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FWO reAction

October 24, 2009

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the Verbal Molotov

First, white.

Then the following four word edict spread out in almost two parallel lines:

THIS WORKRATE
KILLS KILLJOYS

Beneath that, a still picture of the move that'd last changed the landscape of the fWo back in August, delivered to High Flyer from the shirt's wearer--the reason, as the camera continued to pan down, that the World Championship was obscuring the notorious three letters underneath the shot.

Pan back up.

This just in?

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

"Whatever, rubes."

KEITH SUCKS! KEITH SUCKS! KEITH SUCKS! KEITH SUCKS!

"You see, Madealovers, this isn't about you. This is about the same thing it's been about for weeks: the only prize in the game that matters. The only belt in the industry that shines as bright now as it did the day it was birthed a decade ago. The twenty pounds of gold that magically finds its way into the hands of Hall of Famers past, present, and future.

And the fact--" Keith allowed himself a slow shake of the head, and came up with a disengenuous smile. "--the fact that I've got it--and that nobody can do anything to stop me."

The crowd booed lustily, as they were wont to do with Keith speaking.

"Not your heroes, and damn sure not your villains. Since my climb to the main event began in earnest this summer I have left a trail of ruined careers, humbled inferiors, and brain damage in match after match." He scratched his nose, thought about it. "Well, except Tony Davis, but the Lord beat me to that one." His face re-hardened.

"Hell, I just heard Max Danger himself is on the shelf after the Epicenter leveled him last week. So you would think this would engineer the mandatory respect I've EARNED. I'm the World Champion of the Organization--YOUR World Champion, thank you EVERsomuch. But no.

You know what I get?

I get a coward in a mask and his junkie life partner stepping all over my glorious moment.

I get you rubes showering me with another round of disrespect.

And, if those things aren't galling enough on their own accord, this week the new face of the fWo, the man who's put in more World Title defenses in a few short weeks than Harmen did in MONTHS--I get this annoying gnat buzzing my head again. I get a fun face from my past who's the so-called mad genius of the fWo.

Later tonight--I face Krow."

The crowd booed that as well.

"Krow, the resident Wile E. Coyote of the operation--I don't know how you barely surviving the mentally broken-down Dying Star last week rocketed you up the charts in order to be even worthy to get within PICTURE-TAKING distance of MY belt, but que sara sara, right? Because while everybody else runs scared of the man, I stand tall.

Stand proud.

And LAUGH.

Krow, the last time we got in a ring together your shoulders were the ones down for the count. What's happened to my teammates? Gone. Forgotten. What's happened to you? You lost two titles. Hell, I've spent more time polishing this thing than you had keeping it--"

That got some oohs and aahs out of the joint, but the irrepressible Zimmerman soldiered on.

"--and you want to challenge the throne tonight? That's awesome. You see, the last time I saw you, you were running for the hills. And now you're so paranoid you're turning on your alleged friends. Tremendous. You see, Krow, you wanted to destroy the Organization, but now you say you want to dominate it?

There's only one problem in the design architecture, Krow E.: I ALREADY AM. This year I've defeated World Champion after World Champion, Hall Of Famer after Hall Of Famer, LEGEND AFTER LEGEND, IMMORTAL AFTER IMMORTAL. And after a decade of just doing pretty well, the World Championship has finally hit its apex. It's finally in the hands of a perfect wrestler.

MEEEEEE.

Didya hear that? Wrestler? This isn't going to be your PIW BS with tables, flaming thumbtacks, broken glass, trash cans and chairs. This is 2009. NOT 2001. This is going to be me putting on a wrestling CLINIC in that ring tonight whether these artery clogs deserve it or not.

This is going to be me breaking you down piecemeal, and once that happens, you're just another Mayweather. Another Creed. Another Delacroix. Another Jacobs. Another Harmen.

And you're going down just the same as them. This is the year of Zimmerman, because I SAY it is. And as the best wrestler in the world today--" Again, the devious grin, making itself into the all-too-familiar SMIRK~! "--as YOUR World Champion?

This Workrate Kills Killjoys.

And this Zimmerman?

Drops the anvil on Krow E, tonight."

And just like that the BeavenTron went back to basics.