Post by Smith Jones on Jun 5, 2013 22:23:26 GMT -5
Smith: What the hell is a Barbed Wire Steel Cage Massacre Ambulance Match???
Fade up on a shot of the empty Sleep Train Arena days before Saturday Night Rapture. The ring is in place and the Rapture set is built. The camera crew is just finishing their setup and the lighting techs are hanging the last few lights. There is a small amount of human traffic scattered throughout the arena, each attending to his or her own little piece of the juggernaut that is Rapture. Way up in the cheap seats almost at the very back of the house sits someone dressed in… it’s hard to say from this great a distance… dressed in a gray jacket over a patterned shirt. It’s Smith Jones. He often likes to sit in the arena before a show and just watch the ants go about their work. Ever the people watcher, Smith will take any opportunity to study the masses as a unit and as a collection of individuals. People are interesting as long as they aren’t talking to him. The camera zooms in and we can now see that familiar chiseled scowl of his set firmly into his facial muscles. His eyes are intense as he stares down at the ring so far away. He then looks up at the rafters above the ring and tries to imagine a steel cage suspended above the ring, ready to descend upon a barbed wire wrapped wrestling ring. He shakes his head vehemently and banishes the thought for as long as he can. He stares at the empty ring covered by an imaginary steel cage and barbed wire. He speaks.
Smith: That’s pretty fucking twisted, dude. It’s like something out of a goddam horror film!!! A match like that would inflict great damage and long-term pain upon both men who choose to enter such a volatile and chaotic situation. And that is precisely why I will not participate in such a barbaric match!!! There will be no Barbed Wire Steel Cage Massacre Ambulance Match at Slamathon!!!! When I hear the name Slamathon, my mind hearkens back to a time when wrestling was just beginning to become mainstream. Slamathon to me should be a show about the purity of pro wrestling; it should be a grassroots homage to those who came before us! This crazy concoction of yours is utterly ridiculous and I refuse to take part in such a low grade spectacle on what should be such a respectful and reverent Pay-Per-View.
Smith looks at the empty seats around him and imagines scores of fans booing him in the ring. Smith remains seated and watches himself respond to the crowd with a scowl, stomping around the ring. Jones laughs at himself. The crowd boos on! Smith Jones watches Smith Jones pace inside the barbed wire ring like a caged animal. In the ring, he is wearing his white ring gear; outside the ring, Smith watches himself with a modicum of concern. As he watches, he continues to whisper to himself as the Smith Jones in the ring yells the very same words at the very same time.
Smith: Nightrain. You fucking goof! Haven’t you learned your lesson yet? Did we drop you too hard on your head last Rapture? You and everyone else out there are having a hard time grasping what The New Era is about. We’re a collection of like-minded talent focused on success, recognition, respect. And we are here, as Curtis Wilkes so aptly said earlier this week, to bring new vision to the PCW locker room and to wake up those on the roster who have forgotten where their heart is!!! We aren’t common thugs. We are civilized human beings with a certain level of intelligence and just plain swagger! We didn’t attack you just for the fun of it, Train, although please know that it was a HELL of a lotta fun! We attacked you to illustrate that you can’t just walk into PCW and push any member of The New Era around. We don’t travel in a pack like the Lethality misfits. We are, and hear this clearly, a collection of individuals. You can see any combination of us anywhere at any time. We come together to support the highest standards of professional wrestling and we will not stand for mediocre opposition. We have muscle to flex and a world to change. You still think we’re nothing? Just watch us!
Smith imagines the crowd chanting:
Crowd: Booooooooooriiiiiiiiiing! Booooooooooriiiiiiiiiing! Booooooooooriiiiiiiiiing! Booooooooooriiiiiiiiiing!
He gets angry and paces around the ring. Smith sits up in his chair and looks at the dirty masses around him. He starts to grimace hard. The Smith in the ring drops the microphone and tries to climb out of the cage. He is hampered heavily by the barbed wire wrapped ring ropes. The Smith in the stands watches from afar. He mutters to himself.
