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ROUND 2 IMPULSE VS CASH

User Poets

The Shadow Pope
Joined
Jan 6, 1995
Messages
2,192
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36
Age
44
Location
Top of the Pile
Website
www.valeriansgarden.com
Pedigree

(Ready? Go.)

"If you live life in the fast Lane, you'd better have the Cash."

Put it on a T-shirt, make a million.

"Typically, the first round of any tournament is designed to get rid of the losers and the dead weight, and the quote - unquote real tournament starts with round two."

I hate calling Jack Harmen dead weight, but...

"So it's Lane Cash against Impulse for the right to take on a legend."

Joey Melton is a legend, and to deny that would be contrarian for the sake of it; Anarky was a three time World Champion, simultaneously, in his rookie year.

Where is he now? World Champion of the Empire. I think the designation fits.

"I know, Lane - you're a purebred, you don't deserve this. We should bypass the entire tournament and hand you the Prodigy Classic championship, no questions asked. That way you don't have to share the ring with we inferior wrestlers, and you can proudly show off your accomplishment of--"

........

"Of, I don't know, arguing your way to glory?"

"But maybe I'm not being fair. Maybe your rant about purebreeds versus mutts only applied to Steven Shane? Maybe everyone else involved in this tournament is a talented and worthy competitor in your purview?"

Thanks so much, we couldn't do it without you.

"But that's neither here nor there, Lane. Frankly, I don't care if you respect me, call me a loser, wish me good luck against Castor Strife in the New Frontier or insult my taste in spirits."

"The end result of our match is going to be the same, no matter what."

You've got time, however - there's always another tournament.

FADE
 

Biron

League Member
Joined
Aug 8, 2007
Messages
644
Points
16
Little Boy Who Wished He Was

(CUT TO: LANE CASH, clad in plaid board shorts and Aviators, "CASH" stamped across the bridge, over his Emerald Greens, lying poolside in a lounge chair. Behind him, sharing the chair, is his scantly clad lady servant, MONA, who seems focused on massaging Lane's bare upperbody. As the shot swings around head-on with the Louisville Slugger, his index finger lowers the Aviators enough for his eyes to peek over.)

LANE CASH: ...

(Annoyed sigh.)

CASH: Oh, Randall. You silly, little boy. You're just little Johnny, who asked his mother if he could have a cookie before dinner, waiting for a reply, aren't you? Waiting for Lane Cash, your favorite wrestler, to tell you that "No, Randall, you're not a mutt. You're a purebred, just like me." (smirks) But, that would be a lie now wouldn't it, Randall? I know you would (gasp) NEVER want somebody to lie. So, I won't. I'll give it to you STRAIGHT. There's no comparison between you and I. It wouldn't even be fair to pretend you were up on MY LEVEL. Almost NO ONE is. When other kids were attending Preschool, playing with blocks, I was ON THE ROAD. Carter Cash was busy selling out Arena AFTER Arena AFTER Arena. (smiles proudly) At the age of five, I had already started to hone my craft. I cut sizzling promos that made grown men break down in tears. It came to me NATURALLY. Not a big surprise, I was the Prince of the Cash Wrestling Family. What were you doing, Randall? Hmm. Was your father, Carter, teaching you to become the single, greatest wrestler EVER? Or, when you asked Momma Impulse who daddy was, and what did he do, she tossed you the Brooklyn phone book and say "your guess is as good as mine, Randall." (chuckles) You're like millions of others, all wanting to be LANE CASH. To be wrestling royalty, revered by most, feared by ALL.

(Glasses off.)

CASH: Of course, you'll no doubt bring up the outcasts who you hung around with. The trainer you oh-so love, Johnny Jizzbang, who couldn't sell out a concessions stand in a town riddled with obesity, much less a hundred-seat gymnasium. Hoping that, just maybe, I'd accept you as a brother among us royals. Sure, I might possibly consider you an ADOPTED brother, who I would pretend to like, and then drown in the bathtub. To which, nobody really gives a DAMN because you're just another face. A snarky, little cunt who plays by the rules and perseveres. What a touching, fucking story. You've whored yourself out to every shanty promotion with a PENNY, and what do you have to your name? Some second rate strap and a chip on your shoulder that all one hundred-sixteen pounds of you can't HOLD UP. Oh, but Lane, w-w-what have you done? (sneers) Do I look like I need the money? (holds arms out) Should I take the bus to Pigsknuckle, Arkansas and beat simple farmer folk for their cardboard title? Puh-lease. I have BETTER things to do. I don't have TIME to associate with you, common folk. I'm here for four matches, a couple of scalps, and about another year of vacation. I only need one tournament, Randall. I walk in, I win, and I walk out.

