Post by Gurgen Hovhanissian on Nov 28, 2016 4:04:35 GMT -5
We’re treated to a more old school Beastly promo. Which is all the more surprising since Beast didn’t even attend school. Frank, camera ever present, is following Bob through the NAW corridors. The Beasts lunacy has abated some, yes, we are grading on a scale here, so he has abandoned his lair in the NAW basement, in part because they kept fumigating the damn place, and is currently squatting in what was supposed to become the NAW library until people realized that a) wrestlers were usually functionally illiterate and b) who reads books anyway these days!
As the intrepid, and masochistic, pair approaches the lair of the Beast, they encounter a guy with a hawk on his arm. He’s just standing there, evidently waiting for something or other. A woman dragging a lazy bulldog along walks up to him and goes to stand behind the falconer.
Bob turns to the camera to make his introductory announcement,”Hello NAW, Robert May here. We endeavored to go and ask Beast his thought on this last match before facing Whatshisname … the champ …”
“Jason!” Frank calls out from behind the camera.
“Yes, Jason! … before facing Jason at Holiday Fear. And what do we observe? A guy with a hawk and a woman with a bulldog.”
Bob glances back at the pair he just mentioned, they’re still waiting … for something.
“Well, this IS after all The Armenian Beast we’re talking about … what did you expect?”
Again Frank mixes himself in the conversation, “Anything and everything!”
“True!” Bob says, “Let’s go and see what this is all about, shall we?”
“Any chance we’ll get eaten by she-bears before this promo is over?” Frank queries.
“That … is a distinct possibility,” Bob remarks.
“Oh, joy!” Frank exclaims.
They turn the corner and are confronted by an entire queue of people, each the custodian of an animal of some sort, except for that one lady, she brought a ficus, she’s just plain weird. The suicidal reporters make their way along the crazy parade. There’s a bat, a tarantula, one of those freaky ass giant African cockroaches, a goat, an entire frigging yak, … in short all the creatures, great and small.
When they finally reach the Beast’s lair, Gurgen is extracting a parrot from his beard. The feathery fellow is delighted to be out of there. Beast says to the lady in pirate garb, “It no gonna work. Birdy no handle beard well … and it keep climbing on Beast’s shoulder.”
Pirate girl comments, “Well, duh, what did you expect?”
The next guy wants to hand Gurgen an octopus but The Massive Moron has spotted the closest things to friends he has on this side of the Atlantic.
“Bobnfrank!” he hollers, throwing his arms wide, “What bring boys here? Beasty miss boys!”
Feigning a reasonably convincing smile, Bob approaches The Beast. “Gurgen!” he hollers back, “What the fuck are you doing?!”
Beast winks at the pair, “What it look like?”
Frank offers a hypothetical, “You’re preparing for a global flood and your beard is the ark?”
“No!” Beast beams, delighted that he has managed to fool these people who, according to conventional wisdom are smarter than him … by a factor 100 at least, “Boys know how Beast make Viking funeral for Bottlecap? Beast now be looking for new friend.”
Frank spins the camera around and zooms in on a dromedary in the hallway, commenting, “Yeah, that’s going to work.”
Bob waits for Frank to reacquire the Irradiated Imbecile before asking, “Gurgen, buddy, you do realize you have a match next week, right? How is a zoo in your beard going to help with that?”
The Beastly index finger beckons Bob to come closer. Reluctantly, Bob leans in.
Suddenly an Aye-aye leaps out of the Beard. It screeches its horrid little head off and kicks Bob in the face.
Smiling ear to ear, Gurgen informs, “This be front runner … It know karate!”
Bob rubs his cheekbone. Quietly, he thanks his lucky stars that he had the wherewithal to remember not to drink much of anything before coming here, and thus maintaining dry pants.
“Beast, seriously, Justice and Havoc aren’t toddlers. They’re not going to be scared of this … what is this anyway?”
“Aye-aye!” Beast shouts.
“What,” Bob queries as he scratches his head, “are you agreeing to? I want to know what sort of animal this is.”
Beast pinches Bob’s already painful cheek. “Bob be funny when Bob be dumb. It be Aye-aye.”
“Whatever!” Bob swaths away the Beastly paw, “This is not going to help you beat RJ Justice … or Havoc … or BOTH at the same time. They’re going to do that, you know. You’re the number one contender right now. They’re going to team up on you.”
