maddog
MHW Superstar
MHW ThrowDown Champion
Posts: 20
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Post by maddog on May 20, 2021 11:19:24 GMT -6
Route 3
Southern, WV
May 5th, 2021
It's 5am and Mad Dog is driving down the back roads of Southern WV to his job at Alpha Coal. Hostess Powdered donuts, black coffee, and a Black & Mild are breakfast today and almost every day of the week. Mad Dog rubs his eyes, trying to wake up. To help himself wake up, Mad Dog turns the volume up on the radio, and the sweet sounds of Dolly Parton come through the speakers.
Workin' 9 to 5, what a way to make a livin'
Barely gettin' by, it's all takin' and no givin'
They just use your mind and they never give you credit
It's enough to drive you crazy if you let it
Coal mining is dark, dirty, and dangerous work. It's not for everyone, it's for the few who love to descend into the bowels of the Earth to extract "black gold.". Even as they face the risk of mines collapsing, or catching fire, or long-term health threats like black lung.
Mad Dog is a third-generation Coal Miner. He had seen his grandfather and father break their backs in the mine. Then, he saw his grandfather die of black lung, his father gets laid off, the mines go bankrupt, and his father lose his pension. Mad Dog didn't want to be a coal miner but in this part of the state, it was the mines, Walmart, Dollar General, or Welfare.
Mad Dog began coughing, a heavy and deep cough. He covers his mouth with his hand, and when he finishes coughing, he notices his hand as he moves it away from his mouth. His palm is covered with a fresh, wet, black powder, straight from his lungs.
They let you dream just to watch 'em shatter
You're just a step on the boss-man's ladder
But you got dreams he'll never take away
Mad Dog stares at his hand, thoughts of his grandfather and father running through his head. Is this what he wanted out of life? He knew the answer was "no", so why not chase his dream of professional wrestling? Mad Dog had grown up around the sport and had been a "weekend warrior" for years now, but he had been afraid to go all in and throw away his steady income, benefits, and 401k... after all., he has mouths to feed.
The sound of a blaring car horn snaps Mad Dog out of his daydream. He looks up and sees he has drifted into the other lane. Mad Dog whips his F-150 back into his lane, narrowly avoiding a collision. The passing vehicle continues the blow the horn and stops only to give Mad Dog the middle finger.
Mad Dog pulls off to the side of the road, his leg burning from the coffee that spilled onto his thigh from swerving the truck. "Ah, f**k", Mad Dog mumbles as he reaches into his glove box to grab some McDonald's napkins to dry off with. There, in the glove-box, buried behind the napkins is a flyer from a previous event, “Crusher Charly Wright Memorial Cup", it reads at the top. The annual memorial event for his grandfather, where the proceeds go to helping his grandmother pay for her assisted living home. Mad Dog drops the napkins and picks up the flier. He looks at the old photo of his grandfather in his prime, he had always looked up to him, even though he was a superhero. As a child, Mad Dog thought that Crusher had hung the moon.
"F**k it, just do it, Mad Dog," Wright says out loud to no one but himself. Mad Dog grabs his phone, and scrolls to a name, "Sunny Jim", and hits dial.
Yeager Airport
Charleston, WV
May 25th, 2021
Mad Dog's knee bounces up and down from nerves. He has never flown before, and now that he is setting at the gate for his first flight his nerves are really kicking in. The heel of his Cowboy boots bounces off the floor, giving away his nervous condition. Not only is he flying for the first time but his Wrangler Jeans that are tucked into his boots, and his Tyler Childers t-shirt tucked into his Jean's are making him feel stuffy. Mad Dog is trying to look professional as he bought a new denim jacket to match his Wranglers and even splurged on a new Cowboy hat.
Why can't we just drive, like last time?
Mark, it's a twenty-hour drive, the only reason we drove last time was to hit those independent shots I already had booked for you. You are a Mile High employee now, no more long drives like that, travel reimbursement is part of the deal.
Sh*t Jim, I'm nervous I've never flown before. I mean, I even been to Japan and didn't fly.
How on Earth did you go to Japan and not fly?
We drove. We'll the old lady drove, I was pretty lit, it was my birthday after all. Hell, don't you remember? You were there.
Sunny pushes his wire-frame glasses up and pinches his nose. Unlike Mad Dog, Sunny is dressed in khakis with a red polo, business casual for travel.
Mark, that wasn't Japan, it was just a hibachi restaurant.
Well shoot, guess that explains why they looked at me so funny when I demanded they give me a Ribera jacket.
Sunny looks bewildered for a moment and then shakes his head. Sunny can tell Mark is nervous and since he was fresh out of Valiums, he quickly thought of an idea to occupy Mark’s mind and channel his nervous energy.
How about we go ahead and talk about the match, get you a promo in, let everyone know who you are and what you can do, that'll help take your mind off of it.
"Excuse me miss, can I get you to videotape the two of us?" Sunny asks a woman, as he leans over into her personal bubble, interrupting her Netflix streaming on her phone. "Eww, gross. You creep" she replies, as she grabs her carry-on and moves away.
