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| Breakfast Battles, or Rooty Tooty Look At My Booty; EWC King of the Cage 2016 RP | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Nov 17 2016, 10:25 AM (34 Views) | |
| El Hijo del Senor Ass | Nov 17 2016, 10:25 AM Post #1 |
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http://ewcprez.proboards.com/post/171643 for the formatted version! Hyundai Sonata Ontario, California November 13, 2016 11:15 p.m. (Off-Camera) Even a hot shower couldn't cool the remnants of adrenaline that still trickles through our subject's fingers and toes. It was almost as if he'd gotten behind the wheel for the very first time: his mind having to recall the steps of turning the ignition and shifting the car into reverse. El Hijo del Senor Ass, whom would self-affirm that it is in fact partially a birth name, peered out the rear-view mirror as he finally allowed hunger to motivate him out of the parking lot of the Citizens Bank Arena. His Spotify app immediately queued up his last song and blared through the stereo speakers via Bluetooth. "YO I TELL YOU WHAT I WANT WHAT I REALLY REALLY WANT SO TELL ME WHAT YA WANT WHAT YA REALLY REALLY WANT..." Adjusting the volume down from the sudden blast of music, the Chicano youth pulled onto the junction towards the Interstate, heading northbound to his late night dining destination. Internally, he reflected on the events that had taken place just hours before. The nineteen-year-old had managed to impress with his televised debut for #FSociety Wrestling, not only pulling out a victory, but adding a little of his shine that had caught promoters' attention in the first place from his stints back home in New Mexico. Khristina Valentine: El Hijo del Senor Ass has somehow managed to trap Malik Jones within the ring apron, goading him from the outside and pulling the ground out from underneath! A right cross to the jaw of the Trash Talk Jesus from the Son of Ass, and it looks like he's...he's going over the guard rail! Samuel Griffin: What's he planning on here? More invitation for the audience to touch his butt? KV: Senor Ass now encouraging a handful of thhis Ontario crowd to stand up in the front row! It looks like he's...he's asking for a boost? A roar of cheers arise as a selection of the #FSociety fans are providing for their hands to lift El Hijo del Senor Ass, kneeling down per his instructions. KV: OH WOW! The fans just CATAPULTED El Hijo back over the guardrail, allowing him to deliver a flying forearm shot! What a moment for those lucky folks, being able to be part of the action! SG: That might have been the most high risk move I've seen in a while -- those people could have easily just fallen backwards and ended what would have been a rather short career for Ass Man, Jr.! What a dummy! Samuel Griffin, although probably right, seemed to be in the majority of "analysts" who couldn't ignore that El Hijo's desire to sparkle would likely stunt what could otherwise be a great career as a respected high-flyer. In the wrestling business, the oil-and-water mixture of comedy and championships still held true to the traditionalists. Juan, surprisingly enough, carried the same opinion. The real winners that he'd watched on television and had seen on marquees for main events had always carried themselves as superior competitors and masters of the mat. That said, there had always been a role for the locker room's class clown, and it was a role he was more than comfortable in. Growing up, he'd never been the type to puff out his chest despite being an above-average athlete. He'd also never been one to engage in any kind of verbal confrontation -- unless of course it was a playful banter with his friends. He was an entertainer in the halls of Cimmaron High, and knew that his best shot at making a name for himself in pro wrestling would be to carry that same mentality. This of course begged the question as to why he'd accepted the invitation to fly to Toronto and compete in EWC's King of the Cage. El Hijo knew in his mind that the track's odds didn't even have him close to showing, much less winning the entire shebang. Part of him felt like it may be a way to parlay some new viewership to #FSociety. Even in defeat, audiences seemed to embrace a guy who places an over-exaggerated emphasis on the derrieres of his opponents, not to mention his own. He also had a couple of razzle dazzles in his repertoire, and the new-school crowds were fairly into ridiculous variations of dives and flips. Another part of him of course hoped that it might be an off-night for the thirty-one other competitors in the event: and that by some miracle, he'd pocket not only the recognition of becoming the King of the Cage, but a little bit of moolah as well. "A lot of moolah," he thinks aloud. However, even with these