What you are about to witness is really, really bad writing. It's crass, rank, inappropriately, unapologetic satire. This post represents my roleplay for Ultimate Wrestling. This is fictional writing for a fantasy pro wrestling organization. Enjoy, or not!
On a wrestling mat, two athletic young men are grappling one another. The muscular fellow in the blue trunks manages to lock in an underarm headlock to dominate the balance of his slightly heavier opponent.
Three jabs in the gut causes the buck in blue to loosen his grip. With a push and a yank on the arm, the bigger man swings his opponent into an Irish Whip. The athletic one in blue bounces off the ropes and jumps into the air. He rotates his body sideways, hoping to land a side splash for a quick pin opportunity.
Standing at 6 foot one, the bigger man roots his stance into the mat and barely budges as he catches his foe in his arms. He turns to the right to face the center of the ring, and scoops his opponent upside-down over his right shoulder, then drops him spine-first to the mat with a slam.
Arching his back in pain, the young man in blue is then covered by the bigger brute in the green singlet. He pins him.
The other young wrestlers in training stand up and cheer. Kevin helps up his opponent, actually his friend William, offering his hand. They give each other a handshake and a pat on the back.
From behind the crew of wrestlers, a person in the shadows is clapping still. Very slow. Very loud.
As he steps out of the shadows he is unrecognizable with his head hidden under a very large cowboy hat with a wide brim. When he steps into the light the gleam of gold around his waist comes into view.
Unlike his classic retro ring attire of a classic wife beater, white gauntlets, and flame black and red pants, he is now wearing a costume of matching doeskin leather pants and shirt. Covered in fringe down the sides all the way to his boots, Huckleberry, the unconventional Appalachian Hillbilly tips his Texas tall hat and approaches the men.
Huckleberry: So these’re the next generation of wrasslers makin’ thar way to the big time in Ultimate Wrasslin’. En’cayse yuh don’t rekunize yer champyun behind muh intimudatin’ disguise, and muh Southern Drawl, yuh may better know me by muh Christian name, Huckleberry.
Coach Wyatt: Wow, Franchise Champion Huckleberry. This is an unexpected surprise indeed. For what do we owe the pleasure?
Huckleberry: Well, I’m glad yuh asked brotha Wyatt. In all the years I have been here, from time tuh time I recall wut it wuz like tuh get the green off muh boots. Nobody helped poor lil’ Huck out when he wuz gittin’ started out in the business. Brother Wyatt… might I?
Coach Wyatt: Certainly! Certainly! Anything you want to share with us, we would be eternally grateful.
Imitating a cowboy strut, the Redneck fool walks to the ring with spurs jangling. A blonde jock in red tight pants chuckles and whispers a joke to his friend William in blue.
Huckleberry: Quiet Fah'r Pants!
The jock chokes himself to silence as his friends fight not to laugh. Eventually, silence.
Huckleberry: To succeed in the wide world of wrasslin’ ya need two things. Thing one.... Presents. Any of ya got some presents ya wanna show me?
The men look around at each other, not sure what Huckleberry means. A couple of them open their wallets offering cash. Another offers a free yogurt voucher. Red Blondy offers a joint.
Huckleberry: No, no, no. Not presents. Ain’t one of ya have nearly enough cash to succeed by trying to bribe yer way in’tuh getting a push up the corporate ladder here. I’m talkin' Pre-zunts. See muh hat? Muh fringe?
Coach Wyatt: I think he’s talking about Presence, boys.
Huckleberry: That’s wut I said. Presents. Yuh have to make an impact before ya even walk in’tuh the ring. If ya want everbuddy to know yer name, yuh better damn tootin’ be sure it’s stitched across yer ass.
With a quick action, Huckleberry rips off a velcro strap under his crotch, and slings off the leather covering. Turning around slowly, Huckleberry shows off his black briefs between what is now leather fringed chaps. A union jack covers the codpiece, and on the back it reads “Wild Huckleberry” in cursive rope lettering.
Huckleberry: When yuh first get started, everbuddy is gonna to need tuh undergo a major change of personality. Take me fer instance. Wild Huckleberry sounds dangerous, right? It unnerves my opponent. And the cowboy gimmick… well that’s because cowboys are just damn cool. Everybody wants to be the cowboy in wrestling, because the crowd always loves a cowboy.
Johnny: But we already have a cowboy in Ultimate Wrestling. His name is Phillip Morris.
Huckleberry: Put a sock’n it or yer name’s gonna be Johnny Jackass. Phillip Morris don’t even sound like a cowboy name. When they see the name Wild Huckleberry, fans are gonna say, “Now that’s a real cowboy name!”
Now lemmie look at the rest of ya. Big Kev, yer gonna have’tuh dye yer hair bleach blonde. Wear florescent, shiny, pink tights instead of green. Curl yer hair, and call yerself “The Hunk”.
Coach Wyatt: Gorgeous George.
Huckleberry: Ding, ding, ding! We have a winner. That man was a legend way ahead of his time. A good gimmick never gets old. Copied by “The Natural”, “The Adonis”, “Hulk Hogan”, “Rick Flair”, “The American Dream”, “The Nature Boy”, “The Model”, “Goldust”, and many others. Yuh can thank me later Kevin.
Next we have William.
William: Oh good! I was thinking of mirroring the styles of Mr. Perfect and Owen Hart. Maybe I could become “William Perfect”.
Huckleberry: You will wear a powder blue tutu, polka dot tights, bare feet, white make-up, a curly green wig, and a t-shirt that says Dude The Clown.
William: Are you serious?
