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Date Posted: 15:42:04 11/26/02 Tue
Author: Thurman Skydive
Subject: Butterfinger

(Clearly we're inside a gym somewhere, because the scene opens with a shot of a sweaty bicep with a tattoo of a bleeding crucifix on it. The veins are literally bulging out of it, and we pan out a little to reveal a massive weight in the owner of the arm's hand. He is straining furiously to lift it. Finally we hear a voice...which sounds ominously like Thurman Skydive's...)

Skydive (straining hard): Come oooooooon...One...more...puuuuuush

(Apparently it's Thurman that's desperately trying to lift the weight one final time.)

Skydive (straining yet harder): One...last try! I can...F*CKIN' WELL...do this! I will do this...I have to do this...COME OOOOOOOON!!!

(Finally the camera pans out a little further...to reveal a man who looks to be in his mid-forties. Sweat is pouring from his bald head...and finally we see what's going on just a few meters behind him!)

Skydive: Stupid son of a b*tch...WHY THE F*CK WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME!!

(Thurman Skydive is leaning against a candy machine, pushing, shoving and kicking desperately at it...)

Skydive: GIVE...(kick)...ME...(kick)...MY...(kick)...BUTTERFINGER!

(Skydive has the attention of just about everyone in the gym now, and pretty soon a couple of heavy-looking security guards approach him...)

Security Guard: I'm sorry sir, we're going to have to ask you to step outside!

Skydive: What the hell for? I wasn't doing anything you buttlicker!

(Thurman kicks the machine again)

Skydive: It's not my fault your machinery is as defective as the detonation switch on Chris Ceslar! I demand you reimburse me for the delicious Butterfinger that I now won't be enjoying...plus a thousand dollars for all the distress and trauma this has caused me. Don't you know I've got a huge match to prepare for? I don't have time to be thrown off my game by such pressure as this!

Security Guard 2: Sir, if you kick that machine one more time we'll be asking you to reimburse us, and those things are a damn sight more than a thousand dollars!

Skydive: This piece of junk? Damn you idiots got ripped off!

Security Guard: Don't take this personally but err...we're standing here throwing you out, you don't have a Butterfinger AND you're gonna get your ass whipped by Unknown and Chris Ceslar at Hardcore Hell!

Skydive: How the hell do you know that?

Security Guard 2: Oh we're huge fans of MCW. We've got tickets for the pay-per-view!

Skydive: Oh ain't that nice...no doubt in the nosebleed section. Like minimum wage idiots like you could afford anything better. I bet you two live an 'alternative lifestyle' with each other don't you?

Security Guard 2: Why I oughtta...

Skydive: You oughtta what dipsh*t? You watch MCW, you know I could take both your hollow heads and throw them through this machine and take all the Butterfingers I wanted!

Security Guard: Let me see...there are two of us, one Thurman Skydive...that's *almost* like a triple threat...just like the one Thurman's gonna lose in at Hardcore Hell!

Skydive: That does it! I do not have to stand here and listen to this bullsh*t from a couple of raving homosexual hippy's!

(Thurman aims one more kick at the candy machine, then grabs his bag from the floor next to him, throws it over his shoulder then storms towards the huge glass doors. He is in a fury...and doesn't see the 'AUTOMATIC DOORS OUT OF ORDER' sign...DOH! Thurman smashes his face into the glass, and leaves an imprint of his face on the previously spotless glass as he lands flat on his rear end...)

Skydive (getting to his feet and turning back to yell at the security guards who are doubled over laughing:...YOU HEARD!!

(He gets to his feet again, and walks through the manually operated door right in front of him, and slams it behind him. It's raining hard outside, and a rainy mist has descended over the carpark...making it hard for Thurman to pick out his car. He strikes out into the crappy weather nonetheless...)

Skydive (to himself): Goddamnit...I have to win a triple threat, I have to deal with unreasonable assholes like that. What more can the world throw at me!

(His (and everybody else's) favourite nameless reporter emerges through the rain...)

Reporter: Hey Thurman!

Skydive: I had to ask didn't I? What the hell do you want porky? You actually joined a gym so you can trim that waistline? Maybe you can stop shopping at the clothes for fat guys stores in ten or twenty years?

Reporter: What the hell is wrong with you? I only came to tell you that Unknown has been talking about the match. I won't do you a freakin' favour in future!

Skydive: Where the hell do you think we are! This isn't Alabama...or France! We have numerous mediums through which information is made available. I already caught what my favourite mystery lunatic had to say about me and Crazy Chris with the stutter...

Reporter: Well what did you think of it?

