Post by Michael Jennings on Jun 14, 2015 20:59:58 GMT -4
06/13/2015
Count’s Vamp’d
Las Vegas, Nevada
The scene opens on a local metal bar Count’s Vamp’d Vegas which is being set up for a band performance later. Inside the camera pans around to show the gothic style interior to the club. The owner used to play a vampire on a local horror movie television show and now stars in the television series Counting Cars. There’s a few biker type guys wandering about as well as some ‘80’s metalheads scattered around. However there is one person standing at the end of the bar that stands out. His name is Michael Jennings and he is a former professional wrestler who dropped off the grid after his stint in APW. Now no one knows what he does at this point. Michael is wearing all black, has on a leather biker style vest, black gloves, and black boots on. He looks at the camera and does not seem amused as he reaches over for his Bud Light. He quickly chugs it down before motioning to the bartender to bring him another one. After this he turns to the camera and motions around.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve been here…”
He grabs his beer and starts walking around the club with the camera in tow. He reaches a booth that has a black table that looks like a coffin in front of the purple seats. Michael sits down with his beer before continuing.
“In fact I’ve been off wandering. And do you know why I left and nobody ever heard from me again?”
He points at the camera with authority.
“You. You people are the reason for that. Wrestling was my life blood. Wrestling was what I had a passion for. Wrestling is something that meant a lot to me for a very long time but then you all ruined it for me. Like a jilted ex-lover you all decided to collectively reach into my chest, rip out my heart, and stab it with a knife all at once. So it’s time I do the same to you. By now you all know that Santa Claus isn’t real.”
At this point he glares at the camera. He has a sinister, evil look on his face as he continues.
“And just like Santa Claus isn’t real wrestling IS NOT REAL.”
Michael is even more agitated now as he takes a drink from his beer before continuing on his diatribe.
“Now I’m sure all of the smarks out there who follow every wrestling website, blog, and new site imaginable already know this since you already googled the names and researched the wrestlers competing on this show the moment the lineup was announced. Now let’s be serious here, real talk now. I could give a fuck less about being on this show because you idiot fans are going to cheer for the wrestlers on this show like harbor seals in a circus. But in reality you fans are why I am here and you are not the ones who I am talking to when I say that wrestling is not real.”
An evil smile creeps across his face. You can almost feel the hatred boiling inside of him as he looks at the camera.
“I’m talking to my fellow wrestlers on this reunion show.”
The evil smile on his face soon dissipates into a scowl. Right now Jennings looks like he wants to kill someone right now.
“When I left nobody reached out to me. None of my ‘friends’ in this business reached out to me. None of you went looking for me. When I looked at my phone there were no messages on it. There were no tweets sent to my Twitter feed. Instead all of my so-called ‘friends’ in this business erased my presence from their lives forever.”
His looks has slowly become even more psychotic than it was before as he pauses for a moment to take a drink from his beer. After finishing he finally unveils the target of his hatred.
“I’m talking specifically to The Black Hand…”
He looks down at the table after saying this and motions to the black glove on his right hand. On the glove are the clear initials of BH written in white on them. After staring at the initials on his gloves for a moment he looks back up at the camera with an angry look on his face.
“Now you guys told me it would be Black Hand for life when I joined your little club…”
Michael motions all around him where no one is at.
“But where are you all now? Where were you all since APW closed down?”
After saying this he slams his fist into the table before snarling at the camera. He starts going on a rant about his ‘friends’ when he continues his monologue.
“All of you guys basically left me to fend for myself. You left me in the shadows while you all stuck together like the tight crew you were when I was a part of the crew. Basically it was all just bullshit, wasn’t it? ADMIT IT! You all are nothing but phonies and fakes just these fans that come out to the shows. Nothing but sad, pathetic human beings. Hypocrites and liars, sycophants and uneducated serfs. Right now I could give a fuck less about Robina Hood. She’s only good at one thing and that ain’t wrestling going by what I’m reading on the dirt sheets written by the losers like you fans who have nothing else in your sad lives to do but follow wrestling all fucking day. You know what? Fuck ya’ll! The Black Hand are nothing more than the afterbirth of APW. Nothing but a disgusting, repulsive mass of human endtrails. That is what your group represents in the sport of professional wrestling.”
