Post by Andrew Jacobsen on Jun 22, 2011 22:44:24 GMT -6
We fade in on Andrew Jacobsen standing in a pod in the London Eye. He looks out over the Thames River, grinning to himself and leaning against the wall. He speaks with a somewhat distant, lecturing tone of voice.
“There are many words people have used to describe me. Arrogant. Self-absorbed. Foolish. Naïve. Never have I heard someone call me a bootlicker. Never have I before seen such unbridled arrogance, such unrestrained HYPOCRISY...Alex, you make me sick. You rant and rave about how you've got all these names on your hitlist, how you've done all these things, demand I respect you, complain that they should FORCE respect...and then sweep what I did under the rug. Do you know what I've done over the last year? I've been wrestling my ass off. This kid, this rookie who nobody expected to last, went toe to toe with some of the biggest names in the business. I haven't won every match. But I've added names like DDK, Adam Knite and our esteemed GM Angel to my list of victories. I haven't just been sitting on my ass.”
He sneers, shaking his head at the show of disrespect, and stands back up straight, stretching a bit. He looks over to the camera, the smirk gone and his tone of voice deadly serious.
“Do you want to know what I did, Alex? I kept on fighting. I singlehandedly threw myself against the Young Guns. I didn't need any backup, I took them all on myself. I almost had Velez. I gave him the toughest damn defense he'd ever had. After that, well...let me put it to you this way, Jones. Stop me if you've heard this one before. A stable of talented wrestlers forms for the sole purpose of taking out the Young Guns and stopping them from running rampant on nCw. I'll give you a little hint, just in case you're too dense...”
Morphogenesis by Scar Symmetry kicks up in the background as Andrew smirks to himself. The song plays for a few seconds before Andrew makes a cutthroat gesture, stopping the music.
“I was the one to step up and say 'no more' to the Front Office. Me and Brad Kane made our voices heard. And at the end of the day, when the final battle came, only one man actually gave a damn anymore. Only one man put himself into it. Obviously, the Front Office was lackadaisical with their choices. I mean, Joe Everyman and Ron Gibson? Really? But I ripped them apart. I poured myself into that match...and then came the downward slide.”
He winces, knowing this could be a mistake, but presses on, determined to make his point.
“I lose to Falcon at Road to the Gold, I get ducked by Steve at Breaking Away, I get cost the Riot, I lose at Metamorphosis...losing to Steve was the final straw. I decided that I was going to change my tune. I was going to do what I thought was right for my CAREER, damn everyone else. I speared Xavier Cross in half because I knew that was my moment. And while initially it was rocky, I knew I had made the right decision. Venom offered me that spot in the Young Guns for one reason, Alex: he saw my potential. Not because I schmoozed my way in. He offered me that spot apropos of nothing. Want to accuse me of living off that legacy? Keep being wrong.”
The venom is audible in Andrew's voice as he speaks to the camera. He glares at it as if it were actually Alex, somehow feeling as if he's advancing on it without moving.
“I don't need Roberto, Sense or Zane to beat you. Hell, the fact that your buddy Angel came on down and blamed US for starting this is laughable. Your pals Todd and Xander were the ones that ASSAULTED Sense after he fought his way back in from the parking lot, where Trent Helms ambushed him. Verona just went to rescue him from that vicious two on one beatdown. You lot are a bunch of hypocrites: you play the morally upstanding heroes, but when you take a look at the men you've got there you actually realize how laughable that is.”
He chuckles to himself, shaking his head dismissively.
“I won't waste time on the rest of the Mystery Inc. Gang, though. Let's get back to the matter at hand, Alex. You and me, one on one, for the National Title. Would I be lying if I said this wasn't going to be a damn tough match? Yes, of course. Even as much as I don't like you, I still acknowledge your talent. I'm not going to hide behind anything this time, Alex. I don't need to. You accuse me of being a general, directing his forces...well, you're about to learn just how completely authority equals asskicking in the Young Guns. To put it simply: mess with the best, die like the rest.”
Andrew shakes his head, internally berating himself for using such a cliché and overused phrase. He presses on, maintaining his confident air.
“We last met in singles a year ago. You claim to have done a lot over the last year. And truthfully, you have. You did win the Tag Titles from Venom and Doc, two men who have EARNED my respect...but you lost them to Ander Carvetti and Johnny Holliday, men for whom disdain is too weak a word, pity too cheap. You beat me for the X-Division Title...and lost it the very next month to, of all people, ***damn FREAKKE. You lost that belt to a CLOWN. The very one I beat to get my shot at Rob, in fact. Don't wave your accomplishments in my face without knowing that I'll find a way to hurl them back at you.”
He pauses and leans on the rail, looking out over the city and sighing. The wind whips past the pod, and the lighting suddenly casts Jacobsen in a far different light, aging him almost a decade.
“You took the National Title from Venom last month. This month, it returns to the Young Gun fold. In the last year, a Young Gun has held the belt for nine months. This time, I show you that the games are over. You treat us with no respect? You get no respect. When I take that National Title away from you, and remind you and your little gang of friends that you cannot take your enemies lightly in a war...well, you'll have nobody to blame but yourself. Because unlike you, we will not take you lightly. You'll get what you deserve...the future is now. It's your choice whether you want to be a part of it.”
