Womp Drops By

[AdamEss 58]

A single chair sits in the center of a darkened room, only visible via a single light bulb hung over it. It looks unnecessary amounts of dramatic. The light sways slowly back ans forth as the light bulb swings gently for no apparent reason. Into said chair swings a leg and then a whole body as Womp Womp Womp Womp Womp Jr sits down Riker style with a grin on his face and a drink in his bloodied hand.

 

"Well well well. Here we are almost midway through the season and the Watchmen really are looking up. We have been trending upwards as the team gelled. We've been winning games, grabbing points, and reminding teams that we are a force to be reckoned with. And I've gotten out there and proven what I always said. I will take on any opponent absolutely anytime."

 

He salutes with the drink and then takes a sip.

 

"That reference is for the 6 Canadians who might get it. You're welcome. Now, let's talk about what's been happening beyond just the Watchmen hitting our stride. Obviously I've been hitting people. I understand that ti goes without saying but it's always nice to address the elephant in the room. Especially when its that one elephant that killed that lady and then showed up to heckle her funeral and stole the body. That's my spirit animal right there. By now every member of my generation of VHL players knows it. They know what's waiting across the ice for the next however many years until someone decides to turn my witty bullshit into an announcing career. Like all the greats. For now I will cotninue doing what I do. Terrorizing the opponent and beating the snot out of their toughest guys. Or....more than snot I guess...."

 

He lifts his bloody hand and the battered knuckles on it can clearly be seen. It's disgusting, really. Womp chuckles and takes another drink.

 

"But truth is some teams have been caught slacking. I have scored 6 goals and 9 assists. Nice. But, how could you let that happen? Is it a lapse in defense? Did the goalie fall asleep? Did coaching fail you? It's gotta be something. It sure isn't me. I'm not stealthy. I'm not fast. My shot isn't that good. I don't do any fancy boy puck tricks. I rear back and I clap one like its the end of the world. There's no chance that any competent group of players or coaches won't see that coming. Hell, the coach could come on the ice, point out the shot to the keeper, then head back to the bench by the time my shot actually arrives. 6 is just too many and frankly you should be ashamed. Incidentally, its also the Watchmen's exact positive goal differential. So maybe I'm wrong and my grandma slapshot is the secret offensive weapon we've been holding out for all along. I guess it's one of those two. You as an organization are gonna have to figure it out. Just don't let me score. I'm me. I'm going to never let you hear the end of it. Cheers!

 

He raises the glass once more and then takes one mroe drink before silently gliding away into the darkness. Lightbulb still swaying for some damn reason.