Post by Jimmy The Lock on Dec 17, 2010 23:58:55 GMT -4
The scene opens in C.R.A.P's conference room. , the room is adorned with Christmas Decor. Lights, stockings, wreaths, so on and so forth. The large oak table has been removed to create space in the room. In the far right corner is a beautiful tree complete with all the trimmings, including Tinsel, lights, candy canes and glass bulbs. A mountain of colorfully wrapped presents sits under the tree. On top of the tree sits a gold star with James's face on it. Just then, the door opens. Biff Riboflavin walks in, dressed as an elf. He is followed by a large group of children,who look be anywhere from eight to eleven years old.
Biff: Alright kids, be seated. Jimmy will be in any minute.
Child #1: You look like a douche with those elf ears.
The children eventually sit Indian style on the floor, anxiously awaiting James's arrival. "Rockin' Around The Christmas Tree" crescendos through the speakers of the conference room and James enters the room wearing a ridiculously festive holiday sweater. The damn thing is so bright, it should have come with a volume switch.
Kid#2: My eyes!
James takes a seat in a recliner positioned at the front of the room, facing the children.
James: Thanks Biff, cut the music.
Biff quickly rushes over to the laptop on the podium that controls the music. He gives the mouse a few clicks and it seems the music has been cut off. But then
♪♫ STRAIGHT OUTTA COMPTON, A CRAZY MOTHA FUCKA NAMED ICE CUBE♪♫
♪♫ FROM THE GANG CALLED NIGGAZ WITH ATTITUDE♪♫
♪♫ AND WHEN I'M CALLED OFF, I GOT A SAWED OFF♪♫
♪♫ SQUEEZE THE TRIGGER AND BODIES GET HAULED OFF♪♫
♪♫ YOU TOO BOY IF YOU FUCK WITH ME, THE POLICE ARE GONNA HAVE TO COME AND GET ME OF YO ASS, THAT'S HOW I'M GOIN OUT.....♪♫
A few kids cover their mouths in shock, while some nod their heads.
James: Biff! Cut that OFF!
Biff: Sorry, Jimmy! I must have hit the wrong button!
Biff begins mashing the keyboard frantically, desperately trying to stop the vulgar music. Instead, he ends up playing "We Want Some Pussy" by the 2 Live Crew and "Bitches Ain't Shit" by Snoop Dogg. Finally, James snaps, and begins smashing Biff's laptop on the floor and stomping it until there is nothing left. Biff looks on in horror, as he watches $250 and a four hour wait in line at Best Buy on Black Friday go down the drain. The children are terrified as well. But then again, wouldn't you be traumatized at the sight of an angry black man in a sweater even Bill Cosby wouldn't wear embroiled in a fit of blind rage? After he notices the shocked expressions of all in the room, James recomposes himself, adjusts his sweater, and retakes his seat.
James: Now let's get this shit over with.
Boy#1: Mr. Chambers? Do we get those presents under the tree?
James: Oh, those aren't presents. Those are boxes of returned defective brake pads.
Girl#2: So why are we even here?
James: Well, every cookie cutter Christmas themed professional wrestling promo must feature an obligatory appearance by a random multiracial assortment of kids. With that said, it's time to get this show on the road. This past weekend, I did some Christmas shopping of my own. Biff, bring in the cart.
Biff leaves the room, and returns with a mail cart overloaded with colorfully wrapped boxes. The kids begin smiling and high fiving each other.
James: Easy, easy, test tube babies. Those aren't yours either.
The kids let out a collective "awww".
James: I realize some of my comments in my last promo were a bit harsh. So, like the true sportsman I am, I went out in the spirit of the season and purchased some gifts for my opponents to let them know that there are no hard feelings.
James reaches for the cart and pulls it towards him as he grabs the first box with both hands. He reads the name tag on it.
James: Let's see..the first gift is for Harry Durden.
James tears off the gift wrap, and holds it up to the camera.
James: A nifty Job Application, redeemable at any local business of your choice! Because we all know you won't have a job after Sunday Night.
James grabs another box.
James: Damian Dimitri. I'm confident that you will get more out of your gift than anyone.
