Post by Steve Orbit on May 8, 2016 14:35:48 GMT -5
Last week didn't go as planned.
As a matter of fact, nothing has gone as planned since I returned to WCF at the first Slam of 2016, after an eleven-month break. Yes, that's all it was-- eleven months, not even an entire year. But look how much has since I left the company in January 2015. The roster is almost all brand new, top to bottom. The landscape is entirely different.
Now that I'm settling back in to WCF, and reality is setting in, I'm realizing that the wrestling world moves faster than I thought it did. I mean, my three years in this company flew by, sure. But I guess when I was caught up in the whirlwind, I couldn't see all the changes happening around me at a rapid pace. I didn't see how different things had become from 2012 to 2013, from 2013 to 2014, and so on. I guess all that mattered to me was that I was a part of it. I felt it. I lived and breathed WCF and I was as much a part of WCF, as WCF was of me.
I never thought things could change so much in less than a year. I feel like I'm on the outside looking in. I feel like a rookie-- no, worse than a rookie. A rookie gets a clean slate. I get unreasonable expectations and the pressure of having to live up to my past accomplishments. I'm getting beat by mother fuckers who I have the talent and the ability to beat without breaking a sweat, yet I can't seem to find the will to win. I can't find the desire to compete. I suppose it's not helping my drive that I've only won a couple of times since I returned. I've lost when I know I should have won. I've had draws where I thought I had the match won. Something is different. Something is missing.
What the fuck is going on though?
==
Fade in to Steve Orbit's Mexican hotel suite.
We find Orbit, Polar Phantasm and Jeff Purse-- OPP, Ice Cold Future Pimps, the Three Amigos, whatever you wanna call them, they're sprawled off in different seats around the room. The room is smoke-filled, there's blunts being passed, drinks being sipped. The topic of conversation has shifted to the infamous "Trios Curse". Steve Orbit is currently speaking on it.
Steve Orbit: I think... I think I got the curse, y'all. I think I am the curse.
Polar Phantasm: What?
Jeff Purse: Yeah, what? Don't talk crazy, bro.
Steve Orbit: Listen. Last year, I came back to WCF specifically for Trios. I was with my brother, Jonny Fly, and Corey Black-- we made it to the finals, and we lost to a team of mother fuckin' scrubs. How? How does Steve Orbit, Jonny Fly and Corey Black-- three of the best to ever do it, lose to some fuckin' amateur wanna-be biker gang?
Purse hits the blunt and exhales through his nose.
Jeff Purse: Shit happens. You can't win 'em all.
Steve Orbit: Yeah, but-- homie, it was STEVE ORBIT, JONNY FLY and COREY BLACK. Against three fuckin' NOBODIES who went on to accomplish nothin'-- I mean, sure, Greyson Pierce is still doin' his thing but that's one of three. He ain't strong enough to carry two other dudes. What's the odds of them beating us?
Polar Phantasm: Man, I don't even--
Orbit snaps his fingers.
Steve Orbit: Go 'head Polar. Ask the fuckin' computer, ask Eye-7. It's gonna be like... at least five hundred to one.
Purse passes the blunt to Polar. He hits it and then responds.
Polar Phantasm: I don't see how the three of you losing has anything to do with the Curse.
Steve Orbit: I didn't either. I didn't see it but I see it now. It came to me when I was layin' in bed the other night after we took that 'cid.
Purse and Polar look at each other and chuckle.
Steve Orbit: For real! I been blamin' Corey Black for the loss all year. You know how far that got me? We damn near murdered each other last year at XIII and he fuckin' beat me. How I'ma blame him for losing when he beat ME? I'm tellin' y'all, I ain't been right since last year Trios. I ain't been the same.
Polar passes the blunt to Orbit who takes several big puffs off it.
Polar Phantasm: Well you've been doing fine every time we've gotten into the ring. Seem like the same ol' pimp to me.
Purse nods in agreement.
Jeff Purse: You're killin' it out there Steve.
Orbit hits the blunt again.
Steve Orbit: I appreciate that, but I'm NOT. I ain't killed nothin' since before Trios of last year. I've lost more than a handful of matches that I should have had no problem winning. And now, we got a team that's just as formidable, if not MORE so than last year-- fuckin' Polar Phantasm is back in WCF! With Steve Orbit and Jeff Purse? And we fuckin' fight three rookies to a DRAW? I'ma tell you one thing-- y'all ain't the problem here. I can see it now. I'm fuckin' Cursed. I caught the Trios Cup Curse and I caught it in a bad way.
Orbit goes to hit the blunt--
Jeff Purse: Hey-- puff puff pass, bro.
Instead of protesting Purse's OCD, he passes to Purse. Purse hits it and kills it in the ashtray.
Jeff Purse: I think you're overreacting.
