TBirdSCIL
League Member
Please keep all RP for this match in this folder...
M.W. Grossard vs. Jonathan Marx
- Thread starter TBirdSCIL
- Start date
PaulNJ21
I shunned a voodoo witch, decapitated a black cat
::Jonathan Marx is on the phone with GLCW management::
JONATHAN MARX: What kind of freak do you have me facing? I'm not even sure if it is a man. Hello? ::looks at the phone:: Must have got disconnected...
::Marx hangs up the phone::
BRANDON JACOBS: This is the perfect example of the type of guy you came here to save, this is your chance to put your skills to the test.
JONATHAN MARX: Even if I'm here to do the work of a higher power, I'm not a miracle worker Brandon. He has scares from a BREAST REDUCTION for god sake. He is a mutated freak.
BRANDON JACOBS: Maybe he was just very, very fat like the Stay Puff Marshmallow Man.
JONATHAN MARX: If it was only that, I could forgive him Brandon, but he wasn't fat, he was merely a Marilyn Manson wannabe.
BRANDON JACOBS: Ha, nobody with a Marilyn Manson gimmick could ever be taken seriously. This isn't a circus freak show, this is wrestling.
JONATHAN MARX: I know Brandon, which makes me even angrier. How could King Krusher and management let a freak like this join their league, and profess to love old school wrestling? It is a complete farce Brandon, it makes me sad to think about what wrestling once was.
BRANDON JACOBS: This is a PPV, this is your chance to go out there and show the world what you are capable of on the big stage. You need to show the former hardcore legend what wrestling is.
JONATHAN MARX: I've heard this fellow has beaten Maelstrom for the WAR title.
BRANDON JACOBS: Is that the group run by the lumpy Japanese legend?
JONATHAN MARX: No, apparently this is a different WAR, I've never heard of it. I'm not sure if it was important. But he beat Maelstrom...
BRANDON JACOBS: Who is Maelstrom?
JONATHAN MARX: Champion.
BRANDON JACOBS: Manson lost the title?!
JONATHAN MARX: Apparently so..
BRANDON JACOBS: This Maelstrom guy must be good to have beaten Manson. So wait a second, if you beat this guy, you've beaten the guy who beat Manson?
JONATHAN MARX: Now that is worth something, it looks like I'll have get my working boots on Brandon and hit the gym. This is easily my toughest challenge to date.
BRANDON JACOBS: I believe you in Jonathan, go get him!
JONATHAN MARX: It won't be easy, but I'll teach Grossard what old school wrestling is really all about. He is a troubled and confused man who has wandered down many paths trying to find who he is, but I will help him find salvation through the Good Book of Old School wrestling. Let's get to work Brandon!
::they leave the room and FTB::
JONATHAN MARX: What kind of freak do you have me facing? I'm not even sure if it is a man. Hello? ::looks at the phone:: Must have got disconnected...
::Marx hangs up the phone::
BRANDON JACOBS: This is the perfect example of the type of guy you came here to save, this is your chance to put your skills to the test.
JONATHAN MARX: Even if I'm here to do the work of a higher power, I'm not a miracle worker Brandon. He has scares from a BREAST REDUCTION for god sake. He is a mutated freak.
BRANDON JACOBS: Maybe he was just very, very fat like the Stay Puff Marshmallow Man.
JONATHAN MARX: If it was only that, I could forgive him Brandon, but he wasn't fat, he was merely a Marilyn Manson wannabe.
BRANDON JACOBS: Ha, nobody with a Marilyn Manson gimmick could ever be taken seriously. This isn't a circus freak show, this is wrestling.
JONATHAN MARX: I know Brandon, which makes me even angrier. How could King Krusher and management let a freak like this join their league, and profess to love old school wrestling? It is a complete farce Brandon, it makes me sad to think about what wrestling once was.
BRANDON JACOBS: This is a PPV, this is your chance to go out there and show the world what you are capable of on the big stage. You need to show the former hardcore legend what wrestling is.
JONATHAN MARX: I've heard this fellow has beaten Maelstrom for the WAR title.
BRANDON JACOBS: Is that the group run by the lumpy Japanese legend?
JONATHAN MARX: No, apparently this is a different WAR, I've never heard of it. I'm not sure if it was important. But he beat Maelstrom...
BRANDON JACOBS: Who is Maelstrom?
JONATHAN MARX: Champion.
BRANDON JACOBS: Manson lost the title?!
JONATHAN MARX: Apparently so..
BRANDON JACOBS: This Maelstrom guy must be good to have beaten Manson. So wait a second, if you beat this guy, you've beaten the guy who beat Manson?
JONATHAN MARX: Now that is worth something, it looks like I'll have get my working boots on Brandon and hit the gym. This is easily my toughest challenge to date.
BRANDON JACOBS: I believe you in Jonathan, go get him!
JONATHAN MARX: It won't be easy, but I'll teach Grossard what old school wrestling is really all about. He is a troubled and confused man who has wandered down many paths trying to find who he is, but I will help him find salvation through the Good Book of Old School wrestling. Let's get to work Brandon!
