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John Samuels · (04-13-2013)

Clap.

“Bravo!”

The scene opens with a slightly battered, yet cheerful John Samuels watching a large television screen. Images of Samuels’ win over Crimson Cobra from Monday elicit more applause from Samuels, who puffs away at his large, round cigar between bouts of laughter and cheer.

Samuels: There it is! 1! 2! 3! Man what a win! The true resolve a champion, I tell ya. You see that Ann?

Samuels spins around in his chair, scanning the room for Fairchild. A sneeze behind one of doors in the room cues Samuels to her location.

Samuels: Ann! Get in here! You have to see how this ends.

Fairchild enters the room, with her head hung low.

Fairchild: Can we not watch this? I was there. I know how it happened.

Samuels: Nonsense! This is the highlight of my XWF career. See, here is where he thinks he has me and then you come in and... How did you distract him anyway? I couldn’t really tell from where I was standing.

Nervously, Fairchild moves her hand up her blouse, visibly panicked.

Fairchild: Well I... I...

Before she can choke out the words her hand reaches the silver necklace around her neck.

Fairchild: Oh my cross! I... I was distracting him with my cross.

Samuels: Why would a necklace distract someone participating in one of the most brutal, grueling matches that this industry has to offer?

Fairchild: Well, he is crazy and believes he’s being followed by a demon. Maybe the crucifix was threatening to him. I don’t know, I’ve read that inanimate objects can trigger extreme emotions in people who believe their delusions.

Samuels: 1! 2! 3!

Fairchild looks back to the Senator, surprised, who has completely disregarded her and returned to watching the ending of the match. He puffs at his cigar and takes a drink from his glass of scotch, smiling, before he turns off the television. Samuels spins his chair back towards Fairchild, taking a long drag from his cigar, exhaling the dense smoke slowly. Fairchild sits down, wiping sweat from her brow and pulls out her tablet.

Fairchild: And that leads us to next Monday. You’re getting your shot at the European Championship, and Neonero.

Samuels raises his glass and obnoxiously laughs, perhaps slightly inebriated.

Samuels: Hirohito himself! It’s time to... time to drop some bombs! Hiroshima part two!

Fairchild: He’s not Japanese.

Samuels: Prepare the nukes! Fat Man and...uh...Fat--ter Man! The land of the rising moon will never know what hit them! For a second time!

Fairchild: It’s land of the rising sun, sir, and he’s not Japanese.

Samuels: Nonsense! You see the way that he’s got the. The. The slanting eyes. And the Kung Fu! He’s a Kung Fu fighter!

Samuels begins to hum the tune to ‘Kung Fu Fighting’ by Carl Douglas while decimating his imaginary opponent with a series of karate chops and front kicks.

Samuels: Ho-hoho-hoooo! HA!

Fairchild: SIR!

Samuels stops and turns his head, his red face holding a large grin.

Samuels: So he’s one of the... What’s the other one? Oh the Chinamen! Those dirty Chineeks keep getting our money. ALL of our money. They get stronger, we get weaker. Damn libtards handing over all of MY money to those... those...

Samuels drops his drink and places his fingers up to his eyes, pulling them gaunt. He lifts the corners of his eyes and follows with a large, goofy grin.

Samuels: They’re these!

Fairchild sighs and buries her head in her hands.

Samuels: Look at him! He’s got the funny eyes. Just like World 1-International. Hey... are they the same people!? They look the same! As a matter of fact, now that I think about it, he also looks like Bruce Lee. And Jet Li. And George Takei. My God. He played Mr. Miyagi!

Fairchild: Sir, he’s not Chinese either.

Samuels: Chinese, Japanese, dirty knees... whatever. They’re all the same. Tiny people with an ever smaller purpose. And Neo-Miyagi is no different from the rest of them. He’s a Playstation playin’, wonton eatin’, tentacle porn watchin’ Asia man. I wonder if he has the blurry genitals too? Is that an STD over in Wok central? Pixelated genitalia? Whatever it is, it’s creepy.

Fairchild: He’s Korean. And English, apparently.

Samuels stumbles over to Fairchild, swaying back-and-forth, stopping within an inch ofFairchild’s face.

Samuels: Wait a minute! A warmonger AND a gingivitis poster child? Well now I’ve heard of everything. It would take rice eater to fornicate with with one of those English cowards. Good for nothing Englishmen. I wish we could revolve against them again. I mean-- revolize... revolutionize... revolze? You gonna let me guess all day or what?

Fairchild: Revolt.

Samuels: Whatever, Annnnnn! I’m revolting?You’re the one that showed your hoo-has to half the world the other night! That’s right, I know what you did!

Fairchild hangs her head in shame and gently clears her throat.

Fairchild: Neonero started with the trash talk today. Did you get a chance to see what he said?

Samuels: Yeah I did! He just said ping-pong and fried rice a lot. It was pointless.

Fairchild: Be that as it may, he is still the European Champion and by far the best competition you’ve faced thuse far. Maybe it would be a good idea to not take him as lightly as your previous opponents?

Samuels scrunches his face up and holds the ends of a pretend skirt up to his sides in a prissy manner.

