Post by estarr on Jun 13, 2008 5:40:17 GMT -4
In the deepest part of Mississippi, where even the the night itself harvested cotton back in the day, there's a bar. It's 9 o'clock on a Saturday. At the bar, perched up on a stool and leaning over an empty glass, is Jake Ruby. He is a disheveled mess - hasn't shaved for a whole of two days, his hair hasn't been combed and slicked down into the same sort of style you expect on the class nerd. And worse still - he's wearing a John Cena shirt! Yes! A shirt of the guy that everyone hates because he knows 5 wrestling moves and has been in the main event scene for a lifetime (albeit the lifetime of 4 year old, but still). Ruby is only wearing the shirt because he had nothing else clean. Yeah, it sucks seeing another person using Cena's face for something - a shirt is just as bad as a banner, but what can you do?
The bartender (let's call him Raymond) walks over to Ruby, trying to make eye contact. Thinking him to have passed out (he'd been hitting it pretty hard - two appletinis in the past hour and a half!) Raymond taps Ruby on the head. Ruby darts up from his stool, standing ready to take on whoever his attacker might be. He looks around, spots Raymond, then gives him one of those looks.
Jake: Was that you playing with fire man?
Raymond: What are you on about son?
Jake: Did you toush me? Cause if you did, I'll 'ave you know I'm a wrestler damnit! And I could kick your assh from here all the way to ... shomewhere. Yeah that's right! *Jake gets louder* I might not have a shtinking job but I beat any of you guys now. Come on! Line up man!
Raymond: Hey! *Jake turns to face Raymond* Come here man, I'll get you a drink.
Jake turns back to the bar, using it to hold himself up. He leans over, closer to Raymond, who winds up and hits Ruby right between the eyes. Jake is out - falls to the floor, taking a few stools with him. Raymond leans over the bar, rubbing his hand and shaking his head in disdain.
Raymond: Someone get this guy out of here!
And man in a rabbit suit walks out from a dark ad smoky corner, grabbing Ruby under the arms and drags him to the doorway. The rabbit-man maneuvers his way past some patrons entering this fine establishment, then out into the night. Ruby gets dragged some more to the nearest bus shelter, where the rabbit-man props him up on the bench. Ruby comes to round about now, his head swimming, a small trickle of blood running down his nose. He sees the rabbit-man.
Jake: Dad?
Rabbit-man: No Jake. My name's Ryan. I have some important news Jake. You've been re-signed to the APW.
Jake: I can't resign, I've already been fired! You silly rabbit. Man, I thought you'd be smarter than that from the looks of ya'. Now ... let me up ...
Ryan: Not resigned, RE-signed. Your contract was renewed, and you're back on your path to wrestling glory.
Jake: Are you for real man ... ugh ... rabbit?
Ryan: This is no joking matter Jake. Your next match is coming up, in Little Rock, Arkansas. You have to face Razor Ryan in ...
Jake: Wait dude. I have to write this down, I'll never remember it all. *Jake pats himself down, trying to find a pen. Drat! He gave it to that homeless guy to use as a crack pipe yesterday* Do you have a pen? Maybe a pencil?
Ryan: Here, I have this marker. *Ryan produces a permanent marker from his over-sized, furry paws, and hands it to Jake* Nine days. Little Rock, Arkansas. Razor Ryan. Opening match.
Jake: Wait! I don't have anything to write on. Hold on ...
Ryan: For crying out ... use the back of your hand or something, ok?
Jake begins writing furiously along the inside of his arm as Ryan repeats what he said. He crosses the t's, dots the i's, and looks up to his rabbity friend. He offers the marker back, which Ryan takes with a nod of thanks. Jake suddenly gets a confused look.
Jake: Ryan?
Ryan: Yes Jake?
Jake: Why are you wearing that silly bunny suit?
Ryan: I'll give you stupid bunny suit!
