PROMO: The Rise and Fall of Chrissy Stardust

[Guest realitycheck]

Just a little something to make up for no-showing on Smarkdown...

 

Maga, MEGA props to Tom and Drew for essentially giving me the lyrics. I owe you both a beer.

 

------------------------------

Even at this time of the day, Halifax is a swinging, jovial town. Because that’s what Halifax is, no matter the time is. From the people enjoying the summer mid-day to the people, uh, enjoying the summer mid-day, all is well in Nova Scotia. Why, there’s even that big SWF show coming around, actually taking time away from surely bigger gates somewhere else in America to bring joy and violence to the jovial wrestling fans in the city.

 

…Well, maybe not everything is well. Deep inside the Halifax Best Western, The Midnight Carnival are in a less than rapturous mood. Sharing a single large suite, like they usually do, being cheap, underpaid bastards, the four members of the MC lay around the spacious room in varying states of glumness. When even the specially requested glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling can’t reverse the Carnies mood, there is a serious problem. After all, what’s there to be happy about? Chris Wilson is back to his usual maniacal ways, the Clan is undoubtedly using this as an alliance of convenience, and to top it all of, their once thought infallible fearless leader is being haunted by demons long past. Oh, and they have to face 5 other guys in a double cage at the next PPV in less than a week. It all bodes ill. Finally, after what seems to be forever, Chris Raynor breaks the unusual silence with a sigh.

 

“Man… I can’t believe it happened again.” He sighs, again, leaning further back against the end of the bed he’s sitting in front of. “I can’t believe we let Wilson blow up *another* building. I mean, didn’t we take some solemn oath as Carnies that we would never let it happen again?”

 

“Si…” Chimes in the Carnival’s official Mexican representative, replying from a chair in the room. “I am thinking it is because we have been so preoccupied with other matters. I have been dealing with ‘El Ridículo Uno’ in Flesher… Senior Raynor and Z have been busy with… um…” Mags stumbles.

 

“Worrisome matters in concern of the sociological states of our stablemates, ELM.” Raynor grins, trying his best to sound professional.

 

“Si…” Magnifico nods slowly. “Chris, you remember how this whole “Smash” thing began, no?” Raynor gulps. “I thought so. Don’t pretend you know what any of that means, Esse. After all… Ees bad enough we already have Z pretending he is a doctor.” The luchadore smirks and nods his head over to the newest Carnie, who shoots him a sour look.

 

“Thanks, Mags.” Z pulls himself up to a sitting position on the bed he’s been lying on. “You know, this completely boggles my mind.” Starts Z. “I mean, honestly, how the heck does Wilson get away with blowing up a building?”

 

“Well, we did not know.” Shrugs Magnifico. “If we had known he had planned to engage in more collateral destruction, we would have been able to stop him.” He frowns. “I *kick* myself for not seeing any of the signs! Wilson *always* drops hints to whatever he is planning! I should have seen. I mean, I was his right hand man, you know. And--”

 

“Mags, Mags, Mags…” Z stops him there with a wave of his hand. “You shouldn’t feel guilty about this. Besides, that’s not what I meant. I mean, don’t you think the cops would’ve caught on by now? I remember what happened with FAO Schwartz! It’s almost as if nobody important noticed, either…” Z scritches his chin thoughtfully. “I mean, he wasn’t caught for that? There had to be an investigation!”

 

“Z…” Raynor starts…

 

“Considering all of the Carnies knew—heck, half of the roster knew! Someone had to of come forward with information! It’s absurd that he could get away with it twice, considering today’s newer, tough anti-terrorism laws. It’s practically impossible to go out and buy a bomb, or even the components for a bomb!”

 

“Z…” Raynor tries again, just a little bit louder.

 

“The investigation would’ve turned up leads, evidence, fingerprints! They would’ve been able find the source of the explosion and the stuff the bomb was made of! *Maybe* at FAO Schwartz it could’ve been flawless, but here? With dolts like TNT and Stryke as your henchmen!? I mean, it’s just--”

 

“Z!” Raynor shouts!

