Post by estarr on Apr 3, 2008 8:46:08 GMT -4
Camera on. Ready? Let's go. Go back a couple of years. 2 years actually. The camera shot is of a farm in the middle of nowhere, Idaho - otherwise known as Greenleaf. The place where, by law, you are required to own a gun. You've probably heard of it. Actually, you probably haven't. It's in Idaho, and not a potato.
The farm has long rows of plowed fields surrounding it, a tractor running up and down the rows tilling the earth. Breath in the fresh earth smell. Breath it in! Smell that? Smells good for 'taters.
The camera finds its way up to the farmhouse, where we see a woman walk out with a silver platter in her hands, a glass jug, and two glasses with ice. She sets it down on a rickety wooden table, and pours the glasses out. She sits down on a bench and looks out the front of her property. A man then walks up alongside her, pats her on the shoulder, takes the remaining glass, and sits down beside the woman. This man is the woman's husband. That makes her his wife. Simple.
A couple of introductions: this couple is Mr and Mrs Ruby. They own the farm. Mr Ruby's father handed it down to him, and his father to him. His father stole the land from Native Americans, though the family will tell you that the blanket and whiskey was well worth the trade. Ever since then, they've grown potatoes - some of the best in Idaho. Twice they've won the tri-county Spud-Off. '69 and '88. Let's not talk about the '92 fiasco.
Mr Ruby: Is that boy up yet?
Mrs Ruby: Alf, he's been up for two days straight now. Ain't even left the basement.
Mr Ruby: Jeez Ethel, ain't you done something yet? *Mr Ruby stands up and walks back through the door, and stomps on the floor with his dirt-covered right boot. Great, now Ethel has to sweep again!* That boy is gonna make the worst tater farmer this generation has seen.
As Alf Ruby sits back down, a dull and muffled voice can barely be heard. Alf looks at Ruby, Ruby looks at Alf. Somewhere, a kid has gone missing. It's 10am. Do you know where yours children are?
Alf Ruby: What the heck did you say son!?
Alf seems to be yelling at his boots as he says that. Nothing out of the ordinary really. Then some rumbling from below, followed by a slamming door, and then loud, thudding footsteps. Emerging from inside the house is a 20-something man who hasn't shaved for nearly a week, seems to have worn more meals than is naturally possible from the looks of his shirt (which he got from the 2004 Linux Convention down in California - his last holiday), and is experiencing daylight for the first time in ages. His name? Jake Ruby.
Jake Ruby: I said I ain't going to be no spud farmer! I'm going to actually make something of myself, not sit around this state crop in, crop out.
Alf Ruby: Well, you ain't gonna do it sitting behind that dang-fangle computer for how many days straight Ethel?
Elthel Ruby: 3 days dear.
Alf Ruby: 3 days straight.
Alf takes a drink from his lemonade (that's what was in the pitcher) and sits back in his chair, comforted in the fact that he has harassed his 27 year old son, who is still living in their basement without any meaningful employment, yet again. Jake shakes his head with a sigh.
Jake Ruby: Neither of you understand. You never do! I'm roleplaying for a match *That gets a queer look from the parents* against one of the legends in e-fedding. Matt Cena. He hasn't been defeated in over a year. Plus he is the World Champion. If I win that belt, I become the triple-crown, undisputed champion of the WWEFANT-Xtreme 2004 V2.0. Don't you understand!? This is a big deal! You can't get this sort of glory in real life. You can't get this renowned out on a potato farm. How many people know your name outside of this town? Outside of this state? Huh?
Ethel Ruby: Calm down son ... here, have some lemonade.
Ethel hands her son her glass, from which Jake takes a drink. He is about to launch into a tirade once more, before he looks at the glass and nods.
Jake Ruby: This is good ma'. D'you make it this morning?
Ethel Ruby: Yes dear. I got the lemons from that drifter who passes through every now-and-then.
Alf Ruby: Ethel! Why'd you do that? You know he steals them from Old Jenkin's farm at night.
Ethel Ruby: If he's willing to walk 5 and a quarter mile to steal those lemons and bring them to us, I'll pay him. I don't see a closer lemon tree, do you?
Alf Ruby: Don't start again Ethel.
Ethel Ruby: All I'm saying is would it kill you to plant something other than potatoes?
Alf Ruby: It's to do with the soil Ethel!
