October 18, 2019, 03:51:10 AM

Author Topic: Motivational Speaker  (Read 184 times)

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Motivational Speaker
« on: September 04, 2018, 11:15:08 AM »
Welcome to the Hannibal Institute of Professional Wrestler Development. Our state of the art facility (*DISCLAIMER* it's located in a strip mall in Scranton, Ohio currently under foreclosure proceedings. The suite it's housed in is actually the former site of a Blockbuster Video that closed down almost 10 years ago, because the fucking big blue ticket logo's outline is still visible over the door.)has been the fountain-head of great squared circle talent since the 17th of Never-ary.

Molding these fine examples of young, starry eyed, grapplers that will be the future of those opening hour piss break matches where you will get up to buy some popcorn and do a dab hit in the bathroom with your idiot friends and get ratted out to security by that uptight suburban divorcee dad with his Samsung attached to his belt like a gun holster who thought taking Junior to see a bunch of Spandex wearing roid monsters who do shit in front of a camera that would be a felony offense if they did that  in the parking lot was a swell plan to bond with his kid and show the judge he deserves more than every other weekend a month of visitation.
Hannibal has been around the wrestling universe.

He can't say where legally, because he is currently suing most of his old stomping grounds for back pay. Fun fact: 98% of the wrestling promoters he's dealt with are thieving, lying colon polyps who do stupid shit like book awful matches, give title shots to guys who are their partners in crime on Fortnight instead of earning them, and blow all their money on genius schemes like booking Madison Square Garden after being in business for 3 weeks and paying $500 and hour to "social media gurus" who give Confucian level advice like "bro, you should post more on Twitter."
And H-Bomb can tell, by looking at the gaggle of eager, unitard sporting spastics looking towards him for inspiration, offers these warm and comforting words of hope...

"You sorry assed talking monkeys do to oxygen what Bill Cosby did to aspiring actresses in the 70's and 80's after they let him mix their cocktails. Calling you fuckers shit would get us all sued by actual turds for defamation of character."

Up there with "Win One For the Gipper"  when it comes to winning hearts and minds!

"99.9999999999999999% of you could have made a fine career doing 21 point inspections on new purchases at a Honda dealership or managing an Apple store. But instead, you twats decided to dedicated your hearts, bodies, and credit ratings towards a career in getting either suplexed onto concrete by a man calling himself Dick Powers or hit in the face with small kitchen appliances by grown men dressed like extras in a Rob Zombie movie."

One of his less than perceptive of the situation students who'd put down the $250 fee he paid in cash for tuition and books chimed: "But, professional wrestling is a time honored sport. A display of tradition, heart and skill that..."

WHACK!! Upside the temple with a kendo stick. "Wrong, douche canoe! What the hell is so honorable about wearing your sister's tackiest yoga pants and punching GED recipients who think mental illness gives them super powers? That's like saying a torn ACL helps your 100 meter dash time. Who else wants to take a stab."

"You!' He growls, pointing his kendo stick menacingly at his next victim. "What's your name, stool sample?"

This meat-sack in the front row with 24" pythons and 22 brain cells stands and chimes: "I am the "ICON, JOHNNY...."

Whack! Whack! Whack! Hannibal beats his ass so bad, he feels compelled to ask Urban Meyer to lie to the board of trustees for him. "Really, fuck-stick!?! 4 matches at the county fairgrounds in the prefabricated metal pole shed they also rent out for cattle auctions, and you're calling yourself an icon already?! Next thing you'll tell me is, you're going to build a dynasty and do an endorsement deal slanging cut-rate whey protein supplements at Wal-Mart. The only thing iconic about you is the legendary amount of piss running down your leg now."

"YOOOOOOOOU!" Screaming in his Voice of DOOOOOOOOOOOOM! "Your name, Trump cabinet member!"

The young man stutters: "Uhh, uhh....Eric.....Eric Kowolski...."

"Don't tell me you're related to Killer Kowolski, or you'll be picking splinters out your rectum until 2020!"

"Definitely not; I'm related to Paul Kowolski; the guy that manages the rental car place outside the airport."

"Oh, yeah. I know that guy. Nice dude. Like his commercials. Really professionally done for a local television spot. Okay, answer this...why do you want to be a professional wrestler?"

"Ummmm....because I really didn't want to work a legit gig. And I enjoy being drunk before noon and beating up people in face-paint and traveling across the globe on somebody else's dime."

He prepares for the worst beating in recorded history, but instead, Hannibal smiles: "Good answer. I can work with this...."

"Yes, as painful as it is for almost every grappler to admit, wrestling is a scummy, silly, shady ass institution frequented by...."

"Barely educated dipshits who will devote their entires lives to this game, which, because of a constant cocktail of prescription opiods, concussions, jet-lag and arena concession stand food, said life will have a maximum span of 45 years, 7 months, and 22 days..."

"Washed up also-rans who will run feds to give their friends spotlight, rotate their managerial staff like they were stocking cans of tuna every few months, and basically exploit you, dig out your pockets, and leave you a broken husk of a human being..."

"Kind of like what Birdman and Cash Money Records do to rappers and producers..."

"You'll end up pulling a Lord Raab and stinking up 22 different feds at the same time, and try to do a booking in Louisville, Kentucky on a Monday night, then somehow, without creating a wormhole in space, fight in a 30 man battle royal on a Tuesday in the Kiev, just to make your child support and Kia Sorento payments on time..."

"Only to realize, you missed the whole point of being a professional wrestler, and that's besides being stuck in a gym 40 hours a week and sifting through promos from people inspired by binge watching Days of Our Lives, this shit is SURPRISING EASY!!"

"Rock a mic, kick some ass, occasionally get to snort coke out of a ring rat's bootyhole, and maybe get invited to Japan to do a tournament and a commercial for their cheap bootleg storm gutter run-off excuse for whiskey they distill! That is what...this...life....is about!"

"Not pride. Not honor. Not dedication. And certainly not blowing good shoot material jaw-jacking with a moron from another fed who's probably Chris Callum in disguise and not getting paid for it on social media. If half these wrestler's ring skills were a tenth of their meme and announcing they're pregnant on Twitter skills, they'd be shoe wearing 30 megaton hydrogen bombs!"

"So, I'm taking you to Japan with me for my 4CW in-ring promo debut to announce my plans to denegrate the sport and hope that North Korea shoves bundles of cruise missiles up their bukkake holes exactly an hour after I'm out of Japanese airspace."

"As for the rest of you failed HIV tests...."

A cheerful ending to this family friendly cut; Hannibal politely reminds his disciples of his no refund policy by shooting at their genitals with a paintball gun!

That's it. Cut's over. None of that fade to black shit....