AGGRESSION 50: EPW IC Title Match - Shawn Hart (c) vs. Sean Edmunds
- Thread starter DBrunkGXW
- Start date
ShawnHartXXX
The Phenom
SJH's Opening SMASH
FADE IN:
Super rad guitar riffs.
Super bland generic photo backdrop.
The Empire Pro logo...
...and Intercontinental Champion SHAWN JESSICA HART, PhD in spandex, shades, and pay-per view hype mode!
SJH: "Hart-broken Phenom FIENDS - What is UP?!"
The camera cuts in for a close-up as Hart removes his shades and tucks them into the pocket of his pleather vest.
SJH: "Last time we spoke, my main man 'NARK and I were set to do battle with the eeeeeeevil Antho-jerks... and when all was said and done, HOPE prevailed and the so-called World Champion was on the mat, lookin' at lights!"
He grins maliciously.
SJH: "F.F. to now - AGGRESSION number FIVE-O - perhaps the BIGGEST event in the HISTORY of Empire Pro, and the promotion's most INFLUENTIAL factions are set to do battle once again! In one corner, it'll be me... the Intercontinental CHAMP, the WWR's number TWO ranked wrestler for 2009, sweet like wheat beer and TIGHTER than J-Lo's New Years Rockin' BODYSUIT! In the other, 58-time WWL Champion Sean Edmunds..."
SJH shakes his head quite disgustedly.
SJH: "Y'know... once upon a time, our boy Sean was something of a stalwart in the industry. One of the measuring sticks upon which the rest of us did our DAMNDEST to emulate.
That was the late 90's...
And unless you've been stuck under a rock for the past 15 years or so, it's probably pretty apparent that it's a whooooole new century-
And a WHOLE new ballgame."
He nods his head.
SJH: "Sean Edmunds, back in the ol' WWL, while I was stuck having Evening Gown matches with an uber-green Lindsay Troy... you were main eventing with the Joe Massacre's and the Maelstrom's of the world. And no one on God's green Earth can take any of that away from you. But in the HERE and NOW, the Prime Minister of Gettin' Sinister is the guy people strive to match strides with!
I mean, love me or hate me, the one thing ya can't do is underrate me. I'm the IC Champ, I'm the New Era WORLD Champ, the Legacy Champ, and the guy who instigated the very creation of not just HOPE, but your precious Anthology too!
Without QUESTION, NO MAN is making waves in this business like SJH!"
Hart scratches his chin pensively.
SJH: "All that being said, Mr. E... I've got ONE thing to ask you-
Aside from pulling a small miracle out of your FAT ass and winning that number one contender's match...
What the F(FCC)CK have you done lately?!"
He stares inquisitively into the camera.
SJH: "Since that WWL success, oh-so-many years ago, you haven't done a GODD(FCC)MN thing to warrant a spot in the same ring with me, and come number 50, I'm going to make SURE the whole world knows it!"
SJH grits his teeth angrily.
SJH: "Cuz nothin' in this business enrages me more than not getting the respect I deserve, and by getting stuck in this match with an aging JACKHOLE... that is EXACTLY what's happened here. Call it an outrage, call it a mockery, you and I both know it's the TRUTH! And I will BEAT years out of your life expectancy until the rest of the world knows it too!"
He suddenly stops in his tracks and forces out an awkward smile.
SJH: "But hey - no hard feelings, huh?"
He raises his right hand and strikes a victory pose.
SJH: "The PHENOM has left the building!"
FADE OUT.
FADE IN:
Super rad guitar riffs.
Super bland generic photo backdrop.
The Empire Pro logo...
...and Intercontinental Champion SHAWN JESSICA HART, PhD in spandex, shades, and pay-per view hype mode!
SJH: "Hart-broken Phenom FIENDS - What is UP?!"
The camera cuts in for a close-up as Hart removes his shades and tucks them into the pocket of his pleather vest.
SJH: "Last time we spoke, my main man 'NARK and I were set to do battle with the eeeeeeevil Antho-jerks... and when all was said and done, HOPE prevailed and the so-called World Champion was on the mat, lookin' at lights!"
He grins maliciously.
SJH: "F.F. to now - AGGRESSION number FIVE-O - perhaps the BIGGEST event in the HISTORY of Empire Pro, and the promotion's most INFLUENTIAL factions are set to do battle once again! In one corner, it'll be me... the Intercontinental CHAMP, the WWR's number TWO ranked wrestler for 2009, sweet like wheat beer and TIGHTER than J-Lo's New Years Rockin' BODYSUIT! In the other, 58-time WWL Champion Sean Edmunds..."
SJH shakes his head quite disgustedly.
SJH: "Y'know... once upon a time, our boy Sean was something of a stalwart in the industry. One of the measuring sticks upon which the rest of us did our DAMNDEST to emulate.
That was the late 90's...
And unless you've been stuck under a rock for the past 15 years or so, it's probably pretty apparent that it's a whooooole new century-
And a WHOLE new ballgame."
He nods his head.
SJH: "Sean Edmunds, back in the ol' WWL, while I was stuck having Evening Gown matches with an uber-green Lindsay Troy... you were main eventing with the Joe Massacre's and the Maelstrom's of the world. And no one on God's green Earth can take any of that away from you. But in the HERE and NOW, the Prime Minister of Gettin' Sinister is the guy people strive to match strides with!
