Post by Jimmy The Lock on Feb 23, 2011 0:18:21 GMT -4
We arrive in the hallway at C.R.A.P Enterprises. It is mid-day, and all is quiet,with the exception of a low growling. Within a few moments, the low, soft, grumbling develops into something that could cause a small earthquake. Amina Wallace grows agitated as she tries in vain to stop objects on her desk from violently vibrating. Once her "Sekrtury Of Da Yeer" coffee mug made by Biff Riboflavin crashes to the floor, she is pushed over the edge.
Amina: THAT, IS..IT!
She jumps from behind the desk and charges toward James's office. She enters walks in to find her boss slumped over his desk in a deep sleep, snoring up a storm. We can see a video playing on his computer, but cannot make out what it is.....
"You know why Jimmy. Because I’m just Simply…AWESO----"
Amina cuts off the monitor.
Amina: James, what the hell are you doing?
No answer.
Amina: JAMES!!
The champion snaps to attention, half asleep and trying to gather his wits.
James: Hey, hey...What's up girl...
Amina: He's right, you know.
James: What? who?
Amina: Chris Cyrus. He said you weren't focused, and he's right. Have you even gotten any gym time in yet?
James: Hoodrat, i'll have you know i'm in the best shape of my life. I've been working hard all week! I am totally taking this seriously.
As James says this, he stands up to reveal that while he is wearing a dress shirt and tie, from the waist down he's wearing smiley face boxers and Sylvester the Cat slippers. Amina just shakes her head in disbelief.
The Next Day
We arrive at a wooded, secluded area. A blindfolded James is being led by Daniel Tan and Amina Wallace.
Amina: Watch your step, Jimmy.
James: How much farther till we reach it?
Dan: Right....here.
Daniel removes the blindfold to reveal a large temple sitting high upon a hill, with a large set of stone steps leading up to it. An elderly Chinese man appears at the top the steps. He wears a black karate gi, and appears to be in his late 60's. He has long white hair with a matching beard which he strokes furiously. He bears a stern expression as marches down the steps, locking eyes with James. He reaches the bottom of the steps and continues to stare at James, but says nothing.
James: Hey, i like this place already! Check this out my man, we need a table for three, and some sushi to star--
FAP!
The man silences James with a lightning quick palm strike to the chin.
James: Oh hell no, and i was just gonna write you a good review on yellowpages.com, but now you bout to get a beatd--
POW!
Right in the kisser!
Daniel: James, this is my Great Uncle, Master Hidehiko Monma. He's a Kung-Fu master, and he's going to help you prepare for your match against Cyrus.
Amina: You haven't been focused, James. We're worried that you're going to let this slip away from you, and we don't want that.
James: Wait, so you guys lied to me!? Hold on, This isn't even Benihana, is it?!
Silence.....
James: Well, he at least speaks english, doesn't he? OOMPH!
Monma folds James in half with a stiff elbow strike to the liver.
Monma: Yes i do....asssshole.
Amina: We're going now.
They start off down the path which they came as James continues to writhe in pain on the ground. Master Monma approaches James.
Monma: On your feet, Bruce Leroy!
James slowly climbs to his feet, as Monma's stern expression changes to a smug grin and he begins to size James up.
Monma: So...you are here to learn mysteries of Kung-Fu? Show me what you know.
James: Gladly!
James charges Monma, and two the begin mixing it up, with Monma getting the best of each exchange. Monma knocks James to the ground and taunts him. A frustrated James grabs a stick and swings it at Monma, who dodges it effortlessly. He grabs James's arm, retrieves the stick, and tosses it away, and seizes the waistband of his underwear. He wrenches upward, forcing one of the meanest atomic wedgies ever seen as poor James yelps in pain.
Monma: Like all black men...all you're good for is talking loud in movie theaters and being really, really good at sports....excrutiating, isn't it ?!
James: Hai!
Monma: Wait. What?
James: I mean yes!
