Post by Dr. Pepper on Aug 31, 2007 12:56:10 GMT -6
In Search Of...: Part Two
If you ever get a chance to see the Florida Everglades before you die... or rather, before they shrivel up and die... you should. The exotic, marshy land really is like no other easily-accessible site in the South. Matt Money had spent quite a bit of time in Florida, working for the Studios and all, but never really had an excuse to see the Everglades.
Of course, Money had never come up against someone like Dr. Pepper before. So maybe the outing was a little more pre-ordained than he’d thought.
Regardless, Money regretted wearing his woolen business suit, while Dr. Pepper’s sleeveless shirt and jeans seemed far more appropriate for the scalding heat... complete with an authentic gator-skin hat, of course. It’d taken quite a while for the two to drive down to the Everglades from Miami, but that was fine with Money... it’d given him enough time to accomplish his real goal. Hunting down Bigfoot was fine and dandy, but Money was more interested in getting to know Paul Prescott, the client he’d be keeping track of for the next few months.
There really wasn’t that much to tell, on the surface... Prescott was born and raised in Miami, and got into professional wrestling during the whole ECW boom back in the mid 90’s, which would explain his hardcore style. He adopted the name “Perfect” Paul Prescott, then switched to Dr. Pepper, after a local promoter told him that Pepsi company was interested in sponsoring their federation, and in return, he’d end up sponsoring them. The Doc had a lengthy run on the underground hardcore circuit, before the wrestling business collapsed in the early 00’s. Nowadays, 90% of federations died off within their first month. So after ending up in a few different ruined federations, Pepper decided to contact WBL Studios, and let them handle the booking for him.
And that was how this bizarre partnership came to be, and how a buttoned-down bean counter from New York City was sweating his balls off in the Florida Everglades, riding passenger in a rusted-out hovercraft, looking for Bigfoot.
Money had never ridden in a hovercraft before, either... but luckily, Dr. Pepper seemed to be rather adept at driving the vehicle, as the two barreled across the lands designated for riders... not being able to enter the Everglades themselves, protected areas as they were. But they could get a good view of what was left of the ancient swampland from there, and that’s where The Hardcore Doc parked the craft, hovering precariously over some marshy half-land as he reached for that cooler.
It was full of his favorite soda, of course... The Doc chugged one down immediately, being ecologically conscious enough to put the empty bottle back in the cooler, rather than toss it into the protected marshlands. He offered a bottle to Money, who grudgingly accepted... rather breaking his diet, than breaking a sweat in the triple-degree heat of a waning August in the deep South.
Money was the first to break the silence, as soon as the rusted-out hovercraft came to a stop. “So... how exactly do you expect to see Bigfoot out here? I mean, if we couldn’t get out here without mechanical aide...”
“Because he’s ****ing Bigfoot, man!”, Pepper grunted in reply, slapping Money on the back as The Doc grabbed another bottle and took another swig. “Which means he’s got big feet! They ****ing act like Pontoon Boots.”
“But... on all those old television shows... you know, like Unsolved Mysteries, and In Search Of..., they all say that this Bigfoot... Sasquatch... whatever... lives in the forests up north, right?”
“Well, maybe that’s why nobody’s ****ing caught him yet.”
As simple and flawed as that logic was, Money didn’t see any way to argue with it... so the Cash Man merely reached for his pocket, deciding to take this opportunity to check his voicemail. He was surprised when he saw his client doing the same... yet when Pepper reached into his pocket, he ended up pulling out an old-fashioned cassette-based audio recorder. The type that were hard to find anymore, and even harder to refill... you might as well be filming a Hollywood blockbuster on Super 8.
“Pepper here”, the massive hardcore wrestler grunted out the second the button was depressed. “It’s Friday right now... I’m looking for Bigfoot again. Sweating my nuts off, I’m telling ya. Got this guy with me, Matt Money, he’s gonna be working with me on this wrestling thing. Seems a little fruity, but hey, he’s alright. You got something you want to say to the world, money man?”
It took a few seconds for Matt Money to realize that Dr. Pepper had, with all the tact becoming of this man, shoved his tape recorder right underneath the former stockbroker’s nose. On the spot, and not wanting to waste too much time while checking his mail from the Studios, Money simply uttered two words that summed up how he felt about a myriad of things.
“Impeach Cheney.”
Pepper nodded, taking the recorder back for himself.