As his parents fight, Jake turns and walks back in the house. The camera follows as Mr and Mrs Ruby's voices die down to a murmur. Jake walks around the house for a moment. It's a simple house, for simple people. He finds his way to the kitchen, leaves the half-full (or half empty, if you're of that persuasion) glass on the bench for his mother to clean later, and heads to a door. Opening up, there's a set of stairs headed down. Both Jake and the camera go, and they find a room lit with the incandescent glow of a computer monitor. Jake sits down behind his connection to the world (which happens to be unlimited on the plan his parents are paying for), and starts tapping at the keys. Off he goes, writing again, continuing his latest roleplay for WWEFANT-Xtreme 2004 V2.0. Wait, do you know what roleplaying is? This is, after all, the real deal.
The all-to familiar sound of a received MSN message plays over Jake's surround-sound speakers. Jake clicks on the flashing box. There his friend, Franko (screen name: IhateEMOS), from San Francisco has sent him a message about a wrestling training centre starting up in Franko's town. Jake replies that he's not interested at the moment, maybe later. Franko is quick to reply that he's been saying that for years now. An e-fight ensues in which Franko declares Jake to be nothing more than a n00bl3t and couldn't hack the real wrestling experience. Jake blocks Franko in a fit of frustration. It's the third time this month he's been blocked.
He returns to writing his roleplay, but it isn't long before his mind wonders to another place. To San Francisco's new wrestling school. He begins to think about it. Could he cut it as a real wrestler? What a stupid question - of course he could. He's only seen every pay per view since 1987. He can remember then as clear as day, even though he was 1 year old. And he's been to more than 5 (but less than 7) live wrestling shows. He's got a subscription to WWE's magazine, and sure, it might arrive a month or so late due to his remoteness, but it's all relative. He's won more belts than he can count (actually, he has a very detailed record dating back to the age of 12). Plus, he's run 11 feds, and only 8 of them are closed at the moment - but people have promised to come back to one of them, so that could drop down to 7. He can write the longest results, can write the longest roleplays, and can write the longest managerial explanation as to why you lost your match. Like most e-fedders out there, Jake believes that this qualifies him for more than just the title of 'a normal member of society' (which it most certainly doesn't) but for the job of 'a wrestler' (even longer shot here).
That day, Jake made the fateful decision to click that link that Franko sent him. And in the whirlwind of 2 and a half years, Jake didn't even have the time to unblock Franko to thank him for the opportunity. Because Jake signed up with the San Francisco wrestling school ... and then found out it costs $1550 for the course. So Jake took to the spud farm. He dirtied his hands and he toiled the earth, alongside his mother and father. And he peddled the potatoes into town, and there he would sell all that he could, pocket half of the profits, and then tell his parents that the sacks they brought had holes in them (that had clean-cut edges funnily enough) and some of the potatoes had fallen out on the way into 'the big smoke'.
Eventually Jake had his $1550, and he high-tailed his way to San Fransisco. He rocked up on Franko's doorstep (after using an IP locater on him before leaving Greenleaf) and there he shacked up through his course. A year later, with bruised skin and ego, he graduated and was shoved off into the real world of wrestling. He went around a few of the West Coast independent companies - the sort that run out of people's back yards. Then he managed to work his way into a company that owned a ring. It was a chance for Jake to show off his modest talents, and to get noticed.
And noticed he was. A scout for one of the 'big' companies spotted him, and in a devious act, approached him with a job opportunity. Of course, at the same time, another 'big' company representative was standing around, and seeing Jake and the opposition talking, figured that his company should muscle their way in. Suddenly, there was a bidding war over poor Jake from Greenleaf, Idaho. The negotiations were furious and aggressive. Jake didn't know what to do ... until a representative from APW heard the fru-ha-ha that was surrounding Jake Ruby and they snatched him out from under the noses of the competition.
And that's where we are now. Jake is walking out of the APW headquarters with an envelope in his hand. He's busted out his good (and only) suit for the occasion. And what is it? He just signed his new contract. And now he has something to say.
Jake: People of the APW, you're on notice. Jake Ruby is coming, and the knowledge and experience that I bring to this career of mine is unprecedented. I've held more titles than all of you put together. I've won more matches at a ratio that Microsoft Excel puts at 18 wins for every loss, and 68.9% of all my losses happened in the first year of my career, so that's saying something. Jake Ruby - it's a name that you'll be remembering for some time, trust me. And if you can't remember that, if it's past your character limit, then you can start calling me the E-Starr! It's where I started this glorious career of mine, on the intertubes, and now it's time I broke out into this real thing. I've seen how a company is run, I know how to win matches. I know what people are looking for in my promos. That's why I'm one of the most deadliest opponents this company is going to have. Just you wait and see. Catch you on the boards. *Jake goes to walk away, then turns back quickly* I mean ring. Catch you in the ring. Suckers.
