Post by Smith Jones on Dec 4, 2012 18:50:55 GMT -5
The following promo is aggressive in nature and may be disturbing to some viewers.
Also, a surprisingly low number of animals were injured or killed
during the filming of this promo considering the high level of
ruthless violence you are about to experience.
Viewer discretion is advised.
~
Smith: I SAID BACK THE FUCK UP!!!!!!!
Fade up on a shot of the interior of a pet store in a mall in New York City. Smith Jones stands in one of the pet food aisles with two uniformed mall security guards standing at the ready in front of him. Smith is dressed in black dress pants and shoes, a white dress shirt, ripped open in the front with a black necktie hanging loosely around his neck. Under the dress shirt is a gray tee that says ‘Knock Knock’ on the front of it in black letters with a big white ‘X’ over the whole front. There is another guard, slightly more rotund than the other two, standing behind Smith, trying to get into position to take him down. Looks like we’re gonna have ourselves a fight! There are thirty-odd hamsters running around the place as pet store staff try to collect them and return them to the large plexi-glass cage in the centre of the store. Smith stands still in this moment, poised to defend himself, yet calm all the same. Smith Jones suddenly thinks about his father…
Smith’s father has always had a very… physical parenting style. Jones remembers a time when he didn’t come directly home after school one day. Grade six. That day in May, his birthday, he had decided he wanted to go for a long walk in the cemetery. There has always been something so calming about walking in cemeteries. His father didn’t know it at the time, but Smith quite often skipped entire days of school just to go for a long stroll amongst the weathered headstones and interred corpses of the very large nearby cemetery. This day was a dull, gray day with a touch of light drizzle. Enough rain to keep most people inside but not enough to make for an uncomfortable walk. The air was warm enough and graveside visitors were at a low. Whenever he would come across a stone that said ‘Jones’, he would try to look down through six feet of earth and imagine the endless stillness below. And so it came to be that on this day in May, Smith Jones would walk in through the front door almost two hours later than his father had come to expect him home. Smith was wearing a pair of denim shorts and a gray T-shirt that said ‘Today’ on the front of it in black letters with a large white ‘X’ over the entire front. His father sat at the kitchen table dressed in an oil-stained white tank top and even dirtier ripped jeans. Smith’s smile faded slowly. He didn’t know how’d he’d allowed himself to walk in the front door still wearing this smile in the first place. His father hadn’t yet looked up at Smith, so maybe his momentary lapse in judgment won’t add to the utter hell that was about to break loose. His father stared at the floor for a long while, silent but for his deep breathing. His scruffy five o’clock shadow covered the quivering flesh beneath it. His eyes burned with rage as they lifted from the floor to Smith’s now sullen face. Jones’ stomach instantly filled with butterflies. This was going to be worse than normal. His father’s eyes moved over to the kitchen sink, which was full of dirty dishes from his afternoon poker game with the boys. Before Smith even thought to move, his father got up and walked over to the sink, laughing under his breath. Smith stepped up behind his father.
[/color]Also, a surprisingly low number of animals were injured or killed
during the filming of this promo considering the high level of
ruthless violence you are about to experience.
Viewer discretion is advised.
~
Smith: I SAID BACK THE FUCK UP!!!!!!!
Fade up on a shot of the interior of a pet store in a mall in New York City. Smith Jones stands in one of the pet food aisles with two uniformed mall security guards standing at the ready in front of him. Smith is dressed in black dress pants and shoes, a white dress shirt, ripped open in the front with a black necktie hanging loosely around his neck. Under the dress shirt is a gray tee that says ‘Knock Knock’ on the front of it in black letters with a big white ‘X’ over the whole front. There is another guard, slightly more rotund than the other two, standing behind Smith, trying to get into position to take him down. Looks like we’re gonna have ourselves a fight! There are thirty-odd hamsters running around the place as pet store staff try to collect them and return them to the large plexi-glass cage in the centre of the store. Smith stands still in this moment, poised to defend himself, yet calm all the same. Smith Jones suddenly thinks about his father…
Smith’s father has always had a very… physical parenting style. Jones remembers a time when he didn’t come directly home after school one day. Grade six. That day in May, his birthday, he had decided he wanted to go for a long walk in the cemetery. There has always been something so calming about walking in cemeteries. His father didn’t know it at the time, but Smith quite often skipped entire days of school just to go for a long stroll amongst the weathered headstones and interred corpses of the very large nearby cemetery. This day was a dull, gray day with a touch of light drizzle. Enough rain to keep most people inside but not enough to make for an uncomfortable walk. The air was warm enough and graveside visitors were at a low. Whenever he would come across a stone that said ‘Jones’, he would try to look down through six feet of earth and imagine the endless stillness below. And so it came to be that on this day in May, Smith Jones would walk in through the front door almost two hours later than his father had come to expect him home. Smith was wearing a pair of denim shorts and a gray T-shirt that said ‘Today’ on the front of it in black letters with a large white ‘X’ over the entire front. His father sat at the kitchen table dressed in an oil-stained white tank top and even dirtier ripped jeans. Smith’s smile faded slowly. He didn’t know how’d he’d allowed himself to walk in the front door still wearing this smile in the first place. His father hadn’t yet looked up at Smith, so maybe his momentary lapse in judgment won’t add to the utter hell that was about to break loose. His father stared at the floor for a long while, silent but for his deep breathing. His scruffy five o’clock shadow covered the quivering flesh beneath it. His eyes burned with rage as they lifted from the floor to Smith’s now sullen face. Jones’ stomach instantly filled with butterflies. This was going to be worse than normal. His father’s eyes moved over to the kitchen sink, which was full of dirty dishes from his afternoon poker game with the boys. Before Smith even thought to move, his father got up and walked over to the sink, laughing under his breath. Smith stepped up behind his father.