Monma: If it was my wish, i could severly tear your rectum, causing you to be as butthurt as your opponent Chris Cyrus is.
James: NO PLEASE DON'T!
Monma: It is my ass now. I can do with it whatever i please.
James: That's what she-- I mean please, no!
Monma: Is it because your as helpless as a fish fighting a tornado?
James: That doesn't make any sense!
Monma wrenches harder.
James: YES!
Monma: Is it your wish to have this kind of power?
James is turning purple and is on the verge of passing out.
Monma: I will take your labored breathing as a yes.
Monma releases his grip, and a spent James drops to the ground, clutching his backside.
Monma: I hope you brought plenty of underwear, you low budget Apollo Creed.
James: I'm going home! You're a fucking psycho. This is bs, crazy old fool grabbing my underwear, trying to commandeer my ass----
Monma: ---Wait. If you stay, i'll teach you a move that makes the victim urinate, deficate, and ejaculate in their pants all at once.
James's eyes bulge.
James: Can we start now ?!
"Your The Best Around" by Joe Esposito plays, as we cut to a shot of James jogging down a road, wearing very short 80's style track shorts and a tanktop. He appears to have developed a very thick handlebar mustache with matching sideburns overnight. We then see a shot of James sparring with Master Monma, furiously throwing kicks and punches at a heavy bag with blinding speed. Another shot of James lifting weights and working out as Master Monma looks on approvingly. Of course, a cheesy 80's workout montage wouldn't be complete without a shot of James in grey sweats climbing the steps of the temple. When he reaches the top, he pumps his fists triumphantly. Finally, we cut to a shot of James making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for Master Monma. The montage ends with the always classic jumping high five between James and Monma.
Six hours later...
James walks into the dojo, wearing a gi which is at least three sizes too small. He sits and begins to meditate, and is nearly given a heart attack when Master Monma walks in.
Monma: What the hell you doing? Is that my gi?
James: I'm ready for my final lesson. I have been training under you for months.
Monma: You've only been here a day and half.
The Next Day
The C.R.A.P conference room is decorated with ballooons and a large banner that reads "Welcome Back Jimmy".
Amina: I hope he isn't too upset with us for dropping him on your Uncle.
Dan: I don't know. I haven't seen him that bummed since he lost out on the role of B.A Barakus in the A-Team Remake.
Noah: Oh, i loved that movie.
A confident James walks through the door looking like a million bucks in a brand new suit and sunglasses as the room erupts in applause. He is first greeted by Daniel Tan.
Dan: Welcome back, Jimmy! You look good. What did that Uncle of mine teach you?
James says nothing, but smiles. He embraces Dan, hugging him tightly. James holds him a long time, as if a man on man front hug wasn't awkward enough. Dan nervously looks to the other staff members.
Dan: Uh...Jimmy? What are you doing?
James: Answering your question. SHORYUKEN!
James delivers a swift knee strike to Dan's testicles. Dan howls in pain as he folds like an accordion. He then begins to uncontrollably ejaculate, urinate, and defecate on himself all at once, causing Biff Riboflavin, who is eating Chili, to vomit. James coolly exits the room, swinging his suit jacket over his shoulder as the scene fades.
Last Asylum was undouboutedly the toughest match of my career. Hat's off to Rico Casteel, You took me farther than anyone ever has, and for that i respect you. You're a monster, and next to me, one of the brightest stars this company has. That's a whole hell of alot of more than i can say for my opponent at super show, The cowardly, subhuman, dishonorable sack of pig shit Chris Cyrus.
I want you to get something straight, the only reason anyone gives a fuck about you right now is because they are chomping at the bit to see you skullfucked in front of a live audience of people who incoincedentally hate you also. If you died tomorrow, no one would cry, hell they wouldn't even celebrate. Although i'm sure there would be small number of people at the graveyard not attending the funeral service, but waiting for the casket to drop so they could piss on your grave, with me at the front of the line.
