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| Brian Michaels | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Dec 26 2008, 11:43 PM (484 Views) | |
| Big Ace | Dec 26 2008, 11:43 PM Post #1 |
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Jobber
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Real Name: Kevin Covell Wrestlers Name: Brian Michaels Wrestlers Nickname: The Career Stopper Height: 6'3 Weight: 245 pounds Hometown: Miami, Florida Billed From: New York, New York Appearance: -----------Hair color/length: Short Dirty-Blonde Hair -----------Eye color: Green -----------Facial Hair: A five-o-clock shadow -----------Ring Attire: His tights vary, usually wearing black and green to honor Rated-X. -----------Backstage Attire: A black dress shirt (the one Y2J wears) with dark blue tight jeans. -----------Physical Features: None too noticible -----------Tattoos: The word "Rated-X" on his right arm Gimmick: Intense badass. Strength/Weakness: Inability to comprehend losing. Alignment: Babyface Trained By: Mr.Carefree Sample Pic of Wrestler: ![]() Brief History:Michaels was born to a family of four; was loud and outspoken and always tried to be the life of the party. That all changed when his long-time girlfriend, Courtney Foght, was a victim of rape and passed away on December 31st, 1999. Michaels never got over it, and left behind his original hometown of New York, New York. Michaels moved out and became rougher and much more aggressive, particularly getting involved in boxing and mixed martial arts but found a love in professional wrestling. After working several Independent shows, Michaels finally worked his first match with Ultimate Championship Wrestling. Title History: Three Time MWE World Heavyweight Champion (defended it damn near every week) , XCW Intercontinental Champion (vacated it) Entrance Music: ''So Happy'' by Theory of a Deadman Entrance description: The guitar and vocals slowly begin, playing So Happy, before a loud explosion of pyrotechnics is heard and the chorus is blasted as Brian Michaels walks out of the backstage area with black and green tights. Finishers: The Ace of Spades (Superkick ) The Career Stopper (Moonsault) 15 Most used moves: Armbar Takedown Diving Elbow Dropkick Belly-to-Back Toss Sharpshooter Crossface Boston Crab Headlock Hip-Toss Judo Toss Piledriver 360 Sunset Flip Flying Leg-Drop Sample RP: The image begins to fade out now, as pouring rain is heard in the background, starting out as if it were a movie scene. The camera shows the sleek and majestic New York City skyline. The rain once heard, is now visible, as are bolts of lightning. It appears that there is not one soul on the cold, hard streets of NYC. The camera, however, continues to zoom in. There is a dark alleyway, with one single light bulb hanging from a nearby apartment. The light bulb is twisting and turning, barely passing by a man, who is huddled right next to a large red dumpster. The man has his left leg extended, with his right knee pointing upwards. He is wearing a red and black hoody with his eyes gazing at a distance seemingly miles away. It seems that the rain is not affecting him as he gets up out of his previous position, and sticks his arms out. He feels the rain pouring on his skin as he turns back around, staring the camera down with his large green eyes. Michaels: I am the greatest thing…since Jesus Christ himself. His tone is not changed via this comment. The camera zooms in on the gloomy scene and looks deep into Brian’s eyes, and realizes he says this with complete seriousness. The rain pours down harder, now arriving with a thud against the hood of Michaels’ Rated-X sweater. The pitter-patter causes him to speak up. Michaels: On Sunday night…I go down a road, I haven’t been down in a long time. I, Brian Michaels, am going to be back in the limelight. I finally go back to the spotlight. Ironically…it’s against the very man I brought into the Main Event scene. The very man, I trained. The very man, I took into the MWE world… Michaels’ head slumps down as he gives a deep grunt that is captured by the camera. He sniffles, trying to avoid a cold at the same time. His voice is now raspy again. Michaels; Let me take you all on a little flashback, to when D.C. was just another manager. See because nobody remembers the D.C. that I remember. Back when D.C. was just another talker, who used his verbal bitch-slaps to get his dick hard. Why did he do this, you ask? I tell you, it’s because he was a broken man. He had no Lindsey, no World Titles, no fame, no money…he did it because he LOVED the business. So what I’m going