Polar Phantasm: Yeah. This isn't like you, Steve. You're the most... confident person I've ever met in my life. I've never heard you doubt yourself about anything, ever.
Orbit nods, his eyes red and heavy.
Steve Orbit: Curse is a Curse, bruh.
All three men zone out, high as a mother fucker. Fade out.
==
A while later, Orbit is passed out. Purse and Polar are still up talking.
Jeff Purse: I kinda feel bad for him.
Polar Phantasm: He's not used to losing. It's going to his head. Look, I've known Steve for years-- his self confidence is his biggest asset. It defines him, it drives him. You and I both know he's a special talent in the ring, but... if his head ain't right... I dunno, brother.
Jeff Purse: What can we do?
Jeapordy music plays as Purse and Polar rack their brains.
The music stops.
Polar Phantasm: Man, it's late as hell and I'm tired as shit.
Jeff Purse: I know, but this is important. We have to figure out a way to get Steve's mojo back-- and fast!
Polar Phantasm: ... The dude's like family to us. Trios is whatever, I just hate seeing him like this.
Another moment of silence.
Jeff Purse: I GOT IT.
Polar Phantasm: Yeah?
Jeff Purse: Well... we ARE in Mexico. Don't they have witch doctors and all that stuff?
Polar rubs his chin.
Polar Phantasm: Probably...
Polar smiles.
Polar Phantasm: I'm sure we can find one who specializes in removing curses.
Purse and Polar slap hands.
Jeff Purse: Think he'll go for it?
Polar Phantasm: We'll find out. I'll have Iceberg-7 find us the best witch in town.
Polar and Jeff laugh off the idea and we fade out.
==
The next day, we find the three men walking through a run-down Mexican neighborhood. Definitely the only foreigners in sight, they are getting stared at by everybody as they walk through. Steve Orbit's zebra suit is probably not helping them blend in.
Steve Orbit: Where you takin' me? We goin' to meet a dealer or somethin'? I got a few connects South of the Border, we didn't need to venture out here, wherever the fuck we are.
A group of young children run down the street, one of them bumps into Orbit. Lightning fast, Orbit's grabs the boy's hand as he inconspicuously reaches for Orbit's wallet. Orbit instinctively cocks back his hand, but Polar grabs it. Orbit's eyes are wide, but he quickly calms himself. The rest of the group of kids has run off. The boy struggles to break free from Orbit's grip.
Steve Orbit: You picked the wrong pocket, boy.
The kid responds in Spanish.
Jeff Purse: Come on, he's just a kid, Steve.
Steve Orbit: You speak English? Ingles?
Kid: No Ingles. No.
Orbit keeps his grip on the boy, and passes Purse his wallet with his free hand.
Steve Orbit: Take the money out.
Purse takes out a fold of hundred dollar bills, although he's clearly not sure why.
Steve Orbit: Give it to him.
Jeff Purse: ... Are you sure? All of it?
Steve Orbit: I said give him the little money, homie.
Purse hands the young boy the wad of cash. Orbit releases him and he quickly runs away.
Steve Orbit: Little mother fucker.
The three men continue walking down the road. After a few moments, Polar speaks up.
Polar Phantasm: Alright, I have to ask-- Why'd you do that?
Steve Orbit: ... I been where he's at, bruh.
Polar nods. He looks at Purse, who shrugs. They continue walking until they come to a store-- more like a shack, with the word "BRUJERIA" painted on the side.
Polar Phantasm: This must be it.
Jeff Purse: Yeah, definitely.
Orbit struggles to read the sign.
Steve Orbit: Brew... jeria? I hope that's Mexican for dope house, or strip club, or somethin'. Got me out here in this fucked up neighborhood.
Polar Phantasm: It's not a crack house or a ho house, Steve. We brought you here to get help for your... problem.
Steve Orbit: What? Which bitch you talked to? It only happens when I drink too much!
Polar and Purse laugh.
Polar Phantasm: Let's go inside.
Polar slaps Orbit on the shoulder. The three men go inside the shack.
Inside, the only source of light comes from candles and the sunlight coming through the many cracks in the ceiling and walls. There are several voodoo looking figurines around the room as well as occult designs. In the center of the room, an old Mexican lady sits on a rug on the floor, her eyes closed. She speaks without opening her eyes.
Witch Doctor: I have been waiting for you.
She opens her eyes, one of which is milky white. She's dressed in black garb with a wrap around her head, and a necklace with several pendants and cloves of dried herbs and spices.
Purse is taken aback by her appearance. Polar looks around the room at the various artifacts. Orbit steps forward, unphased.
Steve Orbit: What's up, mamacita. What kinda operation you got here? You sellin' weed, blow-- meth? I know y'all Mexicans are knee deep in that shit. What's that smell, you cookin' out back?
Orbit sniffs the air. Polar and Purse hang in the back of the room, talking quietly.
