Category: Promos

[The camera opens on a wide shot of an open field, two black dots slowly make their way across. As the camera zooms in, we see the lead figure is the destroyer of worlds, Martillo Negro de la Muerte. With a rope slung over his shoulder, he leads a small white lamb down an old worn path.]

MARTILLO NEGRO DE LA MUERTE: For as long as men have lived, the weak have followed the strong. Those who couldn’t provide for themselves looked for salvation in a stronger man, a leader, a shepherd..

[He gives the rope a little tug.]

MARTILLO NEGRO DE LA MUERTE: And those that followed were more often the elderly or the sick, but among them there were cowards. Men who would lower themselves to the level of an animal..

[He subtly glances over his shoulder, the mask almost hiding the expression of sadness.]

MARTILLO NEGRO DE LA MUERTE: And this is where we find you, TRIV. A boy with no true tribe, a boy who lacks what it takes to be the hunter. So you will now become the hunted. Like you do with a sick, weak, lame animal.. you put it out of its misery. And in that act of brutality, you show a kindness.. you show mercy.

[The lamb, as if on cue, let’s out a weak baa’ing noise. Martillo again yanks on the makeshift leash.]

MARTILLO NEGRO DE LA MUERTE: At Unmasked the only mercy you and Masko will be shown is the mercy of death. Padrino and I will lay you at the feet of your professed God and hope he takes pity. I am the herald of annihilation, the harbinger of doom and my will shall not be denied.

[Reaching a makeshift camp, he lashes the lamb to a tree and pulls a rather large buck knife from his waistband. Now sitting, he begins to run the blade down a whetstone.]

MARTILLO NEGRO DE LA MUERTE: You’re in over your head, TRIV. I know you remember the last time I got my hands on you, do you remember the pain, little TRIV? This time I’m going to finish the job. This time, I’m going to hurt you so badly that the champions you claim to come from will feel it. You think Los Rebeldes Del Bien was rough with you?

[He spits out the side of his mouth.]

MARTILLO NEGRO DE LA MUERTE: Just like this here lamb, TRIV, you’re being led to the slaughter. The suffering you’ll endure will not be swift, for this time I am going to prove a point; lambs do not belong in the presence of lions.

[With those words he tosses the stone to the side and stands. He begins his walk over to the lamb, now baa’ing a bit more rapidly. Fade to black.]

NO LAMBS WERE HURT OR INJURED DURING THE FILMING OF THIS VIDEO.

HAHAHHAHAHAHAHAH! Chat, did you see the look on Wes Hollywood’s face when he realised that I’d set him up? Let me see you drop those Fs and Ls one more time…and if you like, I’ve even got a new emote 

Phonk spun around on his chair and clicked the mouse once

OF WES HOLLYWOOD’S STUPID FACE REALISING THAT HE…GOT PHONKED!

Wes’ face, flashing with the horror of realisation, filled the screen, whilst a chirpy chiptune jingle permeated the atmosphere with the words HOLLYWOOD-GOT-PHONKED looping incessantly. Eventually, Phonk snapped a finger.  

But now, sadly, we turn to business. Debut show of Unmasked did not go entirely to plan for El Querido Digital . I got my ass kicked seven ways to Sunday, and I guess, El Supervillano got his name in the win column. 

Phonk smiled, a flash of enamel under the mask

BUT! MUCH LIKE HOW SHITTY MOVIE STUDIOS KEEP CHURNING OUT SHITTY SEQUELS, IT’S NOT ABOUT HOW MANY TIMES YOU LOSE, ITS@S ABOUT HOW YOU BOUNCE BACK BABY, AND THE PHONKSTER KEEPS GETTING BACK UP AFTER BEING KNOCKED DOWN…AND I’VE GOT MYSELF A FOUR-WAY MATCH. 

So, let’s see, who we go, and, in a deliberately explicit parody of a certain MASQTube channel…what their sins against media are.

Phonk spun on his chair, pulling up images of each of his foes in sequence

MUTANTO! Big, bad, smells of fish…and also dumpster! DING!

Being dumb enough to fall for the old “leg-trip into dumpster” prank, I mean that’s been around since the Three Stooges! DING! 

Having your weird little minion, it just isn’t cool man. Restricting the agency of another and trying to normalise it because you’re a weird creepy fish who I already PHONKed up once! DING! 

PIRATA ATEREDOR! You ain’t so bad, at least you’re not actually a bad person like the other two, so that’s a sin removed from the pirate! GNID!

You’re actually a man of honour! GNID!

