Post by Phate on Jun 27, 2008 17:51:03 GMT -4
June 29, 2008
St. Louis, Missouri
6:42 PM
The plum and carnation hues of the setting sun open our scene, its last vibrant rays casting speckled shadows across the ominous structures that make early evening in Downtown St. Louis. Large office complexes jut into the sky, piercing the clouds with their tips before seemingly disappearing in the fluffed folds and curves of now-purple cumulus clouds trying with great exertion to engulf the flaming star partially illuminating the heavens. Our eyes follow the slim lines of each glass and steel edifice, squinting as we adjust our sight to the sun shimmering off the finely-polished French-cut glass of expensive window treatments. Our eyes soon find themselves absorbing the lines, riding the lines, scanning downward, ever so downward, to the shadows below…and a dose of reality we weren’t quite expecting from such a newly-renovated area. Our ocular lenses land upon brick-and-mortar tenements appearing to grow from the concrete like defiant foliage, the owners of said buildings refusing to let the conditions surrounding them deter them from their own personal dreams. We peer northward, taking in the strip of small local businesses cowering below our massive monolithic buildings, their storefronts bustling with the kinetic energies of patrons and passerby both native and foreign. Small restaurants and drinking dens pepper the area for the most part, interiors abuzz with the vocalizations and sinful night lives of men and women who have lived rough lives. A seedy pornography establishment sits to the immediate left of our vision, a neon-sculpted placard blatantly displaying the letters “XXX” hanging shakily above its steel and mesh constructed entrance door. Modernized street lamps soon crackle to life, their light-sensitive photocells allowing them to perfectly brighten the darkened alleys and corners of Missouri at just the right moment of day. With the crackle of the street lights come the emergence of tattered prostitutes, their worn faces and heavily-used bodies sashaying from the ebon voids of nearby slums to turn their latest tricks. Our gaze drifts from the sky to these streets, taking in the faces, inhaling the aromas of authentic Italian cuisine, basking in the urban squalor, until our corneas suddenly find themselves fixated on a very peculiar sight in such a setting: an ivory-toned Bentley limousine, its pristine paint job twinkling in the infancy of tonight’s moonlight. Albino-tinted speed line and trashy neon lights converge, the motor vehicle becoming a blur of foreign craftsmanship as it speeds through the gutter of the city, wheels appearing to be blackened blobs as they maintain optimum motion. Tinted auto glass averts our gaze, barring us from discovering the appearance or sex of the possible passengers or drivers – plural or singular. The familiar Bentley insignia sits neatly in the absolute lower center of the auto’s hood, neon beams casting a vibrantly darting tapestry across its surface. As the impressive and expensive automobile accelerates down the tar-patched city street, its gold-plated trim and accents sleekly circling the chassis of the magnificent beast and leaving us fixated, we begin to wonder what the destination of this modernized jalopy actually is. We receive our answer way sooner than we anticipated as our rather lavish set of wheels slow their pace and make a delicate right onto the inverted entrance of a multi-tiered parking garage, the words “Reserved Parking” affixed to the concrete trim above on an aluminum plaque with the emblem of the National Hockey League’s St. Louis Blues etched neatly on the left and right sides of the lettering. The insignia of the Scottrade Corporation sits perched regally above our entrance sign, letting us the viewer know that we have arrived at the Scottrade Center, the venue hosting APW’s Test for the Best pay-per-view telecast. The Bentley limousine begins its ascent, dutifully following the directions to the reserved parking floor of the massive parking tower, gold lines and appealing European design presenting a stark contrast to the granite and stone surrounding it. We allow our pupils to dog the vehicle, never letting it escape our range of vision as it careens skyward, beautifully shined chrome domed rims reflecting the visage of a luscious light blue full moon and the flickering of twilight starlight. Minutes pass like seconds and our extravagant designer chariot finally arrives at its destination, emerging from the depths and perching itself upon the concrete of the reserved parking floor. Sliding slowly into a labeled spot, the limousine comes to a purring stop, its halogen headlights blinking off as our stylistic transport settles in to a moment of rest. We let our eyes drift from the vehicle for mere seconds, surveying the area for some possible clue as to who the owner of such a wonderful construct could possibly be….and we find ourselves landing on a sign attached to a metal pole emanating from the ground in front of the car, a medium-sized Action Packed Wrestling logo emblazoned across the top-center of the aluminum signage with the words” Reserved Parking” in bold capitals and Arial font. The front driver’s side door