FADE IN: Shawn Jessica Hart, PhD. is standing by with his mind on his money and his money on his mind. What that means, I'm not really sure... but who reads intros anyway? NOW, getting back to our hero, he stands before us draped from head to toe yellow pleather. Probably not the most fashion-forward look in the world, but hey... he likes it! He apparently likes rock band extraordinaire STYX as well...
HART: "A gaaaathering of AAAAN-GELLLLS - appeared above my HEEEEEEEEEEAAD!!
They SANG TO ME - thisssssssss SONG OF HOPE, and this is what they saaaaaaaid,
They said COME SAIL AWAY, come SAIL AWAY, come SAAAIL AWAY WITH MEEEEEE!!"
Wicked air guitar action!
HART: "So here we are, THIS IS IT... another day, another dollar, another chance to enter into a Battle Royale, throw some guys out, and give the UCW and its fans the opportunity to come sail away with the sexiest skipper since Captain Jack Sparrow. I mean, maybe I'm being just a bit sappy here, but this is the kind of stuff a guy like me, a guy with the heart of a CHAMPION, liiiiiives for!"
He pauses momentarily to bask in the utter awesomeness of his previous statement.
HART: "One hell of a tasty cake, if you ask me... and then we have the frosting. A little something extra to get my juices flowing, as if a shot at the title wasn't enough. A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to bridge the gap between circuits and throw down with a guy that personifies what some would refer to as the A1 circuit, the one and onliest BEAST!"
More basking. SJH pretty much looks like he's landed a prom date with Hootie McLoosecaboose at this point.
HART: "I have to admit, ever since the man in question decided to cross over like John Edward into my neck of the woods, I've had an itch like one would not believe to hop into the ring with him. He's been a guy I've watched, a guy I've respected, for many, many years now. And to have the ability to match-up against a guy you place in equal stead, a guy you consider elite, is a tough thing to do for a ROCK STAR like me. I've beaten everybody there is to beat in my own circuit... and if anybody's ever gonna give me the props I deserve, NAY... DEMAND, a match with Beast just the way to facilitate that. Back in '03 or so, I spent a short time in his stomping grounds of a1e, but alas... our paths didn't cross. In fact, my time there was mediocre at best. I did a few uneventful minutes in the Pier Six Brawl, beat a some jobbers, lost to Lindsay Troy, and just like that... my time had been served. Not even a blip on the radar of my otherwise stalwart career... which has caused me to wonder, IF only I had stayed awhile longer. IF Beast and I had squared off... how would it have played out? My list of achievements in a1e is short, BUT everything else I've done eclipses that... right?"
The Phenom ponders the perplexities involved with this question.
HART: "Needless to say, if IF's and BUT's were candies and nuts, we'd all have a wonderful Christmas. Thankfully, we don't have to spend any more time dealing with either of them, because the powers that be in UCW and the wrestling gods have seen to it that all those questions are about to be answered. Unfortunately for my opponent, I'm gonna do EVERYTHING in my power to ENSURE said answers are to my liking. Which brings me to the thing I love MOST about these little promotional spots, and maybe my favorite thing to do in the business: the part where I tell whatever JACKHOLE I'm 'rasslin why they suck so much and how BAD I'm gonna BEAT 'EM!"
SJH cracks a grin.
HART: "Beast... or should I say YEAST, seeing as how you smell of Little Ceaser's, and infect the vaginas of any and all groupies that cross your path? Either way, while you don't really meat the douche-baggy qualifications of being a JACKHOLE, you'll more than suffice when it comes to being a pain in my wondrous hindquarters when we're in the squared circle. That being the case, I'm gonna eat my Wheaties, say my prayers, drink my milk, take my vitamins, make my bed, brush twice a day the right way, look both ways before I cross the street, do unto others as I would have others do unto me, and put the toilet seat down when I'm done taking a SH(FCC)T, just to make sure that I kick your ass all the way back to Winnipeg! Call it an OUTRAGE, call it a mockery, call it any darn thing ya want, MY Magic 8-Ball calls it the TRUTH!! And the truth of the matter is that when it comes to the Prime Minister of Gettin' Sinister... you try to go over, you're gonna go UNDER!!!"
