KING CONGO vs SANTA

[Handsome Harley]

Standard Singles Match
King Congo
vs
Santa

[Santa Claus]

The TV now flickers white and powers off as the camera angle swivels around to reveal Santa sitting there in a giant recliner in front of a roaring, orange-red fire. He leans back and smiles as he chews contentedly on a chocolate chip cookie. Tiny sparks of flame dance back and forth on the logs that are nested deep within the fireplace. The soft glow of the fire is comforting and warming, but nowhere near as warming as the family photo which sits on the mantle.

The photo is one of Santa, Mrs. Claus and about 200 tiny little elves all huddled around them. Naturally, the "elves" are blatantly just midgets who are all wearing pointy-eared appendages, and Mrs. Claus isn't even in costume! She's a young woman of around 25 who is just wearing a sexy Christmas outfit that shows off her ginormous hooters. Santa on the other hand, is smiling widely, but his eyes are focused directly over at the previously mentioned ginormous hooters. His fake beard almost reveals the facial features of someone that could be attributed to a young man in his late twenties. But then again, it could just be the angle of the shot.

But none of that truly matters, because Santa is now kicked back in his recliner, eating some cookies and staring at the fire. He stares over at the television and places the remote into the front pocket of the red and white overalls he is currently wearing. He chuckles a soft: "Ho Ho Ho" to himself as he sits up in his chair and scoots his padding-filled midsection up to the front of the chair. He now looks over at the oak carved coffee table and picks up a small hand-held digital video camera. He fumbles with it for a few moments before he finally gets the viewer to pop open. He then presses the tiny red "Record" button and speaks once the red light flashes on.

Santa Claus: Hoooo Hoooooooo Hooooooooooo! Hello there boys and girls, moms and dads and people all around the world. It's your pal, Santa Claus!

Santa now stick his tongue out, crosses his eyes and generally acts like a damn idiot. The guy will do anything for a laugh, I suppose. Even when it isn't that funny to begin with. This only lasts for a moment or two, before he puts on a "serious" face... or at least... as serious as you can be while wearing a Santa costume and a visibly fake beard.

Santa Claus: My friends, there is a dastardly devilish plot at hand in the dark halls of the HEW. You see, I hear that the front office workers are actually Jewish! They don't even believe in Christmas! I've even heard a few of them mock me behind their backs, claiming, like King Congo will... that I'm not the real Santa Claus!

The digital video camera drops down and Santa can be heard visibly crying. He can also be heard mumbling and blubbering something about how terrible the new Beautiful Creatures movie looks... but no one can be positive what he said. The cries slowly turn into sobs... which themselves slowly turn into muffled gasps for air.. and then silence. A clearing of the throat is the next sound heard as Santa now raises back up the digital video camera.

Santa Claus: King Congo, what a stellar athlete. I've watched him on television, and I must say, he looks even more ripped in HD. Not that I'm into checking other dudes out, but if I batted for the other team, I'd knock one outta the park with him. Uh... not that I've spent time thinking about it at night or anything.

Santa stammers for a moment, his face growing even redder than his rosy red cheeks normally are. But he quickly moves on, hoping that the Freudian slip won't be caught.

Santa Claus: Well, never let it be said that the HEW didn't give opportunities. While King Congo and I are quite possibly the most unorthodox match booking yet, I'm up for the challenge. I will defeat him... there isn't a doubt in my mind about that. After all, I'm facing against a man who couldn't find his own buttocks with both of my... I mean, his hands... not that I've thought about that or anything.

Santa clears his throat and then smiles.

Santa Claus: Look, it's all about dedication, and I'm dedicated beyond belief to HEW. While others might say they are and do their own thing elsewhere... I won't. I'm going to kick some rear here. Who knows, maybe I'll find someone to make a run for the tag team titles. Or maybe I'll grab one the special little singles titles? All I know is that I hope Congo is prepared to take a Sleigh Ride to obscurity, because you're on the Naughty List, and it's my job to make sure you get what's coming to you! HO HO HO!

Santa now lowers the hand held digital video camera and fumbles with the buttons for a moment, before hitting the power switch slide and causing everything to fade out.

[pete]

Edwin Solomon: You’ve gotta be fuckin’ shittin’ me.

Edwin Solomon[/b] stares at the info on his phone in disbelief, a vein in his temple pulsating steadily as his agitation level grows. Then, without another word, he turns and begins to stride down the hallway, his helpless manager, Slick Harrison[/b], hurrying behind.

