Promo - SWF.com Exclusive After Storm

[Angel_Grace_Blue 0]

Tom Flesher leans back in his chair and sighs. Storm has been over for almost an hour, but he's still had a pretty steady stream of people in his office, requesting this and demanding that. Luckily for him, he's got just one more name penciled in for a meeting. Unluckily for him, the name at the bottom of the list is Doomtopian.

 

"Lois the Unethical, nice to see you. Care for a Cuban?" Flesher asks.

 

"Oh, no thank you, I don't smoke," says Jimmy the Doom's manager and wife-person.

 

"Bwuh?" Tom mumbles as he extracts a pressed Cuban sandwich and begins eating heartily.

 

"Aaah....ooooh...uh..." Lois sputters her vowel-sounds of rage and disbelief.

 

"So, what can I do for you?" Tom asks through a mouthful of pork and pickles.

 

"Well, it's about Jimmy. The Doom," she adds, eyes shut tight in an attempt to block out the sound of chewing.

 

"I figured as much. Let me guess, you think Jimmy deserves a World title shot? I'll admit, he's probably more qualified than some people in line, what with that year-long Hardcore run. Here's the thing, Lois, the World title picture is a bit of a mess right now, and allowing Jimmy to leapfrog over everyone else isn't going to help things. Just tell him to be patient," Tom says.

 

"Um, thank you, Mister Flesher, but actually I wanted to ask you to not put Jimmy in the World title scene," Lois says.

 

Tom is left momentarily speechless, as spraying sandwich bits across a desk doesn't really qualify as speech.

 

"Care to explain why you don't want your umm... husband to move on to the main event?" Tom inquires.

 

"First off, don't get the wrong idea. Jimmy and I have discussed this, and we are both of the same mind, so it's not like I'm trying to sabotage his career or anything. The thing is, Jimmy doesn't really belong in the main event. Now, I know things are different from when Peters was in charge, but it's still about matches the fans would like to see. Let's face it Mr. Flesher, Jimmy can't get a decent reaction on his own," Lois says.

 

"So what do you propose I do, Lois? Take him out back and shoot him?"

 

"Oh, I don't think that's necessary at this juncture, though I'm glad you're keeping the option open. No, I think, that with the current state of this federation, that Jimmy has only two options: the Hardcore or Tag Team divisions. He's no match for the Cruiserweights, and he barely makes the weight as it is. The International division is gone, so that's out of the question, and he doesn't fit the New Blood requirement," Lois says.

 

"Well, I'm sure Jimmy would love to go back to the Hardcore division. I bet he'd love another year with the belt, and it's not like he didn't provide entertaining matches. But it's that year-long reign that's got me against putting him back in the mix. There are almost no compelling challengers left for him, and I'm not about to pull one of the New Blood just so Jimmy can have someone else to slaughter. Hell, besides Maddix, no one's even come close to giving Jimmy a real challenge. I still don't know how he did that..." he mutters.

 

"Yes, Mr. Flesher, we're curious about that ourselves," Lois seethes.

 

"So, I guess that just leaves the Tag Team division. Now, look, if you can find someone willing to put up with the bizarre things you and Jimmy do... well, I'd probably contact the nearest mental asylum. But if they're willing to let them out for a night, Jimmy'd have a partner. Until then, you and Jimmy are just going to have to deal with the matches you're booked in," Tom says.

 

Lois simply nods, rises, and leaves Flesher's office. She immediately meets up with Doom, who is idly kicking at the concrete, perhaps distraught that he had to resort to the Death Submission to put away Raynor, or perhaps that the maneuver didn't live up to its name, or maybe he just wishes he could have kept Honeydew. And of course eat her and turn her pelt into a nifty headband, complete with wicked cool badger skull on the front.

 

"For, of muches, to being, with how of in to go?" Jimmy asks.

 

"He didn't seem too keen on letting you back in the Hardcore division, but it might be a possibility. However, he did say that if we manage to find a willing partner, the tag team idea is a go," Lois explains.

 

"Of a lamed, on thoughs, teaming in with a several of taggeds, for a whoms?" Doom wonders.

 

Lois shrugs her shoulders as the two walk down the hall. A door with the words "Emergency Dolphin Storage" hastily scrawled across it opens, and Fulminatus leans out, stroking his beard thoughtfully and staring at the receding Doomtopians.

 

"Hmmm," Fulminatus says to himself thoughtfully.