HART: "See you in the ring, Yeast. The PHENOM has left the building."
-SJH looks upon his time in a1e as a let-down.
-Beast may or may not be carrying any of a variety of STD's.
(Inside a popular club in Winnipeg. The place is packed, the crowd is lively, the booze is flowing, and the band is HOT. They're shredding their way through Van Halen's "Hot For Teacher", and the crowd is eating it up. Once they're done the song, the singer announces they're going to "keep with the old school", and they begin to play legendary iconic band STYX's "Too Much Time On My Hands", and the crowd damn near RIOTS. Beer bottles are fired at the stage, knocking out the singer and putting a hole in the bass player's amp. The band bolts off stage, with crowd still going bonkers, and off to the side, we see Beast sitting at a table, and he just smirks as he witnesses the chaos...
CUT TO: A UCW backdrop. Beast stands in front of the backdrop, wearing an exact replica of Eddie Murphy's red leather outfit from the Delirious show. He raises his finger and points at the camera, all ready to launch into his promo, but then stops.)
Beast: Wait a minute. This just isn't going to work.
(Beast turns and heads off-screen, where we hear a zipper, followed by a scream and a large crashing sound. A few moments go by, the sounds of struggling evident, then Beast comes back out, dressed in his normal jeans and black "A2K4" tee. As he gets back into the camera view, he painfully adjusts his nuts a bit, and once again points at the camera.)
Beast: (In a high-pitched voice You know something, Jessica?
(He holds a hand up, and then quickly adjusts again, and clears his throat a couple times.)
Beast: (Voice back to normal Shawn Jessica Bubbles Hart. Oh yeah. PhD, too. It's a pleasure. It really is. A guy with a laundry list of titles a mile long. Most of them are from places I personally never knew even existed, but that doesn't make them any less special now, does it?
And now Barbie's all pumped about this perhaps once-in-a-lifetime event, as Jessie and I collide in a UCW ring. Wow, only my second match into this company, and I get to face one of the FW circuit's best. Remind me to thank our dear Mr. Cloverleaf for blowing this match on free tv, but hey, who am I to complain when I get to face a man with a girl's name?
But really, thanks for the props, Jessica. I wish I could say that I've followed your career with the same vigor that you've watched mine, but believe me when I say you've got the reputation as one of the best, and you're right, it's not often when you get to have a match of this kind of magnitude.
But this little Battle Royal you've entered in - that I myself, just might think of participating in - you might want to put that on the back burner for just a little while longer. This week, you're not in a Battle Royale, fighting for a shot at the World Title, but this week, Darla, you've got a date in the ring with the Alpha Male. As you say, I've earned that distinction in A1E a hundred times over, and now I'm here to prove it in UCW.
Last week, I have to admit that I wasn't impressed with the help. I mean, the Cowboy was pretty easy to get by, and this week, I'm hungry. This week, I've got something to prove. You talk a pretty good game there, Beatrice, but perhaps you just might stop and allow yourself to bask in the warmth of MY spotlight for a bit. After all, I'm the guy that this company nearly tore itself apart for in trying to sign. I am the guy that UCW called the "biggest free agent in the history of our sport".
I don't know if there's just a bit of jealousy creeping in there, Barbie, but quite frankly, I don't care. I just love the poetry of someone putting himself way up on a pedestal and then getting knocked the hell back down into this gigantic puddle of real life.
This week, Jessica.... this week may just be one of the biggest matches of your life. You may be pumped. You may be fired all the hell up. You may talk like you're a superstar...
(Beast imitates the hoity-toity, snotty voice of an upper-crust Brit)
Beast: Hark, it is the high-pitched warble of the over-inflated ego! Don't see many of those flitting about these halls anymore because, well, quite frankly, when one does -- (cocks an imaginary shot gun)...
(His voice goes back to normal, and he stares a hole right through the camera)
Beast: -- one shoots to kill.
You see, Melinda... you're just another one of a hundred or more guys that come out and looked and talked as though they're all big and shiny, but in reality, you start having a hard time discerning the **** from the shine-ola. I've beaten them all, Jessica, and right now, you don't strike me as any different. Maybe that's why you didn't last in A1E. Maybe that's why all your titles come from swamps that no one's heard of.