And for the second time that night, Jake was knocked out with a blow to the head. Though, all things considered, the second one was much more embarrassing - as the bus pulled up, there Jake was, unconscious and sprawled across a bench, a man in a rabbit suit standing over him. The bus driver, let's say his name is Billy, opens the door just to find out what the heck is going on. Rabbit Ryan looks over his shoulder, pulled Jake up and heaves him onto the bus. He dusts of his ... paws and walks away, leaving Billy with Jake.
We travel through space and time today on that magical bus. It's Monday, and we're in Little Rock, Arkansas. Home of Confederates, Cleburne, and the Clintons. We're at the Alltel Arena for Overdrive this week. And he's back! Yes, that's right. Jake Ruby is returning, after a whole of one week of not being in a match, Jake Ruby is ready to step back into the ring. And there he is, walking around the bowels of the arena - no doubt lost after trying to find the locker rooms. Let's get that camera on him so that we can get some pearls of wisdom. Jake notices the camera, straightens himself up, and with a look of intent on his face, starts his promo.
Jake: Hello there. I'm Jake Ruby, in case you've forgotten. I know I haven't exactly been a regular showing for the APW, but that's not my fault. A whole lot of hoopla came up a few weeks ago. First, the potato farm got a bad frost, and killed all the crop. There's nothing worse than frozen taters, trust me, I know. Seriously, one year that's all we had. Our gas and electricity was cut off by out neighbours who didn't like the fact that we had won 1998 Prettiest Crop award at the local fair. I tell you, our spuds were twice as good looking as the Jenkins'. They were that good, I heard the person who bought a pound of them married them. *Jake holds up his hands in defense* Now I know - you're probably wondering why we, faithful Republican Idaho, let such deviant lifestyles run rampant. Well, it just goes to show how liberal our state really is. Of course, turned out Jenkins' son was one of those gays, so the whole town ran that family out of the county, down into Utah. Be a good ol' surprise for them Mormon folks.
Now, I've got a match this week. It's my chance to restart my lagging career. And it's lagging bad. Like a PC trying to run Warcraft on a Pentium 2, AMD1000, 900MHz. It's lagging that bad. You know what I'm talking about? Well, now it's like I've been paid and can take that sorry excuse for a computer down to the local techie and get all the upgrades I need. Pentium Quad, a GeForce, bump up the RAM to a couple Gigs worth. Yeah, that's what I'm talking 'bout baby. *Jake's eyes drift off into the distance ... and quickly he snaps back* Anyway, my career gets a chance to restart again tonight at Overdrive. But before that can happen, I have to do something. I have to apologise to APW. Of course, when I say APW, I mean the idea that the APW is - certainly not any of the wrestlers and most definitely not any of those administration people. Those two groups are mostly filler. Notice how the roster grew when I began to slack off? Does anyone else think that El-Presidente Jeff was just trying his hardest to find a replacement for Jake Ruby, or am I the only one? You couldn't find a replacement, could you Jeff? It's ok. Every e-fed I've ever left has come begging me to come back. It's happened hundreds of times, and it's just the same again.
Anyway, that apology. APW, I am sorry, and I think that the song Heat of the Moment, by that great band Asia, said it best: I never meant to be so bad to you; one thing I said that I would never do; one look from you and I would fall from grace; and that would wipe this smile right from my face. APW, I hope we can be friends again *Jake looks around, then leans closer to the camera and speaks with a whisper* because I don't have many as it is. In fact, I have none. I really think we made great friends before, and we can do it again. What d'ya say, friend? *Jake pauses a moment, then looks out the corner of each eye before he steps back and trys to look all casual* So, APW, I say sorry, and you accept my apology. Let us move on from that dark chapter.
Jake looks around, still looking for a sign that will direct him to the locker rooms. He starts walk off, waving for the camera to follow him. Having nothing better to do (they've already taped a painted wall dry this morning) the cameraman follows. Jake begins to talk-and-walk, much like a scene from The West Wing, only they aren't in the White House, what Jake is talking about has nothing to do with politics, and that show has been canceled. I guess it's nothing like The West Wing then.