You’re interested in entertainment, just like me! GNID!

It’s a shame I have to fight you, because I actually like you…but you still have a functioning set of shoulders that I will pin to the mat if need be!

Last…and least…KING HOMEWRECKER! 

WEIRDLY HORNY! DING!

ACTIVELY PROBLEMATIC! DING!

GENUINELY ONE OF THE WORST MEN ON THIS ISLAND, BECAUSE YOUR DAMAGE GOES BEYOND THE RING? DING!DING!DING!

Phonk paused to breathe

Folks, so there we have it. Four men will walk into a ring, and this blip of form will end, just like Wes’ latest pathetic excuse for a movie. Much like when I reach the end of one of those execrable excuses for cinema, I’ll breathe a sigh of relief…and get back to PHONKING EVERYTHING UP!  

“Allo, my name is El Masko. Last week El Masko lost to a man who had an affinity for women with huge rears. And now El Masko keeps himself up late at night thinking about his tag team match going on the next week. It’s time to go undercover to find out more about El Padrino” 

El Masko was standing with a bunch of other new waiters in La Guarida. All in a row and they were getting the run down on how things should be going. When the head waiter clapped his hand to get his attention.

“You. Toss El Padrino’s salad.”

El Masko blinked in confusion.

“Do you not read our menu? El Padrino has a signature house salad. He’s extremely proud of it. And it requires an immense amount of tossing” The waiter motioned to a large bowl of salad with a fork and spoon to toss it. El Masko rushed over and obliged, looking around to scout out for the rogues he would be facing, certain that they would have a meeting here. When he overheard a loud clanging and yelling.

“Shit gets thrown everywhere in this kitchen, so watch out for chef knives” This immediately put El Masko on edge as it made him realize the dangerous and unguarded place he was in. As he turned around to declare he was finished. And hopefully avoid a knife getting thrown his way. He began walking away to signal he was finished.

Only to bump into a large jolly looking man in a chef’s outfit. Who laughed and said “Who is this fella?”

“E-El Masko sir” El Masko said holding out his hand “And who are you?” 

“Chef Knives, just wanted to see all of the fresh meat out here.” He took El Masko’s hand and shook it. “Say doesn’t you name sound familiar”

“Oh… no, no something else entirely. Now if you’ll excuse El Masko he will be looking at your well rested fish.” He moved past the imposing chef and went out through the restaurant front door.

A Few Days Later

It was a complete bust, not only did El Masko not find anything that would assist in his match against El Padrino and Martillo. But he had just gotten a letter in very fancy writing.

“Thank you for your on the job test El Masko. La Guarida has made the very unfortunate decision to go a different way and not require your employment.” 

“El Masko didn’t even get the job” He sighed as he let the envelope fall into a trash bin. He looks over at a bottle of headache medicine.

“El Masko bets Medicio never had to do this. He is not a man who made it through the med schools.  He may hold the mettle championship but he has only a felt will. It’s all floppy and never could handle a tossed salad.”

World-class agents and assistants of Wes Hollywood’s team chit chat as they occupy a lavish conference room bordered by glass windows. Mounted high on the sound-proofed wall, a monitor displays the following message:

Host: Wes Hollywood
Meeting Name: 2025 Kickoff!
Awaiting Host…

The message changes:

Host has joined.

The team of twelve scatter to their seats at the mahogany conference table and the remaining staff of assistants utilize standing room. Wes transmits on to the screen in his golden idol glory.

WES HOLLYWOOD
Hey squad! Thanks for getting together last minute. I scheduled this because I wanted to take a moment to offer my appreciation for all the peaks we hit in 2024, b–

The room pats themselves on the back with a round of applause.

Wes’ face angrily scrunches and the self-applause simmers.

WES HOLLYWOOD
-But… you’re all fired af. 

The room shuffles around in distress.

WES HOLLYWOOD
Let me be the first to tell you that this is not, like at all, personal. No cap, I mean this straight from the heart when I say that you have all been advised [throws up air quotes] that your discharge was based on an inability to complete the job in a satisfactory manner [ends air quotes].

In case you have the memory of a god damn goldfish, you–yes…you—have tanked my wrestling career in a matter of two months. And let’s start with my acting agent: did you happen to be staring into the fucking sun when you signed a contract for me to appear in Phonk’s fake movie?

Wes holds up the first page of the contract where the words “Phonkytown Incorpsorated” are seen more clearly. 

WES HOLLYWOOD
The asshole wasn’t even hiding the fact that it was him. And he even misspelled “incorporated”. Worst part, it was you who signed it.

