Post by Mike Hawk on Dec 29, 2020 0:44:23 GMT -5
*New York, New York. A Frank Sinatra song, but more importantly, a place. A city, within which lies a square. Times Square, to be exact. Unsurprisingly empty, given the current situation, though it still looks bizarre, a normally bustling city, usually overflowing with people, now lies barren. Save for one man, of course. This man, with long black hair, wearing typical winter gear, with a black shirt visible underneath his unzipped coat that reads in white lettering, "Whatever you like sucks". His face is decorated with a mask, of course, a white cloth mask with a black image on it of a hand holding up a middle finger. Mike Hawk, as some people might know him already from his time in previous defunct promotions, sits on some steps and looks around at the city around him. Ambient noises can be heard, mostly industrial. Machines whirring, distant car horns honking, and a couple of people in the distance talking on cell phones. As their voices dissipate into the background noise, Hawk finally speaks up, with a sigh.*
Mike: I hate New York.
*Hawk grimaces a little upon just speaking the words of the state he's in. A woman passes by and, upon seeing his offensive clothing, she gives a slight glare in Mike's direction. After flipping her off until she's off-camera, Hawk turns back to address said camera.*
Mike: A fucking miserable cesspool of garbage, hatred, and people named Gary.
*he gets up, at this point, walking a few steps to his left, our right, as he knocks loudly on the door of a delicatessen, a big sign on the door that says "Curbside Pickup Only", with one lone employee sitting behind the counter*
Mike: Fuck you, Gary!
*the deli worker looks up, confused, as he points to his nametag*
Gary: My name's Jeff.
Mike: That's what they all say.
*walking away from the deli, Mike continues to speak, as he gets looks from people all around, while also invading their personal space, easily breaking the '6 feet apart' rule*
Mike: New York is a lot like life. It really kinda sucks, but nobody wants to admit it. Also, without it we wouldn't have Ghostbusters 2, and I have never forgiven either of them for that!
*Mike points menacingly at the camera that's following him around the city as he says that last line, making a few people look at him with a confused expression*
Mike: But do you know the worst part about this place? The absolute nail in the coffin? No, it's not the constant noise that spews from every orifice of this goddamn state. It's not the sewer system that may or may not contain mutated turtles. And believe it or not, it's not even the hordes of terrible, ugly people! No, it's this sense of self-importance. The idea that New York is somehow better than any other place, just because it's well known. Well you know what else is well known? The moon!
*upon delivering this line, Mike pauses for a moment, both in his words and in his steps, standing looking confused as he ponders his own sentence*
Mike: ...I'm not sure where I was going with that, but my point remains! Fuck New York. Fuck it right in its greasy, hairy asshole with a wooden spoon! And not the thin end of the spoon, either.
*Hawk wanders again, for a brief non-talking segment, before stepping up to a bus stop, sitting down on the provided bench.*
Mike: So, arguably more importantly than New York being a piece of shit, apparently I'm working for a new wrestling company. PWS: Apex. What does that stand for? Nobody knows! And if somebody tells you they know, they're lying and should immediately be hanged for their treason and slander. And if any of these chucklefucks and chucklefuckettes think they can beat me, the greatest wrestler to ever be named Mike, then they've got another thing coming. And that thing is my fist in their goddamn throat. Oh, by the way, that's something I've taken to doing now, punching throats. Really comes in handy a lot more often than it probably should. And if anybody has a problem with what I'm saying, then I'd like to see them stop me. And whoever gave me this contract, I feel sorry for you. Because you've unleashed a force of nature onto this business. An angry tornado made of fists. A god of the wrestling ring, in a completely figurative sense of course, and most importantly... you've unleashed your next champion. Not sure what belt I'll win, these title names are fucking bizarre... 'United Champion'? The fuck is that? United what? States? Kingdom? Nations? We Stand? And the... 'Collateral Damage Championship'? What, was 'Hardcore' too mainstream? ...Where was I going with this? Oh, that's right. I'm going to win at least one of your titles. Probably. At some point. For now, though...
