Post by Jules on Oct 24, 2012 14:17:13 GMT -4
The scene opens in the luxurious home of Asylum’s most charismatic Megastar, the submission and tea-drinking expert, “Quintessentially English” Julius Farquhar. Days away from the most important match of his career to date, Farquhar has seemingly gathered his brains trust. But where is Julius? It appears he is not present at this time as we join APW reporter Phil conversing with Farquhar’s recently acquired associate, Barry Hoskins.
Phil: Surely you agree with me, Barry?
Barry remains unmoved as he leafs through a ‘Tea Total’ magazine.
Phil: I just don’t understand why Julius persists with his methods and his alienating philosophy.
Barry: He’s “Quintessentially English”, yada yada yada.
Barry barely raises his eyes from the page he is reading in replying to the reporter who has become Julius’ own in recent months.
Phil: He has so much charisma, a great talent for influencing people. That is a great power...
Barry: ...that comes with great responsibility, right?
Phil: Exactly. If he could only channel that power into a more worthy cause, I know he could turn the fans to his side and become a positive force to improve Asylum.
Barry sighs and puts down his magazine. He looks up at Phil and shakes his head lightly.
Barry: Phil, how long have you known Mr. Farquhar?
Phil allows himself a few moments to trawl through his memory banks.
Phil: I guess it’s been close to six months now, maybe more.
Barry: And have you learnt nothing in that time?
Phil looks at Phil a bit nonplussed.
Barry: I think you misunderstand Mr. Farquhar if you think anything you can say or do will change him.
Phil: But...
Barry: There are no ‘buts’, Phil. You can’t ask an eagle to stop flying, and likewise you cannot ask Mr. Farquhar to change his philosophy and his outlook.
Phil: But it’s so tiresome, don’t you think?
Barry: I couldn’t give a damn if Mr. Farquhar wants to wear Mr. Schmidt’s sexy turkey costume every week, as long as he’s paying my wages. If he’s happy playing Mad Hatter tea parties and it means I get paid, then it’s fine with me.
Phil: You are an unscrupulous sort, Barry. Is money all you care about?
Barry: It helps.
Phil shakes his head with disappointment.
Barry: Listen, I used to get paid a pittance for refereeing matches, with no bonus but an occasional beating from a disgruntled wrestler. I did my job and got no thanks for it. Now I make tea and I never have to worry about whether I will be fit and able to pay the bills.
Phil: Even if it means doing Julius’ dirty work. You think your part in all of this isn’t going to earn some retribution from TJ?
Barry: Phil, I don’t do this to gain your approval; I have kids to feed. However, you can cry and preach to Mr. Farquhar all you want, but it will achieve nothing. You don’t like Mr. Farquhar’s philosophy, well you fail to see that is what drives him to be the meanest, the nastiest, and the most dangerous submission wrestler in the world. He didn’t become Tap Out Champion by caring what other people think; it was his single-mindedness and his unflinching belief that what he is doing is right that has allowed him to dominate every opponent he has faced since becoming the Champion.
Phil: Every opponent except TJ.
Barry: Well if I know Mr. Farquhar, I’d say he has a plan to rectify that at One Night In Hell.
The conversation is interrupted by the arrival of Julius Farquhar.
Julius: You are like a pair of gossiping women. Barry, I think it is time for my afternoon tea. Be a sport, old man, and prepare it for me.
Barry: As you wish, Mr. Farquhar.
Barry trudges off to complete his chore; Jules takes a seat and barely acknowledges Phil. The journalist leaves it a few moments before speaking up.
Phil: How are you feeling, Jules?
Julius: I feel like Caesar on the banks of the Rubicon, knowing that he is a short distance from ultimate glory.
Phil: Wasn’t Julius Caesar murdered by his own Senate?
Julius cuts right through Phil with a stinging glare.
Julius: Is there a reason you being here? My preparations for Tokyo do not include prescription for sarcasm.
Phil: I’m just saying, pride before a fall and all that.
Julius: You dare to doubt me? How insolent!
Phil: No, not doubting, but acknowledging you are about to face your biggest challenge.
Julius: Agreed. But one I have every intention of overcoming.
Phil: And beyond that?
Julius: The ascent of the Quintessentially English Empire and my reign over Asylum will begin.
Phil: And do you not think your reign could be used to bring good to Asylum.
Julius: I fully intend it. When I vanquish the dragon my subjects will know that justice has fallen across all over the land.
