Vince Russo on Crack
May 1, 2016 15:21:13 GMT -5
The Polar Phantasm, Crow McMorris, and 1 more like this
Post by Steve Orbit on May 1, 2016 15:21:13 GMT -5
It's been a few days since the Aftermath PPV. Our scene opens with Steve Orbit, Polar Phantasm and Jeff Purse in the VIP section of what appears to be a strip club. By the look of the talent-- mostly olive skinned, dark hair, we are most likely already in Mexico for Slam.
Our Trios team is seated in a private section among leather couches and chairs. There are several beautiful girls entertaining them, and plenty of booze flowing. One girl stands out from the rest of the Latinas-- a white red-head, who is pursuing Purse's purse at the moment. Purse politely declines a lap dance, or whatever else she was offering while whispering into his ear. She shrugs and moves on to the next group of patrons. Orbit speaks up.
Steve Orbit: I bet you'll never like red-heads again. You neither, Polar.
Polar shakes his head.
Polar Phantasm: I just keep playing it back in my head. How did I lose to TWILIGHT? Ugh.
He puts his head in his hands while a stripper rubs his back.
Steve Orbit: Hey man, you ain't the only one who lost at Aftermath. I got pinned-- first time since I returned, in January. Bad enough I got pinned, but then it's to this young kid Ethan King. I ain't never been the one to make a name off, bruh, and now this kid comes along and does exactly that. He must be on Cloud mother fuckin' Nine right now. He got a real victory he can hang his hat on-- he's got his first WCF singles championship, yeah. He must be feelin' pretty fuckin' good right now.
Purse's expression drifts off and he smiles.
Jeff Purse: Yeah, I remember those days. I thought I was unstoppable. Thought I'd never lose... so naive.
Polar Phantasm: Typical rookie stuff. Your first big win, of course it goes straight to your head. But when you're new to the business, you don't realize that you need big win, after big win, after big win to get anywhere in this business. And there's a lot of loss and heartbreak in between. Especially this company, with competition being as tight as it is.
Steve Orbit: I heard that. It's like these mother fuckers are so upset that we have put in work and made a name for ourselves. I mean, it's pathetic listening to these new mother fuckers. Ethan King included. All they talk about is how we don't belong here no more, we washed up, we takin' everybody's spot-- I mean, back in my day, we tried to learn from the old heads. We tried to model our careers after the successful ones, the OGs. Man, I bet it drives Ethan King fuckin' CRAZY that even though he pinned me in a title match-- he'll still NEVER be as big a name as Steve Orbit.
Polar and Purse laugh, and toast to that.
Jeff Purse: Tell you guys what. Let's put Aftermath behind us. It's over. Individually, we are three of the best of the best. As a team, we've proven that we can perform together very well-- Pantheon, Cryogenix, we've got history together. The three of us? We're stronger as a unit than we are as individuals, I firmly believe that. Can our opponents this week say the same?
Polar Phantasm: Hell, can any other team in the entire tournament match our experience as a team? No way. Most of these teams are made up of guys who's entire WCF runs combined are less than any one of ours. Not saying we should underestimate anybody, but if we perform as the well-oiled unit that we have proven we can be, I don't think anybody will be able to stop us. Not as a united front.
Orbit grins.
Steve Orbit: Spoken like a true leader. Bringin' me back to those Cryogenix days.
The three men toast to the memories of CGX. They each drift off for a moment before Orbit speaks again.
Steve Orbit: The only problem we be havin' is we can't come up with a decent name. I mean, OPP? It's aight. I woulda stuck with Ice Cold Pimps from the Future, but... you know, I'm a democratic pimp. I've just felt so uninspired since I returned in January, I thought some time off would be good for me, you know what I'm sayin'-- recharge my batteries and shit. But then I came back, and right off the bat that shit with Logan was absolutely fuckin' soul crushing.
Polar holds up his hand, cutting off Orbit.
Polar Phantasm: Nah, that's bullshit Mack. No blaming Logan, no blaming the bookers-- look at it from this perspective. You won all them World titles by yourself, right? Solo? Well you took your losses solo too. You alone, you responsible for whether you win or lose. You absolutely coulda beat Ethan King and Mikey eXtreme last week, but you didn't give a hundred percent.
Orbit scoffs. Purse speaks up.
