TWO RIGHT HANDS MAKE A WRONG
The PRIMEview airs static, and when it clears up, fans in attendance are treated to the sight of three men.
One is Joe Fontaine, with his dumb cheeky grin plastered all over his face. The bedazzled entrance poncho is worn comfortably over his shoulders. The second is Sid Phillips, who looms menacingly in the center of the frame in his much simpler poncho, and made only larger by the low angle of the camera. The third? That’s Baron von Blackberry, the third member of the team, who is crouched down and holding the camera so that all three of them are in the shot. Hence the low angle.
Baron von Blackberry: Let I, the great and mighty and ABSOLUTELY PERFECT Baron von Blackberry, elucidate you all for a moment…
The Devil Fruit holds up his hand as though he’s milking an invisible cow that’s well and truly willing to be milked by a man with a blackberry for a head.
Baron von Blackberry: Long ago, there was a team. So long ago that some of you weren’t even born yet. Maybe you knew them as sperm, or glints in your father’s eye. I don’t know. I stopped caring about the whimsical nature of genetic memory since the last genetic experiment I performed created a horde of murderous bunny rabbits that swept through the lands, causing untold chaos and fatal groin injuries for all that encountered them. Were it not for the efforts of the thousand robot armies of the scenic, yet diabolical nation of Fruitsylvania, you would all have to cater to and bow for your new groin-seeking rabbit overlords. You have me to thank for averting this catastrophe that I am not responsible for and you cannot legally prosecute me in a court of law where I don’t already preside as judge, jury, executioner, and hair critic.
About halfway into that last paragraph, Joe and Sid slowly turn to Blackberry with increasingly concerned, confused looks.
Joe Fontaine: Uhh… so there was a team.
Baron von Blackberry: Yes. And?
Sid Phillips: …That’s all you really said before you said that insane thing you said.
Baron von Blackberry: Bah. You worry too much about the details for a man who has no details about how he handles his opponents.
Sid Phillips: One detail, you mean.
Baron von Blackberry: The adult in the room is talking!
Sid Phillips (whispering): Powerbombs.
Blackberry turns to cast an aside glance at the big man. After a beat, he turns back to the camera.
Baron von Blackberry: So, there was a team, long ago. And they, too, were known as the Winds of Change. And while that team has changed lineups many times, there are two truths you have to understand about this team. The first is that there is always a Phillips. Be it Sid, or his old man.
Sid Phillips: Sup.
Baron von Blackberry: And the second is this. You’d best pay attention.
Blackberry shifts the camera. He’s the only one there. The tone in his voice is less jovial than it usually is.
Baron von Blackberry: We are the Winds of Change, taking PRIME Wrestling by storm. It does not matter to us who you are, be you a humanitarian organization to save the life of a little girl, or a fellow King of Popsicles, or PRIME Hall of Famers, or Dual Halo winners, or Jewel in the Crown winners, Almasy Invitational champions… Universal champions, 5-Star Champions, 36th Chamber of Shaolin champions, Bang! All Day champions, Undisputed North Dakotan Wominternopean Janitor-Jobberweight champions… this is for all of you. You all stand before the hurricane.
He takes the camera and puts it back in the previous spot, with the other two back in frame.
Joe Fontaine: Yeah!
Sid grunts, but nods in affirmation.
Baron von Blackberry: So, I want Nova and Garbage Bag Johnny, and everyone else for that matter, to know this. No matter what happens in that ring tonight, that hurricane isn’t going away. What you have here is a perpetual motion hurricane. An unending, swirling sore on the side of the planet. And your Galactus-sized doctor can only watch helplessly as it churns.
Joe Fontaine: This analogy’s kind of gross, dude.
Sid Phillips: I’m not a big fan of being compared to an unending pimple, either.
Joe Fontaine: God, that’s even worse. Could you even imagine?
Sid Phillips: Imagine all the promos that’ll get cut against us now, telling everyone how they’re going to pop us.
Joe Fontaine: Oh, god. That’s terrible! I don’t want to be a weird gross planet pimple! Couldn’t you have at least consulted with us before you told the entire world that we were that?
Baron von Blackberry: FOOLS! What I mean is that the destruction that will be wrought will be NEVER-ENDING and PERPETUAL.
Joe Fontaine: And a nightmare for beauticians the world over.
Baron von Blackberry: You only just graduated from being Minion #1 to personal Right Hand to the Benevolent God-King Emperor Sensei of Fruitsylvania, and you have so quickly developed such a lip.
Sid Phillips: Wait, I thought I was the Right Hand.
Baron von Blackberry: Yes. There are two right hands. Like Goro, from The Mortal Kombat.
Sid Phillips: His hands only have three fingers, though. I don’t think either of us want to be a three-fingered hand, even if they could shoot fireballs.
Joe Fontaine: Yeah, we’re not wizards out here. That’d be ridiculous. Who would ever become a wizard in professional wrestling? You’d be all squishy and stuff, and someone will suplex you and all of your bones would shatter at once, and ain’t nobody wants to be a weird slug thing with no bones in them.
Both Blackberry and Sid give Joe a look. Joe looks genuinely confused.
Joe Fontaine: What?
Blackberry ignores him, and turns to Sid instead.
Baron von Blackberry: Do not question the anatomical accuracy of your Benevolent God-King Emperor Sensei, Sid Phillips, or I will refer you to the slogan of Mentos for what would await you should you continue!
Sid Phillips: Whatever. Can I do the thing where I start talking about powerbombing Nova and Johnny, again? That’s my favorite part.
Baron von Blackberry: No. In fact, let’s just get to the ring before I start handing out such discipline that you would not be able to compete tonight. Deeply regretting your promotions, now.
Blackberry places a hand on the camera lens, and Great American Nightmare goes back to the ring as confused as ever.