Post by Smith Jones on Aug 28, 2013 22:43:05 GMT -5
Smith: Be gentle with me.
Fade up on a shot of a pair of handcuffs being locked onto a male subject by a female uniformed officer. They are cinched up pretty tight around his wrists. He tugs at them a little and then relaxes his arms as much as he can as they hang cuffed behind his back. The officer and her male counterpart walk Smith Jones down a long, white hallway. He is dressed in blue jeans with a gray T-shirt that reads ‘I’m’ back on the front of it in black lettering with a large white X overtop of the whole thing. The trio comes to a door. The female guard unlocks the door while the male guard remains behind Jones. Smith checks out her ass. What?! He’s just looking! He’s seen much, much better asses anyway. They all go into the room where there is a long divider between inmates and visitors. There are visitors and inmates talking through glass using the telephones attached to each table on the row. Smith looks at the female guard and raises his eyebrows with a slight shrug. She scoffs and shakes her head in disbelief at this odd man in front of her. She steps behind Smith and unlocks the handcuffs. Smith nods at the guards. He rubs his wrists and takes a seat in front of one of the little windows. The male guard leaves while the woman stands off by the door not too far away from where Smith is seated. He waits.
Smith Jones studies the grain of the metal table. He examines the scratches on the paint and he wonders at how many different peoples’ fingerprints are on the glass. He closes his eyes and tries to imagine all of the people that have sat in his very seat over the years. He sees a parade of imaginary faces in differing states of emotion. Some are crying. Some are angry. Some simply don’t know what to say. Smith leans way back in his chair and looks down the row. He can see one or two people. They resemble the people in his imagination. An old man sneezes on one of the phones and continues to talk without pausing to even think about wiping it off. Smith looks at the phone in front of him with disgust. Just then, the door on the other side of the glass opens and Smith watches someone enter the room. We can’t see what Smith sees. The camera looks at Smith through the reinforced glass between them. We study the details of Smith’s face through the collage of dingy fingerprints on the glass. We see his reaction to whoever has entered. Smith stares at the person now sitting opposite him stifling some great emotion and displaying only a neutral visage. There is a very faint and fuzzy reflection of a face looking at Jones. He looks at the phone again for a long beat. He reaches for it and wipes the mouthpiece and earpiece on his thigh before Smith raises the white telephone to his face with great difficulty and he speaks.
Smith: Been a while.
A rough, gravel-like voice responds, muffled as we only hear it through Smith’s earpiece.
Voice: That it has.
Smith: I hope you know how difficult this is for me being in here, looking at your face from behind this dirty fucking glass!
Voice: It must be torture for you.
Smith: You have no idea.
Voice: How long are you gonna be staying this time?
Smith ignores the question.
Smith: I convinced them to cuff me on the way down the hall to visit you so I could get an idea of what it must be like for you to be locked up in here all these years. I assure you, I have no real understanding of what you’re going through in this place.
Voice: P4W they call it.
Smith: Huh?
Voice: Prison for Women. P4W. Makes it a little less scary anyway.
Smith: Killing him was a bad idea.
Voice: I don’t know how you can say that after the way he beat you mercilessly all those years.
Smith: I don’t want him to be dead, mother!!! I want him to be suffering.
Mother: He is suffering in…
Smith: That isn’t fucking good enough!!!!!!!
Smith takes the phone down from his ear and rests it on his knee while he looks off at nothing for a moment. His lips tighten while his mind whirs. He looks his mother in the eye. The camera reveals her face for the first time. She is in her late forties or early fifties wearing an orange jumpsuit. She has graying blonde hair in a messy braid part way down her back. Her face is wrinkled far beyond her years. Her icy blue eyes are locked on Smith’s face, studying his every detail to keep for the time alone until his next visit. Her upper lip starts to quiver, but she stifles it well and stares. Smith looks at her too. He picks the phone up again.
Smith: When did your teeth get so yellow?
Mother: When did you become so bitter?
Smith: Somewhere along the way.
Mother: Where’s the belt? Didn’t you say you were going to show me the belt?
Smith: I decided not to bring it.
Mother: Why???
Smith: You can see it when I win it back! It will mean more then.
Mother: I killed your father for you. I thought you would’ve said thank you to me by now.
Smith: You watched him beat the fuck out of me from the day I was born until I was…
Mother: …thirteen. It was your favourite number and you were so excited to turn thirteen.
Smith: He didn’t care much about it.
Mother: You did… I did.
Smith: He kicked my ass that day, too.
Mother: But that was the last time.
Smith: The very last.
There is a long pause as they both envision that day from their own perspectives. Their eyes never break from one another.
Mother: I love you.
Smith: Fuck off with that shit, mother. God.