springs open, onyx slacks covering slender legs as a well-dressed chauffeur emerges from the plush depths of the limo. Taking a moment to dust and straighten the sleeves of his inky Burberry’s chauffeur jacket, the slender blond gentleman winds his sinewy frame around the Bentley and to the hand-polished handle of the right rear passenger door. Grasping the handle, the driver carefully opens the hatch, his head downward as his passenger extends a meaty caramel-colored right calf half-covered by a white knee-high athletic sock. The foot attached to said leg touches down; its appendage nestled nicely inside of a black canvas Converse All-Star Chuck Taylor sneaker sporting a white rubber toe. The sole of the vintage basketball shoe slides across the asphalt of the parking lot floor, prompting the emerging person’s left leg and foot to follow suit. Once both of the person’s arches make contact with the world outside of the auto, the mystery person emerges from the confines of the appealing luxury vehicle…and we all see that it is none other than Action Packed Wrestling superstar “The Icon” Doctor Phate. Taking a moment to consume the crispness of the midsummer night’s air, Doctor Phate silently motions for the chauffer to retrieve his bags from the limousine’s velvet-lined trunk while fixing the Windsor knot currently keeping his crimson-colored silk necktie in the proper alignment. Phate allows his horn-rimmed eyeglasses to slide slightly down the bridge of his nose before pushing them back into a secure spot his right pointer finger and cracking his neck to relieve the already mounting stress wracking his husky body. “The Icon” is decked out in his usual Catholic school girl attire, all the familiar colors and items in their place….all except for his signature white dress shirt. His trademark top of choice did not make the sojourn to Missouri and the tonight; instead Phate has decided to wear a jet black dress shirt this evening, its tails resting lazily over the waist band of his pleated skirt. The much darker tones draped across Phate’s broad shoulders and meaty build really seem to showcase “The Icon’s” demeanor, his face screaming intensity and complete concentration on the monumental tasks laid out before him on this day as his chauffeur secures his luggage and shuts the trunk with an echoing forceless slam. The two men make their way toward the designated employee elevators, Phate moving at a level of quiet unusual in a man of his build as he saunters forward like a man on a mission. “The Icon” and his personal chauffeur are mere feet from the door when Action Packed Wrestling interviewer Cindy Shannon unexpectedly pops into view from the right of our frame, microphone in hand and her lack of poise immediately giving both the viewer and “The Icon” the impression that Shannon is only there for what she hopes will be her next big scoop live on the Test for the Best Pre-Show. Cindy, a miniscule red cotton skirt hugging her shapely hips as a great compliment to the ebony-toned APW logo tank top hugging her breasts, sits ready to pounce with her first question. Sighing heavily, “The Icon” Doctor Phate stops in his tracks and looks forward for a moment before leisurely turning his attention to the damn near giddy Cindy Shannon. Peering over the edge of his eyeglass frames Phate scrutinizes Shannon as she goes right into questioning him without even breaking the ice in any way, shape, or form!
Cindy Shannon (addressing the camera; jovial tone; smiling): I’m standing here with “The Icon” Doctor Phate, one of the four men competing tonight at Test for the Best to become the first-ever Test for the Best tournament winner and earn a GUARANTEED shot at the World Heavyweight Title at August’s Shockwave pay-per-view! (Turning attention to Phate; addressing Phate; quizzical tone) Phate, I know this is an important night for you. What’s going through your mind right now as you prepare to do battle in the ring?
Phate (glaring at Cindy; annoyed demeanor): ……….
Phate, obviously in no mood or state of mind to conduct an interview, walks away from Cindy Shannon and begins his journey to the elevator anew! Cindy, feeling slighted, stares angrily at the departing Phate and seems very incapable of containing her emotions at the moment. If looks could kill Ms. Shannon would be the main suspect in Doctor Phate’s murder investigation as she stares a hole through him!
Cindy Shannon (annoyed; staring at the departing Phate; low tone of voice): Asshole….walk away from me…coulda at least gave me a curtsy…..a “toodles”….or something entertaining…..
Cindy Shannon shrugs her shoulders toward the camera in a mixture of frustration and defeat, her body language suggesting that she is ready to enter the building once again and call it a pre-show….until an enraged Doctor Phate pops back up out of nowhere! Sweat beading in rivets across his furrowed brow and his lower lip quivering in the anticipation of verbal rage, Phate seems ready to lash out at the now-frozen Cindy. Cindy’s visage conveys that, no matter how willing she is to do her job to optimum levels, she realizes that she may have just bitten off a bit more than her mouth can chew. Cameras are still rolling as Phate looks very close to the tipping point!
