Post by Will Washington on Jan 7, 2010 13:53:16 GMT -6
The scene opens on a shot of a sign reading ‘The Friendly Tap.’ The door opens and a surly looking biker walks out, as the cameraman quickly maneuvers into the tavern. We travel down the seemingly infinite bar, before getting to end and seeing Will Washington sitting by himself. He’s wearing the beautiful New Championship Wrestling hoodie and sweatpants combination. He lifts up a glass of milk and takes a drink, before wiping his face and turning toward the camera. Without saying a word, he throws up a hand gesture, signaling the bartender to fill it up again. His request is granted and he lets the cameraman know he’s ready to film his latest promo.
“In order to get a better understanding of my opposition this week, I decided to immerse myself in his style of living. Fergus Callaghan is known throughout the land for his ability to throw back liquor with the best of them. Whether it’s a pint of Guiness or a Jagerbomb, he can outdrink a flounder. It’s a life fast and die young philosophy that has been his trademark throughout his days in wrestling. He’s had very little success when it comes to ascending the ladder to greatness, but he’s certainly carved out himself a niche. Love him or hate him he’s going to keep being himself. A hard headed approach to living, but it‘s something some might find admirable. Not me. It‘s another piece of a disturbing trend engulfing this once great country. People who can‘t change, people who don‘t take care of themselves, and people who discredit their entire ethnicity. And buddy, you fall into all three of those categories. Allow me to elaborate so you can understand. Thinking can be hard for someone like you.”
Will removes his sunglasses and tucks them away in his side pocket of his jacket. He turns his stool around so that he’s facing the camera. With his focus entirely on camera, he continues cutting the promo.
“You are a drunk. That’s something you know and understand. You make no excuses for your lifestyle of partying and embarrassing yourself on a nightly basis. Can you even remember the last time you woke up in your own bed and not in a gutter somewhere? I strongly doubt it. You’re a walking, talking case of alcohol poisoning. An example for the children of what not to do with your life. The fact that you embrace these circumstances is mind boggling and not to mention reckless. There should be posters of your hideous mug all over the cities warning people that if they adhere to your image and conduct themselves in your light, they will be an unsuccessful grappler themselves. A terrible thought, but a possible one nevertheless. Your constant alcohol abuse has only set you up for a series of disappointments. But hell, you probably don’t even realize that you’re such a failure. Grain alcohol makes the bad times go away I suppose. It never lets you down, never leaves you when you need it the most. When you drown your sorrows in the bottle, you‘re doing yourself a favor and a disservice. Yes you‘re forgetting the bad times, but you‘re also making yourself a laughing stock and a pitiful excuse for a competitor. You could change all of that by just putting the bottle down and taking an overview of your life. You could do that, but you won’t, because you don’t realize you have a problem. You know you’re a drunk, however you don’t realize these ramifications I point out to you. You’ll watch this, think for thirty seconds, and then take a fistful of pain killers and drink a fifth of vodka. Then you’ll wake up tomorrow and forget all about this potentially life saving message. Your ways will be set in stone until you’re forced to change, or you die. Whichever comes first. That’s the mission this week, to make you understand what the world understands: YOU’RE PATHETIC.”
After raising his voice, Will calms himself down.
“The undercard of New Championship Wrestling is basically your home away from home now. You jerk the curtain on a weekly basis. They don’t even have the lights turned on yet most of the time you come out. It’s not hard to see why either. You don’t win because you’re always hammered. Even if your boozing led you to a series of wins, you still wouldn’t progress up the depth chart at all. How would nCw trust you enough to give you any big time title shots? You could be scheduled for a match at the next Pay-Per-View, and not show up because you’re still sleeping off a bender from the night before. Then our company would look like a joke to everyone around the world. You’d probably get fired, make a crappy album, wrestle somewhere else, come back, get some success, take time off, and then p*** all over nCw by joining the competition to pay your court bills. But there’s no way that could happen. Nobody could be that disrespectful.”
Will seemingly looks through the camera, right into the homes of wrestling fans. After an awkward moment, he sits back in the chair.
“In America today, so much emphasis is put on following what everyone else is doing. Celebrities and athletes are the role models. That means everyone is exposed to young starlets doing drugs almost non-stop, athletes cheating the game by taking steroids, and actors drinking way more than anyone should legally be allowed. These supposed role models are throwing their lives away to get a little bit of pleasure out of these substances. Every day you get on the internet and see another celebrity has died, or been fired from their job for substance abuse. It’s a tragic and unsettling trend that we’re facing.”
A more serious look is seen in Washington’s expression. Almost one of concern.
