What you are about to witness is really, really bad writing. It's crass, rank, inappropriately unapologetic satire. This post represents my roleplay for Ultimate Wrestling. This is fictional writing for a fantasy pro wrestling organization. Enjoy, or not!
Standing with a microphone underneath his signature mustache, Huckleberry's jaw circles around like a cow chewing cud. He is standing backstage outside the locker room area at a house show where new UOW wrestlers are testing out their skills to prove that they can become the next superstars of tomorrow.
Nearby a spittoon chimes as he spits a stream of black spittle its way. The interviewer beside him, the American Beauty Queen Rose Johnston, jumps by the surprise of the garish and rude display, then quickly shows off her pearly whites. Using her Texas charm, she opens the segment with a standard introduction as soon as the commercial break ends.
Rose Johnston: Welcome back. I'm Rose Johnston backstage with Huckleberry, a rising star here in UOW. After his recent wins in Korea, if you can call it that... more like survival if you ask me, Huckleberry has been granted an opportunity to face the three other top winners of the Korean Death Sport tournament. Those competitors will be Valora Salinas, Takuma Sato, and Abbigail Dresden in a four-way Hell-In-A-Cell Match. Tell me, Huckleberry... you're going to be trapped inside cell with these three individuals, all of them allegedly better trained and physically superior to yourself, so how do you reckon you'll do?
Huckleberry: Well I reckon I it'll be a helluva match. You know, each of us had to actually kill somebody get this far, by facing of in a Korean kill-or-be-killed death match. The only reason I ain't behind bars again, I reckon is 'cuz ever'body we killed all them sorry-excuses-for-a-Bond-villains out of pure self-defense, so help me God!
Spa-KOON!
Once again, The Huckster, earning his namesake hucks another spit-ball dead-on-target into the brass spittoon.
Huckleberry: Don't do drugs kids! They made me go cold turkey while I was in Korea, and let me tell ya something, it was a living hell. I'd almost rather step int'a the ring with that human dump-truck, Kronin, but ain't never wanna live through the hell of going cold turkey again. That's why I switched'ta chewin' tobackey. Helps me tuh kick the smokin' habit. By the way, that man Kronin throws punches like a freight train. He knows how to make an impression, if you know what I mean. Vastrix might be the bionic six million dollar man, but listen to me... even with a metal plate in the skull, a DDT from a monster like Kronin leads to permanent brain damage. I would know!
Rose Johnston: My condolences Huckleberry. Would you mind addressing your fellow competitors Huck? I think we got a bit side-tracked. Why do you think you might have the upper hand in this Hell-In-A-Cell match.
Huckleberry scratches his head, and scrunches his left eye to look at Rose more keenly.
Huckleberry: Hold onta yer horses little lady. I got a question for you Lil' Rosey. Didn'tcha get pumped full of lead by those men in black just before we got hijacked and taken to North Korea?
Rose Johnston: (Giggling) No, you silly goose. I'm fine! See? You must have me mistaken for someone else. The former Vice President of UOW perhaps? Now, can we please get back to the original question. Your match?
Huckleberry: Alright, if you say so. Damn, I really did get hit hard in the head.
After shaking the cobwebs out, the mullet-rocking runt with a rat-tail pantomimes his feelings about the upcoming match with a few odd gestures. First he pouts his lips and furrows his brow as he clenches a fist. Then he puts his hand to his forehead and circles his lips. Finally he pats a fist to his chest and stretches his lower lip and exaggerates his under-bite to expose his few remaining lower teeth.
Huckleberry: Ooooooooh! Hell-In-A-Cell. All furr of us lived the cell-block blues for many nights. Sometimes in isolation. Sometimes undergoing painful torture. Sometimes endearing public humiliation so deeply psychotic, we still wake up in a sweat at night reliving the nightmares. Compared to that, this match is going to be little more than a victory lap for us to jog through. Valora and Sato, yer right... they got skills. Once, I saw Valora lift a ninja man twice her size and slam him like he was a rag-doll. And Sato, one time I saw him knock out a guard cold with a single quick peck of his finger. I almost had to change my under-pants after I saw that happen. And Abbigail, she ain't one to be trifled with neither. That one can hold her own during a prison break surrounded by guards, and she don't know the meaning of quittin' time when the bell rings. But let me tell you something sister! I gots me a few tricks up my sleeve!