Now where’s my wrestling agent – oh there you are! Let me ask you real quick, did you actually go to bed feeling like you had done your job well on the day they announced me and Malo for the main event? Well for me, that was the night I realized I was the biggest joke in MASQ because they booked me against the other biggest joke, during the primetime hour, for the whole world to voyeur like freaks in the circus. Because of you, I’m forced into a full rebranding mode. I need a Brendan Fraser level comeback except eating my fatass to death isn’t gonna cut it. I need a freaking W.

And it starts at Unmasked with Malo, who is as mid of a wrestler as he is at celebrity trivia. I’m going to yeet his ass back to Paris, Texas, or whatever idiot farm he was born at. Consider that smooth-brained moron as the first victim of M.C.E… main character energy, bay-bay! 

And that’s why you’re all shitcanned. Enjoy unemployment, losers. Keep a spot warm for El Grande Malo in the benefits line… Ciao.

Host has left.

Down at the docks, some say they might see things. Ships passing each other in the midst of the night, cargo being shipped in to Masqopolis…or perhaps, some deals being made.

Of course, the people who see these things, they’re mistaken. No business is handled down at the docks, especially not this late at night. And even if it WAS being done this late at night, it’s not like there’d be any proof of it happening.

After all, what witnesses are there to be had, at such a late hour?

SPLASH!

Another wave hits the shoreline, and watching over it, El Padrino stands.

“What a fine night, this is.” The Don states, lit cigar in hand. Taking a drag, The Don sighs out a puff of smoke, which dissipates into the night sky. “On a night like this, I should be spending time with mi familia. But alas, I am dragged away from them by my own work once more.” Another drag, another smoky sigh. “You would think that, people like them, they’d know better. Stepping on the toes of us fine businessmen, trying to stick their nose where it doesn’t belong.”

The Don drops his cigar, and stamps out the flame beneath his boot. The camera pans back up, and The Don stares right into the lens.

“El Masko, you and Pirata Aterrador both sully the name of legitimate businessmen, like myself and Medico Muerte.” El Padrino’s hand clenches, before releasing the tension seconds later. “You try and shut us down, try and spread heinous rumors about us, yet when the truth comes out, you are nowhere to be found.” El Padrino shakes his head. “Why? Because you know that, at the end of the day, your claims hold as much weight to them as one of those plastic boat toys you give to your child in the bath.” The Don gives a slight chuckle, as he looks out to the calming waves of the ocean once more. “And just like those plastic toys, all it takes is a little bit of weight placed upon them, and they sink straight to the bottom. Just like what will happen to you, El Masko, if you continue to stand against me, or any of my potential business partners, here in Masqopolis.”

After a few seconds, The Don turns to leave, walking off into the night, as the flicker of a lighter is seen, and a puff of smoke comes from the direction The Don is walking. The camera turns down to where The Don had been standing, and laid beside the remnants of his cigar, a pair of broken shades lay motionless, with a dark coach jacket accompanying them both.

Just another day in the life of The Don.

The faint smell of roses, lubricant, and sex lingers in the air of King Homewrecker’s lair inside his awesome house. All around him are beautiful naked ass women with big ol’ titties and giant butts. They are all in awe of his pure sexual energy as he stands in the center of the room ass naked flexing. Do any of them care that he lost to some hairy ballsack? No, they don’t – because he is an amazing lover and way better than Dorkillo or whatever his stupid name was.

King Homewrecker: So the hacks at MASQ have booked me against another crayon eater.

Big Tittied Spanish Lady: Mmm, that’s right Papi. 

King Homewrecker: El Masko. Another crab on the pubic hair of lucha libre. A eunoco cobarde who speaks in the third person. I tried to listen to your message, but it was just so sad. Blah, blah, blah – El Masko is an idiot – blah, blah, blah – El Masko is a cuckold. 

A woman sits, ass naked of course, in the corner with an easel. She’s painting a portrait of King Homewrecker naked aside from his mask and tiny loincloth. He is riding a giant, majestic ass lion with Le Leona Del Sol, who is also ass naked. 

King Homewrecker: You sound like a cornudo, El Masko. A small, pathetic little peacock trying to flex his feathers because he feels emasculated. Does it make you feel emasculated that Le Leona wants a real man like King Homewrecker and not a eunoco like you? 

He turns quickly and his manhood dangles freely in sight of the camera.