“That’s the road you’re heading down Fergus. You’re our ultimate expenditure. If the budget ever gets tight, you and Craven Moorehead are the first guys to go. He’s got a natural fallback position with that name as a gigolo, but where does that put you? Back working in the fields of sunny ol’ Ireland. You won’t be greeted like a hero either, you’ll be treated to a beating of epic proportions. You’re Ireland’s great white hope now, so if you don’t achieve success, it’s clobberin’ time. You‘re losing all the hype and becoming a great embarrassment to the homeland. You think when your family came over they envisioned you‘d be such a alcoholic jack*ss? Deep in your heart you must understand how terrible you are. That can all change if you take my heed and leave behind this image of self destruction. Stop the drinking, quit staggering around the ring, and move up the card. All you‘ve got to do is put down the bottle. I‘ll give you five seconds to think about it making the change you desperately need. Ready?”
Will pulls up his sleeve and looks at his watch. He uses his hand to count down the numbers. At zero, he looks back up.
“Time’s up Fergus. I assume you’re still watching and not passed out. Knowing you like I do, I can only conclude that you have decided to stick to your guns and continue this drunken stupor you call a career. That’s unfortunate. You could have really made a difference in the community. Now it’s up to me to do it for you. The Irish are a long suffered group who get criticized, discriminated, and looked down on by most of the world. The English treat them like second class citizens. They’re perceived as pale, clammy drunkards who are only suitable for hard labor. What do you do to change their minds Fergie Ol’ Chap? Absolutely nothing. You make them feel right on every account. You’re nothing but a stereotype. A disgrace. I gave you the chance to change, but now’s the time where I make you change. The blackout induced this weekend won’t be from late night drinking, it’ll be from a barrage of punches and kicks. A fate much worse than spending the next day with a hangover. You’re making an entire group of society look bad, and I simply can’t let that happen any longer. While I go out of my way to educate the world on the inaccuracy that all Americans are the stereotypical ’Ugly American.’ I don’t own a pick up truck and hate everyone who isn’t white. I’ve never yelled out about my job being taken, nor have I listened to a Toby Keith album. You can say a lot of things about me, but I’m not a stereotype. I bleed red, white, and blue, but in my own unique way. I know the glory that this country has had in the past, and I fight every day to bring us back to a time of prosperity and wonderment. I have to crack a few skulls and break a few knee caps along the way, but war always has it’s casualties. I’m going to make a difference at any cost because I give a d*mn about this country. An anarchist dream is never complete. You see, I will do absolutely anything for my country, my people, as evidenced by my willingness to defend it. I’m the champion for the weak and the voice for the silent. If you don’t want to be something more, then step aside. I’ll save the world one beating at a time. How do I have so much confidence in myself you ask? Because I’ve got all the tools and the will power to do whatever I want to do.”
Will finishes off his glass of milk and sits it back down on a coaster. In the background a fight breaks out between members of rival gangs. The bartender grabs a shotgun and hops over the bar. He works himself in the middle of the fight and tries to break it up. He gets lost in the scuffle, and like a scene straight out of the movie Road House, he walks over and roundhouse kicks everyone wearing leather. After the ruckus has settled down, Will walks back over and slides his glass down the bar.
“Only the finest nourishing foods and beverages enter my system. No Pabst Blue Ribbon or Rolling Rock for me. The only thing a beer bottle is good for is cracking it over someone else’s head. No alcohol means no chance of Driving Under the Influence, Public Intoxication, or generally douchebaggery. Nothing to slow me down on my path to dominance. I don’t need the same ‘liquid courage’ to motivate me when it’s time to fight. When you’re out trying to fornicate with any bar skank who has a soft spot for a jobber, I’m in the dojo, getting better and better. That’s why I’m going to beat you, that’s why I’m going to do everything I say. I’m the only one dedicated enough to do it. You refuse to change, and I’m always adapting. There’s nothing I can’t do and no dragon I can’t slay. I’m just sad that management gave me such an easy challenge in my first match back from hiatus. The return of Suspense could be spoiled by your sloppy wrestling, and the main event is going to be a squash. Thankfully I’m there to keep the ratings high. It won’t be a pretty match, and I’m almost certain you’ll puke in the ring at some point, but a match is a match and a win is a win. Next week give me some competition though, I’m ready to win some titles. At least give me something, I deserve better than this joke opponent. I want to face people who actually care about the business. Maybe next time give me the entire Callaghan clan to beat on. Fergus, Mark Evil, William Fitzpatrick, and even Patrick Fitzwilliam. I‘ll take them all on. One of them is bound to care about something. Right? I‘m not your garbage man nCw management. Give me a d*mn challenge. Irish eyes will be smiling down on me this week as I lower the possibility of having another generation of idiotic boozers with no ambition. I’m doing the entire island a favor.”
Will lays down the money to pay his tab.
“You’re welcome Ireland. Send any cards and letters to the nCw Headquarters.”