 

“Yes?”

 

“Dude, it’s Chris Wilson. He’s obviously learned something from the Clan about covering his tracks the first time, and he’s applied it here. Or something like that…”

 

“Ah, the Clan…” Z nods knowingly. Well, at least he fakes knowing what he’s talking about beautifully. “Don’t even get me started on them, Chris. The entire group is a walking contradiction!”

 

“Well, whatever they are…” Mags speaks up, “One of their members is not only responsible for disgracing my masked father’s name with his muy ridiculoso claims that he is the greatest light-heavyweight in the federation and the sole, rightful heir to Magnifico’s light-heavyweight title, but by also giving me the grandest hangover since college! No es bueno…” Magnifico shakes his head, as Raynor and Z snicker a little. He continues, “But one top of that… they also have out líder audaz clearly preocupado profundamente, no?”

 

“No.” Raynor shakes his head. “I don’t have a clue what you’re saying.”

 

Mags sighs and rubs his temples “Igualdad para el curso… Ahem. What I was saying is that senior Spider and senior Thoth have clearly upset Edwin.”

 

“And I’m sorry for that.”

 

Finally raising his head up from his chest, and stepping away from his position against the hotel room wall, Edwin MacPhisto, The Mac Daddy, The Crown Prince of Flash and Panache, speaks for the first time in what seems like ages. Obviously, he has not been well, as the usually chipper MacPhisto has been in supposedly rare glum moods more and more frequently. Adjusting his half-lopsided smile, Edwin starts off…

 

“Guys, I’m sorry. I’ve been distracted by some… other matters recently, and it’s not only been hurting me, but you all as well. I’ve been decidedly un-Mac Daddy-ish as of late, letting the Clan get to me, letting Wilson get away with blowing up *another* bloody building… I don’t think I’ve been the leader of the Carnival I should be.”

 

Raynor smiles, “Damn straight, Edwin! Wilson’s been back for close to two months, and we haven’t tried to bury him in a pile of stuffed pandas yet! Whassupwitdat?”

 

Edwin tries to wipe the half-lopsided smile off of his face, but fails. He can’t help but chuckle. “No, Chris, we haven’t. Why, we’ve been allied with the Clan for well over two weeks, and we haven’t even tried to initiate them as un-official Carnies.” Edwin grins. “Honestly, could you imagine the look on Thoth’s face if we had him dress up for the Midnight Carnival Theatre Presents ‘Three Little Maids From School’?”

 

“Well, I’d say Thoth might make for a beeeee-youtiful lead soprano.” Raynor grins in return.

 

“Heh, heh… As much as I’d like to, gentlemen, I could only imagine the Clan would be a *mite* unresponsive to that request. And besides, me amigos, we have more pressing trouble… spelled with a capital ‘W’.” Edwin grins. Again. “Wilson should know better than to try and blow up something else while *this* sheriff’s in town! And if he thinks he can get away with this going unanswered… he’s a little dopey.”

 

“Oo! Great! What’ve we got lined up, fearless leader?” Raynor eagerly rubs his hands together, eVil prankish ideas for the eVil ones running through his mind. “Drive up to the Hilton and use the Grand Cannon to shoot balloons filled with whipped cream at Wilson’s window? Bury his dressing room in pandas? String the other six upside down and force them to watch BasketballASA matches?”

 

“All good ideas, but no. I have something…different. Mags, do you know where that recording studio that friend of yours runs is?”

 

“Si… He still owes me a favor from me hiding him up here from Immigration, as I’m sure that’s what you wanted to hear.”

 

Edwin grins for about the millionth time. “Ah, you know me to well. Okay, everyone, follow me, single file! We’re about to show Chrissy that he’s not the only one who can be a lyricist…”

 

--------------------------

 

“…Alright, gentlemen, that about wraps it up. Make sure you take as many notes as possible about these matches.”

 

At the Halifax Hilton, in the penthouse suite, megalomaniac and evil genius extraordinaire, Chris Wilson finishes assigning the homework to the rest of the Magnificent Seven: Watch all of the Wargames matches, and come back to him with all the notes about how brutal they were. And notes about how to make this one even more so. The other six members of the Seven sit around the luxurious suite, all in varied moods, what with essentially being assigned homework.

