New Moon
* * *
Random Fact
The common Fire Bellied Toad (Bombina Orientalis) is, actually, a frog.
* * *
Word of the Day
Belie
-verb
To contradict or misrepresent. Think: "You be lying, son!"
* * *
In front of a long red curtain with the MGM lion plastered over it, Miss Sarah stands with Chris Winters and St. Aegranon von Encore. Clad in a frilly scarlet red skirt, white stockings bridged up above her knees, a white Believe t-shirt and scarlet shawl, Miss Sarah stood between the two men. St. Aegranon von Encore was clad in his usual crimson embroidery shirt and 80s throwback bell bottoms with his trademark hammer slung over his shoulder. On the other hand, The Tang was scratching his head and looking around, trying not to make eye contact with the camera. Characteristically, he was adorned with a Tropicana Orange Juice carton suit.
...Okay, maybe it wasn't that characteristic. But it was damn funny.
Miss Sarah:
"Good morning/evening, ladies and gentlemen. Before we begin our broadcast, we would like to make a formal apology. Last week, we promised a special Halloween edition of Your Feature Presentation and it's almost Thanksgiving now. Actually, it was all ready for use, but someone spilled orange juice on the tape while we were eating breakfast at the diner."
The Tang:
"What?! I said I was sorry a dozen times! How many times do you want me to apologize?!"
Miss Sarah:
"Until you mean it."
The Tang:
"Okay, Ashley Kerwin."
Miss Sarah:
"What?"
The Tang:
"What? Oh, nothing. Canadian thing. Emo chick. Had to be there."
Miss Sarah:
"In summary, it consisted of an opener where I took Ripplemagne and Tang trick or treating. Naturally, Ripplemagne was dressed as Willy Wonka and Chris was dressed as--"
The Tang:
"Batman! Danananana~!"
As Tang begins to haphazardly beat box one of the theme songs for Batman, Miss Sarah shakes her head and continues...
Miss Sarah:
"Specifically, The Tang punched out an old lady and stole her pot of candy."
The Tang:
"She had Klondike bars! I'd do anything for a Klondike bar..."
Miss Sarah:
"Then you and Ripplemagne proceeded to call her a Clown Dyke and paint her house orange."
The Tang:
"A little more orange in anyone's life will make their day worth living. An orange a day keeps the doctor away."
Miss Sarah:
"...And in typical Halloween fashion, we got lost driving back to the hotel and wound up at the peak of a mountain. Somehow, none of us noticed that we were driving upward until we got there. And, of course, wound up having to stay the night in a haunted mansion. And despite the fact that Chris used me as a human shield against the wave of advancing zombies, we had a good time. Afterall, it's only on Halloween that we get to enjoy a spooky phantom of a scorned mistress using Ripplemagne as her--"
Just then, we hear a huge crash as Ripplemagne comes storming onto the set, wearing pajama bottoms and a white tanktop, flailing his arms and sneering. Looking over at the trio, Ripplemagne shouts as though he just came out of an argument...
Ripplemagne:
"That's it! I've had it! I'm tired of this Twilight Saga nonsense! I'm tired of all of these gothic teeny boppers claiming to be vampires and thinking that you give a shit as they ramble on about the eighteenth vampire novel they've read this month! You want a new moon?! Here ya go!"
Pushing The Tang and Miss Sarah aside, Ripplemagne turns his back to the camera, lifts his shirt and proceeds to... moon the camera. And, of course, we censor it with a cartoon butt just to be smart asses. lol! I made a pun! c wut i did thar?! Triple entendre ftw!
* * *
And now, for your feature presentation...
* * *
Accustomed as they are to it, the pyros ignited before the four superstars on stage. The festival was a hit. When Chris's buddy in Montreal called earlier in the week, asking the gang to perform for the festival they were throwing for disabled veterans, Tang was skeptical at first. Word wasn't able to be circulated as fast as they had hoped and the festival looked like it would be a flop.
But upon hearing the idea, Ripplemagne demanded they perform and help garner attention for it. It was all over the blogs. Matinée Unlimited, performing an outdoor number for the Remembrance Day Festival. Fans of the stable swarmed; it got so much attention that they had people buzzing about before they even opened it that morning.
Irked as Ripplemagne was that he didn't spend Veteran's Day in his own country, he still had an undying respect for those in the armed services. American or otherwise. In reality, was a serviceman from Canada less of a soldier than an American one?
Don't answer that.