“Apparently this mother****er wants to inject some political talk into the Searching for Bigfoot blog. That’s okay. We’ve gotta get out of this bad situation we put our boys in, is all I’m saying. I’m out here in the Everglades again, it’s nice, it’s peaceful, it’s ****ing hot... gonna go pick up some Gator burgers later. Got my ****ing Crocodile Dundee hat on, thanks to Joseph at St. Leo’s for that little gift, I’ll have pictures up on the site by tomorrow.”
This would explain the reason most of Pepper’s money apparently went into that high-end computer tucked away in the corner of an otherwise ratty apartment, Money thought. When you make a business of putting your life on the internet, you need to be connected, and you need to be connected properly.
Maybe I’ve got this guy figured all wrong, Money thought, before looking back at his cell phone’s screen.
Not wanting to interrupt this running stream of consciousness, Money plainly handed Pepper his cell phone... more accurately, opened to a certain E-Mail he’d just received from the home office. Pepper squinted at the screen, and immediately Money went into somewhat of a sitting crouch, ready to dive off the hovercraft if necessary just in case Pepper, who didn’t seem to be the most agile of people, dropped that phone.
“Money just handed me a little notice”, Dr. Pepper continued, swatting away a few strands of the hair that hadn’t matted themselves to his sopping wet forehead. “The guys at the Studios, that film and talent company I joined, have the card for my wrestling match up. It’s gonna be my Pay-Per-View premiere, and it’s gonna be a title match, no less. So of course, I’m like, ****ing-a right, eh? The days of hardcore being on the undercard are over. It’s not main-event, but come on, it’s still pretty decent for my first ****ing Pay-Per-View match. Hardcore match, of course... ladder match. An Extreme ladder match... that’s Xtreme, people, with only two E’s. Trying to make it seem hip by spelling it wrong. The 90’s are over, but that’s okay. Now, I don’t know if an Xtreme Ladder match is like an old-school ECW ladder match, where you don’t actually have to climb anything, the ladder is just in play there, or if it’s like a real straight-up ladder match. Strategy is the same. Grab the ladder, and beat the ever-loving **** out of people with said ladder.”
One of Dr. Pepper’s rare free digits almost went to the cell phone in an attempt to change pages, but a warning glance from Matt Money told the heavy-set hardcore hooligan not to mess around with the device. Money had probably seen the old 80’s style cell-phone that Pepper had back at the apartment... the one as large as a milk carton.
“Got a couple of names to bounce around here. First of all, the other guy who’s not supposed to be in the match, this guy Holland, the Reckoning. Now this guy was chosen to fill in in the match, because he’s been loyal for a long time to this organization. Of course, that could show that this place was like WCW, just handing things to the long-time hangers-on and the good old boy’s club... but then again, I’m a brand new guy and I’m getting the exact same treatment, so that idea’s shot to ****. Reckoning... what kind of nickname is that? Sounds like some kind of gothic crap. I tell you, man, there are way too many goth emo punks on the indy scene, trying to be Raven lite. Hell, when even Raven can’t be Raven anymore, it’s time to give up the ****ing ship.”
Another long chug of Dr. Pepper soda... obviously as much a trademark of these little audio messages as his ‘colorful’ language... whet Pepper’s lips long enough to let him continue.
“And then we have the two guys who earned their spots in this match, apparently, John Anthony and Tank. I don’t wanna spend too much time on these assholes, mostly because I only rented this hovercraft for an hour. Bottom line is, though, is that these guys’ names alone attest to what originality can do for some people. A little tip for all you wrestling wanna-bees out there. If your real name is as boring as John Anthony, get yourself a stage name. And if your stage name is going to be as boring as Tank, use your real name. I mean, please... come on... Tank? Might as well just call yourself Hoss and be done with it. At least when I started naming myself after a certain soft drink, it had never been done before. And something else that’s never been done before, is that I’m gonna roll into that ring, I’m gonna take that ladder, I’m gonna beat the ever-loving **** out of my opponents... I’m gonna climb that ladder, if necessary, still not too sure on the rules for this match... and I’m gonna walk out of there the inaugural Xtreme Champion. The “Road to the Gold” goes through Dr. Pepper, baby, and that’s a ****ing roadblock you’re not getting over anytime soon, I don’t care how damn big your ladder is. Searching for Bigfoot. Prescott out.”
With another click, Pepper slid the tape recorder back into his own jeans pocket, carefully handing Money back his cell phone as the Doc’s hand went to the lever in between the two. A couple of pulls, and the hovercraft hummed to life, barreling across the glade towards the rental shop in the distance.
