Team ELITE vs Luck/Papes

[Ryan Cooke]

Good luck to all!

[lukeyluck]

The largest member of the QB K9’s, isn’t just the power and size of the group, he’s the ‘luck of the draw’. He has to be the luckiest black man in the whole world. Yes, he’s luckier than Barak Obama. Blackjack, dice, and some poker are his first loves, now he’s decided to take on a new challenge in wrestling.

After a minimal amount of time training under Acid ‘One Quick’ Tripper in Queens, New York, Lukey ran into a guy named known as Chico at night club…or was it a strip club? Later on he learned Chico was Aaron Vasquez.

Now he’s finally here ready to prove to the world that he and his dawgs plus the prep Blake Samuels, are going to soon be a proven force in this business.

The first ‘task’ if you will, is going to be killing the minions of one Mr. CJ Rowell, Team Elite. Lukey wanted to know a little bit from Blake on Team Elite and what there really about.

“Who da fuk dis Team Elite be? Dat dem two biatchez gettin fuk’d up da azz by dat nigga CJ Rowell,” rang out by the often outspoken Lukey.

“Yeah, you know it man. Those two are nothing but jokes to us, that’s all.” Blake Samuels said trying to get jiggy with Lukey’s jive.

“So wat up wit dem? Who dey iz an’ whah dey gotz?” He asked.

“Honestly?” Blake asks with a concern.

“Naw mo fuka, I speekin juz ta speek.” Lukey bluts.

Blake, not knowing what to do or say to reassure his mind just sits there like a deaf mute only moving his hands around.

“Yo, spit it out dawg, I gotz ta knoz bout dem niggas.” Lukey says a little angered.

Inhale. Exhale.

“Okay bro, they’ve been to the Orient and did some good there. They won some tag team title there and they say/think they’re going to run roughshod over Pure Pro Wrestling too.” Blake assures him.

“Orient?”

…Pausing…

“Ya meen li’ Japan?” Lukey asks.

Blake rolls his eyes and thinks to himself for a moment.

“Yeah bro, Japan is the Orient.” Blake says as he begins to crack a smile.

Lukey may not be the smartest person to ever grace the ring in PPW, but he’ll be one of the hardest hitters there, no joke.

“Fuk dem Japz, dey aint shit. I beatz dem Team Elite bitchez by ma self. Den, Imma fine mea ho, fip a qwat’r an tell’uh headz, I geets brainz, tailz, I geeta tap’on dat azz.” Lukey boasts.

“Bro, you need to worry about Johnny Lightning and Dusty Griffith before you worry about a hood rat.” Blake tries to explain to him.

Lukey stares a hole through Blake and then smiles and pulls out a quarter from his pocket.

“Headz, I geetz mea ho, tailz, I hear’ya bout dem two hos Papes an ma’self fuk’d up lazz timez.” Lukey tries to compromise.

Blake smiles and shakes his head then looks at Lukey.

“Deal bro,” Blake says with a cringe.

Lukey flips the coin up into the air. It falls fast to the table, clanks down and does its little spinning act.

Black looks over at the coin and mutters, “Damn it,” before looking up at Lukey.

“I alwaz tellz ya, ya don’mess wit ma moneyz o ma hoz.” He tells Blake with a smile on his face.

Blake looks at him, and then looks back at the coin. “It’s a two headed coin, I know you’re not that damn lucky. He picks it up and flips it over to see the tails side of the coin.

“I gotz a giff, baleev dat brah.” Lukey says as he stands up and walks away.

“Yeah you do, I just hope your luck never runs out.” Blake says under his breath as he watches Lukey leave.

[teamelite]

"Ha! Can't get no pussy with a black eye and split lip there, He-Man?"

[Chris Butler sits on the soft black couch in the red carpeted living room area of the Team ELITE apartment. He is wearing blue jeans, white socks and a black tank top. His long black hair has been cut short, surprisingly, to a fade. Butler is holding a Miller Lite can in his right hand and channel surfing with his left, all while staring blankly at the thirty seven inch LCD tv.]

"It's okay, bro. Just think, with that smooth hair trim you got there, you'll be more aero-dynamic in the sack with all those fat chicks."

[Butler glances over at Daniel Corey, who is flipping through what is a wall of CD cases on an oak wall with a built in rack. Corey is wearing black and red Nike shorts, a red Cincinnati Bearcats t-shirt and white low cut socks.]

"What? Stealth mode my dude."

[Butler shakes his head before returning his gaze at the television. He has found what he's interested in, The Ultimate Fighter.]

"Turn that shit off, you know it's staged like boxing. Why else would their champion be who it is. If you want to learn that stuff, you do that, but don't be ruining our matches by dry humping the guy forever, I don't get paid by the hour."