expectations...hopes...fantasies...whatever they ended up materializing themselves into being: there was one primary reason as to why he'd taken such a lucrative opportunity. With a press of a button on the steering wheel, a feminine robotic voice spoke up. "Say the name of the person you would like to call...now." The unit beeped once. "Dad," El Hijo responds. "I was wondering if you were gonna call," a voice welcomes. As stereotypical as it was, it had a Cheech Marin tinge to it -- the voice that El Hijo del Senor Ass had recognized as Senor Ass himself. "I didn't know if you were going to be awake or not, old timer," El Hijo responds. Juan Ass, Sr. let out a chuckle. "Laying in bed right now, so I appreciate you ruining my day at work tomorrow." "It's what I do best, pep-pep," Junior says. "So, did you watch?" "Si. I can't believe Seattle beat the Patriots." "You jerk," Junior laughs. "Nah, of course I did, little man. You know I don't like to get all mushy, but I'm proud of you. Great effort and you connected with those people, just like I knew you would," his father states. El Hijo smiles. "Gracias padre. But you know I wouldn't have been there if it weren't for you." "I'm glad I could provide the motivation to allow strangers to spank you during an entrance," Senor Senior jokes. "Well, you also taught me how to do a hammerlock," El Hijo adds. "I noticed you didn't use a hammerlock the entire match," his dad quips. The Son of Ass chuckles. "I thought about it, but I really didn't think it was appropriate to win by submission on such a deadly and aggressive hold. You gotta set the right tone, pops. Ripping off someone's forearm with my massive power likely wouldn't have earned me a whole lot of admiration with the fans." "Horseshit. A piece of Malik Jones or Chris Cane would have been the ultimate souvenir," he replies. "But anyway. You are going to Canada next, huh?" "Uh huh. Flying out this coming Saturday. I'll call you again in a few days when you aren't on the verge of passing out to Happy Days reruns. Need to get your advice on how to not die wrestling multiple matches in one night," El Hijo remarks. "Sounds great, mi hijo." "Love ya," Juan Jr. mumbles with affection. "Love you too. Drive safe," his father closes. His father, his sole inspiration. A journeyman wrestler, still taking the weekend bookings, was not able to afford the opportunities to make a career out of wrestling that his son was now attempting. This is why El Hijo del Senor Ass had signed his name on the dotted line to compete in the King of the Cage tournament: because his dad wasn't able to. International House of Pancakes Rancho Cucamonga, California November 14, 2016 12:30 a.m. In theory, the International House of Pancakes can be argued as a "safe place" for food experimentation. Traditional American mannerisms should not apply when you are within the confines of a restaurant that transcends borders. As a point of argument: gravy in the southeastern United States would be more of an accompaniment for biscuits, whereas in Canada, Poutine is king. However, explaining this to Anastasia Hayden wouldn't be a necessity at this point, as she actively encouraged her recent acquaintance to push the boundaries of limitation. "Put hot sauce on it too," the F-Society and Alpha Wrestling Empire talent recommends, as she watched El Hijo del Senor Ass finish pouring the boysenberry syrup atop the strawberry, blueberry, butter pecan, and regular maple syrups on the stack of silver dollar pancakes. Juan grins, slowly moving his hand toward the glass Tobasco container and retrieving it out of the holder. "Ya double-dare me?" he questions, flailing his eyebrows and curling his tongue in tribute to Billy Madison. Ana nods with enthusiasm. "Bombs away," El Hijo remarks, seasoning the pancakes with a little extra spice and effectively ruining what would have been a delicious post-match meal. Triumphantly, he retrieves his fork and folds over the top pancake in a digestable lump, shoving the entire thing in his mouth and chewing with pride -- at least for a second. Across the booth, Ana taunts his quick change of reaction, rubbing her stomach. "Mmmmm-mmmmm!" "Thmsmmsss sucsssss," the Son of Ass mumbles back with mouth still full, making a disgusted face. Any regrets that Anastasia Hayden may have harbored in accepting this goofball's invitation for a "world-class meal" had been quickly wiped away upon arrival. Initially disarmed by his thrift-store t-shirt proclaiming him to be the World's Greatest Grandpa was a good enough conduit, when they had first walked into the IHOP, El Hijo's comment to the bloodshot eyed late night hostess of "Welp, didn't beat the crowd here" to the sight of the empty dining room and her dilapidated sigh and no-sell of the stupid joke set her at ease. Normally not one to want to hang around after the show without