Post by Harmony on Dec 1, 2022 17:55:51 GMT -5
We regret to inform you that this piece of promotional wizardry will not feature the kind of hard hitting drama you are used to from a Harmon Egan promo. No, this promo will serve a higher cause.
The complete and utter annihilation of Solomon Cain’s credibility.
Or what’s left of it.
ENJOY!
On a mountain of skulls, in the castle of pain, I sat on a throne of blood! What was will be! What is will be no more! Now is the season of evil!
-Vigo the Carpathian, Ghostbusters 2
***
Silently I stalked the concrete jungle of the arena, its monstrous banality was my home, the roost from which I shall enact all my dark designs on the entire roster of OCW. I…ahem…almost forgot something.
As the shot opens, we see Harmon Egan wearing a hastily made Solomon Cain mask. He seems to be hunkered down in a boiler room. His mouth is revealed, but as he speaks his words are grossly out of synch with his lips. Which makes it even funnier.
Alexa! Play “Bodies” by Drowning Pool. I gotta get psyched up for all this murdering I’m about to do!
The voice overlay is an over the top gravely growl. It kinda sounds like Corey Smith imping Christian Bale’s Batman. At any rate, the shot pans back a little and we see an Amazon Echo unit at Solomon’s feet.
Playing, “Barbie Girl” by Aqua.
Hiya, Barbie
Hi, Ken
You want to go for a ride?
Sure, Ken
Jump in!
The Echo pauses for a moment.
Playing, “Barbie Girl” by Aqua.
I'm a Barbie girl, in the Barbie world
Life in plastic, it's fantastic
You can brush my hair, undress me everywhere
Imagination, life is your creation
NOOOOO! God fucking damn it, how am I supposed to murder OCW to this?! NOW PLAY “BODIES”!
The Echo pauses again.
Playing, “Barbie Girl” by Aqua.
Come on, Barbie, let's go party!
FUCK IT! Solomon boots the Echo across the room.
Despite the fact that I wasn’t off to a great start, the entire OCW was soon going to FEEL MY PAIN! I cautiously used the shadows to slink out of the boiler room and into the hall, where I spotted my first VICTIM. But there would be many, many more! So many in fact, it may be more efficient to turn my string of merciless killings into a montage. Yeah, let’s do that.
The image fades to black, and then reappears in full montage mode. Set, of course, to Barbie Girl by Aqua.
We see Solomon stalking Hades with a keen looking blade in hand. But just as he goes to stab him, Hades moves out of the way and Solomon drives the knife into his own thigh.
*Come on Barbie, let’s go party!*
Next we come upon Solomon hiding behind a door with a bucket of acid. Lobster Mobster can be seen walking through the threshold. Oh no, he’s about to be doused! Well, he would have been, if Solomon hadn’t gotten too overeager, tripped and fell into his own bucket of acid. Solomon howls in pain and rolls around burning.
*Come on Barbie, let’s go party!*
We see Vortex standing in the hall and Solomon takes a swing at him with a crowbar. Vortex, not even realizing he’s there, bends over to pick up a quarter and the crowbar lands right in a circuit breaker, electrocuting Solomon!
*Come on Barbie, let’s go party!*
*Come on Barbie, let’s go party!*
OUTCAST! (Played by Corey Smith in an Outcast mask).
YOU! Solomon howls in fury. I am here to destroy everything you’ve accomplished and leave you a battered, broken….
Yeah, yeah, yeah. So what else is new.
You abandoned me, and now your bastard child of hell is here to…
I didn’t abandon you! You hit me up for money every week to buy Pokemon cards and new tattoos to cover up all that white power shit you got in prison.
Shhhhh! Ix-nay the cism-ray, okay!
Outcast shakes his head and massages his brow in frustration. Why did I have to have such a weak pullout game?
PREPARE TO BE DESTROYED! Solomon thrusts forward, trying to ram his wheelchair into his father, and is not having much success.
You know what? I’m going to do something I should have done a long time ago. Outcast reaches behind him and pulls out a gas can. Then, he starts to douse his crippled son in what is presumably gasoline.
WAIT! DAD! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?
A very, very, very, very late term abortion. Outcast spins his son’s wheelchair around and then strikes a match. Then, in one smooth motion he drops the lit match in Solomon’s lap and kicks the chair away. You want to be an All Consuming Fire? SEE-YA!
AHHHHHHHHHHHH!
The shot cuts once more, pulling up and away from the image of the burning wheelchair. We see that it’s playing out on a cell phone being held by none other than Corey Smith. Harmon Egan is looking on, and they both have wide grins on their faces.
Oh man, this douche canoe is gonna have a conniption when he sees this.
Harmon pulls out a pen and writes to Corey. Thanks for your help with this.
Corey turns off the phone and slips it into his jacket pocket. We pull back some more to disclose that they’re both sitting in a diner. It’s what I do Harmon. I’m your manager.
Well, still. Thanks.
Corey leans forward, a half eaten chocolate sundae next to his elbow. And I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t believe in you. One day, you’re gonna be OCW’s GOAT.
Harmon puts his spoon down in his own sundae, looking away from Corey for a moment before relocking eyes with him. He writes another missive.