Jeff Purse: How did she know to speak English to us before she opened her eyes?
Polar Phantasm: ... Lucky guess?
Polar chuckles at Purse's nervous disposition.
Polar Phantasm: Relax dude, she probably heard all the commotion outside before we got here. I'm sure it's part of her "act" or whatever.
The woman stands and grabs Orbit by the hand, leading him to the back room.
Witch Doctor: Come.
Orbit looks back at Polar and Purse. They nod at him, reassuring him. Orbit mocks slapping the witch doctor's ass, giving the them a laugh. The woman leads Orbit into the back room which is completely dark except for one candle in the center of the room. There are different skulls and animal bones all over the place, as well as blood stains on the walls and the ground. There is a couldron sitting on a wood fire. The witch doctor walks over to it.
Steve Orbit: Look, I dunno what my boys tried to set up here, or what they told you, but I'm straight. I don't need no medicine man. Or woman. My dick works fine. Watch--
Orbit begins to unfasten his belt. The woman scoops out some liquid from the couldron and pours it into a cup, handing it to Orbit.
Witch Doctor: Put that thing away and drink this.
Steve Orbit: You sure?
She nods and turns her back to Orbit, kneeling down. She begins to sing, or chant, or something like that. Orbit looks a little bit disappointed as he puts his dick back in his drawers. He sniffs the beverage which is smoking and bubbling.
Steve Orbit: Whew. What kinda tea is this? Shit's strong as fuck.
Witch Doctor: Drink the tea and then we will begin the process. You will be cleansed.
Finally, it clicks. Orbit sips the tea.
Steve Orbit: You 'gon take this Curse up off me?
The witch doctor continues to chant. Suddenly, Orbit's eyes roll back in his head, and he drops to the ground.
INSIDE STEVE ORBIT'S HALLUCINATING MIND
We find Orbit stepping into a colloseum style arena. There are Aztec or Mayan symbols carved into the walls and on the ground. Orbit has his face and body painted up and he's wearing a loincloth and carrying a spear. But he does still have his pimp hat on.
Steve Orbit: What the fuck is this?
Orbit looks around at the crowd. They're chanting "TRI-OS TRI-OS TRI-OS"! He gazes up at the crowd, when--
Polar Phantasm: LOOK OUT!
Orbit ducks just in time to miss a javelin thrown at his head. Polar Phantasm is wearing half-blue half-white paint on his entire body like Mel Gibson.
Jeff Purse: INCOMING!
Orbit spins out of the way of an arrow sent towards his chest. Purse is oddly wearing a modern three-peice suit and sunglasses. He steps up behind Polar and Orbit and the three men huddle.
Steve Orbit: Where the fuck are we? What is this?
Purse's face melts as he talks.
Jeff Purse: We have to defeat the Trios curse!
Polar Phantasm: This is our only chance to get your mojo back, Steve. We have to do this together!
Polar's body paint starts changing into all sorts of rainbow colors. The three men turn around and see their foes. Some exaggerated version of Ethan King, Eddie Felt and Tiffany White.
Steve Orbit: Which one is Ethan and which one is Eddie?! I STILL CAN'T TELL THE DIFFERENCE. THEY HAVE THE SAME GIMMICK DAMMIT.
Jeff Purse: Well... Ethan is the good one.
Ethan King steps forward, wearing American flag pants like Rex Kwon Doe and also a crown on his head.
Ethan King: I put the last nail in your coffin, Steve! You're fighting to draws against a no-name nobody like me! I beat you for the United States title! But somehow you legends are still holding us newcomers back and stealing our spots!
Eddie Felt: DEY TOOK AR JERBS!
Ethan King: Don't worry Eddie, I'll handle this! I'm the only one on our team with talent!
Eddie falls back, dejected but in agreement.
Ethan King: We will beat the Polaristic Phantasmo, and the Steven Mack of Orbits, and the Jeffrey Q Purseus this week! There will be no draws! Especially if we win, because our generic unoriginal cookie-cutter wrestler personas will never draw a dime!
Tiffany White: Speak for yourself asshole!
Tiffany White steps forward smoking a Marb Red and wearing a wife beater. She shoves Ethan aside.
Tiffany White: I'm the one you gotta watch out for. These two pussies are too busy being pussies. I can't tell 'em apart anyway.
Steve Orbit: Me neither!
Tiffany White: That's besides the point! I'm a truck-drivin', shit-kickin', rug-munchin' big bawl of GRRL power and I'm headin' right for you. I want that Trios Cup and even these two knuckle heads can't hold me back!
Tiffany pulls out a pack of playing cards and starts throwing them like Gambit. Orbit, Polar and Purse dodge them.
Jeff Purse: That's a pretty badass chick, bro.
Steve Orbit: Dykes make the best hookers.
