Post by Deleted on May 17, 2016 4:37:59 GMT
The barbarian horde smashes their battering ram into the castle gate once again, sending the wooden frame collapsing to the ground as it rips from metal hinges. With no further barrier to their attack, the violent throng spills into the courtyard beyond. From atop a tower, a wizened old king looks upon the carnage below, as the savages bury their axes in the skulls of his subjects. He looks to the table next to his empty throne, a place of honor. The only place for Pollo Bucket. As blood-crazed war cries echo from the halls outside his throne room, he prepares to meet his fate. He unsheathes his sword. The commercial fades.
Cut to La Cucaracha, wrestling attired and clad in her purple domino mask. She wears the POLLOMANIA Golden Egg Championship bandolier style, as she stands in front of her homemade cockroach insignia backdrop.
La Cucaracha: Deezy, it looks like we're destined to do this forever or until one of us wins this ladder match and gets a Supremo title shot. I thought trying to beat you at your own game, at least the cheating part, was a foolproof plan. Winning dishonorably didn't endear me to the POLLOMANIA brass, so now I have a trial by ladder against the dirtiest player in the fast-food-themed-wrestling game. I only climb ladders to clean rain gutters and perpetrate petty larceny, so utilizing one in the ring is kind of a new thing for me. On the bright side, there's no wrong way to win a ladder match. I can attack you with ladders, chairs, lightning, waterboarding, and a glass bottle full of botulism. On the dark side, I'm willing to bet my sparkler antennas that this isn't your first ladder rodeo.
And as much as I'd love to make this promo about, "Sparkler antennas! Fuck yeah!" that isn't going to help me beat you. Unless maybe I used them to stab both your eyes out at the beginning of the match. That's not really my thing, though. I prefer cartoon violence to Greek tragedy violence. I also prefer being the POLLOMANIA Golden Egg Champion to not being the POLLOMANIA Golden Egg Champion. I like being Golden Egg Champion so much, that I made my own belt when you stole mine. Am I still pissed off that POLLOMANIA never saw fit to recognize that belt as official? Absolutely, but cockroaches don't hold grudges. Even though I'll always hate you for stealing my belt.
Whole Lotta Roaches is my chance to prove I'm more than just unlimited merchandising potential and infinite charisma. It's my chance to prove I'm actually pretty good at wrestling. I mean, I know I'm OK at wrestling. I know I'm pretty good at skirting the rules. But I don't know if I'm good enough to earn a shot at the top guy. All I know is that in my relatively brief wrestling career, D.C. Wiland is the one hurdle I can't seem to get over. And every time I think I do, that hurdle sneaks up behind me with an ether soaked rag. You know what I mean. I'm not going to say it, because that would be slander. However, I'm definitely implying it.
All I want is for you to hate me, Deezy, because if you hate me, that means I'm a success. I'm more than just some insect you can step on. That means I'm under your skin and eating your leftovers. The estate of Wiland is officially part of the Infestation Nation. You might as well burn the house down and start over. You're never going to get rid of me. I like it here. Plus I'm really starting to move these foam cockroaches. Flip the light on all you want, at Whole Lotta Roaches, I'm not scurrying behind the fridge. This is my kitchen now, motherfucker.
The feed cuts. The blood-stained throne room is silent once again, as both the old king and the leader of the barbarian horde lie dead on the floor, having fought one another to a fatal standstill. On the throne sits a box of Pollo Bucket, the crown leaned against it. Today is the dawn of a new era of peace, prosperity and potato wedges for everyone. All hail the true king.
Cut to La Cucaracha, wrestling attired and clad in her purple domino mask. She wears the POLLOMANIA Golden Egg Championship bandolier style, as she stands in front of her homemade cockroach insignia backdrop.
La Cucaracha: Deezy, it looks like we're destined to do this forever or until one of us wins this ladder match and gets a Supremo title shot. I thought trying to beat you at your own game, at least the cheating part, was a foolproof plan. Winning dishonorably didn't endear me to the POLLOMANIA brass, so now I have a trial by ladder against the dirtiest player in the fast-food-themed-wrestling game. I only climb ladders to clean rain gutters and perpetrate petty larceny, so utilizing one in the ring is kind of a new thing for me. On the bright side, there's no wrong way to win a ladder match. I can attack you with ladders, chairs, lightning, waterboarding, and a glass bottle full of botulism. On the dark side, I'm willing to bet my sparkler antennas that this isn't your first ladder rodeo.
And as much as I'd love to make this promo about, "Sparkler antennas! Fuck yeah!" that isn't going to help me beat you. Unless maybe I used them to stab both your eyes out at the beginning of the match. That's not really my thing, though. I prefer cartoon violence to Greek tragedy violence. I also prefer being the POLLOMANIA Golden Egg Champion to not being the POLLOMANIA Golden Egg Champion. I like being Golden Egg Champion so much, that I made my own belt when you stole mine. Am I still pissed off that POLLOMANIA never saw fit to recognize that belt as official? Absolutely, but cockroaches don't hold grudges. Even though I'll always hate you for stealing my belt.
Whole Lotta Roaches is my chance to prove I'm more than just unlimited merchandising potential and infinite charisma. It's my chance to prove I'm actually pretty good at wrestling. I mean, I know I'm OK at wrestling. I know I'm pretty good at skirting the rules. But I don't know if I'm good enough to earn a shot at the top guy. All I know is that in my relatively brief wrestling career, D.C. Wiland is the one hurdle I can't seem to get over. And every time I think I do, that hurdle sneaks up behind me with an ether soaked rag. You know what I mean. I'm not going to say it, because that would be slander. However, I'm definitely implying it.
All I want is for you to hate me, Deezy, because if you hate me, that means I'm a success. I'm more than just some insect you can step on. That means I'm under your skin and eating your leftovers. The estate of Wiland is officially part of the Infestation Nation. You might as well burn the house down and start over. You're never going to get rid of me. I like it here. Plus I'm really starting to move these foam cockroaches. Flip the light on all you want, at Whole Lotta Roaches, I'm not scurrying behind the fridge. This is my kitchen now, motherfucker.
The feed cuts. The blood-stained throne room is silent once again, as both the old king and the leader of the barbarian horde lie dead on the floor, having fought one another to a fatal standstill. On the throne sits a box of Pollo Bucket, the crown leaned against it. Today is the dawn of a new era of peace, prosperity and potato wedges for everyone. All hail the true king.