Post by BDC on Dec 15, 2008 15:00:15 GMT -4
It's your normal, busy as hell, Sunday afternoon in “The Mall at Robinson's”, which is approximately 5 minutes south of Pittsburgh International Airport. Parents and children alike are stressed, yet excited at the prospect of Christmas, and the lovely decorations that adorn the shops. Yet, as excited as they are regarding all of that, the excitement pales in comparison due to the fact that in a few moments, Santa will make an appearance near the Christmas tree in the middle of the Mall!
Mary Smith, the lady in charge of this event, is standing on the platform next to the “Santa's Wonderland” scene that the staff at Robinson's Mall have erected and decorated – and done so extremely well I may add – and is ready to announce that Santa is about to turn up.
“Hello everybody, and welcome to The Mall at Robinson's!” she says, to an almost instant, and almost deafening “HELLO” response from the large crowd. She pauses a few moments to regroup, and eventually plasters on her fake smile once more.
“Wow, what a lovely response! Thank you one and all!” She claps her hands, and there's another cheer from the crowd as they in turn clap their hands.
“Ok! Well, without further ado, it gives me great pleasure to introduce ... SANTA!”
The crowd once again go berserk as “All I Want for Christmas” by Maria Carey blasts from the Mall's PA system. Mary looks behind her, clapping her hands and pretending to laugh, and waits for Santa to appear. And she waits ... and she waits ... and then ...
“All I want for Christmas” cuts off from the PA system, and is replaced by “Use Somebody” by the Kings of Leon. There is mass confusion amongst the crowd, and Mary looks as if she is going to die from a heart attack. Then, as if from nowhere, Julian Bale, APW's newest signing zooms down from the roof area on a zip frame, and kicks Mary square in the jaw, sending her flying on top of the little Elf house that was next to Santa's chair. Some of the kids start screaming, and security rush to help Mary. Julian is wearing black jeans, black sunglasses, a “Promised One” t – shirt, and a Santa jacket. He picks up the microphone that Mary dropped, and addressed the crowd.
“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, for your viewing pleasure tonight, please give it up for ... me!”
The kids are still crying, and no one claps, but fake applause fills the air from the PA system.
“Thank you, no – seriously ... thank you all! Now, for those of you that are legally mentally retarded, or to put it in a way that the ones of you that are in fact legally mentally retarded to understand – anyone here that is from Texas - I am APW's latest and greatest acquisition. I am known throughout the world as The Promised One. I am Julian Bale, and I am your “Not So Secret Santa” tonight!
Now that I have your undivided attention, please allow me to wish you all a very merry Christmas, and a very happy New Year. I understand that due to the recession, you are all on the brink of suicide, and you blame your kids – and hey, who can blame you ey? In my experience, kids are the bane of all of the things that being a single, successful love machine like myself, so the next time you're all sitting at home, crying over the worry of where the next cent is coming from to pay your mortgage, go ahead and smack your kids across their tiny little heads. Then again, if you ladies weren't such useless fucking whores and took your pill like you were supposed to then you wouldn't have the annoying little brats in the first place would you? And guys – I know a man's got to get laid and all, but haven't you heard of facials? You want Julian Bale's advice? Next time, pull it out, ram it in her mouth, and do your thing! Not only does it feel awesome, but you get five minutes fucking piece at the same time! It's win, win baby!”
The adults in the crowd look on with their jaws wide open, while the kids just cry.
“Anyway, now I know that you were all here waiting to see Santa, but I was in the area, saw the notice in the window of one of your local shops, and just had to come and save you all from yourselves.
You see kids, mum and dad are lying little fuckwads. There is no Santa. The whole Father Christmas thing is just a scam to get parents to buy a shitload of presents for you ungrateful little bastards – because let's face it, over 95% of you are gonna go join some local gang and terrorise the shit out of the neighbourhood when you're older, while the other 5% will end up being gay, rapists and paedophiles, because as we all know, that's the Pittsburgh way isn't it? So when you wake in the morning and see all of those nice presents underneath the Christmas tree, just remember that Julian Bale told you all that it's mam and dad that put them there, not Santa.
Oh don't cry! Grow up, for fuck sakes! Life's a bitch and then you die ... well, unless you are me. If your name is Julian Bale then life is awesome, and you get everything you want and get to do pretty much whatever you want to do. When you're Julian Bale there is no such word as “no”, or “can't”. When you are Julian Bale, the world is your oyster, and all the women want to fuck you and the men want to be you.