Jake: So my match tonight, getting back on topic. It's against *Jake looks at the inside of his arm, where the writing from Saturday is still there - I guess permanent means permanent* Razor Ryan. *Jake looks at his watch* The almighty Razor Ryan. The talented Razor Ryan. The exceptional Razor Ryan. The sharp ... no! razor-sharp Razor Ryan. The future champion Razor Ryan. The skillful Razor Ryan. The great Razor Ryan. *Jake looks at his watch again, a little closer* Whoops, I forgot, Opposite Day ended yesterday. Ryan, let me tell you what I really think about you. I think Rick Astley puts on a better show than you. In fact, I know that Rick Astley puts on a better show than you - can you Rick Roll? I don't think so! So let's end that there and then, because that is the proof and pudding that you can't compare to Rick Astley. And I know you've been thinking you're better than him. I can see it in your walk, what with your strutting and walking. So tonight, when I beat you, I'm going to dedicate that victory to two people. First, me. Second, that great man, Rick Astley - music pioneer and dance genius.
Now you're probably asking how I'm going to beat you. Well, only an idiot would ask that question. So, quid pro quo, you're an idiot. I'm going to be you with wrestling. With the 1337 ... wait, sorry ... remember Jake, use offline words *Jake taps the side of his head* ... I'll beat you with my elite wrestling skills. Have you seen my move list? Have you watched any tapes of me? Have you read anything I've ever written? Seriously, you should, because ... man, you don't know what you're getting into. Armbar. Elbow drop. Knee drop. Armbar. Chops. Backhand chops. Armbar. And when that's all done, I might hit you with the Tater Drop, or the Post Limit. Or maybe, if I'm feeling real mean, I'll slap you in an armbar.
Cameraman: Have you been watching some Jericho then?
Jake: What? What do you mean.
Cameraman: Nothing. Please, continue.
Jake: Where was I? Oh yeah, I was listing the many, many ways that I am going to beat your disrespecting-Rick-Astley ass into the mat. The ways I'm going to pin you 1-2- oh so close! 1-2-no! 1-2-3! Cheers! Jake Ruby celebrates as the crowd goes ape, having watched a favourite of theirs, and a member of Sex and Violence, if that stable is even alive still, get beat by this rookie phenomenon! Don't forget, next week's deadline is extended, and that it's the last show before the pay per ... oh ... sorry, I got caught up in all the action there.
Jake shakes his head, and walks to the nearest door he can find. He opens up to a broom closet, looks around, and sneaks in. There's just enough room for Jake and the cameraman.
Cameraman: What are we doing in here?
Jake: I need to change into my training gear. You think I could work out in this? *Jake laughs, and the camera gets a shot of how he's dressed - a Raw Tour shirt from 2004, and pair of training pants, and sneakers. Jakes pulls his shirt off, changing into a Smackdown Tour short from 2004. Jake looks at the camera* Everyone knows it's the B show.
Jake looks around for somewhere to put his stuff, sees all the shelves taken up with cleaning chemicals, brooms, miscellaneous tools, and roasted acorns. Frustrated, he just drops his bag on the floor. The sound is loud enough to rouse the suspicion of a passer-by (random name generator: Robert), who knocks on the door.
Robert: Hello? Is someone in there?
Jake: No ... oh, shoot! Yes, I'm in here.
Robert: Are you alright.
Jake: Fine, I'm just fine. *Awkward pause* How are you?
Robert: What are you doing in the closet?
Jake: Changing clothes.
Robert: I think you should come out.
Jake: I'm fine in here.
Robert: Really, you should come out and go to the change rooms.
Jake: I'm not coming out the closet! I don't need to. I'm happy here. You're the only one who knows what's going on. You can leave and forget this ever happened, and I'll stay in the closet, ok?
Silence. Except for the cameraman laughing. Jake looks at the guy with a questioning look, gets no answer, then picks up his back and slowly opens the door, looks around, and quickly walks away. The cameraman is in tow to capture the end of this promo. Yeah, not much more to go. Hang in there!
