[Giani Di Luca]

 ”You STUPID… ARROGANT… COCKY PRICK!”

These words echo throughout Giani Di Luca’s ears as he stares deep into the wolf-like eyes of Misty.  He is focusing on nothing besides those hauntingly beautiful eyes, even though she is clearly directing anger toward him.  He notices the way the left corner of her lips twitches slightly as her eyebrows arch in what is clearly a rage.  A light tinge of pain runs up his arm as she punches him in it.  She does this repeatedly as Giani stands there, entranced by those eyes, the porcelain skin of a real goddess.  Her lips move, but all he hears are faint echoes as she begins shoving him backward.  Everything in him wants to shout back at her, but he just… can’t.  A smile comes over his face and she stops, narrowing her eyes at him.  He can almost swear she was asking him “What do you have to be so FUCKING happy about?”  He tries to move his lips, but it just doesn’t work.  She uses the palm of her hand to knock herself against the side of her head, shouting further at him.

Misty:  Duhhh, HELLO?  You fucking idiot, can you even hear me?  Are you that dense now that you can’t even answer a simple fucking question?  Why are you smiling?  What is so wonderful about me being irate with you?

Her words fade into the background as a new feeling washes over him.  It is a feeling he has never felt with Misty before.  His blood starts to boil, and he realizes he is no longer paralyzed by her beauty, or his feelings for her.  He starts by moving his hand at his side slowly.  He pumps his fingers, balling his fist up and then releasing it.  His right eye begins to twitch, and a darkness settles in over him.  He begins moving forward, but Misty doesn’t back down.

Giani:  You wanna know why I’m smilin’?  Cause I think it’s cute when YOU think you can intimidate me like I was Spike freakin’ Staggs or somethin’!  You was probably able to make him ya bitch, but I ain’t no bitch, capiche?!  I’m a man…

Misty stares at him during his outburst, and then she tilts her head back with a sarcastic laugh.  With a roll of the eyes, she settles them back on Giani as if she were going in for the verbal kill.  She takes an almost seductive strut toward him as she trains her stare directly on the area of question.

Misty:  You are always talking a big game, “Mr. Di Luca”.  If you were really everything that you say you are, then you would have charmed me out of my pants by now, wouldn’t you?  I mean, you say you are this suave master of love making, yet all you ever do is *hand motions* talk… talk… talk…

Giani:  Oh, now ya gonna give me shit cause I haven’t forced myself on ya?  What kinda shit is that?  You’re the kind of crazy fucking BITCH that would send me to jail for that shit, and you know it!  I might be good at what I do, but I ain’t never gonna force myself on no one, got it?

Misty giggles as she walks forward, but now Giani is moving backward.  Misty is playing a game of cat and mouse with him, stalking forward as he smile gets bigger.  Giani doesn’t want to give in, though, so he matches her steps forward with steps back, one by one, ever so slowly.

Misty:  Why, Mr. Di Luca… it’s almost like you are trying to hurt my feelings?  First, you call me a lesbian.  Then you go all Rain Man, staring at me like I was insane.  Now you are calling me insane?  A bitch?  Well, you are going to have to be a little more creative than that if you want to hurt my feelings.  You are just avoiding the obvious.  You are a scared little boy, trapped in a man’s body.

She finally catches up to him and begins smacking at his arm as hard as she can.  It leaves a slight sting as her anger returns to her face once more.  However, this time, Giani grabs onto her arm, pulling her in toward him.  She rears her hand back to slap him, but he snatches that arm up too.  She growls at him, spitting in his face before speaking.

Misty:  Let… me… GO!

Giani spins her around and shoves her down onto his bed.  He peels off his shirt as Misty sits there, stunned.  He tosses his shirt in her face as he leans over the edge of the bed.  He uses his arms in an almost gorilla-like posture to pull himself over her.  She stares up at him, almost quivering.  The diamond crusted cross hanging from his neck slowly tickles her just below her neck.  His deep dark brown eyes stare into the oceans that are Misty’s, and it was almost as if he had stolen the breath away from her.  It was her turn to be in a trance, silently begging him to give her everything that she has secretly desired since the day he ever stepped foot in Sin City Wrestling.  She wanted that sweet, innocent young man who whooped Jamie Staggs’ ass all over the arena just for fun.  She wanted to corrupt him.  She wanted that bitter, jaded Giani who had become nothing more than an under utilized bodyguard to Spike Staggs, so loyal and yet so corrupted.  Then, she wanted this powerhouse, arrogant sonuvabitch who thought he was on top of the world.  Of course, in her eyes, he was.  He was hovered over her, and that was exactly what she wanted most of all.  She wanted to devour him, so badly, but something in him just wouldn’t let her.  It was her turn to be under his trance.

