Post by robriot on Sept 28, 2021 8:24:16 GMT -5
It’s raining at the South Lakes Safari Zoo in Ulverston, England. There aren’t many people around, and the few people who are there give a wide berth to the three large wrestlers standing in front of the kangaroo enclosure. Even if you didn’t recognise their faces, you’d know them from the “BASTARDS WORLD TOUR 2021” t-shirts they’re wearing. A frustrated looking Frank Windsor leans on the railing, shaking his head. When he makes his point to Riot and Fowler, you suspect that he’s already made the same point one thousand times.
“So it’s the pouch that makes them different? Is that it?”
Riot sighs the sigh of a man who’s been down this road before.
"Mostly the pouch, yes. But it’s also about where they come from. Marsupials come from Australia and the Americas. We don't get them in England. They're kind of born too early, and then they have to stay attached to their parents' nipples in a pouch while they continue to develop. Basically, they're an evolutionary joke."
“But some of them are bears?”
“A koala bear isn’t really a bear. Some of them are just called bears. I agree that it doesn’t make much sense.”
“None of this makes sense! Why are they even wrestling dressed as cocking marsupials?”
Before Riot can respond to that, Fowler takes a break from eating ice cream to offer his thoughts.
“You’d be a kangaroo, wouldn’t you?”
Both of the other Bastards turn to look at him. Fowler explains further.
"I mean if you were going to be a wrestling marsupial. You'd be a kangaroo. They're big, they can kick hard, and everyone knows what they are. Why would you be a possum or a wombat instead of a kangaroo?"
"Because they're retarded! You heard what Riot said; they're born too early. These chumps must all have been dropped on their heads or something. None of it makes sense!"
Riot nods sagely, and agrees with Frank.
"I must confess that if I were going to wrestle as an animal, I'd go for something a little more impressive. A bear would be good. A gorilla, maybe. A marsupial? Nah. They're kind of cute and cuddly by default. Doesn't exactly strike fear into your heart, does it?"
Windsor slams his hand down on the railing again.
“That’s my whole point! Marsupials are stupid, the Marsupials of Mayhem are stupid, and this doesn’t make sense!”
“I kind of think that’s the whole point, and I’ll explain why to that camera.”
"What camera? There's a camera here?" Fowler looks around suspiciously. Riot points directly to the camera that's filming the entire exchange and beckons it over as he explains the situation.
“Of course there’s a camera here. There’s always a camera here. Give it a second.”
The camera catches up with the Bastards after a moment’s awkward pause, and Riot stares straight down the lens as he addresses it.
"Marsupials of Mayhem - attend carefully. We've come to the zoo to get a grip on what the Hell you're supposed to be, but it taught us nothing. I think we were looking for sense where no sense exists. Putting a ten-dollar costume on and smearing shit on your face doesn't turn you into an animal any more than participating in a battle royal makes you a worthy member of an elite pro wrestling roster. Somebody, somewhere, has given you sideshow freaks too much too soon. That's not your fault, but it is your problem. You've jumped the queue, and now we have to send you to the back of the line. The bonus for us is that we get to do this on the first-ever NPW show with the Continental Wrestling Alliance, with the whole world watching. With a little luck, your therapists are going to see this and have you re-committed. That's the best place for you, kids, because other than pressing mental illnesses, what do you actually offer?"
Riot raises one finger.
"Number one. Dropbear. An angry ball of hate. A lunatic who can barely string a sentence together. A creature that doesn't know how to take a bath, let alone how to apply a wristlock. Frank Windsor knows a thing or two about being angry and bloodthirsty, little man, and he's going to cave your matted face in."
Windsor draws his finger across his throat to underline the threat as Riot holds his second finger up.
"Number two. Kid Koala. The backyard wrestling bum with the drug habit and the flippy-floppy moves. Son, you're two inches away from being a primordial dwarf, and I've eaten steaks that weigh more than you. What the Hell do you think is going to happen when you come up against a giant like Billy Fowler?"
Fowler mimes a chokeslam and then makes the sign of the cross, smirking the whole time. Riot holds up his third finger.
"Number three. That's you, Wombat. That's you hiding in plain sight. You don't think I know what you're doing, but I do. You're the brains of the group. You're the face and the voice. You think that by hiding inside this gang of misfits, you can play me from behind the 8-ball. That might work with most people, but it doesn't wash with me. I know that if I washed that shit off your face and bought you a decent pair of tights, I'd see a damn good wrestler. Unfortunately, it would be a wrestler who lost his way and can't find it again. You're hiding in the Marsupials of Mayhem because it works as a disguise for your failings. As I've said before, I don't allow people to live with these delusions. The beating that I'm personally going to put on you might just wake you up to a few home truths. The biggest of them is that if you run around with a circus, you'll be treated as a clown."
