(CUT-TO: The darkened corridors of some ratty old basement. The only thing that can be heard aside from some old kicking in the aged vents of the dilapidated building was that of labored breathing. A hand can be made out among the darkness. The individual wrapping his fist with athletic tape. After he finishes tearing it off, he cuts the excess tape away and throws it over his shoulder. Looking up and almost right through the camera lens, we can see the form of “The Watertown Wrecking Ball” Vic Gravender with a steady, unnerved smile.)
VIC GRAVENDER: For Magnus Destructo, Rory Henderson, and the rest of my fellow monsters… I want all of you to take a look at me right f*cking now. I want to show all three of you just what the actual word “commitment” is. And I don’t mean the Godd*mn Webster’s Dictionary definition as committing to a particular charge or trust. No, sirs, that sh*t is for nerds.
(Vic shakes his head, using his taped hand to wipe a couple beads of sweat trickling down his face.)
VIC GRAVENDER: The commitment I speak of is one that relies on preparing the heart, the mind and the soul for the upcoming road ahead. The kind of commitment that doesn’t let you stop, no matter how much your muscles burn, no matter how much your lungs feel like you’re trying to breathe underwater, no matter how much that little annoying Jiminy Cricket f*ck in the back of your head says “for the love of God, stop!” Ol’ Vic’s got it in spades. The commitment to bust on out and move his fat ass in not one, but THREE matches in order to earn my spot at Eye for an Eye.
(Almost as if he’s expecting some kind of witty retort, he raises a finger to shush the guilty party.)
Vic GRAVENDER: Oh… you… don’t believe me, huh? That’s fine, that’s fine. A lot of people can say they’re gonna do something. That’s what our society is founded on. But, friends… I show you what commitment REALLY is!
(Staring avidly at a stopwatch in his right hand, Vic shows the camera the time… Fifty-two minutes and some change. He nods for the cameraman to move over to his right. As it heads that direction, it catches sight of a table. And on that table? What can only be described as FAT MAN HEAVEN!
McDonald’s Chicken Nuggets, Big Macs, Whoppers, Chocolate Donuts, candy, junk food… a Godd*mn smorgasbord of mouth-watering, artery-clogging greatness fit only for a king… or for the purposes of this promo… a monster, if you will. The table is covered with it. And yes, we can’t forget the booze. Sweet, sweet, grain alcohol. Back to Vic, still sweating. Even more profusely, as if a crack addict looking to get his next fix.)
VIC GRAVENDER: I have gone THIS long without touching either the food or the booze! Nope. Not. A. Crumb. I’ve decided to show the world that I’m a little more than your average big-ass motherf*cker with an appetite for food and the destruction of my enemies. You people don’t fathom exactly what the hell that it is I’m giving up here! The food! It’s amazing! A big, satisfying flavor, tickling each and every one of the senses! And the booze to accompany it! It tastes great! It makes women on the lower end of the Hot-or-Not Spectrum look great! It instills in me the courage to do things that Nora Roberts wouldn’t dare try…
(CUT-TO: Flashback of Vic Gravender caving in his couth, five sheets to the wind and a collection of empty liquor bottles and six Cheetos bags at his feet. With bloodshot eyes plastered onto a flickering idiot box, a soft, womanly voice erupts from the TV speakers.
ANNOUNCER: And now, back to “Life, Unexpected” right here on the CW!
(Vic throws an empty bottle at the television, his boisterous laughter echoing through the halls.)
VIC GRAVENDER: AHAHA! Oh, God, it’s funny because she’s snarky like Juno! Ahahaha!
(CUT-TO: Present Day with Vic Gravender, reaching out for another drop. But he stops himself just short of grabbing one of those mouth-watering delectable formerly frozen burger patties called Whoppers.)
VIC GRAVENDER: And did I mention that booze makes me virtually invulnerable to criticism… f*ck you all, we all have your guilty shows. But oh, to the pressing matter at hand… come Friday Night Vulgar, I’m going to have a great time proving to the rest of you f*cks why I am YOUR King of All Monsters!
