Post by Roy Vezina on Sept 17, 2024 23:58:41 GMT
The camera opens to a scene at ringside where the new announcer, Dusty Strauss, stands nervously holding a microphone. Opposite him are the Punch Line—Roy Vezina, Harv Norris, and Rick Hull—dressed in their signature hockey jerseys and looking every bit the cocky, arrogant trio they’ve become known for. Harv is casually flipping his hockey stick over his shoulder, while Rick is shadowboxing the air. Roy, as usual, stands front and center, arms crossed, sizing up the new guy.
Dusty Strauss: (with a professional smile, but clearly a bit uneasy) “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m here with the current Tag Team Champions, The Punch Line—Roy Vezina, Harv Norris, and Rick Hull. Now guys, let’s get right to it, with Sam Hewitt retiring, I’m stepping in to—”
Roy Vezina: (cutting him off with a sneer) “Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on there, Dusty. Let’s pump the brakes, alright? Sam Hewitt’s gone, and suddenly we get… you?”
Harv snickers, and Rick crosses his arms, both looking Dusty up and down as if judging his worth.
Harv Norris: (in his thick Newfoundland accent, leaning in close) “B’y, where’d dey even find ya? Like, who letcha in da door, Dusty? You a rink rat or somethin’?”
Rick Hull, shaking his head, steps in front of Harv.
Rick Hull: “Yeah, man. No offense, Dusty, but you’ve got some big skates to fill. And we don’t really do the whole ‘new guy’ thing well, y’know?”
Roy Vezina: (mocking, eyes narrowed) “Exactly. Sam Hewitt was an institution. He called some of our biggest wins, some of our toughest losses. And now we’re supposed to open up and answer questions from… this guy? C’mon.”
Dusty, clearly uncomfortable, attempts to regain control of the interview.
Dusty Strauss: (trying to stay professional) “I understand your hesitation, but let’s focus on the task at hand. The Ambush—Kalidah and his group of masked men—have been a thorn in your side as of late. How do you plan to—”
Roy Vezina: (ignoring the question, cutting him off again) “You know, Dusty, the real question is, what’s up with Kalidah and his circus of freaks? You want to talk about them, huh? Fine. Let’s talk.”
Roy takes a step forward, a cocky smirk spreading across his face.
Roy Vezina: “Kalidah walks around here like he’s the stuff of nightmares, like he’s some big monster to be afraid of. He’s got all his little tiger-faced cronies running around, jumping people, playing their spooky games. But here’s the thing, Dusty—he’s not scaring anyone. Not us. He’s just Eli. He’s not some myth, he’s just a guy hiding behind a mask and a gimmick.”
Rick Hull nods, smirking, as Harv leans on his hockey stick, looking unimpressed.
Rick Hull: “Yeah, Kalidah likes to talk about nightmares. But the real nightmare is what’s coming for him when we get our hands on him and his little Ambush. They think they’re running this place, but all they’re doing is delaying the inevitable.”
Harv Norris: (barely intelligible with his heavy accent, but enthusiastic) “Aye, b’ys, Kalidah an’ his gang o’ mask-wearin’ lunatics? Dat’s a joke, sure ‘nuff. We ain’t afraid o’ no mask, eh? Dey gonna see what happens when ya mess with us, b’y. We ain’t playin’ no more.”
Dusty Strauss, clearly trying to steer the conversation back, adjusts his microphone.
Dusty Strauss: “So… you’re saying the Ambush is nothing to worry about? Even after the recent attacks and—”
Roy Vezina: (rolling his eyes, leaning toward Dusty) “You’re not listening, Dusty. The Ambush is just smoke and mirrors. They jump us from behind like cowards, but they’ve never faced us straight up. They hide behind their masks and their creepy little music, but when it comes down to it? They’re just scared.”
Harv Norris is now pretending to shiver dramatically, mocking Kalidah’s persona.
Harv Norris: (in a mocking, spooky voice) “Ooooo, I’m Kalidah, I got me tigers, and I’m real scary, eh? Watch out, eh?”
Rick and Roy laugh, feeding off Harv’s energy. Dusty tries to interject again.
Dusty Strauss: “But Kalidah—he’s the PMLL Heavyweight Champion. Surely that—”
Roy Vezina: (grinning but cutting him off again) “Yeah, and he’s holding onto that belt for now. But here’s the thing, Dusty. The Punch Line? We anre having our time with these tag team belts. We’re gonna have our time with Kalidah’s too. Tag titles, singles titles—it doesn’t matter. When the Punch Line’s in town, everything becomes ours.”
Rick Hull steps forward, speaking directly to the camera.
Rick Hull: “Kalidah, Ambush, whoever—you guys better watch your backs. We’re not playing around anymore. You’ve tried to make us the punchline, but here’s the thing—we’re the ones delivering the punchline, and it’s coming straight for you.”
Dusty attempts to regain control one last time.
Dusty Strauss: “So, no plans to discuss strategy or your—”
Roy Vezina: (holding up a hand, smirking) “Oh, Dusty, Dusty, Dusty. Strategy? No need to worry about that. We’ll do the talking in the ring. Kalidah and his Ambush are already running scared—they just don’t know it yet. When we’re done with them, they’ll wish they’d never stepped foot in this ring.”
Roy turns to Harv and Rick, smirking confidently as they laugh and playfully bump fists.
Roy Vezina: “Let’s get out of here, boys. This was a waste of time.”