Smith: I’m sorry, I…
Smith’s father threw a jabbing elbow over his shoulder and clocked Smith flush in the nose. It immediately spurted blood. Instead of staying on the floor where he’d instantly ended up, Smith got up and started to run to the living room. His dad caught him with a punch in the back of the head that sent him ricocheting off the door jam to the floor again. His head was killing him, but he had more to worry about. His father grabbed the broom from the corner and swung wildly at Jones! He dodged the first attack well. Too well. The rage doubled in his father’s eyes and he chose instead to stay still for the next strike. CRACK across the ribcage on his left side. I wince in pain as the blood began to trickle into his mouth. His father grabbed him by the front of the collar and pulled him in close. The smell of Canadian beer and iron filled Smith’s nostrils. His father didn’t say a word. He just smiled at Smith and then frowned hard. Letting go of Smith, his father unlooped his brown leather belt and wraps it around his fist. He wound up and threw a looping right hand at his son. Smith snaps back to the pet store reality just in time.
…The guard behind Smith lunges to attack and Jones catches him with a sharp elbow to the nose!! It immediately spurts blood. Smith takes on a fighting stance and eyes the other guards.[/I]
Smith: Let’s do this, he says in his father’s voice.
The camera zooms in close on Smith’s face. He stares at the guards in front of him as the one behind him whimpers in pain from a broken nose. The shot is now tight on his eyes as he blinks slowly. The colour drains out of the image and the promo, for the time being, is all in black and white. The only colour that can be seen is the red running from the security guard’s broken nose. Smith is hungry for more colour. Jones kicks one of the guards in front of him in the ribs. He then ducks a looping right cross from the third guard before grabbing him by the face and connecting with a violent headbutt to the bridge of the nose. Blood spatters all over both of their faces!!! The first guard hits Smith in the back of the head with a large dog bone chew toy! Jones falls to one knee. He then rises and retaliates with a quick spinning backfist. Smith opens the parakeet cage and throws the bird out of the store. It flies off into the mall. A few more guards arrive as Smith Jones is going out of control! He kicks a guard in the gut and then throws a knee lift to his face. The man flies backwards and falls through a display of fuzzy cat toys. Someone grabs Smith from behind and locks in a full nelson. Another guard attacks from the front with a spear! Spear! Noooo!! Smith lifts his knees and the man bounces off them to the floor. Jones drops down to his ass and turns the full nelson into a stunner! Someone turns off a bank of lights in the pet store. The lighting in the room is now very patchy. A very large man steps in front of Smith Jones. In black and white, he kinda looks a bit like Brock or maybe The Warlord. His face is shadowy. Still, the fierce scowl can be read even in dim light. Jones looks around for a weapon of opportunity. He reaches for a metal dog bowl. Smith looks at the large man. He looks at the dog bowl and then tosses it aside. By then the large man bridges the distance between them and grabs Smith Jones by the throat with both hands!!!
Smith: Listen, we don’t have to…
The man hurls Jones into the shelves next to them and Smith’s body knocks over the entire aisle wall!!! Smith flails about on the floor. The guard comes at him again and picks him right up and sets him on his feet. He then immediately knees him in the gut and throws him against a large window containing the bunny rabbits. The glass does not break. Smith’s head bounces off the hard glass and he crumples to the floor. Smith quickly grabs a nearby broom and jabs the large man in the ribs with the point of it. He repeatedly stabs at the large man until Jones has a moment to get up. He baseball swings at the man’s head and he topples into a row of ferret cages and knocks them over, releasing the ferrets. Smith picks up a ferret and then stands to see all of the other guards standing around him. With a ferret in one hand, a broom stick in the other, and a mixture of his own blood and the blood of his adversaries dripping from his face, Smith Jones glares at the small group of men with disdain and he speaks.
