Post by Kyle Gautier on Aug 11, 2019 10:42:14 GMT -6
Brent Merrill, head of EWC Talent Relations, sleeps soundly in his bed. That is, until his embarrassingly shrill phone rings. He grabs at his cell half asleep, half hoping it wasn't a huge emergency and half hoping it was to make sense of why anyone would be calling at this hour.
“….hello…?”
“Brent, I had an idea for my Night of Champions entrance I wanted to run by you so you can get legal to start clearing it.”
“…. KYLE?! Do you realize it is FOUR AM!?”
“Ooh, sorry. I'm in Canada and didn't realize.”
“We are in the same time zone!”
“Yeah, but they're on metric. Anyway, since you're up, picture this. Lights go out and up on the Mac Tron lights up the Canadian flag. And two by two, we have extras come out dressed like the Royal Canadian Kilted Yaksmen to that particular theme.”
“The what?”
“You know… Our country reeeeeeks of trees,
our yaks are reeeeeaaaaallly large,
and they smell like rotting beef carcasses!”
“…kyle.”
“And we have to clean up aaaaaafter them,
Our saddle sores aaaaare the best,
We proudly wear wooooomeeeens clothing
And searing sand blows up our skirts.”
“Kyle.”
“And the buzzards, they soar oooooverhead,
And poisonous snakes will devour us whole.
Our bones will bleach in the sun.”
“Kyle….!”
He starts ramping up. “And we will probably gooooo to Hell!
But that is our great reward!
For being the uh-Royal…
Canadian
Kilted
YAKSMEEEEEN!”
“KYLE!”
“Then, they throw off their uniforms and it turns out it's the Raptors dance team, which since Toronto won a bounce ball game, it'll be nice for them to get exposure on an international stage. And then my song will play… what do you think?”
There is a long, pregnant, silent sigh-filled pause before Brent begins.
“Kyle, I don't have the words to elucidate to you why you cannot have this.”
“Is it a rights issue?”
“Rights are the least problem I have with this. The entrance is more than likely all of you discovered in the cage and introduced one at a time. If anyone gets a special one, it'll be Ace.”
Another pause.
“Why do you hate what you don't understand?”
“…I don't hate you, Kyle.”
“I was talking about my idea. How about you sleep on it and get back to me later.”
“Good bye, Kyle.”
He hangs up the phone and rolls over, in an effort to return to slumber. He tosss a few times before sitting up.
“Son of a bi—”
Fade.
“….hello…?”
“Brent, I had an idea for my Night of Champions entrance I wanted to run by you so you can get legal to start clearing it.”
“…. KYLE?! Do you realize it is FOUR AM!?”
“Ooh, sorry. I'm in Canada and didn't realize.”
“We are in the same time zone!”
“Yeah, but they're on metric. Anyway, since you're up, picture this. Lights go out and up on the Mac Tron lights up the Canadian flag. And two by two, we have extras come out dressed like the Royal Canadian Kilted Yaksmen to that particular theme.”
“The what?”
“You know… Our country reeeeeeks of trees,
our yaks are reeeeeaaaaallly large,
and they smell like rotting beef carcasses!”
“…kyle.”
“And we have to clean up aaaaaafter them,
Our saddle sores aaaaare the best,
We proudly wear wooooomeeeens clothing
And searing sand blows up our skirts.”
“Kyle.”
“And the buzzards, they soar oooooverhead,
And poisonous snakes will devour us whole.
Our bones will bleach in the sun.”
“Kyle….!”
He starts ramping up. “And we will probably gooooo to Hell!
But that is our great reward!
For being the uh-Royal…
Canadian
Kilted
YAKSMEEEEEN!”
“KYLE!”
“Then, they throw off their uniforms and it turns out it's the Raptors dance team, which since Toronto won a bounce ball game, it'll be nice for them to get exposure on an international stage. And then my song will play… what do you think?”
There is a long, pregnant, silent sigh-filled pause before Brent begins.
“Kyle, I don't have the words to elucidate to you why you cannot have this.”
“Is it a rights issue?”
“Rights are the least problem I have with this. The entrance is more than likely all of you discovered in the cage and introduced one at a time. If anyone gets a special one, it'll be Ace.”
Another pause.
“Why do you hate what you don't understand?”
“…I don't hate you, Kyle.”
“I was talking about my idea. How about you sleep on it and get back to me later.”
“Good bye, Kyle.”
He hangs up the phone and rolls over, in an effort to return to slumber. He tosss a few times before sitting up.
“Son of a bi—”
Fade.