Post by Jimmy The Lock on Nov 14, 2010 15:37:51 GMT -4
A Rough Day For Noah Riboflavin
We arrive at the newly-built C.R.A.P enterprises. As the camera pans around we see Crystal Mendoza, C.R.A.P's project manager shuffling through the main hallway with a stack of papers in her arms. She approaches the service desk in the center. At the desk sits Noah Riboflavin, who is the younger brother of Biff and Kenny. He also has the distinction of being the only member of the Riboflavin clan that wasn't a blasted idiot or murder suspect in six states. He's currently interning at C.R.A.P, working under James's Uncle Matthew, who is the regional manager.
Crystal: Hey, Jimmy wants everyone upstairs in five minutes. Supposedly some big announcement.
Noah: Oh not again! Remember the last "meeting" he called? He gathered every single person in this building and crammed us all into the conference room to let us know that he farted.
Crystal stifles laughter.
Crystal: Ok, you have a point. But it's not always so bad. We had hors d'oeuvres last time.
Noah: Hors d'oeuvres? They were cookie crisps with cottage cheese on them!
Crystal giggles politely and starts off toward the elevators.
Voice: Noah, gid yo narrow white ass in hea!
The mystery voice belonged to none other than Matthew Chambers himself. Viewers may remember him as James's impatient, hostile, and abrasive Uncle. He speaks rather incoherently, babbling on in unintelligible, incoherent rants. He especially hated Noah as his assistant, and made no bones about it. Instead of doing real work, he often forced Noah to do tasks that had nothing to do with his job description, such as taking his "momma" to the podiatrist for her bunions and having him fetch hot sauce. He glared at Noah.
Noah: Yes, Mr. Chambers?
Matthew: Whedda fuck iz mah crabb kakes? I assed you foddashit twunny menutts ago! Whaddafuck wrong wit ya? Ya dumb? Ya sick?
Noah: No, Mr. Chambers. I'll get right on it.
Meanwhile, we cut to the upstairs conference room. It is a large room, with a oversize oak table in the center. Plush leather chairs line either side of the table, and at the end of the table sits James. He is dressed in his signature pinstripe vest with a long sleeve white dress shirt underneath, with pants to match. Over the course of the next few minutes, his employees start to file in. At about the seven minute mark, the room is full. A patient James stands, and walks toward the front of the room. He surveys the crowd.
James: Everybody here, everybody comfy?
Biff: Yes, we are Mr.Cha--
James: Shut the FUCK UP, Biff!
Biff flinches.
James: Now, I'm standing here in the center of this room, and as i look around, i see all my faithful, hard working employees.....except one.
Puzzled looks fly among the confused workers.
James: Look around, that's right. Anybody missing here? Don't all answer at once!
Ironically, nobody answers at all.
James: WHERE THE FUCK IS NOAH RIBOFLAVIN?!
Just then, a soft thud and some rustling is heard. The door to the conference room flies open, and a flustered Noah Riboflavin stumbles in. He is red faced and wheezing like he's been running.
Noah: Mr. Chambers, i am so sorry, you have no idea---
James: Where the FUCK have you been?!
Noah: I was out getting Crab Cakes for Mr. Chambers---
James: WHAT?! I didn't ask for no motherfuckin' crab cakes! I don't even like seafood!
Noah: No, they're for Matthew---
Uncle Matthew: That Mr. Chambers to yue boy! Shoe sum respek foya eldaz!
James: You meant to tell me that Matthew sent you three blocks away to get crab cakes five minutes before this meeting?
Noah: Yes! That's what i've been trying to say this whole time!
James: He telling the truth, Matthew?
Uncle Matthew: Hell to da naw. The boy ask me if he can goe fo sum crabb cakes coz he hungray. I tell him to hurra da fukk up, cuz if hee sho up to dis meetin late thass his ass.
Noah: Mr. Chambers, James, that's not true.
James: Sit down, Noah.
Noah: Mr. Chambers, you have to believe me, i---
James: SIT THE FUCK DOWN NOAH!
Matthew mouths the words "Fuck You" to a defeated Noah as he shuffles over to the table and takes a seat at the head of the table. Of course, that's his seat, but James realizes there's no place else to sit, so he lets it pass.
James: Ok..now that EVERYBODY (staring at Noah) is present and accounted for, i can start the meeting. The first order of business. As you all know, last week, i announced my return to wrestling ring----
♪♫ WE SOME WESTSIDE NIGGAS AND WE RUNNIN THIS SHIT ♪♫
♪♫ WE SOME SOUTH SIDE NIGGAS AND WE RUNNIN THIS SHIT ♪♫
♪♫ WE SOME EAST SIDE NIGGAS AND WE RUNNIN THIS SHIT ♪♫
♪♫ WE SOME NORTH SIDE NIGGAS AND WE RUNNIN THIS SHIT ♪♫
The mysterious, loud phone interrupts James. The color drains from his face. He is livid. Everyone looks around confused as to who would have such offensive music as their ringtone. All looks shift toward the far end of the room, and the head of the table. Exactly where Noah Riboflavin was sitting. It's his phone. He is instantly terrified, but before he can get any words out, James walks briskly over to him. He glares at him, without saying a word. An awkward silence ensues for about thirty seconds. A pertified Noah has no choice but to look into the furious face of his boss.