Without another word, the Punch Line toss their mics down and walk off, leaving Dusty Strauss standing awkwardly at ringside, microphone still in hand, clearly unsure of how to handle the chaos that just unfolded.
Dusty Strauss: (muttering to himself as the camera fades out) “Well… that went well.”
Dusty Strauss: (with a professional smile, but clearly a bit uneasy) “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m here with the current Tag Team Champions, The Punch Line—Roy Vezina, Harv Norris, and Rick Hull. Now guys, let’s get right to it, with Sam Hewitt retiring, I’m stepping in to—”
Roy Vezina: (cutting him off with a sneer) “Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on there, Dusty. Let’s pump the brakes, alright? Sam Hewitt’s gone, and suddenly we get… you?”
Harv snickers, and Rick crosses his arms, both looking Dusty up and down as if judging his worth.
Harv Norris: (in his thick Newfoundland accent, leaning in close) “B’y, where’d dey even find ya? Like, who letcha in da door, Dusty? You a rink rat or somethin’?”
Rick Hull, shaking his head, steps in front of Harv.
Rick Hull: “Yeah, man. No offense, Dusty, but you’ve got some big skates to fill. And we don’t really do the whole ‘new guy’ thing well, y’know?”
Roy Vezina: (mocking, eyes narrowed) “Exactly. Sam Hewitt was an institution. He called some of our biggest wins, some of our toughest losses. And now we’re supposed to open up and answer questions from… this guy? C’mon.”
Dusty, clearly uncomfortable, attempts to regain control of the interview.
Dusty Strauss: (trying to stay professional) “I understand your hesitation, but let’s focus on the task at hand. The Ambush—Kalidah and his group of masked men—have been a thorn in your side as of late. How do you plan to—”
Roy Vezina: (ignoring the question, cutting him off again) “You know, Dusty, the real question is, what’s up with Kalidah and his circus of freaks? You want to talk about them, huh? Fine. Let’s talk.”
Roy takes a step forward, a cocky smirk spreading across his face.
Roy Vezina: “Kalidah walks around here like he’s the stuff of nightmares, like he’s some big monster to be afraid of. He’s got all his little tiger-faced cronies running around, jumping people, playing their spooky games. But here’s the thing, Dusty—he’s not scaring anyone. Not us. He’s just Eli. He’s not some myth, he’s just a guy hiding behind a mask and a gimmick.”
Rick Hull nods, smirking, as Harv leans on his hockey stick, looking unimpressed.
Rick Hull: “Yeah, Kalidah likes to talk about nightmares. But the real nightmare is what’s coming for him when we get our hands on him and his little Ambush. They think they’re running this place, but all they’re doing is delaying the inevitable.”
Harv Norris: (barely intelligible with his heavy accent, but enthusiastic) “Aye, b’ys, Kalidah an’ his gang o’ mask-wearin’ lunatics? Dat’s a joke, sure ‘nuff. We ain’t afraid o’ no mask, eh? Dey gonna see what happens when ya mess with us, b’y. We ain’t playin’ no more.”
Dusty Strauss, clearly trying to steer the conversation back, adjusts his microphone.
Dusty Strauss: “So… you’re saying the Ambush is nothing to worry about? Even after the recent attacks and—”
Roy Vezina: (rolling his eyes, leaning toward Dusty) “You’re not listening, Dusty. The Ambush is just smoke and mirrors. They jump us from behind like cowards, but they’ve never faced us straight up. They hide behind their masks and their creepy little music, but when it comes down to it? They’re just scared.”
Harv Norris is now pretending to shiver dramatically, mocking Kalidah’s persona.
Harv Norris: (in a mocking, spooky voice) “Ooooo, I’m Kalidah, I got me tigers, and I’m real scary, eh? Watch out, eh?”
Rick and Roy laugh, feeding off Harv’s energy. Dusty tries to interject again.
Dusty Strauss: “But Kalidah—he’s the PMLL Heavyweight Champion. Surely that—”
Roy Vezina: (grinning but cutting him off again) “Yeah, and he’s holding onto that belt for now. But here’s the thing, Dusty. The Punch Line? We anre having our time with these tag team belts. We’re gonna have our time with Kalidah’s too. Tag titles, singles titles—it doesn’t matter. When the Punch Line’s in town, everything becomes ours.”
Rick Hull steps forward, speaking directly to the camera.
Rick Hull: “Kalidah, Ambush, whoever—you guys better watch your backs. We’re not playing around anymore. You’ve tried to make us the punchline, but here’s the thing—we’re the ones delivering the punchline, and it’s coming straight for you.”
Dusty attempts to regain control one last time.
Dusty Strauss: “So, no plans to discuss strategy or your—”
Roy Vezina: (holding up a hand, smirking) “Oh, Dusty, Dusty, Dusty. Strategy? No need to worry about that. We’ll do the talking in the ring. Kalidah and his Ambush are already running scared—they just don’t know it yet. When we’re done with them, they’ll wish they’d never stepped foot in this ring.”
Roy turns to Harv and Rick, smirking confidently as they laugh and playfully bump fists.
Roy Vezina: “Let’s get out of here, boys. This was a waste of time.”
Without another word, the Punch Line toss their mics down and walk off, leaving Dusty Strauss standing awkwardly at ringside, microphone still in hand, clearly unsure of how to handle the chaos that just unfolded.
Dusty Strauss: (muttering to himself as the camera fades out) “Well… that went well.”