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Great Expectations; An Official D-TIME Production
Topic Started: Jun 18 2016, 08:11 PM (162 Views)
WWEFootos48
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God
Knock knock.

Instead of hearing a loud crack of two consecutive fists jarring the flimsy aluminum door between this shadowy figure and the inside to wherever he is, the words were spoken in clear, offensive tonal chords.

Who's there?

An older gentleman, could be no earlier than being birthed through the second world war, questions. The younger, more larger man and naturally the intruder, answers honestly.

D-MAN.

The man, quite frazzled, is unsure what to say, never hearing that name before.

D-MAN, who?

Offended by the answer he received, D-MAN takes one size 12 boot to the door, taking the entire structure down almost like a cat trying to find the last shred of tuna in the alleyway garbage. The man, surprisingly agile for his geriatric stature, looks in shock in horror as the man stares him up and down. Within a few seconds, the man reaches behind him for his 9 mm pistol kept dusty on the folding table he was manning right before this intrusion. Before he shoots, D-MAN takes his sunglasses off.

D-MAN who, you say?

The man, almost completely beside himself, drops the gun on the ground, parlaying a shot that bounces off the right-hand corner of the building no larger than a single-wide trailer. The bullet set off the automatic lighting system to the building, revealing the entire contents of the building: a four foot section of VHS tapes; the center, wider wall, with 8x10s autographed with names such as Locke, Perillo, NCR (ironically crossed out and replaced with "D-MAN was here"), Prodigy, and tons and tons of other names and builds. Most were too dusted over to read out the names, but the faces would be more than visible to anyone. On D-MAN's right, were ring ropes, turnbuckles, and attached to the wall ring aprons and monthly show signage.

Jesus, Spencer, you really don't remember me?

Holy shit. The D-MAN.

That's right. Do I have to pop in some blanks and teach you a thing or two about what it meant to be a wrestling fan in the late 00's or are you somehow like the rest of the world who moved on from all we did with nothing?

I...um...

D-MAN slams his hand on the folding table.

Silence! Apparently you need a refresher, grandpa. There was something back in the day called the Sixstar Wrestling Federation. It was something that would fill arenas nationwide with the best wrestling stars worldwide...and Fittes.

He pauses

Maybe it's easy to forget what we did because you are literally the only person left on the SWF payroll, and that's just because you may or may not have saved some of our tapes from a car fire during the summer of '08, but that's fine. Whatever. It doesn't matter. What you see here is heart. Determination. Sweat. Tears.

We fucking lived and died by this shit, man. And you know what? I think it's time to bring it back.


Well how are you exactly planning on doing that?

D-MAN smiles. He knows exactly how he's going to do it, but due to his extreme liking for cliffhangers, he's going to leave this old man alone and instead dream of Steve Dave fucking an egg mcmuffin instead.

Don't worry about it. Just leave this trailer right now and nobody will get hurt.

The old man's eyes are wider than the hole in his lost and manic depressive heart after his wife of fifty years croaked during a marathon sex session. It was LIT, as he would say, tbh, even though he was still extremely hard when the coroner took her equally stiff body out. Hawkwarrrrd.

But sir, you no longer work for this company. In fact, nobody does or has. I am the only key holder left, the only man who has access to the key that unlocks the safe that holds the other key to access the key for the padlock that opens the fence to the SWF arena.

Give me the keys now, or you'll be deader than Michael Jackson after his doctor gives him his morning shakes.**

Fine, here they are.

The old man, as much as a pussy one would expect him to be, dies anyway. He collapses backwards through the folding table, shattering it instantly. D-MAN, holding the key to the inner sanctum of his life, feels it through the tips of his fingers.

It's time. It's D-TIME.

**this was a great joke current to the times when SWF was actually still good
Edited by WWEFootos48, Jun 18 2016, 08:15 PM.
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