::they leave the room and FTB::
NotorisSTD
League Member
this shouldn't be....
[updated:LAST EDITED ON Apr-30-03 AT 00:37 AM (EST)](CUEUP: "Monster" by Abandoned Pools...)
(FADEIN: There's a gangly fellow in his late twenties standing casually against a bathroom tile wall, smoking a cigarette through a long, classy, Rauel Duke style filter. Appearances can, are usually are, quite misleading, but if you're interested our subject has spiky black hair with mauve highlights, purple lipstick and eyeshadow, big fake eyelashes, a zebra print trench coat, a black t-shirt cutoff above the stomach reading "SEX....VIOLENCE...WHATEVER," a black fake leather miniskirt with a white thong pulled up above the top....His exposed midsection is adorned with several nasty scars, but other than that he's obviously a happening man about town...)
MWG:..They told me there's no way I'd ever be let back into wrestling. Doctors told me much more ring time and I'd spend the rest of my days ina wheelchair with little robots making it possible
for me to eat and breath and sweat when it got hot outside. They called me too unstable to manage, said my personal history was downright embarrassing to any promoter that affiliated himself with me, that I ask for too frickin' much money. Maybe they were right about all that. But they didn't see the death of the mid slash late
ninnies wrestling boom coming. Ratings are diving, merchandise isn't selling anymore, Maelstrom and Michael Manson aren't getting any more movie role offering. So now they're desperate. And proven dead ass wrong. At Ringlords, despite all the quite practical reasons why I shouldn't be, The Hardcore Legend, The American Idol, The surreal one,AAAHHHMMM, DUBYA, GEEE, is coming(grunts)....back...all over Jonathan Marx's face...
So Johnny Cakes, I went and watched your little interview thingy. You accuse A LEGEND of not being in keeping with old school ideals? Do you have the slightest inkling of what you're talking about? I think old school...I think of Hour long marathon matches that don't quite break the 25 minute mark. I think of middle aged
fat guys pretending they'd have a prayer of winning a fist fight against another dude half their age and twice their size. I think of guys who did enough steroids and coke and had enough perverted gang sex with strangers to make me look incorruptible, talking about saying prayers and eating vitamins!! Ect, ect, friggin' ECT catboy!!! you think what's on TV today is somehow less of a sport than what used to be? You really think "nature boy" buddy Rogers was less of a marketing tool than Madonna Wayne Grossard?!?!?! (shakes head) It kills me to be the one to tell you this, but you're Ceeerazeey baby. You need professional help...Either that, Or
you're like, totally aware of now nonsensical you sound. Maybe this is just your cute little way of trying to get attention. Maybe you're a little self conscious, and you're more comfortable borrowing a image that worked for the Jobber after he stole it from ah...that other guy. I hate you, but I'm a sweetheart, so I'm
gonna help you by telling you what I tell many a misguided queen. Quit bothering everybody to call you Ms. Agulara or Ms. Huston or whatever all Saturday night, and just be your gorgeous self. of course, in your case Johnny Marx, it's just a tad too late, as your gorgeous self will soon consist of a bloody smear next to a mangled pile of cartilage, bone, and pink stuff that once was such a smashing young man....
Despite the fact you obviously are only vaguely aware of whom I am, something, prolly one of those internal god given killer instincts, tells you I'm the greatest challenge you've had. Right Answer. G'job. You win a cookie. (winks) Actually, it prolly is the same WAR that I used to be champion of if the current incarnation's based in Japan, which means you can prolly still buy a video or a DVD of my more memorable matches. But honey...please don't. Cuz then
you'll poop yourself, make a big stinky mess, and embarrass yourself even more than you normally do just by speaking and living. It's one thing to just hear about some of the things I've done, it's another to KNOW that MWG is not a myth. Learning about the future, particular a nasty one that you're helpless to alter in any way, is a good way to spoil your afternoon. See, what I understand that you don't, is nobody who wants to stay awake wants to watch
headlocks and arm drag take downs. It's a boring enough life as is, pumpkin. Now then; Madness, Carnage, Androgyny, Total disregard for every social taboo...that's what I call FUN. You're gonna call it degrading misery, but hey baby,I'm a b1tch. what do you want from me? (FtB)
[updated:LAST EDITED ON Apr-30-03 AT 00:37 AM (EST)](CUEUP: "Monster" by Abandoned Pools...)
(FADEIN: There's a gangly fellow in his late twenties standing casually against a bathroom tile wall, smoking a cigarette through a long, classy, Rauel Duke style filter. Appearances can, are usually are, quite misleading, but if you're interested our subject has spiky black hair with mauve highlights, purple lipstick and eyeshadow, big fake eyelashes, a zebra print trench coat, a black t-shirt cutoff above the stomach reading "SEX....VIOLENCE...WHATEVER," a black fake leather miniskirt with a white thong pulled up above the top....His exposed midsection is adorned with several nasty scars, but other than that he's obviously a happening man about town...)