There has been alot of petty bickering between you and i, but the one thing you've been saying that sticks to me is that i underestimate you, which i do not. I know exactly what type of mischief you're capable of, i'm just not worried about it. Given your status as a world class fuck-up, nothing you do could surprise me. Case in point: you bringing in Ebon. Son, if you had really done your homework you would know that Ebon was the Chris Cyrus of EWC, meaning that he did little, took shortcuts to get places, and choked when he got his shots.
While i keep the mild threats you present in close regard, the one thing i don't have for you as respect. Not as wrestler, not as a man, not even as a human being. You surpass Trevor Blackwell in being the worst kind of parasitic scum poisoning this industry i've ever seen. You are fucking CANCER. You think you're going to help IWC? You're trying to cleanse IWC? You're not doing a goddamned thing but causing bi-weekly attendance to thin. When will you pound it into your thick head that nobody gives a fuck about you being Anti-hardcore?
You don't like me? Good! I'll do you one better. I hate you. I hate everything you stand for, and i'm going to do my best to make sure you never, ever, darken anyone's ring ever again. For months i've had to deal with you bitching and whining about being screwed at Massacre on 34th street. Since you won't shut up about it, Fine, let's run it down. At Massacre on 34th street, Chris Cyrus lost fair and square. He got his puny shoulders pinned to the mat 1,2,3. Not because he's white, but because he severely lacks the talent to headline the smallest show in the dirtiest shit heel hick town and being a whiny, miserable, malignant cunt knows no racial boundaries.
But instead of accepting his loss like a man, he delves into his bottomless purse of excuses to pull out the "you had an easier qualifying match than me" card. Bravo, Chris, you officially have an excuse for everything. Somehow, winning a battle royal with several other people teaming up on you and eliminating most of them is sooo much easier than dodging a bumbling fucknut in Jason Royce with an industrial strength dildo in a fans bring the weapons match. Only in your warped little thimble of a brain is that logical.
I guess it's my fault for being in better shape for the main event. Fuck me for being the better conditioned athlete, right? I guess i should just sit around and be depressed, pine over a woman i lost to my tag team partner, the same guy who ditched my sorry ass to go onto bigger and better things and hate anyone who does better than me. Is that about right? Am i on your level now? I want you look at my face when i say this, boy. I want what i am about to say to seep into that hollow soul of yours, so you fully grasp the magnitude of what is about to happen.
You...are...fucked.
You have taken the last shortcut you're going to take and you've pissed off the wrong hombre. I have never,ever in my entire 20 years of doing this been so motived to rub someone out. You think you have an advantage because there are no weapons? Bitch please! The only way your two hands are your greatest weapons are when you're giving Ebitch the ol' reacharound and dirty sanchez at the same time. You say your hands of capable of doing damage, but my hands are proven to kill. But hell, i don't have to tell you that.
You've tasted my power plenty of times and you still keep coming back for more. But unlike you, i don't get discouraged and depressed. I figure that i haven't hit you hard enough, and i'm just going to have to make sure to punch your lights all the way out this time, and anything short of your mangled, comatose carcass leaving on a stretcher at the end of the night is unacceptable.
You thought you had it made. After getting booted from APW, you thought you were going to come over to IWC, smash everyone and take the top title and then little ole me came along and ruined your plans. Son, i am the IWC Insane Heavyweight Champion. Write that down and stick it on your goddamned refridgerator. I've done nothing but represent this belt by being as balls to the walls as i possibly can, while mainting a high grade of honor and integrity. So your claim of me being a "poor excuse of a champion" is as fragile as your mental state. As a matter of fact, fuck you for saying that. You know it's not true, so for you to keep saying it not only insults my intelligence, but also insults the small iota you have also.
In this life, not everybody shines. There are people who can be, but then there are people who just are. You are neither, and until you learn that nothing comes easy and there is no progress without struggle, then you are doomed for life. It's not about titles, and it's not about promos. It's not even business, anymore. This shit is personal. You have fucked up royally, and now you will deal with the consequences. At the end of the night, i am undoubtedly still going to be IWC Insane Heavyweight Champion, but we'll both be going to the hospital. You, to have the foot surgically removed from your ass, and me to get my shoe back.
