Post by Andrew Jacobsen on Mar 23, 2010 21:18:07 GMT -6
Andrew looks into the camera, tapping it. As the viewer shakes, we can tell that this isn't a regular segment, but rather one being done by a hand-held camera. He grins as he sees the ever-familiar blinking red light showing that his actions and words are getting recorded so they can be laughed at by thousands of people the world over. Andrew points the camera around to show that he is, in fact, in Tampa, sunny and warm as it is. He turns it back to his face, grinning.
“Hey everyone, Andrew Jacobsen here in scenic Tampa, Florida, home of the Buccaneers, the Rays, the Lightning, and, of course, the St. Pete Times Forum. The venue that this year plays host to nCw's Sovereign pay-per-view event. There's a stacked card this year: an Assault X match for the Women's Title, the glut of grudge matches, including one for the top jewel of the company, the World Title...but you folks don't want to hear me recap the card, you want to hear about the Coliseum match! Six men, one hellish structure, one goal. A shot at that crown jewel previously mentioned at the biggest event of the year, A Night To Remember. Oh, believe me: I intend to make it a night to remember. Because when I defeat Angel or Gib, whoever's got the belt, and become World Champion, EVERYONE will remember it.”
He grins once again, looking around at the beautiful weather in Tampa. Andrew sighs, looking back into the camera.
“Folks, if what I hear from people back home is accurate, I'm glad I'm not in the Twin Cities right now. It sounds like they're still pretty damn cold. Now, I know what I'm going to hear from Indigestion, so here's my two cents: how's it feel? How do you like getting beat down after a match? Sucks, doesn't it? Well, turnabout's fair play, so check your whining at the door. Yeah, you want your respect? You've done nothing to deserve it. Kristoff, all I hear from you is the same trite crap I hear every week. You go back to what seems like your blood-drenched security blanket, that briefcase, all the time. You know what? As I listen to you yammer about Paul taking a shot to the head for his troubles, it dawns upon me...you're a...what'd you say Bates was, Emma?”
AJ turns the camera behind him, filming Emma Danielson walking along with him. She blinks, clearing her throat.
“Uhh, I believe it was a pseudo-psychopathic, perverted, whining piece of, ah...yeah, I think the folks at home could see where I was going.”
The camera bobs up and down, presumably from AJ nodding, and then stops.
“Em, this just isn't working. I can't film myself and walk without running the risk of going face-first into a tree. Take the camera, willya?”
AJ hands Emma the camera, which is accompanied by a lot of mic noise. Finally, the camera looks back up to see Andrew walking along again, with Emma filming.
“Thanks, Em. Well, that really summarizes Kristoff Bates. He cries and whines even as he tries to put on this “I am Monster, Destroyer of Careers” image. Kristoff, your problem is that you're inconsistent. You're simultaneously the only man in this company to defeat Gib three times and someone who's choked harder than I thought possible. Before you say it, I know that you were Xtreme Champion. Yeah, that's impressive and all. But I've beaten you before, and I know how you work. You act all methodical, but underneath the surface you're just blindly angry. That's going to come back to bite you on the ass, Bates. Or kick you in the jaw, whatever floats your boat.”
He smiles, walking past the Lowry Park Zoo. Andrew ponders something, being careful to dodge any traffic on the sidewalk. Emma coughs, setting the camera moving for a moment, but quickly refocuses on Andrew.
“Lest I forget, we've got the other representative from Inconceivable, Jimmy Zane. Now, what can be said about Jimmy Zane? Rather, what can be said that'll get broadcast? It's a long list, which many people have gone over before. I'll try to come up with something original, I promise...uhh, let's see. I've made fun of his catchphrases, his random shouting, his accent, his voodoo prince status—that's just kind of bizarre, honestly—his whining...well, how about we look at where he HAS succeeded?
Andrew shrugs, looking to Emma. She nods her assent off-camera, prompting Andrew to continue on his line of thought.
