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Canadian Crippler
Topic Started: Apr 8 2010, 05:55 AM (47 Views)
Canadian Connection
sVo Superstar
[ *  *  * ]
Prologue

There has never been any doubt throughout the course of human existence that the world moves in a cyclical manner. Seasons change, lovers join and leave one another in the same breath, time moves on whether we want it to or not, then catches back up with us before we’ve had the chance to digest the original move. The cycle never repeats itself in the same way, as much as we’d sometimes prefer it did. Age gets older. Health gets weaker. The Rolling Stones conduct their 87th reunion tour. Perfection, however, is infinite. It is not affected by changing moods and listless pressure from the outside world. This day in age, to truly live in perfection, one must look beyond the cycle of life and simply be as God intended. While your life is thrown back into the washing machine, ours stands atop the chiseled stone cliff side, battered by the wind, yet eroding not; forever engrained, forever solid, forever in your heart and mind.

Canadian Crippler welcomes you.

Act I

*Our scene opens up on the deck of a large, bright white luxury yacht, docked somewhere in the northern Pacific Ocean, en route to Las Vegas for this Sunday’s Showdown broadcast. A smaller boat, apparently there to drop off the SVO cameraman in charge of our entertainment for the day, is beginning to pull away from the yacht, headed back toward dry land. The yacht’s deck has been freshly waxed and all the railings and ornaments have been polished to gleam in the noontime sunlight. The cameraman begins to walk across the deck toward the main cabin before a man’s voice interrupts him.*

Voice: Sir! Do watch your step!

*The voice startles the cameraman and, much to the opposite effect of the helpful voice, he loses his footing on the wax and falls through a storage door that was left open on the deck, crashing into a compartment below, though gracefully keeping the camera aloft to avoid it smashing to pieces. This SVO employee, it would seem, has saved his paycheck.*

Voice: Oh my! Are you all right? Here, allow me to help you to your feet.

*The cameraman and our view both arise from the depths of the compartment to see an older, gray-haired man, donning a white polo shirt and khaki slacks. The man’s pale blue eyes appear at least partially concerned as he brushes the cameraman’s shirt free of dust, his gray mustache shuffling above his lip as he tries to hold back a smile at the silliness of the previous pratfall.*

Man: I say, I’ve been telling Master Crippler that we need to put warning signs on this deck for some time! But you know how he is, always busy preparing for another fight… Oh! I do apologize! Allow me to introduce myself: I am Gilbert, servant to the Crippler Mansion in Minneapolis, Minnesota… a “butler,” if you must use that term. I must admit that the cameramen in XWF were much more…shall we say, “graceful” in their meeting Master Crippler, but you will do, I suppose. Come now, join us at the stern.

*Gilbert leads the cameraman around the back of the boat. Along the way, we catch a glimpse of a highly-modified main cabin, containing, among other luxuries, a complete range, plush carpeting, a diamond-encrusted chandelier, and a full stereo system which is currently blasting upbeat Colombian pop-rock throughout the yacht. The cameraman quickly shifts his view away from the cabin, however, when he spots a group of about twenty tanned, slender but shapely, bikini-clad, Latina women! Some are lounging on beach chairs on the back deck, some are chatting amongst themselves, others are enjoying, much to the cameraman’s delight, a steaming hot tub built into the deck. Before we can get an up-close-and-personal view of the bevy of ladies, Gilbert points toward the center of the stern. There we see a man dancing to the music with three of the girls, never missing a single step, switching partners between them with relative ease. The man is shirtless and clad in khaki shorts with a brown belt and mirrored sunglasses. Despite dancing in the intense Pacific sun, it appears he has yet to break a sweat. This is the same man SVO audiences saw for the first time at Resurrection, teaming up with Rey Rosario to literally send Angel The Malignant, off the deep end… in a shark cage. This is the man who can only be described properly with one word: crippler…Canadian Crippler!*

Gilbert: I say, Master Crippler, your guest from SVO has arrived!

Crippler: Gilbert, I told you to lay off the Chinese delivery. Canadian Crippler will return shortly, ladies. I fully expect to Mambo when I return…horizontal or otherwise.

*Many of the girls smile or giggle at Crippler’s line as Crippler begins walking toward the camera, his perfect physique almost glowing in the sunlight, a smirk coming across his face.*

Crippler: How much do I owe you, Kim Chee? Did you get that crab Rangoon that Jessica likes?

Cameraman: I, uh…I’m not Chinese, sir.

Crippler: Neither was Kim Chee… what’s your point?

Cameraman: I mean I’m not here to deliver food! I’m here to record an interview with you regarding your match this week on Showdown against Los Locos!

Crippler: Oh…Perfect. Did you happen to pass by Angel The Malignant on your way out here? Tall guy, bloody face, rather buoyant, possibly missing limbs? Wait…hold up… no one cares.

