Checklist

[Unlike all the exciting and entertaining surroundings associated with the other gripping promos done for the Overbooked Extravaganza Tag Team Gauntlet Match (hereafter referred to as OBETTGM,) AWOL is instead found to be sitting behind an oak desk, as he has done countless times previous, wearing an unremarkable black suit with a piece of paper on a clipboard resting in front of him. The backdrop is grey and unremarkable. It is clear from the start that this is going to be one of those “Match Relevance” promos that everyone is suddenly so fond of. If, however, you require an entertaining plotline (like going trick-or-treating) to keep your attention, feel free to imagine that the grey backdrop is the hull of an airplane preparing to drop an atom bomb on Japanese people who have cleverly been redressed to represent allegories of AWOL’s opponents. Or feel free to jump off of a building. Either one works for me.]

AWOL-Based on what I’ve seen thus far, I can sympathize with the struggles many of you are having coming up with anything interesting to do right now for a promo. These…well…the stupid pay-per-view is called the Overbooked Extravaganza, so I guess we knew what we were getting into, but these matches are a pain in the ass to promo for. I understand. As a former winner of the Rumble Bash, I went through the same struggles, and we can’t all do “AWOL kills the Livewire Universe” to seal the deal. So, in the spirit of fair play, I’m going to respond to you via the same method you’re utilizing, namely throwing out offhand comments about each of you in turn to show how unlikely it is you’ll manage to defeat Kingdom and I.

[He reaches over, picking up a clipboard and a pen from the desktop.]

AWOL-First, the newly inspired Too Magnificent and Simon Cagero, the aptly named “Motherfuckers of America.” Cagero wants me to pay more attention to Too Mag, it seems. Apparently, nearly winning the mini-rumble, almost managing to defeat me, and coming darned close to being the last team to enter the main event of the OBETTGM is enough to make you worthy of my attention. Unfortunately, as the cliché goes, close only counts in horseshoes, hand-grenades, and pretending to miss in the dark and “accidentally” initiating anal sex. You didn’t win, Too Mag. You lost. I beat you, personally. Me. The washed up guy. The one who is all smoke and no fire. The one who is past his prime. I beat you. I put your ass over the rope, and won the match. You didn’t. Stop pretending like you proved anything besides that you can actually manage to compete and put on a semi-entertaining show when you have Simon hiding under the ring holding your hand. And fuck you for trying to pretend like I had anything to prove to you. You’re a scrub, you always have been, and until you actually manage to win something meaningful you always will be.

AWOL-And as for you, Simon, first of all, saying fuck eight hundred times in your promo is not a means of making up for the fact that you aren’t entertaining. No amount of F words could save that hyper-manic-depressive pile of cat shit you inflicted on the televisions of all five of your fans last week. Second, I may not have faced this particular personality of yours before, but I have fought Silencer in a world title match and pinned him for a three-count, albeit in one of those bizarre double-pinfalls where I ended up screwed and left with no title and no rematch. Bottom line, we’re a decent match-up of speed versus power, and I’m sort of hoping you do make it to the end of the gauntlet so I can get another shot at that pairing. It would be a moment of actually facing an interesting opponent in an otherwise bland tapestry of IWC “talent.” However, third, you wonder why exactly I don’t take Too Magnificent seriously? You want to understand why I underrate him while at the same time spending most of my final promo for the mini-rumble talking about him? Well, if his history isn’t enough to get the message across, let me go ahead and spell it out for you. I wasn’t responding to Too Mag at the end of that promo, Simon. I was responding to the one who was really doing the talking, you.

AWOL-I actually found your role in the mini-rumble to be a somewhat ironic metaphor for you motherfuckers’ relationship. It may be Too Mag’s motherfucking vochal chords vibrating to create the sounds in his motherfucking promo and his motherfucking face looking at me, but I know as well as you do that they’re your motherfucking words he’s parroting. He’s like a motherfucking puppet with your motherfucking hand up his ass. So yes, motherfucker, I am ignoring his motherfucking rant and I am underrating his motherfucking chances, because I have recognized that the only one with any motherfucking talent on your motherfucking tag-team is motherfucking you…motherfucker.

[AWOL nods, satisfied, and crosses the top name off of the sheet of paper attached to his clipboard.]

AWOL-As for Psycho and Riggs, we’re supposed to be pretending like we’re cooperating right now, so I will conspicuously fail to comment on the sadistic one and everyone’s favorite hero-villain-devil-angel-painted-warrior-voted-most-likely-to-paint-their-face-like-a-geisha-girl wrestler Riggs. Are we working together? Are we colluding? Or will we turn on each other? ONLY TIME WILL TELL.

[He makes ominous googly eyes at the camera for a moment, before crossing off another name on the sheet.]

