GreggG
Moderator
- Joined
- Jan 1, 2000
- Messages
- 810
- Points
- 18
(CUT TO: A crackling fire. The camera pans up and shows a pensive, thoughtful looking JJ DEVILLE standing -- hands behind his back, this suit jacket a little tight, with a white dress shirt and pink ascot.)
JJ: "We've got a lot on our mind and we have a LOT to say. So I want you all at home to take your favorite tick-filled pillows -- maybe the one with your airbrushed names on it -- and lay down next to the trashcan fire you call an internal home heating system."
(JJ purses his lips.)
JJ: "And I'M going first. Right now, I want to take the time to talk about my favorite subject... myself. Because that's because I'm one of the few people alive with the sac to tell the INCONVENIENT TRUTHS about this roster. Up first is Eddie Mayfield. Mister President. El Presidente. Monsieur President. Ohhhh, I know everyone at home is marking out and people went crazy about WHAT YOU DID TO ME. Everyone thinks you're such a bad ass for taking a cheap shot and putting out your cigarette on my neck! You caused me a scar -- one I can cover up with a silk ascot courtesy of Jos. A. Bank, but still! Well, what dumb dumbs watching NFW are overlooking, and what all the members of the wrestling press are forgetting..." (JJ opens his hands and laughs.) "I stood across from you, looked you in the eye, and slapped you across the face. I damn slapped the taste right out of the toothless mouth of Bonnie Mayfield's Only Son, of Dougie Mayfield's Older Half-Brother. I DID THAT MAYFIELD! Just like I came out here on national television and told the world that Dan Ryan molested his daughter and he LEFT the promotion because of me. Just like I engineered the demise of Troy Windham and Mike Randall. And, Mayfield, you want to huff and puff and act like you're the big man around here? I control half this place and almost made you quit about three months ago with allllll the paperwork games I'm making you play. So, Mayfield... do what thou wilt. BECAUSE IT WILT NOT BE GOOD ENOUGH!"
(The fire crackles. CUT TO: DORCHESTER STRATTON, bruise around his eye, split lip, sits on a red leather armchair, stares at the camera with damn-near dead eyes. On the arm of the chair nuzzling against him is VERONICA ABRAMS RUMSFELD.)
DORCHESTER: "Jack Bryant... I'm not one to give a lot of credit. But here we are. What we knew was inevitable. All tied up, 2-2. My back's up against the wall, Jack. All eyes are on yours truly. Everyone has said that I CANNOT WIN THE BIG ONE. Everyone says that when a title is on the line that I find a way to choke. Well, Jack, the only choking that's going to happen this go-round is what's going to happen when me and Veronica are both naked, held together only by the NFW TV Title, as she wraps a stocking around my neck."
RUMSFELD: "DORCHESTER!"
DORCHESTER: "Jack, I've tried not to go to that place. It's that place where I spit in the wife of WildStar right after I ended his career. It's that place where I dropped my ex-girlfriend Rayne right on her neck. It's that place where I threw bleach in the eye of Joe The Plumber and ended HIS career. It's that where I ended up running you over with a car. I don't know what happens when I go to that place. But... but now... now I don't care. I know that if I'm going to beat you... then I'm going to have to END you. I'm going to have to destroy you forever. And, Jack? You're going to have to do the same to me!"
(The fire crackles. CUT TO: JJ, smirking, holding up a few pieces of burnt paper.)