I mean, love me or hate me, the one thing ya can't do is underrate me. I'm the IC Champ, I'm the New Era WORLD Champ, the Legacy Champ, and the guy who instigated the very creation of not just HOPE, but your precious Anthology too!
Without QUESTION, NO MAN is making waves in this business like SJH!"
Hart scratches his chin pensively.
SJH: "All that being said, Mr. E... I've got ONE thing to ask you-
Aside from pulling a small miracle out of your FAT ass and winning that number one contender's match...
What the F(FCC)CK have you done lately?!"
He stares inquisitively into the camera.
SJH: "Since that WWL success, oh-so-many years ago, you haven't done a GODD(FCC)MN thing to warrant a spot in the same ring with me, and come number 50, I'm going to make SURE the whole world knows it!"
SJH grits his teeth angrily.
SJH: "Cuz nothin' in this business enrages me more than not getting the respect I deserve, and by getting stuck in this match with an aging JACKHOLE... that is EXACTLY what's happened here. Call it an outrage, call it a mockery, you and I both know it's the TRUTH! And I will BEAT years out of your life expectancy until the rest of the world knows it too!"
He suddenly stops in his tracks and forces out an awkward smile.
SJH: "But hey - no hard feelings, huh?"
He raises his right hand and strikes a victory pose.
SJH: "The PHENOM has left the building!"
FADE OUT.
TheOriginalSE
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- Location
- San Francisco, CA
- Website
- newera.fwrestling.com
Where has he gone?
(The light shines from above, cascading through the particles in the air. In the background we hear the faint sound of laughter. The camera begins to slowly turn towards the laughter, tracking the particles as they float freely in that direction.)
VOICE: "Poor sucker didn't know what was coming!"
(More laughter as the camera cuts through the empty room. It turns stares into a long hallway. At the end of the hall, a door is slightly ajar. We see figures walking back and forth in front of the crack. CLANG. Bottles click together.)
VOICE: "Cheers."
(Another CLANG... then breaking. There is a momentary silence. After a good three or four seconds a multitude of voices break out in hysteria. The camera picks up speed and swings the door open. The force causes the door to hit the wall and bounce back, slamming shut. Seconds later the loud thud of the cameraman hitting the ground coincides with the camera crashing with it. The laughter penetrates the door, figuratively showering the cameraman with humiliation. Fadeout as the camera rolls on its side, continuing to tape … the wall.)
A few hours later...
(The camera flickers on as its being steadied. We're in the same hallway from before. The lights are dimmed now, the hallway shrouded in darkness. The camera buzzes as the cameraman flick on the "nightvision." In an instant the hallway goes from dark to lit. Moving slowly, not wanting to repeat the disaster suffered earlier, the camera moves towards an opening. It turns and we hear an audible gasp! Standing in the middle of the blackened kitchen we see a figure standing nude (luckily for us, the video is time delayed and the area is pixelated), head tilted back guzzling what looks to be a carton of milk. The figure swallows the rest of the milk and his eyes wander towards the camera. Head tilted, he walks towards the camera. Standing right in front of it an arm comes up. FLASH! A white bright light blinds the shot. A second later the cameraman turns off the night vision and the camera focuses on "Simply Sensational" Sean Edmunds scratching his armpit. A slight huff of amusement fills the dead air as Edmunds walks back to the counter.)
EDMUNDS: "I was wondering when you'd finally wake up."
(He slides his hand over his mouth wiping the moistness left by the milk.)
EDMUNDS: "In one fell swoop, I went from lying down in the middle of the ring to Bruce Richards to being a heartbeat away from the Intercontinental championship."
(His eyes reveal the battle raging within; the ego working to overcome his reservations.)
EDMUNDS: "So here we are. Bruce Richards, a forgotten memory. Sean Edmunds, en route to the Intercontinental championship. Who really was victorious?"
(A quick wink.)
EDMUNDS: "Like Anthology, left for dead on the side of the road, I have risen, brushed myself off, and continued on a path that has led me to Aggression 50. Since Copycat and myself have come to Empire Pro we have begun the transformation process. Anarky has been humbled twice. Fusenshoff, Omega, Erik Black .. they went from the standard bearers to the pall bearers of this new generation of *professional wrestling."
(Edmunds places his foot on the bottom of the barrel, the pressure opening the top as he flicks the empty milk container in. It lands on top of the rest of the trash as the top comes down.)
EDMUNDS: "This genocide against the SPORT of *professional wrestling, by the very men to whom Copycat and I passed the proverbial torch, is slowly coming to an end.”
(Streaking past the camera, Edmunds walks by and flicks off the light. Once more the camera is smothered by the night. The camera man quickly flicks on the night vision and steps out. The hallway Edmunds entered is now empty. But a blinding light comes from the end of the hall. The camera, pointed at the floor now, presumably walks towards the light. After a few seconds the nightvision is turned off and the camera placed back upon the cameraman’s shoulder. Edmunds is now standing in the room from earlier. Beer bottles and cards scattered across a circular kitchen table, a white and blue tablecloth over it. Edmunds has thrown on a pair of sweatpants.)
EDMUNDS: “C’mon, Shawn. I know that you feel it. I know that when you look outside you can see an army of me coming through the gates. You try to hide behind the coy words, the history lessons.”
