Langston's Hotel, New Orleans, Friday April 12th, 1:38 PM :
Braer is sitting down at the table, typing away on a laptop computer. He looks like he just woke up, his hair is everywhere, all curly and spiked around. He is wearing a 'wifebeater' and some brown boxer shorts and black socks. He is eating a banana with his left hand, while the right is manuevering a mouse now. He slowly picks away at the banana, and tries to peel and eat without much success. He takes his other hand off the mouse and peels the banana, ripping off one of the leaves, which falls away onto his lap.
Braer: (almost inaudibly) damnit
Braer picks the peel up with his right hand and tosses it to the garbage can. It catches on the lip, and about half of it hangs out from the can. There is a door knock, and he takes a last bite from the banana. Some of the banana slides along his lips, he throws the peel at the trash can and goes to open the door. He looks at the peep hole then turns the knob.
Servant: I got 1 order of Pizza rolls for Mr. Braer
Braer: Yep that's me, just put it on my bill, thanks.
Braer shuts the door behind him and opens the tray filled with pizza rolls. He sits at a table and starts munching away on them and another door knock is heard.
Braer: (Yelling) I didn't order anything else.
Braer gets up anyways and grabs a handful of rolls in his left hand and munches them, and opens the door, outside is sitting a mexican guy wearing a hawaiian shirt.
???: Hey holmes man you seen the Scorpion?
Braer: No, who the hell are you?
Paco: The name's Paco. I run Paco Loco Taco in downtown man, me and Scorp go way back.
Braer: Im sure you do, but see, he's out in California, going to court
Paco: You sure holmes, I seen him crusing town today man
Braer just stops for a moment...
Braer: Listen, I took him to the airport yesterday man, I know, I know he's flying around, you probably were just seeing things. And my name isn't Holmes, so shut the F*** up!
Braer slams the door, and the camera fades to black
New Orleans Arena, Friday April 12th, 2:28 PM
Braer pulls into the arena parking garage with a red Mustang 5.0. He is wearing some shades and a black buttoned shirt that isn't buttoned, 'wifebeater' under that, and some khaki cargo shorts. He parks the car and turns off the ignition and pockets the keys. He then walks past some of the security and gives them a nod and walks into the building and takes a left turn. He walks down the hall some more, his footsteps echoing, and takes a left. He is in a lounge of sorts. He pulls out his wallet and grabs a dollar bill then pockets it again and runs it through a drink machine and hits Pepsi. A pepsi falls out of the machine and he twists the cap. Trent Roberts of the NWF walks into the room. He is wearing a black Polo shirt and some slacks. He gives a shout out to Braer, who still isn't aware of him.
Roberts: Ready to roll?
Braer Looks up and nods, while drinking his pepsi. Roberts sits down in one of the lounge chairs with legs crossed.
Roberts: If you would, please take a seat.
Braer looks around for the nearest seat and sits at it in a relaxed position, his legs stretched out. He continues to sip at the drink.
Roberts: Anyways I am here with Wayne Braer, up and coming wrestler who hasn't found his niche in the fed yet. Would you like to say anything first off about your status at the fed.
Braer: Actually I would rather not.
Roberts: Why not?
Braer: Isn't much to talk about.
Roberts: Okay, how bout a little brainstorming. I will come up with a topic and you give me your opinions on it. Starting with... Frost.
Braer: Don't care
Roberts: Hmmm, alright, well what would you say if I said you are going to lose to Mark Weinstein this sunday?
Braer: First I would say your F***ing nuts, then (voice raising) my red would turn bright red, and I would jump right out of this seat and pound you on the GROUND! (gets cool again) and after that I would fling you against the wall over and over until you bleed.
Roberts: Uh, okay, lets just pretend I never said that...
Braer: I was kidding with you man. I just did that to demonstrate how Im going to beat Weinstein this sunday.
Roberts: Would you like to get anything off your chest, concerning Weinstein?
Braer: Actually I feel like it is a total waste of time, but not as much of a waste as actually bothering to show up to the arena on sunday to school him in the art of wrestling. Let's face it, I could hit with a haymaker again, and again, and again, and I could keep doing it, and he will still be anticipating a clothesline. Mark Weinstein, is nothing more than a lowly garden variety douchebag with no clue. First off, he mispells 'warewolf' , which happens to be the most famous of the lycanthropsy myths. Then he stops batheing and shaving for a couple of months, and walks out to prerecorded applause tracks and some crappy Metallica song, and that qualifies him to be a wrestler on TV? To me that sounds like a plot for a B-Rated syndicated TV show that gets played a 2 o clock in the morning, but definently not the path to stardom, not even close. Despite the fact that physically, he is in the same 'league' as me and the other people here in the NWF, his head simply is a few shots short of a par. Do you need proof? Huh, do you?
