MATCH PROMO Dongzilla's vs Gothra - Dynasty Promo

[Kirk Redwood]

(The camera fades in on the roof of an apartment building. Kirk Redwood is tanning on the roof in a lawn chair. As the camera approaches him, he makes a grunt to acknowledge that it’s there.)

Oh, y’all bitches didn’t hear?​

Well, then let me fill you shitbirds in on the news that didn’t make it back to the nest. OBA is no longer the companies pet project. They’re no longer shelling out the opponents and the matches that helped to make us great. They fed us to the Prescription, wiped their ass with lives, and then promptly flushed us down the fucking toilet that every other asshole who loses a title gets flushed down. So if you’re here looking for some divine plan, some holy fuckin’ blueprint for how Stane and I are going to get those belts back around our waists…then you’ve come to the wrong massage parlor. All you’re going to get from me right now is the same bullshit you get from everybody else every week. The same nearsighted promo that serves to jerk myself off whilst making my opponents look like a big ol’ pile of donkey shit. So, since y’all are a bunch of glue-sniffin’ brain-dead toddlers, I’m going to have to go back to saying mean words that you may actually understand in order to get my points across. So without ado…​

Fuck Joso and fuck Ruler.​

Is that good enough for ya? Can you turn the camera off now? Oh no, I need to cut that ol’ “I know the match was designed for us to lose, but here’s why we’re going to win” bullshit? Alright then. Let’s play pretend for a second. Ruler, Joso, Stane told me the other day that you two were a big deal. And clearly you must have a caveman’s club tucked between your legs if you’re in a rush to job out to Andre Walker. Either that or you got a walnut-sized brain rattlin’ around in those heads of yours. Because let’s make this perfectly clear: you two shitbirds are making a futile effort. And so are we. I’m no fuckin’ idiot guys. I know that this is another match designed to put over the next main-eventer at OBA’s expense. But that’s how it is right? “Ha ha, they swear, they mean, they gotta lose” am I right? For fucks sake, ever since we showed up here, we’ve been treated like a joke. And maybe it’s cuz I crawled into a bottle and never found my way out. Maybe it’s cuz Stane is a madman. But losing those titles, losing last week, all of that just goes to show that we mean jack shit to EAW. And that is liberating.​

For awhile, I started to drink the kool-aid. I thought, if I did the right things and played my part, then EAW would give me a chance. But in the end, doing things that weren’t becoming cost us two matches in a row. It cost us everything. Now, we are in quite the fuckin’ pickle aren’t we? Playing masseuse to two contenders where we don’t stand to gain a damn thing. If we win, what happens huh? We get to put another one in the left side of our record? Oh damn, how cool. If they win, they get to go to the next show looking like they aren’t a couple of kids playing wrestler. If I may be so bold, I would say that this match doesn’t mean fuck-all to anyone who knows anything about EAW’s robotic bullshit. If we win tonight, do we get a contendership? Do we get our names slapped on the next whatever-the-fuck-per-view? No. What we get is nothing. But that is where we are now. That is the path that EAW is laying before us.​

But that’s not the path we’re taking.​

When I signed with EAW, I had a shine in my eyes and no hair on my balls, but time has a way of taking care of that. Time eventually took that shine and beat it fuckin’ death and left it in a ditch. Because I learned to hate. I learned to hate everybody in that locker room and every asshole who sits behind the desk and makes the decisions. I’ve lost a few fights here in EAW. Fights that I lost on my own merit. But there’s losing and there’s being set up to fail and that is exactly what has been happening these last few weeks. So you know what? Fuck it. Fuck being set up to fail, fuck the locker room, and fuck EAW. Instead of gunning to take down the tag division, instead of kickin’ the nuts of the people who piss us off, we’re loading up on gasoline and burning this whole fuckin’ thing down. On Dynasty, we’ve been set up. But we’re going to do Andre Walker a favor. Shit, he’ll be writing me a check by the time that match is over. Cuz guess what fuckwads? You won’t be walking out of that ring with all your pieces intact. You’ll be walking out without your balls and without your teeth. You see, mercy in this company gets you a smile. It gets you a paycheck. It may even get you a push every now and then.​

But I hate this company and I hate the two of you.
Mercy can suck my balls.