“I must say”, Money intoned to the heavy-set Hardcore Doc, “You’re a lot more eloquent than I gave you credit for. You’ve obviously been doing this for a while.”
“Yeah, well, the only thing that pisses me off is that I’ve gotta call it Searching for Bigfoot... the guys down at The Dr. Pepper Company down in Plano, Texas said I could only use the name Dr. Pepper in relation to wrestling.”
“I’ve spent time as a lawyer. I think I might be able to fix that.”
With a nod, and that semi-toothed grin that had come as a result of the life Paul Prescott had chosen to lead, The Doc guided the hovercraft back to the rental shop, back to an elderly gent named Murphy, and back to a steaming pile of fresh Gator burgers, which The Doc eagerly tore into. Money, unsure of whether they called them Gator burgers because they were a regional delight, or whether they were made from actual alligators, didn’t chance a bite.
About the time he was on his third Gator burger, Dr. Pepper finally turned his attention back to Matt Money. “Man, it’s a good thing we stopped by that military supply shop on the way here, I wanted to get those night-vision goggles while they were still on sale. That’s gonna be some great stuff for my site. Make a couple of really bizarre videos.”
“You know”, Money interjected, “If you want that type of effect, all you have to do is open a video editor, add some granulation, some feedback, and the heaviest green tint you can.”
“Yeah, I know”, Pepper replied through a mouthful of soda and gator, spilling a bit of both haphazardly on that “Snakes on a Plane” T-Shirt of his. “But it’s just not the same, you know? It’s not real. This is what I want to do, give people the real experience. That’s what separates me from guys like Reckoning, Anthony, and Tank. I’m ****ing real, and I’m not afraid to show it. People appreciate that. Kayfabe is dead, my friend, it went out with Sheik and Duggan getting stoned together in that car ride back in the day. People appreciate the real now. And that’s what I aim to give them.”
Again, logic that Money had a little problem wrapping his head around, but couldn’t honestly argue with, as the sweltering Florida sun began to set over the glistening Everglades.
If you ever get a chance in your life to see the Florida Everglades, you should. And if you ever get a chance in your life to see a real independent wrestling show, you should. In both cases, you’ll be pleasantly surprised at just how good the real thing can be.
If you ever get a chance to see the Florida Everglades before you die... or rather, before they shrivel up and die... you should. The exotic, marshy land really is like no other easily-accessible site in the South. Matt Money had spent quite a bit of time in Florida, working for the Studios and all, but never really had an excuse to see the Everglades.
Of course, Money had never come up against someone like Dr. Pepper before. So maybe the outing was a little more pre-ordained than he’d thought.
Regardless, Money regretted wearing his woolen business suit, while Dr. Pepper’s sleeveless shirt and jeans seemed far more appropriate for the scalding heat... complete with an authentic gator-skin hat, of course. It’d taken quite a while for the two to drive down to the Everglades from Miami, but that was fine with Money... it’d given him enough time to accomplish his real goal. Hunting down Bigfoot was fine and dandy, but Money was more interested in getting to know Paul Prescott, the client he’d be keeping track of for the next few months.
There really wasn’t that much to tell, on the surface... Prescott was born and raised in Miami, and got into professional wrestling during the whole ECW boom back in the mid 90’s, which would explain his hardcore style. He adopted the name “Perfect” Paul Prescott, then switched to Dr. Pepper, after a local promoter told him that Pepsi company was interested in sponsoring their federation, and in return, he’d end up sponsoring them. The Doc had a lengthy run on the underground hardcore circuit, before the wrestling business collapsed in the early 00’s. Nowadays, 90% of federations died off within their first month. So after ending up in a few different ruined federations, Pepper decided to contact WBL Studios, and let them handle the booking for him.
And that was how this bizarre partnership came to be, and how a buttoned-down bean counter from New York City was sweating his balls off in the Florida Everglades, riding passenger in a rusted-out hovercraft, looking for Bigfoot.
Money had never ridden in a hovercraft before, either... but luckily, Dr. Pepper seemed to be rather adept at driving the vehicle, as the two barreled across the lands designated for riders... not being able to enter the Everglades themselves, protected areas as they were. But they could get a good view of what was left of the ancient swampland from there, and that’s where The Hardcore Doc parked the craft, hovering precariously over some marshy half-land as he reached for that cooler.