A brand new, never used, fully functional mind of your own! How do you like that? Damian, with this mind of your own you can do things you never thought you imaginable, such as thinking for yourself, solving basic math problems, completing sentences and wiping your own ass. Put it to good use!
So, a man who makes his living off of recycling aluminum cans and hawking stolen copper has the nerve to call me a mongoloid. On a side note, I'm really impressed that you know the word mongoloid. I guess this mind of your own is working already, but I digress. A man who cuts promos and lives in a condemned shithole slash sex slave rapist dungeon not fit for lowest form of human being called me lazy. A man who associates himself with the most loathsome pieces of third world garbage in the business called me obnoxious. Anyone else see the irony here? First, you say it should be just the both of us in a match. And then, when I shit on you for being a kiss ass, all of sudden I don't even deserve to be mentioned in your promos. That's the equivalent of a chick slashing a guy's tires after being rejected. So guess what that makes you? A woman scorned, a bitch with hurt feelings. It appears you have the wrong impression of me Damian, so I'm going to make a few things perfectly clear. James Chambers doesn't give props. He doesn't accept props. James Chambers puts asses in seats, and third rate shitbirds like you in the hospital. So I'm going to tell you in my finest French, fuck your compliments and your sentiments, fuck your principles and your priorities, and most importantly, fuck your life.
Nobody's going to remember moi in a year? Wow, you, Fagwell and Kristalmethstina must be smoking more than weed to be able to say that with a straight face. Bitch, you listen and listen good. The second I'm forgotten is the lifetime you were never born. My worst day in a week is the best you've ever experienced in your miserable fucking existence. You're a diseased skidmark in the toilet bowl that every Dysentery ridden ass shits in, and don't you ever forget that. And if it's this easy for me to mindfuck you before we even step in a ring, can you imagine what's going to happen the night of the event? Don't answer that, because come Massacre on 34th Street, I'm going to put an end to this Barbed Wire Buzzsaw bullshit, and you can go running back to Big Daddy Trev's loving arms for good. Dismissed!
James reaches into the mail cart, and removes another box, labeled for Madok.
Hopefully, this will help curtail that sharp tongue of yours. I'm sure Pence's asshole will be grateful. It seems you're upset about my opinion on your relationship with Pence. "Blah, Blah, I'm not Pence's puppy, blah blah blah, I always get the first reach around..." Whatever, I get it. If it means that damn much to you, then You're not Pence's puppy, man slave, or personal bitch. You guys are both equal in terms of being loud mouthed, long winded closet fags that love the cock, okay? And don't worry, I'm not underestimating you, I'm just trying to pound into your thick cranium that you will not win. Sure, you'll be in the main event someday,someday being the operative word, But as long as I'm around kid, you'll always be second best.
James reaches for the next gift.
James: Anthony James, this is from the heart.
I shouldn't even have to explain this one. You're a flamer, you know it, I know it, everyone on the roster knows it. You'd suck a dick for a diet coke. You took a shit last week and Boy George came out. You couldn't be gayer if you had "loading zone" embroidered on the back of your wrestling tights. Fucking smart ass, Judo Jimmy isn't going to bust out any Kung Fu moves. Judo Jimmy's going to bust out a big old box of Gadsen, Alabama back yard beatdown to break off on your monkey ass. Don't worry, maybe if your still in one piece at the conclusion of this match, perhaps Reginald will include you in whatever sexually objectifying caper he has planned next for the ladies of IWC.
James then grabs another box, this time for Isabella Pazzini.
Now before all the women's rights activists in the audience get all touchy, I didn't a Magic Bullet for Isabella because she's a woman. It just so happens that I got a really good deal on this at that "As Seen On TV" store in the mall. Don't worry, you're going to need this magic bullet anyway, as you probably won't be eating solid food for some time. It's no fun talking to someone who doesn't talk back. So now, you get to be the Tina to my Ike. Get ready to eat the cake Anna Mae, because Jimmy's coming for you.
James reaches for the final gift, labeled for Amber Stevens.
No explanation needed here. Have fun on the undercard, Amber! I couldn't forget my honorable mention.....Trevor "The Paragon Of Hardcore Buttsecks" Blackwell. Now you didn't think I was going to forget about you, did you sweet pea? I got you the most valuable gift of all.
