Post by Dr. Matt on Oct 24, 2008 6:48:02 GMT -4
We open in the Doctor's Office, that magical room that appears to be exactly the same regardless of what arena Dr. Matt may be in at the time. There is one slight difference tonight, however, in that Dr. Matt has installed a mini-bar next to the bathroom. Dr. Matt stands between a large shelf covered in liquour bottles and his small countertop. He's attempting to juggle bottles of booze like some fancy bartender, but all the bottles end up landing on the floor and smashing. He looks into the camera.
Dr. Matt: Don't worry, there was only water in those bottles. I'd never risk liquour with a fancy stunt like that. I'm working on getting my bartender's licence, and the last part of the training involves these fancy serving techniques. I can do it great when I'm drunk, but those bastards make you do it sober. I generally can hide my alcohol intake just fine, but the bastards make me do breathalyzer tests.
Dr. Matt kicks aside the broken glass, then places both hands on the bar and leans in.
Dr. Matt: Tonight, I've decided to combine my two favourite things; talking trash and getting wasted. I'm going to take a drink in honour of every one of my opponents in Sunday Night's Elimination Chamber match while verbally assaulting them as I do it.
Dr. Matt sets a glass on the bar, and uses a scoop to fill it with ice. He opens a can of 7-Up and fills the glass, then he puts in just a touch of grenadine. He stirs it up with a plastic stirrer, then drops in a few cherries, and places a slice of orange on the rim of the glass. He sticks in a sparkling neon pink silly straw in the shape of a heart, and takes a sip of the drink.
Dr. Matt: The Shirley Temple. The pussiest of drinks for the pussiest of opponents, Jason "The Sensation" Ricochet. Wait, is "pussiest" a word? How else do you tell someone that they are the biggest pussy around, which is saying a lot considering Spirit's cooch will be flapping around in this match.
Dr. Matt takes another sip of his weenie-drink.
Dr. Matt: What have you done around here, Jay? Hmm? You've been on one Pay-Per-View, and you couldn't scrape out a win. In your very first match, you couldn't even beat Carl Cage within the allotted time. Who the fuck is Carl Cage, anyways? You've pulled out wins against the likes of The Dick, Arcadia, John fucking Green. John Green, by the way, was pretty much your "Get into the Chamber for Free" card. If you want to hold your little performance last week over my head, so fucking be it. Just remember though, that you pinned Link, and not me. Maybe I fucked my team over when I attacked my own partner, but like I gave two shits about that match anyways. Sabur was being a dick, and I put him in his place.
Dr. Matt takes another drink of the Shirley Temple.
Dr. Matt: Right, we were taking up the Menstration here. Sorry, I just get distracted due to how uninteresting you are. After all, you're just here to fill up the contractual "no shot in hell" spot in the match. Organizers throw men like you into matches like this because they know one of the "big kids" is going to do something horrific to you at some point; thus making the fans "pop" and think "this is one crazy match". Sure, you may steal an elimination from someone else after they do all the hard work and you just waltz in and nail your finisher, but when all's said and done, you're going to get killed. End of the story. Hopefully you'll be at least the second to last guy to enter the match so you have at least 15 Minutes of Fame. Good fucking luck, because you need it.
Dr. Matt finishes the Shirley Temple, then makes a disgusted face. He picks up a bottle of Jose Cuervo and takes a swig straight from it. A smile comes across his face.
Dr. Matt: There, had to drink something to get that awful taste of Shirley Temple out of my mouth. Wait, that came out wrong...
Dr. Matt scratches his head for a moment, then he picks up a bottle of Smirnoff and a bottle of Bailey's. He pours the two of them into a glass until it's half full, then he tops the glass off cereal cream.
Dr. Matt: The White Russian. The perfect drink for slacker dickheads who act like "The Big Lebowski" was the greatest fucking movie ever made. That in itself almost makes this the perfect drink for my next opponent, Link, but it's not until I add something else that truly makes it the right choice.
Dr. Matt picks up a bowl and a box of Corn Flakes. He pours himself a bowl, rips open a few packs of sugar to sprinkle on top, then pours the White Russian into the cereal. He mixes it up, then takes a bite and talks while chewing.