Slick Harrison: Wait…my dear boy…please…

Edwin[/b], however, pays the entertainment promoter no mind, as he finds and barges into the office of one David Parker[/b], co-owner of HEW[/b]. As he enters, Parker[/b] is entertaining the company’s attractive backstage interviewer, Alice Carter, who slides off the owner’s lap as the big Texan steps in.

Edwin Solomon, shoving his phone forward: What the hell is this, Parker?

Parker[/b] glances down at the phone a minute, giving his date time to slink through the door, before deadpanning:

David Parker: That’s a phone. A smartphone, to be exact. A rather outdated one, as well.

Edwin flares: Don’t play dumb with me, smartass! I mean what the fuck is this on the card here?!

Parker[/b] deadpans coolly once again:

David Parker: Matches?

This only makes Solomon[/b] angrier, as he now rocks the owner’s desk with a slam of his fist:

Solomon: I know damn well they’re matches! I mean MY match right here! Santa Claus?! The fuck is this, yo?

David Parker: That’s the match you’ve been assigned. Deal with it.

Solomon: Oh, I’m’ma deal with it all right! Way I’m’ma do it is, I’m’ma remind you that I’m undefeated in two matches an’ I’m in the fuckin’ title belt tournament final. I don’t do no comedy matches. Then after I told you that, you’re gonna get on your computer, an’ you’re gonna change this fucking match to somethin’ other than a fuckin’ joke, an’ we’re all gonna go home happy. Ya got that, bud?

Parker[/b], however, is not intimidated, and flashes his smuggest grin as he quotes from Austin Powers:

David Parker: Hmm, let’s see…how ‘bout NO, you crazy Texan bastard?!

Solomon[/b], however, is in no mood for jokes, and grabs his employer’s shirtfront before Slick[/b] can stop him:

Solomon: The fuck you just call me?!

This time, Parker[/b] is genuinely angry, his tone paper-dry as he replies:

David Parker: I called you, the guy who’s gonna get booked to job and then fired if he doesn’t let go of my shirt right fucking NOW.

The owner affects a Southern drawl, his smugness back, as he concludes:

David Parker: ‘Member who pays the bills, boy.

Edwin[/b] grudgingly lets go, but not before using unnecessary roughness to push his boss back onto his seat, ranting all the while:

Solomon: Whatever. This is bullshit. I should’a stayed in South Carolina!

With that, the big man stomps out of the office, Slick Harrison[/b] close behind. Before the manager can even open his mouth, however, his client has turned on him:

Solomon: Don’t even say anythin’! This is your fault. I could’a stayed in South Carolina, where they respected my ass an’ didn’t treat me like a mo’fuckin’ joke!

To Edwin[/b]’s surprise, Slick[/b]’s response comes not in his usual, flamboyant tone, but in a mixture of sorrow and frustration:

Slick: You really don’t get it, do ya, boy?

Solomon[/b] frowns:

Solomon: Get what?!

Slick explains, as if to a small child: They’re buildin’ ya up, ya big lug! Think ‘bout it. Who’d ya wrassle so far? Two little guys. An’ ya squashed ‘em. Now they’re givin’ ya a larger guy to squash. An’ not just any guy – Santa! Ya beat him, by the time we get to the tournament finals, you’ll not only be an unstoppable force with an undefeated streak, you’ll also be the savage monster who beat up Santa Claus! If ya ain’t the most hated heel in the company by then, I’ll eat my sunglasses!

Edwin[/b] visibly relaxes, seeing the sense in his manager’s words. However, a doubt still nags at his brain:

Edwin Solomon: An’ what if I lose…?

Slick[/b]’s cheeky smirk and flamboyance are back as he shrugs playfully:

Slick: Well, my dear boy…everyone knows Santa’s got magic powers…

That having finally elicited a chuckle and a forceful pat on the back from his client, he then heaves a sigh of relief, and follows Edwin[/b] towards the cafeteria to procure some lunch.

[pete]

When shit begins to go down, I'm just sittin' there, mindin' my own business, not botherin' nobody. I've ordered my coffee, found a nice comfy couch where I'm none too cramped, an' am plannin' to spend the next couple of hours of my downtime with the second book of the Hunger Games - shit's kinda basic, but it keeps you readin', you know? Plus, when you're a wrassler, you don't barely get downtime, so I'm'ma enjoy the hell outta this bitch.