*the bus pulls up, and Hawk gets up from his seat*
Mike: I'm just interested in leaving this city.
*he steps onto the bus, getting into an argument with the bus driver as he goes, ending with Hawk telling the driver to go fuck himself, before walking to the middle of the bus and sitting right beside someone, who gets up and walks to another seat, one that's better isolated. Hawk lets out another sigh as the bus starts driving*
Mike: God, I hate New York.
Mike: I hate New York.
*Hawk grimaces a little upon just speaking the words of the state he's in. A woman passes by and, upon seeing his offensive clothing, she gives a slight glare in Mike's direction. After flipping her off until she's off-camera, Hawk turns back to address said camera.*
Mike: A fucking miserable cesspool of garbage, hatred, and people named Gary.
*he gets up, at this point, walking a few steps to his left, our right, as he knocks loudly on the door of a delicatessen, a big sign on the door that says "Curbside Pickup Only", with one lone employee sitting behind the counter*
Mike: Fuck you, Gary!
*the deli worker looks up, confused, as he points to his nametag*
Gary: My name's Jeff.
Mike: That's what they all say.
*walking away from the deli, Mike continues to speak, as he gets looks from people all around, while also invading their personal space, easily breaking the '6 feet apart' rule*
Mike: New York is a lot like life. It really kinda sucks, but nobody wants to admit it. Also, without it we wouldn't have Ghostbusters 2, and I have never forgiven either of them for that!
*Mike points menacingly at the camera that's following him around the city as he says that last line, making a few people look at him with a confused expression*
Mike: But do you know the worst part about this place? The absolute nail in the coffin? No, it's not the constant noise that spews from every orifice of this goddamn state. It's not the sewer system that may or may not contain mutated turtles. And believe it or not, it's not even the hordes of terrible, ugly people! No, it's this sense of self-importance. The idea that New York is somehow better than any other place, just because it's well known. Well you know what else is well known? The moon!
*upon delivering this line, Mike pauses for a moment, both in his words and in his steps, standing looking confused as he ponders his own sentence*
Mike: ...I'm not sure where I was going with that, but my point remains! Fuck New York. Fuck it right in its greasy, hairy asshole with a wooden spoon! And not the thin end of the spoon, either.
*Hawk wanders again, for a brief non-talking segment, before stepping up to a bus stop, sitting down on the provided bench.*
Mike: So, arguably more importantly than New York being a piece of shit, apparently I'm working for a new wrestling company. PWS: Apex. What does that stand for? Nobody knows! And if somebody tells you they know, they're lying and should immediately be hanged for their treason and slander. And if any of these chucklefucks and chucklefuckettes think they can beat me, the greatest wrestler to ever be named Mike, then they've got another thing coming. And that thing is my fist in their goddamn throat. Oh, by the way, that's something I've taken to doing now, punching throats. Really comes in handy a lot more often than it probably should. And if anybody has a problem with what I'm saying, then I'd like to see them stop me. And whoever gave me this contract, I feel sorry for you. Because you've unleashed a force of nature onto this business. An angry tornado made of fists. A god of the wrestling ring, in a completely figurative sense of course, and most importantly... you've unleashed your next champion. Not sure what belt I'll win, these title names are fucking bizarre... 'United Champion'? The fuck is that? United what? States? Kingdom? Nations? We Stand? And the... 'Collateral Damage Championship'? What, was 'Hardcore' too mainstream? ...Where was I going with this? Oh, that's right. I'm going to win at least one of your titles. Probably. At some point. For now, though...
*the bus pulls up, and Hawk gets up from his seat*
Mike: I'm just interested in leaving this city.
*he steps onto the bus, getting into an argument with the bus driver as he goes, ending with Hawk telling the driver to go fuck himself, before walking to the middle of the bus and sitting right beside someone, who gets up and walks to another seat, one that's better isolated. Hawk lets out another sigh as the bus starts driving*
Mike: God, I hate New York.