HEY, HEY, HEY! IT’S SEGMENT 9A!
The lights flicker in the arena. When they stop, a Wild Time Lord appears in the ring with a microphone in hand. Wild Time Lord uses Chatter. It’s super effective!
Anna Daniels: We bet you’re all wondering why we did what we did. Why take such a gamble? Why risk your championship ambitions over an otherwise normal match? It’s simple.
There’s a thing in the business called a pregnant pause. This is one of them. Though for about 1/14th of a second, one of the many poisonous frogs in this fleshsuit’s head wonders what kind of asshole would knock up a pause. What would the child of a pause be called? Can a pause file for child support? Can a pause go through menopause?
Anna Daniels: We risked it all against Jared Sykes because we had to.
This pause is not trying to squirt out a crotch goblin. This one lingers a bit like a good, juicy fart. The reactions are about the same too: shock, denial, maybe a bit of disgust and tears.
Anna Daniels: And we know exactly what you’re going to say. “B-but Anna, that’s not true…” WRONG! Ladies, gentlemen, and those beyond the binary, it is very much the truth and all you have to do is look around your crumbling, deadbeat ‘verse to see the proof. Each and every show since the beginning has gotten more and more dramatic. More and more chaotic. Every two weeks on your device of choice, you see solid proof that wrestling just for wrestling’s sake doesn’t really get the job done here. Truth is around here, the best damn match on the entire card doesn’t mean a goddamn thing compared to colorful characters, attempted murder, and theatrics.
Can you hear it? There’s that patented PRIME crowd RAAAAAAHHHH. At least the goldfish brains are self-aware. She nods her head.
Anna Daniels: We have produced banger after banger after banger in this fucking company and nobody gives a shit because we don’t have “a story”. We’re not a Communist Bear or a Suplex Golem. We don’t have a stable named after school supplies. We’re not a legend and most importantly, we are not Jared Sykes. We are simply a nihilistic alien who wants to fight that, until two weeks ago, was trying so hard to cling on to what sanity we had left. We left everything on the line against this man, King of the Blueberries, the Heart of PRIME because at least then, we would have some fucking clue as to how to proceed. We took the risk to make that match mean something!
A beat. Beats are different from pregnant pauses somehow. Maybe beats are the pregnant pause’s offspring? How messy.
Anna Daniels: And we lost.
Some people actually boo this little factoid. Anna’s response is to shrug.
Anna Daniels: Now we’ve been told since then that you don’t take risks like that without a plan. But every time we make a plan, it turns into complete dogshit before it can ever really get off the ground. It’s not just in this ‘verse either. It’s everywhere we have ever been to. We try to feud with somebody, they decide to piss off after five seconds. We have an ambitious goal, the promotion slows to a crawl and dies. Every single time we have the slightest inkling of hopes and dreams for fucking anything, it gets crushed. What is the point of god having a plan if some two dollar halfwit with a prayer book can come along and fuck it up?!
When people are paraphrasing the dead, most would fist bump their heart and point to the sky out of respect. But seeing as how we’re yoinking that on the fly from George Carlin, we’re better off reciting the Seven Words and shipping a prayer to Joe Pesci.
Anna Daniels: Yet damn if that’s just one of those lessons some of us just can’t quite learn. It must be. Otherwise, we wouldn’t keep doing it. We planned for a brilliant title reign after Tropical Turmoil and we lost. We planned for the possibility of winning last ReVival and we lost. This is not a buzzsaw factory. PRIME is not a home for heroes. PRIME is a graveyard for plans, a burial ground for hope, and an asylum that is ultimately ran by the inmates. And every single one of you absolutely love it.
RAAAAAAHHHHH. CAN YOU HEAR IT, DUDES?! CAN YOU FEEL THAT RAH?! CRUSH RAH. MAKING KIDS CRY RAH? VAYA CON DIOS, RAH!
Anna Daniels: Honestly, PRIMEates…
Whoever is cutting this promo pauses as the oldheads in the crowd RAAAAAHHHH in appreciation. There’s a smile on the vessel’s face. That might be for the reaction of the fans, but it could easily be because the Multitudes know somewhere in the back, Lindsay Troy is cringing.
Anna Daniels: We’re coming around to it ourselves. We lost and for that, we thank you, Jared. Thank you so very much for defeating the best wrestler on this entire roster and being everything we said you were. Because not only did you make us see the light…
There’s something strange going on. She’s looking at the camera, but she may actually be looking at the talented Mr. Sykes. A gleam is in those eyes.
Anna Daniels: You brought our number of fucks into the negatives. Which means we can do stuff like this.
The camera suddenly shifts perspective. Where it once was pointed at Anna, it is now lying on its side on the mat. Mainly because the cameraman’s head has been Interrobang’d into oblivion. And the crowd goes wild for it. Half explode into cheers, the other half starting a chant that begins to grow.
fuck your head.
Fuck Your Head.
FUCK YOUR HEAD.
We are now from the perspective of Camera 2 whose operator is smart enough to keep their distance. The thousands in attendance and the millions watching wherever see Anna sit on the mat cross legged. The poor saps who stick to the Camera 1 feed get a treat of their own as the camera’s mic picks up what Camera 2 can’t.
“Nothing to lose. Fuck it.”
Indeed, her posture is the epitome of fuck it. Like a child at kindergarten listening to the story of the fan’s ebbs and flows. It’s so innocent even if her actions are not. The Enemigos begin to swarm and head to the ring but as soon as they cluster, Anna’s not there. She’s gone in the blink of everybody’s eye. The cameraguy is still out cold. A duffle bag of Monopoly money mysteriously falls onto LT’s desk. And we’re on to some more crazy shit.