MWG:..They told me there's no way I'd ever be let back into wrestling. Doctors told me much more ring time and I'd spend the rest of my days ina wheelchair with little robots making it possible
for me to eat and breath and sweat when it got hot outside. They called me too unstable to manage, said my personal history was downright embarrassing to any promoter that affiliated himself with me, that I ask for too frickin' much money. Maybe they were right about all that. But they didn't see the death of the mid slash late
ninnies wrestling boom coming. Ratings are diving, merchandise isn't selling anymore, Maelstrom and Michael Manson aren't getting any more movie role offering. So now they're desperate. And proven dead ass wrong. At Ringlords, despite all the quite practical reasons why I shouldn't be, The Hardcore Legend, The American Idol, The surreal one,AAAHHHMMM, DUBYA, GEEE, is coming(grunts)....back...all over Jonathan Marx's face...
So Johnny Cakes, I went and watched your little interview thingy. You accuse A LEGEND of not being in keeping with old school ideals? Do you have the slightest inkling of what you're talking about? I think old school...I think of Hour long marathon matches that don't quite break the 25 minute mark. I think of middle aged
fat guys pretending they'd have a prayer of winning a fist fight against another dude half their age and twice their size. I think of guys who did enough steroids and coke and had enough perverted gang sex with strangers to make me look incorruptible, talking about saying prayers and eating vitamins!! Ect, ect, friggin' ECT catboy!!! you think what's on TV today is somehow less of a sport than what used to be? You really think "nature boy" buddy Rogers was less of a marketing tool than Madonna Wayne Grossard?!?!?! (shakes head) It kills me to be the one to tell you this, but you're Ceeerazeey baby. You need professional help...Either that, Or
you're like, totally aware of now nonsensical you sound. Maybe this is just your cute little way of trying to get attention. Maybe you're a little self conscious, and you're more comfortable borrowing a image that worked for the Jobber after he stole it from ah...that other guy. I hate you, but I'm a sweetheart, so I'm
gonna help you by telling you what I tell many a misguided queen. Quit bothering everybody to call you Ms. Agulara or Ms. Huston or whatever all Saturday night, and just be your gorgeous self. of course, in your case Johnny Marx, it's just a tad too late, as your gorgeous self will soon consist of a bloody smear next to a mangled pile of cartilage, bone, and pink stuff that once was such a smashing young man....
Despite the fact you obviously are only vaguely aware of whom I am, something, prolly one of those internal god given killer instincts, tells you I'm the greatest challenge you've had. Right Answer. G'job. You win a cookie. (winks) Actually, it prolly is the same WAR that I used to be champion of if the current incarnation's based in Japan, which means you can prolly still buy a video or a DVD of my more memorable matches. But honey...please don't. Cuz then
you'll poop yourself, make a big stinky mess, and embarrass yourself even more than you normally do just by speaking and living. It's one thing to just hear about some of the things I've done, it's another to KNOW that MWG is not a myth. Learning about the future, particular a nasty one that you're helpless to alter in any way, is a good way to spoil your afternoon. See, what I understand that you don't, is nobody who wants to stay awake wants to watch
headlocks and arm drag take downs. It's a boring enough life as is, pumpkin. Now then; Madness, Carnage, Androgyny, Total disregard for every social taboo...that's what I call FUN. You're gonna call it degrading misery, but hey baby,I'm a b1tch. what do you want from me? (FtB)
PaulNJ21
I shunned a voodoo witch, decapitated a black cat
RE: this shouldn't be....
::Jonathan Marx & Brandon Jacobs are in an old age home, donating their time to the elderly::
JONATHAN MARX: Grossard, you are probably wondering why I am here. I cam here today to show you what your future is if the lord chooses not take your life early and makes you suffer until a ripe old age.
BRANDON JACOBS: It smells like crap in here Jonathan!
JONATHAN MARX: It does indeed Brandon, because many of these old people have Alzheimer's Disease and have lost control of their bodily fuctions. They can't remember who their loved ones or can they dress themselves. Let it be noted that none of these old people ever took thousands of chair shots to the head to get in the condition they are. Nor did they take a career worth of bumps which have crippled their body. This is just all a product of getting old.
BRANDON JACOBS: You forgot to mention the arthritis which comes with old age too. The constant pain which will never go away.
JONATHAN MARX: Old age is hell on earth. There is nothing pretty about it. That is why I am holding an intervention on your behalf Grossard. You are right about how some old school veterns abused steroids and coke and how it cost them their life early. Even if they were doing the biggest business that wrestling had ever did, they were also destroying old school wrestling in the process. They turned it into a circus. The fight for old school wrestling didn't start back in the late ninties, it is a continous fight which numerous people have fought for decades.
