LORDY, LORDY…HERE COMES MORTY…
The scene cuts to another area backstage where Matt Mills, in all his professional glory, stands next to Mortimer Kjedelig.
Matt Mills: Mortimer—-
Mortimer Kjedelig: Hold up there, Matty. I know what you’re gonna insinuate with your questions. How did a winless mook like you end up in a Barb Wire Ropes match for the Impulse Title?
Matt Mills: It’s the Intense Championship and “barbed wire” and I was not about to call you a lose—
Mortimer Kjedelig: Oh! Hold up! “Barbed” and not “Barb?”
Matt Mills: Yes.
Mortimer Kjedelig: So this match and the ropes have nothin’ to do with the twenty-sixth anniversary of the Pamela Anderson movie?
Matt Mills: Correct.
Mortimer Kjedelig: I was grossly misinformed here!
Matt Mills: I wouldn’t say that. It seemed pretty straightforward to me.
Mortimer Kjedelig: We’re talkin’ barbed wire and, in the spirit of clarification, not cables with Pamela Anderson’s face, voluminous blonde hair, boobage, neither/nor “Barb Wire” emblazered on them?
Matt Mills: That is right.
Mortimer Kjedelig: You’re tellin’ me that the barbed wire – sharp, spiky, razor wire, shit they use in prisons and farms to keep fuckin’ wolves out – replaces the ropes?
Matt Mills: Yes.
Mortimer Kjedelig: Isn’t that, I dunno, dangerous?
Matt Mills: I think that’s the point.
Mortimer Kjedelig: That’s fucked up. And let me surmise that I’m the loser whose face it is that is gonna get shredded like parmesan? Is that it? It pisses me the fuck off! They put the zero win loser in the match as their little fuckin’ blood monkey? Their sacrificial guinea pig? “Yeah! Hey! Ria, Angelo, and Anna, they got their fanbases and their t-shirts that run one size too small, let’s have Morty drop a gallon of blood in the ring and get his face all mangled and shit! No one gives a flyin’ fuck about him!” Is that what everyone thinks?
Matt Mills: I don’t think anyone thinks that—-
Mortimer Kjedelig: Save me your philosophical bullshit, Matty! I ain’t a sucker. I’m onto them. I got the nine-one-one. But you know what? I ain’t a loser. I’m not gonna roll over and take this level of disrespect. Fuck Ria. Fuck Angelo Luchadoree. Fuck my Uncle, my ex-wife, my Cousin Mikey, Ariel Autumnsommer, Vinnie Fuckin’ Shitbag, and a plethoral corn on the copia of others who made me feel smaller than a fire ant’s dick who don’t deserve to get fuckin’ name dropped. And, oh I almost forgot, wth the utmost imperativity….fuck Anna Daniels and the quantum she leapt in on.
Matt Mills: Well, you do have your work cut out for you. Records aside, what is your gameplan going into the Intense Championship match?
Mortimer Kjedelig: You wanna know what irony is? During high school, I wanted to be invisible but when I was at home, I wanted to be seen, and now, here I am, wearin’ a mask at a televised event where….what? Dozens? Hundreds? Thousands of people will watch. So, with that percolatin’ on your mind, there can be only two possible outcomes for me at this Great American Nightmare. Outcome One: I beat Anna Daniels into an unrecognizable pulp until she agrees to my terms, to wit, have been publicly displayed for all to hear, which, with specificity, is for her to go back in time and make one necessary alteratin’ tweak. Outcome B: I become the new Impulse Champion and rub it in all of the faces of every single person who doubted me and/or treated me like trash. It will show that I finally did somethin’ right. That at least one of my fuckin’ choices panned out for me.
Matt Mills: What will happen if you lose this—-
Mortimer raises an admonishing finger at the senior PRIME interview person, grits his teeth, his fists clench, his arms start shaking, and when he speaks, his tone becomes emotional, no matter how hard he tries to repress it
Mortimer Kjedelig: I told you, I ain’t a fuckin’ loser.
Mortimer Kjedelig storms off camera and Matt Mills looks back at the camera as the scene ends.