Jake: And so, Razor Ryan. With my 15 years experience being the top dog, with the numerous titles I've won over the years, with the intimate knowledge I have of what it takes to win a match, whether it be talking trash, using humour, or employing those sophisticated literary techniques like alliteration, I will beat you. Ryan, you're nothing but a rambunctious rapscallion, running without rhyme or reason, reaching for revenge with your revolutionary rebellious - a revolution that repulses the righteous and responsible Rudy. That, my friend, is alliteration - I thought I'd save you the time of having to Ask Jeeves what it was. Catch you in the ring.
The bartender (let's call him Raymond) walks over to Ruby, trying to make eye contact. Thinking him to have passed out (he'd been hitting it pretty hard - two appletinis in the past hour and a half!) Raymond taps Ruby on the head. Ruby darts up from his stool, standing ready to take on whoever his attacker might be. He looks around, spots Raymond, then gives him one of those looks.
Jake: Was that you playing with fire man?
Raymond: What are you on about son?
Jake: Did you toush me? Cause if you did, I'll 'ave you know I'm a wrestler damnit! And I could kick your assh from here all the way to ... shomewhere. Yeah that's right! *Jake gets louder* I might not have a shtinking job but I beat any of you guys now. Come on! Line up man!
Raymond: Hey! *Jake turns to face Raymond* Come here man, I'll get you a drink.
Jake turns back to the bar, using it to hold himself up. He leans over, closer to Raymond, who winds up and hits Ruby right between the eyes. Jake is out - falls to the floor, taking a few stools with him. Raymond leans over the bar, rubbing his hand and shaking his head in disdain.
Raymond: Someone get this guy out of here!
And man in a rabbit suit walks out from a dark ad smoky corner, grabbing Ruby under the arms and drags him to the doorway. The rabbit-man maneuvers his way past some patrons entering this fine establishment, then out into the night. Ruby gets dragged some more to the nearest bus shelter, where the rabbit-man props him up on the bench. Ruby comes to round about now, his head swimming, a small trickle of blood running down his nose. He sees the rabbit-man.
Jake: Dad?
Rabbit-man: No Jake. My name's Ryan. I have some important news Jake. You've been re-signed to the APW.
Jake: I can't resign, I've already been fired! You silly rabbit. Man, I thought you'd be smarter than that from the looks of ya'. Now ... let me up ...
Ryan: Not resigned, RE-signed. Your contract was renewed, and you're back on your path to wrestling glory.
Jake: Are you for real man ... ugh ... rabbit?
Ryan: This is no joking matter Jake. Your next match is coming up, in Little Rock, Arkansas. You have to face Razor Ryan in ...
Jake: Wait dude. I have to write this down, I'll never remember it all. *Jake pats himself down, trying to find a pen. Drat! He gave it to that homeless guy to use as a crack pipe yesterday* Do you have a pen? Maybe a pencil?
Ryan: Here, I have this marker. *Ryan produces a permanent marker from his over-sized, furry paws, and hands it to Jake* Nine days. Little Rock, Arkansas. Razor Ryan. Opening match.
Jake: Wait! I don't have anything to write on. Hold on ...
Ryan: For crying out ... use the back of your hand or something, ok?
Jake begins writing furiously along the inside of his arm as Ryan repeats what he said. He crosses the t's, dots the i's, and looks up to his rabbity friend. He offers the marker back, which Ryan takes with a nod of thanks. Jake suddenly gets a confused look.
Jake: Ryan?
Ryan: Yes Jake?
Jake: Why are you wearing that silly bunny suit?
Ryan: I'll give you stupid bunny suit!
And for the second time that night, Jake was knocked out with a blow to the head. Though, all things considered, the second one was much more embarrassing - as the bus pulled up, there Jake was, unconscious and sprawled across a bench, a man in a rabbit suit standing over him. The bus driver, let's say his name is Billy, opens the door just to find out what the heck is going on. Rabbit Ryan looks over his shoulder, pulled Jake up and heaves him onto the bus. He dusts of his ... paws and walks away, leaving Billy with Jake.