(He begins to throw the sides of the tablecloth up and over on top.)
EDMUNDS: “If you think that you could EVER try to emulate me … then you’re sorely mistaken. The past ten .. twelve years… this sport has been assaulted …”
(With all four sides resting on top of the table, Edmunds grabs them and hoists the table cloth, and its contents, off the table and walks over to the wall.)
EDMUNDS: “What have I done to get here, Shawn?”
(A smile. Edmunds opens a cabinet door, revealing a trash chute behind it. He tosses the entire kitten caboodle into it. Shutting the cabinet, he turns and places his hands on his hips.)
EDMUNDS: “ .. Entering into the ring with four other men … and walking out the number one contender. That may have gotten me into the match. Defeating Anarky. That may have gotten me into the match. Wiping the mat with Jungle Storm …. And YOURSELF… (nods) That may have helped, too, buddy.”
(A pause to let the last words sink in.)
EDMUNDS: “Listen, you can keep the swordplay to yourself, Shawn. We’re not in a dick measuring contest, luckily enough for you. You hold a World Heavyweight championship for a league that was six feet under for two years … Wow. Great job there, champ. Maybe you’ll even win the unification match … so that way in five years, when the results from the pay per view are finally released to the public, you can say that you are the WFW:NE World Heavyweight champion.”
(Edmunds’ eyes roll into the back of his skull.)
EDMUNDS: “Respect.”
(Huffs.)
EDMUNDS: “You don’t even know what the word means.”
(His gaze wanders past the camera as his statement lingers in the air.)
EDMUNDS: “Empire Pro has become a haven for those who lack respect.”
(His eyelids close. Edmunds breathes in and out to quell the uprising bubbling within.)
EDMUNDS: “It is only fitting that I cleanse the Intercontinental championship in Las Vegas. The City of Sin… of excess. I’m sure you’ll feel right at home among the stragglers…. The thieves.. (he opens his eyes) The prostitutes.”
(Edmunds looks around the room.)
EDMUNDS: “Where is he, Hart? Where is that young, up and coming star that I first saw in the WWL all those years ago? He was standing on the doorstep, shoulders primed to carry a new generation of wrestling into a new century. His eyes were so fresh. He was hungry for any glean of wisdom that people like Copycat and myself could bestow on him. Where is he now?”
(Eyebrows raised, he merely shakes his head back and forth, disappointed.)
EDMUNDS: “You have been a letdown, Shawn.”
(Shrugs.)
EDMUNDS: “Flimsy. Dull. Unremarkable in the spotlight given to you. Las Vegas has a knack for hiring those whose successes are long gone. Consider Aggression 50 you’re encore performance, Shawn. You bungled your opportunity… and now your fans … truly will …. Be heartbroken.”
(Edmunds pauses..)
EDMUNDS: “Don’t adjust your television sets.. I am this sensational….”
(The camera begins to fade out..)
EDMUNDS: “… and don’t you forget it.”
(Fadetoblack.)
(The light shines from above, cascading through the particles in the air. In the background we hear the faint sound of laughter. The camera begins to slowly turn towards the laughter, tracking the particles as they float freely in that direction.)
VOICE: "Poor sucker didn't know what was coming!"
(More laughter as the camera cuts through the empty room. It turns stares into a long hallway. At the end of the hall, a door is slightly ajar. We see figures walking back and forth in front of the crack. CLANG. Bottles click together.)
VOICE: "Cheers."
(Another CLANG... then breaking. There is a momentary silence. After a good three or four seconds a multitude of voices break out in hysteria. The camera picks up speed and swings the door open. The force causes the door to hit the wall and bounce back, slamming shut. Seconds later the loud thud of the cameraman hitting the ground coincides with the camera crashing with it. The laughter penetrates the door, figuratively showering the cameraman with humiliation. Fadeout as the camera rolls on its side, continuing to tape … the wall.)
A few hours later...
(The camera flickers on as its being steadied. We're in the same hallway from before. The lights are dimmed now, the hallway shrouded in darkness. The camera buzzes as the cameraman flick on the "nightvision." In an instant the hallway goes from dark to lit. Moving slowly, not wanting to repeat the disaster suffered earlier, the camera moves towards an opening. It turns and we hear an audible gasp! Standing in the middle of the blackened kitchen we see a figure standing nude (luckily for us, the video is time delayed and the area is pixelated), head tilted back guzzling what looks to be a carton of milk. The figure swallows the rest of the milk and his eyes wander towards the camera. Head tilted, he walks towards the camera. Standing right in front of it an arm comes up. FLASH! A white bright light blinds the shot. A second later the cameraman turns off the night vision and the camera focuses on "Simply Sensational" Sean Edmunds scratching his armpit. A slight huff of amusement fills the dead air as Edmunds walks back to the counter.)
EDMUNDS: "I was wondering when you'd finally wake up."
(He slides his hand over his mouth wiping the moistness left by the milk.)
EDMUNDS: "In one fell swoop, I went from lying down in the middle of the ring to Bruce Richards to being a heartbeat away from the Intercontinental championship."
(His eyes reveal the battle raging within; the ego working to overcome his reservations.)
EDMUNDS: "So here we are. Bruce Richards, a forgotten memory. Sean Edmunds, en route to the Intercontinental championship. Who really was victorious?"
(A quick wink.)
