Post by Jimmy The Lock on Feb 13, 2011 18:43:31 GMT -4
We pick up where we left off in C.R.A.P's conference room. It is a tense atmosphere as James proudly beams from ear to ear, holding the security disk in his right hand.
Walter: Wait. Jimmy, you probably shouldn't play that in front of everyone....
James: No Walter, I think i should.
James puts in the security disk and turns on the projector. As it flickers to life, we first see James's office.
A hulking figure wearing business attire stumbles into view, and vomits on James's desk.
James: That's why my rolodex smelled like clam chowder....
The figure then grabs a handful of printer paper and crudely attempts to clean the vomit. The figure begins to lurch about the office, and stops with his eyes set on the refrigerator. He whips the door opens and pulls out the white tray which contained the ribs. The figure then begins to attack the tray in the same way a lion would a gazelle. The figure unzips his pants, climbs up on the desk, and......
James: HE'S PISSING ON MY DESK! OH LORD, NOT THE KEYBOARD, I GOT THAT FOR HALF OFF AT BEST BUY!
The figure finishes his business, and climbs down from the desk. All of sudden, the figure stops. He slowly begins to turn his head...closer..closer....
James: Oh yeah, i can't wait to see who it is, You are so fucking fired your next job's boss hasn't even been born yet!
IT'S JAMES!
Mouths drop in the room, as the camera shows James, visibly intoxicated staring into the camera with a goofy drunken grin, his face caked in barbecue sauce and vomit. He then falls off the desk, crashing onto his swivel chair and collapsing behind it. It all begins to come back to James that he had gone to a Superbowl party over the weekend and got ripped off of Jim Beam, came back to the office, puked, pissed himself, ate his own ribs (with some vomit mixed in) and terrorized some poor girl on an adult chatline. James, too embarrassed to face his employees (or admit he was wrong) bolts out of the conference room in panic, leaving everyone confused, horrified, disgusted and furious about being falsely accused all at once.
Crystal Mendoza: Oh, we're gonna fix this....
Crystal takes our her phone and begins furiously mashing numbers as everyone begins filing out of conference room.
3 Hours Later....
It is 8:30 pm and everyone has left for the evening, and James is still nowhere to be found. Jerry Patterson is the last one left, doing on final sweep of the building before he calls it a night as well. He pushes his janitor's cart through the hallways, when he reaches an overturned garbage can.
Jerry: That's weird, i changed this can an hour ago.
Jerry goes to turn the can back over and is nearly given a heart attack when a turtled up James is revealed to be hiding underneath it.
Jerry: Jimmy, what the hell you doin' ?!
James: Is everyone gone?
Jerry: Yeah, just me.
James: What the fuck kind of scream was that?!
Just then, the door to the women's bathroom opens, and Ashley Tumbleston descends from it, followed by Andy Patel, both are unaware of James and Jerry's presence.
James: What the hell were you two doing?
Ashley: I left my Ipod.
James: And you?
Andy: I was uh...um..i was out jogging....
Jerry: That powdery residue under your nose says otherwise.
Andy: Yeah, well, we have to be going, so....
James: Hold it right there!
Andy and Ashley freeze in their tracks.
James: You got any more?
Just then, the elevator at the end of the hallway dings. The doors slide open, and a small, older woman emerges from the elevator, carry what appears to be a very large purse.
James: Oh no...is that..?
Claudine "Momma" Chambers, James's mother trudges purposefully down the hallway, staring daggers at James the whole way down. James begins backpedaling.
Momma: Don't you run from me, boy! I know what you done!
James: I didn't do anything!
Momma: Oh yes you did, that nice girl Crystal called me and told me what you did, so i'ma give you one chance to tell it. What did you do at your father's barbecue?
James: Momma, please.....
Momma: Don't you momma me, James LaQuavious Chambers!
In the background, Jerry, Andy, and Ashley can be seen mouthing "LaQuavious?".
Momma: Now i'ma ask you one last time, did you take meat off my grill?
Andy: That's what she said!
Jerry delivers a swift slap to Andy's head.
James: Momma, we can talk about this.
Momma: Ain't nothin' to talk about, because I'm about to whup yo black ass!
Momma begins fidgeting at her belt buckle, as a panicked James shoots down the hallway. Unfortunately for James, Momma was a state champion track star in high school, so naturally she's on his ass in two seconds. James stops at the end of the hallway and drops to his knees, pleading and begging for mercy.
James: Momma, I'm sorrry, I'm so sorry, please don't do this. I'm your son!
Momma: James, this is going to hurt me more than it hurts you, baby. I raised you better than this.
Momma is finally able to remove her belt. She raises it above her head....
James: NO, MOMMA, NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!