some sort of promise of alcohol, it's possible that she may have taken pity on him. At around that age, being from a similar small-town background, knowing he didn't have any real "friends" as a greenhorn...it's possible she saw a little of herself in his youthful enthusiasm. Or, it could have been due to their mutual appreciation of 90s Disney and horrendous fashion trends. "How was it?" Ana inquires as Juan finished swallowing. He shrugs. "Like eating a beehive." As for Juan Ass, Jr., his invitation's motivation was purely on the need for some normalcy. Since departing his little New Mexican community for Las Vegas over two weeks ago, his contact with the outside world had been limited to a couple of Tinder rendezvous, both of which produced exactly what was to be expected from the app. What he really needed was a buddy: someone that could take his mind off the fact that he'd made a headfirst jump into the real world without really knowing what to expect. He wanted a reminder that he wasn't the only one in the world who seemed to be a little different than the norm... "It could be worse," Ana responds. "At least it didn't taste like you put a bunch of random shit on some pancakes." For what it was worth, he'd figured he'd found his reminder. "So what's next for you?" El Hijo asks, having confidence that he'd scraped the last bit of crappiness off of the remainder of his late night breakfast. Ana, between bites, rolls her eyes. "Philadelphia. The fun never ends. You?" "Toronto. Definitely one match, maybe ten or something. One night tournament with thirty-two others," Juan explains. "Maybe ten? I hope there's not a math stipulation in your opener," Ana remarks, "otherwise it's going to be a short night." The Son of Ass slowly draws a trail with his sausage link through the freshly formed puddle of maple syrup on his plate. "Numbers are hard," he says with a pointed Forrest Gump accent. "But yeah, you may be right on the short night even if that's not the case. I'm not exactly what you'd call a wily veteran in stuff like EXTREME HARDCORE CAGE DEATH matches." "Or matches in general," Ana quips. "Shaddup," El Hijo fires back, grinning sheepishly. "But for real, though. I've been doing this for what..." Juan starts, exaggerating by counting on his fingers, "...three years now." Ana chuckles, mid-bacon bite, at yet another sign of El Hijo del Senor Ass's ineptitude at basic arithmetic -- whether real or not. "But I've literally only been in one 'specialty' match my entire career," he continues. "It was a four-way ladder match. But the thing is, I didn't even climb the actual ladder that I was supposed to use: I brought my own old-timey wooden one that I used for my tree house as a kid." "Ha!" El Hijo nods. "The kids loved it as I tried a couple of times to keep my balance...and failed miserably. I also used it to severely rupture this one jerk's large intestine from the top rope, but there was no win on the horizon for ol' Ass." "Wow," Ana responds, smiling. "You need to hang onto that mentality: there's a lot of recognition out there for someone who can lose a match that artistically." "Too bad no one filmed it. I'd be collecting that YouTube cheese." Ana shakes her head. "No you wouldn't. You know how many 'Top 10 Moves of Ana Hayden' clips there are out there that I'm not seeing a dime of?" El Hijo smirks, shooting her a look. "Thankfully I don't need to be smart in math to know the answer to that one is zero," he jokes. "Shaddup! At least I have ten moves," she launches back. "Um, a no-hands tope, one-hand tope, and Superman tope are three moves, not just one," Juan defends. "I was counting those as three moves," she responds, taking a sip of water. "But on the real, why even enter a friggin' EXTREME HARDCORE CAGE DEATH tournament when that's not your style? You're Vanilla Ice'ing in Compton, basically." El Hijo chuckles. "More like Dwight Yokam'ing in Compton. I guess it's a good way to get my name out there outside of the Southwest. But the big allure is the prize money. A million to the winner, and a handsome purse to second and third, too." "Really? Maybe I should have looked into it. I know I could have at least beat one person's ass in it," Ana proclaims. "I'll assume that the 'a' in 'ass' was capitalized, you ass," the Ass banters back. "But yeah. I might be a little in over my head, but dang, it's a hard opportunity to turn down for a shot at that kind of dough." Ana, nonchalantly taking her fork and swiping a silver dollar pancake to put on her plate, poses the ultimate question to her pal. "So, say you win. What are you gonna do with that kind of dough?" "Besides build my own private waterslide? I mean, I have an idea, but it's kinda stupid..." El Hijo says sheepishly. "Aw, c'mon. It can't be any more stupid than you in a ladder match," she prods. "Well, yeah," Juan