Patty O'Green 0 Report post Posted January 13, 2006 (edited) WHOO NOT READY FOR SHOW YET, WILL TELL YOU WHEN IS READY FOR SHOW! NOT READY YET! HUGS AND KISSES, PATTY! PS: Must be put after NNMX promo, plz/ PS: HUGS AND KISSES FTW! The somber guitar strands that mark the opening of Lindsay Lohan's version of [i]Edge of Seventeen[/i] leak through the speakers. The sold out crowd emits a full throated roar of anticipation for the beloved wrestler who's soon to grace their meager presence. As soon as the roar dies down, a golden pyro explosion engulfs the entirety of the entrance stage. The cheers begin anew, matching the increased volume of the song. Krista Isaodra Duncan strolls out on the stage, outfitted in a highly fashionable sleeveless denim vest, and a sexy pair of granite colored low rise flared jeans. Shortly after her arrival, she's joined by teen screams, the Sk8er Boiz! The handsome twins spring to life, speeding across the stage, and tossing punches at phantom foes. No doubt the energetic display is caused by the NRG protein shakes they consumed shortly before entering the arena floor, and the NRG jogging suits they currently wear. COACH These clownshoes make a mockery of the name NRG. The NRGetic siblings take off to the ring at full speed, slapping hands with the mass of young girls who have pushed their way to the front of the barricades in hopes of being able to touch the youthful hunks. COLE Neither of these three are involved in a match tonight, but Marv and Mel sure are acting like they are! I suppose the boys are out here as a favor to Krista, who they credit with turning their lives around and getting them into shape. The hyperactive boys run a full lap around the squared circle, chanting N-R-G as they do so. After that, they both enter the ring, scaling to opposite turnbuckles, boasting smiles an ocean wide. Moving in perfect concert, they rip off their sweatshirts, toss them overhead, and pose for the glut of screaming teenage girls. COLE The Sk8er Boiz, despite what their outfits might lead you to believe are not very popular men in the NRG camp. Those two teams will face off in the final first round match of the 2006 Anderson Cup. The men, who are at their wits end with the roaring fangirls, are thankfully blessed with something to cheer for, as Krista Isadora Duncan enters the ring. The ultra popular blonde bombshell is given a microphone by a helpful ringside attendant. Our camera man providies a decent look at the ring, which has been extravagantly decorated with various trophies, and awards, that rest within gorgeous wooden cases. Upon closer inspection each honor seems to belong to Krista Isadora Duncan. “K-I-D! K-I-D! K-I-D!” KRISTA Friends, Romans, Countrymen, get out your Dutch Masters, your Phillys, pour some of that Alize, grab a pint of Hennessy, lean back, close your eyes and prepare yourself to take a spellbinding journey through the macabre theater that is my mind, as I will treat all of you to my opinion on the recently passed Angle Awards. Now I'm not deaf, although living in the same house as Alix sometimes makes me wish I was. So I hear the whispers, and the insinuations that I'm bitter that Alix won female wrestler of the year and I didn't. Bitter? Me? Krista Isadora Duncan? Never! I'm honestly happy for Alix. I'm truthfully very glad that she won. But.... “ALIX! ALIX! ALIX!” KRISTA How are we supposed to keep young girls off drugs now? Don't do drugs, Bertha, you'll never amount to anything. Uh-uh, I can be OAOAST female wrestler of the year! See? When society looks like something out of [i]Mad Max[/i], we can point to this result as the reason why! Anyway, I did a quick scan of my fellow losers, and I have to ask who the hell are these other girls in this fed? Where on earth did they come from? Is the OAOAST owned by Rumpelstiltskin? Did he just buy these girls when they were babies, and decided the summer of 2005 would be a good time to collect? Did some talent scout just grab a group of girls getting off their shift at the glory hole at the local Exxon's bathroom, and offer them a contract? If we're going to compare ourselves to Stevie Wonder songs, I'm [i]My Cheri Amour[/i], the rest of these personality deficient chicks are [i]Don't Drive Drunk[/i]. Now if you take the “don't” out of that song's title and add “into a brick wall at eighty miles per hour” you get exactly what I suggest Jim Cornette do. COACH That's no way to talk about a pro wrestling icon. KRISTA Jimmy, I highly recommend you go to down to the nearest gas station and purchase a lottery ticket, because right now you're riding a lucky streak. You are ridiculously lucky that I am in such a jovial mood. Because if you ran your mouth like you did earlier tonight on any other Thursday, you wouldn't have a chance