Post by defunctlies on Jan 8, 2009 6:41:29 GMT -6
The scene opens on what appears to be a darkened room, a small lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. A table is placed below it, at which Jack Hammond sits, his hands resting together as he looks quite calmly at the camera. He clears his throat.
"This Sunday, I'm going into Meta as the number one contender for the World Championship. It is the biggest of the big and I want to make it quite clear from the get go that I am determined to win. My previous attempts to get gold have resulted in failure, as well as many other chances to make a name for myself at other PPV's."
Jack nods and sighs.
"However, while I have no real excuses to make in relation to those losses, I want to make it clear that I am utterly focused on this match. In the past few weeks it has been a case of 'taking things as they come', as well as having to deal with a rather petty little dispute with some people I'd rather not get involved with. This match however, is definitely something that has all of my attention, and I cannot afford to get distracted in way, shape or form, even if it were the way my wife were to look at me from a bubble bath in the shape of a Aston Martin with the form of Kiera Knightley helping soap her up."
He nods to himself, but then pauses, his eyes looking up as if imagining said image. A rather smarmy smile drifts across his features but he manages to catch himself and shake the imagae loose.
"Sorry about that. Anyway, I've been wondering if it's something other than determination, focus, or some other mental affliction that has seen me getting the short end of the stick in each title confrontation. Perhaps it's just I don't have the talent it takes to be the best."
Jack shrugs openly.
"Hey, I've no problems in saying something like that, but it's not easy to accept such a thing and it isn't the best thing to be thinking something like that going into a big match like this. It could be quite demoralizing and I could screw up bigger than I have done in the past. So, I've decided to come up with a contingency."
He reaches under the table and pulls out what appears to be a little ball of fur that mews when he places it on desktop.
"This, for the uninitiated, is a kitten. I've named it Felix."
Jack pets the cat with a smile, a few cute little mews emanating from it as it flops around on the table. He then reaches under the table for something else.
"So here's my ultimatum. Xavier, unless you let me win on Sunday, I will shoot this kitten."
So saying, he pulls out a rather oversized handgun, pointing it at the cat, pulling back the hammer. The cat looks at Hammond and wiggles its tail, mewing again.
"You may not drink, you may not do any sort of drugs and you don't smoke, but I do know your one little weakness; cats. I swear I saw cat hairs on your clothes whenever we'd hang out, and there was a distinct smell of catnip on you when I first shook your hand."
He grins and places a hand gently on Felix, keeping the gun pointed at the little ball of fur.
"So, it's either your title, or little Felix over here."
Jack pauses, Felix actually batting at the barrel of the pistol with a few cute little 'mew's. Jack swallows and frowns slightly, the hand holding the pistol quivering slightly.
"Then again, I never really thought this through. How am I supposed to get Xavier to contact me? It's not as if these things go out live, and I'm borrowing this gun for today only."
A silence descends on the set, aside of course for Felix's 'mew's. Jack's expression falls.
"Y'know I wasn't really gonna shoot this cat, but I figured he wouldn't call my bluff you know? I mean who the hell would shoot a ca-"
There's a sudden gunshot and the camera flips backwards as the cameraman apparently dives for cover. A few heartbeats later, it shakily points back at Jack who is holding a now smoking gun, his expression frozen in one of shock. He looks down slowly at the damage inflicted to see a rather large smoking hole where the bullet hit...in the table. A few inches away from both his hand and Felix who is still wriggling and mewing between Jack's fingers.
"...well. That could have ended badly."
A scene cut later and Jack is back in his car driving though the frosty streets of Calgary. He's chuckling.
"So, it looks that my little plan fell through, and my daughters are going to get that kitten they asked Santa for, albeit little late."
Jack sighs.
"But I don't really want to dwell on it, or why I was doing it in the first place. I wouldn't say I have supreme confidence in my abilities, but when I tell myself how I got to where I am, I know it isn't through mere luck or some sort of divine intervention."
He pauses.
"Who knows, maybe God owns a 'How Hard Can It Be?' t-shirt?"