The merriment and general enjoyment of life drains from the hairy mess Beast calls a face, faster than he’s wont to drain the last quarter of a bottle of wodka at the end of a hot day training in the NAW facilities when the air-conditioning crapped out again; NAW really should look into that some time.
He claps his hands twice and orders, in a surprisingly even voice, “Everyone out.”
“But Mr. Beast, sir,” objects a guy carrying a cute white fluffy bunny who has, in all likeliness, been queuing for over an hour.
Beast snaps his head over to the man. Bunny man crumbles under the red hot gaze of the Beast from the East (if you happen to live in the west).
In a not so even voice, this time, the Hairy Horror shouts, “OUT!”
On all fours, bunny man scrambles out of the would-be library. Others hurriedly take their leave too with a decreasing haste and an increasing vocal objections, directly proportionate to their distance from The Beast and thereby certain harm.
When everyone has left the library lair, Frank swings his camera back to the man who is said to be dumber than most plant life. Will he produce a monologue with more substance than your average shrubbery’s?
The Armenian Beast is staring at nothing in particular, possibly collecting his thoughts, tough that’s a bit of a stretch, give that he has none to gather.
Eventually, he slowly lifts his gaze to mean the camera. Yes, Gurgen has managed to figure out how cameras work.
“Let them,” Beast says.
His hearing still set to ‘shield from raging Beast’ mode, Bob needs to ask, “Excuse me?”
“Beast say, ‘let them’!” he hurls at Bob, who now regrets lowering his shields. He physically staggers back as if Beast had gained the powers of Banshee (the Marvel one since the one from DC is a girl, though, give Gurgen’s fondness of women’s dress, it might as well be Silver Banshee from DC)
“It always go same,” Beast says as he trudges over to an elaborately ornate wooden chair. What it is doing in the abandoned NAW library is anybody’s guess. The chair is mounted on an improvised platform made from pallets and whatever The Beast was able to scavenge from his surroundings. He crashes into the chair. The whole construction groans but holds fast.
Gurgen leans forward to continue his monologue, “People look at Beast and they think Beast be funny. They think Beast be in ring to make them laugh. But at end of match, it be Beast who make smiley face. So, then peoples go, ‘this no be fair!’. And peoples stamp foot.”
To demonstrate, Beast stamps his own foot. Again the podium groans but otherwise does not react.
“Then, peoples decide if Beast no be fair, then they no be fair back. And they team up. Sometimes in bar, sometimes in dark alley and yes, sometimes in ring.”
Beast leans back and sighs, “it be great … erm …”
“Great …?” Bob entices.
Beast scratches his head, a pinecone tumbles from his mane. “It be like goldy or bronzy … but made of iron.”
“Irony?” Bob suggests.
“Yes! Irony! That be it, it be great irony that peoples cheat in fighting Beast but Beast no make cheats.”
“So, now RJ Justice and Havoc get to try to beat Beasty. They team up, they no team up, it all be same to Beasty. Beast flail about until no one still move, or until Beast no move … it happen. Beast be only human, … barely human.”
Looking straight at the camera, Beast addresses his opponents, “Havoc … Havoc like be dark and scary. Oooooh, Havoc be so dark. Beast tell Havoc something. Have Havoc look at Beast? Havoc think peoples like being around Hairy Horror? No! Where Havoc think Beasty live, back in Armenia … and again here in America? Beast live in dark, always in dark. Havoc play at being dark. Beast IS dark. Beast breathe dark. Beast eat and drink dark!”
He reaches inside his massive fur coat and pulls out, you’ve guesses it, a family sized bottles of wodka, cause, you know, in Soviet Russia, the whole family drinks wodka … toddlers included.
“Well, Beast eat dark, but Beast drink wodka.” He winks at the camera. A good sized helping of the burning liquid disappears into his gullet.
He wipes his mouth on his sleeve and turns his attention to his other future victim, “And RJ Justice …”
He pauses for a moment, trying to form some thoughts, an arduous task for sure.
“Who in name of hell BE RJ Justice anyway?! Where NAW find Justice? They get him free with two packets of tampons? Beast tell you who Justice be, Justice soon be stain on bottom of Soviet boot.”
Beast leans back, drapes one leg over the armrest of the chair and dismissed the suicide reporter squad, “Bobnfrank may leave now.”
The pair, grateful to escape unmolested, make good their escape.
