Post by Kurt Burton: Script Doctor! on Sept 10, 2006 14:40:45 GMT -5
The hallways are brightly lit in the Hall of Fame. The light is not of your usual flourescent variety, but more of a bright illuminating stage lighting. A security guard, fully dressed in his rent-a-cop uniform, stands at the doorway, suspiciously watching every onlooker. Most of these onlookers are over or underweight teenage boys, many wearing glasses, all sporting T-shirts for their favorite wrestlers. The trend of the week seems to be Reverend Shadow. One of these boys, a particularly frail specimen, showcases his love for the Annointed Ones.
This young man steps towards a corner, and hears from beyond the corner a voice, booming throughout the hallways. The voice is singing a song.
“Anointed Ones! Anointy nointy.
With pointed heads, a pointy pointy!
In that ring, I behold thy visage.
And in turn, your ass I’ll kickage” [/i]
The singer steps out from behind the wall, his arm draped around a beautiful young woman, dressed in a ying-yang tank top and incredibly tight jeans. The man, his green hair a mess, going every which way, stumbles along held up only by the stunning Kat Hamilton.
Kat: That was the lamest thing you have ever written. [/i]
Kurt: Lame says you, sheer brilliance says I. [/i]
He looks around, trying to pinpoint what he has come here to see. The annointed boy steps forward, nervously.
Boy: Excuse me, Mr. Burton. Can I have your autograph? [/i]
Kurt: Why of course. You got a pen.[/i]
The boy fumbles around in his pockets, as does Kurt, swinging his arms around as he detaches from Kat. Finally, the boy finds a pen, and hands Kurt the notepad and pen. Kurt begins to sign it, but then notices the boy’s shirt.
Kurt: God I hate hang overs! Excuse me, my young friend, but is that an Annointed Ones shirt.[/i]
The kid nods, and quickly, all the kindness disappears from Kurt’s face. He holds the book, and begins ripping it to shreds. The boy is visibly upset, as Kurt rips away at the book. Finally he throws the peaces up in the air, and the confetti rains down on the quivering boy.
Kurt: Are you going to cry? How old are you, like thirteen. Grow up fudge packer. [/i]
The boy turns and runs screaming. Kat laughs as the child departs. Kurt Looks ahead, trying to find what he came here for. He visibly becomes frustrated.
Kurt: Where the f*** is the Revolution exhibit?[/i]
Kat: There is no Revolution exhibit.[/i]
Kurt: Well why the f*** not? Look, there are all these lame, has beens, all these never were’s, like this guy, Goober. What the f***? He was a GOOBER! What the hell is the big deal with that? But when there is true greatness, greatness like the Revolution, is it celebrated.[/i]
Kat: Kurt, we’ve only been here a couple of months.[/i]
Kurt: I don’t care if we’ve only been here a couple of months. I don’t give one monkey’s sh##! We are still heads and shoulders better than every wrestler in this sanctimonius sh** hole.[/i]
The security guard begins to eye the two scoundrels as the little boy fervently recounts the story. The tears now streaming down his face, the boy is visibly shaken. Kurt and Kat turn their attention to the exhibit in front of them. Stills of EBR taking flying leaps in various matches, and dead in the center, a picture of EBR with a title belt, no smile, just fierce determination.
Kurt: Look at this ass rammer right here. He used to be good. I used to watch him while I toured around the country. His matches were insane. But his arsenal ain’t that impressive anymore. Looking at him these days, I have just got to wonder, what happened. Did EBR go soft? Does he have what it takes? I think the answer to that is a big, fat, n-o. No. His ground and pound might work when he’s anointing his fellow fags with his seed, but the Metal Madman will not fall to such outdated overused crap. To be honest, I think his prime was up two years ago, and he should have never come back. EBR… what is with that? Why does every sack of sh## in this place want to use initials. Why can’t they be honest with their fans, so that when I’m kicking their asses, the fans know whose ass I’m kicking. [/i]
Kat: Kurt, keep your voice down.[/i]
Kurt: And this sad pathetic washed up piece of dookie here. [/i]
Kurt turns to look directly in the eyes of Alex Sean's photo.
Kurt: What a clown. He comes back to this organization, and forms this little circle of anointed ones. Damn right they’re anointed. Anointed with their last rights. He talks all this crap, about how he’s the Greatest of All Time. But his crap smells just like everyone else. He is no huge star, he is not the showtime! He’s just some washed up little punk. His precision and brutality might stop whatever jobber of the week they normally put him up against. But I am Kurt Motherf****n Burton! There ain’t one man in the back with a record as good as mine, and no one holding a belt longer than me.[/i]
Kat: Kurt, I’m serious, lower your voice, now![/i]
Kurt: You see, everyone in the back is jealous. Jealous of the Revolution. Even Alex Yawn and Enormous Boner for Rear-ends. The anointed have not had quite the success you would think. And not one strap between the lot of them. So, I’m tired of the Revolution not getting the respect it deserves, and some overrated Has-Beens getting more than their fair share. So come this Odium, I’ll anoint the anointed.[/i]
Kurt stands up and unzips his pants. He walks right up to the picture of Alex Shawn. A stream of yellow liquid covers the picture. Kat hides her face in shame.
Kurt: And I got a little something for you too.[/i]
Kurt turns and continues the stream onto the picture of EBR. The security guard walks up behind him.
