Post by Jules on Sept 28, 2012 11:54:11 GMT -4
Deep inside QUINTESSENTIALLY ENGLISH HQ the usual suspects (culprits?) were gathered: The only ‘Quintessentially English’ wrestler in the world – Julius Farquhar; Julius’ reluctant companion and APW-reporter-turned-Farquhar-chronicler – Phil; and lastly, Julius recently acquired associate, corrupt-APW-referee-turned-Imperial-goon – Barry Hoskins. Actually, the scene we’re concerned with contained just Julius and Phil at the present moment, but, I promise, Barry will come into it soon.
Julius was studying a tape; to be exact it was the tape of his match with Johnny Knuckles from the last edition of Asylum. Julius was concerned with the finish as we joined him. For the umpteenth time, Julius is replayed the events that saw Julius first disqualified, then Knuckles disqualified for inadvertently striking the referee.
Julius: You see, it is all there, the video does not lie. Knuckles struck the referee first. I want you to convey that to my legal team; I will not have this result besmirch my good name.
Phil: I think Reginald declared it an official draw, since there was a case to be answered on both sides.
Julius: A draw? Well, that is no good. There are no grey areas in the Quintessentially English Empire; it is just me and them; I am right and they are wrong.
Phil: I had a feeling you’d say something like that.
Julius: It is just another example of the corruption and the prejudiced decisions I have to contend with every day.
Phil: But you broke the rules too!
Julius: But only because Knuckles assaulted that dear referee.
Phil: Well it’s not like you’re above giving yourself an advantage.
Julius: What are you implying?
Phil: I’m implying nothing; I am saying you took ‘extracurricular’ steps to ensure you walked out of Shockwave with the Tap Out Championship.
Julius looked nonplussed; like person completely innocent of an accused crime.
Phil: Y’ know, buying off the referee to make the call in your favour.
Julius stood up and barked at Phil.
Julius: You are spreading their malicious lies you rancorous hack! He was going to tap; the whole world knows that.
Enter Barry Hoskins carrying a tray of tea and various condiments.
Barry: What’s all the noise about?
Phil: Julius is getting all haughty because I pointed out that he bought you off.
Barry: Oh right. Here’s your tea, Mr. Farquhar.
Julius sat down and gestured where he wanted Barry to put the tray.
Phil: Now have a nice cup of tea, Jules; it will help to calm you down.
Julius: If you were not so suggestive of discordant notions I would not have to retort. Besides, the true explanation is that my actions involving carry the arms of justice to fruition. I was simply delivering Barry here from the evils of ‘The Schmidt Administration’.
Barry: Yeah, and who would have thought justice would pay you $35,000 a year?
Phil shook his head at such cynicism.
Julius: By the way Barry, have you given some thought to my suggestion about the uniform?
Barry scoffed loudly.
Barry: If you think I’m gonna wear that leather butler’s suit and mask...well you’re gonna need to pay me double.
Julius: That is very disappointing Barry, and it is imprudent of you to admonish an employer for such a simple request. Tell me Barry, are you in a union?
Barry looked confused at the question. He looked across to Phil, who was now blind to Jules, who slowly nodded his head to indicate Barry should answer to the affirmative.
Barry: Uh...yeah...fully unionised. We got members an’ everything.
Julius: Damn and blast those infernal rabble-rousers! Oh well, you will have to do. I cannot be doing with any industrial action.
Julius sipped his tea and seemed to be pondering some thought. Seemingly done with it, he put the tea cup down and turned to Phil.
Julius: Anyway Phil, tell me about my opponents this week. Are we still touring that virtue-forsaken malarial continent?
Phil: Yeah, the Asian tour stops in Singapore this time around.
Julius: Oh, I do like Singapore. It is like a little bit of ‘Quintessential England’ on a continent of yellow-fevered barbarians; like a ray of light shining up the night sky. Wonderful country clubs, you know?
Phil: I can’t wait to see them.
Julius looked at Phil like a leper.
Julius: Oh no, these institutions of sophistication would hardly admit a man of your repute.
