Porta-Matt
Posted: Mon Mar 06, 2017 7:48 pm
OOC: Thanks for writing this with me. Maybe we'll steer away from scatology next time. Maybe we won't. You'll have to tune in to find out.
Trent looked irate, pacing back and forth in his locker room. Already in his wrestling gear, fluorescent yellow bandana wrapped around his head... He reached for the camera and shook it with his hands as a way to vent his anger. He bet Randy Orton was home making sweet sweet love to his wife, he bet Brock Lesnar was home making sweet sweet love to Paul Heyman… Not him.
Trent: I just wanted another quiet night with an easy paycheck, like Brock Lesnar, CM Punk, Edge, Randy Orton and Roman Reigns... Spending the night at catering, filling my plate over, and over, and over, AND OVER AGAIN... But NO! I have to face the man who you invite to Netflix and Chill, but he's already humanly impossible chilled... Matt Sydal.
Trent held one finger in the air.
Trent: Listen up Mathew and the Bean Stalk! Either because you are higher than RVD smelling paint or simply because you don't have a clue... Mr. King of the Super Juniors... You're facing none other than a former Super Junior who DECIMATED The longest reigning EBWF World Champion and the youngest World Champion in the history of this business so you better...
The door to The Trent’s locker room flew open, sending a gust of air in his direction and gently causing his long locks of hair to float about in the wind. For about a milisecond.
“I’m lookin’ for a John, you seen one?”
Trent shook his head.
Trent: I’m facing a Matt, not a John. Also… What’s wrong with you people in Albuquerque and your Bowels!
The camera panned out to reveal Enzo Amore. A sabretooth in a land of albino tigers.
Enzo Amore: When a man’s gotta go, a man’s GOTTA. GO.
Trent: I’ll tell you something, Matt Sydal wouldn’t know, because I am 100% he’s not a man. He’s probably two kids stacked one over the other!
Enzo Amore: I think he’s four. That’s two short. Because he’s too short. What a sissy.
Trent: Matt Sydal, he’s so unimportant, I am more concerned about your quest for a Bathroom than my upcoming match. Because brother, once the bell rings, Matt Sydal is going to need a lot more than Medicinal Mary-Jane to bounce back from this one!
Enzo Amore: They should call you Oxy because you will throw him down harder than a suburban mom of THREE!
Trent: They should call me Meth because… Yuck, they should by no means call me Meth!
Trent pointed at the camera.
Trent: DON’T FUCKING CALL ME METH!
Enzo also pointed at the camera and bugged his eyes out.
Enzo Amore: DON’T CALL HIM METH, MOTHERFUCKER! ALLITERATION FOR EFFECT!
Trent: What? Oh! Is that like Passive voice?
Trent looked at the camera with disgust.
Trent: See what you’ve made of this, you Pot-head? Enzo can’t find a Bathroom, and now we’re discussing the definition of Alliteration! I’M SO MAD I AM GOING TO SLAM YOUR SKULL ON THAT MAT WITH THE CRUNCHY.
Enzo Amore: You already went through the wrong gateway boy-o, so you better watch your step when you enter that squared circle-- WAIT. Squared. Circle. But it’s a ring?
Enzo’s eyes bugged widely again, having an unsettling epiphany.
Trent: So many questions, so little time. Hey Enzo, do you think Aliens exist?
Enzo Amore: Bro… Of course they do. Look at Matt Sydal. An alien laid an egg in his foot. And his head. That’s why his face looks so mushy. That, and because I hit it a lot a few days ago.
Trent: Tubular, dude. Let’s go find you a Bathroom, or Sydal’s locker room.
Both men walked out of the room as the scene faded to black.
"Hey... I want some more Jambalaya Taco Gyro..."
Trent looked irate, pacing back and forth in his locker room. Already in his wrestling gear, fluorescent yellow bandana wrapped around his head... He reached for the camera and shook it with his hands as a way to vent his anger. He bet Randy Orton was home making sweet sweet love to his wife, he bet Brock Lesnar was home making sweet sweet love to Paul Heyman… Not him.
Trent: I just wanted another quiet night with an easy paycheck, like Brock Lesnar, CM Punk, Edge, Randy Orton and Roman Reigns... Spending the night at catering, filling my plate over, and over, and over, AND OVER AGAIN... But NO! I have to face the man who you invite to Netflix and Chill, but he's already humanly impossible chilled... Matt Sydal.
Trent held one finger in the air.
Trent: Listen up Mathew and the Bean Stalk! Either because you are higher than RVD smelling paint or simply because you don't have a clue... Mr. King of the Super Juniors... You're facing none other than a former Super Junior who DECIMATED The longest reigning EBWF World Champion and the youngest World Champion in the history of this business so you better...
The door to The Trent’s locker room flew open, sending a gust of air in his direction and gently causing his long locks of hair to float about in the wind. For about a milisecond.
“I’m lookin’ for a John, you seen one?”
Trent shook his head.
Trent: I’m facing a Matt, not a John. Also… What’s wrong with you people in Albuquerque and your Bowels!
The camera panned out to reveal Enzo Amore. A sabretooth in a land of albino tigers.
Enzo Amore: When a man’s gotta go, a man’s GOTTA. GO.
Trent: I’ll tell you something, Matt Sydal wouldn’t know, because I am 100% he’s not a man. He’s probably two kids stacked one over the other!
Enzo Amore: I think he’s four. That’s two short. Because he’s too short. What a sissy.
Trent: Matt Sydal, he’s so unimportant, I am more concerned about your quest for a Bathroom than my upcoming match. Because brother, once the bell rings, Matt Sydal is going to need a lot more than Medicinal Mary-Jane to bounce back from this one!
Enzo Amore: They should call you Oxy because you will throw him down harder than a suburban mom of THREE!
Trent: They should call me Meth because… Yuck, they should by no means call me Meth!
Trent pointed at the camera.
Trent: DON’T FUCKING CALL ME METH!
Enzo also pointed at the camera and bugged his eyes out.
Enzo Amore: DON’T CALL HIM METH, MOTHERFUCKER! ALLITERATION FOR EFFECT!
Trent: What? Oh! Is that like Passive voice?
Trent looked at the camera with disgust.
Trent: See what you’ve made of this, you Pot-head? Enzo can’t find a Bathroom, and now we’re discussing the definition of Alliteration! I’M SO MAD I AM GOING TO SLAM YOUR SKULL ON THAT MAT WITH THE CRUNCHY.
Enzo Amore: You already went through the wrong gateway boy-o, so you better watch your step when you enter that squared circle-- WAIT. Squared. Circle. But it’s a ring?
Enzo’s eyes bugged widely again, having an unsettling epiphany.
Trent: So many questions, so little time. Hey Enzo, do you think Aliens exist?
Enzo Amore: Bro… Of course they do. Look at Matt Sydal. An alien laid an egg in his foot. And his head. That’s why his face looks so mushy. That, and because I hit it a lot a few days ago.
Trent: Tubular, dude. Let’s go find you a Bathroom, or Sydal’s locker room.
Both men walked out of the room as the scene faded to black.
"Hey... I want some more Jambalaya Taco Gyro..."