“I guess we'll take it from your biggest achievement: you were X-Division Champion. Congratulations on that. You've beaten many of the men to hold our World Title, like Falcon and Angel. Arguably, you're one of the most accomplished wrestlers in the company today...in terms of who you've beaten. That X-Division Title reign? No defenses. You lost it right away. You held it for less time than I held it. So, in terms of actual achievements, you've got NOTHING on me. Y'hear?”
Andrew looks to Emma for confirmation.
“Do you think he gets it? I don't think he gets it.”
Emma shrugs, obviously off-camera.
“I think he might. He's sharper than you give him credit for, Andy. He managed to beat Falcon, after all. That takes some cunning. Plus, he's been on a roll so far. Y'know, apart from the whole 'got drilled by a Minnesota Massacre last week' thing.”
Andrew grins, savoring the memory of planting Zane into the mat. He chuckles to himself, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Yyeah. With any luck, more than just his spine got massacred there. Jimmy, you should go back and take a look at my match with Kristoff from Metamorphosis. Notice that I beat the living hell out of him, even after he'd been playing mind games for weeks. The psychological aspect can only take you so far. Also, what the hell does Emilio Estevez have to do with me beating your ass all over Tampa? I guess all you could think of for me was “Hey, he's not completely hideous, I'll insult him because of that!” Pathetic. Jimmy, the Age of Zane's going to have to wait, because neither you nor Bates is walking out of the Coliseum. And I don't just mean walking out the winner. I aim to cripple both of you. You want attention? The management can post videos of the surgeries you'll need after Sunday.”
Andrew pulls out a water bottle, taking a swig from it. He blinks, coughing up some liquid that's distinctly brown. He stops walking, looking over to Emma with an accusatory expression on his face.
“Emma, did you replace my water with whiskey again?”
She snickers, prompting Andrew to roll his eyes and hand her the bottle.
“Sorry. Couldn't resist.”
Andrew nods, resuming his walk. He grumbles under his breath for a moment before resuming his speechifying.
“Okay. Third and final opponent I'm going to cover today—don't worry, I'll get to the other two next time—is Ricky Johnson. Ricky, it seems like you just weren't trying hard enough in that three-team tag. If you'd been bringing what you brought to the table against Atreyu and Nelly, we would have been able to win. Well, you DID have a hand from one Rob Diamond and a well-timed Dominicus Driver, so I guess I can't give you THAT MUCH credit. Ricky, you'll have to do better than you've done in recent weeks. Yeah, you choked out du Lac. Big deal. That doesn't change the fact that you're a worthless excuse for a human being, let alone a wrestler.”
Emma snorts, piping in her two cents.
“Y'got that right. I mean, what he did...him and Roxi...come on, man. You were happily married. She'd have done ANYTHING for you. You cheated on a woman that took a bullet for you? That was going to bear your child UNTIL she took that bullet? You're lower than low, Johnson. You're a scumbag of the highest degree. I'd tell you to rot in hell, but I think that's being too gentle. Either way, I hope someone beats your ass into the dirt.”
Andrew chuckles, glancing back to the camera.
“I think Emma wants to fight you herself. And you know what, Ricky? She'd probably beat you. She's pretty damn tough. I'm not even insulting you here. Emma's not the kind of person you want to run into in a dark alley. She'd probably beat you up, steal your wallet, and use the money to go buy enough booze to kill a small elephant. Now, if she can do that...imagine what I could do to you. Imagine what someone who's got a thorough knowledge of the levels of stress a human body can take and who knows a hold to stretch and strain every part of that body can do to you. Ricky, one mistake and I'll have you screaming for mercy. There are 206 bones in the adult human body, Ricky. If I have to, I will break every one of yours to win. Know that. And know that you. Will. Fail.”
Emma chuckles to herself. Andrew looks over at her quizzically.
“You're really getting into this. Almost sounds like you're auditioning for a spot in the Dominicus Republic.”
Andrew shudders.