of being able to feed yourself the next day. I'd shove my foot so far up your ass, you'd have to brush your teeth with Sport Magic shoe cleaner. But as it stands, I'm going to calmly put you in your place and then I'm going to be done with you. You are an insignificant, hateful, little gnome. You matter as much to me as the fly that recently went splat on my Porsche's windshield. But if you insist on bringing my daughter up in your mundane sleep inducing promos, you two will go splat all over my windshield. I will run you down, until there is nothing left but your big fat donkey lips. There is something you need to understand, old man river, my daughter is not a wrestler, she is not part of this company, she is an innocent five year old girl. And if you're so desperate to get heat that you have bring her up, then why don't you do us all a favor and get that heat by throwing yourself into a blazing fire? Jimmy, you said I suck Ned dry? Oh, how wrong you are, mon ami. Unlike you with Simon on the weekend, catcher is one position I never play. I'd say Ned sucked me dry, but that would imply that he actually managed to get me wet in the first place. “OOOOOH!” Says the crowd in response to the dis. KRISTA Jamie, ask Ned who paid for the food on his table when we dated, ask Ned who put him through school when we dated, ask Ned who gave him a place to live while we dated, ask Ned why when I was meeting with my publisher for royalty payments, he was meeting with Ford because he's made no payments for twelve months. COACH There's no need to drag the man's good name through the mud by insinuating that he has bad credit! KRISTA But, Jimmy, if you want to see who's the true leech, feast your eyes on a mirror and get a good look before your ugliness cracks it. I've said this before, but it's worth repeating, there is not a single ounce of talent within the confines of your flabby body. You have no actual ability or skills of your own to do anything great or memorable. So like some kind of seedy predator, you prey upon those who do have the requisite talent but lack the requisite intelligence to know that you're full of shit. And when your charges do finally achieve something, you plant it into their heads that you, not their god given ability, had something to do with it. You are nothing but a glorified, legalized pimp. In any other profession, you're name wouldn't be worth the cheap JC Penny bought suit on your back, you'd be scorned as a contemptible villain, and would probably be facing years of a jail time. But in the land of pro wrestling where everything and everyone works in reverse, you're heralded as a brilliant mind and awarded with numerous title shots and accolades. Maybe Ned's too dumb to realize he's basically been turned into your ho or maybe he's too afraid to admit to himself. Either way, I'm done caring about the Handsome Hustler. Because I don't know him. I only know Ned Blanchard, and you, Jim Cornette, and this horrible sport of professional wrestling, killed him in front of my very eyes. I wish you nothing but bad luck, Jimmy. I hope your remaining days on this earth are spent in misery and in suffering. Goodnight, James. I wish you well. COLE Harsh words for a man who dearly deserves them. KRISTA Okay back to funny Krista. I'm sure you're all wondering exactly why I'm out here besides to kill time until those wrestlers who have storylines and feuds, and interesting angles and things I'll never get again because the company hates me, are ready to come out. Well, I'm out here for a squash match. While I know we have more squash on HeldDOWN then your grocery store's produce aisle, I promise that my squash will actually, gasp, be deliciously entertaining. MEL That's your cue to gasp, dudes. “GASP!” says the crowd. I mean they actually said the word gasp, they didn't just make the noise. KRISTA Thank you. Why will my match be entertaining? Because if you consider how piss poor everything else on this sinking ship of show is, then a skit with me burping [i]You're no Good[/i] would look like a recitation of [i]A Mid Summer Night's dream[/i] by Al Pacino in comparison. But it's also entertaining because my squash has a name, [i]Beat the unbeatable woman[/i]! And it also has the finest set the illegal immigrants I smuggled into the country can build. Take that, MinuteMen Border Patrol! All that makes this the single most entertaining match in HeldDOWN's short and depressing history. Unless this is being taped for some new b-show I was unaware of. In which case, I know I've been the victim of a considerable depush since I made the horrible mistake of returning, but I never thought it would get this bad. Well, at least my squash has a graphic. Show them the graphic! [IMG=http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y39/Portfree/unbeatablewomany.jpg] KRISTA