Post by Jules on Jul 10, 2012 13:58:30 GMT -4
The scene opened in a room. Location unknown. What constitutes the relevant facts in this scenario is that present and accounted for were one “Quintessentially English” and TAP OUT Champion wrestler, and one APW reporter turned lackey.
Phil (said lackey): So, what’s this all about then, Jules?
It was a measure of how far Phil had managed to not be a total irritation to the world’s only quintessentially English wrestler that he did not strike the journalist down for shortening his name.
Jules: This is a visual demonstration, an accompaniment to the verbal assault I am about to unleash.
Phil nodded along; he was familiar with the concept being one of those media-types.
Jules: These *pointing to his 'visual accompaniments'* are my targets.
Said targets were three cardboard cut-outs: one of Michael Callahan, one of Jason Kash, one of Sally Talfourd.
Phil: Wow, these are impressive. They really do go in for high definition and detail in these things.
Jules: That is correct. If you look close enough you can even see the wrinkles on Sally Talfourd’s haggard face.
Phil inspected said cardboard and recoils.
Phil: Is that a wart? By the way, this Callahan cut-out looks a bit small.
Jules: Yes, I hear they are making them to fit his stature and relevance opposed to his physical credentials. Nevertheless, they are all eminently punchable, not least that gawking Jason Kash.
Phil: I’m sure I read in my contract all APW employees get free dental care.
Jules: Yes, well when you spend one third of your life bathing in tweakies, who has the time.
Phil: Tweakies?
Jules: Yes, hideous cream filled American treats.
Phil: Twinkies?
Jules: Whatever. I know is that Jason Kash will be seeing twinkies when I’m through with him.
Phil shook his head and in so doing tried his best to shake off the obscure and weak pun.
Phil: So what we’re doing here?
Jules: It is simple. You point. I talk. You record. They listen. I win on Sunday. Foolproof.
Phil: *sarcastically* I’m sure. So let’s start off with Michael Callahan.
Jules: Yes, the Godsend to America. He is a particularly noxious little man. Like a rabid dog I see him running around slobbering over everyone and infecting them with his nonsense; he is like a monkey with an erection, compelled by his totally base convictions to spray his scent on everything and everyone.
Phil: You’re not a fan? That’s funny because of anyone I would have thought you and Michael Callahan would get along.
Jules: This is exactly why you are a petty little scribbler and I am a superior athlete and human being. Need I remind you of who and what I am?
Phil: *with a heavy sigh* “Quintessentially English, yada yada ya”.
Jules: You watch your tongue Phillip, or I will slap you about like I would a quarrelsome house-servant.
Phil: But hear me out, Jules. You are both by your nature conservatives; you both think you are better than everyone else; you both respect tradition.
Jules: Tradition? What would this Michael Callahan know of tradition? He is an American – a species of upstarts with no class, no civility, and, worst of all, absolutely no gratitude whatsoever; a base group of philanderers and spin merchants who put value in lazy ideals and give authority to idiots and imbeciles.
Phil: I’m not following you.
Jules: Of course you are not; you are an idiot Phillip; an American ass with barely an iota of intelligence; much like your kin; much like this Callahan. I hear this charlatan shouting from the rooftops about whatever drivel passes through that porous sponge he calls his brain. Well, he needs to realise that just because you shout louder and louder does not mean what you have to say is of any import to anyone. He talks about tradition and fairness, but then in the same breath he mentions ‘democracy’, that heinous concept given life by the bile of humanity.
Phil: What’s wrong with democracy?
Jules: What is right with it?
Phil: Well it’s fair.
Jules: If you are as sophisticated as a monkey. Why would I, a quintessentially English and superior human being, want to share my power and my authority with inferiors? I was bred to led, not to co-operate with people who are less equal to me. I came to put an end to this American nonsense and usher in a new imperial reign of the quintessentially English.
Phil: Okay. So you don’t agree with Callahan on a philosophical level, however *and thankfully Phil thinks* you’re not engaging in political debate with him; it’s going to be a fight. You can’t argue that he is a threat.
Jules: Yes, I know all about Michael Callahan and his exploits in the ring. He has been the Bored-to-death Champion for a time equivalent to an ice age, and let us be completely frank and honest here, his reign as been about as entertaining as watching glacial movements.