Phate (low, growling vocals; addressing Cindy; staring angrily at Cindy): What th’ F_____ did you say?
Cindy Shannon (sheepish tone; cowering; looking up at Phate): I – I – I - -
Phate (escalating vocals; addressing Cindy; staring at Cindy in anger): WHAT TH’ F_____ DID YOU SAY TO ME?
Cindy Shannon (sheepish tone; cowering; looking up at Phate): Well I – I – I don’t – I - -
Phate (extremely loud vocals; fists clenched; staring at Cindy Shannon in extreme anger): WHAT IN TH’ F____ DID YOU SAY TO ME?!?!
Cindy Shannon (low whisper; averting her eyes; addressing Phate): I said you coulda at least gave me a curtsy or a “toodles” or something…..somethin’ entertaining….
Phate (agitated tone; addressing Cindy): Is that what I am to you? Is that what I am to APW management? A sound byte? A comic book character? Something Action Packed Wrestling can parade around to bring in the LGBT community? Is that what management told you t’do? Come down here an’ get an interview with th’ articulate token black guy in th’ skirt? Huh? HUH? HUH!?!? ANSWER ME GOD-DAMNIT!!
Cindy Shannon (flustered; shouting at Phate): YES! YES!! YOU’RE A RATINGS DYNAMO! ANY TIME YOU’RE ON TV MANAGEMENT MAKES MONEY! YOU GRAB THE AFRICAN-AMERICAN AND GAY AUDIENCE LIKE NO OTHER WRESTLER IN THIS COMPANY’S HISTORY! YES! IT’S TRUE, OK? PLEASE JUST QUIT YELLING AT ME!!
Phate (extremely agitated; raised tone of voice; addressing Cindy): Well, Cindy, you can tell APW Management t’kiss my - - (yanking the microphone from Cindy; angry tone; addressing Cindy) Screw it – I’ll tell ‘em myself. (looking into the camera; angry tone; addressing APW Management and the APW roster) President Jeff? Management? APW locker room? There will be NO curtsying tonight! There will be no sexual innuendos, no sexual gestures, no blowing of kisses, no appealing to those oh so “key” African-American and LGBT demographics, no showboatin’ and silly sh__ in th’ middle of my matches, and no catchphrases or witty one-liners to put on t-shirts. Not tonight. Y’see, I keep my ear to th’ ground and I’ve been hearin’ a lot of talk about me lately that I just ain’t buyin’. You got alla these so-called wrestlers in th’ back that aren’t even worthy of wipin’ my ass after I take a sh__ sayin’ that they respect me as a wrestler, that they respect my talent an’ my abilities. See, funny thing is that, well, none of you bastards were kissin’ my ass before I put on this skirt and started gallivanting around like a Catholic schoolgirl! When I was breakin’ Bryan Greatness’ fat knees wit’ a Figure Four…when I was puttin’ JZ’s neck in a brace wit’ the School’s Out…hell, when I completely out-maneuvered an’ outwrestled Arcadia’s butterface ass to get to the semifinals of Test for the Best tonight NOBODY was goin’ out of their way to mention my name. But I change th’ way I look and act and suddenly everyone’s pattin’ me on th’ back for how skilled I am and how formidable of an opponent I am? Just because I was born at night don’t mean it was last night! Do I look like I’m in th’ Special Olympics? Where th’ F___ have you been since I got here? Ain’t a damn thing changed but th’ outer shell! I change my clothes, flirt wit’ everything that walks, and suddenly ratings start t’go up an’ the most-watched segments come across President Jeff’s desk and, lo and behold, my name is near th’ top of those lists! Word gets out in th’ APW locker room and all of a sudden everybody and their mama wants to get in th’ ring with me! Shocking? Nope! Fact of th’ matter is, without this skirt an’ all the damn feminine antics I’d be curtain jerking in this place because I ain’t sleepin’ with someone whose last name is Lambardo or givin’ President Jeff oral for title shots – right, John Green?
Phate takes a pause, making a feeble attempt at containing his annoyance before continuing onward.
