Post by Thunder on Sept 20, 2006 15:41:04 GMT -5
The scene opens in what appears to be a high school gymnasium. On opposite walls of the gym hang two basketball hoops. But basketball isn’t the event that is taking place here. It’s an independent wrestling show. As would be expected, the crowd is sparse, around 50 to 75 people. Two men, both in dark trunks with short brown hair, are wrestling in the noisy ring. The crowd is deathly silent, save for a few hecklers. Suddenly, the sound of a car causes everyone, including the wrestlers, to turn and look towards the front door. The door opens and in walks Thunder, dressed in a suit. As he stands at the door, he motions for the wrestlers to continue, which they do. The match quickly bores him, so he looks with disdain at his surroundings, barely paying any attention to what’s going on in the ring. Most of the crowd pays little attention as well, focusing on Thunder. Finally, the match reaches its conclusion. One wrestler hits the other with a Rock Bottom for the pin. The ending of the match does not garner much reaction from the crowd because both men were nearly identical. With the match over, both men begin to walk to the back. Thunder applauds loudly, drawing the attention of one of the wrestlers. He points at Thunder, makes a motion to leave. The wrestler, of course, obeys the order. Thunder now walks to the ringside area, where he grabs a microphone from the announcer. He steps in the ring, the crowd in the shock as to what is going on.
Why do I even have a microphone? This place is so damn small I don’t need it.
Thunder throws the microphone down on the mat, creating a loud boom.
Now I’m sure you’re all wondering why a wrestler as great as me would grace the ring of this talent less indy fed that about 50 people showed up for. Since you’re obviously very dedicated wrestling fans to watch this crap, I’m sure that all of you will be ordering the next WCF PPV, School of Pain. And I’m sure all of you fat, disgusting, pathetic little men have the card memorized already. I’m in The People’s Title Match against two guys I faced and destroyed last week. Now that’s all well and good, but that really doesn’t answer why I’m here. It’s really quite simple.
Thunder is cut off with a very large man, around 300 pounds, stands up and speaks.
Wrestle or get out of the ring!
The rest of the crowd apparently likes this idea, as they begin chanting. The man gets very into it, leading the chant.
Wrestle! Wrestle! Wrestle!
You know, fat men such as yourself are very amusing. All you really do is stuff your face with food and get your little exercise by flipping through the channels. So, I’ve got to tell you that it’s real funny when someone as fat as you gets this excited over something besides a cheeseburger. Unfortunately for you and everyone else here, I’ll never wrestle in this dump. Now sit down you fat bastard.
Degraded, the man sits back down.
Now as I was saying…
The crowd cuts Thunder off with a new chant.
Shut the f*** up! Shut the f*** up!
Thunder appears greatly amused by this, encouraging it instead of getting angry. He climbs the turnbuckle and claps with the crowd. Disappointed that they didn’t anger him, they stop the chant. He gets down from the turnbuckle and continues to speak.
That’s better. I have two reasons for coming here tonight. The first is that my match is for the People’s Title. I thought what better place to get in touch with “the people” than an indy show in some school gym. After all, this is the best place to go. Only the stupidest, pathetic, worthless wrestling fans would come to see this poor excuse for professional wrestling. And guess what? I was proven right. Everybody, look at the person next to you. You’re probably seeing a grotesque looking man with greasy hair and acne all over his face. When you go home to your parent’s house, look in the mirror. You’ll see the same exact thing. And really, that’s what the typical wrestling fans, the “people”, are. It’s a shame that the title I will win at School of Pain represents every one of you pieces of garbage.
Thunder now climbs up the ropes and sits on the top turnbuckle.
There is, however, another reason. I also came here to prove something about my opponents. What I’m about to ask all of you people might a little difficult. Try, not so hard that you hurt yourself, to think back to a few minutes ago. Remember that last match? If anyone here knew their names and could one apart from the other, please raise your hand.
His eyes pan over the audience, but not one hand goes up.
Exactly what I thought. Those two guys were mirror images of each other. The same can be said about my opponents at School of Pain: Twister and Chris North. Put those two side by side and they’re almost exactly the same: rich, arrogant, technical wrestlers.
One fan in the back yells something out.
Sounds like you!
The rest of the crowd claps in approval.