agrees. "Fine. I was going to give a lot of it to my family, but take enough to..." "To what?" "...I mean, I've always figured that it wasn't for me, but since I'd be able to accommodate the schedule in working for F-Society, I was thinking I might enroll in UNLV or something," he admits. "College? Damn. You're a braver person than I am," Ana states, biting into the pancake. "To study what?" "...nursing." Ana laughs out loud, nearly spitting out a clump of chewed up pancake. "SERIOUSLY?" El Hijo nods, simultaneously giving her the finger. "Dude. Dalton knew how to stitch himself up after a fight. Don't you think that'd be a great skill to have in our line of work?" Ana shakes her head, still chuckling. "Far be it for me to question someone who wants to model their life after Patrick Swayze in Road House. I just don't think I'd spend a chunk of change just to learn how to put on my own catheter." "Gross," the Son of Ass responds. "But also another practical use for that education should someone try to kick my penis into oblivion. Which is a very real threat according to my Twitter feed...oh, hello!" Both El Hijo del Senor Ass and Ana Hayden look up embarrassed to the IHOP waitress -- unaware that she had been standing there for the past several seconds. The waitress, "Tamara" by way of name tag, forces a smile. "Can I get you two anything else?" she asks politely. El Hijo gives Ana a knowing look. She sighs, putting her hand over her face, as the game plan they'd discussed prior to arriving was actually going to be set in motion. Juan looks up to Tamara with a charming grin, responding in the sweetest possible voice. "Just the check, please, ma'am. Also," he adds, "do you think you and your staff might want to earn a quick extra five hundred bucks?" he poses, giving her a wink... International House of Pancakes Rancho Cucamonga, California November 14, 2016 3:00 a.m. As a back section has been cleared of tables and chairs within the Rancho Cucamonga IHOP, we are greeted with a shot of several of the restaurant's employees who have all formed a wide Fight Club-esque circle -- eagerly anticipating the Worldstar Hip Hop clip that is about to be filmed. El Hijo del Senor Ass stands front and center, having dressed in his wrestling garb consisting of hot pink tights, white wrestling boots, and a white bandana tied Tupac-style around his forehead. There is a horrible attempt at a menacing scowl across his face, keyed up for dramatic effect. His eyes set to mean mug, the Son of Ass stumbles into what can only be described as the (worst) PROMO OF THE YEAR. "Suh dude?" A winning opener. "Toronto. King of the Cage. Thirty-three wrestlers. One night only. And other statements of fact," El Hijo proclaims with cocksure confidence. "But," he continues, "one thing that thirty-two of those wrestlers DON'T have is a heart of pure stone underneath muscle and bone. Another thing that thirty-two wrestlers DON'T have is an unrelenting desire to get that cheese. And even ANOTHER thing that thirty-two of those wrestlers DON'T have is a lack of fear of enclosed spaces! Shoot, son, one time in Kindergarten I had to stand in the corner for FIFTEEN minutes after I stole someone else's crayon." The surrounding IHOP employees erupt in cheers, with a few "OH SHIT OH SHIT!" calls diced in between. The tough mega-thug known as the Son of Ass goes on. "So I am no stranger to being on lockdown, fools! I'm STREET-HARDENED, and I've done my time. There isn't a cage out there that I won't go in and come out with a smile on my face. "Look into my eyes and tell me they aren't the eyes of a MANIAC KILLER. Yo, I was just in the bathroom here at the International House of PAINcakes and I saw a roach just CRAWLIN' around when I was trying to take a tinkle! You know El Hijo del Senor Ass is NOT having that, so I carefully picked up that bug with a piece of toilet paper and STRAIGHT dropped its ass into the toilet. Then, I PEED around it and flushed it down to heck! Juan, one. Roach's life, zero!" And as if on queue, the surrounding IHOP employees erupt in cheers, with a few "AW NAW! AW NAW!" shouts thrown in for good measure. "But I know what you all are thinking: talk is cheap and actions speak louder than words, right? Well, I want you to get a load of what's in front of us here on this table, punk," he shouts, as the camera motions toward the said table. Resting on the table, there appears to be approximately thirty-two chocolate chip pancakes, all complete with whip-cream faces. Some smiling, some frowning, some in that weird "straight-mouthed" neutral expression that no one has ever made in real life. "So tonight, I'm gonna show you ACTIONS, and after I'm done, there won't be any doubt in your mind who is going to come out as the 2016 King of the Cage! Yo, push play on that HARD-HITTING GANGSTA SONG while I get