Noah: Mr. Chambers, i'm sor--
James: GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY SEAT, MAN!
Noah stumbles out of the chair in fear, literally tripping over his own feet as he hightails it to the other side of the room.
James: Now, like i was saying before i was so RUDELY...interrupted. Next week, I'm making my big return to professional wrestling. The Insane Wrestling Championship has acquired my services and i am going back on the road. I need you guys to step it up while i'm gone. Another thing, i don't want anyone trying to pull any shit while I'm gone. That means NO lingerie parties....
Derek Chambers: Damn!
James: No hookers for lunch....
Matthew Chambers: Damn!
James: No staircase surfing contests.....
Flynt Cutler and Walter Rice: Damn!
James: No beer pong....
Amina Wallace: Damn!
James: No vicodin eating contests...
Daniel Tan and Andy Patel: Damn!
James: And please! Do not mix ground xanax into Biff's apple sauce. He was in a coma for three days.
Ashley Tumbleston: Damn.
James: And to make sure everything runs smoothly, i have assigned Crystal to keep me up to speed on everything that goes on. She's going to be my eyes, and ears, and for this week, and i do mean this week only....she will be in charge as acting CEO.
Ashley: Ok, so that was your big announcement?
James: Actually i have another announcement.
Crystal: Oh no.....
James: I farted.
Almost as soon as this is said, a big fat cloud of stink wafts over the entire room. All the employees pinch their noses. James grins ear to ear.
James: Meeting adjourned.
Everyone rushes out of the conference room in a huge mob, trying to escape the funky atmosphere. James strolls happily to the end of the room, at the the head of the conference table. He plops down in the leather chair.
CRUNCH!
A soft squishing follows. James stands up, and looks at the chair. Noah had left Matthew's crab cake lunch tray in the chair, and he had sat on it.
James:NOAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
An hour and a half, a quick shower, and a vicious tongue lashing of Noah Riboflavin later, we arrive in the personal top floor suite of James Chambers. Pants-less with shamelessly ashy kneecaps,he still wears boxers, dress socks, and shoes. He leans on his desk, and addresses the camera.
Well, here we are again. I bet all of you out there on TV land are probably thinking to yourselves, "Why?", "Why, after raking in all that cash in the EwC , after heading up a successful auto parts empire would you even think to return to the world of professional wrestling? Why would he put his family through the burden of wondering if he'll make it home, constantly worrying about him being injured in the ring?"
Well, the answer is simple. Like all great athletes, i just can't leave it alone. I can't just sit back, and let a bunch of guy-liner wearing, bikini waxing, spray tanning bags of queer bait tarnish the name of the sport that i helped to make important. Now, I'm not naive enough to think that all great things to happen in the industry in the past ten years is because of things I've done, But i do feel i deserve some credit for scalps I've collected.
Looking at the competition, I see a poser, a pedophile, and a fruit. And that's just referring to Harry Durden. Honestly Harry, i don't know anything about you, but I'm just going to just assume that you're just like any other Englishman. Your sub-par athletic skills on the American scale are considered world class in your country, the only thing you've repeated more times than the word "cunt" and "mate" is the eighth grade, and you have a mouth full of Boston baked beans for teeth.
Bottom line is this, i don't care what part of the world you're from. I've smacked bitches from all parts of the world. Hell, i even beat a guy from Latvia. Have you ever faced anyone from Latvia? Do you even fucking know where Latvia is? Or do you just think it's a brand of whiskey? All stereotypical English jokes aside, when November 21st rolls around, you'd better have a fucking breakfast, lunch, and dinner packed,because it's going to be a long night for ya.
So that brings me to the Crimson Ghost. Well, what can i say about you that hasn't been said about rectal cancer? You like to sit around in dark rooms in abandoned warehouses, laughing maniacally and furiously masturbating while talking to some unseen force. Seriously, Reginald? Who the fuck signed this guy? How did they get past the company psychological evaluations? Well since "They" or whoever's living in your head know so much, they're probably going to tell you this; James Chambers is going to win. But we're both going to the hospital.
You, to get the foot out your ass, and me to get my shoe back.
And Ethan Jones, just in case you think i forgot about you, i did. Out of this entire bunch of insults to professional wrestling, you are the least important. And for the record, what i said earlier about bikini waxing, spray tanning, bag of queer bait, i was referring to you. I see you're supposed to be some sort of bad ass from California. Son, if you even dream of whupping my ass you'd better wake up and apologize. There's nothing bad ass about a toolbag in a mandana with his pants around his ass, who gets trash thrown at him. You think they're booing because you're a villain? Wrong. They're booing because you suck, and they throw trash because the nearest garbage can is,well...you.
So with that said, November 21st , four critical facts about the IWC roster will be exposed. Harry Durden, in the tradition of his fellow countrymen, lacks the ability to take a punch. The Crimson Ghost is none other than Chris Kanyon, Ethan Jones is still not worth a witty closing remark, and James Chambers is the future of the IWC.
But at the end of the day, it doesn't matter how much trash i talk, how many threats i make, or how many jokes i crack. It's time to show and prove, and any one of you poor saps who get in my way will live to regret it.