He takes another drink from his beer before motioning for the people at home who are probably pissed watching this to calm down.
“Now before any of you smarks, marks, or various no life internet fucktards get all up in arms let me explain why I am calling professional wrestling instead of sports entertainment which is PC terminology for it.”
A smirk creeps across his face as his continues.
“You know why I call it professional wrestling? You know why?”
Once again he starts pointing at the camera in an aggressive manner while continuing on his soliloquy.
“Because I ain’t here to entertain you fans. I’m not here to be your entertainment. I’m here to hurt people because that’s what I do best. I don’t like people and it’s because of shit like what the Black Hand did to me. Or any of these idiot bitch women not named Paxar Vega did to me. I’m gonna marry that girl someday soon. She’s the one good thing that came out of this business for me.”
Upon thinking and reflecting on what he just said, Michael looks happy for the first time since the camera started rolling.
“And at the wedding none of you Black Hand idiots are invited to the wedding. You all, just like these fans, are beneath me as is my opponent at the reunion show, Robina Hood.”
The happy look that was once on his face soon dissipates into an angry scowl once more as he continues his monologue.
“Robina, you were a top rising star in APW when it closed down originally. Now you’re stuck facing the one wrestler on this show who’s not out to entertain the fans or to kiss everyone’s asses like these other wrestlers do. Black Hand, I’m looking at you. I’m just here to fucking hurt people. I don’t like people so I could give a crap less if you get hurt in the ring against me. I’m going to take you to the Suplex City, where the grass is green and the girls are ugly. And do you know why the girls are ugly?”
He points to the camera in an angry manner.
“Because they stepped into the ring with me. I’m not a sexist like some of these wrestlers are. I could care less if I’m wrestling a man or a woman. I don’t care about my opponent’s race or sexual orientation. That shit doesn’t matter to me at all. I only care about two things, hurting people and winning my match. That’s all that fucking matters to me. So you can come on here and go off on whatever spiel you want to about our match Robina. In all honesty I could give a fuck less about what you have to say because after this I’m probably gone from this industry again. I’m only coming back to show the fans what they’ve been missing out on with Michael Jennings not being in a ring for almost two years now. It’s all about choices and pragmatism in the decision making process as it relates to that. It’s like the bullshit with the Black Hand I was talking about earlier. It’s like basic morality, it’s almost biblical. Basically it’s I treat people the way they treat me and everyone who I thought I could trust treated me like a shadow. So now it’s my turn. I’m going to take all the anger and all I hate I have inside out on you, Robina. That’s the choice I’ve made. Now it’s not your fault and I apologize for my actions ahead of time but that doesn’t mean I’m going to change them. In all honesty this isn’t about money, it’s about sending a message. That message is going to be to all the fans who still think this is all entertainment and to my ‘friends’ who literally did not care enough about me to keep in contact. I’m here to fucking wrestle, not to entertain. I came back to inflict pain, not dance around like a sissy or walk around in some stupid gimmick costume like some wrestlers do. This match isn’t going to be a match in my mind, it’s going to be a war…
A war that I plan on winning.”
He grabs his beer and chugs down the rest of it before setting down the beer bottle on the table in front of him before continuing.
“I want you all to witness what I do. This isn’t going to happen for your entertainment, it’s for mine. I’m going to enjoy torturing Robina Hood and showing the wrestling world that I have one last match in me. My performance is going to be a statement and I plan on making one that you all remember. Nobody will ever forget me again after the Reunion Show, I GUARANTEE it.
Never forget…”
Michael picks up his beer bottle and leaves from the table to walk back to the bar to get a refill as the scene fades to black.