EDMUNDS: "Like Anthology, left for dead on the side of the road, I have risen, brushed myself off, and continued on a path that has led me to Aggression 50. Since Copycat and myself have come to Empire Pro we have begun the transformation process. Anarky has been humbled twice. Fusenshoff, Omega, Erik Black .. they went from the standard bearers to the pall bearers of this new generation of *professional wrestling."
(Edmunds places his foot on the bottom of the barrel, the pressure opening the top as he flicks the empty milk container in. It lands on top of the rest of the trash as the top comes down.)
EDMUNDS: "This genocide against the SPORT of *professional wrestling, by the very men to whom Copycat and I passed the proverbial torch, is slowly coming to an end.”
(Streaking past the camera, Edmunds walks by and flicks off the light. Once more the camera is smothered by the night. The camera man quickly flicks on the night vision and steps out. The hallway Edmunds entered is now empty. But a blinding light comes from the end of the hall. The camera, pointed at the floor now, presumably walks towards the light. After a few seconds the nightvision is turned off and the camera placed back upon the cameraman’s shoulder. Edmunds is now standing in the room from earlier. Beer bottles and cards scattered across a circular kitchen table, a white and blue tablecloth over it. Edmunds has thrown on a pair of sweatpants.)
EDMUNDS: “C’mon, Shawn. I know that you feel it. I know that when you look outside you can see an army of me coming through the gates. You try to hide behind the coy words, the history lessons.”
(He begins to throw the sides of the tablecloth up and over on top.)
EDMUNDS: “If you think that you could EVER try to emulate me … then you’re sorely mistaken. The past ten .. twelve years… this sport has been assaulted …”
(With all four sides resting on top of the table, Edmunds grabs them and hoists the table cloth, and its contents, off the table and walks over to the wall.)
EDMUNDS: “What have I done to get here, Shawn?”
(A smile. Edmunds opens a cabinet door, revealing a trash chute behind it. He tosses the entire kitten caboodle into it. Shutting the cabinet, he turns and places his hands on his hips.)
EDMUNDS: “ .. Entering into the ring with four other men … and walking out the number one contender. That may have gotten me into the match. Defeating Anarky. That may have gotten me into the match. Wiping the mat with Jungle Storm …. And YOURSELF… (nods) That may have helped, too, buddy.”
(A pause to let the last words sink in.)
EDMUNDS: “Listen, you can keep the swordplay to yourself, Shawn. We’re not in a dick measuring contest, luckily enough for you. You hold a World Heavyweight championship for a league that was six feet under for two years … Wow. Great job there, champ. Maybe you’ll even win the unification match … so that way in five years, when the results from the pay per view are finally released to the public, you can say that you are the WFW:NE World Heavyweight champion.”
(Edmunds’ eyes roll into the back of his skull.)
EDMUNDS: “Respect.”
(Huffs.)
EDMUNDS: “You don’t even know what the word means.”
(His gaze wanders past the camera as his statement lingers in the air.)
EDMUNDS: “Empire Pro has become a haven for those who lack respect.”
(His eyelids close. Edmunds breathes in and out to quell the uprising bubbling within.)
EDMUNDS: “It is only fitting that I cleanse the Intercontinental championship in Las Vegas. The City of Sin… of excess. I’m sure you’ll feel right at home among the stragglers…. The thieves.. (he opens his eyes) The prostitutes.”
(Edmunds looks around the room.)
EDMUNDS: “Where is he, Hart? Where is that young, up and coming star that I first saw in the WWL all those years ago? He was standing on the doorstep, shoulders primed to carry a new generation of wrestling into a new century. His eyes were so fresh. He was hungry for any glean of wisdom that people like Copycat and myself could bestow on him. Where is he now?”
(Eyebrows raised, he merely shakes his head back and forth, disappointed.)
EDMUNDS: “You have been a letdown, Shawn.”
(Shrugs.)
EDMUNDS: “Flimsy. Dull. Unremarkable in the spotlight given to you. Las Vegas has a knack for hiring those whose successes are long gone. Consider Aggression 50 you’re encore performance, Shawn. You bungled your opportunity… and now your fans … truly will …. Be heartbroken.”
(Edmunds pauses..)
EDMUNDS: “Don’t adjust your television sets.. I am this sensational….”
(The camera begins to fade out..)
EDMUNDS: “… and don’t you forget it.”
(Fadetoblack.)
ShawnHartXXX
The Phenom
Retort.
FADE IN:
The Rumpus Room of NEW Champion SHAWN HART's quasi-palatial estate in Orlando, Florida - Evening
Sitting in his comfiest comfy chair with a book in one hand and a pipe in the other, SJH appears to be enjoying a bit of rest and relaxation. As he finishes a page from what must be one of his favorite reads and begins to turn to the next, he suddenly takes notice of the camera and feigns surprise.
SJH: "Oh!"
Grin.
SJH: "Didn't see you there."
He closes the book and holds it up for the camera.
SJH: "A Christmas Carol.... one of literature's greatest cautionary tales about a guy who, well... didn't know his head from his ass basically. He thought he had it made, that he had all the answers... but really, he was just an ornery old coot who, despite his numerous funds, probably couldn't get a girly to polish his broad sword if he begged. He was just too much of a miserable bastard."
He pauses, looks pensively upward, and then returns his gaze to the camera and continues.