Jeff Purse: ... He's right, Steve. You haven't been giving it your all. I'm guilty of it, too-- there's times when I came back, I don't know why... looking to fulfill some need I have for wrestling, the excitement... the crowd, I don't know. The point is, I came back and I didn't give a hundred percent, and I paid for it. We can't rest on our laurels, Steve. None of us. We've all done great things, but we can't get by on what happened a year ago, or two, three years ago. We have to stay in the now. And look towards the Future.
Orbit slow claps.
Steve Orbit: Nice speech, Purse.
Polar Phantasm: He's absolutely right. We can say what we want about the current roster-- they haven't experienced the ups and downs that they absolutely WILL experience, that we've all experienced. But they're getting real wins and changing the landscape around here. Trios is our opportunity to show that we've still got it.
Steve Orbit: 'Course we still got it.
Jeff Purse: It's not enough for us to KNOW we still have it. We have to PROVE that not only are we as good as ever, but that together, the three of us are the best damn Trios team that's ever been assembled.
The three men pause to consider that statement, until Orbit speaks up.
Steve Orbit: I feel y'all, I do, I just... I feel like something is missing, like I need a new direction. With me-- with us, something just seems off, or like we could be doin' more. It's like we need a fuckin'... creative consultant or somethin'.
Purse chuckles.
Jeff Purse: What, like Vince Russo?
Polar Phantasm: Shit... even Vince Russo couldn't handle us three. We need Vince Russo on CRACK.
Polar and Purse laugh and high-five, clearly joking. The camera cuts to Orbit, though, who has that slow-motion epiphany smile on his face. Fade out.
==
We hear a familiar New York accent.
"Bro, I gotta tell ya, this is some friggin' good stuff. I mean, back on Long Island I get some decent yay but bro, I gotta tell ya, this is the bomb shnizzle. Bro, my ears are ringin' and I got friggin' tunnelvision like a MOE."
Scene opens in a hotel room. Vince Russo, grey-haired and a little heavier than we last saw him on television... if you watch his weekly podcasts, you know what he looks like. Tonight, though, his eyes are wide and wild and he holds a small glass stem in his hand, Chore Boy stuffed into the burnt end. There's a ripped open plastic baggie on the table, containing a big chunk of off-white, milky crack cocaine. There are many smaller peices next to it, broken off and ready to go. Steve Orbit is visible in the back corner of the room, hovering above a small stove in the kitchenette-- there's a pot bubbling on the burner, and a big pile of powder cocaine on the counter next to a box of baking soda. Phantasm pulls up a chair across from Russo. Purse sits in a chair off to the side, caught between studying Orbit's crack-cooking method, and watching Russo consume said crack.
Polar Phantasm: Thanks for meeting with us, Vince. We loved your work in the Attitude Era, really awesome stuff.
Vince Russo: Bro, we had one billion viewers per week. One billion, bro. Where'd they all go? You can't tell me that one billion people across the globe are watchin' RAW on their friggin' iPad. I mean, what the frig, bro, get real.
Polar Phantasm: Yeah... I think most of them are probably watching WCF now.
Russo exhales crack smoke and twitches a little bit.
Vince Russo: Look, I love you three guys, alright-- all the talent in the world. Really talented guys, you, the Steve Orbit, Jeff Purse-- love you guys. Love you. The problem in WCF IS the booking. Seth Lerch-- I mean, I reached out to him, I offered my services, you know what he does? I'll tell ya what he did. Puts me in a friggin' port-a-john and shoves me down a hill. Friggin' believe that bro?
Purse is visibly upset by the comment, dry heaving. Polar raises an eyebrow. Orbit, obviously listening to the conversation, turns around from the stove.
Steve Orbit: That nigga locked you in a port-a-let? And pushed you down a hill?
Vince Russo: Yeah-- you know, him and his goons there bro. I was fine. I persevered, bro, I always persevere. But there I am tryin' to do business-- I mean it's friggin' upside down over there, bro. Look at a guy like... Tyler Walker, for example. The guy looks like a friggin' star. He's a friggin' werewolf for cryin' out loud. And... what, they throw him in some comedy tag team? If it was me, I gotta tell ya-- this guy would be main eventing pay per views, bro. He'd be a friggin' star, I would build the entire company around him.
Orbit turns off the stove and walks over to where everybody is seated, and takes a seat. He turns to Polar and Purse.
Steve Orbit: Remember this past year's One? Walker versus biohazard, bitch on a pole match?
Polar and Purse look at each other. Polar scratches his head, then Purse puts his hand up as he remembers.
Jeff Purse: Oh! You came from outta nowhere and stole the girl, right Steve? I remember that, haha.
Steve Orbit: Yeah... but that was all this guy.
