Post by Phate on Aug 10, 2008 14:19:17 GMT -4
Our television screens crackle and fizzle to life from a sea of white noise, a sea of static and distortion that has interrupted the Best Damn Sports Show Period on the Fox Sports Network (thank god for small miracles). As we try to figure out if our television sets have gone defective BEFORE the scheduled switch to digital broadcasting we see the rounded outline of a masculine face peek into view. We focus our eyes, forcing our pupils to decipher the fuzzy blob before us. Nothing comes of our persistence...but the Gods of Technology (or someone at FSN) is on our side this evening as our television screens slowly creep back into focus. The newfound clarity allows us the chance to finally make out the gentleman once shrouded by distortion....and we make out his rounded jawline as in lays a shadow across the Adam's Apple of his thick caramel-hued neck. A rather illegal and expensive Cuban cigar sits betwixt the man's right pointer and middle fingers, its chopped tip billowing smoke into the air as its end sits neatly between his dark lips. A pair of black sunglasses find themselves affixed to his face, making his eyes barely discernible through their tinted lenses. We rack our brains trying to figure out why the man in front of us seems so damned familiar....and then we realize that he is the man responsible for orchestrating two of the most reprehensible acts in Action Packed Wrestling history: APW World Champion "The Icon" Doctor Phate! The sadomasochistic madman appears to be all business as he clears his throat slightly and turns his attentions toward us the viewer to speak with us directly.
Phate (serious tone; serious expression; addressing the viewer): There is nothing wrong with your television set. Do not attempt to adjust the picture. We are controlling transmission. If we wish to make it louder, we will bring up the volume. If we wish to make it softer, we will tune it to a whisper. We will control the horizontal. We will control the vertical. We can roll the image, make it flutter. We can change the focus to a soft blur or sharpen it to crystal clarity. For the next few minutes, sit quietly and we will control all that you see and hear. We repeat, there is nothing wrong with your television set. You are about to participate in a great adventure. You are about to experience the awe and mystery which reaches from the inner mind to....th' special place up Diana's skirt!
Phate explodes into a cackling version of laughter, tears trickling from his eyes as he tries to maintain control of his cigar! We sit in awe, pretty sure that Phate has truly gone off the deep end (if he hasn't always been there) until our ears make us aware that Phate is not alone and that a familiar feminine octave is chiming in with jovial tones as well! Our stomachs churn in that oh-so-familiar regurgitating feeling as our ears and medulla oblongata figure out that the feminine tone belongs to none other than the disgusting presumed-dead wench they call Diana Steel! Bringing her head into camera range Diana gives her new beau and co-conspirator a seductive and lingering kiss on the lips before turning to the viewer and winking naughtily! Amused, Phate continues on.
Phate (amused tone; taking a puff of his cigar before addressing the viewer): Whew! That wuz rich! Silly as hell, I know, but it ain't ev'ry day you hijack th' controls of a broadcast satellite and force th' world to see yer precious mug! You gotta make th' best of the opportunity, bay-bay!
Diana (amused tone; addressing Phate while kissing him on the cheek): And what a precious and adorable mug it is!
Phate (shirking from Diana's kiss; addressing Diana): Not on TV, baby! Millions of people are watchin'! (stopping for a moment to think before moving on; addressing Diana) Wait - - we're broadcastin' live on FSN right now. Ain't nobody watchin'! Gimme some sugar!
Our guts get that funky feeling once again as Phate and Diana suddenly engage in a passionate and violent French kiss! Tongues and teeth intertwine and clangs as the two insane lovers have at one another like two canines in heat! Both Phate and Diana appear ready to begin removing their garments until both of the arguably psychotic bastards catch the viewer out of the corners of their eyes! Regaining their composure Phate turns his attention back to the viewers as Diana fixes her top and goes down, disappearing from view! Phate watches his beautiful cohort drop off the radar and mouths something that has to do with breasts and a riding crop before snapping out of his reverie and turning his attention back to us - the viewer at home watching!
Phate (gathering himself; taking a puff of his cigar before addressing the viewer): Now, anyhoo, th' reason I "requested" this TV time was because, well, I'm a bit scared to appear in public wit' the kind of hate mail that's been pouring into APW offices! Would you believe that one guy wanted me t'shit in my hand and wipe it in Diana's face so she can REALLY be a shit head?! First thing that came to mind? How th' HELL did he get his hands on th' advance copy of th' Doctor Phate/Diana Steel sex tape! (Smiling cheekily; addressing the viewer while flicking his cigar Groucho Marx style; amused tone) But I digress.
Flicking his cigar out of our visual range Phate pulls the tobacco stick back to his puckered lips. Taking a long drag from its large end Phate filters the smoke through his nostrils and looks upward in a fit of pure euphoria before re-affixing his gaze upon the viewer and speaking.
