Georgie Dorgie Doo, Where Are You?
Character: Ken Kaze
“Where the hell did he go?”
The all too familiar voice of Jolt Wrestling’s Resident Moron, the self-proclaimed Kazernator Extremeth, and the Hardcore Retard – yes, by now you’ve guessed it – Ken Kaze could be heard as the RaveTron flashed to life. Progressing through the backstage corridors, specifically at an intersection that lead from the locker rooms to the restrooms and/or toward ringside, he was alone and seemed to be a bit tense.
“Where did he go, dammit?” he exclaimed once more, obviously frantic about finding someone.
Who was it that he was looking for? Wait. REWIND.
He was alone and seemed to be a bit tense.
Ah. Why, thank you, Watson. He was obviously searching for his true to life cohort, George the Trashcan.
As he rounded a corner, he realized he was not too far away from the parking lot area. Mainly because right before him was one of the many gigantic garage doors which imported all of the necessary materials to setup Tuesday Night Intense. Oh, and the sign with the little arrow pointing to the right reading “Parking Lot” helped a bit, too.
However, neither of the aforementioned sites interested Ken in the least little bit. For, sitting before him was the end to his search.
“Why’d you come out here?” he queried as he approached George, who appeared to be sitting atop a steel chair next to one of the many garage doors. “It’s like . . . dead and stuff. Plus, half the time these damn signs barely speak to ya. See, over there,” he insisted before turning around and pointing to the Parking Lot sign. “The only damn thing he loves to talk about is the ‘parking lot.’ ‘Parking lot this, parking lot that. I’m so wide, I could contain hundreds of cars at once, much like your asshole could hold hundreds of c[BEEP!]ks at once!’ I didn’t even understand what he meant by that last statement, but – whatever.”
Kaze executed an about face, looking down upon his companion.
“What’s wrong, homes? Why so glum, chum? You look terr- . . . terrib—”
The Hero of Hardcore went into a state of shock. He tried to yelp, but it seemed as if someone had removed his voice box. He could only point to the horror before his eyes.
And there, written in icy blue was the three letter bulletin that would strike the bravest man’s heart with fear:
DIE!
Okay, so it wasn’t exactly the most frightening message ever. And maybe it wasn’t frightening at all. But when your name is Ken Kaze, you have no response other than to cringe in trepidation.
“What does dee-eee mean, George?” he queried, mispronouncing the word.
And, okay, maybe it’s not even the least bit intimidating even for morons. More so because of him having trouble understanding the term. However, if Ken’s brain was of normal size, perhaps the message could have been broadcasted more clearly.
It says, ‘Die’ you f[BEEP]ing retard! responded an unknown British voice. Perhaps the first time ever heard on national television voice of George the Motherfluckin’ Trashcan?
“I’m not retarded. Okay, George?! It’s not my fault that dumbass Polar misspelled it! Speaking of Polar . . . it was that flucker who did this. Let me go and find him.”
Ken clasped onto George before following the sign that read “Parking Lot.” However, rather then walking into the right direction, he was actually traveling toward the opposite way.