A crowbar, for the EMTs to remove my foot from your gritty bunghole at the end of the night. You know, Trevor, i was honestly expecting some better quips from you, since you are the so called "Paragon Of Hardcore" but i guess you and little Damian are one and the same, yet you have the nerve to contradict yourself by calling me uninspired. I'm sorry if my promos aren't filmed by the same homeless film school dropout with a piece of shit camera who gets paid in crack rocks and blow jobs from Kristina, in the same pig sty complete with voided bowels EVERY FUCKING TIME. That's Martin Scorcese shit right there, nobody can top that. Congratulations on being 6088653943994th person to let the world know that I'm black, because in case i ever forget, you're the one I'll come to. But don't worry, You'll know what being black is all about soon enough, because at the end of the night, I'm going to kick your ass so bad that you're going to be ashy. I'm going to kick your ass so bad that your credit score is going to drop a few points, and you're going to have sudden cravings for fried chicken. You want to talk about my company and relatives on my payroll. Well, I'd rather have my alcoholic Uncle and prison rapist brother on my staff than Crackwhore Kristina stealing silverware from the break room, or Cock Boy Dmitri stealing pills from the first aid kit.
I hate to shatter your feeble little world, but my IWC check isn't enough to pay the fucking pool boy. I don't need this shit, i just do it to let grimy little runts like you know that no matter how many main events you headline, no matter how much blood you spill, i will always and forever by eons above you in every sense of the word. I was the champ in EWC with only the best competition, where if you would have even thought of joining up, you would have been easily bested by the likes of John Green. I know your kind, Trevor. You're intimidated by anyone who might be just a teensy bit more successful than you. Evidence of that is Level One's dick being jammed so far down your fat gullet that you're having reverse anal sex with him. I lost to Chris Cyrus because i made a mistake. You lose because you suck out loud. By the way dumbshit, that was only my fourth loss in 48 matches. That's not too shabby compared to you, whose only reason for being here is because you kept getting butt fucked in APW. You were thrown away like whore's tampon, and now you've taken refuge here trying to recapture glory before it's too late. You don't strike me as a religious man, so you'll be delighted to know that you won't have to pray, because it's a certainty that I'm going to snap Damian's little chicken neck, and then I'm going to come into the main event, fresh as a daisy and fuck you all up and down Long Island. FYI, i don't think participating in "Loser Must Soak Their dick In gasoline and ass fuck a Transexual Hooker" matches in shit pile bingo halls in West Bubble Fuck, Montana counts as headlining pay per views, or whatever the fuck you said.
And as for the rest of you maggots in the back that are vying for a slot in the main event. You're all just obstacles, nothing more, nothing less. This isn't just the crowning of a new champion, this is the dawn of a new era. Not only will the IWC Insane Championship be mine, but IWC as a whole will belong to me as well. At the conclusion of Massacre on 34th street, this merger will be complete. James Chambers, owner and operator of the Insane Wrestling Championship. Maybe, if some of you are lucky, you'll get to keep your jobs. And that concludes the James Chambers Christmas special. Biff?
Biff: Yes?
Go in my office and grab the radio, and that CD on the top shelf of CD tower.
Biff: Right away, Jimmy!
Biff hustles out of the office, and returns about five minutes later with the radio.
James: And now, i leave you with the musical stylings of Neil Diamond and his Christmas Album, a Cherry Cherry Christmas. And i hope you all have a Cherry, Cherry, Christmas. Biff?
Biff inserts the CD into the slot and presses play.
♪♫ FIRST OFF, FUCK YO BITCH AND THE CLIQUE YOU CLAIM♪♫
♪♫ WESTSIDE WHEN WE RIDE COME EQUIPPED WITH GAME♪♫
YOU CLAIM TO BE A PLAYA BUT I FUCKED YOUR WIFE♪♫
WE BUSS ON BAD BOYS NIGGAS FUCKED FOR LIFE♪♫
♪♫ PLUS PUFFY TRYIN TO STEP, WEAK HEARTS I RIP,♪♫
♪♫ BIGGIE SMALLS AND JUNIOR MAFIA SOME MARK ASS BITCHES......♪♫
James: WHAT THE FUCKIN' FUCK, BIFF?!