It's your move, fuckwad. Make sure it's a wise one.
Amina: THAT, IS..IT!
She jumps from behind the desk and charges toward James's office. She enters walks in to find her boss slumped over his desk in a deep sleep, snoring up a storm. We can see a video playing on his computer, but cannot make out what it is.....
"You know why Jimmy. Because I’m just Simply…AWESO----"
Amina cuts off the monitor.
Amina: James, what the hell are you doing?
No answer.
Amina: JAMES!!
The champion snaps to attention, half asleep and trying to gather his wits.
James: Hey, hey...What's up girl...
Amina: He's right, you know.
James: What? who?
Amina: Chris Cyrus. He said you weren't focused, and he's right. Have you even gotten any gym time in yet?
James: Hoodrat, i'll have you know i'm in the best shape of my life. I've been working hard all week! I am totally taking this seriously.
As James says this, he stands up to reveal that while he is wearing a dress shirt and tie, from the waist down he's wearing smiley face boxers and Sylvester the Cat slippers. Amina just shakes her head in disbelief.
The Next Day
We arrive at a wooded, secluded area. A blindfolded James is being led by Daniel Tan and Amina Wallace.
Amina: Watch your step, Jimmy.
James: How much farther till we reach it?
Dan: Right....here.
Daniel removes the blindfold to reveal a large temple sitting high upon a hill, with a large set of stone steps leading up to it. An elderly Chinese man appears at the top the steps. He wears a black karate gi, and appears to be in his late 60's. He has long white hair with a matching beard which he strokes furiously. He bears a stern expression as marches down the steps, locking eyes with James. He reaches the bottom of the steps and continues to stare at James, but says nothing.
James: Hey, i like this place already! Check this out my man, we need a table for three, and some sushi to star--
FAP!
The man silences James with a lightning quick palm strike to the chin.
James: Oh hell no, and i was just gonna write you a good review on yellowpages.com, but now you bout to get a beatd--
POW!
Right in the kisser!
Daniel: James, this is my Great Uncle, Master Hidehiko Monma. He's a Kung-Fu master, and he's going to help you prepare for your match against Cyrus.
Amina: You haven't been focused, James. We're worried that you're going to let this slip away from you, and we don't want that.
James: Wait, so you guys lied to me!? Hold on, This isn't even Benihana, is it?!
Silence.....
James: Well, he at least speaks english, doesn't he? OOMPH!
Monma folds James in half with a stiff elbow strike to the liver.
Monma: Yes i do....asssshole.
Amina: We're going now.
They start off down the path which they came as James continues to writhe in pain on the ground. Master Monma approaches James.
Monma: On your feet, Bruce Leroy!
James slowly climbs to his feet, as Monma's stern expression changes to a smug grin and he begins to size James up.
Monma: So...you are here to learn mysteries of Kung-Fu? Show me what you know.
James: Gladly!
James charges Monma, and two the begin mixing it up, with Monma getting the best of each exchange. Monma knocks James to the ground and taunts him. A frustrated James grabs a stick and swings it at Monma, who dodges it effortlessly. He grabs James's arm, retrieves the stick, and tosses it away, and seizes the waistband of his underwear. He wrenches upward, forcing one of the meanest atomic wedgies ever seen as poor James yelps in pain.
Monma: Like all black men...all you're good for is talking loud in movie theaters and being really, really good at sports....excrutiating, isn't it ?!
James: Hai!
Monma: Wait. What?
James: I mean yes!
Monma: If it was my wish, i could severly tear your rectum, causing you to be as butthurt as your opponent Chris Cyrus is.
James: NO PLEASE DON'T!
Monma: It is my ass now. I can do with it whatever i please.
James: That's what she-- I mean please, no!
Monma: Is it because your as helpless as a fish fighting a tornado?