Momma begins to mercilessly beat James with the belt as Jerry, Andy, and Ashley look on in horror at their helpless boss. James's blood curdling screams coupled with the sharp whips of an Italian leather belt snapping against human ass echo throughout the building as the scene fades to black.
5:17 P.M
Sunday, February 13th, 2011
IWC Arena, Long Island, New York
The scene opens in the dressing room of James Chambers. There are only a few hours till IWC Asylum begins, and all is silent. Accompanying him tonight is his brother Martin, and Biff and Noah Riboflavin. Biff sits quietly in the corner happily hammering away at buttons on his psp, as the corners of his mouth are encrusted with the remnants of a chocolate bar, while Noah relaxes on the far side of the room almost out of view texting on his phone. While the champion himself, sits backwards in a folding chair in the center of the room with his left forearm held over the top. His brother Martin is applying gauze and athletic tape to his hands.
Well, there are alot of perks to being the IWC Insane Champion. For starters, you get this kick-ass locker room to yourself. Not only that, but i have my own bathroom......
.....
....
Alright, it's not my bathroom per se, but i pay Biff in paydays to stand in front of the far right stall in the men's bathroom all night, but i digress. The point I'm trying to make is that being the IWC Insane Champion means everything in the world to me, and i refuse to be bested by the likes of Rico Casteel. Rico doesn't believe a word i say, he think I'm all talk. Well that's fine Rico, because in just a few short hours, you're going to find out what so many others have about me. Sure, i talk alot. That's my game, it's the match before the match and i want to make sure that I'm in that tiny little brain of yours just enough to throw off your performance. I want you livid and angry, because I'm not afraid of what will come from your rage.
There's nothing like a good mind fuck to compliment a Sunday evening, don't you agree? But i have to admit, it's been less fun this time around to match wits with someone who is completely unarmed. I mean, i really did give you the benefit of the doubt that you weren't just some flat footed bumbling fucktard, but i think your promo solidified that fact and proved me wrong. I mean, if i had a nickel for everytime said "this is just the beginning Jimmy" or "i'ma kick your ass Jimmy" or "Fuck you Jimmy, you ain't shit i'll kill you" well then i'd have enough to cover what Bernie Madoff stole from all those nice people. But this isn't about promos and trash talking, that's only half the battle.
The other half is the in-ring aspect. On paper, you have the height and weight advantage, but my moveset is more diverse, not to mention I'm faster and better looking. Lucky for you this isn't a beauty contest. But again, i digress. Tonight's Asylum is all about me. Everyone wants to know how I'm going to react when i get in there with a guy from the same background and discipline. Well, it's simple. I'm going to use force, and I'm going to use alot of it. You don't know it yet, Rico, but you're going to be backing up for the first time in your career. I hope you brought your running shoes, because you're going to need them.
Now, I've been winning, back to back to back over the course of the last few weeks. To be exact, i haven't lost since my second match here, and i wasn't even pinned. How do you think that happens, Rico? Do you think i just run my mouth get my opposition so riled up that they pass out from a massive headache? Even though i wish it were that simple, that's not how it works. So, let's get to our next point. In-ring knowledge, having the presence of mind to know where you are at all times, so in case of an opportunity to use my environment comes up, i can take full advantage of it. An example of this would be me smashing that thick skull of yours into the turnbuckle, which is most likely going to happen over and over again. And over.
And now it's time to hop in the time machine and go back a few months, i think to the begging of November was it? You were making your IWC debut. I was in maybe my second or third match and i had just got done dispatching some nobodies when you hit the ring and attacked the Crimson Ghost. You beat a man who i had just got done beating. Instead of waiting to strike when there was a fresh man in the ring, you attacked a man who had already had the bejesus beat out of him. Do you just walk into Denny's and eat food from unbussed tables as well?
I wouldn't put it past you after a couple of buttery nipples at happy hour, but the point I'm trying to make is the fact that you're a lazy, opportunistic sack of fecal matter and you're no better than Chris Cyrus himself. As you can tell by the tone of my voice, i wasn't too happy about that, Rico. Someone refresh my memory, what did i say when that happened?
Noah: Um, i think it was something like "Oh hell to the no! Who the fuck is this punk ass Mr. Clean looking motherfucker interfering in my shit trying to steal my shine?!"
Thank you, Noah.
James pauses for a second to let the cheers of the crowd outside be heard.
You hear that Rico? Those are my people, they're here to see me. Not Chris Cyrus, and certainly not you. So, now that it's all said and done, were going to see if you can handle the spotlight. I personally don't believe you can. I think we're all going to see Rico Casteel get exposed tonight, we're going to see the "loose cannon" run out of ammo. And what happens when a cannon runs out of ammo? Well then it's just another useless hunk of iron. See you in the ring, Rico. It's all over but the crying.