SJH: "So then a buncha ghosts came out of the woodwork, showed him what a douche he was and bing-bang-BOOM - Old Ebenezer was back in business with a new outlook on life..."
SJH takes a deep breath.
SJH: "...which is something my old buddy Sensational Sean Edmunds could probably use as well. Y'see Mr. Edmunds... Sean.... yours is a story that emulates that of Mr. Scrooge at almost every turn. You came in, bright eyed and full of bullsh(FCC)t, proceeded to sell the whole of the wrestling world on said bullsh(FCC)t, and made a name for yourself as an ALLEGED icon of sports entertainment. But after all that success - the titles, the merchandise, the big money matches, did you do anything to elevate yourself, your sport, or any of your fellow wrestlers to new and glorious heights?"
He stares into the camera with a look of accusation draped across his face.
SJH: "Nah... not even close. In fact, all you've done in the subsequent TEN or so years since your glory days is kick back like a fat cat... and here you are now, back like a vertebrae, chock full of douchebaggery, dereliction, and disparaging remarks for me and my entire generation... just like Old Ebenezer."
The Prime Minister of Gettin' Sinister cracks the slightest hint of a grin.
SJH: "But'chu know what?! Today is your LUCKY DAY, cuz the Phenom is here to set you straight... and give you a new lease on life by showing you the error of your ways! Hell, those crusty old ghosts don't even need to roll out of their crypts for this one, because the steak n' eggs of this entire sordid situation is as plain as the nose on your face!"
He scratches his chin.
SJH: "And the rest of your face too!!"
He looks pensively upward.
SJH: "Oh, and your plain, little career also."
SJH nods his head approvingly.
SJH: "It goes like this, Sean-John... Say what you will about what you perceive to be a lackluster list of accomplishments on my part, but the TRUTH of the matter is that people in this industry KNOW, just like they know the sky is blue, that S-J-H is WITHOUT QUESTION one of the most tantalizing and exquisite performers the business has ever seen. I may not have the decades-long history that you have, and yeah... I have to fight just a l'il bit harder to get mentioned in Best Of's and Top Tens and all that hubbub, but such is life when you're a LIGHTNING ROD for controversy and rubbin' people the WRONG way. It makes me harder to love, but in the end... my Herculean AWESOMENESS cannot be denied!"
More self-agreement and head-nodding action.
SJH: "Even you can't deny it, Sean... and LORD KNOWS you've tried. Why, after helping form the Anthology... and propelling the outfit to the top of the game in Empire Pro, I began to see a weak link in the chain. You know who I'm referring too, but for the sake of good manners, we'll leave him to his anonymity."
Hart hacks out a phony cough.
SJH: "CRUISE."
He clears his throat.
SJH: "Anyhow, I tried like the DICKENS to point this out to the rest of you, but did you listen?
Nah.....
Instead, you and your JACKHOLE friends decided that I must be crazy. Unfit mentally and unfit for your little circle jerk. Shawn Hart was just some loudmouthed clown with no merit and NO place in the group he helped create."
Hart smiles.
SJH: "So what happened next? ...That weak link, your fearless leader, the guy who shall remain nameless, except to say that his name rhymes with HAMMERIN' BOOZE, dragged your sorry lot right down the tubes! And just DAYS after Anthology had hit rock bottom... he was OUT, and the whole operation was forced to REBOOT with a new and even DOUCHIER CPU.
Heh, Bottom line - after all I had done to make your has-been ass RESPECTABLE, and despite my many attempts to point you in the right direction, you elected to doubt me. Time and time again, I've proven my ability to see what the next move was, what lie in wait around the corner, both inside the ring and out... but instead of acknowledging this innate ability, you PUNKED me like the little F(FCC)CK you are!
You discounted me then as you have now, and THIS TIME... just like last, it will come back to bite you in the ass! Say what you will in your feeble attempts to discredit the grandeur I've sculpted from my wrestling career - the reality of the situation is that while you sit there and scream to the skies about the ONE MATCH you won to get yourself back to the position you're in today, I've got a closet full'a GOLD and GUARANTEED CONTRACTS backin' me up!
Call it an outrage, call it a mockery, I call it the TRUTH!"
He covers his mouth with embarrassment.
SJH: "Granted, Christmas is over... and the whole Scrooged thing's been done to death, but the same can be said for Sean Edmunds on BOTH COUNTS.
What can I say, except that sometimes the truth HURTS... and at Aggression 50, you're gonna feel it in full force.
The PHENOM has left the building!"
FADE OUT.
FADE IN:
The Rumpus Room of NEW Champion SHAWN HART's quasi-palatial estate in Orlando, Florida - Evening
Sitting in his comfiest comfy chair with a book in one hand and a pipe in the other, SJH appears to be enjoying a bit of rest and relaxation. As he finishes a page from what must be one of his favorite reads and begins to turn to the next, he suddenly takes notice of the camera and feigns surprise.
SJH: "Oh!"
Grin.
SJH: "Didn't see you there."
He closes the book and holds it up for the camera.
SJH: "A Christmas Carol.... one of literature's greatest cautionary tales about a guy who, well... didn't know his head from his ass basically. He thought he had it made, that he had all the answers... but really, he was just an ornery old coot who, despite his numerous funds, probably couldn't get a girly to polish his broad sword if he begged. He was just too much of a miserable bastard."