Orbit points to Russo, currently taking a big rip off the crack pipe. Russo gives a thumbs up, his eyes rolling back in his head.
Polar Phantasm: Nooo shit. Girl on a pole match-- an Orbit run-in from out of nowhere, it all makes sense now. It's got Vince Russo written all over it. That's how y'all know each other?
Steve Orbit: I actually met him last year during my time off, at a convention in LA. We got to talkin' and I hooked him up with a couple bitches and an 8-ball. Tried to get him in the door at WCF, thought he could add some fresh ideas to the mix, but I guess Seth wasn't havin' it-- you know how he is, he ain't givin' up control unless somebody takes it from him.
All four men nod in agreement.
Vince Russo: Look, I mean, here's the problem with WCF. You got a bunch of guys with no personality. Generic wrestler guys like, uh-- take the first round of Trios. Look at the contrast. You've got "The Mack" Steve Orbit, Polar freakin' Phantasm, and "The Future" Jeff Purse. Three established characters, there's history, there's a story. And on top of that... the CASUAL WRESSELING VIEWER, flippin' through the channels, they're going to watch Steve Orbit on television. They're going to watch Polar Phantasm and Jeff Purse because they are interesting characters. Larger than life personalities. The CASUAL WRESSELING VIEWER doesn't care about Ethan King and Eddie whatever-the-frig. Honestly, I can't tell the difference between who's who. They aren't exciting. They're generic wrestlers, generic characters.
Steve Orbit: I been sayin' that.
Russo takes a another hit off the crack pipe, closes his eyes for a moment, and then continues.
Vince Russo: And then you got Tiffany White. The freakin' lesbian. Look, I mean, if I'm producing Tiffany White, I got her comin' out in a g-string every week and makin' out with different girls. She's a freakin' lesbo! Make it sexy, and I'll tell ya why bro. The CASUAL WRESSELING VIEWER who is flippin' through the channels, they're gonna stop if they see two hot lesbos makin' out in g-strings bro. And then what you do is, you take a g-string and put it on a pole--
Orbit clears his throat and hands Russo another peice of crack.
Steve Orbit: Aight man, we don't need ideas for the other team. I'm comin' off some tough losses, Polar just lost his return match... and Purse, well, he don't really need no help but he'll take any advice you got. So let's hear it.
Russo takes a real big hit off the crack pipe. He starts moaning and making all types of weird clicking sounds. After a few seconds, he shakes it off and comes back to planet Earth.
Vince Russo: Can you repeat the question?
Orbit points to himself and his Trios partners.
Steve Orbit: Us. We need ideas for us.
Vince rubs his scruffy grey facial hair.
Vince Russo: Bro... I mean, I gotta tell ya, you guys got it all goin' for ya. Total package. If I got the books, I'm pushin' you guys to the moon. But I got a feeling Seth won't do that, and I'm gonna tell ya why, bro. You know me, I tell it like it is. Seth is allowing the vocal majority-- the INTERNET WRESSELING COMMUNITY, to dictate the booking of the show. Yeah, bro. He's listening to these... friggin' marks, who are gonna watch no matter what. They're WCF-for-life. And of course your guys like Ethan King, Eddie Felt-- they're internet darlings. They're young, they're hip-- they can put on GREAT WRESSELING MATCHES. But they have no idea how to present a freakin' character. There's no friggin' pizazz. The CASUAL WRESSELING VIEWER doesn't give a frig about great wrestling matches, or how many flips you can do or "this is awesome" chants. They want interesting characters, bro. CHAR-AC-TERS bro.
Brief moment of silence in the room.
Steve Orbit: ... I think we understand that already. Right guys?
Purse and Phantasm nod.
Vince Russo: All you gotta do bro is listen to their promos. Boring, on and on and on about the wresseling match, how they're going to win the wresseling match, yada yada. It's boring, predictable generic trash talk and garbage bro. That's all you gotta do is listen to one of Ethan King's promos. He's somewhere doing something that's not relevant or interesting, and then he's sitting down somewhere talking about the wresseling match. Same thing every week bro, it's so friggin' irritatin'.
Vince pauses for a crack hit.
Vince Russo: But-- but here's the problem, guys. I'll tell you what the problem is, bro. The INTERNET WRESSELING COMMUNITY, they're all up in arms about the new guys versus the old guys, the legends coming back taking everybody's spot on the card, I mean, it's foolishness bro. These Internet marks, you can't make 'em happy. Look at you, Steve Orbit-- they used to love you, then you finally MADE it, and now they don't wanna see you anymore.