(Deep breath.)

You can take that to the bank, Junior.

(FTB)
 
Last edited:

User Poets

The Shadow Pope
Joined
Jan 6, 1995
Messages
2,192
Points
36
Age
44
Location
Top of the Pile
Website
www.valeriansgarden.com
A Classy Chap

(FADEIN...

The front of Beauty & Essex, which is currently the restaurant in the Lower East Side. People are going in and out, limousines are stopping and letting people off... it's happening.

A-listers eat here. Chris Santos runs a good spot, and while I'm no A-Lister, I'm something higher up on the food chain: a personal friend. Why am I wasting time with this when I could be inside?

I am inside.

This is all voice - over work. Jam econo, my friend. Always.

And...)

"I've got it!"

"Take away the half naked girl and the famous daddy, and what are you?"

"Cameron Cruise."

Oh, wait - Cammy is relevant. Never mind.

Was that a cheap shot? No cheaper than your sunglasses.

"So this is it, huh, Lane? You're an awesomely awesome wrestler because your father was? Because your grandfather was?"

Yogi Berra's son played baseball. Quick, no peeking - can you name him?

"Truth be told, Lane, yes - I was waiting for you to say something. In between my commitments to my employers, I had an ear to the ground for the Prodigy Classic, because we're in the second round and I haven't heard a peep out of an opponent - any opponent - for the entire run of the tournament to date."

"I've got too much energy and too short an attention span when I'm home; I was getting impatient."

"I'm also a little disappointed, I was planning on filming myself sleep for six hours tonight with a sign taped to my chest that said THIS IS MORE INTERESTING THAN LANE CASH."

Hrm, I still might. You didn't actually win me over.

"Let's be honest, Lane - and you're right, I'm just like the father of our country and cannot tell a lie. You just spent forty days and forty nights telling me that you're awesome because your father took you on the road, and you were training to wrestle from the time you were three and a half and had your first match at four and won your first World Title at six before you slowed down and split your time between first grade and tag team wrestling."

Or something like that, I wasn't really paying attention.

"Would your involvement in the business at so young an age stand up in court as child abuse? It's like those kiddie beauty pageants... it's a little creepy."

And anyone who would break down in tears over what a five year old says needs to hand Miss Ivy their Man Card before going home... that's just sad.

"But I'll tell you, JonBenet - no, my father didn't train me to be the best wrestler in the world. He's in sales. That also doesn't mean that if I went into sales I'd be the absolute best at it because my father was."

"Truth be told, nobody can teach anybody how to be the best wrestler in the world. You learn to wrestle, you hone your craft, you learn to talk, and you go out into the world. I had the best teachers I could find, but all they did was open the door."

"There's the real difference between us, Ms. Ramsey - the door was opened for me and I proved I belonged. With all the prattling and rambling and going on and on and on and on and on and on about your father, I have a feeling he opened the door, shoved you inside, handed you and a bunch of money to a promoter with a wink and an elbow to the ribs and a kinda - joking - not - really 'My kid is gonna be a star, right?'"

I guess you're right - we're not on the same level.

"Here's the difference between us - you're sitting poolside with a rented woman telling us all how awesome you are, and the fact remains, for all your fame and fortune and success and legacy... I've never heard of you. I've also never heard of your father or grandfather."

"Now, that doesn't mean much - there's a lot of territories and a lot of wrestlers and unless you're a really big name not everyone can pick you out of the crowd. But while you're sitting around yelling 'Do you know who I am???' at the world--"

--and the world is replying, '....No. Should we?' --

"-- and expecting us to take your word for it that you're wrestling royalty--"

Whatever that means.

"-- you're exposing yourself as the insecure little man that you've tried so hard to hide. Seriously - the pool, the money, the rented woman... it's the professional wrestling version of ghetto-rich. Yeah, you've got the Bentley, but there's nothing in the fridge. The real reason you only wrestle once a year is because if you tried to do it on a full schedule, we'd all see that the Emperor wears no clothes."

"But if you miss your vacation that much, Dime - a - Dozen, don't worry."

You'll be back on it after our match.

FADE
 

User Poets

The Shadow Pope
Joined
Jan 6, 1995
Messages
2,192
Points
36
Age
44
Location
Top of the Pile
Website
www.valeriansgarden.com
Re: A Classy Chap

FADEIN... on a tape recorder.

And I pressed play.

"What part of the purebred wrestling royalty is it that says 'I'm going to disappear after making claims that can't be backed up without giving my all in this upcoming match?' "

"Because you're doing a great job of that."

"Enjoy your next yearlong vacation, Mr. Cash.

Click.
 

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