::Jonathan Marx walks over to an empty wheel chair::
Grossard, I've reserved this seat for you because unless you change your ways and accept the ways of the old school revolution, I'm going to have to put you in this wheelchair after I lock the Marxism in and cripple you within an inch of your life. I'm going to give you the same chance I gave to the others, I'm going to give you a chance to turn your life around and let you retire before you do anymore damage to your body and this sport. You are still rather young yet, with some time off, your body could heal up and maybe God will show mercy on you and spare you the worst. I'm not here as your foe, I'm here as a friend. I ask you to please accept my offer, I geniunely do not want to hurt you.
::walks around the old age home, stops in front of the wheelchair of a little old lady with severe arthritis::
JONATHAN MARX: If someone had given you the chance to avoid this pain in suffering that you are going through now, would you take it madam?
LITTLE OLD LADY: You bet your sweet jesus I would, Grossard, I've been watch you on the telley for years, do yourself and all of us a favor and retire!
JONATHAN MARX: I thank you for your time, what a sweet old lady you are. Grossard, listen to your elders, and accept the old school revolution. Come on Bertha, lets go have lunch.
FTB
::Jonathan Marx & Brandon Jacobs are in an old age home, donating their time to the elderly::
JONATHAN MARX: Grossard, you are probably wondering why I am here. I cam here today to show you what your future is if the lord chooses not take your life early and makes you suffer until a ripe old age.
BRANDON JACOBS: It smells like crap in here Jonathan!
JONATHAN MARX: It does indeed Brandon, because many of these old people have Alzheimer's Disease and have lost control of their bodily fuctions. They can't remember who their loved ones or can they dress themselves. Let it be noted that none of these old people ever took thousands of chair shots to the head to get in the condition they are. Nor did they take a career worth of bumps which have crippled their body. This is just all a product of getting old.
BRANDON JACOBS: You forgot to mention the arthritis which comes with old age too. The constant pain which will never go away.
JONATHAN MARX: Old age is hell on earth. There is nothing pretty about it. That is why I am holding an intervention on your behalf Grossard. You are right about how some old school veterns abused steroids and coke and how it cost them their life early. Even if they were doing the biggest business that wrestling had ever did, they were also destroying old school wrestling in the process. They turned it into a circus. The fight for old school wrestling didn't start back in the late ninties, it is a continous fight which numerous people have fought for decades.
::Jonathan Marx walks over to an empty wheel chair::
Grossard, I've reserved this seat for you because unless you change your ways and accept the ways of the old school revolution, I'm going to have to put you in this wheelchair after I lock the Marxism in and cripple you within an inch of your life. I'm going to give you the same chance I gave to the others, I'm going to give you a chance to turn your life around and let you retire before you do anymore damage to your body and this sport. You are still rather young yet, with some time off, your body could heal up and maybe God will show mercy on you and spare you the worst. I'm not here as your foe, I'm here as a friend. I ask you to please accept my offer, I geniunely do not want to hurt you.
::walks around the old age home, stops in front of the wheelchair of a little old lady with severe arthritis::
JONATHAN MARX: If someone had given you the chance to avoid this pain in suffering that you are going through now, would you take it madam?
LITTLE OLD LADY: You bet your sweet jesus I would, Grossard, I've been watch you on the telley for years, do yourself and all of us a favor and retire!
JONATHAN MARX: I thank you for your time, what a sweet old lady you are. Grossard, listen to your elders, and accept the old school revolution. Come on Bertha, lets go have lunch.
FTB
NotorisSTD
League Member
badly edited....
(CUEP: "junk for fashion" by verbana...)
(FADEIN: The American Idol is slouching in his walk in closet, eclectic wardrobe hanging next to kinky S'nM gear. Smoking a clove through the big filter, stacked bulge protruding from blue thong underooes, "100% devil" T-shirt cutoff above tummy, eyes beaming with glazed fury...)
MWG: I see straight thinking isn't your strong suit either, little Johnny. Where the logic that I should retire so I can live to experience what you yourself called Hell on earth clicks I have no idea. I love how socially tactless people will aimlessly stumble onto a nerve and obliviously grin. My grandmother had Alzheimer's,
you ugly little s(Bleep) stain. Way to drag a razor across an old wound. Watch the brain of someone you love rot until she can't differentiate you from the guy who force feeds her baby food every morning, then tell me about the plight of the elderly. Explain to me then why my lifestyle should be considered so awe-fully incorrect. Tell me there's a choice between living 90 years spending the last 30 in mucus soaked isolation, where your closet friends and family are strangers, and burning the candle at both ends. To die tragically and young is a glorious thing. Marilyn Monroe, James Dean, Kurt Cobain's grey matter scattered about he and Country's kitchen cupboards. Beautiful. Forever. Just like you and I will be, John...Well, me anyway.