Giani:  How is this for a scared little boy?  Would a scared little boy stuff ya like a Thanksgivin’ turkey for hours on end, making you moan, quiver, shake, and begging for more?

Misty:  No, he wouldn’t.  Only a real man could make any of that happen.

Giani nods his head slowly, but with authority as he leans down, kissing on the left side of her neck.  He laps his tongue against it between each pang of his lips.  He stops and then switches to the other side, finding an even better reaction from Misty.  She gasps and does everything she can to fight the feeling, but it had consumed her the second he was hovering over her.  He tilts her head forward, supporting her head as he flicks his tongue over her lips in a tease.  She grabs onto his shoulders and runs her nails over them, causing him to moan as well.  He hovers just an inch above her lips, both trying to resist what is now inevitable.  The attraction of opposites is too strong now as their lips meet, fighting out their passionate fury.  Misty wraps her arms around Giani’s neck and he wraps his around her waist, lifting her up onto his lap.  She plants her knees against the bed as she hovers over him, trying to take control.  She tugs at the hair near the back of his head as her long raven locks become a curtain that conceals them as she tugs him down to his back.

Misty:  I’m not sure if you can handle this, Mr. Di Luca.

Giani gives her a moment where she dominates over him, allowing her to quickly untie her black and red laced corset.  However, he leans up and pulls the string out slowly with his teeth.  Within a few quick jerks of his head, the corset falls off of her, and Giani quickly flips her onto her back.  He presses his torso against hers, running his hands up and down her bare sides.  He runs his tongue down her stomach as she crosses her arms over her chest.  He leans his head under her skirt and with no hands, he pulls off her black laced panties, holding them between his teeth before spitting them out onto the floor next to the fallen corset.  He stalks above her until his glistening chest is pressed against hers.  Her cheeks gain a slight red tint as Giani pushes down his pants and she digs her nails into the bed post, leaving scratch marks…

It is then that the sunlight hits Giani’s face.  His eyes clinch together before fluttering open.  He looks at the empty spot next to him in the bed, and it hits him that this was only a dream.  He sighs in disappointment.  He leans forward, clutching at the medical patches covering his upper back.  He pulls the hotel covers off of himself and tosses them over the side of his bed, clutching at his head to get a grip on himself.

{I Got My Speakers On Wrecked!}

{Cut Scene}

We come into the green room where Giani is already hard at work.  He picks up the canvas chair and throws it across the room.  Dean Lombardo cocks an eyebrow up from behind his sunglasses when Giani reaches up above the screen that sports the Manhattan skyline with the BACW logo in front of it.  He grunts as he tugs at it, ripping it partially from the wall.  The metal beam that once held it in place is hanging down to expose a white wall.  Giani finishes ripping it from the wall, covering himself in the screen.  He tears the screen as much as he can with his bare hands before Dean puts a hand on Giani’s tender shoulder.  Giani quickly flings the supportive hand off of him and he shoves Dean against the wall.  In his fit of rage, he stumbles, tripping over the torn pieces of the screen.  He kicks his feet out, trying to untangle the pieces from around his shoes.  He seems to notice the camera suddenly as he huffs and puffs.  He picks up a bottle of Smart Water and sprays it into his mouth before drenching his nearly red face with it.  His chest heaves as he rests one hand on top of the camera as if to get in each and every one of our faces.

Giani:  You all like this sh*t, dontcha?  It’s pretty f*ckin’ funny to see the Reflection of Perfection bein’ tarnished, right?  You musta loved seein’ the Italian Stallion bein’ stampeded over.  Are you all gettin’ a kick outta the replays?  I bet you disgustin’ losers sittin’ at home are just lovin’ this meltdown.  After the travesty known as the King of the Deathmatch Tournament, you must be pretty pleased, huh?  Two years in a row, I was screwed over.