Polar Phantasm: Hey-- now is not the time, alright? She's our enemy. We have to find a way to defeat them and break this curse!
Suddenly, a gong strikes. And again. And again. Everybody stops and the crowd goes silent.
Steve Orbit: What the..
Seth Lerch descends from the heavens, holding the actual Trios Cup. He lands in the middle of the arena.
Seth Lerch: Don't you see, fools?! It doesn't matter who wins this battle, I DECIDE WHO THE RIGHTFUL OWNER OF THE CUP WILL BE! ME! I AM THE GREAT DECIDER!
Ethan King steps forward.
Ethan King: Screw that! This is competition! I'm carrying my team to victory!
Seth shoots a fireball out of his eyes and knocks Ethan down. Eddie is about to run out, but he falls down and plays dead instead.
Tiffany White: That's it you no-good...
Tiffany throws her Marb Red on the ground and shotguns a Budweiser. She takes out a knife--
Seth Lerch: Can it, Butch. HADOUKEN!
A blue ball of energy blasts from Seth's palms and knocks Tiffany to the ground. Satisfied, Seth brushes dirt off of his shoulder and walks over to Orbit, Polar and Purse. He paces back and forth in front of them.
Seth Lerch: There was a time when you three were the best of the best. Polar-- years ago, as Kid Phantasm, you took the entire fed by storm. You ushered in a new era-- the Era of Pantheon, the Era of Jonny Fly, call it what you will, but the spark came from you. Even after you left, your fingerprint remained and your presence was felt for years as people continued to honor your name, and carry on the tradition of doing fun promos and working with others to make the company a great place, instead of hours upon hours of generic trash talk from generic characters.
Polar Phantasm: ... I said from the start, I came to save the sport of professional wrestling.
Seth Lerch: Well you didn't save it! You made it stupid! "Derr, let's write comic book-like stories about anything except for actual wrestling, in a wrestling company." It makes no sense! We aren't here to be creative! WE'RE HERE TO WRESTLE GOD DAMMIT.
Jeff Purse: Wrestling is what happens in the ring, yeah, but--
Seth Lerch: BUT NOTHING!
Seth points to the fallen Ethan King.
Seth Lerch: Even this foolish mortal gets it! Have you seen his promos? Hours and hours of trash talk! Who is Ethan King as a character? Who cares, as long as he knows a hundred different ways to call somebody a FAG!
Steve Orbit: ... Is that really all this is? Is that really what this is all about?
Seth laughs maniacally as he levitates towards the sky, taking his Trios Cup with him.
Seth Lerch: You'll never get this Cup, Steven! NONE OF YOU WILL!
Logan glides through the air on the back of a dragon and picks up Seth. Seth wraps his arms around Logan like a motorcycle girlfriend and Logan whips the dragon "HIYA". They take off into the sunset.
Jeff Purse: That was weird.
Polar Phantasm: ... Steve?
Orbit's eyes roll back in his head. He drops to the ground.
BACK TO REALITY
Orbit is laying on the floor of the witch doctor's shop. The witch doctor is leaning over him and praying. Orbit wakes up with a GASP and he shoots up to a sitting position. She embraces Orbit in a hug and hushes him.
Witch Doctor: Did you find your answers.
Steve Orbit: ... Man, I don't know what I found.
Orbit raises up off the ground. The witch doctor leads him out into the main room where Purse and Polar are sitting, waiting.
Polar Phantasm: Holy shit, he's awake!
They both stand to greet Orbit.
Steve Orbit: How long was I out for?
Jeff Purse: A while. Five, six hours.
Steve Orbit: ... Damn.
Polar tries to pay the lady but she refuses the money.
Witch Doctor: I can't accept. I heal because I have to... it's in my heart.
Polar Phantasm: Thank you.
The three amigos leave the witch doctor's shop. They begin walking down the same run-down street.
Jeff Purse: What was it like?
Steve Orbit: ... I'm still not sure what to make of it.
Polar Phantasm: Do you think the curse is broken?
Steve Orbit: ... Yeah. Matter of fact, I do.
Orbit pulls out a joint and lights it. They continue walking down the street and we fade out.
==
I don't know if the Curse was truly broken, or if I was even cursed to begin with.
What I learned from my experience with the witch doctor was-- win or lose, I was here to be with my homies. That's what drew me back to WCF. It wasn't the desire to win-- I already won everything. It wasn't the desire to win titles, or reclaim my spot at the top of this company. I don't need any more titles. I don't need any more money. I don't ever need to wrestle another match in my life-- I've had a career that most only dream of, I've accomplished things that 99% of potential wrestlers will never accomplish.
I've made my mark on WCF. Whatever I do from this point on, I'm doing it because I want to. Not because I need to, not because I need to relive the glory days, not because I have anything to prove to this generation of wrestlers or any other. I'm here to have fun with my homeboys.