I appreciate that you don't want to hurt me. You don't really want to hurt me. You don't really want to make me cry. That's sweet. But It's utterly moot. You couldn't hurt me if your sad little life depended on it. Don't get me wrong, I'm quite studious, I watched your matches, I know you're a notable mat technician. You're a far superior wrestler than I am. I admire that, in a way. The clinging to belief that sports entertainment retains some level of athletic purity. How quaint. what a cute little rabbit child you are, Johnny Marx. You're Stupid. Really stupid. But adorable nonetheless. Like many things, your old school utopia is a neat idea with no hope for working out in the real world. The fact that you have a match against me on an important PPV show is irrefutable evidence of that. Better yet, if your threats weren't hollow enough already, An STF never crippled anyone. Neither did an arm bar, or a monkey flip takedown. You're the boy next door. You want a pinfall or submission win. Then you want to go home, drink a cup of tea, and cuddle up with a good John Irving book. I'm not the boy next door. I am an evil psychopath. I want to use bits of your viscera as a bath puff. Then I want to go home, load up on tina and whisky, and cut a gash in my side deep enough for a friend to pen(bleep) it while I
j(bleeeep)ff into his wife's ear....I am allowed to say "j(bleeeep)ff," right?
DIRECTOR: Nope. You can't talk about sex like that either, and if "tina's" code for something that's not gonna fly...
MWG: Ah. Well, you're no fun. You wanna do another take, or...?
DIRECTOR: Naw, we'll just bleep all that out.
MWG: Mkay. So um...action? Yup? Cool. So Given all that, Johnny, my tiger, how on earth could you ever hope to hurt me? You're respectable, but you're not good enough to pin me before I ruin you. It's simpler than geometry, baby. You're a herb. You're gonna die screaming. I'm a ruthless b1tch. I'll prosper. Night Night. (blows a kiss, upon the fTb)
(CUEP: "junk for fashion" by verbana...)
(FADEIN: The American Idol is slouching in his walk in closet, eclectic wardrobe hanging next to kinky S'nM gear. Smoking a clove through the big filter, stacked bulge protruding from blue thong underooes, "100% devil" T-shirt cutoff above tummy, eyes beaming with glazed fury...)
MWG: I see straight thinking isn't your strong suit either, little Johnny. Where the logic that I should retire so I can live to experience what you yourself called Hell on earth clicks I have no idea. I love how socially tactless people will aimlessly stumble onto a nerve and obliviously grin. My grandmother had Alzheimer's,
you ugly little s(Bleep) stain. Way to drag a razor across an old wound. Watch the brain of someone you love rot until she can't differentiate you from the guy who force feeds her baby food every morning, then tell me about the plight of the elderly. Explain to me then why my lifestyle should be considered so awe-fully incorrect. Tell me there's a choice between living 90 years spending the last 30 in mucus soaked isolation, where your closet friends and family are strangers, and burning the candle at both ends. To die tragically and young is a glorious thing. Marilyn Monroe, James Dean, Kurt Cobain's grey matter scattered about he and Country's kitchen cupboards. Beautiful. Forever. Just like you and I will be, John...Well, me anyway.
I appreciate that you don't want to hurt me. You don't really want to hurt me. You don't really want to make me cry. That's sweet. But It's utterly moot. You couldn't hurt me if your sad little life depended on it. Don't get me wrong, I'm quite studious, I watched your matches, I know you're a notable mat technician. You're a far superior wrestler than I am. I admire that, in a way. The clinging to belief that sports entertainment retains some level of athletic purity. How quaint. what a cute little rabbit child you are, Johnny Marx. You're Stupid. Really stupid. But adorable nonetheless. Like many things, your old school utopia is a neat idea with no hope for working out in the real world. The fact that you have a match against me on an important PPV show is irrefutable evidence of that. Better yet, if your threats weren't hollow enough already, An STF never crippled anyone. Neither did an arm bar, or a monkey flip takedown. You're the boy next door. You want a pinfall or submission win. Then you want to go home, drink a cup of tea, and cuddle up with a good John Irving book. I'm not the boy next door. I am an evil psychopath. I want to use bits of your viscera as a bath puff. Then I want to go home, load up on tina and whisky, and cut a gash in my side deep enough for a friend to pen(bleep) it while I
j(bleeeep)ff into his wife's ear....I am allowed to say "j(bleeeep)ff," right?
DIRECTOR: Nope. You can't talk about sex like that either, and if "tina's" code for something that's not gonna fly...
MWG: Ah. Well, you're no fun. You wanna do another take, or...?
DIRECTOR: Naw, we'll just bleep all that out.
MWG: Mkay. So um...action? Yup? Cool. So Given all that, Johnny, my tiger, how on earth could you ever hope to hurt me? You're respectable, but you're not good enough to pin me before I ruin you. It's simpler than geometry, baby. You're a herb. You're gonna die screaming. I'm a ruthless b1tch. I'll prosper. Night Night. (blows a kiss, upon the fTb)
PaulNJ21
I shunned a voodoo witch, decapitated a black cat
RE: badly edited....