Phil: I’m fond of you too. Anyway, you’ve been booked in a triple threat match, non-title, against, let me see, Jair Hopkins and “The Killerplauze” Stefan Raab.
Julius: Hopkins? Is he any relation of yours Barry?
Barry: My surname’s ‘Hoskins’, Mr. Farquhar, sir.
Julius: Right you are.
Barry: And I’m white.
Julius turned to look at Barry up and down, as if there were some need to confirm this statement.
Julius: So you are.
Barry: And he’s black.
The penny dropped in Julius mind.
Julius: I can see how that might pose a problem for you. And this other fellow?
Phil: Stefan Raab. He calls himself, here I’ve written it down.
Phil showed Julius a piece of paper with Raab’s name written on it.
Julius: The Killerplauze? What is that, some kind of pun? Is he saying he is so bad, when he enters the room the applause ends?
Phil: No, it’s pronounced ‘Killer-Plough-zah’.
Julius: Killer-what? Is that some kind of agricultural metaphor?
Phil: No, it’s German. He’s German and he’s leading the European Invasion.
Julius: Where? Quick Barry, batten down the hatches, they’re invading again!
Phil tried quickly to alleviate this outburst.
Phil: No you have the wrong end of the stick; it’s The European Invasion with Yarmouth.
Julius: The Germans have taken Great Yarmouth? Good Lord! Does the Prime Minister know?
Phil buried his head in his hands; Barry hadn’t the faintest clue what was going on.
Phil: Calm yourself, Jules. There is no invasion taking place, well not like you mean. It’s the name of his tag team.
Julius sat down again, breathing deep to lower his heart rate.
Jules: Tag Team? You had me worried for a second. But what is this business about Great Yarmouth?
Phil: No, Yarmouth, the wrestler; the giant.
Jules, now thoroughly composed again, began to mutter to himself ‘Yarmouth’ over and over again, a fond look of reminiscence on his face.
Jules: You know, I once had a marvellous week in Great Yarmouth, spent in the pleasant company of a splendid young lady named Sandy. Oh, no need to trouble the audience with this memory, cut the feed would you old boy.
The scene cut to blackness.
* * * * *
Julius was studying a tape; to be exact it was the tape of his match with Johnny Knuckles from the last edition of Asylum. Julius was concerned with the finish as we joined him. For the umpteenth time, Julius is replayed the events that saw Julius first disqualified, then Knuckles disqualified for inadvertently striking the referee.
Julius: You see, it is all there, the video does not lie. Knuckles struck the referee first. I want you to convey that to my legal team; I will not have this result besmirch my good name.
Phil: I think Reginald declared it an official draw, since there was a case to be answered on both sides.
Julius: A draw? Well, that is no good. There are no grey areas in the Quintessentially English Empire; it is just me and them; I am right and they are wrong.
Phil: I had a feeling you’d say something like that.
Julius: It is just another example of the corruption and the prejudiced decisions I have to contend with every day.
Phil: But you broke the rules too!
Julius: But only because Knuckles assaulted that dear referee.
Phil: Well it’s not like you’re above giving yourself an advantage.
Julius: What are you implying?
Phil: I’m implying nothing; I am saying you took ‘extracurricular’ steps to ensure you walked out of Shockwave with the Tap Out Championship.
Julius looked nonplussed; like person completely innocent of an accused crime.
Phil: Y’ know, buying off the referee to make the call in your favour.
Julius stood up and barked at Phil.
Julius: You are spreading their malicious lies you rancorous hack! He was going to tap; the whole world knows that.
Enter Barry Hoskins carrying a tray of tea and various condiments.
Barry: What’s all the noise about?
Phil: Julius is getting all haughty because I pointed out that he bought you off.
Barry: Oh right. Here’s your tea, Mr. Farquhar.
Julius sat down and gestured where he wanted Barry to put the tray.
Phil: Now have a nice cup of tea, Jules; it will help to calm you down.
