Post by Andrew Jacobsen on Mar 26, 2010 21:20:00 GMT -6
A respectable video package leads us in, showing matches from nCw's past, being almost conspicuous in its inclusion of an Andrew Jacobsen match or two. A title card informs us that we're watching “Rope to Rope with Andrew Jacobsen”. The card fades into a shot of Andrew sitting at a desk in the middle of a ring whose turnbuckles and ring apron have been conspicuously blurred out. Andrew, who is wearing a nice jacket over his usual gear, clears his throat as he shuffles some notecards.
“Hello. Welcome to this inaugural edition of Rope to Rope. I'm your host, Andrew Jacobsen, and we're broadcasting live from Soundstage 21 here at the lovely Universal Studios in Orlando, Florida. There's been a lot of heated words exchanged this week between the men in nCw's Coliseum Match. I thought I'd offer my services as a moderator so these moro—I mean, gentlemen could resolve their differences. So, I'd like to invite them out here right now. Bring your own chairs, I was too lazy to pay for shipping. Introducing first, from Cambridge, Massachusetts, the Patriotic Punisher, ladies and gents, Mr. WILL WASHINGTON!”
He looks to the entrance ramp, where “The Soldier's Song” plays as not Will, but Evan Spilchuk makes his way to the ring. He's dressed in Will's gear, but does his usual dancing down to the ring. He jumps off the walkway to the ring, grabbing a chair from underneath it and setting it up. Evan sits across the table from AJ, a big grin on his face. Andrew facepalms, groaning.
“Gonna be a long day...next up, the one, the only, the Charismaless Enigma, the Dark Messiah himself, Jimmy Zane!”
“Cult of Personality” plays, but it's Cousin Billy Ray that comes out next, dressed in Jimmy's ring gear. He carries a chair with him as he walks to the ring, yammering about how his legs would have let him run “before the accident”. Billy Ray steps between the second and top ropes, setting up his chair next to Evan. The clueless pop singer offers him a handshake and a smile, which gets rejected with a loogie in Evan's perfectly gelled hair. As Spilchuk fusses over his 'do, Andrew presses on.
“And next, his partner in crime, a man who makes me look like Naitch in the charisma department, Kristoff Liam Bates!”
As is becoming formula, Uncle Gerald lumbers out to the ring, chair in hand, to the tune of "Louder Than Words". He looks for all the world like a gorilla in a very nice suit...or Chris Diamond without a shave. Either way, he sits next to Billy Ray, as would be expected. Andrew grins, sensing things moving along smoothly once again.
“Okay. Next up, the Cambridge native from the other side of the pond, our British rocker, Paul Star!”
“Ladies and Gentlemen” ushers in “Bad Luck” Chuck, wearing a fur coat that's distinctly been worn by Star before. Andrew looks at him oddly as he comes into the ring and sits down. Chuck returns the stare.
“...what? It was just lying there, and I needed a blanket.”
Andy sighs, shaking his head.
“Aaaand finally, Ricky Johnson. No, he doesn't get anything special. I just don't care enough.”
“It's All Over” brings in an irate Craven Moorehead, wearing a long coat that says “Property of Ricky Johnson” on the tag. Andrew bites back a curse as Craven sits down.
“You people and stealing clothing...okay, guys. Before we begin...am I the only one who saw a bunch of other nCw guys here? I think I saw Atreyu and Curtis Kanyon when I came in, and that's not all...okay. You've all had a lot of complaints about each other. Jimmy, I understand you wanted to speak first?”
Billy Ray nods begrudgingly, taking a notecard from the table and reading rather stiltedly from it.
“Now I had the opportunity to review a few of the promos that you jackholes put up in the last few days. Before I actually address any of you, I have to know...
DID YOU JACKASSES GET TOGETHER AND COLLABORATE ON WHAT TO SAY ABOUT ME?
Jesus H Christ, assholes, it's like you are all repeating the same thing that the last jackass said.”
Andrew groans, looking to Billy Ray.