Smith: They don’t understand. They will. Even the people all the way up here in these nosebleeds will be able to see that Smith Jones and The New Era are slowly growing more credible and more powerful with each impressive outing. When we step through those ropes, be it in a regular singles match, tag team, six man tag, tables, ladders, chairs, pork rind on a pole, whatever the fuck kind of ridiculous match you wanna dream up… even a Barbed Wire Steel Cage Massacre Ambulance Match, we know that we have the mental acumen and the physical ability to win!!!! But that doesn’t mean we always have to participate in whatever the fuck match any dreams up during a bad weed hangover! The answer is NO Train. I will not participate in your little match. We will wrestle a normal singles match!
Smith jumps out of his seat and turns with a fist raised to swing at the sound of footsteps behind him.
Smith: Chantal.
She always manages to sneak up on him like that, no matter how careful he thinks he’s being. The cage over the ring has now disappeared. The other Smith Jones is gone and the crowd has vanished. Chantal stands over Smith one row behind him. She’s wearing a violet blouse and a white mini skirt with white pumps. Her face is lightly made up and her hair is generally in place. She has a bit of a mysterious half smile on her face as she stares at Jones. He stares at the ring and sits back down.
Chantal: The contract you signed is binding, Smith. There’s no way you duck this match.
Smith: Excuse me?
Chantal: You’re locked in. Whether you like it or not, YOU WILL FIGHT Nightrain at Slamathon in a Barbed Wire Steel…
Smith: Fuck, don’t say it!!!!!! I hate the sound of that. It’s like cursing on a Sunday. Sounds like blasphemy to me. Bleccchh!! I’m a professional wrestler…
Chantal: …not a common street thug, I know. You signed an open contract and gave him full stipulation control. I know you’re trying to suck up to Ms Simmons lately, but I don’t that’s going to get you out of this match. You shouldn’t have been so…
Smith: …cocky? Whatever. So I will fuckin’ fight him then. He can have his little stipulations. Fine!!! I can beat Nightrain no matter the circumstances.
They both sit in silence for a minute. They both watch the same crew member struggle alone to put the steel ring steps in place. Usually there would be two guys. One must be sick or something. Those are some heavy-ass steps. He wrestles them into place at ringside.
Chantal: Thanks for keeping me on as your assistant, Smith.
Smith: Sure. Thanks for staying.
Chantal: Yeah.
Smith: You’re a smart woman, Chantal. My career is becoming more and more busy and I need you to keep shit straight. I had to check in for my own flights while you were gone!
Chantal: You shouldn’t have been so mean to me.
Smith: You shouldn’t have expected any different.
Chantal: Maybe. But you like me though. I know you do.
Smith: Do you, now?
Chantal: If not for that injured heart in there, you’d fall in love with me.
Smith: How unfortunate for you that those scars are there. Love is not in my vocabulary.
Chantal: But hate is.
Smith: Hate is more reliable.
Chantal: You’re unreal.
Smith: I’m more real than anyone I’ve ever loved. You should drop the subject before you start to look desperate.
Chantal: Always an asshole, huh Smith?
Smith: Comes with the job. You either want it or you don’t.
Chantal: Train is gonna kill you, Smith.
Jones hears the imaginary crowd chanting all around him. It echoes from the rafters. He is starting to lose his fucking mind! Bloody images from the coming cage match flash through his mind. Lacerated flesh and compound fractures. Blood. So much blood. He cringes at the thought of it. The echoes grow louder.
Crowd: Train is gonna kill you! Train is gonna kill you! Train is gonna kill you!
Chantal: Train is gonna…
Smith: Bite me!!!!!!!
Smith gets up from his seat and walks out of the arena bowl onto the concourse. He makes his way up the stairs and up to a little corner of the building he has been to once or twice before. He finds his way into a restricted stairwell that leads up to the roof of the building. Smith opens the heavy metal door and steps out onto the roof of the Sleep Train Arena. He finds a quiet place to sit and makes himself comfy on the edge of the building.
