“Mean” Gene Okerlund stared awkwardly towards the large and archaic looking television camera, as he waited for the operator to give him the thumbs up signal to begin.
His eyes, in there passively dull appearance, stared directly into the large metal lense with a tight lipped poker face that he always kept in preparation for a promo video. His shiny bald head reflected the stage lights’ beams partially to the right, creating a slight white flash spot on atop him.
His neatly pressed black suit displayed the EWE insignia in yellow across his left breast pocket, as he in turn, held a black microphone with the same logo emblemed in the blocky center.
The camera operator gave a quick whirling motion with his finger, signaling that they would be live in a few seconds. Taking a breath of air, he stiffly waited as the operator counted down on his fingers to zero. Reaching the point, a red light above the camera lens flicked on, notifying the two men that they were now live to the entirety of two entire planets.
Smiling with a sudden rush of excited energy, “Mean” Gene began.
“Things are certainly heating up tonight here in United Center,” he announced in his rapid transatlantic-esque tone, “with an amazing match scheduled just minutes away, one can only guess how this spectacular event will unfold.”
“For those unaware, the exciting match between former Heavyweight Champion “Macho Man” Randy Savage, and esteemed newcomer Rainbow “The Rage” Dash has been boiling over for what seems like ages, as the two superstars have butted heads regularly since their original appearances.”
“But all that changes tonight, as the two finally face each other in the ring for what is predicted as a match for the ages. And with us here tonight, as one of these esteemed contenders who has quite an opinion on the matter. One that--”
Suddenly, with an absolute disregard for timing or subtlety, Rainbow Dash herself blasted out onto the soundstage. Her energy and pomp were grand, as was usual, and so large in fact that her aerial entry and quick skidding landing sent “Mean” Gene stumbling backwards clumsily, nearly toppling over the large blue cardboard backdrop behind them.
“Livin’ the dream!” she exalted loudly, a catchphrase she’d coined from her several theatrical in-ring declarations. “Mean Gene, I don’t think I even need to explain myself, cause’ all the fans out there know what’s gonna go down tonight!”
“Mean” Gene was eyeing Rainbow Dash with cloaked contempt, her egotistical attitude aggravating him more than any other wrestler he could think of, and that included the infamous Hulk Hogan himself.
“Really?” he said with best scripted surprise he could manage. “And why do you think that?”
Dash smirked, Gene’s response just the words she wanted to hear. “Cause’ without all that drummin’ up you did before, I think we all know how this match is gonna end.”
“Really?” he repeated. “And how do you believe it will turn out?”
“Lemme’ explain something then, Mean Gene,” Rainbow stepped a few paces closer to the camera, wishing for the effect of speaking directly to the fans through the videoscope. “The Macho Man doesn’t have a chance against my rage. The second he steps into the ring, I’m gonna be all over him."
"He’s gonna punch one way, I’ll be the other, he’s gonna grab me, I’ll be right behind him. And before he knows it, I’ll be picking him up by the shoulders and smashing him right back down, from a hundred feet, straight in the air!” Rainbow made a brutal smashing motion of one hoof against the other just to further emphasize her point.
“The Macho Man is big man,” reminded “Mean” Gene cautiously. “You may have some difficulty just getting him off the ground.”
Rainbow chuckled and shook her head slowly. “Mean Gene, I don’t think you realize what pony you're talkin’ to. This pony,” she pointed her hoof against her torso, “pile drived Sgt. Slaughter without breakin’ a sweat. This pony, mule-kicked CM Punk and set him flying fifty feet across the ring. And this pony, will give the Macho Man an airborne tour of the United Center, free of charge, within the next hour. Need I say more?”
“Mean” Gene shook his head in reply. “No, I don’t believe you do. But I still am curious, and I’m sure the fans are curious as well, about your tactics in the ring. Care to explain?”
Dash beamed. “Of course. The simple fact of the matter is, you gotta’ be smart, ya’ know? Ya’ gotta’ think on your hooves. If you sit around even for a second without any idea of what you’re gonna do next, things are gonna turn real ugly real fast. You gotta’ out think your opponent, get inside their mind. You gotta’ show them that you’ve got this and they don’t. You have to be as sly as a snake, yet as strong as a bear.” She paused. “Does that explain your question?”
“Well…” said Gene hesitantly, “I suppose. We’ve certainly got an idea of things. But I’m not--”
“Great!” interrupted Dash. “Cause’ I still get some stuff to do, important stuff, and I can only waste so much time before a match.” Rainbow looked towards the camera and grinned. “Livin’ the dream!” she whooped once more, then zipping off the soundstage as quickly as she entered.
“Mean” Gene was once again pushed back from the wind force and as he recovered, couldn’t help but glare in her general direction. Suddenly realizing he was still on the air, Okerlund centered himself instantly.
“Well there you have it folks, an ecstatic perception from one of the most ecstatic contenders in wrestling today.”
“But before we cut to the pre-show entertainment, I’d like to state, for the first time here in the EWE, a new kind of frozen treat has been adopted for all to enjoy. I’m talking about, of course, the official EWE ice cream bars. The fastest selling--”
Suddenly, to further interrupt Okerlund’s broadcast, the large white EWE logo, hanging precariously atop the blue backdrop, snapped off from it’s weak wire lining, and crashed to the concrete floor with a large slam.
“F*ck it!” yelled Gene as he jolted in surprise by the sudden falling object. Turning around to inspect what had fallen, he said something to the camera operator, who quickly muted the audio output from the device.
The sound-stage shot dissolved abruptly, the central studio controls taking over the broadcast, and cut to the interior of the United Center. No color commentator was ready at this moment, so the static shot was held for several minutes with nothing but the low rustle of the crowd to fill in the awkward limbo.
From then on the EWE would be weary of such an event, always prepared for the emergency scenario, when a “Mean” Gene Malfunction would take place on live TV.