We travel through space and time today on that magical bus. It's Monday, and we're in Little Rock, Arkansas. Home of Confederates, Cleburne, and the Clintons. We're at the Alltel Arena for Overdrive this week. And he's back! Yes, that's right. Jake Ruby is returning, after a whole of one week of not being in a match, Jake Ruby is ready to step back into the ring. And there he is, walking around the bowels of the arena - no doubt lost after trying to find the locker rooms. Let's get that camera on him so that we can get some pearls of wisdom. Jake notices the camera, straightens himself up, and with a look of intent on his face, starts his promo.
Jake: Hello there. I'm Jake Ruby, in case you've forgotten. I know I haven't exactly been a regular showing for the APW, but that's not my fault. A whole lot of hoopla came up a few weeks ago. First, the potato farm got a bad frost, and killed all the crop. There's nothing worse than frozen taters, trust me, I know. Seriously, one year that's all we had. Our gas and electricity was cut off by out neighbours who didn't like the fact that we had won 1998 Prettiest Crop award at the local fair. I tell you, our spuds were twice as good looking as the Jenkins'. They were that good, I heard the person who bought a pound of them married them. *Jake holds up his hands in defense* Now I know - you're probably wondering why we, faithful Republican Idaho, let such deviant lifestyles run rampant. Well, it just goes to show how liberal our state really is. Of course, turned out Jenkins' son was one of those gays, so the whole town ran that family out of the county, down into Utah. Be a good ol' surprise for them Mormon folks.
Now, I've got a match this week. It's my chance to restart my lagging career. And it's lagging bad. Like a PC trying to run Warcraft on a Pentium 2, AMD1000, 900MHz. It's lagging that bad. You know what I'm talking about? Well, now it's like I've been paid and can take that sorry excuse for a computer down to the local techie and get all the upgrades I need. Pentium Quad, a GeForce, bump up the RAM to a couple Gigs worth. Yeah, that's what I'm talking 'bout baby. *Jake's eyes drift off into the distance ... and quickly he snaps back* Anyway, my career gets a chance to restart again tonight at Overdrive. But before that can happen, I have to do something. I have to apologise to APW. Of course, when I say APW, I mean the idea that the APW is - certainly not any of the wrestlers and most definitely not any of those administration people. Those two groups are mostly filler. Notice how the roster grew when I began to slack off? Does anyone else think that El-Presidente Jeff was just trying his hardest to find a replacement for Jake Ruby, or am I the only one? You couldn't find a replacement, could you Jeff? It's ok. Every e-fed I've ever left has come begging me to come back. It's happened hundreds of times, and it's just the same again.
Anyway, that apology. APW, I am sorry, and I think that the song Heat of the Moment, by that great band Asia, said it best: I never meant to be so bad to you; one thing I said that I would never do; one look from you and I would fall from grace; and that would wipe this smile right from my face. APW, I hope we can be friends again *Jake looks around, then leans closer to the camera and speaks with a whisper* because I don't have many as it is. In fact, I have none. I really think we made great friends before, and we can do it again. What d'ya say, friend? *Jake pauses a moment, then looks out the corner of each eye before he steps back and trys to look all casual* So, APW, I say sorry, and you accept my apology. Let us move on from that dark chapter.
Jake looks around, still looking for a sign that will direct him to the locker rooms. He starts walk off, waving for the camera to follow him. Having nothing better to do (they've already taped a painted wall dry this morning) the cameraman follows. Jake begins to talk-and-walk, much like a scene from The West Wing, only they aren't in the White House, what Jake is talking about has nothing to do with politics, and that show has been canceled. I guess it's nothing like The West Wing then.
Jake: So my match tonight, getting back on topic. It's against *Jake looks at the inside of his arm, where the writing from Saturday is still there - I guess permanent means permanent* Razor Ryan. *Jake looks at his watch* The almighty Razor Ryan. The talented Razor Ryan. The exceptional Razor Ryan. The sharp ... no! razor-sharp Razor Ryan. The future champion Razor Ryan. The skillful Razor Ryan. The great Razor Ryan. *Jake looks at his watch again, a little closer* Whoops, I forgot, Opposite Day ended yesterday. Ryan, let me tell you what I really think about you. I think Rick Astley puts on a better show than you. In fact, I know that Rick Astley puts on a better show than you - can you Rick Roll? I don't think so! So let's end that there and then, because that is the proof and pudding that you can't compare to Rick Astley. And I know you've been thinking you're better than him. I can see it in your walk, what with your strutting and walking. So tonight, when I beat you, I'm going to dedicate that victory to two people. First, me. Second, that great man, Rick Astley - music pioneer and dance genius.
