Due to television time constraints one segment was cut from Classic Wrestling Episode 1. We’ve included it below in it’s entirety!
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Patrick Moss: Coming up next folks we throw it over to our colleague Otto Price over at the interview stage, Otto?
Joel “Thunderbird” Howley: Who we got over there, big man?
Over at the interview stage Otto Price is already joined by the self professed manager of future Classic champions, Mrs. Doris Hilton. A confident, brassy southern ball buster of the inth degree… well seasoned in he mid 40’s. Meaning this lady could easily chew us up and spit us out if she wanted to. She looks past poor like he’s week old jello salad, simply taking the microphone’s foam head between her thumb and index finger and gently lifting it from his grasp.
She shooo’s him away with her free hand before plastering on a viper-like smile, addressing the camera with her soothing, husky cigarette tinged voice.
Doris Hilton: Ladies and gentleman my dear old daddy taught me absolutely everything I know about the fight game. I’ve promoted some of the biggest and baddest. Over my many years in this business I’ve developed an eye for talent. Maybe they’re the t-shirt sellin’ kind, maybe they’re the ass-whoopin’ kind… I specialise in both. And sometimes, folks sometimes those things come in the same doublewide package.
She pulls out a t-shirt she’d had conveniently tucked under her arm. A white southern rock n’ roll style t-shirt with a huge eagle, bursting out of the state of Texas with the words “The Texas Stampede” written around the eagles wings in big bold Lone Star red white and blue. And across the bottom in big screamin’ gold outlined letters…
“A Country Boy Can Survive” by Hank Williams Jr. starts to slowly chunk through the arena’s PA system.
Doris Hilton: This tournament leaves so many of these poor boys at a disadvantage… so many mysteries! Well… let the Texas Stampede be a mystery no longer! Ladies and gentlemen, the future first ever Classic champ, my first official client… MR. GORDY LOVETT!
Gordy erupts from backstage like someone released him from a damn pen. A huge nasty looking bull rope slung around his shoulder. He sporting a self made crop-top version of the same t-shirt introduced by Mrs. Hilton earlier. As he sidles up to his manager he wipes a long nasty string of brown tobacco spit from his chin with the back of his hand.
He shoots double hook ‘em horns and gives a big ol’ guttural hollar.
More tobacco spit trails on down his chin as he does so. Another slimy wipe from the back of his hand. He smiles with the mindless intensity of a man with a number of beers already swimming through his doublewide dad bod.
Every once in a while Otto reaches in and tries in vain to get his microphone back from Doris. The ball-buster mindlessly waving his hand away, with as much mind as someone would a gnat buzzing around their drink.
Doris Hilton: Tell ‘em, boy. Tell ‘em why they’re lookin’ at the first true MAN around here…
Before the wild and wooly Texan can utter a single syllable…
A man with a pencil thin mustache, thinning hair, and the kind of face that screams “HIDE YOUR WALLET” steps into view. Everyone takes a step back..
Because behind him is a seven foot colossus of a man bedecked like an entire early nineties black metal band. Spiked forearm bands and shoulders of a leather vest, and a mask that elicits no emotion.
The smaller man, Walt Whezl rubs his hands together surveying the scene.
Walt Whezl: Weeee-heelll-helll what do we have here!
Lord Colossus cracks his leather fingerless gloves while Whezl’s voice oozes like high pitched slime. Balls of the purest of brass, Doris steps right up to Walt, inches from his sharp little face.
Doris Hilton: Just who the HELL do you think you are, buster?!
She literally bumps chests with the little man. Whezl stumbles back behind his client for safety.
Walt Whezl: MY WORD! The audacity! My LAWYER will hear of this!
The Georgian ball buster is obviously having none of this.
Doris Hilton: I paid good money for this airtime… I don’t care how big yer’ gimp friend is, nobody takes food off mah’ plate. Are we CLEAR?!
Lord Colossus steps menacingly between the two managers. He silently flexes his giant hands a few times, looking like he might…
Gordy Lovett: WEEEEEEELL HOLD A GOT-DAMN HOT MINUTE RIGHT THERE, SON!
The wild man from Cut and Shoot, Texas squeezes his double wide dad bod between the lovely Doris and the leather clad menace.
Gordy Lovett: Before you go layin’ hands on the lady there, too tall, lemme just give it to ya first off… DAMNIT you’re the coolest damn thing I ever laid eyes on, man! Sheeeeeeit, you look like a damn Iron Maiden cover come to life brother! HELL yeah man, that’s hard as hell… but naw, yeah you touch Doris and I’ll skin ye’ alive, gimp boy. Honest injun. I’ll mail yer’ black underoos back to that little John Waters lookin’ bastard ya’ got back ‘cher.
Lovett gives the strange little man a playful finger gun before squaring back up with the leather clad giant in front of him.
Colossus looms over the wild Texan like the coming apocalypse. To his credit, Gordy doesn’t flinch an inch. Almost in tandem Doris and Walt, together, step between their respective clients.
Walt Whezl: Not here. NOT now . Calm down now…
Doris Hilton: The strange little man is absolutely correct, Gordy dear. Let the FREAKS be… you’ll get your hands on THAT big stack of meat soon enough. When you BEAT him to move on in this tournament.
She jerks a thumb towards the towering mountain of flesh and black leather that is Lord Colossus.
Gordy Lovett: See ya’ Master Blaster!
He juke fakes towards Walt Whezl scaring the strange little manager something fierce.
Gordy Lovett: I like that little feller, man. He makes me laugh.
Doris and Gordy leave Whezl and Colossus alone and steaming out on the interview stage.
Whezl motions for Lord Colossus to follow him, looking aghast at what has happened. They both exit.