Wrestling with emotion: Pro wrestler reveals he's actually a robot from the future
January 30, 2011
Stamford, CT - He hears voices in his head. For pro grappler Randy Orton, 30, this is not only the familiar chorus of his wrestling entrance music, but also a literal case; a covert beacon of messages he claims are being sent to him via his home world-- a world he also claims means us no harm, despite many wrestling pundits claiming that his matches convey the complete opposite message.
"I don't wish to hurt anyone," the once perceived 3rd generation star persisted. "If I cause or have caused any pain during the course of my matches for those watching, I promise you it's unintentional."
To the average person, Randy Orton appears no different than any other wrestler. Seriously. They all look identical. The reality, however, is that the man referred to as the 'Apex Predator' and 'Viper' is, in fact, not a man at all, but rather a sentient robot that arrived from the future, sent back by his own stoic admission to save his dying race of hive-minded cybernetics the only way they knew how - by isolating the secret to human charisma; a mission that the emotionless and drawling Orton regrets to inform is failing.
"I may leave empty handed," Orton admitted in stunted syllable, still trying his best to appear human, but failing miserably.
For the android grappler, his journey was one that actually began on a rural farm owned by the man whom he would then claim was his father, Bob Orton Jr., in the mid-1980's; an arrival amidst property destruction and mass chaos that eventually led him to destroy several hotel rooms in the latter 2000's in an effort to recapture this very same, familiar comfort of his adopted home.
"I actually arrived here naked," a stilted Orton -- who became self-aware in 2004; then aware that he used far too many rest-holds in 2009 -- recalled of his initial appearance on earth, and also the nature of his time-bending travels. "Material cannot come through the warp. It's why I never
wear pants. You have to always
be ready for that call back."
For Orton, that call has never come, however. In the interim, he has not waned in his study of our culture, evolution ("It's a mystery full of changes no one sees," says the optimistic Orton) and history.
"I've never stopped learning," he again insisted. "I've taken to studying the great minds and scholars of your time in an effort to know more; educated men known as Steve Lombardi and Gerald Brisco; men who've opened my eyes to the truth that a deity named 'Mr. Macccc-Mahon' was actually responsible for the full progress and accomplishment of your civilization."
But what can we
learn from this omnipresent cyborg itself? The answers are surprising. Turns out that his favorite offense, the vaunted chin-lock, is not a boring way to transition and catch one's breath, constantly
, at all, but rather the unique organism's (real name RKO-R2Tedious)language, and its only way of actually communicating back with his lost world.
But what do these Chin-locks say exactly?
"Nothing even remotely interesting," Orton revealed coldly with a stalled, enunciated burr, yet without a shred of doubt, before further revealing that the familiar "snake mannerisms" witnessed during his matches were, in actuality, nothing more than an initial glitch; an anomaly seemingly created by his own internal programming desperately attempting to assimilate (only to then reject) his desired charisma.
"I was so close," Orton soon went on with as much emotion as he was then apparently capable of mustering, all despite twenty-plus years amongst humanity. "I'm thinking that perhaps I chose the wrong wrestling era to look for it."
So, what exactly does the future hold for this complex machinery, yet terribly uninteresting wrestler?
"More time travel seems to be the only option, other than varying my offense to more than 3 holds," Orton declared confusingly, but honestly, whilst breaking out one last rest-hold in an attempt to re-establish contact with his lost race. "I've recently created an alternate means to fuel my time travel; a fusion device powered by simple garbage," he continued. "Thus far, I figure Brian Gewirtz's RAW scripts have the energy to send me to the very dawn of existence, if need be."
We here at TWF wish him the best of luck/a better way to transition to his few interesting moves.
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Sean Carless is a man of many hats. And he wears those hats to cover an ever-increasing bald spot. Sean's various scribblings have been read at Live Audio Wrestling, 411 Mania, Honky Tonk Man.com, The Toronto Star.com, Wrestlecrap, and Lethal Wrestling. He has also cured AIDS.
Catherine Perez is a proud owner of three e-mails from WWE's legal department, which she regularly prints out for when all the toilet paper runs out. She was the first person to call the Ghostbusters after witnessing something strange in her neighborhood, and is thus immortalized in a song that was made popular four years before her birth. Catherine enjoys collecting vintage WWF t-shirts, painting on her clothing, and the smell of crushed dreams in the mornings. She also shot J.R.