Phil: Why talk like this, Julius? Let’s be serious for a second – what do you really think? Surely you hear the boos and the jeers from the crowd. If you only changed a few things I know they will come to see you as the great wrestler and champion that you are; then they will embrace you.
Julius: You soppy sod! You think I want a hug from those vile miscreants? Philip, I am a maverick, a man who does not follow the herd but engaged only by the dictates of my essence, which is to be “Quintessentially English” and spread my justice to all and sundry. I was born to be a leader on this brand, to pave the way; I do not expect understanding, nor do I court a sympathetic ear. The reaction of the crowd means nothing to me: like a street preacher who evangelises to everyone but reaches no-one nothing can shake my resolve; except where the preacher is impotent, I am strong, and I will prevail.
Phil: Yeah, I get it Julius, but surely you too must seek the crowd’s adulation. You need them after all. You can’t tell me that you don’t want to be loved, that you don’t want to be respected as a Champion.
Julius begins to laugh, he slaps Phil’s knee and replies through his laughter.
Julius: Oh Phil, you are a queer fellow! You speak of respect as though I, the man who brings monsters to their knees, need ask for respect. Do you not see my reign over the “Quintessentially English Empire” is no democracy; I impose my will on everyone and when my tap runs dry I will allow my record, not the opinion of swine, to speak for itself.
*
Phil: Surely you agree with me, Barry?
Barry remains unmoved as he leafs through a ‘Tea Total’ magazine.
Phil: I just don’t understand why Julius persists with his methods and his alienating philosophy.
Barry: He’s “Quintessentially English”, yada yada yada.
Barry barely raises his eyes from the page he is reading in replying to the reporter who has become Julius’ own in recent months.
Phil: He has so much charisma, a great talent for influencing people. That is a great power...
Barry: ...that comes with great responsibility, right?
Phil: Exactly. If he could only channel that power into a more worthy cause, I know he could turn the fans to his side and become a positive force to improve Asylum.
Barry sighs and puts down his magazine. He looks up at Phil and shakes his head lightly.
Barry: Phil, how long have you known Mr. Farquhar?
Phil allows himself a few moments to trawl through his memory banks.
Phil: I guess it’s been close to six months now, maybe more.
Barry: And have you learnt nothing in that time?
Phil looks at Phil a bit nonplussed.
Barry: I think you misunderstand Mr. Farquhar if you think anything you can say or do will change him.
Phil: But...
Barry: There are no ‘buts’, Phil. You can’t ask an eagle to stop flying, and likewise you cannot ask Mr. Farquhar to change his philosophy and his outlook.
Phil: But it’s so tiresome, don’t you think?
Barry: I couldn’t give a damn if Mr. Farquhar wants to wear Mr. Schmidt’s sexy turkey costume every week, as long as he’s paying my wages. If he’s happy playing Mad Hatter tea parties and it means I get paid, then it’s fine with me.
Phil: You are an unscrupulous sort, Barry. Is money all you care about?
Barry: It helps.
Phil shakes his head with disappointment.
Barry: Listen, I used to get paid a pittance for refereeing matches, with no bonus but an occasional beating from a disgruntled wrestler. I did my job and got no thanks for it. Now I make tea and I never have to worry about whether I will be fit and able to pay the bills.
Phil: Even if it means doing Julius’ dirty work. You think your part in all of this isn’t going to earn some retribution from TJ?
Barry: Phil, I don’t do this to gain your approval; I have kids to feed. However, you can cry and preach to Mr. Farquhar all you want, but it will achieve nothing. You don’t like Mr. Farquhar’s philosophy, well you fail to see that is what drives him to be the meanest, the nastiest, and the most dangerous submission wrestler in the world. He didn’t become Tap Out Champion by caring what other people think; it was his single-mindedness and his unflinching belief that what he is doing is right that has allowed him to dominate every opponent he has faced since becoming the Champion.
Phil: Every opponent except TJ.
Barry: Well if I know Mr. Farquhar, I’d say he has a plan to rectify that at One Night In Hell.
The conversation is interrupted by the arrival of Julius Farquhar.
Julius: You are like a pair of gossiping women. Barry, I think it is time for my afternoon tea. Be a sport, old man, and prepare it for me.
Barry: As you wish, Mr. Farquhar.
Barry trudges off to complete his chore; Jules takes a seat and barely acknowledges Phil. The journalist leaves it a few moments before speaking up.
Phil: How are you feeling, Jules?
