My God, how boring was his promo?

A huge room with white painted walls, about the size of a warehouse, large enough to fit a thousand people inside, huge posters adorning the walls featuring the images of Metallica, Led Zeppelin, a reproduction of the cover to AC/DC’s “High Voltage” album looking down at the floor space below. Banners from various tours by Havok Rising over the years, the “Japandemonium” tour of Asia from 2003, the logo from the “Circle of Judgment” album released in 2005 hanging from the cavernous ceiling against some walls, creating a backdrop that almost reaches the gray carpeted floor. Hand painted designs almost like graffiti on some other free wall space leaving the rest blank, possibly for future decoration whenever that occurs. On the far end of the room just in front of the Japandemonium banner sits a Tama drumkit, a huge array of toms and cymbals plus double bass drums, resting silently untouched with a pot of drumsticks attached to a floor tom. Nearby directly in front of the drums are three microphone stands, one slightly to the left with a bass rack standing tall and proud behind it, a multi stand housing various basses of the 5 string, 4 string and fretless varieties. Next to that and immediately in front of the drums is the second microphone stand resting in front of two massive Mesa Boogie stacks, another stand full of Gibson, ESP, Dean Markley and Jackson guitars, the same again to the drum’s immediate right, mostly Gibson SG models in varying designs and colors. All of this takes up only half of the room space, the rest covered in metal flight cases stacked up, spare drums and skins, packets of guitar and bass strings in drawers housed inside a nearby cabinet and a set of hangers on a piece of massive wood, cables neatly hanging from their own hooks.

At the end of this storage area, a set of double doors made of wood and varnished a mahogany color, both doors closed tight, the same said for a single door at the other side of the room not far from the drums, near that door sits a long window, the other side of it darkened to the point of invisibility beyond the reflection of this instrument room, the carpet extending to just below the window and stretching around the rest of the room. A huge section of wall under the window is dedicated to a large number of jack sockets leading into the room on the other side of the window, some cables already plugged into sockets stretching towards the instruments. Chairs are placed neatly against the wall, all of them black swivel chairs, the type usually found in offices occupied by secretaries. A slight squeak is heard as the door nearest the large window is opened from the other side, pulled open showing a little natural light from outside the doorframe from which a male strides into the room holding a cellphone to his right ear, his long hair pushed back and hanging down onto the back of a tight white shirt, unbuttoned as glimpses of his tanned and perfectly sculptured abdomen come into view. Tight denim jeans, ripped at the left knee, cling to his muscular thighs and tight ass while black boots smother his feet, creating muffled echoes on the carpet with each step. The door swings closed behind him with a dull thud as he continues to talk.

Of course baby, why wouldn’t I miss you?

He pauses, smiling as he listens to the person at the other end of the line.

I’ll see you real soon, I’m down at HQ in the rehearsal room so can’t miss me.

A slight laugh rings out from his throat.

Of course I’ll be alone, the others are with their families baby, just you and me.

He begins to nod gently completely oblivious to the fact his phone line companion can’t see him.

Later.

He moves the phone away from his ear and a beep betrays his ending of the call, flipping it closed and placing it on a swivel chair as he grabs another, dragging it across the carpet as the wheels make a slight noise, placing it by the middle stack and perusing the guitar collection available on the corresponding rack. After a little deliberation he reaches out and grips the neck of a black ESP Explorer, barbed wire inlays adorning the fretboard, placing the strap over his right shoulder then switching on the stack before sitting on the chair, taking a green pick from the microphone in front of him and turning the volume knob. At once he grips the pick between his thumb, forefinger and index finger, attacking the strings as his hand and wrist move up and down fast, playing the main riff from Metallica’s “No Remorse”, palm muting the low E string as the power chords and single notes ring out, heavy distortion causing the sound to bounce off the walls creating a slight reverb effect.

