Post by 'The Shine' Brent Alpine on Aug 21, 2016 16:52:54 GMT -5
The bitter frost provides a tragic resting place for a young shirtless man. His muscular skin bears the remnants of a tan but it has diminished with an icy lifelessness. Faint blood stains coat his body yet no wound is evident. A small pool of blood trickles from his forehead and congeals in a chalky crimson spray on the beautiful snowy plain. Drip, drip, drip. Every drop beats malevolently, as if haunting our eardrums. The uneasy peace of finality is ceased with the shriek of a violin. The erratic violin melody evolves into an unsettling pizzicato which crescendos until...
Voice: Gentlemen, we can rebuild him!
A wiry individual with a ginger comb over hairstyle and a wispy beard emerges from behind a tree, with the mischievous scheming of Puck from A Midsummer Night's Dream, or a similar wood sprite. His tattoos dominate all his exposed skin and clash markedly with the elegant backdrop of winter fields. He twirls his curly moustache and looks curiously down at the unconscious and battered young man on the floor beneath him. He rubs his index finger through the crusty blood in the man's dark locks and gives it a perverse but intrigued sniff. Suddenly, he jumps back mystically and flicks his fingers. The injured youngster levitates into the air.
The rising figure merges in with images of a blue electrocardiogram which is currently flat-lined. The blue line trembles slightly, momentarily stills and then darts around in frenzied zig zags to indicate renewed life. The hurt young man has been transported magically along with the Puck-like rascal to a hospital room. He is in bed with a ventilator attached to his face. The wood sprite, the young man's saviour, hovers a large surgical knife ominously over the miraculously recovering body.
Two other individuals are by his bedside. One is a fat and balding individual in a kilt. The other is 'The Shine' Brent Alpine - The Next WCF World Champion, The Original Alpha. These words was not included for this narrator's vanity; they are printed on Alpine's latest t-shirt which he makes a point of showing off, somewhat detracting from any suspension of disbelief we might be attempting.
Wood Sprite: We have the technology. He will be better than he was before. Better, faster, stronger.
The fat, balding kilt wearer manages to mumble angry drunken words in a Scottish drawl.
Fat Balding Kilt Wearer: BEHOLD THE QUEEN! THE QUEEN OF QUEENS! BOW DOWN TO THE QUEEN! ON YOUR KNEES, ON YOUR KNEES FOR THE QUEEN. The Queen of Queens. There's only one!
As the wood sprite is about to plunge the knife into his chest, the young man rises up from his bed and evades the stabbing. He removes his ventilator and pulls an expression like a half duck, half Britney Spears inspired Myspace profile picture from the early 2000s. He flicks his dashing brown locks and blows the camera a kiss. It soon becomes clear that he is 'The Vulture' Dallas Culture in a dark wig.
Recovered Patient: Ooh hello! The Queen of Queens is back baby! My name is Jordana Kissogramo and I have been made new, darlings! Thank you my fellow Jordana, Jordana Taliban aka. Puckin.
The gypsy resembling wood sprite, Taliban, dons a turban from out of his pocket for absolutely no reason at all than to befit the parody name.
Taliban: We, your loyal stablemates, Suckcoitas, have put you back together again. You can finally fulfil your biggest dream.
Jordana Kissogramo: Really? I can finally defeat Adam Young?
Taliban: Of course! You will destroy Adam Young!
Jordana Kissogramo jumps out of his bed triumphantly and dances right there in the hospital ward. We cut to footage from a recent Slam where the real life Jordan Ciserano gets defeated by Adam Young.
We are back in the hospital bed. 'Jordana Kissogramo' is again blood stained and banged up. 'Taliban' is looking over him, stepping on the spot in a nervous tick of guilt.
Taliban: OK, you didn't destroy Adam Young. But not all dreams are lost. What do you think, Poor Mack Mack Kneel?
'Poor Mack Mack Kneel' is slumped on a chair, clinging desperately to a bottle of Guinness. He can barely keep his eyes open and lets out an undignified belch.
Poor Mack Mack Kneel: FUCK DREAMS SHIT. Dreams are fer wee arseholes laddie. Look where dreams got me - NAEWHERE, YAE BLOODY SHITE.
