04-18-2013, 08:29 PM
"What a bunch of assholes."
"Fuck these jerkoffs."
“Whiskey. Neat.”
“Here you are sir.”
Bartender: This shit has been going on for almost two hours now. I’ve made almost thirty drinks and I’ve made about fifteen dollars. And for what? So these stuffy old bastards can get drunk and grab the asses of girls half their age. Apparently they’re celebrating some senator winning some kind of award or something. All I know, is that these tightwads better start tipping or this footage is going to wind up where they don’t want it.
Samuels: A gift, from our fine governor!
Samuels: Thank you! Thank you! It is an honor to be called before such an esteemed group off my peers.
Samuels: Not long ago, a colleague of mine and I set out to conquer a realm that has never been touched by men like us. An untapped market, something that we Republicans strive for. And as you can see by this handsome little trinket wrapped around my waist, I have tapped the market! I walked into the doors of the XWF as a man with a dream, and now I have become a champion! A polarizing figure to say the least!
And it was fucking easy!
Samuels: That’s right! You won’t hear that shit on television. A man has to present a certain image, and I can’t have people thinking that I’m the same kind of foul-mouthed heathen that they are. No, to make the people realize that I’m better than they are, I have to make sure they know that I don’t share any of their flaws with them. It’s been hard working, keeping up that profile, but look where it got me. I’m at the top of Monday Night Madness and I’m not looking down. And now, gentlemen, it’s the time to let the pathetic XWF fans learn what a true Republican stands for. And with that kind of exposure, we could run this country! No more bleeding heart liberals trying to take our guns or ruin the sanctity of marriage. No more ‘feel-good’ presidents. We don’t need to elect someone who’s breaking a barrier, we need to elect someone that’s willing to restore our country to the greatness it once had. And this is square one. XWF European Champion John Samuels, standing in front of those television cameras every Monday night, convincing more and more of those lemmings who watch Madness to see things the way that we see them.
Man: What about Crimson Cobra? If he takes your title this Monday you won’t have any kind of platform. Are you prepared to defend what’s yours?
Samuels: Does a bear shit in the woods? Of course I’m going to beat that little puke on Monday.
Samuels: I’ve gotten into his head already, and I haven’t even tried yet. He’s already having nightmares, he knows that he’s going to be embarrassed- again- by me. He might have made a name for himself beating his own partner, but what has he done since? Aside from looking like a fool and patting himself on the back for one meaningless victory, he’s done nothing. He doesn’t have a leg to stand on Monday night. He’s already seen what I can do, twice, and he’s actually formed some kind of scenario in his head where he beats me this time around? Yeah, right. He can kiss 47% of my ass, because that’s not going to happen. It’s time Cobra goes back to slithering around on the ground, where he belongs. He’s not a threat to my title at all, let me assure you of that.
Man: Then why is he so confident that history won’t repeat itself?
Samuels: Because he’s delusional? Or maybe because he has amnesia? But let’s be real, it’s because he’s a stupid kid with a skewed view of the world. Hell, this is even his kind of match. A ladder match. You know how long it’s been since I’ve been on a ladder? Not since I hired that fencehopper Rogelio to clean my gutters. And you know how much that worries me? Not even a little. It’s a ladder, and inanimate object , and it’s going to have nothing to do with how the match plays out. I’m going to beat that delusional little bastard until he cries, and then I’m going to climb that ladder and get my title. This is a new era of the XWF, and I’ll be perched on that ladder in the position that I’ve earned--the very top.
Bartender: So this arrogant dick head wins a title and then thinks his way of thinking is best for everyone? Yeah right, I hope this Crimson Cobra guy kicks his fucking ass.
Samuels: Is that so?
Bartender: I didn’t mean anything--
Samuels: Of course you didn’t. Everyone’s allowed to have their opinion right? Here why don’t we have ourselves a drink to clear the air?
Bartender: I should really stick to work, sir.
Samuels: Nonsense! We’ll have a drink!
Samuels: Let’s have ourselves some scotch.
Bartender: What kind?
Samuels: Surprise me, but no cheap shit.
Samuels: Not bad! Not bad at all! What kind of scotch is that?
Bartender: It’s Bowmore Darkest. I love the smoky taste, and it has a hint of--
SMASH!
Samuels: I’ve had better.
"Fuck these jerkoffs."
The scene opens to grainy camera footage, presumably from a cell phone. On screen appears a small yet lavish party filled with elderly men and attractive young women. The men all laugh and prod at the women while swilling their drinks. The camera turns to reveal the face of a young, scruffy man standing in front of rows of liquor bottles. His eyes dart around, taking in the party in disgust. He’s wearing a red vest, identical to the ones worn by the waitressess scurrying about attempting to serve the guests without being groped. The camera goes black as he quickly shoves the phone into his pocket.
“Whiskey. Neat.”
The clanking of glasses is heard, followed by a slight thud.
“Here you are sir.”
The camera jumps back to life, back to the agitated bartender’s face- he’s holding up two crumpled dollar bills.
Bartender: This shit has been going on for almost two hours now. I’ve made almost thirty drinks and I’ve made about fifteen dollars. And for what? So these stuffy old bastards can get drunk and grab the asses of girls half their age. Apparently they’re celebrating some senator winning some kind of award or something. All I know, is that these tightwads better start tipping or this footage is going to wind up where they don’t want it.
A loud commotion draws the attention of the bartender, the camera turning around to capture the sudden cheers. Emerging from off-screen, John Samuels strides in waving, his title belt secured around his waist. He makes his way through the crowd, high-fiving and smiling to everyone in the crowd. Samuels makes his way to the end of a long table where he is met with a bottle of champagne and a glass of whiskey by an unimpressed waitress. Samuels bows to the crowd and holds the bottle up in the air, much to their delight. Samuels winks at them before reaching underneath his suit-coat and pulling out a shiny silver pistol.