As he plays, images and thoughts swirl around in his mind, picturing the last crazy week he’s had. Punk in the ring with him, flashes of moves appearing suddenly and leaving as soon as they’d entered his mind. Being grabbed and smashed down to the canvas by Isaac Reynolds, watching him walk away through the blur in his eyes brought on by the confused state as well as the suddenness of the attack. Walking around backstage upset and dazzled holding the back of his head and vowing under his breath to take his revenge on Isaac for what he perpetrated. Sitting in his hotel room tired of the loneliness his life had become, how futile his career and very existence now was after all these years pandering to a woman who had recently become engaged to her lesbian lover publicly, deciding to devote himself to his old regime of kicking ass, scoring with hot chicks and doing as he damn well pleased. Suddenly finding himself settling his troubles at the bottom of a glass of Jagermeister during a wild party the very next night with friends and total strangers, all sharing a passion for having a good time and doing what they love best with a rock soundtrack helping to stir old memories or create fresh ones. Old friend Phil King talking to him about someone he’d seen at an independent wrestling show, giving information on where to find her, now seated in a small crowd seeing this woman in action and in wonderment at how hot she looked, how talented she was between the ropes. Next thing he knew the two were alone in the empty building, him admiring her beauty, she doing the same and tracing along his abs with an index finger. Before he knew it they were lying in bed together covered in a film of sweat all over their bodies, slightly breathless and holding each other in their arms. She looked even more beautiful like this than she did in the ring, in fact given the choice between what they’d just done and competing at Slamfest for the World Heavyweight championship, he’d gladly choose the soft warm bed any time if it meant more time with her.

She was absolutely stunning. He’d been with different women before for years, was in a long term relationship with one of NLCW’s hottest women, perhaps the company’s hottest by far yet this time…..this time he somehow felt more alive than ever before. Her mocha colored skin, long dark locks, bright brilliant smile, gorgeous eyes that could melt him away, that he could get lost in for days. It was at that point that he snapped back into the reality of the here and now, looking up as he saw the door through which he entered the room swinging open, halting his playing immediately as the person who was now walking towards him smiled, causing him to return the favor…….

Wow, you really are an amazing guitarist.

He smiled at her, looking down at the guitar momentarily before glancing back towards her cute face.

Thanks, I’ve found my fingering technique’s improved a lot the past week.

Karla blushed a bright pink/red as Dazz grinned broadly, his cheeks also looking flushed, not quite believing he said that.

So boo, you ready to come watch me in a match then? I’m against some woman who’s much bigger and stronger but I’m gonna teach her a lesson in how to wrestle.

They smile as Dazz replaces the guitar in the stand, turning the equipment off and the two walking together out of the room, allowing the door to close behind them as we fade.

=================

We come back to see a ring surrounded by bystanders as Karla competes wearing long tights, black furry boots and a matching top the same color as her tights, She gets tossed around the ring by a much larger female, screaming in pain as she lands with a bump, the fans cheering this on as the commentary team talks, one of the voices very familiar.

Jeremy, this is just a little show of what Karla can do.

Being tossed around the ring? So far she’s been torn apart by this female who so far has shown strength beyond strength.

Yeah but look at Karla, wouldn’t you say that was a smart move?

Karla pulls the female by the tights and sends her into the middle rope throat first, smiling and getting to her feet as she drags this stronger woman to a scoop slam position, walking to the middle of the ring and dropping to the seated position in a Michinoku Driver move, hooking the leg immediately after.

Kotero Krunch just connected, here’s the cover.

One, two and three, it’s over, Karla wins.

Proves once again that despite being against a larger opponent, technical ability and ring smarts gets you a win every time.

Karla celebrates in the ring, raising her arms in celebration before climbing through the ropes and walking up the aisle towards the curtain disappearing through it as we momentarily fade out.

We fade back in again in a locker room. Karla eventually emerges from the showers with a white towel wrapped around her body, clinging tightly as her long hair slowly drips water down the back of the towel, the material acting as a buffer to prevent her skin from becoming soaked with water again. A smile emerges on her face as she sees Dazz standing in the room waiting for her, a pair of black loose fitting pants hanging over his polished black boots and a white shirt, buttoned fully save for the top two with pink pinstripes. His eyes widen as he takes in the sight of his girl freshly showered, the camera conveniently behind her as she drops the towel, showing him every inch of her naked body while she bends forwards to dry her hair with the towel then reaches out to a nearby bench and stoops for a second, standing upright as she slides her underwear on though what kind we can’t see. Taking a hairdryer, she switches it on and waves it gently alongside her head, a loud noise blaring from the end along with the heat, loose hair floating in the opposite direction in the line of the hot air until she finishes using it and runs a brush through it. He nods and smiles as she cups her bare breasts, back still to the camera while he hands her an aquamarine colored lacy bra, watching as Karla slips her arms through the straps and pulls it on, hooking it at the front before taking a few steps forwards, placing both hands on his face and planting a kiss on his lips which he happily returns. They break it off and she reaches for the rest of her clothes while he stands watching and admiring her curves.

