The King’s Arrival
By Ken Kaze
A black, prominent stretch limousine is seen entering the backstage area. It seems as if the limousine is of some importance as backstage crew workers make way for it. Or perhaps they just don’t want to get ran over. Either way, they move aside to allow the limousine’s entrance. Of course, most of them speculate who this could be. Could it be a new addition to the NOWrestling roster? Perhaps it is one of NOW’s superstars just now making their entrance.
The license plate doesn’t help much: “KENGKAZZ.” Or does it? The limousine driver steps out of the driver door and heads to the last door on the end. The windows are tinted heavily to sustain the privacy of the prestigious individual who is maintained inside this vehicle. The driver opens up the door to allow the person to step out. One foot. Two feet.
Trashcan?
The Resident Moron and King of Kage champion himself, Ken Kaze steps out of the means of transportation. He is donning a ridiculously humungous crown on the top of his head as well as a red cloak draped along his back. George is wearing a mini-crown himself, with the King of Kage championship strapped around his circumference.
“Good afternoon—” the limousine driver begins, “Mr. Yoder.”
Kaze glances around his environment before acknowledging the driver. “Yoder? Huh? OH!!” He sticks his hand out to shake the driver’s hand. “Yeah, right! Mr. Yoder! That’s me, heh! Mr. John… er… Joseph…. er… Daniel… SOMETHINGOROTHER YODER!!”
The driver retracts his hand from the oddball posing as David Yoder. “Um, sir, if we could have you sign right here.” The driver looks at Kaze, who is in return looking at the driver clueless. “To signify that you have received our services and that you enjoyed them, Mr. Yoder, sir.”
“Ooooh! Yeah, right. I have to sign here,” Kaze says while pointing to the dotted line, which the driver had pointed to. “And say that I enjoyed your services. Because I’m Mr. Yoder! Ain’t that right George?”
The driver looks at Kaze baffled before handing him the pen. “My name’s not George, sir. It’s Charlie.”
Kaze’s signature only takes a half of a second before it’s done. A simple scribbled line is good enough for the moron. “I know your name’s not George, you Stevefucker! I’m talking to George here!”
Oblivious to what Kaze is talking about, the driver glances at his signature and shrugs before walking back to the driver door.
“Boy, George. Mr. Yoder must love us, or something, huh? Giving us a free limo ride like that.” He gazes blankly at George awaiting his response. “What do you MEAN Yoder didn’t give us that limo ride? I didn’t pose as Yoder! He thought I was Yoder! It’s not my fault he is an idiot and is always using his brain. George, you see, if people learned to not use their head for one frickin’ second like me… they wouldn’t be so stupid and might have some sort of intelligenticalness like me. GOSH!!”
Kaze grabs a hold of George and begins making his way into the Phillips Arena as the limousine can be seen pulling out. Some of the backstage crew workers are now back to work, but a small cult are still staring at the retarded maniac and his trash receptacle of a companion.
“WHAT?!” Kaze yells fiercely, obviously not liking the attention he is receiving. “HOW DARE YOU LAY EYES ON GEORGE AND I! DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?!”
The backstage crew workers, fearless, nod their heads in unison.
“I AM… THE KING OF THE KAGE… JOHNNY CARSON!!”
“Huh?!” and “What?!?” can be heard from the crowd as confusion overwhelms them.
Now whispering to George, Kaze says, “What? My name’s not Johnny Carson?” Silence. “KEN KAZE—,” he yells, but quickly cutting himself off to lower his voice once again. “Ken Kaze? I thought he was the gay guy who played piano and did a duet with Eminem! He’s ME? I’m no homo, George!” Now returning to his normal, raspy obnoxious voice, “I’m not a darn woodpecker, George! How many times do I have to tell you?!” Silence. “You mean his name isn’t Ken Kaze? So whose is? Mine? OOOOH, that explains everything. You silly goosepants, why didn’t you just say so before?”
Kaze now glances back at the still on-looking, yet perplexed sect of crew workers. “I AM THE KING OF THE KAGE, KEN KAZE! I AM THE ALMIGHTY K-K-K!!!”
The one and only African-American crew worker amongst the group instantly snaps out of his confusion trance, and makes a dive for Kaze. The rest of the crew workers gasp in disbelief at the words just mouthed from the idiotic Kaze. The black crew worker tackles him to the ground and begins to furiously punch him in the face over and over relentlessly. A couple of the crew workers walk up and get in a couple of cheap shots themselves before pulling the ruthless crew worker off of Kaze. The crew worker can be seen being dragged away from the merciless assault as he is screaming obscenities at the alleged racist dolt.
Kaze rolls over on his side, holding his face. The wounds he received from last week are once again busted open, blood leaking everywhere. He runs his hands through the crimson mask that now envelopes his face and looks at his hand. “What a frickin’ ASSHOLE!! He just kicked my ass for no reason!! How come you didn’t help me George?! How come you didn’t warn me about his sneak attack?! And how come you didn’t tell me it was the K-K-K-K?!?!” Silence. “How come you just watched me get my ass kick—”
A kick to the back of the head shuts the rambling ignoramus up. A quick view shows us that the source of the kick is from none other than the insane janitor with a vengeance who attacked Kaze not only two weeks ago.
“How do you like gettin’ your ass kicked, BOY? Do you like it… you little retarded sack of shit?!” The janitor picks George up and raises him into the air as Kaze is trying to get to his feet. He SLAMS George into the cranium of the moron, who falls back down to the concrete floor in a heap, lying there motionless.
The janitor wheels away with his cart while whistling the tune of Happy Days. Kaze is now attempting to get up to his knees. His cloak is torn in the back and his crown is about three feet away from him. The crimson mask fails to disappear. Blood is now releasing from the back of his head from that vicious George-shot. He glances over at George while rubbing the back of his head.
“These bastids backstage really don’t like me, do they George?” he manages to say before falling back down to the concrete floor face first, obviously unconscious.