Phate (angered; angry tone of voice; addressing APW Management and the APW roster): Getting’ a spot in this company – th’ main event spot I deserve – should have nothin’ t’do with me comin’ out to the ring to “London Bridge” or shakin’ my ass for all th’ right viewers! I should be graded on how much ass I kick day in an’ day out around here – an’ tonight we’ll be doing just that! Test for the Best isn’t a test for me because I AM the best wrestler in APW not holdin’ a championship belt an’ I plan to rectify that situation in August – at the expense of Kenny Lambardo’s motor skills and livelihood! (Addressing the PPV subscribers; annoyed tone) So, for any viewers out there who jus’ so happened t’purchase this pay-per-view with th’ hopes of seeing my “shenanigans” you better call back yer cable or satellite provider and beg for a refund because this ain’t gonna be your night!! On the other hand, if yer a fan of people damn near killin’ one another well you jus’ happen to be in luck because there’s a reason I wore black tonight - - because I plan t’send either Victor Brander, Austin Daniels, or Vin E. Lambardo to an early grave and I wanted t’look good for their funeral!
Phate, using his tie to dab at the sweat on his wrinkled forehead, never allows his gaze to leave the camera’s range as he continues on without a break in rhythm.
Phate (angry tone; addressing Vin E. Lambardo): Lambardo – you’re first! Are you scared? Well..are ya? You should be - - (Holding up his right pinky so the camera can see his long pinky nail; angry tone; addressing Lambardo) Because I plan t’make your pupil and cornea part ways the old fashioned way – with something jagged and dirty! I don’t care who you’re related to - - Kenny Lambardo, Kenny Rogers, Kenny Loggins, Kenny from South Park – you WILL bleed tonight and you will bleed buckets! You think I care about yer submissions? You think I care about yer lust for yer brother’s title? You think I care about your lil’ family feud? If you think I care then you must also think that babies are delivered by th’ stork and that there’s a pot o’ gold at the end of the rainbow because that’s just plain ol’ retarded thinking! When I’m done pullin’ my foot from your ass there gonna need a dozen tampons to stop the flow, boy! You can feud wit’ your brother over getting’ kicked outta the Burger King Kids Club after August – when I’m the Action Packed Wrestling Champion! Seein’ how I’m gonna put you in th’ hospital until September I don’t think that’s gonna be a problem! (Addressing Austin Daniels and Victor Brander; angered tone) As for you Austin Daniels, and you, Victor Brander, I don’t care which one of you beat who – they’ve got a hospital bed right next to th’ one Vin E.’s gonna be laying in for awhile that either one of you guys will fit into comfortably! (Addressing Daniels; enraged) Austin, I’ve seen yer poker face and lemme just say that it ain’t very convincing! You’re a boy in a world of men and I’ll be sure to discipline you after Test for the Best, boy, because I’m your daddy tonight! I’ve seen everything in yer hand over th’ past few weeks and, well, I can beat your best hand while holding only a Joker, a Get out of Jail Free Monopoly card, a 2 of clubs, 7 of spades and a green #4 card from the game UNO! If you face me tonight the ref will raise – my hand – and yer punk ass will fold! (Addressing Brander; pissed off) As for you, Victor Brander, a Lone Wolf is still a dog and I think it’s time fer you to get spayed and neutered! If you think fer a minute that bein’ duller than a dollar store steak knife and bein’ more generic than a $4 prescription is th’ formula for success then, brother, you are drinkin’ the wrong damn formula! But don’t worry – after I drop you on yer head so hard you revert back to preschool you’ll get alla th’ Similac you need to develop into a strong boy! (Addressing Brander, Daniels, and Lambardo, and APW Management; angered tone) Daniels! Brander! Lambardo! You might jus’ SAY you respect me now – but you will mean it when this night is over or you WILL be in th’ ICU getting hooked to an IV! If that is th’ only language other than politics and greenbacks that you guys in th’ back and management understands then prepared to get pretty damn fluent in it real quick! Your first lesson takes place tonight! I WILL be Action Packed Wrestling World Heavyweight Champion – and tonight I guarantee that statement will come true sooner rather than later!
His angry mug now replaced by the face of a content human being, Phate allows a sinister smile to stretch across his lips as he continues onward. Cindy, mortified by the tirade she just witnessed, stands in wide-eyed awe as Phate looks her way….and allows a very sadistic smile to emanate from his lips! Amused; Phate turns back to the camera and begins talking once again.
Phate (amused tone; addressing camera; winking): Toodles.
Our scene comes to an end with Doctor Phate tossing the microphone back to Cindy Shannon, Shannon almost missing the catch due to being absolutely floored by what she just saw unfold! Our cameraman zooms in tight on her expression, capturing her weak attempt at regaining her composure as Phate gets on the elevator and our screen fades to black.
