Promo- A Pathetic Penguin?

[The Ill One 0]

I am a powerful Penguin. I am a pugnacious Penguin, I am a powerful Penguin. I am an Irishman dressed up as a Penguin… however, I am a popular Penguin.

 

…

 

I’m a pathetic penguin…

 

--

 

Petey the (Irish) Penguin sits in his locker room that’s now been infested by his cigarette smoke. He couldn’t snatch his usual green dyed rolling papers from Wallace who usually went through, well, whoever to get them. So he resorted to about five packs of Kamel Reds and already he seemingly is running low. He’s feet are slung onto the wooden table while he stares across the room at Candice who’s taking a nap on the overstuffed black leather couch. He takes a long drag as he reaches across to the ash tray, violently snuffing the cigarette out. During the exhale of smoke he reaches across and grabs his glass of Bushmills whiskey on the rocks. He takes another sip while letting the nicotine do its magic, him staring up at the smoke that swirls around the light bulb like moths flocking to a light. He rolls his eyes and carelessly ashes his cigarette onto his “fur coat.”

 

“Oh cac!” The Squawker Punk Rocker blurts out as he leaps up as a small flame catches up towards his beak. Thinking of proprieties he shots down the rest of the booze before starting to flap his wings on the small fire. Candice is hardly disturbed, luckily, as Petey takes a big sigh examining the black scorching spot in his fur.

 

Because I’m a creep, I’m a weirdo

What the hell am I doing here?

I don’t belong here, I don’t belong here

 

With a heavy sigh Petey pours himself another glass of whiskey before wondering where his friends are.

 

Maybe they’re not the Celtic Misfit, maybe I am. Maybe I’m not meant to be here… not everybody belongs here.

 

He slowly reaches his hand across the table and snags the package of smokes. He pauses and reaches out another, his left wing hunting for the cigarette lighter. Soon he’s inhaling the sweet cancer stick before shutting his eyes.

 

…I’m a fuckin’ failure, a miserable failure.

 

I don’t care if it hurts, I want to have control

I want a perfect body, I want a perfect soul

I want you to notice, when I’m not around

You’re so fucking special

I wish I was special

 

“I’m a miserable Penguin, the Punk Rocker Squawker is a motherfucking, Big Bird cock sucking FAILURE!” Petey blurts and this promptly wakes up Candice.

 

Whatever makes you happy

Whatever you want

 

 

 

…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“What is that emo shit?” He says as he knocks down the radio playing the God-awful “Creep” by Radiohead.

 

Candice seems rather startled yet confused. “What’s wrong honey?”

 

Petey turns around and after a long drag stops and exhales. “Just the fact I’ve done nothing since rejoining.”

 

“Well you’ve been surprisingly good about the whole arrangement,” Candice points out. “What smells like burnt hair anyway?” She asks as she sniffs in the locker room’s orgy of bad smells.

 

“Ah, nothing,” Petey chuckles nervously as the door swings open.

 

“Finally the Prince of Flash and Panache is back in the Mellon’s Arena!” A high pitched voice yells as the room’s so incredibly smoky there’s a small, large, large, and fat outlines of men.

 

“Edwin you don’t have to drop a promo every time you enter a room, I told you this,” Petey begs as the Celtic Misfits pile into the locker room.

 

“Yeah, well, you should really cut down on smoking Petey!” Edwin says in a huff as he walks over to the couch Candice is on and tries to fling himself onto it. Sean Daly follows down as he drops a piece of paper onto the desk with Petey’s clutter.

 

“You were awful close about the Big Bird line,” he says with a smirk.

 

Petey stares at the Lockdown card and blinks in disbelief. “What’s this guy’s story?”

 

“Well Big Bird has been compiling information about you, that’s one thing,” Daly admits.

 

“Because, you know, he actually wants to win in his federation. Not just gather a fan base,” Sean O’Connor points out as he snags himself a cigarette also.

 

Finally the lovable yet portly Wallace McHaggis comes into the room as he chomps down on a turkey leg, bag in hand.

 

“What’s in the bag, Wallace?”

 

“Haggis,” he says.

 

“…What the squawk are you doing bringing in a haggis?” Petey questions as the rest of the Celtic Misfits groan.

 

“Well I gotta’ keep my shape to me somehow!” Wallace defends.

 

“You mean weight,” Daly quips back as he lifts up Mini-MacPhisto onto the couch who had been struggling to get up.

 

O’Connor helps himself to a drink of Bushmills right out of the bottle before sitting on the chair backwards. With a foolish, tipsy grin he points the cigarette at Petey.

 

“What now Sean, did you piss in the punch again?” The (Irish) Penguin accuses.

 

“No but somebody’s catching onto you,” He says with a big grin.

 

“Who?” Petey demands.

 

“Calm down Petey,” Daly suggests casually.

 

“But what am I going to do?” Petey asks. “I mean, I mean, come on! It’s my job on the line!”

 

“I mean, I mean, Petey- you’re drunk,” Daly bitterly retorts as Petey calms down.

 

“It’s no big deal; Big Bird here has a talent scout who’s just been compiling information. You need to change your game plan, man, that’s all.”

 

“Such as?” Petey asks.

 

“I’ll tell you,” Daly says as he blows smoke away.

 

 

I am a pathetic Penguin… wait, no, I’m just a drunken Penguin. Now a happy Penguin.

[HollywoodSpikeJenkins 0]

Well, that was.....

 

 

 

 

 

Yeah.

[The Ill One 0]

I told you it was pointless. Now I'm drunk, somebody figure out a way for me to get in chat!

[Mr. S£im Citrus 0]

You smoke and drink with the suit on?

[Angel_Grace_Blue 0]

You smoke and drink with the suit on?

Must you understand everything?

 

Suspend the belief. I mean, how do all these cameras follow us to bars, our homes, etc?

 

Oh, and Petey should load up a flipper, but then he'd be all heelish and stuff.

[Mr. S£im Citrus 0]

I must!

I must!

 

I must increase... err, wait...

 

 

- Dub "that's your line" Cee