to do…is take D.C. on a trip down memory lane. A slight grin is seen on his face as Brian walks from his current position, down the alleyway. He takes a right as the camera zooms into see where he is located exactly. A large sign is seen in front of a complex labeled ‘’New York Wrestling Promotions’’. Michaels takes the hoody down as he opens the door. A bell is rung as he walks in, and a man behind a counter grunts. The man arises from behind the counter with a tight New York Wrestling Promotions T-Shirt on. It reveals his rather large stomach, among other body parts. The man is also wearing long black workout pants, and is visibly sweating. He speaks in a thick New York accent. Manager: No classes tonight. Brian walks around the room, noticing several of the accolades and pictures scattered across the wall of the room. He sees pictures of the past performers in NYWP, from former World Champion Aiden Copane, former manager D.C, in the ring, seemingly cutting a promo. He then turns to the left and an image of Windy Bridges holding Windy-O’s appears. Michaels shudders at the last image, before walking closer and closer to the manager of the promotion. Michaels: You don’t recognize me, Mike? It’s Brian. Mike reaches under the counter and pulls out his oddly-shaped glasses. He eyes at them before putting them on as he squints his eyes at Brian like an old man. He begins to recognize the man who visited him all those years and go and lured D.C. away from NYWP. Mike: It’s you! Brian Michaels…son of a bitch! You took D.C. away from us…what the fuck you want now? You want my daughter too? Brian puts his hands down, instructing the big manager to calm down. They are now eye-to-eye as the camera accommodates and moves to a side view of the two former promoting rivals. Brian puts on a light smile and lighter tone as he speaks. Michaels: I’m not looking for anyone…but I do want some information. I want D.C.’s history, his past…right here, right now. I want to know EVERYTHING, and you’d BETTER not lie to me, because as his former employer, I’m pretty goddamn sure you know what he’s been through. Mike seems to ponder this question for awhile, even putting his hand on his chin and rubbing it. It takes him awhile, before putting his finger in the air, apparently with a compromise in his mind. Mike: I got it! How about you trade me David Whitman, and I’ll tell you the background info? Both men chuckle and have a smile over the comment. Mike puts his hand on his rather large belly, trying to calm down his erratic laughter. Michaels, meanwhile, has stopped laughing and looks at Mike with a dead-serious look in his deep-green eyes. Michaels: …Do not bullshit me. You tell me his shit, right now, or I’ll go tell the economic advisors whose job they should cut next…got it? Mike looks on with an angry expression, not sure how to respond to Michaels’ thread exactly. He takes a deep breath and finally succumbs to the son of Richard Covell. He gestures him to a door that is once closed and now opened with a turn of the knob. The men walk into a large room, complete with a Blu-Ray player, television, and a stack of papers. The tables are extremely unorganized, as the whole design is sloppy. Mike walks over to the stack of papers as the camera reveals that they are all old contracts. He checks paper-after-paper, before finding D.C.’s former contract. He takes it out and holds it to Michaels, turning the light on in the process. Mike: There you go. D.C.’s old contract, he was originally contracted to work from 2006-2009, but obviously, that wasn’t the case the night you came in and gave him that HUGE deal. Brian gives him a smug look as he looks over the contract. He notices that there are a lot of details left unfilled, such as his college of choice. Also left blank was his former employers. Michaels: Where’d he go to college? Mike shrugs, trying to make an excuse for not having the info provided on the piece of paper. Mike: I don’t think he went to college. I know he used to work in Pennsylvania for a Steel Mill I believe. It was some kind of local establishment. Brian continues to eye the paper up-and-down, looking for any negative details about D.C. Michaels: What about his arrests? Where’s his breaking and entering arrest? Why isn’t his assault and battery on here? Mike leans over to try and briefly read over the paper, but Michaels holds it close to himself. Mike: Look…all I know is that he was the manager of the New York Killers. His name was Little Sal Kills before you bastards at MWE repackaged him. Brian shakes his head, obviously not impressed with Mike’s choice