Phil: And you’re suggesting tea-drinking and squabbles with a manservant are?
Jules: Anything tea-related is infinitely more entertaining than what Mr. Callahan has to offer. But stop distracting me, Phil. I know Mr. Callahan has an impressive record, but as I remember from my days as a young aristocrat in the country, worms can be slippery devils and are not easily pinned down. Unfortunately for them, as a child I was inclined to stamp on the little blighters and be done with it. My opinion on the matter hasn’t changed through adulthood.
Julius took a pause to let that tragic image sink in.
Jules: In addition there are two matters of primary importance: number one, I am a wholly different proposition to his previous. Among his credentials Callahan cannot boast a quintessentially English athlete and altogether superior wrestler like me. Number two, Michael Callahan has twice dared to cross me. Firstly, when his incompetence betrayed me in a tag match and caused me to be pinned by Tofu Yamaha, or whatever that rice-burning jackal was called, and secondly, where I come from you don’t spill a man’s tea and get away with it. Michael Callahan will pay for that, and like the worms from the old country, if he tries to evade me I will not hesitate in capturing him and pulling his head off. There is only room for one elitist in this company sunshine, and, quite frankly, you do not carry the credentials.
Julius despatched the Callahan cut-out with a superkick that signalled he was done with it, then shuffled along to the next cut-out.
Jules: Speaking of worms, here is one that has managed to sliver his way out of my reach since the day I arrived – Jason Kash. Are you familiar with the story of King Harold II of England?
Phil shook his head.
Jules: Following the death of Edward The Confessor in early 1066, there was something of a struggle for the throne of England, with at least three separate claims made. In times of necessity such as these a firm and strong hand is required to assert control and authority, although any such king must be prepared to accept his reign will be fraught with peril and the threats will take aim from all sides. Harold II was the first man to take on the mantle, and while the threats remained weak he was able to stand lofty and majestic as the monarch presiding over the whole kingdom. Alas, Harold’s story is a tragic one since his reign could not withstand all pressures. After 9 short months he was slain in battle and a rightful king was crowned.
Phil: What is your point?
Jules: My point is that Jason Kash’s reign as king of Asylum is analogous to Harold’s fate. He was the one who held it all together when the threats were weak and timid; but who would not look strong against a bunch of goons whose meal tickets afforded them more than their worth.
Phil: That’s ridiculous! Jason Kash was World Heavyweight Champion for the best part of nine months.
Jules: A man amongst apes, dearest Phillip, nothing more. Not once did Jason Kash come to me, offer me a hot beverage of infused leaves, and plead for a match to give his reign some credibility. Why? Because he was afraid.[/color]
Phil: You’re being absurd!
Jules: You are being ignorant. These are words of truth, and like I always say, truth always sounds like lies to an imbecile. I will not be completely disingenuous, even talentless urchins deserve credit where it is due, Jason Kash did well to ‘run the show’ as long as he did, but let us not forget he ducked challenge after challenge from me, from Sally Talfourd, even that Michael Callahan, for months and months. The sheer absurdity of this man’s proclamations to be the best in the world were shown up as recently as Sunday when he was beaten by Anthony Bailey – a man I made tap like a Fred Astair on amphetamines not more than three weeks ago.
Jules paused and looked at the Jason Kash cut-out, then turned to Phil and said with a smile.
Jules: Jason Kash is more than adequate as a street brawler, but he will not be able to compete with my fine technical skills and my scientific approach in the ring. The laws of creation have dictated that the cream always rises to the top, while the sediment sinks to the bottom. I have aristocratic blood flowing through my veins, like a racial cream, and while I rise to the top according to my nature, Jason Kash will sink as befits his and he will PAY HOMAGE.
Julius spun and delivered a roundhouse kick that took off the head of cardboard Kash – betraying the fact it was cut and weakly glued back on during the first take.
Jules: And then there was one.
Julius turned to the cardboard cut-out of Sally.
Phil: Ah yes, Miss Sally Talfourd, the jewel in the crown of Asylum.
Jules: Shut your mouth or I will have you beaten for public indecency. You’re practically salivating.