::Marx is standing in front of a classroom in a shirt and tie::
JONATHAN MARX: How do you ever expect this company to feature you as a talent when you curse left and right and won't talk in complete sentences? For the love of God, please stop this ignorant country bumpkin gimmick you use to identify with the common fan in order to get over, and speak like a real man. I thought I would only have to teach you wrestling, but I'm going to have to sit you down and teach you English as well after I'm done with you.
You are raising a big stink over nothing. If you got Alzheimer's, it would easily improve your promos ten fold. At least they would be funny. I feel the pain of all of those who get Alzheimer's naturally, but I won't pretend to care about those who bring it on themselves. Wrestling you makes me nothing but sad. How could wrestling have done this to you? How could wrestling have been the downfall of so many men and women like you?
Maybe I am wasting my time on you. You can't wrestle, you can't speak, you can't even hold a coherent thought. For your sake, you better hope you die young because you have no career after wrestling except cleaning the dirt off my wrestling boots.
You are still young though, you can change your life and make something more of yourself instead of copying a serial killer's name and hitting people over the head with a trash can.
If you are serious about facing me, I want you to hit the gym and start training so we can show the fans what wrestling is all about and steal the damn show. I know you are capable of so much more than you are showing me, so I ask you to stop the nonsense and bring it because I'm not going to hold back on you because you just because this is your first match back.
You can either join the old school revolution or oppose it, but you are running out of time because my patience is growing thin.
Make this worth my time Grossard.
::Marx storms out of the classrooms and slams the door behind him::
FTB
::Marx is standing in front of a classroom in a shirt and tie::
JONATHAN MARX: How do you ever expect this company to feature you as a talent when you curse left and right and won't talk in complete sentences? For the love of God, please stop this ignorant country bumpkin gimmick you use to identify with the common fan in order to get over, and speak like a real man. I thought I would only have to teach you wrestling, but I'm going to have to sit you down and teach you English as well after I'm done with you.
You are raising a big stink over nothing. If you got Alzheimer's, it would easily improve your promos ten fold. At least they would be funny. I feel the pain of all of those who get Alzheimer's naturally, but I won't pretend to care about those who bring it on themselves. Wrestling you makes me nothing but sad. How could wrestling have done this to you? How could wrestling have been the downfall of so many men and women like you?
Maybe I am wasting my time on you. You can't wrestle, you can't speak, you can't even hold a coherent thought. For your sake, you better hope you die young because you have no career after wrestling except cleaning the dirt off my wrestling boots.
You are still young though, you can change your life and make something more of yourself instead of copying a serial killer's name and hitting people over the head with a trash can.
If you are serious about facing me, I want you to hit the gym and start training so we can show the fans what wrestling is all about and steal the damn show. I know you are capable of so much more than you are showing me, so I ask you to stop the nonsense and bring it because I'm not going to hold back on you because you just because this is your first match back.
You can either join the old school revolution or oppose it, but you are running out of time because my patience is growing thin.
Make this worth my time Grossard.
::Marx storms out of the classrooms and slams the door behind him::
FTB
PaulNJ21
I shunned a voodoo witch, decapitated a black cat
The Mean Streets of Princeton, NJ
:: Jonathan Marx walks down the street and sees an old friend in tattered clothes, who he went to Princeton with, in an alley collecting cans in order to buy himself a decent meal::
JONATHAN MARX: Jim? Is that you?
JIM: Jonathan! Hey dude, I've been catching you on the TV in the homeless shelter, you've been doing pretty good for yourself.
JONATHAN MARX: I remember that back in the day you were a big wrestling fan, in fact, you were a huge fan of Grossard if I remember right.
JIM: I use to have Grossard pictures all over my wall. He was my favorite. But ultimately, he led to my demise...
JONATHAN MARX: What happened?
JIM: Well, back when I watched wrestling in the old days, whenever a hardcore match came on, I lighted up... because you know, that is the only way a hardcore match is tolerable. I started getting into Grossard's work and all of a sudden, I wound up a stoner. I couldn't concentrate on tests, I couldn't get my work done, it was horrible. Long story short, I flunked out of Princeton. I tried to get work at a McDonalds but the drugs took over my life. I wouldn't show up on time, I'd forget people's orders... I was a real mess.
JONATHAN MARX: How did you finally get off the drugs?
JIM: :
oints to his cardboard box:: When you can't afford a home, you don't really have much money to buy drugs. I still take a puff now and then, but this crowd is broke so I've been able to stay relatively clean.
JONATHAN MARX: Good for you Jim, that is the first step to recovery.
JIM: I was such a fool to think hardcore wrestling was cool. Hardcore wrestling is just two grown men beating up each other with props. There really isn't any skill involved. You know, when you are younger, you make mistakes, you don't have the experience of having gone through life and you aren't able to see through the illusion of bad wrestling. I want you to do something for me Marx.
JONATHAN MARX: I'll do anything for a former Princeton Alum.
JIM: Beat Grossard for me, show the world that kind of wrestling is a joke. Your cause is good and I believe in you Jon.
