September 12th, 1952 Flatwoods, West Virginia
Nov 6, 2021 13:05:45 GMT -5
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Post by Scott Steel on Nov 6, 2021 13:05:45 GMT -5
Gus Arnold was leaving the humble offices of the Northern Pro Wrestling Headquarters, the Autumn Sun shining brightly in the early Canadian Afternoon.
He was used to being approached by a ravenous press, but not the press that was approaching him.
“Mr. Arnold! Mr. Arnold! A moment of your time!” Yelled one reporter in a grey suit and hair slicked back with enough gel to cause an uproar amongst local environmentalists.
“Of course, I don’t recognize you, which wrestling publication are you with?”
The reporter looked around at the other reporters…
Gus Arnold squinted and stared into the distance because there suddenly wasn’t enough coffee.
“Why I’m with The Market Weekly…”
“The market. Weekly.”
Gus Arnold let the words roll around in his mouth like unflavored Listerine like your grandfather used to drink.
The reporter undaunted by Arnold’s apparent lack of knowledge soldiered on.
“With the imminent influx of new cryptocurrency into Northern Pro Wrestling’s coffers, we were wondering what exactly the surprise announcement at the press conference might be related to?”
Gus considered this briefly. His face went entirely stoic.
He had been bamboozled like this before.
Pivoting so brilliantly a ballerina’s ankles shattered, he responded cooly
“Well, gentleman, I guess you will have to wait to see at the press conference.”
“So we have to wait until 3 in the afternoon?”
Gus looked at his watch, which read about one in the afternoon.
“Of course, I wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise! You will all get to see what we are revealing at Three P.M and not a second sooner!”
The reporters once again looked around. One even pulled out a vape with a bitcoin logo on it and puffed like… Well a magic dragon, if magic dragons coughed and reeked of Axe Body Spray.
They turned back to Gus, all microphones and eagerness.
Again.
“Gentleman.
THAT.
WILL.
BE.
ALL.”
Looks of dejection rippled through the crowd with the final words as Gus started marching. Hard towards his automobile.
With that, the flock of reporters began returning to their vans, heading to the conference center where NPW held their press conferences. Pulling out his cellphone he made the call quickly…
“Find out what is going on, and make sure I don’t look like an idiot. Someone is announcing something, in… two hours.”
Climbing in the car, he sighed.
ROUGHLY TWO HOURS LATER.
Everyone from his parking lot was assembled in his conference room, the stage had been set up, and Gus Arnold for all of him, looked a lot like he knew what was about to happen.
This, of course, was total bullshit. His office had no idea who had called this particular press conference or even why. As word spread that Northern Pro Wrestling had called a press conference, the room also swelled slightly past capacity with the wrestling press as well.
They seemed confused by the number of money market press folks, and the reporters from financial concerns were suddenly googling what NPW was.
It might be said that it represented quite a motley crew.
Gus Arnold and other NPW Officials sat at the long table that flanked the dais, as though this was going to be a big deal.
It was now 3:15. Gus was trying to keep a poker face, not allowing the assemblage to see that he was in fact, feeling like he was being made an ass of.
From the back came a man, dressed for the occasion, and whispered in Gus’ ear.
“Apologies, but the man I work for got lost driving here.”
Gus turned and looked at him.
“On a one-way street. How is that….”
Gus suddenly had a sinking feeling. The vision of a lawyer so incompetent he won cases stumbling drunk out of a bush.
A detective, so shambling that even though he had an office he conducted business from a park bench.
“Oh. for goodness sake.”
He looked at his officials, who had also overheard this shrugged. Some of them with goldfish memories. Others, more knowing facepalmed. The assembled press sat patiently waiting.
They weren’t going to have to wait too much longer as the lights dimmed to darkness, leaving only the diagonal scroll of the NPW Sheild on the visual display.
Waves of synths started washing over the assemblage.
When an iconic keyboard melody began to play. The melody was “The Final Countdown” by Europe. The visual screensaver of the NPW Sheild was replaced with a rocket blasting to the moon, a cryptocurrency logo on it.
The logo was similar yet legally distinct to bitcoin.
The swirl of multi-colored laser lights began to pulse as Europe began to sing.
We’re leaving together…
The laser lights began to swirl faster, tracing the logo on the rocket. It landed on the moon, an animated man hopped out with a flag bearing the same logo as the rocket. He was wearing a spacesuit, and curiously a monocled mask underneath of the spacesuit.
It’s the FINAL COUNTDOWN
As he slammed the flag into the lunar landscape, all of the lights went bright, blindingly white.
The famous keyboard melody began again slowly fading out on a loop.
Confetti began to rain down on the crowd, who were all quite pumped, who wouldn’t be.
Even Gus Arnold seemed to be pleasantly amused.
