Signal Panic Inc. Presents
Action Saxton
in
Action Saxton vs. The Wrold
The following promo is dedicated to the brothers and sisters who had enough of The Mna.
The sun rises high in the sky, beating down onto the scorching sands of the Sahara Desert. The rocks that have been ground up to a coarse powder by years of inclement weather glow brightly as though they are on fire as the sun strikes. The temperature is of an upwards of a zillion degrees. It's astounding that the sand hasn't melted to form The Sahara Sea yet.
In the very center of the desert, riggings, a backdrop, and various props are all set up nicely. A van bearing the WZCW logo is parked at an angle near the set, and behind that is a very familiar 1965 Cadillac Coup De Ville, gleaming brightly as though it's not parked in the middle of a desolate wasteland, unlike the battered and scuffed WZCW van.
The burning temperatures and distinct lack of wind is conspicuous to the staff in charge of shooting the commercial for the one and only Action Saxton's stunning and sexy new shirts, available now, only on WZCWshop.com. They are running about, sweat dripping off their brows as they try to shoot a commercial that would embody the power and manliness of Action Saxton in just the right way.
The director lifts up his clapperboard.
“And...” he slaps the wobbly top bit down hard. “Action!”
“What?” calls Action Saxton from the set, looking toned and manly, as usual, a black t-shirt in his hand. The director stares at him, slack-jawed, no doubt taken aback by how powerful Action Saxton looks.
Action Saxton stares right back. The director fumbles with his clapperboard for a bit before clearing his throat. He is clearly terrified of Action Saxton's muscular stare, and who can blame him? Action Saxton strikes fear in the hearts of the most monstrous men all around the world. A puny director has no chance. Impressively, he manages to get his heart out of his throat and speak.
“Mr. Saxton, when I say 'Action', you're supposed to play your part in the commercial. I'm not saying your name.”
Action Saxton ponders for a second, before softening.
“I know that,” he says. “That was a test, sucka. You passed.”
The director looks relieved that Action Saxton spared his life. He raises his clapperboard once more.
“OK, we'll start again,” The director says. “Take five! Action!”
Action Saxton strikes a pose that is the perfect blend of sultriness and unbridled badassery.
“Listen up, suckas!” he says, holding up his new shirt, available now only on WZCWshop.com. “Look at yourself. Now back to me! Now back to yourself! Now back to me! You have no chance in hell of looking like me, but if you get the new Action Saxton t-shirt, available now only on WZCWshop.com, you can vaguely look like me, but goofier and less manly.”
He holds the shirt up in front of him,
“If you wear this shirt, your girl might stop fantasizing about me when you're–”
He stops. And when Action Saxton stops, everyone knows that something is wrong. There is even less wind in the Sahara than there was before. It seems like the sky is getting darker as the eyes of Action Saxton get more and more narrower. The very heavens themselves tremble in fear and anticipation, wondering what could possibly be wrong.
“What the HELL is this?!”
The cameras stop rolling. The boom operator relaxes his arms. The director rushes to Action Saxton's side. Before he can speak, Action Saxton turns the shirt around to reveal what has pissed off the Bad Brother. The director gasps as he sees what is printed on the back.
Action Saxtno
“Dammit!” the director swears. “Mr. Saxton, I'm sorry. I have no idea how this could have happened. There must have been a mix up at the factory...”
Action Saxton glares at the director, wordlessly, before turning his attention back to the shirt.
“I'll have to send this back and get a correct version,” says the director, trying to take the shirt from Action Saxton's powerful and impressive grip and failing miserably. “The commercial will be postponed and you'll of course be reimbursed for travel...”
With a final tug, the shirt splits in half, leaving the director holding one part and Action Saxton the other. Suddenly, a white envelope falls out of the shirt pieces and floats slowly to the ground. Action Saxton shoots a glare at the director before slowly bending down and wordlessly picking it up. He splits open the envelope, takes the letter inside out, and reads it.
“I knew it.”
Action Saxton is staring at the letter, breathing slowly. The envelope in his hand has been crushed by the force of his grip. He stares at the letter for a few more seconds before reading it aloud for the director's benefit. Action Saxton is a charitable and generous individual.
“Dear Señor Saxton,
By the time you read this, I will have printed seventy thousand of these shirts and shipped them to the WZCWshop.com distribution centers across the world. Soon, people will be wearing 'Action Saxtno' shirts all over the world! I have a very long memory, Action, and I think it is only fitting to embarrass you, just like you embarrassed me a long time ago.
Yours,
A friend.”
Action Saxton is shaking with righteous fury at the devilish plot. The commercial crew are packing up their sets around him. The director lays his hand on Action Saxton's shoulder.
“Mr. Saxton...” he starts to say.
Action Saxton whirls around, accidentally clocking the director in the face with his skillet-like fists.
“Whoever this fiendish sucka is that ruined my shirts, you will pay!!” he roars at the heavens. “I will find you, and I will make sure you wish you had never messed with me! I will go through earth, wind, and fire just to find who is responsible for this! It's time for you to get a piece of the action!”
He jumps over the fallen director's body and into the front seat of his car with a single leap, before putting the pedal to the metal and tearing out of the Sahara Desert, heading straight for the WZCWshop.com factory.
--------------------
The car pulls up the the gates of the towering and imposing factory. A lesser man may have given up right then and there, but not Action Saxton. He is a man that shows no fear and feels no pain, except for the pain of weeping orphans. He is a very sensitive man, you see.