Jack smirks.
"But before I go and end up catching the wrath of the Almighty, I need to make sure I get this clear not just to myself but to everyone else out there."
He clears his throat.
"This Sunday, I walk into the most important match of my life. I have no doubt in my mind that it will make me or break me. Either I walk away the new champion, or I cement myself as a screw-up for this new year; Let's face it, there's no way I could come out of this well if I were to lose. I've had enough chances as is and I fear that even my most die-hard fans are getting a little bit tired of the lack of something to boast about, besides my charming wit and cavalier good looks."
He attempts a rougeish smile, but it could look to the average person like he's having a minor stroke. With a cough the horrifying sight is replaced by something more serious.
"So, the big question needs to be answered. Do I have what it takes? Can I be the next World Champion?"
Jack pauses, furrowing his brow.
"I'd like to think so. I may not exude confidence from every pore, since I don't want to appear like some sort of egotistical, yammering di*khead. Instead I prefer my whining, downtrodden persona, but I like to think of myself as being reasonably successful. If I wasn't, I'd be back on Wired, entertaining someone like the mustache that is Mike Honcho. Instead, I'm main eventing for the World Championship. It does put a bit of pride in the chest."
Jack grins.
"So I suppose instead of going into this match with my regular 'can-do' attitude, I need to up the ante somewhat; I need to find my 'hero face'."
He nods and smirks.
"But right now, I've got to deliver a kitten to my kids."
Jack looks down at the small basket in the passenger's seat and the sleeping black and white ball of fur curled up in it. He makes an 'aww' sound before driving on...then his phone rings, making him blink. He picks it up, an earpiece making sure that his conversation stays private, and he can keep two hands on the wheel.
"Hello? Oh, hi darling...yes, I'm on my way back now...no I didn't shoot the kitten...yes I kno..."
He pauses and furrows his brow, obviously hearing something in the background.
"...are you running a bath?"
He glances at the camera and coughs, reaching for it to turn it off, but not before the sound of his engine can be heard revving and the scenery moves past the window a lot faster, the scene very quickly fading to black as Jack speeds off home.
"This Sunday, I'm going into Meta as the number one contender for the World Championship. It is the biggest of the big and I want to make it quite clear from the get go that I am determined to win. My previous attempts to get gold have resulted in failure, as well as many other chances to make a name for myself at other PPV's."
Jack nods and sighs.
"However, while I have no real excuses to make in relation to those losses, I want to make it clear that I am utterly focused on this match. In the past few weeks it has been a case of 'taking things as they come', as well as having to deal with a rather petty little dispute with some people I'd rather not get involved with. This match however, is definitely something that has all of my attention, and I cannot afford to get distracted in way, shape or form, even if it were the way my wife were to look at me from a bubble bath in the shape of a Aston Martin with the form of Kiera Knightley helping soap her up."
He nods to himself, but then pauses, his eyes looking up as if imagining said image. A rather smarmy smile drifts across his features but he manages to catch himself and shake the imagae loose.
"Sorry about that. Anyway, I've been wondering if it's something other than determination, focus, or some other mental affliction that has seen me getting the short end of the stick in each title confrontation. Perhaps it's just I don't have the talent it takes to be the best."
Jack shrugs openly.
"Hey, I've no problems in saying something like that, but it's not easy to accept such a thing and it isn't the best thing to be thinking something like that going into a big match like this. It could be quite demoralizing and I could screw up bigger than I have done in the past. So, I've decided to come up with a contingency."
He reaches under the table and pulls out what appears to be a little ball of fur that mews when he places it on desktop.
"This, for the uninitiated, is a kitten. I've named it Felix."
Jack pets the cat with a smile, a few cute little mews emanating from it as it flops around on the table. He then reaches under the table for something else.
"So here's my ultimatum. Xavier, unless you let me win on Sunday, I will shoot this kitten."
So saying, he pulls out a rather oversized handgun, pointing it at the cat, pulling back the hammer. The cat looks at Hammond and wiggles its tail, mewing again.