Steve Orbit: Tell me about it. But you're getting off-track, Vince. Come on. We need some crazy over-the-top Vince Russo gimmick to jumpstart us into this Trios tournament, we wanna come out with a BANG. Do somethin' that mother fuckers will remember, and they'll be talkin' about for years to come... help us out, homie. Here, hit this--
Orbit passes Russo a joint which he lit moments ago. Russo takes a few puffs, coughs, and passes to Polar.
Vince Russo: Alright bro, let me think. Trios. Tree-os. You got three friggin' title belts. Three man teams. First thing you gotta do is get three poles--
Steve Orbit: No poles.
Russo gasps. He's offended.
Vince Russo: Bro, with all due respect, I'm the creative genius here bro. You guys called ME for ideas, bro. So listen-- sit back, let me work my magic bro. Ok.
Russo closes his eyes, and hits the crack pipe. He exhales and then speaks, eyes still closed.
Vince Russo: I'm envisioning three title belts. Alligators around the ring. Somebody's wife is cheating on them-- not mine, somebody in the match is cheating with the other team. Let's make this personal, maybe there's some homosexual undertones. Or, maybe Steve Orbit is pimpin' out... uh, what's her face, Polar's and Purse's wife. And maybe one of 'em is on a pole--
THUMP.
Minutes later, Russo is being dragged by the three men through the dark hotel parking lot. We see a row of Port-a-Pottys at one end of the parking lot. They drag Russo over to the port-a-johns and drop him in front of them.
Jeff Purse: I'm not touching that handle.
Orbit shrugs, and opens the door to one of the portable toilets. Orbit, Polar and Purse pull up Russo and throw him inside. The stench jolts Russo out of his unconscious state, just in time to see the door shut and lock from the outside. He yells from inside.
Vince Russo: Bro! What are you doin' bro?
Steve Orbit: This mother fucker talks too much.
Polar Phantasm: Yeah, I heard enough.
Vince Russo: Do you know who the frig I am, bro? I'm VINNY RU! I had fifty million people watchin' TNA, where are they now? HUH BRO?
Jeff Purse: Later... "bro".
Vince Russo: NO!
All three men tip over the port-a-potty, which is conveniently located at the top of a hill. It rolls, and rolls, and rolls, feces and urine spraying everywhere, until it is out of sight.
Jeff Purse: That's so gross.
Polar Phantasm: He deserved it. Fuckin' hack.
Orbit shrugs.
Steve Orbit: Oh well. Let's go back to the hotel room and think up some real strategy, we don't need nobody else anyway. Y'all down with OPP?
Polar and Purse high-five Orbit as they walk back to the hotel room. Fade out.
==
That was fun. But the truth is, I never needed Vince Russo-- I never needed nothin' but a strong backhand and a slick tongue.
I came back to WCF because I love this business. I love this company. It's funny how when you leave and come back, you have a legacy that comes along with you-- you're fuckin' scrutinized and under the microscope. People can't wait to see what you'll do, especially if you somebody who has had some success in the past, you know what I'm sayin'? I mean, bruh-- I never said I was the greatest, unbeatable wrestler in the world. Did I ever say that? Sure, I had a lot of success-- through hard work, through dedication. I stuck through the thick and the mother fuckin' thin, I rode through the good times and the bad times, and I made a nice little three-year run out of it. Even won a World title or two. But I never claimed to be unbeatable. I'm not unbeatable. Even when I was runnin' at 1000% and on top of my wrestle game, I took losses. Hard losses. Even what was, to this day, maybe the biggest match of my life-- versus Fly at One, 2013, main event, World title on the line... I lost, clean in the middle of the ring.
I ain't Supernigga. I'm a regular, hard-workin' mother fucker who has carved out a nice place for myself in this company. It took time, it took dedication, it took a lot of mother fuckin' sacrifice. Shit, I never thought I would work this hard-- I'm used to doin' shit but count money and touch bitches, but I fell in love with the wrestling business. I wanna be a part of this. Win or lose, I wanna be a part of WCF-- not to feed my ego, not to take anybody's spot or prove anything to anybody. I already done proved myself over, and over, and over again. Everybody in this business knows what Steve Orbit is capable of.
Being capable and being motivated and willing is two different things, though, I'm finding out. All the skill in the world don't mean shit if you not showin' up with your dick out, ready to penetrate.