“Oh, god no. I don't want to spend any more time listening to Rob Diamond than is contractually required of me. Anyway, I think that covers the agenda this time around. Next time, I insult people on both sides of the Atlantic. Join us next time on Twisted Promo Theater, where worlds explode. I'm Andrew Jacobsen, and you're not.”
Fade out on Andrew narrowly avoiding faceplanting into a tree.
“Hey everyone, Andrew Jacobsen here in scenic Tampa, Florida, home of the Buccaneers, the Rays, the Lightning, and, of course, the St. Pete Times Forum. The venue that this year plays host to nCw's Sovereign pay-per-view event. There's a stacked card this year: an Assault X match for the Women's Title, the glut of grudge matches, including one for the top jewel of the company, the World Title...but you folks don't want to hear me recap the card, you want to hear about the Coliseum match! Six men, one hellish structure, one goal. A shot at that crown jewel previously mentioned at the biggest event of the year, A Night To Remember. Oh, believe me: I intend to make it a night to remember. Because when I defeat Angel or Gib, whoever's got the belt, and become World Champion, EVERYONE will remember it.”
He grins once again, looking around at the beautiful weather in Tampa. Andrew sighs, looking back into the camera.
“Folks, if what I hear from people back home is accurate, I'm glad I'm not in the Twin Cities right now. It sounds like they're still pretty damn cold. Now, I know what I'm going to hear from Indigestion, so here's my two cents: how's it feel? How do you like getting beat down after a match? Sucks, doesn't it? Well, turnabout's fair play, so check your whining at the door. Yeah, you want your respect? You've done nothing to deserve it. Kristoff, all I hear from you is the same trite crap I hear every week. You go back to what seems like your blood-drenched security blanket, that briefcase, all the time. You know what? As I listen to you yammer about Paul taking a shot to the head for his troubles, it dawns upon me...you're a...what'd you say Bates was, Emma?”
AJ turns the camera behind him, filming Emma Danielson walking along with him. She blinks, clearing her throat.
“Uhh, I believe it was a pseudo-psychopathic, perverted, whining piece of, ah...yeah, I think the folks at home could see where I was going.”
The camera bobs up and down, presumably from AJ nodding, and then stops.
“Em, this just isn't working. I can't film myself and walk without running the risk of going face-first into a tree. Take the camera, willya?”
AJ hands Emma the camera, which is accompanied by a lot of mic noise. Finally, the camera looks back up to see Andrew walking along again, with Emma filming.
“Thanks, Em. Well, that really summarizes Kristoff Bates. He cries and whines even as he tries to put on this “I am Monster, Destroyer of Careers” image. Kristoff, your problem is that you're inconsistent. You're simultaneously the only man in this company to defeat Gib three times and someone who's choked harder than I thought possible. Before you say it, I know that you were Xtreme Champion. Yeah, that's impressive and all. But I've beaten you before, and I know how you work. You act all methodical, but underneath the surface you're just blindly angry. That's going to come back to bite you on the ass, Bates. Or kick you in the jaw, whatever floats your boat.”
He smiles, walking past the Lowry Park Zoo. Andrew ponders something, being careful to dodge any traffic on the sidewalk. Emma coughs, setting the camera moving for a moment, but quickly refocuses on Andrew.
“Lest I forget, we've got the other representative from Inconceivable, Jimmy Zane. Now, what can be said about Jimmy Zane? Rather, what can be said that'll get broadcast? It's a long list, which many people have gone over before. I'll try to come up with something original, I promise...uhh, let's see. I've made fun of his catchphrases, his random shouting, his accent, his voodoo prince status—that's just kind of bizarre, honestly—his whining...well, how about we look at where he HAS succeeded?
Andrew shrugs, looking to Emma. She nods her assent off-camera, prompting Andrew to continue on his line of thought.
“I guess we'll take it from your biggest achievement: you were X-Division Champion. Congratulations on that. You've beaten many of the men to hold our World Title, like Falcon and Angel. Arguably, you're one of the most accomplished wrestlers in the company today...in terms of who you've beaten. That X-Division Title reign? No defenses. You lost it right away. You held it for less time than I held it. So, in terms of actual achievements, you've got NOTHING on me. Y'hear?”