Mother: Don’t take The Lord’s name in vain!!!!!
Smith: Whatever. That religious malarkey always meant more to you than I did!
Mother: You shouldn’t look at it that way, son.
Smith: I’m a realist. And I’m pissed at you because you took away my one chance to exact my revenge on the man who destroyed the person I would have been. I lay there under my bed and I watched you stab him over and over…
Mother: You hid under there because you were afraid.
Smith: He kicked me under there after he smashed a lamp over my head!!!!!
Jones’ eyes are very intense as he peers into his mother’s soul through dirty prison glass.
Smith: How did it feel?
Mother: Winston Smith Jones, what are you asking me?
Smith: In the sixteen years that have passed since that day, this is one question I have never asked you even though it was the very first thing that came to mind. I want to know. I’ve always wanted to know. I’ve grown up a little bit since then and I think I’m ready to ask this question. I’m a big boy, mommy; I can take it! Tell me how it felt to stab dad until his life force stopped.
Mother: I didn’t feel a thing.
Smith: BULLSHIT MOTHER!!!!! You stabbed him twenty-nine times.
Mother: Keep your voice down!!!!!!
Smith: Twenty-nine. You must have felt a little something.
Mother: I hated him.
Smith: He never laid a hand on you.
Mother: You’re right, Winston. He never did. He was ever the gentleman to me when he wasn’t drinking. Those sober days grew more and more rare over time. You have to understand that we weren’t just your parents. We were people.
Smith: I know that!
Mother: We were lovers. And you know what they say about the course of true love.
Smith: Never did run smooth.
Mother: He changed on me. He became the monster you knew. That wasn’t the man I fell in love with. If there’s one thing we all learn about love, it’s that it…
Smith: …always changes.
Mother: …never stays the same.
Smith closes his eyes and starts to go back in his mind to the evening of his thirteenth birthday that went horribly wrong. He remembers being under the bed and the strong smell of iron in the air. He can hear his father’s last dying gasps for air as his mother leans against the wall, exhausted from what she has just done, expressionless, drenched in blood. Smith keeps his eyes closed.
Smith: I had to crawl through his warm blood to get out from under that bed.
Mother: I’m sorry. I never was the perfect mom, was I?
Smith opens his eyes and he is in a dark, cramped space curled up in the fetal position. He tries to look around, but it is pretty dark under here. He sees light coming in under the skirt. He crawls towards the light past wooden tables, steel ladders and chairs, two-by-fours, a kendo stick, a sledge hammer, some garbage cans, a bag with a snake inside I think… he moves all the way to the hanging drape. He finds the white microphone lying nearby. He crawls over to the apron and lifts it to see a sea of faces staring right at him. He looks up at the tron and his face is on there, as confused as ever. Smith crawls out from under the ring. He grabs the white microphone and he stands up at ringside. He pats himself down almost half-expecting to be covered in his father’s blood from the crawl. He is dressed to compete in his all whites, all little dirty, but no blood. The PCW Broadcast Championship belt now glistens regally in his spotlight as it is locked once again safely around the waist of the great Smith Jones! He looks down at it in awe. He looks at a close-up of it on the PremiumTron 5000. Smith smiles. The crowd starts to boo and hiss at him. He looks out at the angry masses and wonders what he could have done to deserve such a wicked reaction. He quickly goes from docile and disoriented to vitriolic and vengeful. He raises the white microphone to his lips with no difficulty and he speaks.
Smith: You people think Yoshiru Long is going to kick my fucking ass this Saturday night on Rapture!!!
Crowd: Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaayyy!!!!!!!
Smith: You don’t have to cheer so vehemently just because he’s fighting ME, assholes.
Fan: At least he’s FUNNY!
Smith: Funny? Is that what professional wrestling has become for you people? Is this all a big joke? You came to laugh at the juggling clowns for a while? Wanna see a dancing bear balance on a beach ball? Wanna watch little girls fold themselves into pretzels while some guy walks the highwire without a net night after night for the sake of your entertainment? Should I dance for you now? Should I dress up like a Robert Smigel cartoon and invade everyone’s childhood like a blithering fool?!?? Am I a legend yet? AM I A LEGEND YET?? How ‘bout now? You have lots of stories to tell about how you proved yourself against guys like Brian Adams and Mariano Fernandez and Magnus Thunder and Syn and the list is a long one. Looks like I’m about to do what you did all those years ago. I’m going to get all up in your grill and make you look me in the eye like a real competitor and not some half-trained sparring partner. I will FORCE YOU to RESPECT ME!!!! And since it’s soooooooo not about winning or losing for you, man, then you won’t mind if just go right on ahead and take the W.