This week, my dick is out. Polar already pulled his out and it's fuckin' ready. Purse... let's do this, bruh. Let's fuck these mother fuckers, go to the semis... and fuck our way to Asesinato de Mayo, 'til we can't hold it no more and we blast off all over that Trios Cup while we holdin' it up above our heads.
Right?
Our Trios team is seated in a private section among leather couches and chairs. There are several beautiful girls entertaining them, and plenty of booze flowing. One girl stands out from the rest of the Latinas-- a white red-head, who is pursuing Purse's purse at the moment. Purse politely declines a lap dance, or whatever else she was offering while whispering into his ear. She shrugs and moves on to the next group of patrons. Orbit speaks up.
Steve Orbit: I bet you'll never like red-heads again. You neither, Polar.
Polar shakes his head.
Polar Phantasm: I just keep playing it back in my head. How did I lose to TWILIGHT? Ugh.
He puts his head in his hands while a stripper rubs his back.
Steve Orbit: Hey man, you ain't the only one who lost at Aftermath. I got pinned-- first time since I returned, in January. Bad enough I got pinned, but then it's to this young kid Ethan King. I ain't never been the one to make a name off, bruh, and now this kid comes along and does exactly that. He must be on Cloud mother fuckin' Nine right now. He got a real victory he can hang his hat on-- he's got his first WCF singles championship, yeah. He must be feelin' pretty fuckin' good right now.
Purse's expression drifts off and he smiles.
Jeff Purse: Yeah, I remember those days. I thought I was unstoppable. Thought I'd never lose... so naive.
Polar Phantasm: Typical rookie stuff. Your first big win, of course it goes straight to your head. But when you're new to the business, you don't realize that you need big win, after big win, after big win to get anywhere in this business. And there's a lot of loss and heartbreak in between. Especially this company, with competition being as tight as it is.
Steve Orbit: I heard that. It's like these mother fuckers are so upset that we have put in work and made a name for ourselves. I mean, it's pathetic listening to these new mother fuckers. Ethan King included. All they talk about is how we don't belong here no more, we washed up, we takin' everybody's spot-- I mean, back in my day, we tried to learn from the old heads. We tried to model our careers after the successful ones, the OGs. Man, I bet it drives Ethan King fuckin' CRAZY that even though he pinned me in a title match-- he'll still NEVER be as big a name as Steve Orbit.
Polar and Purse laugh, and toast to that.
Jeff Purse: Tell you guys what. Let's put Aftermath behind us. It's over. Individually, we are three of the best of the best. As a team, we've proven that we can perform together very well-- Pantheon, Cryogenix, we've got history together. The three of us? We're stronger as a unit than we are as individuals, I firmly believe that. Can our opponents this week say the same?
Polar Phantasm: Hell, can any other team in the entire tournament match our experience as a team? No way. Most of these teams are made up of guys who's entire WCF runs combined are less than any one of ours. Not saying we should underestimate anybody, but if we perform as the well-oiled unit that we have proven we can be, I don't think anybody will be able to stop us. Not as a united front.
Orbit grins.
Steve Orbit: Spoken like a true leader. Bringin' me back to those Cryogenix days.
The three men toast to the memories of CGX. They each drift off for a moment before Orbit speaks again.
Steve Orbit: The only problem we be havin' is we can't come up with a decent name. I mean, OPP? It's aight. I woulda stuck with Ice Cold Pimps from the Future, but... you know, I'm a democratic pimp. I've just felt so uninspired since I returned in January, I thought some time off would be good for me, you know what I'm sayin'-- recharge my batteries and shit. But then I came back, and right off the bat that shit with Logan was absolutely fuckin' soul crushing.
Polar holds up his hand, cutting off Orbit.
Polar Phantasm: Nah, that's bullshit Mack. No blaming Logan, no blaming the bookers-- look at it from this perspective. You won all them World titles by yourself, right? Solo? Well you took your losses solo too. You alone, you responsible for whether you win or lose. You absolutely coulda beat Ethan King and Mikey eXtreme last week, but you didn't give a hundred percent.
Orbit scoffs. Purse speaks up.
Jeff Purse: ... He's right, Steve. You haven't been giving it your all. I'm guilty of it, too-- there's times when I came back, I don't know why... looking to fulfill some need I have for wrestling, the excitement... the crowd, I don't know. The point is, I came back and I didn't give a hundred percent, and I paid for it. We can't rest on our laurels, Steve. None of us. We've all done great things, but we can't get by on what happened a year ago, or two, three years ago. We have to stay in the now. And look towards the Future.