Point is, they made a conscious choice not to be a liberal pansy and Ripplemagne approved of such. In fact, he quite respected the veterans who came out that day. Despite not being a citizen, he would make an effort to meet each of them and shake their hands. Thank them for their service.
On stage, Ripplemagne, Bucky Skyler, The Tang and Dwight Mare were bucking their shoulders and performing anatomically impossible spins to a chorus of screaming girls. Each of them wore a headset, which they would sing "It's Gonna Be Me" by 'NSYNC into.
Oh, those fags. I bet they trade underwear.
As the song ended to their jazz hands, Dwight Mare shouted something into the mounted microphone to announce them taking ten. Why he did that when he had a headset, I don't know, but we're talking about a guy who drew a smilie face on the International Title Belt and named it Nate. As the four men left the stage, amidst the large glass balls of light and fire works, they are immediately flanked by a group of teenage girls holding notepads and markers.
We can't really make out what Ripplemagne announces from the distance we're at, but it seems to entail that everyone can be in the second edition of Your Feature Presentation if they make some room. They seem to cooperate except for the younger kids who have to be told to step back by their parents.
Those among them that didn't want to clear the way opted to harass the other three members of the fresh stable some more. Naturally, Ripplemagne was apathetic to them being harassed, so he got a spot to start the promo with Miss Sarah by his side, the White Mage filming and St. Aegranon von Encore keeping the crowd at bay.
Ripplemagne:
"Phew. Lots of estrogen out here tonight, eh?"
Chuckles are heard amidst the people who have gathered around to watch and be a part of an edition of Your Feature Presentation.
Ripplemagne:
"So, I've come to an epiphany. Y'know how most stories, books, novellas, television shows, movies, et cetera have a main character? We tend to call them protagonists because they're the story we follow and the person we root for despite all of the obstacles being in their way. Aye?"
There seems to be nodding amidst the crowd of people as Ripplemagne titters to himself...
Ripplemagne:
"Well, get this! I'm the main character of life! This message has been brought to you by some quin... quin... quintessential... quintuplet... quintilla... quintastic! This message has been brought to you by some quintastic sage!
See, it is all clear to me now. Barring Igor Rumpkins, I'm the shortest on the roster. And I weigh among the least, as well. My experience is nill compared to most of the adversaries I'm up against. And check this match out:
Donovan Dunham. Six foot, nine inches tall. Five-hundred and twenty-two pounds. He's even bigger than Napalm! Double D is right. Yeesh! Though, I'd opt for an E. Hm... wasn't Double D the name of the kid from Ed, Edd and Eddy? Anyway...
Arkham. Six foot, nine inches tall. Two-hundred and eighty-five pounds.
Other than James McCain, Katherine Brock and Igor Rumpkins, they all break the six foot mark.
The Ripplemagne doesn't even get the decency of being the most petite in the match! They had to throw a midget and a house wife in to fuck my shit up! And the conditions are even sexier!
And the conditions of said match?"
The crowd seems to support Ripplemagne as he glances around and nods his head before continuing...
Ripplemagne:
"Not only do I lose my Sterling Championship if I lose, but I'm gone! Adios! See ya later! No mo' Ripplemagne. And to make things even more delectable, anyone the Patriarch of Pretty eliminates is also poof. So, what better way to get everyone to rally against you than to put their careers on the line against me. Ho-oh! You're a witty one, Reed.
No worries. I couldn't be more excited about said match. But I also learned one more thing about myself..."
As everyone waits for it, a gleaming grin appears on Ripplemagne's face as he reaches over and gropes Miss Sarah's boob.
Ripplemagne:
"Honk!
...I'm also highly inappropriate. In fact! I do 'crude' things. Le gasp! Shock and dismay! Everyone, put on a look of shock and dismay!"
As Miss Sarah punches Ripplemagne in the arm with all of her might... hurting her hand and making Ripplemagne laugh, the crowd around them all feign a gasp and look of shock... and dismay.
Ripplemagne:
"Joo know, Ollie -- may I call you Ollie? Thanks, you're a doll. Joo know, Ollie... you have shown me the light! After your monologue about how I'm insignificant, despite being the Sterling Champion, Top Superstar of the Moment, a former Tag Team Champion, leader of the most dominant stable in Global Extreme Wrestling, having the highest win percentage in the history of the company, being undefeated in singles competition, being unpinned/unsubmitted across the board, in James McCain's own words 'too good for the Sterling Championship', in James Magnum's words 'the most entertaining, cunning, and witty wrestler we could find'...