So baby, great match tonight, loved it.

She smiles, taking a pair of tight jeans and pulling them on, adding a cream colored sleeveless top and matching high heeled boots, finishing it off by putting on a cap, covering her scalp.

Thanks boo, so, whaddya think?

She waits and watches as he looks her up and down, whistling and gently nodding as he pouts.

Daaaamn, looking fine as always.

He grabs her and pulls her body against his, staring into her big brown eyes and clasping his fingers together against the small of her back, Karla reaching around him and gently stroking his back until her fingers find his hair, twirling the ends gently before they lean forwards and start to make out heavily. They eventually stop and use their fingers to massage each other gently, asking the exact same question at the same time.

So, what do you wanna do now baby?
What do you wanna do now boo?

They laugh at their simultaneous questioning.

Up to you.

Is it?

Totally.

Karla frowns, her eyes looking to her right as she tries to think what she’d like to do, the left corner of her mouth turning upwards in a smirk.

Shall we go hang at the mall?

Sure, how many credit cards we taking then?

The two laugh as one, Dazz obviously not dumb enough to think it’ll be a harmless and innocent little trip involving sitting around drinking smoothies on a bench watching the world go by with his girl at his side. In response to his question, Karla just slowly traces a fingertip along one of his sideburns all the way to the tip, continuing until she reaches his mouth, holding her finger against his lips before turning and grabbing her bag from off the bench, hoisting it over her shoulder and walking towards the door, turning around to look at him with her hand poised and ready to turn the door handle.

Well? You gonna get my case for me honey?

He grins and seems to act mildly idiotic which causes her to smile, watching as he takes the case in his grip and dragging it on its wheels across the floor as Karla opens the door, her only luggage being the small black Armani handbag she was bought as a gift not too long ago by the man who follows her and closes the door behind them, the scene fading.

The scene fades back in with a shot of a store’s changing room curtain closed, a sea of red material coating the screen as it slowly pulls back and just in time for the curtain to swing open, revealing Karla standing in red panties and matching bra showing her curvaceous and incredibly hot body to the man sitting nearby staring in amazement, his eyes almost on stalks as he ogles.

Baby that’s beautiful, I love it.

She smiles and goes back into the changing room, closing the curtain as Dazz turns to face the camera, staring deep into the lens.

So, once more we have to sit and watch some terrible promo from Isaac Reynolds and have to suffer the tedious crap that this guy piles on us. Using my old band’s name as the title? Not a very good start there Isaac, not a good start at all. Jungles? Come on, the only jungle you want to be a part of is between Scarlett’s legs and considering most have been there I’d be surprised if you hadn’t been there already. Jungle of Ambiguity? Trust me Isaac, in your case it should be the Jungle of Mediocrity since your “abilities” consist of boring people half to death with your lame little promos and using those kneepads as a part of your regular wardrobe, I mean how else would you still be the American champion? Take this case in point. You’re trying to get past the obscurity but why won’t you realize that you’ll never do such a thing? When people think of the name Isaac Reynolds they don’t think about some huge dominating monster hell bent on destroying all who stand in his path while he shows how tough he can be. Instead they think of some asshole that uses some sort of management bribery to achieve wins and does nothing but throw in shit about lactic acid or sulphuric acid or the acid from the old rave parties of the 1980s or whatever. Talk about filling a promo just to make it lengthy enough to fool some idiots into making you a winner while those of us who are much better than you seem to always lose, left wondering how they could possibly lose. For example, last pay per view, I paid good money to have the Mirage allow filming to take place there, I allowed the world to see just a small glimpse of my private life, I let people see the moment that Havok Rising broke up before the world’s media were able to announce it. Then I managed to afford to pay for a Presidential parade through the streets of Las Vegas with all sorts of entertainment and banners, the whole works, believe me Isaac, despite my millions it still put a hefty dent in my wallet. Then a US election speech, perfectly crafted to convey my thoughts going into the match and allow me a platform to tell the American public just what they wanted to hear, the fact that somebody with talent would be their champion. Then what do I find? I lost and to some cheap CSI rip off. How the hell did that happen? Who seriously was stupid enough to believe that the crap you aired was somehow better than what I created and spent good money on? The world has gone mad if people believe you can beat me because only the mentally challenged and Dillon Durst can ever believe that some overhyped little jackass – much like most of the main event scene in NLCW if I’m honest, all as overhyped and pathetic as you – could ever defeat me.