 

“Well…” Begins The Boston Strangler, “I was never one to like schoolwork, but as it’s just watching matches… I can deal with that.”

 

“Agreed, definitely.” Nods TNT. “Although, maybe just to spite TBS… you should throw in some math.” TNT grins in shit-eating fashion, while Strangler’s expression sours.

 

“Shut up, Thompson.”

 

TNT shrugs off TBS’s mierable reply, and turns his attention to the other occupants of the room, who all seem rather bored with the whole ordeal. He turns his head back to Wilson, who seems ready to dismiss all of them.

 

“Very well then, gentlemen. Thank you for your co-operation, and I’ll see you tomorrow for Smarkdo--”

 

**Knock! Knock! Knock!**

 

Wilson’s goodbye to the troops is rudely interrupted by a knock on the door. Mumbling obscenities under his breath, Wilson marches to the door, keeping in mind the some of the things that have happened to unassuming people who have opened doors without thinking out it first. With a light ‘ka-chack,’ Chris twists one of the brass knobs… and reveals a short, chubby man in a jumpsuit, with a patch reading “Cyclonef Comei Delivery Services” on the right breast pocket.

 

“…Can I help you?” Chris asks, increndiculously.

 

“Yup.” Nods the delivery guy, before glancing at a clipboard, “You Chris Wilson?”

 

“Yes…”

 

“Christopher Herman Wilson?”

 

“…Yes.” Wilson growls, obviously not a fan of his middle name.

 

“I got a delivery from the Halifax Best Western. Sign ‘ere.”

 

Snapping up the clipboard and pen, Wilson quickly signs the paper in his flowing script, before handing it back to the delivery man, who nods. “Thanks. Here you go. And happy birthday, mac.”

 

Wilson blinks in response, obviously stunned… and even more so as the man pulls a brightly wrapped parcel from his bag, accentuated with ribbons and big, red bow. The parcel’s finishing touch, however, is the card tucked in between the ribbons, reading “Happy Birthday!” in rainbow font. Confused, Wilson takes the parcel and slams the door on the delivery man, who waits expectantly with his hand open and arm extended. Wilson blinks and looks upward at the ceiling, before it finally dawns on him:

 

“The Carnies.”

 

“What was it, bossman?” Stryke’s asks from across the room.

 

“It’s my birthday.”

 

The room stops, and blinks as one. “Pardon?” Inquires Frost.

 

“It appears that the Carnival have not forgotten about me after all. How heartwarming.” Wilson’s demeanor sours. “In all likeliness, this package,” Wilson indicates to the brightly covered ‘present’. “Probably contains a stuffed panda with a note pinned to it, describing our horrific loss at WarGames. In haiku, of course. Or a confetti slash syrup bomb the will explode the moment I disturb it.”

 

Pause.

 

“TNT, you open this.”

 

Nodding uneasily, TNT takes the package from Wilson, tearing through the paper and ribbon like it was Christmas morning. The carefully done wrapping ripped aside, TNT grabs the now plain box, and while holding it a safe distance away, pulls the top off of it. Slowly.

 

Everyone in the room ducks!

 

…Nothing happens.

 

Everyone in the room sighs with relief.

 

“See, boss man? Nothing happened.” States TNT, showing a marvelous ability to see the obvious. “All that’s in here is a red video cassette… with a three-eyed smiley face?”

 

Wilson’s eyes light up.

 

“Give that to me. Now.”

 

Quickly forking over the tape, Wilson looks over it, satisfied by the black marker smiley face, and trots over to the suite’s large entertainment unit. Popping the tape into the VCR, Wilson smirks slightly, muttering. “Alright, Carnies, what have you got for me now…”

 

--------------------------

 

There is a sudden ‘Gah!’ all around the room as the shot on the television opens up with an EXTREEEEEME close up on the face of one, Edwin MacPhisto. SWF Champion, Mac Daddy, Crown Prince of blah, blah, blah. He grins. As always.

