Post by Deleted on Apr 3, 2016 22:15:52 GMT
An Old West outlaw, clearly outnumbered and outgunned dashes into a wood shack, firing blindly behind him with a six-shooter. He slams the door before collapsing, his right leg soaked in blood. The camera tracks back to a nearby table, a box of Pollo Bucket chicken sliding into view. The outlaw looks to it and nods. He's not giving up his Pollo Bucket as long as he's still breathing.
The feed cuts to a warehouse, mostly darkened, though a solitary beam of light shines down onto a seated figure. The figure appears to be wearing a pillow case over his head, and is remaining motionless. La Cucaracha's head juts into the frame, as she steps backwards towards the figure. A muffled groan rings out from beneath the pillow case.
La Cucaracha: Quiet, you.
She steps in front of the camera to obscure the figure and points to her official POLLOMANIA La Cucaracha t-shirt, in hopes of lightening the mood and engaging in product placement while also filming a hostage video.
Only $29.99! Get yours BEFORE I win the Rotisserie Rumble to become the first ever POLLOMANIA Golden Egg Champion. That way you don't look like some fucking asshole who's just jumping on the La Cucaracha bandwagon. Everyone hates those people, and they'll hate you too if you don't buy this shirt now so I can get a sweet ass royalty check.
Now, I know what you're thinking. "La Cucaracha, you're undefeated in POLLOMANIA, but you've only had two matches and you have zero experience in Battle Royals." Maybe that's true, but shut up. Didn't you ever read part of a self-help book about determination? I have that in abundance, not to mention a bad ass t-shirt cannon and a garbage can full of chicken, candy, and weapons. You're looking at the future of POLLOMANIA, and the future is bright as fuck.
La Cucaracha reaches off screen to grab a Pollo Bucket chicken leg. She takes a bite, while scratching her backside with her free hand, before throwing the leg over one shoulder, where it smacks the head of her hostage. She lets out a wet-sounding burp.
Minneapolis will bear witness to the birth of Rachamania. Not only am I going to explode through that giant egg to win the Rotisserie Rumble, but I'm going to explode into the hearts and homes of a nation. Whenever you turn on a light or leave food lying out, I'll be there. You're looking at the birth of a nation: The Infestation Nation!
Taking a few steps back, La Cucaracha places one hand on the shoulder of her co-star.
You're probably wondering what this guy is doing here. Well, you can't start a new nation without bloodshed. But don't worry. I'm not looking to shed innocent blood. I'm not a goddamn crazy person. So instead, I bought a time machine from a reputable source off Twitter. And to make the world a better place for the Infestation Nation, I'm going to do the one thing that no wrestler has ever been able to do: I'm going to kill Adolf Hitler!
Snatching the pillow case from the seated figure, La Cucaracha reveals the face of an olive-skinned man, covered in sweat.
Mussolini? Goddammit.
The alleged former fascist dictator is breathing heavily.
"Mussolini": I'm actually just a actor and this isn't the script we initially went over.
Of course that's what you'd say, Il Duce. Well, you're not gonna dupe me like you did the good people of early twentieth-century Italy.
I'm starting to think this isn't a student film. I'd really just like to get my thirty dollars and get out of here.
Taking the time to lecture her still-captive audience of one, La Cucaracha begins untying the faux-Italian dictator.
What you're getting is an official POLLOMANIA La Cucaracha tee: A $29.99 value. I'll even throw in a penny, you big fucking baby. Way to commit to the scene. Now anybody who actually watches this is going to feel like it was a misleading waste of their time. What kind of asshole would do that to people?
Finally freed, "Mussolini" jumps to his feet and sprints off-screen. La Cucaracha flips him off, then slumps into the chair.
So maybe I didn't kill Hitler. I'll tell you another thing I don't kill: CROWDS! When my theme music hits, Minneapolis is gonna go ape-shit, and when I become the POLLOMANIA Golden Egg Champion, they're gonna go even ape-shitter. I can always fuck up the timestream later, but the Rotisserie Rumble is my time to shine. Everyone enjoys their chicken more when there's a cockroach inside. That's a scientific fact.
If anybody gets in my way, I'm gonna start giving out Hisses of Death like they're chicken-candy from my trash can. I will Cannonball your broadside. You're all about to check into the Roach Motel. And you're also gonna catchphrase-I-haven't-quite-worked-out to my Kafka-Plex. If a nuclear blast can't stop me, what chance do you dick-brains have?
And don't say you can just step on cockroaches, because that's such a bullshit argument. I'm obviously a cockroach-themed wrestler and too big to step on. And don't act like that point negates the thing I just said about surviving a nuclear blast. What I meant was that I'm fully confident I could survive in a post-apocalyptic wasteland. And if that's where I end up by some strange twist of fate, you can bet your ass that I'll be the one to take down the surviving head of Adolf Hitler AND his mini-gun-armed robot body. This has been an essay by La Cucaracha.
