Post by Steven Brody, CEO on Aug 23, 2022 12:36:12 GMT -8
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The introduction video fades and we see the Playa Paraiso setup and all the fans going nuts chanting NF DUB! Over and over again as the camera pans around the fans until it reaches the commentators table.Nick Hanson: Welcome ladies and gentlemen to Cruel Summer, our most violent night of the year.
Jim Reynolds: Blood will be spilled, bodies will be tested and we are going to have a lot of fun watching all the chaos unfold.
Nick Hanson: And what a lineup of chaos have we got for you all tonight…
Before he can finish the lights go out.
DISORDER!
CHAOS!
ANARCHY!
NOW THATS FUN!
CHAOS!
ANARCHY!
NOW THATS FUN!
Suddenly “Chaos is my life” by The Exploited starts to play as the lights go back on and The Townsend firm is seen walking through the now booing crowd watching the group walk towards the ring.
Jim Reynolds: Well we can't talk about deathmatch wrestling without this man's name coming up.
Nick Hanson: Of course not, no matter how much I don't want to say it he's a tough bastard, but hasn't exactly made many friends since starting here.
Jim Reynolds: Is he meant to? He cares about the fight not making pals in the back, people just need to stay out his way if they know what's good for them.
Nick Hanson: Whatever.
They stop talking as the group gets into the ring and Towers takes the microphone in his hand and raises it up as the music fades out. The boos from the fans is deafening but the group take it in their stride not looking like they give a damn.
Johnny Towers: Well here we are, Cruel fucking Summer, the death match show of the year and I am getting ready to go to fucking war and bury that fucking moron Kai Morgan.
The crowd cheer at his name, clearly irritating Towers a little.
Johnny Towers: You fickle fuckers, you know what all of you where booing the man only just over a god damn fortnight ago and now you love him, why? Because he found his love? Dont make me fucking sick, because he ditched the dead weight of the clowns or whatever the fuck it was he was hanging with before? Whatever I could not care less, but you know what does get to me? The fucker invaded our company and tried to put us out of fucking buisness and now all of you fucking hicks cheer him like nothing ever happened?
Nick Hanson: Well that's just not fair.
Jim Reynolds: The mans not wrong Nick.
Nick Hanson: Well yeah the man did do that but its in the past.
Johnny Towers: You know what you all just fucking wait I am going to give you all the bloody violence you all crave and make sure that I do to Kai much worse than what i did to his precious company. Oh and before I forget if your stupid cow Razzle Mars still has an issue with me well you know where to find me.
Nick Hanson: Was that a call out?
Jim Reynolds: I honestly don't know.
Towers paces around the ring a little staring out at the crowd.
Johnny Towers: Now then lets get this show started shall we, oh and after tonight keep your eyes out, I have plans in place that are going to rock this place to its foundations.
He throws the microphone to the side as his music hits and he walks up the ramp to the back.
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A pre-taped segment suddenly blips into the broadcast feed. “Da Adorkable Angel” Azurine Vebbins starts moonbathing on someone’s secluded roof. She stretches out her beach blanket to fawning fanfare. Once seductively situated, “Da Vivacious Variable” speaks about the upcoming macabre match-up. Azurine Vebbins: It ends emphatically at Cruel Summer. “Da Kill-waii Princess” Lorna has naughtily nabbed my number ever since I first returned to rumba here in New Frontier Wrestlin’. Dat loony lass has cravenly choked me. Lorna also used irrational, insolent instinct when interferon’ in an interlude I had wid Slyvia Lopez. Made her a contender for da Perseverance Championship I clamor for. Of course, dat’s not da only time her sullen sass stole some-din’ valuable from me. After extreme exhaustion rendered me incapable of climbin’ a pole, Lorna stole several tax brackets of cash stored in a bloody briefcase. Serious as a Cancun cantina durin’ Sprin’ Break, she’s a wicked wildcard. Should be straitjacket shuffled. Place her in an asylum, a deck for da damned, or bury her neck deep in shiftin’ sand.
Maybe dat’s why we’re booked for a Beach Party Dead Dance? Collision chanters wanted me tramplin’ dat twisted tramp on trusted turf. Whed-er it’s Phloriphornia, Los Angeles, New Orleans, Miami, Long Island, or elsewhere, most of my eccentric existence involves brawlin’ on beaches. Anoder reason? My rival chalks herself up in mummy’s pyramid powder. She’s a stumblin’, numbin’ nuisance who’s only touched sand when it fell outta da hourglass figure of her voodoo dolls. I’m not conspiratorial to claim she has one of me.
Dis moon-bade-in’ session’s not as strong as it was on August 11. Was a full moon and I’m not referrin’ to my shushed tush, eider. Was da Sturgeon Supermoon. Tonight’s just a waxin’ crescent. Still, deyr’s prime potential for da faintest glimmer to pierce ghastly gloom. As long as I internalize illumination, “La Damisela con ese Vestido” shall stoke fuego to dis fiesta en la playa. Just gotta crack her piñata psyche ‘til I hear da crashin’ soundwave of dat final bell. Dat’s when I know da tide’s turned. Dat’s when I hy-pod-e-size dat blank-flavored pop tart’s adrift wid agonizin’ analysis. It’ll follow after connectin’ wid every-din’ available from my arsenal as well as disposal. It’ll be like my adversary’s been dropped into an open ocean of obliteration. Just need to cover her under a surfboard, driftwood, an umbrella, palm fronds, and dis beach blanket. In keepin’ wid drear de-a-trics, I’m lyin’ on top of “Lorna’s Shroud.” Let dat mental image sink in, mis seguidores atléticos.
Our surprise segment ends with Vebbins rises to a vertical base, wraps “Lorna’s Shroud” around herself, and gazes at the serene, starry sky.
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