Post by Jules on Feb 5, 2012 21:26:22 GMT -4
The day after Survive & Conquer...
The scene opens inside the U.S. base of ‘Quintessentially English’ Julius Farquhar, APW’s only ‘Quintessentially English’ wrestler. As we find him Julius is taking afternoon tea served by Manservant and reading over his daily newspaper of choice, which informs him of the admirable perseverance of the English people as they heroically struggle against a fleeting dusting of snow a couple of centimetres in depth. Julius smiles proudly to himself knowing that the English people have not allowed a few hours of snow to bring their proud country to a standstill.
However, there is a storm brewing inside the mind of the ‘Quintessentially English’ one: it has been a week since APW Survive & Conquer dazzled and entertained the professional wrestling world; a week since Julius’ own abject failure in the 86-man Survive & Conquer match; a failure that was, of course, through no fault of his own.
With tea served Julius takes a slurp of tea, but instantly spits it out again.
Julius: This absolutely beastly Manservant, it tastes like my granny’s piss!
There are a few grunts from Manservant, his customary way of communicating.
Julius: What! You put the bloody milk in before the water?
Manservant grunts away to explain himself. Julius is having none of it.
Julius: You listen to me here Manservant, I don’t give a monkey’s left testicle what that scoundrel Phil Atken said, my tea is always served milk after water.
Manservant grunts away apologetically, but it’s of no use.
Julius: I am frightfully sorry Manservant, you have annoyed me terribly. I say, I find this behaviour of yours as queer as a nine bob note.
Manservant bows his head like a scolded child and tries to continue Julius his afternoon tea.
Julius: No, it’s too late Manservant. You’ve turned me off my tea, and it will take all I have not to give you a good thrashing right now. Just get out of my sight you beast!
Julius turns his head away from Manservant, and ejects him with a full extension of his right arm, pointing in the direction of the door. Manservant skulks away, Julius pushes the wheeled tray carrying all the condiments of afternoon tea away and stands up, muttering to himself.
Julius: That infernal Phil Atken. I’m really going to have to do something about that Scotchman.
At this point in our episode Julius’ phone rings. He considers calling out to Manservant, but do so would hardly reinforce the exile imposed as punishment for his misdemeanour. Instead Julius answers it. For convenience we are privy to the whole conversation.
Julius: Quintessentially English residence, Julius Farquhar esquire speaking.
Caller: Good afternoon Mr. Farquhar. Dan Grubb, ProRassler Magazine. I’ve been trying to get in touch with you all week.
Julius: I know. I’ve ignored every message you left.
Dan Grubb perseveres.
Grubb: Well I was wondering whether you’d grant us an interview about Survive & Conquer.
Julius: No I bloody will not!
Julius hangs up.
*
Four days after Survive & Conquer...
Julius Farquhar has by this time forgiven Manservant. The next Asylum show is just over a week away and Julius is keen to make the debut that has been on hold since he defected from Overdrive at the start of 2012. We join the quintessentially English as he receives notification of the next show.
Julius: Okay Manservant, read it out to me.
The ‘it’ to which Julius refers is an email.
Manservant: *Grunt* *Grunt-Grunt-Grunt-Grunt* *Grunt*
Julius: Are you sure about that?
Manservant: *Grunt*
Julius: So, I am to debut against ‘Dangerous’ Dan Bochner.
Manservant: *Grunt*
Julius: Who is he?
Manservant: *Grunt-Grunt* *Grunt* *Grunt* *Grunt-Grunt-Grunt*
Julius: I see. Well this simply will not do. I mean, it’s just not cricket old boy. There must be some administrative error. Reginald assured me I would get my opportunity.
Manservant: *Grunt*
Julius: By the way Manservant, this simply won’t do.
Manservant gives Julius a searching look.
Julius: This grunting, it is awfully Neolithic, it’s like listening to an Odin Balfore promo. I think I need to hire you an interpreter.
Manservant grunts under his breath. He returns to the screen and starts to speak, I mean grunt, excitedly.
Manservant: *Grunt-Grunt-Grunt-Grunt* *Grunt-Grunt* *Grunt* (and so on seemingly ad infinitum)
Julius: What the devil is the matter Manservant?
Manservant: *Grunt-Grunt* *Grunt* (and so on...)
Julius: It says what? I forfeit on a bet made with Phil Atken before Survive & Conquer? What is my forfeit?