King Homewrecker: Yes, El Masko, you were close to winning the Mettle championship. Much closer than any woman you’ve known carnally has been to an orgasm. Savor that, because you won’t walk away from Unmasked feeling close. I’m going to beat you like you owe me money, you calzonazos. And after breaking you open, I will steal away with La Leona and break her open, too.

All of the women laugh, clearly impressed with King Homewrecker’s sense of humor/

King Homewrecker: I joke, I joke. I will make sweet, sweet love to her. So, old man, stop worrying about La Leona and the kids at home. You have yourself to worry about. Come Unmasked you will be stepping into the ring with a man ten times your size in every way. I am bigger, I am stronger, I am faster, and I speak in first person.

A hot ass Norwegian comes over and pours a fresh lathering of baby oil over KH’s bountiful muscles as he does the “have you seen my beach ball, it’s this big” flex routine.

King Homewrecker: El Masko, you should know I took a note from that failed abortion I faced on Christmas Day. I’ll be bringing a big hammer of my own to Unmasked. Be careful I don’t bring it down upon your head. See you soon, El Masko.

Fade to black

“I had this patient strut into my office like he was Latino Heat once. He acted like a hot shot, yet he desperately wanted a psych exam. After spending twenty minutes listening to him detailing every life experience he’s ever had, he finally got to the point…”

“Everyone treated him like he’s beneath them: like he’s a dog.”

“Right when I was about to ask him why he thought that was, I saw it— a tattoo of himself on his thigh smiling right at me.”

“As a medical professional, I tried to hold it together while he blabbered on about how he sparred with Chael Sonnen once and that Bob Burnquist taught him to skateboard years ago in Rio, but I just couldn’t get that damn tattoo out of my head.”

“Because while this guy talks a big game, and despite all his experience, a tattoo like that made him a walking contradiction.”

“How could I, a mere psicólogo, break it to him that he’s lame as fuck?”

“Don’t you see, oh self-proclaimed Pride of Mexico? I’m having the same problem with you.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard how you’ve wrestled black bears in Canada, and you’ve rambled about the viejo’s stories more than my professor spoke about the Hippocratic Oath in med school.”

“You strut around and call yourself The Big Bad to anyone within earshot.”

“Big Bad what?”

“Has living with coyotes turned you into the Big Bad Wolf now?”

“Your stories are great, you sound really cool and all… but what’s with the chibi self-portrait on your trunks, ese?”

“That alone changes you from a big bad wolf to a little yippie chihuahua in my eyes, and that’s why I can’t take you seriously.”

“Someone needs to level with you, and as your doctor that responsibility falls squarely on my shoulders.”

“Which leads me to exactly my point: you’re a walking contradiction, cabron. Who you say you are doesn’t match up to who you really are.”

“You’re little and lame.”

“All those years ago I didn’t have the heart to diagnose my patient as I should have, and he walked out of my exam room like the contradiction he was. But I get to rectify that mistake with you by doing what I should have done then…”

“I’m going to put you down.”

“Verbally and physically.”

“You aren’t big or bad like you say you are. I look down on you, not because of your experience, but because your chibi trunks make you about as intimidating as a little chihuahua nipping at my heels, trying desperately to take my shiny sapphire belt as your chew toy.”

“But you will never take my Mettle Championship from me, perro.”

“All that you’ll take from me is your medicine, and ohh, yo tengo tu remedio, El Grande Malo.

“When you step into my veterinario officina at Unmasked, my lethal injection will render you lame like the pequeño chihuahua you are.”

“Yip, yip, yip…”

“Now, who’s a good boyy?”

The scene opens on a pirate’s gallon out on the water, a ship worn and weathered but somehow still sea-worthy despite the clear disrepair in its tattered sails and faded wood. On deck is none other than its captain, who stands atop a barrel in a triumphant pose, arms at his hips and chest puffed out… belly protruding toward the salty sea air through his jacket.

“Ahoy me hearties! Tis I, the Swashbucklin- AGHH!”

The barrel gives way below the girthy pirate, causing him to faceplant to the deck.

“Arrggh… f-fuck…”

The masked pirate groggily gets to his feet, brushing himself off and readjusting his almost comically large tricorne.

“Me bad… where was I? Aye!”

He draws his cutlass, regaining at least a shred of his pride with the glint of its steel.

“Tis I, The Swashbucklin’ Hero o’ the Seven Seas, Pirata Aterrador! N’ by me side like barnacles on the haul, me loyal scallywag Lora! Say ahoy t’ these maties!”

He gestures to a stuffed Parrot perched via Velcro on his shoulder. Lora is silent.