“Jimmy, REALLY? You want to take that route? Yes, we're all saying the same thing. It's because we all know exactly why you SUCK. You're loud, you're repetitive AND contradictory, and your foolishness just crosses the damn line. Maybe repeating it all a few times might get it to stick eventually. Until then, we're going to keep bashing you for the idiot you are. Right then, that takes care of you...okay, Will, you wanted to talk!”
Evan bounces up and down in his seat with glee, taking his card.
“Okay, so, uh, Andrew, the internet marks, like, loved you, but, y'know, you're totally turning into just another d*ckface, knowwhatImean? Ya know, you've soo got this total false sense of security going, yah? Did I do it right?”
He looks nervously to Andrew, who's busy looking around the soundstage.
“Anyone got a beer? Anyone? Hell, anyone got beer money? No? Damn. Okay...guess I'm going to have to do this the sober way. Will, I'm a d*ckface? Real classy. That's got to be the most intelligently thought out insult I've heard in my time here—indeed, ever in my life! Truly you pulled out all the stops for that! I know you think you've got a position to pass judgment, but listen up and listen good: this isn't a false sense of security, it's just me going in with a positive outlook. If you go into a match thinking you're going to lose, you've already lost. That's why I'm so confident: I want to win. Next!”
Chuck picks up his card, squinting to read from it.
“Sorry, my eyesight's going...this card's blank, Andrew. Nothing. What am I supposed to do?”
Andrew grins at the perplexed Chuck.
“That's just it: Paul didn't say anything much about me. He talked about everyone else at length, but not me. Frankly, I'm a bit disappointed. I gave you plenty of airtime, and you breeze past me in less than thirty seconds? Come on, Paul. You've got more to say than that. Where's the fire that you had when we were up against each other at Crossroads? Paul, this is a brutal match we're getting into. You've got to step it up even more if you want that win. Give it everything you've got and I can see you at the end of the day pulling it out...barring what's probably going to happen, which is me getting the win. But seriously, I've got a good feeling about your chances, Paul. Good luck.”
Gerald interjects, exactly as if it were on cue.
“You keep ignoring me, Jacobsen! You're in on the conspiracy! You're holding us back! INFAMOUS WILL NOT BE SILENCED! ...sorry.”
Andrew chuckles, nodding to Gerald. The big man squirms, clearly unused to wearing this nice of, or in fact this much clothing.
“You're right, Kristoff. I have been ignoring you. And that's because I don't care what you have to say. I've shown the world that I can beat you once, and I can definitely beat you again. Rant all you want about being held back and left behind, but you've had two chances to get at the World Title in the last year. You actually got to scrap with Adam Knite, and you were in the Riot. So I don't see how you get off whining about not getting enough title shots. Maybe if you could actually perform in the ring, it'd be different. Ah, so it goes. Anyhow, on to our final guest, Mr. Ricky “Spear” Johnson. Now, Ricky, you had some apologizing to do?”
Craven grumbles before picking up the notes and reading tersely.
“You think you deserve my respect? You're a nobody, you got beat by a nobody, and you had the guts to imply I was cheating on my wife. I'm going to reacquaint you with pain and anguish Sunday, so you had better get ready. Because Ricky's here. Ricky's pissed off. Ricky's gonna kill...I won't say this. It's bull****. I'm better than this.”
He tosses down the notes, shooting up from his seat. He rips off the coat and flings it at AJ, who calmly fields it under his arm. Andrew bites back the laughter as Moorehead kicks open the door, storming out.
“Yeah, yeah. Sure you're better than this, Bukkake Man! And Ricky, you're just mad because I hit the nail on the head. Or at least everything looks to be that way. I mean, your clothes reeking of perfume, the compromising situations you find yourself in...not a good sign. Hope that you've got enough presence of mind to not leave any major openings come Sunday. I'm not the ultimate opportunist, but I'm damn close. And that's not even mentioning the other four guys...”
Andrew grins, but it's wiped off his face as he hears footsteps and voices from the entrance tunnel. Andrew jumps up, briefly glancing to the camera.
“Alright then. All you guys in the Coliseum, bring your best, I'll bring mine, and may the best man win, now we gotta RUN!”