Giani’s eyes almost seem to light up with a devious mixture of excitement and rage.  He lets out a nervous sort of laughter as he bobs from side to side for a second.  Once he steadies himself, a smile spreads across his face.  He leans in so that his dripping face is the only thing visible.

Giani:  I guess next time I am stupid enough to enter any NWA tournament or title match, I should just write a long, boring letter?  Hm?  Or should I go bat sh*t crazy and talk to myself in the rain about my imagination for ten minutes?  If that is the kind of people who squeak out wins, then I want none of it.  Flash in the pan wrestlers are overrated.  Overhyping the wrong people will make you lose the right ones, Batee. It is why BACW lost me last year.  It is why SCW nearly lost me until Erik Staggs stepped up and stopped me from walkin’ outta that door.  I found the confidence boost I needed, and I coulda taken down the world, but the thought of NWA disgusts me right now.  So no matter what happens with this Team Wars, I will be SCW until the day they close their doors.

Giani takes a deep breath through his nose as he continues to just stare into the camera.  His eyes are wide with fury as he pushes the camera away.  It rolls backward before colliding with the back wall, jolting as we assess the damage done by the tantrum.  Giani takes a couple of steps backward, standing in the wreckage.

Giani:  Never in my life did I ever show anyone mercy!  I am relentless! … I don’t stop until I win, or I can’t continue… That’s who I am, and that is how I got as far as I have been with being undefeated.  Until this tournament, I was never truly beaten by anybody.  All the haters out there who think otherwise can get f*cked!  I am The Italian Stallion.  I AM the Reflection of Perfection!  I am Giani Di Luca… and I AM the best wrestler alive, no matter what a dumb ass, twisted tournament says…

Giani stands amongst the wreckage once again.  He looks over to his bodyguard, Dean, and he lifts the left corner of his lips in disgust as he audibly scoffs at him.  He storms past him while muttering under his breath.

Giani:  Clean this sh*t up, Dean.  Make ya’self useful for once…

The comment obviously makes Dean’s blood boil as he stands still for a second, turning his head slightly to look at Giani with a disgusted look on his face.  After the door to the room is slammed, Dean slowly leans down and starts picking up pieces of the fallen screen as we fade in.

{End Cut Scene}


{It Would Have Been Good To Be King}

King of the Death Match has come and gone now, and the outcome was a complete shock to Giani.  He had already set up a celebration for himself at his favorite Vegas hang out, LAX Night Club in the Luxor.  He had invited all of his friends, which incidentally happens to be Team Erik members James Huntington-Hawkes… the third… Misty, Erik Staggs, Casey Williams, Necra Octavian Kaine, Roxanne, Tattooed Goddesses,  Primetime Matthew Kennedy, and bodyguards Simpson and Dean.  The rest of the crowd is comprised of random girls who want to get inside of Giani’s pants, and their oblivious boyfriends who were a fan of the show Giani originated from titled “Fuhgeddaboudit”.  Giani stands outside of the big black doors that look as if they were the gates to hell.  He leans against the door frame with his arms across his chest and a look of anger still etched across his face.  However, he is taking a more silent approach to his pouting.  Dean stands there in his white suit with a red dress shirt and a white tie, by Giani’s original request.  Giani’s hair is a mess, which is a first for him out in public.  He is wearing black skinny jeans with a silver cross threaded onto the left side and a matching T-shirt where the cross goes over his right shoulder.  He is wearing his usual iced out chain and cross studded sunglasses.  Dean starts rubbing his temples before clapping his hands together, looking up into Giani’s face.

Dean:  C’mon, kiddo… You know how much it costs to rent out the LAX on a Friday night?  It was a year’s salary for me back in the day.

Giani tilts his glasses down a bit, and adjusts his head so that Dean can see the nonchalant look in his eyes.  He pauses for dramatics before squinting and shaking his head.

Giani:  Yeah, but I don’t give a damn, Dino.  I ain’t goin’ in there to get embarrassed.  If ya so worried about it, why don’t you go in there and enjoy the party.

Dean:  Okay, I forgot that money ain’t nothin’ to ya, so how about this… Your friends are in there waitin’ for ya to show ya pretty face.  Are you the type of guy who wants to disappoint the people who care about him?