Julius: If you were not so suggestive of discordant notions I would not have to retort. Besides, the true explanation is that my actions involving carry the arms of justice to fruition. I was simply delivering Barry here from the evils of ‘The Schmidt Administration’.
Barry: Yeah, and who would have thought justice would pay you $35,000 a year?
Phil shook his head at such cynicism.
Julius: By the way Barry, have you given some thought to my suggestion about the uniform?
Barry scoffed loudly.
Barry: If you think I’m gonna wear that leather butler’s suit and mask...well you’re gonna need to pay me double.
Julius: That is very disappointing Barry, and it is imprudent of you to admonish an employer for such a simple request. Tell me Barry, are you in a union?
Barry looked confused at the question. He looked across to Phil, who was now blind to Jules, who slowly nodded his head to indicate Barry should answer to the affirmative.
Barry: Uh...yeah...fully unionised. We got members an’ everything.
Julius: Damn and blast those infernal rabble-rousers! Oh well, you will have to do. I cannot be doing with any industrial action.
Julius sipped his tea and seemed to be pondering some thought. Seemingly done with it, he put the tea cup down and turned to Phil.
Julius: Anyway Phil, tell me about my opponents this week. Are we still touring that virtue-forsaken malarial continent?
Phil: Yeah, the Asian tour stops in Singapore this time around.
Julius: Oh, I do like Singapore. It is like a little bit of ‘Quintessential England’ on a continent of yellow-fevered barbarians; like a ray of light shining up the night sky. Wonderful country clubs, you know?
Phil: I can’t wait to see them.
Julius looked at Phil like a leper.
Julius: Oh no, these institutions of sophistication would hardly admit a man of your repute.
Phil: I’m fond of you too. Anyway, you’ve been booked in a triple threat match, non-title, against, let me see, Jair Hopkins and “The Killerplauze” Stefan Raab.
Julius: Hopkins? Is he any relation of yours Barry?
Barry: My surname’s ‘Hoskins’, Mr. Farquhar, sir.
Julius: Right you are.
Barry: And I’m white.
Julius turned to look at Barry up and down, as if there were some need to confirm this statement.
Julius: So you are.
Barry: And he’s black.
The penny dropped in Julius mind.
Julius: I can see how that might pose a problem for you. And this other fellow?
Phil: Stefan Raab. He calls himself, here I’ve written it down.
Phil showed Julius a piece of paper with Raab’s name written on it.
Julius: The Killerplauze? What is that, some kind of pun? Is he saying he is so bad, when he enters the room the applause ends?
Phil: No, it’s pronounced ‘Killer-Plough-zah’.
Julius: Killer-what? Is that some kind of agricultural metaphor?
Phil: No, it’s German. He’s German and he’s leading the European Invasion.
Julius: Where? Quick Barry, batten down the hatches, they’re invading again!
Phil tried quickly to alleviate this outburst.
Phil: No you have the wrong end of the stick; it’s The European Invasion with Yarmouth.
Julius: The Germans have taken Great Yarmouth? Good Lord! Does the Prime Minister know?
Phil buried his head in his hands; Barry hadn’t the faintest clue what was going on.
Phil: Calm yourself, Jules. There is no invasion taking place, well not like you mean. It’s the name of his tag team.
Julius sat down again, breathing deep to lower his heart rate.
Jules: Tag Team? You had me worried for a second. But what is this business about Great Yarmouth?
Phil: No, Yarmouth, the wrestler; the giant.
Jules, now thoroughly composed again, began to mutter to himself ‘Yarmouth’ over and over again, a fond look of reminiscence on his face.
Jules: You know, I once had a marvellous week in Great Yarmouth, spent in the pleasant company of a splendid young lady named Sandy. Oh, no need to trouble the audience with this memory, cut the feed would you old boy.
The scene cut to blackness.
* * * * *
The Quintessentially English Podcast #1
The battle to establish ‘Quintessentially English Justice’ on Asylum must extend to all corners and all comers. It would be easy to identify certain key battles as the parameters of success. For example, my brilliant victories over Anthony Bailey and Jason Kash demonstrate that not even Asylum’s big hitters are safe from the sword of justice; just as my impending battle with TJ will prove that destruction awaits those oppose me.