Andrew and the jobbers peel out, leaving behind the table. A man that looks for all the world like former nCw World Champion Trent Helms walks through the curtains almost immediately afterward, looking around in confusion. He notices the table mid-ring and scratches his head. After a moment he shrugs, heading back through the curtains. Fade to black.
“Hello. Welcome to this inaugural edition of Rope to Rope. I'm your host, Andrew Jacobsen, and we're broadcasting live from Soundstage 21 here at the lovely Universal Studios in Orlando, Florida. There's been a lot of heated words exchanged this week between the men in nCw's Coliseum Match. I thought I'd offer my services as a moderator so these moro—I mean, gentlemen could resolve their differences. So, I'd like to invite them out here right now. Bring your own chairs, I was too lazy to pay for shipping. Introducing first, from Cambridge, Massachusetts, the Patriotic Punisher, ladies and gents, Mr. WILL WASHINGTON!”
He looks to the entrance ramp, where “The Soldier's Song” plays as not Will, but Evan Spilchuk makes his way to the ring. He's dressed in Will's gear, but does his usual dancing down to the ring. He jumps off the walkway to the ring, grabbing a chair from underneath it and setting it up. Evan sits across the table from AJ, a big grin on his face. Andrew facepalms, groaning.
“Gonna be a long day...next up, the one, the only, the Charismaless Enigma, the Dark Messiah himself, Jimmy Zane!”
“Cult of Personality” plays, but it's Cousin Billy Ray that comes out next, dressed in Jimmy's ring gear. He carries a chair with him as he walks to the ring, yammering about how his legs would have let him run “before the accident”. Billy Ray steps between the second and top ropes, setting up his chair next to Evan. The clueless pop singer offers him a handshake and a smile, which gets rejected with a loogie in Evan's perfectly gelled hair. As Spilchuk fusses over his 'do, Andrew presses on.
“And next, his partner in crime, a man who makes me look like Naitch in the charisma department, Kristoff Liam Bates!”
As is becoming formula, Uncle Gerald lumbers out to the ring, chair in hand, to the tune of "Louder Than Words". He looks for all the world like a gorilla in a very nice suit...or Chris Diamond without a shave. Either way, he sits next to Billy Ray, as would be expected. Andrew grins, sensing things moving along smoothly once again.
“Okay. Next up, the Cambridge native from the other side of the pond, our British rocker, Paul Star!”
“Ladies and Gentlemen” ushers in “Bad Luck” Chuck, wearing a fur coat that's distinctly been worn by Star before. Andrew looks at him oddly as he comes into the ring and sits down. Chuck returns the stare.
“...what? It was just lying there, and I needed a blanket.”
Andy sighs, shaking his head.
“Aaaand finally, Ricky Johnson. No, he doesn't get anything special. I just don't care enough.”
“It's All Over” brings in an irate Craven Moorehead, wearing a long coat that says “Property of Ricky Johnson” on the tag. Andrew bites back a curse as Craven sits down.
“You people and stealing clothing...okay, guys. Before we begin...am I the only one who saw a bunch of other nCw guys here? I think I saw Atreyu and Curtis Kanyon when I came in, and that's not all...okay. You've all had a lot of complaints about each other. Jimmy, I understand you wanted to speak first?”
Billy Ray nods begrudgingly, taking a notecard from the table and reading rather stiltedly from it.
“Now I had the opportunity to review a few of the promos that you jackholes put up in the last few days. Before I actually address any of you, I have to know...
DID YOU JACKASSES GET TOGETHER AND COLLABORATE ON WHAT TO SAY ABOUT ME?
Jesus H Christ, assholes, it's like you are all repeating the same thing that the last jackass said.”
Andrew groans, looking to Billy Ray.
“Jimmy, REALLY? You want to take that route? Yes, we're all saying the same thing. It's because we all know exactly why you SUCK. You're loud, you're repetitive AND contradictory, and your foolishness just crosses the damn line. Maybe repeating it all a few times might get it to stick eventually. Until then, we're going to keep bashing you for the idiot you are. Right then, that takes care of you...okay, Will, you wanted to talk!”