St. Louis, Missouri
6:42 PM
The plum and carnation hues of the setting sun open our scene, its last vibrant rays casting speckled shadows across the ominous structures that make early evening in Downtown St. Louis. Large office complexes jut into the sky, piercing the clouds with their tips before seemingly disappearing in the fluffed folds and curves of now-purple cumulus clouds trying with great exertion to engulf the flaming star partially illuminating the heavens. Our eyes follow the slim lines of each glass and steel edifice, squinting as we adjust our sight to the sun shimmering off the finely-polished French-cut glass of expensive window treatments. Our eyes soon find themselves absorbing the lines, riding the lines, scanning downward, ever so downward, to the shadows below…and a dose of reality we weren’t quite expecting from such a newly-renovated area. Our ocular lenses land upon brick-and-mortar tenements appearing to grow from the concrete like defiant foliage, the owners of said buildings refusing to let the conditions surrounding them deter them from their own personal dreams. We peer northward, taking in the strip of small local businesses cowering below our massive monolithic buildings, their storefronts bustling with the kinetic energies of patrons and passerby both native and foreign. Small restaurants and drinking dens pepper the area for the most part, interiors abuzz with the vocalizations and sinful night lives of men and women who have lived rough lives. A seedy pornography establishment sits to the immediate left of our vision, a neon-sculpted placard blatantly displaying the letters “XXX” hanging shakily above its steel and mesh constructed entrance door. Modernized street lamps soon crackle to life, their light-sensitive photocells allowing them to perfectly brighten the darkened alleys and corners of Missouri at just the right moment of day. With the crackle of the street lights come the emergence of tattered prostitutes, their worn faces and heavily-used bodies sashaying from the ebon voids of nearby slums to turn their latest tricks. Our gaze drifts from the sky to these streets, taking in the faces, inhaling the aromas of authentic Italian cuisine, basking in the urban squalor, until our corneas suddenly find themselves fixated on a very peculiar sight in such a setting: an ivory-toned Bentley limousine, its pristine paint job twinkling in the infancy of tonight’s moonlight. Albino-tinted speed line and trashy neon lights converge, the motor vehicle becoming a blur of foreign craftsmanship as it speeds through the gutter of the city, wheels appearing to be blackened blobs as they maintain optimum motion. Tinted auto glass averts our gaze, barring us from discovering the appearance or sex of the possible passengers or drivers – plural or singular. The familiar Bentley insignia sits neatly in the absolute lower center of the auto’s hood, neon beams casting a vibrantly darting tapestry across its surface. As the impressive and expensive automobile accelerates down the tar-patched city street, its gold-plated trim and accents sleekly circling the chassis of the magnificent beast and leaving us fixated, we begin to wonder what the destination of this modernized jalopy actually is. We receive our answer way sooner than we anticipated as our rather lavish set of wheels slow their pace and make a delicate right onto the inverted entrance of a multi-tiered parking garage, the words “Reserved Parking” affixed to the concrete trim above on an aluminum plaque with the emblem of the National Hockey League’s St. Louis Blues etched neatly on the left and right sides of the lettering. The insignia of the Scottrade Corporation sits perched regally above our entrance sign, letting us the viewer know that we have arrived at the Scottrade Center, the venue hosting APW’s Test for the Best pay-per-view telecast. The Bentley limousine begins its ascent, dutifully following the directions to the reserved parking floor of the massive parking tower, gold lines and appealing European design presenting a stark contrast to the granite and stone surrounding it. We allow our pupils to dog the vehicle, never letting it escape our range of vision as it careens skyward, beautifully shined chrome domed rims reflecting the visage of a luscious light blue full moon and the flickering of twilight starlight. Minutes pass like seconds and our extravagant designer chariot finally arrives at its destination, emerging from the depths and perching itself upon the concrete of the reserved parking floor. Sliding slowly into a labeled spot, the limousine comes to a purring stop, its halogen headlights blinking off as our stylistic transport settles in to a moment of rest. We let our eyes drift from the vehicle for mere seconds, surveying the area for some possible clue as to who the owner of such a wonderful construct could possibly be….and we find ourselves landing on a sign attached to a metal pole emanating from the ground in front of the car, a medium-sized Action Packed Wrestling logo emblazoned across the top-center of the aluminum signage with the words” Reserved Parking” in bold capitals and Arial font. The front driver’s side door springs open, onyx slacks