Orbit slow claps.
Steve Orbit: Nice speech, Purse.
Polar Phantasm: He's absolutely right. We can say what we want about the current roster-- they haven't experienced the ups and downs that they absolutely WILL experience, that we've all experienced. But they're getting real wins and changing the landscape around here. Trios is our opportunity to show that we've still got it.
Steve Orbit: 'Course we still got it.
Jeff Purse: It's not enough for us to KNOW we still have it. We have to PROVE that not only are we as good as ever, but that together, the three of us are the best damn Trios team that's ever been assembled.
The three men pause to consider that statement, until Orbit speaks up.
Steve Orbit: I feel y'all, I do, I just... I feel like something is missing, like I need a new direction. With me-- with us, something just seems off, or like we could be doin' more. It's like we need a fuckin'... creative consultant or somethin'.
Purse chuckles.
Jeff Purse: What, like Vince Russo?
Polar Phantasm: Shit... even Vince Russo couldn't handle us three. We need Vince Russo on CRACK.
Polar and Purse laugh and high-five, clearly joking. The camera cuts to Orbit, though, who has that slow-motion epiphany smile on his face. Fade out.
==
We hear a familiar New York accent.
"Bro, I gotta tell ya, this is some friggin' good stuff. I mean, back on Long Island I get some decent yay but bro, I gotta tell ya, this is the bomb shnizzle. Bro, my ears are ringin' and I got friggin' tunnelvision like a MOE."
Scene opens in a hotel room. Vince Russo, grey-haired and a little heavier than we last saw him on television... if you watch his weekly podcasts, you know what he looks like. Tonight, though, his eyes are wide and wild and he holds a small glass stem in his hand, Chore Boy stuffed into the burnt end. There's a ripped open plastic baggie on the table, containing a big chunk of off-white, milky crack cocaine. There are many smaller peices next to it, broken off and ready to go. Steve Orbit is visible in the back corner of the room, hovering above a small stove in the kitchenette-- there's a pot bubbling on the burner, and a big pile of powder cocaine on the counter next to a box of baking soda. Phantasm pulls up a chair across from Russo. Purse sits in a chair off to the side, caught between studying Orbit's crack-cooking method, and watching Russo consume said crack.
Polar Phantasm: Thanks for meeting with us, Vince. We loved your work in the Attitude Era, really awesome stuff.
Vince Russo: Bro, we had one billion viewers per week. One billion, bro. Where'd they all go? You can't tell me that one billion people across the globe are watchin' RAW on their friggin' iPad. I mean, what the frig, bro, get real.
Polar Phantasm: Yeah... I think most of them are probably watching WCF now.
Russo exhales crack smoke and twitches a little bit.
Vince Russo: Look, I love you three guys, alright-- all the talent in the world. Really talented guys, you, the Steve Orbit, Jeff Purse-- love you guys. Love you. The problem in WCF IS the booking. Seth Lerch-- I mean, I reached out to him, I offered my services, you know what he does? I'll tell ya what he did. Puts me in a friggin' port-a-john and shoves me down a hill. Friggin' believe that bro?
Purse is visibly upset by the comment, dry heaving. Polar raises an eyebrow. Orbit, obviously listening to the conversation, turns around from the stove.
Steve Orbit: That nigga locked you in a port-a-let? And pushed you down a hill?
Vince Russo: Yeah-- you know, him and his goons there bro. I was fine. I persevered, bro, I always persevere. But there I am tryin' to do business-- I mean it's friggin' upside down over there, bro. Look at a guy like... Tyler Walker, for example. The guy looks like a friggin' star. He's a friggin' werewolf for cryin' out loud. And... what, they throw him in some comedy tag team? If it was me, I gotta tell ya-- this guy would be main eventing pay per views, bro. He'd be a friggin' star, I would build the entire company around him.
Orbit turns off the stove and walks over to where everybody is seated, and takes a seat. He turns to Polar and Purse.
Steve Orbit: Remember this past year's One? Walker versus biohazard, bitch on a pole match?
Polar and Purse look at each other. Polar scratches his head, then Purse puts his hand up as he remembers.
Jeff Purse: Oh! You came from outta nowhere and stole the girl, right Steve? I remember that, haha.
Steve Orbit: Yeah... but that was all this guy.
Orbit points to Russo, currently taking a big rip off the crack pipe. Russo gives a thumbs up, his eyes rolling back in his head.