Unable to tolerate any more of this embarrassment of a promo, Percy Micro comes trotting into view.
Percy Micro: Mr. Alpine, you are competing for the World Title next week. You didn't release a promo last week due to sheer laziness and now we're filming the worst recorded promo in WCF history. Even Gemini Battle's promos make more sense than this idiocy. Speaking of whom, he accused you of being a one trick pony with all the parodies of other wrestler's... so how do you respond? You've played exactly to the stereotype, that's how!
'Jordana Kissogramo', aka. Dallas Culture, 'Taliban' and 'Poor Mack Mack Kneel' aka. Random Extras 1 and 2, bear puzzled expressions, as if they are filming The Godfather and a child has come on set to do a loud fart.
Brent Alpine: You can't appreciate fine art, Percy. This is a masterful promo.
Percy Micro: Where do I start deconstructing this abomination? Firstly, there's no resemblance to the real life counterparts. Taliban? That's descending to Zombie McMorris lows on the insult totem poll. You've represented Cormack MacNeil with a man who can't decide if he's Scottish or Irish or from the north of England. And you've reduced Jordan Ciserano to a queer, nicknamed the Queen of Queens.
Brent Alpine: There was no homosexual reference. Ciserano's from Queens, New York. I thought it was a rather clever pun, myself.
Percy Micro: He's from Buffalo, not Queens.
Brent Alpine: Oh. OK, well, can you really blame me. There's an hour til the promo deadline. I've got to release something at least. Everyone loves a good old Brent Alpine sandbag. Anyway, what crap has Ciserano released? I bet it's his usual 'blah blah blah, it's going to be a hard match, I'll do my best like the innocent little choir boy I am and hopefully I win. Ooh I got to add in attitude now because Caliban called me a little bitch. I... ERR, HATE YOU... FLIPPIN IDIOT!'?
Percy Micro: Actually, Ciserano's released arguably his best promo to date. He even outlined exactly what moves you'll use on him and how he'll defeat you. Sir, your head is not in the game. Seth's asinine decision to reward your failure with the first ever Alpha Championship and a WCF World Title shot appears to have brought you back to complacency.
Brent Alpine: Seth just did what is best for business. I'm head and shoulders the leading light of this federation. Seth Lerch gave me the opportunity I've always deserved. As for complacency, I'm facing Jordan Ciserano - what do you expect?
Ciserano benefitted from my greatness guilt. When someone is so sublime as yours truly, it's natural to experience overwhelming guilt. Many a time have I cried and pleaded with my creator - WHY DID YOU MAKE ME SO MUCH BETTER THAN EVERYONE ELSE? It's a lonely perch on which I dwell. I see so much suffering and inadequacy in this fragile world and it makes me feel sorry for everyone who doesn't radiate such magnificence as I do with each passing second.
Jordan Ciserano has always been lowest of the low. Humanity generally is so seeped in mediocrity but Ciserano has always been a maggot in the presence of sewer rats here in the WCF. He and his mentor Caliban always reminded me of a fly buzzing around a pile of dung. Caliban was so attracted to him because filthy vermin are inherently drawn to something even more filthy than themselves.
Sequitus were my sympathy project. They were my way to alleviate the guilt of greatness that had long been my only weakness. They were my charity case. I always felt like the driver on the sunshine bus. My win/loss record would be without blemish if it weren't for my propensity to give losers a hand out of the gutter.
To my absolute amazement, Sequitus actually began to win matches and improve via. osmosis. I was truly a miracle worker, bringing gold out of shit. Sequitus became the hottest stable in WCF in 2014 and nearly took down the juggernaut of Pantheon.
Sadly for Ciserano, my charity days are over. I have reconciled myself with the knowledge that I am wonderful and that the rest of the world is so grossly inferior and that's OK. Instead of dwelling on their misfortune, I am consoling myself in the knowledge that they get to enjoy my effervescence on their TV screens each week. I make their pathetic lives just that little bit less pathetic.
The truth is that, for Ciserano, this is his One main event. To step foot in the ring with me, he's made it. The kindest thing I could do for him was attacking him a few weeks ago. I MADE HIM A STAR!