Samuels: Well look at me, I’m the champion of Europe-ia, la-de-da! I’m so fancy! I’m the champion over a whole continent of cowards, homosexuals and liberals. Give me a break! Calling this guy a champion is like calling an Asian a human being. Sure, they both technically are... but the rest of us know better. He beat a burned out drug addict to win that title, hardly a feat worthy of a true champion. And now he wants a shot!? I don’t think so Mr. Hardy, you better go back to smoking the wacky tobaccy and watching those Chong and Chatch movies on your mother’s couch. I’m going to be the European Champion after Monday!

Fairchild: It’s Cheech and Chong.

Samuels: Oooohhh! How do you know!? Go smoke some grass you hippy.

Fairchild: And didn’t you just say that being the European Champion was a bad thing?

Samuels: For an English-Asian it is! The worthless can’t effectively lead the worthless. Think about it... How would pizza topped with pork lo-mein sound? Or French fries with sweet and sour sauce!?

Fairchild: Actually that sounds pretty good.

Samuels: Well you get my point! A European Champion should be somebody that can save all the disgusting Euro trash from their cowardly existence. And who better than a good ol’ fashioned, red blooded American? Definitely not some foreign runt with no respect for the greatest country in the world. And then he has the audacity to try to steal my thunder by doing something I already did?

Samuels shakes his head in disgust and looks directly into the camera.

Samuels: Well guess what, Miyagi? If you’re going that route then feel free to call up my ex-wife, one ride from her and she just might just make those eyes slant the other way. Hell, you’d be a Mexican! Which would actually work perfectly, I just fired my old gardener. And since you won’t be the European champion once I’m done with you, you should have plenty of time to push around the lawn mower. Just remember to use the hedge clippers on the long grass by the fence, Ms. Hildey next door hates when the weed whacker throws grass clippings onto her side ot the fence. Jose found that out the hard way. He’s probably crying over a taco and a cerveza right now. You know, Nero, you’d be a perfectly capable replacement. You and Jose are like two peas in a pod. He’s a foreigner, taking away from what us real Americans have, just like you. He liked to run his mouth, even though he didn’t say much, just like you. And when he made me mad I would beat him, just like I will to you. I hope, I really really hope, that you will put up a better fight than he did though. I don’t know what it is, but a 68 year old Mexican man just can’t put up much of a defence against a couple of disciplinary blows to the midsection. And I know, I know... I shouldn’t give you greedy foreigners a dime, but the feeling I get from seeing that look of dejection every day, like your kind know I own them, and the greedy invaders can’t do a single thing about it. You’re going to love it here, Eggroll, and so will I.

Samuels smiles and leans back in his chair, closing his eyes. Fairchild comes into frame and places a cigar in his hand, which he promptly places in his mouth. He chews on it for a moment before snapping his fingers, signaling Fairchild to light it for him. He takes a few puffs and opens his eyes once more.

Samuels: Oh, you didn’t think I’d just let your earlier antics slip, did you? Oh no, no, no. That’s not the American way. We hold grudges. You invaded one of America’s great institutions, preaching your false rhetoric and pedestrian understanding of America’s political landscape. But it’s okay, Wanton, I made a little visit to a place that you Koreans hold dear.

The scene cuts to a dilapidated laundromat. The dim, partially lit sign reads ‘Nam’s’,’ with many of the tiny bulbs burnt out. The door opens and in walks Samuels, drinking a Budweiser. Upon finishing the drink, he throws the empty can into a basket containing the freshly washed clothing of an elderly asian women, who responds with a loud yell. Samuels ignores the woman and surveys the crowd, upon seeing no patrons that appear physically imposing he jumps up on top of one of the rumbling washing machines.

Samuels: Perverts and manicure technicians lend me your ears!

The majority of the patrons continue about their business, while a few give brief glances.

Samuels: Today, one of your own invaded a school filled with young, innocent children. He droned on and on about his extremely liberal view of America and it’s affairs. Leave it to an Asian to talk trash in a learning environment. Am I right?

Samuels smiles and looks around, looking for a sign of amusement from the crowd. Finding none.

Samuels: Ol’ slanty forgot to mention that if it weren’t for America, you people would be the intellectual equivalent of tadpoles. Don’t you people eat those? Do you know what brought your ancestors here? Do you? Cheap labor. We used the Chinese and Japanese to build our countries infrastructure. And what happened when they got to be too annoying? We brought in the Koreans. The quiet, easily breakable Koreans. The perfect slave. Now, as many of you know, my name is John Samuels and I am currently the greatest thing that’s happening on Monday nights. And my opponent is someone who probably none of you know, Neonero. He’s one of you. Bumbling about , day-in-day out, doing nothing of merit. It’s a shame how you people have fallen. Once a dangerous, and feared people, you’re now nothing more than dry cleaners and cat meat peddlers. But I have come with good news, believe it or not. Monday Night, I’ll be taking that title from Neonero, and in doing so, i will dash the false hope that he has given you. The false hope that one of you people from the orient can make something of yourselves. When Neonero goes down, so vanishes the expectations that you believe you have to pass down to your children. You won’t have to push them to be doctors and lawyers any more, you can accept the fact that you are scum from the Pacific, and you’ll never be anything more than that. And that, will be my thank you to your ancestors. The thank you for them building our railways and working in our mines, while foolishly believing that one day they’d be Americans just like me. Good evening, Vietnam,

With a smile, Samuels stumbles off the washing machine. He tries to save face but slips on the floor, sending the patrons of the laundromat into a thundering applause. Samuels gets up and awkwardly brushes himself off before storming out of the laundromat.

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