JONATHAN MARX: ::shakes Jim's hand:: That means a lot to me Jim. You are a smart man. You don't belong on the street. ::takes a thousand dollars out of his wallet and hands it to Jim::
JIM: I can't take this money Jon.
JONATHAN MARX: Life has been very good to me, I'm pulling a double shift and I'm working a big program against GUNS over in A1E. Take the money and use it to get yourself off your feet. If you do that for me, I'll beat Grossard for you.
JIM: Well, I do need the money. But once I get back until my feet, I'll pay you ever bloody cent.
JONATHAN MARX: Okay, sounds like a deal to me. Jim, let's go for lunch, we will stop by at home so you can shower and put on some good clothes and we can go out to eat to talk strategy.
JIM: Strategy?
JONATHAN MARX: There is nobody who knows Grossard better than you. The rest of Grossard's fans are in jail.
JIM: *laughs* Good point, let's go.
::Jim and Jonathan take off for home in his Caddy::
:: Jonathan Marx walks down the street and sees an old friend in tattered clothes, who he went to Princeton with, in an alley collecting cans in order to buy himself a decent meal::
JONATHAN MARX: Jim? Is that you?
JIM: Jonathan! Hey dude, I've been catching you on the TV in the homeless shelter, you've been doing pretty good for yourself.
JONATHAN MARX: I remember that back in the day you were a big wrestling fan, in fact, you were a huge fan of Grossard if I remember right.
JIM: I use to have Grossard pictures all over my wall. He was my favorite. But ultimately, he led to my demise...
JONATHAN MARX: What happened?
JIM: Well, back when I watched wrestling in the old days, whenever a hardcore match came on, I lighted up... because you know, that is the only way a hardcore match is tolerable. I started getting into Grossard's work and all of a sudden, I wound up a stoner. I couldn't concentrate on tests, I couldn't get my work done, it was horrible. Long story short, I flunked out of Princeton. I tried to get work at a McDonalds but the drugs took over my life. I wouldn't show up on time, I'd forget people's orders... I was a real mess.
JONATHAN MARX: How did you finally get off the drugs?
JIM: :
oints to his cardboard box:: When you can't afford a home, you don't really have much money to buy drugs. I still take a puff now and then, but this crowd is broke so I've been able to stay relatively clean.JONATHAN MARX: Good for you Jim, that is the first step to recovery.
JIM: I was such a fool to think hardcore wrestling was cool. Hardcore wrestling is just two grown men beating up each other with props. There really isn't any skill involved. You know, when you are younger, you make mistakes, you don't have the experience of having gone through life and you aren't able to see through the illusion of bad wrestling. I want you to do something for me Marx.
JONATHAN MARX: I'll do anything for a former Princeton Alum.
JIM: Beat Grossard for me, show the world that kind of wrestling is a joke. Your cause is good and I believe in you Jon.
JONATHAN MARX: ::shakes Jim's hand:: That means a lot to me Jim. You are a smart man. You don't belong on the street. ::takes a thousand dollars out of his wallet and hands it to Jim::
JIM: I can't take this money Jon.
JONATHAN MARX: Life has been very good to me, I'm pulling a double shift and I'm working a big program against GUNS over in A1E. Take the money and use it to get yourself off your feet. If you do that for me, I'll beat Grossard for you.
JIM: Well, I do need the money. But once I get back until my feet, I'll pay you ever bloody cent.
JONATHAN MARX: Okay, sounds like a deal to me. Jim, let's go for lunch, we will stop by at home so you can shower and put on some good clothes and we can go out to eat to talk strategy.
JIM: Strategy?
JONATHAN MARX: There is nobody who knows Grossard better than you. The rest of Grossard's fans are in jail.
JIM: *laughs* Good point, let's go.
::Jim and Jonathan take off for home in his Caddy::
NotorisSTD
League Member
prefab carnage...
(CUEUP: "Going under" by Evanescence...)
(FADEIN: MWG's in his private locker room getting ampted up for the big fight. Strewn about the closet sized little nook; blow up dolls, razor blades, rolled up dollar bills, sexy ladies underwear, a few teddy bears, a bouquet of followers someone sent, and a copy of "Glamorama" by Bret Easton Ellis. MWG sits on a bench in a long black leather skirt, staring into a compact mirror while he meticulously applies his makeup, not yet making eye contact with
the audience....)