Polar Phantasm: Nooo shit. Girl on a pole match-- an Orbit run-in from out of nowhere, it all makes sense now. It's got Vince Russo written all over it. That's how y'all know each other?
Steve Orbit: I actually met him last year during my time off, at a convention in LA. We got to talkin' and I hooked him up with a couple bitches and an 8-ball. Tried to get him in the door at WCF, thought he could add some fresh ideas to the mix, but I guess Seth wasn't havin' it-- you know how he is, he ain't givin' up control unless somebody takes it from him.
All four men nod in agreement.
Vince Russo: Look, I mean, here's the problem with WCF. You got a bunch of guys with no personality. Generic wrestler guys like, uh-- take the first round of Trios. Look at the contrast. You've got "The Mack" Steve Orbit, Polar freakin' Phantasm, and "The Future" Jeff Purse. Three established characters, there's history, there's a story. And on top of that... the CASUAL WRESSELING VIEWER, flippin' through the channels, they're going to watch Steve Orbit on television. They're going to watch Polar Phantasm and Jeff Purse because they are interesting characters. Larger than life personalities. The CASUAL WRESSELING VIEWER doesn't care about Ethan King and Eddie whatever-the-frig. Honestly, I can't tell the difference between who's who. They aren't exciting. They're generic wrestlers, generic characters.
Steve Orbit: I been sayin' that.
Russo takes a another hit off the crack pipe, closes his eyes for a moment, and then continues.
Vince Russo: And then you got Tiffany White. The freakin' lesbian. Look, I mean, if I'm producing Tiffany White, I got her comin' out in a g-string every week and makin' out with different girls. She's a freakin' lesbo! Make it sexy, and I'll tell ya why bro. The CASUAL WRESSELING VIEWER who is flippin' through the channels, they're gonna stop if they see two hot lesbos makin' out in g-strings bro. And then what you do is, you take a g-string and put it on a pole--
Orbit clears his throat and hands Russo another peice of crack.
Steve Orbit: Aight man, we don't need ideas for the other team. I'm comin' off some tough losses, Polar just lost his return match... and Purse, well, he don't really need no help but he'll take any advice you got. So let's hear it.
Russo takes a real big hit off the crack pipe. He starts moaning and making all types of weird clicking sounds. After a few seconds, he shakes it off and comes back to planet Earth.
Vince Russo: Can you repeat the question?
Orbit points to himself and his Trios partners.
Steve Orbit: Us. We need ideas for us.
Vince rubs his scruffy grey facial hair.
Vince Russo: Bro... I mean, I gotta tell ya, you guys got it all goin' for ya. Total package. If I got the books, I'm pushin' you guys to the moon. But I got a feeling Seth won't do that, and I'm gonna tell ya why, bro. You know me, I tell it like it is. Seth is allowing the vocal majority-- the INTERNET WRESSELING COMMUNITY, to dictate the booking of the show. Yeah, bro. He's listening to these... friggin' marks, who are gonna watch no matter what. They're WCF-for-life. And of course your guys like Ethan King, Eddie Felt-- they're internet darlings. They're young, they're hip-- they can put on GREAT WRESSELING MATCHES. But they have no idea how to present a freakin' character. There's no friggin' pizazz. The CASUAL WRESSELING VIEWER doesn't give a frig about great wrestling matches, or how many flips you can do or "this is awesome" chants. They want interesting characters, bro. CHAR-AC-TERS bro.
Brief moment of silence in the room.
Steve Orbit: ... I think we understand that already. Right guys?
Purse and Phantasm nod.
Vince Russo: All you gotta do bro is listen to their promos. Boring, on and on and on about the wresseling match, how they're going to win the wresseling match, yada yada. It's boring, predictable generic trash talk and garbage bro. That's all you gotta do is listen to one of Ethan King's promos. He's somewhere doing something that's not relevant or interesting, and then he's sitting down somewhere talking about the wresseling match. Same thing every week bro, it's so friggin' irritatin'.
Vince pauses for a crack hit.
Vince Russo: But-- but here's the problem, guys. I'll tell you what the problem is, bro. The INTERNET WRESSELING COMMUNITY, they're all up in arms about the new guys versus the old guys, the legends coming back taking everybody's spot on the card, I mean, it's foolishness bro. These Internet marks, you can't make 'em happy. Look at you, Steve Orbit-- they used to love you, then you finally MADE it, and now they don't wanna see you anymore.