Samuels: A gift, from our fine governor!
This sends the crowd into applause once more, but is silenced by a ‘shhh’ from Samuels. They look on in anticipation as he slowly raises the pistol to the top of the bottle. With a single squeeze of the pistol’s trigger, the top half of the bottle explodes in unison with the loud pop from the gun. Samuels smiles and grabs the empty glass of one of the attractive women seating next to him, who has her hands tightly cupped around her ears, and pours the champagne in for her, sending the crowd into a wild applause.
Samuels: Thank you! Thank you! It is an honor to be called before such an esteemed group off my peers.
The crowd applauds as Samuels takes a drink of the champagne and hands it back down to the girl.
Samuels: Not long ago, a colleague of mine and I set out to conquer a realm that has never been touched by men like us. An untapped market, something that we Republicans strive for. And as you can see by this handsome little trinket wrapped around my waist, I have tapped the market! I walked into the doors of the XWF as a man with a dream, and now I have become a champion! A polarizing figure to say the least!
And it was fucking easy!
The crowd gasps sarcastically, causing Samuels to laugh hysterically.
Samuels: That’s right! You won’t hear that shit on television. A man has to present a certain image, and I can’t have people thinking that I’m the same kind of foul-mouthed heathen that they are. No, to make the people realize that I’m better than they are, I have to make sure they know that I don’t share any of their flaws with them. It’s been hard working, keeping up that profile, but look where it got me. I’m at the top of Monday Night Madness and I’m not looking down. And now, gentlemen, it’s the time to let the pathetic XWF fans learn what a true Republican stands for. And with that kind of exposure, we could run this country! No more bleeding heart liberals trying to take our guns or ruin the sanctity of marriage. No more ‘feel-good’ presidents. We don’t need to elect someone who’s breaking a barrier, we need to elect someone that’s willing to restore our country to the greatness it once had. And this is square one. XWF European Champion John Samuels, standing in front of those television cameras every Monday night, convincing more and more of those lemmings who watch Madness to see things the way that we see them.
A man chirps up from the crowd.
Man: What about Crimson Cobra? If he takes your title this Monday you won’t have any kind of platform. Are you prepared to defend what’s yours?
Samuels: Does a bear shit in the woods? Of course I’m going to beat that little puke on Monday.
The crowd all begin to laugh as Samuels plays to them, flexing his arms and shadow boxing.
Samuels: I’ve gotten into his head already, and I haven’t even tried yet. He’s already having nightmares, he knows that he’s going to be embarrassed- again- by me. He might have made a name for himself beating his own partner, but what has he done since? Aside from looking like a fool and patting himself on the back for one meaningless victory, he’s done nothing. He doesn’t have a leg to stand on Monday night. He’s already seen what I can do, twice, and he’s actually formed some kind of scenario in his head where he beats me this time around? Yeah, right. He can kiss 47% of my ass, because that’s not going to happen. It’s time Cobra goes back to slithering around on the ground, where he belongs. He’s not a threat to my title at all, let me assure you of that.
Man: Then why is he so confident that history won’t repeat itself?
Samuels: Because he’s delusional? Or maybe because he has amnesia? But let’s be real, it’s because he’s a stupid kid with a skewed view of the world. Hell, this is even his kind of match. A ladder match. You know how long it’s been since I’ve been on a ladder? Not since I hired that fencehopper Rogelio to clean my gutters. And you know how much that worries me? Not even a little. It’s a ladder, and inanimate object , and it’s going to have nothing to do with how the match plays out. I’m going to beat that delusional little bastard until he cries, and then I’m going to climb that ladder and get my title. This is a new era of the XWF, and I’ll be perched on that ladder in the position that I’ve earned--the very top.
The crowd erupts into more applause as Samuels raises his arms, taking in the moment. The camera turns back to the bartender, who is watching with a look of disgust on his face.
Bartender: So this arrogant dick head wins a title and then thinks his way of thinking is best for everyone? Yeah right, I hope this Crimson Cobra guy kicks his fucking ass.
Samuels: Is that so?
The camera shoots up to Samuels hovering over the bar, a look of joy on his face.
Bartender: I didn’t mean anything--
Samuels: Of course you didn’t. Everyone’s allowed to have their opinion right? Here why don’t we have ourselves a drink to clear the air?
Bartender: I should really stick to work, sir.
Samuels: Nonsense! We’ll have a drink!
Samuels slams down two $50 bills on the counter in front of the bartender.
Samuels: Let’s have ourselves some scotch.
Bartender: What kind?
Samuels: Surprise me, but no cheap shit.
The bartender pulls two glasses out and sets them on the bar. He turns and ponders for a moment before grabbing a bottle and pouring some into each glass. Samuels claps his hands once, grabs his drink and holds it up to the bartender. The bartender smiles and lifts his glass up to meet with the Senator’s. The two both throw back the drinks and exchange looks of delight.
Samuels: Not bad! Not bad at all! What kind of scotch is that?
The bartender grabs the bottle and sets it down in front of Samuels, who snatches the bottle and begins toread the label.
Bartender: It’s Bowmore Darkest. I love the smoky taste, and it has a hint of--
SMASH!
The camera falls onto the bar, showing Samuels holding the broken bottle of scotch and the Bartender laying face down in a pool of glass, scotch and blood.
Samuels: I’ve had better.
Samuels tosses the bottle aside, sweeps the money from the counter back into his pocket and walk back towards the party, whistling “God Bless America.” The kitchen and wait staff rush to the side of the bartender, their cries for help can be heard as the battery on the phone runs out, sending the camera to blackness.