Julius: I feel like Caesar on the banks of the Rubicon, knowing that he is a short distance from ultimate glory.
Phil: Wasn’t Julius Caesar murdered by his own Senate?
Julius cuts right through Phil with a stinging glare.
Julius: Is there a reason you being here? My preparations for Tokyo do not include prescription for sarcasm.
Phil: I’m just saying, pride before a fall and all that.
Julius: You dare to doubt me? How insolent!
Phil: No, not doubting, but acknowledging you are about to face your biggest challenge.
Julius: Agreed. But one I have every intention of overcoming.
Phil: And beyond that?
Julius: The ascent of the Quintessentially English Empire and my reign over Asylum will begin.
Phil: And do you not think your reign could be used to bring good to Asylum.
Julius: I fully intend it. When I vanquish the dragon my subjects will know that justice has fallen across all over the land.
Phil: Why talk like this, Julius? Let’s be serious for a second – what do you really think? Surely you hear the boos and the jeers from the crowd. If you only changed a few things I know they will come to see you as the great wrestler and champion that you are; then they will embrace you.
Julius: You soppy sod! You think I want a hug from those vile miscreants? Philip, I am a maverick, a man who does not follow the herd but engaged only by the dictates of my essence, which is to be “Quintessentially English” and spread my justice to all and sundry. I was born to be a leader on this brand, to pave the way; I do not expect understanding, nor do I court a sympathetic ear. The reaction of the crowd means nothing to me: like a street preacher who evangelises to everyone but reaches no-one nothing can shake my resolve; except where the preacher is impotent, I am strong, and I will prevail.
Phil: Yeah, I get it Julius, but surely you too must seek the crowd’s adulation. You need them after all. You can’t tell me that you don’t want to be loved, that you don’t want to be respected as a Champion.
Julius begins to laugh, he slaps Phil’s knee and replies through his laughter.
Julius: Oh Phil, you are a queer fellow! You speak of respect as though I, the man who brings monsters to their knees, need ask for respect. Do you not see my reign over the “Quintessentially English Empire” is no democracy; I impose my will on everyone and when my tap runs dry I will allow my record, not the opinion of swine, to speak for itself.
*
The Quintessentially English Podcast #3
Hello subjects of the Quintessentially English Empire. I bring this broadcast to you on the eve of what I intend to be a defining and most magnificent night in my wrestling career. Although the glory of the bards awaits, I find myself yet faced with questions and scrutiny about my methods. I know there are whispers among the lower breeds carrying conspiracy and schemes. They want to declare me an unfit ruler; a man whose methods shall no longer be tolerated.
History has taught how a ruler’s methods cannot always be understood by those below him. The fault lies not with the ruler, who requires no external vindication other than his own guise of personal salvation. Let us not forget that the peasant has not the knowledge, experience and breeding of kings lest we want ourselves enslaved by a tyranny of the majority, which is to feel always the yoke of mediocrity. Yet it is not the peasant’s mind the king should fear; it is merely his physical strength, by numbers, led by those conniving dissidents who believe they can do better.
The Quintessentially English Empire, and its fight for Quintessentially English Justice, does not, however, seek understanding from its subjects. Its conditions are absolute, unswerving and beyond perversion. In all of my methods I require no justification save the absolute conditions of Quintessentially English Justice itself. When this realisation is made good and true inside the mind of an observer, it is better for everyone if it is accepted that resistance is futile and homage to the unstoppable march of the Quintessentially English Empire is necessary. For approval is not a requirement of justice: it acts for its own sake alone, and is not bent by the manipulations of the peasant’s feeble mind.
Might is right, and strength always falls on the side of the righteous at the expense of the wicked.
This condition is undeniable and absolute, but history is an elusive mistress and it is not against her disposition to stir up conflict between the righteous and the wicked, therefore it does not surprise me that among my flock are to be found dissident minds. Humility is not too low for the ruler’s temperament; therefore I must accept that in this knowledge I have grossly underestimated the belligerence with which the wickedness of some persists in undermining the Quintessentially English Empire’s legitimate march of progress.
TJ has proven himself to be a worthy foe in many ways. As an intellectual learns nothing from a stagnant and uncritical environment, an exalted warrior and ruler of men learns nothing from weak enemies. I will give TJ his due: his resistance has emboldened my spirit and it has strengthened my determination to see that Quintessentially English Justice erupts across the whole of Asylum.
