Post by Andrew Jacobsen on Jan 12, 2013 20:18:47 GMT -6
"Okay, I'm going to throw a disclaimer out here before I get rolling. Those of you whose sensibilities are offended by the use of vulgar or obscene language should probably turn away now. I'm in a very...VERY...bad place emotionally right now, and so my normal filter isn't exactly working at full capacity. Might want to skip this week if that description fits you. ...are you gone? If you're hearing this, you're not, so skedaddle! Okay, now they're gone. Brace yourselves, this is gonna get ugly.
"Did...did I miss the memo or something? When did I become the go-to name for undeserving champions? I mean, it feels like everywhere I turn I see people saying I don't deserve to be where I am. Xander Famularo took time out of his day—I suppose I should be flattered that a high and mighty Famularo deigned me worthy of his attention—to tell me that I didn't deserve to be National Champion. And, of course, my partner this week decided that it was time to fire up the old record and continue bleating about how absolutely nothing I have done, am doing or will do is worth a damn thing, because he is still BETTER THAN ME! Did I get the essentials? I did? Good. How about you just record yourself letting off another one of those pathetic little bitchfests, append it to every single promo you do, and never breathe a word about it again? It'd save us all a whole lot of trouble."
"Alex, it's incredible that of all the people in this match, I anticipated and received the most vitriolic, the most vile torrent of bullcrap from you, my partner. See, you said it best: you hate me. You hate that I've done things that you couldn't, so you put together excuses like 'fluke' and 'lucky' to dismiss them. Fact of the matter is, Alex, I pinned Xander one-two-three, no matter how much either of you tries to play the apologetic and claim that it doesn't count. Really, that line of reasoning is growing to be so ***damn annoying. The title was on the line. That was management's call. Not mine. You're telling me you wouldn't have taken the opportunity to become World Champion? You're full of it, Jonesy. I'm sick of you and sick of your incessant rambling. Tell ya what, let's turn this little strategy of yours on its head: you got lucky. Dexter Davis could beat you nine times out of ten, you just caught the tenth. Fact of the matter is, you beat me the first time because Angel restarted the match and saved your ass. Second time...oh, congratulations, you scrambled up a scaffold. So, so proud of you."
"But you're my partner this week, so all I have to count on you to do is not screw up and let your ego get in the way of things. Big task, I know. We've got two high-caliber opponents...one of them's your number-one contender, actually, so you should get off your damn high horse and pay attention."
"We've got a rematch here...Ace. I do like how you try to say that you won't cheapen anything and then proceed to do just that. You cheapened it by implying the inevitability of my instant loss. Confidence isn't a bad thing, man. Arrogance is. I mean, you've got the freakin' picture of contrast here. I won't take anything away from you, you were a hell of a competitor. What I take exception to...is what went on AFTER the bell rang."
"I don't know what you said to her, I don't know what you did to convince her to go along with your insane scheme, but all I know is that you somehow coerced and persuaded Callie, my little sister, into popping me below the belt with a right hand. You thanked her for that and spiked me off the canvas, rattling on about how you're the real champion. Ace, I pinned you one-two-three, just like Xander. And in this case, you don't even have the excuse of a Warfare match to hide behind. This was one-on-one. You want to sulk and take cheap shots? You want to play that game? I can, if you really want to...but I suspect you don't. I have a sneaking suspicion you're going to try to weasel your way back into the title. All I can say is bring it on, buddy."
"YOUR partner, however...Seth! Buddy! Long time no see! We need to get some NHL action going, posthaste. But that can wait. You went and earned yourself a #1 contendership. That was a hell of a match, can I say? You definitely proved your worth as a challenger for my ego-blessed partner. Rest assured, we get in the ring and I won't hold anything back. We'll leave it all in the ring. That's the kind of men we are. Athletes, competitors...wrestlers. We are the best of the best, and part of that is that we do our talking between the bell. I respect the hell out of you, Seth. You know that. So bring your best. I'll bring mine. And may the best man...in spite of his partner...win."[/i]
Open on Andrew in front of a punching bag, laying in lethal rights and lefts on the bag. The camera pans to the side slightly, showing Emma Danielson standing there in street clothes and watching him pummeling it with remorseless fury. After a few seconds, Emma speaks up, trying to get his attention.