 

“Well, salutations, Meat Festival! Or should that be Meat Seven? Or Seven Meat Festival? Or Magnificent Meat of Seven Festivals?” The Mac Daddy pauses. “Well, I guess it doesn’t matter. Anyway, Wilson, consider this a response. A response to your shocking--”

 

“SHOCK!” The other Carnies chorus, even if they can’t been seen in the shot.

 

“—act of blowing up a building. Again.” Edwin pauses.

 

“GASP!” The Carnies chorus on cue.

 

“Despicable. Awful. Horrid. Terrible. Heinous, even!”

 

“BAH GAWD!” Cry the Carnies!

 

“BUT!” Edwin pauses again, ever the one for dramatic flair. “…to add insult to injury… you tried to out do us! You tried to out do our beautiful, beautiful singing by hiring a choir!”

 

“THE HORROR!”

 

“You just can’t leave it at the fact you’re blowing up something else on our watch, can you?” Edwin snorts. “You had to go and lyrically bitchslap us. Well, mi maniacal padre, you’re in for a shock! You can’t expect the Midnight Carnival to just take your outdoing us without another outdoing!” Even Edwin pauses at that, trying to figure out what he just said. “…erm… anyway, without further adieu, I give you a little ditty we wrote up. We like to call it, The Rise…

 

“…and Fall…” The camera slowly pans back, as Ryanor follows up Edwin…

 

“…of Chrissy Stardust…” Z adds…

 

“…and the Carnies From Mars.” Mags finishes with a smirk.

 

--------------------------

 

The penthouse suite of the Halifax Hilton is totally silent. Wilson was expecting this… but not expecting this. Maybe going ahead and playing the tape wasn’t such a great idea.

 

--------------------------

 

The camera has fully panned back from a wide shot… revealing the Carnies set up as band. Chris Raynor on drums, El Luchadore Magnifico on a baby Casio keyboard, Z on tambourine, and Edwin MacPhisto, standing in front of a microphone stand, Les Paul guitar in hand. The most defining feature of the setup, however, are the hundreds upon hundreds of Fender amps piled behind the carnies, most of which can’t possibly be serving any purpose.

 

“Alright, are we ready?” Edwin asks. Getting a rousing thumbs up, Edwin turns back to the camera…

 

“One! Two! One, two, three, four!”

 

Edwin strikes down on the Les Paul with vengeance, creating an oddly familiar riff. Raynor, playing like Tommy Lee, comes in with the drum beat, as ELM twinkles in the background, and Z… well, Z’s tambourine has absolutely no effect on any real sounds, but he goes on, because he’s a trooper. Edwin leans into the mic, pitching his voice into high, full on cockney, and…

 

(To the tune of David Bowie’s “The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust”. If you haven’t gotten that by now, you’re a bit dopey.)

 

Chrissy played the heel, fighting good with Edwin and Spi-der

And the Carnies from Mars. He hated the Clan

And pushed them too far

Became the Seventh man, tried to rule the land

 

Chrissy really fought, screwed the guys and screwed with Edwin

Danny's moves from Japan, and Prophet unsmiling

Frosty and Thompson, Strangler from Boston

And Stryke's the loaded gun, Wilson's the Seventh one...

 

But where were the titles?

While Chris tried to break Edwin's bones

He kept the World and with Raynor

He played to all the fans, and foil-ed Chrissy's plans

 

Edwin called for WarGames

Jiving the Magnif-ic-ents

The fans really popped, and Chrissy couldn't be stopped

With a display of fire

Yes, he went way too far, trying to be the star

 

Blinded by his own ego, Wilson failed at War-Games

He became a pariah

And without their leading man, the Seven crumbled to sand

 

Ooh Yeah!

 

Oooooooooo…

 

Chrissy played... the heeeeeeeeeel!