The feed cuts back to the wooden shack. The outlaw, box of Pollo Bucket tucked under one arm, kicks the door open and is riddled with bullets half-a-second later. A deputy kicks his corpse, then enjoys a chicken breast.
The feed cuts to a warehouse, mostly darkened, though a solitary beam of light shines down onto a seated figure. The figure appears to be wearing a pillow case over his head, and is remaining motionless. La Cucaracha's head juts into the frame, as she steps backwards towards the figure. A muffled groan rings out from beneath the pillow case.
La Cucaracha: Quiet, you.
She steps in front of the camera to obscure the figure and points to her official POLLOMANIA La Cucaracha t-shirt, in hopes of lightening the mood and engaging in product placement while also filming a hostage video.
Only $29.99! Get yours BEFORE I win the Rotisserie Rumble to become the first ever POLLOMANIA Golden Egg Champion. That way you don't look like some fucking asshole who's just jumping on the La Cucaracha bandwagon. Everyone hates those people, and they'll hate you too if you don't buy this shirt now so I can get a sweet ass royalty check.
Now, I know what you're thinking. "La Cucaracha, you're undefeated in POLLOMANIA, but you've only had two matches and you have zero experience in Battle Royals." Maybe that's true, but shut up. Didn't you ever read part of a self-help book about determination? I have that in abundance, not to mention a bad ass t-shirt cannon and a garbage can full of chicken, candy, and weapons. You're looking at the future of POLLOMANIA, and the future is bright as fuck.
La Cucaracha reaches off screen to grab a Pollo Bucket chicken leg. She takes a bite, while scratching her backside with her free hand, before throwing the leg over one shoulder, where it smacks the head of her hostage. She lets out a wet-sounding burp.
Minneapolis will bear witness to the birth of Rachamania. Not only am I going to explode through that giant egg to win the Rotisserie Rumble, but I'm going to explode into the hearts and homes of a nation. Whenever you turn on a light or leave food lying out, I'll be there. You're looking at the birth of a nation: The Infestation Nation!
Taking a few steps back, La Cucaracha places one hand on the shoulder of her co-star.
You're probably wondering what this guy is doing here. Well, you can't start a new nation without bloodshed. But don't worry. I'm not looking to shed innocent blood. I'm not a goddamn crazy person. So instead, I bought a time machine from a reputable source off Twitter. And to make the world a better place for the Infestation Nation, I'm going to do the one thing that no wrestler has ever been able to do: I'm going to kill Adolf Hitler!
Snatching the pillow case from the seated figure, La Cucaracha reveals the face of an olive-skinned man, covered in sweat.
Mussolini? Goddammit.
The alleged former fascist dictator is breathing heavily.
"Mussolini": I'm actually just a actor and this isn't the script we initially went over.
Of course that's what you'd say, Il Duce. Well, you're not gonna dupe me like you did the good people of early twentieth-century Italy.
I'm starting to think this isn't a student film. I'd really just like to get my thirty dollars and get out of here.
Taking the time to lecture her still-captive audience of one, La Cucaracha begins untying the faux-Italian dictator.
What you're getting is an official POLLOMANIA La Cucaracha tee: A $29.99 value. I'll even throw in a penny, you big fucking baby. Way to commit to the scene. Now anybody who actually watches this is going to feel like it was a misleading waste of their time. What kind of asshole would do that to people?
Finally freed, "Mussolini" jumps to his feet and sprints off-screen. La Cucaracha flips him off, then slumps into the chair.
So maybe I didn't kill Hitler. I'll tell you another thing I don't kill: CROWDS! When my theme music hits, Minneapolis is gonna go ape-shit, and when I become the POLLOMANIA Golden Egg Champion, they're gonna go even ape-shitter. I can always fuck up the timestream later, but the Rotisserie Rumble is my time to shine. Everyone enjoys their chicken more when there's a cockroach inside. That's a scientific fact.
If anybody gets in my way, I'm gonna start giving out Hisses of Death like they're chicken-candy from my trash can. I will Cannonball your broadside. You're all about to check into the Roach Motel. And you're also gonna catchphrase-I-haven't-quite-worked-out to my Kafka-Plex. If a nuclear blast can't stop me, what chance do you dick-brains have?
And don't say you can just step on cockroaches, because that's such a bullshit argument. I'm obviously a cockroach-themed wrestler and too big to step on. And don't act like that point negates the thing I just said about surviving a nuclear blast. What I meant was that I'm fully confident I could survive in a post-apocalyptic wasteland. And if that's where I end up by some strange twist of fate, you can bet your ass that I'll be the one to take down the surviving head of Adolf Hitler AND his mini-gun-armed robot body. This has been an essay by La Cucaracha.
The feed cuts back to the wooden shack. The outlaw, box of Pollo Bucket tucked under one arm, kicks the door open and is riddled with bullets half-a-second later. A deputy kicks his corpse, then enjoys a chicken breast.