Now you're probably asking how I'm going to beat you. Well, only an idiot would ask that question. So, quid pro quo, you're an idiot. I'm going to be you with wrestling. With the 1337 ... wait, sorry ... remember Jake, use offline words *Jake taps the side of his head* ... I'll beat you with my elite wrestling skills. Have you seen my move list? Have you watched any tapes of me? Have you read anything I've ever written? Seriously, you should, because ... man, you don't know what you're getting into. Armbar. Elbow drop. Knee drop. Armbar. Chops. Backhand chops. Armbar. And when that's all done, I might hit you with the Tater Drop, or the Post Limit. Or maybe, if I'm feeling real mean, I'll slap you in an armbar.
Cameraman: Have you been watching some Jericho then?
Jake: What? What do you mean.
Cameraman: Nothing. Please, continue.
Jake: Where was I? Oh yeah, I was listing the many, many ways that I am going to beat your disrespecting-Rick-Astley ass into the mat. The ways I'm going to pin you 1-2- oh so close! 1-2-no! 1-2-3! Cheers! Jake Ruby celebrates as the crowd goes ape, having watched a favourite of theirs, and a member of Sex and Violence, if that stable is even alive still, get beat by this rookie phenomenon! Don't forget, next week's deadline is extended, and that it's the last show before the pay per ... oh ... sorry, I got caught up in all the action there.
Jake shakes his head, and walks to the nearest door he can find. He opens up to a broom closet, looks around, and sneaks in. There's just enough room for Jake and the cameraman.
Cameraman: What are we doing in here?
Jake: I need to change into my training gear. You think I could work out in this? *Jake laughs, and the camera gets a shot of how he's dressed - a Raw Tour shirt from 2004, and pair of training pants, and sneakers. Jakes pulls his shirt off, changing into a Smackdown Tour short from 2004. Jake looks at the camera* Everyone knows it's the B show.
Jake looks around for somewhere to put his stuff, sees all the shelves taken up with cleaning chemicals, brooms, miscellaneous tools, and roasted acorns. Frustrated, he just drops his bag on the floor. The sound is loud enough to rouse the suspicion of a passer-by (random name generator: Robert), who knocks on the door.
Robert: Hello? Is someone in there?
Jake: No ... oh, shoot! Yes, I'm in here.
Robert: Are you alright.
Jake: Fine, I'm just fine. *Awkward pause* How are you?
Robert: What are you doing in the closet?
Jake: Changing clothes.
Robert: I think you should come out.
Jake: I'm fine in here.
Robert: Really, you should come out and go to the change rooms.
Jake: I'm not coming out the closet! I don't need to. I'm happy here. You're the only one who knows what's going on. You can leave and forget this ever happened, and I'll stay in the closet, ok?
Silence. Except for the cameraman laughing. Jake looks at the guy with a questioning look, gets no answer, then picks up his back and slowly opens the door, looks around, and quickly walks away. The cameraman is in tow to capture the end of this promo. Yeah, not much more to go. Hang in there!
Jake: And so, Razor Ryan. With my 15 years experience being the top dog, with the numerous titles I've won over the years, with the intimate knowledge I have of what it takes to win a match, whether it be talking trash, using humour, or employing those sophisticated literary techniques like alliteration, I will beat you. Ryan, you're nothing but a rambunctious rapscallion, running without rhyme or reason, reaching for revenge with your revolutionary rebellious - a revolution that repulses the righteous and responsible Rudy. That, my friend, is alliteration - I thought I'd save you the time of having to Ask Jeeves what it was. Catch you in the ring.