JJ: "The truths that I speak are inconvenient because they HURT. I hold up the mirror and make you people look at yourselves and see how ugly you really are. But the reason why I cause so much distress and woe is because no one can admit that what I say is right. Like Berlin. One of the stops scheduled for our last European Vacation. Except we didn't get there. Why ohhhhh why was that?" (JJ chuckles.) "Well, the gaspacho I had at a Barcelona soup kiosk was a tad bit cold and I decided I wanted to go home. So I dimed everyone out. I told the authorities about all the drugs people in this league do. All the prostitutes -- UNDERAGED ones at that -- our guys sleep with on the road. All the petty crimes they commit. And I created such havoc and did such a number on the logistics of our European tour that it got CANCELLED. I *CAN* do that again, mind you. And I will if I must teach you morons a lesson again. You see, you're all going to be put in detaining cells and have your baggage searched and miss connecting flights and the like because of me. You're going to have to sit in an unairconditioned room while a humorless German security guard STARES YOU DOWN. You're going to waste hours upon hours of YOUR PRECIOUS TIME because of me. You're going to be cursing and muttering my name the entire time."
(JJ laughs.)
JJ: "Only, NONE of you will admit that in public. I took tens of thousands of dollars from YOUR paystubs last year. That hurts. And for those of you living cliches who say you wrestle for the love of wrestling... I deprived you of a chance to do just that. Yet -- heeey -- that's cool, you'll just all shrug it off. That's fine. I get it. You all have to save face. You all have to look the part of the larger-than-life heros that you pretend to be. And the easiest, cheapest way to do just that is to no-sell everything and act like nothing bothers you. You know, like our new champion Impulse."
(JJ holds up the paper and purses his lips.)
JJ: "Knox, I'd offer you my congratulations like everyone else did. But I'm not like everyone else. I'm not like the kiss-asses who dot this locker room who so desperately want to stay on the right side of (eye roll) Team Impulse and all of the marketing dollars that your handlers have put behind you. I'm here to be the first to tell the INCONVENIENT TRUTH about you that we all know is true but I and only I dare speak it. Randall Knox... you didn't beat Castor Stryfe for that title. You got lucky. You got lucky that you got put in some gimmick match where skill didn't matter one bit. Falling off of a platform did. Just as you got lucky when you stole the number one contender slot. Castor Stryfe is many things, and I'll get into them later, and an idiot is on that list. Because in a real wrestling match -- a test of skill and technique and manhood -- he owns your ass. Oh, you know, sorta like I DO. You're the least significant world champion in wrestling history, Impulse. Castor Stryfe cares so little about you that he's coming after me -- again, mo'fo'sho in a minute -- instead of getting that rematch clause to take back HIS title. But that's fine. Go defend that title against a bunch of people who, as soon as the match is over, are going to ask for your agent's name. Hold it, Impulse. Because in due time, I'm going to come for it. And when I do, I'm going to unscrew the nameplate that says RANDALL KNOX and put it on the mantle right above this fireplace. Because, Knox... you're nothing more than a paper champion."
(JJ crumples the paper and tosses is it into the fire. CUT TO: BLAINE HOLLYWOOD, standing with a $750 silk black shirt with two of his 10s delinting the back.)
BLAINE: "Legion. You DARED do the worst thing a man can do. You DARED sullied the property of a member of the HOLLYWOOD FAMILY. You DARED to put your hands on the lapel of my father LaMont's Saville Row-tailored sports jacket. You DARED to snake your sinewy arms around his neck and tried to ATTACK a man who is no longer a professional athlete but is instead a commentator. And you did this while HIDING behind your acquisitions... a 7-foot tall mongoloid who doesn't even USE silverware, let alone which is the proper fork to use during the sixth course... and a man who was most made famous when he was *MY* handmaiden in The Dynasty. Legion, you did this and then destroyed the set of my father's PRIDE AND JOY -- his television set, a set he spent a LOT OF MONEY on perfecting. Legion, I am my father's son. He is who bred me. He is who afforded me the opportunity to know the joys of ceremonial fox hunting in the English Midlands. He is who afforded me the opportunity to captain a crew team with the Vinklewoss Twins and Romney brothers both. He is who afforded me the opportunity to become an elite-level master of DRESSAGE and sword-smith in epee fencing competitions. He... he is who allowed me to become AN OXONIAN. You put your hands on my father. You caused him physical harm and untold emotional suffering. For that, Legion... you and your so-called BLACK MARKET must pay dearly. Legion... I am issuing you a FORMAL DECLARATION OF CHALLENGE FOR YOUR INSULTS... you CHURL!"