It was full of his favorite soda, of course... The Doc chugged one down immediately, being ecologically conscious enough to put the empty bottle back in the cooler, rather than toss it into the protected marshlands. He offered a bottle to Money, who grudgingly accepted... rather breaking his diet, than breaking a sweat in the triple-degree heat of a waning August in the deep South.
Money was the first to break the silence, as soon as the rusted-out hovercraft came to a stop. “So... how exactly do you expect to see Bigfoot out here? I mean, if we couldn’t get out here without mechanical aide...”
“Because he’s ****ing Bigfoot, man!”, Pepper grunted in reply, slapping Money on the back as The Doc grabbed another bottle and took another swig. “Which means he’s got big feet! They ****ing act like Pontoon Boots.”
“But... on all those old television shows... you know, like Unsolved Mysteries, and In Search Of..., they all say that this Bigfoot... Sasquatch... whatever... lives in the forests up north, right?”
“Well, maybe that’s why nobody’s ****ing caught him yet.”
As simple and flawed as that logic was, Money didn’t see any way to argue with it... so the Cash Man merely reached for his pocket, deciding to take this opportunity to check his voicemail. He was surprised when he saw his client doing the same... yet when Pepper reached into his pocket, he ended up pulling out an old-fashioned cassette-based audio recorder. The type that were hard to find anymore, and even harder to refill... you might as well be filming a Hollywood blockbuster on Super 8.
“Pepper here”, the massive hardcore wrestler grunted out the second the button was depressed. “It’s Friday right now... I’m looking for Bigfoot again. Sweating my nuts off, I’m telling ya. Got this guy with me, Matt Money, he’s gonna be working with me on this wrestling thing. Seems a little fruity, but hey, he’s alright. You got something you want to say to the world, money man?”
It took a few seconds for Matt Money to realize that Dr. Pepper had, with all the tact becoming of this man, shoved his tape recorder right underneath the former stockbroker’s nose. On the spot, and not wanting to waste too much time while checking his mail from the Studios, Money simply uttered two words that summed up how he felt about a myriad of things.
“Impeach Cheney.”
Pepper nodded, taking the recorder back for himself.
“Apparently this mother****er wants to inject some political talk into the Searching for Bigfoot blog. That’s okay. We’ve gotta get out of this bad situation we put our boys in, is all I’m saying. I’m out here in the Everglades again, it’s nice, it’s peaceful, it’s ****ing hot... gonna go pick up some Gator burgers later. Got my ****ing Crocodile Dundee hat on, thanks to Joseph at St. Leo’s for that little gift, I’ll have pictures up on the site by tomorrow.”
This would explain the reason most of Pepper’s money apparently went into that high-end computer tucked away in the corner of an otherwise ratty apartment, Money thought. When you make a business of putting your life on the internet, you need to be connected, and you need to be connected properly.
Maybe I’ve got this guy figured all wrong, Money thought, before looking back at his cell phone’s screen.
Not wanting to interrupt this running stream of consciousness, Money plainly handed Pepper his cell phone... more accurately, opened to a certain E-Mail he’d just received from the home office. Pepper squinted at the screen, and immediately Money went into somewhat of a sitting crouch, ready to dive off the hovercraft if necessary just in case Pepper, who didn’t seem to be the most agile of people, dropped that phone.
“Money just handed me a little notice”, Dr. Pepper continued, swatting away a few strands of the hair that hadn’t matted themselves to his sopping wet forehead. “The guys at the Studios, that film and talent company I joined, have the card for my wrestling match up. It’s gonna be my Pay-Per-View premiere, and it’s gonna be a title match, no less. So of course, I’m like, ****ing-a right, eh? The days of hardcore being on the undercard are over. It’s not main-event, but come on, it’s still pretty decent for my first ****ing Pay-Per-View match. Hardcore match, of course... ladder match. An Extreme ladder match... that’s Xtreme, people, with only two E’s. Trying to make it seem hip by spelling it wrong. The 90’s are over, but that’s okay. Now, I don’t know if an Xtreme Ladder match is like an old-school ECW ladder match, where you don’t actually have to climb anything, the ladder is just in play there, or if it’s like a real straight-up ladder match. Strategy is the same. Grab the ladder, and beat the ever-loving **** out of people with said ladder.”
One of Dr. Pepper’s rare free digits almost went to the cell phone in an attempt to change pages, but a warning glance from Matt Money told the heavy-set hardcore hooligan not to mess around with the device. Money had probably seen the old 80’s style cell-phone that Pepper had back at the apartment... the one as large as a milk carton.