HAHAHA! Ok, Jimbo, I tell you what buddy, I'm gonna go get a drink while you find someone to hold that their phone for you.
Now Mark, don't take too long or have too many. Our flight is in forty-five minutes.
You just worry about finding a cameraman, I’ll worry about my liver and the time. So go ahead and press the flesh for some help while I go get some liquid charisma.
Mad Dog heads for the small Airport bar, and Sunny just hopes he makes it back in time. Nearly a half-hour passes before Mad Dog returns, and while he is not drunk, he is certainly feeling good and full of liquid charisma. Sunny is pacing back and forth waiting on Mark, and when he sees him, he lets into him right away.
Where have you been? I tried texting and calling you... no answer.
Mad Dog shrugs.
Uh, my phones on Airplane mode.
Sunny sighs.
Mark, you don't put it on airplane mode, until you are actually on the airplane, that is why it's called airplane mode. *sigh* Anyway, look, I found someone to record for us, come on.
Mad Dog tips his hat back, and straightens out his shirt, getting himself presentable for television. "Here you go," Sunny says to some morbidly obese man in sweats, as Sunny hands him his phone. Sunny and Mad Dog moves in front of a wall that is painted with a backdrop of the city of Charleston, West Virginia, the state capital, and where the airport is located.
Ladies and Gentlemen, boys and girls, and since it's twenty-twenty-one and cancel culture is running wild, non-binaries, my name is Sunny Jim. I am the man who has managed more successful warriors than General Patton. The man you see standing here beside me is the Appalachian Animal, the Beast from Big Ugly, the Mountain Mad Man, he is the Mad Dog, Mark Wright. We are now officially employees of Mile High Wrestling.
HOWEVER, we will not be making our debut on Splat, but instead, we will be on YouTube. Now, while some people may think that is a bit of a downgrade or a bit of a slight, we look at it as an upgrade. How many people around the world can watch Splat? A few million? Well, over two billion logged-in users visit YouTube each month and watch over a billion hours of content a day.
While others may be crying about not being on Splat, I’m smarter than the average bear and know that more eyeballs are going to be on my client and myself. It shows that Robert Mack in his infinite wisdom knows a real star when he sees one and that is why he put Mad Dog on YouTube so that billions see him instead of hundreds of thousands.
But what is more puzzling than our placement on YouTube is the selection of the opponent. Miss Wrestling Two, I’d call her a butterface, but that would be an insult to butterfaces everywhere. This woman hides everything about herself, her face, her hometown, her history, and any other information that could give a shred of an idea about her. Well like that hobbit meme says, all right then, keep your secrets.
Mad Dog doesn’t need intel or dirt on you old Hood Head, he’s bigger than you, stronger than you, and I’d say nastier than you but after reading your disrespectful comments online I’d say the only thing nastier than your disposition is your hygiene, but at the end of the day what really matters is that Mad Dog is hungrier than you. You want to spout off about being a nineteen your pro, well that just shows how many miles you have on that tiny body of yours. I could have discerned just by your appearance that you have been ridden hard and put up wet, but knowing you’ve been getting your ass handed to you for nineteen years is a dead giveaway.
You know something, now that I think about it, and after viewing all the interviews from last week here in Mile High, I’ve got to say I have never seen such an impressive roster. Where else in the world could you find a roster packed with young talent who all have had nearly twenty years of experience? You know why you can’t find anyplace else on Earth like that? BECAUSE ALL THESE PEOPLE ARE FULL OF CRAP!
Miss Masked Grappler, The Daughters of Anarchy, a failed rapper who everyone says they could be but never did, a backyarder, a member of the dead poets' society, and apparently a haunted arena, I don’t know what kind of freak show we are walking into at Rise, but I can tell you one thing for sure we will be walking out victorious.
Hey, I kinda like that El Blanco Four Loko, he’s funny.
He is entertaining, but this isn’t The Carol Burnett Show, this is professional wrestling. It’s full of people with overinflated egos and even more overly inflated backstories. People in Mile High spin taller tales than Pecos Bill. Well Miss Masked Graper Deuce, Mad Dog will pop your overinflated bubble at Rise. It will all come crashing down and you will be exposed as the real number two you are, a piece of crap.
“Umm,” the obese cameraman says.
Not now, I’m on a roll.
You got a text, I don’t know if it stopped the camera or not.
Damn it.
Sunny storms over to the man and yanks the phone from his hands. “It’s still recording,” Sunny says as he points the phone at Mad Dog. Mad Dog smiles and tips his hat, his brew and Sunny’s rant have him fired up and ready.
Miss Wrestling II.
It isn't II, it's two.
Sunny, there are clearly two I's after her name.
It's Roman numerals, it means two.
This is America Sunny, we don't use the metric system.
It isn't metric, it's... never mind, just take my word for it.
Alright than. Miss Wrestling Two... wait... what happened to Miss Wrestling One? Shoot, unless you are Terminator, Rocky, or Breaking 2 Electric Boogaloo, everyone knows the sequel isn't as good as the original. Oh, I know, you da best though, right? Already been flappen ya gums on the internet, bitchen and moaning about having to face me when you are so damn good. Well, if you're so damn good, how come I never even heard of Miss Wrestling One, let alone your reboot ass?