Smith finds a handheld camera at ringside and he steps right up into the lens with a fierce snarl. He almost grunts as he speaks his mind in a fit of rage. His face trembles and his lips move.
Smith: Yoshiru Long. These undereducated fans may not have the gray matter to be able to articulate this, but you are more than just funny. You have the kind of skill that would get you noticed in any promotion. You have a list of accomplishments so impressive that you can’t stop talking about the triumphs of your past. Who can blame you? World Champion for four months. Top contender on a number of occasions. Best faction ever, with protest from Toxic and Team Lethality I’m sure. Better than The New Era, I’ll give you that. It’s my XFL. Gimme a break! …INTERNS!!! Get out here.
Two interns come out on stage carrying a large roll of something. Smith Jones stands at the bottom of the entrance ramp as the interns lay the large roll at the top of the ramp. They roll out a long red carpet that unravels all the way down to the tips of Smith’s white boots. The interns leave. He gets on his hands and knees and feels how soft the red carpet is. He admires the fabric.
Smith: When you talk about your past, I can hear the true boyhood excitement in your voice. These memories have all come flooding back to you because you’re back in the locker room that made you famous; you’re back in PCW. What a comeback story! Another return by another returning superstar. I’ve wrestled a few of you people over the past number of months. Some have since disappeared. Some have managed to sustain some semblance of a career. For some reason, Yoshi, I have faith that you will soldier on and return to something that resembles the greatness that you remember of yourself. The fact of the matter is that your back story with this company is far deeper than mine. You forged a strong bond with fellow superstars of a similar ilk and you’ve wreaked havoc on this place time and time again. The locker room started to rumble when word began to spread of your return. Yoshiru Long is BACK in PCW and who the fuck is gonna stop The Elite??? Maybe it’s me. I can see the future. From here it looks like S&M are gonna do it! We cut the Broadcast Champion Brytain’s hair! We stole her title belt and left her for dead in the middle of the ring! I wore it under my wetsuit and went scuba diving in the ocean. I hoisted it over my shoulder and carried it up the side of a volcano. I’m willing to take the Broadcast Title to places it’s never been! My girlfriend, Mya, inspires me. She truly is my muse. We will be champion together. We will succeed. PCW’s hottest couple is also it’s most lethal. Know fully that when you come to fight Smith Jones at Rapture, you also come to fight Mya Denton. S&M.
Smith goes to the top of the ramp. Mya Denton comes out on stage with a bucket of red paint. She gives Smith a kiss on the cheek. He takes the bucket from her and puts it down on the stage. He grabs her and pulls her in. Smith and Mya lock lips with each other as her body and his can’t seem to get close enough together. The crowd boos as Smith and Mya make out while touching each other. They both pick up the bucket together. It’s filled with red paint. They slowly walk down the red carpet, posing just a little for the cameras and studying peoples’ faces.
Smith: You people think it’s some damned coincidence that I left The New Era earlier the very same night that The Elite was reformed? I’m Smith Jones and I’m goddam clairvoyant! I saw that shit coming a mile away without being told, without anyone ratting out your return. I knew things were about to happen and I got out before you made me look like a complete fool! It is that kind of top notch strategy that has taken me to big wins over people like DLK, Reaps, Stryker, Thunder, both Jay and Magnus… Final Four at last year’s Battlefield Match (you were there for that one, Yosh). I don’t have to go through some long-winded reminder about my old PCW glory days – my PCW glory days are happening RIGHT GODDAM NOW!!!!!! Look at me, Yoshi. The fact that I’m so proudly wearing the PCW Broadcast Championship belt and standing next to my smoking hot devil of a girlfriend stands to prove to you and to the entire wrestling world that Smith Jones is legit. I’m the kind of guy who takes what I want and I don’t wait for the powers that be to hand me the belt when they feel like it. My name is not Syn. I’d rather steal a title than have one handed to me. And this Saturday night, Long, when you finally take the next turn off memory lane, you should head on down Martin Luther King, Jr. Drive East until you get to George Perry Street. Head south and make a right at the first light, that’ll be Lakeview. Cruise onto the Mississippi State University campus and enjoy scenic Chadwick Lake. The parking lot is right across the street from Dudy Noble baseball diamond and the university arena is just a short walk away. Park your very expensive ride and stroll right directly into the arena for Saturday Night Rapture where I’ll be waiting! The next school lockdown in America won’t be for a shooting, it will be to contain the violence between Yoshiru Long and Smith Jones! I’m coming to Rapture, Broadcast Title and all, my Mya by my side, dressed in my white ring gear, painted red by the woman I love.
Mya: You’re out of your mind, babe. You know that right?
Smith: Look who’s talking, my little sicko. Love you.
