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Showin' Up; The Appearance
Topic Started: Feb 12 2015, 01:44 AM (115 Views)
Lucky Larry
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Our lovely broadcast of PRW 24/7 re-opens from the gloom of commercials. The crowd is so excited, it would almost forego all the pageantry of entrances and backstage antics to arrive at the meat and potatoes of the event. But instead of a wrestling purist’s wet dream, more pageantry is about to ensue.

The lights go dark. A select number of spotlights dim gold like pirate coins dispersed amongst an abyss. On blares “Execution Day” by The New Pornographers, and out storms the newest (and by far the sexiest) PRW performer: the great, the handsome (but never late), Lucky Larry.

He wears a fur-crested jacket, stitched with what are undoubtedly authentic animal skins. His arms are extended to the crowd as if offering a hug. However, the embrace he beholds is jeers and boos from the PRW faithful. Larry’s face turns to a scold. He dismisses the crowd with his hands and meanders down the ramp, kicking at the air with every frustrated step.


Brunswick: Obviously this fresh PRW wrestler is not a welcome sight. The fans are reacting negatively, Doug, because of the condescending promo Lucky Larry displayed earlier.

Smith: This guy reminds me of some guys I knew growing up, Brunswick. He’s a cocky S.O.B. and he pisses ya off, but it’s all part of the mind games. I don’t know much about Larry but I can tell you this… He’s dangerous, and should not be taken lightly.

Larry is perched on the second rope, outside the ring against the turnbuckle. He’s surveying the crowd, a firm scowl stamped to his face. A fan throws a half-drinken soda cup onto the mat in front of him. A woman displays her sharp nails like five deadly daggers. But, none of this seems to frighten him as he climbs into the ring. Despite the bitterness filling up around him like a cheap glass of bourbon, he walks with the swagger of a man who is loved and well-lived. His smile is unwavering. His eyes are glowing with a confidence not often seen, except by perhaps the greatest presidents and kings to walk amongst their people.

“I… am loved,” Larry says into a microphone. “I am the most loved figure in the history of the world!”

A royal smile dips into his face. He gestures to the wrestling legion with outstretched arms, gladly accepting the disdain.

Brunswick: I have something to share with Larry. He is not loved. At all.

Smith: This guy is not a regular person, Brunswick. I think he walks to the beat of his own drum. I don’t know that he can be reasoned with.

Larry doddles in the ring, twirling the microphone like a paintbrush. Assorted fans meet his reflective glances in the front row.

“You people, you may not love me. But you know what? I really don’t give a damn about that,” Larry says, his smile now burning with a twinge of anger. “Because I love myself. And when you love yourself, great things happen. You know, I’m not one to give motivational speeches, and I don’t intend to give you people one tonight. But if you’re not inspired by me, and all the things that I do, well then you should just take a dive off a bridge because as far as I’m concerned, you people don’t have a soul and you should just die.

More jeers come cascading down. Larry hangs over a ring rope, nearest to the largest section of fans. He displays his cocky smile as if it’s framed for public view.

“I’m not here for your enjoyment, either. And you know, I kind of get the people that you are,” Larry says, pointing his finger judgingly at the audience. “Yeah, I understand you. Doesn’t that make you feel good? That someone understands you, huh? I know how hungry you people are for that sort of thing. For someone to just look at you for one second, and appreciate you in some way. Because you’re weak. You’re all weak. And when you people watch a match that you enjoy, where the wrestlers pour their blood and guts all over the mat, killing themselves just to beat their opponent, it makes you people cry. I can see the tears welling in your eyes every time there’s a great match that happens here.”

The crowd starts to cheer as they remember the great matches they’ve seen. The crowd starts to roar and stomp all around Larry. Chants of “Pat-rick Slaugh-ter!” trample down the bleachers, with that rhythmic clapping pattern wrestling fans do. Larry surveys the passion moving around him. His head jolts back and forth in a surprised way, as if he just found himself to be held at knifepoint.

“And you know what?!” Larry blurts over the noise. “I think it’s pathetic! You hear me?! It’s pathetic!

The crowd’s cheers revert back to boos and prolonged glares of contempt. Larry swivels to the other side of the crowd, pulling his hair back, firmly in control of the audience again. Their malleable emotions are in the palm of his hand.

“The fact that you people have so little control over your own lives is pathetic. How do you expect to be great, if you’re living only to watch great men…”

Larry brushes his hair out of his face so he can pronounce his arrogant grin, which he undoubtedly views as a beautiful thing.

“Like muah?” he says.

Brunswick: Oh come on now! Lucky Larry is just antagonizing this audience.

Smith: This is a pretty impressive dismantling of a crowd’s spirit, Bruns.

Brunswick: Impressive? I think this is pathetic, Dougie. That’s what I think.

“That’s why I only care about myself,” he says, a relaxed smile coming back to him. “And just by doing that, if you forget about all the accolades, all the modeling gigs, all the girlfriends I’ve had, the money, the sex, the prestige… I am still better than all of you.”

The crowd begins to boo so loud that Larry has to shout to surmount their noise.

“You could collect all of the greatness that you people have in your bodies, harvest it, bottle it up and put it on my table, and I’d throw it in the trash,” Larry says. “Because at the end of the day, it doesn’t compare to me. Not by a long shot. Not while I’m walkin’ around here, young and in my prime. My mission is to be great. What’s your mission? Huh? To go home and jerk off into a handful of paper towels?!”

Brunswick: Oh come on! Get him out of here! This guy is a loser!

Smith: I’m afraid the biggest problem is that this guy is not a loser. On the contrary; he is very much a winner.

Larry holds the microphone at his side. Pressing against the ropes, he yells obscenities into the crowd, and allows his laughter to serenate his confidence. He opens his arms again to embrace the crowd’s reaction, one he knows will be nothing but hatred.

“Take this message to heart, and keep it as long as you can, PRW,” Larry says, posturing strongly in the middle of the ring. “Because soon, I’m gonna rip it out, throw it to the ground, and crush it under my boot.”

Watching the crowd pulsate, Larry’s smile lives on. He can feel the crowd’s energy humming steadily, surrounded by a constant whir of chaos...


Fade to black.
Edited by Lucky Larry, Feb 17 2015, 12:04 PM.
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