Dr. Matt: Tonight, I'm honouring a flake with some more flakes. Yes, Link, you are the biggest god-damned flake I have ever met in my life. How the fuck you made it into this match is beyond me. While you may claim you have some sort of vendetta against Jeff, the story must be different behind closed bedroom doors. First of all, let's not forget RassleMania when you and Alex Knight just skipped our scheduled tag team encounter. Then, you just disappear off the face of the earth for 6 months, come back, beat Jason Royce - whoop-ti-do - then you have the audicity to lose our match last week. I for one would've thought you'd be able to take on 3 men at once since that seems to me like a normal night in the Carter household, but I guess not. Don't think that Missing Link you hit on me is going to go unchecked, either. The only fucking Missing Link the fans are going to see on Sunday Night is the one between your head and the rest of your body.
Dr. Matt finishes his bowl of corn flakes, then tips the bowl back to drink the left over White Russian. He lowers the bowl, and he now has a visible milk mustache.
Dr. Matt: That is, of course, if you decide to show up. Just try not to get a case of the crazies between now and then.
Dr. Matt puts down the bowl and places a martini shaker on the counter. He fills it with ice, then starts pouring in Triple Sec and Vodka. Then, he tops it with just a splash of Lime Juice, and starts to shake it up.
Dr. Matt: The Kamikaze. A very tasty concotion named after some of the baddest badasses to ever walk this earth, then crash into it. Seriously, what a brilliant strategy. If you're fighting an opponent, you're going to expect them to keep their expensive equipment in tact, to the best of their ability. But, above that, you expect them to not kill themselves either. How baffling it must've been to those first people who witnessed the Japanese pilots slamming their planes into enemy warships.
Dr. Matt then drinks straight out of the strainer of his shaker.
Dr. Matt: So it's only fitting that I drink this in honour of Spirit. Ah yes, that lovable little minx who I apparently crossed paths with a lot back in the good ol' WWC. Fuck me if I can remember those days, I spent most of my days back then tripping on bad acid. Like that whole "WTO" thing, I don't know what the fuck that was all about. I actually found a way to look through some old video archives and I was just a dick for no reason. Like, you know, suggesting you kill yourself instead of wrestling me. Stuff like that may have crossed the line.
Dr. Matt unscrews the lid of his shaker and just chugs the Kamikaze straight.
Dr. Matt: But, fuck, it's not like you didn't ask for it, with that stupid persona you keep playing. "Boo-hoo, Daddy didn't love me, so I hurt myself". Whatever. I'll give you credit. At least you're up front with your daddy issues. Most girls wait until you're stuck in a committed relationship before bringing up bombshells like that.
Dr. Matt finishes his drink. He chews on a piece of ice, and mixes himself another Kamikaze.
Dr. Matt: I will admit you're style is somewhat unorthodox. After all, I have to be tripping balls before I do something that will risk my own well-being in a match, but you seem to bust out the high risk shit before the bell even rings. It's almost like you truly want to be a Kamikaze. But, let's not forget that the Japanese were desperate at the time, and suicide bombings didn't help them win the war. It seems like you've adopted a similiar mantra. I'm terrible, I'm going to lose anyways, why not destroy myself to make myself look more badass.
Dr. Matt chugs his new Kamikaze, burps, and starts pouring a third.
Dr. Matt: Spirit will make this match entertaining. She's bound to jump off a chamber, spin 14.75 times in the air and land neck first on someone's nuts. After all, that's all she's good for. All style, no substance.
Dr. Matt chugs the third Kamikaze, this time having ice pour all over him. He goes to pour a fourth, but his vodka and triple sec bottles are empty. His eyelids are starting to get heavy, and he's got a drunken grin on his face.
Dr. Matt: Fuck. That shit was tasty. Where the fuck was I? Uh, fuck... wait for it... MAN-COW
Dr. Matt drops a 4-pack of Red Bull on the counter. He's getting pretty tipsy.
Dr. Matt: Yes, APW's supposed "number one contender". Now, follow me on this one since it gets a little hazy, but we all call Sabur the "Man-Cow". A male cow is a bull, hence the Red Bull.
Dr. Matt places a massive glass on the table, then rips the top off the cardboard box holding the Red Bull together. He pops open all the Red Bulls and starts to pour them into the glass.
Dr. Matt: Sabur, you're a man I can almost respect. After all, most men with Lil' Dicks don't choose to flaunt them in front of millions of fans. But, fact is, if you couldn't beat Twister straight up, one on one, then how the fuck are you going to handle him, 4 other guys, and a fucking Elimination Chamber? Hell, you couldn't even handle my burnt out ass last week when I stunned you straight out of the match. Face it, boy, you're mediocre, at your absolute fucking best, and were given a brief moment in the sun just to keep you loyal. Consider this your last fucking hurrah before you're back to curtain jerking house shows in Bumblefuck, USA. This drink, I don't just drink in your honour, but in your memory, because consider you're career officially dead after Sunday Night.
