Triple H comes closer from the distance and stops just in front of the camera. Triple H is wearing a black tank top, his popular cross logo in the middle. The game is also donning black jeans and black boots, his hair soaked, as if he just jumped into the water, lastly, “The Game” has sunglasses mysteriously covering his eyes.
Triple H: Ah, Florida’s beach, a relaxing place!
Triple H walks up the shore, trees partially block the sun from a row of beach chairs. “The Game” walks up to a chair and lays on the one at the end, he puts his hands behind his head and lets out a sigh of relaxation.
Triple H: Now, I’m not here to relax, I’m here to send a message to Batista and Sting… As most of you SNME fans can tell, tomorrow night, Randy Orton and I have a match against Batista and Sting…
Triple H laughs, he confidently sits up and slides his sunglasses up onto his forehead and gazes into the camera.
Triple H: Batista, you are the Rising Star champion… yet you’re 39, 40 years old? I don’t how much you can climb, “Rising Star”. See, you don’t have much more gas left in the tank. Hell, look at Diesel, the man is named after gas, yet he has been running off of nothing for the past 2 years! Batista, you’re not rising, you’re just holding on for your dear life until your arms rip off! Your time is ticking, hold on, your hands are slipping!
Triple H shoots out of his seat and strolls to a nearby tree, he leans against it and slides his sunglasses back in front of his eyes, and crosses his arms.
Triple H: Now, we move on to Sting… Now, Sting, I gotta’ give you credit, you’re 47 years old, you get your ass kicked out here every single week, yet you still continue to wrestle. And now, at your age you’ve finally held the Intercontinental Championship, a title I’ve held in the first week of my career. Damn, if you keep this up, by the time you’re 72, you might get your first world title shot!
“The game” continues down the beach, to the water. Triple H stands right before the water, just enough so he won’t get wet. “The cerebral assassin” squats down and watches the tide come close to him, for several seconds it remains just under his knees, then pulls away, in its endless path.
Triple H: Batista, you ask how it feels not being the world heavyweight champion anymore. Well, I’ll tell you, it sucks, but it is great knowing that every night when I leave the arena, I’ve held the world heavyweight championship before an old, steroid lugging freak that calls himself an animal!
Triple H gets up from his squat and looks far into the ocean, staring at nothing in particular. “The Game” pauses for a moment before speaking.
Triple H: Well, I’ll tell you what, you are an animal! You and Sting are both animals! Both of you are fish! Old, little vulnerable gold fish, fighting to remain in the “ocean” for just one more day. But both of you are just several feet away, just several feet from shore, the water is disappearing, you fight and fight, but you can’t turn around, the time is coming, your time is winding down!…
Two fish wash onto the shore, flapping and struggling for there life, they flap there way back to the ocean and fail, just as the tide moves in closer to the fish, Triple H holds his foot out in front of the two helpless fish, blocking them from the ocean.
Triple H:… and after tomorrow tonight, after you fall to Randy Orton and myself, and end up like these fish, you will struggle to get back into the "ocean," but you wil fail, you will finally realize that just like these helpless fish, you are “Washed Up!”
The fish panic for several more seconds, attempting to return to the ocean. The feeble fish quaver just one last time, they no longer have the energy to live without water, the fish instantly stop moving, they are lifeless, washed up fish. The camera begins to fade, instantly Triple H jolts up the camera to his eyes level.
Triple H: After Orton and I defeat you, you’re gonna’ beg for mercy, you’re gonna beg not to end up like all the others… and I’ll just have two words for ya’… SUCK IT!
Triple H executes his signature taunt, just as he is about to lower his arms, he turns his taunt into a crotch chop. The camera slowly pans to the lifeless corpses of the fish. The camera slowly fades from a motionless image of the deceased fish with Triple H’s snicker of confidence while doing the crotch chop in the background. The screen slowly fades black, and then turns to a SNME crowd.