He pauses, looks pensively upward, and then returns his gaze to the camera and continues.
SJH: "So then a buncha ghosts came out of the woodwork, showed him what a douche he was and bing-bang-BOOM - Old Ebenezer was back in business with a new outlook on life..."
SJH takes a deep breath.
SJH: "...which is something my old buddy Sensational Sean Edmunds could probably use as well. Y'see Mr. Edmunds... Sean.... yours is a story that emulates that of Mr. Scrooge at almost every turn. You came in, bright eyed and full of bullsh(FCC)t, proceeded to sell the whole of the wrestling world on said bullsh(FCC)t, and made a name for yourself as an ALLEGED icon of sports entertainment. But after all that success - the titles, the merchandise, the big money matches, did you do anything to elevate yourself, your sport, or any of your fellow wrestlers to new and glorious heights?"
He stares into the camera with a look of accusation draped across his face.
SJH: "Nah... not even close. In fact, all you've done in the subsequent TEN or so years since your glory days is kick back like a fat cat... and here you are now, back like a vertebrae, chock full of douchebaggery, dereliction, and disparaging remarks for me and my entire generation... just like Old Ebenezer."
The Prime Minister of Gettin' Sinister cracks the slightest hint of a grin.
SJH: "But'chu know what?! Today is your LUCKY DAY, cuz the Phenom is here to set you straight... and give you a new lease on life by showing you the error of your ways! Hell, those crusty old ghosts don't even need to roll out of their crypts for this one, because the steak n' eggs of this entire sordid situation is as plain as the nose on your face!"
He scratches his chin.
SJH: "And the rest of your face too!!"
He looks pensively upward.
SJH: "Oh, and your plain, little career also."
SJH nods his head approvingly.
SJH: "It goes like this, Sean-John... Say what you will about what you perceive to be a lackluster list of accomplishments on my part, but the TRUTH of the matter is that people in this industry KNOW, just like they know the sky is blue, that S-J-H is WITHOUT QUESTION one of the most tantalizing and exquisite performers the business has ever seen. I may not have the decades-long history that you have, and yeah... I have to fight just a l'il bit harder to get mentioned in Best Of's and Top Tens and all that hubbub, but such is life when you're a LIGHTNING ROD for controversy and rubbin' people the WRONG way. It makes me harder to love, but in the end... my Herculean AWESOMENESS cannot be denied!"
More self-agreement and head-nodding action.
SJH: "Even you can't deny it, Sean... and LORD KNOWS you've tried. Why, after helping form the Anthology... and propelling the outfit to the top of the game in Empire Pro, I began to see a weak link in the chain. You know who I'm referring too, but for the sake of good manners, we'll leave him to his anonymity."
Hart hacks out a phony cough.
SJH: "CRUISE."
He clears his throat.
SJH: "Anyhow, I tried like the DICKENS to point this out to the rest of you, but did you listen?
Nah.....
Instead, you and your JACKHOLE friends decided that I must be crazy. Unfit mentally and unfit for your little circle jerk. Shawn Hart was just some loudmouthed clown with no merit and NO place in the group he helped create."
Hart smiles.
SJH: "So what happened next? ...That weak link, your fearless leader, the guy who shall remain nameless, except to say that his name rhymes with HAMMERIN' BOOZE, dragged your sorry lot right down the tubes! And just DAYS after Anthology had hit rock bottom... he was OUT, and the whole operation was forced to REBOOT with a new and even DOUCHIER CPU.
Heh, Bottom line - after all I had done to make your has-been ass RESPECTABLE, and despite my many attempts to point you in the right direction, you elected to doubt me. Time and time again, I've proven my ability to see what the next move was, what lie in wait around the corner, both inside the ring and out... but instead of acknowledging this innate ability, you PUNKED me like the little F(FCC)CK you are!
You discounted me then as you have now, and THIS TIME... just like last, it will come back to bite you in the ass! Say what you will in your feeble attempts to discredit the grandeur I've sculpted from my wrestling career - the reality of the situation is that while you sit there and scream to the skies about the ONE MATCH you won to get yourself back to the position you're in today, I've got a closet full'a GOLD and GUARANTEED CONTRACTS backin' me up!
Call it an outrage, call it a mockery, I call it the TRUTH!"
He covers his mouth with embarrassment.
SJH: "Granted, Christmas is over... and the whole Scrooged thing's been done to death, but the same can be said for Sean Edmunds on BOTH COUNTS.
What can I say, except that sometimes the truth HURTS... and at Aggression 50, you're gonna feel it in full force.
The PHENOM has left the building!"
FADE OUT.
TheOriginalSE
Moderator
- Joined
- Jan 1, 2000
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- 2,379
- Points
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- 40
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- San Francisco, CA
- Website
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The Track of a Storm
“It’s funny, Shawn.”
(The camera fades in to “Simply Sensational” Sean Edmunds. He is sitting on the floor, his left leg propped up, with his back against a bare, white wall. Placing his forearm on the lifted knee, he tilts his head in disappointment.)
EDMUNDS: “But also sad in a way.”
(The shadows dance across the barren easel.)
EDMUNDS: “All this time that we’ve been in Empire Pro … from the moment I first glided into Anthology’s warm glow .. from the moment I held open the door as we escorted you out.. to the match where you ended up on your back, bleary eyed and gazing at the stars while Jared Wells barely broke a sweat as he pinned you to the mat … to now.”