And the fact that you were the loser for your team against Dwight Mare, Arata Tanaka and Sah'ta Thor whereas I was the sole survivor of a team match of a much higher caliber and... really... the only thing you have to your name are wins over Sah'ta Thor and Ace Static, whom I've both beaten -- I'm insignificant. No, no! I am not worthy of being in your presence! I am a lowly wretch, who besmirches the honor of this, here, title belt!"
Raising the Sterling Championship, Ripplemagne feigns a frown. Holding it there for a moment as the crowd begins to laugh at Ripplemagne's sarcasm, Ripplemagne raises his head and holds the expression. Finally, he drops his arm and continues...
Ripplemagne:
"I can't really remember where I've said that I 'understand you', so I can't confess my sins on that accord. Actually, it's kind of ironic. Ollie is so worried about people understanding him that he'll go out of his way to point out that I don't when I never said that I did. In fact, until now, the only mention I've made of him was a sarcastic, harmless remark in the opener to an edition of Your Feature Presentation from a few weeks ago.
But the fact that you felt the need to say that says a lot, doesn't it, Ollie? You had to say that I don't understand you because, deep down... you know I do. You've given me enough of your life to blue print your little fiefdom and lay siege to the walls fortified from toothpicks and twigs that you've haphazardly patched together throughout your lifetime.
Lets start with... Jazzy..."
Upon the word 'Jazzy', Ripplemagne's voice goes soft and rather sarcastic, as if to mock Oliver Creed's loss of her. A lot of the crowd seem to make 'oh damn' and 'oh he got burned' expressions on their faces from this point on.
Ripplemagne:
"The way you speak of her and how she broke your heart because you're a typical beta male, who sulks about how girls don't like 'nice guys' and how the girl he likes is 'too good' for the guy she's with. Tell me, Ollie, have you haplessly tried to explain to her how you'd treat her right? How you'd hold her forever and never let her go? She made you the way you are, right?
So, all of this venom and scorn is merely just a byproduct of your resentment for her. Aye? Hatred is kindled in your gut, like an open fire on an empty cauldron. So, you became an extremist hate mongerer because the supposed love of your life had no interest in you when you were just blooming your first patch of peach fuzz."
A series of 'ooooh' surround Ripplemagne as he smirks and finds his way into Oliver's mind...
Ripplemagne:
"So much hate that I bet you'd rebuke her even if she came back to you and professed an apology. Indeed, you'd turn her away. Oh... but doesn't Yeshua Ben Yosef say'For if ye forgive men their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if ye forgive not men their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses.' Matthew 6:14-15.
In... in fact... didn't you say that Jehovah wouldn't bother to save Javon Lynch from damnation? Have you taken your idolatrous title of 'Messiah' -- a title attributed only to Yeshua Ben Yosef -- so far that you're willing to surrogate words for the Lord? Hey! Y'know, I think Matthew has something to say about that too. Matthew 7:1-5.
'Judge not, that ye be not judged.
For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged. And with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again.
And why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother's eye, but considerest not the beam that is in thine own eye?
Or how wilt thou say to thy brother: Let me pull out the mote out of thine eye. And, behold, a beam is in thine own eye?
Thou hypocrite! First cast out the beam out of thine own eye; and then shalt thou see clearly to cast out the mote out of thy brother's eye.'"
It seems that Ripplemagne speaks with a lot of passion as he quotes this verse and the fans seem to clap at his theological prowess.
Ripplemagne:
"Kind of ironic that you referred to me as a hypocrite without any citation as to why, when the Holy Book says quite the inverse. Especially when you consider the fact that not a man alive -- not even the magnificent Ripplemagne -- is barren of sin. It is for that reason that Yeshua Ben Yosef, Jehovah's only begotten son, was crucified and endured one of the worst forms of corporal punishment the world has ever seen.
Better is that you referred to me as an outcast, when such is precede by a sob story where your one and only friend deserted you."
There's a chorus of "ous" and "ahs" that speak volumes. It's almost as if they're trying to say "That was brutal!"
Ripplemagne:
"You're right, Ollie. I'm not Catholic. It behooves me to wonder how you didn't deduce that, being that you've looked so 'deeply' into my history.
So, no, I don't follow a silly man in a white robe and dunce hat. Know why? Do ya? Because the Bible never appoints anyone who can lead the Church without the procession of errors -- id est, the doctrine of ex cathedra. In fact, when you consider the doctrine of ex cathedra, one has to wonder how no one considers the Pope a complete blasphemer in the hue that uh... well... such teachings are implicitly the antithesis of what scriptures teach.