Andrew looks to Emma for confirmation.
“Do you think he gets it? I don't think he gets it.”
Emma shrugs, obviously off-camera.
“I think he might. He's sharper than you give him credit for, Andy. He managed to beat Falcon, after all. That takes some cunning. Plus, he's been on a roll so far. Y'know, apart from the whole 'got drilled by a Minnesota Massacre last week' thing.”
Andrew grins, savoring the memory of planting Zane into the mat. He chuckles to himself, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Yyeah. With any luck, more than just his spine got massacred there. Jimmy, you should go back and take a look at my match with Kristoff from Metamorphosis. Notice that I beat the living hell out of him, even after he'd been playing mind games for weeks. The psychological aspect can only take you so far. Also, what the hell does Emilio Estevez have to do with me beating your ass all over Tampa? I guess all you could think of for me was “Hey, he's not completely hideous, I'll insult him because of that!” Pathetic. Jimmy, the Age of Zane's going to have to wait, because neither you nor Bates is walking out of the Coliseum. And I don't just mean walking out the winner. I aim to cripple both of you. You want attention? The management can post videos of the surgeries you'll need after Sunday.”
Andrew pulls out a water bottle, taking a swig from it. He blinks, coughing up some liquid that's distinctly brown. He stops walking, looking over to Emma with an accusatory expression on his face.
“Emma, did you replace my water with whiskey again?”
She snickers, prompting Andrew to roll his eyes and hand her the bottle.
“Sorry. Couldn't resist.”
Andrew nods, resuming his walk. He grumbles under his breath for a moment before resuming his speechifying.
“Okay. Third and final opponent I'm going to cover today—don't worry, I'll get to the other two next time—is Ricky Johnson. Ricky, it seems like you just weren't trying hard enough in that three-team tag. If you'd been bringing what you brought to the table against Atreyu and Nelly, we would have been able to win. Well, you DID have a hand from one Rob Diamond and a well-timed Dominicus Driver, so I guess I can't give you THAT MUCH credit. Ricky, you'll have to do better than you've done in recent weeks. Yeah, you choked out du Lac. Big deal. That doesn't change the fact that you're a worthless excuse for a human being, let alone a wrestler.”
Emma snorts, piping in her two cents.
“Y'got that right. I mean, what he did...him and Roxi...come on, man. You were happily married. She'd have done ANYTHING for you. You cheated on a woman that took a bullet for you? That was going to bear your child UNTIL she took that bullet? You're lower than low, Johnson. You're a scumbag of the highest degree. I'd tell you to rot in hell, but I think that's being too gentle. Either way, I hope someone beats your ass into the dirt.”
Andrew chuckles, glancing back to the camera.
“I think Emma wants to fight you herself. And you know what, Ricky? She'd probably beat you. She's pretty damn tough. I'm not even insulting you here. Emma's not the kind of person you want to run into in a dark alley. She'd probably beat you up, steal your wallet, and use the money to go buy enough booze to kill a small elephant. Now, if she can do that...imagine what I could do to you. Imagine what someone who's got a thorough knowledge of the levels of stress a human body can take and who knows a hold to stretch and strain every part of that body can do to you. Ricky, one mistake and I'll have you screaming for mercy. There are 206 bones in the adult human body, Ricky. If I have to, I will break every one of yours to win. Know that. And know that you. Will. Fail.”
Emma chuckles to herself. Andrew looks over at her quizzically.
“You're really getting into this. Almost sounds like you're auditioning for a spot in the Dominicus Republic.”
Andrew shudders.
“Oh, god no. I don't want to spend any more time listening to Rob Diamond than is contractually required of me. Anyway, I think that covers the agenda this time around. Next time, I insult people on both sides of the Atlantic. Join us next time on Twisted Promo Theater, where worlds explode. I'm Andrew Jacobsen, and you're not.”
Fade out on Andrew narrowly avoiding faceplanting into a tree.