For me, this is a glorified dark match. A jobber squash at best. I don't need to train or release spirited promos because I... AM... INCREDIBLE. Everyone knows it, especially Seth Lerch who is finally smart enough to stand up to the Spiderweb that has dominated the WCF for too long. He has given me my rightful place in the Revenge main event.
Back to Ciserano, I suppose you could say that I haven't fully surrendered my greatness guilt. I have demonstrated that through attacking him. I made him relevant again! He's endured two pointless years of training with Caliban in preparation for his return. That's the very definition of the blind leading the blind. Mercifully, I've swooped in and rescued his flagging career in one simple beat down.
Naturally, he capitalised by attacking me last week and allowing Thomas Uriel Bates to claim a needless place in the Revenge main event. Ciserano's enjoying his moment in the sun but he's about to get burned and burned badly.
The actor playing 'Taliban' removes his turban and fake beard.
Brent Alpine: What are you doing? I'm not done with you.
Taliban: But the agency said I'm only booked in for an hour. I need to go home and make the kids dinner.
Brent Alpine: Fuck off then!
He aggressively shoos him out of the room.
Percy Micro: Err, Mr. Alpine... I think we should all draw this to a close. The deadline is fast emerging. You need to cut your losses on this terrible promo and prepare for Slam. Otherwise you risk being on the wrong end of the biggest upset in WCF history.
Alpine considers this a moment before getting up from his chair and standing a little too close to the camera.
Brent Alpine: Not before I've addressed a few people directly.
Jordan, you've traded on your youth for way too long. You espouse seemingly humble words about trying hard and working to improve. Aw, how sweet. The fact is you rely on false humility to excuse the fact that really have no talent whatsoever. The fruits of your labour will never truly grow. You are like a hamster on a treadmill; expending so much energy going ROUND and ROUND but never actually getting anywhere.
Surely after your first match back where Adam Young decimated you, you'd realise 'OK, I still suck, why bother?'. But no, like a glutton for punishment, you keep going. It's painful to watch. You're like a satire of a McDonalds temp worker winning a wrestling contract in a raffle.
You've kept in contact with Caliban, allegedly. Hilarious. He's been training you? Training you in what? To be a complete and utter failure like him? WELL BRAVO CALIBAN! Your training is obviously paying off because Ciserano's even worse than he was 2 years ago.
Ciserano, you've been talking about how we were friends and trained together and drunk like best buddies. Aww, that's a nice story. You clearly can't distinguish between a friend and a carer. Because that's all I ever was to you. You thought you were on my level and that we could be COOL BROS together talking about bitches and rasslin! You were never on my level. Not even close. I have always found you truly pitiful.
In fact, do you know what you remind me of? The other day, I did an amusing turd. I had been eating pineapple and beetroot. My shit came out all multi-coloured and shaped like a banana. I proudly took a picture and uploaded it to ratemypoo.com. That gave me the same feeling that I had every moment I was with you. Like I was showing off a hilarious crap.
Speaking of which, let's give a quick word to my favourite bum-chums Gemini Battle and Thomas Uriel Bates. Firstly Seth gives me a long overdue World Title shot, then Gemini's friend Bates interrupts and begs to be included in the match too. Knowing full well that any dissention between them is a ruse, I let Bates have the opportunity to join us, out the kindness of my heart. Unbelievably, he profited because his buddy Gemini decided to fake an injury to excuse himself. I hear the excuse he gave was that he broke a nail or something. It took Ciserano and a corrupt, Spiderweb sponsored referee to seal the deal.
But the deal is indeed sealed and I couldn't care less. Regardless of my opponents' incestuous mind games, I will come out of Revenge as the new WCF World Champion. I am already the Original Alpha here, the Alpha of Alphas and the man Seth has appointed to lead this company into the brightest future. This will be confirmed next week as I take what's rightfully mine.
And let this be a warning to the locker-room, once I have it, I will never lose it. It's not possible. Gold attracts Gold. Shine attracts Shine. Once united, they will never be divided. I am ready to take WCF out of the doldrums of the last few terrible Champions - Oblivion, Purse, Slane and now Gemini Battle or Grayson Pierce or Grime or Biohazard or whatever he's calling himself lately.
