Post by Deleted on Dec 6, 2015 6:31:06 GMT
Allow me to say this, for posterity and the sake of perspective:
We are the bad guys.
The darkness to the light, the forces of evil that would stand in the way of all that is good and righteous…
We are Team Rudo.
For somebody like The Ginger Tiger, it’s been a culmination of his efforts to secure his place on top of the food chain by the end of Season 1.
For somebody like Zargnax, it’s another inconvenience involving primitive, hairless apes, on his way to that eventual conquest of our planet.
Brutus Smith? Please refer back to The Ginger Tiger.
Nirvana’s an old man, an aged warrior who cannot; will not go down without a fight. Perhaps his participation in Pollomania, might give him the final shot at glory, or the notoriety, that he so desperately sought.
I’m just here for a paycheck, in case anybody was wondering.
It doesn’t matter how we all got here, forced to stand shoulder-to-shoulder-to-exosuit, against a team of Tecnicos who are dead-set on giving the Pollomania fans their money’s worth.
Our collective destinies were now hopelessly entangled as the battle lines are drawn.
I could’ve just as easily told that office boy from the Canadian Embassy to go fuck himself and spat in his face. Would’ve it have been a wise course of action? Perhaps not, but I could’ve just as easily done it, given the severe lack of fucks I had to give about El Tigre Jengibre and his fucking endless war against the forces of Good.
Perhaps there might even be honor among thieves.
Simply by virtue, or defect if you’d like, of our personalities and character; we will always be known as the Rudos among the luchadores, the bad eggs in a carton.
We don’t go out of our way to endear ourselves to our audience. In fact, some of us, including myself, go the extra mile to incite their anger and offend their sensibilities.
I mean, I could write it off as public perception: the necessary evil that has to be dealt with in order to make a living in pro-wrasslin’. That is, of course, alongside the aliens, the ray guns, fast-food employees, the gravy and the rampant abuse of diplomatic privileges by You-Know-Who….
But then again, I ask myself:
How would the business survive without people like us?
What would wrestling be like without the bad guys?
Sometimes, people need to be reminded of certain things. While every Tecnico needs a Rudo to fight the good fight against, they don’t always walk out victorious.
Sometimes, the bad guys win.
Of course, there’s the Boos, the jeers, the curses, the heckling and if you’re bad enough; the soft-drink cups, the beer cans and the well-aimed spit-logie infused with tobacco juice.
But fuck it, somebody has to keep them coming back for more, right?
Somebody has to step up.
So let us hold our heads up high.
Altogether now, say it with me:
You’re fucking welcome.
We are the bad guys.
The darkness to the light, the forces of evil that would stand in the way of all that is good and righteous…
We are Team Rudo.
For somebody like The Ginger Tiger, it’s been a culmination of his efforts to secure his place on top of the food chain by the end of Season 1.
For somebody like Zargnax, it’s another inconvenience involving primitive, hairless apes, on his way to that eventual conquest of our planet.
Brutus Smith? Please refer back to The Ginger Tiger.
Nirvana’s an old man, an aged warrior who cannot; will not go down without a fight. Perhaps his participation in Pollomania, might give him the final shot at glory, or the notoriety, that he so desperately sought.
I’m just here for a paycheck, in case anybody was wondering.
It doesn’t matter how we all got here, forced to stand shoulder-to-shoulder-to-exosuit, against a team of Tecnicos who are dead-set on giving the Pollomania fans their money’s worth.
Our collective destinies were now hopelessly entangled as the battle lines are drawn.
I could’ve just as easily told that office boy from the Canadian Embassy to go fuck himself and spat in his face. Would’ve it have been a wise course of action? Perhaps not, but I could’ve just as easily done it, given the severe lack of fucks I had to give about El Tigre Jengibre and his fucking endless war against the forces of Good.
Perhaps there might even be honor among thieves.
Simply by virtue, or defect if you’d like, of our personalities and character; we will always be known as the Rudos among the luchadores, the bad eggs in a carton.
We don’t go out of our way to endear ourselves to our audience. In fact, some of us, including myself, go the extra mile to incite their anger and offend their sensibilities.
I mean, I could write it off as public perception: the necessary evil that has to be dealt with in order to make a living in pro-wrasslin’. That is, of course, alongside the aliens, the ray guns, fast-food employees, the gravy and the rampant abuse of diplomatic privileges by You-Know-Who….
But then again, I ask myself:
How would the business survive without people like us?
What would wrestling be like without the bad guys?
Sometimes, people need to be reminded of certain things. While every Tecnico needs a Rudo to fight the good fight against, they don’t always walk out victorious.
Sometimes, the bad guys win.
Of course, there’s the Boos, the jeers, the curses, the heckling and if you’re bad enough; the soft-drink cups, the beer cans and the well-aimed spit-logie infused with tobacco juice.
But fuck it, somebody has to keep them coming back for more, right?
Somebody has to step up.
So let us hold our heads up high.
Altogether now, say it with me:
You’re fucking welcome.