End.
Count’s Vamp’d
Las Vegas, Nevada
The scene opens on a local metal bar Count’s Vamp’d Vegas which is being set up for a band performance later. Inside the camera pans around to show the gothic style interior to the club. The owner used to play a vampire on a local horror movie television show and now stars in the television series Counting Cars. There’s a few biker type guys wandering about as well as some ‘80’s metalheads scattered around. However there is one person standing at the end of the bar that stands out. His name is Michael Jennings and he is a former professional wrestler who dropped off the grid after his stint in APW. Now no one knows what he does at this point. Michael is wearing all black, has on a leather biker style vest, black gloves, and black boots on. He looks at the camera and does not seem amused as he reaches over for his Bud Light. He quickly chugs it down before motioning to the bartender to bring him another one. After this he turns to the camera and motions around.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve been here…”
He grabs his beer and starts walking around the club with the camera in tow. He reaches a booth that has a black table that looks like a coffin in front of the purple seats. Michael sits down with his beer before continuing.
“In fact I’ve been off wandering. And do you know why I left and nobody ever heard from me again?”
He points at the camera with authority.
“You. You people are the reason for that. Wrestling was my life blood. Wrestling was what I had a passion for. Wrestling is something that meant a lot to me for a very long time but then you all ruined it for me. Like a jilted ex-lover you all decided to collectively reach into my chest, rip out my heart, and stab it with a knife all at once. So it’s time I do the same to you. By now you all know that Santa Claus isn’t real.”
At this point he glares at the camera. He has a sinister, evil look on his face as he continues.
“And just like Santa Claus isn’t real wrestling IS NOT REAL.”
Michael is even more agitated now as he takes a drink from his beer before continuing on his diatribe.
“Now I’m sure all of the smarks out there who follow every wrestling website, blog, and new site imaginable already know this since you already googled the names and researched the wrestlers competing on this show the moment the lineup was announced. Now let’s be serious here, real talk now. I could give a fuck less about being on this show because you idiot fans are going to cheer for the wrestlers on this show like harbor seals in a circus. But in reality you fans are why I am here and you are not the ones who I am talking to when I say that wrestling is not real.”
An evil smile creeps across his face. You can almost feel the hatred boiling inside of him as he looks at the camera.
“I’m talking to my fellow wrestlers on this reunion show.”
The evil smile on his face soon dissipates into a scowl. Right now Jennings looks like he wants to kill someone right now.
“When I left nobody reached out to me. None of my ‘friends’ in this business reached out to me. None of you went looking for me. When I looked at my phone there were no messages on it. There were no tweets sent to my Twitter feed. Instead all of my so-called ‘friends’ in this business erased my presence from their lives forever.”
His looks has slowly become even more psychotic than it was before as he pauses for a moment to take a drink from his beer. After finishing he finally unveils the target of his hatred.
“I’m talking specifically to The Black Hand…”
He looks down at the table after saying this and motions to the black glove on his right hand. On the glove are the clear initials of BH written in white on them. After staring at the initials on his gloves for a moment he looks back up at the camera with an angry look on his face.
“Now you guys told me it would be Black Hand for life when I joined your little club…”
Michael motions all around him where no one is at.
“But where are you all now? Where were you all since APW closed down?”
After saying this he slams his fist into the table before snarling at the camera. He starts going on a rant about his ‘friends’ when he continues his monologue.
“All of you guys basically left me to fend for myself. You left me in the shadows while you all stuck together like the tight crew you were when I was a part of the crew. Basically it was all just bullshit, wasn’t it? ADMIT IT! You all are nothing but phonies and fakes just these fans that come out to the shows. Nothing but sad, pathetic human beings. Hypocrites and liars, sycophants and uneducated serfs. Right now I could give a fuck less about Robina Hood. She’s only good at one thing and that ain’t wrestling going by what I’m reading on the dirt sheets written by the losers like you fans who have nothing else in your sad lives to do but follow wrestling all fucking day. You know what? Fuck ya’ll! The Black Hand are nothing more than the afterbirth of APW. Nothing but a disgusting, repulsive mass of human endtrails. That is what your group represents in the sport of professional wrestling.”