Much like everything I've been involved with since I returned, that was terrible. I paid a grad student from USC seven hundred dollars for that. Well, I suppose I should explain the exact details of [i]Beat The Unbeatable Woman[/i]. So for those of you who seem to be of the short bus, window licking variety, I'm talking to you Coachman, get ready, cinch up those chinstraps, and try to wrap your feeble minds around this hot concept. COLE (fastening the chinstrap on his helmet) I've got mine extra tight! KRISTA Now seeing that we'll probably see The South Central Militia have a good match before we witness another OAOAST wrestler beat me, I've been forced to go outside of the company's usual cast of lower midcarders the glass ceiling forces me to fight, to get someone to wrestle. Thus [i]Beat the Unbeatable Woman[/i] evades the coathanger, escapes the demonic confines of the womb, and is born on national television! [i]Beat the Unbeatable Woman[/i] offers a chance for you, the average Joe, to come down from the overpriced seats and get into this safety hazard of a ring to wrestle me, and gain fifteen minutes of minuscule to moderate fame and acquire a modicum of self respect. Self respect I might add that will shortly be lost when you come home to an FBI raid, cameras from the evening news, and fresh accusations of cyber pedophilla from the district attorney. "LOL I'll pretend you said 18" indeed! MARV LOL I'll pretend you said don't drop the soap! KRISTA With that said, I shall work the marks by scanning the audience for a volunteer when in actuality my opponent has already been selected for me hours ago. The magic of pro wrestling! So who wants in on this pointless skit? (Despite what Krista just said, eager fans across the venue foist their arms into the air, praying that she'll select them.) KRISTA You're all still raising your hands even though I just told you this was all a farce and my opponent was predetermined. I'd like to punch you all in the face, but obviously I don't possess the time required to do such action. So, why don't you punch yourselves for me...You're actually doing it. Stop punching yourselves! (Marv and Mel prove their presence in this skit isn't totally pointless by cruising around the ring, scanning the typical assortment of bums, derelicts, delinquents, and vagabonds that make up an OAOAST audience) MEL (pointing to a woman(?) who looks exactly like John Leguizamo's character in [i]To Wong Foo, Thanks for everything Julie Newmar[/i]) Hey, Kris. How about this chick? KRISTA I don't wrestle women, and this is an exercise to reaffirm that men are property to me, not people. COACH I'll be your property! Pick me! (Krissy's baby blue eyes lock onto a particularly pathetic individual, and it's not Coach. This sad soul is bedecked in a Samoa Joe t-shirt that's ornamented with beer stains, and wears a pair of Pittsburgh Steelers sweatpants that sag low to reveal the mortifying golden forest of ass hair that pours from his sweat soaked BUTT crack.) KRISTA Honestly, I was going to fight some guy from Calgary. I think his name was Brent, Burt, Bret? Bret, that was it. What did he call himself? The Hitman? I don't know. I've never heard of him. And if I've never heard of him, how good can he be? This here feller looks like a fine critter! Sorry Hitman, you can hit the road! And you, my good fellow, can come on down! (The portly porker, with the assistance of few musclebound security guards, climbs over the guardrail to a tepid round of applause. Bursting with the energy, the man, who looks to be in his mid thirties, attempts to enter the venerated squared circle. Problematically, he encounters a great deal of difficulty in fitting his round body through the ring ropes. While the audience laughs at his misfortune, Krista shakes her head in sorrow and regret.) KRISTA Good lord. Change the channel, people. No good can come of this. I'd change the channel, but alas I have to live this nightmare. I'd squeeze the trigger, hit the power button, and put the whole world on mute. Hey, he got in the ring! Fantastic. Thoughts of suicide still present but are subsiding. Sir, how are you? If I looked like you, I'd be doing terrible. But, perhaps you haven't been able to look in mirror today, and have forgotten that your very visage reaffirms that there is no God, so tell me how are you? MAN (gobs of spit flying from his mouth as he speaks) DA KING IS TALKING! GO STEELERS! HELL YEAH, BABY! WOOF! WOOF! WOOF! KRISTA You, sir, sound like a gentlemen and a scholar! So, what's your name? It's not important. I'll call you Sweet Lou. Sweet Lou, I can tell from the gap in your yellow teeth big enough to ram a tractor through, the noticeable bald spot in your thinning hair, and