Post by Mr. Rottentreats on Jul 31, 2016 7:03:24 GMT
Playas De Tijuana
A bare chested clown wearing nothing but lime plaid running shorts and a matching head band glides barefoot along the coastline of Tijuana. Lit up by nothing more than his happiness and the glow of the moon; the clown attempts to continue his run through a fit of laughter. The chord of his earbuds scrapes the sand as the clown doubles over in the sand.. The glow of his Droid Mini shows the image of Avery Miles III capping of his latest promotional piece with shooting star press.
”This guy…”
On his hands and knees, Treats kicks his bare toes up and down; pounding his right fist into the sand. Turning his face from the camera; he continues.
”I better watch it. He’s hysterical! If I'm not careful, not only will he take my spot in pro rasslin’, he’ll take my spot as the world’s greatest rasslin’ clown.”
The Wicked Clown of WARPED re-positions himself into a cross-legged seated position in the sand; attempting to regain his composure. Before carrying on, the Pagliacci Of Professional Wrestling attempts to wipe sand from his paint; only smearing it.
”Truth be told. I don’t even know what you said, Avery. Honestly, guys like you, you’re all the same. Hell, if I weren’t stone cold sober right now, I’d swear someone dosed me with LSD and found the closest bum and shelled out way too much cash for a shitty Anton Chase impersonation. Sorry, Anton. I don’t mean to curse you like that, brizz.”
Treats slaps his right knee; cuing a silent, yet horrifying laugh.
”The look, the rhetoric, the moves, the entrance. It’s almost like I’ve.. You know what. Forget it. None of this is fun for me anymore. I’ve used up all of my B material. Because quite frankly, that’s all this business is worthy of now. My B material. Hell, I haven’t even delved into my A game yet. And I doubt that Avery Miles the Thiizerd is gonna be the one that taps that keg. You’ve got a few cool aerial maneuvers. Big WHOOP! Why?”
A pristine picture of health, Treats pulls a cigarette from his wild lime mane. Lighting it up; he continues.
”One, you’ll have to create enough space between the two of us to take to the air. And boy, I’m going to be grasping your wrist so tight, you’re going to think I’m your overbearing mother on your first school field trip to the Zoo. Two, you’ll have to get this kooky clown off of his feet long enough soar with this rare breed of city falcon you’ve compared yourself too. Three, if there’s one thing I love more than deflating someone’s ego, it’s gotta be keeping someone's adoring public from witnessing them fly!”
A plume of smoke engulfs the sweat, sand, and face paint covered clown; he continues.
”See, I was looking forward to this. Super Falcon Cup. Tijuana, Mexico. Eternal Lucha! The largest Guerreros Of Lucha Super Show to date! Avery Miles the Thizerd vs Mr. Rottentreats! But, you’re all the same. You honor and respect bunch. You’re all about that as long as you’re standing across the ring from someone that was created with the same cookie cutter mold as you. But as soon as ‘ol Mr. Rottentreats is on the opposite side of the window card, that goes out the window. Something about me just infuriates you all. Maybe it’s because I have a little bit too much fun being oh, so Rotten.”
Treats rolls to his back; only to kip up through another plume of smoke.
”Truthfully, none of that matters to me, honor and respect. Why? Because I don’t kiss anyone’s ass. What does matter to me is loyalty. That’s why I continue to fly to Japan since WARPED’s reset. That’s why I continue to represent those four letters Double-U, Argh, Pee, Dee, to the fullest. See, loyalty is something a lot of you don’t, and will never understand. You come into a tournament, one like, oh, I don’t know, the Super Falcon cup. Representing your supposed home promotion. Then you start advancing, and you forget about the people that are really footing the bill. See, Guerreros of Lucha, the only thing they’ve done is hand me my deposit before my match. WARPED and Patrick Kay are the ones keeping me comfortable while I represent them in the Super Falcon Cup. Unlike you, Avery Miles the Thizerd. My name is actually synonymous with a promotion. I’ve worked six long years to make it so! Hell, it’s so synonymous that hashtag, I Am WARPED!”
Pointing out the eye patch covering his left eye.
”In that sense, you’re not just facing off against Mr. Rottentreats at Eternal Lucha. Nah, you’re going to battle with the Laurel Anne Hardy’s and Matty Guerra’s.”
