Burn Everything

A decent number of people have gathered inside of a little secluded hut in an unknown location. All of the people present have custom made bubble wrap jumpsuits on and stand in front of a little platform stage.

The MC in the center of the stage (also wearing bubble wrap) looks to address the audience.

MC: ZION!

Then, in unison.. the MC throws up a ‘Z’ shaped gesture with his hands. And also, simultaneously, the crowd repeat this war cry and gesture.

The crowd in attendance are stereotypical wrestling fans. You know what I mean. Like they’ve never had any putang in their lives, or simply bathed. And dare I say it.. it’s that lack of putang where it allows them to get angry over something so trivial in life.

Regardless, there’s also another nerdy man on stage stood behind a keyboard, coming into the shot as the MC signals.

There are a few moments of awkward fumbling behind the keyboard as an automated melody from one of the buttons (the button beside it is a dog bark noise) gets pressed and played.

Soon into the melody, Darin Zion (wearing bubble wrap) steps out from behind a black curtain set upstairs on the balcony. He wastes no time in hurrying down the stairs with a skip in his step.

After more awkward miscues the little melody then comes to a stop. But not after a dog bark, a robot noise, and one big drawn-out explosion sound.

ZION: We are finally going to fulfill our prophecy of the Hollywood Order.

CROWD: ZION! (with hand taunt)

ZION: They all laughed at us when they said there was a new order and mocked us when we started wearing bubble wrap jumpsuits.. but who’s laughing now?! WE ARE!

CROWD: ZION! (with hand taunt)

ZION: And you just wait when The Order leaves this lame planet and starts holding HOW events in Brian Hollywood’s mansion with people who actually like us. It’s going to be awesome!

CROWD: ZION! (with hand taunt)

ZION: We’re too small for Hollywood…?! Then we get BIG for Hollywood!

The crowd looks around at each other, uncertain whether they should call out or not.

CROWD: Zion..?

Said, very unconvincingly.

ZION: The Order is a brotherhood. HOW we take what we want, and Eric Dane we are coming for you NUGGET!

There are gasps from the crowd like Darin Zion has crossed the line. Not forgetting, the audience in attendance here would even get offended by a misplaced fart. Also not forgetting that there’s one female to about fifty middle-aged men in attendance. Which they undoubtedly still live with their mams.

Regardless, it is rather clear that the crowd is becoming restless. Seemingly, like Zion is losing them no matter how strong his powers are.

VOICE: ZION!

Then, from out into oblivion and springs the largest ‘ZION’ ever shouted known to man.. there stands Jonny O’Dell.

There stands Jonny O’Dell (proudly donning the bubble wrap jumpsuit) slap bang right in the middle of the venue as the crowd has outstretched. This, in effect, has given Zion and O’Dell a moment.

Yes, Scott Stevens remains benched but this is an order of fucking business.

Eric, it’s fine. We’re all gunna die soon.

You, me, your little Sega Megadrive, Dan Ryan, Lee, Mike Best, Stevens, and most importantly.. HOW.

Burn it.

Burn it all.

Setting out orders. First, it was to take out the drunk and the poindexter on comms. Because guess what.. our voice is much more important you just probably don’t know it yet. Or even still, if you’re a Great Dane dog; too stupid to realize it.. too busy chasing your tail.

Waltzing around calling yourself The End Boss? Well, stick to Echo The Dolphin 4 because you’re obviously useless at this wrestling lark.

Burn Echo.

Burn Free Willy.

It’s lovely, Eric. That you’re all motivated and want to cause Zion and I pain like we’re a HOW canvas. Remember that? When you fucked up a HOW ring and you had people fooled that you were legit? Then afterward, amounted to diddly squat? Mr. End Boss? Dr. Neo Cortex? Hmm?

Burn the HOW ring.

Burn Papa The Rapper.

Yet when The Order caused absolute destruction on live HOTv programming last week we’re all classed as middle of the road.