Giani:  Seriously, bro?  Ain’t nobody gonna miss a disappointment like me.  I lost to Spectre for cryin’ out loud!  I ain’t in the mood for this sh*t right now.  Not after all the Twitter garbage I dealt with this week, dawg.

Dean throws his hands up in the air, frustrated.  He shakes his head and drops the duffel bag in his hands to the ground.  He paces back and forth before pulling Giani’s shirt down to his eye level, just a few inches lower.  He lifts his sunglasses to his forehead, and then yanks Giani’s off of his face.  Before Giani can object, Dean’s eyes widen.  His eyes are on fire as he gets nose to nose with his client.

Dean:  Look here ya spoiled little shit!  I can take all kinds of shit from you, but this ain’t about me.  I’m here to protect ya.  That’s my job.  I would be lyin’ if I said that ya ain’t growin on me, kiddo, but… I ain’t gonna take this f*ckin’ attitude right now when I went through the trouble of settin’ all of this up.  Show some appreciation ya ungrateful, spoiled, overgrown f*ckin’ brat!

Giani seems stunned.  He certainly knew Dean was capable of doing such a thing, but he never expected Dean to do that to him.  Giani blinks his eyes, but before he can react, Dean spins him around and opens up the duffel bag.  He places the kings crown on his head, and then wraps the maroon and white cloth over his shoulders, tying it in the front.  Giani struggles with it, but Dean shoves him forward, kicking the door open at the same time.  The “Porn Star Dancing” remix by My Darkest Days featuring Ludacris is starting up.  Giani looks around, seeing several additions of cages hanging from the ceiling, each one featuring a top notch stripper strutting around the pole.  Giani looks over to the bar area that is crowded with several unknown people.  He sees a champagne tower to his left where Dean grabs two glasses, handing one to Giani.  Giani has to let a smile escape his scowl.  The crowd applauds Giani, leading him up toward the stage where a King’s throne is featured.  Giani’s eyes light up as someone walks ahead of him, letting out a red carpet.  The crowd is almost deafening, competing very well with the loud music.  Dean pats him on the back, allowing him to walk several paces ahead of him.  Giani takes a sip of champagne as he comes up to the steps.  He truly feels like royalty right now as he ascends the steps gracefully.  He stands in front of the red and gold throne, studying it before he turns around.  Tattooed Goddesses Amanda Cortez and Laura Jackson walk onto the stage, Amanda handing him a scepter, and Laura handing him a microphone.  For posturing, both ladies give him a quick peck on the cheek before returning to the crowd.

Crowd:  GIANI! GIANI! GIANI! GIANI!

Giani smiles and begins pumping his fists along with the chants.  He walks from one side of the stage to pump his fist in acknowledgement of their support.  He continues doing so as he walks to the opposite side, giving attention to them as well.  As the music dies down, Giani looks up at the ceiling.  He takes a deep breath as his smile fades.  He raises the microphone to his lips.

Giani:  Th-thank you all.  It really warms my heart that you all came out here tonight to support me.  It really shows that not everyone is a hater.  After this last week, I could really use the support.  So many jealous motherf*ckers out there, In SCW, in NWA, and plasterin’ their ignorance all over Twitter.  I promised you all a king that ya could be proud of… I’m just sorry I let you all down.  I ain’t no king.  Sorry to disappoint…  I’m no king… I’m a GOD!

With that, Giani drops the microphone and exits on the left.  He is on his way toward the side exit, but is stunned to see a familiar face standing in front of him.  Sipping on a glass of the fancy champagne is Jericho Hill.  He has a devious smirk on his face as he raises his eyebrows in a bit of faux surprise.  He chuckles as Giani looks slightly annoyed by Jericho’s joy.  Giani removes his crown and garb, tossing them in the nearby trash can and rolling his eyes.

Jericho:  Come on now, Giani… How can you get yourself confused with me?

Giani:  Seriously, bro… No offense, but I ain’t in the mood right now.  This was supposed to be a celebration for when I won King of the Deathmatch.  Instead, we are stuck with a pitiful LOSER like Chris Xtreme!  What the F*CK kind of SH*T is that?

Jericho sets his glass on the edge of the stage and positions himself in front of Giani.  Giani tries to look away, but Jericho turns his head so that he has no choice but to look directly into his eyes.

Jericho:  Don’t you dare go soft on me now, Giani.