Smith: Life will sometimes put you into a situation that you didn’t expect or even really want. You end up having to jump through a bunch of hoops and do things you never ever dreamed of having to do. All you security guards want is peace. Am I right? All you want is to hang out at the security desk or maybe flirt with the cute chick at the information booth so she can turn you down… again! Or maybe you’re married. Maybe you have a family to take care of and this is your best option to make a little extra money and make ends meet one crappy fucking paycheque at a time. And then you get a call on the radio about some guy beating up the pet store and at first you think finally some action, but that feeling quickly turns to I don’t need this shit when the crazy fucker in a disheveled suit starts busting heads with a broomstick!!!! We are all the same, guys. Fact is, I don’t even really know how this escalated to such a high threat level so quickly. And I sure as fuck don’t know why we’re in black and white, except for the fact that it is cool as FUCK! You, tubby with the bloody nose. Do you need this shit today?
Guard #1: No. Not really. I mean, I was just sitting in the security break room enjoying a nice bowl of chili when the all-call came over the radio to come here and stop you. I mean, who the heck are you anyway? Pardon my French. Why do you get to come into my life and stir up poop when all I’m trying to do is my job?[/color]
Smith: I AM YOUR JOB!
Guard #2: You’re a fuckin’ asshole![/color]
They all nod in agreement.
Guard #1: Why don’t you get the H-E- double hockey sticks outta here! Hit the bricks![/color]
Smith: Hit the bricks, eh?
He laughs out loud for a long time. Even the ferret in his hand stares at Smith Jones while he chuckles for a good minute, to the point of tears. He then takes a breath.
Smith: Okay. I mean, I do have somewhere to be. I’ll just go.
Smith turns and starts to walk away still holding the broomstick and--
Guard #2: HEY!!!!!!! Gimme the fuckin’ ferret, sir.[/color]
Smith stops walking. With his back still turned to the group, he wipes the blood off his face using the ferret’s fur. He suddenly turns and throws the ferret in the guard’s eye!!!!! Smith goes mental and uses the broomstick to disable all of the guards, one by one. Shots to the kneecaps, elbows, throat, and even the groin rain down on all of them until the guards are laid out in a pile of putrid human trash. Satisfied, he finds his suit jacket in the wreckage, covered in random animal hair. He slings it over his shoulder.
Smith: It’s been real.
~
Cut to a shot of the mall parking lot. The colour in the scene is now back to normal. There is a white limousine parked not far from the main mall entrance. Out runs Smith Jones carrying his fur-covered black suit jacket in his hand. Jones gets into the car and wakes the driver.
Smith: Gotta move. There might be a… situation.
Driver: Why do you get to come into my life and stir up--?[/color]
Smith: Save it, Geeves!!! Take me to The Garden.
The white limo moves with some speed down the streets in the direction of Madison Square Garden. The show is still a few days away. Jones thinks about the rich history of the building. He thinks about the match he had there just last December. A win, of course. He looks at the driver in the rear view mirror. The driver glances at him and then focuses fully on the road.
Smith: You wanna know why I deserve to jump into everyone’s life and make it hell??? The same reason any person can do the same to ME. Goodness, all the trash out there in this city… they have no idea what it’s like to be me right now, riding around in the back of an expensive limousine knowing how fully lethal I am to all who get in my way. On December 8th right here in New York City, I, Smith Jones, will step out of the crowd and stand up and prove myself to those who still insist on doubting me. The Battlefield is about a lot of things. It’s about endurance. It’s about pride. It’s about really looking inside yourself in light of the other almost forty superstars wondering if you really have what it takes to win this match!! This coming Saturday night at MSG, the Battlefield match is also about Smith Jones.
Driver: You can’t be serious. Do you know what kind of talent you will be up against in that match? I’m taking the night off that night because you won’t need a limo. You’ll be leaving in an ambulance!
Smith laughs at the driver’s commentary.
Smith: An ambulance you say. Very funny. Possible, even. And yet… I dunno. I kinda feel like Struggle For Power III will just end up being one of those nights when everything clicks for me. When suddenly, much sooner than anticipated, the new guy walks into the biggest match of the year and manages to fluke out a victory!!! Or better yet, he goes in there and proves, suplex by suplex, that he is the most technically sound competitor to arrive in PCW in YEARS! Or what if this new superstar just strides confidently into the Battlefield match with only one thing on his mind – injure people.
