Well, who knew JP Corino had an intelligent thought in his head.
Neonero scratches his arse.
But even he saw through the fact Jeff hardy is a last minute man.
We’re in a long, dark alleyway; darkened not just because its night time, but also the fact that the alleyway is so narrow, and there are strange overhangs fluttering ahead, they could be laundry for all we know, or to be fair, for all we care. Nero’s walking down into it like some vagrant, kicking any trash at his feet to the side, and trash there’s plenty. We are surely in one of the seedier areas of London at this point.
Really disappointing, considering you are supposed to be a champion. Showing your best for each comer and all that. But herein lies the lock. You aren’t a champion. You know it as well as I, and that’s why you hide away. That’s why you have a loss to JP Corino on your record. Do you know how poor that makes you look?
Nero picks up a trashcan lid, and throws it into the distance as if it were a Frisbee. It lands with a clatter some distance away, and he continues talking.
Know why I chose this location to talk about you? The arsehole of London?
Nero makes some weird hand gesture over his shoulder.
Because it’s the only place I feel I can talk on your level. The only place I can come and talk at a level I can see you as an equal. Amongst these dirty streets. Crack dens. Vagrants. Discarded needles adorning the place. Squirrels going off their fucking heads because they’ve found cocaine stashes. You know they go completely ape shit on that stuff. Even pest control dread them. But dread isn’t a word that belongs in this conversation.
Dread and Jeff hardy are words that just don't mix. What fun words could we ascribe to you, though? Let’s play a little game.
How about ‘Hardy the Great’? -Nah, we don’t want to spread lies.
Shrug.
‘Hardy the premature’ – Nah, reverse psychology doesn’t work this late in the week.
Shrug.
Hmm, this is tougher than I thought. Its like there is no single word that sums you up.
‘Hardy the Hardy’ – We could champion your ability to fall from really high places without being broken beyond belief? Ah, but there's a flaw with that plan. Because I plan to break you on Sunday, and I wont require any great heights to achieve that so far.
Cock of the head. To the left.
‘Hardy the weasel’ – Nah, that’s gimmick infringement on Heyman.
Ho hum.
Let’s just be simplistic as fuck here and call you ‘Jeff Hardly’. At this point let me just apologise for using such poor, base trash talk, but what the hell else am I supposed to work with. You have nothing to say off your own back, and you cant even do a Flynn and fool people into thinking you’re talented each week by responding to other people’s words. On that note, I hope Sebastian Duke has some Vaseline, because he’s going to be pretty sore come Sunday.
You’re Jeff hardly for many reasons. For one, you’re hardly a man. No real man takes drugs and then tucks is child in at night. There’s not a person alive who would call that responsible parenting. So here’s another one, you’re hardly worth being called a parent. Do you see the disgust in your daughter’s eyes when you make your vain attempts to connect with her? You think little girls are interested in pirate ships, giant squid, and that variety of fantasy douchebaggery? I bet when you take her to the dvd store you head right for the horror movies. The adult section in magazine stores. She must get such a great education from you as a human being. You’re hardly worthy of having custody never mind being called a parent.
Nero picks up a soiled needle, and snaps the needle from its plastic housing against the wall, again tossing it into the distance.
Here’s a thought for you, Jeffrey. Children follow in the footsteps of their parents. Its called monkey see monkey do. You might think you’re clever living this life, but you fail to acknowledge the wider implications of your selfish actions.
Nero turns to the camera now. His cyan hued eyes glint in the moonlight, almost hypnotising.
Why the fuck are you here? Why are you wasting my time? Where are your testicles? Did you leave them in CM Punk’s purse? This shit is so old. I’m tired of facing guys like you who have nothing to say. I never thought I’d miss having Mark Flynn as an opponent. But at least he can fucking talk. You’re just a daydream. And a dull one at that. I could bring a dream catcher to the ring and you’d probably wilt like the depressed vegetable you are.
His eyes narrow.
