Guest Kibagami Report post Posted May 5, 2003 Some of you may remember this. Most of you will not. However, once upon a time, I wrote a 1500-word promo in 15 minutes on the OAOAST thread to prove a point that currently escapes my recollection. I submit it to a larger audience now in the hopes that someone other than me will be amused. Here you go. Whoo chah. K. -- The arena’s lights are abruptly cut off, and the spotlights near the entrance ramp begin to flicker rapidly, creating a blurred effect for anyone walking through them. The Exploited's "Serial Killer" hits the sound system as Funyon begins to announce the Clansman’s entry. White fog billows out from behind the curtains as the SmarksTron flickers to life. A rapid succession of footage showing Silent hitting various Demonstar Drivers flashes onscreen, in time with the pulse-pounding beat of the music. After every Demonstar clip, the Chinese character for “Retribution” flashes, two stories tall, on the ‘Tron. Once the audience has had a few moments to grow accustomed to the blistering pace of the lights and the music, Silent makes his entrance through the fog at the top of the ramp, coat trailing behind him. He walks slowly down the ramp, occasionally stopping to stare at a particularly venomous or rambunctious fan before continuing down to ringside. Silent slides deftly into the ring as "Serial Killer” begins to fade away and the arena’s lights come back up. He hands the referee his cane and ties his hair back before sliding his coat off with a slight shrug of his shoulders and sending it spiraling towards the announcer’s table. The Silent One reclines on the ropes in an arrogant fashion as he waits on the ring technican, who timidly slides a microphone underneath the ropes. Silent picks it up, looks out at the hostile OAOAST crowd, and begins to speak… “I’m sick to death of you people.” The crowd roars its disapproval at the Silent One, who tries to continue his diatribe in the face of such overwhelming hatred. “I cannot believe-“ A stray beer can clips Silent’s sunglasses, provoking an uproar of laughter from the front row. “You are dead, motherfucker, the next time something like that happens, I’m-“ Another beer can comes hurling down from the stands, this one narrowly missing its target. “That’s fucking it. ELK!” Without warning, THE ELK comes barreling out of the dressing room and into the stands, where THE ELK devours one particularly obnoxious member of the OAOAST Arena ring crew before vanishing without a trace. The crowd, stunned into silence by this disturbing display of stupidity and too many psychoactive drugs, is suddenly docile enough for Silent to continue his speech. “Yeah, I thought as much. You didn’t expect a fucking elk to come running out and eat your precious Superstar, did you? DID YOU? No, you didn’t! You know why? Because none of you people think ahead! You don’t plan! You don’t do anything other than no-sell and kill people, and goddamn it, that’s just not right!” ’Grand Slam’ Mark Stevens scoffs in a disgusted, face-commentator-scoffing sort of fashion. “There’s something terribly wrong with Silent telling people not to no-sell. It’s just terribly, terribly wrong.” ”Please, Mark, let the man talk,” oozes Bobby Riley. “I mean, he’s a heel, and you know, and I’m a heel commentator, and, you know, I’m supposed to support him, you know?” ”He’s straight, Riley. Angel told me. You just fawn over the heels because you love the cock. We all know it. Just shut up for a little while.” ”Mark, I thought we talked about this. You say you wouldn’t make fun of me being ambigiously gay on the air anymore.” ”I lied about that, Bobbi. Even face commentators can lie.” Back in the ring, Silent continues ranting about nothing in particular. "I mean, really. There’s nothing wrong with writing a 1500-word promo if it gets your point across, or if it’s really dark and brooding and angsty, or if it creatively uses lyrics from overplayed Stain’d songs to drill an overused point directly into the unfortunate reader’s head! What’s wrong with that? It’s a perfectly respectable pastime, especially if it’s Sunday night and you’ve got to go to classes in the morning and you have to work in the evening and you’re so fucking tired that it seems like a good idea to take fifteen minutes of you’re life that you’ll NEVER GET BACK and write a long-ass pointless promo that SEEMS to be mocking SOMEBODY, but whether it’s the OAOAST, the SWF, yourself, or just Cutthroat in general, YOU AREN’T REALLY SURE BECAUSE YOU’RE SO TIRED! I thought you people liked pain and sadism! I know that at least one of you marks for blood-BLOOD, goddamn it, BLOOD! You can’t appreciate the more subtle sadism of the 1500-word promo?” ”I mean, shit, this is something like 750 words right now, and it’s in character for some spectacularly retarded reason? CAN’T YOU SEE THAT THIS IS FUNNY??!? THIS IS FUCKING FUNNY STUFF, GODDAMN IT!” Silent pauses for a moment to compose himself, and the mics surrounding the ring pick up and amplify what is already a