Home Contact [History} About Roster Title history [Promos] Pre-Critical Conditions Pre-Mind Games Last days [TV and PPV] Archive |
 |
|
|
|
|
| We open in a glass elevator in the hotel where many of the TWW wrestlers are staying before moving on the next city during the Texas tour. The camera is looking down as the elevator goes down toward the lobby. People becomes less like blobs of flesh as facial features and bodies become defined. That is, until a bunch of long skinny trees, who knows if they're real or fake, block the cameras view. VOICE: Damn. There was a hot chick there. SHARC: (Off camera.) Did you get that device for that camera yet. VOICE: No, I'm gonna order it once we get back home for a few days. SHARC: Technology is a beautiful thing. I think I'll take your job once you buy that. Then you can wrestle and I can tape your useless ass get kicked. You'd probably lose to a jobber like Loki the Trickster, wouldn't you? Not me. We hear a ding, and the elevators rumble open. The camera swings around. They are the only two in the elevator, and they exit. A woman in a blue swimsuit top and white shorts walks past them into the elevator Sharc and the cameraman just exited. The camera swings around and zooms in on the woman's ass, then her breasts as she turns around. SHARC: She's a walking disease man. VOICE: Yeah, but she's one disease I wouldn't mind staying sick in bed with for a week. The camera is quickly swung around to face Sharc. SHARC: Hey. I'm your God boy. Without me, you'll be back up in Massachusetts working gas stations from midnight to 8 a.m. I saved your pathetic ass because I thought you would help me. But if you want to go back, you can. VOICE: I don't want to go back, boss. SHARC: See, this way, I give you all the tail you want, you get to visit all these cool cities, and tape tons of girls t and a. Hell, pretty soon, TWW will officially hire you as my own personal camera man. VOICE: That guy the other day told me I sucked. SHARC: He sucks. TWW camera men all suck. But you got to follow what I say, when I say it. You know what happens to people who screw with me. I make them pay. And for some reason, I don't mind hanging around with you. So you can film the girls on your own time. I feel like tonight might be something special. I feel like doing something. Hell,I have a match with Volunteer I have to start thinking of. But not yet. C'mon. The bar is supposed to be right around the corner. The camera follows Sharc. The walls of the hall are painted red, and the rug matches. As they approached the bar, we see two Totem-style poles with strange carvings of faces. VOICE: Isn't that racist to have? SHARC: No. But it's dumb. What's that joke you told me? VOICE: About a Totem pole? SHARC: Yeah. VOICE: Uhh . . . let me think . . . oh yeah. An Indian stick is called a totem. And underneath, swings a scrotum. SHARC: Yeah, that's it. They walk into the darkly lit bar. The bar is to the left, and several booths wrap around thefar walls, and the middle of the bar is a large round wall, and nothing but booths surround it. The chairs are all red, and the tables are covered with white table cloths. Sharc walks to the bar and orders two bottles of beer and takes a seat at one of the red cushioned stool chairs. He swings around and looks at the emptiness. SHARC: There is a lesson in this. Here it is, Saturday night, and not one other person in this place. What does that tell you? (Sharc looks at the camera) I said, what does that tell you? VOICE: That nobody is here. SHARC: Are you trying to ruin me? I mean, until I brought you here, I had a character going. A very serious character. Why are you trying to make people like you, and by default, like me. I hate everyone. Be an asshole. Be poetic. Be anything but funny for God's sake. VOICE: Sorry. It tells me that life is a miserable waste of time and God is an asshole for making us go through it. SHARC: Next time, lose the sarcasm. VOICE: C'mon, you asked. SHARC: Oh (beep) you. The bartender gives them their beers. Sharc gets up of the stool and walks to the ring and picks the nearest booth, indented in the wall, so it is even with the bar, but separated by a wall. African style masks are hung all over the walls, along with signs for all the famous alcohol labels. SHARC: Well, I've got a couple of people to address. I guess I'll deal with Volunteer first. Volunteer. I guess that is kind of like a Good Samaritan sort of. Well, Volunteer, I am a bad Samaritan. VOICE: Dude, that was weak. SHARC: Well, what do you want from me? Volunteer is just about as bad as Loki the Trickster. I mean, this guy is a huge powerhouse. 6-9, over 300 pounds. What did I find out about him? Oh yeah, he had a funny childhood. His teen-age years brought a big old smile to my face. You see, Volunteer is a poor bastard. He grew up in what white people would refer to as the ghetto. Wait, do black people refer to it as the ghetto to? Or do they just call their ghetto Compton. Whatever. Anyway, Volunteer had a fun childhood. Piss poor. When Volunteer was nine years old, his drunk ass Dad who couldn't get a job over minimum wage got shot. So this big guy does what all big guys who don't have any skills do. Play football. Oh, and this guy lived in the ghetto in Tennessee just so you morons out there don't get confused. It's not like he was raised in the Harlem ghetto. Tennessee. A ghetto in Tennessee is like, what was that book you were reading the other day? VOICE: Little Red Riding Hood? SHARC: No, Three Little Pigs? I don't know. It's like, in Tennessee, they have the camper block, the trailer block, the smaller trailer block, the pick up camper block, the pick up