"You may not drink, you may not do any sort of drugs and you don't smoke, but I do know your one little weakness; cats. I swear I saw cat hairs on your clothes whenever we'd hang out, and there was a distinct smell of catnip on you when I first shook your hand."
He grins and places a hand gently on Felix, keeping the gun pointed at the little ball of fur.
"So, it's either your title, or little Felix over here."
Jack pauses, Felix actually batting at the barrel of the pistol with a few cute little 'mew's. Jack swallows and frowns slightly, the hand holding the pistol quivering slightly.
"Then again, I never really thought this through. How am I supposed to get Xavier to contact me? It's not as if these things go out live, and I'm borrowing this gun for today only."
A silence descends on the set, aside of course for Felix's 'mew's. Jack's expression falls.
"Y'know I wasn't really gonna shoot this cat, but I figured he wouldn't call my bluff you know? I mean who the hell would shoot a ca-"
There's a sudden gunshot and the camera flips backwards as the cameraman apparently dives for cover. A few heartbeats later, it shakily points back at Jack who is holding a now smoking gun, his expression frozen in one of shock. He looks down slowly at the damage inflicted to see a rather large smoking hole where the bullet hit...in the table. A few inches away from both his hand and Felix who is still wriggling and mewing between Jack's fingers.
"...well. That could have ended badly."
A scene cut later and Jack is back in his car driving though the frosty streets of Calgary. He's chuckling.
"So, it looks that my little plan fell through, and my daughters are going to get that kitten they asked Santa for, albeit little late."
Jack sighs.
"But I don't really want to dwell on it, or why I was doing it in the first place. I wouldn't say I have supreme confidence in my abilities, but when I tell myself how I got to where I am, I know it isn't through mere luck or some sort of divine intervention."
He pauses.
"Who knows, maybe God owns a 'How Hard Can It Be?' t-shirt?"
Jack smirks.
"But before I go and end up catching the wrath of the Almighty, I need to make sure I get this clear not just to myself but to everyone else out there."
He clears his throat.
"This Sunday, I walk into the most important match of my life. I have no doubt in my mind that it will make me or break me. Either I walk away the new champion, or I cement myself as a screw-up for this new year; Let's face it, there's no way I could come out of this well if I were to lose. I've had enough chances as is and I fear that even my most die-hard fans are getting a little bit tired of the lack of something to boast about, besides my charming wit and cavalier good looks."
He attempts a rougeish smile, but it could look to the average person like he's having a minor stroke. With a cough the horrifying sight is replaced by something more serious.
"So, the big question needs to be answered. Do I have what it takes? Can I be the next World Champion?"
Jack pauses, furrowing his brow.
"I'd like to think so. I may not exude confidence from every pore, since I don't want to appear like some sort of egotistical, yammering di*khead. Instead I prefer my whining, downtrodden persona, but I like to think of myself as being reasonably successful. If I wasn't, I'd be back on Wired, entertaining someone like the mustache that is Mike Honcho. Instead, I'm main eventing for the World Championship. It does put a bit of pride in the chest."
Jack grins.
"So I suppose instead of going into this match with my regular 'can-do' attitude, I need to up the ante somewhat; I need to find my 'hero face'."
He nods and smirks.
"But right now, I've got to deliver a kitten to my kids."
Jack looks down at the small basket in the passenger's seat and the sleeping black and white ball of fur curled up in it. He makes an 'aww' sound before driving on...then his phone rings, making him blink. He picks it up, an earpiece making sure that his conversation stays private, and he can keep two hands on the wheel.
"Hello? Oh, hi darling...yes, I'm on my way back now...no I didn't shoot the kitten...yes I kno..."
He pauses and furrows his brow, obviously hearing something in the background.
"...are you running a bath?"
He glances at the camera and coughs, reaching for it to turn it off, but not before the sound of his engine can be heard revving and the scenery moves past the window a lot faster, the scene very quickly fading to black as Jack speeds off home.