Steve Orbit: Tell me about it. But you're getting off-track, Vince. Come on. We need some crazy over-the-top Vince Russo gimmick to jumpstart us into this Trios tournament, we wanna come out with a BANG. Do somethin' that mother fuckers will remember, and they'll be talkin' about for years to come... help us out, homie. Here, hit this--
Orbit passes Russo a joint which he lit moments ago. Russo takes a few puffs, coughs, and passes to Polar.
Vince Russo: Alright bro, let me think. Trios. Tree-os. You got three friggin' title belts. Three man teams. First thing you gotta do is get three poles--
Steve Orbit: No poles.
Russo gasps. He's offended.
Vince Russo: Bro, with all due respect, I'm the creative genius here bro. You guys called ME for ideas, bro. So listen-- sit back, let me work my magic bro. Ok.
Russo closes his eyes, and hits the crack pipe. He exhales and then speaks, eyes still closed.
Vince Russo: I'm envisioning three title belts. Alligators around the ring. Somebody's wife is cheating on them-- not mine, somebody in the match is cheating with the other team. Let's make this personal, maybe there's some homosexual undertones. Or, maybe Steve Orbit is pimpin' out... uh, what's her face, Polar's and Purse's wife. And maybe one of 'em is on a pole--
THUMP.
Minutes later, Russo is being dragged by the three men through the dark hotel parking lot. We see a row of Port-a-Pottys at one end of the parking lot. They drag Russo over to the port-a-johns and drop him in front of them.
Jeff Purse: I'm not touching that handle.
Orbit shrugs, and opens the door to one of the portable toilets. Orbit, Polar and Purse pull up Russo and throw him inside. The stench jolts Russo out of his unconscious state, just in time to see the door shut and lock from the outside. He yells from inside.
Vince Russo: Bro! What are you doin' bro?
Steve Orbit: This mother fucker talks too much.
Polar Phantasm: Yeah, I heard enough.
Vince Russo: Do you know who the frig I am, bro? I'm VINNY RU! I had fifty million people watchin' TNA, where are they now? HUH BRO?
Jeff Purse: Later... "bro".
Vince Russo: NO!
All three men tip over the port-a-potty, which is conveniently located at the top of a hill. It rolls, and rolls, and rolls, feces and urine spraying everywhere, until it is out of sight.
Jeff Purse: That's so gross.
Polar Phantasm: He deserved it. Fuckin' hack.
Orbit shrugs.
Steve Orbit: Oh well. Let's go back to the hotel room and think up some real strategy, we don't need nobody else anyway. Y'all down with OPP?
Polar and Purse high-five Orbit as they walk back to the hotel room. Fade out.
==
That was fun. But the truth is, I never needed Vince Russo-- I never needed nothin' but a strong backhand and a slick tongue.
I came back to WCF because I love this business. I love this company. It's funny how when you leave and come back, you have a legacy that comes along with you-- you're fuckin' scrutinized and under the microscope. People can't wait to see what you'll do, especially if you somebody who has had some success in the past, you know what I'm sayin'? I mean, bruh-- I never said I was the greatest, unbeatable wrestler in the world. Did I ever say that? Sure, I had a lot of success-- through hard work, through dedication. I stuck through the thick and the mother fuckin' thin, I rode through the good times and the bad times, and I made a nice little three-year run out of it. Even won a World title or two. But I never claimed to be unbeatable. I'm not unbeatable. Even when I was runnin' at 1000% and on top of my wrestle game, I took losses. Hard losses. Even what was, to this day, maybe the biggest match of my life-- versus Fly at One, 2013, main event, World title on the line... I lost, clean in the middle of the ring.
I ain't Supernigga. I'm a regular, hard-workin' mother fucker who has carved out a nice place for myself in this company. It took time, it took dedication, it took a lot of mother fuckin' sacrifice. Shit, I never thought I would work this hard-- I'm used to doin' shit but count money and touch bitches, but I fell in love with the wrestling business. I wanna be a part of this. Win or lose, I wanna be a part of WCF-- not to feed my ego, not to take anybody's spot or prove anything to anybody. I already done proved myself over, and over, and over again. Everybody in this business knows what Steve Orbit is capable of.
Being capable and being motivated and willing is two different things, though, I'm finding out. All the skill in the world don't mean shit if you not showin' up with your dick out, ready to penetrate.
This week, my dick is out. Polar already pulled his out and it's fuckin' ready. Purse... let's do this, bruh. Let's fuck these mother fuckers, go to the semis... and fuck our way to Asesinato de Mayo, 'til we can't hold it no more and we blast off all over that Trios Cup while we holdin' it up above our heads.
Right?