At this, Huckleberry turns his body to reveal his other arm he had been concealing all this time. The entire forearm and fist is swollen to nearly three-times its size. Rose Johnston swoons, and collapse to the floor. Huck grabs the mic from her with his good hand, and is able to shape his swollen hand to point his finger directly at the camera in a manacling manner.
Huckleberry: My Daddy, God-Rest-His-Soul, had to be buried three times! Three times I wept for my Daddy. Once when we went deer huntin', and the shot ricoshay'd offa the truck, and got him in the gut. The man stood up during the wake, and headed for the buffet he was so damn hungry. The second time, Daddy lost control of the skunk-a-pult, and it yank'd him by the heel and threw him a hunderd yards into the neighburs barn. Momma was already shovelin' dirt on his coffin when he sat up started hollerin' about how broke his legs were. It took three of us to restrain Momma after she hit him on the head with the shovel. After escaping death twice, my daddy told me the secret to long life. "Blood is thicker than water, Son," he said. And just like that, my daddy died of a heart attack. 35 years of nothin' but the best beer, bacon, and baby-makin'll do that to a man. So I spent the rest of my life dedicating myself to the art of masterin' my own sacred Appalachian Inbred bloodline.
With his enlarged hand, Huckleberry makes the sign of the cross to honor his dearly departed dad. He then looks up again, and opens his palm.
Huckleberry: See dis right here? It don't bother me. One of those mad Korean witch doctors told me the poison they injected me with came from a horse whose DNA they cross-bred with a cobra. It's true! But I've been through worse. Muuuuuch worse! As an alter boy in church, we used ta say our prayers, sing in tongues, and let snakes bite our wrists. "If ya have the faith in God, the blood of Jeeeeezzus will keep ya alive forever", the preacher used'ta say. "And if ya doesn't, ya die!" And that ain't all. Yuh remember that gator fight I had. What, was it 800 pounds of snapping teeth and scales? I can't even bench-press 200 pounds, but when that green demon came at me that night, I swear the Holy Spirit filled me with his awesome sauce, because something inside me gave me the strength to lift it off of me to escape it's maw when he was trying like hell to swallow my noggin whole!
Again Huckleberry pantomimes the alligator mouth by exaggerating the scene with his hands and arms, acting out the teeth by sliding his slender fingers through the fattened ones.
Huckleberry: Look... all four of us suffered like Hell in Korea. I know! But I'm warning them, they're going to have to throw everything at me, including the bathroom sink if they expect me tuh lay down give up. Unless the ref says I haft-tuh, I play by my own rules, and the rules I follow... I ain't got any! Maybe I'll bite. I'll scratch. Maybe I'll poke someone's eye out. Daddy taught me how to do that. We used'ta practice on possums to find out if they were playing dead or not. They better be ready for anything, because I'm as unpredictable as they come, and I ain't got a bone in my body that isn't already crying out in pain every day when I wake up, so what good is a few more broken bones going to do against me in a match?
Another person arrives on the scene, this time it's Holly Hudson, the edgy little UOW staffer. She sports her retro cropped leather jacket with on pin on the front that says "I got straight A's in High School". On the back of the jacket it reads, "A is for Attitude!" With her own microphone in hand, she takes over the interview momentarily.
Holly Hudson: Sorry to cut you off, Huckleberry, but we have to cut to a quick commercial break, but I was wondering if--
Huckleberry: But, but, but... spit out out Missy! You wanna see what they did to my butt in Korea. You don't hafta ask twice.
The hillbilly wrestler begins peeling back the tights, and Holly vehemently throws her hands up and her drops her jaw in disgust.
Holly Hudson: Uh... no. Ew! I was just wondering if we could continue this interview later by having you answer some questions posed to you by some of our UOW fans on Twitter? Would that be alright?
Huckleberry: Twitter? What thu... we got birds askin' me questions?
Holly Hudson: Damn, you really are a dumbass. Hold tight fans! I'll try to explain to Huckleberry what Twitter is during the commercial break, and then we'll be right back.
Spa-KOON!
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Thank you for reading my original writing. This is a fictional satire, and my roleplay submission for Ultimate Wrestling.
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