Andrew tosses off a sarcastic salute to the camera, smirking as it fades to black.
“There are many words people have used to describe me. Arrogant. Self-absorbed. Foolish. Naïve. Never have I heard someone call me a bootlicker. Never have I before seen such unbridled arrogance, such unrestrained HYPOCRISY...Alex, you make me sick. You rant and rave about how you've got all these names on your hitlist, how you've done all these things, demand I respect you, complain that they should FORCE respect...and then sweep what I did under the rug. Do you know what I've done over the last year? I've been wrestling my ass off. This kid, this rookie who nobody expected to last, went toe to toe with some of the biggest names in the business. I haven't won every match. But I've added names like DDK, Adam Knite and our esteemed GM Angel to my list of victories. I haven't just been sitting on my ass.”
He sneers, shaking his head at the show of disrespect, and stands back up straight, stretching a bit. He looks over to the camera, the smirk gone and his tone of voice deadly serious.
“Do you want to know what I did, Alex? I kept on fighting. I singlehandedly threw myself against the Young Guns. I didn't need any backup, I took them all on myself. I almost had Velez. I gave him the toughest damn defense he'd ever had. After that, well...let me put it to you this way, Jones. Stop me if you've heard this one before. A stable of talented wrestlers forms for the sole purpose of taking out the Young Guns and stopping them from running rampant on nCw. I'll give you a little hint, just in case you're too dense...”
Morphogenesis by Scar Symmetry kicks up in the background as Andrew smirks to himself. The song plays for a few seconds before Andrew makes a cutthroat gesture, stopping the music.
“I was the one to step up and say 'no more' to the Front Office. Me and Brad Kane made our voices heard. And at the end of the day, when the final battle came, only one man actually gave a damn anymore. Only one man put himself into it. Obviously, the Front Office was lackadaisical with their choices. I mean, Joe Everyman and Ron Gibson? Really? But I ripped them apart. I poured myself into that match...and then came the downward slide.”
He winces, knowing this could be a mistake, but presses on, determined to make his point.
“I lose to Falcon at Road to the Gold, I get ducked by Steve at Breaking Away, I get cost the Riot, I lose at Metamorphosis...losing to Steve was the final straw. I decided that I was going to change my tune. I was going to do what I thought was right for my CAREER, damn everyone else. I speared Xavier Cross in half because I knew that was my moment. And while initially it was rocky, I knew I had made the right decision. Venom offered me that spot in the Young Guns for one reason, Alex: he saw my potential. Not because I schmoozed my way in. He offered me that spot apropos of nothing. Want to accuse me of living off that legacy? Keep being wrong.”
The venom is audible in Andrew's voice as he speaks to the camera. He glares at it as if it were actually Alex, somehow feeling as if he's advancing on it without moving.
“I don't need Roberto, Sense or Zane to beat you. Hell, the fact that your buddy Angel came on down and blamed US for starting this is laughable. Your pals Todd and Xander were the ones that ASSAULTED Sense after he fought his way back in from the parking lot, where Trent Helms ambushed him. Verona just went to rescue him from that vicious two on one beatdown. You lot are a bunch of hypocrites: you play the morally upstanding heroes, but when you take a look at the men you've got there you actually realize how laughable that is.”
He chuckles to himself, shaking his head dismissively.
“I won't waste time on the rest of the Mystery Inc. Gang, though. Let's get back to the matter at hand, Alex. You and me, one on one, for the National Title. Would I be lying if I said this wasn't going to be a damn tough match? Yes, of course. Even as much as I don't like you, I still acknowledge your talent. I'm not going to hide behind anything this time, Alex. I don't need to. You accuse me of being a general, directing his forces...well, you're about to learn just how completely authority equals asskicking in the Young Guns. To put it simply: mess with the best, die like the rest.”
Andrew shakes his head, internally berating himself for using such a cliché and overused phrase. He presses on, maintaining his confident air.
“We last met in singles a year ago. You claim to have done a lot over the last year. And truthfully, you have. You did win the Tag Titles from Venom and Doc, two men who have EARNED my respect...but you lost them to Ander Carvetti and Johnny Holliday, men for whom disdain is too weak a word, pity too cheap. You beat me for the X-Division Title...and lost it the very next month to, of all people, ***damn FREAKKE. You lost that belt to a CLOWN. The very one I beat to get my shot at Rob, in fact. Don't wave your accomplishments in my face without knowing that I'll find a way to hurl them back at you.”
He pauses and leans on the rail, looking out over the city and sighing. The wind whips past the pod, and the lighting suddenly casts Jacobsen in a far different light, aging him almost a decade.
“You took the National Title from Venom last month. This month, it returns to the Young Gun fold. In the last year, a Young Gun has held the belt for nine months. This time, I show you that the games are over. You treat us with no respect? You get no respect. When I take that National Title away from you, and remind you and your little gang of friends that you cannot take your enemies lightly in a war...well, you'll have nobody to blame but yourself. Because unlike you, we will not take you lightly. You'll get what you deserve...the future is now. It's your choice whether you want to be a part of it.”
Andrew tosses off a sarcastic salute to the camera, smirking as it fades to black.