Post by Jules on Nov 10, 2012 21:25:48 GMT -4
The scene opens inside a cafe somewhere in the United States. The world’s only ‘Quintessentially English’ wrestler, and APW’s Tap Out Champion, Julius Farquhar, sits alone at the table with a camera fixed squarely upon him. With the vignette rolling Jules addresses the audience before him.
Julius: As I gazed upon my empire on the morning after my nostrils were filled with the invigorating scent of victory. At One Night In Hell I had one goal crystallised in my mind, and the motion of every corpuscle in my being was motivated towards the completion of that goal: I flew out of that rotten Asian island still in possession of my APW Tap Out Championship, having consolidated the fact that right now I am the most dangerous submission wrestler in the world.
Julius: There may be whispers among continued dissenters (off with their heads!) because TJ did not vocalise those two beatifying words, but his broken body spoke in voluminous tones a bona fide dictionary of resignation. In the aftermath it is the charity and the mercy of the referee that was to be applauded; without it, TJ, for all his ‘soul’, would have been without a bodily vessel barely worthy of the vernacular. Nevertheless, my point was proven: the bigger they come, the further and the harder they have to fall. Among my wide range of talents and achievements we may now include ‘giant slayer’.
Julius takes a pause in his speech as a waitress steps into the scene and plonks in front of Jules a cup brimful with hot coffee, and next to the cup she places a bowl of thick cream.
Julius: As a truly “Quintessentially English” gentleman I cannot abide any beverage other than the infusion of tea-leaves picked by a serf’s own hands, but this cup, served in this most vulgar of ‘American’ expressions (to wit, the roadside cafe) serves a particular metaphorical purpose.
Julius takes a spoonful of the thick cream and drops into coffee from a height. There is a plop and a splash, but the cream quickly rises to the surface of the beverage.
Julius: Alas, it is true. The cream does rise to the top. In spite of all of TJ’s attempts to bring me down to his level; in spite of months of being held down under the yoke of Reginald Schmidt’s prejudice and malicious campaign against the “Quintessentially English Empire”, the flag still flies proudly at full mast. I, Julius Farquhar, still remain a destiny, an unrelenting force towards progress and the destruction of wickedness - in this company, on this brand, in the whole wrestling world.
Jules takes a sip of the coffee and recoils.
Julius: Now pardon the toilet expression, and fear not faithful subjects, this broadcast has not been interrupted by that creature of villainy, Jason Kash, but as does the cream rise in this cup before me, so too do the evacuated contents of the human bowels.
Off screen the ‘producer’ hands Julius a picture.
Julius: Ah yes, Sally Talfourd. Like the floating stool that does not flush, or the eggy flatulence that follows you wherever you go, this wench remains, surviving somehow on the rotting carrion of this brand’s so-called elite talent like a parasitic vulture. Oh by the way, Miss Talfourd, many congratulations on your victory at One Night In Hell and another reign as the World Heavyweight Champion. Although, that the term cannot be applied to someone who better resembles a Holocaust victim than an elite athlete without a strong sense of irony is a source of much merriment. Really, I pray for the times when five brutes cannot, among them, break in two some waif who hardly looks fit to serve my breakfast in the morning.
Julius: Nevertheless, Sally Talfourd is the World Champion, even if that fact speaks with eloquence of the decadence into which Asylum has fallen in recent times. But she survived the ‘Extreme Elimination Chamber’, even though that match was found to have a void that only the most dangerous wrestler in the world could fill. I will give Sally Talfourd that much: she was able to survive that test, and as she sits in her ivory tower I have no doubt she is feeling very pleased with herself. But as great an accomplishment she believes this one to be, even in her condescending mind she must accept the validity of her acclaim remains under serious scrutiny as long as she avoids my thorough examination.
Julius: Not that I would expect ‘the Champ’ to accept this FACT, but the truth is so powerful it would blind even God himself. Look around, it should be as plain as the freshly conceived day. In the past I have spoken of a conspiracy against my name and my reputation, but I no longer believe in such conspiracy theories....they have become fully fledged conspiracy FACTS. Take a look at the recent history and all should be self-evident.