Phil turned red with embarrassment and wiped his mouth.
Phil: Okay, now you’re gonna have to eat some humble pie.
Julius: My diet consists solely of tea, scones and Queen Victoria sponge cake, but I understand your metaphor. Even Quintessentially Englishmen make mistakes from time to time; let’s not forget the decision not to rid the world of vermin like the Welsh and the Scots. Like the English authorities consistently underestimate the insubordinate elements in those species, so too did I underestimate Sally Talfourd.
Phil’s eyes widened with shock.
Jules: Yes, Sally Talfourd beat me fairly and squarely last time, and to this day it remains the only time I have been beaten in singles competition on Asylum.
Phil: And to a woman no less.
Jules: Yes. Yes. I am quite aware of that.
Julius brushed off the agitation of being reminded about that and continued.
Jules: But I am not a discriminatory man; some women deserve a good thrashing as much and as often as some men.
Phil: But you understand it’s not quite going to be as simple as that?
Jules: Simple? Of course not. I will give Sally Talfourd her dues, she is an admirable arch-enemy, but even if the corrupt villain does score the occasional victory, as declared by the dictates of mythical lore, the hero always vanquishes the foul and ugly enemy. Nobody knows better than I that Sally Talfourd will provide a stern challenge; if only more of the males in this decadent nation had as much gumption and wherewithal as her, then it would be a better place?
Phil: Is that a back-handed compliment?
Jules: Only if you consider ‘being not quite as vile as swamp monsters like Johnny Knuckledragger and Chaz Dungpile’ a compliment. She may not be totally bereft of good qualities, but she has a long way to go before she can hold her cup of tea the correct way and be considered a quintessentially English lady
Jules gave himself a self-satisfied smile.
Jules: Nevertheless, I must beat Sally Talfourd and all others to prove the pedigree that runs through my veins, to establish the Quintessentially English Empire, and bring civility back to this land. Last time was my Dunkirk, but this time, without any doubt, will be my heroic Agincourt.
Jules smiled smugly, made an exaggerated ‘kung fu’ noise and punched a hole through the face of the cardboard Sally Talfourd.
Jules: As they say in Jason Kash’s ghetto – time to PAY HOMAGE bitches.
End.
Phil (said lackey): So, what’s this all about then, Jules?
It was a measure of how far Phil had managed to not be a total irritation to the world’s only quintessentially English wrestler that he did not strike the journalist down for shortening his name.
Jules: This is a visual demonstration, an accompaniment to the verbal assault I am about to unleash.
Phil nodded along; he was familiar with the concept being one of those media-types.
Jules: These *pointing to his 'visual accompaniments'* are my targets.
Said targets were three cardboard cut-outs: one of Michael Callahan, one of Jason Kash, one of Sally Talfourd.
Phil: Wow, these are impressive. They really do go in for high definition and detail in these things.
Jules: That is correct. If you look close enough you can even see the wrinkles on Sally Talfourd’s haggard face.
Phil inspected said cardboard and recoils.
Phil: Is that a wart? By the way, this Callahan cut-out looks a bit small.
Jules: Yes, I hear they are making them to fit his stature and relevance opposed to his physical credentials. Nevertheless, they are all eminently punchable, not least that gawking Jason Kash.
Phil: I’m sure I read in my contract all APW employees get free dental care.
Jules: Yes, well when you spend one third of your life bathing in tweakies, who has the time.
Phil: Tweakies?
Jules: Yes, hideous cream filled American treats.
Phil: Twinkies?
Jules: Whatever. I know is that Jason Kash will be seeing twinkies when I’m through with him.
Phil shook his head and in so doing tried his best to shake off the obscure and weak pun.
Phil: So what we’re doing here?
Jules: It is simple. You point. I talk. You record. They listen. I win on Sunday. Foolproof.
Phil: *sarcastically* I’m sure. So let’s start off with Michael Callahan.
Jules: Yes, the Godsend to America. He is a particularly noxious little man. Like a rabid dog I see him running around slobbering over everyone and infecting them with his nonsense; he is like a monkey with an erection, compelled by his totally base convictions to spray his scent on everything and everyone.