Or, maybe you're the real thing. But you're going to have to prove that to me first.
When it comes down to it, all the talking about STD's really doesn't meat squat, Sally. You can fluff up your insecurities all you want, at the end of the day, really, it amounts to spending quality time with your face buried in the Canadian Journal of Who-Gives-A-Rat's-Ass, with your face planted firmly on page one.
This isn't personal, Jennifer, this is just wrestling. I'm here to continue to prove to everyone that I can accomplish things outside of A1E. I'm here to make my mark, to win, to mark this territory as the domain of the Alpha Male, and Julie, you're just the poor son-of-a-***** who got placed next in line.
So when I continue to work my way up the ladder in this company, don't take it personal when I drop you on your head this week and move on, ok?
Cause I'd hate to lose that respect you've got for me.
(Inside of a hospital room. A diagnostic bed can be seen in the background amongst a heart rate monitor and an IV drip stand. Into the scene walks Beast, garbed in blue doctor's scrubs, and holding a clipboard. A stethoscope hangs around his neck.)
Beast: Almost one-third of American males suffer from premature ejaculation. 29% of American males are afflicted with this disorder.
Good thing I'm Canadian.
Shawn Jessica, are you one of those 29%?
From what I've seen, you sure seem to exhibit all of the symptoms.
You get all fired up. You come out of the gate strong, and hit your stride. Everything seems to be going just fine, but then you shift into overdrive with a big flash, and in under two minutes you've shot your load all over the place.
While you've bypassed the cigarette and curled up and gone to sleep, I'm left here wanting more.
And hell, I don't even want to cuddle afterwards.
Is that what's going to happen in the ring, Debbie?
Are you going to show up in a blaze of hype, pomp, and circumstance to a huge entrance? When the bell rings, are you going to get all fired up and give me everything you have for ninety seconds before you peter out and shrivel up onto the canvas?
Lord knows there's a joke involving beating here somewhere, but I'm not going there.
Come on, Beulah. Show me more. Show me some staying power. Show my just why it is you won all those titles in all those backwater feds.
Wait, who am I kidding? All the wrestlers in those feds were probably inbred hicks who enjoyed banging their sisters, and Jessica here showed SOME sense of decency and morality, and when he refused to do the nasty with his own flesh and blood, he didn't have to worry about going off faster than Old Uncle Jethro inside of his purdy little sibling and was able to outlast 'em all.
A full two minutes must have been some kind of record for you.
Come on, Shawn Jessica. Show me why you're a sexy skipper. Show me why you've done what you've done. Show me why I should take you seriously.
FADE IN: Felicia Hart, step-sister of Empire Pro Television Champion Shawn Jessica Hart, PhD., is pounding furiously on the door of her brother's hotel room.
FELICIA: "Shawn?! I know you're in there! What gives bro? You've been putting this off for days and if you cancel on us again, I don't think I can get the camera crew to come back for a third time!
Momentary silence, followed by a quiet rustling from within the room.
FELICIA: "DUDE! I can hear you moving around in there! We've got to get this and we've got to get it now! Even your opponent is wondering what the heck happened to you!"
HART: "Go away!!!"
FELICIA: "Go away? What do you mean go away? We have everything you've requested, we're all ready to go here, and everybody's WAITING to hear what you have to say!"
HART: "I can't... I CAN'T!!"
Felicia's patience hits its limit.
FELICIA: "Oh, you can't huh? Well why don't you come out and enlighten us as to why exactly you can't come out of your hotel room, which I'm told you haven't left in three days, and shoot this thing that YOU wrote?!"
Suddenly, the door bursts open, startling Felicia, and a crazed and disheveled-looking SJH emerges!
HART: "Because of that NUMBER!"
Confusion prevails amongst Felicia and the camera crew.
FELICIA: What number?"
Hart brushes his hair out of his eyes with his trembling hand, revealing that the number in question is etched upon his forehead in purple magic marker.
FELICIA: "So, lemme get this straight... you're telling me you can't come out and cut a promo on a guy you've been wanting to fight for five years because of..."
The Phenom steps in toward his sister. He's now standing awkwardly close to her.
Felicia wipes her brother's mucus off of her face.
HART: "Yes, YES! It IS right! Can't you see?!"
