August 15, 2018, 03:06:36 AM

Author Topic: WE DON'T NEED TO FUCKIN' PROMO, RANDY  (Read 96 times)

0 Members and 1 Guest are viewing this topic.

Offline Astro Clyde

  • Member
  • Posts: 90
  • Karma: +1/-0
    • View Profile
« on: February 13, 2018, 10:35:09 PM »
While recollections are a bit hazy, this dimly-lit living room and its ambience seems oddly familiar.  Surrounding a tiny faux-maple coffee table is a similarly-colored couch that one would likely find next to a dumpster of a frat house.  Oddly enough, a chair resembling a 1960s aircraft seat is adjacent and to the left of the loveseat, which was actually found next to a dumpster of a local frat house.  The other furniture to round out the den appeared to have been borrowed from the adjoining kitchenette, hidden away by a white door in the midst of the baby-blue walls that lined the scene.

Despite the dreary setting of what could only be described as a shack planted squarely in some awful rural community with only a Frosty Creme and a Dollar Store as a source of tax revenue, a few familiar faces are here to make this house into a home.  The figure currently standing, who is dressed in a navy blue auto mechanic jacket and the makings of a horrible goatee sprinkled on his face is none other than the Newfie Cutie, who scowls with anger as a boombox on the table blasts “1000hp” by Godsmack for all to hear.  He holds a glass that adorns an image of the Hamburglar filled with a fruity beverage to try and dull the pain, half-stumbling in an alcohol-fueled haze as he examines the others listening to the song.

Seated in one of the kitchen chairs is his common denominator in Kaz Bonham, who is the only other wrestler who appears to be selling the parody, wearing a full denim getup along with a fake bushy blond beard glued to her face.  The only other exception is newest Octane roster memberBryan Williams -- decked out in his traditional street garb, mind you, but is seated in a manual wheelchair at the other end of the coffee table.

As for the rest of this star-studded promo, American Tommy sits between Kaz and Reese with a dumbfounded grin on his face.  Adjacent on the couch lounges Tommy’s better half in Kimitsu Zombie whose look can only be described as “I could murder Tommy in his sleep for making me agree to do this,” and right next to her is QT’s opponent for this week’s episode: Blaise Fader, who happily taps her foot to the rocking tune much to Reese’s chagrin.

Honestly, no one else really seems to be bothered at all by the Godsmack track, as most of them are nice and completely unlike people like Reese the Piece who want to just tear down something for the sake of it not being hip and cool.  There is a bit of finger tapping along with the beat, even a couple of head bobs.  However, almost forty seconds into the song, QT has decided he’s made his point.

“See,” QT implores, pressing the pause button on his Spotify app to bring the song to an abrupt halt, “THAT’S why I hate this stupid business.”

Reese stumbles to his feet, almost knocking over the McDonalds collector glass still half-full of Mai Tai in the process.  “It’s like music production teams don’t even TRY anymore.  ‘Hey, this song sounds like something overweight people who exclusively wear athletic shorts would listen to, let’s get the licensing rights and make it the introduction theme!’  Not only is it not 2004 when the last time this AWFUL band was relevant, but the fucking lyrical content doesn’t even have anything to do with WRESTLING!”

Blaise, folding her arms across her chest, decides to interject.  “Don’t you think there are more important things to worry about than the Octane theme song?”

“No turnbuckles, no ropes,” Reese continues, completely ignoring Blezza.

“He’s right!  It ain’t got no words about fightin’ as I recall,” pipes Kaz, as the camera zooms in to revel in the full glory of her fake beard.  “They ain’t got no fricken DROPKICK!”

Reese nods and points at Kaz with a positive recognition, then turning the gesture in a thumbs up.  “THAT’S what I’m talking about!  And as you all know, there is nothing more in professional wrestling that I DESPISE is when something is integrated in its programming that has ABSOLUTELY NOTHING TO DO WITH WRESTLING.  It’s fucking CHAOS, just having a bunch of dummies hemming and hawing about irrelevant SHIT instead of focusing on the competition and drive of our sport!”

“That’s literally what is going on right now,” Kimitsu says sharply after muttering an audible sigh. 

Blaise nods in agreement.  “As a matter of fact, that’s literally every time a camera is put in front of you.”

Undaunted, QT continues to plow through any valid point made by the more rational section of the audience seated on the couch as he picks up his drink and finishes off the last of it prior to reaching into the cooler for a can of Milwaukee’s Best to keep his momentum flowing.  “And that’s why I decided that tonight, I’m getting the band back together: because we’re going to write a new Octane theme.  Think about it.  It’s marketing genius.  Those ARTIFICIAL FARTS in the home office can’t say no to a bunch of their talent collaborating on a project like this.  We’ll compose our own ORIGINAL song about what really makes Four Corners Wrestling tick -- the action!  The drama!  QT Reese!  All we gotta do is put our heads together and come up with our opus, and I’ll watch those royalty checks come rollin’ in!”

