Post by Bembe Brightwell on Apr 9, 2021 18:34:45 GMT
“Guh-guh-guh-GANGWAY!”
Despite the warning, the Living Lightning Rod barrelled at warp speed toward a group of four women who formed a rolling human barricade in front of him. However, much like the past eighteen attempts that day, their defensive front proved to be as sturdy as a brick wall. With a dull thud, he found himself staring up at the ceiling of United Skates of America after a thundering double hip check from Rebecca Romaim-Slaymost and Deadna Krabappel: the Sewer City Derbytante rollergirl team’s most feared blockers.
After consecutive losses, Bembe’s master plan to propel himself up and out of the greasy clutches of Tony Russo had reached a similar blockade. Most wrestlers would take this as a sign that they needed to put in some additional hours at the gym or study tape to find areas of improvement in their game. However, the result of a few bolts of electricity to the brain had thrown rationale completely out the window for the masked performer. Despite the fact that it had been no help whatsoever to engulf himself in the atmosphere of the venue prior to his last match, here he was.
It took a few tries to become acclimated to the roller skates, but being a natural athlete, Bembe quickly adapted to the quads. The encouragement of one of the nation’s top teams had bolstered his confidence. This of course was strategic in nature, as it gave him the bravery necessary to try his luck as an honorary member of the squad: providing them a breathing tackling dummy for their own practice session.
Deadna dropped to one knee to check in on the man she’d just knocked the wind out of. A fourth-grade teacher by day, her skate pseudonym wasn’t just a coincidence. “You OK?” she asks with sincerity.
“Happy birthday, little Juh-juh-juh-juh-jimmy!”
“Alright ladies, I think he’s done for the day,” Deadna proclaims, reaching underneath his arms and seating him upright. Several of the roller girls surround Bembe and they proceed to hoist him up and carry him off of the rink and over to one of the benches that surround the skating area.
“Wheeeeeeeeeeee!”
Enjoying the lift, Bembe regroups while the canaries continue to circle over his head. The fact that he’d neglected to wear a helmet was a decision he’d come to regret tomorrow morning. For now though, the pain subsides just enough to allow the newest member of the Masked Killaz$ to reflect on his training exercise.
“Let me tell you,” he begins, “those ladies puh-puh-pack a mean puh-puh-punch! I don’t think I’ve been a-knockered off my a-rocker that much since the last time I was hit by lightning. But they’ll be the first to tell you that while the rink can be a place for fu-fffu-fun and merriment, it is also a DEADLY BATTLEGROUND where only the tough survive. And I’ll need every ounce of their moxie when my new best friend and I go up against Jim and T-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-tut-t-t-t-t-t-t. And I know what you’re all thinking. ‘Bembe, how in the hell are you able to trust such a vicious psychopath like Santana Juh-juh-juh-johnson? He’s going to stab a billion holes in your face and/or ass if you make him lose this match!’ Well, I’ll tell you why.”
“You see,” Brightwell continues, clamoring up to his feet and casually rolling back in the direction of the rink, “while you may look at Santana as a man unhinged, willing to take the chance that his next match may be his last? I see someone that is too stubborn to EVER die. Much like me, despite what that bastard in the sky has attempted to accomplish THREE TIMES from his high and mighty throne made of cumulonimbus clouds. And if we do lose this match, then at least I’ll have the decency of being murdered at the hands of someone who isn’t a fuh-fuh-fuhcking coward!”
Teetering just on the edge of the skating area, Brightwell proudly places his fists on his hips in a stalwart pose. “But mark my words: if we win at young James’ birthday bash? Then the Masked Killaz$ will have merged into a force that even the devil himself couldn’t create. And that’s real bad news for Tony’s marquee attra...OOOOOOOOOF!”
Of course, despite his best attempts at coming off intimidating at the end of a promo, an unannounced hip check from Deadna sends him careening to his side, nearly breaking his ankles as he falls to the floor.
Despite the warning, the Living Lightning Rod barrelled at warp speed toward a group of four women who formed a rolling human barricade in front of him. However, much like the past eighteen attempts that day, their defensive front proved to be as sturdy as a brick wall. With a dull thud, he found himself staring up at the ceiling of United Skates of America after a thundering double hip check from Rebecca Romaim-Slaymost and Deadna Krabappel: the Sewer City Derbytante rollergirl team’s most feared blockers.
After consecutive losses, Bembe’s master plan to propel himself up and out of the greasy clutches of Tony Russo had reached a similar blockade. Most wrestlers would take this as a sign that they needed to put in some additional hours at the gym or study tape to find areas of improvement in their game. However, the result of a few bolts of electricity to the brain had thrown rationale completely out the window for the masked performer. Despite the fact that it had been no help whatsoever to engulf himself in the atmosphere of the venue prior to his last match, here he was.
It took a few tries to become acclimated to the roller skates, but being a natural athlete, Bembe quickly adapted to the quads. The encouragement of one of the nation’s top teams had bolstered his confidence. This of course was strategic in nature, as it gave him the bravery necessary to try his luck as an honorary member of the squad: providing them a breathing tackling dummy for their own practice session.
Deadna dropped to one knee to check in on the man she’d just knocked the wind out of. A fourth-grade teacher by day, her skate pseudonym wasn’t just a coincidence. “You OK?” she asks with sincerity.
“Happy birthday, little Juh-juh-juh-juh-jimmy!”
“Alright ladies, I think he’s done for the day,” Deadna proclaims, reaching underneath his arms and seating him upright. Several of the roller girls surround Bembe and they proceed to hoist him up and carry him off of the rink and over to one of the benches that surround the skating area.
“Wheeeeeeeeeeee!”
Enjoying the lift, Bembe regroups while the canaries continue to circle over his head. The fact that he’d neglected to wear a helmet was a decision he’d come to regret tomorrow morning. For now though, the pain subsides just enough to allow the newest member of the Masked Killaz$ to reflect on his training exercise.
“Let me tell you,” he begins, “those ladies puh-puh-pack a mean puh-puh-punch! I don’t think I’ve been a-knockered off my a-rocker that much since the last time I was hit by lightning. But they’ll be the first to tell you that while the rink can be a place for fu-fffu-fun and merriment, it is also a DEADLY BATTLEGROUND where only the tough survive. And I’ll need every ounce of their moxie when my new best friend and I go up against Jim and T-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-tut-t-t-t-t-t-t. And I know what you’re all thinking. ‘Bembe, how in the hell are you able to trust such a vicious psychopath like Santana Juh-juh-juh-johnson? He’s going to stab a billion holes in your face and/or ass if you make him lose this match!’ Well, I’ll tell you why.”
“You see,” Brightwell continues, clamoring up to his feet and casually rolling back in the direction of the rink, “while you may look at Santana as a man unhinged, willing to take the chance that his next match may be his last? I see someone that is too stubborn to EVER die. Much like me, despite what that bastard in the sky has attempted to accomplish THREE TIMES from his high and mighty throne made of cumulonimbus clouds. And if we do lose this match, then at least I’ll have the decency of being murdered at the hands of someone who isn’t a fuh-fuh-fuhcking coward!”
Teetering just on the edge of the skating area, Brightwell proudly places his fists on his hips in a stalwart pose. “But mark my words: if we win at young James’ birthday bash? Then the Masked Killaz$ will have merged into a force that even the devil himself couldn’t create. And that’s real bad news for Tony’s marquee attra...OOOOOOOOOF!”
Of course, despite his best attempts at coming off intimidating at the end of a promo, an unannounced hip check from Deadna sends him careening to his side, nearly breaking his ankles as he falls to the floor.