But back to Gauntlet City. I have as much idea what a Heyman’s Chamber of Horrors match is as the next guy. To me it sounds like a match taking place inside his mouth after a week or so of letting his tramp piss cat shit teeth start to grow spores. But I am sure there’s something a little more pleasant than that in store. Whatever this has in store, there’s one certainty, we will both be pretty knackered by the end of it. From my own perspective, if only knackered by the vague exertion of kicking you up and down a chamber and watching you go flippety flop to the ground in your unmistakable way. Ironic that, isn’t it. You’re famous for falling. Whether from heights, from respect, from grace; you just fall in life. People don't really care about your face paint. In fact your teeny-girl fans weep at the sight because it hides that chiselled jaw line of yours that they go so crazy over. Don’t worry, I’ll save the lame threats about breaking jaws. I already used my quota of poor trash talk when I said I as going to break you without means of high falls.
Nero spits, then inanely makes the camera focus on his phlegm, marvelling at how it takes form just like Paul Heyman’s face. Interesting that something so gross is also inherent in nature, no? Nero’s face grows serious, now. Enough fucking around.
Have you been to Mexico, Jeffrey? I’ll wager a lot of your stash comes from that way. Why don't you check out el mundo narco? It might inspire you some. Those miscreants shipping your shit?
They get their heads cut off.
Fucking chainsaws to their throats.
Axes.
Limbs chopped off and chucked in vats of acid.
Nero winks suggestively.
Heads wrapped in duct tape and battered to pulp with baseball bats.
The kind of shit you see in horror movies. But, in the words of Jay-Z, ‘this aint a movie dawg’. This is real life. This is your world. This is the world you are introducing your precious daughter into Jeff. You fucking melt. You meet the wrong dealer? You mess with Spanish Jose? End of the line. You try and run? Your family gets it. So every time you shoot up, inhale or swallow, rub your gums, shove shit up your arse, or whatever, just bear that in mind. You aren’t just gambling with your career. You’re gambling with fucking everything. And you know what? If I come across duct tape and a bat, I wont fucking hesitate. I will make your head look like mashed potato. Know how pathetic a face looks when the orbital bones are smashed in? Let’s hope you don't find out, eh.
Nero smirks disdainfully.
I’m almost embarrassed to induct you in the GG NORE tour checklist.
Mehhh...
Nero sighs loudly and looks away from the camera, and the shot starts to darken slowly, with him walking into the distance...
We fade
Home Soil Who’s a Patriot?
Let me take a second to address the people who will attend Gauntlet City.
Neonero is back in friendlier locale; he seems to be at the same coffee shop, Costa, none of that Starbucks Pish, of course. The place is busier now, really quite packed. But Nero speaks in his usual deceptively quiet but forceful way, his voice somehow carrying authority over the vibrations in the air.
Wembley Stadium. I was inspired to do this by one Chris Macbeth. The man showed a photo of Bobby Moore statue, which is stood in front of Wembley Stadium. Moore is the hero who led England to their only ever World Cup win, right in Wembley Stadium. But let me tell you two things. First, that stadium was demolished at the turn of the millennium. The stadium you’re in now was only built in the early 00’s. The last game ever played in the old Wembley? England losing 1-0 to Germany. GG guys!
Nero laughs heartily, and people look at him a little oddly, then decide to try and pretend they’ve not noticed him and go back to their inane chatting and coffee sipping. In the corner sits an i-, drawing our ire just by his very existence.
And the second was this.
That’s right. England win the World Cup, the Union Jacks fly. The Union Jacks. How disgusting is that? The stadium wasn’t packed with Englishmen. It was packed with Scots, Welsh and Irish all clamouring to claim England as ‘British’ to justify having a reason to be excited. Pathetic. The only flag that belonged in those fans hands is the St George’s flag.
Yes, I already explained that flag, so I am not going to harp on it. But the fact is this; these people sold out their country and its pride at one of its defining, perhaps its finest, sporting moment. We won the world cup. Something we’ve never done since. Gazza’s tears. Maradona’s hand. Beck’s kick. Carvalho’s nuts. PENALTIES. The fact we have never repeated it shows you how incredible it was. And yet you pathetic cunts waved union jacks, at our proudest hour. To any of those people, I have one thing to say: You are cunts.