Phate (relaxed tone; addressing the viewer): Fact of th' matter is that you folks have been threatenin' my life and Diana's life and APW Management feels it's best that I lay low when I ain't wrestling. Gotta protect th' Champ and his dame, y'know? People need us! Seriously - if Diana weren't back an' in th' flesh how would you have gotten over yer sick need t'beat off to a dead woman's picture? Exactly! You're welcome. Long story short yer mad because we deceived you an' screwed Kenny Lambardo and you want our blood all over pourin' out of open wounds and spread out all over th' place but you'll have t'get through the twenty security guards and four hater-sensitive Guard Dogs surroundin' us right now to do so. Get it? Got it? GOOD!
Amused by his own cockiness Phate eagerly takes another cigar puff before exhaling the smoke and addressing us once more.
Phate (relaxed tone; addressing the viewer): Speaking of wrestling....all my loyal followers rejoice for YOUR World Heavyweight Champion is back in action tomorrow night due to popular demand...an' the executive order of that AARP card carryin' General Manager of Overdrive, Matt Metal. Th' man who canceled my month-long vacation, th' man who gave Kenny Lambardo a rematch fer MY World Title, and th' man who's gotten beaten down more times by men in skirts than anyone in APW history, Matt Metal! So Matt Aluminum Siding, wit' all of his "infinite wisdom" and decision-making abilities decides t'put me in a match this week. But instead of puttin' me in th' ring with the "beloved" Kenny Lambardo, putting th' title on th' line and making th' match ev'ryone wants to see and givin' me the opportunity to euthanize that miserable street corner messiah once and fer all...he puts me in th' ring wit' a bottle of Stolichnaya Vodka. I don't drink so I - -
Diana (amused tone; addressing Phate; off camera): It's Molotov, baby.
Phate (confused tone; addressing Diana while looking at the viewer): Huh?
Diana (amused tone; addressing Phate; off camera): You're fighting Nikolai Molotov tomorrow night. A man. NOT a bottle of Stoli.
Phate (understanding Diana's words; addressing Diana while looking at the viewer): OH! Th' guy Michael Lively tried to kill wit' a Flip Piledriver!
Diana (amused tone; addressing Phate; off camera): Yep.
Phate (confused tone; addressing Diana; looking at Diana): Seriously?
Diana (amused tone; addressing Phate; off camera): Yep.
Phate looks momentarily perplexed before suddenly exploding into his second laugh fest of the day, tears cascading down his cheeks! Diana joins in, giggling like a giddy school girl as Phate regains his composure once more and returns his attention to us and Overdrive GM Matt Metal.
Phate (amused tone; addressing Matt Metal; quizzically at first): Metal! C'mon, baby! Are you serious?! Th' guy has won like, what, one match since he joined th' company an' suddenly he's in th' main event? What'd he do, Matty boy - - offer to give you a "Happy ending" or somethin'? How could you do this to Baby Gorbachev? I'm gonna KILL this guy! Remember last week when I told ya that Kenny's blood was gonna be on yer hands? Add Nikkie to that list! (addressing Molotov; amused tone) Niko baby! Do you really think you stand a chance, boy? Hell, I absolutely HATE Kenny Lambardo AND Matt Metal and I tried to assassinate both o' them! If I would do some of th' stuff I've done to people I despise imagine what I will do to someone who ain't in my league!! Did you imagine it? OK - now multiply dat feeling by two and you'll STILL not ev'n BEGIN to understand what I plan to do to you on Overdrive! I plan to make you bleed buckets an' piss pain! Yer win-loss record is soon gonna be th' same number as th' ratio for the amount of pain medications you'll be taking after I put you in th' Hospital! Consider yerself an X-Box - - and consider ME the three rings o' death!
Phate tosses his cigar out of our viewing range, his face a mask of seriousness as he begins to talk to us once more!
Phate (serious tone; addressing Matt Metal, Kenny Lambardo, Molotov, and the viewer): Metal! Prepare to take full responsibility fer the fall of Russia! Kenny! Prepare t'see exactly why I am the Worlds Heavyweight Champion, why YOU don't stand a chance in Hell of beatin' me at Shockwave, and why YOU are a cryin' sack of crap whose wife faked her death jus' to escape from a deplorable marriage! And Nikolai Molotov? Prepare fer democracy to SHIT all over yer Communist ass! Here in America we have th' freedom of speech - - an' I plan t'speak all upside yer head with my fists because actions speak louder than words and my actions are gonna show th' whole world that you are jus' another wrestler. And while Legends die and Wrestlers come and go ICONS LIVE FOREVER! (Blows a kiss at the viewer; amused tone) Toodles!
Our television screens once again crackle and fizzle into the infinite void of white noise as Phate's maniacal laughter emphatically forces our scene to fade to black!
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