"Why am I even here?"
He slammed his head against the mirror. If he was a Samoan wrestler it might have broken, he thought to himself. He looked back into the mirror and smiled at this thought. His smile turned to a frown once again as the crushing realisation that he was in fact Ed Leslie hit him once again.
Ed Leslie: He didn’t even get me the job this time. They’re just taking pity on an old man… Wanting one last run…
The reflection of the pathetic looking man staring at himself was truly depressing. He looked devoid of hope – despite being given a huge opportunity to give it one last go.
Ed Leslie: But who even am I?
His receding hairline meant his forehead was shining from the light above him. The hair was dyed blonde, but there wasn’t much of it. Even the mullet was too good for him now.
Ed Leslie: Ed Leslie… I just want people to know who Ed Leslie is. Everybody knows Dwayne Johnson. Everybody knows Chris Jericho. Everybody knows Wes Ikeda. Men… with their own identities.
He sighed and looked up towards the light.
Ed Leslie: Even my mailman forgets who I am on a weekly basis. I remind him… and he just smiles and pretends he’s holding a giant pair of scissors.
He brought his head down into his hands, leaning on the bathroom sink.
Ed Leslie: The mail is always bills. The door closes, and I want to die.
One of those ragged, scarred old hands came crashing down on the surface surrounding the sink.
Ed Leslie: Who am I even talking to?... Myself, of course. Nobody wants to talk to Ed Leslie. Nobody wants to interview Ed Leslie. Even the man in the mirror is tired of listening to me, I’m sure. Are you?
He stood up straight and looked into the mirror once again. The man in the mirror shook his head at him, looking disappointed.
Ed Leslie: Man, I shouldn’t have constantly taken cocaine for 30 years.
He shook his head quickly asif to try and snap out of it.
Ed Leslie: I need to get away from you, mirror-Ed. You never make me feel better. Well… I’ve got a match to prepare for. Shitty old Ed Leslie against Bully Ray. They’ll think ‘they really ran out of jobbers this time – who’s this old man?’… Well, it’s a job. And it’s a job I will do to the best of my ability… It’s just a shame I have to be me…
He straightened up again, turned and headed for the bathroom door. He opened it, but couldn’t resist turning to look back dramatically. Into the mirror he glanced once again…
Mirror-Ed: Don’t forget that booty.
Ed immediately stared at his own buttocks in the mirror.
Ed Leslie: …shit.
Monday August 3rd. Time Warner Cable Arena.
Matt Striker was stood in the designated interview area for the night. He was having some last minute makeup applied by the EBWF’s make-up lady.
Matt Striker: You shouldn’t even bother. I’m only interviewing some old guy from the 80s. I couldn’t believe it when I saw it on the production sheet. Ed Leslie?! Even I’m not enough of a mark to be excited for this.
Make-up Lady: Who is Ed Leslie?
Matt Striker: Hulk Hogan’s bitch.
She gasped at something to do with that statement. The cameraman suddenly signalled for Matt to be in position.
Matt Striker: What? Nobody is here?
The cameraman shrugged. Striker then noticed a member of the production team beyond the cameraman also shrug but give a thumbs up. Striker joined in the shrug party and got into position. The production man’s word was gospel. He had to get started. The cameraman gave the nod.
Matt Striker: Uh… Well. Joining me at this time… Ed Leslie.
He looked to the usual walk-on spot… And nobody appeared. He looked behind him, then all around himself… And saw nobody but himself and the cameraman. The production team member reappeared and gave him a signal to do it again.
Matt Striker: …Okay? Joining me at this time – Ed-
“WRONG!”
The voice seemed to come from behind the curtain that Matt was stood in front of. He jumped at the sound, and then proceeded to stare at the curtain.
Matt Striker: …Ed?
“WRONG!”
Matt went to investigate the curtain. The camera focused on him. Then, out of nowhere, Striker was knocked to the ground. Someone’s backside had collided with his hip, the power of which sent him crashing. The culprit had his back turned to the camera. He held his arms out – which were adorned with white tassles. The hair was bleach blonde and short, but had a white headband around the forehead. The pants were also white and tassled, with somewhat of a flabby hip-region hanging over them, tightly squeezed in. The bottom began to shake. The man, still with his back turned, pointed to his bottom vigorously. He then turned to the cameraman briefly.
???: ZOOM!
The cameraman obliged, apparently startled by the booming voice. He zoomed in on the butt, which proceeded to shake some more. The man then did a jump and turned in the air to face the camera. He landed and stumbled, but somehow kept his composure. Matt Striker had just struggled to his feet. The man took the microphone from Striker.
???: DON’T YOU KNOW WHO I AM?
Matt looked utterly bewildered.
“I… am… THE BOOTYMAN!”
He jumped and turned once again, shaking his booty. After a good 10 seconds of showing off his rear, he turned back and gave the microphone to Striker.
The Bootyman: Try again.
Matt took a few seconds to come to terms with everything. He then cleared his throat.
Matt Striker: Joining me at this time….. The Bootyman?
The Bootyman: YOU KNOW IT, MATTY BOY! And do you know why they call me The Bootyman?
Matt stared blankly at his interviewee for another moment, and then shook his head with a wide-eyed expression. The Bootyman looked bewildered, and then promptly jumped and turned once again, showing off his tightly-squished buttocks. He jumped and turned back, smiling at Matt.
Matt Striker: ….I see. Well, uh, Bootyman… Tonight you make your EBWF debut against Bully Ray… Dare I ask for your thoughts?
The Bootyman continued to smile at Matt.
The Bootyman: You want to know my thoughts?
Matt hesitated, then nodded.
The Bootyman: My thoughts are… WHO CARES ABOUT BULLY RAY? I have an ass so fine, that to talk about anything else would be a waste of time!
He jumped and turned once again, this time falling over upon landing. He remained motionless on the floor for a while, face down. Matt looked towards the camera, concerned.
Matt Striker: Are… you okay?
Upon being asked the question… the booty began to shake once more. Matt looked to the cameraman beyond the camera and looked at a loss for words. The Bootyman struggled back to his feet, but as he was about upright he jumped once more and clapped upon landing.
The Bootyman: Bully Ray! I’m not entirely sure who you are because I haven’t been able to afford a TV for many years – but from what I read after searching for you on Alta-Vista – you’re a hardcore kinda guy. Well, sir – you don’t wanna get hardcore with me. Because there is NOTHING, more hardcore…
He turned once more and pointed at his hind quarters with one hand. The other hand pointed towards Striker.
Matt Striker: …..than that booty?
The Bootyman turned back to Striker, looking absolutely delighted.
The Bootyman: Got it in one! So tonight – I return to the stage on which I belong. And Bully Ray – my final piece of advice to you…
He pushed Matt out of the way, ensuring only he was on camera. He seemed asif he just couldn’t wait to deliver this next lint.
The Bootyman: …Don’t make an ass of yourself!!!
He burst out laughing, in absolute hysterics. He gave the cameraman a thumbs up, gave the camera one last booty shake for good measure and went to leave the interview set. He tripped over a wire, falling face-first into the floor once again. And yet again, he remained motionless. About 30 seconds passed with the camera focused on The Bootyman’s motionless body. There was an awkward silence, which was eventually broken by the voice of the production team member.
Production: WILL SOMEBODY JUST ASK HIM?
Matt Striker returned into shot, standing over the body.
Matt Striker: …….are you okay?
The booty shook once again. The scene faded.