FELICIA: "See WHAT?!"
SJH scoffs and retrieves his trusty, purple, magic marker from the pocket of his bath robe. He then begins to transcribe his theories onto the wall of of the hotel hallway at a furious pace.
HART: "My full name is Shawn Jessica Hart. That's 15 letters. 6 + 9 = 15! 6 and 9, Felicia.... SIX AND NINE!"
FELICIA: "Waaaait a minute, bro... Shawn Jessica Hart is SIXTEEN letters long!"
HART: "Yes, but do you know what happened when I was 16?!"
HART: "For the first time in my life, I convinced my girlfriend to do a HOT 69 with me in the back of dad's station wagon!"
FELICIA: "Oh right, Jenny Rosenthal. The tubby girl with the big ass."
HART: "And besides... if you were to take a look at my birth certificate, you'd be surprised to discover that the idiot nurse that typed it up errantly spelled my name S-E-A-N, which gives us 6 + 9."
FELICIA: "So that's..."
Again, Felicia is drenched in mucus. This time she employs a wet nap for removal of the substance.
HART: "And that's not all!! Remember on dad's birthday when I purchased that replica SCSA vest from China, but it turned out to be a cheap counterfeit, as evidenced by the fact that it said Autsin 6:13 instead of Austin 3:16?"
HART: "Well, China is a Buddhist country, right?"
FELICIA: "I guess, but what does..."
HART: "Well you wanna know what the year 613 on the Buddhist calendar is on the Gregorian calendar?!"
FELICIA: "Shawn, I really think you're..."
SMACK! A phlegm-drenched and irate Felicia retaliates with a swift-backhand to Hart's chin!
The Prime Minister of Gettin' Sinister adjusts his jaw.
HART: "Nice shot!! Thank you, sis!"
For a third time, the female Hart cleans herself off as best she can.
FELICIA: "A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. Now are you finally ready to do this?"
HART: "I'm ready to go... let's shoot this F(FCC)CKER!!"
As he proclaims his preparedness, his bathrobe swings open revealing the fact that a pink pair of boxer-briefs is the only thing underneath.
FELICIA: "Alright... you heard the man! Roll camera! Roll sound! Close in on Shawn... aaaaaaaaaaand ACTION!"
CUT TO: Footage obviously shot days later, as Hart is decked from head to toe in his wrestling attire and he appears to be at some kind of sound stage with the UCW logo hanging in the background.
HART: "So this is it, eh Beast? This is what it all comes down to? Here I am, practically worshiping the ground you walk on, giving you all the respect in the world, and you elect to respond by making fun of my name! Seriously man, who even does that kind of thing anymore?"
CUT TO: Footage of Hart's last promo.
HART: "Beast... or should I say YEAST, seeing as how you smell of Little Ceaser's, and infect the vaginas of any and all groupies that cross your path?"
CUT TO: The sound stage.
HART: "And to think, I thought you were a stand-up guy. The kind of guy who goes about his business with a bit of professionalism. A guy that will look his opponent in the eye, man-to-man, take his lumps, and respond with strength and tact."
CUT TO: More footage from SJH's last promo.
HART: "See you in the ring, Yeast. The PHENOM has left the building."
CUT TO: The promo in progress.
HART: "But hey, if that's how you wanna play it, I'm game. You wanna sit there and flap your trap about the fact that all the titles I've won were supposedly in backwoods promotions filled with hicks and hillbillies that nobody ever cared about? G'head. The steak n' eggs of the situation is that I'm just a guy who's in demand. Everybody who's ANYBODY in this business wants a piece of me, so naturally I've made several stops throughout my illustrious career and won titles during most of them.
You, on the other hand, are nothing more than a big fish in a small pond. Sure, you've had your run of A1E, and yeah... you're doin' your thing in Empire Pro, but beyond that and a few token bookings here and there, what the hell have you done in this sport? Hmmm? Called me a two-minute man in your last promo? BIG FRIGGIN' DEAL!! There are literally HUNDREDS of woman across this great nation who can say the same thing!"
His sister interjects from off-camera.
FELICIA: "Umm, Shawn?"
