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Agent Orange · (06-21-2013)

XWF HOUSE SHOW – A FEW HOURS AFTER THE WEDNESDAY WARFARE CARD WAS ANNOUNCED.

[BACKSTAGE, JUST INSIDE THE ENTRANCE CURTAIN]

Agent Orange, Ax0 for short, has just donned the new ring gear he bought to celebrate the occasion of signing a contract with the XWF. In his head, he’s running through things he wants to say to his opponents. Right now he’s a nobody and anything he’s done in the ring prior doesn’t count. His promo time is short and so he needs to keep it brief.

Producer: Orange? Which one’s Orange? Agent Orange?

Agent Orange: I’m Agent Orange …the only guy here wearing …orange.

Producer: The last match went long and we need to run the hype segment for the pay-per-view, your segment’s being cut.

Agent Orange: You can’t give me five minutes to say something?

Producer: If I said I had five minutes for every yarder who wants to get behind the mic, these shows would run for days. Cue up the PPV promo! Get the next match on deck!

He had to let it set in for a second; some asswipe wearing a polo shirt that had a strange ixture of coffee and mustard just called him a yarder. In another time, he’d have been taken out behind the production trucks and he’d have been curb stomped. In the day and age of everyone having a video on their cellphone and every punch being documented, Agent Orange had to do things differently.

The producer turned his back and Agent Orange grabbed the live mic. He storms out through the curtain and all of a sudden, all eyes and cameras are on Agent Orange.

[ENTRANCE RAMP]

Agent Orange: You guys don’t know who I am and considering the stunt I just pulled back stage to get out here, I will probably not be employed with the company for very long. My name is Agent Orange and I’ve just signed a deal with the XWF. The announcement was made just a few hours ago that on June 26th, I’d be making my debut with the Xtreme Wrestling Federation in one of two triple threat matches to open the card.

It’s important for me to tell you all, that while you know nothing about me, that I have accomplished a few things. I’ve been in a few matches, I’ve worn a little gold; I’m not some kid who climbed off of a trampoline in someone’s back yard and now I’m in the XWF. My resume doesn’t matter right now, I’m a nobody in your eyes and I have peace with that, I have to earn my shots and take one guy at a time and I have peace with that too.

Agent Orange starts the walk down the ramp, into the ring

Agent Orange: I do, however, need to get a few things off my chest. I’ve already told you that I’m not expecting to be with the company long. There is a producer in the back who is tearing himself from looking at the surveillance footage of the women’s restroom to call the bosses and tell them that Agent Orange is making his life difficult. That’s what I do, I fight the imperfect systems. Win or lose, I do not take it on the chin.

Agent Orange climbs into the ring, microphone in hand.

Agent Orange: A few years ago, I tried retirement and as the story usually goes with guys in the ring who don’t know when to hang it up, I couldn’t stay away. There is something absolutely addicting to the lights, the sounds and the chemicals that your brain will produce while engaged in the art of catch-as-catch-can wrestling. So I pick up the phone and I call my old manager, I tell her we’re getting the band back together. She starts making phone calls and the next thing you know, she tells me she’s got me a deal. The XWF. I’m going to have to start at the bottom but that’s OK because the company is going to take me places.

Before I came out here tonight, I fired my manager. She is clearly doing drugs because my first match in the XWF is a triple threat against the Best of Backyard Wrestling’s finest.
I am being forced to wrestle a guy named Death Merchant. Not Steve “The Death Merchant” Jones. Not “The Death Merchant” Charlie Davidson. The Death Merchant. The name alone strikes fear into the heart of people who showed up to buy death and they forgot their coupon binders at home. I mean seriously, the wrestling business is plagued by silly gimmicks and acts of mediocrity that make people groan. You can’t turn on the TV on Monday night and watch the other guys from Connecticut without being bombarded with advertisements for an app on your smart phone. How is the XWF going to compete with that? Are we going to develop interactive material? Are we going to focus on quality wrestling and emotionally gripping contests of strength? No, we’re going to promote a guy named …the Death Merchant.

On the other side of the crap coin is a guy who calls himself “The Phantom.” Welcome to the XWF, Agent Orange, Halloween just puked all over your match. Jack Kronus, Coma Retail and I are all at a disadvantage in that we have no idea about each other. As far as I can tell, I’m the first one making a statement. So since I’ve got precious little time to make a statement, let me make that statement clear: I don’t want fan adulation, I don’t want magazine covers or interviews or to inspire great athletic feats; simply, I want to do what I do best and that is to hurt. I want to hurt everyone in my path, I want to leave an impression on your physiology in a way that when you wake up at the nursing home to take your suppository, that your aches and pains remind you of the worst night of your life.

I’ve never been very good at saying something witty to make the point stick at the end of a promo, so instead I will make firm promises that I am going to fornicate with your mothers. A lot.

The security team and the producer come out to ring side and start shouting threats at Agent Orange to get out of the ring. With a firm eye roll, Agent Orange drops the mic and rolls out of the ring. Security takes a hold of him like he owes them money and escorts him to the back stage area.

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