So, there's the difference. Sacred tradition holds primacy over sacred sciprture for you. Whereas sacred tradition means nothing to me -- because it's merely the laws and rituals of man. Combine that with my disbelief in the apocrypha and I guess that makes me a traitor to my faith or whatever you said I was.
See, I'm not out here telling everyone to believe the same thing as me. They all have their own views and insight. What I'm doing is exposing you for an extremist who belies the scriptues and does not represent me or those of us who have enthralled ourselves in the word and chose to believe."
The people around Ripplemagne begin to clap as his energy gets them all rallied for the match on Sunday. They begin to pound their fists on whatever they can and stomp their feet, rallying behind the King of Hearts.
Ripplemagne:
"So, Sunday... the pseudo-sabbath... be prepared, baybay! Because you shall face... ze mastah of the Thousand Cuts style!"
As Ripplemagne performs a few martial arts poses and chops to the air, it's obvious that audio is played over it to make it seem like he's cutting through the air. But it's so out of sync and his hands aren't moving all that fast, so it's just kind of obvious. But just then, Miss Sarah chimes in...
Miss Sarah:
"Isn't that a fighting style in Jade Empire?"
Ripplemagne:
"Based off of me, ho'! "
Miss Sarah:
"There's something wrong with you."
Ripplemagne:
"Psh. You're just an ovary."
Miss Sarah:
"Did... did you just call me an ovary?"
Ripplemagne:
"Yes, I did. What'cha gonna do about it? What'cha gonna do... when Ripplemagnia... runs wild on you!?"
Miss Sarah:
"I'm just kind of taken aback by the fact that you called me an ovary..."
Ripplemagne:
"That's pro shit right there. You know you mean business when you call someone an ovary."
Miss Sarah:
"Well, you're a testicle!"
Ripplemagne:
"Alright. But you're the other testicle."
Miss Sarah:
"I most certainly am not!"
Ripplemagne:
"Sure, you are. We be in sack together all the time! Aw yeah~! And much sploogents are being made in said sack!"
Miss Sarah:
"...I don't even know where to begin with you."
Ripplemagne:
"Let us ask Jenkins!"
Miss Sarah:
"Who?"
Ripplemagne:
"Jenkins!"
Upon request, a rather tall man in a spiffy suit with his nose perpetually up in the air zips over. The man's hair is receding, but his nose is so high up, that we can't even get a good look of it. The rather well adorned Ripplemagne -- sporting a black and red blazer with a red Believe shirt and black bootcut jeans -- hams up how well he looks in comparison to the man.
Jenkins:
"Yes, Miss Blake?"
Ripplemagne:
"Aw, yeah. I got this nigga on lock. Watch this...
Jenkins, go bitch slap the black out of Janet Jackson."
Jenkins:
"Yes, Miss Blake."
With that, the tall butler zips off as Miss Sarah raises an eyebrow. Obviously never ceased to be amazed, Miss Sarah tries to shake her head until Ripplemagne's antics make sense. As her blue and white sun dress billows in the cool Canadian air, she raises her finger and opens her mouth as if to say something...
Ripplemagne:
"Wait for it."
Pausing and waiting, she goes to say something again...
Ripplemagne:
"Wait for it"
In that instant, someone charges through the crowd and screams. The somewhat tubby man seems rather distressed, but shocked at the same time...
Random E-fedding Joe #9,001:
"You won't believe this! Someone just said they saw Michael Jackson!"
Everyone seems to look at Ripplemagne, whose face curves into a smile as he hams up the epic of the situation. As Miss Sarah tries to absorb how one might possibly slap the black out of someone and make them look like their deceased brother in doing so, Ripplemagne turns away from the camera.
When he turns back, it seems that he has a pair of fake teeth in that look... well, for once, I'm actually at a loss of words to describe how hideous these things look.
Miss Sarah:
"What... what are you doing, Ripp'?"
Ripplemagne:
"Name's Pretty Rippy! Dats mah gov'ment name. Pretty Rippy! Yeah! Pretty Rippy~!"
As Ripple-- er... Pretty Rippy moves through the crowd, announcing his name to everyone as 'Pretty Rippy' and meeting with a lot of mixed reactions, Miss Sarah winces and turns back to the camera.
Miss Sarah:
"...Well, that's all we have for now. Believe it!"
* * *
Colossians 4:6 (King James Version)
"Let your speech be always with grace, seasoned with salt, that ye may know how ye ought to answer every man."
* * *
Fin.