of an answer. He throws the contract down to the floor and stomps on it, disgusted. Michaels: Where is it? WHERE’S the shit on D.C.?! Where is that information? Mike again shrugs, showing to the cameras that he legitimately does not know where it is. Mike: Look, I don’t know what you want exactly. I’ll let you know what I know about D.C. D is a very creative guy. His verbal beat-downs…unlike any I’ve ever seen before. The guy fights off hate. He hates life, and he hates you Brian…he despises you ESPECIALLY. He would do anything to be as far away from you as possible. This match is his chance to send you out, and he knows it. Brian is now leaning against the wall, with an angry expression across his face. He moves his dirty-blonde hair out of his eyes and pushes them back to lay against his back. He continues listening with intrigue and interest as Mike’s words become softer. Mike: D.C.’s family got sick of him after awhile. He was just a kid, they never neglected him, he just made bad choices. He was never at home, always out drinking and getting in trouble. He worked on some stuff, then he came to NYWP and me. Michaels: Why you? He simply shrugs with an unknowing look in his eyes. He runs his hand through the back of his balding head and continues to tell Michaels all about D.C.’s past. Mike: I don’t know. He came to me because he wanted to get rid of some anger, I believe. He didn’t even care what the pay was…I paid him minimum-wage for the first two months here. The guy NEVER bitched and was never late to work. He’s something else…one of the best, if not the best, I’ve ever seen on the mic and in the ring. I was always thankful that he came here first. There is a long, awkward silence. Both men look at each other, as they both know what happens next in D.C.’s life. Mike: Then of course…you and MWE came along. You guys came in and wiped out all the regional promotions ruthlessly…taking away our best talent. D.C. was becoming our biggest draw at the time, and you guys turned him into a lower-carder. I knew it was only a matter of time before he became better than you. With that latest remark, Brian’s streak of concentration is suddenly snapped by this obvious verbal bitch-slap by Mike. Brian now looks up at him, and walks nearer and nearer. He whispers in a raspy voice that is barely heard by the cameras. Michaels: No…he’s…not. Mike gives Michaels a bit of a push, looking for some extra room to finish his story. Brian puts a toothpick in his mouth, one that he found laying on the messy table where the contracts where stacked up. Mike: Anyway, as they say…the rest is history. He became the X-TV Champion, eventually led Rated-X after your…ahem…accident. And now…he’s the Heavyweight Champion of the World. I’m so proud of the guy, the way he persevered and fought adversity right in its ugly face. Throughout all of the bullshit…he’s stayed true to guys like me. He’s proven time and time again that it’s not about how big you are in size…but how much heart you have. He just doesn’t get enough credit. Brian takes the toothpick out of his mouth and flings it across the room. His once calm demeanor is now gone, with his cheeks puffy and reddened. His face is shaking, overcome with emotion. Michaels: You forgot…ONE…small, little detail. The D.C. that you see before you today, would not be who he is, without ME! Without BRIAN MICHAELS there, to guide him…to show him the way, to teach him…I TOOK HIM TO THE MOUNTAIN-TOP! It makes me SICK to my stomach to see everybody give D.C. all this credit…and for WHAT? Running me over? Winning a World Title?! That’s what makes him the man to beat?! I mean….does anybody know what it’s LIKE…to have that CONSTANT voice in your head, telling you that D.C. is bigger and better than you? That voice that tells you he’s surpassed you? Do you know what it does to me?! DO YOU?! Mike stands in defiance, knowing he is about to be on the end of a massive telling from Michaels. Michaels taps at the sides of his head, as his eyes seemingly are seemingly bugging out. Michaels: It drives me INSANE! I want to know ONE thing…are MWE fans going to be riding the D.C. bandwagon…when he’s down and almost out? Brian walks right up to Mike holds his chin with his right hand, shaking it violently. Michaels: What are YOU going to be saying…hmm, Mike? When your boy…when ‘’your champ’’…has that crimson blood running down his face…a face that….even Lindsey…couldn’t stand to kiss. When I wipe that stupid smirk off D.C.’s face…and replace it with all the BLOOD. When I replace that stupid smirk…with all the SWEAT…when I replace it…with all the TEARS…you’ll