(Edmunds turns his head to face the camera. It’s true. He’s been in the business for many years, but his face doesn’t reflect this. His plastic surgeon is worth the money, it seems. Regardless, Edmunds’ eyes tell the story.)
EDMUNDS: “You waste more airspace with a summation of my career than I do.”
(His gaze slowly wanders past the camera, caught in a moment. In a second it’s over. His pupils flare and immediately return to the camera.)
EDMUNDS: “Is it envy?”
(An honest question to be sure.)
EDMUNDS: “I’m not quite sure.. but I can tell you one thing, Shawn.. what I have done in the past, is of no concern to me now. I don’t sit by the fireplace, consoled by a Snuggie, a cocktail and a novel, reminiscing about days gone by. I know my past. I’ve come to terms with the debts that I’ve paid this cruel mistress we call a profession.”
(He extends his legs outwards now, places his hands palms down and stretches. His head pointing to the Heavens he continues.)
EDMUNDS: “But, by all means, Shawn, if you wish to give me some play by play, continue on.”
(He relaxes, wipes dry his lips, and looks back into the camera.)
EDMUNDS: “If you want to rehash every mistake I’ve made, or every opportunity that I’ve let slip through my grasp a la Billy Buckner, then stand tall on that soap box. Here’s the thing, Shawn… not only have I heard this before.. (smirks) but I’ve done it all before.”
(Pausing to get to his feet, Edmunds lets his words travel through the airwaves. Standing upright, he walks to a window. Through the glass we see the wind blowing violently, tossing a tree branch side to side.)
EDMUNDS: “The good news is that I’ve grown. I’ve leveled up, so to speak.”
(The wind howls through a crack in the window, underscoring his point.)
EDMUNDS: “I give you one thing, Shawn. You sure know how to spin yourself… talk yourself up so much that you legitimately believe that you’re on top of the world. Sure. You’ve been on the Top 10 lists. You’re recognized as someone who can put on a good show.”
(He smiles again as a fleeting thought is swept away with the leaves outside.)
EDMUNDS: “You’re the queen bee.. in a hive that is decomposing from the inside.”
(He turns and leans against the window ledge. Behind him the wind continues its assault against the tree.)
EDMUNDS: “You’re standing high atop that pedestal … with the Munchkins kneeling and worshipping your every move.”
(He continues, the analogies coming out one after another.)
EDMUNDS: “You’re the most tantalizing showman in ALL of *professional wrestling, Shawn .. you’re the Jennifer Lopez in Gigli. The Nicole Kidman of Australia. The Roger Moore of A View to a Kill. The biggest star … in a turkey.”
(He stops. Slowly nodding as the wheels turn inside.)
EDMUNDS: “You’ve spun yourself so well that the people running things these days shower you with gifts. You’re heralded across the nation as THE premiere wrestler in any arena, any organization, that you step in.”
(Edmunds shifts his weight from his left leg, to his right, and then back to his left.)
EDMUNDS: “These are sad times we’re living in, Shawn. That’s why Copycat and I returned..”
(He smiles, the shadows no longer dancing against the wall, but now on his face.)
EDMUNDS: “And while it is true that Cat and I have a propensity to gloat now and then ... we’ve accepted that our charge now is to rescue this business from the two-bit whores who make a living off their tongues, rather than their bodies.”
(CRASH~! The wind finally breaks the limb’s defenses. It cracks at the trunk and begins to sag, each second becoming less and less attached.)
EDMUNDS: “It isn’t that I like coming out here and sparring with you, Shawn. I’m just hoping that I can leave some knowledge out in the open for you to take. I’ve made all these mistakes before. I know, Shawn. I know.”
(Edmunds puts on his best sympathetic look.)
EDMUNDS: “At Aggression 50 we’ll step into the ring. Our feet will be planted. Our scales resting perfectly still.. looking across from one another. But what comes with all those years of experience, Shawn .. what comes from competing among the TRUE phenoms of yesteryear…”
(He steps forward and wipes something from his eye.)
EDMUNDS: “Well, not even your fast talking and sleights of hand will save you from stumbling right back into that spot you were in after leaving Anthology.”
(He takes another step closer.)
EDMUNDS: “Alone.”
(Another step.)
EDMUNDS: “Defeated.”
(Another step.)
EDMUNDS: “Imprisoned.”
(His eyes dart back and forth, as if it Hart were standing in front of him, he’d be trying to read his expression.)
EDMUNDS: “I never much liked A Christmas Carol, Shawn.”
(He looks over at the window as the branch finally snaps and is carried away out of view.)
EDMUNDS: “I’m more of A Tale of Two Cities fan.”
(His eyes still fixated on the scene outside, not so much on the projected path of the now “at-will” wood, but rather the glaring emptiness left by its departure, Edmunds speaks softly.)
EDMUNDS: “It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to, than I have ever known.”
(The words linger in the air. The camera fades to black, privy only to the sound of the wind galloping against the side of the house.)
“It’s funny, Shawn.”
(The camera fades in to “Simply Sensational” Sean Edmunds. He is sitting on the floor, his left leg propped up, with his back against a bare, white wall. Placing his forearm on the lifted knee, he tilts his head in disappointment.)
