With Carlos Ruiz at his side, Vito Valentino removes his aviators from his face and folds them carefully into the neck of his black and gold tank top. They share some inaudible words, and before long Carlos’ previous overlay changes to “Life in the Fast Lane” by the Eagles. Metro looks into the lens of the camera and speaks.
What HE said!
Vito points to Carlos as The Spanish Luchador slaps Metro’s chest encouragingly. You can just feel the hype train choo-chooing its way up that hill called destiny.
You know, I’m glad I got beat.
Hear me out, folks.
Ever since I compromised my own honor by catchin’ Franky by his overalls? I’ve been inside my own head. And like my tag team partner here would say, that’s no bueno.
Sucking his teeth, Vito sighs. It’s obvious that he hates admitting this to himself, nevermind to the rest of the world.
It’s the truth. I’ve been second guessin’ myself at every corner. Doubtin’ myself as someone who deserves to be the first REAL World’s Champion. If ANYBODY expects to get past a dangerous foe like Alex Bruder with a burden like that weighin’ down on ‘em? Then it’s your funeral and I’ll just be over there in the corner enjoyin’ some lil’ smokies in your honor at the after-party of your untimely demise.
Lucky for me, this… internal strife? Or whatever? It’s over. NOW… I’m just another human tryin’ to make his way in this world. NOW… I can focus on bein’ one of, if not the, best wrestlers in all of Classic Wrestlin’.
‘Cause here we are, on the final stop before SLAM-A-THON, all jockeyin’ for positions.
Vito interlocks his fingers and pushes them outwards at the camera until they crackle and pop. He tilts his head from side to side, making the same noises as he did with his knuckles.
On one side of the ring we got Anorexic Elvis, Randall Schwartz. That sleazy stack of dimes for a neck who fancies himself an entertainer. Yet SOME. HOW. BELIEVES. that wearin’ a plaid shirt, blue pants, and red-trimmed boots for a roster photoshoot was actually a GOOD idea. Ah, marooooone.
His partner? That big’un dude with the weird symbols that appear on the screen after he speaks. What kinda faux-illuminati crap is that supposed to be, anyway?! Regardless, dude’s a force to be reckoned with and he outweighs everyone in that ring by about four and a half Randalls. Or Schwartzes. Dependin’ on your preferred metric, of course. Oh and this clown’s even got the token, if a bit redundant, mic piece at his side to help navigate him across the street to the nearest all-you-can-eat buffets.
Fact is, I’m feelin’ some pent up aggression right now. I’m far better than what my one-and-one record indicates. I have the heart of a champion, baby! In fact, you two simps… I’ve been CHOMPIN’ at the BIT to prove why that is. And in just a few days? That’s exactly what I, and the UHHHHHHHmazin’ Carlos Ruiz, are gonna do to you two stugotz.
Vito points towards the camera. Specifically, at Randy Cakes and Shoo-Shoo watching them.
I don’t care if I have to fold Randall up like a chair and hit Mr. Yamaha across his eighth chin, over and over, until he bleeds a cup of Top Ramen© broth all over those hot pink ring skirts. Or maybe I’ll just show everyone how beast-mode I can actually get and pick up the embarrassingly dull, two-ton tryhard over there and slam him on top of his mosquito of a partner.
FULL STOP: is it me or is there somethin’ about that guy’s face that makes you wanna crush his entire existence into garlic powder?!
Vito winks at the subtle reference to his Italian heritage before continuing.
Point is, unless Carlos manages to beat you both before I even get the chance to? The moment I get that tag? Shhhhhhhew. You’re just DONE. Both of you. No funny “isms” or “what’s it’s” or fancy-shmancy metaphors to distract anyone. Just a straight up butt kickin’ from Metro and The Spanish Luchador. From a painful gaze into those Spanish Eyes, into succumbin’ to the agony of a Metro Avenue Deathlock, you stunods are gonna get dropped harder than my g’s.
Vito smiles and looks at Carlos. Putting his aviators back on, Metro looks into the camera and chuckles.
Welcome to the METROpolis, Señors.
Fade to black (and gold… and pink.).