He shakes his head.
If you are English, and you wave the Queen’s Union Jack, you are labelling yourself a cunt. There is no such country as Britain. Britain is an ISLAND. England is a country. The Union Jack represents centuries of slavery, imperialism and depravity. The St George’s Cross represents the crusades. Granted, that is not a great thing either. But it is still YOUR flag. Wear YOUR flag, you morons. It doesn’t make you a fascist to be proud of your country. That is the greatest lie you ever believed.
Why am I harping on fucking flags you ask? Because I am supposed to be regaining my European title you fucks! England is part of Europe. Sometimes I wish I were French, even though they adopted mickey mouse money, or euros as they call it. At least they have CULTURE. At least they aren’t scared of integration. At least they encourage their own heritage. At least they are half decent at football...
Nero claps, applauding himself for the cheap heat he just generated.
I’m kidding. Too many frogs legs in France. In fact, fuck most of Europe. I’ll wear that belt for England. Germany, we’re cool. Romania, Ukraine, Poland, you have some of the hottest women in the world, so we are cool as fuck. Israel? You aren’t even near to Europe, I denounce you. If you give Palestinians their land and rights back, drop your fucking police state, and get your tongue out of Americas arse, we’ll talk.
He takes a sip of his latte, and goes back to Europe.
Italy, your football is beautiful, as is your country. We are most definitely good. Spain and Portugal, nah. Norway, you gave us Ole Gunnar Solskjaer, I will love you forever. Sweden, now there's a country...I knew a swede once – complete whore. A good time, she wasn’t bad looking. Met her again last year, she had totally lost herself. She looked like shit, overweight and no confidence. For ruining good things, you go on the shit list.
Nero throws up his arms, shaking his head disparagingly.
I grow weary of this...
Nero is about to signal to cut the shot, when the ifag gets up and starts to walk towards Nero. There he is, generic hipster hoodie, those stupid thick glasses, stupid little haircut, air of self importance. His ipad is in his hand, clutched to his chest as if he’d die without it. He probably would. He suddenly slams his spare hand on Nero’s table, and gets in his face. Nero’s face is a mix of shocked and ecstatic.
Look man, you cant say that kinda stuff about your country, where’s your pride man? We flew that flag high at the Olympics and the whole world saw it.
Nero rises to his feet, and the ifag retreats a little, realising their difference in stature. This little 5’and a bit ifag and Nero at 6’3”.
First of all, fuck the olympics. Second, keep going? A little comedy is good.
Man you got no respect innit. Why you-
No, lets back up. First, why are you using words like innit? Do you think you’re black?
The ifag goes to reply, but Nero cuts him short with a stiff, swift slap that sends his face careening to the left. He snaps his face back in shock, and Nero snarls in his face, grabbing him by his hair.
Most people think Hitler was wrong trying to erase a whole race of people. But let me tell you right now...if there was ever an executive order taken out on ifags like you, I would be front of the fucking queue when they handed out guns. I’d go Grand Theft Auto on your asses. Firebomb every Starbucks I could find. Why the fuck are you stinking up my Costa coffee anyway? Too many seats taken in Starfucks?
Once again Nero cuts off the douche-supreme as he tries to whimper a response, this time grabbing his -pad, and smashing it over his crown. The screen cracks, but Nero isn’t happy with this. He leaves the douche to nurse his head, and walks out side, linging (throwing) the ipad into oncoming traffic. The thing is crushed but he wants destruction. He runs into the road and grabs it, then decides to hold it.
Jeffrey! A present here for you. Being the no-showing you are, maybe you’ll appreciate this piece of hardware. I shall bring it Sunday, no doubt. Oh, and Jeff, you’re going to be the next stop on the GG NORE tour, remember what that means?
GOOD GAME, NO REMATCH.
You’re next in line.
Shame.
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, drawing our ire just by his very existence. ![[Image: soccer_world_cup_england_1966_england_v_...354486.jpg]](http://prints.paphotos.com/image/soccer_world_cup_england_1966_england_v_west_germany_wembley_1354486.jpg)
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