Hit the lights because The Shine's too bright.
And so ends the worst promo in WCF history. The cameraman and crew leave in disgust and ratings hit at an all time low.
Voice: Gentlemen, we can rebuild him!
A wiry individual with a ginger comb over hairstyle and a wispy beard emerges from behind a tree, with the mischievous scheming of Puck from A Midsummer Night's Dream, or a similar wood sprite. His tattoos dominate all his exposed skin and clash markedly with the elegant backdrop of winter fields. He twirls his curly moustache and looks curiously down at the unconscious and battered young man on the floor beneath him. He rubs his index finger through the crusty blood in the man's dark locks and gives it a perverse but intrigued sniff. Suddenly, he jumps back mystically and flicks his fingers. The injured youngster levitates into the air.
The rising figure merges in with images of a blue electrocardiogram which is currently flat-lined. The blue line trembles slightly, momentarily stills and then darts around in frenzied zig zags to indicate renewed life. The hurt young man has been transported magically along with the Puck-like rascal to a hospital room. He is in bed with a ventilator attached to his face. The wood sprite, the young man's saviour, hovers a large surgical knife ominously over the miraculously recovering body.
Two other individuals are by his bedside. One is a fat and balding individual in a kilt. The other is 'The Shine' Brent Alpine - The Next WCF World Champion, The Original Alpha. These words was not included for this narrator's vanity; they are printed on Alpine's latest t-shirt which he makes a point of showing off, somewhat detracting from any suspension of disbelief we might be attempting.
Wood Sprite: We have the technology. He will be better than he was before. Better, faster, stronger.
The fat, balding kilt wearer manages to mumble angry drunken words in a Scottish drawl.
Fat Balding Kilt Wearer: BEHOLD THE QUEEN! THE QUEEN OF QUEENS! BOW DOWN TO THE QUEEN! ON YOUR KNEES, ON YOUR KNEES FOR THE QUEEN. The Queen of Queens. There's only one!
As the wood sprite is about to plunge the knife into his chest, the young man rises up from his bed and evades the stabbing. He removes his ventilator and pulls an expression like a half duck, half Britney Spears inspired Myspace profile picture from the early 2000s. He flicks his dashing brown locks and blows the camera a kiss. It soon becomes clear that he is 'The Vulture' Dallas Culture in a dark wig.
Recovered Patient: Ooh hello! The Queen of Queens is back baby! My name is Jordana Kissogramo and I have been made new, darlings! Thank you my fellow Jordana, Jordana Taliban aka. Puckin.
The gypsy resembling wood sprite, Taliban, dons a turban from out of his pocket for absolutely no reason at all than to befit the parody name.
Taliban: We, your loyal stablemates, Suckcoitas, have put you back together again. You can finally fulfil your biggest dream.
Jordana Kissogramo: Really? I can finally defeat Adam Young?
Taliban: Of course! You will destroy Adam Young!
Jordana Kissogramo jumps out of his bed triumphantly and dances right there in the hospital ward. We cut to footage from a recent Slam where the real life Jordan Ciserano gets defeated by Adam Young.
We are back in the hospital bed. 'Jordana Kissogramo' is again blood stained and banged up. 'Taliban' is looking over him, stepping on the spot in a nervous tick of guilt.
Taliban: OK, you didn't destroy Adam Young. But not all dreams are lost. What do you think, Poor Mack Mack Kneel?
'Poor Mack Mack Kneel' is slumped on a chair, clinging desperately to a bottle of Guinness. He can barely keep his eyes open and lets out an undignified belch.
Poor Mack Mack Kneel: FUCK DREAMS SHIT. Dreams are fer wee arseholes laddie. Look where dreams got me - NAEWHERE, YAE BLOODY SHITE.
Unable to tolerate any more of this embarrassment of a promo, Percy Micro comes trotting into view.
