MATCH PROMO Dead Men Working In The Cane Fields

Visual Prophet

Baethoven
EAW ROSTER
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Fuck anybody that really expected me to go easy on this dead beat bastard. I’m putting him in his place; right in the ground. Diamond Cage will lose at Battle of Egypt. I know this, he knows this, the people know this. But, I’m not naive. I wasn’t born yesterday. DC has a chance. The slimmest of slim slim chances any one can have of upsetting me. Can he get back to his old self? Recharge and charge forth aggressively? Let him. Please. I beg of you. Hands and knees begging. Prayer hands together as I sing to the heavens. Sincerely Bae, Viz-U-L. Your prophetic brethren. Willing to risk it all like that Carmelo-Rihanna Meme. Please CAGE, PLEASE! Beat me and prove the entire galaxy wrong! Or just sit still and take this whipping like a man.

This is a dangerous lifestyle we live. Do you agree, DC? You may be grossed out by my mannerisms and quizzical vandalism. But can you put your pride by the door, kick your shoes off, sit Indian position, and listen to the dialogue? This lifestyle is for the sick and craziest. We can get hurt at any moment. Not just physically but legacy wise. Case in point, how badly have you fucked up all the stock you worked for by being a loser for all of 2019? You are on a infinite loop of tragedy and stupid decisions and I’m going to give you a way out. I said I wanted to end your career and I meant it. I want to bury the old you and allow you a chance to move about any way or direction your heart desires. I’m here to save you from you and bless you with a gift nobody else could ever afford. This here is luxury. Far more expensive then any dollar amount in the off shore bank accounts that the Answers World Champion could possess. Far more valuable then every buried treasure in the sands across every land. This right here is the key. This. Me and this match is your key to freedom. This is your chance at the one thing you need to do to actually make a real return or finally Rest In Peace and join Tyler Parker in a retirement home where you may feel most comfortable.

“The Revolt/EAW Old Folks Home”

A senior citizens community center for broken bodies and forgotten stars. You can book a room next to Matsuda, play shuffle board with Ashton Cross and Hurricane Hawk. You can spend your afternoons sending back and forth promos with Jay Walker about who deserves to hold and control the remote controller and get in a fist fight with CM Bank$ over the last piece of bread pudding. Every night, popping loose those dentures and playing little spoon with HBB and HBG as you all drool and snore hoping you can have a cute dream about your hay day. This could be the future you leap towards for jumping stupid and getting your head cracked crooked and defeated at Egypt.

DC, that’s just option A. That’s just one route you can proceed upon. Wanna see the other? Option B? Are you ok with me leading you on? Fine...



Say you beat me. Humorous thought but let me humor you, sport. Say you actually win. You take every thing I bring and manage to defeat me. You hit that lariat you hit before and I stay down for the count. Say you drop me on my head more times then we can count. You strap up those nice black boots, put them to good use, and kick my ass all night. Let’s just entertain these thoughts. Diamond Cage defeats The Visual Prophet as Battle of Egypt and...then what? What’s next for you? Been a Hall of Fame inductee for almost two whole years. What’s next for you to do? Become a double hall of famer like LC? Go get that World title you lost a year ago and out do your last reign? You going to recapture the glory from a year ago? A year goes by fast but looking back at it...how far have you fallen?

You were the king last summer. One whole year prior to me even signing on to join EAW. You been established and now your legacy is looking so much more deflated as time moves further away from your greatest glory. Meanwhile, I have shown time and time again that one loss aint making me quiver. You could manage to beat me like you did Drake and nobody would consider you better than Viz. I could leave EAW never winning a title greater than New Breed and I will still be regarded as one of the most spectacular stars to ever join. I have been beaten with baseball bats, fallen off cages, and lived to fight the next day. The day after. The week later. Months passed and I stayed primed and never came close to coming meek. Millions of excuses available and yet I’ve learned to accept the repercussions that come naturally. The same hips that move when I win and celebrate, they grind after I lose and have to get back to training to recapture my success because I’m the same man from the second I wake up to the second I die. Quick question, DC. Is it a gimmick if I really live it? Is it questionable if I give you queers answers when questioned? Has it ever been suspected that Viz ever would give lack luster effort? Is it crazy that not a single soul gives you a chance against me and you supposed to be the veteran? To you, maybe it’s blasphemy. But to the same sane men and women who watched me pour out liters of blood at the last FPV they saw me on and then watched me come back 6 days later to knock Ahren Fournier the fuck out...it’s a foregone conclusion on how I’m going to do you, DC.