* * *
Random Fact
The common Fire Bellied Toad (Bombina Orientalis) is, actually, a frog.
* * *
Word of the Day
Belie
-verb
To contradict or misrepresent. Think: "You be lying, son!"
* * *
In front of a long red curtain with the MGM lion plastered over it, Miss Sarah stands with Chris Winters and St. Aegranon von Encore. Clad in a frilly scarlet red skirt, white stockings bridged up above her knees, a white Believe t-shirt and scarlet shawl, Miss Sarah stood between the two men. St. Aegranon von Encore was clad in his usual crimson embroidery shirt and 80s throwback bell bottoms with his trademark hammer slung over his shoulder. On the other hand, The Tang was scratching his head and looking around, trying not to make eye contact with the camera. Characteristically, he was adorned with a Tropicana Orange Juice carton suit.
...Okay, maybe it wasn't that characteristic. But it was damn funny.
Miss Sarah:
"Good morning/evening, ladies and gentlemen. Before we begin our broadcast, we would like to make a formal apology. Last week, we promised a special Halloween edition of Your Feature Presentation and it's almost Thanksgiving now. Actually, it was all ready for use, but someone spilled orange juice on the tape while we were eating breakfast at the diner."
The Tang:
"What?! I said I was sorry a dozen times! How many times do you want me to apologize?!"
Miss Sarah:
"Until you mean it."
The Tang:
"Okay, Ashley Kerwin."
Miss Sarah:
"What?"
The Tang:
"What? Oh, nothing. Canadian thing. Emo chick. Had to be there."
Miss Sarah:
"In summary, it consisted of an opener where I took Ripplemagne and Tang trick or treating. Naturally, Ripplemagne was dressed as Willy Wonka and Chris was dressed as--"
The Tang:
"Batman! Danananana~!"
As Tang begins to haphazardly beat box one of the theme songs for Batman, Miss Sarah shakes her head and continues...
Miss Sarah:
"Specifically, The Tang punched out an old lady and stole her pot of candy."
The Tang:
"She had Klondike bars! I'd do anything for a Klondike bar..."
Miss Sarah:
"Then you and Ripplemagne proceeded to call her a Clown Dyke and paint her house orange."
The Tang:
"A little more orange in anyone's life will make their day worth living. An orange a day keeps the doctor away."
Miss Sarah:
"...And in typical Halloween fashion, we got lost driving back to the hotel and wound up at the peak of a mountain. Somehow, none of us noticed that we were driving upward until we got there. And, of course, wound up having to stay the night in a haunted mansion. And despite the fact that Chris used me as a human shield against the wave of advancing zombies, we had a good time. Afterall, it's only on Halloween that we get to enjoy a spooky phantom of a scorned mistress using Ripplemagne as her--"
Just then, we hear a huge crash as Ripplemagne comes storming onto the set, wearing pajama bottoms and a white tanktop, flailing his arms and sneering. Looking over at the trio, Ripplemagne shouts as though he just came out of an argument...
Ripplemagne:
"That's it! I've had it! I'm tired of this Twilight Saga nonsense! I'm tired of all of these gothic teeny boppers claiming to be vampires and thinking that you give a shit as they ramble on about the eighteenth vampire novel they've read this month! You want a new moon?! Here ya go!"
Pushing The Tang and Miss Sarah aside, Ripplemagne turns his back to the camera, lifts his shirt and proceeds to... moon the camera. And, of course, we censor it with a cartoon butt just to be smart asses. lol! I made a pun! c wut i did thar?! Triple entendre ftw!
* * *
And now, for your feature presentation...
* * *
Accustomed as they are to it, the pyros ignited before the four superstars on stage. The festival was a hit. When Chris's buddy in Montreal called earlier in the week, asking the gang to perform for the festival they were throwing for disabled veterans, Tang was skeptical at first. Word wasn't able to be circulated as fast as they had hoped and the festival looked like it would be a flop.
But upon hearing the idea, Ripplemagne demanded they perform and help garner attention for it. It was all over the blogs. Matinée Unlimited, performing an outdoor number for the Remembrance Day Festival. Fans of the stable swarmed; it got so much attention that they had people buzzing about before they even opened it that morning.
Irked as Ripplemagne was that he didn't spend Veteran's Day in his own country, he still had an undying respect for those in the armed services. American or otherwise. In reality, was a serviceman from Canada less of a soldier than an American one?
Don't answer that.