Or so I thought.

I ain't been sat there for ten minutes when I start hearin' this racket comin' from the till area. I look up, and these two teenage jackasses are givin' the cute li'l girl at the front a hard time, screamin' in her face and whatnot. The shop's real small, so I can hear what they're hollerin' about, an' it makes no sense. Somethin' 'bout how that's not what they ordered an' they want their coffee free now an' shit. I'm not lookin' to get in a fight, so I'm 'bout to let it slide, when this asshat THROWS COFFEE AT THE GIRL. Aw, hell, no. Not on my watch.[/color]

"Yo!"[/b]

They don't even look, so I try again:[/color]

"Yo bitch boy! Y'all leave that honey alone now!"[/b]

I take a step closer, an' I get a good look at 'em. Coupl'a scrawny li'l bitches, prob'ly don't weigh as much as me combined. But they got the cocky thing goin', an' go on pretendin' I ain't sayin' nothin' right up 'til one o' them recognises me.[/color]

"Yo, it's that wrasslin' nigger from that piece o' shit place last week! Yo, how's the jungle, monkey boy?"[/b]

Then - I shit you not - they start jumpin' up an' down, rubbing their armpits an' makin' fuckin' MONKEY SOUNDS at me. At this point, I'm pissed, an' bein' a goddamn racist only makes it worse. I think of what Slick[/b] would say if he was here, but then mentally tell him to go fuck himself. Ain't no punk ass kids gon' ruin my leisure time. So I decide to stop cuttin' the little shits slack. They want a monkey man? Then hell, they're gonna have their monkey man.

I take another step forward. They continue to make monkey sounds. Then I grunt, an' they freeze. Figures. These'd be the type o' marks that still believe wrasslin's real. I'm'ma have a lotta fun doin' what I'm about to do.

I put on my best bug-eyed manic expression, an' stretch out a hand pointin' at them. By this point, they're shittin' their pants. Then, in my best savage-jungle-man growl, I speak two simple words:[/i][/color]

"CONGO SMASH!"[/b]

Seein' those jackasses nearly trip over themselves to exit the restaurant made me day, an' gave me an' the rest o' the people at the shop a good belly laugh. It got even better when the waitress - after thankin' me 'bout a million times - gave me my drink and whatever else I wanted for free. I gave her some tickets for the next Shockwave to make up for it, went back to my seat, an' picked my book right back up again. Like I said - ain't no punk ass kids gon' ruin my downtime.[/color]

[Santa Claus]

The cold, brisk night air cut through the thick trees like a hot knife through a slab of creamy, rich butter. These trees were the infamous evergreen douglas fir trees and they are branched all around the area, covering the thousands and thousands of acres in jutting brown and green markings. These trees have been the temporary homes for rats, squirrels, rabbits, bugs, bird, worms and even a covering for larger animals like deer. It's safe to say that these trees are possibly the only things that can truly survive in this arctic wonderland known as the North Pole. Their majestic beauty and thick growth, do however, make them the perfect trees for all-year-long firewood and kindling. Their bark dries up in the winter and actually acts as a perfect kindling for fireplaces... especially for those type of fireplaces that are inset into small wooden cottages.

There aren't many small wooden cottages around at the North Pole, even though the government actually gives the property away to people, as long as they are willing to relocate and live at the North Pole for a certain guaranteed number of years. The majority of folks decline the offer, so that usually only leaves a small handful of misfits and outdoorsmen. Well, that and a certain jolly old fat guy who lives with an old lady, a dozen reindeer and about a hundred midgets that work for him. Speaking of Santa Claus... you can just make him out in the distance as he walks towards the copse of douglas-dir trees through the thick blanket of snow that has also covered the ground as far as the eye can see. A snowstorm has recently hit and fallen on the North Pole, so everything for miles and miles around is covered in the blinding-white snow.

Santa is wearing a pair of black boots, a crushed red velvet pair of pants with a puffy white trim around the ankles, a thick black belt, a white long-sleeved undershirt and a thick red and white trimmed jacket. In his hand he is carrying a large wooden-handled axe, which he hefts up to rest the blunt hilted end on his shoulder. His face is kept in an almost permanent smile as he hums a song while he stomps through the snow. His boots sink a few inches into the snow with each step, leaving a well-marked trail back to the path he took to get here. Santa continues his trek through the trailed path until he finds the perfect douglas-fir tree. He stops at the biggest tree there... and he looks up at it. He smiles happily as he raises up the axe and quickly begins to make quick work of it.