Percy Micro: Mr. Alpine, you are competing for the World Title next week. You didn't release a promo last week due to sheer laziness and now we're filming the worst recorded promo in WCF history. Even Gemini Battle's promos make more sense than this idiocy. Speaking of whom, he accused you of being a one trick pony with all the parodies of other wrestler's... so how do you respond? You've played exactly to the stereotype, that's how!
'Jordana Kissogramo', aka. Dallas Culture, 'Taliban' and 'Poor Mack Mack Kneel' aka. Random Extras 1 and 2, bear puzzled expressions, as if they are filming The Godfather and a child has come on set to do a loud fart.
Brent Alpine: You can't appreciate fine art, Percy. This is a masterful promo.
Percy Micro: Where do I start deconstructing this abomination? Firstly, there's no resemblance to the real life counterparts. Taliban? That's descending to Zombie McMorris lows on the insult totem poll. You've represented Cormack MacNeil with a man who can't decide if he's Scottish or Irish or from the north of England. And you've reduced Jordan Ciserano to a queer, nicknamed the Queen of Queens.
Brent Alpine: There was no homosexual reference. Ciserano's from Queens, New York. I thought it was a rather clever pun, myself.
Percy Micro: He's from Buffalo, not Queens.
Brent Alpine: Oh. OK, well, can you really blame me. There's an hour til the promo deadline. I've got to release something at least. Everyone loves a good old Brent Alpine sandbag. Anyway, what crap has Ciserano released? I bet it's his usual 'blah blah blah, it's going to be a hard match, I'll do my best like the innocent little choir boy I am and hopefully I win. Ooh I got to add in attitude now because Caliban called me a little bitch. I... ERR, HATE YOU... FLIPPIN IDIOT!'?
Percy Micro: Actually, Ciserano's released arguably his best promo to date. He even outlined exactly what moves you'll use on him and how he'll defeat you. Sir, your head is not in the game. Seth's asinine decision to reward your failure with the first ever Alpha Championship and a WCF World Title shot appears to have brought you back to complacency.
Brent Alpine: Seth just did what is best for business. I'm head and shoulders the leading light of this federation. Seth Lerch gave me the opportunity I've always deserved. As for complacency, I'm facing Jordan Ciserano - what do you expect?
Ciserano benefitted from my greatness guilt. When someone is so sublime as yours truly, it's natural to experience overwhelming guilt. Many a time have I cried and pleaded with my creator - WHY DID YOU MAKE ME SO MUCH BETTER THAN EVERYONE ELSE? It's a lonely perch on which I dwell. I see so much suffering and inadequacy in this fragile world and it makes me feel sorry for everyone who doesn't radiate such magnificence as I do with each passing second.
Jordan Ciserano has always been lowest of the low. Humanity generally is so seeped in mediocrity but Ciserano has always been a maggot in the presence of sewer rats here in the WCF. He and his mentor Caliban always reminded me of a fly buzzing around a pile of dung. Caliban was so attracted to him because filthy vermin are inherently drawn to something even more filthy than themselves.
Sequitus were my sympathy project. They were my way to alleviate the guilt of greatness that had long been my only weakness. They were my charity case. I always felt like the driver on the sunshine bus. My win/loss record would be without blemish if it weren't for my propensity to give losers a hand out of the gutter.
To my absolute amazement, Sequitus actually began to win matches and improve via. osmosis. I was truly a miracle worker, bringing gold out of shit. Sequitus became the hottest stable in WCF in 2014 and nearly took down the juggernaut of Pantheon.
Sadly for Ciserano, my charity days are over. I have reconciled myself with the knowledge that I am wonderful and that the rest of the world is so grossly inferior and that's OK. Instead of dwelling on their misfortune, I am consoling myself in the knowledge that they get to enjoy my effervescence on their TV screens each week. I make their pathetic lives just that little bit less pathetic.
The truth is that, for Ciserano, this is his One main event. To step foot in the ring with me, he's made it. The kindest thing I could do for him was attacking him a few weeks ago. I MADE HIM A STAR!
For me, this is a glorified dark match. A jobber squash at best. I don't need to train or release spirited promos because I... AM... INCREDIBLE. Everyone knows it, especially Seth Lerch who is finally smart enough to stand up to the Spiderweb that has dominated the WCF for too long. He has given me my rightful place in the Revenge main event.