Giani:  That’s the first time I ever heard that one…

Jericho goes to continue, but he is caught slightly off guard by Giani.  He offers him a low tone chuckle as the house music starts up to cover up the incident.  Dean leaps down from the stage to provide crowd control.  Jericho pats Giani on the shoulder, shaking his head before returning to his main point.

Jericho:  I already told you that I saw something special in you.  And before you turn that into a perverse comment, I mean it as strictly platonic…  If I didn’t think you were worthy of being a King, I wouldn’t have wasted my time even acknowledging your presence last week, and I certainly wouldn’t have put myself in that Twitter shit storm between you, Thatcher Rex, and that piss ant Drake Green.  I wouldn’t waste my time coming to Sin City Wrestling to help you fight them if I didn’t know you were destined for greatness.

Giani:  Look, dawg… kissin’ my ass ain’t gonna suddenly make me a King.  I’m sorry you were wrong, but…

Jericho lets go of Giani’s shoulders and takes a half step backward.  His eyes widen ever so slightly, but enough to convey his own annoyance with Giani.  He raises a finger in the air and slowly wags it back and forth.

Jericho:  Let’s get a couple of things straight here, gweed… First of all, I am not kissing you ass, I am stating a fact.  I don’t associate with losers, and I certainly don’t promote them or help them out in any way.  I destroy them and then I move on.  Secondly, I am never… ever… wrong!  You will learn that in time, my friend.  Now I suggest you pull yourself out of this pit of despair, and join us in the real world where you are greatness.

Giani rolls his eyes and turns his back to Jericho.  He starts to walk off when he nearly bumps into Misty, our Queen of the Damned.  She looks over to Jericho for a moment and holds a finger up, requesting a moment to talk to Giani.  When she grabs onto his shoulders, he can’t even look into her eyes.  He avoids it at all costs, looking around at the party going on around him.  Misty snaps her fingers in Giani’s face to get his attention, though he still won’t look directly into her eyes.

Misty:  What the hell are you doing?  Are you as stupid as everyone says you are?

Giani:  Yeah… maybe I am.  I definitely ain’t ya king, that’s for damn sure.  I couldn’t even put away a cripple in a Death Match… THAT’S pathetic.

Misty:  A man YOU crippled.  You put up one HELL of a fight, Giani.  Several people out there think that it was a major mistake that you did not win that tournament.  There are talks of rebellion.

Giani snaps his head down to Misty, finally giving her exactly what she has been waiting for.  He glares at her for a second before practically spitting his words out at her.

Giani:  Why rebel against something that is dying?  Let it suffer!  Let it shrivel up and f*cking die.  I don’t care about that.  I have been embarrassed for the last time, Misty.

Misty:  SCW is the crown jewel on the alliance.  Some people are jealous of us… of you.  They don’t want to see you rise to power.  As queen of the Damned, I know a king when I see one, and I am looking at one right now, Mr. Di Luca…

Misty looks over to Jericho Hill as a devious smile crosses her face.  She runs her nails over Giani’s chest harshly, causing a groan of pleasure to escape his lips.

Misty:  … as “God” is my witness, I proclaim you Giani Di Luca… KING of SIN CITY!

Jericho Hill walks up to the duo with a smirk on his face.  He pats Giani on the back with a gruff laugh escaping his lips.  Misty humbles herself for just a moment as she reaches into the trash can.  He pulls out the garb and crown, dusting them off before placing the garb over his shoulders.  He stares at her, seeming a bit unsure of himself, but he finds himself automatically kneeling down before her.  She steadies the crown on his head, making sure it is on perfectly straight.  Giani rises up, and his chest puffs out with a wicked grin on his face.  Misty encourages him to walk back onto the stage, handing him the scepter again.  He swaggers onto the stage toward the throne when he turns toward the crowd once again.  Everyone slowly turns to face the stage with Giani just waiting patiently.  The music quickly fades out and Giani looks as far out as the balconies before putting his arms out at his side.  He lets out a roar that shocks those who hadn’t noticed his presence yet.

Giani:  SIN CITY!!! I AM YOUR KIIIIIIIIIIINGGGGG!!!  Bow down before your excellency!

The crowd cheers as most of them genuflect on the ground, paying their respect to him.  He reaches down and picks up the microphone from the ground, pacing back and forth as the reality hits him.  His spirit rises up as he presses the crown more firmly on his head.  He raises the microphone to his lips.