Braer pulls out a CD from one of his cargo pockets and hands it to Trent. Trent plugs the disc into a public laptop machine set up in the lounge.and plays a piece of footage, which is poorly edited.
Weinstein: I (Video cut) kiss my ass
(Footage Paused)
Braer: Well anyways, assuming it was true, one, that is simply too nasty, and two, he probably kills off a few million brain cells everytime he sniffs that filthy gunk where the sun don't shine. Shoot, he probably gets some euphoric high off it, and maybe that deranges him into thinking he turns into a 'warwolf'. Anyways, play the next clip
Robot voice: Smell
Weinstein: my ass (video cut) Trent
Trent: Trent: Gaaaaaaaak! Caaan't breeeathe!
Robert voice: Do I smell like
Weinstein: Gutter trash
(Footage Paused)
Braer: This is exactly how all of his promos are. He goes on about kissing his ass and asking people how it smells and stuff.
Roberts: That's actually not how it goes down
Braer: I know Roberts, but to be rather honest, his promos would be more entertaining if he was to do that stuff. He might actually catch the attention of a simpleton or two out there in the world, and maybe if he's lucky, his kissing of his own ass might spawn off into some sort of pop culture cliq like Terrance and Philip is on South Park. Weinstein actually reminds me a lot of a South Park character, he reminds me of Mr. Garrison on South Park. You know, he acts normal, some of the time, except he is mentally retarded in the head and talks to a hand puppet and kind of goes on a delusional trip about how he is the
Weinstein: Hard-Fucking-Core (Video cut) Warwolf
Robot voice: Do I smell like
Weinstein: Gutter trash
(Footage Paused)
Braer: and that he can actually beat somebody, better than him. He goes on about how he is able to kick Jared Holmes, and Karma's ass, but he gets wasted and pinned to the mat not even a minute into the match.
Roberts: You didn't beat Karma either...
Braer: Yea but at least my match lasted a real long time, and I actually got her hurting. I seen the tears and sweat she shed in the ring man. The only tears or sweat she sweat around Warwolf is when she did that huge ass promo about him, and those were tears of laughter and sweat from a hot room, nothing else was involved in it. But that's enough about my darling, who I will dance with again, this is about the 'Warwolf'. If I was a douchebag like him, I would feel very honored that I actually get the chance to try to demonstrate some tenacity, and skill, against somebody that is actually quality stuff. Scorpion was right when he said I wouldn't have to train for this one. Hell, I probably could tie one of my hands behind my back and still manage to slam his ass on the mat for three things: 1, 2, and 3. The Warwolf has about as much skill as a pinky finger does in thumb wrestling, he's totally discardable. He isn't flexible in the intense duels of body and mind that wrestlers are required to do nowadays, he loses all focus and control. He simply cannot bend and mold to the situation, he is as static as Han Solo was when he was frozen in Carbonate. And if he manages to find a way towards triumph, he simply cannot execute at all, because, like the pinky finger, he is the weakest link, and totally omittable.
Roberts: What do you mean by omittable?
Braer: Omittable means basically something that can go without mention, or can be dropped. And when I say this, I mean his position here at the NWF. He makes absolutely no worthwhile contributions here at the federation. If you look at the ratings, you can clearly see that when he is on the show, many viewers simply switch channels to a competiting fed, for about 2 minutes or so. Fans in the arena can enjoy a nice minute or so nap while he's out there, getting his ass kicked in the worst imaginable way possible everytime. He makes up a garbage fairy tale about how he is not just a warewolf, but a 'warwolf', claims that his reaching of Puberty and his bearlike chest is proof that he is such a being, and then decides to live 'among his own kind' and run around in the forest all muddy and smelly. And would you just check out the guy's hairdoo? Not only does he lack in substance, but he even lacks in trend and fashion, he is unhip as well as unreal. In my short career as a wrestler, I have already peaked his, after just a match or so. That really isn't anything to brag about, but its the cold hard truth. And your fur won't be able to cover you from the cold truth this sunday Warwolf. The cold hard truth that you are nothing more than a mild mannered middle age man who is impotent and took one too many hormone pills for his own good. That is not to mention that acid trip that you went through, that gave you visions and hallucinations of running through the forest at night hunting your prey. They were simply delusions, when you can get it through your head, call the mental health center and do everybody a favor. The first step to turn from 'Warwolf' to Human is to admit you been taking hormones. It is your choice, after all.
Braer clicks a mouse button on the laptop and then gets up from his seat and leaves. Robers tries to go after him but the cameras fade to black.