Back to Ciserano, I suppose you could say that I haven't fully surrendered my greatness guilt. I have demonstrated that through attacking him. I made him relevant again! He's endured two pointless years of training with Caliban in preparation for his return. That's the very definition of the blind leading the blind. Mercifully, I've swooped in and rescued his flagging career in one simple beat down.
Naturally, he capitalised by attacking me last week and allowing Thomas Uriel Bates to claim a needless place in the Revenge main event. Ciserano's enjoying his moment in the sun but he's about to get burned and burned badly.
The actor playing 'Taliban' removes his turban and fake beard.
Brent Alpine: What are you doing? I'm not done with you.
Taliban: But the agency said I'm only booked in for an hour. I need to go home and make the kids dinner.
Brent Alpine: Fuck off then!
He aggressively shoos him out of the room.
Percy Micro: Err, Mr. Alpine... I think we should all draw this to a close. The deadline is fast emerging. You need to cut your losses on this terrible promo and prepare for Slam. Otherwise you risk being on the wrong end of the biggest upset in WCF history.
Alpine considers this a moment before getting up from his chair and standing a little too close to the camera.
Brent Alpine: Not before I've addressed a few people directly.
Jordan, you've traded on your youth for way too long. You espouse seemingly humble words about trying hard and working to improve. Aw, how sweet. The fact is you rely on false humility to excuse the fact that really have no talent whatsoever. The fruits of your labour will never truly grow. You are like a hamster on a treadmill; expending so much energy going ROUND and ROUND but never actually getting anywhere.
Surely after your first match back where Adam Young decimated you, you'd realise 'OK, I still suck, why bother?'. But no, like a glutton for punishment, you keep going. It's painful to watch. You're like a satire of a McDonalds temp worker winning a wrestling contract in a raffle.
You've kept in contact with Caliban, allegedly. Hilarious. He's been training you? Training you in what? To be a complete and utter failure like him? WELL BRAVO CALIBAN! Your training is obviously paying off because Ciserano's even worse than he was 2 years ago.
Ciserano, you've been talking about how we were friends and trained together and drunk like best buddies. Aww, that's a nice story. You clearly can't distinguish between a friend and a carer. Because that's all I ever was to you. You thought you were on my level and that we could be COOL BROS together talking about bitches and rasslin! You were never on my level. Not even close. I have always found you truly pitiful.
In fact, do you know what you remind me of? The other day, I did an amusing turd. I had been eating pineapple and beetroot. My shit came out all multi-coloured and shaped like a banana. I proudly took a picture and uploaded it to ratemypoo.com. That gave me the same feeling that I had every moment I was with you. Like I was showing off a hilarious crap.
Speaking of which, let's give a quick word to my favourite bum-chums Gemini Battle and Thomas Uriel Bates. Firstly Seth gives me a long overdue World Title shot, then Gemini's friend Bates interrupts and begs to be included in the match too. Knowing full well that any dissention between them is a ruse, I let Bates have the opportunity to join us, out the kindness of my heart. Unbelievably, he profited because his buddy Gemini decided to fake an injury to excuse himself. I hear the excuse he gave was that he broke a nail or something. It took Ciserano and a corrupt, Spiderweb sponsored referee to seal the deal.
But the deal is indeed sealed and I couldn't care less. Regardless of my opponents' incestuous mind games, I will come out of Revenge as the new WCF World Champion. I am already the Original Alpha here, the Alpha of Alphas and the man Seth has appointed to lead this company into the brightest future. This will be confirmed next week as I take what's rightfully mine.
And let this be a warning to the locker-room, once I have it, I will never lose it. It's not possible. Gold attracts Gold. Shine attracts Shine. Once united, they will never be divided. I am ready to take WCF out of the doldrums of the last few terrible Champions - Oblivion, Purse, Slane and now Gemini Battle or Grayson Pierce or Grime or Biohazard or whatever he's calling himself lately.
Hit the lights because The Shine's too bright.
And so ends the worst promo in WCF history. The cameraman and crew leave in disgust and ratings hit at an all time low.
