EGO Induced Threats

Menace 5
Dec. 8, 2003
Starring: Trey Vincent
Writer: John Leary

'My Own Summer (Shove It)' by Deftones hit, driving the sell-out crowd to boo and jeer for the man whose face, in-ring action and other highlights were flashed on the CorporateTron. The arena became bathed in green lighting as spotlights focused on the entrance.

Trey Vincent.

The Sports Entertainment Icon stepped out on this night with a shopping cart. He pushed the cart down the aisle, staring into the crowd with disgust. If his eyes were daggers, the booing fans would be dead. His face, usually brightened with a cocky smile, was twisted in anger.

Once down at ringside, he parked the cart and grabbed his second favorite weapon, a black baseball bat, out from the cart. He slid under the bottom rope. He grabbed from the back of his waistline his favorite weapon.

A microphone.

As his music died down and only the boos remained, Vincent seemed rather unmotivated to even do what he loved: Talk.

'Sean Studd,' Vincent groaned out, resulting in cheers for the mention of Vincent's former Team EGO tag team partner and now enemy.

'For some God forsaken reason, you have been given the main event tonight. And I think I know whose sausage you've been buttering to get that spot. You are looking at the man who had the two highest rated main events in WWC history. You are looking at the man who boosts the ratings every time I'm on television.

'I am TV. I am ratings. You, Studd, are ratings death. The ladies vomit when you come on screen.'

Boos.

'The men change the channel because they think you're a feckin fayg.'

More boos.

'You may think you've been successful in pissing off WWC's Franchise Player, but whenever I get a bit pissed off, I get drunk, and I start playing with weapons. And right here, this bat, is the weapon of choice for Trey Vincent. The weapon all my viewers love to see me use to knock out my enemies and make their bodies bruise and bones break.

'And tonight, Studd. This bat's for you.'

The fans booed yet even more as Vincent stood center ring. He spun around in a slow circle, and an 'asshole' chant started up for TV.

'I know that's Studd's favorite part of a guy, you don't have to tell me!' Vincent shot out at the crowd. They didn't like that response, obviously.

'So Studd, since you must be sleeping off a drunken binge that resulted in you making a New York style taco in some unlucky chick, I'm gonna teach you just a little lesson. And for you retards in the crowd, this is what writers call foreshadowing.'

Vincent gently placed the microphone on the mat and hopped out of the ring. He pulled black plastic garbage bags off what he had brought out.

Sean Studd.

Four of him, in fact.

Well, not Sean Studd. His standee, a merchandise item available at WWC events and most likely somewhere online. But go look another time. Vincent slid the four Studds into the ring and then returned inside. He stood each of the cardboard, life-size pictures of Studd in each corner of the ring. He retrieved the microphone, but not his bat.

'You know, Sean. As I look at this piece of cardboard. I can't but notice what a parallel there is between you and this flimsy piece of cardboard. I mean, let's face it, your talent is as thin as this piece of cardboard.'

The boos continued to rain down on Vincent.

'You can't sports entertain. You're boring on the mic. You've got nothing. All you do is just stand around and pretend to be pretty. But the ladies flock to Vincent. Because TV is in 3D and you're just a one-dimensional athlete.'

More boos for the assault on Studd's skills.

'Now, I know, this business isn't about having skills. I've seen Hogan, I know this game is about being popular or hated by you viewers in the arena. Studd is as bad as Hogan. He doesn't have a tenth of the offense as Trey Vincent. You marks should boo him. Seriously. Not me. I put on five-star matches every time I'm in this ring. Just like I will tonight when I take on Bobby Minio.

'But Studd, I want you to know something. I'll be thinking of you when I see Minio tonight. I won't be destroying that scrub. I'll be destroying you.'

Vincent picked up the bat.

'Just as a sniper begins by hitting cans and a target at a shooting range, I've been practicing. And this will be just a little demonstration, just so you can't say I didn't warn you, when you're singing the 'End Of My Career Blues.'

*WHACK.* Studd's standee crumpled in half.

*WHACK.* Studd's head went flying off his body.

*WHACK.* Studd's head was bent backwards so the back of his 'head' was touching his back.

*WHACK.* A shot to the top of Studd's head split it in half.

'Tonight, Studd. You're looking at your future,' Vincent said, extending his bat.

NEXT CHAPTER: Bobby Minio vs. Trey Vincent >>

©2003 John Leary