covering slender legs as a well-dressed chauffeur emerges from the plush depths of the limo. Taking a moment to dust and straighten the sleeves of his inky Burberry’s chauffeur jacket, the slender blond gentleman winds his sinewy frame around the Bentley and to the hand-polished handle of the right rear passenger door. Grasping the handle, the driver carefully opens the hatch, his head downward as his passenger extends a meaty caramel-colored right calf half-covered by a white knee-high athletic sock. The foot attached to said leg touches down; its appendage nestled nicely inside of a black canvas Converse All-Star Chuck Taylor sneaker sporting a white rubber toe. The sole of the vintage basketball shoe slides across the asphalt of the parking lot floor, prompting the emerging person’s left leg and foot to follow suit. Once both of the person’s arches make contact with the world outside of the auto, the mystery person emerges from the confines of the appealing luxury vehicle…and we all see that it is none other than Action Packed Wrestling superstar “The Icon” Doctor Phate. Taking a moment to consume the crispness of the midsummer night’s air, Doctor Phate silently motions for the chauffer to retrieve his bags from the limousine’s velvet-lined trunk while fixing the Windsor knot currently keeping his crimson-colored silk necktie in the proper alignment. Phate allows his horn-rimmed eyeglasses to slide slightly down the bridge of his nose before pushing them back into a secure spot his right pointer finger and cracking his neck to relieve the already mounting stress wracking his husky body. “The Icon” is decked out in his usual Catholic school girl attire, all the familiar colors and items in their place….all except for his signature white dress shirt. His trademark top of choice did not make the sojourn to Missouri and the tonight; instead Phate has decided to wear a jet black dress shirt this evening, its tails resting lazily over the waist band of his pleated skirt. The much darker tones draped across Phate’s broad shoulders and meaty build really seem to showcase “The Icon’s” demeanor, his face screaming intensity and complete concentration on the monumental tasks laid out before him on this day as his chauffeur secures his luggage and shuts the trunk with an echoing forceless slam. The two men make their way toward the designated employee elevators, Phate moving at a level of quiet unusual in a man of his build as he saunters forward like a man on a mission. “The Icon” and his personal chauffeur are mere feet from the door when Action Packed Wrestling interviewer Cindy Shannon unexpectedly pops into view from the right of our frame, microphone in hand and her lack of poise immediately giving both the viewer and “The Icon” the impression that Shannon is only there for what she hopes will be her next big scoop live on the Test for the Best Pre-Show. Cindy, a miniscule red cotton skirt hugging her shapely hips as a great compliment to the ebony-toned APW logo tank top hugging her breasts, sits ready to pounce with her first question. Sighing heavily, “The Icon” Doctor Phate stops in his tracks and looks forward for a moment before leisurely turning his attention to the damn near giddy Cindy Shannon. Peering over the edge of his eyeglass frames Phate scrutinizes Shannon as she goes right into questioning him without even breaking the ice in any way, shape, or form!
Cindy Shannon (addressing the camera; jovial tone; smiling): I’m standing here with “The Icon” Doctor Phate, one of the four men competing tonight at Test for the Best to become the first-ever Test for the Best tournament winner and earn a GUARANTEED shot at the World Heavyweight Title at August’s Shockwave pay-per-view! (Turning attention to Phate; addressing Phate; quizzical tone) Phate, I know this is an important night for you. What’s going through your mind right now as you prepare to do battle in the ring?
Phate (glaring at Cindy; annoyed demeanor): ……….
Phate, obviously in no mood or state of mind to conduct an interview, walks away from Cindy Shannon and begins his journey to the elevator anew! Cindy, feeling slighted, stares angrily at the departing Phate and seems very incapable of containing her emotions at the moment. If looks could kill Ms. Shannon would be the main suspect in Doctor Phate’s murder investigation as she stares a hole through him!
Cindy Shannon (annoyed; staring at the departing Phate; low tone of voice): Asshole….walk away from me…coulda at least gave me a curtsy…..a “toodles”….or something entertaining…..
Cindy Shannon shrugs her shoulders toward the camera in a mixture of frustration and defeat, her body language suggesting that she is ready to enter the building once again and call it a pre-show….until an enraged Doctor Phate pops back up out of nowhere! Sweat beading in rivets across his furrowed brow and his lower lip quivering in the anticipation of verbal rage, Phate seems ready to lash out at the now-frozen Cindy. Cindy’s visage conveys that, no matter how willing she is to do her job to optimum levels, she realizes that she may have just bitten off a bit more than her mouth can chew. Cameras are still rolling as Phate looks very close to the tipping point!