Manservant explains in grunts that Julius is going to have to drink some tea live on television. Now this isn’t anything remarkable in itself for the most quintessentially English wrestler in the world. Except....the stipulation included is that the tea must be prepared such as the milk is added to the cup before the water. Julius’ face is a picture of horror.
Julius: That is positively barbaric!
Fade.
*
Survive & Conquer 2012 will hardly be known to posterity as a quintessentially English night, but in every human conflict even the victors suffer unsuccessful campaigns and experience disappointment and defeat on the battlefield. It doesn’t help that the deck was stacked against me, and I know if I wrestled all 86 of the men and women in the Survive & Conquer match individually the outcome would be very different. However, I will not get downhearted and like all the great English imperialists who came before and whose blood I share I must stand fast with determination, remain steely-eyed and calm with purpose in the face of adversity. The little battles along the way are not of primary importance, only the end result.
And that brings me to my long-awaited in-ring debut on Asylum. My inbox and my letterbox have been inundated with requests and questions about why I decided to leave Overdrive and move to Asylum. I know my absence leaves a huge void in the Overdrive roster and it doesn’t matter how many geriatric APW veterans President Jeff springs from the retirement homes, Overdrive will continue to suffer while Asylum thrives.
There are two reasons of primary concern. The first concerns my realisation that only one man in the APW corridors of power that comes close to embodying the kind of moral rectitude, administrative acumen, and sense of sporting decency that I possess. I grant he still falls short of me, but with my friendship and guidance I believe he could become APW’s finest administrator.
Reginald Schmidt is a fine man, and the only person employed by APW I would consider a friend. We have shared many an intimate moment together, and he sees in me a vision and a future that so many are quick to dismiss. I am the future of Asylum and APW. I know this is not exactly a new claim, but none of my predecessors could claim to be quintessentially English. It’s what sets me apart from the rest.
The second reason is Asylum’s need for me. I came to America to change the world of professional wrestling, and make it a more quintessentially English environment. No people on this earth are better able and better equipped to enter and alien environment, conquer it and change it for the better than the English. If I am going to change this world, then where better to start than an asylum?
I see the parade of criminals on display on the Food Network, like a liquorice allsorts of the underworld: abusers of illegal substances, prostitutes, Americans, anarchists, sadists, perverts, and above all thieves. Every fortnight I watch and witness first-hand the robberies committed by people like Jason Kash, Johnny Knuckles and Phil Atken. They are quite literally stealing from the morons in the crowd every time they exhale inside the arenas APW visits. What they need is some wholesome entertainment provided by a pinnacle of athleticism such as myself, not a bunch of anti-social miscreants who give Lewisham council estates a frightfully good image. These scoundrels include my Asylum debut opponent – the ridiculously named ‘Dangerous’ Dan Bochner.
Dan was a man who was part of a plan to bring down society, or some other such fanciful notion. The Anti-Society-X – aside from its allusions to some sort of neo-Nazi affiliation, it was some sort of organisation that didn’t like society. I confess I am fearfully unaware of why, and I dare say if you pressed ‘Dearest’ Dan hard enough he would probably struggle to elucidate the specifics. This is the problem with anarchists: they are rabble-rousers confounded by the very tools they use and seek to have exterminated. But I digress.
Dan’s new found problem, aside from the fact I intend to twist his limbs in ways even Stretch Armstrong would consider perverse, is the sudden desertion of his mentor and leader; it seems there was just too much organisation for that anarchist. I must proceed with caution, lest I paint a picture of this fissure that grants it greater historical importance than it merits, for this is no Trotsky-esque defection; it’s not even a Snowball!
‘Darling’ Dan, let me tell you I have a particular distaste for anarchists, they remind me too much of communists with all that babble about being egalitarian. I reiterate that the only true authority is aristocratic: the divine right of Kings and the privileged minority. I am quite alarmed to find you and your band of vagabonds running around and promoting such democratic ideals as freedom and equality when it is as clear as the fact I have two hands that such notions are utter tosh. I am right and you are wrong because I am better than you; that is the only rule of law.
You are the perfect place for me to start Dan because if it is one thing Asylum needs it is a sense of order; the kind of order where a privileged singularity like me is given all the opportunities, whereas the rest of you fight over the scraps I choose to offer. This is the aristocratic order, the finest form of executive power conceived by a human mind, and who better to exemplify this than me, being quintessentially English and therefore a living, walking, breathing manifestation of all that is such like.
I invite you discover at Asylum the very best England has to offer, and I will extend my own personal invitation for you to experience the Tower of London, and I promise you a free fall. Toodle-pips, old chap!
