Dos Equis

Two Ways To Win

Fade in on a pixelated YouTube-ish webcam view of Dos Equis in a motel room.

XX: First, forgive the low quality of this promo. Apparently, I blew my entire budget for promos with that last one, so now I'm promoing on a budget. But then again, all you people are probably used to low budget *ahem* interviews from such NFW megastars as Impulse and Cameron Cruise.

Dos Equis looks off camera.

XX: What about Indianapolis, Invisiblo? Not now! Must be serious! This is a title match. Shut up! Don't blow this for me!

Dos Equis gets his focus back.

XX: Tom Cruise, I must thank you, sir. Your words are the equivalent of a laxative. Because you absolutely bore the crap out of me every time you open your mouth. If this keeps up, I'm going to need to start wearing a diaper, esse. Why so obsessed with me, Cruise? For a guy who isn't at all worried about the Drunken Luchador, you sure are obsessing over every little detail of my preparation. I'm sure you'll say it's because you're just God's gift to wrestling, and that's what God's gift to wrestling would do. And that's why you're going to walk out with the Television Title.

XX: You know what's more believable than you winning the championship, Cruise? That 75 million years ago, an alien dictator flew to Earth in an airplane, stacked a bunch of people around volcanoes and killed them using hydrogen bombs. Forget Kanye West. At Crash, I'll be R. Kelly, and you can be a 14-year-old girl. And yeah, you're more successful than me. I'm three matches into my NFW career vs. whatever the hell you've done that I really don't care about. As far as I'm concerned, when all six of us step in the ring? The records might as well be zeros all around. The past doesn't matter. This is chaos. My LIFE is chaos. Do you really think YOU can bring order out of chaos? And you think I'm stupid?

Dos Equis looks off screen again.

XX: Not now!

Dos Equis returns his gaze to the webcam. He takes a slug off a bottle of beer and continues.

XX: There are two ways I can win this match. One, is to beat the holy hell out of everyone else. I'd love to get a nice collection of my opponent's faces indented on steel chairs as a memento. Impulse. Atken. Brock. Cruise. Flyer. Leave five bodies in a bloody pile of splinters and sawdust, then climb up on this contraption:

Dos Equis holds up a drawing that isn't clear due to the terrible pixelation and lighting.

XX: And grab the Television Championship. That's the most obvious way I can win. But there is another way I can win, that would make me pass out in a warm, happy, drunken blur sometime just before dawn. And that's to make sure that YOU, Cruise, don't win. If at any point during the match, I have a choice to make. Where it's destroying YOU, or going for the TITLE, I may just destroy you first. If there's a point where I can prevent you from grabbing that title, I will use every ounce of energy and strength to stop you.

XX: Proving you a liar would be the second greatest victory I could gain from this career-shortening match. And, yes, I plan to fight everyone, but YOU especially. I want to see you hurt. I want to see you bloody. I want to see you broken. Even if that means destroying myself in the process. I want to see you choke on your own words. Choke on your own blood. Or even choke on a bottle of my beer. But most of all? I want to see you choke in the biggest title match of your career.

XX: So that's it, boys. I have nothing left that needs to be said that CAN be said outside of a ring. This match has all the hype. It's got a "big match" feel. It's going to brutal. It's going to be hardcore. And it's going to be a match to remember. The drunk era is envelope you!

NEXT CHAPTER: The Best of Life is But Intoxication >>