“Aye… ye don’t natter no more. ANYWAY! MASQverse, long ‘ave I sailed the coast o’ Masqopolis, waitin’ fer the day I could once again set me eyes on the greatest treasure o’ ’em all, the one found in the ring. While it seems most o’ ye ‘ave forgotten wha’ I stood fer, ye shall be quick t’ remember dat I be no bilge-rat on the seas or squarin’ off wit’ ye land-lubbers! I ‘ave braved many dangers, from rouge raves t’ sea monsters… ‘n ye may be the biggest o’ ’em all, Martillo Negro de la Muerte!”

Pirata blinks, lowering his cutlass.

“Aye, mighty big indeed… ‘n vicious. ‘n nigh unstoppable, ‘n… I shouldn’t be doing this. I mean look at my big ol’ gut! How can I possibly outrun that monster? This was such a big mistake! I shoulda listened to that bartender-“

His despair is interrupted as he presses his ear against the Lora’s felt beak, as if hearing a whisper.

“You’re right Lora… but do ye ‘ave t’ be so ‘ave such vulgar tongue? Yargh…

This strange captain reaches into his jacket and pulls out a flask, taking a swig of its contents. In a moment, his demeanor shifts.

“LOOK IN ME EYES MARTILLO! These eyes be dat o’ a cap’n nah afeared o’ starin’ down into Davey Jones’s Locker! When ye feel me offense, ye will feel as if a cannoball has launched into yer middle! An’ I will be the one t’ collect the bounty on yer head dat Uncle Slam n’ all the knights ye’ve brought woe upon ‘ave fer yer defeat lest I be a scurvy dog!”

“So ready yerself Martillo, fer while ye might feel seasick once I bring ye out t’ open waters… Prata Aterrador be always ready t’ SET SAIL!!!”

A triumphant raise of his cutlass brings an end to Pirata’s message.

Standing in the midst of what almost resembles a Castlevania level is Fedora Noir, one of MASQs most hard-boiled interviewers!

“Greetings MASQverse. This is Detective Fedora Noir, on assignment to the Skull Castle of El Supervillaino. And if I may be frank, this place could use some better windows. I’m getting quite the draft here-“

With a sudden crash of thunder and lightning strike, El Supervillaino appears on the castle stairs with an evil cackle.

“WELCOME TO MY LAIR DECTECTIVE!“

“Supervillaino. Kept me waiting,”

“Watch it. Rouge Numero Uno may show up whenever he pleases!”

“Right… tell me Supervillaino, how does your loss to El Masko effect your grand plan for MASQ?”

“Oh Noir, you lack perspective. While I may not stand before you as Mettle champion, it was merely a temporary setback to my domination of this world! Besides, that inane Masko didn’t truly defeat me… he relied on gravity and the weight of those damned stairs to escape my might!”

“I see, and what of your heinous attack on TRIV later that very night?”

“I had given TRIV the chance to embrace his true nature as a Rouge and join mi Familia Del Abismo. I offered him my hand, and he chose to spit in my face! So, I reminded him where he came from… a land of shattered glass!“

“You keep mentioning this Family of yours, but I’ve seen no one else here. Where are your-“

“SILENCE! Don’t stick your nose where it doesn’t belong,”

“Fine, change of subject then. Your upcoming match with El Hijo Del Phonk,”

“Ahh yes. I’ve been anticipating this confrontation for quite some time. You see Noir, you and I share one thing in common. We are both students of a more classic era. A culture of honor and respect, not that I value either. However, Phonk is of a newer generation, selfish and vapid, obsessed with no greater ideals than their own popularity! Phonk is among a new group of villains that may rival the evil of even myself… INFLUENCERS! They gain the trust of a wide subsect of vapid young minds and use this control, what they refer to as “clout”, to peddle products and “cancel” their opposition! It’s a scheme that I almost envy… but it has one fatal flaw! Phonk, while your social media feed radiates only superficiality, my EVIL is authentic! I make no lies about what I am, which is EL SUPERVILLAINO, ROUGE NUMERO UNO AND MAESTRO DEL CAOS! The shadow of my evil will blot out your presence before those mouth-breathing followers of yours to oblivion!”

Supervillaino then makes a grand flourish with his cape.

“Leave, I have greater machinations to attend to,”

“Sure thing chief. Best of luck…”

As Fedora Noir pulls down on the brim of his hat and leaves the scene, Supervillaino pulls a phone out of his pocket.

“Now, what did you mean you won’t allow me to add sharks to my castle moat? DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?!”