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Agent Orange · (06-30-2013)

XWF HOUSE SHOW – NIGHT AFTER WARFARE

**Spineshank’s “New Disease” rips through the Arena and Agent Orange comes charging down the entrance ramp. He’s wearing jeans and a black shirt with an orange biohazard symbol on it. His expression is serious, agitated even.

He slides into the ring and forcefully takes the mic from the ring announcer. The ring announcer scurries away from the winner of the opening match from Wednesday Warfare. Agent Orange slashes across his throat for the music to stop.**

Agent Orange: There are two yard-tards in the back right now who are seriously reconsidering going back to the Trampoline Wrestling Alliance. They walked into Yankee Stadium with an inflated sense of bad-assery and they were taken down a few pegs. I’m not bragging, I’m stating fact. For them it was the day they realized that they should dust off those acceptance letters to Janitor College and hang up their boots; for me it was just another Wednesday.

The secret to success in professional wrestling and any other industry, when you’re breaking in, is to identify the big man and take him out. I was willing to bide my time, earn my spot and pay my dues. The suits in the XWF headquarters were able to get their heads out of prostitute cleavage long enough to see what other promoters have seen: Agent Orange gets the job done. I was willing to wait, but now I’ve been booked in a tag team match with the top dogs: Tony Santos and Mr. Satellite.

**The crowd pops for his opponents**

Agent Orange: That’s right, let’s celebrate the man of the hour. Let’s hear it for the hero of the day, the legend himself; let’s hear it for myth. Trends in professional wrestling are cyclical, it’s because you people are predictable. There have been dozens of empires in wrestling; you people jump on the band wagon and then some rogue, some renegade, someone willing to go against the grain brings it all crashing down. There was Hulk Hogan, and he’s gone. There was the New World Order, they’re gone. Goldberg, gone. Bret Hart, gone. Edge, gone. Mr. Satellite is a myth, a story to be told when his day in the sun is over. The first time you walk into the locker room, you get this sense of Satellite being the top dog. I’m not faulting the man for building himself into the ultra-talent; I just want him to know that Agent Orange is the next big thing and as soon as I get all of you to love me, there is nothing he can do to stop that. I’m not inflating myself, again, I am stating fact.

The truly disgusting thing is, you people don’t care. I’d love for you all to see what goes on in the back, the hours of pain management, the cortisone shots in the spine just so that we can walk out of that curtain one more day for the love of the people. It’s not love from you people, is it? No, it’s lust. It’s the romantic thrill of the moment that consumes you and like any fiery affair, it burns out. When I’m the top dog, and I will be the top dog, I’m going to be smart enough to know that it’s cheap and tawdry and to get everything out of it that I can.

**The crowd boos Agent Orange’s scathing sentiment**

Agent Orange: Coming with me on my journey of ascension is Steve Davids. Steve and I have the misfortune of being thrown into a huge opportunity without really knowing each other. Great tag teams take months to form rapport, years to become great and decades to become legends; we have a week to burn Rome to the ground. Now as much as I really don’t know Steve, but I know people. I know, as a person, that Steve surely wants the same thing I do: to take Mr. SyFy Channel down a few pegs, the make him bleed like any other mortal man. If Steve Davids and I never tag team again, we will always know that we agree on that universal truth.

I haven’t forgotten about Tony Soprano, and on behalf of everyone here at the XWF, we’re sorry to hear about your Uncle Jim Gandolfini passing away, that was tragic and unexpected. Here’s where I become conflicted being involved in pro sports. I like your work Tony; I like your ethic and skill. The powers that be have allowed me to test myself, a relative unknown to your universe, against guys like Tony Santos and Mr. Satellite. For me, this is going to be like walking into a museum, seeing a painting I like and then having to destroy it. I will feel bad after I’ve done it, but while it’s happening, it will be poetry in motion.

**More boos**

Agent Orange: You’re all watching history right now. It’s like when Babe Ruth called his homerun shot or when Tiger Woods won the Masters for the first time; you are all witnessing Agent Orange prophesizing his own ascension to greatness. The road is long and treacherous, but also built on the broken legends of Mr. Satellite and Tony WitnessProtectionProgram.

**Agent Orange throws down the mic and “New Disease” plays to escort him out. His march to the back is determined and steady.**

Fin.

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