I cannot deny or discredit his claim to have resisted me like no other opponent, and he remains to this day the only wrestler never to submit to my technical artistry. Others who consider themselves of a loftier nature have failed where TJ has succeeded. His continued obstruction of my goals has proved entirely irksome to me, and with every day that passes my seething grows. Yet TJ is as foolish as he is arrogant if he thinks he can walk into my domain at One Night In Hell, on my terms, and simply walk out again unscathed.
TJ may boast that he has never quit in his career, but never before has he had to engage an enemy like me in an ‘I Quit’ match. As stubborn as TJ may be, even he must recognise that this is a match that favours my sublime technical ability over his brutish force. I will admit that TJ has earned some respect for his attitude of resistance, and he has proven in glimpses that he stands as a unique and powerful foe. However the history of wrestling, and even MMA, has shown that brutish strength cannot exceed the science of technical wrestling. TJ is a warrior capable of unleashing a tempest of pain in a single blow, he makes some of the finest athletes look like pre-pubescent schoolboys in comparison; but let us not forget that I can break a man in two like a matchstick with a single hold. Oh I fully expect TJ to have his moments in this match, and I will be ready to dig deeper than I have ever had to dig...
...but it is one thing to overpower me and keep me held to the mat for three seconds, it is quite another to make a champion utter the words ‘I Quit’. Not just any champion for that matter, the man who right now holds the title that says he is the greatest submission wrestler in the world.
TJ, I know you will say and think the very same thing, and the evidence favours your stance, but I will remind you of why I hold the technical advantage. You believe yourself so brave and true to have withstood my warfare thus far, and I will not disagree that this war has swung in your direction with every battle you have survived and come out of standing strong. But my means are subtle, and for all your strength, for all your guts and pluck in finding a bulwark to my attacks, you cannot protest that you do not have a distinct vulnerability in your ankle.
You think I did not have this all planned from the beginning, TJ?
You think I do not know how to pull your strings and get you to play the exact tune I want?
Just as your ego has led you to folly week after week as you have been goaded into fulfilling my strategy, so will it lead you to disaster at One Night In Hell.
You know what my two hands are capable of TJ, you feel it with every wince brought on by every step you take. Imagine all the pain you have withstood so far and multiply it by the highest number you can think of. That is what you can expect inside the personal Hell I intend to create for you in Tokyo. You may have “The Soul of Philly”, but I will prove that blue-collar pluck cannot overcome blue-blooded majesty.
I see how you carry yourself TJ, how you pander to the crowd as though somehow you work with each other towards your goals. I hear you making promises to these feeble-minded cretins that you cannot fulfil, as though that will somehow curry favour with the rabble. Well, in my turn, I set the expectations; I make the demands; I elevate with everything I do. I do not need the approval of the common swine and their abject, mediocre outlook when I have he sword of justice and righteous sheathed at my side.
Anyway, what good can the rabble do when you are faced with the most dangerous submission wrestler in the world? You will learn that nobody can resist me. Just ask Anthony Bailey, Jason Kash, not to mention your little friends Jair Hopkins and Mr. Dangerous.
While you may have shown yourself to have a bit more backbone than they did, the undeniable truth is that whether it takes me ten minutes or it takes me ten hours, in Tokyo I will take you to the point of no return, you will submit, you will squeal those two words that will glorify and justify my reign. You will quit, and then all that will be left is for you to bow your head, make your penance, and pay homage.
End transmission
Hello subjects of the Quintessentially English Empire. I bring this broadcast to you on the eve of what I intend to be a defining and most magnificent night in my wrestling career. Although the glory of the bards awaits, I find myself yet faced with questions and scrutiny about my methods. I know there are whispers among the lower breeds carrying conspiracy and schemes. They want to declare me an unfit ruler; a man whose methods shall no longer be tolerated.
History has taught how a ruler’s methods cannot always be understood by those below him. The fault lies not with the ruler, who requires no external vindication other than his own guise of personal salvation. Let us not forget that the peasant has not the knowledge, experience and breeding of kings lest we want ourselves enslaved by a tyranny of the majority, which is to feel always the yoke of mediocrity. Yet it is not the peasant’s mind the king should fear; it is merely his physical strength, by numbers, led by those conniving dissidents who believe they can do better.
The Quintessentially English Empire, and its fight for Quintessentially English Justice, does not, however, seek understanding from its subjects. Its conditions are absolute, unswerving and beyond perversion. In all of my methods I require no justification save the absolute conditions of Quintessentially English Justice itself. When this realisation is made good and true inside the mind of an observer, it is better for everyone if it is accepted that resistance is futile and homage to the unstoppable march of the Quintessentially English Empire is necessary. For approval is not a requirement of justice: it acts for its own sake alone, and is not bent by the manipulations of the peasant’s feeble mind.
