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| Erica Vargas: Code of the Road; For the 4-way | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Oct 3 2015, 09:06 PM (27 Views) | |
| Post #1 Oct 3 2015, 09:06 PM | Jon A |
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[Outside, October in Pittsburgh, in front of old Stables Building, home of The Pitt. An older-model black muscle car pulls up. The passenger window rolls down, revealing a fair-skinned, thicker woman with grerasy black hair (shaved on the left side), oversized sunglasses, and expensive-looking turtle neck and jeans.] VARGAS: Hi, I'm Erica Vargas and I get paid to act like I'm eleven! [Vargas rolls up the window again, steps out of the car, takes a deep breath, and launches into the mother of all run-on sentences.] VARGAS: I just finished a three-year tour of Canada's and Japan's and the U.K.'s and Germany's and New England's independent wrestling scene that I still visit in between getting my head caved in at The Pitt and I can’t wait to get back out there in those un-air-conditioned gyms and community centers full of drunk endomorphic wrestling fans filling the air with body odor and crude remarks about my ass while constantly arguing about some kickpad-wearing indy schmuck's nu-metal entrance theme that’s distorting the crappy little speakers that cut out on every emo lead singer's wailing after zero sleep because I had to leave real early to be interviewed on Pittsburgh radio by some dickhead that got stuck covering for Dominic who is the only guy at the station who’s ever heard of me and had to split because his dog was having puppies or something and he’s got the only copy of my promo reel that anyone’s ever seen so I climb back in my car and SHE snaps the base of the passenger seat in half which inspires a cry of “I told you that would happen, Duke, you moron!” and the gonzo idiot throws some Wild Turkey at my face and misses completely and splatters ‘cross the driver’s side window I washed just this morning as I head down to the border to enjoy my four-hour momentum break while the bastards rifle through every square inch a few more times than they need to make me miss the bell time for the shitbox in southern Ontario where I'm in main event tonight as the only “non-local wrestler...” Ahh… But enough about me… [Anyway.] VARGAS: Let's talk opponents, shall we? I've got a six-foot-tall powerhouse who can strike hard enough to ionize the air when she shadow-boxes; that's Lange... -guh. [She taps her right index finger on her left index finger, starting to count off. One.] VARGAS: I've got a leather pancake masquerading as a Kardashian from an extended wrestling family that knows every dirty trick in the book: Holly. [She taps her index finger on the opposing middle finger. Two.] VARGAS: And I have a jock-type in her early twenties who reminds me horribly of a-- let's call her a friend-- I knew many years ago before she had all the joy slowly beaten out of her: Jessie. [She taps her ring finger. Three.] VARGAS: Valks, Holly, Jessie... and me. [She taps her little finger. Four.] VARGAS: What do I got? [She shrugs, lowers her designer shades over he eyes and holds her pinkie close to the camera.] VARGAS: I have a .500 record in The Pitt. And I have been given a golden ticket that could make me. See, I've wrestled around the world for a dozen years, and I've never had the opportunity to hold a the major title in any promotion. Always the damn bridesmaid. And at this point, I think I've earned the right to step up and say that I at least deserve the opportunity to challenge for it. At B. and S.C., this panther is struttin' in, putting in a little overtime, and walking out with the bonus she's earned. I'm a made gal in the sport of wrestling. I've been around. Don't tell me that you're going to win... [She pushes her oversized sunglasses up the bridge of her nose.] VARGAS: Ask me how you're going keep me from not losing. [Erica Vargas flashes a grin and struts into The Pitt's front entrance.] Edited by Jon A, Oct 3 2015, 09:07 PM.
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1:25 AM Jul 11