Will walks towards the door and pauses before opening it.
“Oh, and Fergus. Come this Sunday, I’m going to hit you harder than the Potato Famine.”
He opens the door and walks out as the door closes. The camera shifts back to the fall bikers who are all feeling the affects of the sick Roundhouse. The bartender ushers one out the door as we fade to black like Jay-Z.
“In order to get a better understanding of my opposition this week, I decided to immerse myself in his style of living. Fergus Callaghan is known throughout the land for his ability to throw back liquor with the best of them. Whether it’s a pint of Guiness or a Jagerbomb, he can outdrink a flounder. It’s a life fast and die young philosophy that has been his trademark throughout his days in wrestling. He’s had very little success when it comes to ascending the ladder to greatness, but he’s certainly carved out himself a niche. Love him or hate him he’s going to keep being himself. A hard headed approach to living, but it‘s something some might find admirable. Not me. It‘s another piece of a disturbing trend engulfing this once great country. People who can‘t change, people who don‘t take care of themselves, and people who discredit their entire ethnicity. And buddy, you fall into all three of those categories. Allow me to elaborate so you can understand. Thinking can be hard for someone like you.”
Will removes his sunglasses and tucks them away in his side pocket of his jacket. He turns his stool around so that he’s facing the camera. With his focus entirely on camera, he continues cutting the promo.
“You are a drunk. That’s something you know and understand. You make no excuses for your lifestyle of partying and embarrassing yourself on a nightly basis. Can you even remember the last time you woke up in your own bed and not in a gutter somewhere? I strongly doubt it. You’re a walking, talking case of alcohol poisoning. An example for the children of what not to do with your life. The fact that you embrace these circumstances is mind boggling and not to mention reckless. There should be posters of your hideous mug all over the cities warning people that if they adhere to your image and conduct themselves in your light, they will be an unsuccessful grappler themselves. A terrible thought, but a possible one nevertheless. Your constant alcohol abuse has only set you up for a series of disappointments. But hell, you probably don’t even realize that you’re such a failure. Grain alcohol makes the bad times go away I suppose. It never lets you down, never leaves you when you need it the most. When you drown your sorrows in the bottle, you‘re doing yourself a favor and a disservice. Yes you‘re forgetting the bad times, but you‘re also making yourself a laughing stock and a pitiful excuse for a competitor. You could change all of that by just putting the bottle down and taking an overview of your life. You could do that, but you won’t, because you don’t realize you have a problem. You know you’re a drunk, however you don’t realize these ramifications I point out to you. You’ll watch this, think for thirty seconds, and then take a fistful of pain killers and drink a fifth of vodka. Then you’ll wake up tomorrow and forget all about this potentially life saving message. Your ways will be set in stone until you’re forced to change, or you die. Whichever comes first. That’s the mission this week, to make you understand what the world understands: YOU’RE PATHETIC.”
After raising his voice, Will calms himself down.
“The undercard of New Championship Wrestling is basically your home away from home now. You jerk the curtain on a weekly basis. They don’t even have the lights turned on yet most of the time you come out. It’s not hard to see why either. You don’t win because you’re always hammered. Even if your boozing led you to a series of wins, you still wouldn’t progress up the depth chart at all. How would nCw trust you enough to give you any big time title shots? You could be scheduled for a match at the next Pay-Per-View, and not show up because you’re still sleeping off a bender from the night before. Then our company would look like a joke to everyone around the world. You’d probably get fired, make a crappy album, wrestle somewhere else, come back, get some success, take time off, and then p*** all over nCw by joining the competition to pay your court bills. But there’s no way that could happen. Nobody could be that disrespectful.”
Will seemingly looks through the camera, right into the homes of wrestling fans. After an awkward moment, he sits back in the chair.
“In America today, so much emphasis is put on following what everyone else is doing. Celebrities and athletes are the role models. That means everyone is exposed to young starlets doing drugs almost non-stop, athletes cheating the game by taking steroids, and actors drinking way more than anyone should legally be allowed. These supposed role models are throwing their lives away to get a little bit of pleasure out of these substances. Every day you get on the internet and see another celebrity has died, or been fired from their job for substance abuse. It’s a tragic and unsettling trend that we’re facing.”
A more serious look is seen in Washington’s expression. Almost one of concern.
“That’s the road you’re heading down Fergus. You’re our ultimate expenditure. If the budget ever gets tight, you and Craven Moorehead are the first guys to go. He’s got a natural fallback position with that name as a gigolo, but where does that put you? Back working in the fields of sunny ol’ Ireland. You won’t be greeted like a hero either, you’ll be treated to a beating of epic proportions. You’re Ireland’s great white hope now, so if you don’t achieve success, it’s clobberin’ time. You‘re losing all the hype and becoming a great embarrassment to the homeland. You think when your family came over they envisioned you‘d be such a alcoholic jack*ss? Deep in your heart you must understand how terrible you are. That can all change if you take my heed and leave behind this image of self destruction. Stop the drinking, quit staggering around the ring, and move up the card. All you‘ve got to do is put down the bottle. I‘ll give you five seconds to think about it making the change you desperately need. Ready?”
