“Georgia Peach” Doris Hilton stands in front of a huge glossy vinyl banner emblazoned with her fathers classic extravagant “Hilton Promotions” logo. Trying to blaze her own trail managing talent instead of booking events Doris has pinned her hopes of singular professional recognition on two giant bulls from the lone star state. Entering from either side of the screen only accentuates how different these two Texas boys are… and I’m not even talking about the color of their skin. Salt of the earth country boy Gordy Lovett strides in on his turquoise roach killers with his trusty bull rope in hand. Former collegiate super athlete Felton Bigsby is dressed in a pair of crisp burnt orange trousers and a surely custom tailored white dress shirt. His elegant gold sunglasses probably cost more than every truck Gordy has ever owned combined.
That’s precisely two trucks, by the by.
Smooth as unsalted butter Doris addresses the camera “These two fine gentlemen have had several come to Jesus meetings with myself over the last several weeks and I do believe if not on the same page these two find themselves begrudgingly within the same chapter, as it were. That being said, they each have a little something to say about the rather appropriate situation we find ourselves in this holiday season… “
The Cow Punchin Cowpuncher wipes a dribble of tobacco juice on the back of his hand then directly across the front of his “Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer” custom cut crop top. “BOAH lemme tell y’all hwhat this here Christmas has given ol’ Gordy a BLANK CHECK to work out his emotional baggage and dole out a little random rope swangin’ violence upon literally any of the crackpot, bleach blond, stage magician, super villain, cartoon and SEX PERVERT this here promotion has to offer? BAH GAWD, I GOT A DANG OL’ LOT OF BAGGAGE, BROTHER! My homelife growin up was a damn WRECK, y’all… A WRECK!”
A pause in the shouting and tobacco juice spray allows Felton to step forward. He plucks his sunglasses off and hangs them from the neck of his shirt. “You hear that mess right there? That’s on it’s way for yall, man. This six foot plus stack of angry, frustrated… got damn droolin-ass cowboy is trained on this entire roster. That’s what’s been perpetrated on yall. That aint all though.”
Bigsby pauses to allow everyone to get a good look. “Record settling athletic potential just waiting to be unleashed, baby… the NFL’s loss is Classic Wrestling’s gain, son. Trial and error, beta testing, workin’ out the kinks. However you want to put it, that’s what we been doin’. And like Mrs. Hilton mentioned, this mysterious holiday extravaganza nonsense offers opportunity. Or like the cowboy out it… a blank check.” Felton’s smile is part grin, part snarl.
“WE’RE BUYIN’ OUR OWN DAMN GIFTS THIS YEAR, BOAH!” Gordy shouts.
Felton is quick to turn to face his stablemate. “Yeeeeah man. I could be wrestling, you could be wrestling. Maybe Hilton Promotions goes out there and shows why we got the tag team skills to pay them bills. Or… or maybe we fight each other? I don’t know man, just putin’ that out into the ether… you know.” He chuckles as he folds his arms and does his best to ignore the icecold look his manageress is giving him.
Not one to walk past an opportunity to bow up to absolutely anyone or anything, Gordy takes one aggressive step forward into Felton’s personal space. “BOAH lemme tell ya’ I aint never had one of them rich boah christmases, ya know man? Ain’t never had the means growin’ up to be greedy. This year? I WANT IT ALL! I’LL TAKE OPTIONS A, B, C AND GOT DANG OL’ D… you know why BOAH?! Just stand there and be pretty now, I’ll tell ‘em!” Before he can hollar another word Doris takes a step between the two men, silently making her presence known once again.
“Because Hilton Promotions is officially open for business and ready for anything. And darlin’… we’re takin’ everything. Put my boys to the test. Every broken bone will be like gifts in their Texas sized stockings!”
“Houston Strong, baby, stronger every day.” Felton pops his sunglasses back on his face and mean-mugs the way people his size and station get away with. “SEE Y’ALL AT THE CHRISTMAS PARTY!” Gordy lets out a wild, feral whoop and a hollar before lunging at the camera bullrope first.
Fzzzzzzt.