HART: "Not much of an accomplishment if you ask me! I mean, don't get me wrong, if you STICK me in the ring, and my alleged two-minute tendencies are on full display, sure... it'll be one hell of a feather in your cap. But if I were you, where catching a pin-fall win over SJH is concerned, I wouldn't count on it! Call it an OUTRAGE, call it a MOCKERY, I call it..."
FELICIA: "Oh my GOD!"
The Phenom is perplexed.
HART: "What is it? Can't you see I'm on fire here?"
Felicia steps onto the shot.
FELICIA: "It's YEAST... and A1E!! They're here... and I think they're coming to get you!!!"
CUT TO: A morbidly-obese, crew-cut wearing, blue-haired woman and a surly-looking midget eating a large steak with his bare hands.
YEAST: "SHAWN HART MUST DIE!!! BLAAAAAAAAAAARRRGGHHH!!!"
CUT TO: Hart, shaking in his shoes as the BEAST known as YEAST approaches.
HART: "Nooooooo!!! Please!!! I didn't mean to..."
The Phenom stops mid-sentence as he comes to a sudden realization.
HART: "Whoa... YEAST!! I heard tale you were a P(FCC)SSY, but I didn't know you actually had one!"
YEAST: "What can I say, HART... you are what you EAT! BLAAAAAAAAARGGHHH!!!"
HART: "Jumpin' Juniper!! I didn't know you were gay either! You've gotta be the most controversial former heavyweight champion of all-time! But let's not get into your past, it's pretty boring, and really... nobody cares. Why don't you just tell me about your little friend here?"
YEAST: You know full and well who this is! This is A1 Eddie!! He loves him some HOT beef steak! Mmmmmmmmmm hmmmmm!!! ...GRRRRRRRRRRR!!!"
CUT TO: A1 Eddie, his lips dripping of steak sauce, his mouth full of beef.
YEAST: "How's that Yeast taste, huh Hart?! YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAHHH!!!!"
A1E wipes the delectable A1 steak sauce from his lips and interrupts.
A1E: "Alright champ, that's enough. Save a little something for the ring!"
Yeast releases Hart from the depths of her nether regions and he emerges in a drunken state. Dazed and confused at what had transpired, he mumbles and stumbles about. Felicia is not impressed.
FELICIA: "Why YOU... TAKE THIS!!!"
With rage in her eyes and revenge in her heart, Felicia brings her fist back, then PROPELS it into Yeast's FACE! Like a stack of dimes, she falls apart and hits the ground in a rather awkward way. Meanwhile, as he stumbles about in his stupor, SJH bumps into A1E, tramples the poor fellow-rendering him unconscious, trips on his midget leg, then falls FACE FIRST on top of the newly-KO'd Yeast!
HART: "Unnnnnnnnnnggghhh... what the hell is...."
Suddenly a startling realization.
FELICIA: "Oh no..."
In all the confusion and hilarity, Shawn had landed on the fallen Yeast in such a way that his face was above her pelvis and HIS pelvis was over HER face!
FELICIA: "Shawn, don't panic! Everything is gonna be OK!"
(Beast's Winnipeg home. The front door opens, and in walks Beast, fresh off of doing a full day's promotion for A1E's Sudden Death PPV in that very city. He tosses his keys onto the small table near the door, and he kicks off his shoes and heads into the kitchen, where he grabs a beer (not that cheap American swill, but a good Canadian beer) out of the fridge. As he turns around, he notices this HUGE sealed cardboard box on the floor near the kitchen table. Beast heads over to the table, sets his beer down, and picks up the note on the table.)
"Tiger, this came to you today. Delivery man said it was from someone from UCW. Enjoy. - Love, Jessica."
(Yes, it's ironic that Beast's girlfriend and Hart's middle name are one and the same. Beast puts down the note and grabs a jacknife out of his pocket, cutting the tape on the box open. He reaches into the box and pulls out another huge box, just a fraction smaller than the original, but wrapped like a birthday present.)
Beast: Well, my birthday's not for another month. This must be from Cloverleaf. The idiot never COULD tell time.
(But there's no card on the box to prove Beast's theory, so he just unties the bow and pulls the lid off. Mariachi music starts playing, and Beast starts digging through the packing bits, and pulls out... another box. Beast raises an eyebrow in curiosity, wonders if this is just some kind of joke, or if he should continue on. Kinda like a Shawn Hart promo. Beast just shrugs and tosses the first box aside.