Jules is handed a dossier off screen. He makes a bit of a fuss of this, as though his fidgeting somehow increases the anticipation of its importance. After a considerable pause Julius pulls out a sheet of paper, scans it for a few seconds, and with a great deal of ceremony places it back in the dossier. This act done Julius turns his attention back to the camera.
Julius: Test For The Best. While every other member of the Asylum roster was given an opportunity to fight for the World Title at Shockwave, the world’s only “Quintessentially English” wrestler was suspended and disqualified from the tournament on a mere technicality. Then when I defeated Anthony Bailey and Jason Kash I was pressed into facing not a World Title challenge, but having to fend off that lumbering brute from ‘Philly’.
Julius: One Night In Hell. Yet again the opportunity to challenge for the greatest honour was open to the whole roster, well the whole roster except me. Reginald Schmidt even let people like Shane Borderland and Phil Atken take places inside the Elimination Chamber. I know that man will go to any depths to stop me becoming a destiny on Asylum, but to scrape the barrel like that was a scandal of the highest villainy.
Julius: Now, having proved that not even giants can quell the rise of the ‘Quintessentially English Empire’, I am yet again left out in the cold, while every man and his dog, not to mention the man I physically dissected at One Night In Hell, is involved in a special Table, Ladders and Chairs match to determine a new #1 contender.
Julius: I know exactly how this all works; I know exactly the thoughts of Reginald Schmidt. ‘But Julius,’ he will say, ‘you have earned your shot against the World Champion this week’. A scandal indeed! But Reginald ought to know that a man as superior as I cannot be passed off with fool’s gold. This excuse for a showcase match is nothing more than a cheap attempt to placate my ambitions. But know this Reginald: you cannot hold me off forever. One day the weight of my destiny will force you to act towards justice.
Julius: Yet I will take this ‘opportunity’ and use it to turn the knife back on those who will deny. I am not averse to the challenge presented by Sally Talfourd, my reign of dominance has no discrimination and the expectations of ‘Quintessentially English Justice’ demand that I break bones and twist joints under the guidance of an equal opportunities policy. Even though it will be my hands that break Sally Talfourd this weekend, I cannot possibly take responsibility for ‘our Champ’ being left in a dishevelled mess. That one is on Reginald Schmidt.
Julius: I get it. I really do. This is just the latest attempt to try and pour water on my inferno that has consumed Asylum in recent months. First it was Bailey, then Kash, TJ was pushed to try and break me, even that buffoon Knuckles was thrown the bone and asked to take me down. What do they all have in common? They all failed miserably. So now Reginald turns to Sally Talfourd. The World Champion. The only wrestler to have defeated me in a singles match on Asylum. This is Reginald’s trump card, and I welcome the play.
Julius: Not only does this match afford me the opportunity to avenge a previous loss, but it allows me to create an opportunity for myself. Some people do not learn lessons, and I wonder whether Reginald may be counted among that number. I have just broken the soul of a nearly 300lb monster; what makes you think a 125lb rice cracker can provide a bulwark to my march?
Julius: Yes, Sally Talfourd has beaten me before. Yes, she is the World Champion. But things are different now. Even great men make mistakes, and I will confess I underestimated Sally Talfourd in the past. But even if her recent victory says more about the incompetence of her challengers than it does about her, I respect that she holds the top title; I admire that she prevails where by rights she should be beaten like the proverbial sandbag. I am sure Sally Talfourd is going to cranking up her preparation for this match; I have no doubt her tone will increase in its condescension as she pours out her wisdom from her high horse in that ivory tower where minions like Shane West pander to her every whim. I have no doubt she intends to come to Asylum and put on a show for the fans in her own particular manner, and I expect she will come to bounce around the ring like a rubber ball on crack, bring all her flips and tricks, every winks and flick of her bangs.
Julius: But here’s the rub: I am not coming to please a thousand morons in some arena; my aim is not to gain a few screams and hollas from the teenage fan boys. I go to Asylum intending to break in a World Champion and make her sing all of my favourite tunes. With the Windsor Knot I will squeeze musical notes out of Sally Talfourd like she were my own personal bagpipe, but instead of the infernal racket associated with that instrument the sounds from ‘our Champ’ will be sweet music to my ears.
I QUIT! I QUIT! I QUIT!
A lullaby to make a ‘Quintessentially English’ warrior slumber in comfort.