Clutching his shoulder; Treats continues.
”You’re facing off with legends the likes of SwitchBlade, Rough Ryder, and William Wallace. Monsters like GRENDEL! Technical wizards the likes of Cameron MacNichol.”
Holding his cigarette between his lips, he spins his hands around one another in the air; signaling for high flying.
”Aerial Assassins the likes of Anton Chase.”
Selling an invisible man’s leg kicks; he winces.
”Educated feet like current WARPED Junior Heavyweight Champion, Johnny Raike. Dastardly bastards the likes of Crowbar and Alexander StizzleFish(StarrZoe).”
Ripping an invisible shirt, Treats flexes in the midst of another plume of smoke.
”And yes, even powerhouses like my nemesis Malcolm Dred-King.”
Grasping his cigarette between his right middle and forefinger; the clown sighs.
”Truth is. It’s all about WARPED for me in this Super Falcon Cup. That’s where I’m taking the cup to be displayed after I’m victorious. And the WARPED office is where you can visit to view what could have been for you, Avery. In the end, tournaments like these. They’re just a way for the host promotion to get a little notoriety off of the backs of other promoters. Hell, I have no problem with that. Never have. That’s what the rasslin’ business is about. Take a guy with some steam behind his name, put him front of your audience. Then low and behold someone else with a larger platform plucks him away. See, that’s the difference between you and I, Thizerd the Wizard.”
Treats begins drawing in the sand with his big toe.
”My loyalties lie with WARPED. Even after I win the Super Falcon Cup, that's not going to change. Many have tried to pluck the most rotten apple from the WARPED tree. In the end, they all get my putrid nectar in the eye.”
Pointing out the WARPED “W” logo he managed to re-create so quickly; he continues.
”After I win the Super Falcon Cup, you won’t be seeing ‘ol Mr. Rottentreats waving a Guerreros of Lucha flag. For one, WARPED is where it’s at! Two, I hate lucha libre almost as much as I hate flying back and forth to Japan. But, in the name of WARPED someone has got to do it. I mean, I might come back next year to hand the cup to next year’s winner. Maybe. See you in Tee Jay, Avery. That is if you’re not locked in the Labyrinth.”
Fade Out.
A bare chested clown wearing nothing but lime plaid running shorts and a matching head band glides barefoot along the coastline of Tijuana. Lit up by nothing more than his happiness and the glow of the moon; the clown attempts to continue his run through a fit of laughter. The chord of his earbuds scrapes the sand as the clown doubles over in the sand.. The glow of his Droid Mini shows the image of Avery Miles III capping of his latest promotional piece with shooting star press.
”This guy…”
On his hands and knees, Treats kicks his bare toes up and down; pounding his right fist into the sand. Turning his face from the camera; he continues.
”I better watch it. He’s hysterical! If I'm not careful, not only will he take my spot in pro rasslin’, he’ll take my spot as the world’s greatest rasslin’ clown.”
The Wicked Clown of WARPED re-positions himself into a cross-legged seated position in the sand; attempting to regain his composure. Before carrying on, the Pagliacci Of Professional Wrestling attempts to wipe sand from his paint; only smearing it.
”Truth be told. I don’t even know what you said, Avery. Honestly, guys like you, you’re all the same. Hell, if I weren’t stone cold sober right now, I’d swear someone dosed me with LSD and found the closest bum and shelled out way too much cash for a shitty Anton Chase impersonation. Sorry, Anton. I don’t mean to curse you like that, brizz.”
Treats slaps his right knee; cuing a silent, yet horrifying laugh.
”The look, the rhetoric, the moves, the entrance. It’s almost like I’ve.. You know what. Forget it. None of this is fun for me anymore. I’ve used up all of my B material. Because quite frankly, that’s all this business is worthy of now. My B material. Hell, I haven’t even delved into my A game yet. And I doubt that Avery Miles the Thiizerd is gonna be the one that taps that keg. You’ve got a few cool aerial maneuvers. Big WHOOP! Why?”
A pristine picture of health, Treats pulls a cigarette from his wild lime mane. Lighting it up; he continues.