Smith: William Steele. Oh, excuse me, I mean Nightrain. No. Wait. SJ Funk. That’s it, right? SJ Funk is this week’s returning hero looking to coattail on your own former success? No, I’m wrong again. At least guys like Steele and Train got up off their asses by their own power. You, Funk, I have a particular disgust for because PCW had to come get you and force you back into action!! What the fuck?? You hid in your apartment while they were knocking on the door, hoping they’d think you weren’t home. You cowered in silence and darkness just closing your eyes and hoping PCW would just let your contract expire. How pathetic.
He dangles his legs over the edge of the building, watching his shoe laces blow in the breeze. He thinks about his next two matches and then he thinks about how long a fall it would be from this roof to the pavement below. He smiles a dark little smile.
Smith: I’m so glad that Morgan Simmons has put me on the front lines on this one. She has put me in that ring with you to show you and everyone like you what happens when you run away from your contractual obligations. PCW comes to your house, knocks on your door, grabs you by the throat, and throws you into the ring with the most dangerous competitor to come down the pike in quite some time. Do you know who I am? Do you really know? Have you been paying attention to me? Because if not, you are in for some kind of shock. This Saturday night, SJ Funk, you will dance your way down to ringside to a theme song that, frankly, is neither funky nor particularly cool. When you arrive in the ring, you will be met by ME! I’m the gateway to PCW. I’m the man who will send you off to wherever the fuck William Steele ended up after I ended him. I’m the killer of impossible dreams. I’m the man who knows that your biggest fear is that nobody will care about you after you’re gone. I’m the man in white. I’m the most influential Broadcast Champion in recent history. I’m a visionary member of The New Era! I’m the mean mean man. I’m the one and only Smith fucking Jones!!!!!!!!
He pauses a moment, only to catch his breath and continue.
Smith: When that bell rings, I will solve your contractual obligation issues. You won’t be in breach of contract if you’re injured. The beating I lay down on you is gonna be such a horrible fucking disaster that the president will send FEMA to help you recover from it!!!! And once I’ve destroyed your body and relieved you of your will to live, I’ll drag you up the ramp and all the way to Terrell Ryder’s office so that you can pucker your busted up lips and kiss the feet of the man who allows you to make your living in this company!!!!
Smith stands up on the edge of the arena roof, walking a wobbly line with questionable balance. He’s making me nervous up there. Seriously, Smith. Get down from there! He takes a step back from the edge and then looks deep into the camera lens. His eyes are stern and a little dead.
Smith: I know you think I’ve overlooked you or forgotten about you, but nothing could be further from the truth. I fucking despise you, SJ Funk, on principle. You got called back into work, you lazy fucker. You’re the very reason why there are dips in the talent pool. If Ryder and Morgan decide they don’t need you around here, maybe that could open up a contract for a young buck with direction, drive, and determination for me to squash a few months from now. You wanna compare yourself to Muhammad Ali??!?!?!! LO-F’n-L, man. From the sounds of your history in this company and others that you’ve been part of, you have had an impressive little career. My plus kill ratio is 14:5. One thing I know how to do is win, Funk. And while your interview with Monica was strong, you are still a long way from your Foreman match. You are not Ali and that long-winded interview seg you call a promo proves it. You’re a very, very, very good wrestler. You’re better than I had expected you to be. But you are still a long way from ring ready. Bumming around in Borneo will do nothing for you when I begin to run you around the ring like a dying show pony for the very last time. I love it that you have all of these big dreams about who you’re gonna be around here and what you’re gonna do. That makes me very happy. Seems like while you were away, you’ve had a lot of time to sit and stew about your hatred for Ryder and Simmons. You’ve looked at your old trophies and watched tapes for hours and hours much like many retired wrestlers do. And much like many retired wrestlers do, you are making the mistake of not knowing when it’s time to hang it up and leave it hung the fuck up.
