Cryptic Voice Over:
There was a time in the sport of professional wrestling when men had the chance to become gods.
Those days seemed to have vanished over the years.
...
Until now.
[Flashing on screen are the not so many recognizable faces mixed in with the majority of unknowns making the talent pool for this year’s ULTRATITLE Tournament.]
[The ULTRATITLE theme song, whatever it may be, coincides with the flash mob.]
[Like tumblers falling into line, the images begin to slow.]
[And slow.]
[...and slooower.]
[And then, stop.]
‘COOL’ Cancer Jiles: [confused]
Why does Count COOL think he can win the Ultratitle?
[JACKPOT.]
CCJ:
What type of silly question is that? Really? I don’t know if I should be insulted, or extensively insulted.
Like...
[Only the top half of the wrestler representing Defiance Wrestling is shown.]
CCJ:
LOOK AT ME.
[That being said, King COOL has all his usual trimmings in tow. His reddened-gaze is protected by jet-black Terminator shades. The perfectly styled golden-blond hair atop his head looks almost as good as the ULTRATITLE itself. Even the collar on his vibrantly themed silk button-down, which happens to be completely unbuttoned mind you, is popped to the sky.]
CCJ: [cheesing]
This cat fits the bill.
[The Philly native hots the tips of his fingernails, and then runs the back of his right hand across the breast pocket of his silk shirt.]
CCJ:
If it weren't a complete-lock-given that a person who looks, talks, and swags the way I do; who pretty much does anything in the same vein AS I DO, would be running through the ribbon at the end of this marathon...
...nothing is.
Not even tomorrow.
[.]
There was a time in the sport of professional wrestling when men had the chance to become gods.
Those days seemed to have vanished over the years.
...
Until now.
[Flashing on screen are the not so many recognizable faces mixed in with the majority of unknowns making the talent pool for this year’s ULTRATITLE Tournament.]
[The ULTRATITLE theme song, whatever it may be, coincides with the flash mob.]
[Like tumblers falling into line, the images begin to slow.]
[And slow.]
[...and slooower.]
[And then, stop.]
‘COOL’ Cancer Jiles: [confused]
Why does Count COOL think he can win the Ultratitle?
[JACKPOT.]
CCJ:
What type of silly question is that? Really? I don’t know if I should be insulted, or extensively insulted.
Like...
[Only the top half of the wrestler representing Defiance Wrestling is shown.]
CCJ:
LOOK AT ME.
[That being said, King COOL has all his usual trimmings in tow. His reddened-gaze is protected by jet-black Terminator shades. The perfectly styled golden-blond hair atop his head looks almost as good as the ULTRATITLE itself. Even the collar on his vibrantly themed silk button-down, which happens to be completely unbuttoned mind you, is popped to the sky.]
CCJ: [cheesing]
This cat fits the bill.
[The Philly native hots the tips of his fingernails, and then runs the back of his right hand across the breast pocket of his silk shirt.]
CCJ:
If it weren't a complete-lock-given that a person who looks, talks, and swags the way I do; who pretty much does anything in the same vein AS I DO, would be running through the ribbon at the end of this marathon...
...nothing is.
Not even tomorrow.
[.]