see. Brian continues to shake violently, letting the shaking get to his right hand, which is still firmly placed under Mike’s chin. Michaels: So Mike…are you and the MWE fans going to get off your knees…and FINALLY…stop sucking off…the clown? No pun intended…bitch. He uses his right hand to shove Mike, chin-first. Mike staggers and falls onto a couch nearby. Brian walks out of the room, with an evil swagger of sorts. He slams the door to the room, leaving Mike alone to suck on his last words. The camera first shows Mike, who is shaking his head in disapproval, laying on his behind. The camera then zooms out to Michaels, who angrily slams the door to the NYWP Headquarters. He walks back outside, where it is still pouring rain. He puts his hands in his sweater-pockets and puts his hoody back on, hanging his head back to his previous position of standing next to the red dumpster. He finds a scattered old yellow lawn chair and sits on it. He moves forward-and-back with the rhythm of the pitter-pattering rain. He stops his violent shaking after awhile and looks at the camera with a face that looks as if it were made of stone. Michaels: D.C., I’ve seen you in my nightmares. The pitter-pattering begins to slow, as do the times of Michaels rocking back and forth. He licks his lips, wanting the rain to continue. Michaels: But I always wondered…how did you get there? It was something that drove me crazy, until I found the answer. I realized…that you outsmarted me, D.C. You…outsmarted me. You went out and told me and the rest of MWE that you were for real. You told us…that you were a wrestler of the people, by the people, and for the people. Nicknames such as Wonder Bread…Mighty Mouse…Frankie Boy…The Super Marvio Brother… He pretends to slap his knees, as if it were the funniest thing he ever heard. Michaels: You captured the audience’s attention with your unique way of attacking your opponents. MWE fans were excited, finally a wrestler that could put a smile on their face…but not for long. He looks back up, with the camera looking into his eyes as if they were a deep, green forest. Michaels: You succumbed. You became the very thing you SOUGHT to stop. You became a politicker…you became…one of us. You finally realized that to make it in Professional Wrestling, it’s not about how many tickets you sell…or how many times you make the fans laugh…or how many ‘’Marry Me, D.C.’’ signs you see at a show. Brian shows a bit of a chuckle, as he now rubs his chin. The rain is at a complete halt now, as if mother nature was waiting to hear Michaels’ words. Michaels: So you got smart. What did you do next? You took out the main competition. You took out the Main Eventer that was standing in your way…and I applaud you for that. Brian slowly puts his hands together in a slow and steady motion, sarcastically clapping for D.C.’s courage. Michaels: You were now one page ahead of the curve. THAT…is how you became who you are today. That’s how you became D.C., by giving your loyal…fans…what they wanted to hear. You spoon-fed it to them and they ate it up…and now…he doesn’t feel right. Now…he wants to be…that guy…again. But you can’t be, D.C. You’ve chosen this life, and now you have to live with it. Now YOU want the spotlight on you…you want to be the top guy… Michaels looks up, almost as if he is thinking about what D.C. said in his most recent promo. He now remembers his emotions and tones in the way he spoke. Michaels: And it could be your time, D.C. But if MWE.com’s predictions counted…and the fans opinions’ mattered, and the MWE Radio show was telling the truth…we wouldn’t be having this match. The marks…the bandwagoners…have all made their decision. D.C…you’re their guy now. You are the TRUE people’s champion. But you better fucking BELIEVE…that I ain’t gonna lay down. D.C. may be the biggest challenge I’ll ever face. I may be the biggest obstacle he’ll ever have to take down. Let me tell you folks…THAT’S…why this match is so fucking great! Brian begins to ignore the screeching cold of New York City, taking off his Rated-X sweater and throwing it on the ground, allowing to be soaked by the water beneath him. Michaels: Rated-X…vs Rated-X. The MWE Champ…vs the World Heavyweight Champ. Adrenaline Rush…Pay-Per-View…Madison Square Garden…THREE…STAGES…of hell. The camera reveals Michaels to have a tight white undershirt. The camera pans down to show the sweater, now traveling via water. Michaels gets the bugged out look in his eyes as he begins to set into a full yelling mode, causing some of the families in the apartments to turn on their lights in wonder. Michaels: THIS IS