Might is right, and strength always falls on the side of the righteous at the expense of the wicked.
This condition is undeniable and absolute, but history is an elusive mistress and it is not against her disposition to stir up conflict between the righteous and the wicked, therefore it does not surprise me that among my flock are to be found dissident minds. Humility is not too low for the ruler’s temperament; therefore I must accept that in this knowledge I have grossly underestimated the belligerence with which the wickedness of some persists in undermining the Quintessentially English Empire’s legitimate march of progress.
TJ has proven himself to be a worthy foe in many ways. As an intellectual learns nothing from a stagnant and uncritical environment, an exalted warrior and ruler of men learns nothing from weak enemies. I will give TJ his due: his resistance has emboldened my spirit and it has strengthened my determination to see that Quintessentially English Justice erupts across the whole of Asylum.
I cannot deny or discredit his claim to have resisted me like no other opponent, and he remains to this day the only wrestler never to submit to my technical artistry. Others who consider themselves of a loftier nature have failed where TJ has succeeded. His continued obstruction of my goals has proved entirely irksome to me, and with every day that passes my seething grows. Yet TJ is as foolish as he is arrogant if he thinks he can walk into my domain at One Night In Hell, on my terms, and simply walk out again unscathed.
TJ may boast that he has never quit in his career, but never before has he had to engage an enemy like me in an ‘I Quit’ match. As stubborn as TJ may be, even he must recognise that this is a match that favours my sublime technical ability over his brutish force. I will admit that TJ has earned some respect for his attitude of resistance, and he has proven in glimpses that he stands as a unique and powerful foe. However the history of wrestling, and even MMA, has shown that brutish strength cannot exceed the science of technical wrestling. TJ is a warrior capable of unleashing a tempest of pain in a single blow, he makes some of the finest athletes look like pre-pubescent schoolboys in comparison; but let us not forget that I can break a man in two like a matchstick with a single hold. Oh I fully expect TJ to have his moments in this match, and I will be ready to dig deeper than I have ever had to dig...
...but it is one thing to overpower me and keep me held to the mat for three seconds, it is quite another to make a champion utter the words ‘I Quit’. Not just any champion for that matter, the man who right now holds the title that says he is the greatest submission wrestler in the world.
TJ, I know you will say and think the very same thing, and the evidence favours your stance, but I will remind you of why I hold the technical advantage. You believe yourself so brave and true to have withstood my warfare thus far, and I will not disagree that this war has swung in your direction with every battle you have survived and come out of standing strong. But my means are subtle, and for all your strength, for all your guts and pluck in finding a bulwark to my attacks, you cannot protest that you do not have a distinct vulnerability in your ankle.
You think I did not have this all planned from the beginning, TJ?
You think I do not know how to pull your strings and get you to play the exact tune I want?
Just as your ego has led you to folly week after week as you have been goaded into fulfilling my strategy, so will it lead you to disaster at One Night In Hell.
You know what my two hands are capable of TJ, you feel it with every wince brought on by every step you take. Imagine all the pain you have withstood so far and multiply it by the highest number you can think of. That is what you can expect inside the personal Hell I intend to create for you in Tokyo. You may have “The Soul of Philly”, but I will prove that blue-collar pluck cannot overcome blue-blooded majesty.
I see how you carry yourself TJ, how you pander to the crowd as though somehow you work with each other towards your goals. I hear you making promises to these feeble-minded cretins that you cannot fulfil, as though that will somehow curry favour with the rabble. Well, in my turn, I set the expectations; I make the demands; I elevate with everything I do. I do not need the approval of the common swine and their abject, mediocre outlook when I have he sword of justice and righteous sheathed at my side.
Anyway, what good can the rabble do when you are faced with the most dangerous submission wrestler in the world? You will learn that nobody can resist me. Just ask Anthony Bailey, Jason Kash, not to mention your little friends Jair Hopkins and Mr. Dangerous.
While you may have shown yourself to have a bit more backbone than they did, the undeniable truth is that whether it takes me ten minutes or it takes me ten hours, in Tokyo I will take you to the point of no return, you will submit, you will squeal those two words that will glorify and justify my reign. You will quit, and then all that will be left is for you to bow your head, make your penance, and pay homage.
End transmission