Mya: I love you, too. And these people out here who used to always tell us their stupid opinions on how we should live our lives are starting to see that this is more than just a fun little sex game. S&M is dangerous and people get seriously hurt when we want them to. You’re the man I’ve been looking for my whole life, Smith Jones. You’re amazing. Now hold your breath!
Jones gets on his knees as Mya pours the entire bucket of paint over Smith’s head! The paint goes all over him. His body is streaked in red drippings from head to toe. The belt is also covered in red paint. Mya laughs an evil little snicker and she skips out of the arena, bucket in hand. Smith watches her go with a faint smile. He looks up at the tron and stares at himself. He begins to chuckle and then full out laugh at the sight of himself. He lies on his back and stares up at the ring lights. He thinks about Wrestle Extravaganza IV and cringes hard. He then looks at the entrance ramp.
Smith: I’ll be lying on this red carpet waiting for Long to walk right back into Premium Championship Wrestling! I’ll just fade into the scenery and give you the freedom to trample over my already dead corpse and be THE MAN. And all the hard work I put into this company while you were off catching up on your beauty sleep can just get flushed down the friggin’ toilet while you come back and take away air time that would be much better utilized to propagandize the most dangerous man in PCW, SMITH fucking JONES!!!!! There is no way in #heel I’m going to lie down and let you just walk all over me, you fucking echo from the past. I’ve been avoiding the past long enough. I WILL BE the very next P4W Broadca — I mean… PCW… FUCK!!! Listen to me, man. It’s time for me to face you and overcome the things people out there don’t believe I have the intestinal fortitude to overcome. You’ve traveled the world. You’ve been World Champion! You rocked the establishment and made people watch you challenge authority. You have all of these people out here right in the palm of your hairy hand every time you open your bombastic hole! They all think this match is about you and all of the amazing things you have done and can do and will do. The bookies are on your side. The doubters are out in droves to watch the mean mean man fall flat on my face again while trying to take down another runaway juggernaut!!! All eyes are on the Smith Jones match as always and they expect to see you win. Well, I have BAD NEWS for everybody; I have bad news for you, Yosh. This is not your comeback story. At least, not this Rapture. This Rapture is about the fact that I’m back and I’m about to fuck with everyone’s heads when I flip this shit upside down and put Yoshi Long on his back for three seconds!!!
Jones gets up onto his hands and knees and counts one, two, three like a referee on the carpet. The paint all over Smith is streaming down his face. He is wearing a wild smile as the paint mottles his hair and leaks in between his teeth. His eyes find the camera. He uses his index finger to draw an ‘X’ across his chest, wiping the paint away momentarily. He slowly crawls up the red carpet towards the entrance.
Smith: Or maybe I won’t wait here, Yoshi. Maybe I’ll come show you how fucked in the head my back story has made me. You wanna take full responsibility for making Syn into the monster he is in that ring today? I can’t dispute that. Maybe it’s true. Because in fact, you are a large part of what has reawakened the monster in ME. I will straight up GIVE you that!!! Being booked against you was a wake up call for me. I had to look myself in the eye and ask myself the very question you ask of me, Yosh: can I beat Yoshiru Long? The answer came to me more quickly than you might expect and it was not the answer you would like to hear. Your match will indeed stand above the rest, but this week it’s largely because you were fortunate enough to be booked in the Smith Jones match! It’s the match people scan the card for and make sure they at least know who won, although I’d recommend always watching the whole thing. If you do that this week, you will have the chance to watch me systematically dismantle a fellow technician who likes to work at a methodical pace. This is gonna be a war!!! No feud necessary. Just two sick motherfuckers with a dangerously intimate knowledge of the craft, both seeking to cause permanent injury to one another for the fun of it. Talk about good television!
The camera zooms in very close to Smith’s face as his wild eyes are locked on the lens. His face quivers with the intensity of his emotion. Smith pauses and looks at the camera for a long, long time. We are now quite literally just watching paint dry. Smith awakens from his stare and he starts to rant again.
Smith: Practice up your angry face in the mirror all you want, Yoshiru. Stiffen your upper lip and walk this aisle and pretend that I'm as fake and harmless as those horror movie villains you sometimes dream about. You have no idea the state of mind I’m in. I’m bringing years of unresolved childhood rage with me to Rapture. My hands will fly on their own and blood will be spilt. ‘Cause if my father ever taught me anything in this life it’s this: keep hitting hard until the movement stops. #Heel times all wounds. Your time is near. Saturday night is coming. The winner of this match will certainly earn bragging rights this Rapture…
He continues to crawl creepily up the red carpet still covered in red paint. He stares into your soul. You feel Smith’s hand clasp around your very heart. Fade to black.
