Post by Jimmy The Lock on Nov 29, 2010 9:28:09 GMT -4
The scene opens in a television studio in Atlanta. Some people may recognize this as the former home of EWC #24, the former personal network of James Chambers. Despite being on public access, the channel has garnered quite a following, and became a fixture in the investigative reporting community. Famed journalist Chris Hansen, when asked about the network, stated that he "fucking loved that shit" and that he "Watches it with his kids and his bitch all the time." An article on CNN.com called it "A breath of fresh air in a time when weak-ass bitches who are too scared to tell the truth."
You may remember such groundbreaking documentaries as Why Do Bitches Be Trippin'?,Nigga Please: Black America Responds to Mel Gibson and Students And The Teachers Who Fuck Them.
With James's change in companies, the network has received a new five year contract, and has been renamed IWC #24. The studio is neatly decorated, with a fine oak desk in the center as well as ficus trees lining the room's corners. A large flatscreen monitor sits in the center of the room, as James walks from behind it, grinning broadly.
James: Happy to see all your smiling faces again. Welcome to the new IWC #24 network. Today, you are all in for a treat. As you know, i will be taking on the Gambler and Chris Cyrus this weekend. Chris Cyrus is determined to take down the entire IWC roster by being anti-hardcore. The Gambler is apparently some shot out barfly trying recapture his glory days despite having Alzheimer's and one functional kidney. So i ventured out across the nation trying to find like minded people with the same motives, albeit in different situations, to try and get an idea of what i am getting myself into. So without further ado, our first report on the new IWC #24 network....
The camera zooms in on the monitor as it flickers to life.
Here we are at Bobby Lee Ray's House O' Cholesterol in Xenia, Ohio. This restaurant has been an important fixture in the community for decades, and is a major contributor its massively deteriorating population. Clogged arteries, high blood pressure, swollen ankles, heart disease, whatever your poison is, they have it here. People get years shaved off their lives on a nightly basis at this place. They could deep fry a CB radio if someone requested it.
We hear the approaching footsteps of the man known formerly known as "The Pork Chop Kid", now known as "The Vicar of Vegetables" Mike Magnus. As his name suggests, Mick is a 6 time competitive eating champion. He is the only the second surviving competitor to finish "Dan's massive meat stick" which is a gigantic quantity of prime rib roasted on a two by four. One fateful night after binging on pulled pork, New York Strip steak and bacon, Mike received the shock of his life when he came down with the gout on both of his big toes. He sat idle for days on end contemplating his future as a competitive eater. He decided, right then and there to become a vegan. He would no longer stuff his face with meat, if you'll pardon the expression.
He walks purposefully to the door, and slings it open, almost toppling the cameraman following him. It's business as usual around these parts, as we see a packed house with upwards of 40 fat lards sinning and grinning over their deep-fried delights. It also happens to be karaoke night, as we see a rather large married couple on stage, red faced and out of breath, wheezing their way through "Islands In The Stream" by Kenny Rogers and Dolly Parton. A young lady, most likely a waitress approaches Mick holding a platter of assorted meats.
Waitress: Would you like to try our heart attack special?
Mike: Bitch please!
Mike forcefully swipes the tray upward and into the waitress's face as all its contents go flying. The waitress runs off crying as Mike walks toward the stage. He steps up on the stage, and shoves both the husband and wife who were singing off stage. He grabs the microphone
Mike: Listen up, you pathetic bunch of beached whales! I am Captain Carrot! I am the King Of Corn! I am the Sultan of Steamed broccoli! Now which one of you shithouses was the other one besides me to finish Dan's Massive Meat stick?
A young lady raises her hand. An older woman, sitting at an adjacent table, nudges her.
Woman: Not that meat stick, honey.
The lady lowers her arm.
"I did!"
The entire crowd turns to see Jackson Rice, a former associate of Mike Magnus, who is still active on the competitive eating circuit. He stood at triumphantly at the front entrance, bearing a tense scowl.
Jackson: You causin' trouble in my town, Mike?
Mike: Maybe i am.
Jackson: I say we settle this, once and for all.
Mike: My thoughts exactly. One last hurrah. Next week, right here in a "Patrons bring the food" contest, eat till you drop. As the title suggests, all you idiots get to bring the food, which will hopefully be NOTHING!
Jackson: I accept!
Mike: EGGPLANT!
Mike reaches into his pocket, pulls out an eggplant, takes a massive bite out of itmand spits in the crowd as he walks out of the restaurant. On the way out, he is pelted by various meats and booed by the angry patrons.The scene fades and we return to James in the studio.