Phil: You’re not a fan? That’s funny because of anyone I would have thought you and Michael Callahan would get along.
Jules: This is exactly why you are a petty little scribbler and I am a superior athlete and human being. Need I remind you of who and what I am?
Phil: *with a heavy sigh* “Quintessentially English, yada yada ya”.
Jules: You watch your tongue Phillip, or I will slap you about like I would a quarrelsome house-servant.
Phil: But hear me out, Jules. You are both by your nature conservatives; you both think you are better than everyone else; you both respect tradition.
Jules: Tradition? What would this Michael Callahan know of tradition? He is an American – a species of upstarts with no class, no civility, and, worst of all, absolutely no gratitude whatsoever; a base group of philanderers and spin merchants who put value in lazy ideals and give authority to idiots and imbeciles.
Phil: I’m not following you.
Jules: Of course you are not; you are an idiot Phillip; an American ass with barely an iota of intelligence; much like your kin; much like this Callahan. I hear this charlatan shouting from the rooftops about whatever drivel passes through that porous sponge he calls his brain. Well, he needs to realise that just because you shout louder and louder does not mean what you have to say is of any import to anyone. He talks about tradition and fairness, but then in the same breath he mentions ‘democracy’, that heinous concept given life by the bile of humanity.
Phil: What’s wrong with democracy?
Jules: What is right with it?
Phil: Well it’s fair.
Jules: If you are as sophisticated as a monkey. Why would I, a quintessentially English and superior human being, want to share my power and my authority with inferiors? I was bred to led, not to co-operate with people who are less equal to me. I came to put an end to this American nonsense and usher in a new imperial reign of the quintessentially English.
Phil: Okay. So you don’t agree with Callahan on a philosophical level, however *and thankfully Phil thinks* you’re not engaging in political debate with him; it’s going to be a fight. You can’t argue that he is a threat.
Jules: Yes, I know all about Michael Callahan and his exploits in the ring. He has been the Bored-to-death Champion for a time equivalent to an ice age, and let us be completely frank and honest here, his reign as been about as entertaining as watching glacial movements.
Phil: And you’re suggesting tea-drinking and squabbles with a manservant are?
Jules: Anything tea-related is infinitely more entertaining than what Mr. Callahan has to offer. But stop distracting me, Phil. I know Mr. Callahan has an impressive record, but as I remember from my days as a young aristocrat in the country, worms can be slippery devils and are not easily pinned down. Unfortunately for them, as a child I was inclined to stamp on the little blighters and be done with it. My opinion on the matter hasn’t changed through adulthood.
Julius took a pause to let that tragic image sink in.
Jules: In addition there are two matters of primary importance: number one, I am a wholly different proposition to his previous. Among his credentials Callahan cannot boast a quintessentially English athlete and altogether superior wrestler like me. Number two, Michael Callahan has twice dared to cross me. Firstly, when his incompetence betrayed me in a tag match and caused me to be pinned by Tofu Yamaha, or whatever that rice-burning jackal was called, and secondly, where I come from you don’t spill a man’s tea and get away with it. Michael Callahan will pay for that, and like the worms from the old country, if he tries to evade me I will not hesitate in capturing him and pulling his head off. There is only room for one elitist in this company sunshine, and, quite frankly, you do not carry the credentials.
Julius despatched the Callahan cut-out with a superkick that signalled he was done with it, then shuffled along to the next cut-out.
Jules: Speaking of worms, here is one that has managed to sliver his way out of my reach since the day I arrived – Jason Kash. Are you familiar with the story of King Harold II of England?
Phil shook his head.
Jules: Following the death of Edward The Confessor in early 1066, there was something of a struggle for the throne of England, with at least three separate claims made. In times of necessity such as these a firm and strong hand is required to assert control and authority, although any such king must be prepared to accept his reign will be fraught with peril and the threats will take aim from all sides. Harold II was the first man to take on the mantle, and while the threats remained weak he was able to stand lofty and majestic as the monarch presiding over the whole kingdom. Alas, Harold’s story is a tragic one since his reign could not withstand all pressures. After 9 short months he was slain in battle and a rightful king was crowned.
Phil: What is your point?