So while I'm here, please allow me to fill you all in on some home truths.
As I have said, I have recently signed a contract with APW, and I make my debut in the Mellon Arena tomorrow night. My opponent that night is yet another recent acquisition, and by all accounts he is some kind of wrestling legend, and his name is Rocky Starr.”
Julian starts pacing back and forth, obviously agitated.
“See, that shit really gets under my skin. Here is a guy that I have never, ever heard of, yet he's already being labelled a legend in the fed that I have just signed to. Now where I have to build my way up and fight my way to the top, this no good, washed up reject simply has to turn up to automatically be gifted the title of “legend.”
Now how is that fair? You see, even though I have all of the tools to make it in this industry, and even though I have the drive, dedication and mean streak to ensure my spot at the top of the mountain, none of that seems to mean shit now that Rocky Starr has signed to APW.
I have gone from being “Rookie Sensation” to “Rocky Starr's” bitch in the matter of a week – because newsflash – that's EXACTLY what the rest of the APW roster will see me as. They all expect me to get into the ring against Starr and get my ass handed to me on a plate, thus ensuring Starr rises to the top while I languish on the bottom of the pile, like a discarded soggy cum tissue!
Well fuck that!
You see people, Julian Bale is no one's bitch, and I have come to APW for one thing, and one thing only, and that is to win gold! I don't give a fuck what the others think of me, and I certainly don't give a fuck what the people at home think of me. My goal is to brutally ass rape the APW roster and make each and every single one of those over rated used tampons my personal bitches, and NOTHING will get in my fucking way and stop me from achieving my dream!
I have always been treated as the underdog, and you know what? That MORE than works for me! So when I get in the ring against Rocky Starr, and destroy his Santa Clara'n ass in the middle of the ring, the APW roster will be FORCED to sit up and notice Julian Bale. They will be forced to believe that I AM “The Promised One”, and that it isn't simply some witty little catchphrase used just for selling merchandise and the like. I take my career VERY seriously. I train hard, I fight hard, and I party hard baby, and I enjoy every single second of it.
Julian Bale was born to be in the spotlight, and even though I have only experienced it on a few occasions, it was enough to get me addicted to success and greatness.
Come Overdrive Rocky, I will remind you why you decided to retire in the first place. Face facts boy, you don't have what it takes to compete at this level anymore. You are so far behind the times, and so behind the rest of the pack that I'll be surprised if you even manage to remember how to lace up a pair of wrestling boots anymore! Hey, I have an idea! Seeing as how it's Christmas and all, I'm gonna send you a copy of “Wrestling for Dummies.” In there it'll remind you about what to do, and also the dangers of using modern moves at your age. Because, let's face it. there's the arthritis factor to take into consideration, because how the fuck are you gonna hit moonsaults and the like when you'll end up breaking your hip or something when I move out of the way, and you crash onto the mat?
You see Rocky Robin, you don't stand a chance against The Promised One. I am younger, fitter, faster, stronger, and I don't have to be in bed by 10pm with a nice hot cup of cocoa and pipe. I am going to work you like you've never been worked before, and I will show you zero respect, because despite your past credentials, you have done NOTHING to fucking impress me, you washed up, over rated fossil! Also, despite your age, I will show you NO remorse, because quite simply, I don't have any in the first place. I don't give a fuck who you are, or how old you are, as far as I'm concerned, it's all fair game when that bell rings regardless of who my opponent is, so I will waste no time whatsoever in beating you down, breaking your bones, or even ending your life if I have to. These are not idle threats either, but I guess the only way to prove that is to allow my actions to do the talking at Overdrive.
Rocky Balboa, at Overdrive I will make you the first victim of the era of “The Promised One”, and I will use your legacy to cement my place as a serious contender. And as they cart your broken body to the nearest hospital, I will calmly walk to my locker room, get dressed, and go straight to the most expensive and hottest night club in the area and party until they close the doors. I will then go home with a couple of hot women, bang the fuck out of them, and kick their asses out to the street when I'm finished. I'll then get a few hours sleep, wake up, check my messages and find out who my next victim is. I'll then get in my car and head to the next town, and start all over again. And you know what Rocky? All you will ever be to me from then on will be a distant memory – another statistic on my win record.
You want some advice? Quit while you have the chance. If I were you, I'd take advantage of this brief moment of kindness I'm offering, because trust when I say it will never happen again.
