A Fuvolution Promo- Paradise Misplaced

[The Ill One 0]

Oh yes, it's back... with more stupidity than ever!

 

--

 

The Insane Luchador, Andrew Rickmen, impatiently rocks on his feet while swinging his arms around like a little kid on a white cloud just at the massive, pearly white gates of Heaven. The great Saint Peter stands in front of the gates at a wooden podium above a neon ticker that corresponds with the ticket’s numbers the hopefuls receive upon arrival. He stands among the throngs of people seeking eternal salvation who all stand in complete silence. Feedback from a microphone goes off followed by a mumbled swear.

 

“Now serving 667… that’s 667…” Saint Peter’s loud voice echoes in the Heavens as the ticker above him slowly turns.

 

The crowd groans as Insane Luchador fishes into his pocket and sees the paper ticket of 667. He gives a little smirk before pushing his way through the crowd and right in front of the podium. The Saint glances up from his giant, weathered book before looking back up again.

 

He sighs and asks in a monotone, “Name?”

 

“Andrew Rickmen,” IL simply says as he tries to look past the gates.

 

“Rickman?” He asks the deceased Luchador.

 

“No, Rickmen.”

 

“That’s a fucked up name,” Peter laughs as he flips through the pages. “Here we go, Andrew Rickmen.”

 

Andrew glances back at the restless group who stares and as he looks back he sees the Saint staring.

 

“…Go to Hell.”

 

“What?”

 

“You heard me, go to Hell. Literally, go,” Peter says as he goes to reach underneath the podium.

 

“Oh, wait, no. I’m arguing my death,” IL quickly says.

 

The Saint sighs and laughs as he shuts the leather book shut. “Oh good, because I’m sick of the people who repent at the last second as if it counts then comes here in shock.”

 

“No man, I’m a complete heathen,” he reassures.

 

“That’s good. So why are you contesting your death?” He asks.

 

Insane Luchador rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t know. I’m not happy about it.” He shrugs and looks up at the Saint to see the reaction.

 

“Well usually you have to more convincing… but alright, do you have any unfinished business?” Peter asks. “Says here you were in Purgatory for nearly six months, didn’t the elevator music drive you crazy… uh, crazier?”

 

“Yes, same damn Cosby tune on loop. But, uh, I never won the SWF World Title,” IL says. “I still have a lot of hatred, rage, and violence left in me, you know?”

 

He slowly nods in response to the former superstar. “Okay, hope springs eternal but I’m not the miracle creator.” He insults. “You’re dumb enough to follow a map of treasure to Afghanistan… that was simply a paper that said ‘Afghanistan and Treasure.’ We don’t redeem the slower ones.” He stops and judges Luchador’s reaction. “Or the crazy.”

 

“Doesn’t God love every child?” Luchador skeptically asks.

 

“Actually we are Catholic, so not at all. God hates a lot of his children. A lot. But he is a softie at heart…”

 

“…Oh,” IL says with a depressing tone. “So, uh, can I do anything to be back alive?”

 

Peter shakes his head from side-to-side. “Okay, here we go- were you buried?”

 

Luchador thinks it over. “No.”

 

He muses over the thought and asks, “Never had a funeral?”

 

“No… wait, shit, why didn’t I have a funeral?” Luchador touchily snaps. He shakes it off though and reaches into his pocket for a cigarette.

 

“There’s no smoking here… anyway, no burial makes this whole ‘resurrection’ thing easier. Alright, so you could conceivably come back into the world and act as if it was all an act?”

 

“I did it once,” IL says in reference to a long, long time ago when wrestlers could easily be murderers.

 

“…Right… well God frowns upon that whole ‘slaughtering’ thing, so you might want to keep that in mind,” he replies. “Do you still have a soul?”

 

“I’m not sure.”

 

“Perfect.” He stops and glances behind the gates. A loud, triumphant trumpet rings clear and shakes the skies. “Fuckin’ a, Happy Hour Friday… alright, I’m going to make this quick- go down to Hell, seek out Lucifer, and earn it back.”

 

Insane Luchador flinches at the sound of it but nods. “How do I get there?”

 

Peter turns around and waves his hand behind him in apathy before snapping his fingers and pointing downward. Suddenly the Insane Luchador is engulfed in darkness as he plummets into the abyss. His fall is broken by an uncomfortable rug and he splats against it, bounces up, and undoubtedly getting some vicious rug burn. He gets to his knees and lifts his head up to see himself inside a cramped receptionist’s office. He stands up and rubs his hands on his shirt as he notices an uncomfortably humid room.