Smith: …and I assure you it won’t be Long.
Fade up on a shot of a pair of handcuffs being locked onto a male subject by a female uniformed officer. They are cinched up pretty tight around his wrists. He tugs at them a little and then relaxes his arms as much as he can as they hang cuffed behind his back. The officer and her male counterpart walk Smith Jones down a long, white hallway. He is dressed in blue jeans with a gray T-shirt that reads ‘I’m’ back on the front of it in black lettering with a large white X overtop of the whole thing. The trio comes to a door. The female guard unlocks the door while the male guard remains behind Jones. Smith checks out her ass. What?! He’s just looking! He’s seen much, much better asses anyway. They all go into the room where there is a long divider between inmates and visitors. There are visitors and inmates talking through glass using the telephones attached to each table on the row. Smith looks at the female guard and raises his eyebrows with a slight shrug. She scoffs and shakes her head in disbelief at this odd man in front of her. She steps behind Smith and unlocks the handcuffs. Smith nods at the guards. He rubs his wrists and takes a seat in front of one of the little windows. The male guard leaves while the woman stands off by the door not too far away from where Smith is seated. He waits.
Smith Jones studies the grain of the metal table. He examines the scratches on the paint and he wonders at how many different peoples’ fingerprints are on the glass. He closes his eyes and tries to imagine all of the people that have sat in his very seat over the years. He sees a parade of imaginary faces in differing states of emotion. Some are crying. Some are angry. Some simply don’t know what to say. Smith leans way back in his chair and looks down the row. He can see one or two people. They resemble the people in his imagination. An old man sneezes on one of the phones and continues to talk without pausing to even think about wiping it off. Smith looks at the phone in front of him with disgust. Just then, the door on the other side of the glass opens and Smith watches someone enter the room. We can’t see what Smith sees. The camera looks at Smith through the reinforced glass between them. We study the details of Smith’s face through the collage of dingy fingerprints on the glass. We see his reaction to whoever has entered. Smith stares at the person now sitting opposite him stifling some great emotion and displaying only a neutral visage. There is a very faint and fuzzy reflection of a face looking at Jones. He looks at the phone again for a long beat. He reaches for it and wipes the mouthpiece and earpiece on his thigh before Smith raises the white telephone to his face with great difficulty and he speaks.
Smith: Been a while.
A rough, gravel-like voice responds, muffled as we only hear it through Smith’s earpiece.
Voice: That it has.
Smith: I hope you know how difficult this is for me being in here, looking at your face from behind this dirty fucking glass!
Voice: It must be torture for you.
Smith: You have no idea.
Voice: How long are you gonna be staying this time?
Smith ignores the question.
Smith: I convinced them to cuff me on the way down the hall to visit you so I could get an idea of what it must be like for you to be locked up in here all these years. I assure you, I have no real understanding of what you’re going through in this place.
Voice: P4W they call it.
Smith: Huh?
Voice: Prison for Women. P4W. Makes it a little less scary anyway.
Smith: Killing him was a bad idea.
Voice: I don’t know how you can say that after the way he beat you mercilessly all those years.
Smith: I don’t want him to be dead, mother!!! I want him to be suffering.
Mother: He is suffering in…
Smith: That isn’t fucking good enough!!!!!!!
Smith takes the phone down from his ear and rests it on his knee while he looks off at nothing for a moment. His lips tighten while his mind whirs. He looks his mother in the eye. The camera reveals her face for the first time. She is in her late forties or early fifties wearing an orange jumpsuit. She has graying blonde hair in a messy braid part way down her back. Her face is wrinkled far beyond her years. Her icy blue eyes are locked on Smith’s face, studying his every detail to keep for the time alone until his next visit. Her upper lip starts to quiver, but she stifles it well and stares. Smith looks at her too. He picks the phone up again.
Smith: When did your teeth get so yellow?
Mother: When did you become so bitter?
Smith: Somewhere along the way.
Mother: Where’s the belt? Didn’t you say you were going to show me the belt?
Smith: I decided not to bring it.
Mother: Why???
Smith: You can see it when I win it back! It will mean more then.
Mother: I killed your father for you. I thought you would’ve said thank you to me by now.
Smith: You watched him beat the fuck out of me from the day I was born until I was…
Mother: …thirteen. It was your favourite number and you were so excited to turn thirteen.
Smith: He didn’t care much about it.
Mother: You did… I did.
Smith: He kicked my ass that day, too.
Mother: But that was the last time.
Smith: The very last.
There is a long pause as they both envision that day from their own perspectives. Their eyes never break from one another.
Mother: I love you.
Smith: Fuck off with that shit, mother. God.
Mother: Don’t take The Lord’s name in vain!!!!!