Smartest man in the building, huh? Wrong. On paper, you sound correct. But everyone who saw the Television Title Match at Slam knows the difference. I showed all the WCF fans and all the wrestlers in the back that I am better than my opponents and can go at it with the best the WCF has to offer. I had the TV Title won until Lawnmower Jones broke it up and got Twister to tap out. Last week everyone saw that I could beat Chris North and Twister. I showed that just like you fans, they are jealous and want to be like me. But all the WCF fans and my opponents know that will never happen. I hate the people, and the people hate me, but they all must come to the fact that after I win at School of Pain, I’ll be your champion.
Thunder drops down from the turnbuckle and walks towards the door, all the while looking at the fans with disgust. He walks out the door and soon the noise of the car is heard again. Just like the sound of the engine, the scene fades.
Why do I even have a microphone? This place is so damn small I don’t need it.
Thunder throws the microphone down on the mat, creating a loud boom.
Now I’m sure you’re all wondering why a wrestler as great as me would grace the ring of this talent less indy fed that about 50 people showed up for. Since you’re obviously very dedicated wrestling fans to watch this crap, I’m sure that all of you will be ordering the next WCF PPV, School of Pain. And I’m sure all of you fat, disgusting, pathetic little men have the card memorized already. I’m in The People’s Title Match against two guys I faced and destroyed last week. Now that’s all well and good, but that really doesn’t answer why I’m here. It’s really quite simple.
Thunder is cut off with a very large man, around 300 pounds, stands up and speaks.
Wrestle or get out of the ring!
The rest of the crowd apparently likes this idea, as they begin chanting. The man gets very into it, leading the chant.
Wrestle! Wrestle! Wrestle!
You know, fat men such as yourself are very amusing. All you really do is stuff your face with food and get your little exercise by flipping through the channels. So, I’ve got to tell you that it’s real funny when someone as fat as you gets this excited over something besides a cheeseburger. Unfortunately for you and everyone else here, I’ll never wrestle in this dump. Now sit down you fat bastard.
Degraded, the man sits back down.
Now as I was saying…
The crowd cuts Thunder off with a new chant.
Shut the f*** up! Shut the f*** up!
Thunder appears greatly amused by this, encouraging it instead of getting angry. He climbs the turnbuckle and claps with the crowd. Disappointed that they didn’t anger him, they stop the chant. He gets down from the turnbuckle and continues to speak.
That’s better. I have two reasons for coming here tonight. The first is that my match is for the People’s Title. I thought what better place to get in touch with “the people” than an indy show in some school gym. After all, this is the best place to go. Only the stupidest, pathetic, worthless wrestling fans would come to see this poor excuse for professional wrestling. And guess what? I was proven right. Everybody, look at the person next to you. You’re probably seeing a grotesque looking man with greasy hair and acne all over his face. When you go home to your parent’s house, look in the mirror. You’ll see the same exact thing. And really, that’s what the typical wrestling fans, the “people”, are. It’s a shame that the title I will win at School of Pain represents every one of you pieces of garbage.
Thunder now climbs up the ropes and sits on the top turnbuckle.
There is, however, another reason. I also came here to prove something about my opponents. What I’m about to ask all of you people might a little difficult. Try, not so hard that you hurt yourself, to think back to a few minutes ago. Remember that last match? If anyone here knew their names and could one apart from the other, please raise your hand.
His eyes pan over the audience, but not one hand goes up.
Exactly what I thought. Those two guys were mirror images of each other. The same can be said about my opponents at School of Pain: Twister and Chris North. Put those two side by side and they’re almost exactly the same: rich, arrogant, technical wrestlers.
One fan in the back yells something out.
Sounds like you!
The rest of the crowd claps in approval.
Smartest man in the building, huh? Wrong. On paper, you sound correct. But everyone who saw the Television Title Match at Slam knows the difference. I showed all the WCF fans and all the wrestlers in the back that I am better than my opponents and can go at it with the best the WCF has to offer. I had the TV Title won until Lawnmower Jones broke it up and got Twister to tap out. Last week everyone saw that I could beat Chris North and Twister. I showed that just like you fans, they are jealous and want to be like me. But all the WCF fans and my opponents know that will never happen. I hate the people, and the people hate me, but they all must come to the fact that after I win at School of Pain, I’ll be your champion.
Thunder drops down from the turnbuckle and walks towards the door, all the while looking at the fans with disgust. He walks out the door and soon the noise of the car is heard again. Just like the sound of the engine, the scene fades.