Julius: I have heard Reginald’s message loud and clear, so this week I make my statement in retort: YOU CANNOT STOP ME! At the end of the day all you can do is PAY HOMAGE!
The scene fades.
Julius: As I gazed upon my empire on the morning after my nostrils were filled with the invigorating scent of victory. At One Night In Hell I had one goal crystallised in my mind, and the motion of every corpuscle in my being was motivated towards the completion of that goal: I flew out of that rotten Asian island still in possession of my APW Tap Out Championship, having consolidated the fact that right now I am the most dangerous submission wrestler in the world.
Julius: There may be whispers among continued dissenters (off with their heads!) because TJ did not vocalise those two beatifying words, but his broken body spoke in voluminous tones a bona fide dictionary of resignation. In the aftermath it is the charity and the mercy of the referee that was to be applauded; without it, TJ, for all his ‘soul’, would have been without a bodily vessel barely worthy of the vernacular. Nevertheless, my point was proven: the bigger they come, the further and the harder they have to fall. Among my wide range of talents and achievements we may now include ‘giant slayer’.
Julius takes a pause in his speech as a waitress steps into the scene and plonks in front of Jules a cup brimful with hot coffee, and next to the cup she places a bowl of thick cream.
Julius: As a truly “Quintessentially English” gentleman I cannot abide any beverage other than the infusion of tea-leaves picked by a serf’s own hands, but this cup, served in this most vulgar of ‘American’ expressions (to wit, the roadside cafe) serves a particular metaphorical purpose.
Julius takes a spoonful of the thick cream and drops into coffee from a height. There is a plop and a splash, but the cream quickly rises to the surface of the beverage.
Julius: Alas, it is true. The cream does rise to the top. In spite of all of TJ’s attempts to bring me down to his level; in spite of months of being held down under the yoke of Reginald Schmidt’s prejudice and malicious campaign against the “Quintessentially English Empire”, the flag still flies proudly at full mast. I, Julius Farquhar, still remain a destiny, an unrelenting force towards progress and the destruction of wickedness - in this company, on this brand, in the whole wrestling world.
Jules takes a sip of the coffee and recoils.
Julius: Now pardon the toilet expression, and fear not faithful subjects, this broadcast has not been interrupted by that creature of villainy, Jason Kash, but as does the cream rise in this cup before me, so too do the evacuated contents of the human bowels.
Off screen the ‘producer’ hands Julius a picture.
Julius: Ah yes, Sally Talfourd. Like the floating stool that does not flush, or the eggy flatulence that follows you wherever you go, this wench remains, surviving somehow on the rotting carrion of this brand’s so-called elite talent like a parasitic vulture. Oh by the way, Miss Talfourd, many congratulations on your victory at One Night In Hell and another reign as the World Heavyweight Champion. Although, that the term cannot be applied to someone who better resembles a Holocaust victim than an elite athlete without a strong sense of irony is a source of much merriment. Really, I pray for the times when five brutes cannot, among them, break in two some waif who hardly looks fit to serve my breakfast in the morning.
Julius: Nevertheless, Sally Talfourd is the World Champion, even if that fact speaks with eloquence of the decadence into which Asylum has fallen in recent times. But she survived the ‘Extreme Elimination Chamber’, even though that match was found to have a void that only the most dangerous wrestler in the world could fill. I will give Sally Talfourd that much: she was able to survive that test, and as she sits in her ivory tower I have no doubt she is feeling very pleased with herself. But as great an accomplishment she believes this one to be, even in her condescending mind she must accept the validity of her acclaim remains under serious scrutiny as long as she avoids my thorough examination.
Julius: Not that I would expect ‘the Champ’ to accept this FACT, but the truth is so powerful it would blind even God himself. Look around, it should be as plain as the freshly conceived day. In the past I have spoken of a conspiracy against my name and my reputation, but I no longer believe in such conspiracy theories....they have become fully fledged conspiracy FACTS. Take a look at the recent history and all should be self-evident.
Jules is handed a dossier off screen. He makes a bit of a fuss of this, as though his fidgeting somehow increases the anticipation of its importance. After a considerable pause Julius pulls out a sheet of paper, scans it for a few seconds, and with a great deal of ceremony places it back in the dossier. This act done Julius turns his attention back to the camera.