You believe in me, but do you TRUST me?
Corey sighs. We’re not still talking about the whole “pool” thing, are we? Look Harmon, even Pan doesn’t know why that happened.
But he said it means I’m evil.
Pan…exaggerates. Do you think I’d be working with you if I thought for a moment that you were just another Solomon Cain? Some blood lusting turd sack whose sole purpose in life is shitting in everybody else’s Wheaties?
I suppose not.
Well, you suppose right. Corey picks up his spoon and shovels some ice cream in his mouth. When he’s gulped it down, he continues. I get it man. You’re not squeaky clean. But I’m not either. Okay? And neither are most of the degenerates in this business.
But you know what I’ve done. What I’m still doing.
And I trust that what you’re doing is right. Corey speaks with an air of confident finality. In fact, I want to help you with it.
Harmon grimaces and starts to write, but Corey gently puts his hand over Harmon’s before he can continue. I know we talked about this. And I know you said you didn’t want me involved. But I’m used to dealing with scum like this. And if finishing this thing gives you some sort of feeling of security, or finality, I want to be there for you.
Corey removes his hand, allowing Harmon to write. I haven’t had many friends.
Me either. And the ones I did have tended to be weird.
I’m weird. Harmon grins.
I wouldn’t find you so interesting if you weren’t.
Alright, times up! A voice calls out from off camera, and before long Thunder Knuckles walks into the shot tapping his wristwatch. Corey rolls his eyes and looks annoyed.
Do you mind? We were having a heartfelt conversation.
I don’t care if you were traveling back in time to kill baby Hitler. As per our custody agreement, now is Bastards time with Harmon.
Do you think we could NOT call it a custody agreement?
Thunder Knuckles doesn’t seem to be paying attention to Harmon’s note. Instead, his attention is locked in on the ice cream. Oh ho! So Corey you think you can buy Harmon’s love with ice cream? Then, turning to Harmon. Well guess what little buddy? Ol’ TK is gonna get you TWO ice creams!
I think he’s probably full.
Suck shit, Corey. Come on Harmon, we got work to do. After ice cream.
Harmon picks up his notepad and mouths “thank you” to Corey as TK leads him away. Corey playfully shoots some finger guns at TK’s back as the Bastards exit the diner.
HARMON’S JOURNAL: ENTRY 13
Exhibit A: That ultraviolet masturbatory fantasy you called a promo leading into the last PPV.
And what exactly was the purpose of that overlong piece of future trial evidence? Turns out it was nothing but the protracted screeching of a dumpy manlet going “NO, YOU DAD!”
Seriously. All the death threats, the anger, the cartoonish supervillian melodrama…and for what? FOR WHAT?!
So you can get back at your father for not loving you?
Solomon: YOU ARE A LITERAL CHILD THROWING A TANTRUM.
A child, Solomon. In every sense of the word. Because it speaks to your maturity, or glaring lack thereof, that you thought staging the deaths of OCW talent like that would make you look like some kind of super-badass. What are you, twelve? Do you go to elementary schools to show off you sick bike mods? Do you brag to third graders about finding that “secret Fatality” in Mortal Kombat 11? Because it seems pretty clear to me that that’s the kind of childish mentality we’re dealing with here.
We do have one thing in common Solomon, though it pains me to admit it. We’re both the product of less than ideal parenting. Granted, I at least KNEW my mother. And in some ways, I wish I hadn’t. But that’s where the similarities stop. Because unlike you, I don’t feel compelled to drag others down into my pain. And do you know why? Because that’s something an emotionally stunted kid would do. “I got dealt a bad hand, so now I’m going to burn the whole world down.”
Grow the fuck up.
Grow up, Solomon. I hate to break it to you, but you are not coming across as dominant, or fearsome. You’re coming across like some bitchmade toddler throwing a fit in the candy aisle. Desperately wanting the world to acknowledge your pain, when the world is under absolutely no obligation to do so.
And do you know what the worst part is, after that pathetic wet dream you subjected us to? You didn’t even win the Rumble. The best mister “savage killer” could do was fall ass backwards into a tag title shot partnered with a guy the Bastards already turned inside out. Loser.
I want you to try to do me in Solomon. Bring any weapon you want. Bring every ounce of murderous intent you can muster. Because I want to have a solid self defense argument ready when I pull your asshole up and out your throat. You think you’re a hard man, Solomon? Pft. You don’t even know what hard is. I bet you’ve never even actually taken a life. Or seen one taken in front of you. Because if you had, you wouldn’t feel the need to engage in such juvenile spectacle. You would know that there is nothing “cool” or “badass” about killing. Killing is, at best, a necessary evil. And it leaves a man feeling hollow, like a piece of his humanity was lost in the process. Now you may pride yourself on losing your humanity. Whatever. It’s just another testament to how immature you are. But me? I’ve actually been down deep in the shit. Down in the cold, dark and lonely. I don’t need to playact. I’ve lived it!
People that need to talk about it, aren’t really ‘bout it. You know what I mean? And at Massacre, I expose you for the weak bellied, blubbering adolescent you are.