"The American Idol"
M.W. Grossard: Hi babes. I'd apologize for not hanging around all day responding to Jonathan Marx's half sincere jabbering, but I don't usually like doing stuff that's ah...y'know. Like, Boring. I mean, if the point of these silly things is to make him look like a herb, then like, mission preempted, baby. I'm supposed to be the one
with the questionable grasp on reality. But Johnny, Angry Johnny, You're not the most clear headed thing yourself. You say you have no sympathy for people who bring Alzheimer's on themselves, when the whole tragedy of the thing is that you CAN'T bring Alzheimer's on yourself. You dig up some tool who blames me for getting
him addicted to a nonaddictive substance. If he was really such a big fan of mine, he would've never touched pot, but taken enough crystal meth to get straight A's and prolly be the most energetic and friendly employee McDonalds ever had. And now you, the guy who's supposed to embody athletic purity and sportsmanship, are
sending in this derelict loser acquaintance of yours to try to screw job me. Which is fantastic, cuz now I can I can molest you, Brandon Jacobs, "what he's supposed to be I haven't a clue," AND this other tasty little number, all with total immunity. mmmmmm...(licks his lips) Nice. You accuse me of not speaking in complete sentences,
which is just weird, cuz it's not like you can tell from listening to me talk if I'm putting punctuation marks in their proper places or not...And, of course, you say I can't wrestle, ignoring that one of the biggest reasons they're letting me back on pay per view is that I BEAT MAELSTROM. Tell me scrumptious, If I was the total pushover you make me out to be, then how could I have eva pulled that one off?
You were cute for a while, Johnny. But your little routine got old veeeery quickly. The only thing I still find remotely intriguing about you, is how far out of your way you're going to tell me how worthless I am. I interpret this as overcompensation. I think I'm infinitely more important to you than you'd like the world to believe. I'd say you're afraid of me, but I don't think you're that smart. Which leaves only one other possibility...(folds
up the compact, lifts up the bouquet and takes a big whiff...) You're my secret admirer. You're in love with me. And I'm flattered. I am. But none of this is going to keep me from enjoying liberating and then violating all your non vital organs in alphabetical order while you watch, masturbating and bleeding to death...Okay, so I'm
exaggerating quite a bit. I'm a star, damnit. Sensationalism isn't a choice, it's a way of life. And it's my way of life that mandate's Jonathan Marx's gory death. Isn't irony delicious? Um...that is irony, right? ummm....(looks at the ceiling without moving his head...pondering...then gives up and dismissively announces) whatever. (Then starts fixing his lipstick upon our FTB)
(CUEUP: "Going under" by Evanescence...)
(FADEIN: MWG's in his private locker room getting ampted up for the big fight. Strewn about the closet sized little nook; blow up dolls, razor blades, rolled up dollar bills, sexy ladies underwear, a few teddy bears, a bouquet of followers someone sent, and a copy of "Glamorama" by Bret Easton Ellis. MWG sits on a bench in a long black leather skirt, staring into a compact mirror while he meticulously applies his makeup, not yet making eye contact with
the audience....)
"The American Idol"
M.W. Grossard: Hi babes. I'd apologize for not hanging around all day responding to Jonathan Marx's half sincere jabbering, but I don't usually like doing stuff that's ah...y'know. Like, Boring. I mean, if the point of these silly things is to make him look like a herb, then like, mission preempted, baby. I'm supposed to be the one
with the questionable grasp on reality. But Johnny, Angry Johnny, You're not the most clear headed thing yourself. You say you have no sympathy for people who bring Alzheimer's on themselves, when the whole tragedy of the thing is that you CAN'T bring Alzheimer's on yourself. You dig up some tool who blames me for getting
him addicted to a nonaddictive substance. If he was really such a big fan of mine, he would've never touched pot, but taken enough crystal meth to get straight A's and prolly be the most energetic and friendly employee McDonalds ever had. And now you, the guy who's supposed to embody athletic purity and sportsmanship, are
sending in this derelict loser acquaintance of yours to try to screw job me. Which is fantastic, cuz now I can I can molest you, Brandon Jacobs, "what he's supposed to be I haven't a clue," AND this other tasty little number, all with total immunity. mmmmmm...(licks his lips) Nice. You accuse me of not speaking in complete sentences,
which is just weird, cuz it's not like you can tell from listening to me talk if I'm putting punctuation marks in their proper places or not...And, of course, you say I can't wrestle, ignoring that one of the biggest reasons they're letting me back on pay per view is that I BEAT MAELSTROM. Tell me scrumptious, If I was the total pushover you make me out to be, then how could I have eva pulled that one off?
You were cute for a while, Johnny. But your little routine got old veeeery quickly. The only thing I still find remotely intriguing about you, is how far out of your way you're going to tell me how worthless I am. I interpret this as overcompensation. I think I'm infinitely more important to you than you'd like the world to believe. I'd say you're afraid of me, but I don't think you're that smart. Which leaves only one other possibility...(folds
up the compact, lifts up the bouquet and takes a big whiff...) You're my secret admirer. You're in love with me. And I'm flattered. I am. But none of this is going to keep me from enjoying liberating and then violating all your non vital organs in alphabetical order while you watch, masturbating and bleeding to death...Okay, so I'm
exaggerating quite a bit. I'm a star, damnit. Sensationalism isn't a choice, it's a way of life. And it's my way of life that mandate's Jonathan Marx's gory death. Isn't irony delicious? Um...that is irony, right? ummm....(looks at the ceiling without moving his head...pondering...then gives up and dismissively announces) whatever. (Then starts fixing his lipstick upon our FTB)