SCENE BEGINS
(We fade in on Rocko Daymon in his personal office and trophy room in his home in Tacoma, Washington. Wearing a black High on Fire t-shirt with black shorts, he reclines in an office chair, feet propped up on the desk, eyes gazing over the wall before him where several replica belts of titles he's won in his tenure hang. His eyes in particular focus on one spot that is empty... where he had recently made space for a particular belt he was hoping to take.)
(A belt that, now twice, he had failed to win.)
Rocko Daymon
Lately, I've been trying to think of what I've been doing wrong.
I've had two opportunities to take the EUWC International Title... and from both occassions, I've walked away empty handed. Why is this? Am I lacking in determination and skill? Is there something missing that I haven't realized?
I've thought about this for the past few weeks... and then I finally realized quite recently, that the problem isn't me.
The problem is, somebody screws me over every freaking time!
I'm always just a couple steps from the finish line, and somebody just HAS to trip me up in order to stroke their own selfish ****ing ego. Whether it be Team Danger, who seem to have found their way on EVERYBODY'S **** list as of late... or Sean Taylor, who I haven't forgotten about in the slightest.
(With a frustrated sigh, Daymon takes his feet off the desk and swivels around to face the camera.)
Rocko Daymon
First, it was just a simple matter of beating Evol. Normally, it shouldn't be a problem... but Sean Taylor, being the most pompous ass that ever existed in the sport of professional wrestling, had to screw over that deal.
So instead, I found the challenge of taking the International Title to be more complicated, in being part of a large tournament. But even so, I sucked it up and busted my ass... fighting my way into the tournament finals. Once again, only ONE MAN stood between me and that belt... and what happened? Samuel Roundtree happened... that's what.
All these weeks of physical and mental preperation, burdened by numerous talented opponents, all of whom I've vanquished... all of that has gone to nothing, as I face yet another set-back.
And now, rather than having a third opportunity, I find myself in a match against another person, with a SHOT for the title on the line.
Not the belt itself... but a SHOT. Meaning, if I win this match, I MIGHT have a chance, provided Team Danger, Sean Taylor, Damian Stone and his entourage of ex-girlfriends trying to kill him, or that ******* Tom Brady of the New England Patriots keep the hell out of my affairs!
But you know what? I could care less. Another match is just another match... and with every new hurdle put in my way, I will prevail and prove to this federation that I am strong, until FINALLY, I reach my goal. I can't be held back forever, because surrender is a term I'm rarely acquainted with.
There's just this match... and the problem isn't that I fear I may have a considerable challenge--I'm fully confident in my ability to move on. The problem I see is that "Dangerous Dante Double Dip Duplex 3000 Denominator" Damian Stone, with his 1080 splashes off the top of parking lots through stacks of flaming tables, somehow managed to find his way standing opposite of me in the ring.
My question is... when the hell was the last time this guy cut a ******* promo?
(Daymon throws his arms out to the sides in a very angry shrug.)
Rocko Daymon
People call Damian Stone a legend in EUWC... and while he might have gained that merit here, people forget that there's a whole other world outside this federation. You see, I remember Stone back in SCW... where he was little more than the laughing stock to the rest of the talent, for being so stubborn and high-headed when talent and experience never stood in his corner. Time and time again, he'd have his ass handed to him by the veterans, and he'd still bounce back thinking he was some sort of hardened veteran of the ring... a true hardcore legend.
That's a load of bull****. You might be covered in scars through years of hard battles, but to me, scars only show that a person has had his ass kicked frequently in the past. Look at me... I've been wrestling much longer than Damian Stone, but you don't see the same wear and tear. Why is that? Because I know how to take care of myself in the ring, unlike Stone, who thinks dousing himself in gasoline and lighting himself on fire as some sort of crowd-pleasing stunt is a good way to win a match.
So the man is the Human Torch of professional wrestling... hey, if you want to be the world's only living firework, then good for you. I'm not here to blow myself up to wow crowds, however... I wrestle to win, and I wrestle in EUWC to take that ******* International Title!
Twice I've fought Stone since coming here... and twice I've beaten him. I can only guess as to how he keeps managing to find these opportunities, considering the man has proven that his talent doesn't live up to what's now on the market, and considering he hasn't promoted a match since... ****, 2004.
(Daymon comes to his feet.)
Rocko Daymon
Stone, you can take a licking, but one thing you can never take is a clue. You might as well do us all a favor and retire after I'm done breaking you in the ring for the third time. You can finally sit down at home and deal with the skeletons in your closet, while I can move on to bigger, better things. More importantly, I won't ever find myself standing in the ring with you, wasting my time and energy when I could be competing for other things.
I'm sure you'll whip up some tearful ceremony for the occasion, complete with an entire crappy Linkin Park album playing in the background... just so you can have your final emo-hurrah, and then... FINALLY, this world will be without Damian Stone.
And I'll be looking back with the International strap on my shoulder, happy that you finally get your one final moment of pathetic attention... and I'll prove to EUWC what a TRUE legend is.
(He walks out of the frame and we fade to black.)
SCENE ENDS