The scene fades as "Hit Em Up" continues playing and James continues to verbally castrate Biff while horrifying the poor children at the same time.
Biff: Alright kids, be seated. Jimmy will be in any minute.
Child #1: You look like a douche with those elf ears.
The children eventually sit Indian style on the floor, anxiously awaiting James's arrival. "Rockin' Around The Christmas Tree" crescendos through the speakers of the conference room and James enters the room wearing a ridiculously festive holiday sweater. The damn thing is so bright, it should have come with a volume switch.
Kid#2: My eyes!
James takes a seat in a recliner positioned at the front of the room, facing the children.
James: Thanks Biff, cut the music.
Biff quickly rushes over to the laptop on the podium that controls the music. He gives the mouse a few clicks and it seems the music has been cut off. But then
♪♫ STRAIGHT OUTTA COMPTON, A CRAZY MOTHA FUCKA NAMED ICE CUBE♪♫
♪♫ FROM THE GANG CALLED NIGGAZ WITH ATTITUDE♪♫
♪♫ AND WHEN I'M CALLED OFF, I GOT A SAWED OFF♪♫
♪♫ SQUEEZE THE TRIGGER AND BODIES GET HAULED OFF♪♫
♪♫ YOU TOO BOY IF YOU FUCK WITH ME, THE POLICE ARE GONNA HAVE TO COME AND GET ME OF YO ASS, THAT'S HOW I'M GOIN OUT.....♪♫
A few kids cover their mouths in shock, while some nod their heads.
James: Biff! Cut that OFF!
Biff: Sorry, Jimmy! I must have hit the wrong button!
Biff begins mashing the keyboard frantically, desperately trying to stop the vulgar music. Instead, he ends up playing "We Want Some Pussy" by the 2 Live Crew and "Bitches Ain't Shit" by Snoop Dogg. Finally, James snaps, and begins smashing Biff's laptop on the floor and stomping it until there is nothing left. Biff looks on in horror, as he watches $250 and a four hour wait in line at Best Buy on Black Friday go down the drain. The children are terrified as well. But then again, wouldn't you be traumatized at the sight of an angry black man in a sweater even Bill Cosby wouldn't wear embroiled in a fit of blind rage? After he notices the shocked expressions of all in the room, James recomposes himself, adjusts his sweater, and retakes his seat.
James: Now let's get this shit over with.
Boy#1: Mr. Chambers? Do we get those presents under the tree?
James: Oh, those aren't presents. Those are boxes of returned defective brake pads.
Girl#2: So why are we even here?
James: Well, every cookie cutter Christmas themed professional wrestling promo must feature an obligatory appearance by a random multiracial assortment of kids. With that said, it's time to get this show on the road. This past weekend, I did some Christmas shopping of my own. Biff, bring in the cart.
Biff leaves the room, and returns with a mail cart overloaded with colorfully wrapped boxes. The kids begin smiling and high fiving each other.
James: Easy, easy, test tube babies. Those aren't yours either.
The kids let out a collective "awww".
James: I realize some of my comments in my last promo were a bit harsh. So, like the true sportsman I am, I went out in the spirit of the season and purchased some gifts for my opponents to let them know that there are no hard feelings.
James reaches for the cart and pulls it towards him as he grabs the first box with both hands. He reads the name tag on it.
James: Let's see..the first gift is for Harry Durden.
James tears off the gift wrap, and holds it up to the camera.
James: A nifty Job Application, redeemable at any local business of your choice! Because we all know you won't have a job after Sunday Night.
James grabs another box.
James: Damian Dimitri. I'm confident that you will get more out of your gift than anyone.
A brand new, never used, fully functional mind of your own! How do you like that? Damian, with this mind of your own you can do things you never thought you imaginable, such as thinking for yourself, solving basic math problems, completing sentences and wiping your own ass. Put it to good use!