Dr. Matt picks up a normal sized glass, which is puny in comparison to the glass he poured the Red Bulls into. He picks up a brown bottle that reads "property of Tony Blackwell" and pours what could only be Jagermeister into the glass. He drops the small glass into the larger one, and chugs the whole foaming concotion, effectively drinking a massive Jagerbomb. Dr. Matt burps loudly, then the corner of his mouth starts making a clicking noise. Apparently you should heed the warnings on the Red Bull can when it says "Don't Mix with Alcohol" and "One Can Per Day".
Dr. Matt blinks several times, trying to keep his composure, but he may have just overdosed on caffeine. Go figure that the man who can't cross borders because his blood is classified as an illegal substance can't handle something perfectly legal. He looks, shaking into the camera.
Dr. Matt: And finally, the biggest joke out of all the people in this match. The person who calls themselves a champion. Fuck, Twister, you can drop glitter on a pile of shit, but it'll still stink. I don't like you Twister. Fact is, I've never really liked you. Why I don't, I can't really remember. I think you stabbed me in the back, or something. Fuck, I don't really know. I don't really care. All I know is that I'm excited to be locked in a Elimination Chamber with you and expose what a weak champion you are. You just happened to be in the right place at the right time, which seems to me how most people win that belt. So, fuck, I guess that means I got a good chance, right?
Dr. Matt is trying to keep it together, but he's broke out into a cold sweat and he's jaw is clenched. He sets a bottle of Orange Strawberry Banana Burst Tropicana Twister on the table.
Dr. Matt: For such a weak, pathetic excuse of a champion, I will drink a weak, pathetic excuse of a drink; the Screwdriver. A drink, much like Twister, is popular at high school parties and can often be found inside of underaged girls.
Dr. Matt picks up his bottle of Smirnoff to mix the drink, but he's too fucked up to realize it's empty. He just sticks the neck of the empty vodka bottle into the orange juice, pulls it back out, making a huge mess, then tries to drink the juice. He tries to take a drink, but pours the juice into his eye. Dr. Matt stumbles backwards, crashing into the shelf with liquour bottles on it. The shelf collapses, and the sound of dozens of glass bottles shattering can be heard. Dr. Matt, who is starting to foam at the mouth, mumbles as he slides down the wall.
Dr. Matt: One.... Hun... dred... Per... cent... Matt... is...
Dr. Matt has slumped out of scene. There's a brief pause, then Frank the Cameraman can be heard.
Frank: Uh, are you okay?
End Scene
Dr. Matt: Don't worry, there was only water in those bottles. I'd never risk liquour with a fancy stunt like that. I'm working on getting my bartender's licence, and the last part of the training involves these fancy serving techniques. I can do it great when I'm drunk, but those bastards make you do it sober. I generally can hide my alcohol intake just fine, but the bastards make me do breathalyzer tests.
Dr. Matt kicks aside the broken glass, then places both hands on the bar and leans in.
Dr. Matt: Tonight, I've decided to combine my two favourite things; talking trash and getting wasted. I'm going to take a drink in honour of every one of my opponents in Sunday Night's Elimination Chamber match while verbally assaulting them as I do it.
Dr. Matt sets a glass on the bar, and uses a scoop to fill it with ice. He opens a can of 7-Up and fills the glass, then he puts in just a touch of grenadine. He stirs it up with a plastic stirrer, then drops in a few cherries, and places a slice of orange on the rim of the glass. He sticks in a sparkling neon pink silly straw in the shape of a heart, and takes a sip of the drink.
Dr. Matt: The Shirley Temple. The pussiest of drinks for the pussiest of opponents, Jason "The Sensation" Ricochet. Wait, is "pussiest" a word? How else do you tell someone that they are the biggest pussy around, which is saying a lot considering Spirit's cooch will be flapping around in this match.
Dr. Matt takes another sip of his weenie-drink.
Dr. Matt: What have you done around here, Jay? Hmm? You've been on one Pay-Per-View, and you couldn't scrape out a win. In your very first match, you couldn't even beat Carl Cage within the allotted time. Who the fuck is Carl Cage, anyways? You've pulled out wins against the likes of The Dick, Arcadia, John fucking Green. John Green, by the way, was pretty much your "Get into the Chamber for Free" card. If you want to hold your little performance last week over my head, so fucking be it. Just remember though, that you pinned Link, and not me. Maybe I fucked my team over when I attacked my own partner, but like I gave two shits about that match anyways. Sabur was being a dick, and I put him in his place.