Huckleberry: Read muh Redneck lips William. I’m dead serious. Every wrasslin’ promotion needs a wrassler donned in crazy make-up. It’s yer crazy alter-ego. Don’t ever let nobody see yuh in public without yer make-up on. Kayfabe is the sacred code, and if ya ever break it, you’ll be the armpit of the business until the day ya die. Maintain the facade, and there is no limit tuh how far yuh can go.
Coach Wyatt: What about Johnny here. We were thinking he could get by with Johnny Blaze for starting out. Die his hair white, red, and black to make it more extreme.
Huckleberry: Not a chance. Might as well call yourself Flamin' Gay John. The fans ain't stupid. They will make a mockery out of any lame gimmick when they see one.
What Johnny Jackass has to learn is how to pay his dues first. Guys like Johnny ain't gettin’ no matches with attitude like yours. Nobody with flack is gonna accept a challenge from a yankee who ain't got no respect for the business.
Johnny, you’ll have to become Dude The Clown's sidekick Dweeb until yuh learn some respect. Take for instance some of the talented people on the upcoming card.
See that janitor over there? Hey Ron!
Ron: Oh hey Huck.
Huckleberry: The man’s a goddam national hero. Should have his face chiseled into Mt. Rushmore next to Nixon and TR. Think he was the guy who almost shot Obamer or somethin’, and next thing ya know, he’s living homeless on the streets. Now he works as a janitor and cleanin’ up yer piss stains when he should be in the ring proving his worth. Instead, upper management has been pushing that dumbass, The Reagonator Two Point-Oh, when it should be Ron being cheered as the Real Murican Hero.
Natasha, remember her? She popped her bubblegum during a mic audition, and somebody higher up thought that was unprofessional. Now she’s teased backstage as Mother Russia, because they gave her the Russian Special Agent gimmick, Dasha Ivanova.
I’m facin’ Dasha and her partner Boris Drago in a tag match this weekend, with my tag partner Lulu Biggs. We're defending the tag team straps. When those two losers enter the ring with me, a double gold belt champion, I can guarantee they'll be looking at me as a serious threat.
Ya know how Drago got his name? The crazy son of a gun has the personality of a block of wood. Everybody teased him about it by sending him wood blocks for his birthday. People started callin’ him Boris The Bore, when he spent most of his time of the bus to himself whittlin' away on those wood blocks. Although, truthfully, I think the dumbass kept to himself because he never learned to speak English fluently.
So wut did he do? He spent the next year of his life doing nothing but carvin’ a goddam dragon boat! Dude ain’t got a lick of personality, but he’s got patience. So he earned the name Drago, far’s I concerned.
Coach Wyatt: So Huckleberry, what was the second thing you mentioned? Remember the two things you said every wrestler needs to succeed?
Huckleberry: I wuz gitten’ tuh that. Hooold yer horses. So the second thing every professional wrassler needs is… skills.
So who wants to try takin’ me on in a sparrin’ match? William? Johnny Jackass? Kevin?
Kevin: It would be an honor if I could spar with you Huck. May I call you Huck?
As Kevin stands up in front of the runty-sized Huck, Kevin is three inches taller, and over 150 pounds of lean mass heavier than him.
Huckleberry: Wild Huckleberry... please. Now I think I’m going to need that joint after all.
Kevin hands Huck a joint. Huck uses a pistol lighter to blaze it up.
Huckleberry: And that free yogurt card too. My digestion… it ain’t what it used tuh be after North Korea… and I’ve been trying to pass a turtle for a week.
Fifty minutes later…
Coach Wyatt: Wild Huckleberry, are you sure you are okay? You’ve passed out twice already, but you’ve been stuck in this chin lock for fifteen minutes now. Maybe we could just call this match a draw.
Huckleberry: Not a chance! Hogan fought off a bear hug from Andre the Giant for longer than that, and he didn’t give up after passing out twice. Even in yellow tights, nobody called him a coward for being willing to face The Giant.
Juss gimmie a minute. I’ve been biding my strength. A wrassler's skill ain’t mean jack ifn’ he picks the wrong moment to make 'is next move.
Huckleberry shakes and squirms, and kicks his legs. Kevin adjusts his grip, making it tighter.
Huck speaks with a stiffled voice.
Huckleberry: Did I ever tell you ‘bout the time I wrassled a chupacabra with my hands tied behind my back?
Kevin: Oh yeah? And how’d that work out?
Huckleberry: I squeezed ‘em between muh legs until he begged for mercy. I knew he was dun when he made a real high pitch screechin’ howl. Sounded like this...
As Kevin starts laughing, Huckberry’s foot hooks around Kevin’s neck, breaking the chin lock hold. Huckleberry rolls over into a side sitting small package, and the coach starts the count.
Kevin hoists his head up and flails his legs. Wild Huckleberry’s constrictor-like leverage hold keeps Kevin firmly against the mat. With a free arm, he presses on the bottom rope to further solidify his leverage over his stronger opponent.
Coach Wyatt: Excellent match. Now I see why you’re the defending Champ.
All the wrestlers, but one, stand up and applaud for Huckleberry’s exciting match win.
Johnny: No fair, he was using the ropes. Coach, you weren’t even watching him when you made the three count.
Huckleberry: That wuz nuttin’. Sometimes a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do. A win’s a win.
You should see wut my Tag Team partner, Lulu Biggs can do. If ya think I fight dirty. That man’s such a steamin’ pile of garbage, he makes me look like the Mother Teresa. Word has it he’s in the building somewhere. If he decides to pay yuh a visit, you’d be wise to pay him the proper respect.
Cover Image: Pixabay
Thank you for reading my original writing. This is a fictional satire, and my roleplay submission for Ultimate Wrestling.
Thank you Ultimate Wrestling for allowing me to use your custom images here.
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