“Got a couple of names to bounce around here. First of all, the other guy who’s not supposed to be in the match, this guy Holland, the Reckoning. Now this guy was chosen to fill in in the match, because he’s been loyal for a long time to this organization. Of course, that could show that this place was like WCW, just handing things to the long-time hangers-on and the good old boy’s club... but then again, I’m a brand new guy and I’m getting the exact same treatment, so that idea’s shot to ****. Reckoning... what kind of nickname is that? Sounds like some kind of gothic crap. I tell you, man, there are way too many goth emo punks on the indy scene, trying to be Raven lite. Hell, when even Raven can’t be Raven anymore, it’s time to give up the ****ing ship.”
Another long chug of Dr. Pepper soda... obviously as much a trademark of these little audio messages as his ‘colorful’ language... whet Pepper’s lips long enough to let him continue.
“And then we have the two guys who earned their spots in this match, apparently, John Anthony and Tank. I don’t wanna spend too much time on these assholes, mostly because I only rented this hovercraft for an hour. Bottom line is, though, is that these guys’ names alone attest to what originality can do for some people. A little tip for all you wrestling wanna-bees out there. If your real name is as boring as John Anthony, get yourself a stage name. And if your stage name is going to be as boring as Tank, use your real name. I mean, please... come on... Tank? Might as well just call yourself Hoss and be done with it. At least when I started naming myself after a certain soft drink, it had never been done before. And something else that’s never been done before, is that I’m gonna roll into that ring, I’m gonna take that ladder, I’m gonna beat the ever-loving **** out of my opponents... I’m gonna climb that ladder, if necessary, still not too sure on the rules for this match... and I’m gonna walk out of there the inaugural Xtreme Champion. The “Road to the Gold” goes through Dr. Pepper, baby, and that’s a ****ing roadblock you’re not getting over anytime soon, I don’t care how damn big your ladder is. Searching for Bigfoot. Prescott out.”
With another click, Pepper slid the tape recorder back into his own jeans pocket, carefully handing Money back his cell phone as the Doc’s hand went to the lever in between the two. A couple of pulls, and the hovercraft hummed to life, barreling across the glade towards the rental shop in the distance.
“I must say”, Money intoned to the heavy-set Hardcore Doc, “You’re a lot more eloquent than I gave you credit for. You’ve obviously been doing this for a while.”
“Yeah, well, the only thing that pisses me off is that I’ve gotta call it Searching for Bigfoot... the guys down at The Dr. Pepper Company down in Plano, Texas said I could only use the name Dr. Pepper in relation to wrestling.”
“I’ve spent time as a lawyer. I think I might be able to fix that.”
With a nod, and that semi-toothed grin that had come as a result of the life Paul Prescott had chosen to lead, The Doc guided the hovercraft back to the rental shop, back to an elderly gent named Murphy, and back to a steaming pile of fresh Gator burgers, which The Doc eagerly tore into. Money, unsure of whether they called them Gator burgers because they were a regional delight, or whether they were made from actual alligators, didn’t chance a bite.
About the time he was on his third Gator burger, Dr. Pepper finally turned his attention back to Matt Money. “Man, it’s a good thing we stopped by that military supply shop on the way here, I wanted to get those night-vision goggles while they were still on sale. That’s gonna be some great stuff for my site. Make a couple of really bizarre videos.”
“You know”, Money interjected, “If you want that type of effect, all you have to do is open a video editor, add some granulation, some feedback, and the heaviest green tint you can.”
“Yeah, I know”, Pepper replied through a mouthful of soda and gator, spilling a bit of both haphazardly on that “Snakes on a Plane” T-Shirt of his. “But it’s just not the same, you know? It’s not real. This is what I want to do, give people the real experience. That’s what separates me from guys like Reckoning, Anthony, and Tank. I’m ****ing real, and I’m not afraid to show it. People appreciate that. Kayfabe is dead, my friend, it went out with Sheik and Duggan getting stoned together in that car ride back in the day. People appreciate the real now. And that’s what I aim to give them.”
Again, logic that Money had a little problem wrapping his head around, but couldn’t honestly argue with, as the sweltering Florida sun began to set over the glistening Everglades.
If you ever get a chance in your life to see the Florida Everglades, you should. And if you ever get a chance in your life to see a real independent wrestling show, you should. In both cases, you’ll be pleasantly surprised at just how good the real thing can be.