Period.
As a matter of fact, nothing has gone as planned since I returned to WCF at the first Slam of 2016, after an eleven-month break. Yes, that's all it was-- eleven months, not even an entire year. But look how much has since I left the company in January 2015. The roster is almost all brand new, top to bottom. The landscape is entirely different.
Now that I'm settling back in to WCF, and reality is setting in, I'm realizing that the wrestling world moves faster than I thought it did. I mean, my three years in this company flew by, sure. But I guess when I was caught up in the whirlwind, I couldn't see all the changes happening around me at a rapid pace. I didn't see how different things had become from 2012 to 2013, from 2013 to 2014, and so on. I guess all that mattered to me was that I was a part of it. I felt it. I lived and breathed WCF and I was as much a part of WCF, as WCF was of me.
I never thought things could change so much in less than a year. I feel like I'm on the outside looking in. I feel like a rookie-- no, worse than a rookie. A rookie gets a clean slate. I get unreasonable expectations and the pressure of having to live up to my past accomplishments. I'm getting beat by mother fuckers who I have the talent and the ability to beat without breaking a sweat, yet I can't seem to find the will to win. I can't find the desire to compete. I suppose it's not helping my drive that I've only won a couple of times since I returned. I've lost when I know I should have won. I've had draws where I thought I had the match won. Something is different. Something is missing.
What the fuck is going on though?
==
Fade in to Steve Orbit's Mexican hotel suite.
We find Orbit, Polar Phantasm and Jeff Purse-- OPP, Ice Cold Future Pimps, the Three Amigos, whatever you wanna call them, they're sprawled off in different seats around the room. The room is smoke-filled, there's blunts being passed, drinks being sipped. The topic of conversation has shifted to the infamous "Trios Curse". Steve Orbit is currently speaking on it.
Steve Orbit: I think... I think I got the curse, y'all. I think I am the curse.
Polar Phantasm: What?
Jeff Purse: Yeah, what? Don't talk crazy, bro.
Steve Orbit: Listen. Last year, I came back to WCF specifically for Trios. I was with my brother, Jonny Fly, and Corey Black-- we made it to the finals, and we lost to a team of mother fuckin' scrubs. How? How does Steve Orbit, Jonny Fly and Corey Black-- three of the best to ever do it, lose to some fuckin' amateur wanna-be biker gang?
Purse hits the blunt and exhales through his nose.
Jeff Purse: Shit happens. You can't win 'em all.
Steve Orbit: Yeah, but-- homie, it was STEVE ORBIT, JONNY FLY and COREY BLACK. Against three fuckin' NOBODIES who went on to accomplish nothin'-- I mean, sure, Greyson Pierce is still doin' his thing but that's one of three. He ain't strong enough to carry two other dudes. What's the odds of them beating us?
Polar Phantasm: Man, I don't even--
Orbit snaps his fingers.
Steve Orbit: Go 'head Polar. Ask the fuckin' computer, ask Eye-7. It's gonna be like... at least five hundred to one.
Purse passes the blunt to Polar. He hits it and then responds.
Polar Phantasm: I don't see how the three of you losing has anything to do with the Curse.
Steve Orbit: I didn't either. I didn't see it but I see it now. It came to me when I was layin' in bed the other night after we took that 'cid.
Purse and Polar look at each other and chuckle.
Steve Orbit: For real! I been blamin' Corey Black for the loss all year. You know how far that got me? We damn near murdered each other last year at XIII and he fuckin' beat me. How I'ma blame him for losing when he beat ME? I'm tellin' y'all, I ain't been right since last year Trios. I ain't been the same.
Polar passes the blunt to Orbit who takes several big puffs off it.
Polar Phantasm: Well you've been doing fine every time we've gotten into the ring. Seem like the same ol' pimp to me.
Purse nods in agreement.
Jeff Purse: You're killin' it out there Steve.
Orbit hits the blunt again.
Steve Orbit: I appreciate that, but I'm NOT. I ain't killed nothin' since before Trios of last year. I've lost more than a handful of matches that I should have had no problem winning. And now, we got a team that's just as formidable, if not MORE so than last year-- fuckin' Polar Phantasm is back in WCF! With Steve Orbit and Jeff Purse? And we fuckin' fight three rookies to a DRAW? I'ma tell you one thing-- y'all ain't the problem here. I can see it now. I'm fuckin' Cursed. I caught the Trios Cup Curse and I caught it in a bad way.
Orbit goes to hit the blunt--
Jeff Purse: Hey-- puff puff pass, bro.
Instead of protesting Purse's OCD, he passes to Purse. Purse hits it and kills it in the ashtray.
Jeff Purse: I think you're overreacting.
Polar Phantasm: Yeah. This isn't like you, Steve. You're the most... confident person I've ever met in my life. I've never heard you doubt yourself about anything, ever.