Evan bounces up and down in his seat with glee, taking his card.
“Okay, so, uh, Andrew, the internet marks, like, loved you, but, y'know, you're totally turning into just another d*ckface, knowwhatImean? Ya know, you've soo got this total false sense of security going, yah? Did I do it right?”
He looks nervously to Andrew, who's busy looking around the soundstage.
“Anyone got a beer? Anyone? Hell, anyone got beer money? No? Damn. Okay...guess I'm going to have to do this the sober way. Will, I'm a d*ckface? Real classy. That's got to be the most intelligently thought out insult I've heard in my time here—indeed, ever in my life! Truly you pulled out all the stops for that! I know you think you've got a position to pass judgment, but listen up and listen good: this isn't a false sense of security, it's just me going in with a positive outlook. If you go into a match thinking you're going to lose, you've already lost. That's why I'm so confident: I want to win. Next!”
Chuck picks up his card, squinting to read from it.
“Sorry, my eyesight's going...this card's blank, Andrew. Nothing. What am I supposed to do?”
Andrew grins at the perplexed Chuck.
“That's just it: Paul didn't say anything much about me. He talked about everyone else at length, but not me. Frankly, I'm a bit disappointed. I gave you plenty of airtime, and you breeze past me in less than thirty seconds? Come on, Paul. You've got more to say than that. Where's the fire that you had when we were up against each other at Crossroads? Paul, this is a brutal match we're getting into. You've got to step it up even more if you want that win. Give it everything you've got and I can see you at the end of the day pulling it out...barring what's probably going to happen, which is me getting the win. But seriously, I've got a good feeling about your chances, Paul. Good luck.”
Gerald interjects, exactly as if it were on cue.
“You keep ignoring me, Jacobsen! You're in on the conspiracy! You're holding us back! INFAMOUS WILL NOT BE SILENCED! ...sorry.”
Andrew chuckles, nodding to Gerald. The big man squirms, clearly unused to wearing this nice of, or in fact this much clothing.
“You're right, Kristoff. I have been ignoring you. And that's because I don't care what you have to say. I've shown the world that I can beat you once, and I can definitely beat you again. Rant all you want about being held back and left behind, but you've had two chances to get at the World Title in the last year. You actually got to scrap with Adam Knite, and you were in the Riot. So I don't see how you get off whining about not getting enough title shots. Maybe if you could actually perform in the ring, it'd be different. Ah, so it goes. Anyhow, on to our final guest, Mr. Ricky “Spear” Johnson. Now, Ricky, you had some apologizing to do?”
Craven grumbles before picking up the notes and reading tersely.
“You think you deserve my respect? You're a nobody, you got beat by a nobody, and you had the guts to imply I was cheating on my wife. I'm going to reacquaint you with pain and anguish Sunday, so you had better get ready. Because Ricky's here. Ricky's pissed off. Ricky's gonna kill...I won't say this. It's bull****. I'm better than this.”
He tosses down the notes, shooting up from his seat. He rips off the coat and flings it at AJ, who calmly fields it under his arm. Andrew bites back the laughter as Moorehead kicks open the door, storming out.
“Yeah, yeah. Sure you're better than this, Bukkake Man! And Ricky, you're just mad because I hit the nail on the head. Or at least everything looks to be that way. I mean, your clothes reeking of perfume, the compromising situations you find yourself in...not a good sign. Hope that you've got enough presence of mind to not leave any major openings come Sunday. I'm not the ultimate opportunist, but I'm damn close. And that's not even mentioning the other four guys...”
Andrew grins, but it's wiped off his face as he hears footsteps and voices from the entrance tunnel. Andrew jumps up, briefly glancing to the camera.
“Alright then. All you guys in the Coliseum, bring your best, I'll bring mine, and may the best man win, now we gotta RUN!”
Andrew and the jobbers peel out, leaving behind the table. A man that looks for all the world like former nCw World Champion Trent Helms walks through the curtains almost immediately afterward, looking around in confusion. He notices the table mid-ring and scratches his head. After a moment he shrugs, heading back through the curtains. Fade to black.