rather loud “SI-LENT SUCKS!” chant. “All right, fine. Actually, right now it’s closer to eight hundred words. Do you think it’s easy to be concerned about length? We have to do things like say “eight hundred” instead of simply “800”. After weeks…months…YEARS of this kind of abuse, our minds are fragile. Our bodies are broken. We’re not completely responsible for our actions. So when we show up on the OAOAST and start doing completely random things to a number of different people and no-selling an equal number of random things done to us by a number of different people, we expect that you’ll take into consideration that we’re burnt out. We’re tired. We write for an e-fed, so you KNOW we’re going to be a LITTLE MOTHERFUCKING CRAZY.” Silent stops and takes a deep breath before checking his word count and seeing that he still has…about five hundred words to go before this is a honest-to-God one thousand five hundred (see?) word promo. Shit. Oh well. Here we go. I'm so lonely You're so beautiful Not the only One that's pitiful Scratched and torn I lay here in pieces Craving all of your deadly vices Like to think that I'm not addicted But I guess I wear it well And I crawl While you spit And I crawl Through you Here I am now Not a lot has changed Nothing' better Everything's the same Late at night I can hear your voices Talking shit about all my choices You would think you've known me forever Just because you know my name And I crawl While you spit And I crawl Through you Everything falls apart Everything... (3x) Everything falls apart Everything (3x) And I crawl While you spit And I crawl Through Stain’d. “Crawl”. … Only…one thousand one hundred? Fucking shit. MEANWHILE! Back in the ring, Silent watches the Elk devour Bobbi Riley in a vicious display of unnecessary verbage before continuing his marathon one thousand five hundred word promo. ” “Do you see that? That song fucking SUCKS, and I had to put it in here to get this piece of shit interview that much closer to the word limit! Do you people have any IDEA how much sacrifice is necessary? I’d rather slit my wrists with a rusty spoon than EVER quote Aaron Lewis on ANYTHING, but to reach that one thousand, five hundred word goal for this promo, I MADE AN EXCEPTION! We interrupt this promo with a breaking news bulletin: the writer has reached…one thousand, two hundred and sixteen words at this point in the promo. We would like to warn the viewers at home that the promo MAY come to an abrupt and unexpected halt once the writer and main character reaches his professed goal of one thousand, five hundred words. Thank you. We now return to our regularly scheduled bizarre ranting. “Riley, this is without question, the most random thing I have ever witnessed in my esteemed yet entirely fictional career. Andrea Montgomery has never done anything this nonsensical or bizarre.” ”Are you sure about that, Mark? What about the way she keeps throwing gophers at people?” ”Fine. That’s a little stranger than this. But not by much, by gawd. Not by very much at all.” The camera returns (yes, there’s a fucking camera. No, I didn’t mention it before. DON’T YOU FUCKING QUESTION ME) to Silent, who is standing in the ring- a ring with the words “OAOAST<SWF<CRACKER JACKS” scrawled IN BLOOD~! in the center of the canvas. ”I’m tired of being discriminated against because I have too much free time on my hands! I refuse to be mocked because I have lots of weird and dysfunctional character development promos that keep me up at two in the morning when I have to be at work by eight thirty! I don’t think I should be condemned because I spelled out “eight thirty” trying to get more words into this goddamned promo! I’m mad as hell, and I’m not going to take it anymore! Get away from my microphone! You’re just mad that I’m telling the truth! That’s right, the TRUTH! YOU CAN’T HANDLE THE MOTHERFUCKING TRUTH, YOU PHILISTINE! GET AWAY FROM THERE! GET AWAY FROM-“ … … 1500 words in seventeen minutes! I've got your lazy! I'VE GOT IT RIGHT HERE! SWF IN THE HIZZOUSE! WHAT! ::notices that he’s white, and therefore can be ridiculed for saying, ‘hizzouse’:: ::no-sells:: You’re welcome. S. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Guest The Superstar Report post Posted May 5, 2003 (Y) But damnit, why was I the only one who got devoured? Couldn't you have torn Popick's glasses off, taunted him, torn his "genitalia" off and then killed HIM? Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Guest 5_moves_of_doom Report post Posted May 5, 2003 Mach 5. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Guest Kibagami Report post Posted May 5, 2003 Superstar, I'm assuming that you did something to aggravate me just before this was written, which caused you to be devoured by the Elk. Such things happen when I'm pressed for time... K. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Guest Tyler McClelland Report post Posted May 5, 2003 It's not a big deal to get devoured by the elk. He's 26643-0, after all. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
