Welcome to Cloudydale
“Look out, he’s got a camera!” the voice called out in the darkness.
“I see it.”
The shadow of a woman is seen. She is running down an empty street. The night is dark and spooky. You can hear some sort of bell clanging. Not like a clock bell, a smaller kind of bell. The figure she is chasing hangs a right and goes into….a graveyard. I mean, a backyard. The figure made the right before the graveyard. Gotta get the eyes checked. Anyway, the figure being chased, it ran like it was a human, but it has a very odd-shaped body. Nothing new for the woman chasing the figure however. It’s her job.
Her job is to end jobs you could say….
Go ahead, say it if you like.
{Her job is to end jobs}
…
And there it stood in the middle of the yard. A wrestling ring. The kind you could buy for between $5,000 and $8,000, depending on where you go. It’s a plague. These kids today. Nothing to do but save money and buy wrestling rings. But that isn’t the crime. It never is. It’s not the ring itself that’s the problem. It’s the kids who step into the ring.
They all share one problem.
Really bad gimmicks.
And this town, it’s in the shadows of Stamford, Conn. The industrial waste from the WWF has infected the town and left a plague of horrible, talentless kids creating fake federations and really bad gimmicks.
That’s why The Federation was created.
That’s what her job is.
To get rid of the jobbers.
She is the chosen one.
She is the Slayer.
She is Sarah The Jobber Slayer.
“What were you expecting?” she asked the shadowy figure.
“I want to be in BOB! I’m talented. If I can only make them a tape, I’m sure I’ll get a job!”
“It’s people like you who make a laughingstock of our business,” said Sarah, the beautiful blonde. “Your days of sports entertaining are over. And believe me, this is the only time ‘you’ and ‘over’ will ever be used in the same sentence. You make Ed Leslie look talented.”
Cue that fight music.
Suddenly, the shadowy man dives at her and spears her. He starts to wail away on her. Is he wearing mittens? I don’t see any fingers with that fist. Suddenly, Sarah catapults the man over her head. She does that cool snake like move to get to her feet, perhaps called a ‘nip up,’ I’m not sure. But she’s on her feet and at a fighting stance. She charges the man and kicks. Kicks. Kicks. Kicks. Swinging punch. Kick. Punch.
But he retailates with punch to her face. Punch. Punch. Punch. Did he just punch her breast? Hard to miss I guess.
And why won’t that bell-like noise go away.
Block. Shot to his rib area.
Elbow to her face.
She responds with kicks, kicks, kicks, kicks, kicks, kicks, kicks to the area beneath the neck and over the pelvis. The man is overwhelmed. She’s spinning, kicking, punching, delivering elbow shots, back punches, knees, low blows. She is a wrecking machine. And then….
The music stops.
Dramatic silence.
He fell….
More dramatic silence.
Down.
She grabs his leg.
“Only one way to wreck a jobber’s career.”
He looks up at her and cries out. “Nooooooooooooo.”
The music rises!
She twists the leg.
Silence. Except for the….
Crack.
“Moooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.”
Somehow, a car drives onto the lawn. The headlights rest on the man Sarah has just crippled for life.
It is a man. He is a wearing a white body suit. With black splotches. His hands are covered by little black hooves. A bunch of phallic-looking, oh….an udder is hanging from his midsection. And there is a cow bell around his neck.
“So this is how the story of Cowman ends? Who are you?”
“I’m the Slayer.”
A man wearing a blue suit has stepped out of the car. He has short black hair and is wearing glasses.
“Oh my God!” Styles belts out. That’s Mikey Styles, by the way.
From the other side of the car, often known as the passenger side, out steps a red-headed woman. She goes by the name of Kay. Kay Fabe. Behind her is a man with a moustache. He goes by the name of Xamfir. They stare down at the remains of the jobber. They don’t say a word.
Welcome to Cloudydale.