Standing behind a small semi-circle podium in front of a large “Classic Wrestling” banner, Scott Hunter leans forward on his elbows and glares into the camera as the scene starts.
“Look, I dispensed with the interviewer this week because I want to speak directly to this Joe Stone dimwit.
First and foremost, I looked into you and the first thing I saw was your photo, and the question that I want to be answered, and that everyone watching this at home wants to be answered is….
Why is a bear reaching over your shoulder and rubbing your nipples?
I don’t know what it’s like where you come from, probably dirty and smelly and covered in feces, but this is a family show, pal. You can club people if you want and you can have this doctor make threats, but you’ll keep your prehistoric nipple touching off the airwaves if you know what’s good for you.
And then, you think it’s funny to threaten to take my mother to a cave and do your weird caveman stuff with her? For your information. MRS. HUNTER IS A SAINT! YOU HEAR ME?! A SAINT!
I’ll have you know that my mother has no affinity for hairy, unkempt men, and looking at you I can’t tell which is your face and which is your crotch.
We don’t go for your Jurassic junk jiggling around here, buddy. Dr. Graves better keep a leash on you when you’re around me or I’ll be slapping that silly look right off your face, you neanderthalic moron.
Hunter raises to a standing position and raises one hand.
“Let me tell you what’s gonna happen this week when we get into that ring.
First of all, I’m going to give you some soap. Then, I’ll wait for you to clean up. Next, I’ll draw a picture of fire and hold it up in your face. When you start whimpering like a little caveman baby, I will stomp your stupid head until your eyes roll back and tear the Triassic tendons in your spindly little legs.”
Just then, a man with a headset on walks on-screen and goes to whisper something in Scott’s ear. He listens intently, then takes a deep breath.
“I’m now being told that you are almost seven feet tall and nearly four hundred pounds. This does change things just a little bit. Mostly I’m concerned that you’ll eat up all of the catering backstage since that’s how I generally get my dinner each night. I don’t need your greasy disgusting paws all over the cheese plate.
People work so hard on presenting a nice meal for the people who work here and I WILL NOT HAVE YOU RUINING CHOW TIME!
Honestly, I can’t believe you. You are so inconsiderate being so big. Why is there so much size working in this place? There’s my buddy King Kong Frank (allowed because he gives me free booze), Lord Colossus…. Double Decker…. Bobby Dean…. Bobby Dean’s stomach. There isn’t room for another, so go and get some of that weight and height chopped off right now OR FACE THE CONSEQUENCES!
BUT… if you don’t heed my warning and you show up to our match big, tall, and stupid like you are right now, know that the bigger they are the harder they fall. I’ve felled men bigger than you, and I’ve pushed a fat lady down a flight of stairs at least one to three times, so don’t think for one second that I won’t do the same to you.
I had my training for this match all planned out and now I feel foolish for practicing my figure-four leglock on a small tree branch instead of a giant tree trunk. This is yet another thing I have you to blame for, you bloviating, babbling Encino Man-looking dolt.
I’m gonna leave you now, so we’re not gonna see each other until the match, but just know this. I’ll be ready for you. My rise to near-significance continues this week with you. If you can manage to not do anything else stupid by then, maybe you can actually be useful for the first time in your life.
Or on the other hand, choke to death on the loin of that bear, if you can pry him away from your nipples long enough.
I’m gonna tie you up in knots. Hope you aren’t too attached to your knees.”