Real Name: (To be revealed in a future RP)
Gimmick Name: Action Saxton
Height: 6'5”
Weight: 270 lbs.
Hometown: Harlem, NY
Billed From: Wherever He Damn Well Pleases
Announcement:
Appearance: African-American, short black hair, brown eyes, moustache.
Alignment: Whatever you need him to be, but Face I suppose.
Main Gimmick: Incredibly manly blaxplotation throwback.
2 Characteristics of Gimmick:
Very hot-headed, blows up at the smallest things.
Comedy character, often found in unrealistic situations purely because it's funny.
Strengths:
-Kung-fu master
-Very strong
-Full of manliness and the power of AMERICA.
Weaknesses:
-Loses his cool VERY easily, which can cause him to do stupid things.
-Bad ground game.
-Prone to taunting a bit too much for a bit too long.
Sample Pic of Wrestler:
Entrance:
Ring:
Brief History:
It changes every time he tells it.
Entrance Music:
Entrance Description: Generic boxing entrance – spars on the way to the ring before climbing into the ring and ripping his shirt off, Hulk Hogan-style.
Finishing Moves:
Black Lightning (Crane Kick)
Black Dynamite (Elbow Drop with theatrics)
15 Most Used Moves: (Signature moves in italics)
Kung Fu Kick (Buzzsaw kick)
Karate Chop
Megaton Punch (Punch with theatrics)
Knife-Edge Chop
Roundhouse Kick
Diving Overhead Chop
Punch combination
Spin Kick
Mongolian chop
Trapping headbutts
Rolling snapmare
Shuffle side kick
Backhand to the face
Mounted punches
Twirling punch to the face [Think Natalya's clothesline, except a punch]
Sample RP
The scene is a warm and comfortable living room at night. The fire in the fireplace is burning merrily as snow falls outside. Lamps mounted on the walls glow merrily, casting a pale orange light over everything. In front of the fireplace is a large and comfortable-looking red armchair, which complements the plush green carpet nicely. In front of the armchair is a sturdy-looking mahogany desk, with official-looking memos scattered on top of it, along with handsome writing utensils, and a very large microphone.
And sitting in the armchair is Action Jackson.
He is holding a pen to his lips as he stares at his watch intently, waiting for the stroke of five PM. Silently, he counts it down. Five. Four. Three. Two. One...
At 5:00 on the dot, he begins to speak.
“Hello, ladies. Welcome to the first of Action Jackson's Heat Packin' Crack-a-lackin' Fireside Chattin' Chats. I will be your host, Action Jackson, and –”
Suddenly, there is a knock at the door. A flash of annoyance crosses Action Jackson's action-packed face.
“Excuse me for a second,” he says, before standing up and addressing the person at the door. “WHAT?”
The person answers.
“Erm, Mr. Jackson, I was just wondering-”
“What the HELL do you want?”
“W-well,” the voice stammers. “This is supposed to be my time, and I just wanted to be able to come in and give my address to the people.”
Action Jackson's eyes flash with rage and fury.
“Man, shut the HELL up, Franklin Delano Roosevelt!” he roars, tearing his shirt off and swinging one of his manly arms in the air. “No one wants to listen to your boring-ass Fireside Chats! What would you talk about, anyway? The economy? No one cares about the economy!”
“Well, I say!” gasps Franklin Delano Roosevelt, his geriatric self turning and fleeing from the power of Action Jackson's pure machismo. Action Jackson glares at the door until he's sure the President has left, before dusting himself off and resuming his place in the armchair, still shirtless like a real man.
“My apologies, ladies,” he says in his smooth and buttery voice. “As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted, welcome to my first Fireside Chat.
Now, did I ever tell you about the time I wrestled a bear? Now, he was one tough sunuvabitch, but I wrestled him for forty days and forty nights. We went at it and went at it, neither wanting to give up. Finally, I tamed him, and he allowed me to live with him and ride him. He introduced me to his wife and kids – Very nice family – until they all had to go back to their home planet in order to save their world. But I will always remember that bear. He was always so faithful, with his bear fur, and his bear attitude, always looking at me with his bear eyes...I will always remember what he told me, some of the best advice I have ever heard.”
Loud, guttural roars emanate from Action Jackson's throat, as perfect a bear impression as one can perform.
“And you know, I don't even have to speak bear to know what he was telling me. 'Follow your dreams, Action Jackson,' he said. 'Follow your dreams.'”
Action Jackson tears up. Not enough to be considered a pansy, but enough to be viewed as sensitive by the ladies. Action Jackson is a very caring man. After a few moments, he clears his throat.
“This story always reminds me of the time I saved an entire orphanage from an incoming train. It was a dark and stormy night...”
The scene fades.
And sitting in the armchair is Action Jackson.
He is holding a pen to his lips as he stares at his watch intently, waiting for the stroke of five PM. Silently, he counts it down. Five. Four. Three. Two. One...
At 5:00 on the dot, he begins to speak.
“Hello, ladies. Welcome to the first of Action Jackson's Heat Packin' Crack-a-lackin' Fireside Chattin' Chats. I will be your host, Action Jackson, and –”
Suddenly, there is a knock at the door. A flash of annoyance crosses Action Jackson's action-packed face.
“Excuse me for a second,” he says, before standing up and addressing the person at the door. “WHAT?”
The person answers.
“Erm, Mr. Jackson, I was just wondering-”
“What the HELL do you want?”
“W-well,” the voice stammers. “This is supposed to be my time, and I just wanted to be able to come in and give my address to the people.”
Action Jackson's eyes flash with rage and fury.
“Man, shut the HELL up, Franklin Delano Roosevelt!” he roars, tearing his shirt off and swinging one of his manly arms in the air. “No one wants to listen to your boring-ass Fireside Chats! What would you talk about, anyway? The economy? No one cares about the economy!”
“Well, I say!” gasps Franklin Delano Roosevelt, his geriatric self turning and fleeing from the power of Action Jackson's pure machismo. Action Jackson glares at the door until he's sure the President has left, before dusting himself off and resuming his place in the armchair, still shirtless like a real man.
“My apologies, ladies,” he says in his smooth and buttery voice. “As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted, welcome to my first Fireside Chat.
Now, did I ever tell you about the time I wrestled a bear? Now, he was one tough sunuvabitch, but I wrestled him for forty days and forty nights. We went at it and went at it, neither wanting to give up. Finally, I tamed him, and he allowed me to live with him and ride him. He introduced me to his wife and kids – Very nice family – until they all had to go back to their home planet in order to save their world. But I will always remember that bear. He was always so faithful, with his bear fur, and his bear attitude, always looking at me with his bear eyes...I will always remember what he told me, some of the best advice I have ever heard.”
Loud, guttural roars emanate from Action Jackson's throat, as perfect a bear impression as one can perform.
“And you know, I don't even have to speak bear to know what he was telling me. 'Follow your dreams, Action Jackson,' he said. 'Follow your dreams.'”
Action Jackson tears up. Not enough to be considered a pansy, but enough to be viewed as sensitive by the ladies. Action Jackson is a very caring man. After a few moments, he clears his throat.
“This story always reminds me of the time I saved an entire orphanage from an incoming train. It was a dark and stormy night...”
The scene fades.