With that said, James rises from his chair, and heads toward the door as the scene fades to black.
Walter: Wait. Jimmy, you probably shouldn't play that in front of everyone....
James: No Walter, I think i should.
James puts in the security disk and turns on the projector. As it flickers to life, we first see James's office.
A hulking figure wearing business attire stumbles into view, and vomits on James's desk.
James: That's why my rolodex smelled like clam chowder....
The figure then grabs a handful of printer paper and crudely attempts to clean the vomit. The figure begins to lurch about the office, and stops with his eyes set on the refrigerator. He whips the door opens and pulls out the white tray which contained the ribs. The figure then begins to attack the tray in the same way a lion would a gazelle. The figure unzips his pants, climbs up on the desk, and......
James: HE'S PISSING ON MY DESK! OH LORD, NOT THE KEYBOARD, I GOT THAT FOR HALF OFF AT BEST BUY!
The figure finishes his business, and climbs down from the desk. All of sudden, the figure stops. He slowly begins to turn his head...closer..closer....
James: Oh yeah, i can't wait to see who it is, You are so fucking fired your next job's boss hasn't even been born yet!
IT'S JAMES!
Mouths drop in the room, as the camera shows James, visibly intoxicated staring into the camera with a goofy drunken grin, his face caked in barbecue sauce and vomit. He then falls off the desk, crashing onto his swivel chair and collapsing behind it. It all begins to come back to James that he had gone to a Superbowl party over the weekend and got ripped off of Jim Beam, came back to the office, puked, pissed himself, ate his own ribs (with some vomit mixed in) and terrorized some poor girl on an adult chatline. James, too embarrassed to face his employees (or admit he was wrong) bolts out of the conference room in panic, leaving everyone confused, horrified, disgusted and furious about being falsely accused all at once.
Crystal Mendoza: Oh, we're gonna fix this....
Crystal takes our her phone and begins furiously mashing numbers as everyone begins filing out of conference room.
3 Hours Later....
It is 8:30 pm and everyone has left for the evening, and James is still nowhere to be found. Jerry Patterson is the last one left, doing on final sweep of the building before he calls it a night as well. He pushes his janitor's cart through the hallways, when he reaches an overturned garbage can.
Jerry: That's weird, i changed this can an hour ago.
Jerry goes to turn the can back over and is nearly given a heart attack when a turtled up James is revealed to be hiding underneath it.
Jerry: Jimmy, what the hell you doin' ?!
James: Is everyone gone?
Jerry: Yeah, just me.
James: What the fuck kind of scream was that?!
Just then, the door to the women's bathroom opens, and Ashley Tumbleston descends from it, followed by Andy Patel, both are unaware of James and Jerry's presence.
James: What the hell were you two doing?
Ashley: I left my Ipod.
James: And you?
Andy: I was uh...um..i was out jogging....
Jerry: That powdery residue under your nose says otherwise.
Andy: Yeah, well, we have to be going, so....
James: Hold it right there!
Andy and Ashley freeze in their tracks.
James: You got any more?
Just then, the elevator at the end of the hallway dings. The doors slide open, and a small, older woman emerges from the elevator, carry what appears to be a very large purse.
James: Oh no...is that..?
Claudine "Momma" Chambers, James's mother trudges purposefully down the hallway, staring daggers at James the whole way down. James begins backpedaling.
Momma: Don't you run from me, boy! I know what you done!
James: I didn't do anything!
Momma: Oh yes you did, that nice girl Crystal called me and told me what you did, so i'ma give you one chance to tell it. What did you do at your father's barbecue?
James: Momma, please.....
Momma: Don't you momma me, James LaQuavious Chambers!
In the background, Jerry, Andy, and Ashley can be seen mouthing "LaQuavious?".
Momma: Now i'ma ask you one last time, did you take meat off my grill?
Andy: That's what she said!
Jerry delivers a swift slap to Andy's head.
James: Momma, we can talk about this.
Momma: Ain't nothin' to talk about, because I'm about to whup yo black ass!
Momma begins fidgeting at her belt buckle, as a panicked James shoots down the hallway. Unfortunately for James, Momma was a state champion track star in high school, so naturally she's on his ass in two seconds. James stops at the end of the hallway and drops to his knees, pleading and begging for mercy.
James: Momma, I'm sorrry, I'm so sorry, please don't do this. I'm your son!
Momma: James, this is going to hurt me more than it hurts you, baby. I raised you better than this.
Momma is finally able to remove her belt. She raises it above her head....
James: NO, MOMMA, NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!
Momma begins to mercilessly beat James with the belt as Jerry, Andy, and Ashley look on in horror at their helpless boss. James's blood curdling screams coupled with the sharp whips of an Italian leather belt snapping against human ass echo throughout the building as the scene fades to black.
