Post by Deleted on Jun 14, 2016 2:37:57 GMT
An unnamed, but obviously well paid gaming site shills a beta version of a Pollomania wrestling game, with a not-up-to-date roster and enraging glitches. The wrestlers themselves are composed of sharp angles, and clip through the ring and each other with the phasing ability of Martian Manhunter. The feed cuts to La Cucaracha, as usual, with the stylized cockroach backdrop over one side of her van. She adjusts her purple domino mask.
La Cucaracha: Ayn Rand once said a bunch of shit about taking what's yours. At least, that's the impression I get from the Wikipedia entry for Atlas Shrugged. Something about rational self-interest. You probably already figured this out, but rationally or otherwise, I'm pretty self-interested. I'm on the verge of the biggest match of my career, for the biggest belt in Pollomania, and I've gotta go through two people to get it. The cherry on top is that if I lose, I don't get to keep my Golden Egg Championship as a consolation prize. A negative person might say I'm up Shit Creek.
But Shit Creek isn't just full of yesterday's Pollo Bucket and pieces of Cornelius Cobblepot. It's also full of opportunity. You just gotta hold your nose and jump in. And keep your mouth shut.
Since I arrived in Pollomania, Jason Orion, under one name or another, has pretty much been the guy. He might've eaten a few fireballs and dropped a mask to Tiger Mask Red, but when it comes to the Supremo Championship, he's dug his claws in and refuses to let go. I respect the hustle, but I also resent anyone who's more successful than me, whether they earned it or not. I'm cool with photo ops and playing nice before our match even, but once that bell rings, well, you know the deal.
DC Wiland gave me a run for my money in the wrestling department, but I still managed to out-cheat him. Jason Orion can flip circles around me, and he can have the acrobatics. I've got one top rope rana and a 630-splash that I only break out right before I actually try to shoot my opponent. Flippydos aren't exactly my specialty. Using the ropes for leverage, on the other hand. Relax, Jason. I'm not going to set you on fire. However, I'm perfectly willing to shoot you in the nuts with a t-shirt gun. Yes, you can keep the t-shirt.
My back is against the wall, dude. I love being the Pollomania Golden Egg Champion. It's the fucking best and I've eaten a lot of our company's signature product off the face plate. I'm the only person who's ever officially held this belt, so excuse the fuck out of my if I have a certain attachment. Would I be content to defend this bad boy against Gill Baits every show and shill sparkler-antenna headbands from here until doomsday? Sure. But the chicken that binds us has other ideas, and I gotta play along.
Picture this, Orion: You stumble into your kitchen for a late night snack, you flip on the light, rub your eyes, and see a loan cockroach in the middle of your fucking floor. Tough luck, dude. When all you care about is a 3am ice cream sandwich, you sure as shit don't want to lock eyes with vermin. And this one doesn't even have the decency to scurry off into some dark corner. This one is standing her ground and ruining your appetite. Is that your ice cream? Well, this is me sticking my unwashed fingers in it. What are you gonna do, step on me?
There's a good chance. You might've dropped the mask, but as far as I'm concerned, that was an off-night for the great Jason Orion. I'm not counting on you to make missteps. I'm counting on you to wrestle like the fucking champ. That's what I'm gonna do. I just hope you realize that I'm a different kind of champ than you are. As much as I just want to call you a fuckhead and wipe my ass with a glossy 8x10 of you, I'm not gonna do that. Not on camera, I mean. OK, maybe on YouTube. I'm not super into the whole mutual respect and post-match handshakes thing. Nothing personal, dude. Just know that your nuts are officially in the crosshairs of my t-shirt gun. Just like your belt.
The feed cuts back to the Pollomania game demo footage. As one beta tester claims 9/10, the game crashes.
La Cucaracha: Ayn Rand once said a bunch of shit about taking what's yours. At least, that's the impression I get from the Wikipedia entry for Atlas Shrugged. Something about rational self-interest. You probably already figured this out, but rationally or otherwise, I'm pretty self-interested. I'm on the verge of the biggest match of my career, for the biggest belt in Pollomania, and I've gotta go through two people to get it. The cherry on top is that if I lose, I don't get to keep my Golden Egg Championship as a consolation prize. A negative person might say I'm up Shit Creek.
But Shit Creek isn't just full of yesterday's Pollo Bucket and pieces of Cornelius Cobblepot. It's also full of opportunity. You just gotta hold your nose and jump in. And keep your mouth shut.
Since I arrived in Pollomania, Jason Orion, under one name or another, has pretty much been the guy. He might've eaten a few fireballs and dropped a mask to Tiger Mask Red, but when it comes to the Supremo Championship, he's dug his claws in and refuses to let go. I respect the hustle, but I also resent anyone who's more successful than me, whether they earned it or not. I'm cool with photo ops and playing nice before our match even, but once that bell rings, well, you know the deal.
DC Wiland gave me a run for my money in the wrestling department, but I still managed to out-cheat him. Jason Orion can flip circles around me, and he can have the acrobatics. I've got one top rope rana and a 630-splash that I only break out right before I actually try to shoot my opponent. Flippydos aren't exactly my specialty. Using the ropes for leverage, on the other hand. Relax, Jason. I'm not going to set you on fire. However, I'm perfectly willing to shoot you in the nuts with a t-shirt gun. Yes, you can keep the t-shirt.
My back is against the wall, dude. I love being the Pollomania Golden Egg Champion. It's the fucking best and I've eaten a lot of our company's signature product off the face plate. I'm the only person who's ever officially held this belt, so excuse the fuck out of my if I have a certain attachment. Would I be content to defend this bad boy against Gill Baits every show and shill sparkler-antenna headbands from here until doomsday? Sure. But the chicken that binds us has other ideas, and I gotta play along.
Picture this, Orion: You stumble into your kitchen for a late night snack, you flip on the light, rub your eyes, and see a loan cockroach in the middle of your fucking floor. Tough luck, dude. When all you care about is a 3am ice cream sandwich, you sure as shit don't want to lock eyes with vermin. And this one doesn't even have the decency to scurry off into some dark corner. This one is standing her ground and ruining your appetite. Is that your ice cream? Well, this is me sticking my unwashed fingers in it. What are you gonna do, step on me?
There's a good chance. You might've dropped the mask, but as far as I'm concerned, that was an off-night for the great Jason Orion. I'm not counting on you to make missteps. I'm counting on you to wrestle like the fucking champ. That's what I'm gonna do. I just hope you realize that I'm a different kind of champ than you are. As much as I just want to call you a fuckhead and wipe my ass with a glossy 8x10 of you, I'm not gonna do that. Not on camera, I mean. OK, maybe on YouTube. I'm not super into the whole mutual respect and post-match handshakes thing. Nothing personal, dude. Just know that your nuts are officially in the crosshairs of my t-shirt gun. Just like your belt.
The feed cuts back to the Pollomania game demo footage. As one beta tester claims 9/10, the game crashes.