Phate (low, growling vocals; addressing Cindy; staring angrily at Cindy): What th’ F_____ did you say?
Cindy Shannon (sheepish tone; cowering; looking up at Phate): I – I – I - -
Phate (escalating vocals; addressing Cindy; staring at Cindy in anger): WHAT TH’ F_____ DID YOU SAY TO ME?
Cindy Shannon (sheepish tone; cowering; looking up at Phate): Well I – I – I don’t – I - -
Phate (extremely loud vocals; fists clenched; staring at Cindy Shannon in extreme anger): WHAT IN TH’ F____ DID YOU SAY TO ME?!?!
Cindy Shannon (low whisper; averting her eyes; addressing Phate): I said you coulda at least gave me a curtsy or a “toodles” or something…..somethin’ entertaining….
Phate (agitated tone; addressing Cindy): Is that what I am to you? Is that what I am to APW management? A sound byte? A comic book character? Something Action Packed Wrestling can parade around to bring in the LGBT community? Is that what management told you t’do? Come down here an’ get an interview with th’ articulate token black guy in th’ skirt? Huh? HUH? HUH!?!? ANSWER ME GOD-DAMNIT!!
Cindy Shannon (flustered; shouting at Phate): YES! YES!! YOU’RE A RATINGS DYNAMO! ANY TIME YOU’RE ON TV MANAGEMENT MAKES MONEY! YOU GRAB THE AFRICAN-AMERICAN AND GAY AUDIENCE LIKE NO OTHER WRESTLER IN THIS COMPANY’S HISTORY! YES! IT’S TRUE, OK? PLEASE JUST QUIT YELLING AT ME!!
Phate (extremely agitated; raised tone of voice; addressing Cindy): Well, Cindy, you can tell APW Management t’kiss my - - (yanking the microphone from Cindy; angry tone; addressing Cindy) Screw it – I’ll tell ‘em myself. (looking into the camera; angry tone; addressing APW Management and the APW roster) President Jeff? Management? APW locker room? There will be NO curtsying tonight! There will be no sexual innuendos, no sexual gestures, no blowing of kisses, no appealing to those oh so “key” African-American and LGBT demographics, no showboatin’ and silly sh__ in th’ middle of my matches, and no catchphrases or witty one-liners to put on t-shirts. Not tonight. Y’see, I keep my ear to th’ ground and I’ve been hearin’ a lot of talk about me lately that I just ain’t buyin’. You got alla these so-called wrestlers in th’ back that aren’t even worthy of wipin’ my ass after I take a sh__ sayin’ that they respect me as a wrestler, that they respect my talent an’ my abilities. See, funny thing is that, well, none of you bastards were kissin’ my ass before I put on this skirt and started gallivanting around like a Catholic schoolgirl! When I was breakin’ Bryan Greatness’ fat knees wit’ a Figure Four…when I was puttin’ JZ’s neck in a brace wit’ the School’s Out…hell, when I completely out-maneuvered an’ outwrestled Arcadia’s butterface ass to get to the semifinals of Test for the Best tonight NOBODY was goin’ out of their way to mention my name. But I change th’ way I look and act and suddenly everyone’s pattin’ me on th’ back for how skilled I am and how formidable of an opponent I am? Just because I was born at night don’t mean it was last night! Do I look like I’m in th’ Special Olympics? Where th’ F___ have you been since I got here? Ain’t a damn thing changed but th’ outer shell! I change my clothes, flirt wit’ everything that walks, and suddenly ratings start t’go up an’ the most-watched segments come across President Jeff’s desk and, lo and behold, my name is near th’ top of those lists! Word gets out in th’ APW locker room and all of a sudden everybody and their mama wants to get in th’ ring with me! Shocking? Nope! Fact of th’ matter is, without this skirt an’ all the damn feminine antics I’d be curtain jerking in this place because I ain’t sleepin’ with someone whose last name is Lambardo or givin’ President Jeff oral for title shots – right, John Green?
Phate takes a pause, making a feeble attempt at containing his annoyance before continuing onward.