(The fire crackles. CUT TO: JJ.)
JJ: "Oh, hello. Is it me you're looking for? I know it is. Why oh why? That's because I AM THE SHINING LIGHT OF PROFESSIONAL WRESTLING. I am the biggest star in the industry today. And do you know how I know this? It's because Castor V. Stryfe said so." (JJ purses his lips.) "Oh, I know that's not a DIRECT quote. But it might as well be. But it's a not-so-secret rumor, Castorino, that you've had a hard-on for me for years. And this is for two reasons. First." (JJ smiles and holds up 3 fingers.) "I pinned you, giving The Windham Clan -- i.e., ME -- 50 percent of this dumb. And secondly, you were the World Champion in the era of NFW that *I DEFINED*. No one at night stood awake at night wondering what Castor Stryfe was doing next as champion. They were all worried that I was going to wheel lock their cars in the parking lot for some unforseen violation. They were worried that I was going to suspend refreshment service during the show. Castor Stryfe, IF THAT IS INDEED YOUR REAL NAME... you are pathetically jealous of me." (JJ chuckles.) "And I can understand that, Castor. I have so many things that you wish you had. I am the famous person in NFW. I am the person who ended Troy Windham's career. I AM THE PERSON THAT STIRS THE DRINK. You, Castor? You're an afterthought. And, if I may borrow a line from my mentor Troy Windham's past... you're footnote in the chapter of NFW history that is being written ABOUT ME. So, Castor, go ahead. Send that boneheaded karate dojo cleaning retard Steel Viper after me. I'm not afraid of him. He's bigger than me but I've got, ohhhh, 250 or so IQ points on him. I'll find a way to win. And then, Castor? Heh. There will be NO ONE LEFT. You and me. And then... then there's just going to be ME! HAHAHAHAHA! BWAHAHAHAHAHAH! BWHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHHAHAHAHAHHAH!"
(The camera shows the fire burning as JJ cackles. FTB)
JJ: "We've got a lot on our mind and we have a LOT to say. So I want you all at home to take your favorite tick-filled pillows -- maybe the one with your airbrushed names on it -- and lay down next to the trashcan fire you call an internal home heating system."
(JJ purses his lips.)
JJ: "And I'M going first. Right now, I want to take the time to talk about my favorite subject... myself. Because that's because I'm one of the few people alive with the sac to tell the INCONVENIENT TRUTHS about this roster. Up first is Eddie Mayfield. Mister President. El Presidente. Monsieur President. Ohhhh, I know everyone at home is marking out and people went crazy about WHAT YOU DID TO ME. Everyone thinks you're such a bad ass for taking a cheap shot and putting out your cigarette on my neck! You caused me a scar -- one I can cover up with a silk ascot courtesy of Jos. A. Bank, but still! Well, what dumb dumbs watching NFW are overlooking, and what all the members of the wrestling press are forgetting..." (JJ opens his hands and laughs.) "I stood across from you, looked you in the eye, and slapped you across the face. I damn slapped the taste right out of the toothless mouth of Bonnie Mayfield's Only Son, of Dougie Mayfield's Older Half-Brother. I DID THAT MAYFIELD! Just like I came out here on national television and told the world that Dan Ryan molested his daughter and he LEFT the promotion because of me. Just like I engineered the demise of Troy Windham and Mike Randall. And, Mayfield, you want to huff and puff and act like you're the big man around here? I control half this place and almost made you quit about three months ago with allllll the paperwork games I'm making you play. So, Mayfield... do what thou wilt. BECAUSE IT WILT NOT BE GOOD ENOUGH!"
(The fire crackles. CUT TO: DORCHESTER STRATTON, bruise around his eye, split lip, sits on a red leather armchair, stares at the camera with damn-near dead eyes. On the arm of the chair nuzzling against him is VERONICA ABRAMS RUMSFELD.)