Giani:  My first royal duty will be giving Thatcher Rex and Drake Green a ROYAL STOMPING on Sunday!  Those piss ants won’t know what hit them, whether it is my royal boot up their asses, or the harsh hand of God crashing down upon them.  Either way, one thing is crystal clear, dawg… Neither one of them is walkin’ out with the win.  I am more certain of that then I have been of anything.  I urge you all to tune in to Climax Control to watch us dish out an ass kickin’ unlike nothin’ ya ever seen in ya life!  … Ya King has spoken!

With that, Giani does a proper “mic drop” and walks over to his throne.  He takes a seat, raising his scepter in the air in a premature celebration.  He smirks and laughs as his people rush the stage.  He grips onto the arm of his chair as they raise him up in the air, letting out a roar.  He steadies himself before looking over to Misty who gives him a nod of approval.  He looks to Jericho Hill who waves him on to enjoy his celebration.  They carry his throne down to the middle of the dance floor, surrounding him as closely as they can as if trying to touch greatness, even just with their finger tips.  He looks out to his fellow Team Erik members who are standing off to the side, and he lets out another ferocious roar.  He throws his hand in the air as the house music starts up once more.  He pumps his fist, this time, with authority.  Those who are not supporting his throne mimic his actions, circling around, forming a sea of people.

If one thing is certain, Giani Di Luca is back, and stronger than ever.  He is ready to face any odds thrown his way.  His confidence is no longer shaken, only strengthened.  He had his mind set on destroying his opponents.  This one has become a bit more personal to him and Jericho Hill both.  This wasn’t going to be any regular match, but more like a war!


{I Got My Speakers On Wrecked}

{This promotional video was brought to you in part by Smart Water… “Hydrate Responsibly”}

{Cut Scene}

We enter the green room, fully refurnished.  The green screen has been fully restored, showing off the Vegas skyline with the Sin City Wrestling logo slowly spinning around in front of it in a newly animated format.  Sitting in front of the green screen is, not the usual canvas chair, but instead the gold trimmed, red velvet throne seen at Giani’s reception ceremony.  Perched on the right arm of the throne is a fresh bottle of Smart Water, glistening under the spotlight.  After being left with a few seconds to take in the new surroundings, Giani Di Luca slowly swaggers into the room.  He is wearing the skinny jeans with the silver cross stitching, the maroon and white garb over his shoulders and well oiled chest, his cross studded sunglasses, and the maroon and white gold crown.  The most prominent feature of his ensemble is the arrogant smile we come to expect from Giani.  He holds his arms out to his side as Dean comes up behind him.  Dean removes the garb and places it gently over the back of the throne before genuflecting in front of Giani, and then stepping off to the side.  Giani slowly lowers his arms to his side and taking a seat.

Giani:  I am Number One, b*tches!  It don’t matter what some bunk ass tournament, or gold plated tin belt says.  I am the best of the best.  When I say I am the King, you would be smart to believe it.  I don’t need to validate myself with some suck ass organization’s belt, or two suck ass organization’s belts.  I know I am the best.  That’s why, no matter how hard the haters try, they just can’t fade me.

Giani kicks his feet up, reclining in the throne.  Dean slides an ottoman, which matches his chair, under his feet before walking to the edge of the room once more.  Giani takes a sip from his water bottle before allowing a few drops to dribble down his chest, clinging to the contours of his well defined upper body.

Giani:  People love to get into my affairs and try to make me doubt myself.  They are just so f*ckin’ mental that they don’t comprehend that tauntin’ me is like kickin’ a hornet’s nest.  It just ain’t a good idea, bro’s.  I showed mercy once, and it screwed me over royally… Never again!  I will never do it.  That is bad news for Thatcher Rex and Drake Green.

Giani slowly pulls off his sunglasses and folds them up neatly.  As if he were afraid of breaking them, he gently sets them on the left arm of the throne.  He laces his fingers together and places them on his bare stomach.  The right side of his lips raises up into a half smile as he lets a small chuckle escape his lips.  He can’t contain it any longer as he flashes his pearly white teeth.  He lets out his signature obnoxious laugh before taking a deep breath to regain his composure.