Orbit nods, his eyes red and heavy.
Steve Orbit: Curse is a Curse, bruh.
All three men zone out, high as a mother fucker. Fade out.
==
A while later, Orbit is passed out. Purse and Polar are still up talking.
Jeff Purse: I kinda feel bad for him.
Polar Phantasm: He's not used to losing. It's going to his head. Look, I've known Steve for years-- his self confidence is his biggest asset. It defines him, it drives him. You and I both know he's a special talent in the ring, but... if his head ain't right... I dunno, brother.
Jeff Purse: What can we do?
Jeapordy music plays as Purse and Polar rack their brains.
The music stops.
Polar Phantasm: Man, it's late as hell and I'm tired as shit.
Jeff Purse: I know, but this is important. We have to figure out a way to get Steve's mojo back-- and fast!
Polar Phantasm: ... The dude's like family to us. Trios is whatever, I just hate seeing him like this.
Another moment of silence.
Jeff Purse: I GOT IT.
Polar Phantasm: Yeah?
Jeff Purse: Well... we ARE in Mexico. Don't they have witch doctors and all that stuff?
Polar rubs his chin.
Polar Phantasm: Probably...
Polar smiles.
Polar Phantasm: I'm sure we can find one who specializes in removing curses.
Purse and Polar slap hands.
Jeff Purse: Think he'll go for it?
Polar Phantasm: We'll find out. I'll have Iceberg-7 find us the best witch in town.
Polar and Jeff laugh off the idea and we fade out.
==
The next day, we find the three men walking through a run-down Mexican neighborhood. Definitely the only foreigners in sight, they are getting stared at by everybody as they walk through. Steve Orbit's zebra suit is probably not helping them blend in.
Steve Orbit: Where you takin' me? We goin' to meet a dealer or somethin'? I got a few connects South of the Border, we didn't need to venture out here, wherever the fuck we are.
A group of young children run down the street, one of them bumps into Orbit. Lightning fast, Orbit's grabs the boy's hand as he inconspicuously reaches for Orbit's wallet. Orbit instinctively cocks back his hand, but Polar grabs it. Orbit's eyes are wide, but he quickly calms himself. The rest of the group of kids has run off. The boy struggles to break free from Orbit's grip.
Steve Orbit: You picked the wrong pocket, boy.
The kid responds in Spanish.
Jeff Purse: Come on, he's just a kid, Steve.
Steve Orbit: You speak English? Ingles?
Kid: No Ingles. No.
Orbit keeps his grip on the boy, and passes Purse his wallet with his free hand.
Steve Orbit: Take the money out.
Purse takes out a fold of hundred dollar bills, although he's clearly not sure why.
Steve Orbit: Give it to him.
Jeff Purse: ... Are you sure? All of it?
Steve Orbit: I said give him the little money, homie.
Purse hands the young boy the wad of cash. Orbit releases him and he quickly runs away.
Steve Orbit: Little mother fucker.
The three men continue walking down the road. After a few moments, Polar speaks up.
Polar Phantasm: Alright, I have to ask-- Why'd you do that?
Steve Orbit: ... I been where he's at, bruh.
Polar nods. He looks at Purse, who shrugs. They continue walking until they come to a store-- more like a shack, with the word "BRUJERIA" painted on the side.
Polar Phantasm: This must be it.
Jeff Purse: Yeah, definitely.
Orbit struggles to read the sign.
Steve Orbit: Brew... jeria? I hope that's Mexican for dope house, or strip club, or somethin'. Got me out here in this fucked up neighborhood.
Polar Phantasm: It's not a crack house or a ho house, Steve. We brought you here to get help for your... problem.
Steve Orbit: What? Which bitch you talked to? It only happens when I drink too much!
Polar and Purse laugh.
Polar Phantasm: Let's go inside.
Polar slaps Orbit on the shoulder. The three men go inside the shack.
Inside, the only source of light comes from candles and the sunlight coming through the many cracks in the ceiling and walls. There are several voodoo looking figurines around the room as well as occult designs. In the center of the room, an old Mexican lady sits on a rug on the floor, her eyes closed. She speaks without opening her eyes.
Witch Doctor: I have been waiting for you.
She opens her eyes, one of which is milky white. She's dressed in black garb with a wrap around her head, and a necklace with several pendants and cloves of dried herbs and spices.
Purse is taken aback by her appearance. Polar looks around the room at the various artifacts. Orbit steps forward, unphased.
Steve Orbit: What's up, mamacita. What kinda operation you got here? You sellin' weed, blow-- meth? I know y'all Mexicans are knee deep in that shit. What's that smell, you cookin' out back?
Orbit sniffs the air. Polar and Purse hang in the back of the room, talking quietly.