As Frank backs away, we see Gurgen don a paper crown the average five year old would be disappointed with and down another goodly share of the burning liquid, probably priced at $1.99 per gallon at the local discount liquor store.
We’re left to wonder how he hasn’t drunk his liver in to submission yet … all those sieverts at the Pripyat power plant must have given the organ super powers.
As the intrepid, and masochistic, pair approaches the lair of the Beast, they encounter a guy with a hawk on his arm. He’s just standing there, evidently waiting for something or other. A woman dragging a lazy bulldog along walks up to him and goes to stand behind the falconer.
Bob turns to the camera to make his introductory announcement,”Hello NAW, Robert May here. We endeavored to go and ask Beast his thought on this last match before facing Whatshisname … the champ …”
“Jason!” Frank calls out from behind the camera.
“Yes, Jason! … before facing Jason at Holiday Fear. And what do we observe? A guy with a hawk and a woman with a bulldog.”
Bob glances back at the pair he just mentioned, they’re still waiting … for something.
“Well, this IS after all The Armenian Beast we’re talking about … what did you expect?”
Again Frank mixes himself in the conversation, “Anything and everything!”
“True!” Bob says, “Let’s go and see what this is all about, shall we?”
“Any chance we’ll get eaten by she-bears before this promo is over?” Frank queries.
“That … is a distinct possibility,” Bob remarks.
“Oh, joy!” Frank exclaims.
They turn the corner and are confronted by an entire queue of people, each the custodian of an animal of some sort, except for that one lady, she brought a ficus, she’s just plain weird. The suicidal reporters make their way along the crazy parade. There’s a bat, a tarantula, one of those freaky ass giant African cockroaches, a goat, an entire frigging yak, … in short all the creatures, great and small.
When they finally reach the Beast’s lair, Gurgen is extracting a parrot from his beard. The feathery fellow is delighted to be out of there. Beast says to the lady in pirate garb, “It no gonna work. Birdy no handle beard well … and it keep climbing on Beast’s shoulder.”
Pirate girl comments, “Well, duh, what did you expect?”
The next guy wants to hand Gurgen an octopus but The Massive Moron has spotted the closest things to friends he has on this side of the Atlantic.
“Bobnfrank!” he hollers, throwing his arms wide, “What bring boys here? Beasty miss boys!”
Feigning a reasonably convincing smile, Bob approaches The Beast. “Gurgen!” he hollers back, “What the fuck are you doing?!”
Beast winks at the pair, “What it look like?”
Frank offers a hypothetical, “You’re preparing for a global flood and your beard is the ark?”
“No!” Beast beams, delighted that he has managed to fool these people who, according to conventional wisdom are smarter than him … by a factor 100 at least, “Boys know how Beast make Viking funeral for Bottlecap? Beast now be looking for new friend.”
Frank spins the camera around and zooms in on a dromedary in the hallway, commenting, “Yeah, that’s going to work.”
Bob waits for Frank to reacquire the Irradiated Imbecile before asking, “Gurgen, buddy, you do realize you have a match next week, right? How is a zoo in your beard going to help with that?”
The Beastly index finger beckons Bob to come closer. Reluctantly, Bob leans in.
Suddenly an Aye-aye leaps out of the Beard. It screeches its horrid little head off and kicks Bob in the face.
Smiling ear to ear, Gurgen informs, “This be front runner … It know karate!”
Bob rubs his cheekbone. Quietly, he thanks his lucky stars that he had the wherewithal to remember not to drink much of anything before coming here, and thus maintaining dry pants.
“Beast, seriously, Justice and Havoc aren’t toddlers. They’re not going to be scared of this … what is this anyway?”
“Aye-aye!” Beast shouts.
“What,” Bob queries as he scratches his head, “are you agreeing to? I want to know what sort of animal this is.”
Beast pinches Bob’s already painful cheek. “Bob be funny when Bob be dumb. It be Aye-aye.”
“Whatever!” Bob swaths away the Beastly paw, “This is not going to help you beat RJ Justice … or Havoc … or BOTH at the same time. They’re going to do that, you know. You’re the number one contender right now. They’re going to team up on you.”
The merriment and general enjoyment of life drains from the hairy mess Beast calls a face, faster than he’s wont to drain the last quarter of a bottle of wodka at the end of a hot day training in the NAW facilities when the air-conditioning crapped out again; NAW really should look into that some time.
He claps his hands twice and orders, in a surprisingly even voice, “Everyone out.”
