Post by marc on Jun 29, 2009 22:01:26 GMT -6
The camera rushes in to The Superfans locker room. Inside, Marc is seen rummaging through a number of duffle bags. Bags, clothes, and props seem to be flying everywhere.
Marc: Come on; come on, where is it?
A duffel bag flies at the camera. The camera shakes a little, and then fades out.
Wait for it…
Wait for it…
The camera focuses back in, and Marc stands in front of the camera with a big smile on his face. On his head is a big Red, White, and Blue top hat.
Hi! I’m the Marcus Express! And I want YOU!
Marc sharply points at the camera.
To come see Picture Perfect! Why? The Marc Express will tell you why! At Picture Perfect, the Superfans will go one on one with Dirty Deal. Lately, Dirty Deal has been successful in their attempts to get the people backstage talking. Everyone around the locker room is wondering… which one smells worse.
Marc smiles at the camera as it zooms in a little bit. Marc whispers.
I voted for Gibson.
Marc winks at the camera. The camera zooms back out.
They have also managed to get the attention of the higher ups. Congratulations, Dirty Deal, someone up there is finally paying attention to you.
Marc looks at the camera. No noise, all silence. Marc looks around, confused.
Oh, what, is no one really paying attention to these two fat tubs of goo? I forget… why do I care about them? Because between the two of them, they’ve only held one title? What have they done that’s been remotely impressive?
Marc pauses, brings a hand to his chin, and thinks.
No, they didn’t win their match to be number one contender for that title they both lost… that wasn’t impressive…
A light bulb goes off in Marc’s head, and he smiles brightly.
But you know what was impressive? When Mark and I came out as the Acolytes and handcuffed those two idiots before they could even enter their match. That was pretty impressive. Always kicking ass, that’s Mark and I. And Tiff, too, when she wants to.
Marc pauses again. He appears very excited, and is trying to calm himself down.
It amazes me that between the two of them, only one of them will talk the trash. The other… just sits there, staring blank at the camera. Like this!
Marc grabs something from his duffle bag and shows it to the camera. It’s a picture of Curtis Kanyon.
Pretty disgusting, eh? Just look at that body. So much fat. No wonder they want to wear suits and sit on comfy chairs all day: to hide their absolutely disgusting stomachs from the fans. I can’t blame them; they can’t compete with a body like this: a body like the Marc Express would have!
Marc does a few poses. The camera looks him up and down, and it can be seen that Marc is now wearing trunks with the United States flag imprinted on them. He takes the top hat off and continues posing. A chorus of cheers is heard.
Thank you, thank you. I am the Total Package and I’m here for your viewing pleasure. Now, I have a question.
Marc grabs a flier from the duffel bag he was at, and shows it to the camera. It is the same flier that Dirty Deal plastered everywhere around the towns.
Why does this flier show four of them? Two are active competitors, one is trying to be the Doctor of Style, and the chick has never been seen outside of the bathroom stalls? What has this skank done for Dirty Deal, which she hasn’t done for the rest of the locker room?
Marc sighs and throws the flier down, seemingly dropping the question.
Marc: So, Dirty Deal wants to be considered for co-CEO’s of nCw?
The camera shakes in a nodding fashion.
Marc: Please tell me you’re ****ting me.
The camera shakes in a refusal manner.
Marc: These two good old boys for CEO? I might as well vote for John Kerry and wait for the pink elephants to charge in. Dirty Deal as CEO’s of nCw… just think about that for a second.
Marc pauses only for a second before getting excited again.
Marc: There’d be spittoons at every corner! There’d be two dollar steaks on every ring post! The ropes would be made of hay! The ring would be replaced by a damn hogpen! I’d have to marry my sister!
Marc suddenly stops.
Marc: Wait… I don’t have a sister.
Marc thinks.
Marc: I’d have to marry my cousin!
Marc stops again.
Marc: No, no no no no no! I can NOT marry Cousin Merle. I’m sorry, that’s just not going to happen.
Marc looks at the camera and the camera zooms back in on Marc.
Marc: At Picture Perfect, Mark and I are doing more than just wrestling a tag team match. We are fighting to defend the jobs of two people who are actually doing this company some good. These two, Keybo Shabaz and Brent Sampson, they know who the good talent is, and they are trying to reward us by giving us a potential title shot against the reigning tag team champions, saying we win. But if Mark and I lose, they lose their jobs! That would not make for good PR, guys. Dirty Deal, you may have the support of some guy who decided to go to Argentina for a booty call. But what kind of support can you get from a man who resigned his position? You would have to be idiots if you really thought you could get support from such a man.
Marc thinks for a second and then speaks back up.
Marc: I rest my case. Dirty Deal, Picture Perfect is where your steam ends. You can have your laughs, you can have your chewing tobacco, and you can even have the newest Bill Clinton in Mark Sanford. But what you don’t have is simple.
Mark looks the camera dead in the center.
Marc: Talent. Picture Perfect is the time when all the fans of the Superfans will be doing but one thing.
A slight pause.