The camera slowly pans from the water to the populated beach. In the distance Triple H strolls just along where the water hits the shore, just able not to get wet. Triple H comes closer from the distance and stops just in front of the camera. Triple H is wearing a black tank top, his popular cross logo in the middle. The game is also donning black jeans and black boots, his hair soaked, as if he just jumped into the water, lastly, “The Game” has sunglasses mysteriously covering his eyes.
Triple H: Ah, Florida’s beach, a relaxing place!
Triple H walks up the shore, trees partially block the sun from a row of beach chairs. “The Game” walks up to a chair and lays on the one at the end, he puts his hands behind his head and lets out a sigh of relaxation.
Triple H: Now, I’m not here to relax, I’m here to send a message to Batista and Sting… As most of you SNME fans can tell, tomorrow night, Randy Orton and I have a match against Batista and Sting…
Triple H laughs, he confidently sits up and slides his sunglasses up onto his forehead and gazes into the camera.
Triple H: Batista, you are the Rising Star champion… yet you’re 39, 40 years old? I don’t how much you can climb, “Rising Star”. See, you don’t have much more gas left in the tank. Hell, look at Diesel, the man is named after gas, yet he has been running off of nothing for the past 2 years! Batista, you’re not rising, you’re just holding on for your dear life until your arms rip off! Your time is ticking, hold on, your hands are slipping!
Triple H shoots out of his seat and strolls to a nearby tree, he leans against it and slides his sunglasses back in front of his eyes, and crosses his arms.
Triple H: Now, we move on to Sting… Now, Sting, I gotta’ give you credit, you’re 47 years old, you get your ass kicked out here every single week, yet you still continue to wrestle. And now, at your age you’ve finally held the Intercontinental Championship, a title I’ve held in the first week of my career. Damn, if you keep this up, by the time you’re 72, you might get your first world title shot!
“The game” continues down the beach, to the water. Triple H stands right before the water, just enough so he won’t get wet. “The cerebral assassin” squats down and watches the tide come close to him, for several seconds it remains just under his knees, then pulls away, in its endless path.
Triple H: Batista, you ask how it feels not being the world heavyweight champion anymore. Well, I’ll tell you, it sucks, but it is great knowing that every night when I leave the arena, I’ve held the world heavyweight championship before an old, steroid lugging freak that calls himself an animal!
Triple H gets up from his squat and looks far into the ocean, staring at nothing in particular. “The Game” pauses for a moment before speaking.
Triple H: Well, I’ll tell you what, you are an animal! You and Sting are both animals! Both of you are fish! Old, little vulnerable gold fish, fighting to remain in the “ocean” for just one more day. But both of you are just several feet away, just several feet from shore, the water is disappearing, you fight and fight, but you can’t turn around, the time is coming, your time is winding down!…
Two fish wash onto the shore, flapping and struggling for there life, they flap there way back to the ocean and fail, just as the tide moves in closer to the fish, Triple H holds his foot out in front of the two helpless fish, blocking them from the ocean.
Triple H:… and after tomorrow tonight, after you fall to Randy Orton and myself, and end up like these fish, you will struggle to get back into the "ocean," but you wil fail, you will finally realize that just like these helpless fish, you are “Washed Up!”
The fish panic for several more seconds, attempting to return to the ocean. The feeble fish quaver just one last time, they no longer have the energy to live without water, the fish instantly stop moving, they are lifeless, washed up fish. The camera begins to fade, instantly Triple H jolts up the camera to his eyes level.
Triple H: After Orton and I defeat you, you’re gonna’ beg for mercy, you’re gonna beg not to end up like all the others… and I’ll just have two words for ya’… SUCK IT!
Triple H executes his signature taunt, just as he is about to lower his arms, he turns his taunt into a crotch chop. The camera slowly pans to the lifeless corpses of the fish. The camera slowly fades from a motionless image of the deceased fish with Triple H’s snicker of confidence while doing the crotch chop in the background. The screen slowly fades black, and then turns to a SNME crowd.