 

“Is this Hell?” IL slowly asks. He looks around at the plastic chairs, out of date magazines, Bee Gee’s greatest hits on loop, and gets a whiff of the stale room’s smell. He carefully approaches the office behind thin Plexiglas with the secretary gigantic chair turned behind him. He taps on it and the swivel chair whirls around.

 

Luchador can’t believe his eyes. “Dace? Holy shit man, is that you?”

 

“Rickmen!” Night proclaims as he looks up in surprise. “I heard about you dying man!”

 

“…I didn’t know you were dead.” IL says in embarrassment.

 

Dace laughs. “I’m not. Aecas hooked me up with this night job. I worked in landscaping for a little bit but some bugger skimped my paycheck and I carved him up with my weed whacker.”

 

“Right on,” Luchador laughs. “Uh, I need to go see Lucifer?”

 

Dace shrugs. “Go on in man,” he says as he points to the door. “Hey man, maybe later, we could go snag a drink? All we have is High Life though…”

 

Luchador gags.

 

“Man, we are in Hell,” Night reminds him.

 

“Yeah, true. Alright, later,” he says as he plows through the door. He steps into a chilly, pitch black room and suddenly is bombarded by a low, booming voice-

 

“Are you Andrew Rickmen?”

 

“Yeah, that’s me,” he replies as he blindly reaches his hands around.

 

“Are your nipples erect?”

 

“…What? Uh, it is cold in here.”

 

“Good!”

“This is really, really awkward.”

 

“You wish to seek the almighty Prince of Darkness and work for my hierarchy of Pandemonium?”

 

“…Do I get to live again?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“That’s all I want. Just a resurrection.”

 

“Then we shall proceed. But you must earn your celestial body, you must earn your chance at my redemption. You must complete tasks for me.”

 

“Sure.”

 

“You have to be my errand boy.”

 

“Got it.”

 

“My bitch.”

 

Insane Luchador stops in silence and shakes his head in disbelief. “Alright, whatever it takes man.”

 

“You must prove yourself worthy. You are going to complete twelve tasks for me… and we shall call these-”

 

Insane Luchador waits in anticipation.

 

“The Twelve Labors of Luchador.”

 

--

[Smartly Pretty 0]

Awesome.

 

Totally awesome.

[Bruce Blank 0]

Hercules was a pussy compared to IL

[Mr. S£im Citrus 0]

“Is this Hell?” IL slowly asks. He looks around at the plastic chairs, out of date magazines, Bee Gee’s greatest hits on loop, and gets a whiff of the stale room’s smell. He carefully approaches the office behind thin Plexiglas with the secretary gigantic chair turned behind him. He taps on it and the swivel chair whirls around.

 

Luchador can’t believe his eyes. “Dace? Holy shit man, is that you?”

 

“Rickmen!” Night proclaims as he looks up in surprise. “I heard about you dying man!”

 

“…I didn’t know you were dead.” IL says in embarrassment.

 

Dace laughs. “I’m not. Aecas hooked me up with this night job. I worked in landscaping for a little bit but some bugger skimped my paycheck and I carved him up with my weed whacker.”

 

“Right on,” Luchador laughs. “Uh, I need to go see Lucifer?”

 

Dace shrugs. “Go on in man,” he says as he points to the door. “Hey man, maybe later, we could go snag a drink? All we have is High Life though…”

 

Luchador gags.

 

“Man, we are in Hell,” Night reminds him.

....

 

That's bloody marvelous!

 

 

And, no-selling death? Now that's hardcore!

[Vasarian_Brandy 0]

... You have got to be shitting me...

 

(Busts up laughing)

[the.weej 0]

Alright, but if this doesn't end with you posessing the body of Optimus Prime and having a climactic battle with Megatron, I'm going to be disappointed.

 

-Z

Edited January 16, 2006 by realitycheck

[Angel_Grace_Blue 0]

Isn't that what Galatea did?

[the.weej 0]

Well, yeah.

 

-Z

[Toxxic 0]

I TOLD you all Rickmen should no-sell his own death!

 

Dace laughs. “I’m not. Aecas hooked me up with this night job. I worked in landscaping for a little bit but some bugger skimped my paycheck and I carved him up with my weed whacker.”

 

That's fucking awesome.