But, you have a slim chance. My girl Nina tits so big it’s foolish but we never foolish. We always are realistic in these circumstances.

You beat me, you get your first FPV win in over a year. Your first real win since you barely beat Drake King and had to cheat to even do that. Last time you won a FPV, Kawhi Leonard was on the spurs and that was two teams ago. Last time you mattered to EAW, I wasn’t even signed yet. Last time you were relevant, Da Baby hadn’t dropped his major label debut album yet. Last time you were important, Battleground and Empire existed. The last day you were a top ten professional wrestler, was back when Prodigy from Mobb Deep was still alive. I believe you have a chance to defeat me, Cage. I just know that you won’t. I just expect that you believe that with all the doubters, your recent history, your lack of conviction in your own words, the fact that I exposed you the last two times you heard me address you, and the fact that I’m just better than you as a man, a wrestler, an entertainer, and as a mere concept...that you yourself know deep down in your heart that you can’t hang with Bae. I’m not just in the upper echelon, I am in the upper-upper echelon. I am the greatest import this company has ever brought in. I wave my hands and prepare myself every match in a tantric stance. I am in tune with the universe. Tantrums you scream about can convince the marks that this will be a fair clash but you can ask the real fans. The spirits get slashed when they step to Bae. Sluts get slayed and souls get stabbed when you fuck with Viz. I am a created player in this company, you just a regular joe. You lose to me, how many FPV losses in a row is that for you? You do the math. Your career dead and I got beaten nearly to death at Territorial Invasion so I guess we both Zombies. Except, I’m a mummy wrapped in garments so lavish and awesome. So expensive but not because of the money paid but rather, because it touched my skin and if I resold it, the proceeds could rival a small fortune. You going against me is your misfortune. You really don’t know who you fucking with, DC.

I am I. الواحد و الوحيد. The Visual Prophet, Vizzy Bae, Baethoven, The Voodoo Priest.



I am immortal and you should be ever so lucky to sling words with me. The Visual Prophet claps his hands and the world pays attention. I can feel the oxygen as it is being moved through my blood. I can hear the whispers from the forest trees to the inner city. The stars align when I wave my hands high. My mind conjures up dangerous decisions that many would never expect. Got every opponent worried more about my dick then they own. “Who Viz fucking, who Viz screwing? Viz gotta be gay, RIGHT?!” Is the tip they grip. Who am I putting my body all over? Pounding out? Stretching out? You, stupid! This Usain vs a snail in a foot race. Look at how slow you look now that you are now forced to run next to me. I can jog backwards, blindfolded, ankle weights on, arms doing the Macarena, while chain smoking, and still Bae will lap you thrice before I exhale the cancer from my lungs. This the perfect pace. I always run a near perfect race. You got the eye of a tiger but I really had a tiger at Midsummer Massacre, Cage.

This where Bae exhales and blows carcinogen in your face.

Sit down, sissy. Not a single fucking person of note has you standing a chance. You more out of style and out of touch then blackberry phones with the side scroll or 40 year olds sagging pants. This the part where I alienate most of the fans like Sigourney Weaver. But in the end, one throwback cliche will have me looking golden like Goku vs Frieza. Diamond Cage vs The Visual...pussy, you probably see me face to face and freeze up. Choke under the brightest lights that you ever seen. Every jab you jot, I can already see it. Every heavy hook you throw, know ima weave it. Nobody is as hardcore as Cage. Right? Right?! Lies. The boldest of lies. How something so false have me truly outraged? When I know the truth myself, huh? Got my soul hot, smoke bellowing out my ears like my brain is burning sacred sage. I trust if you made it this far, I’ll be afforded to go deeper. Let me go deep. Below sea level. You see me and see glory and greatness. I see you and I think dirt, tombstones, and Darkane’s famous shovel. Here goes a fresh addition to add to my many names. Call me Vaya Angelou. I know why the caged bird screams. You the caged bird, Cage. I hold the key to your freedom. Fucking chicken head. You are a flamingo. You are a swallow. You are a cockatoo.

Diamond Cage gay ass probably takes these extended breaks so he can privately fly down south and secretly swallow a cock or...

