Heads rose away from phones. Ears perked up. Excitement built.
baaaaaaaaaaaa
Faces brightened. Cheeks turned red. Loins began to moisten.
baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
Smiles broke out. Hearts began to beat faster. Women began to remove clothing without an ounce of shame.
BAAAAAAA DAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
The crowd outside the Residence Inn at Sabin and Snow began to part the waters, to turn from one large sea into two with a wide trench between them, as the greatest sight there had ever been came into view:
A human palanquin.
Scantily-clad Asian whores, each more nameless and faceless than the last, stood in two rows with their arms up in the air. Another set of hookers laid down atop their shoulders so as to create a platform. Atop that floor of boney Asian prostitute flesh was a set of four women, one on her hands and knees, another stood behind her, and two on each side bent at the waist, the four combining to create a throne.
The Generic Heel, the Great GH, GH the Great, sat on that throne.
As the display walked forward and the crowd closed around them, the gaggle of hooker-turned-furniture flesh sang "Thus Spake Zarathustra," the theme song of only one man in the history of wrestling and absolutely no one else.
baaaaaa
baaaaaaaaaaaa
baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
The crowd gasped in anticipation when the furniture flesh stopped and built up their song. Women trembled. Men shrink unto themselves. Both were a blend of eagerness and fear of what was to come.
BAAAAAAAAAAAA
The Great GH stood up. Slowly, as his great weight pressed downward on the prostitute underneath him to elicit a pained groan, but stand he did.
GH the Great threw his hands into the air with a triumphant quickness. Below him, all of the women in the audience experienced a mass orgasm. The men cowered down even further under the display of his manliness, their own manhoods having found themselves shunk to half their previous size. The children in the crowd changed whatever dreams they may have had and stead started to hope that, someday, they would be able to be about a third of the awesome which their new hero the Generic Heel, possessed in his right lung.
"Hello, my dear friends."
Another round of orgasms occurred. This time from the men.
"I'm here today, in spittin' distance of tha Dunkin' Donuts Center, ta let tha world know that tha 27-time World Champion had decided ta win another tournament."
Many of the children broke straight through puberty with that announcement while their mothers became pregnant through immaculate conception. As they did so, the gelatinous cube of a man scratched at the beard underneath the red and black mask on his face.
"Ya know, I remember when it was called tha Providence Civic Center. Yah, back in my day, I used to wrestle tha Masked Red Chicken in that building! He had a hellava wing, let me tell ya. This was in, oh, I'd say, back in the 80s, don't cha know. But now we gotta deal with Plump Pigeons and Dunkin' Donuts. Hogwash, I say! Nothin' worse than someone or somethin' that's fat, ya know what I mean?"
The mountainous fellow idly scratched the flab rolling out from underneath his t-shirt, a shirt which displayed his own masked face.
"Ya know what really pickles my cucumbers? When someone let's themselves get so outa shape and unhealthy. How can ya do that?! Our job is ta be lean and mean and fight machines. But now I'm in some tournament with some folk who can't even keep their pets in shape! That doesn't even make any sense! I get that we can't all be as sexy and fit as the Great GH..."
The Generic Heel brought up both arms into the famous "double bicep" pose. No muscles popped, but even still, half the crowd fell faint from overexposure.
"...but that's just bad animal handling. But it's even WORSE when it's someone else who's a WRESTLER! Take my opponent this week, that no-good, fried-chicken-eating, eye-patch-wearing, LOSER Barney Greene."
Half the crowd awakened the other half with smelling salts just in time for them to all boo at the mention of Barney's name.
"Talk about a fellow letting themselves go! Why, back in...oh, I'd say something like aught-3...I wrestled a much leaner and meaner, and greener, for that matter, Barney Greene. This was in the Omni, ya see, in front of a sold out crowd, all wearing the latest and greatest Generic Wrestling Tee. Now that Barney? He was lithe! He was quick! Why, I dare say that he would have almost handed the Great GH his very first loss if he had been just a little more experienced!"
The crowd gasped at the idea of the 30+ year winning streak having almost come to an end some 20 years ago.
"But he wasn't ready for tha Great GH. Nope! Nada! He charged in right away, lookin' for that throat punch of his. I respect that! But BOOM! KAPLOW! KASPLAT!"
The crowd moaned in extacy as GH mimics a few basic punches.
"Down he went! Hell, he went down faster than his mom did just 20 years before! Hmmm...I wonder if Barney is one of the many, and I do mean MANY, Generic Bastards I've left to grateful ring rats over tha years?"
Babies, born from the precious immaculate conception, pelted GH like raining dollar bills as he pondered the thought of Barney's bloodline.
"Regardless, I'm gonna clean Barney's clock on Thursday..."
He pointed a stubby finger at the Dunkin' Donuts Center just around the corner.
"...RIGHT THERE in what will be a SLAUGHTER. I'm gonna poke his other eye out before I take all 745 pounds of his FLAB and PILEDRIVE him so hard that he'll need to take off a year before his 54th comeback to the XWF! Now cheer for my Generic Catchphrase!"
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