”One, you’ll have to create enough space between the two of us to take to the air. And boy, I’m going to be grasping your wrist so tight, you’re going to think I’m your overbearing mother on your first school field trip to the Zoo. Two, you’ll have to get this kooky clown off of his feet long enough soar with this rare breed of city falcon you’ve compared yourself too. Three, if there’s one thing I love more than deflating someone’s ego, it’s gotta be keeping someone's adoring public from witnessing them fly!”
A plume of smoke engulfs the sweat, sand, and face paint covered clown; he continues.
”See, I was looking forward to this. Super Falcon Cup. Tijuana, Mexico. Eternal Lucha! The largest Guerreros Of Lucha Super Show to date! Avery Miles the Thizerd vs Mr. Rottentreats! But, you’re all the same. You honor and respect bunch. You’re all about that as long as you’re standing across the ring from someone that was created with the same cookie cutter mold as you. But as soon as ‘ol Mr. Rottentreats is on the opposite side of the window card, that goes out the window. Something about me just infuriates you all. Maybe it’s because I have a little bit too much fun being oh, so Rotten.”
Treats rolls to his back; only to kip up through another plume of smoke.
”Truthfully, none of that matters to me, honor and respect. Why? Because I don’t kiss anyone’s ass. What does matter to me is loyalty. That’s why I continue to fly to Japan since WARPED’s reset. That’s why I continue to represent those four letters Double-U, Argh, Pee, Dee, to the fullest. See, loyalty is something a lot of you don’t, and will never understand. You come into a tournament, one like, oh, I don’t know, the Super Falcon cup. Representing your supposed home promotion. Then you start advancing, and you forget about the people that are really footing the bill. See, Guerreros of Lucha, the only thing they’ve done is hand me my deposit before my match. WARPED and Patrick Kay are the ones keeping me comfortable while I represent them in the Super Falcon Cup. Unlike you, Avery Miles the Thizerd. My name is actually synonymous with a promotion. I’ve worked six long years to make it so! Hell, it’s so synonymous that hashtag, I Am WARPED!”
Pointing out the eye patch covering his left eye.
”In that sense, you’re not just facing off against Mr. Rottentreats at Eternal Lucha. Nah, you’re going to battle with the Laurel Anne Hardy’s and Matty Guerra’s.”
Clutching his shoulder; Treats continues.
”You’re facing off with legends the likes of SwitchBlade, Rough Ryder, and William Wallace. Monsters like GRENDEL! Technical wizards the likes of Cameron MacNichol.”
Holding his cigarette between his lips, he spins his hands around one another in the air; signaling for high flying.
”Aerial Assassins the likes of Anton Chase.”
Selling an invisible man’s leg kicks; he winces.
”Educated feet like current WARPED Junior Heavyweight Champion, Johnny Raike. Dastardly bastards the likes of Crowbar and Alexander StizzleFish(StarrZoe).”
Ripping an invisible shirt, Treats flexes in the midst of another plume of smoke.
”And yes, even powerhouses like my nemesis Malcolm Dred-King.”
Grasping his cigarette between his right middle and forefinger; the clown sighs.
”Truth is. It’s all about WARPED for me in this Super Falcon Cup. That’s where I’m taking the cup to be displayed after I’m victorious. And the WARPED office is where you can visit to view what could have been for you, Avery. In the end, tournaments like these. They’re just a way for the host promotion to get a little notoriety off of the backs of other promoters. Hell, I have no problem with that. Never have. That’s what the rasslin’ business is about. Take a guy with some steam behind his name, put him front of your audience. Then low and behold someone else with a larger platform plucks him away. See, that’s the difference between you and I, Thizerd the Wizard.”
Treats begins drawing in the sand with his big toe.
”My loyalties lie with WARPED. Even after I win the Super Falcon Cup, that's not going to change. Many have tried to pluck the most rotten apple from the WARPED tree. In the end, they all get my putrid nectar in the eye.”
Pointing out the WARPED “W” logo he managed to re-create so quickly; he continues.
”After I win the Super Falcon Cup, you won’t be seeing ‘ol Mr. Rottentreats waving a Guerreros of Lucha flag. For one, WARPED is where it’s at! Two, I hate lucha libre almost as much as I hate flying back and forth to Japan. But, in the name of WARPED someone has got to do it. I mean, I might come back next year to hand the cup to next year’s winner. Maybe. See you in Tee Jay, Avery. That is if you’re not locked in the Labyrinth.”
Fade Out.