Smith: Whatever. That religious malarkey always meant more to you than I did!
Mother: You shouldn’t look at it that way, son.
Smith: I’m a realist. And I’m pissed at you because you took away my one chance to exact my revenge on the man who destroyed the person I would have been. I lay there under my bed and I watched you stab him over and over…
Mother: You hid under there because you were afraid.
Smith: He kicked me under there after he smashed a lamp over my head!!!!!
Jones’ eyes are very intense as he peers into his mother’s soul through dirty prison glass.
Smith: How did it feel?
Mother: Winston Smith Jones, what are you asking me?
Smith: In the sixteen years that have passed since that day, this is one question I have never asked you even though it was the very first thing that came to mind. I want to know. I’ve always wanted to know. I’ve grown up a little bit since then and I think I’m ready to ask this question. I’m a big boy, mommy; I can take it! Tell me how it felt to stab dad until his life force stopped.
Mother: I didn’t feel a thing.
Smith: BULLSHIT MOTHER!!!!! You stabbed him twenty-nine times.
Mother: Keep your voice down!!!!!!
Smith: Twenty-nine. You must have felt a little something.
Mother: I hated him.
Smith: He never laid a hand on you.
Mother: You’re right, Winston. He never did. He was ever the gentleman to me when he wasn’t drinking. Those sober days grew more and more rare over time. You have to understand that we weren’t just your parents. We were people.
Smith: I know that!
Mother: We were lovers. And you know what they say about the course of true love.
Smith: Never did run smooth.
Mother: He changed on me. He became the monster you knew. That wasn’t the man I fell in love with. If there’s one thing we all learn about love, it’s that it…
Smith: …always changes.
Mother: …never stays the same.
Smith closes his eyes and starts to go back in his mind to the evening of his thirteenth birthday that went horribly wrong. He remembers being under the bed and the strong smell of iron in the air. He can hear his father’s last dying gasps for air as his mother leans against the wall, exhausted from what she has just done, expressionless, drenched in blood. Smith keeps his eyes closed.
Smith: I had to crawl through his warm blood to get out from under that bed.
Mother: I’m sorry. I never was the perfect mom, was I?
Smith opens his eyes and he is in a dark, cramped space curled up in the fetal position. He tries to look around, but it is pretty dark under here. He sees light coming in under the skirt. He crawls towards the light past wooden tables, steel ladders and chairs, two-by-fours, a kendo stick, a sledge hammer, some garbage cans, a bag with a snake inside I think… he moves all the way to the hanging drape. He finds the white microphone lying nearby. He crawls over to the apron and lifts it to see a sea of faces staring right at him. He looks up at the tron and his face is on there, as confused as ever. Smith crawls out from under the ring. He grabs the white microphone and he stands up at ringside. He pats himself down almost half-expecting to be covered in his father’s blood from the crawl. He is dressed to compete in his all whites, all little dirty, but no blood. The PCW Broadcast Championship belt now glistens regally in his spotlight as it is locked once again safely around the waist of the great Smith Jones! He looks down at it in awe. He looks at a close-up of it on the PremiumTron 5000. Smith smiles. The crowd starts to boo and hiss at him. He looks out at the angry masses and wonders what he could have done to deserve such a wicked reaction. He quickly goes from docile and disoriented to vitriolic and vengeful. He raises the white microphone to his lips with no difficulty and he speaks.
Smith: You people think Yoshiru Long is going to kick my fucking ass this Saturday night on Rapture!!!
Crowd: Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaayyy!!!!!!!
Smith: You don’t have to cheer so vehemently just because he’s fighting ME, assholes.
Fan: At least he’s FUNNY!
Smith: Funny? Is that what professional wrestling has become for you people? Is this all a big joke? You came to laugh at the juggling clowns for a while? Wanna see a dancing bear balance on a beach ball? Wanna watch little girls fold themselves into pretzels while some guy walks the highwire without a net night after night for the sake of your entertainment? Should I dance for you now? Should I dress up like a Robert Smigel cartoon and invade everyone’s childhood like a blithering fool?!?? Am I a legend yet? AM I A LEGEND YET?? How ‘bout now? You have lots of stories to tell about how you proved yourself against guys like Brian Adams and Mariano Fernandez and Magnus Thunder and Syn and the list is a long one. Looks like I’m about to do what you did all those years ago. I’m going to get all up in your grill and make you look me in the eye like a real competitor and not some half-trained sparring partner. I will FORCE YOU to RESPECT ME!!!! And since it’s soooooooo not about winning or losing for you, man, then you won’t mind if just go right on ahead and take the W.