I digress though, now you’re running from vines and pretty much using a dictionary to try and help you find as many words as possible to add into your little piece of cellular crap. Truly awful but lets see if you redeem yourself shall we? Hmm, guess I was wrong, that dictionary is coming in useful isn’t it? Have you been to English class lately because it sure seems like you’re pulling out all the stops and employed a tutor to throw every type of noun, pronoun, adjective and verb at me in an attempt at a victory. Here’s something for you; you “suck” a lot of “cocks” – note the use of plurals for your next promo – to ensure that your next victory is as tarnished as your anus when it takes an “unrelenting” pounding during your regular and weekly sabbaticals to the boss in his “beautifully furnished office, thick with the solid oak that adorns the walls with a desk in the center to create a matching effect so that no one part of the room is as wildly different as the last, instead keeping an aura of sameness”. See I can do that too Isaac but my god you take it way too far. Desperate to win much? Instead of breaking through a solid green wall of foliage, you should be spending your time breaking through a solid wall of boredom; maybe you will emerge on the other side of that and find yourself on the right side of entertaining for once in your miserable and insubordinate life. The only canopy you will find yourself under will be a canopy of black and red when I take my time destroying you, making you bleed into your eyes and then finish you off with a Chaos Factor that knocks you out cold on the canvas, leaving you seeing nothing but darkness. Hopefully that’s where you’ll stay too because blackness, the shadows, that’s where you belong you pathetic excuse for existence. Let the real stars amongst us take the spotlight and be seen in public while those of you who like to think of themselves as huge stars worthy of merit just because they’re made to look good by screwing over the better athletes, at Havoc I’ll take my rightful place in this company and for the first time since the days of Mark Steele back in 2004, I will take my place in the hearts and minds of everybody while management finally takes notice of my accomplishments and my talents, recognizes that I am the man they should be backing instead of backing losers and the overrated like, well like the entire roster. In fact the only people in this company that I see with any shred of talent beside myself are Karla, Jon Sloan, Rick Majors, Faith, Tanya, Kristin and Alex Taylor. How sad is that when what once was a great and glorious company full of amazing talent has since been overrun by the mediocre, people who should be opening the shows or even competing in dark matches somehow being hailed as great wrestlers and dominating the entire card with their crap. Besides, the only mulch under your feet is the stuff shot out of whatever penis you’re attached to but lets see if I can pick anything out of your usual tedium and try to make it look good.

You found the Temple of Greatness? Damn, the only good thing in your worthless promo so far, finding a monument dedicated to me. Yeah, the Aztecs had a prophecy and built temples and shrines in my honor thousands of years before I was even born, such is my greatness. See, if they can predict my coming like that and build something so arduous and so magnificent then why is it that management in one company can’t also see my greatness right there in front of them and have people like you somehow be put before me. Cushion of air? So what, your empty head is holding up a pyramid? It’s hilarious how you describe something as one thing then in the very next few words tell us the logical explanation, that it’s held up by four columns of stone. What next, “the mug was filled with a warm brown coffee like substance as Isaac started to drink the coffee he’d made just a second ago”? I’d be amazed if something so inconsistent and as thrown together as that can beat me. Then again, this is NLCW and you’re an overrated, overhyped and talentless jackass, of COURSE you’ll win because that’s what NLCW looks for in a superstar. I mean, burning organs and acid in the legs. That’s cause for your body to be found dead in that trampoline grass you’re describing or something but instead, it’s just another way of trying to pad out your crap by creating a novel typical of the rest of them, doesn’t matter a damn if there are only 2 lines in the whole thing worth spending time on as long as the rest of it is random crap tossed together to fill it all out, long as you get the win huh? Nice to see long words being used too, another tactic to get people to think your atrocity of a promo is worth giving you a win. I agree though, some things are hunted for by many people over centuries but only a select few get to see it for themselves. I can relate to that. You Isaac, you want to find greatness, find your way to a clean win and be able to say you can beat people without the help of whoever’s ass you kiss handing you victories and championships out of desperation. I on the other hand, I AM greatness, finding it easily and yet having to struggle to have people recognize that awe inspiring talent that I possess. You may run through your little woods or whatever, I have to cut my way through the crap that plagues NLCW in trying to show the world just what a true great wrestler is meant to look like. Surpass me? I don’t think so Isaac. Again, I point you to the fact that at When Worlds Collide I had you beat and yet somehow your crap of a promo and a bribed official helped make sure you walked away as American champion despite the overwhelming complaints that have come in and the many people who knew instantly that I should’ve picked up the win and the championship.