As the tracers and temporary blindness subsided. Standing behind the podium was the real-life analog of the cartoon. A fully grown human man, in what appeared to be a sweltering spacesuit, and somehow still wearing a wrestling mask underneath.
As he surveyed the room. He began to speak..
He was used to being approached by a ravenous press, but not the press that was approaching him.
“Mr. Arnold! Mr. Arnold! A moment of your time!” Yelled one reporter in a grey suit and hair slicked back with enough gel to cause an uproar amongst local environmentalists.
“Of course, I don’t recognize you, which wrestling publication are you with?”
The reporter looked around at the other reporters…
Gus Arnold squinted and stared into the distance because there suddenly wasn’t enough coffee.
“Why I’m with The Market Weekly…”
“The market. Weekly.”
Gus Arnold let the words roll around in his mouth like unflavored Listerine like your grandfather used to drink.
The reporter undaunted by Arnold’s apparent lack of knowledge soldiered on.
“With the imminent influx of new cryptocurrency into Northern Pro Wrestling’s coffers, we were wondering what exactly the surprise announcement at the press conference might be related to?”
Gus considered this briefly. His face went entirely stoic.
He had been bamboozled like this before.
Pivoting so brilliantly a ballerina’s ankles shattered, he responded cooly
“Well, gentleman, I guess you will have to wait to see at the press conference.”
“So we have to wait until 3 in the afternoon?”
Gus looked at his watch, which read about one in the afternoon.
“Of course, I wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise! You will all get to see what we are revealing at Three P.M and not a second sooner!”
The reporters once again looked around. One even pulled out a vape with a bitcoin logo on it and puffed like… Well a magic dragon, if magic dragons coughed and reeked of Axe Body Spray.
They turned back to Gus, all microphones and eagerness.
Again.
“Gentleman.
THAT.
WILL.
BE.
ALL.”
Looks of dejection rippled through the crowd with the final words as Gus started marching. Hard towards his automobile.
With that, the flock of reporters began returning to their vans, heading to the conference center where NPW held their press conferences. Pulling out his cellphone he made the call quickly…
“Find out what is going on, and make sure I don’t look like an idiot. Someone is announcing something, in… two hours.”
Climbing in the car, he sighed.
ROUGHLY TWO HOURS LATER.
Everyone from his parking lot was assembled in his conference room, the stage had been set up, and Gus Arnold for all of him, looked a lot like he knew what was about to happen.
This, of course, was total bullshit. His office had no idea who had called this particular press conference or even why. As word spread that Northern Pro Wrestling had called a press conference, the room also swelled slightly past capacity with the wrestling press as well.
They seemed confused by the number of money market press folks, and the reporters from financial concerns were suddenly googling what NPW was.
It might be said that it represented quite a motley crew.
Gus Arnold and other NPW Officials sat at the long table that flanked the dais, as though this was going to be a big deal.
It was now 3:15. Gus was trying to keep a poker face, not allowing the assemblage to see that he was in fact, feeling like he was being made an ass of.
From the back came a man, dressed for the occasion, and whispered in Gus’ ear.
“Apologies, but the man I work for got lost driving here.”
Gus turned and looked at him.
“On a one-way street. How is that….”
Gus suddenly had a sinking feeling. The vision of a lawyer so incompetent he won cases stumbling drunk out of a bush.
A detective, so shambling that even though he had an office he conducted business from a park bench.
“Oh. for goodness sake.”
He looked at his officials, who had also overheard this shrugged. Some of them with goldfish memories. Others, more knowing facepalmed. The assembled press sat patiently waiting.
They weren’t going to have to wait too much longer as the lights dimmed to darkness, leaving only the diagonal scroll of the NPW Sheild on the visual display.
Waves of synths started washing over the assemblage.
When an iconic keyboard melody began to play. The melody was “The Final Countdown” by Europe. The visual screensaver of the NPW Sheild was replaced with a rocket blasting to the moon, a cryptocurrency logo on it.
The logo was similar yet legally distinct to bitcoin.
The swirl of multi-colored laser lights began to pulse as Europe began to sing.
We’re leaving together…
The laser lights began to swirl faster, tracing the logo on the rocket. It landed on the moon, an animated man hopped out with a flag bearing the same logo as the rocket. He was wearing a spacesuit, and curiously a monocled mask underneath of the spacesuit.
It’s the FINAL COUNTDOWN
As he slammed the flag into the lunar landscape, all of the lights went bright, blindingly white.
The famous keyboard melody began again slowly fading out on a loop.
Confetti began to rain down on the crowd, who were all quite pumped, who wouldn’t be.
Even Gus Arnold seemed to be pleasantly amused.
As the tracers and temporary blindness subsided. Standing behind the podium was the real-life analog of the cartoon. A fully grown human man, in what appeared to be a sweltering spacesuit, and somehow still wearing a wrestling mask underneath.
As he surveyed the room. He began to speak..
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