Jones now walks away from the edge of the building only to turn and face it with wild eyes. He wouldn’t dare think about jumping. He thinks back to a time when he had actually spent many hours pondering… contemplating what it would be like to fly for just a little while and then never do anything ever again. The dark corners of Smith’s mind take over for a second or two before he puts those horrid thoughts back to rest. Jones’ thoughts wander back to SJ Funk and his wordy diatribe.
Smith: Do you have any idea how many people have accused me of underestimating them right before I laid them flat on their asses in the middle of that ring??? There’s a list, fella, of superstars from all over the world that thought I was ignoring them only to realize that I was watching them from the shadows the entire time! How much has it been pissing you off to watch me go on and on about Train and Slamathon while you’ve been pouring your heart into this big comeback match of yours. You want me to give you the rub, don’t you. You thought I’d be saying your name more this past two weeks than I did. You wanted me to make you famous the way you watched me do for Mariah Lopez on the first Rapture of 2013 or the way I did for Brian Stryker as he was handed chance after chance against me for the Broadcast Title. You know the power that I have. You know that all eyes are always on the Smith Jones match and you recognize the true honour in being allowed to face me live on Saturday Night Rapture. That was the point, Funk. I wanted you to want this. I wanted you to rise up and beg for my attention while I starved you of it for two weeks. I never looked past you for a second, man. I saw your promo last Rapture and I could tell from the way you carried yourself that night that I was going to be in for quite a scrap this coming Rapture.
The camera zooms in close to Smith’s intense eyes as he looks over at the edge of the arena roof. I don’t like that twisted look in his eye.
Smith: If you think you’re gonna walk right back into Premium Championship Wrestling and take down your Foreman, you are sadly mistaken!!!! As I stride confidently into Sleep Train Arena, my focus is exactly where it needs to be – on MY future. Because as much as you like to think this is about your big comeback, I need to make a small correction. This match is really about how Smith Jones looked a well-recognized and credible superstar such as yourself and just destroyed everything you thought would be so easy for you to do. You say that this match is going to be a tough one, but I don’t think you really have any clue just how hard this is going to be. When you last laced up your boots for ring action, it wasn’t against ME! So, please, SJ Funk, you have lofty dreams of funking me up? I can’t wait to see you try. One thing’s for damned sure: once again, as is always the case, everybody wants to know what’s gonna happen when Smith Jones wipes his feet on the apron and waits for his opponent. You’re happy to be facing a man of my calibre because you have so much to prove to so many. I don’t think you have what it takes to take care of business quite the way I do it. My style is unique. My attacks are aggressive and a little flashy at the same time. I know where and when to hit you and I have the skill to do it with pinpoint accuracy and malice aforethought.
The rage in Jones’ eyes grows fouler. His face contorts into an angry sneer.
Smith: Keep this one thing in mind, Funk, Train, Steele, and all of you shits out there who wanna come and play wrestler – while you’ve been sitting at home dreaming up all the things you wanted to say upon your return, making little notes, practicing in the mirror, designing new ring gear, bringing your fresh, rejuvenated energy back into PCW, I’ve been working my ass off every goddam show – including the shows where others chose to hold sit-ins and stage walkouts – I, Smith Jones, have been pouring my soul into match after match after high profile, well-watched match, and I am showing no signs of slowing down. Don’t be offended anymore, Funk. I’ve thought of you as worthy all along and I’m happy to see that unlike some people around this place, you actually came to put up a fight!!! And after this Rapture is over, we’ll see if you have what it takes to pick yourself up and try again while I go into Slamathon IV and stop the Train. Despite the great challenges ahead of me, I think I can overcome all of it! But, I’m a little nuts. I also, sometimes, think I’m a butterfly.
Smith takes a running start and jumps off the top of the Sleep Train Arena!!! Cut to a helicopter shot from high above that shows Smith landing on a large air pillow in the arena parking lot. He lands in the middle of a large white ‘X’.
Fade to black.