DORCHESTER: "Jack Bryant... I'm not one to give a lot of credit. But here we are. What we knew was inevitable. All tied up, 2-2. My back's up against the wall, Jack. All eyes are on yours truly. Everyone has said that I CANNOT WIN THE BIG ONE. Everyone says that when a title is on the line that I find a way to choke. Well, Jack, the only choking that's going to happen this go-round is what's going to happen when me and Veronica are both naked, held together only by the NFW TV Title, as she wraps a stocking around my neck."
RUMSFELD: "DORCHESTER!"
DORCHESTER: "Jack, I've tried not to go to that place. It's that place where I spit in the wife of WildStar right after I ended his career. It's that place where I dropped my ex-girlfriend Rayne right on her neck. It's that place where I threw bleach in the eye of Joe The Plumber and ended HIS career. It's that where I ended up running you over with a car. I don't know what happens when I go to that place. But... but now... now I don't care. I know that if I'm going to beat you... then I'm going to have to END you. I'm going to have to destroy you forever. And, Jack? You're going to have to do the same to me!"
(The fire crackles. CUT TO: JJ, smirking, holding up a few pieces of burnt paper.)
JJ: "The truths that I speak are inconvenient because they HURT. I hold up the mirror and make you people look at yourselves and see how ugly you really are. But the reason why I cause so much distress and woe is because no one can admit that what I say is right. Like Berlin. One of the stops scheduled for our last European Vacation. Except we didn't get there. Why ohhhhh why was that?" (JJ chuckles.) "Well, the gaspacho I had at a Barcelona soup kiosk was a tad bit cold and I decided I wanted to go home. So I dimed everyone out. I told the authorities about all the drugs people in this league do. All the prostitutes -- UNDERAGED ones at that -- our guys sleep with on the road. All the petty crimes they commit. And I created such havoc and did such a number on the logistics of our European tour that it got CANCELLED. I *CAN* do that again, mind you. And I will if I must teach you morons a lesson again. You see, you're all going to be put in detaining cells and have your baggage searched and miss connecting flights and the like because of me. You're going to have to sit in an unairconditioned room while a humorless German security guard STARES YOU DOWN. You're going to waste hours upon hours of YOUR PRECIOUS TIME because of me. You're going to be cursing and muttering my name the entire time."
(JJ laughs.)
JJ: "Only, NONE of you will admit that in public. I took tens of thousands of dollars from YOUR paystubs last year. That hurts. And for those of you living cliches who say you wrestle for the love of wrestling... I deprived you of a chance to do just that. Yet -- heeey -- that's cool, you'll just all shrug it off. That's fine. I get it. You all have to save face. You all have to look the part of the larger-than-life heros that you pretend to be. And the easiest, cheapest way to do just that is to no-sell everything and act like nothing bothers you. You know, like our new champion Impulse."
(JJ holds up the paper and purses his lips.)
JJ: "Knox, I'd offer you my congratulations like everyone else did. But I'm not like everyone else. I'm not like the kiss-asses who dot this locker room who so desperately want to stay on the right side of (eye roll) Team Impulse and all of the marketing dollars that your handlers have put behind you. I'm here to be the first to tell the INCONVENIENT TRUTH about you that we all know is true but I and only I dare speak it. Randall Knox... you didn't beat Castor Stryfe for that title. You got lucky. You got lucky that you got put in some gimmick match where skill didn't matter one bit. Falling off of a platform did. Just as you got lucky when you stole the number one contender slot. Castor Stryfe is many things, and I'll get into them later, and an idiot is on that list. Because in a real wrestling match -- a test of skill and technique and manhood -- he owns your ass. Oh, you know, sorta like I DO. You're the least significant world champion in wrestling history, Impulse. Castor Stryfe cares so little about you that he's coming after me -- again, mo'fo'sho in a minute -- instead of getting that rematch clause to take back HIS title. But that's fine. Go defend that title against a bunch of people who, as soon as the match is over, are going to ask for your agent's name. Hold it, Impulse. Because in due time, I'm going to come for it. And when I do, I'm going to unscrew the nameplate that says RANDALL KNOX and put it on the mantle right above this fireplace. Because, Knox... you're nothing more than a paper champion."