Jeff Purse: How did she know to speak English to us before she opened her eyes?
Polar Phantasm: ... Lucky guess?
Polar chuckles at Purse's nervous disposition.
Polar Phantasm: Relax dude, she probably heard all the commotion outside before we got here. I'm sure it's part of her "act" or whatever.
The woman stands and grabs Orbit by the hand, leading him to the back room.
Witch Doctor: Come.
Orbit looks back at Polar and Purse. They nod at him, reassuring him. Orbit mocks slapping the witch doctor's ass, giving the them a laugh. The woman leads Orbit into the back room which is completely dark except for one candle in the center of the room. There are different skulls and animal bones all over the place, as well as blood stains on the walls and the ground. There is a couldron sitting on a wood fire. The witch doctor walks over to it.
Steve Orbit: Look, I dunno what my boys tried to set up here, or what they told you, but I'm straight. I don't need no medicine man. Or woman. My dick works fine. Watch--
Orbit begins to unfasten his belt. The woman scoops out some liquid from the couldron and pours it into a cup, handing it to Orbit.
Witch Doctor: Put that thing away and drink this.
Steve Orbit: You sure?
She nods and turns her back to Orbit, kneeling down. She begins to sing, or chant, or something like that. Orbit looks a little bit disappointed as he puts his dick back in his drawers. He sniffs the beverage which is smoking and bubbling.
Steve Orbit: Whew. What kinda tea is this? Shit's strong as fuck.
Witch Doctor: Drink the tea and then we will begin the process. You will be cleansed.
Finally, it clicks. Orbit sips the tea.
Steve Orbit: You 'gon take this Curse up off me?
The witch doctor continues to chant. Suddenly, Orbit's eyes roll back in his head, and he drops to the ground.
INSIDE STEVE ORBIT'S HALLUCINATING MIND
We find Orbit stepping into a colloseum style arena. There are Aztec or Mayan symbols carved into the walls and on the ground. Orbit has his face and body painted up and he's wearing a loincloth and carrying a spear. But he does still have his pimp hat on.
Steve Orbit: What the fuck is this?
Orbit looks around at the crowd. They're chanting "TRI-OS TRI-OS TRI-OS"! He gazes up at the crowd, when--
Polar Phantasm: LOOK OUT!
Orbit ducks just in time to miss a javelin thrown at his head. Polar Phantasm is wearing half-blue half-white paint on his entire body like Mel Gibson.
Jeff Purse: INCOMING!
Orbit spins out of the way of an arrow sent towards his chest. Purse is oddly wearing a modern three-peice suit and sunglasses. He steps up behind Polar and Orbit and the three men huddle.
Steve Orbit: Where the fuck are we? What is this?
Purse's face melts as he talks.
Jeff Purse: We have to defeat the Trios curse!
Polar Phantasm: This is our only chance to get your mojo back, Steve. We have to do this together!
Polar's body paint starts changing into all sorts of rainbow colors. The three men turn around and see their foes. Some exaggerated version of Ethan King, Eddie Felt and Tiffany White.
Steve Orbit: Which one is Ethan and which one is Eddie?! I STILL CAN'T TELL THE DIFFERENCE. THEY HAVE THE SAME GIMMICK DAMMIT.
Jeff Purse: Well... Ethan is the good one.
Ethan King steps forward, wearing American flag pants like Rex Kwon Doe and also a crown on his head.
Ethan King: I put the last nail in your coffin, Steve! You're fighting to draws against a no-name nobody like me! I beat you for the United States title! But somehow you legends are still holding us newcomers back and stealing our spots!
Eddie Felt: DEY TOOK AR JERBS!
Ethan King: Don't worry Eddie, I'll handle this! I'm the only one on our team with talent!
Eddie falls back, dejected but in agreement.
Ethan King: We will beat the Polaristic Phantasmo, and the Steven Mack of Orbits, and the Jeffrey Q Purseus this week! There will be no draws! Especially if we win, because our generic unoriginal cookie-cutter wrestler personas will never draw a dime!
Tiffany White: Speak for yourself asshole!
Tiffany White steps forward smoking a Marb Red and wearing a wife beater. She shoves Ethan aside.
Tiffany White: I'm the one you gotta watch out for. These two pussies are too busy being pussies. I can't tell 'em apart anyway.
Steve Orbit: Me neither!
Tiffany White: That's besides the point! I'm a truck-drivin', shit-kickin', rug-munchin' big bawl of GRRL power and I'm headin' right for you. I want that Trios Cup and even these two knuckle heads can't hold me back!
Tiffany pulls out a pack of playing cards and starts throwing them like Gambit. Orbit, Polar and Purse dodge them.
Jeff Purse: That's a pretty badass chick, bro.
Steve Orbit: Dykes make the best hookers.