Point is, they made a conscious choice not to be a liberal pansy and Ripplemagne approved of such. In fact, he quite respected the veterans who came out that day. Despite not being a citizen, he would make an effort to meet each of them and shake their hands. Thank them for their service.
On stage, Ripplemagne, Bucky Skyler, The Tang and Dwight Mare were bucking their shoulders and performing anatomically impossible spins to a chorus of screaming girls. Each of them wore a headset, which they would sing "It's Gonna Be Me" by 'NSYNC into.
Oh, those fags. I bet they trade underwear.
As the song ended to their jazz hands, Dwight Mare shouted something into the mounted microphone to announce them taking ten. Why he did that when he had a headset, I don't know, but we're talking about a guy who drew a smilie face on the International Title Belt and named it Nate. As the four men left the stage, amidst the large glass balls of light and fire works, they are immediately flanked by a group of teenage girls holding notepads and markers.
We can't really make out what Ripplemagne announces from the distance we're at, but it seems to entail that everyone can be in the second edition of Your Feature Presentation if they make some room. They seem to cooperate except for the younger kids who have to be told to step back by their parents.
Those among them that didn't want to clear the way opted to harass the other three members of the fresh stable some more. Naturally, Ripplemagne was apathetic to them being harassed, so he got a spot to start the promo with Miss Sarah by his side, the White Mage filming and St. Aegranon von Encore keeping the crowd at bay.
Ripplemagne:
"Phew. Lots of estrogen out here tonight, eh?"
Chuckles are heard amidst the people who have gathered around to watch and be a part of an edition of Your Feature Presentation.
Ripplemagne:
"So, I've come to an epiphany. Y'know how most stories, books, novellas, television shows, movies, et cetera have a main character? We tend to call them protagonists because they're the story we follow and the person we root for despite all of the obstacles being in their way. Aye?"
There seems to be nodding amidst the crowd of people as Ripplemagne titters to himself...
Ripplemagne:
"Well, get this! I'm the main character of life! This message has been brought to you by some quin... quin... quintessential... quintuplet... quintilla... quintastic! This message has been brought to you by some quintastic sage!
See, it is all clear to me now. Barring Igor Rumpkins, I'm the shortest on the roster. And I weigh among the least, as well. My experience is nill compared to most of the adversaries I'm up against. And check this match out:
Donovan Dunham. Six foot, nine inches tall. Five-hundred and twenty-two pounds. He's even bigger than Napalm! Double D is right. Yeesh! Though, I'd opt for an E. Hm... wasn't Double D the name of the kid from Ed, Edd and Eddy? Anyway...
Arkham. Six foot, nine inches tall. Two-hundred and eighty-five pounds.
Other than James McCain, Katherine Brock and Igor Rumpkins, they all break the six foot mark.
The Ripplemagne doesn't even get the decency of being the most petite in the match! They had to throw a midget and a house wife in to fuck my shit up! And the conditions are even sexier!
And the conditions of said match?"
The crowd seems to support Ripplemagne as he glances around and nods his head before continuing...
Ripplemagne:
"Not only do I lose my Sterling Championship if I lose, but I'm gone! Adios! See ya later! No mo' Ripplemagne. And to make things even more delectable, anyone the Patriarch of Pretty eliminates is also poof. So, what better way to get everyone to rally against you than to put their careers on the line against me. Ho-oh! You're a witty one, Reed.
No worries. I couldn't be more excited about said match. But I also learned one more thing about myself..."
As everyone waits for it, a gleaming grin appears on Ripplemagne's face as he reaches over and gropes Miss Sarah's boob.
Ripplemagne:
"Honk!
...I'm also highly inappropriate. In fact! I do 'crude' things. Le gasp! Shock and dismay! Everyone, put on a look of shock and dismay!"
As Miss Sarah punches Ripplemagne in the arm with all of her might... hurting her hand and making Ripplemagne laugh, the crowd around them all feign a gasp and look of shock... and dismay.
Ripplemagne:
"Joo know, Ollie -- may I call you Ollie? Thanks, you're a doll. Joo know, Ollie... you have shown me the light! After your monologue about how I'm insignificant, despite being the Sterling Champion, Top Superstar of the Moment, a former Tag Team Champion, leader of the most dominant stable in Global Extreme Wrestling, having the highest win percentage in the history of the company, being undefeated in singles competition, being unpinned/unsubmitted across the board, in James McCain's own words 'too good for the Sterling Championship', in James Magnum's words 'the most entertaining, cunning, and witty wrestler we could find'...