The Mariachi music stops, and Beast sets the second box up on the table. Beast unties the bow on that one and pulls the lid off. This time, the room is filled with Jessica Simpson music, Beast shudders, and again, he digs through the packing peanuts, and pulls out...
... ANOTHER box. Beast sighs and sets his hands on his hips, before firing the opened box across the room, and the Jessica Simpson music is thankfully stopped. Beast wastes little time opening the third box, only to be greeted by Ricky Martin, and ANOTHER box.
Fed up, Beast tears through the next few boxes until all he's left with is a bunch of ripped boxes, a huge pile of packing peanuts, and a slighty-larger-than-normal jewelery box. Beast opens the jewelery box - thankfully, no STYX this time - and pulls out... a tiny picture of The Simpsons' Nelson Muntz going "HA-HAA!". Beast fires the picture across the room and into the garbage can, but can't help but to smirk and let out a little chuckle.)
Beast: Well, apparently someone was trying to play a little joke on me. Was it funny? Sure it was. But did it have any substance? No, it didn't.
Just like a Shawn Hart promo.
Once you got through the first couple minutes, all you're left with is a tiny little nugget wrapped up in a whole bunch of glittery packaging.
That's all you are, Hart. A whole lot of nothing wrapped up in this big package full of special effects and fat sex addicts, but once you get down to the core, there's really nothing there. Wow, you got mad at me for teasing you about your name, but what ELSE did you really accomplish, other than blatantly ripping off the movie Number 23, and using the whole midget/fat girl thing that's been done to death a million times before?
All smoke, and no fire.
You may have been able to fool everyone everywhere else you've gone, son, but now, when you step into the ring with me, you're stepping into the big leagues, and I don't fall for antics best left back in junior high. I don't need to wrap everything up in a twenty minute production to speak for twelve seconds and say absolutely nothing. You get what you see, Shawn, and that's 100 percent, pure, top of the line, Grade A Beast.
I guess now I know the reason that you've been worshipping me for the last five years. I do it the right way, Shawn, I do it the pure way. No ****ing carnival acts needed to wrap myself up into to hide the fact that I've basically got nothing. I DO go about my business - kicking ass and taking names, beating people in the ring every single night. I've earned my way to everything I've ever done.
You? You're the KISS of Wrestling, Shawn. You've gotta wrap everything up in a great big show with a massive stage and great big pyro and a gimmick because deep down at the core, your music stinks and at best, you're a second-rate hack who can't get by on talent alone.
That's you, Shawn. You're not the best in the ring, so you've got to dazzle everyone with the light show and theatrics and hope that at the end of the day you've impressed enough people to get the job done.
That must be why you've had success everywhere except the big leagues. Yeah, you've won every title in every inbred federation you could wet your dick in, but what's happened when you try and play on the big stage? You couldn't last in A1E. In EPW, you're holding a third-rate belt defeating third rate wrestlers. You'd think that one that has worshipped at the Altar of the Beast for so long would have picked something up along the way, but I see that it's quite evident you didn't.
I mean really... if making fun of your name set you off THAT much, man, I'd love to see what would happen if I called you a c*cksucker. Not that I have, or not that I'm going to, but I wonder what would happen. You see, Shawn, I find it quite ludicrous that you come out here and rip me for teasing you about your name, when actually, YOU were the first one to perform such a *heinous* act.
And you're trying to say I disrespected YOU?
Hell, at least I can show up on time to film my segments.
Here's the way it's going to go down, Shawn, and I'm not talking about your sister on her customer of the hour, either.
You're going to come down to the ring, all wrapped up in your big production, your fantastic entrance, your amazing costume and sing and dance for the crowd, and then when the bell rings, you're going to run into a big brick wall of reality known as Beast, and he's going to tear all that away, tear you down, and expose you for the shoddy production you really are.
Beast is going to tear you down, and tear you apart.
And there won't be any flash about it. Just methodical, persistent, continous, painful aggression.
At least after you lose, you'll be able to run back to your sister and tell her that the guy you've worshipped for the last 5 years really IS as good as they say he is.
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