Polar Phantasm: Hey-- now is not the time, alright? She's our enemy. We have to find a way to defeat them and break this curse!
Suddenly, a gong strikes. And again. And again. Everybody stops and the crowd goes silent.
Steve Orbit: What the..
Seth Lerch descends from the heavens, holding the actual Trios Cup. He lands in the middle of the arena.
Seth Lerch: Don't you see, fools?! It doesn't matter who wins this battle, I DECIDE WHO THE RIGHTFUL OWNER OF THE CUP WILL BE! ME! I AM THE GREAT DECIDER!
Ethan King steps forward.
Ethan King: Screw that! This is competition! I'm carrying my team to victory!
Seth shoots a fireball out of his eyes and knocks Ethan down. Eddie is about to run out, but he falls down and plays dead instead.
Tiffany White: That's it you no-good...
Tiffany throws her Marb Red on the ground and shotguns a Budweiser. She takes out a knife--
Seth Lerch: Can it, Butch. HADOUKEN!
A blue ball of energy blasts from Seth's palms and knocks Tiffany to the ground. Satisfied, Seth brushes dirt off of his shoulder and walks over to Orbit, Polar and Purse. He paces back and forth in front of them.
Seth Lerch: There was a time when you three were the best of the best. Polar-- years ago, as Kid Phantasm, you took the entire fed by storm. You ushered in a new era-- the Era of Pantheon, the Era of Jonny Fly, call it what you will, but the spark came from you. Even after you left, your fingerprint remained and your presence was felt for years as people continued to honor your name, and carry on the tradition of doing fun promos and working with others to make the company a great place, instead of hours upon hours of generic trash talk from generic characters.
Polar Phantasm: ... I said from the start, I came to save the sport of professional wrestling.
Seth Lerch: Well you didn't save it! You made it stupid! "Derr, let's write comic book-like stories about anything except for actual wrestling, in a wrestling company." It makes no sense! We aren't here to be creative! WE'RE HERE TO WRESTLE GOD DAMMIT.
Jeff Purse: Wrestling is what happens in the ring, yeah, but--
Seth Lerch: BUT NOTHING!
Seth points to the fallen Ethan King.
Seth Lerch: Even this foolish mortal gets it! Have you seen his promos? Hours and hours of trash talk! Who is Ethan King as a character? Who cares, as long as he knows a hundred different ways to call somebody a FAG!
Steve Orbit: ... Is that really all this is? Is that really what this is all about?
Seth laughs maniacally as he levitates towards the sky, taking his Trios Cup with him.
Seth Lerch: You'll never get this Cup, Steven! NONE OF YOU WILL!
Logan glides through the air on the back of a dragon and picks up Seth. Seth wraps his arms around Logan like a motorcycle girlfriend and Logan whips the dragon "HIYA". They take off into the sunset.
Jeff Purse: That was weird.
Polar Phantasm: ... Steve?
Orbit's eyes roll back in his head. He drops to the ground.
BACK TO REALITY
Orbit is laying on the floor of the witch doctor's shop. The witch doctor is leaning over him and praying. Orbit wakes up with a GASP and he shoots up to a sitting position. She embraces Orbit in a hug and hushes him.
Witch Doctor: Did you find your answers.
Steve Orbit: ... Man, I don't know what I found.
Orbit raises up off the ground. The witch doctor leads him out into the main room where Purse and Polar are sitting, waiting.
Polar Phantasm: Holy shit, he's awake!
They both stand to greet Orbit.
Steve Orbit: How long was I out for?
Jeff Purse: A while. Five, six hours.
Steve Orbit: ... Damn.
Polar tries to pay the lady but she refuses the money.
Witch Doctor: I can't accept. I heal because I have to... it's in my heart.
Polar Phantasm: Thank you.
The three amigos leave the witch doctor's shop. They begin walking down the same run-down street.
Jeff Purse: What was it like?
Steve Orbit: ... I'm still not sure what to make of it.
Polar Phantasm: Do you think the curse is broken?
Steve Orbit: ... Yeah. Matter of fact, I do.
Orbit pulls out a joint and lights it. They continue walking down the street and we fade out.
==
I don't know if the Curse was truly broken, or if I was even cursed to begin with.
What I learned from my experience with the witch doctor was-- win or lose, I was here to be with my homies. That's what drew me back to WCF. It wasn't the desire to win-- I already won everything. It wasn't the desire to win titles, or reclaim my spot at the top of this company. I don't need any more titles. I don't need any more money. I don't ever need to wrestle another match in my life-- I've had a career that most only dream of, I've accomplished things that 99% of potential wrestlers will never accomplish.
I've made my mark on WCF. Whatever I do from this point on, I'm doing it because I want to. Not because I need to, not because I need to relive the glory days, not because I have anything to prove to this generation of wrestlers or any other. I'm here to have fun with my homeboys.
Period.