EDMUNDS: “But also sad in a way.”
(The shadows dance across the barren easel.)
EDMUNDS: “All this time that we’ve been in Empire Pro … from the moment I first glided into Anthology’s warm glow .. from the moment I held open the door as we escorted you out.. to the match where you ended up on your back, bleary eyed and gazing at the stars while Jared Wells barely broke a sweat as he pinned you to the mat … to now.”
(Edmunds turns his head to face the camera. It’s true. He’s been in the business for many years, but his face doesn’t reflect this. His plastic surgeon is worth the money, it seems. Regardless, Edmunds’ eyes tell the story.)
EDMUNDS: “You waste more airspace with a summation of my career than I do.”
(His gaze slowly wanders past the camera, caught in a moment. In a second it’s over. His pupils flare and immediately return to the camera.)
EDMUNDS: “Is it envy?”
(An honest question to be sure.)
EDMUNDS: “I’m not quite sure.. but I can tell you one thing, Shawn.. what I have done in the past, is of no concern to me now. I don’t sit by the fireplace, consoled by a Snuggie, a cocktail and a novel, reminiscing about days gone by. I know my past. I’ve come to terms with the debts that I’ve paid this cruel mistress we call a profession.”
(He extends his legs outwards now, places his hands palms down and stretches. His head pointing to the Heavens he continues.)
EDMUNDS: “But, by all means, Shawn, if you wish to give me some play by play, continue on.”
(He relaxes, wipes dry his lips, and looks back into the camera.)
EDMUNDS: “If you want to rehash every mistake I’ve made, or every opportunity that I’ve let slip through my grasp a la Billy Buckner, then stand tall on that soap box. Here’s the thing, Shawn… not only have I heard this before.. (smirks) but I’ve done it all before.”
(Pausing to get to his feet, Edmunds lets his words travel through the airwaves. Standing upright, he walks to a window. Through the glass we see the wind blowing violently, tossing a tree branch side to side.)
EDMUNDS: “The good news is that I’ve grown. I’ve leveled up, so to speak.”
(The wind howls through a crack in the window, underscoring his point.)
EDMUNDS: “I give you one thing, Shawn. You sure know how to spin yourself… talk yourself up so much that you legitimately believe that you’re on top of the world. Sure. You’ve been on the Top 10 lists. You’re recognized as someone who can put on a good show.”
(He smiles again as a fleeting thought is swept away with the leaves outside.)
EDMUNDS: “You’re the queen bee.. in a hive that is decomposing from the inside.”
(He turns and leans against the window ledge. Behind him the wind continues its assault against the tree.)
EDMUNDS: “You’re standing high atop that pedestal … with the Munchkins kneeling and worshipping your every move.”
(He continues, the analogies coming out one after another.)
EDMUNDS: “You’re the most tantalizing showman in ALL of *professional wrestling, Shawn .. you’re the Jennifer Lopez in Gigli. The Nicole Kidman of Australia. The Roger Moore of A View to a Kill. The biggest star … in a turkey.”
(He stops. Slowly nodding as the wheels turn inside.)
EDMUNDS: “You’ve spun yourself so well that the people running things these days shower you with gifts. You’re heralded across the nation as THE premiere wrestler in any arena, any organization, that you step in.”
(Edmunds shifts his weight from his left leg, to his right, and then back to his left.)
EDMUNDS: “These are sad times we’re living in, Shawn. That’s why Copycat and I returned..”
(He smiles, the shadows no longer dancing against the wall, but now on his face.)
EDMUNDS: “And while it is true that Cat and I have a propensity to gloat now and then ... we’ve accepted that our charge now is to rescue this business from the two-bit whores who make a living off their tongues, rather than their bodies.”
(CRASH~! The wind finally breaks the limb’s defenses. It cracks at the trunk and begins to sag, each second becoming less and less attached.)
EDMUNDS: “It isn’t that I like coming out here and sparring with you, Shawn. I’m just hoping that I can leave some knowledge out in the open for you to take. I’ve made all these mistakes before. I know, Shawn. I know.”
(Edmunds puts on his best sympathetic look.)
EDMUNDS: “At Aggression 50 we’ll step into the ring. Our feet will be planted. Our scales resting perfectly still.. looking across from one another. But what comes with all those years of experience, Shawn .. what comes from competing among the TRUE phenoms of yesteryear…”
(He steps forward and wipes something from his eye.)
EDMUNDS: “Well, not even your fast talking and sleights of hand will save you from stumbling right back into that spot you were in after leaving Anthology.”
(He takes another step closer.)
EDMUNDS: “Alone.”
(Another step.)
EDMUNDS: “Defeated.”
(Another step.)
EDMUNDS: “Imprisoned.”
(His eyes dart back and forth, as if it Hart were standing in front of him, he’d be trying to read his expression.)
EDMUNDS: “I never much liked A Christmas Carol, Shawn.”
(He looks over at the window as the branch finally snaps and is carried away out of view.)
EDMUNDS: “I’m more of A Tale of Two Cities fan.”
(His eyes still fixated on the scene outside, not so much on the projected path of the now “at-will” wood, but rather the glaring emptiness left by its departure, Edmunds speaks softly.)
EDMUNDS: “It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to, than I have ever known.”
(The words linger in the air. The camera fades to black, privy only to the sound of the wind galloping against the side of the house.)