Here’s a shocker. It’s the middle of the week, and still no one’s put together a promotional video. I don’t know why I’m so surprised, although I would have thought having two of you would increase the odds of someone getting a wild hair up their ass and putting something out there. That’s what I get for thinking, I suppose.
Well, someone had better fill the air time. I guess it’ll have to be me. I feel bad for the fans, I suppose. At least if Robin Brooks had promoed they could have muted the sound and just watched her tits jiggle.
***
[AWOL stands in front of his locker, in what the audience is supernaturally aware is the backstage area of the last episode of Riot! from last Friday. His body is covered in perspiration which he wipes away in short, irritable swipes with a white towel. Inexplicably, however, his usual scowl is replaced with a contented, thoughtful smile. That smile fades rapidly, however, as a voice issues forth from the locker room door.]
Orlando Curze- Care to let me know what that was all about?
AWOL-What would you be referring to?
Cruze-You sticking around in the ring after your match and turning Sean Johnson’s face into paste.
AWOL-His cat is ugly. It irritates me. Satisfied?
[The sardonic twisting of one corner of Cruze’s mouth lets AWOL and the audience know that he, in fact, is not.]
Cruze-I understand that the last thing you want is to have management in your face, and I’ve tried to back off and let you do what you’re going to do, but this kind of thing just can’t be tolerated. People paid to watch that match, and you ruined it.
AWOL-If people were paying to watch Psycho fight Sean Johnson, then they couldn’t have been expecting much anyways.
Cruze-God damn it! This isn’t a fucking joke. What the hell were you thinking?
[AWOL’s hand is a blur as it reaches up, slamming the locker door shut with an ear-splitting crash of metal on metal.]
AWOL-I was thinking that this place is boring the hell out of me, “boss.” I was thinking, “What the hell can I do to keep from driving my car into a light pole on the way home from the arena tonight just to alleviate the monotony.” Or, maybe, I was just thinking that I felt like breaking someone or something, and that stupid son of a bitch was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
[He walks forward, standing nose to nose with the commissioner.]
Cruze-Careful, AWOL, your employment is at my leisure.
AWOL-Yes, and you knew god damned well what you were getting when you hired me, didn’t you? You could have hired anyone in the world to fill these mid-card matches, any polished, shined up, oiled down piece of no-talent shit that could stink up this slot in the mid-card just like your roster is full of. But you didn’t hire one of them, did you? You hired me. You hired a bastard. And now, you’re going to come and get in my face because I’m acting the way you and everyone else expected me to?
[He jabs an accusing finger into Cruze’s chest.]
AWOL-If you want me to be a good little boy and get in line, you’re even stupider than I thought. I’m going to go out to that ring week after week and do what I god-damned well please. If I feel like taking a shit right on the IWC logo, I’m going to do it, and you’re not going to be able to do a damned thing about it. And you know why? Because the fans don’t come here to see athletic competition, Cruze. They don’t care who’s got the better ground game or mastery of high-flying offense. They want to see high-spots, ridiculous cheap pops, and to watch us maim each other for their entertainment. And guess what? What I just did to Sean Johnson fulfills all three needs at once. Now, is there anything else? Or were you just about to get the fuck out of my way and let me go home?
[Cruze’s face flushes red for a moment, but with a shake of his head he steps to the side.]
AWOL-That’s what I thought.
[With a smirk he steps past Cruze into the hallway.]
Cruze-Whatever you and Psycho are up to, it’s not going to work for much longer.
[AWOL comes immediately to a halt, turning back to face Cruze. His face, however, is now lit up with the same smile from earlier.]
AWOL-Me and Psycho? You think this is about me and Psycho working together?
[He waits, seeing no reaction from the commissioner. Finally, he can’t take it any longer, and a mocking, derisive belly laugh rips forth from the Big Crazy Bastard’s guts. He has to put a hand up against the door frame to support himself, he’s laughing so hard. The ugly crimson hue of Cruze’s face only deepens. Finally, AWOL’s laughter drifts off to a low chuckle as he reaches up, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. He looks up, seeing Cruze’s scowl, a near mirror image of his own typical expression, and the laughter immediately returns.]
AWOL-You are so far off and you don’t even know it. Oh, Cruze, you’re too much.
[Finally AWOL turns, heading up the hallway away from the locker room. As the door swings shut, AWOL’s mocking laughter continues to echo through the backstage area.]
***
AWOL rests comfortably behind an oak desk, his hands folded neatly on its surface. This is likely the only background or description you’re going to receive during this part of the promo, so feel free to do with it what you will.
“It might seem puzzling that I would agree to work with Hurse against the Brat Pack. I’ll warrant, it makes about as much sense as throwing a rattle-snake in a bag, shaking it around and slamming it against rocks, then shoving your hand blindly inside to see whether the thing is dead. The chances of this ending with me laid out, my scalp busted open from a chairshot or some other suitable blind-siding attack from the sniveling little worm we all know as Steven Parkwood are, we’ll say, significant. We have no shortage of history and honestly can’t stand each other. However, he has something I want, and so for now I’ll give this my attention.