Challenging granite? The only challenge here is trying to stay awake having to watch this shit you’re putting out week after week. The only challenge you face is trying to spell your own damn name correctly. Get used to looking up at greatness though because this Sunday you’ll be looking up at it when I’m standing over you as the American champion, next week you’ll be watching on as I take my ascension with the American championship in my grasp towards more historic moments and matches. You may think I’m some washed up veteran but the fact remains that while people continue to think that about me, I’ll just keep fighting and showing just how great I am. The best is yet to come Isaac, I’m sure you’ve heard that phrase before and I’m sure you’ve sat for months trying to come up with a way to make those six words into some lengthy and sleep inducing paragraph, using all sorts of words pulled from dictionaries and thesauruses to pad that short sentence into an essay. Bronze statues of legends huh? What will you think of next. The fact that you pass Jason Stylez and claim nothing of his accomplishments in this business and then proclaim my good friend and blood brother Alex Taylor as being more of a legend, with more accolades, that’s laughable. Are you really that ignorant of the past, the illustrious history that paved the way for incompetent idiots like you? Until NLCW ran out of worthy main event stars due to the absence of myself and Ethan Andrews, Alex was only famous for being one half of the dominating tag team he shared with me, the lesser man while all the attention was on myself for being better. But it gets better doesn’t it? I’ve stolen? Pilloried? Committed thievery? Yeah, you’re just wishing you’d thought of that now huh? But anyway, I didn’t steal a damn thing in my life, I took what belongs to me. The 24 World and Undisputed championships; the other titles that make up my 80 plus championship reigns; all were earned amidst the blood, the sweat and the tears inside that ring. I didn’t steal that American championship either, I just showed the world how great the belt would look around the waist of somebody who deserved it much more than you, somebody who is a hundred times more gifted and talented than you could ever be. But to go so far as to say that I’d given up on being great long ago? So what’s the reason I’m here trying to prove how much better than you I am and trying to teach the world just how a true megastar cuts a promo that isn’t boring or has to make use of the encyclopedia in order to try and win. I’m surprised you haven’t had a word count tally come up now and then because it seems that you’re just using a ton of them just to help you become victorious while the few of us that have some talent rely on just our ability to entertain as only we can and on our charisma rather than getting ghost writers to type up novels and having promos that resemble War and Peace rather than ones that give the fans a treat and something to watch when they get tired of the crap people like you put out every single week.