(JJ crumples the paper and tosses is it into the fire. CUT TO: BLAINE HOLLYWOOD, standing with a $750 silk black shirt with two of his 10s delinting the back.)
BLAINE: "Legion. You DARED do the worst thing a man can do. You DARED sullied the property of a member of the HOLLYWOOD FAMILY. You DARED to put your hands on the lapel of my father LaMont's Saville Row-tailored sports jacket. You DARED to snake your sinewy arms around his neck and tried to ATTACK a man who is no longer a professional athlete but is instead a commentator. And you did this while HIDING behind your acquisitions... a 7-foot tall mongoloid who doesn't even USE silverware, let alone which is the proper fork to use during the sixth course... and a man who was most made famous when he was *MY* handmaiden in The Dynasty. Legion, you did this and then destroyed the set of my father's PRIDE AND JOY -- his television set, a set he spent a LOT OF MONEY on perfecting. Legion, I am my father's son. He is who bred me. He is who afforded me the opportunity to know the joys of ceremonial fox hunting in the English Midlands. He is who afforded me the opportunity to captain a crew team with the Vinklewoss Twins and Romney brothers both. He is who afforded me the opportunity to become an elite-level master of DRESSAGE and sword-smith in epee fencing competitions. He... he is who allowed me to become AN OXONIAN. You put your hands on my father. You caused him physical harm and untold emotional suffering. For that, Legion... you and your so-called BLACK MARKET must pay dearly. Legion... I am issuing you a FORMAL DECLARATION OF CHALLENGE FOR YOUR INSULTS... you CHURL!"
(The fire crackles. CUT TO: JJ.)
JJ: "Oh, hello. Is it me you're looking for? I know it is. Why oh why? That's because I AM THE SHINING LIGHT OF PROFESSIONAL WRESTLING. I am the biggest star in the industry today. And do you know how I know this? It's because Castor V. Stryfe said so." (JJ purses his lips.) "Oh, I know that's not a DIRECT quote. But it might as well be. But it's a not-so-secret rumor, Castorino, that you've had a hard-on for me for years. And this is for two reasons. First." (JJ smiles and holds up 3 fingers.) "I pinned you, giving The Windham Clan -- i.e., ME -- 50 percent of this dumb. And secondly, you were the World Champion in the era of NFW that *I DEFINED*. No one at night stood awake at night wondering what Castor Stryfe was doing next as champion. They were all worried that I was going to wheel lock their cars in the parking lot for some unforseen violation. They were worried that I was going to suspend refreshment service during the show. Castor Stryfe, IF THAT IS INDEED YOUR REAL NAME... you are pathetically jealous of me." (JJ chuckles.) "And I can understand that, Castor. I have so many things that you wish you had. I am the famous person in NFW. I am the person who ended Troy Windham's career. I AM THE PERSON THAT STIRS THE DRINK. You, Castor? You're an afterthought. And, if I may borrow a line from my mentor Troy Windham's past... you're footnote in the chapter of NFW history that is being written ABOUT ME. So, Castor, go ahead. Send that boneheaded karate dojo cleaning retard Steel Viper after me. I'm not afraid of him. He's bigger than me but I've got, ohhhh, 250 or so IQ points on him. I'll find a way to win. And then, Castor? Heh. There will be NO ONE LEFT. You and me. And then... then there's just going to be ME! HAHAHAHAHA! BWAHAHAHAHAHAH! BWHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHHAHAHAHAHHAH!"
(The camera shows the fire burning as JJ cackles. FTB)