"Andy. Come on. Let's go. You can train later."
Andrew replies through clenched teeth, continuing to hammer away relentlessly at the bag as he delivers a simple three-word reply.
"I'm not training."
Emma blinks, confused by his words. Andrew lays in one more vicious right haymaker before turning and looking her in the eyes with a cold stare.
"I'm angry. I'm working out frustrations so I can get some rest. I don't want to go out partying or whatever the hell you were going to suggest. Em, Ace did something to Callie. And I'm going to make that son of a bitch pay."
She shakes her head, walking over and taking his hand. Andrew looks down at it as she squeezes it softly, trying to talk some sense into him.
"Andrew, Jake's...he's grieving. Grief makes people do strange things. I mean, I know when Mom died I did a lot of crazy bullcrap. Between that and everyone accusing him of not loving his wife, ESPECIALLY with what SHE'S going through too...look, all I'm saying is that Jake's...he's not exactly in his right mind. You have to understand—"
Andrew cuts her off angrily, ripping his hand out of her grasp. He stares her down, beginning to bark back at her as he starts pacing.
"I will NOT understand a DAMN thing. I don't have to! I know how he works, damnit. He corrupts, he subverts, he twists things and situations to his advantage! He's a leech and a scumbag! He's twisted Callie, and...and why do you call him Jake? When the hell did you get all buddy-buddy with him? Is it that ***damn therapist he sent you to? Or do I need to jog your memory with a little repression therapy of my own? Need I remind you of Aly? Of Ayla? Of—"
She snaps back at him, fire blazing in her eyes as the unusual timidity melts under her normal passionate fury.
"No you damn well don't! Andrew, I don't want to live in the past! I'm never going to forgive him, and I don't feel obliged to forgive him! But what I CAN do is move on and GROW UP! Something you can't seem to do. Callie's a grown woman. She makes her own decisions. And if she feels like you've been trying to choke her out of this job because you can't stop seeing her as a little girl and wanted some revenge, then that's how it goes! Now, I'm going to ask this one more time, because I'm your friend and I care about you. Pull your head out of your ass and get some sleep!"
The two exchange an icy glare. After a moment, Emma turns and walks away, shaking her head in disgust. Andrew watches her go, staring after her until the door closes, and turns back to the bag. He winds up for a big strike, and as he impacts we cut to black.
"Did...did I miss the memo or something? When did I become the go-to name for undeserving champions? I mean, it feels like everywhere I turn I see people saying I don't deserve to be where I am. Xander Famularo took time out of his day—I suppose I should be flattered that a high and mighty Famularo deigned me worthy of his attention—to tell me that I didn't deserve to be National Champion. And, of course, my partner this week decided that it was time to fire up the old record and continue bleating about how absolutely nothing I have done, am doing or will do is worth a damn thing, because he is still BETTER THAN ME! Did I get the essentials? I did? Good. How about you just record yourself letting off another one of those pathetic little bitchfests, append it to every single promo you do, and never breathe a word about it again? It'd save us all a whole lot of trouble."
"Alex, it's incredible that of all the people in this match, I anticipated and received the most vitriolic, the most vile torrent of bullcrap from you, my partner. See, you said it best: you hate me. You hate that I've done things that you couldn't, so you put together excuses like 'fluke' and 'lucky' to dismiss them. Fact of the matter is, Alex, I pinned Xander one-two-three, no matter how much either of you tries to play the apologetic and claim that it doesn't count. Really, that line of reasoning is growing to be so ***damn annoying. The title was on the line. That was management's call. Not mine. You're telling me you wouldn't have taken the opportunity to become World Champion? You're full of it, Jonesy. I'm sick of you and sick of your incessant rambling. Tell ya what, let's turn this little strategy of yours on its head: you got lucky. Dexter Davis could beat you nine times out of ten, you just caught the tenth. Fact of the matter is, you beat me the first time because Angel restarted the match and saved your ass. Second time...oh, congratulations, you scrambled up a scaffold. So, so proud of you."
"But you're my partner this week, so all I have to count on you to do is not screw up and let your ego get in the way of things. Big task, I know. We've got two high-caliber opponents...one of them's your number-one contender, actually, so you should get off your damn high horse and pay attention."