Action Saxton steps out of his car and slams the door. He marches straight up the the front door of the factory and glares at the man guarding it.
“Where the hell is the man who runs this place?” barks Action Saxton.
“I- I don't- I-” stammers the guard.
“Wrong answer.”
Action Saxton's foot lays into the guard, sending him crashing through the wall and tearing the door clear off of its hinges. That's the power of Action Saxton, and he wasn't even trying.
After this incredible feat of guts and strength, Action Saxton stomps across the rooms, laying waste to everything in his path. He kicks guards and workers alike, trying to find the man at the top. His raging path of fury and rage leads him to a door marked “Rec. Room”, which he tackles open, scaring the workers inside.
“Listen up, suckas!” he roars. “I'm angry and I want to know where to find the man that runs this place!”
One worker looks up from his seat on the couch.
“Oh, he's at the top of the building,” he replies nonchalantly. “Just take the elevator to his office. You can't miss it.”
“Oh,” Action Saxton looks slightly taken aback. “Thanks, brotha.”
“Don't mention it,” replies the worker. He reaches into a cooler next to the sofa and tosses a bottle of beer towards Action Saxton, who catches it. “Good luck in your match with Winters on Ascension.”
“Thank you, sucka,” replies Saxton. “Now I got some ass to kick.”
-----------------
The elevator dings loudly as it reaches the top floor, and Action Saxton steps out. In front of him are two massive oak doors, leading into the boss's office. This is it. The time for revenge has come. Other men may have backed out now, but not Action Saxton. He was filled with a burning sense of justice as he pushes the doors open and steps into the office.
His breath catches in his throat as he sees who runs the operation.
“Well, well, well,” the man says. “Never expected to see me again, did you?”
“No...” breathes Action Saxton.
“YES!” roars popular Latin singer Ricky Martin. “It was me, Action! It was me all along!”
“Oh, you son of a bitch...”
Popular Latin singer Ricky Martin chuckles evilly. “I will always remember what happened in Rio in '78, Saxton! You embarrassed me and I never recovered! And now I will embarrass you!”
The two men square off, staring into each others' eyes. Suddenly, Ricky Martin leaps forward with a flying elbow. Action Saxton holds up a hand and deflects Martin's attack. Martin sails backwards with the force of the blow, but lands on his feet and comes in for a tackle, catching Action Saxton square in the chest. It is Action Saxton's turn to sail backwards, crashing into the office wall and causing Ricky Martin's collection of gold records to fall to the ground. Ricky Martin hisses in Latino fury.
“My records!” he seethes. “Now you've done it, Action! I'm going to live la vida loca ON YOUR ASS!”
He charges up for his finishing move, the Big SheBang. As energy swirls around him, Action Saxton tries to struggle to his feet. He pushes himself up the wall as the air grows hotter and hotter around the popular Latin singer.
“UPSIDE!”
Action Saxton runs towards the form of the brightly glowing musician, as though in slow motion.
“INSIDE!”
His foot extends...
“OUUU-”
With a crack, Ricky Martin's concentration is broken as Action Saxton's foot connects with his face. The singer crumples to the ground, unmoving but alive. Action Saxton is a man of morals and does not kill unless absolutely necessary.
He kneels down to the prone form of Ricky Martin.
“Listen, brotha,” he says in his smooth-like-caramel voice. “I did not want to do this. I had to. Son, it is never OK to abuse your power should you find yourself in a position to. Personal grudges should never be brought into work. I hope you learned a valuable lesson from what happened today.”
Ricky Martin nods.
“Good,” says Action Saxton, standing up. “I will let you live this time, and I will not call the police, but be warned! If I catch wind of you doing something that can infringe justice and peace any more, I will be back! I ain't the sucka to mess with.”
Ricky Martin staggers to his feet.
“Oh, Action Saxton,” he lisps through the hole in his teeth. “I have learned! Tell me, is there anything I can do for you?”
Action Saxton smiles.
“Actually, there is.”
He walks over to the desk, grabs a piece of paper and pen, and begins to write.
“I want more than some dumbass little t-shirts,” the Sucka-Slapper says. “I want merch that embodies my manliness, and since I spared you, I don't think that's too much to ask.”
He holds the piece of paper to Ricky Martin, who takes it. Martin's eyes widen.
“You want...this?” he says, incredulously.
“You're damn right.”
With a wave, Action Saxton jumps out of the window, landing safely in the front seat of his Cadillac. The badass brother steps on the gas and tears out of the parking lot, leaving Ricky Martin to ponder the note.
So watch out, all you corrupt politicians and moderators who are only out for number one! Action Saxton is coming to teach you the errors of your ways!
End.
__________________
[size=-3]The preceding promo was sponsored by BAMF: The Official Condoms of Action Saxton. If you thought the Hindenburg was BIG, you haven't seen nothing yet! For years scientists were looking for a contraceptive that was able to contain Saxton's soldiers. Even celibacy somehow didn't work. But now, through the newest scientific advances, there is finally a condom powerful enough to work for Action Saxton. And if it works for him, it's sure to work for you. So grab a pack of these and some Sax On The Beach (The official Action Saxton cocktail), and soon your woman will be screaming 'Oh, the humanity!' as you go down, down, down.[/size]