"As amusing as that was ladies and gentlemen, it's time to put aside the fun and games for a second, and take a stern look at what awaits us this Sunday. This weekend i have again been charged with the task of removing two rather large pieces of trash from the IWC roster. So what do i think of these clowns?
Let's start with Chris Cyrus, shall we? From what i hear, or to be accurate, from what i heard from one person, he was a mildly successful commodity in APW. Well, the fact of the matter is Chris, it doesn't matter what you've done in the APW or anywhere else. You're in the IWC now and no one, namely myself, gives two squirts of turkey jizz what you've achieved. Your best days are clearly behind you, and nobody takes you seriously anymore. You're basically the hall monitor of IWC. You can stand there in the middle of the hallway and pat your badge as sternly as you like, but you're still going to get gum spat in your face and knocked the fuck over.
Now even though my little documentary was strictly for comedic value, clearly there was a message behind it as well. The message is, you are a fucking fool if you think that you're going to just waltz in here, snapmare a couple of motherfuckers, and win the IWC Insane Championship. It doesn't work like that. I am so sick of you goddamned would be rebels. You have to be hardcore when everyone isn't hardcore , and now that you've signed a contract with the most hardcore organization on the planet, you go all purist on us. We get it man, you're edgy, you're counterculture, you're rebellious. You ignore wet floor signs. You run stop signs! When you see those little pamphlets about Jesus in gas stations, you take more than one! Toodle fucking ooh.
Unfortunately, that said rebelliousness isn't going to protect you from what is surely going to be one of the most one sided ass-beatings ever witnessed in the tri state area. Bottom line is, my goal is the IWC Insane Championship, and you're in my way. I know that sounds cliche, but its true. Your whole career has been a disappointment. Being Bigg's pet monkey, and then having to take a lowly side job as a referee. Hmm, the fact that you're an abject failure is a crushing revelation isn't it? Now you can say you beat Jason Royce, but if you truly think that's anything to write home about then you need your fucking head examined just as badly as he does, maybe even worse. So after Sunday, you can add a brutal beating at the hands of yours truly and being defecated on post match to the list of your many failures in life.
As far as your "Fans bring the weapons" match with Jason Royce, i have an idea. Hopefully there will be some whacked out pyro in attendance looking to get his rocks off who brings a couple sticks of dynamite, ties them to the ring posts and lights them. Now this doesn't benefit you in any way, but it spares IWC fans the sight of a guaranteed snooze fest, and at the same time some flamed out freak gets to blow his load to the sight of both your worthless corpses going up in flames. The greatest thing of all that comes from this is that both the APW and IWC universe will never have to hear from either one of you bottom tier bootlickers ever again!
Okay kids, Joke break. What's black and hasn't worked since 1983? And don't say my father.
The Gambler's Liver, of course! In all seriousness though Gambler, I know you're wondering why i didn't take time to lampoon you in a humorous mockumentary that pokes fun at every thing you stand for. Well, the truth is, a wrinkly dinosaur with a badly feathered mop of a hairstyle who spends his life poring over whiskey and playing blackjack with a broom in a seedy dive bar is funny enough on it's own. You should seriously ease up on that shit though. Growing up during the prohibition era is no excuse for putting away more booze than a liquor store stock boy.
The cameraman lets loose a stifled giggle.
Oh, did you like that one? Okay, i got another one, are you listening? The Gambler is so full of whiskey, he should be wearing a barrel! You like that one?
An awkward silence ensues.
Okay, I'll leave those alone for now. I'm going to get serious and shoot straight with you, Gambler. You may be a drunken, lazy,bastard. You might be a grumpy old prune who doesn't know when to say when. You may or may not have owned one of my ancestors. However, you are still considered my opposition, and that counts for something. Now, i hold my elders in the highest regard, but all of that goes out the window on Sunday. Just to give you a heads up, after i get done curb stomping that purist poser Chris Cyrus, i'm going to march across the ring, kick your walker out from under you, and then I'm going to commence to beating your liver spotted ass like you stole something. Hopefully when you come to, maybe you'll consider joining that polar bear club.
As for the rest of you losers in the back, I strongly advise every last one of you miserable fucks to pull up a chair and tune in so you can see what's about to transpire, because for some of you, that's going to serve as a preview of what's going to happen to some of you. I will demolish Chris Cyrus and the Gambler on Saturday. I will become the Insane Champion, and anyone who gets in my way will spit teeth, point blank period. I personally don't give two fucks whether any of you heed this warning or not, but i promise you, get in the ring with me, and I'll show you better than i can tell you.