Dr. Matt takes another drink of the Shirley Temple.
Dr. Matt: Right, we were taking up the Menstration here. Sorry, I just get distracted due to how uninteresting you are. After all, you're just here to fill up the contractual "no shot in hell" spot in the match. Organizers throw men like you into matches like this because they know one of the "big kids" is going to do something horrific to you at some point; thus making the fans "pop" and think "this is one crazy match". Sure, you may steal an elimination from someone else after they do all the hard work and you just waltz in and nail your finisher, but when all's said and done, you're going to get killed. End of the story. Hopefully you'll be at least the second to last guy to enter the match so you have at least 15 Minutes of Fame. Good fucking luck, because you need it.
Dr. Matt finishes the Shirley Temple, then makes a disgusted face. He picks up a bottle of Jose Cuervo and takes a swig straight from it. A smile comes across his face.
Dr. Matt: There, had to drink something to get that awful taste of Shirley Temple out of my mouth. Wait, that came out wrong...
Dr. Matt scratches his head for a moment, then he picks up a bottle of Smirnoff and a bottle of Bailey's. He pours the two of them into a glass until it's half full, then he tops the glass off cereal cream.
Dr. Matt: The White Russian. The perfect drink for slacker dickheads who act like "The Big Lebowski" was the greatest fucking movie ever made. That in itself almost makes this the perfect drink for my next opponent, Link, but it's not until I add something else that truly makes it the right choice.
Dr. Matt picks up a bowl and a box of Corn Flakes. He pours himself a bowl, rips open a few packs of sugar to sprinkle on top, then pours the White Russian into the cereal. He mixes it up, then takes a bite and talks while chewing.
Dr. Matt: Tonight, I'm honouring a flake with some more flakes. Yes, Link, you are the biggest god-damned flake I have ever met in my life. How the fuck you made it into this match is beyond me. While you may claim you have some sort of vendetta against Jeff, the story must be different behind closed bedroom doors. First of all, let's not forget RassleMania when you and Alex Knight just skipped our scheduled tag team encounter. Then, you just disappear off the face of the earth for 6 months, come back, beat Jason Royce - whoop-ti-do - then you have the audicity to lose our match last week. I for one would've thought you'd be able to take on 3 men at once since that seems to me like a normal night in the Carter household, but I guess not. Don't think that Missing Link you hit on me is going to go unchecked, either. The only fucking Missing Link the fans are going to see on Sunday Night is the one between your head and the rest of your body.
Dr. Matt finishes his bowl of corn flakes, then tips the bowl back to drink the left over White Russian. He lowers the bowl, and he now has a visible milk mustache.
Dr. Matt: That is, of course, if you decide to show up. Just try not to get a case of the crazies between now and then.
Dr. Matt puts down the bowl and places a martini shaker on the counter. He fills it with ice, then starts pouring in Triple Sec and Vodka. Then, he tops it with just a splash of Lime Juice, and starts to shake it up.
Dr. Matt: The Kamikaze. A very tasty concotion named after some of the baddest badasses to ever walk this earth, then crash into it. Seriously, what a brilliant strategy. If you're fighting an opponent, you're going to expect them to keep their expensive equipment in tact, to the best of their ability. But, above that, you expect them to not kill themselves either. How baffling it must've been to those first people who witnessed the Japanese pilots slamming their planes into enemy warships.
Dr. Matt then drinks straight out of the strainer of his shaker.
Dr. Matt: So it's only fitting that I drink this in honour of Spirit. Ah yes, that lovable little minx who I apparently crossed paths with a lot back in the good ol' WWC. Fuck me if I can remember those days, I spent most of my days back then tripping on bad acid. Like that whole "WTO" thing, I don't know what the fuck that was all about. I actually found a way to look through some old video archives and I was just a dick for no reason. Like, you know, suggesting you kill yourself instead of wrestling me. Stuff like that may have crossed the line.
Dr. Matt unscrews the lid of his shaker and just chugs the Kamikaze straight.
Dr. Matt: But, fuck, it's not like you didn't ask for it, with that stupid persona you keep playing. "Boo-hoo, Daddy didn't love me, so I hurt myself". Whatever. I'll give you credit. At least you're up front with your daddy issues. Most girls wait until you're stuck in a committed relationship before bringing up bombshells like that.
Dr. Matt finishes his drink. He chews on a piece of ice, and mixes himself another Kamikaze.