Julius: Test For The Best. While every other member of the Asylum roster was given an opportunity to fight for the World Title at Shockwave, the world’s only “Quintessentially English” wrestler was suspended and disqualified from the tournament on a mere technicality. Then when I defeated Anthony Bailey and Jason Kash I was pressed into facing not a World Title challenge, but having to fend off that lumbering brute from ‘Philly’.
Julius: One Night In Hell. Yet again the opportunity to challenge for the greatest honour was open to the whole roster, well the whole roster except me. Reginald Schmidt even let people like Shane Borderland and Phil Atken take places inside the Elimination Chamber. I know that man will go to any depths to stop me becoming a destiny on Asylum, but to scrape the barrel like that was a scandal of the highest villainy.
Julius: Now, having proved that not even giants can quell the rise of the ‘Quintessentially English Empire’, I am yet again left out in the cold, while every man and his dog, not to mention the man I physically dissected at One Night In Hell, is involved in a special Table, Ladders and Chairs match to determine a new #1 contender.
Julius: I know exactly how this all works; I know exactly the thoughts of Reginald Schmidt. ‘But Julius,’ he will say, ‘you have earned your shot against the World Champion this week’. A scandal indeed! But Reginald ought to know that a man as superior as I cannot be passed off with fool’s gold. This excuse for a showcase match is nothing more than a cheap attempt to placate my ambitions. But know this Reginald: you cannot hold me off forever. One day the weight of my destiny will force you to act towards justice.
Julius: Yet I will take this ‘opportunity’ and use it to turn the knife back on those who will deny. I am not averse to the challenge presented by Sally Talfourd, my reign of dominance has no discrimination and the expectations of ‘Quintessentially English Justice’ demand that I break bones and twist joints under the guidance of an equal opportunities policy. Even though it will be my hands that break Sally Talfourd this weekend, I cannot possibly take responsibility for ‘our Champ’ being left in a dishevelled mess. That one is on Reginald Schmidt.
Julius: I get it. I really do. This is just the latest attempt to try and pour water on my inferno that has consumed Asylum in recent months. First it was Bailey, then Kash, TJ was pushed to try and break me, even that buffoon Knuckles was thrown the bone and asked to take me down. What do they all have in common? They all failed miserably. So now Reginald turns to Sally Talfourd. The World Champion. The only wrestler to have defeated me in a singles match on Asylum. This is Reginald’s trump card, and I welcome the play.
Julius: Not only does this match afford me the opportunity to avenge a previous loss, but it allows me to create an opportunity for myself. Some people do not learn lessons, and I wonder whether Reginald may be counted among that number. I have just broken the soul of a nearly 300lb monster; what makes you think a 125lb rice cracker can provide a bulwark to my march?
Julius: Yes, Sally Talfourd has beaten me before. Yes, she is the World Champion. But things are different now. Even great men make mistakes, and I will confess I underestimated Sally Talfourd in the past. But even if her recent victory says more about the incompetence of her challengers than it does about her, I respect that she holds the top title; I admire that she prevails where by rights she should be beaten like the proverbial sandbag. I am sure Sally Talfourd is going to cranking up her preparation for this match; I have no doubt her tone will increase in its condescension as she pours out her wisdom from her high horse in that ivory tower where minions like Shane West pander to her every whim. I have no doubt she intends to come to Asylum and put on a show for the fans in her own particular manner, and I expect she will come to bounce around the ring like a rubber ball on crack, bring all her flips and tricks, every winks and flick of her bangs.
Julius: But here’s the rub: I am not coming to please a thousand morons in some arena; my aim is not to gain a few screams and hollas from the teenage fan boys. I go to Asylum intending to break in a World Champion and make her sing all of my favourite tunes. With the Windsor Knot I will squeeze musical notes out of Sally Talfourd like she were my own personal bagpipe, but instead of the infernal racket associated with that instrument the sounds from ‘our Champ’ will be sweet music to my ears.
I QUIT! I QUIT! I QUIT!
A lullaby to make a ‘Quintessentially English’ warrior slumber in comfort.
Julius: I have heard Reginald’s message loud and clear, so this week I make my statement in retort: YOU CANNOT STOP ME! At the end of the day all you can do is PAY HOMAGE!
The scene fades.