Phate (angered; angry tone of voice; addressing APW Management and the APW roster): Getting’ a spot in this company – th’ main event spot I deserve – should have nothin’ t’do with me comin’ out to the ring to “London Bridge” or shakin’ my ass for all th’ right viewers! I should be graded on how much ass I kick day in an’ day out around here – an’ tonight we’ll be doing just that! Test for the Best isn’t a test for me because I AM the best wrestler in APW not holdin’ a championship belt an’ I plan to rectify that situation in August – at the expense of Kenny Lambardo’s motor skills and livelihood! (Addressing the PPV subscribers; annoyed tone) So, for any viewers out there who jus’ so happened t’purchase this pay-per-view with th’ hopes of seeing my “shenanigans” you better call back yer cable or satellite provider and beg for a refund because this ain’t gonna be your night!! On the other hand, if yer a fan of people damn near killin’ one another well you jus’ happen to be in luck because there’s a reason I wore black tonight - - because I plan t’send either Victor Brander, Austin Daniels, or Vin E. Lambardo to an early grave and I wanted t’look good for their funeral!
Phate, using his tie to dab at the sweat on his wrinkled forehead, never allows his gaze to leave the camera’s range as he continues on without a break in rhythm.
Phate (angry tone; addressing Vin E. Lambardo): Lambardo – you’re first! Are you scared? Well..are ya? You should be - - (Holding up his right pinky so the camera can see his long pinky nail; angry tone; addressing Lambardo) Because I plan t’make your pupil and cornea part ways the old fashioned way – with something jagged and dirty! I don’t care who you’re related to - - Kenny Lambardo, Kenny Rogers, Kenny Loggins, Kenny from South Park – you WILL bleed tonight and you will bleed buckets! You think I care about yer submissions? You think I care about yer lust for yer brother’s title? You think I care about your lil’ family feud? If you think I care then you must also think that babies are delivered by th’ stork and that there’s a pot o’ gold at the end of the rainbow because that’s just plain ol’ retarded thinking! When I’m done pullin’ my foot from your ass there gonna need a dozen tampons to stop the flow, boy! You can feud wit’ your brother over getting’ kicked outta the Burger King Kids Club after August – when I’m the Action Packed Wrestling Champion! Seein’ how I’m gonna put you in th’ hospital until September I don’t think that’s gonna be a problem! (Addressing Austin Daniels and Victor Brander; angered tone) As for you Austin Daniels, and you, Victor Brander, I don’t care which one of you beat who – they’ve got a hospital bed right next to th’ one Vin E.’s gonna be laying in for awhile that either one of you guys will fit into comfortably! (Addressing Daniels; enraged) Austin, I’ve seen yer poker face and lemme just say that it ain’t very convincing! You’re a boy in a world of men and I’ll be sure to discipline you after Test for the Best, boy, because I’m your daddy tonight! I’ve seen everything in yer hand over th’ past few weeks and, well, I can beat your best hand while holding only a Joker, a Get out of Jail Free Monopoly card, a 2 of clubs, 7 of spades and a green #4 card from the game UNO! If you face me tonight the ref will raise – my hand – and yer punk ass will fold! (Addressing Brander; pissed off) As for you, Victor Brander, a Lone Wolf is still a dog and I think it’s time fer you to get spayed and neutered! If you think fer a minute that bein’ duller than a dollar store steak knife and bein’ more generic than a $4 prescription is th’ formula for success then, brother, you are drinkin’ the wrong damn formula! But don’t worry – after I drop you on yer head so hard you revert back to preschool you’ll get alla th’ Similac you need to develop into a strong boy! (Addressing Brander, Daniels, and Lambardo, and APW Management; angered tone) Daniels! Brander! Lambardo! You might jus’ SAY you respect me now – but you will mean it when this night is over or you WILL be in th’ ICU getting hooked to an IV! If that is th’ only language other than politics and greenbacks that you guys in th’ back and management understands then prepared to get pretty damn fluent in it real quick! Your first lesson takes place tonight! I WILL be Action Packed Wrestling World Heavyweight Champion – and tonight I guarantee that statement will come true sooner rather than later!
His angry mug now replaced by the face of a content human being, Phate allows a sinister smile to stretch across his lips as he continues onward. Cindy, mortified by the tirade she just witnessed, stands in wide-eyed awe as Phate looks her way….and allows a very sadistic smile to emanate from his lips! Amused; Phate turns back to the camera and begins talking once again.
Phate (amused tone; addressing camera; winking): Toodles.
Our scene comes to an end with Doctor Phate tossing the microphone back to Cindy Shannon, Shannon almost missing the catch due to being absolutely floored by what she just saw unfold! Our cameraman zooms in tight on her expression, capturing her weak attempt at regaining her composure as Phate gets on the elevator and our screen fades to black.
