Night creeps slowly over Myrtle Beach as a beautiful sunset streaks the sky in gold. A slight storm had risen earlier in the day, but had broken less than an hour before nightfall. The moisture in the air twists the light wonderfully. Ichabod sits on the north dock, his legs dangling over the restless water. A cigarette is poked in his mouth, lazily burning away as he ponders the things that any wrestler ponders. He reaches up after pulling the last draw and is about to throw it into the ocean when he hears footsteps behind him. As he slowly turns, he sees a rather fat man with long blonde hair and sunglasses. The man looks a little like a rotund Edge.
Can I help you?
I'm here to help you, actually. I'm a huge fan of yours and I thought after that little crap Triple Ex pulled yesterday with Ichy X, you might want to do a little Triple Ex X promo.
Ichabod raises an eyebrow at the fat man. He smiles and walks over to him. He puts a hand on his shoulder and they walk out to the edge of the dock staring at the water.
Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Triple Ex X.
With that, Ichy pushes the man into the water below, and laughs as the fat bastard struggles to swim. Ichabod walks off the dock and into the night.
Ichabod walks through the streets at Myrtle Beach until he finally ends up at the pavilion. People are still crowding the place and the noise is almost annoying. He stands for a minute watching the people, and then moves on. He walks past the last few hotels and trees begin to line the road once more. Ichabod continues to walk until a few businesses appear. It isn't long before he is in North Myrtle Beach.
Ichabod walks down to the water and dips his hand in the sand. As he brings it up, the particles drip in clumps through his fingers, and the last bit he throws toward the water, not noticing the infinitesimal splash. He wipes his hand on his pants and sits down on the dryer sand.
Triple Ex X. What a colossal waste of time. I'd like to know exactly what Ex thought he was accomplishing with that Ichy X thing. Was it supposed to intimidate me, seeing a caricature of myself? Perhaps to make fun of me? Piss me off? What was the point?
Wait, I get it. It was to get a laugh out of his fans. This man seems to live off laughter. Reminds me a little of Roger Rabbit, who could only do things if they were funny. Well, his fans may be getting a kick out of Ichy X, Mortie, Brandon Itsy, and the Elite as a whole, but I find it quite boring. Its too bad the laughter of the fans won't win the match.
I hate to make it so cut and dry, but I'm too serious for this guy. He holds nothing sacred, he cares for nothing. In a heartbeat he'd probably make fools of B-Pac and Adam Lax. For the sake of hearing a laugh, he'd probably insult every member of the roster of WOW until everyone hates him for it. He'd probably make fun of his fans, his family... hell he'd probably make fun of himself if he thought it would get him a laugh. Now this is where the Roger Rabbit stigma stops and becomes more of an Andy Kaufman issue. Kaufman was a genius and knew how to get a laugh, but the guy didn't know when to shut his mouth or stop playing around. It ended up his ruin. Live audiences, the very people he worked for, and audiences around the world, voted him off of Saturday Night Live. The guy was even a wrestler at one time. What happened? He tried to be funny when everything was on the line and Jerry Lawler mopped the ring mat with him. His careless way with his comedy ruined his career and his life, and in the end no one took him seriously. There are even people today who think he faked his own death and that he's waiting around to pop out and say, "Ha Ha, I'm alive, gotcha again."
Would anyone care? He became one of the most hated entertainers in comedy and wrestling history. A lot of people were sad when he died, sure, but a lot of people didn't even care because they thought he was just pulling another stunt. He faded out with no respect.
Ex, I see you going down that same road, boy. You don't know when to shut up, you don't know when to be serious, and you don't know how to respect someone. All you know is the "all powerful laugh." That laugh won't save your ass everytime. Sure, it may end spats, it may make your girlfriend fall back in love with you and stop banging Mortie backstage, and hell, it might even make old fogey's like Great Auntie X come out of that coma. But it won't stop someone who's made it their personal goal to cut the limelight on your sordid fifteen minutes of fame.
Which means it won't stop me. I don't find you funny, not at all. You are a waste of time when you aren't in the ring, you run around to gay weddings and beat up men on golf courses hoping that humor will build your fan base. I don't care about your fan base, I'm not fighting them at King Karnage. Fan bases don't win matches, boy. I could have one fan in the entire world (probably your pretty cousin Britney X--a good lay) and I'd still wax your ass, rip off your head, and piss down your throat. The more fans you have and the more people who laugh with you, the more confidence you build... that I'll admit. But build too much and you'll be in for a big surprise when that Bitch Thump stops your laughing dead.
King Karnage is merely a few days away, and I'm preparing harder everyday. You, you are trying to win fans. You tell me who is going to win Ex. Tell the truth.
Ichabod spits on the ground and gets up to walk away. A fan in a bright orange jumpsuit with lightning bolts on it runs over to him. The fan has purple and green streaks in her black hair (which is done up like Bride of Frankenstein), and she cuts three somersaults before landing in a split on the sand. She grabs a handful of sand in each hand and tosses it up in the air, catching a few grains in her mouth, then grins with the grit all over her teeth.
Scooby Dooby Doooooooo!
What... The.... Fu-
I'm Adam Lax X! Wanna cut a promo starring me?!?!?
Ichabod turns and walks away as fast as he can while the dejected fan starts to cry about no one loving her.
|