Giani:  Some big guys who can talk a lot of sh*t from behind a computer screen or a cell phone.  Apparently I should be scared that they are gonna kick my ass.  With their three title belts between them, I probably should, right?  WRONG!  I spent half of my career with one of the very championships that Drake Green has around his waist right now.  I beat everyone they threw in my way, including former NWA World Heavyweight Champions.  I would still be the champ if I didn’t drop it to Magnum Randell to make the jump to SCW.  One motherf*ckin’ year later, I would be the most epic Empire State Champion in the history of BACW, and you would be shit, Drake.  You asked where my championship was, and it’s around ya waist dawg.  I don’t need it the way you do.  I don’t want it!

Giani leans forward, unlacing his fingers.  He points directly at the camera to emphasize his point.  His chest is puffed out as a showing of dominance.  He holds it there for a moment before easing up.  He leans back in his seat, lacing his fingers together once again.

Giani:  T-Wreck wouldn’t be the solid champion he is if I decided I really wanted the Roulette Championship.  I would annihilate anyone that stepped in my way.  But deep down, I knew that the title was beneath me, the same way I knew the Empire State Championship was beneath me.  I deserve only the best, and some cheap piece of crap belt just couldn’t do it for me.  I realized that there is no belt worthy of having my name on it, cause it ain’t never been held by anyone worthy of facin’ me.  I ain’t that charitable to just pick up any belt and think I’m hot shit for it.  I been there, done that, and proved my point.  So before either of you decide ya wanna throw it in my face that I ain’t a champion, look long and hard at those pieces of crap you put over ya shoulders, or around ya waists.  Then take a look at the cross chain I wear around my neck that is worth three times as much as all three of ya belts combined, and three times as famous too!

Giani raises his right hand up for just a second to flash the large, diamond encrusted cross pendant, tugging it away from his body and toward the camera.  He holds it there for everyone to inspect and then he lets it fall back to his chest.  He takes another sip from his Smart Water, spraying it into his open mouth.  He wipes at his lips as he lets out a refreshing sigh.

Giani:  Now, before I start talkin’ about my opponents, instead of just insultin’ their only braggin’ rights… let me address my partner.  Jericho Hill?  Why would the two of us work together, you are probably askin’ ya’self?  Why not?  I have been appointed King of Sin City.  I am royalty of the highest.  And Jericho Hill is freakin’ GOD!  It’s a match made in a twisted version of the Heaven most of us think of.  Kinda like the one from Supernatural…  Hey, don’t look at me like that!  We got the Goddess of the Dead and the Queen of the Damned here… Whatever, dawg…

Dean is chuckling behind him, but quickly covers his mouth when Giani snaps at him.  Dean turns his head so not to disrespect his King.  Giani shakes his head and rolls his eyes before returning to the camera.

Giani:  I can’t help it if even God has to admit that I’m the sh*t.  What can I say?  Guido problems, right?  As much as it “humbles” me to say this… Jericho Hill is pretty freakin’ awesome too.  The two of us will destroy the infidels and prove that they are nothin’.  I know it sounds like a crazy thing to claim, but that’s cause you idiots watchin’ this, shakin’ ya heads, just can’t see the obvious that is starin’ right at ya faces.  You are the same ones that believe a title matches you somethin’.  It is the champion that makes the championship.  When I find one worthy of my name, I will take it and make it the most valuable one in the world of professional wrestlin’.  The same goes for Jericho Hill.  Believe that sh*t dawg, seriously.

Giani nods his head as if giving his respects to his tag team partner for this week.  His playful expression has long faded, and now shit is about to get serious.  He leans up in his chair, placing his hands on his lap.  He thinks it over for a second before looking back to the camera, focusing his deep, dark brown eyes on it with intensity burning within them.

Giani:  T-Wreck… dawg… I clearly whooped ya ass last week.  It ain’t my fault you cheated “Primetime” Matthew Kennedy out of the Roulette Championship the week before.  You act like I asked them to jump in and make me look like a punk.  Do you honestly believe that someone as prideful as myself would ever ask someone who is… lets be honest… beneath me… to jump in and “save” me?  Obviously the answer is no, bro.  If you believe I did, then ya a bigger idiot than I ever thought, dawg.  Or… maybe ya knew it was the only way you could get outta that loss.  Any official loss I ever suffered was cause of some bullsh*t like that, but the difference is that I never did anything to deserve some jealous asshole jumpin’ into my affairs.  You did.  Erik Staggs sees that, and that’s why I am undefeated in SCW, cause he expunged any of those bullsh*t losses.  So get the delusion outta ya head that I would ever submit or lie on my back for ya under any circumstance.  Never in a million years, dawg.  True talk right there, and ya know it.