"We've got a rematch here...Ace. I do like how you try to say that you won't cheapen anything and then proceed to do just that. You cheapened it by implying the inevitability of my instant loss. Confidence isn't a bad thing, man. Arrogance is. I mean, you've got the freakin' picture of contrast here. I won't take anything away from you, you were a hell of a competitor. What I take exception to...is what went on AFTER the bell rang."
"I don't know what you said to her, I don't know what you did to convince her to go along with your insane scheme, but all I know is that you somehow coerced and persuaded Callie, my little sister, into popping me below the belt with a right hand. You thanked her for that and spiked me off the canvas, rattling on about how you're the real champion. Ace, I pinned you one-two-three, just like Xander. And in this case, you don't even have the excuse of a Warfare match to hide behind. This was one-on-one. You want to sulk and take cheap shots? You want to play that game? I can, if you really want to...but I suspect you don't. I have a sneaking suspicion you're going to try to weasel your way back into the title. All I can say is bring it on, buddy."
"YOUR partner, however...Seth! Buddy! Long time no see! We need to get some NHL action going, posthaste. But that can wait. You went and earned yourself a #1 contendership. That was a hell of a match, can I say? You definitely proved your worth as a challenger for my ego-blessed partner. Rest assured, we get in the ring and I won't hold anything back. We'll leave it all in the ring. That's the kind of men we are. Athletes, competitors...wrestlers. We are the best of the best, and part of that is that we do our talking between the bell. I respect the hell out of you, Seth. You know that. So bring your best. I'll bring mine. And may the best man...in spite of his partner...win."[/i]
Open on Andrew in front of a punching bag, laying in lethal rights and lefts on the bag. The camera pans to the side slightly, showing Emma Danielson standing there in street clothes and watching him pummeling it with remorseless fury. After a few seconds, Emma speaks up, trying to get his attention.
"Andy. Come on. Let's go. You can train later."
Andrew replies through clenched teeth, continuing to hammer away relentlessly at the bag as he delivers a simple three-word reply.
"I'm not training."
Emma blinks, confused by his words. Andrew lays in one more vicious right haymaker before turning and looking her in the eyes with a cold stare.
"I'm angry. I'm working out frustrations so I can get some rest. I don't want to go out partying or whatever the hell you were going to suggest. Em, Ace did something to Callie. And I'm going to make that son of a bitch pay."
She shakes her head, walking over and taking his hand. Andrew looks down at it as she squeezes it softly, trying to talk some sense into him.
"Andrew, Jake's...he's grieving. Grief makes people do strange things. I mean, I know when Mom died I did a lot of crazy bullcrap. Between that and everyone accusing him of not loving his wife, ESPECIALLY with what SHE'S going through too...look, all I'm saying is that Jake's...he's not exactly in his right mind. You have to understand—"
Andrew cuts her off angrily, ripping his hand out of her grasp. He stares her down, beginning to bark back at her as he starts pacing.
"I will NOT understand a DAMN thing. I don't have to! I know how he works, damnit. He corrupts, he subverts, he twists things and situations to his advantage! He's a leech and a scumbag! He's twisted Callie, and...and why do you call him Jake? When the hell did you get all buddy-buddy with him? Is it that ***damn therapist he sent you to? Or do I need to jog your memory with a little repression therapy of my own? Need I remind you of Aly? Of Ayla? Of—"
She snaps back at him, fire blazing in her eyes as the unusual timidity melts under her normal passionate fury.
"No you damn well don't! Andrew, I don't want to live in the past! I'm never going to forgive him, and I don't feel obliged to forgive him! But what I CAN do is move on and GROW UP! Something you can't seem to do. Callie's a grown woman. She makes her own decisions. And if she feels like you've been trying to choke her out of this job because you can't stop seeing her as a little girl and wanted some revenge, then that's how it goes! Now, I'm going to ask this one more time, because I'm your friend and I care about you. Pull your head out of your ass and get some sleep!"
The two exchange an icy glare. After a moment, Emma turns and walks away, shaking her head in disgust. Andrew watches her go, staring after her until the door closes, and turns back to the bag. He winds up for a big strike, and as he impacts we cut to black.