I never meta promo I didn't like
Fade to... A splendiferous birthday party; with cake and presents and My Little Pony balloons! A lavish occasion for a very special girl, with the parents going so far as to hire an amateur magician to provide entertainment. Now the children appear to be around the age of ten, all currently assembled in front of the magician in question, marvelling at the amazing tricks and spellbinding illusions that he performs. Look at him pull a never-ending string of flags from his collar! Be astonished as he links and seperates otherwise solid steel rings! Why he even pulls a rabbit out of... get this, his
hat! This could very well be the bestest birthday party ever but for one single kid seemingly unimpressed by the performance.
Kid: "It's all fake! There's no such thing as
real magic! Those flags he pulled are lined in a hidden thread within his vest, the rings are gimmicked so as to pass through each other when hit at a certain angle and that hat has a special false bottom. See? I'm way too smart for him! Trying to pull a rabbit on somebody in 2012, who's he tryin' to fool? You're not just fake but lame as well!"
And the birthday girl goes very sullen.
Kid: "He's not even a real magician, he's just this college student who missed his final exams and doing this job for the summer! I saw him before at the supermarket, he's nothing but a stocker who probably learned how to do these tricks on the internet, didn't you? FAAAAKE! When he says he's doing this for the children, he's
lying because he wouldn't be here unless Suzie's parents
paid him!"
And the magician goes very sullen.
Kid: "This isn't even a real birthday party! We're just an ensemble of actors hired to provide the
illusion of a birthday party for, of all things, a WRESTLING PROMO! I mean, how fake can you get? Suzie and most of us kids all come from the same casting studio but the adults were recycled from the guys who played scientists in the previous promo! Talk about cheap! Nothing here is real, everything's fake and the only thing even remotely noteworthy would be the production values. No really, quality work from the light crew, I appreciate fine gaffing."
Sullen looks from everyone, except from the light crew who give a thumbs up from behind the scenes.
Kid: "None of us are even real, that's what so crazy about it! We're all just fictional characters on the internet, lines of text on a forum board;
I DON'T EVEN HAVE A NAME! Forget about fake, what the hell's going on around here? Couldn't the guy writing these words think up a better name for me than just "Kid", or am I
that unimportant? Hey, wake up; we don't exist, none of this is real, if we do exist it's only in the reader's imagination and we'll be forgotten as soon as the next promo comes up, then it'll be as if we've never lived at all!"
And then a sixteen ton weight dropped down on
everybody.
==================================================
Fade to... A desk in the middle of the meadows. With a desk lamp, a desktop computer and even a microphone despite the fact there's no electrical outlets anywhere in sight. An elegant desk, no doubt about it, hazel-tinted hardwood and last century design but still a desk in the middle of nowhere. Sitting behind the desk is a man in his underwear.
Man in his underwear: And now for something completely different.
==================================================
Fade to... The darkness of a cemetery, the ground stirring with evil intent. Storms brew, rain pours down from above and lightning flashes across white marble; the name illuminated on the tombstone reads "
SPOOKY DOOM". Suddenly, a gloved hand bursts through cold black soil clawing at the air! Does the Deadkid reject his eternal slumber? For this is indeed the hand of Doom, Spooky Doom, rising from the grave and struggling for his very unlife! A hood appears, stained with dirt as the luchador gasps for breath. He emerges from the wet earth, a mask coming into view, black etched with jade flames as Spooky pulls himself from his own grave. For a few seconds nothing is heard apart from heavy breathing through the storm, until thunder booms and Spooky speaks!
Spooky Doom: It's-
==================================================
Spooky Doom: "Woah, what a strange, enigmatic dream!"
Spooky Doom woke up in a cold sweat. Though not as nightmarish as his recurring dreams where he stood helpless to save his uncle from being crucified to his own
symbol by a bunch of souless monsters, there was nevertheless something quite surreal about this dream. Maybe there was some hidden meaning, a special relevance towards his upcoming match against "Classy" Mike C being imparted from the ether... Who could say?
"You okay Spooks? You're on in five!" Spooky looked around himself: he was at the ESEN studio offices, biding his time until the next available recording. He just fell asleep waiting for his turn, that's all. Quick check in front of the mirror: white sleeveless hoodie sparkling, mask grim and foreboding, little ghosts on his bicep bands facing the right direction; gosh darnit if he weren't the best dressed Grim Reaper thingy at the ULTRATITLE! Now it was time to work his magic for the camera, and as soon as the technician gave the word, Spooky Doom was
on.