He takes another drink from his beer before motioning for the people at home who are probably pissed watching this to calm down.
“Now before any of you smarks, marks, or various no life internet fucktards get all up in arms let me explain why I am calling professional wrestling instead of sports entertainment which is PC terminology for it.”
A smirk creeps across his face as his continues.
“You know why I call it professional wrestling? You know why?”
Once again he starts pointing at the camera in an aggressive manner while continuing on his soliloquy.
“Because I ain’t here to entertain you fans. I’m not here to be your entertainment. I’m here to hurt people because that’s what I do best. I don’t like people and it’s because of shit like what the Black Hand did to me. Or any of these idiot bitch women not named Paxar Vega did to me. I’m gonna marry that girl someday soon. She’s the one good thing that came out of this business for me.”
Upon thinking and reflecting on what he just said, Michael looks happy for the first time since the camera started rolling.
“And at the wedding none of you Black Hand idiots are invited to the wedding. You all, just like these fans, are beneath me as is my opponent at the reunion show, Robina Hood.”
The happy look that was once on his face soon dissipates into an angry scowl once more as he continues his monologue.
“Robina, you were a top rising star in APW when it closed down originally. Now you’re stuck facing the one wrestler on this show who’s not out to entertain the fans or to kiss everyone’s asses like these other wrestlers do. Black Hand, I’m looking at you. I’m just here to fucking hurt people. I don’t like people so I could give a crap less if you get hurt in the ring against me. I’m going to take you to the Suplex City, where the grass is green and the girls are ugly. And do you know why the girls are ugly?”
He points to the camera in an angry manner.
“Because they stepped into the ring with me. I’m not a sexist like some of these wrestlers are. I could care less if I’m wrestling a man or a woman. I don’t care about my opponent’s race or sexual orientation. That shit doesn’t matter to me at all. I only care about two things, hurting people and winning my match. That’s all that fucking matters to me. So you can come on here and go off on whatever spiel you want to about our match Robina. In all honesty I could give a fuck less about what you have to say because after this I’m probably gone from this industry again. I’m only coming back to show the fans what they’ve been missing out on with Michael Jennings not being in a ring for almost two years now. It’s all about choices and pragmatism in the decision making process as it relates to that. It’s like the bullshit with the Black Hand I was talking about earlier. It’s like basic morality, it’s almost biblical. Basically it’s I treat people the way they treat me and everyone who I thought I could trust treated me like a shadow. So now it’s my turn. I’m going to take all the anger and all I hate I have inside out on you, Robina. That’s the choice I’ve made. Now it’s not your fault and I apologize for my actions ahead of time but that doesn’t mean I’m going to change them. In all honesty this isn’t about money, it’s about sending a message. That message is going to be to all the fans who still think this is all entertainment and to my ‘friends’ who literally did not care enough about me to keep in contact. I’m here to fucking wrestle, not to entertain. I came back to inflict pain, not dance around like a sissy or walk around in some stupid gimmick costume like some wrestlers do. This match isn’t going to be a match in my mind, it’s going to be a war…
A war that I plan on winning.”
He grabs his beer and chugs down the rest of it before setting down the beer bottle on the table in front of him before continuing.
“I want you all to witness what I do. This isn’t going to happen for your entertainment, it’s for mine. I’m going to enjoy torturing Robina Hood and showing the wrestling world that I have one last match in me. My performance is going to be a statement and I plan on making one that you all remember. Nobody will ever forget me again after the Reunion Show, I GUARANTEE it.
Never forget…”
Michael picks up his beer bottle and leaves from the table to walk back to the bar to get a refill as the scene fades to black.
End.