Smith finds a handheld camera at ringside and he steps right up into the lens with a fierce snarl. He almost grunts as he speaks his mind in a fit of rage. His face trembles and his lips move.
Smith: Yoshiru Long. These undereducated fans may not have the gray matter to be able to articulate this, but you are more than just funny. You have the kind of skill that would get you noticed in any promotion. You have a list of accomplishments so impressive that you can’t stop talking about the triumphs of your past. Who can blame you? World Champion for four months. Top contender on a number of occasions. Best faction ever, with protest from Toxic and Team Lethality I’m sure. Better than The New Era, I’ll give you that. It’s my XFL. Gimme a break! …INTERNS!!! Get out here.
Two interns come out on stage carrying a large roll of something. Smith Jones stands at the bottom of the entrance ramp as the interns lay the large roll at the top of the ramp. They roll out a long red carpet that unravels all the way down to the tips of Smith’s white boots. The interns leave. He gets on his hands and knees and feels how soft the red carpet is. He admires the fabric.
Smith: When you talk about your past, I can hear the true boyhood excitement in your voice. These memories have all come flooding back to you because you’re back in the locker room that made you famous; you’re back in PCW. What a comeback story! Another return by another returning superstar. I’ve wrestled a few of you people over the past number of months. Some have since disappeared. Some have managed to sustain some semblance of a career. For some reason, Yoshi, I have faith that you will soldier on and return to something that resembles the greatness that you remember of yourself. The fact of the matter is that your back story with this company is far deeper than mine. You forged a strong bond with fellow superstars of a similar ilk and you’ve wreaked havoc on this place time and time again. The locker room started to rumble when word began to spread of your return. Yoshiru Long is BACK in PCW and who the fuck is gonna stop The Elite??? Maybe it’s me. I can see the future. From here it looks like S&M are gonna do it! We cut the Broadcast Champion Brytain’s hair! We stole her title belt and left her for dead in the middle of the ring! I wore it under my wetsuit and went scuba diving in the ocean. I hoisted it over my shoulder and carried it up the side of a volcano. I’m willing to take the Broadcast Title to places it’s never been! My girlfriend, Mya, inspires me. She truly is my muse. We will be champion together. We will succeed. PCW’s hottest couple is also it’s most lethal. Know fully that when you come to fight Smith Jones at Rapture, you also come to fight Mya Denton. S&M.
Smith goes to the top of the ramp. Mya Denton comes out on stage with a bucket of red paint. She gives Smith a kiss on the cheek. He takes the bucket from her and puts it down on the stage. He grabs her and pulls her in. Smith and Mya lock lips with each other as her body and his can’t seem to get close enough together. The crowd boos as Smith and Mya make out while touching each other. They both pick up the bucket together. It’s filled with red paint. They slowly walk down the red carpet, posing just a little for the cameras and studying peoples’ faces.
Smith: You people think it’s some damned coincidence that I left The New Era earlier the very same night that The Elite was reformed? I’m Smith Jones and I’m goddam clairvoyant! I saw that shit coming a mile away without being told, without anyone ratting out your return. I knew things were about to happen and I got out before you made me look like a complete fool! It is that kind of top notch strategy that has taken me to big wins over people like DLK, Reaps, Stryker, Thunder, both Jay and Magnus… Final Four at last year’s Battlefield Match (you were there for that one, Yosh). I don’t have to go through some long-winded reminder about my old PCW glory days – my PCW glory days are happening RIGHT GODDAM NOW!!!!!! Look at me, Yoshi. The fact that I’m so proudly wearing the PCW Broadcast Championship belt and standing next to my smoking hot devil of a girlfriend stands to prove to you and to the entire wrestling world that Smith Jones is legit. I’m the kind of guy who takes what I want and I don’t wait for the powers that be to hand me the belt when they feel like it. My name is not Syn. I’d rather steal a title than have one handed to me. And this Saturday night, Long, when you finally take the next turn off memory lane, you should head on down Martin Luther King, Jr. Drive East until you get to George Perry Street. Head south and make a right at the first light, that’ll be Lakeview. Cruise onto the Mississippi State University campus and enjoy scenic Chadwick Lake. The parking lot is right across the street from Dudy Noble baseball diamond and the university arena is just a short walk away. Park your very expensive ride and stroll right directly into the arena for Saturday Night Rapture where I’ll be waiting! The next school lockdown in America won’t be for a shooting, it will be to contain the violence between Yoshiru Long and Smith Jones! I’m coming to Rapture, Broadcast Title and all, my Mya by my side, dressed in my white ring gear, painted red by the woman I love.
Mya: You’re out of your mind, babe. You know that right?
Smith: Look who’s talking, my little sicko. Love you.