The farm has long rows of plowed fields surrounding it, a tractor running up and down the rows tilling the earth. Breath in the fresh earth smell. Breath it in! Smell that? Smells good for 'taters.
The camera finds its way up to the farmhouse, where we see a woman walk out with a silver platter in her hands, a glass jug, and two glasses with ice. She sets it down on a rickety wooden table, and pours the glasses out. She sits down on a bench and looks out the front of her property. A man then walks up alongside her, pats her on the shoulder, takes the remaining glass, and sits down beside the woman. This man is the woman's husband. That makes her his wife. Simple.
A couple of introductions: this couple is Mr and Mrs Ruby. They own the farm. Mr Ruby's father handed it down to him, and his father to him. His father stole the land from Native Americans, though the family will tell you that the blanket and whiskey was well worth the trade. Ever since then, they've grown potatoes - some of the best in Idaho. Twice they've won the tri-county Spud-Off. '69 and '88. Let's not talk about the '92 fiasco.
Mr Ruby: Is that boy up yet?
Mrs Ruby: Alf, he's been up for two days straight now. Ain't even left the basement.
Mr Ruby: Jeez Ethel, ain't you done something yet? *Mr Ruby stands up and walks back through the door, and stomps on the floor with his dirt-covered right boot. Great, now Ethel has to sweep again!* That boy is gonna make the worst tater farmer this generation has seen.
As Alf Ruby sits back down, a dull and muffled voice can barely be heard. Alf looks at Ruby, Ruby looks at Alf. Somewhere, a kid has gone missing. It's 10am. Do you know where yours children are?
Alf Ruby: What the heck did you say son!?
Alf seems to be yelling at his boots as he says that. Nothing out of the ordinary really. Then some rumbling from below, followed by a slamming door, and then loud, thudding footsteps. Emerging from inside the house is a 20-something man who hasn't shaved for nearly a week, seems to have worn more meals than is naturally possible from the looks of his shirt (which he got from the 2004 Linux Convention down in California - his last holiday), and is experiencing daylight for the first time in ages. His name? Jake Ruby.
Jake Ruby: I said I ain't going to be no spud farmer! I'm going to actually make something of myself, not sit around this state crop in, crop out.
Alf Ruby: Well, you ain't gonna do it sitting behind that dang-fangle computer for how many days straight Ethel?
Elthel Ruby: 3 days dear.
Alf Ruby: 3 days straight.
Alf takes a drink from his lemonade (that's what was in the pitcher) and sits back in his chair, comforted in the fact that he has harassed his 27 year old son, who is still living in their basement without any meaningful employment, yet again. Jake shakes his head with a sigh.
Jake Ruby: Neither of you understand. You never do! I'm roleplaying for a match *That gets a queer look from the parents* against one of the legends in e-fedding. Matt Cena. He hasn't been defeated in over a year. Plus he is the World Champion. If I win that belt, I become the triple-crown, undisputed champion of the WWEFANT-Xtreme 2004 V2.0. Don't you understand!? This is a big deal! You can't get this sort of glory in real life. You can't get this renowned out on a potato farm. How many people know your name outside of this town? Outside of this state? Huh?
Ethel Ruby: Calm down son ... here, have some lemonade.
Ethel hands her son her glass, from which Jake takes a drink. He is about to launch into a tirade once more, before he looks at the glass and nods.
Jake Ruby: This is good ma'. D'you make it this morning?
Ethel Ruby: Yes dear. I got the lemons from that drifter who passes through every now-and-then.
Alf Ruby: Ethel! Why'd you do that? You know he steals them from Old Jenkin's farm at night.
Ethel Ruby: If he's willing to walk 5 and a quarter mile to steal those lemons and bring them to us, I'll pay him. I don't see a closer lemon tree, do you?
Alf Ruby: Don't start again Ethel.
Ethel Ruby: All I'm saying is would it kill you to plant something other than potatoes?
Alf Ruby: It's to do with the soil Ethel!