block, the rusted car block, the rusted car on blocks block, and then they have the straw house and spit block. That must be where Tom lived. You don't mind if I call you Tom, do you? I didn't think so. He walked around town barefoot, with a straw hat, in dusty overalls and a dirty orange T-shirt. Hell, his daddy really got shot with a frigging slingshot and a rock. Hit him right in the nose, and all the fragments of his nose went right up into his brain and pierced it and he died. So, he kept playing football, whatever. Then, the story gets even funnier. His mother goes to the grocery store. She gets stabbed at the grocery store. Turns out, she walked into a slaughter house, and she was so fat, they thought she was a cow. Volunteer never knew this, but he ate his own mother. The camera man cracks up and the camera shakes as he laughs. SHARC: Then things got even funnier for poor Tom. So distraught, he joined up with some good old country boys, and they called themselves the razors. Now, he claims this was some sort of gang, but, Tom, who the hell are you kidding. A gang of kids running down the street with rechargeable razors isn't all that menacing. And, oh, then the tables got turned on him. Another group of kids tried to kill him with a razorblade. The horror. I feel so bad for you Tom. They threaten to slit your wrists? Dumb ass, you can't die by slitting your wrists. The blood don't flow out fast enough. Don't believe me? (Sharc turns his hands palm side up to reveal a large scar on his left wrist, which the camera zooms in on, before returning to Sharc's face.) When I heard you couldn't die slitting your wrists, I couldn't believe it. But they were right. Volunteer, you got off really easy. I was poor as hell, and my parents lived. Living parents are worse than dead ones. But if you really miss them so much, take out a razor, lift your head real high, and carve yourself a new smile. Nobody in this federation will miss you. Because, you know what, nobody means a thing on this planet. One person leaves, another takes their place. But if for some reason, you feel the need to show up Tuesday for Shockwave, I've got a surprise for you. I'll solve your pain. I'll free you of your misery. All you will need to do is take my hand. Then I will give you the key to oblivion. Nothingness. Death. Because everybody knows you are not sane. Everybody knows you are a loser. Everybody knows you can't cope with your parents brutal deaths, even so many years later. Face it, you came into this game because you wanted to start over. But you know what? You can't hack it. Despite your big size, you are defeated show after show by men smaller than you because deep in your heart, you belong in one place. With your dead parents rotting in hell. So take the easy way out. Quit talking about razors, and use one. End our misery about hearing about your past. End our misery about sitting through you second guess yourself in every promo. End our misery of hearing about what a no-talent nothing you are. End your own misery Tom. Sharc digs into his jeans and pulls out a razor blade. The light reflects of the blade as Sharc moves it back and forth in between his fingers. SHARC: The key to hell my big friend. The key to your dead parents. The end of your piss poor wrestling career. I'll bring you my key Tuesday. We don't have to have a match. You can take my key, go backstage, and let it flow. You can feel the warmth of your own blood run down your neck, feel a high like you've never felt before. You'll feel a little lightheaded, but there will be no pain. No more pain. No more sucking up to useless fans. No more anything. Tom, you think about it. You've got a couple days to make up your mind. But if you don't take the easy way out, I'll deal with it. Because you are slower than me, you are fatter than me, and you have less talent than me. You may destroy me at the start of the match for a few minutes. You may overpower me and hit big move after big move, throwing me all around the ring. But I'll be smiling. Enjoying every hard landing. Every twinge. Every bruise. I enjoy pain. But, you will not be able to pin me, oh no. You see, I feed on pain. As you continue to beat away on my body, I'll be getting stronger, while you will run out of steam. You're out of shape. You can't go more than five minutes before losing any sort of momentum. That is when I'll strike. I'll take your legs, your back, and your neck. Whatever I have to do to break you down. And it won't be hard, because you'll be helping me out by beating the living hell out of me to start with. You'll be losing energy, while I'll just be warming up. And as I make you squeal as I try to break your spinal cord with the spinebreaker, I'll be smiling still. But you'll be screaming for your dead mommy. And then, with all the power I can muster, I guarantee I will lift you up and drop you straight down and hit my most destructive move, the inverted brainbuster. But this move will not only bust your brain. It'll bust your damn neck and give you an injury you avoided on the football field. It'll put you out of wrestling just like how Dysan got rid of Anarchist. I am here to destroy my opponents. You can either destroy yourself, or I can continue to send you down deeper into your downward spiral until you realize everything I've just said is true. That you have nothing, and there is no point to continue on. VOICE: Dude I'm almost out of tape. SHARC: Fine, I'll wrap this up then. Volunteer, life sucks. Death sucks. Existence sucks. But at least if you use this, life will be over. The camera zooms in on the razor blade in the palm of Sharc's hand. Gray static TO BE CONTINUED... |
|
|