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Scene One: Flame Wars 

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[x] July 28th, 2020||| Detroit, Michigan [x] Alex Shelley's Fanpage

[[Otherwise known as The Motor City, or to some, Murder City, Detroit is the home of being the murder capital of the United States. Gang-bangers, serial killers, you name it, it's here. But in Detroit, there's one safe-space NO ONE can get you; THE INTERNET Taking a gander at www.angelfire.com/[email protected], a link to a LiveJournal account could be seen. Clicking on it, you'd be taken to the offical LiveJournaly diary entry of Alex Shelley, who had this to say via narration.]] 

.::THE NEXT::.

What's happening? This is your NEXT face of professional wrestling, @LX MF'N SH3LL3Y (or Alex Shelley to you old-timers), here to give my thoughts on the IWF's latest pay-per-view. Truth be told, it sucked. A lot. I ordered it, invited my pal and OK wrestling buddy Chris Sabin over (who's page I will not link, you still owe me 20 bucks for the pizza, douchebag), and large pizza from Pizza Hut. Seeing Punk win the United States Title was cool, me and him are homeboys! ROH4Lyfe!!!! Seeing Billy Kidman really sucked, but guess what? He upped the sucking level to maximum overdrive when he won the Cruiserweight Championship. Talk about bummer city. By the main event, I turned it off, knowing Punk was gonna beat that Canadian Chump. I went on the dirt-sheets, to see what you $m@rt M@rkZ were gonna type about it, and the amount of people that were happy about it ruined my MOOD! Awful! So guess what SH3LLH3@DZ? I'm gonna show my dissapproval by coming into the IWF, and whipping some ass! Also, here's a pic of me and the Punker just to prove to you dorks I've got that Irish Luck of his rubbin' off me. DIG IT! Peace! xoxoxo

The narration stops, and the video fades from the text of Shelley's blog to the next scene.

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Scene Two: Rock you Like A Hurricane

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[[Inside the home of Alex Shelley, we see a computer desk decorated with wrestling collectibles. A few action figures, a couple of ROH DVD's featuring Alex Shelley, and of course, a computer monitor with a fancy poster on it of him. A quick transition to the living room, a green screen could be seen, where Alex Shelley messed around with the camera pointing at it. He messed around with it, pushing a few buttons, before hitting the big red RECORD button on it, quickly moving in front of it. He's sporting a Clockwork Orange t-shirt and a sarcastic expression on his face, thinking he's ALL that. ]]

.::THE NEXT::.

Rolling... and? Action! Boom! Alex Shelley here. Might've heard of me once or twice. Ya know, national television, the internet, or wherever else you, the oh-so lucky fans of the Insane Wrestling Federation get your wrestling needs to see me. God knows you need some actual entertainment in your life then what they're offering you already. See, it's not secret that wherver I show up, everyone learns a thing or two. The fans learn what a GOOD wrestler looks like, promoters learn what a GOOD businessmen looks like, and my oppenets? Heh, they learn that they're not cut out for this biz when they step in the ring with me.

[[He looks up at the ceiling, tapping his chin with his finger with a smirk before pointing at the camera.]]

.::THE NEXT::.

Believe me when I say, the "challenger" I face this week is a prime example of that. "The Hurricane". Where do I even begin? I could make fun of how you dress, how you talk, or how you wrestle, but I'm not gonna be doing that. I have more important things to worry about then you, because I'm not going to break a sweat. On the indies, they call me "The Technical Messiah", and that's not just something I decided to name myself; I earned that. You? You earn a pay-check by losing to guys like me, go home in your Hurra-cave, and Hurra-cry because you absolutely suck. Like, big time. The Brooklyn Brawler could put up a better fight then you pal. Hell, he could sure talk a LOT better then you. What was that crap anyway? Yeah, believe it or not, I gave you the time of day, I watched your excuse of a "promo" and what did you do? You hid. Hid like a little-green troll. Is that what you're gonna do at Velocity? Because that'd just make my day to not have to face you.

.::THE NEXT::.

The fact is, this is my spotlight. This is my time to shine. The TV exposure is meant for me, not you. If you wanna LARP as a rip-off Superman or whatever it is you're trying for, try your little fantasy schtick at the game shops, I'm sure those geeks that play Magik; The Gathering would LOVE to have you... know what? Scratch that. You're more of a DND guy; because you're totally helpless, and probably live in your mom's basement. Why do I get stuck with a dweeb with you? All respect granted to CM Punk, but that dude was handed a title shot on his first night. Billy Kidman, who just like you, sucks, got a title shot. Me? I'm left with the left-overs. Un-be-freakin'-liveable. Pff.

[[Shelley scoffed, annoyed at the idea of having to wait in line.]]

.::THE NEXT::.

But ya know what? That's fine by me. I don't mind taking you out in my first match. Everyone already knows the result; I'm winning. Afterwards? I plan on working my way up to the Cruiserweight Championship. Just like The Hurricane, Billy Kidman doesn't impress me. Hell, he does one move, and that's it. I could go into more detail, and expose him before even meeting him in person, but ya know what? I'm gonna wait. I'm gonna earn my spot, so when I eventually see him, I can take this justified fist, aim it point-blank [[He says as he aims a finger gun]], ram it in his stupid face, and become THE NEXT... champion. Shelley out.

[[He fires the imaginary gun, making a "poof" sound, and letting the camera fade to black.]]