So, a man who makes his living off of recycling aluminum cans and hawking stolen copper has the nerve to call me a mongoloid. On a side note, I'm really impressed that you know the word mongoloid. I guess this mind of your own is working already, but I digress. A man who cuts promos and lives in a condemned shithole slash sex slave rapist dungeon not fit for lowest form of human being called me lazy. A man who associates himself with the most loathsome pieces of third world garbage in the business called me obnoxious. Anyone else see the irony here? First, you say it should be just the both of us in a match. And then, when I shit on you for being a kiss ass, all of sudden I don't even deserve to be mentioned in your promos. That's the equivalent of a chick slashing a guy's tires after being rejected. So guess what that makes you? A woman scorned, a bitch with hurt feelings. It appears you have the wrong impression of me Damian, so I'm going to make a few things perfectly clear. James Chambers doesn't give props. He doesn't accept props. James Chambers puts asses in seats, and third rate shitbirds like you in the hospital. So I'm going to tell you in my finest French, fuck your compliments and your sentiments, fuck your principles and your priorities, and most importantly, fuck your life.
Nobody's going to remember moi in a year? Wow, you, Fagwell and Kristalmethstina must be smoking more than weed to be able to say that with a straight face. Bitch, you listen and listen good. The second I'm forgotten is the lifetime you were never born. My worst day in a week is the best you've ever experienced in your miserable fucking existence. You're a diseased skidmark in the toilet bowl that every Dysentery ridden ass shits in, and don't you ever forget that. And if it's this easy for me to mindfuck you before we even step in a ring, can you imagine what's going to happen the night of the event? Don't answer that, because come Massacre on 34th Street, I'm going to put an end to this Barbed Wire Buzzsaw bullshit, and you can go running back to Big Daddy Trev's loving arms for good. Dismissed!
James reaches into the mail cart, and removes another box, labeled for Madok.
Hopefully, this will help curtail that sharp tongue of yours. I'm sure Pence's asshole will be grateful. It seems you're upset about my opinion on your relationship with Pence. "Blah, Blah, I'm not Pence's puppy, blah blah blah, I always get the first reach around..." Whatever, I get it. If it means that damn much to you, then You're not Pence's puppy, man slave, or personal bitch. You guys are both equal in terms of being loud mouthed, long winded closet fags that love the cock, okay? And don't worry, I'm not underestimating you, I'm just trying to pound into your thick cranium that you will not win. Sure, you'll be in the main event someday,someday being the operative word, But as long as I'm around kid, you'll always be second best.
James reaches for the next gift.
James: Anthony James, this is from the heart.
I shouldn't even have to explain this one. You're a flamer, you know it, I know it, everyone on the roster knows it. You'd suck a dick for a diet coke. You took a shit last week and Boy George came out. You couldn't be gayer if you had "loading zone" embroidered on the back of your wrestling tights. Fucking smart ass, Judo Jimmy isn't going to bust out any Kung Fu moves. Judo Jimmy's going to bust out a big old box of Gadsen, Alabama back yard beatdown to break off on your monkey ass. Don't worry, maybe if your still in one piece at the conclusion of this match, perhaps Reginald will include you in whatever sexually objectifying caper he has planned next for the ladies of IWC.
James then grabs another box, this time for Isabella Pazzini.
Now before all the women's rights activists in the audience get all touchy, I didn't a Magic Bullet for Isabella because she's a woman. It just so happens that I got a really good deal on this at that "As Seen On TV" store in the mall. Don't worry, you're going to need this magic bullet anyway, as you probably won't be eating solid food for some time. It's no fun talking to someone who doesn't talk back. So now, you get to be the Tina to my Ike. Get ready to eat the cake Anna Mae, because Jimmy's coming for you.
James reaches for the final gift, labeled for Amber Stevens.
No explanation needed here. Have fun on the undercard, Amber! I couldn't forget my honorable mention.....Trevor "The Paragon Of Hardcore Buttsecks" Blackwell. Now you didn't think I was going to forget about you, did you sweet pea? I got you the most valuable gift of all.
