Post by Deleted on May 3, 2016 6:18:23 GMT
An olde-timey magician and his lovely assistant play to a disinterested crowd. As the assistant pulls several meters worth of handkerchiefs from the magician's mouth, the audience groans. As the magician pulls a rabbit from his top hat, the audience sighs. Some get to their feet and prepare to leave, until the magician reaches into his hat once more. With a flourish, he produces of a box of Pollo Bucket chicken. His assistant strikes a pose to accentuate the true king of fast foot poultry. The crowd responds with a standing ovation.
The feed cuts to a shot from the surface of a meager office desk. The frame is just wide enough to feature La Cucaracha on one side, dressed in her wrestling attire, opposite a weary representative of the Pollo Bucket corporation, clad in a short-sleeved dress shirt.
La Cucaracha: I rescind my previous demand. I don't want D.C. Wiland executed after our Cinco De Mayo match. But he better at least be tortured. And tell the company to start spelling my name right on promotional material. There's only one H.
Pollo Bucket Employee: Miss Cucaracha, that's not why you were summoned here. We need you to stop interrupting our commercials.
That's bullshit. When am I supposed to insult my opponents? And how am I gonna keep moving my official POLLOMANIA La Cucaracha merchandise? I'm selling a lot of shirts and foam cockroaches for you people.
We put a great deal of revenue toward producing professional advertisements that spread awareness of the Pollo Bucket brand. It doesn't help when they're interrupted by the ranting of a woman in a mask.
Those are promos, dude. That's what wrestlers do. Like, if I think D.C. Wiland is a big bag of turds and I want to tell him before our match, I have to cut a promo. Bookending them with your commercials keeps people interested. They want to know how the Pollo Bucket meal is gonna get out of this one, so they stay tuned. It's basic storytelling. Nobody complains when Game of Thrones has a cliffhanger.
Our commercials are less about storytelling and more about making people want to eat chicken.
This company has it in for me. First you refuse to acknowledge the new POLLOMANIA Golden Egg Championship and now this.
La Cucaracha holds up a strip of leather with a hubcap loosely attached.
That is not a championship belt. It doesn't even qualify as a regular belt.
Deechebag stole mine, so I made a new one. I'd like to see you do any better. I've been the Golden Egg Champ for weeks now, and I still haven't gotten to make a sweet entrance with my title. By the way, if you sell those foam replica belts, do I get residuals as the current champion? Even if I don't necessarily have the belt on my person?
No.
So Wiland gets them? That's such bullshit.
Neither of you get them. They go to the company.
Goddammit. I'm starting to regret trusting a major corporation. I bet if I stole something, and you were aware of it, and could prove it within the confines of the American legal system, there would be immediate consequences. This is all because I'm an insect-themed Canadian luchadora under the age of twenty-five. You just screwed your chances of signing the Winnipeg Wasp, the Edmonton Earwig and the Hamilton Honeybee. All of whom are close personal friends of mine, by the way.
That's a shame. Would you please sign this paper to confirm that I gave you a verbal warning?
Only if I can use sparklers in my entrance. Maybe as antennas. That would be the shit.
Miss Cucaracha, if you provide the sparklers you're welcome to use them in your entrance.
Hell yeah! You really know how to deal with talent. You should get promoted.
Yes, I should. Would you sign this please?
One official La Cucaracha autograph coming up. Make sure you hold onto that. It's gonna be worth something.
This document will be used for internal purposes only. Have a nice day.
You're a hell of a negotiator, dude.
Please leave.
The feed cuts back to the stage, the audience still offering feverish applause. As the lovely assistant enjoys a Pollo Bucket hot wing, a full grown man in a rabbit suit strangles the magician in the background. Cue the Pollo Bucket logo.
The feed cuts to a shot from the surface of a meager office desk. The frame is just wide enough to feature La Cucaracha on one side, dressed in her wrestling attire, opposite a weary representative of the Pollo Bucket corporation, clad in a short-sleeved dress shirt.
La Cucaracha: I rescind my previous demand. I don't want D.C. Wiland executed after our Cinco De Mayo match. But he better at least be tortured. And tell the company to start spelling my name right on promotional material. There's only one H.
Pollo Bucket Employee: Miss Cucaracha, that's not why you were summoned here. We need you to stop interrupting our commercials.
That's bullshit. When am I supposed to insult my opponents? And how am I gonna keep moving my official POLLOMANIA La Cucaracha merchandise? I'm selling a lot of shirts and foam cockroaches for you people.
We put a great deal of revenue toward producing professional advertisements that spread awareness of the Pollo Bucket brand. It doesn't help when they're interrupted by the ranting of a woman in a mask.
Those are promos, dude. That's what wrestlers do. Like, if I think D.C. Wiland is a big bag of turds and I want to tell him before our match, I have to cut a promo. Bookending them with your commercials keeps people interested. They want to know how the Pollo Bucket meal is gonna get out of this one, so they stay tuned. It's basic storytelling. Nobody complains when Game of Thrones has a cliffhanger.
Our commercials are less about storytelling and more about making people want to eat chicken.
This company has it in for me. First you refuse to acknowledge the new POLLOMANIA Golden Egg Championship and now this.
La Cucaracha holds up a strip of leather with a hubcap loosely attached.
That is not a championship belt. It doesn't even qualify as a regular belt.
Deechebag stole mine, so I made a new one. I'd like to see you do any better. I've been the Golden Egg Champ for weeks now, and I still haven't gotten to make a sweet entrance with my title. By the way, if you sell those foam replica belts, do I get residuals as the current champion? Even if I don't necessarily have the belt on my person?
No.
So Wiland gets them? That's such bullshit.
Neither of you get them. They go to the company.
Goddammit. I'm starting to regret trusting a major corporation. I bet if I stole something, and you were aware of it, and could prove it within the confines of the American legal system, there would be immediate consequences. This is all because I'm an insect-themed Canadian luchadora under the age of twenty-five. You just screwed your chances of signing the Winnipeg Wasp, the Edmonton Earwig and the Hamilton Honeybee. All of whom are close personal friends of mine, by the way.
That's a shame. Would you please sign this paper to confirm that I gave you a verbal warning?
Only if I can use sparklers in my entrance. Maybe as antennas. That would be the shit.
Miss Cucaracha, if you provide the sparklers you're welcome to use them in your entrance.
Hell yeah! You really know how to deal with talent. You should get promoted.
Yes, I should. Would you sign this please?
One official La Cucaracha autograph coming up. Make sure you hold onto that. It's gonna be worth something.
This document will be used for internal purposes only. Have a nice day.
You're a hell of a negotiator, dude.
Please leave.
The feed cuts back to the stage, the audience still offering feverish applause. As the lovely assistant enjoys a Pollo Bucket hot wing, a full grown man in a rabbit suit strangles the magician in the background. Cue the Pollo Bucket logo.