[Corey stops searching for a CD as he removes one from the thousands and tosses it down on the counter. Once again, Butler looks over at his partner.]

"It's an idea I had that needs music. By the way, don't steal that face paint set I have and use it as body paint with your hookers, you ape. That shit set me back a few hundred."

[Butler ignores his partner and takes a big sip of beer.]

"C.J. told me I should diversify myself if I'm going to be at the top like him one day. Now, usually I don't listen when people tell me to change myself, but he's like the biggest name in wrestling left. So that's like if Patti LeBelle told Britney Spears to stop being a whore... you get my drift right?"

[Butler shakes his head to say 'no' without diverting his eyes from the tv screen.]

"Sometimes, things change, you know? Say you go down with a case of herpes. No one's going to want to book you to give head scissors to anyone, so you're gone. What can I do? I'll tell you what I can do... diversify my man. I can market myself if I work on a back up plan today."

[Corey runs his hand through his spiked, short dyed blonde hair. Before he opens the CD case, he scratches his thin brown beard.]

"I'm going to be a World Champion some day, with or without you. So maybe when you decide to pound guys from behind in the Octagon, I'll be facing off against World Champions and taking Eric Dane's legacy as my own. I'll be a forty-five time World Champion. Damn, that sounds sexy."

[Butler is ignoring his opponent as he watches how these UFC fighters train for the cage.]

"If you're so big into doing this, why don't you get in touch with Parker Smith and Curtis Penn? Those two clowns can show you how to rape a man in thirty seconds flat. Turn that shit off and get ready for the gym, we have to train for these two matches."

[The big man of the team polishes off the beer, before standing up and grabbing his gym bag off the floor. Since it's in the high forties in this winter wonderland called New England, he just grabs a 'TE' black and red hoodie and hurries off.]

"Shit, that's all I had to say?"

[Corey smirks as he grabs his bag and a red and blue leather Red Sox jacket before he leaves as well.]

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

[Blockbuster Academy.]

"C'mon bitch, show me what you're made of!"

[Daniel Corey, in just a pair of black Nike wind pants and boots, has a young student in a camel clutch, while wrenching back on the hold. The young man, no more than eighteen years of age, has pain pasted on his red face.]

"If you can't fight out of this, you'll never beat the Iranians! Man, you're pathetic."

[Corey releases the hold as tnhe kid begins tapping Corey's leg to submit. Corey slaps him upside the head before dropping him face first in the mat.]

"You need to get lost. We don't give ring time to sissy girls."

[The kid slowly rolls out of the ring and scutters away to the locker room while hold his necck and lower back. Corey chuckles as C.J. Rowell enters the ring, dressed in blue long shorts and a black "Blockbuster" t-shirt, tossing Corey a towel.]

Rowell: You didn't have to be so mean.

[Corey sighs.]

Corey; He didn't have to be such a pussy either. I hope he doesn't quit though, I've been dying to put that pussy in a sharpshooter since I first came here.

[Rowell shakes his head as he puts his hands on his hips.]

Rowell: I may be a champion and all, but this is still where most of my money comes from, so don't make these kids quit.]

Corey: Let me ask you something...

[Corey wipes the perspiration from his brow.]

Corey: Chris is still upset about his loss to Silsbury on Friday. He wants to dabble in MMA. I think it's retarded...

Rowell: Nah, that's not stupid. He's a big man with a lot of speed and agility. He'd be perfect for it. Did you tell him to contact Parker Smith?

[Corey is in disbelief as he stares at the PPW Heavyweight Champion.]

Corey: Yeah, but it was sarcastic, man. I don't need him becoming unfocused and lazy because he's doing MMA and pro wrestling. I'm trying to be a World Tag Team Champion right now and he's around just for that.

[Rowell tries to chime in.]

Rowell: It's good traini...

Corey: I told him to do the singles thing over in S-PRO so he could get a taste of the big time one on one matches, not for him to squander the single greatest thing he could do, team with me.

[Rowell shakes his head.]

Rowell: It's going to make him a more well-rounded athlete. I can show him with I can about submissions, but I'm not an MMA fighter. Those guys have different ways to lock those holds on that are a lot better than ours.

[Corey leans against the ropes.]

Corey: I don't know, man. We've got the K9's and Team Wildfire coming up this week. I don't need him distracted. Can you talk to him to get him to focus on our upcoming matches for this week, then he can worry about this MMA junk?

[Rowell looks over as Chris Butler emerges from the locker room in a bit of a daze.]

Rowell: Yeah, let me talk to him.

[Black.]