The three Bastards arrange themselves in their familiar triangle formation as Riot closes things down.
“Man to man, one on one, we’re better than you. Three on three, we’re still better than you. But don’t take this loss personally, Marsupials. After all, we’re the Bastards…”
Fowler and Windsor join in for the closing line.
“.…and we believe in you.”
“So it’s the pouch that makes them different? Is that it?”
Riot sighs the sigh of a man who’s been down this road before.
"Mostly the pouch, yes. But it’s also about where they come from. Marsupials come from Australia and the Americas. We don't get them in England. They're kind of born too early, and then they have to stay attached to their parents' nipples in a pouch while they continue to develop. Basically, they're an evolutionary joke."
“But some of them are bears?”
“A koala bear isn’t really a bear. Some of them are just called bears. I agree that it doesn’t make much sense.”
“None of this makes sense! Why are they even wrestling dressed as cocking marsupials?”
Before Riot can respond to that, Fowler takes a break from eating ice cream to offer his thoughts.
“You’d be a kangaroo, wouldn’t you?”
Both of the other Bastards turn to look at him. Fowler explains further.
"I mean if you were going to be a wrestling marsupial. You'd be a kangaroo. They're big, they can kick hard, and everyone knows what they are. Why would you be a possum or a wombat instead of a kangaroo?"
"Because they're retarded! You heard what Riot said; they're born too early. These chumps must all have been dropped on their heads or something. None of it makes sense!"
Riot nods sagely, and agrees with Frank.
"I must confess that if I were going to wrestle as an animal, I'd go for something a little more impressive. A bear would be good. A gorilla, maybe. A marsupial? Nah. They're kind of cute and cuddly by default. Doesn't exactly strike fear into your heart, does it?"
Windsor slams his hand down on the railing again.
“That’s my whole point! Marsupials are stupid, the Marsupials of Mayhem are stupid, and this doesn’t make sense!”
“I kind of think that’s the whole point, and I’ll explain why to that camera.”
"What camera? There's a camera here?" Fowler looks around suspiciously. Riot points directly to the camera that's filming the entire exchange and beckons it over as he explains the situation.
“Of course there’s a camera here. There’s always a camera here. Give it a second.”
The camera catches up with the Bastards after a moment’s awkward pause, and Riot stares straight down the lens as he addresses it.
"Marsupials of Mayhem - attend carefully. We've come to the zoo to get a grip on what the Hell you're supposed to be, but it taught us nothing. I think we were looking for sense where no sense exists. Putting a ten-dollar costume on and smearing shit on your face doesn't turn you into an animal any more than participating in a battle royal makes you a worthy member of an elite pro wrestling roster. Somebody, somewhere, has given you sideshow freaks too much too soon. That's not your fault, but it is your problem. You've jumped the queue, and now we have to send you to the back of the line. The bonus for us is that we get to do this on the first-ever NPW show with the Continental Wrestling Alliance, with the whole world watching. With a little luck, your therapists are going to see this and have you re-committed. That's the best place for you, kids, because other than pressing mental illnesses, what do you actually offer?"
Riot raises one finger.
"Number one. Dropbear. An angry ball of hate. A lunatic who can barely string a sentence together. A creature that doesn't know how to take a bath, let alone how to apply a wristlock. Frank Windsor knows a thing or two about being angry and bloodthirsty, little man, and he's going to cave your matted face in."
Windsor draws his finger across his throat to underline the threat as Riot holds his second finger up.
"Number two. Kid Koala. The backyard wrestling bum with the drug habit and the flippy-floppy moves. Son, you're two inches away from being a primordial dwarf, and I've eaten steaks that weigh more than you. What the Hell do you think is going to happen when you come up against a giant like Billy Fowler?"
Fowler mimes a chokeslam and then makes the sign of the cross, smirking the whole time. Riot holds up his third finger.
"Number three. That's you, Wombat. That's you hiding in plain sight. You don't think I know what you're doing, but I do. You're the brains of the group. You're the face and the voice. You think that by hiding inside this gang of misfits, you can play me from behind the 8-ball. That might work with most people, but it doesn't wash with me. I know that if I washed that shit off your face and bought you a decent pair of tights, I'd see a damn good wrestler. Unfortunately, it would be a wrestler who lost his way and can't find it again. You're hiding in the Marsupials of Mayhem because it works as a disguise for your failings. As I've said before, I don't allow people to live with these delusions. The beating that I'm personally going to put on you might just wake you up to a few home truths. The biggest of them is that if you run around with a circus, you'll be treated as a clown."
The three Bastards arrange themselves in their familiar triangle formation as Riot closes things down.
“Man to man, one on one, we’re better than you. Three on three, we’re still better than you. But don’t take this loss personally, Marsupials. After all, we’re the Bastards…”
Fowler and Windsor join in for the closing line.
“.…and we believe in you.”