Driver: Dirty pool.
Smith: I was never really a big fan of pool anyway! My father plays pool. Fuck him!!!!!!!!! And fuck ANYONE who gets in my way this Saturday night. I will be aiming for injury. I want to show the world what it looks like when I throw a chop block from the side and create severe lateral impact to the knee joint. I want people to gasp in unison when I punch someone in the face and stab their brains with their nose bone! Dear opponents, I’m going to kick you so hard in the crotch that there’ll be blood on the toe of my boot! And that goes for both male and female competitors, of course.
Driver: Disgusting.
Smith: Effective. And when the ring clears not just from over-the-top-rope eliminations but also from intentional injuries caused by yours truly, I will be one of the final two standing in that ring after the other soldiers have fallen. And to the other person left standing at the end I say bring your best.
Driver: We’re here.
Jones gets out of the car and heads into the building, flashing his pass at security on the way in like a good little boy. He heads through the empty building to the concourse level. No one is around. He walks through the vom and into the arena. The Struggle For Power set sits in darkness, not quite fully built yet. Hard to see. The only thing that is fully set up in here is the wrestling ring. Smith looks down at the ring from where he is high up in the seats. He starts to walk down the steps towards the ringside area. His voice echoes through the empty arena.
Smith: Everybody’s got their problems in this life: kidnapped partners, broken “cable”, learning how to type so you can litter twitter with ignorance, working three matches in one night… goodness, the list is almost forty people long with the bullshit details that can weigh down a man’s life. Struggle For Power will be one night where distractions will kill you. You have to stay focused in the midst of chaos. For all of us who don’t currently hold gold, we have our noses pressed firmly up against the glass, staring at the enviable life of a champion. For us, the Battlefield match is our chance to break through the pet store window and finally have this thing we’ve always wanted – to have a guaranteed shot at becoming the Premium Championship Wrestling World Heavyweight Champion!!!!! I have to step up and push myself as hard as possible. I’ve gotta beat out guys like Jakob Alexander – Jakob, when I see you I’m going to break those thumbs of yours so you’ll have to stop using them for the two things you love doing most: tweeting sappy pseudo-intellectual bullshit and sticking both thumbs up your ass! I don’t really have a reason, but I don’t think I like you very much. Maybe I’m misjudging you. Fuck knows?! All I know is that after the Battlefield match you’ll be crying on the ground again, only this time you’ll be surrounded by the whitest of snow and bitterly cold. We’re headed into the winter of Smith Jones, ladies and gentlemen, and it is going to be a chilly one. But what gives me the right to make such bold claims? Let’s see… My greatest accomplishment in PCW so far is that I scored a pinfall victory over the current PCW Platinum Champion Draven Logan Kennedy. Kennedy, I personally think that win over you should count quite strongly towards earning me a Platinum Championship match in the not-so-distant future. It was, after all, only my third Premium match ever and I pinned you!!!! You’re one of those champs who seems to need the gold to make you look good, but you do nothing for the championship. Maybe Jerry Matthews will relieve you of your duties…
Smith arrives at ringside and hops the rail. He mounts the ring steps and wipes his feet on the apron before entering. He goes to a corner and sits down, leaning against the turnbuckles.
Smith: …and maybe I’ll end Jerry’s night this weekend by dumping him over the top rope near the steel steps so his head bounces of the metal and maybe knocks some damned sense into him. God isn’t on the match card, Matthews. He can’t help you! Danielle Lopez, Syn, Reaper, Ape, Jay Thunder, Jenny Tuck, Yoshi Long… I don’t really care who it is. You get in my way, I hurt you. That’s how this is going to go down. And after I hit that final Point of Controversy on my very last opponent in the Battlefield match at Struggle For Power, I’ll make the pin heard ‘round the world. 1… 2… 3. Good fucking lord – he really did it! You know it could happen. Your winner and new number one contender for the PCW World Heavyweight Championship…
He laughs to himself and then shoots rage into the camera lens. Dried blood still clings to the side of his jaw.
Smith: No need to say the name. You can ALL see me. I’m not out in the icy air on top of a sacred mountain. I’m not crying in the arms of my girlfriend. I’m not out having date night. And I’m sure as hell not MIA like I know some of you Battlefield motherfuckers will be. As you already know, I’m never very difficult to find.
He stands up and takes centre ring. He uses his index finger to draw an ‘X’ across his chest.
Smith: I’m right here.
Fade to black.[/center]