Will pulls up his sleeve and looks at his watch. He uses his hand to count down the numbers. At zero, he looks back up.
“Time’s up Fergus. I assume you’re still watching and not passed out. Knowing you like I do, I can only conclude that you have decided to stick to your guns and continue this drunken stupor you call a career. That’s unfortunate. You could have really made a difference in the community. Now it’s up to me to do it for you. The Irish are a long suffered group who get criticized, discriminated, and looked down on by most of the world. The English treat them like second class citizens. They’re perceived as pale, clammy drunkards who are only suitable for hard labor. What do you do to change their minds Fergie Ol’ Chap? Absolutely nothing. You make them feel right on every account. You’re nothing but a stereotype. A disgrace. I gave you the chance to change, but now’s the time where I make you change. The blackout induced this weekend won’t be from late night drinking, it’ll be from a barrage of punches and kicks. A fate much worse than spending the next day with a hangover. You’re making an entire group of society look bad, and I simply can’t let that happen any longer. While I go out of my way to educate the world on the inaccuracy that all Americans are the stereotypical ’Ugly American.’ I don’t own a pick up truck and hate everyone who isn’t white. I’ve never yelled out about my job being taken, nor have I listened to a Toby Keith album. You can say a lot of things about me, but I’m not a stereotype. I bleed red, white, and blue, but in my own unique way. I know the glory that this country has had in the past, and I fight every day to bring us back to a time of prosperity and wonderment. I have to crack a few skulls and break a few knee caps along the way, but war always has it’s casualties. I’m going to make a difference at any cost because I give a d*mn about this country. An anarchist dream is never complete. You see, I will do absolutely anything for my country, my people, as evidenced by my willingness to defend it. I’m the champion for the weak and the voice for the silent. If you don’t want to be something more, then step aside. I’ll save the world one beating at a time. How do I have so much confidence in myself you ask? Because I’ve got all the tools and the will power to do whatever I want to do.”
Will finishes off his glass of milk and sits it back down on a coaster. In the background a fight breaks out between members of rival gangs. The bartender grabs a shotgun and hops over the bar. He works himself in the middle of the fight and tries to break it up. He gets lost in the scuffle, and like a scene straight out of the movie Road House, he walks over and roundhouse kicks everyone wearing leather. After the ruckus has settled down, Will walks back over and slides his glass down the bar.
“Only the finest nourishing foods and beverages enter my system. No Pabst Blue Ribbon or Rolling Rock for me. The only thing a beer bottle is good for is cracking it over someone else’s head. No alcohol means no chance of Driving Under the Influence, Public Intoxication, or generally douchebaggery. Nothing to slow me down on my path to dominance. I don’t need the same ‘liquid courage’ to motivate me when it’s time to fight. When you’re out trying to fornicate with any bar skank who has a soft spot for a jobber, I’m in the dojo, getting better and better. That’s why I’m going to beat you, that’s why I’m going to do everything I say. I’m the only one dedicated enough to do it. You refuse to change, and I’m always adapting. There’s nothing I can’t do and no dragon I can’t slay. I’m just sad that management gave me such an easy challenge in my first match back from hiatus. The return of Suspense could be spoiled by your sloppy wrestling, and the main event is going to be a squash. Thankfully I’m there to keep the ratings high. It won’t be a pretty match, and I’m almost certain you’ll puke in the ring at some point, but a match is a match and a win is a win. Next week give me some competition though, I’m ready to win some titles. At least give me something, I deserve better than this joke opponent. I want to face people who actually care about the business. Maybe next time give me the entire Callaghan clan to beat on. Fergus, Mark Evil, William Fitzpatrick, and even Patrick Fitzwilliam. I‘ll take them all on. One of them is bound to care about something. Right? I‘m not your garbage man nCw management. Give me a d*mn challenge. Irish eyes will be smiling down on me this week as I lower the possibility of having another generation of idiotic boozers with no ambition. I’m doing the entire island a favor.”
Will lays down the money to pay his tab.
“You’re welcome Ireland. Send any cards and letters to the nCw Headquarters.”
Will walks towards the door and pauses before opening it.
“Oh, and Fergus. Come this Sunday, I’m going to hit you harder than the Potato Famine.”
He opens the door and walks out as the door closes. The camera shifts back to the fall bikers who are all feeling the affects of the sick Roundhouse. The bartender ushers one out the door as we fade to black like Jay-Z.