Marc: Marking out. See you Sunday.
Marc stares into the camera for a second, and then walks off and out of the locker room.
Fade to black.
Marc: Come on; come on, where is it?
A duffel bag flies at the camera. The camera shakes a little, and then fades out.
Wait for it…
Wait for it…
The camera focuses back in, and Marc stands in front of the camera with a big smile on his face. On his head is a big Red, White, and Blue top hat.
Hi! I’m the Marcus Express! And I want YOU!
Marc sharply points at the camera.
To come see Picture Perfect! Why? The Marc Express will tell you why! At Picture Perfect, the Superfans will go one on one with Dirty Deal. Lately, Dirty Deal has been successful in their attempts to get the people backstage talking. Everyone around the locker room is wondering… which one smells worse.
Marc smiles at the camera as it zooms in a little bit. Marc whispers.
I voted for Gibson.
Marc winks at the camera. The camera zooms back out.
They have also managed to get the attention of the higher ups. Congratulations, Dirty Deal, someone up there is finally paying attention to you.
Marc looks at the camera. No noise, all silence. Marc looks around, confused.
Oh, what, is no one really paying attention to these two fat tubs of goo? I forget… why do I care about them? Because between the two of them, they’ve only held one title? What have they done that’s been remotely impressive?
Marc pauses, brings a hand to his chin, and thinks.
No, they didn’t win their match to be number one contender for that title they both lost… that wasn’t impressive…
A light bulb goes off in Marc’s head, and he smiles brightly.
But you know what was impressive? When Mark and I came out as the Acolytes and handcuffed those two idiots before they could even enter their match. That was pretty impressive. Always kicking ass, that’s Mark and I. And Tiff, too, when she wants to.
Marc pauses again. He appears very excited, and is trying to calm himself down.
It amazes me that between the two of them, only one of them will talk the trash. The other… just sits there, staring blank at the camera. Like this!
Marc grabs something from his duffle bag and shows it to the camera. It’s a picture of Curtis Kanyon.
Pretty disgusting, eh? Just look at that body. So much fat. No wonder they want to wear suits and sit on comfy chairs all day: to hide their absolutely disgusting stomachs from the fans. I can’t blame them; they can’t compete with a body like this: a body like the Marc Express would have!
Marc does a few poses. The camera looks him up and down, and it can be seen that Marc is now wearing trunks with the United States flag imprinted on them. He takes the top hat off and continues posing. A chorus of cheers is heard.
Thank you, thank you. I am the Total Package and I’m here for your viewing pleasure. Now, I have a question.
Marc grabs a flier from the duffel bag he was at, and shows it to the camera. It is the same flier that Dirty Deal plastered everywhere around the towns.
Why does this flier show four of them? Two are active competitors, one is trying to be the Doctor of Style, and the chick has never been seen outside of the bathroom stalls? What has this skank done for Dirty Deal, which she hasn’t done for the rest of the locker room?
Marc sighs and throws the flier down, seemingly dropping the question.
Marc: So, Dirty Deal wants to be considered for co-CEO’s of nCw?
The camera shakes in a nodding fashion.
Marc: Please tell me you’re ****ting me.
The camera shakes in a refusal manner.
Marc: These two good old boys for CEO? I might as well vote for John Kerry and wait for the pink elephants to charge in. Dirty Deal as CEO’s of nCw… just think about that for a second.
Marc pauses only for a second before getting excited again.
Marc: There’d be spittoons at every corner! There’d be two dollar steaks on every ring post! The ropes would be made of hay! The ring would be replaced by a damn hogpen! I’d have to marry my sister!
Marc suddenly stops.
Marc: Wait… I don’t have a sister.
Marc thinks.
Marc: I’d have to marry my cousin!
Marc stops again.
Marc: No, no no no no no! I can NOT marry Cousin Merle. I’m sorry, that’s just not going to happen.
Marc looks at the camera and the camera zooms back in on Marc.
Marc: At Picture Perfect, Mark and I are doing more than just wrestling a tag team match. We are fighting to defend the jobs of two people who are actually doing this company some good. These two, Keybo Shabaz and Brent Sampson, they know who the good talent is, and they are trying to reward us by giving us a potential title shot against the reigning tag team champions, saying we win. But if Mark and I lose, they lose their jobs! That would not make for good PR, guys. Dirty Deal, you may have the support of some guy who decided to go to Argentina for a booty call. But what kind of support can you get from a man who resigned his position? You would have to be idiots if you really thought you could get support from such a man.
Marc thinks for a second and then speaks back up.
Marc: I rest my case. Dirty Deal, Picture Perfect is where your steam ends. You can have your laughs, you can have your chewing tobacco, and you can even have the newest Bill Clinton in Mark Sanford. But what you don’t have is simple.
Mark looks the camera dead in the center.
Marc: Talent. Picture Perfect is the time when all the fans of the Superfans will be doing but one thing.
A slight pause.
Marc: Marking out. See you Sunday.
Marc stares into the camera for a second, and then walks off and out of the locker room.
Fade to black.