Security: Sir…[/i]
Kurt: Don’t worry Bacon Boy. You don’t have to escort me out of here. I got a plane to catch anyway.[/i]
Kurt snaps his finger, and Kat comes to assist him. He sways back and forth as they make a B-line for the door. The anointed child looks at him as they pass each other. And he flips the boy the bird. The two then stumble off out the door.[/b]
This young man steps towards a corner, and hears from beyond the corner a voice, booming throughout the hallways. The voice is singing a song.
“Anointed Ones! Anointy nointy.
With pointed heads, a pointy pointy!
In that ring, I behold thy visage.
And in turn, your ass I’ll kickage” [/i]
The singer steps out from behind the wall, his arm draped around a beautiful young woman, dressed in a ying-yang tank top and incredibly tight jeans. The man, his green hair a mess, going every which way, stumbles along held up only by the stunning Kat Hamilton.
Kat: That was the lamest thing you have ever written. [/i]
Kurt: Lame says you, sheer brilliance says I. [/i]
He looks around, trying to pinpoint what he has come here to see. The annointed boy steps forward, nervously.
Boy: Excuse me, Mr. Burton. Can I have your autograph? [/i]
Kurt: Why of course. You got a pen.[/i]
The boy fumbles around in his pockets, as does Kurt, swinging his arms around as he detaches from Kat. Finally, the boy finds a pen, and hands Kurt the notepad and pen. Kurt begins to sign it, but then notices the boy’s shirt.
Kurt: God I hate hang overs! Excuse me, my young friend, but is that an Annointed Ones shirt.[/i]
The kid nods, and quickly, all the kindness disappears from Kurt’s face. He holds the book, and begins ripping it to shreds. The boy is visibly upset, as Kurt rips away at the book. Finally he throws the peaces up in the air, and the confetti rains down on the quivering boy.
Kurt: Are you going to cry? How old are you, like thirteen. Grow up fudge packer. [/i]
The boy turns and runs screaming. Kat laughs as the child departs. Kurt Looks ahead, trying to find what he came here for. He visibly becomes frustrated.
Kurt: Where the f*** is the Revolution exhibit?[/i]
Kat: There is no Revolution exhibit.[/i]
Kurt: Well why the f*** not? Look, there are all these lame, has beens, all these never were’s, like this guy, Goober. What the f***? He was a GOOBER! What the hell is the big deal with that? But when there is true greatness, greatness like the Revolution, is it celebrated.[/i]
Kat: Kurt, we’ve only been here a couple of months.[/i]
Kurt: I don’t care if we’ve only been here a couple of months. I don’t give one monkey’s sh##! We are still heads and shoulders better than every wrestler in this sanctimonius sh** hole.[/i]
The security guard begins to eye the two scoundrels as the little boy fervently recounts the story. The tears now streaming down his face, the boy is visibly shaken. Kurt and Kat turn their attention to the exhibit in front of them. Stills of EBR taking flying leaps in various matches, and dead in the center, a picture of EBR with a title belt, no smile, just fierce determination.
Kurt: Look at this ass rammer right here. He used to be good. I used to watch him while I toured around the country. His matches were insane. But his arsenal ain’t that impressive anymore. Looking at him these days, I have just got to wonder, what happened. Did EBR go soft? Does he have what it takes? I think the answer to that is a big, fat, n-o. No. His ground and pound might work when he’s anointing his fellow fags with his seed, but the Metal Madman will not fall to such outdated overused crap. To be honest, I think his prime was up two years ago, and he should have never come back. EBR… what is with that? Why does every sack of sh## in this place want to use initials. Why can’t they be honest with their fans, so that when I’m kicking their asses, the fans know whose ass I’m kicking. [/i]
Kat: Kurt, keep your voice down.[/i]
Kurt: And this sad pathetic washed up piece of dookie here. [/i]
Kurt turns to look directly in the eyes of Alex Sean's photo.
Kurt: What a clown. He comes back to this organization, and forms this little circle of anointed ones. Damn right they’re anointed. Anointed with their last rights. He talks all this crap, about how he’s the Greatest of All Time. But his crap smells just like everyone else. He is no huge star, he is not the showtime! He’s just some washed up little punk. His precision and brutality might stop whatever jobber of the week they normally put him up against. But I am Kurt Motherf****n Burton! There ain’t one man in the back with a record as good as mine, and no one holding a belt longer than me.[/i]
Kat: Kurt, I’m serious, lower your voice, now![/i]
Kurt: You see, everyone in the back is jealous. Jealous of the Revolution. Even Alex Yawn and Enormous Boner for Rear-ends. The anointed have not had quite the success you would think. And not one strap between the lot of them. So, I’m tired of the Revolution not getting the respect it deserves, and some overrated Has-Beens getting more than their fair share. So come this Odium, I’ll anoint the anointed.[/i]
Kurt stands up and unzips his pants. He walks right up to the picture of Alex Shawn. A stream of yellow liquid covers the picture. Kat hides her face in shame.
Kurt: And I got a little something for you too.[/i]
Kurt turns and continues the stream onto the picture of EBR. The security guard walks up behind him.
Security: Sir…[/i]
Kurt: Don’t worry Bacon Boy. You don’t have to escort me out of here. I got a plane to catch anyway.[/i]
Kurt snaps his finger, and Kat comes to assist him. He sways back and forth as they make a B-line for the door. The anointed child looks at him as they pass each other. And he flips the boy the bird. The two then stumble off out the door.[/b]