And the fact that you were the loser for your team against Dwight Mare, Arata Tanaka and Sah'ta Thor whereas I was the sole survivor of a team match of a much higher caliber and... really... the only thing you have to your name are wins over Sah'ta Thor and Ace Static, whom I've both beaten -- I'm insignificant. No, no! I am not worthy of being in your presence! I am a lowly wretch, who besmirches the honor of this, here, title belt!"
Raising the Sterling Championship, Ripplemagne feigns a frown. Holding it there for a moment as the crowd begins to laugh at Ripplemagne's sarcasm, Ripplemagne raises his head and holds the expression. Finally, he drops his arm and continues...
Ripplemagne:
"I can't really remember where I've said that I 'understand you', so I can't confess my sins on that accord. Actually, it's kind of ironic. Ollie is so worried about people understanding him that he'll go out of his way to point out that I don't when I never said that I did. In fact, until now, the only mention I've made of him was a sarcastic, harmless remark in the opener to an edition of Your Feature Presentation from a few weeks ago.
But the fact that you felt the need to say that says a lot, doesn't it, Ollie? You had to say that I don't understand you because, deep down... you know I do. You've given me enough of your life to blue print your little fiefdom and lay siege to the walls fortified from toothpicks and twigs that you've haphazardly patched together throughout your lifetime.
Lets start with... Jazzy..."
Upon the word 'Jazzy', Ripplemagne's voice goes soft and rather sarcastic, as if to mock Oliver Creed's loss of her. A lot of the crowd seem to make 'oh damn' and 'oh he got burned' expressions on their faces from this point on.
Ripplemagne:
"The way you speak of her and how she broke your heart because you're a typical beta male, who sulks about how girls don't like 'nice guys' and how the girl he likes is 'too good' for the guy she's with. Tell me, Ollie, have you haplessly tried to explain to her how you'd treat her right? How you'd hold her forever and never let her go? She made you the way you are, right?
So, all of this venom and scorn is merely just a byproduct of your resentment for her. Aye? Hatred is kindled in your gut, like an open fire on an empty cauldron. So, you became an extremist hate mongerer because the supposed love of your life had no interest in you when you were just blooming your first patch of peach fuzz."
A series of 'ooooh' surround Ripplemagne as he smirks and finds his way into Oliver's mind...
Ripplemagne:
"So much hate that I bet you'd rebuke her even if she came back to you and professed an apology. Indeed, you'd turn her away. Oh... but doesn't Yeshua Ben Yosef say'For if ye forgive men their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if ye forgive not men their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses.' Matthew 6:14-15.
In... in fact... didn't you say that Jehovah wouldn't bother to save Javon Lynch from damnation? Have you taken your idolatrous title of 'Messiah' -- a title attributed only to Yeshua Ben Yosef -- so far that you're willing to surrogate words for the Lord? Hey! Y'know, I think Matthew has something to say about that too. Matthew 7:1-5.
'Judge not, that ye be not judged.
For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged. And with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again.
And why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother's eye, but considerest not the beam that is in thine own eye?
Or how wilt thou say to thy brother: Let me pull out the mote out of thine eye. And, behold, a beam is in thine own eye?
Thou hypocrite! First cast out the beam out of thine own eye; and then shalt thou see clearly to cast out the mote out of thy brother's eye.'"
It seems that Ripplemagne speaks with a lot of passion as he quotes this verse and the fans seem to clap at his theological prowess.
Ripplemagne:
"Kind of ironic that you referred to me as a hypocrite without any citation as to why, when the Holy Book says quite the inverse. Especially when you consider the fact that not a man alive -- not even the magnificent Ripplemagne -- is barren of sin. It is for that reason that Yeshua Ben Yosef, Jehovah's only begotten son, was crucified and endured one of the worst forms of corporal punishment the world has ever seen.
Better is that you referred to me as an outcast, when such is precede by a sob story where your one and only friend deserted you."
There's a chorus of "ous" and "ahs" that speak volumes. It's almost as if they're trying to say "That was brutal!"
Ripplemagne:
"You're right, Ollie. I'm not Catholic. It behooves me to wonder how you didn't deduce that, being that you've looked so 'deeply' into my history.
So, no, I don't follow a silly man in a white robe and dunce hat. Know why? Do ya? Because the Bible never appoints anyone who can lead the Church without the procession of errors -- id est, the doctrine of ex cathedra. In fact, when you consider the doctrine of ex cathedra, one has to wonder how no one considers the Pope a complete blasphemer in the hue that uh... well... such teachings are implicitly the antithesis of what scriptures teach.