As his parents fight, Jake turns and walks back in the house. The camera follows as Mr and Mrs Ruby's voices die down to a murmur. Jake walks around the house for a moment. It's a simple house, for simple people. He finds his way to the kitchen, leaves the half-full (or half empty, if you're of that persuasion) glass on the bench for his mother to clean later, and heads to a door. Opening up, there's a set of stairs headed down. Both Jake and the camera go, and they find a room lit with the incandescent glow of a computer monitor. Jake sits down behind his connection to the world (which happens to be unlimited on the plan his parents are paying for), and starts tapping at the keys. Off he goes, writing again, continuing his latest roleplay for WWEFANT-Xtreme 2004 V2.0. Wait, do you know what roleplaying is? This is, after all, the real deal.
The all-to familiar sound of a received MSN message plays over Jake's surround-sound speakers. Jake clicks on the flashing box. There his friend, Franko (screen name: IhateEMOS), from San Francisco has sent him a message about a wrestling training centre starting up in Franko's town. Jake replies that he's not interested at the moment, maybe later. Franko is quick to reply that he's been saying that for years now. An e-fight ensues in which Franko declares Jake to be nothing more than a n00bl3t and couldn't hack the real wrestling experience. Jake blocks Franko in a fit of frustration. It's the third time this month he's been blocked.
He returns to writing his roleplay, but it isn't long before his mind wonders to another place. To San Francisco's new wrestling school. He begins to think about it. Could he cut it as a real wrestler? What a stupid question - of course he could. He's only seen every pay per view since 1987. He can remember then as clear as day, even though he was 1 year old. And he's been to more than 5 (but less than 7) live wrestling shows. He's got a subscription to WWE's magazine, and sure, it might arrive a month or so late due to his remoteness, but it's all relative. He's won more belts than he can count (actually, he has a very detailed record dating back to the age of 12). Plus, he's run 11 feds, and only 8 of them are closed at the moment - but people have promised to come back to one of them, so that could drop down to 7. He can write the longest results, can write the longest roleplays, and can write the longest managerial explanation as to why you lost your match. Like most e-fedders out there, Jake believes that this qualifies him for more than just the title of 'a normal member of society' (which it most certainly doesn't) but for the job of 'a wrestler' (even longer shot here).
That day, Jake made the fateful decision to click that link that Franko sent him. And in the whirlwind of 2 and a half years, Jake didn't even have the time to unblock Franko to thank him for the opportunity. Because Jake signed up with the San Francisco wrestling school ... and then found out it costs $1550 for the course. So Jake took to the spud farm. He dirtied his hands and he toiled the earth, alongside his mother and father. And he peddled the potatoes into town, and there he would sell all that he could, pocket half of the profits, and then tell his parents that the sacks they brought had holes in them (that had clean-cut edges funnily enough) and some of the potatoes had fallen out on the way into 'the big smoke'.
Eventually Jake had his $1550, and he high-tailed his way to San Fransisco. He rocked up on Franko's doorstep (after using an IP locater on him before leaving Greenleaf) and there he shacked up through his course. A year later, with bruised skin and ego, he graduated and was shoved off into the real world of wrestling. He went around a few of the West Coast independent companies - the sort that run out of people's back yards. Then he managed to work his way into a company that owned a ring. It was a chance for Jake to show off his modest talents, and to get noticed.
And noticed he was. A scout for one of the 'big' companies spotted him, and in a devious act, approached him with a job opportunity. Of course, at the same time, another 'big' company representative was standing around, and seeing Jake and the opposition talking, figured that his company should muscle their way in. Suddenly, there was a bidding war over poor Jake from Greenleaf, Idaho. The negotiations were furious and aggressive. Jake didn't know what to do ... until a representative from APW heard the fru-ha-ha that was surrounding Jake Ruby and they snatched him out from under the noses of the competition.
And that's where we are now. Jake is walking out of the APW headquarters with an envelope in his hand. He's busted out his good (and only) suit for the occasion. And what is it? He just signed his new contract. And now he has something to say.
Jake: People of the APW, you're on notice. Jake Ruby is coming, and the knowledge and experience that I bring to this career of mine is unprecedented. I've held more titles than all of you put together. I've won more matches at a ratio that Microsoft Excel puts at 18 wins for every loss, and 68.9% of all my losses happened in the first year of my career, so that's saying something. Jake Ruby - it's a name that you'll be remembering for some time, trust me. And if you can't remember that, if it's past your character limit, then you can start calling me the E-Starr! It's where I started this glorious career of mine, on the intertubes, and now it's time I broke out into this real thing. I've seen how a company is run, I know how to win matches. I know what people are looking for in my promos. That's why I'm one of the most deadliest opponents this company is going to have. Just you wait and see. Catch you on the boards. *Jake goes to walk away, then turns back quickly* I mean ring. Catch you in the ring. Suckers.