Dr. Matt: I will admit you're style is somewhat unorthodox. After all, I have to be tripping balls before I do something that will risk my own well-being in a match, but you seem to bust out the high risk shit before the bell even rings. It's almost like you truly want to be a Kamikaze. But, let's not forget that the Japanese were desperate at the time, and suicide bombings didn't help them win the war. It seems like you've adopted a similiar mantra. I'm terrible, I'm going to lose anyways, why not destroy myself to make myself look more badass.
Dr. Matt chugs his new Kamikaze, burps, and starts pouring a third.
Dr. Matt: Spirit will make this match entertaining. She's bound to jump off a chamber, spin 14.75 times in the air and land neck first on someone's nuts. After all, that's all she's good for. All style, no substance.
Dr. Matt chugs the third Kamikaze, this time having ice pour all over him. He goes to pour a fourth, but his vodka and triple sec bottles are empty. His eyelids are starting to get heavy, and he's got a drunken grin on his face.
Dr. Matt: Fuck. That shit was tasty. Where the fuck was I? Uh, fuck... wait for it... MAN-COW
Dr. Matt drops a 4-pack of Red Bull on the counter. He's getting pretty tipsy.
Dr. Matt: Yes, APW's supposed "number one contender". Now, follow me on this one since it gets a little hazy, but we all call Sabur the "Man-Cow". A male cow is a bull, hence the Red Bull.
Dr. Matt places a massive glass on the table, then rips the top off the cardboard box holding the Red Bull together. He pops open all the Red Bulls and starts to pour them into the glass.
Dr. Matt: Sabur, you're a man I can almost respect. After all, most men with Lil' Dicks don't choose to flaunt them in front of millions of fans. But, fact is, if you couldn't beat Twister straight up, one on one, then how the fuck are you going to handle him, 4 other guys, and a fucking Elimination Chamber? Hell, you couldn't even handle my burnt out ass last week when I stunned you straight out of the match. Face it, boy, you're mediocre, at your absolute fucking best, and were given a brief moment in the sun just to keep you loyal. Consider this your last fucking hurrah before you're back to curtain jerking house shows in Bumblefuck, USA. This drink, I don't just drink in your honour, but in your memory, because consider you're career officially dead after Sunday Night.
Dr. Matt picks up a normal sized glass, which is puny in comparison to the glass he poured the Red Bulls into. He picks up a brown bottle that reads "property of Tony Blackwell" and pours what could only be Jagermeister into the glass. He drops the small glass into the larger one, and chugs the whole foaming concotion, effectively drinking a massive Jagerbomb. Dr. Matt burps loudly, then the corner of his mouth starts making a clicking noise. Apparently you should heed the warnings on the Red Bull can when it says "Don't Mix with Alcohol" and "One Can Per Day".
Dr. Matt blinks several times, trying to keep his composure, but he may have just overdosed on caffeine. Go figure that the man who can't cross borders because his blood is classified as an illegal substance can't handle something perfectly legal. He looks, shaking into the camera.
Dr. Matt: And finally, the biggest joke out of all the people in this match. The person who calls themselves a champion. Fuck, Twister, you can drop glitter on a pile of shit, but it'll still stink. I don't like you Twister. Fact is, I've never really liked you. Why I don't, I can't really remember. I think you stabbed me in the back, or something. Fuck, I don't really know. I don't really care. All I know is that I'm excited to be locked in a Elimination Chamber with you and expose what a weak champion you are. You just happened to be in the right place at the right time, which seems to me how most people win that belt. So, fuck, I guess that means I got a good chance, right?
Dr. Matt is trying to keep it together, but he's broke out into a cold sweat and he's jaw is clenched. He sets a bottle of Orange Strawberry Banana Burst Tropicana Twister on the table.
Dr. Matt: For such a weak, pathetic excuse of a champion, I will drink a weak, pathetic excuse of a drink; the Screwdriver. A drink, much like Twister, is popular at high school parties and can often be found inside of underaged girls.
Dr. Matt picks up his bottle of Smirnoff to mix the drink, but he's too fucked up to realize it's empty. He just sticks the neck of the empty vodka bottle into the orange juice, pulls it back out, making a huge mess, then tries to drink the juice. He tries to take a drink, but pours the juice into his eye. Dr. Matt stumbles backwards, crashing into the shelf with liquour bottles on it. The shelf collapses, and the sound of dozens of glass bottles shattering can be heard. Dr. Matt, who is starting to foam at the mouth, mumbles as he slides down the wall.
Dr. Matt: One.... Hun... dred... Per... cent... Matt... is...
Dr. Matt has slumped out of scene. There's a brief pause, then Frank the Cameraman can be heard.
Frank: Uh, are you okay?
End Scene