A crowbar, for the EMTs to remove my foot from your gritty bunghole at the end of the night. You know, Trevor, i was honestly expecting some better quips from you, since you are the so called "Paragon Of Hardcore" but i guess you and little Damian are one and the same, yet you have the nerve to contradict yourself by calling me uninspired. I'm sorry if my promos aren't filmed by the same homeless film school dropout with a piece of shit camera who gets paid in crack rocks and blow jobs from Kristina, in the same pig sty complete with voided bowels EVERY FUCKING TIME. That's Martin Scorcese shit right there, nobody can top that. Congratulations on being 6088653943994th person to let the world know that I'm black, because in case i ever forget, you're the one I'll come to. But don't worry, You'll know what being black is all about soon enough, because at the end of the night, I'm going to kick your ass so bad that you're going to be ashy. I'm going to kick your ass so bad that your credit score is going to drop a few points, and you're going to have sudden cravings for fried chicken. You want to talk about my company and relatives on my payroll. Well, I'd rather have my alcoholic Uncle and prison rapist brother on my staff than Crackwhore Kristina stealing silverware from the break room, or Cock Boy Dmitri stealing pills from the first aid kit.
I hate to shatter your feeble little world, but my IWC check isn't enough to pay the fucking pool boy. I don't need this shit, i just do it to let grimy little runts like you know that no matter how many main events you headline, no matter how much blood you spill, i will always and forever by eons above you in every sense of the word. I was the champ in EWC with only the best competition, where if you would have even thought of joining up, you would have been easily bested by the likes of John Green. I know your kind, Trevor. You're intimidated by anyone who might be just a teensy bit more successful than you. Evidence of that is Level One's dick being jammed so far down your fat gullet that you're having reverse anal sex with him. I lost to Chris Cyrus because i made a mistake. You lose because you suck out loud. By the way dumbshit, that was only my fourth loss in 48 matches. That's not too shabby compared to you, whose only reason for being here is because you kept getting butt fucked in APW. You were thrown away like whore's tampon, and now you've taken refuge here trying to recapture glory before it's too late. You don't strike me as a religious man, so you'll be delighted to know that you won't have to pray, because it's a certainty that I'm going to snap Damian's little chicken neck, and then I'm going to come into the main event, fresh as a daisy and fuck you all up and down Long Island. FYI, i don't think participating in "Loser Must Soak Their dick In gasoline and ass fuck a Transexual Hooker" matches in shit pile bingo halls in West Bubble Fuck, Montana counts as headlining pay per views, or whatever the fuck you said.
And as for the rest of you maggots in the back that are vying for a slot in the main event. You're all just obstacles, nothing more, nothing less. This isn't just the crowning of a new champion, this is the dawn of a new era. Not only will the IWC Insane Championship be mine, but IWC as a whole will belong to me as well. At the conclusion of Massacre on 34th street, this merger will be complete. James Chambers, owner and operator of the Insane Wrestling Championship. Maybe, if some of you are lucky, you'll get to keep your jobs. And that concludes the James Chambers Christmas special. Biff?
Biff: Yes?
Go in my office and grab the radio, and that CD on the top shelf of CD tower.
Biff: Right away, Jimmy!
Biff hustles out of the office, and returns about five minutes later with the radio.
James: And now, i leave you with the musical stylings of Neil Diamond and his Christmas Album, a Cherry Cherry Christmas. And i hope you all have a Cherry, Cherry, Christmas. Biff?
Biff inserts the CD into the slot and presses play.
♪♫ FIRST OFF, FUCK YO BITCH AND THE CLIQUE YOU CLAIM♪♫
♪♫ WESTSIDE WHEN WE RIDE COME EQUIPPED WITH GAME♪♫
YOU CLAIM TO BE A PLAYA BUT I FUCKED YOUR WIFE♪♫
WE BUSS ON BAD BOYS NIGGAS FUCKED FOR LIFE♪♫
♪♫ PLUS PUFFY TRYIN TO STEP, WEAK HEARTS I RIP,♪♫
♪♫ BIGGIE SMALLS AND JUNIOR MAFIA SOME MARK ASS BITCHES......♪♫
James: WHAT THE FUCKIN' FUCK, BIFF?!
The scene fades as "Hit Em Up" continues playing and James continues to verbally castrate Biff while horrifying the poor children at the same time.
