April 11th - "Ravishing" Rick Rude

Queen of Diamonds - "Ravishing" Rick Rude
1 - Prose

A great obit for the man.


The Rumble

This was it. He was chosen to go first for a reason. Cymbals crash. The opening bars and he's off at a confident strut down the aisle, taking his time. With sequined robe, coiffed hair, and manicured mustache, he steps into the lights and the crowd roars. Two minutes. He's going on first for a reason.

Through the ropes and he's in the ring. Start the timer. Off with his robe and the crowd howls once more. "Ravishing" Rick Rude stands a body of marble, baby oil dripping and glistening under the lights. Rude throws the robe to the ring and steps forward to flex and kiss at the jeering crowd. His own face is emblazoned on his tights, mustache resting on pubis. Boos - and Rick reacts by wiping the sweat from his brow and flinging it to the audience.

Rude turns his back on them. Placing his hands on his buttocks, he saunters casually over to the other corner of the ring. There he sees a woman sitting quietly in the third row, aisle seat, and winks at her suggestively. She's a plant whom he'll kiss later, after he's been knocked out by Mr. Perfect. Gotta set the stage now. One minute gone by. It's time.

Bobby Heenan hands him the microphone. "Cut the music! You all came out here tonight to see the Royal Rumble, am I right?" Cheers. He repeats himself. "You all got your asses into your cars and drove to this run-down arena tonight so you could see the Royal Rumble. Am I right?" The din builds. "But I don't think any of you sweaty pigs" - boos - "you flabby, out of shape, inner-city losers expected to be put to shame this early. What I'd like you to do" - the boos rise- "Sit down and shut up! What I'd like you losers to do is take a good look at what a real sexy man looks like."

With that Rude ascends to the top turnbuckles, flexing as the crowd noise amplifies and squeezing them nearly to the brink, he eases back down to canvas. "Now I'm gonna step back for a second here," Rude pauses for effect, "and give the ladies a good look at the sexiest man alive. Hit the music!"

Rude ditches the mic. Then, his back to the south entrance, "Ravishing" Rick Rude places hands behind his head and rolls his hips. With each gyration, the rumble of the crowd grows, and thrusting, Rude brings the booing to a crescendo. His mustache shifts slightly: a smile as he preps for an imminent blow to the shoulder.

Two minutes. Texas Tornado comes barreling down the aisle, connecting with hand after outstretched hand. All the while, Yokozuna waiting in the wings.




Another poem - maybe a proper one this time -  coming here tomorrow...
In the meantime, check out April 11th's poem from last year.