The next person to snag a mic was Nobody, as Rage was busy admiring a blond in the front row. Slipping his championship from the bag, he glanced down at the NWO Tag Team Championship belt. They gold reflected on his eyes as he took in the sight.
"Now I know you all are expecting Rage and I to be laughing it up and talking about cheezeburgers and divine felines, but that will come later. See right now, it is time to be serious. The last time we held gold, when we lost our belts, we never got our rematch. Seems that the powers that be never saw fit to enforce that little clause either. So that now defunct tag team that beat us was never made to give us our contractually obligated championship match."
Rage then took the mic, having peeled his belt out and draped it over his shoulder.
"All those other tag teams out there, with the exception of Vipe and the main man there, feared myself and Nobody. That is the only explanation for us never being granted our fair shots. I mean come on, how many fucking tag teams have there been? Not a one, with very few exceptions, that could compare to us."
Nobody grabbed his own mic and looked out into the crowd. "What it all falls down on is certain General Managers not appreciating his roster. While McKain has been chasing after TDR with that growth in his pants that must only be a sorry excuse for a boner, he somehow neglected to take care of the interests of Rage and Myself. So instead we come out here and have fun with all of you."
"And we are still gonna do that. It true. It happen."
"It makes us be happees"
"But we are also in the mood to fuck some motherfuckers up."
"So... Kevin... while yer in the back, polishin yer trophy while Chris Blade sits there with a fuckin hard on lookin at ya, do yourself a favor and pay attention. Put down your little trophy, stop eyeballin Blade's teeny wanger. Now are you listening, cuz we gots two words for ya..."
