KORS KORS KORS! KORS KORS KORS! MICHAEL KOR-RS! (SING THIS IN THE TUNE OF “SHAKE YOUR BOOTY”)
Event: COLOSSUS 2022
Event Date: 12/16/2022
KORS KORS KORS! KORS KORS KORS! MICHAEL KOR-RS! (SING THIS IN THE TUNE OF “SHAKE YOUR BOOTY”)
What do you get when you have rapidfire picking of a couple of guitar strings, the sound of crunching double-bass, and the tortured shrieks of an unintelligible lead vocals? Well, you have a noise that’s not too pleasant to the ears. When it’s accompanied by this opening shot, it’s even more disturbing. A gloomy forest in grayscale, similar to ones witches kill in. And then, there’s even more chaos.
Bulldozers! Wrecking balls! Controlled burns! The reel begins to fast forward quick as heck as the spooky woods are decimated, leaving nothing but a lot of dirt in its wake. And then, more trucks begin to pile in. Lumber, concrete steel, and more drywall beyond your wildest drywall fantasies pour onto the space. It is no longer empty, but a thriving example of commerce in action.
The metal cacophony is still going on, for what it’s worth. “YEAAAAAAAAAAARHHHHHHHHHH” says the singer, giving some startling social commentary on the Russian/Ukraine conflict. All the while, we see the fruits of the labor begin to materialize. The grayscale becomes a slightly more colorful filter like sepia. The blacktop is spread next to the long rectangular structures that stretch for almost a quarter mile end-to-end. Signs begin to be placed along the walls. Most intriguing being the giant one at the very front that reads “COASTAL VIRGINIA FACTORY OUTLETS & GRUB COURT,” and upon its finalization, we have finally reached full color and completion of the construction.
We aren’t here to speculate why the proprietor decided to call the concession area a “Grub Court.” Nor does it matter when you are offering a wide array of shopping opportunities to the consumer.
Anyway, thanks to PRIME’s sick fucking drone technology (do NOT edit my bold and underline for “sick” when you post this even if it doesn’t follow the formatting guidelines, it is IMPORTANT for the reader that this be emphasized) we can come to the reason we’re here. And his name is Michael Kors.
No, the fashion mogul is not debuting in PRIME. However, this may be the first time a wrestling vignette has taken place inside one of his outlet stores, and it does introduce three unfamiliar faces right here on Colossus!
The first one we’ll mention seems to be the most normal, despite the fact that he’s wearing a white T-shirt with the original movie poster artwork of Forrest Gump on the front. A real hunk with long black hair, he’s got the typical build of a cruiserweight. A tiny little graphic in the PRIME font reads “Abe Lipshitz” underneath him as he turns slightly to browse an array of womens’ hats and gloves. A real accessory hound, apparently.
Where we start to go a little off the beaten path are the two individuals who stand at arms length of him. The first, a brunette with hair down to the small of her back. The second, a shorter yet more athletically-built woman with jet black hair of equal length. If you thought Abe looked out of place picking out a merlot-colored wool scarf and modeling it for them, guess what?
“Miserèe” is the caption under the brunette, who is clad in a black shirt several sizes too big for her frame and black leather pants. Where the “out of place” really comes in is the fact that she is wearing black and white corpse paint (scary makeup), and the shirt features artwork of a band whose name you cannot read. Also, the shirt has Jesus being brained in the skull with a giant spiked club by a giant demon. Not exactly a Michael Kors patron.
As for the black-haired woman, her name must be “SELMA.” Must be important to be in all caps. Probably because she looks like one of those people that used to jump scare you when a friend sends a video of something that appears to be normal and boring until that horrific scream and the face of death appears at the end. Because there’s no way that’s her real face. It appears as though someone tapped the same makeup artist that used to do Freddy Kreuger’s work, because that’s pretty much what it is but with nicer hair and teeth.
Abe Lipschitz: So, what do ya think?
Abe does a fancy sashay, extending the ends of the scarf and smiling with confidence.
Miserèe: It’s FINE. Can we get out of here now?
Abe Lipschitz: I wasn’t asking you. SELMA…
At this point, it should be noted that when someone speaks her name, they are actually screaming it. It’s just how SELMA prefers to be addressed. Not yelling it could be grounds for her to snap each one of your fingers off individually.
Abe Lipschitz: Eh? Pretty cute, huh?
SELMA takes a step toward Abe, silently placing her chin under her hand and extending an index finger over her grisled brown cheek. Thinking it over as if it were an important decision. Finally, she grabs the ends of the scarf and crosses her arms, tightening the loop and attempting to choke him out with the winter wear.
Abe Lipschitz: *gheeeeeeeeeeck* does that mean you *GHAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK* like *HEEECAHHHHHHHK* it?
Miserèe taps SELMA on the shoulder. For the eighth time today, it is a gentle reminder that now is not the time to kill him. The burnt sea monsteress releases her grip and takes a step back from the goofy sycophant of the trio. Once he regains his composure, he shakes his head and examines the scarf around his throat one last time.
Abe Lipschitz: Nah. It’s just not the right present for my girlfriend. This might cause an interruption of our sensual chemistry.