Ok, I've said what I need to say, and seeing how I'm feeling generous on this fine evening, I'm knocking a recession beating 20% off all Julian Bale merchandise for all of you fine people.
Thank you all, and good night!”
With that, Bale walks off, leaving the crowd completely bewildered at what the hell just happened.
Mary Smith, the lady in charge of this event, is standing on the platform next to the “Santa's Wonderland” scene that the staff at Robinson's Mall have erected and decorated – and done so extremely well I may add – and is ready to announce that Santa is about to turn up.
“Hello everybody, and welcome to The Mall at Robinson's!” she says, to an almost instant, and almost deafening “HELLO” response from the large crowd. She pauses a few moments to regroup, and eventually plasters on her fake smile once more.
“Wow, what a lovely response! Thank you one and all!” She claps her hands, and there's another cheer from the crowd as they in turn clap their hands.
“Ok! Well, without further ado, it gives me great pleasure to introduce ... SANTA!”
The crowd once again go berserk as “All I Want for Christmas” by Maria Carey blasts from the Mall's PA system. Mary looks behind her, clapping her hands and pretending to laugh, and waits for Santa to appear. And she waits ... and she waits ... and then ...
“All I want for Christmas” cuts off from the PA system, and is replaced by “Use Somebody” by the Kings of Leon. There is mass confusion amongst the crowd, and Mary looks as if she is going to die from a heart attack. Then, as if from nowhere, Julian Bale, APW's newest signing zooms down from the roof area on a zip frame, and kicks Mary square in the jaw, sending her flying on top of the little Elf house that was next to Santa's chair. Some of the kids start screaming, and security rush to help Mary. Julian is wearing black jeans, black sunglasses, a “Promised One” t – shirt, and a Santa jacket. He picks up the microphone that Mary dropped, and addressed the crowd.
“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, for your viewing pleasure tonight, please give it up for ... me!”
The kids are still crying, and no one claps, but fake applause fills the air from the PA system.
“Thank you, no – seriously ... thank you all! Now, for those of you that are legally mentally retarded, or to put it in a way that the ones of you that are in fact legally mentally retarded to understand – anyone here that is from Texas - I am APW's latest and greatest acquisition. I am known throughout the world as The Promised One. I am Julian Bale, and I am your “Not So Secret Santa” tonight!
Now that I have your undivided attention, please allow me to wish you all a very merry Christmas, and a very happy New Year. I understand that due to the recession, you are all on the brink of suicide, and you blame your kids – and hey, who can blame you ey? In my experience, kids are the bane of all of the things that being a single, successful love machine like myself, so the next time you're all sitting at home, crying over the worry of where the next cent is coming from to pay your mortgage, go ahead and smack your kids across their tiny little heads. Then again, if you ladies weren't such useless fucking whores and took your pill like you were supposed to then you wouldn't have the annoying little brats in the first place would you? And guys – I know a man's got to get laid and all, but haven't you heard of facials? You want Julian Bale's advice? Next time, pull it out, ram it in her mouth, and do your thing! Not only does it feel awesome, but you get five minutes fucking piece at the same time! It's win, win baby!”
The adults in the crowd look on with their jaws wide open, while the kids just cry.
“Anyway, now I know that you were all here waiting to see Santa, but I was in the area, saw the notice in the window of one of your local shops, and just had to come and save you all from yourselves.
You see kids, mum and dad are lying little fuckwads. There is no Santa. The whole Father Christmas thing is just a scam to get parents to buy a shitload of presents for you ungrateful little bastards – because let's face it, over 95% of you are gonna go join some local gang and terrorise the shit out of the neighbourhood when you're older, while the other 5% will end up being gay, rapists and paedophiles, because as we all know, that's the Pittsburgh way isn't it? So when you wake in the morning and see all of those nice presents underneath the Christmas tree, just remember that Julian Bale told you all that it's mam and dad that put them there, not Santa.
Oh don't cry! Grow up, for fuck sakes! Life's a bitch and then you die ... well, unless you are me. If your name is Julian Bale then life is awesome, and you get everything you want and get to do pretty much whatever you want to do. When you're Julian Bale there is no such word as “no”, or “can't”. When you are Julian Bale, the world is your oyster, and all the women want to fuck you and the men want to be you.
So while I'm here, please allow me to fill you all in on some home truths.
As I have said, I have recently signed a contract with APW, and I make my debut in the Mellon Arena tomorrow night. My opponent that night is yet another recent acquisition, and by all accounts he is some kind of wrestling legend, and his name is Rocky Starr.”