5:17 P.M
Sunday, February 13th, 2011
IWC Arena, Long Island, New York
The scene opens in the dressing room of James Chambers. There are only a few hours till IWC Asylum begins, and all is silent. Accompanying him tonight is his brother Martin, and Biff and Noah Riboflavin. Biff sits quietly in the corner happily hammering away at buttons on his psp, as the corners of his mouth are encrusted with the remnants of a chocolate bar, while Noah relaxes on the far side of the room almost out of view texting on his phone. While the champion himself, sits backwards in a folding chair in the center of the room with his left forearm held over the top. His brother Martin is applying gauze and athletic tape to his hands.
Well, there are alot of perks to being the IWC Insane Champion. For starters, you get this kick-ass locker room to yourself. Not only that, but i have my own bathroom......
.....
....
Alright, it's not my bathroom per se, but i pay Biff in paydays to stand in front of the far right stall in the men's bathroom all night, but i digress. The point I'm trying to make is that being the IWC Insane Champion means everything in the world to me, and i refuse to be bested by the likes of Rico Casteel. Rico doesn't believe a word i say, he think I'm all talk. Well that's fine Rico, because in just a few short hours, you're going to find out what so many others have about me. Sure, i talk alot. That's my game, it's the match before the match and i want to make sure that I'm in that tiny little brain of yours just enough to throw off your performance. I want you livid and angry, because I'm not afraid of what will come from your rage.
There's nothing like a good mind fuck to compliment a Sunday evening, don't you agree? But i have to admit, it's been less fun this time around to match wits with someone who is completely unarmed. I mean, i really did give you the benefit of the doubt that you weren't just some flat footed bumbling fucktard, but i think your promo solidified that fact and proved me wrong. I mean, if i had a nickel for everytime said "this is just the beginning Jimmy" or "i'ma kick your ass Jimmy" or "Fuck you Jimmy, you ain't shit i'll kill you" well then i'd have enough to cover what Bernie Madoff stole from all those nice people. But this isn't about promos and trash talking, that's only half the battle.
The other half is the in-ring aspect. On paper, you have the height and weight advantage, but my moveset is more diverse, not to mention I'm faster and better looking. Lucky for you this isn't a beauty contest. But again, i digress. Tonight's Asylum is all about me. Everyone wants to know how I'm going to react when i get in there with a guy from the same background and discipline. Well, it's simple. I'm going to use force, and I'm going to use alot of it. You don't know it yet, Rico, but you're going to be backing up for the first time in your career. I hope you brought your running shoes, because you're going to need them.
Now, I've been winning, back to back to back over the course of the last few weeks. To be exact, i haven't lost since my second match here, and i wasn't even pinned. How do you think that happens, Rico? Do you think i just run my mouth get my opposition so riled up that they pass out from a massive headache? Even though i wish it were that simple, that's not how it works. So, let's get to our next point. In-ring knowledge, having the presence of mind to know where you are at all times, so in case of an opportunity to use my environment comes up, i can take full advantage of it. An example of this would be me smashing that thick skull of yours into the turnbuckle, which is most likely going to happen over and over again. And over.
And now it's time to hop in the time machine and go back a few months, i think to the begging of November was it? You were making your IWC debut. I was in maybe my second or third match and i had just got done dispatching some nobodies when you hit the ring and attacked the Crimson Ghost. You beat a man who i had just got done beating. Instead of waiting to strike when there was a fresh man in the ring, you attacked a man who had already had the bejesus beat out of him. Do you just walk into Denny's and eat food from unbussed tables as well?
I wouldn't put it past you after a couple of buttery nipples at happy hour, but the point I'm trying to make is the fact that you're a lazy, opportunistic sack of fecal matter and you're no better than Chris Cyrus himself. As you can tell by the tone of my voice, i wasn't too happy about that, Rico. Someone refresh my memory, what did i say when that happened?
Noah: Um, i think it was something like "Oh hell to the no! Who the fuck is this punk ass Mr. Clean looking motherfucker interfering in my shit trying to steal my shine?!"
Thank you, Noah.
James pauses for a second to let the cheers of the crowd outside be heard.
You hear that Rico? Those are my people, they're here to see me. Not Chris Cyrus, and certainly not you. So, now that it's all said and done, were going to see if you can handle the spotlight. I personally don't believe you can. I think we're all going to see Rico Casteel get exposed tonight, we're going to see the "loose cannon" run out of ammo. And what happens when a cannon runs out of ammo? Well then it's just another useless hunk of iron. See you in the ring, Rico. It's all over but the crying.
With that said, James rises from his chair, and heads toward the door as the scene fades to black.