Giani softens his expression as he rests his body.  He holds onto the ends of the arms on the chair.  He runs his fingers over the small grooves, relaxing himself before he continues.

Giani:  When ya suck, I know it’s easy to wish ya didn’t.  Some people like you, T-Wreck… you believe that if ya wish hard enough, and believe it long enough, that you can do anythin’.  That’s a f*ckin’ fairytale, bro.  No matter how hard ya wish, no matter how hard ya believe, and no matter how many times ya watch Cinderella, it ain’t gonna happen.  That pumpkin head is still a pumpkin head.  Ya wrinkly ass is still a wrinkly ass.  Ya erectile dysfunction still requires some little blue pill, and ya still as old as dust.  Plain and simple.  Ya thinkin’ ya tough shit though cause Drake Green jumped in to defend ya.  Good for you, bro… I’m glad.  I really am.

Giani smiles once again, chuckling with the joys running through his mind now.  He nods his head as his posture slowly tenses up once again.  He looks dead center of the camera, silently staring with a devious look as he snarls his upper lip Elvis style.  He flicks his tongue playfully at the camera as his eyes widen.

Giani:  I’m gonna let ya in on a little secret, T-Wreck… You and Mister Smalltime are a perfect team.  See, you suck Thatcher Rex… You have a sucky ass title belt to glorify ya sucky ass career.  But Mr. Smalltime Drake Green has two sucky ass title belts to glorify his sucky ass career.  What does this mean?  It means he sucks twice as bad as you do.  As little as I respect you, T-Wreck… I respect Drake even less. Since I dropped the BACW Empire State Championship, it instantly lost face value.  And the more suck asses that handled it, the value was lost within months to the point where someone as piss poor as Drake Green has it now.  Such a shame, but it is the way it is.

Giani shrugs his shoulders, holding his arms out to his side as if he regrets saying this.  We know very well that he doesn’t, but he thinks he has us fooled anyway.

Giani:  Drake Green is the poster boy for kiss asses.  He is the champion of the indy federation owned by the guy who gives the breaks to the person who caresses his sack with the right grip while licking out his asshole, making it more and more obvious as time goes on.  You must be pretty f*ckin’ proud of ya’self, bro.  It must make ya feel real good that you can pledge allegiance to the man who screwed over his own World Champion.  As much as I detest Spike Staggs, he should have been given the opportunity to get destroyed by Nick Jones.  And you play into his game, Drake.  Well let me make somethin’ clear to ya.

Giani leans back quickly, cracking his back in the process.  He tilts his head to the side, popping his neck before leaning forward, cupping his hand over his mouth as if he were sharing a very private fact with Drake Green.

Giani:  This ain’t NWA rules where Batee gets to stroke ya off and make ya feel like the next big thing.  This is SCW rules where the best man wins.  I hate to break it to ya, but that ain’t you, Mr. Smalltime.  It ain’t ya partner T-Wreck.  It is The Reflection of Perfection and the true God… Giani Di Luca and Jericho Hill.  You are gonna find that out the hard way, dawg.  Come Sunday, I’m comin’ for ya.  I’m gonna show ya how SCW really does it.  I will prove that you were wrong about me.  I will prove that Thatcher Rex was wrong about me.  I will prove that Mr. Batee and any other NWA shit heads was wrong about me.  I am the face of greatness, and everyone will see this on Climax Control.  I will see you two there…

Giani places his sunglasses back on his face.  He slowly stands up from his throne, kicking the ottoman off to the side.  He holds his arms out to his side as Dean comes over to place the garb over his shoulders.  He ties it together around his neck and then sprays some water into Giani’s open mouth.  Giani swishes it around and then spits it on the floor before making his exit.  Dean follows behind with a towel, dropping it to the floor where he wipes the water up with his foot.  He walks to the edge of the room and pressing a button on the wall that turns everything to snow before fading to black.

{End Cut Scene}

{I got my speakers on, speakers on, speakers on… I got my speakers on wrecked}

{fin}