Look, you might top shelf at your catch is catch beer can, and Geico-Roman Numeral rasslen, and you can know all them wrist locks, kneebars, thumb bars, and flying toe holds, but sister like Mike Tyson said, "everyone has a game plan till they get punched in the face". I might not have a turquoise belt in Brazilian Jew's get sued, or had some crotchety old fart shove his thumb up my boot in his basement he calls a wresting school, but I'll tell ya what I do have. I've got grit, I've got heart, I've got a burning desire and drive to succeed for my family, and I got ahead as hard as a cinder block that I'm going to drop on ya from the top rope.
You got all red assed when you found out you were facing me, well I'm glad you're mad about it. Cause baby girl, you fitting to find out what it is to go mad. You better swap out that Lunchable library mask you wear for a football helmet because I'm about to give you early onset CTE. Brain damage is what you need to worry about, not if I'm gonna bite ya and if I got rabies. Well, I will bite you, but only if I have to, but I'm not a rabid ass mutt Na baby girl, I'm da Mad Dog, the dog who was the runt of the litter and learned to get scrappy to earn my food. Hungry dogs run faster and they fight harder.
You already think you’re some kind of big shot grappler, thinking that stepping in da ring with me is an insult. Shoot, I'm surprised your mask ain't brown from you having your head so far up your own ass. You already think you’re at the top of the hill, but you ain't the queen of nuthin except for bullsh*t mountain. Come Rise, I'm going to knock you down off your fantasy mountain and RISE up the ranks of Mile High.
You, we'll, you can crawl on back to parts unknown and tell Misses Wrestling Numero Uno, that you disgraced her name, and all your fancy holds didn't hold a candle to a hillbilly putting his boot up your ass. Missy, duece, dos, whatever the heck your name is, you already think you won this, but what you don't know is there are only one of two ways this match is going to go, and ultimately the choice is yours. You can either go the Wright Way, or you can Go Mad.
AHHH! ROOF! ROOF! ROOF!
The scene fades out after the MHW production staff did some editing magic on this IPhone11 recorded promo.
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Deleted
Deleted Member
Posts: 0
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Post by Deleted on May 27, 2021 13:32:10 GMT -6
The scene opens up with a simple black curtain with the Mile High Wrestling logo hanging in front of it. A woman’s voice is heard in the background.
“Since my pro wrestling debut in 2003 and I spent the years travelling from one side of the country to the other. I have spent years travelling from country to country. Continent to continent. I have wrestled multiple times in a single night against the very best this sport has to offer. I have climbed ladders, been inside cages and wore dog collars around my next in order to win championships. Entertain fans. My record speaks for itself. And then “Mack Daddy” turns around and puts me in... not even the opener of the big show. I’m on the fucking pre-show against some talentless hack by the name of Rabid Dog Mike Doohickey. I get that I’m new to this fucking organization. I get that I have to start at the bottom, but no one said nothing about bottom feeders.”
Slowly, Miss Wrestling II walks into the frame. She’s wearing a white mask with leopard print trim, a one-piece singlet with a leopard print skirt and white boots. She finally looks at the camera as she points a finger.
“Now you done just pissed me off, Mile High Wrestling. Now you done just awoken the anger of an 18 year veteran of this sport we call pro-wrestling. This ain’t no sports entertainment bullshit. You can take that shit and shove it straight up, then twist your wrist to the side and pull it right back out and throw that crap right into the goddamned trash can. I came to Denver to make a name for myself, but that ain’t the only reason that I’m here. I got plans. Plans that will come to light when I see fit to share those plans. For now, I guess I gotta make an example out of Michelle Wrinkle and I’m fixing to do just that.”
She gets up really close to the camera, “And I’ll tell you one more thing. Ain’t no mystery why I call myself Miss Wrestling II. It’s because I consider myself the best goddamned wrestler on the planet. So, I don’t give a flying fuck who I have through. Put me in the ring with Tyke Index, Azurine Vebbins, Bullet or pull Samantha Hamilton back out of the goddamned closet. Fuck, put me in the ring with the MHW god himself, Skrabz and I’ll prove it day in and day out. When you’re the best wrestler on the planet, they don’t just call you the best. They call you Miss Wrestling II. All day. Every day.”
The promo fades.
The night has long come and Miss Wrestling II slips out of the gym, wearing a skull cap and dark glasses. Her blonde hair has been pulled back tight into a ponytail.
“Don’t worry about it. No one knows it’s me.” She says to the person on the other end of her cell phone.
After a few months of listening to the person on the other end, she finally respond, “Just pull your panties out of that crack of yours and pay attention. I said I got this. It ain’t nothing for you to be getting involved in. I’ve been doing this for 18 years and I ain’t about to stop now. “
As she hails a cab and opens the door when it pulls up to the curb, “How about this. You turn on the fucking Splat channel on Sunday and watch what I do to Sad Dog and shut your goddamned mouth for once. Fuck!”
The woman hangs up the phone and slips into the cab and it drives off.
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