Occulo, the Internet and a Word Processor.

[occulo]

Occulo is sat in the WCF Creative room that makes videos and graphics for the titantron.

Occulo: I have a lot to say, but now is not the time to say it. Fifteen will come and you will all hear my words then. So let’s keep this short and sweet shall we?

Dustin, I have to say, I have to look at you not as a member of a team on Sunday, but as an opponent I am yet to beat. I need to defeat you and make everything right. You beat me in a match where nothing was off the table…including tables. I even gave you my respect afterwards for winning what was a god awful bloody battle.

But the thing is Dustin, as soon as you gain just a microcosm of respect from me, you come up with new ways to throw it to the dogs. You lost your title but just couldn’t accept loss. You stole it back like a spoiled, snotty nosed little kid.

That is why I have presented my promo like I have. So it’s easy for you to read, you know, bright colours and all that. Big letters. With some pretty pictures to keep your attention. You’re a complete disgrace with no self-respect whatsoever.



Let me spell this out for you Beaver.

We fade out and we see a black screen with text scrolling up from the bottom. Grandaddy by A.M 180 playing in the background.

You are not champion

You are not champion

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You are not champion

You are not champion

We cut back to Occulo sat in the office

Now that has sunk in to that little plastic head of yours, let’s continue. Let's do away with the images. Serious talk now. I don’t know what your ultimate goal is here Dustin. How are you ever going to even begin to develop as a wrestler, or person for that matter when you can’t even handle the balance of the life of a grown up? Tired phrase perhaps, but you win some, you lose some. Sometimes you work so hard to achieve something and bang, you wake up and it’s gone. It happens to all of us. Some more than others in frequency and severity. But we get out of bed and open the curtains and see opportunity, not loss on the horizon.

But not you Dustin. You laid in bed and refused to move until what was taken from you was returned on a silver platter. For some reason you believe that reacting like this will help you. So what happened once the arena lights went off? What happened once Slam ended? Did you go home, sit naked in your bed clutching your belt, slowly rocking and repetitively tell yourself “I am champion, I am champion, I am champion”? Well you’re fucking not. Deal with it.

This Sunday night I am going to beat you so heavily that you will forget you were ever champion at all. Aren’t I nice? You don’t sound even remotely like a threat. You were a force in our last match but as I said that’s all gone now. You’ve gone from warrior to a crying little baby. I feel sorry for Andre having to fight with you in his corner. What a let-down and a complete fucking burden you are. I hate you Dustin, it’s a strong word but it’s true. I can’t name another person in this company who is as snivelling, whiny and just downright pathetic as you. You don’t deserve to be a champion. Your mentality is a lightyear away from it.

Myself and Howard are champions. Real champions, and we’re going to show you how real champions fight. We’re going to give you some perspective on how far you need to go. See you in the ring you petulant little cunt.

Andre, I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure. As I said, you poor guy having Beaver in your corner. You’ve lost this match. Because you see I’m going to render him completely incapacitated, and then you’ll have a handicap match on your hands, which will finish you. Be as relentless as you want Andre, this will end badly for you. I’m so confident Andre, that I’m done. See you Sunday.

He nods at the camera which flicks off

CUT