Julian starts pacing back and forth, obviously agitated.
“See, that shit really gets under my skin. Here is a guy that I have never, ever heard of, yet he's already being labelled a legend in the fed that I have just signed to. Now where I have to build my way up and fight my way to the top, this no good, washed up reject simply has to turn up to automatically be gifted the title of “legend.”
Now how is that fair? You see, even though I have all of the tools to make it in this industry, and even though I have the drive, dedication and mean streak to ensure my spot at the top of the mountain, none of that seems to mean shit now that Rocky Starr has signed to APW.
I have gone from being “Rookie Sensation” to “Rocky Starr's” bitch in the matter of a week – because newsflash – that's EXACTLY what the rest of the APW roster will see me as. They all expect me to get into the ring against Starr and get my ass handed to me on a plate, thus ensuring Starr rises to the top while I languish on the bottom of the pile, like a discarded soggy cum tissue!
Well fuck that!
You see people, Julian Bale is no one's bitch, and I have come to APW for one thing, and one thing only, and that is to win gold! I don't give a fuck what the others think of me, and I certainly don't give a fuck what the people at home think of me. My goal is to brutally ass rape the APW roster and make each and every single one of those over rated used tampons my personal bitches, and NOTHING will get in my fucking way and stop me from achieving my dream!
I have always been treated as the underdog, and you know what? That MORE than works for me! So when I get in the ring against Rocky Starr, and destroy his Santa Clara'n ass in the middle of the ring, the APW roster will be FORCED to sit up and notice Julian Bale. They will be forced to believe that I AM “The Promised One”, and that it isn't simply some witty little catchphrase used just for selling merchandise and the like. I take my career VERY seriously. I train hard, I fight hard, and I party hard baby, and I enjoy every single second of it.
Julian Bale was born to be in the spotlight, and even though I have only experienced it on a few occasions, it was enough to get me addicted to success and greatness.
Come Overdrive Rocky, I will remind you why you decided to retire in the first place. Face facts boy, you don't have what it takes to compete at this level anymore. You are so far behind the times, and so behind the rest of the pack that I'll be surprised if you even manage to remember how to lace up a pair of wrestling boots anymore! Hey, I have an idea! Seeing as how it's Christmas and all, I'm gonna send you a copy of “Wrestling for Dummies.” In there it'll remind you about what to do, and also the dangers of using modern moves at your age. Because, let's face it. there's the arthritis factor to take into consideration, because how the fuck are you gonna hit moonsaults and the like when you'll end up breaking your hip or something when I move out of the way, and you crash onto the mat?
You see Rocky Robin, you don't stand a chance against The Promised One. I am younger, fitter, faster, stronger, and I don't have to be in bed by 10pm with a nice hot cup of cocoa and pipe. I am going to work you like you've never been worked before, and I will show you zero respect, because despite your past credentials, you have done NOTHING to fucking impress me, you washed up, over rated fossil! Also, despite your age, I will show you NO remorse, because quite simply, I don't have any in the first place. I don't give a fuck who you are, or how old you are, as far as I'm concerned, it's all fair game when that bell rings regardless of who my opponent is, so I will waste no time whatsoever in beating you down, breaking your bones, or even ending your life if I have to. These are not idle threats either, but I guess the only way to prove that is to allow my actions to do the talking at Overdrive.
Rocky Balboa, at Overdrive I will make you the first victim of the era of “The Promised One”, and I will use your legacy to cement my place as a serious contender. And as they cart your broken body to the nearest hospital, I will calmly walk to my locker room, get dressed, and go straight to the most expensive and hottest night club in the area and party until they close the doors. I will then go home with a couple of hot women, bang the fuck out of them, and kick their asses out to the street when I'm finished. I'll then get a few hours sleep, wake up, check my messages and find out who my next victim is. I'll then get in my car and head to the next town, and start all over again. And you know what Rocky? All you will ever be to me from then on will be a distant memory – another statistic on my win record.
You want some advice? Quit while you have the chance. If I were you, I'd take advantage of this brief moment of kindness I'm offering, because trust when I say it will never happen again.
Ok, I've said what I need to say, and seeing how I'm feeling generous on this fine evening, I'm knocking a recession beating 20% off all Julian Bale merchandise for all of you fine people.
Thank you all, and good night!”
With that, Bale walks off, leaving the crowd completely bewildered at what the hell just happened.