James: That doesn't make any sense!
Monma wrenches harder.
James: YES!
Monma: Is it your wish to have this kind of power?
James is turning purple and is on the verge of passing out.
Monma: I will take your labored breathing as a yes.
Monma releases his grip, and a spent James drops to the ground, clutching his backside.
Monma: I hope you brought plenty of underwear, you low budget Apollo Creed.
James: I'm going home! You're a fucking psycho. This is bs, crazy old fool grabbing my underwear, trying to commandeer my ass----
Monma: ---Wait. If you stay, i'll teach you a move that makes the victim urinate, deficate, and ejaculate in their pants all at once.
James's eyes bulge.
James: Can we start now ?!
"Your The Best Around" by Joe Esposito plays, as we cut to a shot of James jogging down a road, wearing very short 80's style track shorts and a tanktop. He appears to have developed a very thick handlebar mustache with matching sideburns overnight. We then see a shot of James sparring with Master Monma, furiously throwing kicks and punches at a heavy bag with blinding speed. Another shot of James lifting weights and working out as Master Monma looks on approvingly. Of course, a cheesy 80's workout montage wouldn't be complete without a shot of James in grey sweats climbing the steps of the temple. When he reaches the top, he pumps his fists triumphantly. Finally, we cut to a shot of James making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for Master Monma. The montage ends with the always classic jumping high five between James and Monma.
Six hours later...
James walks into the dojo, wearing a gi which is at least three sizes too small. He sits and begins to meditate, and is nearly given a heart attack when Master Monma walks in.
Monma: What the hell you doing? Is that my gi?
James: I'm ready for my final lesson. I have been training under you for months.
Monma: You've only been here a day and half.
The Next Day
The C.R.A.P conference room is decorated with ballooons and a large banner that reads "Welcome Back Jimmy".
Amina: I hope he isn't too upset with us for dropping him on your Uncle.
Dan: I don't know. I haven't seen him that bummed since he lost out on the role of B.A Barakus in the A-Team Remake.
Noah: Oh, i loved that movie.
A confident James walks through the door looking like a million bucks in a brand new suit and sunglasses as the room erupts in applause. He is first greeted by Daniel Tan.
Dan: Welcome back, Jimmy! You look good. What did that Uncle of mine teach you?
James says nothing, but smiles. He embraces Dan, hugging him tightly. James holds him a long time, as if a man on man front hug wasn't awkward enough. Dan nervously looks to the other staff members.
Dan: Uh...Jimmy? What are you doing?
James: Answering your question. SHORYUKEN!
James delivers a swift knee strike to Dan's testicles. Dan howls in pain as he folds like an accordion. He then begins to uncontrollably ejaculate, urinate, and defecate on himself all at once, causing Biff Riboflavin, who is eating Chili, to vomit. James coolly exits the room, swinging his suit jacket over his shoulder as the scene fades.
Last Asylum was undouboutedly the toughest match of my career. Hat's off to Rico Casteel, You took me farther than anyone ever has, and for that i respect you. You're a monster, and next to me, one of the brightest stars this company has. That's a whole hell of alot of more than i can say for my opponent at super show, The cowardly, subhuman, dishonorable sack of pig shit Chris Cyrus.
I want you to get something straight, the only reason anyone gives a fuck about you right now is because they are chomping at the bit to see you skullfucked in front of a live audience of people who incoincedentally hate you also. If you died tomorrow, no one would cry, hell they wouldn't even celebrate. Although i'm sure there would be small number of people at the graveyard not attending the funeral service, but waiting for the casket to drop so they could piss on your grave, with me at the front of the line.
There has been alot of petty bickering between you and i, but the one thing you've been saying that sticks to me is that i underestimate you, which i do not. I know exactly what type of mischief you're capable of, i'm just not worried about it. Given your status as a world class fuck-up, nothing you do could surprise me. Case in point: you bringing in Ebon. Son, if you had really done your homework you would know that Ebon was the Chris Cyrus of EWC, meaning that he did little, took shortcuts to get places, and choked when he got his shots.
