Post by Andrew Jacobsen on Jul 30, 2011 2:15:48 GMT -6
“This company is in disarray. Chaos reigns supreme. A womanizer and a parasite are fighting for the company's top prize. An alliance of the meek try to overthrow the great, leaning on authority to reinforce themselves. Two icons of this company tear themselves apart for the sake of honor, while a third has lost the fire that once burned within. Former allies, reluctant though they were, now fight for a title of honor. Nothing is sure. Nothing is secure. Nobody is safe...
“And that's exactly how I like it. With nothing predictable, I can plan my next moves carefully, knowing that nobody will be in position to react before I get what I want. Right now, that's the National Title. But in a few months...who knows? Maybe it'll be Champion vs. Champion at Road to the Gold. Only time will tell. But the time for planning is later. Right now, I have a Phoenix to put out...”
__________________________________
We open on Andrew Jacobsen standing in the TD Garden, in the middle of the nCw ring set up there. He grins at the camera, and it briefly focuses on his shirt: an old Young Guns shirt, depicting Charlie Velez atop a white horse. Andrew nods, smirking a bit at the cameraman's reaction, before speaking, his voice carrying with it a light-hearted, mocking tone.
“I'm sorry, did I imply that you and Rob Diamond are in the same class? Let me rephrase that statement for you, Alex...Rob Diamond may be a jackass, but he's a damn good athlete. You aren't only a jackass, but you're a pale imitation of Rob. I mean, really? You're going to steal the same birth control routine he ran last week? Rob needs to call up his lawyer, because I think he's got a good case against you for gimmick infringement. Oh, and while we're going over guys you ripped off, Steve Awesome called. He wants his wife-stealing gimmick back. You can act like them, but when it all boils down, you're nowhere near their level. You're just a cheap knockoff. Me? I'm my own man. I'm not Venom 2.0, I'm not Diamond 2.0, I'm not Awesome 2.0. I am me. Whether you want to deal with that or not, it's the truth.”
Andrew slowly begins pacing, turning and casually bouncing off the ring ropes as he reaches them.
“I thought it was real cute you wrote that letter to Venom begging him to come back and challenge you. That's the sort of thing I was talking about, Alex. You aren't taking me seriously at all. You think you can look ahead, to Nothing to Lose, and plan for that? Here's a message from the present: if you're thinking like that, kiss your belt goodbye, you lousy prick. You think the fans cheer for you because 'you're the best'? Pull your head out of your ass and take a good, hard look at reality. That ain't the case.”
His gaze snaps over to the camera, fixing on it as he continues to walk. It never so much as wavers as he paces, each word calm and carefully chosen.
“They cheer you because they've been told to cheer you. You're nobody to be cheered. You're nobody who anyone should be admiring, or modeling themselves after. THAT'S what I'm talking about. You're part of this same obnoxious fad of people wanting to straddle the line between good and evil by acting 'edgy' and 'controversial'...by being a dick, and still having people cheer for you. Well, that's not how it works in the real world, junior. If you're a douchebag to people, they're going to hate you for it. You're going to keep doing it, wondering why they don't love you...and then you'll realize, one of these days...people don't respect you. They don't like you. They TOLERATE you.”
He suppresses the sneer that comes to his face as he says this. Andrew gestures with his hands as he speaks, continuing to pace at the same rate.
“And don't give me that same tired 'but the World Champion likes me' ****. He's just like you: another prick that tries desperately too hard to be edgy. See, Alex, everything you do has that same undercurrent of begging for approval. It's not 'people like me because I'm the best.' It's 'please, please like me, oh pretty please, look, I'm swearing and making jokes about abortion, isn't that cool?' You're like the kid who thinks it's funny to make racist remarks and then, when the hammer is about to come down, say 'I was only kidding! Can we still be friends?' Here's the answer: NO.”
The last word comes out vehemently, forcefully. Jacobsen's calm façade is beginning to crack, but he manages to maintain control as he continues to speak.
“You want to claim you're totally above me? Why is it that you've been in this company so long, in wrestling so long, and you're still on my level? I haven't even been wrestling two years, and here we are. If I'm this talentless, undeserving loser you make me out to be, why does management keep giving me these shots? Face facts, Alex. We're on the same level, whether you want to admit it or not. This time, I pass you by once and for all. I'm going to be the one that moves on...you're forever going to be remembered as that obnoxious prick that couldn't cut it. I'm going to prove that I'm the real star of this match, the truly talented AJ in this company. You're just Vertigo Dirtmurder with job security.”
Andrew smirks, covering his mouth with a cupped hand and whispering “Sorry, Vertigo” to the camera. He walks over to the turnbuckle, leaning on it and looking over it at the camera.
“You want to talk about having a proven record? The only thing that's been proven is that when you get the opportunity, the chance at the big one, you choke and choke hard. If I'm the Cleveland Indians, you're the Chicago Cubs. We may both be losers, but one of us has been doing it for a lot longer. I'm sick of you acting like you're some sort of dominant powerhouse. I've got a better record than you, I'm more talented than you...and after Sunday, there will be no question about it: I am better than you. You've been a stepping stone all these years...you should be used to this.”