Mya: I love you, too. And these people out here who used to always tell us their stupid opinions on how we should live our lives are starting to see that this is more than just a fun little sex game. S&M is dangerous and people get seriously hurt when we want them to. You’re the man I’ve been looking for my whole life, Smith Jones. You’re amazing. Now hold your breath!
Jones gets on his knees as Mya pours the entire bucket of paint over Smith’s head! The paint goes all over him. His body is streaked in red drippings from head to toe. The belt is also covered in red paint. Mya laughs an evil little snicker and she skips out of the arena, bucket in hand. Smith watches her go with a faint smile. He looks up at the tron and stares at himself. He begins to chuckle and then full out laugh at the sight of himself. He lies on his back and stares up at the ring lights. He thinks about Wrestle Extravaganza IV and cringes hard. He then looks at the entrance ramp.
Smith: I’ll be lying on this red carpet waiting for Long to walk right back into Premium Championship Wrestling! I’ll just fade into the scenery and give you the freedom to trample over my already dead corpse and be THE MAN. And all the hard work I put into this company while you were off catching up on your beauty sleep can just get flushed down the friggin’ toilet while you come back and take away air time that would be much better utilized to propagandize the most dangerous man in PCW, SMITH fucking JONES!!!!! There is no way in #heel I’m going to lie down and let you just walk all over me, you fucking echo from the past. I’ve been avoiding the past long enough. I WILL BE the very next P4W Broadca — I mean… PCW… FUCK!!! Listen to me, man. It’s time for me to face you and overcome the things people out there don’t believe I have the intestinal fortitude to overcome. You’ve traveled the world. You’ve been World Champion! You rocked the establishment and made people watch you challenge authority. You have all of these people out here right in the palm of your hairy hand every time you open your bombastic hole! They all think this match is about you and all of the amazing things you have done and can do and will do. The bookies are on your side. The doubters are out in droves to watch the mean mean man fall flat on my face again while trying to take down another runaway juggernaut!!! All eyes are on the Smith Jones match as always and they expect to see you win. Well, I have BAD NEWS for everybody; I have bad news for you, Yosh. This is not your comeback story. At least, not this Rapture. This Rapture is about the fact that I’m back and I’m about to fuck with everyone’s heads when I flip this shit upside down and put Yoshi Long on his back for three seconds!!!
Jones gets up onto his hands and knees and counts one, two, three like a referee on the carpet. The paint all over Smith is streaming down his face. He is wearing a wild smile as the paint mottles his hair and leaks in between his teeth. His eyes find the camera. He uses his index finger to draw an ‘X’ across his chest, wiping the paint away momentarily. He slowly crawls up the red carpet towards the entrance.
Smith: Or maybe I won’t wait here, Yoshi. Maybe I’ll come show you how fucked in the head my back story has made me. You wanna take full responsibility for making Syn into the monster he is in that ring today? I can’t dispute that. Maybe it’s true. Because in fact, you are a large part of what has reawakened the monster in ME. I will straight up GIVE you that!!! Being booked against you was a wake up call for me. I had to look myself in the eye and ask myself the very question you ask of me, Yosh: can I beat Yoshiru Long? The answer came to me more quickly than you might expect and it was not the answer you would like to hear. Your match will indeed stand above the rest, but this week it’s largely because you were fortunate enough to be booked in the Smith Jones match! It’s the match people scan the card for and make sure they at least know who won, although I’d recommend always watching the whole thing. If you do that this week, you will have the chance to watch me systematically dismantle a fellow technician who likes to work at a methodical pace. This is gonna be a war!!! No feud necessary. Just two sick motherfuckers with a dangerously intimate knowledge of the craft, both seeking to cause permanent injury to one another for the fun of it. Talk about good television!
The camera zooms in very close to Smith’s face as his wild eyes are locked on the lens. His face quivers with the intensity of his emotion. Smith pauses and looks at the camera for a long, long time. We are now quite literally just watching paint dry. Smith awakens from his stare and he starts to rant again.
Smith: Practice up your angry face in the mirror all you want, Yoshiru. Stiffen your upper lip and walk this aisle and pretend that I'm as fake and harmless as those horror movie villains you sometimes dream about. You have no idea the state of mind I’m in. I’m bringing years of unresolved childhood rage with me to Rapture. My hands will fly on their own and blood will be spilt. ‘Cause if my father ever taught me anything in this life it’s this: keep hitting hard until the movement stops. #Heel times all wounds. Your time is near. Saturday night is coming. The winner of this match will certainly earn bragging rights this Rapture…
He continues to crawl creepily up the red carpet still covered in red paint. He stares into your soul. You feel Smith’s hand clasp around your very heart. Fade to black.
Smith: …and I assure you it won’t be Long.