(Vic glances at his stopwatch, now at fifty-five minutes. He smirks… shakes just a little bit... but thankfully, still with us.)
VIC GRAVENDER: Rory “Hendo” Henderson… you make your debut this week in the King of All Monsters Grand Prix, but you, sir, hardly tip the scales as a monster. Weight entry is 265 and according to some stats, you’re just a couple pounds north of that. And the best sh*t-talk anybody over there can muster is paranoid mailman?! Let me put it to you like this: you’re not going to out-monster ANYBODY and dude, you’re locked up in the right f*cking place if you think you’re actually going to pose a threat to anybody. Sorry, Hannibal, Jr., maybe you can go compete in next year’s King of All Posers GP. THEN the rest of us won’t have a chance in hell!
Yutaka Maeda made an AWESOME splash on the last Friday Night Vulgar… by losing. The f*ck happened there, Kobashi-san? I thought all of you guys had that fighting spirit sh*t that lets you get dumped on your head like, eight thousand times before you even flinched? No? Wrong? You sucky-sucky five darror? Figured as much. I straight-out F*CKED the other guy up so bad in my debut match, ain’t nobody seen him since. THAT is what a monster does, friend.
Zesty Mordant, my friend! Put up a very great and spirited fight… and crapped out worse than a Kevin Federline album. Now, granted, Impulse is like, megahot sh*t in other places, but you also need to give up your mantle as a monster. YOU LOST TO A MAN ALMOST HALF YOUR SIZE! You, sir, don’t deserve to even set foot in this tournament, but should you draw me in the first round, I’ll be more than happy to mess your homeless ass up and send you back to whatever dumpster you crawled up from.
(Looking at his stopwatch, the sweats are coming on, but we’re almost there… Fifty-seven and a half minutes, b*tches!)
VIC GRAVENDER: I’m gonna make it! Unlike that “Dangerous” Douche Mackey guy. Who’ll stop and swoon at the sight of large breasts. I’m six-foot three and four-hundred and fifty pounds. They don’t get any bigger than my e-cups, dude. It’s funny, too, that your former profession was as a bouncer because I’ll be happy to bounce your stupid-ass right on the f*ck out of the Hammerstein Ballroom with the rest of the trash… damn it, I should’ve made a Zesty Mordant joke here and not used him already. Oh, well.
(He shrugs to himself, then back to his stopwatch. Fifty-eight minutes! He reaches for a burger, then pulls the hand away. You can do it, big guy!)
VIC GRAVENDER: And names like Hans Nowack and Dane Lauritsen are gonna be two guys who hope to not be ignored through the courseF*CK YOU, TOO, MAGNUS DESTRUCTO! You may have already painted this perfect picture of you walking right into this tournament and coming out the other side as the first-ever NLW Open Weight Champion, but I don’t plan on keeling over like Johnson and Maeda did. And it’s going to be pretty f*cking hard to disembowel me when I’ve squashed your ass underneath the weight of my awesome… and fat. But mostly awesome.
Your retarded KISS Demon-looking ass will be ground up like a burger patty… oh, so sweet, delicious burger patty… just sitting there, taunting me with all of its perfect cornucopia of flavors… NO! I will hang on! I will show commitment! I will show that I have what it takes to commit to winning the King of All Monsters! I’m hungrier than you, Magnus, and I want it more than you… but seriously, I’m f*cking hungry now…
(BEEP BEEP BEEP! TIME IS UP! EXACTLY ONE HOUR WITH NO FOOD! A PROUD DAY FOR YOUR FIRST-EVER KING OF ALL MONSTERS.)
VIC GRAVENDER: That’s commitment, b*tches!
(FADE OUT to the gross sounds of snacking on quarter-pounders and washing that filth down with all kinds of Bud Light…
What? He’s gotta watch his wrestling figure. That sh*t’s empty calories, you know.)