Jules: My point is that Jason Kash’s reign as king of Asylum is analogous to Harold’s fate. He was the one who held it all together when the threats were weak and timid; but who would not look strong against a bunch of goons whose meal tickets afforded them more than their worth.
Phil: That’s ridiculous! Jason Kash was World Heavyweight Champion for the best part of nine months.
Jules: A man amongst apes, dearest Phillip, nothing more. Not once did Jason Kash come to me, offer me a hot beverage of infused leaves, and plead for a match to give his reign some credibility. Why? Because he was afraid.[/color]
Phil: You’re being absurd!
Jules: You are being ignorant. These are words of truth, and like I always say, truth always sounds like lies to an imbecile. I will not be completely disingenuous, even talentless urchins deserve credit where it is due, Jason Kash did well to ‘run the show’ as long as he did, but let us not forget he ducked challenge after challenge from me, from Sally Talfourd, even that Michael Callahan, for months and months. The sheer absurdity of this man’s proclamations to be the best in the world were shown up as recently as Sunday when he was beaten by Anthony Bailey – a man I made tap like a Fred Astair on amphetamines not more than three weeks ago.
Jules paused and looked at the Jason Kash cut-out, then turned to Phil and said with a smile.
Jules: Jason Kash is more than adequate as a street brawler, but he will not be able to compete with my fine technical skills and my scientific approach in the ring. The laws of creation have dictated that the cream always rises to the top, while the sediment sinks to the bottom. I have aristocratic blood flowing through my veins, like a racial cream, and while I rise to the top according to my nature, Jason Kash will sink as befits his and he will PAY HOMAGE.
Julius spun and delivered a roundhouse kick that took off the head of cardboard Kash – betraying the fact it was cut and weakly glued back on during the first take.
Jules: And then there was one.
Julius turned to the cardboard cut-out of Sally.
Phil: Ah yes, Miss Sally Talfourd, the jewel in the crown of Asylum.
Jules: Shut your mouth or I will have you beaten for public indecency. You’re practically salivating.
Phil turned red with embarrassment and wiped his mouth.
Phil: Okay, now you’re gonna have to eat some humble pie.
Julius: My diet consists solely of tea, scones and Queen Victoria sponge cake, but I understand your metaphor. Even Quintessentially Englishmen make mistakes from time to time; let’s not forget the decision not to rid the world of vermin like the Welsh and the Scots. Like the English authorities consistently underestimate the insubordinate elements in those species, so too did I underestimate Sally Talfourd.
Phil’s eyes widened with shock.
Jules: Yes, Sally Talfourd beat me fairly and squarely last time, and to this day it remains the only time I have been beaten in singles competition on Asylum.
Phil: And to a woman no less.
Jules: Yes. Yes. I am quite aware of that.
Julius brushed off the agitation of being reminded about that and continued.
Jules: But I am not a discriminatory man; some women deserve a good thrashing as much and as often as some men.
Phil: But you understand it’s not quite going to be as simple as that?
Jules: Simple? Of course not. I will give Sally Talfourd her dues, she is an admirable arch-enemy, but even if the corrupt villain does score the occasional victory, as declared by the dictates of mythical lore, the hero always vanquishes the foul and ugly enemy. Nobody knows better than I that Sally Talfourd will provide a stern challenge; if only more of the males in this decadent nation had as much gumption and wherewithal as her, then it would be a better place?
Phil: Is that a back-handed compliment?
Jules: Only if you consider ‘being not quite as vile as swamp monsters like Johnny Knuckledragger and Chaz Dungpile’ a compliment. She may not be totally bereft of good qualities, but she has a long way to go before she can hold her cup of tea the correct way and be considered a quintessentially English lady
Jules gave himself a self-satisfied smile.
Jules: Nevertheless, I must beat Sally Talfourd and all others to prove the pedigree that runs through my veins, to establish the Quintessentially English Empire, and bring civility back to this land. Last time was my Dunkirk, but this time, without any doubt, will be my heroic Agincourt.
Jules smiled smugly, made an exaggerated ‘kung fu’ noise and punched a hole through the face of the cardboard Sally Talfourd.
Jules: As they say in Jason Kash’s ghetto – time to PAY HOMAGE bitches.
End.