The scene opens inside the U.S. base of ‘Quintessentially English’ Julius Farquhar, APW’s only ‘Quintessentially English’ wrestler. As we find him Julius is taking afternoon tea served by Manservant and reading over his daily newspaper of choice, which informs him of the admirable perseverance of the English people as they heroically struggle against a fleeting dusting of snow a couple of centimetres in depth. Julius smiles proudly to himself knowing that the English people have not allowed a few hours of snow to bring their proud country to a standstill.
However, there is a storm brewing inside the mind of the ‘Quintessentially English’ one: it has been a week since APW Survive & Conquer dazzled and entertained the professional wrestling world; a week since Julius’ own abject failure in the 86-man Survive & Conquer match; a failure that was, of course, through no fault of his own.
With tea served Julius takes a slurp of tea, but instantly spits it out again.
Julius: This absolutely beastly Manservant, it tastes like my granny’s piss!
There are a few grunts from Manservant, his customary way of communicating.
Julius: What! You put the bloody milk in before the water?
Manservant grunts away to explain himself. Julius is having none of it.
Julius: You listen to me here Manservant, I don’t give a monkey’s left testicle what that scoundrel Phil Atken said, my tea is always served milk after water.
Manservant grunts away apologetically, but it’s of no use.
Julius: I am frightfully sorry Manservant, you have annoyed me terribly. I say, I find this behaviour of yours as queer as a nine bob note.
Manservant bows his head like a scolded child and tries to continue Julius his afternoon tea.
Julius: No, it’s too late Manservant. You’ve turned me off my tea, and it will take all I have not to give you a good thrashing right now. Just get out of my sight you beast!
Julius turns his head away from Manservant, and ejects him with a full extension of his right arm, pointing in the direction of the door. Manservant skulks away, Julius pushes the wheeled tray carrying all the condiments of afternoon tea away and stands up, muttering to himself.
Julius: That infernal Phil Atken. I’m really going to have to do something about that Scotchman.
At this point in our episode Julius’ phone rings. He considers calling out to Manservant, but do so would hardly reinforce the exile imposed as punishment for his misdemeanour. Instead Julius answers it. For convenience we are privy to the whole conversation.
Julius: Quintessentially English residence, Julius Farquhar esquire speaking.
Caller: Good afternoon Mr. Farquhar. Dan Grubb, ProRassler Magazine. I’ve been trying to get in touch with you all week.
Julius: I know. I’ve ignored every message you left.
Dan Grubb perseveres.
Grubb: Well I was wondering whether you’d grant us an interview about Survive & Conquer.
Julius: No I bloody will not!
Julius hangs up.
*
Four days after Survive & Conquer...
Julius Farquhar has by this time forgiven Manservant. The next Asylum show is just over a week away and Julius is keen to make the debut that has been on hold since he defected from Overdrive at the start of 2012. We join the quintessentially English as he receives notification of the next show.
Julius: Okay Manservant, read it out to me.
The ‘it’ to which Julius refers is an email.
Manservant: *Grunt* *Grunt-Grunt-Grunt-Grunt* *Grunt*
Julius: Are you sure about that?
Manservant: *Grunt*
Julius: So, I am to debut against ‘Dangerous’ Dan Bochner.
Manservant: *Grunt*
Julius: Who is he?
Manservant: *Grunt-Grunt* *Grunt* *Grunt* *Grunt-Grunt-Grunt*
Julius: I see. Well this simply will not do. I mean, it’s just not cricket old boy. There must be some administrative error. Reginald assured me I would get my opportunity.
Manservant: *Grunt*
Julius: By the way Manservant, this simply won’t do.
Manservant gives Julius a searching look.
Julius: This grunting, it is awfully Neolithic, it’s like listening to an Odin Balfore promo. I think I need to hire you an interpreter.
Manservant grunts under his breath. He returns to the screen and starts to speak, I mean grunt, excitedly.
Manservant: *Grunt-Grunt-Grunt-Grunt* *Grunt-Grunt* *Grunt* (and so on seemingly ad infinitum)
Julius: What the devil is the matter Manservant?
Manservant: *Grunt-Grunt* *Grunt* (and so on...)
Julius: It says what? I forfeit on a bet made with Phil Atken before Survive & Conquer? What is my forfeit?
Manservant explains in grunts that Julius is going to have to drink some tea live on television. Now this isn’t anything remarkable in itself for the most quintessentially English wrestler in the world. Except....the stipulation included is that the tea must be prepared such as the milk is added to the cup before the water. Julius’ face is a picture of horror.