AWOL-As for Rinse and Spit, well, I’m electing to pretend that Porno Lad’s promos don’t exist, as I’m concerned that my IQ is dropping significantly between reading his work and Katelyn Buehler’s every week for a month. For my own safety, I’m going to go ahead and just fast-forward past whatever you put out there, Porny-Porn. I hope you don’t take it personally. As a corollary to this point, I’m gonna go ahead and assume that even the mentally deranged, treacherous, unhinged Hurse has enough common sense to know that if Porno Lad beats Kingdom for the world title, everybody loses. We know you’ll do the right thing, Steven, and throw him under the bus in the unlikely event you make it through the gauntlet to us. Plus, I stole your collection of Bratz dolls from the locker room as insurance. You can have them back after the match. Whether or not they’re still sealed inside their protective packaging is up to you.

[Another check off of the sheet.]

AWOL-Speaking of Brats, Robin Brooks is teaming with one for this match. I could waste some breath on you, but I’ve been doing that for your shit stable for weeks now and frankly it’s starting to sound repetitive. They couldn’t win against the Empire when they were all still on the same page, let alone when Jackson is passive-aggressively lashing out at them and costing them victories. So, you know, nuff said there.

[Check four.]

AWOL-And finally Christian Saviour and Pat Evans. I don’t really know either of you. I think I beat the hell out of Evans my first week back, but that’s not exactly anything special. So, I will respond to you in kind to the way the pair of you have promoed thus far.

[He stares into the camera for about five minutes, not making any sounds. Finally, after the quiet goes from awkward to just over the top, he checks the final name off of the list. Nodding in satisfaction, he tosses the clipboard over his shoulder and onto the floor.]

AWOL-Well, good to get that out of the way. Now I can get down to the real point here. You guys are all boned at the OBE. There’s really no other way to put it. There is exactly one team in this Gauntlet for whom the match title is a misnomer, my team. This is not a gauntlet for us. This is a regular, everyday tag-team match up with the added gimmick that if somebody manages to pin Kingdom or make him tap out, they become the new champ. The best that the rest of you can hope for is to be the second-to-last team to show up and only have to go through one set of opponents beating the hell out of you before we come down to the ring. Even under normal conditions that would suck.

[AWOL steeples his fingers comfortably on the desk, his face a mask of mock-concern.]

AWOL-But these aren’t normal conditions, kids. Far from it in fact. The team walking out at the end of the show is not your average, every day curtain-jerkers. It’s the World Heavyweight champion and the Biggest, Craziest Bastard this company has ever seen. Most of you probably don’t remember this, but back in the Empire’s heyday we worked together all the time and proclaimed ourselves the World’s Greatest Tag Team. We challenged, no, DARED the roster to prove us wrong. They sent their Orlando Cruze’s and Nathan Creeds and every other piece of supposed talent they had against us, and everyone failed one after the other. The only thing that stopped us was our own dissension and, I can tell you with certainty, that will not be an issue for this match. I couldn’t pin my own partner to win the title if I wanted to, and frankly I wouldn’t even if I could. Being world champ is a pain in the ass, I’m here to tell you. One minute you’re dealing with the three thousandth competitor that somehow thinks that you stumbled into the ring with the former champ and happened to fall ontop of them out of random chance just as they suffered a debilitating three-second-long stroke, and the next the lights go out and some douche-bag from the back is clubbing your skull in with a lead pipe. Been there, done that, not interested in doing it again. So really, as if winning the main-event of a pay-per-view wasn’t enough motivation to get me going, there’s the inevitable fact that if one of you idiots takes the belt off Kingdom my chances of ending up having to put one of you down to take it back go up dramatically.

[He shakes his head in disgust.]

AWOL-That’s what’s waiting for you, gentlemen. That’s the big reward for surviving. That’s the light at the end of the tunnel, the Empire Express barreling down the tracks at full steam and, much like the train from that terrible metaphor, we’re going to run you over in an instant and destroy you utterly. You have a less than slim-chance of victory. Even the most degenerate of gamblers wouldn’t take those odds. The Cubs have a better chance of winning this year’s World Series than you do of pinning Kingdom, and yes Too Mag, I’m aware that they’ve already been eliminated. That’s the joke.

[He gives a wry smile.]

AWOL-And hell, folks, I haven’t even mentioned all the different gamesmanship things we could do to you. Kingdom could just stand out on the apron and never tag in, and there would be nothing you could do to pin him. I wouldn’t even blame him. I’d think it would be funny as hell, in fact, if only so I could watch you people fume. Plus, I’m pretty sure I could take most of the teams in this match on my own regardless. Or he could just say in the back. Or he could hit one of you with a chair and get disqualified. Or any of a million different ways we could end up screwing you idiots out of the title. So do yourselves a favor. Have a good-time in the match before we get there. Set up your place in the highlight reel. Jump off of some tall stuff. Hit people with weapons. Maybe pin some people to win an undercard title belt. Get it all out of your system before Kingdom and I come down to the ring, but don’t delude yourselves into thinking you really have a chance at walking out of this match with the World Title. It’s coming in over Kingdom’s shoulder, and it will leave in the same place. I guarantee it.

[He gives a smile and a wave as the camera fades out.]