“But Mr. Beast, sir,” objects a guy carrying a cute white fluffy bunny who has, in all likeliness, been queuing for over an hour.
Beast snaps his head over to the man. Bunny man crumbles under the red hot gaze of the Beast from the East (if you happen to live in the west).
In a not so even voice, this time, the Hairy Horror shouts, “OUT!”
On all fours, bunny man scrambles out of the would-be library. Others hurriedly take their leave too with a decreasing haste and an increasing vocal objections, directly proportionate to their distance from The Beast and thereby certain harm.
When everyone has left the library lair, Frank swings his camera back to the man who is said to be dumber than most plant life. Will he produce a monologue with more substance than your average shrubbery’s?
The Armenian Beast is staring at nothing in particular, possibly collecting his thoughts, tough that’s a bit of a stretch, give that he has none to gather.
Eventually, he slowly lifts his gaze to mean the camera. Yes, Gurgen has managed to figure out how cameras work.
“Let them,” Beast says.
His hearing still set to ‘shield from raging Beast’ mode, Bob needs to ask, “Excuse me?”
“Beast say, ‘let them’!” he hurls at Bob, who now regrets lowering his shields. He physically staggers back as if Beast had gained the powers of Banshee (the Marvel one since the one from DC is a girl, though, give Gurgen’s fondness of women’s dress, it might as well be Silver Banshee from DC)
“It always go same,” Beast says as he trudges over to an elaborately ornate wooden chair. What it is doing in the abandoned NAW library is anybody’s guess. The chair is mounted on an improvised platform made from pallets and whatever The Beast was able to scavenge from his surroundings. He crashes into the chair. The whole construction groans but holds fast.
Gurgen leans forward to continue his monologue, “People look at Beast and they think Beast be funny. They think Beast be in ring to make them laugh. But at end of match, it be Beast who make smiley face. So, then peoples go, ‘this no be fair!’. And peoples stamp foot.”
To demonstrate, Beast stamps his own foot. Again the podium groans but otherwise does not react.
“Then, peoples decide if Beast no be fair, then they no be fair back. And they team up. Sometimes in bar, sometimes in dark alley and yes, sometimes in ring.”
Beast leans back and sighs, “it be great … erm …”
“Great …?” Bob entices.
Beast scratches his head, a pinecone tumbles from his mane. “It be like goldy or bronzy … but made of iron.”
“Irony?” Bob suggests.
“Yes! Irony! That be it, it be great irony that peoples cheat in fighting Beast but Beast no make cheats.”
“So, now RJ Justice and Havoc get to try to beat Beasty. They team up, they no team up, it all be same to Beasty. Beast flail about until no one still move, or until Beast no move … it happen. Beast be only human, … barely human.”
Looking straight at the camera, Beast addresses his opponents, “Havoc … Havoc like be dark and scary. Oooooh, Havoc be so dark. Beast tell Havoc something. Have Havoc look at Beast? Havoc think peoples like being around Hairy Horror? No! Where Havoc think Beasty live, back in Armenia … and again here in America? Beast live in dark, always in dark. Havoc play at being dark. Beast IS dark. Beast breathe dark. Beast eat and drink dark!”
He reaches inside his massive fur coat and pulls out, you’ve guesses it, a family sized bottles of wodka, cause, you know, in Soviet Russia, the whole family drinks wodka … toddlers included.
“Well, Beast eat dark, but Beast drink wodka.” He winks at the camera. A good sized helping of the burning liquid disappears into his gullet.
He wipes his mouth on his sleeve and turns his attention to his other future victim, “And RJ Justice …”
He pauses for a moment, trying to form some thoughts, an arduous task for sure.
“Who in name of hell BE RJ Justice anyway?! Where NAW find Justice? They get him free with two packets of tampons? Beast tell you who Justice be, Justice soon be stain on bottom of Soviet boot.”
Beast leans back, drapes one leg over the armrest of the chair and dismissed the suicide reporter squad, “Bobnfrank may leave now.”
The pair, grateful to escape unmolested, make good their escape.
As Frank backs away, we see Gurgen don a paper crown the average five year old would be disappointed with and down another goodly share of the burning liquid, probably priced at $1.99 per gallon at the local discount liquor store.
We’re left to wonder how he hasn’t drunk his liver in to submission yet … all those sieverts at the Pripyat power plant must have given the organ super powers.