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Toshiaki Koala

PROMO: Twenty-Three Seconds

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Fade in to Scott Pretzler, standing backstage in front of a large SWF logo. In one hand he holds a microphone; in the other, a piece of celery.


“Twenty-three seconds.”


He tucks the microphone under his shoulder, then grabs the celery with both hands and snaps it in half.


“Twenty-three seconds.


“That’s not a very long time. When you think about it, there really isn’t a lot that can happen in the span of twenty-three seconds. It took God six whole days to create the world, if you believe in that stuff. Hell, I’m pretty certain I’ve had orgasms that lasted longer than twenty three seconds.”


“Self-induced, no doubt,” cracks Pete.


“And yet that’s how long Stephen Dobbson was trapped in the Snowflake Clutch this Wednesday on Lockdown. That’s how long it took me, with the use of that maneuver, to break Stephen Dobbson’s neck. Yes, if you haven’t already heard, Kaine’s neck was broken during our match. His career is over. He’ll be lucky if he retains the ability to walk.”


The crowd is shocked to silence.


“Many people laughed when I first arrived here in the SWF. I don’t know why. But they did, they laughed. Especially when they heard the name of my finishing move.


He crudely imitates a backwoods person: “Guh-huh! He done made him a in-side joke!”


“This is a scenario that begs the question – as cliché as that question may be – that begs the question…


“…Who’s laughing now?”




“Certainly not Kaine.”





“And certainly none of you. Surely you have now realized the gravity of the situation. The Snowflake Clutch, or the Goku-Raku Gatame or whatever you wish to call it, truly is the most painful and dangerous submission hold in the business today. I may have other cards up my sleeve that trump it, but this is an undeniable fact.


“More importantly, you must surely have realized that I AM AT WAR. I am not here to entertain you, or to make you laugh, or even to laugh at you, although the temptation is often great. I am here because I have a mission that needs to be accomplished. And as you have seen, this is a mission that, when carried out, will leave casualties. Such is the nature of war.


“Spike Jenkins. Cruiserweight Champion. You’re a boastful guy, Spike – you just love to tell everyone about how long you’ve held that belt, about how great a champion you’ve been. And to this I ask, Why? What makes you great? Are you great because you’ve held that belt for one hundred and nineteen days? Greatness, my friend, is not measured by longevity. As far as I’m concerned, your reign as champion has consisted of an endless string of boring matches, each one serving only to further sap the title of whatever prestige it once had. Therefore you complain about how no one respects the title.


“The title which you made worthless.


“You make me sick, Spike. You represent everything that is wrong with this business today – the emphasis of characters over match structure, of entertainment and athleticism over technical knowledge. Not that you’re particularly athletic, but my point stands. You are one of far too many wrestlers who tells his story on the microphone because he is unable or unwilling to do so in the ring.


“What I see here is an amazing opportunity. If I can take just one title, just one division, and restore credibility to it, I can make a world of difference. I can make my dream come true. And make no mistake: I will defeat you. I won’t do it because I want the title more, or because the fans support me; I will do it for the simple reason that I am a good wrestler and you are not. When you get right down to it, that’s all that really counts.”


He takes one of the celery halves and bites into it, holding the microphone to his mouth to amplify the sound of his chewing. He swallows it.


“A little note, also, to the special referee Wildchild. This is my match. You are here to officiate and nothing more. Once I’ve won this belt you’ll get your shot at it, but until then… if you so much as lay a finger on me tomorrow night, I’ll snap your tan little neck even faster than I snapped Kaine’s. Is that a threat? Meh, I don’t know. What do you think?” The sarcasm here is more than evident.


“Did he just say ‘meh?’” asks Pete incredulously.


“I believe he did,” says King.


“Nobody actually says that!”


"He's a product of the internet culture. So what?"


Pretzler has but one final pearl of wisdom to dispense.


“So far, I’ve beaten a fat jobber and I’ve been a skinny jobber. Why should it be so difficult to beat a medium-sized jobber?”


Fade out.

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*busts Pretzler open, sticks the celery in salt and then RUBS IT IN THE CUT!*


Revolution Zero r00ls j00.


Oh, and cool promo and stuff. At last, a competitive Cruiserweight Title match! Or something.

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