Cameraman: I’m supposed to ask you about that, too. Many in SVO are wondering how someone can march in and almost kill a wrestler without any regard for his safety or his place in the company.

Crippler (ignoring him completely): Gilbert! Make sure these lovely ladies are kept entertained. Show them that old English swagger of yours… and guard your eyes when you tell Jessica there’s no crab Rangoon… you know how Latinas can get when they don’t get what their hearts desire.

Gilbert: Oh, certainly! As you wish, sir!

*A large but humble smile crosses the dutiful old butler’s face as he shuffles his way out to the deck, where the dancing ladies immediately cheer and begin to dance around him. Crippler smirks again before opening a side door into the cabin, then descending an ornate stainless steel spiral staircase to the lower deck, followed by our cameraman.*

Act II

*Our view cuts to static momentarily, and then comes back on amidst the gorgeous lower portion of the ship. The walls are adorned in earth tones and whites, matching the large wooden beams separating the two decks perfectly. The beams each contain dozens of parlor lights which create a subdued atmosphere. Several long wooden dining tables adorn the gray stone-tiled floor, giving the indication that this is the ship’s mess hall. Gazing down the corridor toward the stern, we see a fitness center, complete with weight benches, punching bags, a shower, and a steam room. On the bow side is a partitioned hall holding a large sleeping quarters, a restroom, and several other closed doors.*

Crippler: She’s mighty impressive, isn’t she? Two years away from the ring gives you a lot of time to realign your finances and your life…

*The view switches over to Crippler, who is seated at a Baby Grand piano located centrally in the dining area. He plays a quick but comely melody on the ivories before continuing, still wearing his shades, despite being indoors.*

Crippler: …and what a perfect life it continues to be. Cameraman, if you don’t mind…or really, even if you do, Canadian Crippler would like to address his legions of fans in SVO: Friends, Romans, chronic jabronics, lend me your ears—my name is Canadian Crippler, and I have arrived in the Sanctioned Violence Organization. My resume is lengthy and my displays of greatness are infinite. I am a leader of men, a lover of women, and a living, breathing example of excellence in all aspects of professional wrestling. I’ve been cheered in front of sold-out arenas and worldwide audiences and booed to the last bitter breath by those same fans. I am an extremely successful white-collar businessman and a supremely accomplished blue-collar warrior from the wrestling capital of the world, Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada. I have won championship after championship, award after award, and dollar after dollar. In short, I am everything that the ignoramuses of the Sanctioned Violence Organization could only dream of being—I am Canadian Crippler.

*Crippler coolly slides off the piano bench to his feet and walks across the sleek wooden floor as he speaks.*

Crippler: Now that we have established the pleasantries, allow Canadian Crippler to tell you a little story. It just so happens that Rey Rosario is not only a member of the Canadian Connection, not only a mass of muscle and Canadian mayhem, but he is also a multi-time tag team champion alongside the man who stands before you at this very moment, Canadian Crippler! Together, we have rocked the wrestling world from top to bottom for years upon years and are undeniably the greatest tag team to ever set foot in the squared circle…

*Crippler stops his gait in front of one of the mysterious doors and opens it up. He reaches inside and pulls out a black muscle t-shirt, which he easily slides on. The shirt features a large screen-printed “PM” logo on the front in blue and red. As he turns to close the door, we catch a glimpse of the back of the shirt, which reads “Just Us Being Here Makes You Suck.” He then turns back to the camera, perfectly kicking the door shut without it making a sound.*

Crippler: We are THE CANADIAN CONNECTION. Angel The Malignant, I would love to say that you were worth all the trouble Canadian Crippler went through to get a shark cage big enough to hold your ogre ass, but the truth of the matter is this—you were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. We needed to make a quick impact in SVO. The moment we came here, you, Angel The Malignant, became The Canadian Connection's target practice dummy. You felt firsthand what happens when people get in the way of the plans of the greatest tag team of all time—your career goes under… way under. But as for now, Locos, The Canadian Connection is above you, just like at Resurrection, and Canadian Crippler does not feel it necessary to waste another breath on you.

*Crippler opens a porthole-style window along the wall to take in the fresh sea breeze. The girls upstairs can be heard hollering and laughing, followed by a loud SPLASH. Moments later, a soaking wet Gilbert appears at the staircase, wiping his face with a white terry cloth towel.*

Crippler: The girls having a good time up there, Gilbert?

Gilbert: Splendid, Master Crippler…although I did underestimate their strength in a game of tug-of-war over the hot tub…

Crippler: You sly dog! Fine work! Which girls fell into the tub with you?

Gilbert: Which? Oh…well none, Master Crippler… I felt the gentlemanly thing to do would be to have all of them on one side versus me… they did seem to quite enjoy my plight, however.