I ask: what’s worse? Calling yourself a Benchwarmer who constantly only gets fed shit from the office and trying to make chicken salad out of chicken shit, or calling yourself The End Boss and constantly jobbing like it’s hot?

Physical burn.

Hell, at War Games you couldn’t have been anymore motivated so what’s your fucking point? You’ve been apparently motivated your whole HOW career yet you’re still living off fisher price heat that burnt long ago.

Burn your face.

Burn fish.

But fuck, take my match for example, Silent Witness walked into that War Games match saying he didn’t care and didn’t want to win the titles, and granted, he didn’t win.. yet got rave reviews from the office singling out his performance like he was the greatest thing since sliced bread.

But who the fuck am I to slander possibly the greatest LSD champion of all time? I’m not. But that guy was clearly not motivated and still came a fanny hair away from winning the whole thing on his own.

Burn War Games.

Burn the fucking office.

Burn motivation.

Burn Richard Simmons.

But just like I got my arse kicked at War Games and just like I’ve been brutalized my whole goddam career it seems, Dane… I’m still motherfuckin’ here. I still can’t be put away like you’re all so quietly desperate to do so.

Hone your motivation, Dane. Because instead of being all passionate about stuff that has no relevance at all to this match; like Mike Best, Ground Zero or your fisher price history.. take a look at what’s in front of you. Not behind you, star.. The Order is in front of you. And we fucking order you to stop being so ignorant to our fucking plans.

Fuck, didn’t Zion already beat this into you already?

Burn your game plan.

Truth is though, I’ve proved time and time again that I’m the guy nobody really wants to face. I’m that rugged-tough-as-old-boots-guy that will keep getting back up. And when I see that bravado relinquishing from your very eyes because someone you deem lesser in quality just keeps coming at you, then what you got? Your history?

I’m fat Andy Ruiz and you’re Anthony Joshua. Yeah, that’s right. You’re the big man on campus. But star, all of that posturing and your four bitch entourage that surrounds you won’t be there to stroke your ego when that bell tolls. And believe me, between those bell tolls it’ll be the loneliest time of your life.

I’m overlooked by all of you self-professed experts but we all know it’s different on the inside.  The inside knowledge is that I’m fucking dangerous and you should stay well away. I’m the fight you want to avoid. Granted, if you’re on form you may make a fist of it… if you’re lucky. But you know as well as I do that you’re gunna have to be prepared to die, go into the stretch to get anything out of the match. And those are my rounds, pal.

You, experts, say cardio and I say grit. That’s the difference. You have fancy labels for everything and want to abandon ship every time things get tough. It’s true; I’m the toughest bastard on the whole roster and that isn’t proved by all of your fancy little stats. It’s on matchday. It’s the break of the man when I look into beefed idiots like you and Ryan.

Say Dan, step out from Dane’s shadow anytime you like.

Burn Dane’s shadow.

Burn your steroids.

Burn your ICON title rematch.

Burn your kids’ sized trunks.

Dane, I couldn’t give a fuck about status. Truth be told, I’m higher than you in the rankings anyway. Go on, go look at them if it makes you feel better. Not bad for a.. middle of the road guy, eh?

The difference is, I honestly don’t give a fuck about them because it’s out of my control. Fuck, it only takes Dan Ryan to be plucked from wresting obscurity and gain an ICON title shot from out of nowhere (two, might I add) to show you why it’s all completely out of order.

Burn the rankings.

Whilst you, Dane.. seem obsessed by them. Your status and social standing in HOW mean so much to you that when you come across a bad motherfucker like Zion and lose you reel out all the excuses.

Burn your status.

Burn your social standing.

Burn your excuses.

You know, there’s always room on the bench for one more. Fucking just have to squeeze in between Nicole Ritchie and Chris Diamond.

But man, just give me a heads up when this Big Bad Great Dane shows up. That murders people instead of his own ego.

Burn your ego.

Burn everything.

Burn the whole day down.

It’s an order.

Roleplay Countdown

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