While i keep the mild threats you present in close regard, the one thing i don't have for you as respect. Not as wrestler, not as a man, not even as a human being. You surpass Trevor Blackwell in being the worst kind of parasitic scum poisoning this industry i've ever seen. You are fucking CANCER. You think you're going to help IWC? You're trying to cleanse IWC? You're not doing a goddamned thing but causing bi-weekly attendance to thin. When will you pound it into your thick head that nobody gives a fuck about you being Anti-hardcore?
You don't like me? Good! I'll do you one better. I hate you. I hate everything you stand for, and i'm going to do my best to make sure you never, ever, darken anyone's ring ever again. For months i've had to deal with you bitching and whining about being screwed at Massacre on 34th street. Since you won't shut up about it, Fine, let's run it down. At Massacre on 34th street, Chris Cyrus lost fair and square. He got his puny shoulders pinned to the mat 1,2,3. Not because he's white, but because he severely lacks the talent to headline the smallest show in the dirtiest shit heel hick town and being a whiny, miserable, malignant cunt knows no racial boundaries.
But instead of accepting his loss like a man, he delves into his bottomless purse of excuses to pull out the "you had an easier qualifying match than me" card. Bravo, Chris, you officially have an excuse for everything. Somehow, winning a battle royal with several other people teaming up on you and eliminating most of them is sooo much easier than dodging a bumbling fucknut in Jason Royce with an industrial strength dildo in a fans bring the weapons match. Only in your warped little thimble of a brain is that logical.
I guess it's my fault for being in better shape for the main event. Fuck me for being the better conditioned athlete, right? I guess i should just sit around and be depressed, pine over a woman i lost to my tag team partner, the same guy who ditched my sorry ass to go onto bigger and better things and hate anyone who does better than me. Is that about right? Am i on your level now? I want you look at my face when i say this, boy. I want what i am about to say to seep into that hollow soul of yours, so you fully grasp the magnitude of what is about to happen.
You...are...fucked.
You have taken the last shortcut you're going to take and you've pissed off the wrong hombre. I have never,ever in my entire 20 years of doing this been so motived to rub someone out. You think you have an advantage because there are no weapons? Bitch please! The only way your two hands are your greatest weapons are when you're giving Ebitch the ol' reacharound and dirty sanchez at the same time. You say your hands of capable of doing damage, but my hands are proven to kill. But hell, i don't have to tell you that.
You've tasted my power plenty of times and you still keep coming back for more. But unlike you, i don't get discouraged and depressed. I figure that i haven't hit you hard enough, and i'm just going to have to make sure to punch your lights all the way out this time, and anything short of your mangled, comatose carcass leaving on a stretcher at the end of the night is unacceptable.
You thought you had it made. After getting booted from APW, you thought you were going to come over to IWC, smash everyone and take the top title and then little ole me came along and ruined your plans. Son, i am the IWC Insane Heavyweight Champion. Write that down and stick it on your goddamned refridgerator. I've done nothing but represent this belt by being as balls to the walls as i possibly can, while mainting a high grade of honor and integrity. So your claim of me being a "poor excuse of a champion" is as fragile as your mental state. As a matter of fact, fuck you for saying that. You know it's not true, so for you to keep saying it not only insults my intelligence, but also insults the small iota you have also.
In this life, not everybody shines. There are people who can be, but then there are people who just are. You are neither, and until you learn that nothing comes easy and there is no progress without struggle, then you are doomed for life. It's not about titles, and it's not about promos. It's not even business, anymore. This shit is personal. You have fucked up royally, and now you will deal with the consequences. At the end of the night, i am undoubtedly still going to be IWC Insane Heavyweight Champion, but we'll both be going to the hospital. You, to have the foot surgically removed from your ass, and me to get my shoe back.
It's your move, fuckwad. Make sure it's a wise one.