your Samoa Joe t-shirt, that you, my good man, have quite the way with the ladies. Because nothing says Casanova like a fat Samoan with tits. So on this fine Thursday night, instead of taking a dip into your veritable swimming pool of gorgeous vagina, you've chosen to partake in man's favorite activity, watching other men (or men who look like women in Johnny Jax's case) lathered up in baby oil, grope each other, as they emit vaguely orgasmic grunts while participating in a staged athletic contest with not so subtle homoerotic overtones. SWEET LOU STEELERS! WHOO! WOOF! WOOF! “BOOOOOOO!” goes the audience, obviously not fans of the Steelers. MEL Dude, up your dosage. KRISTA Somehow this segment is even worse then I envisioned. It could be worse, I could be getting a MILF chant... SWEET LOU MILF! MILF! MILF! KRISTA Thank you for reminding me that I'm 34 years old. Hopefully I can one day repay you with a similar kindness, such as a repeatedly stabbing you in the throat. Anyway, Louis you've been given a chance of a lifetime. You're being asked to participate in the first ever, and if anyone around here has some common sense, the last ever [i]Beat the Unbeatable[/i] woman. When you return back to your job at Rite Aid, where you hit on the seventeen year old stock girl who's shirt rides up whenever she restocks the shelves, you can return to your pending sexual harassment lawsuit with pride and honor. And when the manager, who's banging your wife behind your back while your kid is forced to watch from the bathroom, fires you for snorting coke in the loading dock, you can hold your misshapen head high when you say “Screw you, man! I wrestled that Suzanne Summers chick up there on that them there TV! You don't fire me, son. I fire you. I'll suck you off for some smack.” SWEET LOU WOOF! WOOF! WOOF! KRISTA We all know who your favorite football team is, thanks to the fact that you have even less brain cells then Joe Paterno and thus are incapable of forming a semi-intelligent thought, but you've gotta tell me, Louie-Louie-oh no said we gotta go, who's your favorite wrassler? (Louis takes a moment to mull over this life altering query) SWEET LOU THE HANDSOME HUSTLER! “OOOOOOOH!” go the fans, who realize that Sweet Lou talked himself right into a sweet ass kicking. Gone is Krista's self deprecating comedic act. In it's place returns the all too familiar "angry at the world" attitude that's characterized her for so long. She explodes at Louis, who's too dense to comprehend why his face is about to be torn like meat within the jaws of a starved canine. His legs are ripped from under him, and he's sent to the mat where he's quickly mounted by the bloodthirsty woman. Growling, Krista scores with brutal, crowd popping punches to the overmatched pugilist's noggin. A picturesque melody of right crosses and left hooks sever the poor fellow's pasty white skin. Finally the referee decides he's seen enough barbarity for one evening and calls for the bell while Sweet Lou is still able to eat food without the aid of a straw. BUFFER Your winner, improving her record to a stunning thirty one wins and three losses, the Unbeatable Woman, Krista Isadora Duncan! Feeling a tinge of sympathy for Sweet Lou, or what remains of Sweet Lou, the Boiz make an attempt to remove Kris from her prey. After a hellacious effort, they manage to separate her from her battered enemy. Mel holds her by the waist, making her swear on her grave that she won't try anything if he lets her go free. Marv tries to talk her down, no small task thanks to her stubborn and perpetually volatile personality. Letting a cooler head prevail, Krista passionately promises the twins that she'll conduct herself like a resonable woman. Although he doesn't entirely believe her, Mel timidly breaks his grip. Surprisingly, Krista doesn't affirm his understandable fears, and leaves the ring without further incident. COACH Hey, Caboose, I noticed you were pretty quiet. I guess I should hit you with a bat more often, huh? What do you think about renaming Sofa Central, Coach Central. And you know what else, I want to sit in the center, because I am the center piece that holds this entire show together. Edited January 13, 2006 by Patty O'Green Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
KingPK 0 Report post Posted January 13, 2006 Uh...this is done, right? Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Patty O'Green 0 Report post Posted January 13, 2006 Uh...this is done, right? lol! IT IS NOW! I HAVE EDITIED IT IN! hugs? Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
KingPK 0 Report post Posted January 13, 2006 *Hugs* Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Patty O'Green 0 Report post Posted January 13, 2006 YAY! Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