I have no doubt these are and will be historical significant moments in the annuls of professional wrestling, but total victory demands that all battles, big or small, are considered important, and that victory in each case will prove decisive in my favour. This I believe was the true meaning of Churchill’s statement that ‘we will fight them on the beaches’ because it realises that total war is a battle with the enemy confronting all walks of life.
That is why even when I am forced to give a wrestling school to hobbits like Johnny Knuckles, I approach the match with the utmost care and attention. Sometimes things do not go one’s way, these are the machinations of the forces of evil the ‘Quintessentially English Empire’ fights; sometimes they will referees who make the wrong calls, or General Managers whose malevolence drives them to make unjust decisions.
For this reason I approach my match this week against Hopkins and Raab with the tenacity of spirit I endeavour to create in all my matches. This is, after all, my final preparation before my seismic duel with TJ – the present manifestation of the villainy and skulduggery I am in combat with every day of my ‘Quintessentially English’ life.
This week I find myself opposed by unfamiliar threats, primarily because both men are a product of that haemorrhage of a wrestling show called ‘Meltdown’. I admire all endeavours to improve oneself and I see that Meltdown is the product that is aimed at availing Asylum of ceaseless record of Sally Talfourd’s arrogant diction, Jason Kash’s incoherent ramblings, and even Johnny Knuckles’ soup kitchen humour.
I know that Jair Hopkins is considered to be one of those prime examples of how Meltdown can further the product. Here is a man who has put on classic encounters with the likes of El Insecto de Negro, Johnny Sykes and Mike Morrison. Yes, juggernauts of this business to a man. But one cannot be too harsh on young Mr. Hopkins; he can only proceed to make do of the opportunities given to him. The fact that he hasn’t yet achieved a single thing of merit on either Meltdown or Asylum is not entirely his fault. Although I’m sure the ‘slum dog’ will no doubt think he’s made it when he competes in that trash can match at One Noght In Hell. Yes, I can recognise talent when I see it, and I can testify whole-heartedly that Mr. Hopkins has none. Scrappy in the ring maybe; but tenacious simply does not cut it against the blue-blood of the ‘Quintessentially English’. Just like your other ‘boys from the street’, Bailey and Kash, at Asylum I will ensure you return to your proper place in the gutter.
As for Mr. Raab, as a German I must respect your place in history. Let me not forget that, after England, Germany comes a distant second in contributions made to sophisticated culture. You Germans gave the world the brilliant minds of Beethoven and Kant, but at the same time you gave the world pickled cabbage. A crime that cannot go unpunished.
I know you Germans like to go war with the English, even though you keep losing, so I’m sure you will relish a return to this historic duel. However, Raab, you will not catch this Englishman off guard. You should be mortally worried to know that I have your methods properly scouted, and you will not pull any of blitzkrieg malarkey on me. I have studied already for this match, ensuring I pay close attention to your methods as depicted in such educational films as Saving Private Ryan, The Longest Day, and Escape To Victory. So forget about your Panzer formations and ‘Lick Dick Schnichen’; try to cross me and I promise the Windsor Knot will have you tangled up like a pretzel.
I promise now that it will be a glorious night in Singapore: a night in the many will so much to the few, namely me, Julius Farquhar, the world’s only “Quintessentially English” wrestler. Like the 6th June 1944 will forever be known as D-Day, so too will the 7th October 2012 be known as QE-day, as a reminder of the day England rose again to march over the German war machine.
So make sure, Mr. Raab, that you eat your sauerkraut, and gobble down as many wiener schnitzel as you can stomach because this blue-blooded, quintessentially English gentlemen is coming to send you and your supply of bratwurst back to Berlin.
Stefan Raab, Jair Hopkins: Sie werden Rücksicht zeigen....or as they say in intelligible language: you will be made to pay homage.
End transmission.