medieval on these pastry asses!" Cracking his knuckles and adjusting his neck, El Hijo hungrily sets his sights on the table of enemies that lay before him. With the magic of video editing, the "hard-hitting gangsta song" begins to play accordingly... (Linked for your pleasure to optimize your roleplay reading experience, here is "Pump Up the Jam" by Technotronic.) El Hijo picks up the first pancake, which carries a sad-faced expression. At the bottom of the screen, the Times New Roman caption appears: COREY BULL The Son of Ass hands the pancake to a female IHOP employee to hold at her side. With this, El Hijo runs to the opposite side of the human circle, then CHARGES with index fingers pointed at his temples, running them directly into the pancake eyes of "Corey Bull," effectively ripping holes into it. "Mess with the HORNS, you get the BULL!" El Hijo yells, making his way back to the table. In a rapid-fire succession, he then begins to grab several pancakes and toss them high in the air, each one splatting back down and revealing the names of the victims as they meet their demise. TYLER ROBERTS EL BANDITO NICK JAMES RUTHANN HUNTER BRANDEN HARVEY ALEXIS MORRISON CHRIS NOVAK DEAN JUDAS JACOB CASS KURT NEWMAN JAN VAN DER ROOST KAT JONES PERZAG PHINEHAS CROWE MR. JOBS TONY CARMINE TYLER ROBERTS VERNON VANDERBILT "Whooooooooo! Those were names that were randomly assigned and have no bearing whatsoever on the fact that they haven't done any promos yet," El Hijo remarks, casually tapping the fourth wall. The youngster then retrieves another pancake, placing it underneath his arm in a front-face lock, and proceeds to lift it high in the air for a Jackhammer suplex, bringing it crashing down to the carpet! MANIK MERCER "You don't even do a Jackhammer," the voice of Anastasia Hayden catcalls from behind the camera. "Shut up, this is my promo and I'll do what I want," El Hijo responds, picking up another pancake and bringing it face to face with the camera. AMBER JAYE RYAN "'I'm the Distorted Angel!'" El Hijo mocks. He then takes a huge bite of the pancake, leaving about two-thirds of it left. "You're distorted now! Boom, ROASTED!" he exclaims, throwing the remnants off camera in the direction of Ana Hayden. "Hey, a bunch of you guys grab one and line 'em up, I have a great idea," the Son of Ass directs as said employees clamor around the table to retrieve: LATOYA HIXX CHRISTIAN MALICE KURT NEWMAN JEREMY WARREN ANNE DROID STITCHES THE CLOWN CYRUS MCCANN DREW STEVENSON JOHN BLADE Lining up accordingly, the employees hold the faces out at arm's length. El Hijo retrieves a chair from another nearby table -- mounting it up and preparing to take a swing to knock all five into next Tuesday. However, since this chair is in fact NOT a folding chair, he hesitates with confusion as to how to effectively get the job done without hurting anybody. With a shrug, El Hijo turns the chair upright, and proceeds to lightly smack each pancake out of the hands of the IHOP workers, then steps on each face concurrently after it falls to the ground. "That's probably not how it will actually work but OH YEAH! Only three more to go," he commentates, moseying back to the final "participants" in the King of the Cage tournament. With care, El Hijo del Senor Ass picks up... RYAN DANIELS ...and lays it on the floor below. Hopping up on the table, the Son of Ass turns backwards and stands, preparing to perform a moonsault onto the defenseless pancake. Again, however, he hesitates. "Um, this might hurt," he reasons aloud. This said, El Hijo turns forward and simply jumps off of the table, then tries to fake out his audience by continuing to fall and connect with a knee drop. "No one bought that," Ana Hayden again heckles from behind the scenes. "NO ONE ASKED YOU," Juan Junior fires back, brushing it off to the side and lifting up the next victim of total annihilation. AMY JO SMYTH El Hijo studies the grinning pancake face and nods with a smile of his own. "You were actually pretty complimentary to me, so I don't want to hurt you," he states, gently laying it on the ground and pinning it underneath his chest for a three-count. Rising to his feet, he glares down at the last competitor with ferocity. "You, however, are a grade-A turd," he snarls, giving a defiant middle finger. 1 KOOL GUY Leaving the plate on the table, El Hijo merely turns around and reveals his hot-pink rump to the iteration of 1KG -- complete with the bright red "thumbs up" symbol on the back. Slowly, the tail descends on the pancake. With added emphasis, El Hijo del Senor Ass wiggles, effectively crushing it into oblivion. The camera then zooms in on Juan's face, as he leaves us all with a parting shot. "I'm sitting on the competition, EWC. And soon, I'll be sitting on the throne as the King!" |
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