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Agent Orange · (07-03-2013)

XWF STUDIOS

**John Jones, a prospective wrestler for the XWF is cutting a promo in the XWF Studios soundstage. He’s standing in front of an XWF backdrop, in his wrestling gear and not doing so well. He’s stumbling over his words and not really being coherent.

From out of nowhere, Agent Orange, in his wrestling gear, jumps John Jones, beating him down with rights and lefts and then tosses him into the backdrop.**

Agent Orange: Hey, Camera-Jockeys, you make sure Mr. Roboto and Tony Santo-Massochist sees this, get it?

**The Camera men must acknowledge that they understand, as Agent Orange moves on with his train of thought**

Agent Orange: Wildcard Weekend went exactly as I said it would. I’m not some brilliant wrestling prognosticator, I don’t possess ESP; no, it boils down to facts. Steve Davids won the Xtreme Title because he was the superior athlete in the match, fact. John Austin stole the Xtreme Title because he has a uterus and little girl boobs, fact. Mr. Satellite defended his United States Championship because Tony Sign-Me-Up-For-The-Rough-Stuff likes being whipped just a little bit more than Mr. Maybe-Its-Me-Maybe-Its-Maybeline, fact. That last fact is between Tony and his dominatrix, frankly I don’t care. The most pertinent fact of the moment is that Wildcard Weekend is in the books and now we’re staring down the barrel of Wednesday Warfare.

Now that Elroy Jetson and the Pride of the Pleasure Palace are done knocking each other around, they’ve got to worry about the next threat. That threat is Xtreme Champion, regardless of John Austin’s puberty hormone enduced kleptomania, Steve Davids and the New Disease Agent Orange. I’ve always been a fan of taking my career into my own hands; I try to be humble but as a man of integrity and being a straight shooter I’ve accepted that I’m going to have a few burdens to bear. One of those burdens are that despite self-imposed humility, I have to call it as I see them and let people know when I see an ass-kicking coming down the way. I’ve accurately predicted how Wildcard Weekend was going to go, why would you not believe me now? On Wednesday night, Tony Ball-Gag and the Close Encounter of the Third Kind are going to get handed a steaming pile of defeat.

**Agent Orange points to the back drop behind him**

Agent Orange: The XWF, the Xtreme Wrestling Federation. Not the Xtreme Eyeliner Federation, not the Xtreme Emo-Fashion-Awards Federation; the Xtreme Wrestling Federation. If it seems like I’m being a little “In Your Face,” it’s because I am, that’s what I do. See, I wouldn’t be doing my job if I let you walk around the bridge of the Starship Feety Pajamas or let Tony suspend himself from the ceiling while his gimp is making lemonade before the crowd arrives without the imminent threat of Agent Orange being at the front of your thoughts. I wouldn’t be the tactician that I am if I didn’t employ psychological warfare. The silence from the Dynamic Duo is really only telling the world that I’m right, doesn’t it?

Truth be told, it’s only a matter of time before Stephen Hawking and his Roomba start spouting off the same tired crap that he is destined to spout: Blah, blah, blah, I’m better than you; Blah, Blah, Blah, I’m from outer space; Blah, Blah, Blah, I really related with the machines when I watched Terminator. Let me put this in a language that you can understand, Satellite: Danger, Danger Will Robinson. There is a great big orange ass-kicking coming your way. Here’s the real bummer: it’s not going to stop at Wednesday Warfare. I am going to keep kicking your ass until everything of value that you’ve done in the sport of professional wrestling is irrelevant; until the titles you’ve held, the matches you’ve won and the smart phones that you’ve made love to are just a distant memory.

Tony, over the weekend and today we’ve identified that you like getting spanked. Your match at Wildcard was painful to watch, namely because S&M just isn’t my thing. You are surely feeling a deep sense of hurt to your pride, that you were so close and that your best just wasn’t good enough. The good news is: I am leaps and bounds more merciful that Mr. Universal Remote. I will tell you here and now that your best will not be good enough. I will give you a promise and a guarantee that the burning herpes of failure will consume you, it is for certain. I’d give you a long speech about how I’m going to drive you all the way to ruin, but see, you can’t cut it. Mr. Wifi Connection has the gold, not you. Mr. 4G has the glory, the fame and the respect, not you. You had a chance to earn it but you weren’t good enough, the talent to get the brass ring was not with you and the moment in the spotlight was meant for someone else. Stings, doesn’t it? The truth usually hurts.

**Agent Orange gets closer to the camera**

Agent Orange: Tony, I’ve already written you off. It’s in the books, it’s done. As for Mr. Invasion of the Pod People: Beam me up Scotty, there’s no career left here.

**Camera Fades**

Fin.

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