Miserèe shoots him a sour look, which is only enhanced by her choice in mascara.
Miserèe: Let me go ahead and remind you of a few things, Schitz. One, she’s not your girlfriend. B, you’ve only ever met her in person once. And four, she accidentally called you Abe Lipstick instead of your actual last name, and you were too scared to correct her.
Abe Lipschitz: Eh, you’re just too jaded to pick up on our obvious sensual chemistry. And yeah, maybe we aren’t exactly ‘dating,’ but this is 2023! There’s no need to define our relationship in today’s modern society! We just have great sensual chemistry!
Instead of giving Abe yet another dirty look, she instead decides to lunge for the scarf and tighten it around his neck, picking up right where SELMA had left off.
Miserèe: STOP SAYING ‘SENSUAL CHEMISTRY’ YOU FUCKING DICK HEAD! And for the record, IT’S NOT 2023!
Before Miserèe is able to end him right in the middle of retail hell, the party is crashed by a Michael Kors salesperson to swoop in like a superhero and save Abe’s life. And for whatever reason, he seems very familiar.
Michael Kors Salesperson: Aye, what ye be searchin’ fer, and how may I navigate ye?
Oh my goodness, it’s Scurvy Jones! Except not in his usual antique getup. That has been replaced with a pair of khaki slacks and a black polo shirt – slightly wrinkled from leaving it in the dryer too long. Apparently, work must be hard to find for a 1600s shiphand that sucks complete ass at wrestling. Yet he is still qualified to sell apparel at discount prices?
SELMA is not too pleased with his appearance, scowling at the rat’s nests that have taken residence on Scurvy’s skull and face. Jones takes note of this and immediately tries to diffuse the heat, doing the one thing he knows best.
Scurvy Jones: May I interest ye in a complimentary tangerine?
Scurvy reaches into his pocket and pulls it out, handing it to her. SELMA grabs it and begins to eat it with the peel still on.
Abe Lipschitz: Scurvy! My man!
Abe raises his hand up for a high-five, but Scurvy is a ghost from a time where those were not yet invented. Even though he’s now working at an outlet store. Not sure what to do, he simply stares at Abe’s hand. Abe is also no help, as he just keeps it extended for about thirty seconds. Thankfully, Miserèe has enough and grabs Scurvy’s wrist, slapping his hand forcefully against Abe’s.
Abe Lipschitz: I sure can use your help. I’m looking for the perfect Christmas gift for a special lady in my life. Got any suggestions?
Scurvy Jones: Aye, I have just the parcel for yer lass, landlubber! Wait until she feasts her eyes on this fair bonnet!
Scurvy retrieves a merlot-colored faux fir trapper hat from off the rack.
Scurvy Jones: The real sell here is these two little fuzzy tufts at the end. And feel that! You can’t even tell it’s not real fur!
No one seems to give a shit that Scurvy Jones had just shattered character by actually highlighting some unique features of the product. Miserèe taps the toe of her boot heel impatiently, and Abe’s eyes are filled with wonder.
Abe Lipschitz: That’s…that’s perfect. What do you think, SELMA? Is my angel going to love this, or what?
SELMA frowns. And frowns some more. Her expressions really don’t offer all that much since the fact that her skin looks like fried chicken kinda detracts from them. But, she raises a fist with her thumb extended perpendicular, waving it up and down.
Surprisingly, she points it up. However, Miserèe is quick to interject before this can be construed as any form of praise from SELMA.
Miserèe: She’s NOT your angel! Ms. Troy is our boss, you dummy! And I’ll be damned to an eternal stay in hell if you’re going to get us fired before we’ve even had the chance to appear on TV!
Abe looks directly at the camera for a second before turning his attention back to her.
Abe Lipschitz: I thought eternal damnation was your dream destination.
Miserèe: The Bermuda Triangle is my dream destination, dimwit. Eternal damnation is where I want to honeymoon.
Scurvy, seeing his opportunity to swoop in, pipes up.
Scurvy Jones: Aye, painted mayflower. If ye be willin’ fer me to escort ye through the deadly waters, I can sail ye there on my…dingy!
Miserèe shoots him a look.
Miserèe: Can I have one of those tangerines, please?
Scurvy obliges. Unfortunately, Miserèe opts to pinch the back of his neck and shove the fruit directly into his mouth to gag him.
Miserèe: We’re done here.
The grim God-hater snatches the hat from Abe’s hands and tosses it to the floor. Before she storms toward the door of the outlet store, she makes sure to step on the hat before her exit. Abe shrugs, looking at Scurvy and SELMA. He mutters under his breath.
Abe Lipschitz: Jeez, you don’t have to be such a bitch about it.
Miserèe: What the FUCK did you just say?
Abe Lipschitz: …nothing.
Abe walks away, leaving both SELMA and Scurvy there in awkward silence. The Norwegian beast looks to make sure they are both out of the line of sight. Once confirmed, she picks up the fur hat, smells it, and puts it over her own head before storming out herself.
♫ I befriended them ♫
♫ Bye bye mom it’s now ♫
♫ Me and My Black Metal Friends! ♫