In a window-less hallway made of cement and cinder-blocks, Rose Johnston stands by. She is wearing her pink jacket and mini-skirt. She frantically primps her hair with a can of hairspray and fixes her lipstick by stretching her Botox face into an inhuman expression. As the cameras go live, her eyes go wide, and she tosses all her make-up items over her shoulder as if everything was perfectly normal. Rose struts down the hall with a microphone in hand, and the camera frame rushes to catch up while she is on the move.
Rose Johnston: Welcome to the Friday Night Clash Pre-Show. I'm Rose Johnston backstage at the Omni Coliseum. Most of the roster is in the locker rooms getting ready and warming up for their matches. I have been asked by management to locate Huckleberry, and see if he would like to share a few words for the fans at home.
Rose presses open a large blue metal door and finds her way into an expansive parking garage. Several expensive cars are parked near the backstage entrance.
SCREECH
Nearly flipping over from the two side wheels after a sharp high speed turn, a rickety mobile covered in mud and dragging a tail-pipe on the asphalt races down the ramp-way.
Huckleberry: Look out, coming through! She dun got no brakes!
Huck manages to not hit the fragile reporter as he spins the junky golf cart into a seven-twenty spin. The back wheels lift and then tilt and hit the ground hard, bumping the ramshackle cart airborne and tumbling into a rolling jackknife. The velocity of the speeding tornado punches down hard on the front bumper sending it flying twenty feet in the air.
CRUNCH
It lands heavily perched precariously on top of a 1993 V6 Chrysler Labaron.
Wikimedia Commons - The Free Media Library, Public Domain
Rose Johnston: I don't believe it, it looks like Huckleberry has arrived, and in the usual unpredictable manner. This time it looks like he managed to crash his vehicle onto the roof of the car of Vice President Robert Elitistos. The windows are all broken, and the body is a complete wreck. I'm going to check and see if Huckleberry is alright.
Huck slips off the side, and downs a quick beer and tosses it over his head into the crash site. He lights a camel cigarette and wheezes a nasty cough after spitting out an other-worldly black goo from his chapped lips.
Rose Johnston: Mr. Huckleberry, that was a devastating crash you were just in. Was your vehicle out of control?
Huckleberry: What-in-tar-nation? I mean--- yeah, one of 'em smart cars. Dang thing drives itself. Satan's sled has got a mind of it's own I say. Somebody could'a gotten real hurt.
Rose Johnston: Are you aware that your little golf cart just crashed in Vice President Robert Elitistos' convertible?
Huckleberry: I did? I mean-- uh. Serves him right. He shouldn't be parked in a handicapped zone. That's for disabled people, like me.
Rose Johnston: I wasn't aware you were disabled. What is your handicap?
Huckleberry: Oh... five, six, seven, eight beers or so. Listen kids, don't drink and drive. And smokin' ain't good for ya neither.
Nearly stumbling over himself, he drops his cigarette onto the pavement where a puddle of gas has been forming. The spark causes a flame, and suddenly rushes towards the wrecked vehicle.
BOOM!
Huckleberry: And remember... Nationwide is on yer side. Has Bobby got car insurance? Because I sure as hell don't got none. Hey, I wonder if his lawyer will help me out with getting a big fat settlement check from the company. I think he's loaded.
As they are conversing, Huckleberry is walking down through the halls. They take a flight of stairs up to the main floor where a concession stand is selling various carnival style foods.
Huckleberry: Ooooewwwie! That smell my-tee-fine.
Vendor: Anything for you Huckleberry. As a member of the roster, everything is on the house for you tonight.
Huckleberry: It is? Well, in that case.... I'll take three cold ones, a bag of popcorn, four corn dogs, two chili dawgs, a super nacho with them hellapeenoes, a candy apple, cotton candy, and one of them cracker jacks for the Missus.
Vendor: Coming right up, Sir.
Rose Johnston: That's a lot of food. You must be hungry.
He hands Rose the box of cracker jacks, and starts gobbling up popcorn messily by the handfuls. Since he doesn't have a full set of working teeth in his mouth, he sort of sucks on them, then swallows and chokes them down instead of chewing on them.
Huckleberry: Well yeah, I got a hankerin' fer some soul food tonight. These other dimwits on the roster are doing those crazy diet plans. Keto diet. Vegan diet. Caveman diet. Atkins diet. Ain't got no sense in their pencilneck heads. Pork an' beans! That's the true cowboy diet. Makes strong bones and a real mean attitude when the heartburn starts roaring through.
Rose Johnston: So this is part of your strategy for your match tonight against Davey-Boy O'Brien?
Huckleberry: Oh him? Well I haven't given it much thought to tell you the truth. The man wears a kilt. Is he really a man though? Might be one of them new age kind of persons. Can't be too sure nowadays with these gender-bender kiddos.
Rose Johnston: I'm fairly certain he identifies as a male.
Huckleberry: Well, I certainly hope so. The man outweighs me with all those muscles and that thick skull. His noggin's so big, I sent him a get well card because I thought he had a tumor. He didn't appreciate the Sourthern Hospitalitee from what I hear.
Something inside Huck's duffel bag jostles around and hisses. Fright surges up the reporter's spine as she presses up against the wall. Huckleberry starts slathering a corn-dog in mustard, and then sucks on it like a popsicle. Rose squeals.
Rose Johnston: Get it away from me. It's moving!
After grabbing the rest of his order, Huckleberry unzips his bag and shoves in the super nachos and a corn dog. Little white furry claws reach out to snatch it up hungrily. Huck starts speaking to the thing in his bag.
Huckleberry: Thur ya go Sargent Pepper. Woah-ho-ho, I'm happy to see you too. Now save some fer me. I got a big match tonight, and I want you to be there with me. If that rascally Scotty Dog comes near ya, you just give him a little nip on the paw, and he'll either have rabies or the runs for a week solid.
As he zips up the bag, Huckleberry leaves Rose as she stands paralyzed against the wall. The camera pans away back to the vendor who shrugs off any blame for the incident. The scene quickly cuts away to a Propecia commercial, showing a man complaining about his difficulty urinating due to his enlarged prostrate.
Thank you for reading my original writing. This is a fictional satire, and my roleplay submission for Ultimate Wrestling.
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