 

The New Blood champion retreats to the aquatic mammal storage facility where he casually pours two glasses of Rhine wine. One for himself, and the other for his dinner guest, a certain little lady named Honeydew.

 

 

 

 

 

I don't want a pickle

I just want to ride on my motor-cicle

And I don't want a tickle

I'd rather ride on my motor-cicle

And I don't want to die

I just want to ride on my motor-cy-cle

 

You know it's been about 12 years

now, that I've been singin'

this dumb song

You know it's amazin', it's

amazin' that somebody can get away

with singin' a song this dumb for

that long

 

But you know, hey you know what's

more amazin' than that is that , uh

somebody can make a livin' singin'

a song this dumb

 

But that's America.

You know I told everything there was to tell about it

When I wrote it, how come, why, what for

But you know the one thing, that I

always used to neglect to explain, was

the significance of the pickle

 

There was a time I was ridin' my bike

I was going down a mountain road

I was doin' 150 miles an hour

On one side of the mountain road there was a mountain

And on the other side, there was nothin'

There was just a cliff in the air

But I wasn't payin' attention you know

I was just driving down the road

 

All of a sudden by accident

A string broke off my guitar

It broke you know right there

Went flying across the road that way

Wrapped itself around a yield sign

Well the sign didn't break

It didn't come out the ground

And the string stayed wrapped around it

Stayed in the other end of my guitar

Held onto my guitar with one hand

I held onto the bike with the other

 

I made a sharp turn off the road

Luckily I didn't go into the mountain

I went over the cliff

I was doin' 150 miles an hour sideways

And 500 feet down at the same time

Hey, I was lookin' for the cops

Cuz' you know

Hey I knew that it, it was illegal

 

Well, I knew that that was it

I knew I didn't have long to live in this world

And in my last remaining seconds in the world

I knew it was my obligation to write one

last farewell song to the world

 

Took out a piece of paper

I pulled out a pen

And it didn't write

I, I had to put another ink cartridge in it

I sat back and I thought a while

And it come to me

It come like a flash

Like a vision burnt across the clouds

 

I just wrote it down

I learnt it right away

 

I don't want a pickle

Just want to ride on my motor-cicle

And I don't want a tickle

I'd rather ride on my motor-cicle

And I don't want to die

I just want to ride on my motor-cy-cle

 

Hey, I, you know

I knew it wasn't the best song I ever wrote

But I didn't have time to change it

 

But you know the most amazin'

thing was that I didn't die

I landed on the top of a police car and it died

 

I come into town, I come into town at a

screamin' 175 miles an hour

Singing my new motorcycle song

I stopped out front of the deli

And out in front of the deli was a man

eating the most tremendous pickle

A pickle the size of four pregnant watermelons

Just a huge monster pickle

 

He walked up to me, pushed the pickle in my face

and started asking me questions

It was about the same time I noticed the pickle in my face

I noticed a cord hangin' from the long end of the pickle

Goin' up his sleeve down his shirt,

into his pants and shoes

Out into a briefcase he had near his feet

 

I knew it wasn't an ordinary pickle

But it was about the same time I noticed the

cord hangin' out of the pickle

That a four foot cop arrived with a five foot gun

A cop that one time musta been around six foot three

But was met at the bottom of a mountain

By a flyin', singin' writin' weirdo freak

 

He walked up and with one tremendous hand

He grabbed the pickle away from the other guy

He threw it, a hundred feet, straight up in the air

And while the pickle was half way

between going up and coming down

He took out his gun and put a three inch bullet hole

Right through the long end of the pickle

It started comin' back down

He stuck out his foot

He caught the pickle on his big toe

And balancing the pickle on his big toe

He reached his huge hand into his little pocket

Pulled out a 10 foot ticket

He borrowed my pen

He wrote it up

Then he rolled it up

And stuffed it in the bullet hole in

the middle of the pickle

Took the pickle with the ticket

And shoved it down my throat

 

It was at that very moment that the

pickle with the ticket was goin'

down my throat

That I knew for sure that, that I didn't want a pickle

 

I don't want a pickle

Just want to ride on my motor-cicle

And I don't want a tickle

I'd rather ride on my motor-cicle

And I don't want to die

Just want to ride on my motor-cy-cle

[Mad Scientist 0]

Gah. That was some hellah promoage right there. Whoa.

 

And Fulminatus is once again connected with a great T-Shirt idea - "Emergency Dolphin Storage."

 

That ties with "KING KONG DIED FOR YOUR SINS" for awesomenessage.