He grins to himself, shaking his head as he steps away. Andrew turns and walks towards the other corner. Fade to black on him walking away.
“And that's exactly how I like it. With nothing predictable, I can plan my next moves carefully, knowing that nobody will be in position to react before I get what I want. Right now, that's the National Title. But in a few months...who knows? Maybe it'll be Champion vs. Champion at Road to the Gold. Only time will tell. But the time for planning is later. Right now, I have a Phoenix to put out...”
__________________________________
We open on Andrew Jacobsen standing in the TD Garden, in the middle of the nCw ring set up there. He grins at the camera, and it briefly focuses on his shirt: an old Young Guns shirt, depicting Charlie Velez atop a white horse. Andrew nods, smirking a bit at the cameraman's reaction, before speaking, his voice carrying with it a light-hearted, mocking tone.
“I'm sorry, did I imply that you and Rob Diamond are in the same class? Let me rephrase that statement for you, Alex...Rob Diamond may be a jackass, but he's a damn good athlete. You aren't only a jackass, but you're a pale imitation of Rob. I mean, really? You're going to steal the same birth control routine he ran last week? Rob needs to call up his lawyer, because I think he's got a good case against you for gimmick infringement. Oh, and while we're going over guys you ripped off, Steve Awesome called. He wants his wife-stealing gimmick back. You can act like them, but when it all boils down, you're nowhere near their level. You're just a cheap knockoff. Me? I'm my own man. I'm not Venom 2.0, I'm not Diamond 2.0, I'm not Awesome 2.0. I am me. Whether you want to deal with that or not, it's the truth.”
Andrew slowly begins pacing, turning and casually bouncing off the ring ropes as he reaches them.
“I thought it was real cute you wrote that letter to Venom begging him to come back and challenge you. That's the sort of thing I was talking about, Alex. You aren't taking me seriously at all. You think you can look ahead, to Nothing to Lose, and plan for that? Here's a message from the present: if you're thinking like that, kiss your belt goodbye, you lousy prick. You think the fans cheer for you because 'you're the best'? Pull your head out of your ass and take a good, hard look at reality. That ain't the case.”
His gaze snaps over to the camera, fixing on it as he continues to walk. It never so much as wavers as he paces, each word calm and carefully chosen.
“They cheer you because they've been told to cheer you. You're nobody to be cheered. You're nobody who anyone should be admiring, or modeling themselves after. THAT'S what I'm talking about. You're part of this same obnoxious fad of people wanting to straddle the line between good and evil by acting 'edgy' and 'controversial'...by being a dick, and still having people cheer for you. Well, that's not how it works in the real world, junior. If you're a douchebag to people, they're going to hate you for it. You're going to keep doing it, wondering why they don't love you...and then you'll realize, one of these days...people don't respect you. They don't like you. They TOLERATE you.”
He suppresses the sneer that comes to his face as he says this. Andrew gestures with his hands as he speaks, continuing to pace at the same rate.
“And don't give me that same tired 'but the World Champion likes me' ****. He's just like you: another prick that tries desperately too hard to be edgy. See, Alex, everything you do has that same undercurrent of begging for approval. It's not 'people like me because I'm the best.' It's 'please, please like me, oh pretty please, look, I'm swearing and making jokes about abortion, isn't that cool?' You're like the kid who thinks it's funny to make racist remarks and then, when the hammer is about to come down, say 'I was only kidding! Can we still be friends?' Here's the answer: NO.”
The last word comes out vehemently, forcefully. Jacobsen's calm façade is beginning to crack, but he manages to maintain control as he continues to speak.
“You want to claim you're totally above me? Why is it that you've been in this company so long, in wrestling so long, and you're still on my level? I haven't even been wrestling two years, and here we are. If I'm this talentless, undeserving loser you make me out to be, why does management keep giving me these shots? Face facts, Alex. We're on the same level, whether you want to admit it or not. This time, I pass you by once and for all. I'm going to be the one that moves on...you're forever going to be remembered as that obnoxious prick that couldn't cut it. I'm going to prove that I'm the real star of this match, the truly talented AJ in this company. You're just Vertigo Dirtmurder with job security.”
Andrew smirks, covering his mouth with a cupped hand and whispering “Sorry, Vertigo” to the camera. He walks over to the turnbuckle, leaning on it and looking over it at the camera.
“You want to talk about having a proven record? The only thing that's been proven is that when you get the opportunity, the chance at the big one, you choke and choke hard. If I'm the Cleveland Indians, you're the Chicago Cubs. We may both be losers, but one of us has been doing it for a lot longer. I'm sick of you acting like you're some sort of dominant powerhouse. I've got a better record than you, I'm more talented than you...and after Sunday, there will be no question about it: I am better than you. You've been a stepping stone all these years...you should be used to this.”
He grins to himself, shaking his head as he steps away. Andrew turns and walks towards the other corner. Fade to black on him walking away.