Post by SANTANA on Feb 21, 2021 19:09:17 GMT
Everyone had already been here for what feels like hours now. From the stars to the wrestling media to even a handful of masked up fans, everyone had pretty much been here on time and on point… except for one person. Cameras start to flash down the start of the blue carpet as we look over and see a clearly inebriated man knocking over some potted plants in the back. When everyone realizes that the culprit is none other than Santana, there’s a sigh of relief that he finally made it. Soon enough, that same sigh of relief turns into a collective realization from the crowd of people that this might not be the most safe situation. Johnson waddles over toward the local media correspondent who seems like she’s just about petrified as anyone who’d be forced to interview this wreck of a man, this menace to society known for his aggressive nature.
“We’re here with professional wrestler Santana Johnson. Santana, how does it truly feel to be back in Cheap Pops Pro?” The nameless on-sight reporter asks professionally, despite any fear for her life that she might be feeling right now.
To assure his swaying body from falling, the man in question steps in uncomfortably close and leans his arm on her shoulder. He turns his head over to her and stares at her with glossy eyes as he presses his free hand against his stomach and belches out loud.
“SEE HATCHET GULLY, S-S-S-SANTANA KNOW YOU WAS WAITING ON A MUTHERFUCKER. SHIT, I AINT GON LIE TO YOU; SANTANA WAS CAUGHT UP DOIN SOMETHING A LIL IM...PORTANT. SHOUT OUT MY FUCKIN GUY TONY FOR THAT FLAT RATE FEE THAT HE DONE GAVE ME FOR GETTING HIM OUT OF A LITTLE PICKLE. DON'T G-ET ME WRONG THOUGH, SANTANA KNOW HE OWES YOU ONE. ONE FUCKIN ASS WHOOPIN WHEN I TAKE YO EYE AND KEEP THAT SHIT AS A SOUVENIR. SANTANA NOT GON LIE THOUGH, I LOOKED ROUND MY CRIB FOR A HATCHET OF MY OWN CUS IF IT AIN'T POETIC TO KILL HATCHET WITH A HATCHET, I DONT KNOW WHAT IS. SANTANA ONE OF THE GREATEST P-POETS OF HIS TIME AND IMA MAKE SURE I SAY SOME BEAUTIFUL SHIT AT YO FUNERAL. DEARLY BELOVED…”
Completely ignoring the correspondent’s question, Santana continues to go on a slurring tangent before momentarily looking into nothingness. It’s almost as if he’s trying to find the words to say but can’t find them. Granted, he’s shitfaced drunk so…
“WE ARE GATHERED HERE T-TODAY TO SAY GOODBYE TO A MUTHERFUCKER WHO STEPPED UP TO THE REALEST OF ALL TIME. HE WAS A COOL BROTHER AND SANTANA F-FUCKED WITH WHAT HE DID OUTSIDE OF CHEAP POPS, BUT WE DON’T TALK ABOUT WHAT THE FUCK PEOPLE DO OUTSIDE OF HERE. IT TOOK SANTANA YEARS TO FIGURE OUT THAT IT DON’T MATTER WHAT YOU DID BACK THEN, ITS BOUT WHAT THE FUCK YOU’VE DONE FOR ME LATELY. S-SO WHEN I TAKE THAT FUCKIN FAKE ASS EYE OF YOURS OUT, IMA BE LOOKIN AT YO SPIRIT WITH MY THIRD EYE.”
“Santana, this might be great promotion for your upcoming match but you haven’t even attempted to answer my que–”
“LOOK AT SANTANA, LIL REPORTER BITCH. I MEAN REALLY LOOK AT ME. DO I LOOK LIKE A MUTHERFUCKER WHO CAME HERE TO ANSWER QUESTIONS!? SHIT, IF SANTANA WASN’T OBLIGAT-TED TO COME HERE AND DO THIS SHIT, I WOULDN’T BE DOIN IT. I’D PROLLY BE SOMEWHERE GETTIN DRUNK OR SOMETHING.”
He made himself laugh with that one, leaning over to let out some loud obnoxious belly laughs whilst cocking his head back. Literal minutes of horrifying cackling has our reporter staring at her cameraman with wide eyes. Her face reads “help me” while she pretends to be laughing with Santana.
“S-SO HATCHET GULLY, SANTANA COULDN’T FIND NO AXE IN HIS HOUSE, SO LEMME AXE (ASK) YOU A QUESTION; WILL THIS DO THE JOB?”