Thank you all for tuning in, and remember, just because you can't beat James Chambers in a wrestling match, doesn't mean you can't get a job at Wal-Mart. Have a good night! Until next time, America!
With that, the camera slowly begins to pan upward as the credits begin rolling and the scene fades to black.
You may remember such groundbreaking documentaries as Why Do Bitches Be Trippin'?,Nigga Please: Black America Responds to Mel Gibson and Students And The Teachers Who Fuck Them.
With James's change in companies, the network has received a new five year contract, and has been renamed IWC #24. The studio is neatly decorated, with a fine oak desk in the center as well as ficus trees lining the room's corners. A large flatscreen monitor sits in the center of the room, as James walks from behind it, grinning broadly.
James: Happy to see all your smiling faces again. Welcome to the new IWC #24 network. Today, you are all in for a treat. As you know, i will be taking on the Gambler and Chris Cyrus this weekend. Chris Cyrus is determined to take down the entire IWC roster by being anti-hardcore. The Gambler is apparently some shot out barfly trying recapture his glory days despite having Alzheimer's and one functional kidney. So i ventured out across the nation trying to find like minded people with the same motives, albeit in different situations, to try and get an idea of what i am getting myself into. So without further ado, our first report on the new IWC #24 network....
The camera zooms in on the monitor as it flickers to life.
Here we are at Bobby Lee Ray's House O' Cholesterol in Xenia, Ohio. This restaurant has been an important fixture in the community for decades, and is a major contributor its massively deteriorating population. Clogged arteries, high blood pressure, swollen ankles, heart disease, whatever your poison is, they have it here. People get years shaved off their lives on a nightly basis at this place. They could deep fry a CB radio if someone requested it.
We hear the approaching footsteps of the man known formerly known as "The Pork Chop Kid", now known as "The Vicar of Vegetables" Mike Magnus. As his name suggests, Mick is a 6 time competitive eating champion. He is the only the second surviving competitor to finish "Dan's massive meat stick" which is a gigantic quantity of prime rib roasted on a two by four. One fateful night after binging on pulled pork, New York Strip steak and bacon, Mike received the shock of his life when he came down with the gout on both of his big toes. He sat idle for days on end contemplating his future as a competitive eater. He decided, right then and there to become a vegan. He would no longer stuff his face with meat, if you'll pardon the expression.
He walks purposefully to the door, and slings it open, almost toppling the cameraman following him. It's business as usual around these parts, as we see a packed house with upwards of 40 fat lards sinning and grinning over their deep-fried delights. It also happens to be karaoke night, as we see a rather large married couple on stage, red faced and out of breath, wheezing their way through "Islands In The Stream" by Kenny Rogers and Dolly Parton. A young lady, most likely a waitress approaches Mick holding a platter of assorted meats.
Waitress: Would you like to try our heart attack special?
Mike: Bitch please!
Mike forcefully swipes the tray upward and into the waitress's face as all its contents go flying. The waitress runs off crying as Mike walks toward the stage. He steps up on the stage, and shoves both the husband and wife who were singing off stage. He grabs the microphone
Mike: Listen up, you pathetic bunch of beached whales! I am Captain Carrot! I am the King Of Corn! I am the Sultan of Steamed broccoli! Now which one of you shithouses was the other one besides me to finish Dan's Massive Meat stick?
A young lady raises her hand. An older woman, sitting at an adjacent table, nudges her.
Woman: Not that meat stick, honey.
The lady lowers her arm.
"I did!"
The entire crowd turns to see Jackson Rice, a former associate of Mike Magnus, who is still active on the competitive eating circuit. He stood at triumphantly at the front entrance, bearing a tense scowl.
Jackson: You causin' trouble in my town, Mike?
Mike: Maybe i am.
Jackson: I say we settle this, once and for all.
Mike: My thoughts exactly. One last hurrah. Next week, right here in a "Patrons bring the food" contest, eat till you drop. As the title suggests, all you idiots get to bring the food, which will hopefully be NOTHING!
Jackson: I accept!
Mike: EGGPLANT!
Mike reaches into his pocket, pulls out an eggplant, takes a massive bite out of itmand spits in the crowd as he walks out of the restaurant. On the way out, he is pelted by various meats and booed by the angry patrons.The scene fades and we return to James in the studio.
"As amusing as that was ladies and gentlemen, it's time to put aside the fun and games for a second, and take a stern look at what awaits us this Sunday. This weekend i have again been charged with the task of removing two rather large pieces of trash from the IWC roster. So what do i think of these clowns?