The battle to establish ‘Quintessentially English Justice’ on Asylum must extend to all corners and all comers. It would be easy to identify certain key battles as the parameters of success. For example, my brilliant victories over Anthony Bailey and Jason Kash demonstrate that not even Asylum’s big hitters are safe from the sword of justice; just as my impending battle with TJ will prove that destruction awaits those oppose me.
I have no doubt these are and will be historical significant moments in the annuls of professional wrestling, but total victory demands that all battles, big or small, are considered important, and that victory in each case will prove decisive in my favour. This I believe was the true meaning of Churchill’s statement that ‘we will fight them on the beaches’ because it realises that total war is a battle with the enemy confronting all walks of life.
That is why even when I am forced to give a wrestling school to hobbits like Johnny Knuckles, I approach the match with the utmost care and attention. Sometimes things do not go one’s way, these are the machinations of the forces of evil the ‘Quintessentially English Empire’ fights; sometimes they will referees who make the wrong calls, or General Managers whose malevolence drives them to make unjust decisions.
For this reason I approach my match this week against Hopkins and Raab with the tenacity of spirit I endeavour to create in all my matches. This is, after all, my final preparation before my seismic duel with TJ – the present manifestation of the villainy and skulduggery I am in combat with every day of my ‘Quintessentially English’ life.
This week I find myself opposed by unfamiliar threats, primarily because both men are a product of that haemorrhage of a wrestling show called ‘Meltdown’. I admire all endeavours to improve oneself and I see that Meltdown is the product that is aimed at availing Asylum of ceaseless record of Sally Talfourd’s arrogant diction, Jason Kash’s incoherent ramblings, and even Johnny Knuckles’ soup kitchen humour.
I know that Jair Hopkins is considered to be one of those prime examples of how Meltdown can further the product. Here is a man who has put on classic encounters with the likes of El Insecto de Negro, Johnny Sykes and Mike Morrison. Yes, juggernauts of this business to a man. But one cannot be too harsh on young Mr. Hopkins; he can only proceed to make do of the opportunities given to him. The fact that he hasn’t yet achieved a single thing of merit on either Meltdown or Asylum is not entirely his fault. Although I’m sure the ‘slum dog’ will no doubt think he’s made it when he competes in that trash can match at One Noght In Hell. Yes, I can recognise talent when I see it, and I can testify whole-heartedly that Mr. Hopkins has none. Scrappy in the ring maybe; but tenacious simply does not cut it against the blue-blood of the ‘Quintessentially English’. Just like your other ‘boys from the street’, Bailey and Kash, at Asylum I will ensure you return to your proper place in the gutter.
As for Mr. Raab, as a German I must respect your place in history. Let me not forget that, after England, Germany comes a distant second in contributions made to sophisticated culture. You Germans gave the world the brilliant minds of Beethoven and Kant, but at the same time you gave the world pickled cabbage. A crime that cannot go unpunished.
I know you Germans like to go war with the English, even though you keep losing, so I’m sure you will relish a return to this historic duel. However, Raab, you will not catch this Englishman off guard. You should be mortally worried to know that I have your methods properly scouted, and you will not pull any of blitzkrieg malarkey on me. I have studied already for this match, ensuring I pay close attention to your methods as depicted in such educational films as Saving Private Ryan, The Longest Day, and Escape To Victory. So forget about your Panzer formations and ‘Lick Dick Schnichen’; try to cross me and I promise the Windsor Knot will have you tangled up like a pretzel.
I promise now that it will be a glorious night in Singapore: a night in the many will so much to the few, namely me, Julius Farquhar, the world’s only “Quintessentially English” wrestler. Like the 6th June 1944 will forever be known as D-Day, so too will the 7th October 2012 be known as QE-day, as a reminder of the day England rose again to march over the German war machine.
So make sure, Mr. Raab, that you eat your sauerkraut, and gobble down as many wiener schnitzel as you can stomach because this blue-blooded, quintessentially English gentlemen is coming to send you and your supply of bratwurst back to Berlin.
Stefan Raab, Jair Hopkins: Sie werden Rücksicht zeigen....or as they say in intelligible language: you will be made to pay homage.
End transmission.