IT! This….IS…the BIG ONE! ONE MAN…walks away, the VERY BEST! The Undisputed Champion of the World…The loser…can take his ball, and go home… Brian now takes off his white under-shirt in the bitter cold of the heart of New York. He slaps himself in the chest, leaving a large red mark that appears only ten seconds later. He gives a large yell as more and more people turn their lights on in curiosity, wondering what’s going on. The skyline of NYC is all on now, at two in the morning. The camera then fades and pays its attention to Brian, red-chest and all. Michaels: This is WIN…or go HOME…this is M-S-FUCKING-G! BROTHER, I’ve said it ONCE, and I will say it AGAIN! This…is…the real, fucking DEAL! He begins to violently slaps his abs now, as well as shake with intensity, passion and emotion. The adrenaline is rushing through his blood. Michaels: I know this is the real deal because it’s Brian Michaels! It’s D.C.! Two…of the GREATEST WRESTLERS ALIVE TODAY! But only ONE… Brian sticks up his finger in the cold, as he uses the adrenaline in his blood to keep him warm. Michaels: Only one…can be the best. But for you D.C…I still have questions. His shaking and grit leads to the old-school Brian Michaels cheek-to-cheek grin. He is truly into the promo now, and it is felt in his now-booming voice. Michaels: Do you HONESTLY think…your words, confuse me? Do you HONESTLY think….that you telling me…that I’m a has-been…slows me down? You seriously think…that I’m at a loss for words? You think…I don’t have it anymore?! Michaels’ grin widens even more as he licks his lips in a stroking motion. Michaels: BITCH, you can BANG, HANG, TALK, WALK, FLY, and even get HIGHER…than me. But you will NOT…outwrestle me at Adrenaline Rush. I am telling you as the man, who showed it all to you! I am telling you as your former mentor…you cannot…nor WILL YOU…beat me at Adrenaline Rush. He now begins to smack on his lips, knowing that it irritates D.C. His grin is now erased, however, as he slips back into an emotional phase. He grits his teeth at the camera, showing a completely white set. Michaels: Give me your BEST motherfucking shot in your promo. Call me your BEST nickname, I want…no, I PRAY…for your best on Sunday, because when I hit the sack tonight… Brian believes that this elicits a large belly laugh, as the belly-laugh turns into more of a maniacal chuckle. Michaels: I know that you’ll be in my nightmares. But you want to know the difference between my nightmares…and yours? Michaels’ whole body shakes and tingles with his god-given emotion. He speaks with passion and truly believes every word he is saying. His eyes roll to the top of his head as he lowers his tone to speak again. Michaels: I’ll be in your nightmares for the rest of your life. The camera starts to fade back as Michaels picks up the now-soaking-wet Rated-X sweater and holds it up high, as if to show the world. He yells, almost as if he is talking to the heavens. Michaels: You want to know why? Because I’M THE BEST! I have proven it time, and time again! In situations with the Title on the line, I EXCEED EXPECTATIONS…I’m more than familiar with being an underdog. I EMBRACE…being the guy picked to lose. It drives you CA-RAZY, doesn’t it D.C.?! You just want me to go away and shut the fuck up, don’t you? D.C….this Sunday…we’re going to find out REAL quickly, how you react to being at a crossroads. This is HERE, this is NOW, this is Brian Michaels…vs. D.C. You bet your ass that the winner of this match…is King of MWE. I down-right REFUSE…to let D.C. carry that crown like the egotistical son of a bitch he is. I’m going to give you my heart, my mind, my soul, MY LIFE…all for these three matches. It’s ALL on the line, and I can’t wait to find out how D.C. performs…in prime-time. He smiles, as he shakes his finger and head in disapproval, as if to say ‘’No, no’’. He puts his hands around his throat. Michaels: D.C….are you going to choke? Not now, they’ll yell! You can’t let us down NOW D! This was supposed to be YOUR year. After all…you’re the guy. You’re the guy who took Brian Michaels out and put him in a hospital bed for three months. You took over Rated-X, YOU carried MWE on your back. Yet…you were oh-so hopeful that I would never come back and I’d be gone forever? Seriously? He gives another belly-laugh, nearly rolling on the floor. Michaels: Well that’s too bad, motherfucker! I’m like Lindsey’s herpes, I KEEP COMING BAAAAACK! The camera seemingly comes back, once again showing Michaels’ deep green eyes and getting his whole face on camera. There is no background noise as Brian moves his tongue around in his mouth. Michaels: The ball is in your court…you can either give us the D.C. rant…the fuck-the-world routine…the Michaels-Covell-Politics routine…or you can just be like Sonny Williams’ alter ego again…and say you made it up the ladder on your own. Hell, you can even do what you did against Virus…bitch about not getting enough attention, go fuck a maid. It’s honestly…your choice. I’ve seen them all though…give something different FOR ONCE! He counts all these options out on his right hand, before putting out his left hand, enclosed in his palm. Michaels: Either those four, or you can surprise me. You can give me the match of your life, and to be honest… Michaels now sticks out his arms, similar to the way he did at the beginning of the scene. He gives a grin. Michaels: I wouldn’t expect any less. He gives a wink with his hands stuck out and rolls his fingers as if to say bring it on. A loud racket is heard coming from the side, and Michaels quickly puts on his shirt to see what is on. A loud noise is heard, as Michaels peers in through one of the apartment windows to see someone apparently watching Any Given Sunday. I don't know what to say really. Three minutes to the biggest battle of our professional lives all comes down to today. Either we heal as a team or we are going to crumble. Inch by inch play by play till we're finished. We are in hell right now, gentlemen believe me and we can stay here and get the shit kicked out of us or we can fight our way back into the light. We can climb out of hell. One inch, at a time. Now I can't do it for you. I'm too old. I look around and I see these young faces and I think I mean I made every wrong choice a middle age man could make. I uh.... I pissed away all my money believe it or not. I chased off anyone who has ever loved me. And lately, I can't even stand the face I see in the mirror. You know when you get old in life things get taken from you. That's, that's part of life. But, you only learn that when you start losing stuff. You find out that life is just a game of inches. So is football. Because in either game life or football the margin for error is so small. I mean one half step too late or to early you don't quite make it. One half second too slow or too fast and you don't quite catch it. The inches we need are everywhere around us. They are in ever break of the game every minute, every second. On this team, we fight for that inch On this team, we tear ourselves, and everyone around us to pieces for that inch. We CLAW with our finger nails for that inch. Cause we know when we add up all those inches that's going to make the fucking difference between WINNING and LOSING between LIVING and DYING. I'll tell you this in any fight it is the guy who is willing to die who is going to win that inch. And I know if I am going to have any life anymore it is because, I am still willing to fight, and die for that inch because that is what LIVING is. The six inches in front of your face. Now I can't make you do it. You gotta look at the guy next to you. Look into his eyes. Now I think you are going to see a guy who will go that inch with you. You are going to see a guy who will sacrifice himself for this team because he knows when it comes down to it, you are gonna do the same thing for him. That's a team, gentlemen and either we heal now, as a team, or we will die as individuals. That's football guys. That's all it is. Now, whattaya gonna do? Michaels: Win. |
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| Scotty McKnight | Dec 26 2008, 11:58 PM Post #2 |
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approved |
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| Derf | Dec 28 2008, 12:12 AM Post #3 |
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Welcome to APWC. We're fucked. |
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| Scotty McKnight | Dec 28 2008, 07:50 PM Post #4 |
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lmfao agreed, but htink of it as a way to motivate yourselves on improving to beat him
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| The Virus | Dec 29 2008, 12:32 AM Post #5 |
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CEO of APWC
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That's What I said.....almost |
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| "The Icon" J.T. Hunt | Dec 29 2008, 01:58 PM Post #6 |
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Wait just one cotton pickin minute. I thought we we're fucked because i was here (snickers). But anyway, welcome to the team. |
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