(Redwood takes a swig from his bottle and adjusts his position in his chair. He has a calm look on his face that betrays the violent rhetoric in his speech.)​

Now, Ruler, the professional shitlord slash face-painted assclown, you must be shaking in anticipation of this little showdown. Last week, you got handed Shane Gates and his little bagboy and said the same shit everybody said about him. Lo and behold, like everybody else, you beat him. If you were smart, you’d recognize that this isn’t going to be like that. You don’t have to stay up and think about all that will-they won’t-they bullshit, because that is not the problem that’s going to be knocking on your door on Friday. Your problem is going to be, how do I stop the two people in this world who simultaneously hate everything I am, yet also do not give a rat fuck about my well-being? Well, my friend, the answer is quite simple: you don’t. Maybe you’re the one exception, but since most of the morons in this company can’t read let alone write, I’ll repeat myself: we’re coming to burn this company down. And since you’re the asshole who has to job to king shit himself, there is only so many ways we can ensure that we’ve fucked someone over. We could interfere in that main event. We could go after the tag team titles. We could even call in a bomb threat to the arena. But you know what the best way to ruin a television product is? Making sure that the show is absolute ass and that is exactly what we are going to do.​

We aren’t just going to beat you Ruler, make no mistake about that shit. We are going to hit you with every move in our arsenal, go read our bio for the list, and we are going to bury you live on TV. And even when you lose, you’ll go onto face Andre Walker. You’ll walk out there with your little shitty haircut and your shitty gimmick, limping around and trying to stay on two feet. And, in front of the whole world, Andre will just tap you on the chest and pin you. Same goes for your dumb little buddy Joso. After all, it doesn’t take a 50-50 vision to see that you two are swimming in the deep end without your fuckin’ floaties. Some might even say that if wasn’t for the match you had coming your way, this is a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest type of show. I don’t need to say I’m better than either of you, I know that. I don’t need to say that I’m going to beat you because I know that. But what I do need to make crystal-clear to you two shitbirds is that I am not the man I was last week. Last weeks Kirk Redwood who lost to Triple J and his fuckbuddy was down man. He was feeling a little sober and feelin’ a little lonesome, but yesterday’s sorrows got their ass-beat by today’s rage. And that rage is going to rip you into pieces and make a fuck’n' macaroni sculpture with them. That rage is going to make them censor the television.​

But you know what? I know. This is the part where you both just blow me off anyways and we all just repeat the same bullshit for the week and pretend that the other one isn’t understanding. So I will give you something clear, something that you cannot misconstrue: OBA is on the warpath. OBA is pissed off. OBA is ready to burn this shithole down and make damn sure that there isn’t a square inch of this party that hasn’t been shit on. And that my friends, in short, has lit a fire under my nuts. That my friends has helped to give me all the reason in the world to win. Earlier, I said that winning this match doesn’t get us anything. I was wrong. It gets us an opportunity to ruin your match. It gives an opportunity to get our name back to where it belongs. In the back of every mind and floating through every corporate assholes nightmares.​

Don’t look at this match as an opportunity. It isn’t. This match is a dead end for you two shitbirds and that just tickles my nutsack. On Dynasty this week, OBA is going to throw you around like ragdolls, beat you like a drum, and pin you. Clean in that ring 1…2…and a motherfuckin’ 3. You can dance around it, you can try to prove me wrong through empty words and lame ass excuses, but you know it’s true. Even if it’s not at the front of your mind, the thoughts are creeping in the back. In the front, you’ll rain doubt on us like the great flood that God sent to the earth, but in your own minds it’ll fall just the same. When you’re drowning this week, I don’t want either of you to worry. Because this my friends is both personal and impersonal. It’s business and pleasure. What I want is for those shitbirds sitting in the office, jerking themselves off to all their prized wrestlers, to watch. I want them to watch the carnage that Daddy Redwood and Stane lay at their fuckin’ feet. I want them to see it, acknowledge, and never forget.​

Because we are done wrestling. We’re done dancing to the fuckin’ tune that you shitbirds are all dancing to. We’re making the soundtrack now and it sounds like a whole lot of hell and a tiny piece of heaven. It sounds like the truth and it sounds ugly. It starts with the anarchal act of evil that we are going to hike up and nuts and commit this Friday. And it’ll end when every single champion, every single manager, and every single jobber is shitting their pants at the thought of OBA. As I said, I’d rather be hated than feared. What better way to get hate than to speak the truth? What better way to get the world pointing their guns at you than by ruining their fun?​

Joso, Ruler, whatever your edgey tag team name is, OBA is about to commit an ass-whooping apocalypse.​

The white horse we’re riding on isn’t salvation my friends. Christ ain’t rolling to help you chucklefucks out.​

It’s death that’s coming. Death and hate.

(As the camera fades out, Redwood falls asleep drunk. Careless, but a hint of calm anger in his eyes as they close. He snores as the camera fades out.)​