 

Edwin winds down his guitar, as the other Carnies slow their instruments. They hold on for one last note, as Raynor viciously SMASHes the cymbals in dramatic fashion, even trying a Tommy Lee-esque drumstick twirl… that sends it clanking behind him. He gives the final cymbal crash with his head. And with Chris’s less than dramatic finishing flourish… the music stops. And is replaced by a ridiculously loud burst of canned applause! The four Carnies rise and bow to the imaginary audience, as ELM reaches out of camera, tossing confetti and roses at his compatriots. Raynor and Z bathe in the ‘adulation,’ as Edwin turns his head back up at the camera…

 

“And let that bold, bold statement be a prophecy to you. We’ll see you at Ground Zero.”

 

Edwin pauses, before winking at the camera.

 

“…Chrissy Stardust.”

 

Grin. Fade.

 

--------------------------

 

In his suite, Wilson is stunned. For about the fifth time today, shattering some record on some distant plane of existence. On top of that, the scattered sniggering amongst his compatriots suddenly explodes into all-out laughter, at his own expense. Wilson tilts his head down, massaging his forhead…

 

“I hate Carnies.”

 

“Hahaha… M-maybe so… haha… boss. B… ha! …but you know the –srnk- good thing abou… hahaha… about it?” Asks TNT, between poorly suppressed giggles.

 

“What?”

 

“At least we know where the Carnies are staying now!”

 

…

 

…

 

…

 

…*POW!*

 

Ces’t Fin.

[Guest Edwin MacPhisto]

HEH.

 

DOUBLE HEH.

 

I don't think there's any doubt about the fact that we picked ourselves a damn good Carnie. Magnificently ridiculous. (Y) up the wazoo!

[Guest Kibagami]

Z.

 

You.

 

Rule it.

 

I think all of Wilson's matches must contain the words "Chrissy Stardust" for about the next year and a half.

 

Truly, a Carnie-worthy promo. Rock on.

 

S.

[Guest Ash Ketchum]

Z... Proud Former Member of XF9 in the Carnival... the only one to have that label...

 

 

Until I get in. And you KNOW that's gonna happen someday.

 

Excellente, Z. And guess what happens when I return from band camp?

 

 

 

YOU GET AN ASH PROMO! YES! WOO!

 

~Ash "I Sure Am Hyper!" Ketchum

[Guest kelloggs]

I mark for Z be in the PromoWars.

 

Great stuff but Crissy StarDust is gonna go off on you...and I want to see it go down. (Y) at PromoWars continuing.

 

M. "Gives this promo two thumbs up" Francis

[Guest Tyler McClelland]

Jesus...

 

Well written, but...

 

I think YOU, my friend, need to have your head looked at... not Tyler!

[Guest Rabbi_wilson13]

Where I get explosives and other trinkets

 

Z, that was absolutely fantastic. This is just like last summer, and I love it. Thank you so much for bringing back the old spirit of the Wilson/Carnie promo wars, and for that ending.

 

I'd write the response right now, but since I haven't even started my match, I'm sure that would be looked down on.

 

Oh, and a summer birthday? Please no. December 24th. Always. IC, OOC. My birthday rules.

 

And now, to read where this stemmed from, go read my promo. And respond. Not OC's. He sucks. PROMOWARS!!!!!!!!!!11

[Guest TheBostonStrangler]

Z, that was incredible! It's everything that you really expect from a Carnie promo. It's a perfect counter to what Wilson wrote the other day...it's great songwriting too. The Carnies singing is something that I never particularly wanted to imagine, but it worked great. Keep up hte good work.

[Guest chirs3]

Oh. My. God.

 

Regardless of what anyone may have said earlier, Z does not love the cock.

 

That absolutely ruled.

[Guest Thoth]

Z, you're officially Carnie material.

 

Z: Better than Spark.

[Guest BA_Baracus]

PROMO (Stubby P. McWeed);

"Hmmm...

 

...is blowing up buildings and Carnies sending packages to Wilson going to become a summer tradition around here?

 

Mothernature says..."

[Guest -Cutthroat-]

I think we have anothher Edwin on our hands. Rock on ,Z!

[Guest Lerrin Breggan]

Very well done and reminds me of the olden days! But I wasn't around then, so I am just saying that... uhh yeah! Good stuff!