Santana then takes a long step back and reaches deep into his right pant leg, pulling out an unsheathed machete. The reporter and cameraman immediately bail out of harm’s way. The fans in attendance turn their attention to the drunken wrestler as he waves machete around like a magic wand and get the idea that they too should get the hell out of there. The rest of the wrestling media start to bolt when Johnson playfully swings his machete in their general direction, leaving the drunken psychopath all alone on the blue carpet.
“We’re here with professional wrestler Santana Johnson. Santana, how does it truly feel to be back in Cheap Pops Pro?” The nameless on-sight reporter asks professionally, despite any fear for her life that she might be feeling right now.
To assure his swaying body from falling, the man in question steps in uncomfortably close and leans his arm on her shoulder. He turns his head over to her and stares at her with glossy eyes as he presses his free hand against his stomach and belches out loud.
“SEE HATCHET GULLY, S-S-S-SANTANA KNOW YOU WAS WAITING ON A MUTHERFUCKER. SHIT, I AINT GON LIE TO YOU; SANTANA WAS CAUGHT UP DOIN SOMETHING A LIL IM...PORTANT. SHOUT OUT MY FUCKIN GUY TONY FOR THAT FLAT RATE FEE THAT HE DONE GAVE ME FOR GETTING HIM OUT OF A LITTLE PICKLE. DON'T G-ET ME WRONG THOUGH, SANTANA KNOW HE OWES YOU ONE. ONE FUCKIN ASS WHOOPIN WHEN I TAKE YO EYE AND KEEP THAT SHIT AS A SOUVENIR. SANTANA NOT GON LIE THOUGH, I LOOKED ROUND MY CRIB FOR A HATCHET OF MY OWN CUS IF IT AIN'T POETIC TO KILL HATCHET WITH A HATCHET, I DONT KNOW WHAT IS. SANTANA ONE OF THE GREATEST P-POETS OF HIS TIME AND IMA MAKE SURE I SAY SOME BEAUTIFUL SHIT AT YO FUNERAL. DEARLY BELOVED…”
Completely ignoring the correspondent’s question, Santana continues to go on a slurring tangent before momentarily looking into nothingness. It’s almost as if he’s trying to find the words to say but can’t find them. Granted, he’s shitfaced drunk so…
“WE ARE GATHERED HERE T-TODAY TO SAY GOODBYE TO A MUTHERFUCKER WHO STEPPED UP TO THE REALEST OF ALL TIME. HE WAS A COOL BROTHER AND SANTANA F-FUCKED WITH WHAT HE DID OUTSIDE OF CHEAP POPS, BUT WE DON’T TALK ABOUT WHAT THE FUCK PEOPLE DO OUTSIDE OF HERE. IT TOOK SANTANA YEARS TO FIGURE OUT THAT IT DON’T MATTER WHAT YOU DID BACK THEN, ITS BOUT WHAT THE FUCK YOU’VE DONE FOR ME LATELY. S-SO WHEN I TAKE THAT FUCKIN FAKE ASS EYE OF YOURS OUT, IMA BE LOOKIN AT YO SPIRIT WITH MY THIRD EYE.”
“Santana, this might be great promotion for your upcoming match but you haven’t even attempted to answer my que–”
“LOOK AT SANTANA, LIL REPORTER BITCH. I MEAN REALLY LOOK AT ME. DO I LOOK LIKE A MUTHERFUCKER WHO CAME HERE TO ANSWER QUESTIONS!? SHIT, IF SANTANA WASN’T OBLIGAT-TED TO COME HERE AND DO THIS SHIT, I WOULDN’T BE DOIN IT. I’D PROLLY BE SOMEWHERE GETTIN DRUNK OR SOMETHING.”
He made himself laugh with that one, leaning over to let out some loud obnoxious belly laughs whilst cocking his head back. Literal minutes of horrifying cackling has our reporter staring at her cameraman with wide eyes. Her face reads “help me” while she pretends to be laughing with Santana.
“S-SO HATCHET GULLY, SANTANA COULDN’T FIND NO AXE IN HIS HOUSE, SO LEMME AXE (ASK) YOU A QUESTION; WILL THIS DO THE JOB?”
Santana then takes a long step back and reaches deep into his right pant leg, pulling out an unsheathed machete. The reporter and cameraman immediately bail out of harm’s way. The fans in attendance turn their attention to the drunken wrestler as he waves machete around like a magic wand and get the idea that they too should get the hell out of there. The rest of the wrestling media start to bolt when Johnson playfully swings his machete in their general direction, leaving the drunken psychopath all alone on the blue carpet.