Spooky Doom: "Think you got the world figured out, say there aren't any mysteries left? Guess again, you're dead and the Spooky Doom took your soul just like that. BOOM!"
"Here's the deal: those who claim to know all of life's wonders are often the ones most full of s
hit. They're not necessarily
bad people, just afraid. Their souls are filled with fear, fear of looking foolish, fear of not being in control... ultimately, the fear of one's own impermanence.
DEATH. Weak men can't face their fears so they hide; what appears as an attempt to convince others of their own invulnerability hides the fact that the person they most want to convince is themselves."
"
HEY LOOK AT ME BEING ALL PHILOSOPHICAL AND SHIT! NO REALLY, WHAT'S GOING ON AROUND HERE?"
"It's not about truth or lies or being right or wrong in discerning the real from the illusion... It's about
strength. Strong men can accept anything this world throws at them and still come out a winner. Weak men... can't. They need answers, they need explanations, they need everything to make sense to them. Mike, I don't know what the C stands for but it sure ain't Control because you lost that ever since your first step into the wild and wonderful world of professional wrestling."
"Spooky Doom is real. I'm an honest-to-goodness, government-licenced, genuine, certified lil' Grim Reaper thingy. And "Classy"? I've come to claim your terrified little soul. Look at me Mike: I'm the only one with the
strength to pull through the ULTRATITLE tournament."
Despite how we're in the same ESEN studio that so many other participants have used, underneath the same ULTRATITLE banner so many others have been videotaped against; Spooky Doom manages to give off an energy unfound by anyone else. He's excited,
possessed even, filled with manic intensity. And he's loving every moment of it.
Spooky Doom: "You're probably asking yourself exactly
WHY is there a Grim Reaper after your soul, and I suppose that's a fair enough question. First thing first,
don't ever tell a child how he should grow up. Childhood is precious like you wouldn't believe. Children are blessed with the choice between all the millions of paths of life in the universe, and all you see of value is a
suit. Me? I grew up watching my uncle lying in a coffin, shaking in deep shock, dying for no reason at all. I took a vow not to let these monsters who buried my uncle win. You know what that makes me, Mikey?"
"IT MAKES ME THE GODDAMN BATMAN, THAT'S WHAT!"
"Meanwhile, you've somehow figured out that Spooky Doom sounds a lot like Scooby Doo and commissioned a freakin' CARTOON SHOW to point it out. Throwing money out the window much? I guess it's a step up from Teletubbies but you're still playing kid games to me. As opposed to actually
inspiring them. Here's the kicker, England used to produce some quality television: like Blackadder, the Young Ones and maybe even Monty Python. These shows captured the imagination of a nation because of how
silly they were, and I hope one day some courageous pro-wrestler isn't afraid to incorporate some of that trademark silliness into a promo. Then again, that kind of self-referential humor isn't for everyone, the whole thing would end up pretty metaconceptual and might only confuse the fans..."
"
REGARDLESS! You'd want these children to grow up to be as cold and miserable as you are and I'm gonna stop you. Last I checked, I'm not the one telling kids which profession they should follow; cripes, you're no Classy Anarchist, you're a Fascist Anarchist, no better than Thatcher herself! So if nothing else, get this: Spooky Doom isn't just about claiming souls in the night, I also inspire by my words and my actions inside the ring. Far from being a simple-minded bruiser, I'm a
luchador. Those kids you mentioned look up to me and know that there's more to wrestling then delivering pain, more to life than following the guidelines. Yours
or Thatchers. I can only hope each and every one of them grow up to be as unique as me. My words for them: forever further yourselves, challenge the world; all I can share with you is my own strength to boldly smash through adversity. Leap into life like a luchador. With everything that makes you what you are, never holding anything back."
"But for
you, "Classy" Mike C, I have a special message. See, since you said that you didn't have a soul to harvest, that makes me especially interested in you since I specifically gather the souls from those who have none. Yeah I know, you're probably thinkin' how that doesn't make any sense but I did touch upon it during that hype program and possibly during my first round promo against Carl Brigsby. In any case, seems like this Spooky Doom has his work cut out for him in Round 2. For the ULTRATITLE. For the children. For the sake of la lucha libre."
That's when Spooky Doom woke up from his bed, staring around him- Nah, I'm just funnin' with ya.
FADE OUT