His chops are like Chuck Norris kicks, they hew down the tree in just a matter of twenty minutes or so. (Hey, he's a fat guy... you really didn't think he'd chop it down in just a couple of minutes, did you?) He yells out a very loud "TIIIIMBER!", even though not a single person is around... and the tree falls with a loud, yet smothered and muffled "poof" and "thud". I like to call the sound "phud". Santa now walks around the tree, ripping off tiny fragments of splintered branches off of it, and then he goes towards the trunk of the tree. He raises up the axe once more and now begins to chop the tree into forearm long lengths which make them much more manageable to carry. He smiles to himself as he make quick work of the tree (again, about thirty minutes or so.. he is a fat, out-of-shape guy after all). Finally, as the minutes pass, the tree has been chopped and he now retrieves the Christmas Sack which was stuffed down his pants and he opens it up.

He now tosses armload after armload of chopped wood into the Christmas sack and now he turns and begins to make the trek back to his cottage. He trudges through the snow, whistling the song "Here Comes Santa Claus" happily as he carries the load on his back. As the moments pass on and Santa continues on his way, the visage of the small wooden cottage is seen. The chimney is pushing and billowing out thick plumes of black and silver smoke and the scent of freshly cooked reindeer meat is ever-present in the air. He walks through the front acre of the property, where several reindeer can be seen in their pens through the opened barn door and they can see him as well, and they moo, bark, bleat or neigh a greeting to him. Whatever the hell a reindeer actually does when it makes a noise.

Santa sets the Christmas sack full of wood down into the snow and walks in the opened barn door. He sees his favorite reindeer: Blitzen, and he walks over to him and pets his furry, coarse-haired head. The reindeer in turn, nuzzles up into Santa's arm as he pats him. This reindeer Blitzen is a dark brown color, with a mix of light gray in the fur, and thick strong muscles that are visibly seen through the harnessing which is still attached to him, probably from a recent sleigh ride. Santa quickly removes the harness, the bit, and the dull brown leather straps from around the reindeer and grabs the brush next to the wooden pen door. He brushes the reindener free of any matted hair, burrs and tangles within teh fur itself. Once he finishes, he pats the side of the reindeer and smiles. After a little while of Santa's petting and scratching of Blitzen, Santa speaks to his furry friend (finally).

Santa Claus: HO HO HO! How are you doing there, my furry reindeer friend? I see that you've been eating plenty of food this week... so that's a good thing. I was beginning to wonder if you were even ever going to bulk up like the rest of your reindeer brothers. Just keep up the good work and I'll keep giving you your favorite brand of reindeer chow. Now... do you have a joke for your old pal, Santa?

Santa stands there and either pretends to listen... or even worse, actually hears voices from the reindeer. Either way, the guy's off his ghourd and will probably wind up going postal one of these days. He lowers his head down towards the reindeer's slobbering maw and "listens" as it does absolutely nothing. Still.. Santa nods to the reindeer and then suddenly bursts out laughing. His belly shakes like a bowl full of jelly... which is actually pretty damn disgusting when you really think about it. I mean... how fat do you have to be to actually have your belly shake like jelly when you laugh? That's pretty freakin' fat.

Santa Claus: Oh Ho Ho Ho! What a great joke. I'll have to tell Mrs. Claus about that one. Just be sure to keep that one to yourself. You know how these other reindeer can get when you start telling those nasty, naughty jokes. They'll be out here saying all kinds of nasty things while I'm trying to impress some of the local North Pole residents. I don't want to be embarrassed like I was last year when Jack Frost showed up for a surprise visit.

Santa now turns and walks down the rest of the pens and pets each reindeer and greets him by name. He runs down every single reindeer's name on the list that everyone has heard a hundred times. He even calls a few some names that you've never heard of. But as he greets the last one, he turns and leaves the barn and picks up his wood filled Christmas Sack and heads towards the small wooden cottage. He stomps through the yard, sending showers of snow flying in all directions as he finally steps up to the front door. Wisely, he remembers what happened the last time he tracked snow, mud and slush into the house.. and needless to say... it wasn't very fun. He couldn't even sit down for more than a week by the time Mrs. Claus finished with him.