Let's start with Chris Cyrus, shall we? From what i hear, or to be accurate, from what i heard from one person, he was a mildly successful commodity in APW. Well, the fact of the matter is Chris, it doesn't matter what you've done in the APW or anywhere else. You're in the IWC now and no one, namely myself, gives two squirts of turkey jizz what you've achieved. Your best days are clearly behind you, and nobody takes you seriously anymore. You're basically the hall monitor of IWC. You can stand there in the middle of the hallway and pat your badge as sternly as you like, but you're still going to get gum spat in your face and knocked the fuck over.
Now even though my little documentary was strictly for comedic value, clearly there was a message behind it as well. The message is, you are a fucking fool if you think that you're going to just waltz in here, snapmare a couple of motherfuckers, and win the IWC Insane Championship. It doesn't work like that. I am so sick of you goddamned would be rebels. You have to be hardcore when everyone isn't hardcore , and now that you've signed a contract with the most hardcore organization on the planet, you go all purist on us. We get it man, you're edgy, you're counterculture, you're rebellious. You ignore wet floor signs. You run stop signs! When you see those little pamphlets about Jesus in gas stations, you take more than one! Toodle fucking ooh.
Unfortunately, that said rebelliousness isn't going to protect you from what is surely going to be one of the most one sided ass-beatings ever witnessed in the tri state area. Bottom line is, my goal is the IWC Insane Championship, and you're in my way. I know that sounds cliche, but its true. Your whole career has been a disappointment. Being Bigg's pet monkey, and then having to take a lowly side job as a referee. Hmm, the fact that you're an abject failure is a crushing revelation isn't it? Now you can say you beat Jason Royce, but if you truly think that's anything to write home about then you need your fucking head examined just as badly as he does, maybe even worse. So after Sunday, you can add a brutal beating at the hands of yours truly and being defecated on post match to the list of your many failures in life.
As far as your "Fans bring the weapons" match with Jason Royce, i have an idea. Hopefully there will be some whacked out pyro in attendance looking to get his rocks off who brings a couple sticks of dynamite, ties them to the ring posts and lights them. Now this doesn't benefit you in any way, but it spares IWC fans the sight of a guaranteed snooze fest, and at the same time some flamed out freak gets to blow his load to the sight of both your worthless corpses going up in flames. The greatest thing of all that comes from this is that both the APW and IWC universe will never have to hear from either one of you bottom tier bootlickers ever again!
Okay kids, Joke break. What's black and hasn't worked since 1983? And don't say my father.
The Gambler's Liver, of course! In all seriousness though Gambler, I know you're wondering why i didn't take time to lampoon you in a humorous mockumentary that pokes fun at every thing you stand for. Well, the truth is, a wrinkly dinosaur with a badly feathered mop of a hairstyle who spends his life poring over whiskey and playing blackjack with a broom in a seedy dive bar is funny enough on it's own. You should seriously ease up on that shit though. Growing up during the prohibition era is no excuse for putting away more booze than a liquor store stock boy.
The cameraman lets loose a stifled giggle.
Oh, did you like that one? Okay, i got another one, are you listening? The Gambler is so full of whiskey, he should be wearing a barrel! You like that one?
An awkward silence ensues.
Okay, I'll leave those alone for now. I'm going to get serious and shoot straight with you, Gambler. You may be a drunken, lazy,bastard. You might be a grumpy old prune who doesn't know when to say when. You may or may not have owned one of my ancestors. However, you are still considered my opposition, and that counts for something. Now, i hold my elders in the highest regard, but all of that goes out the window on Sunday. Just to give you a heads up, after i get done curb stomping that purist poser Chris Cyrus, i'm going to march across the ring, kick your walker out from under you, and then I'm going to commence to beating your liver spotted ass like you stole something. Hopefully when you come to, maybe you'll consider joining that polar bear club.
As for the rest of you losers in the back, I strongly advise every last one of you miserable fucks to pull up a chair and tune in so you can see what's about to transpire, because for some of you, that's going to serve as a preview of what's going to happen to some of you. I will demolish Chris Cyrus and the Gambler on Saturday. I will become the Insane Champion, and anyone who gets in my way will spit teeth, point blank period. I personally don't give two fucks whether any of you heed this warning or not, but i promise you, get in the ring with me, and I'll show you better than i can tell you.
Thank you all for tuning in, and remember, just because you can't beat James Chambers in a wrestling match, doesn't mean you can't get a job at Wal-Mart. Have a good night! Until next time, America!
With that, the camera slowly begins to pan upward as the credits begin rolling and the scene fades to black.