So, there's the difference. Sacred tradition holds primacy over sacred sciprture for you. Whereas sacred tradition means nothing to me -- because it's merely the laws and rituals of man. Combine that with my disbelief in the apocrypha and I guess that makes me a traitor to my faith or whatever you said I was.
See, I'm not out here telling everyone to believe the same thing as me. They all have their own views and insight. What I'm doing is exposing you for an extremist who belies the scriptues and does not represent me or those of us who have enthralled ourselves in the word and chose to believe."
The people around Ripplemagne begin to clap as his energy gets them all rallied for the match on Sunday. They begin to pound their fists on whatever they can and stomp their feet, rallying behind the King of Hearts.
Ripplemagne:
"So, Sunday... the pseudo-sabbath... be prepared, baybay! Because you shall face... ze mastah of the Thousand Cuts style!"
As Ripplemagne performs a few martial arts poses and chops to the air, it's obvious that audio is played over it to make it seem like he's cutting through the air. But it's so out of sync and his hands aren't moving all that fast, so it's just kind of obvious. But just then, Miss Sarah chimes in...
Miss Sarah:
"Isn't that a fighting style in Jade Empire?"
Ripplemagne:
"Based off of me, ho'! "
Miss Sarah:
"There's something wrong with you."
Ripplemagne:
"Psh. You're just an ovary."
Miss Sarah:
"Did... did you just call me an ovary?"
Ripplemagne:
"Yes, I did. What'cha gonna do about it? What'cha gonna do... when Ripplemagnia... runs wild on you!?"
Miss Sarah:
"I'm just kind of taken aback by the fact that you called me an ovary..."
Ripplemagne:
"That's pro shit right there. You know you mean business when you call someone an ovary."
Miss Sarah:
"Well, you're a testicle!"
Ripplemagne:
"Alright. But you're the other testicle."
Miss Sarah:
"I most certainly am not!"
Ripplemagne:
"Sure, you are. We be in sack together all the time! Aw yeah~! And much sploogents are being made in said sack!"
Miss Sarah:
"...I don't even know where to begin with you."
Ripplemagne:
"Let us ask Jenkins!"
Miss Sarah:
"Who?"
Ripplemagne:
"Jenkins!"
Upon request, a rather tall man in a spiffy suit with his nose perpetually up in the air zips over. The man's hair is receding, but his nose is so high up, that we can't even get a good look of it. The rather well adorned Ripplemagne -- sporting a black and red blazer with a red Believe shirt and black bootcut jeans -- hams up how well he looks in comparison to the man.
Jenkins:
"Yes, Miss Blake?"
Ripplemagne:
"Aw, yeah. I got this nigga on lock. Watch this...
Jenkins, go bitch slap the black out of Janet Jackson."
Jenkins:
"Yes, Miss Blake."
With that, the tall butler zips off as Miss Sarah raises an eyebrow. Obviously never ceased to be amazed, Miss Sarah tries to shake her head until Ripplemagne's antics make sense. As her blue and white sun dress billows in the cool Canadian air, she raises her finger and opens her mouth as if to say something...
Ripplemagne:
"Wait for it."
Pausing and waiting, she goes to say something again...
Ripplemagne:
"Wait for it"
In that instant, someone charges through the crowd and screams. The somewhat tubby man seems rather distressed, but shocked at the same time...
Random E-fedding Joe #9,001:
"You won't believe this! Someone just said they saw Michael Jackson!"
Everyone seems to look at Ripplemagne, whose face curves into a smile as he hams up the epic of the situation. As Miss Sarah tries to absorb how one might possibly slap the black out of someone and make them look like their deceased brother in doing so, Ripplemagne turns away from the camera.
When he turns back, it seems that he has a pair of fake teeth in that look... well, for once, I'm actually at a loss of words to describe how hideous these things look.
Miss Sarah:
"What... what are you doing, Ripp'?"
Ripplemagne:
"Name's Pretty Rippy! Dats mah gov'ment name. Pretty Rippy! Yeah! Pretty Rippy~!"
As Ripple-- er... Pretty Rippy moves through the crowd, announcing his name to everyone as 'Pretty Rippy' and meeting with a lot of mixed reactions, Miss Sarah winces and turns back to the camera.
Miss Sarah:
"...Well, that's all we have for now. Believe it!"
* * *
Colossians 4:6 (King James Version)
"Let your speech be always with grace, seasoned with salt, that ye may know how ye ought to answer every man."
* * *
Fin.
* * *