Crippler: It sounds like they’ve learned a thing or two from me. A wise man once said that “enjoying the plight of others is like a national pastime for the man who is better than everyone.”

Gilbert: Was that Socrates?

Crippler: Nah, that was me, of course. Only Canadian Crippler can truly speak about being perfect. In accordance with that great piece of philosophy, I will, in fact, greatly delight in the plight of Los Locos this coming Sunday on the Canadian Connection’s SVO television debut at Showdown.

Gilbert: Who are this Locos characters? I don’t believe I have heard of them.

Crippler: Trust me, Gilbert, after we're done with them, no one will hear of them for a very long time. From what Canadian Crippler has been told, Los Locos are peacemakers… law-abiding purveyors of justice… perhaps heroes to some. However, they have a morbid past from which they have never recovered. It scarred them… flawed them… made them less than what they were before. When a man goes through the kind of mental anguish that Los Locos has seen in their lives, they do not recover gracefully… it’s more of a stumble here and a break there… never the man they really could be. In short, they're nothing.

Cameraman: I’ve had the pleasure of filming Los Locos before, Mr. Crippler, and they're definitely not “nothing.”

*Crippler turns his attention from Gilbert to the cameraman, an eyebrow slightly raised and a small grin on his face.*

Crippler: Cameraman, allow me to get this straight…Canadian Crippler invites you down to his sanctuary, conducts your pathetic little interview, and even saves the young viewers at home from seeing too much skin upstairs (we’ll return to that momentarily), and yet you have the audacity to disagree with Canadian Crippler? Let me guess, you camera-toting doofus, Los Locos are probably your heroes too, aren’t they?

Cameraman: Well…yes, they're a hero to a lot of us backstage!

Crippler (looking directly into the camera): Perfect. Locos, congratulations. You are admired and lauded by the lowly peons of the backstage community. The Canadian Crippler would applaud your outstanding achievement this Sunday if his hands weren’t already tied up with the process of perfectly pulverizing your ignorant carcasses to a bloody, unrecognizable pulp. Locos, your flaws may make you who you are, but it’s my lack of flaws that define me. Come Showdown in mere days, your defective minds will be shocked to the core by the Canadian Connection. All those people who look up to you will only have fading memories of what you once meant to this world. As for now, Locos? This is the Canadian Connection’s world… you’re just losing in it.

*An arrogant smirk crosses Crippler's face as he crosses the room and walks upstairs with Gilbert following behind, still dripping wet from the hot tub. Crippler opens the door and we can hear the bathing beauties react with great fervor as the newest SVO star walks back out onto the deck.*

Act III

*Back on the deck, the party hasn’t stopped as Crippler has rejoined the fray. Gilbert is resting his tired bones on a beach chair nearby. The camera zooms in on Crippler as he simultaneously and effortlessly dances and makes small talk with the barely-clothed ladies.*

Crippler: So, are you excited to see Las Vegas alongside The Canadian Crippler, Lupe?

Lupe: Oh, you know it, Mr. Crippler! My friends and I… we are just happy to have fun and see all the guapos out there!

*While they are talking, a boat arrives next to the yacht, apparently to pick up the cameraman, causing both vessels to slow down to a stop. Gilbert lowers a rope ladder down to the smaller boat as Crippler’s party continues.*

Crippler: How about you, Camila?

Camila: Mr. Crippler, all nineteen of us are so thankful for this vacation and we hope you win on Sunday!

Crippler: Your hopes will be answered, milady, that I can assure you. Canadian Crippler always makes a perfect first impression, and his SVO debut will be no different! Claudia?

Claudia: Well Mr. Crippler, as a Latina woman, I think it’s very important that we do our best not to objectify ourselves as…

Crippler (interrupting her): Whoa whoa, wait a minute. Camila… did you say nineteen? There were twenty girls on this ship last I checked.

Camila: No, Mr. Crippler, there are only nineteen of us who work at the yacht club beer tent. There’s me, Maria, Jessica, Elisa, Lupe, Claudia…

Crippler: Oh hell…

*Crippler catches sight of exactly why there were twenty women on board as one of the girls we saw earlier now has poor Gilbert's arm in a hammerlock with one hand, a glistening silver dagger up against his throat with the other. Two men in raggedy looking white clothing with brown vests and bandanas have joined her from the other boat, each wielding a large silver scimitar. One of the men speaks out, yelling over the music.*

Man: Hear now or perish at the thought! This vessel and all it holds belongs to us now!!

*The girls begin shrieking and running to the bottom of the ship as the men step forward menacingly.*

Cameraman: Uhh…are those…?!

Crippler: Don’t you dare make any eyeliner jokes.

TO BE CONTINUED…
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