Too many judge me for being different but when they meet me they can’t help but pay homage. in the ring I am violent prancer. Outside, I’m a fucking gentleman. Vizzy Bae the enchanting. Just that, when the bell rings...I murder everybody in front of me regardless of sex or race. I’m a demon chancellor. Bae. The Necro Mancer. Speaking clear to the dead. Better yet, how about you say my name and prefix it with “The Final Chapter”. Your story closes and they gave me the duty to write your last page, Cage. Shaky warrior vs a fucking sorcerer. Diamond Cage with his ego fragile against The Magnificent Viz is like a bull running around fine china, glass slippers, and fabrege eggs. It’s not hard to break somebody down that’s already broken in two. The cracks in his armor already there from his last few lashings as I slash away his complacency. Spirit withered away with each shot I’m aiming, splinter ridden his graces. Black boots, black vests, that’s your style? How about I give you a black eye to match your style? Suited and booted in all black is how you address me? Perfect for these funeral arrangements. Here lies DC. But don’t fret on death’s permanent staging. You dead motherfucker. Enjoy it or fight back and show me and everybody that we are wrong here kicking dirt on your body.

If you really coming back, pork face ass cac, who can usher you back in better than Bae can?



Fried you last weekend early like a strip of bacon. The first promo I did stripped you of every bit of confidence in your consciousness. I fucking do this, DC. I mean, look no further then my past victims who suffered under my voodoo, DC. My record is full of dead people, soon that will include you, DC. You look like you belong in one of my graves. Right next to Adam Graves I have saved a grave and that’s where I’m going to put you, DC. Looking half man, half decay all over your face. You dying, Cage. This what I’m faced with? If being flabby and sick is contagious then I may forfeit this. Just in case it’s, something in the air like...a biochemical war we waging. I almost caused a geopolitical crisis at Fighting Spirit when I was gifted a tiger from a dictator. I matter to the pupils and the weekly viewership audience. I am very important to the world, the influence is unwavering. From the ring posts all the way to the backstage sets. Find one woman or man with more precise phrases. Fine another person who can apply pressure to diamonds like me that isn’t already jeweler. Call me Visual Diamonds with all the jewels I drop on to you. Lemme say my name for the misinformed.

The Visual Prophet.

The potent poet with powerful pacing. You hypnotized by the hips, huh? It’s all in the rhythm. In Michigan, they call it “jitting”. I’m dancing and you standing still. We could do this anywhere. I could engage Cage in the kitchen. We could wrestle by a stove or a sink full of dirty dishes. I am a very open minded person. We can fight anywhere on earth...Egypt is just where we have to do it. I almost hate myself for having to do it. Almost, but never fully, because the truth is...somebody has to do this. I said from the jump I wanted to end your career. After I beat you, we will close off that great first half of a wrestler story and end this misery you have been growing far to easily accustomed to living. You hit the lottery when you accepted this fight. The constant losing, the lackadaisical performances, the disappointment after disappointment with excuses after excuses on why you sucked, why this time is different. The bullshit speeches about why you still a fucking monster, and all the bullshit you spill out your mouth before somebody shuts you up for four months. I’m ending it for your sake and ours.

Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe you will redefine everything negative we ever said about you and your twilight hour of a career. You will finally rise up to the occasion and beat a quality opponent, get your first major win in nearly 365 days, and come back a full force to be reckoned with. You rise from the ashes and do like Lethal Consequences and Impact and show us new talents what it truly means to be great. You inspire other bum ass flacks like SOSA to stop bullshitting and get back in the game. You maybe even drag that old whore Cleopatra out of Gavin Kirkland’s basement and have everyone old, brittle, and bruised back in to the business after having the greatest performances of your career at Battle of Egypt. Truth is you won’t do anything of the sorts. You are going to get beat and sorted out. Dumped to the side and left to rot. My new white walker following the Night King as nothing but a reminder to all facing me in the future of how dangerous I can be.

I should take my Netflix money and start my own wrestling company for old has beens like Diamond Cage and the flukes from his era like Ice Cube did with NBA vets in The Big 3. Call it “We Old Wrestlers”. Wow, I’m a genius! Have DC face HRDO and some more old pieces of shit for the AARP World title and watch them fumble around the ring with their geriatric gestures. All this dreaming is for nothing, though. I’m going to kill the last bit of credibility DC has and end his career at Battle of Egypt and that will be all she wrote. Say my name... 💋

XOXO
 

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