Promo: Venom and Verbosity

[Toshiaki Koala 0]

“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the SWF CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPION… SCOTT PUUUUUUH-REEETZLEEEER!”

 

As Funyon’s introduction winds down, the vibrant opening notes of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony ring out over the arena. Scott Pretzler emerges from behind the curtain, his title belt freshly polished and wrapped around his waist. He is wearing his traditional blazer and white shirt, and it’s clear he hasn’t come here to wrestle – this doesn’t please the audience, though, because they immediately realize that he’s here to talk. He pauses on the stage, placing his hands on his hips and nodding to himself, before continuing down the ramp. He ignores the heated response of the crowd and focuses only on the ring ahead of him.

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“Here comes the man who went toe-to-toe with Toxxic – and nearly came out on top – in his last-ever match here in the SWF,” says Longdogger Pete.

 

“And by all means should have won,” Suicide King retorts, “had Toxxic not

 

His walk is slower, more strained, than usual, and from the way he carries himself it’s clear that the pain from his match with Toxxic has not worn off. Before he’s even entered the ring, the chants begin.

 

“PRETZ-LER SUCKS!”

 

“PRETZ-LER SUCKS!”

 

Upon entering the ring, he calls for a microphone, which Funyon hands over to him.

 

“As you can see,” he begins, “I’m just not myself tonight. I’ve got a splitting headache, which is the very least of my problems, and I’m in no condition to wrestle here on Storm. But how can I be, after what I endured this Sunday at Ground Zero? After taking a Caffeine Bomb from the top rope, how I can one expect me not to be seeing colors and splattering the toilet bowl with a substance resembling cranberry sauce?”

 

“Talk about too much information,” Pete mutters.

 

“However, it was all worth it. Every bruise, every drop of blood… none of it was in vain. Because when the dust settled, it was I who emerged victorious.”

 

“…What did he just say?” Pete is puzzled, as is the audience.

 

“That’s right. Victorious. Oh, not in the literal, physical sense; Michael did indeed score the final pinfall. But on every other plane – moral, emotional, spiritual – he suffered a crushing defeat. He was a man of principle, you see. Alongside his ‘straight-edge’ beliefs (which are really just a hip, trendy variation on Christian conservatism), Michael Stephens made it a personal rule never to use illegal tactics to help himself win a match. His career in the SWF was shaped by, and in many ways founded upon, this philosophy – that cheating was a sign of weakness. And so it is.”

 

“PRETZ-LER SUCKS!”

 

“PRETZ-LER SUCKS!”

 

He pauses to allow the chant to die away, looking down and inspecting his cuff links while they drone on.

 

“Needless to say, he was despised for this, as is any person in this business who dares to hold his beliefs paramount to the demands of the knuckle-dragging hordes. His attitude toward cheating stemmed mainly from his inferiority complex, as nothing he did was quite good enough to satisfy his own standards. The time came, though, when he had beaten everyone there was to beat. As much as he tried to delude himself, it just wasn’t possible anymore to pretend that he wasn’t any good. Those once-rigid standards began to relax.”

 

“He didn’t need to pretend,” King snorts, immediately realizing the idiocy of his statement.

 

“And so, when he stepped into the ring at Ground Zero, he faced a challenge too great to overcome on his own. I stood in virtually the same place where Toxxic had stood a year earlier – a rising star, an unstoppable force, with no object immovable enough to stand in my way. Neither one of us wanted this match to happen – as I’ve said, I truly wish that he could have remained close acquaintances, if not friends – but it had to. And when it did, it was clear that my shooting star was not going to fall just yet. If ever there was a time when Toxxic’s inferiority complex would have helped him, this was it.”

 

The mention of the name sets off another chant:

 

“TOXXXXX-IC!”

 

“TOXXXXX-IC!”

 

“No use, guys. He’s gone. But as I was saying… Toxxic’s inferiority complex was, in many ways, the only thing protecting him. Because anything other than total victory was as unacceptable as utter defeat, Toxxic was always forcing himself to improve, to be come more dominant than before. It was the competition with his own personality, not with others, that kept him fresh. Ironic, then, that this attitude had already faded when he met his match.”

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“Had Michael lain down to defeat, he would be here tonight. Had he accepted that I was the better man, he would not have been forced to betray his principles. But he couldn’t do this, couldn’t admit this… because deep down, under all those self esteem issues, Toxxic was a bit of an egomaniac.”

 

He straightens out his collar before continuing.

 

“So he did the only thing that made sense, the only thing he could do: with the referee distracted, he called on the services of a foreign object to do the job he couldn’t do himself. Part of his justification may have been the fact that he was in his native country of Great Britain – a place where, no matter how evil his actions were, he could do no wrong. Maybe he thought that, because the crowd wanted to see it, it was the right thing to do. Quite a change of heart, I must say. But reasons are not important. The only thing that matters is the end result: Toxxic cheated, and in doing so he shat upon every virtue by which he had sworn in the past. No pinfall could bring such ruin.”

 

“SHUT—THE—FUCK—UP!”

 

“SHUT—THE—FUCK—UP!”

 

“In a second. I have one more thought to share. What strikes me most about Toxxic’s actions – and this, I think, is why he couldn’t remain here – is how meretricious they were. Yes, he added another point to his record, but for what? To hold down and humiliate the man destined to carry this company on his shoulders? To make a fool of someone who gave him nothing but support until the moment Toxxic betrayed him? When one takes a look at what Michael Stephens once was, and what he became, it’s hard not to be glad he’s gone.

 

“If only it had happened sooner, before a great legacy was despoiled.”

 

He lowers the microphone and hands it to Funyon. Holding his head high, he exits the ring to a chorus of deafening boos and jeers.

 

“PRETZ-LER SUCKS!”

 

“PRETZ-LER SUCKS!”

[Toxxic 0]

This is the best promo slagging me off EVER. Also encapsulates Toxxic's character pretty well.

 

Oh, and like I put in my final promo, feel free to have Flesher 'officially' turn over the result of the match on Smarkdown for a little extra heel flavour.