So wisely, Santa kicked the toe of each boot onto the side of the house, knocking loose any kind of snow, stick, stone, mud, grass, pine needles, reindeer manure or anything else that he could have stepped on during his trek to get wood. After he feels that he has sufficiently cleaned his boots, he steps inside the cottage. He walks over to his favorite hand-carved wooden rocking chair... which is right in front of a crackling, warm fire and sits down on the pillow resting on the seat. He smiles as he leans in close to the fireplace, catching the warmth that it gives to his chilled bones. He smiles as he places his hands a little closer to warm them up. The fire crackles and tiny little embers of orange and red flame dance back and forth across the logs as they heat up not only the small cottage and Santa... but also the hearts of the viewers at home who are watching this very scene. It should be nominated for a fucking Golden Globe or something.

Suddenly, Mrs. Claus walks in with a tray of cookies and smiles at him as she lowers the tray into his lap. (please note: Mrs. Claus is currently being played by fill-in actress, and former star of "Dexter" and Angel: Julie Benz **brief polite applause**) Thankfully, sitting on top of the tray, is a big ceramic coffee mug filled to the top with hot chocolate and bright, multi-colored red, green, blue and white marshmallows. The festive look of the multi-colored marshmallows just made the hot chocolate taste even better... everyone knows this is true. Naturally, there is a painted picture on the front of the ceramic coffee mug, and it isn't who you think. It isn't Santa, Frosty, or any one of the "entourage" of Season's Beatings (their faction/affiliation's name naturally)... but instead.. the face on the ceramic coffee mug is none other than The Great Pumpkin. Mrs. Claus smiles and takes a seat next to him in another rocking chair and looks over at her husband with his obvious and blatantly fake beard.

Mrs Claus: So dear, what's it going to be this time? You do know that you have a match in Hollywood Elite Wrestling this coming week, right?

Santa nods his head as he chomps away at a giant, oversized chocolate chip cookie. I'm talking this cookie is fucking huge, almost the size of his head, that's how huge this cookie is. Santa takes another bite, holds up a white-gloved finger and smiles as he contentedly crunches away. Nothing else can be heard but the crunching sound emitting from his closed mouth (after all, it isn't proper manners to eat with your mouth open.. it's disgusting.. and anyone who does that, should be punched in the genitals). Santa now finishes up that bite, places the oversized chocolate chip cookie on the red and green Christmas plate next to his chair and responds to his wife.

Santa Claus: Oh I know dear.. I know that I have a match against King Congo... so I think I know what to expect from him, but I still worry. You see, Congo hasn't been that bad of a guy. He doesn't like people to know it, but Congo actually went and watched the Sex and the City 2 movie and he cried at the end of it when Carrie got back together with Mr. Big. He's a big softie, just don't tell anyone else I mentioned it. He'll get all upset, lie and say he's never watched it, and then try to change the subject. However, he has been on the Naughty List previously, for years and years. He's blatantly unrepentant about all of the mean, evil, wicked and nasty things he's done. He's the guy that I most want to change. He should be a happy little fellow, but instead, he tries to act like one of those really big, strong, tough guys, when in reality, he's just a scared, skinny, weak little boy. But it's okay, once I show him the true meaning of Christmas... that Christmas lasts all year long, not just in December.. I'm quite positive that he'll change his name to Christmas Congo and tour with me when I visit malls. Why.. I bet he'd make a great Chief Elf at the North Pole! He'd whip some of those lazy elves into shape and get my Workshop buzzing again with activity! I'll have to ask him that after our match this coming week.

Santa now smiles and leans back in the chair, his gigantic, pillow-stuffed Santa jacket bulges out as he places his hands behind his head. He now turns his eyes towards Mrs. Claus and wiggles his thick, white bushy eyebrows at her. Now, with a leer on his face, he asks her a question that he's been dying to ask her all day long.

Santa Claus: So Mary, do you want to lick on Santa's Candy Cane?

Mrs Claus allows a slight impish grin to escape her stone cold! stone cold! stone cold! features as she nods her pretty young face at him. Then as he begins to speak, she slides her hand into his pocket to grab his Candy Cane.

Santa Claus: You always were a dirty little.. HO HOO HOOOOO!!!!!

The scene now slowly pans back towards the fireplace as the scene fades out to snow.