Protecting what we have? You’re accusing us of sitting protecting what we have? And what pray tell is it that I’m protecting other than the fans from tedious garbage like your work? If I was the champion I may understand but since I’m the challenger you dumbass, maybe you’re talking about yourself there? Then again, you have nothing great to be protecting, your life and your career is just one sordid affair of crapness. Perennial uselessness, hilarious in an unintentional way. Yeah, again, talking about your own career there then by the looks of things because my usefulness far outweighs the shit that the likes of you seem to be able to perfect and use to such an effect that people consider you as somehow “amazing” or “talented”. Wonders never cease. That’s why I’m not halting until I become the American champion as I should have been at When Worlds Collide. Oh my god, you have a well which provides some kind of drink of the Gods to give you greatness. Well drink up son because you’re gonna need a lifetime’s supply of the stuff to become even slightly great. That or it’s just vodka to ply management and fans with to help fool them into thinking you’re anything but some shitty little opening card wrestler that’s somehow managed to get his feet into the midcard or higher in some cases. I mean, you’d really have to live in a world of obscurity and pathetic no-hopers to be able to continue with this barrage of shittiness. You’re right though, I did help awaken The Havok but rather than it being my old band or the pay per view which NLCW named after my band, The Havok is me. You might think I’m some sort of weak successor all you like but the fact is that while idiots like you and the rest of NLCW continue to play down my abilities and thrive on beating down my accomplishments, my worth in this business, the many things I brought to NLCW which only myself, former Commissioner Jaymz Marshall and former owner Mark Steele will ever know or comprehend, those things are forgotten to the likes of you aren’t they? I’ve done more for this business and especially this company than you’ll ever know and you’re ignorance, like the ignorance that everyone else seems to enjoy living in, is what separates great men like me and pathetic children like you. That’s why people like me can be so entertaining and charismatic while people like you rely on rewriting War and Peace each week which somehow gets lapped up as superior while the rest of the world finds it totally boring and lame.

Fighting some monster, how original, it’s as if you somehow found somebody who starred in my little scene earlier this week and stole my material. That’s all you’ll ever be able to do to attain the greatness you so desire but will never reach. Steal my material. Typical of somebody that really can’t get along on his own merits and needs to use the ideas by better men to get ahead in this world. Good to see there’s actually one thing apart from the usual array of jobbers fed to you that you can defeat even if it is some creation made of latex and foam. Pitiful really how you make yourself look big and strong yet in the real world, in the middle of a wrestling ring where it counts, you’re nothing. Nothing but a weak, cheap and worthless son of a bitch who has to take advantages to gain yourself notoriety as the man who cheated me out of an American title win. People have said you’re a solid worker but the only thing solid I find about you is the solid state of boredom that people find themselves in whenever they see you in action in the ring or in a lame promo. You will never find yourself anywhere near greatness unless you find yourself in the ring against me, that’s a sad fact but it’s true so get the hell used to it Isaac. You’re useless, you’re pathetic. There really is nothing about you that makes me feel excited about facing you, it’s just going to be another “going through the motions” thing where I walk into an arena, beat up on some lame jackmonkey then walk out with another victory and another championship satisfied that I’ve helped the fans see what a real champion looks like but not totally satisfied at the fact that I’d have beaten yet another wannabe legend who will never acquire greatness no matter how much dick he sucks or how many asses he kisses.

Fact is though, this Sunday at Havok, I will be walking into Boston as the challenger and the better man and walking out arm in arm with the hottest chick on the planet and my body weight several pounds heavier due to the championship belt I will be in possession of. Doesn’t matter whether I walk out or whether I have to be helped out, as long as you’re in a body bag and buried in the ground away from the vision of the fans and others who feel that somebody as horrible and a untalented as you should be left hidden so that no one has to suffer your crap any more. This Sunday in the middle of the ring I will do what the whole world wants me to do, take the championship, destroy you and give everybody something worth watching on Sunday nights every week on Avulsion and the pay per views held on a monthly basis. I mean, come on, you don’t expect to actually win against me do you? Just because you got a couple of fluke wins against me in the past. TV title match all those months ago, I walked out and allowed the beating I gave you to sink in. When Worlds Collide in New York City earlier this month I had you beat till somehow bribery took over and I suffered a loss that the whole world agrees should never have happened. And now we come to this, Havok will truly be unleashed and it doesn’t take latex, foam or terrible promos to beat me because when all is said and done, greatness will always defeat the inferior every time. That’s a lesson you’ll learn when I beat you all over that arena. Now, how to end….yeah I know how to end alright. Like your career, I’m gonna end this promo with a bang courtesy of me.

And at this point, Dazz slams a stiff kick directly at the camera, causing the screen to suddenly switch to blackness, the same blackness that viewers of Isaac's matches or promos are left in when they fall asleep during his snoozefests. Face it bitch, the Messiah of Metal is just plain better than Reynolds and you'd be a complete retard to think otherwise.

End of Roleplay