Julius: That is positively barbaric!
Fade.
*
Survive & Conquer 2012 will hardly be known to posterity as a quintessentially English night, but in every human conflict even the victors suffer unsuccessful campaigns and experience disappointment and defeat on the battlefield. It doesn’t help that the deck was stacked against me, and I know if I wrestled all 86 of the men and women in the Survive & Conquer match individually the outcome would be very different. However, I will not get downhearted and like all the great English imperialists who came before and whose blood I share I must stand fast with determination, remain steely-eyed and calm with purpose in the face of adversity. The little battles along the way are not of primary importance, only the end result.
And that brings me to my long-awaited in-ring debut on Asylum. My inbox and my letterbox have been inundated with requests and questions about why I decided to leave Overdrive and move to Asylum. I know my absence leaves a huge void in the Overdrive roster and it doesn’t matter how many geriatric APW veterans President Jeff springs from the retirement homes, Overdrive will continue to suffer while Asylum thrives.
There are two reasons of primary concern. The first concerns my realisation that only one man in the APW corridors of power that comes close to embodying the kind of moral rectitude, administrative acumen, and sense of sporting decency that I possess. I grant he still falls short of me, but with my friendship and guidance I believe he could become APW’s finest administrator.
Reginald Schmidt is a fine man, and the only person employed by APW I would consider a friend. We have shared many an intimate moment together, and he sees in me a vision and a future that so many are quick to dismiss. I am the future of Asylum and APW. I know this is not exactly a new claim, but none of my predecessors could claim to be quintessentially English. It’s what sets me apart from the rest.
The second reason is Asylum’s need for me. I came to America to change the world of professional wrestling, and make it a more quintessentially English environment. No people on this earth are better able and better equipped to enter and alien environment, conquer it and change it for the better than the English. If I am going to change this world, then where better to start than an asylum?
I see the parade of criminals on display on the Food Network, like a liquorice allsorts of the underworld: abusers of illegal substances, prostitutes, Americans, anarchists, sadists, perverts, and above all thieves. Every fortnight I watch and witness first-hand the robberies committed by people like Jason Kash, Johnny Knuckles and Phil Atken. They are quite literally stealing from the morons in the crowd every time they exhale inside the arenas APW visits. What they need is some wholesome entertainment provided by a pinnacle of athleticism such as myself, not a bunch of anti-social miscreants who give Lewisham council estates a frightfully good image. These scoundrels include my Asylum debut opponent – the ridiculously named ‘Dangerous’ Dan Bochner.
Dan was a man who was part of a plan to bring down society, or some other such fanciful notion. The Anti-Society-X – aside from its allusions to some sort of neo-Nazi affiliation, it was some sort of organisation that didn’t like society. I confess I am fearfully unaware of why, and I dare say if you pressed ‘Dearest’ Dan hard enough he would probably struggle to elucidate the specifics. This is the problem with anarchists: they are rabble-rousers confounded by the very tools they use and seek to have exterminated. But I digress.
Dan’s new found problem, aside from the fact I intend to twist his limbs in ways even Stretch Armstrong would consider perverse, is the sudden desertion of his mentor and leader; it seems there was just too much organisation for that anarchist. I must proceed with caution, lest I paint a picture of this fissure that grants it greater historical importance than it merits, for this is no Trotsky-esque defection; it’s not even a Snowball!
‘Darling’ Dan, let me tell you I have a particular distaste for anarchists, they remind me too much of communists with all that babble about being egalitarian. I reiterate that the only true authority is aristocratic: the divine right of Kings and the privileged minority. I am quite alarmed to find you and your band of vagabonds running around and promoting such democratic ideals as freedom and equality when it is as clear as the fact I have two hands that such notions are utter tosh. I am right and you are wrong because I am better than you; that is the only rule of law.
You are the perfect place for me to start Dan because if it is one thing Asylum needs it is a sense of order; the kind of order where a privileged singularity like me is given all the opportunities, whereas the rest of you fight over the scraps I choose to offer. This is the aristocratic order, the finest form of executive power conceived by a human mind, and who better to exemplify this than me, being quintessentially English and therefore a living, walking, breathing manifestation of all that is such like.
I invite you discover at Asylum the very best England has to offer, and I will extend my own personal invitation for you to experience the Tower of London, and I promise you a free fall. Toodle-pips, old chap!