The rest of the Wrestling Beatles shoot Reese a concerned look after hearing those last two sentences, causing him to double-back.

“Look, let’s not make it any harder on payroll.  I’ll give you your share, but I get the most, because I’m the tunesmith by trade.  We’ll sign the thousand-page contract that I’ve taken the liberty to prepare later.  For now, we’ve got work to do.”

“Well,” a meek-voiced Bryan states, “it’s funny you should mention this, because me and Tommy wrote a song last night outside the Waffle House!  It’s called ‘Ana Drives A Comfortable Gremlin,’ and in parentheses, ‘(There’s Usually A Wrestler Stuffed In the Trunk),’ and I came up with the tune just a-hummin’.”

Tommy nods in agreement, offering this anecdote to follow. 

“And I’ve got a new tune in composition that’s entitled ‘The Thrill,’ and it goes something like this.”

The group gives their full and undivided attention to the genius of the modern-day wordsmith that is the grown man who still displays a Hanson poster on his bedroom wall.

“There once was a QT who glowed
Whose musical wisdom to which he bestowed.  And then like in poetry, I go dot dot dot all off to the center...”

QT, who is intrigued at the beginning of what would sure to be a Ferlinghetti-esqe work of art (based on the sole fact that the “song” is apparently about him,) does not notice that Kimitsu, Blaise, Kaz, and even the wheelchair-bound Bryan had slowly began to rise to their feet and slowly creep out of Reese’s sight range.

”...but with his head in the skies
Much to his surprise…”


With Kaz and Kimi grabbing his legs and Bryan and Blaise wrapping around his torso to lift him horizontally, they carry him like a battering ram towards a side door.  American Tommy rises to his feet and opens it to reveal a bathroom that looked only slightly more appealing than the one in Dakota Smith’s slaughter shack, choosing at this very moment to wrap up his limerick.

“...we were able to stick his head in the commode.”


Displaying some of the finest teamwork ever witnessed in 4CW history, the five delivered a most devastating swirlie to the loud-mouthed asshole.  Hamming up the ambush as if he were a Vietnam prisoner of war, the girlish screaming of Reese was still not enough to drown out the now-powerful voice of Bryan as the group pulled him from the bathroom and headed towards the front door of the house.

“Go fuckin’ practice, QT, you tunin’ sonofabitch!  Get the FUCK OUT!”

And with that, Reese was tossed like a lawn dart off of the porch and into the driveway, which had been freshly muddied due to a recent rainstorm.  With his head cocked to the side and still in shock at the devious scheme, QT sighed as he laid on his stomach to ponder exactly what just happened.


A low grunt is heard in the distance as QT turns his head.  The sound of footsteps approaching startles him and he slowly makes an attempt to get to his feet.  The footsteps draw closer and closer.

“It’’s you…”

Coming into focus is a not-so-familiar face to 4CW, but one that Reese knows quite well from previous encounters.  There is a look of terror in his mud-covered face as his mouth falls agape.

“Camila, wait.  Wha-wha-wha…”

Camila Abrines, dressed in soaking coveralls and hair drenched from the storm, stalks up to only a few feet in front of him as she stares back at the cowering QT without even the slightest hint of a happy expression.  While no longer under the control of the Voidstar, Reese had made it a part of his daily agenda to harass her on a regular basis, so much so as to post her personal address on Zillow to advertise her home for sale but replace it with pictures of a dumpster.

“What are you gonna do with that?” Reese asks, quivering and retreating to a begging position.

The object in her right hand was NOT a bag of dog shit as she’d threatened a couple of days earlier, but rather a Kaiser blade.  Or a sling blade, as some folks call it.

“I guess my aim is to kill you with it,” she informs.

QT, of course, reacts as predicted: by crying and doing his best Roger Rabbit impersonation.  “P-p-p-p-p-please don’t kill me.  I’ll do ANYTHING YOU SAY, just please don’t kill me!”

Abrines begins to reveal a smile.  “Anything?”


“Well,” she muses, “I’m feeling generous tonight.  I’ll let you live...if…”

“ANYTHING!” Reese reinforces.

“Oh QT, you know exactly what I want,” she beams, pointing her index finger down towards the muddy ground below.

The Newfie Cutie hangs his head in shame and sighs, but does not even give her request a second thought as he almost anticipated what her demand would be.  Taking a handful of the wet dirt, he lifts his eyes back up to Camila and pleads with her one last time.

“Do I have to?”

“EAT it,” she commands.

And once again, the taste of the Earth smothered his tongue and coated his gullet at the hands of his enemy.