What that thing is, however, may surprise you. The fact that there is money in the offering for breaking up your little social club is nice, I’ll admit. However, there are more than enough ways for me to make some cash on the side and, frankly, the more excess income I have the more my ex-wife gets to take from me every month. No, the cash wouldn’t have been enough to draw me to this mission on its own. And before you start congratulating yourselves on your incredible, devastating attack on us at the end of our match, I’ve had bowel movements that hurt worse than that cheap-shot you laid on me, Katelyn. No, this isn’t about any of those things. I’m going to personally destroy the Brat Pack for one reason and one reason alone: it’s going to be fun.
I realized something as I was inducing a concussion on Sean Johnson, I missed hurting people a lot more than I wanted to admit. Beating them in the ring is one thing, but really rendering someone completely helpless and then continuing to pummel them until you can’t even feel the bones underneath their skin anymore because the bruises have already swollen up to cover them, well, it’s a feeling impossible to describe. In that moment of truth you are the all-powerful. You are god. Their continued existence on this earth depends entirely, one-hundred percent, upon your willingness to grant them mercy. One twist of a joint, and they never wrestle again. One broken vertebrae, and they never walk, and maybe they never take another breath. It’s a rush, indescribable, and something I missed.
You may think it premature for me to be calling this fight over before it’s even begun, Robin, but I assure you that it is. Oh, you’ll pardon me not speaking to you, Katelyn, but seeing as how I’ve only seen you win matches where someone beats your opponent down for you ahead of time, I’m going to go ahead and assume that when they called this a handicap match, what they meant was that Robin Brooks was going to be handicapped by having to deal with you as a partner. Now, what was I saying? Ah, yes, breaking up the Brat Pack. What you don’t realize is that this is hardly the first time I’ve done this. To tell the truth, I’ve spent my entire career destroying heel stables. You might call it my specialty. I’ve done it more times than I can count, and I assure you I’ve become very efficient at it.
I’ll even go ahead and let you know how I’m going to do it, so you’re not surprised later. The underlying weakness of any group like yours, you see, is that they are made up of individuals. Yes, you’ve all sworn whatever oaths of loyalty and exchanged whatever bonds of friendship were involved in creating this all-crushing super power you’ve assembled, but no amount of pinky swearing and exchanging colorful wrist-bands changes this fact. You are all individual people, with individual desires and individual needs, foremost amongst these being the desires for self-preservation and advancement. And so, you are all very much vulnerable to a thing described in game theory as “The Prisoner’s Dilemma.”
Since most of you probably think game theory has something to do with Triple H, I’ll go ahead and explain what the prisoner’s dilemma is. Essentially, if you imagine four co-conspirators being arrested and interrogated simultaneously, you can see the situation you currently face. The interrogator offers each member of the conspiracy a deal: turn on your friends and do one year of hard time while they do five, or stay silent and everyone does three years. Real police do this sort of thing all the time. The dilemma it creates is this: from the stand-point of an individual, the motivation to stay loyal weakens significantly under this sort of pressure. If they stay silent, the best they can hope for is three years in prison, and they could just as easily end up doing five if their co-conspirators, who they have no control over, rat them out. So, from a personal fitness stand-point, the only rational choice is to turn on your fellows and protect yourself.
This is the situation you will shortly find yourself in, Brat Pack. I’m sure you expect that I’m just going to roll on out to the ring and play into your hands, with some of you interfering in the match or doing run-ins or, hell, the options are really limitless for how you could take advantage of your numbers to gain an edge. Frankly, I’m still pretty sure I’d just stomp both of your heads in and win anyways, but I digress. The point is not that I’m going to beat you on Friday. All that does is perpetuate things, drag them out longer and longer. No, that’s not the kind of war I wage. Instead, I’m going to do everything I can to make the lives of each and every stupid bastard who has had the misfortune of associating with you more miserable than any of you have ever imagined. You will know pain and terror on a level you have never before witnessed. By the end of Riot! you will think that you have somehow brought down the unholy wrath of Satan himself and all of his devils upon you, and one-by-one, you’re going to realize something. There is no reason for you to have to suffer like this. All you have to do is walk away, renounce the Pack, and the pain stops.
This will happen on week one. I assure you things will get worse from there.
Now you might think that you can count on your people, Brooks, and I can’t say I blame you. It’s natural to want to trust the people you’re depending on. I’ve been there. But I assure you, the time will come when you’ll see that I was right. So please, come on out to the ring on Riot! Both of you bring whatever dirty tricks you feel like. As a matter of fact, bring the chick with the acronym name, Adams, and the cross-dressing Jap with you too. It’ll save me the trouble of having to hunt you down individually, and I’ll want them to have a front-row seat to the action when I beat the two of you within an inch of your lives. That will be the start of it, the opening salvo. You’ll see. One by one your friends will abandon you. One by one you’ll watch them drift away. If you’re lucky they’ll just stop coming to the secret clubhouse after the show, but more than likely they’ll flat out turn on you in the ring to let everyone know that they don’t have your back anymore. Hell, it’s already kind of started, if the backstage mutterings about Jackson Adams are anything to go by. And when that day comes, and you find yourself alone in the dark with only me for company, then you will know, without a doubt, that I was telling you the truth. And you’ll have no one to blame for what happened but yourself.”
No comments:
Post a Comment