Skydive: Well I thought his delivery was okay. He didn't stutter, or make his sentences more complicated than he could cope with. Ceslar has a few problems with that. One detonation too many I guess.

Reporter: I wasn't asking for an appraisal of his delivery...

Skydive: I wasn't asking for this stupid interview but it looks like as per usual I don't get a choice. I swear, if I didn't like seeing myself on national television so much I'd actually have to slap you hard about your chubby cheeks!

Reporter: Well...

Skydive: You want a serious thought? Fine, I'll give you one. Who the hell is The Unknown to criticise Chris Ceslar? What the hell has The Unknown done recently? Re-emerged from the sewer or secluded woods to pursue some maniacal vendetta against me, that's pretty much the extent of it. Whilst Unknown has been balling his widdle eyes out about his dead Aunt and finding God and discovering how cool it is to be a Christian and a loser, at least Chris Ceslar has been here. He might have been reduced to the point where he has little choice but listen to the cheap jibes and insults from people like you and me...but by your God at least he was here!
You stroll in here and criticise the man for being overweight. You haven't wrestled for like a zillion years...I doubt your in tip-top shape either. At least he's in a gym trying to get into some form of shape. How the hell does Unknown prepare...he goes to play in a toyshop!

Reporter: Well I think he was trying to make a poi...

Skydive: Oh he made a point alright. He got the point that he sucks big red hairy ass across...real real well! I'm stupid, so he needs to buy a present for me that's aimed at my intellect level. So he picks, and I quote, an 'electric play toy thingy'...A 'THINGY'? What a numbskull! Maybe the damn thingy will end up inside the cage with us, so he can get real intimately acquainted with it. He's probably never had a thingy of his own to play with either. I'll be beating his ass...and doing the gimp a favour! I'm like the damn Salvation Army or something...the THURMANATION Army in fact!

(Thurman finally reaches his car, and flicks a switch on his keyring to unlock the trunk. He lifts it open, then dumps his bag inside...)

Reporter: He questioned your Main Event-level credentials again...

Skydive: For f*cks sake...I HEARD WHAT HE SAID! Maybe you need a thingy so you can learn things too! Like I could give a crap about what he thinks of my career. Do I look unhappy? Do I sound unhappy? I might be doomed to eternal midcard-ness, but I'll be damned if I don't enjoy it. If people are gonna pay big bucks to see me get thrown about, then I'll take great pleasure in proving them wrong then laughing at all their ugly faces as I walk back up the ramp with my arms raised in victory. I'll even come out at the end of the show as they cue at the box office and demand their money back...maybe I'll sign some autographs...maybe I'll tell the dude at the desk to give them their money back and bill the whole lot to Mike Johnson...

Reporter: Is dissing your boss...

Skydive: Dissing my boss...hey, I like the guy, he has an astute business mind. He made me Hardcore title number one contender didn't he? He made this Cruiserweight title match at Hardcore Hell one of the most eagerly anticipated matches on the card (by putting me in it) didn't he? Mike Johnson is a genius...but then he's also the bonehead that causes nationwide riots when he cancels my matches. He's also the guy with llama-breath that books Cypher in my match with Deadcell, and costs me my big comeback. He's also the guy that took red paint and drew a nice little bullseye on Unknown's ridiculous mask.

Reporter: Thur...

Skydive: No, f*ck it. I've had enough of this bullsh*t. I get it from Unknown, I get it from Ceslar, and that guy can't put a single sentence together! I get it from Cross Scott, I get it from Johnson...and it's all coming to an end! Hardcore Hell is just two days away, and this time around I make the definitive statement I was supposed to make at Halloween Horror. I wanna see who comes and tells Thurman Skydive he's a nobody, I wanna see who comes and tells me I can't beat anybody, I wanna see who comes and tells me Thurman Skydive sucks when I'm Cruiserweight Champion. I'll shut some mouths with that, I'll shut some more when I can strap the Hardcore title around my waist as well...if Scotty wants to come get him some then f*ckin' bring it on. Thurman Skydive is THE MAN and I'm through being treated otherwise...

(Thurman climbs into the front seat of his car and starts the engine...)

Skydive: I'll see Unknown at Hardcore Hell, I'll see Ceslar at Hardcore Hell. I'll be locked inside a steel cage with them, and I vow to blast them over the head with every weapon inside if that's what it takes. Thurman Skydive IS NOT A NOBODY!

(Through the mist and driving rain, Skydive reverses backwards, and screeches out of the car park, almost hitting the reporter as it goes...)

Reporter: Now I'm all wet...

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