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John Samuels · (04-22-2013)

Are you kidding me!?

HE’S COPYING ME TOO!?

The camera opens to John Samuels sitting in his large black chair, his head resting on his arms as his legs playfully dangle below. His eyes are fixated upon a monitor on his desk, the sound of Crimson Cobra’s inane ramblings are interrupted by alternating laughter and scoffing. Samuels nods his head to the other side of the desk.

Samuels: He must not have seen what happened to the last guy that tried to imitate me.

Fairchild is seated directly across from Samuels, spraying what appears to be Windex on his European championship. After a few wipes with a tissue she hands the belt back over the table to Samuels, who eagerly grabs the title with one hand and brings it to his face. Samuels inhales deeply and scrunches his face. He slides the title across the table back over to Fairchild.

Samuels: It still smells like stir-fry.

Fairchild: I’ve been cleaning it for hours!

Samuels: And you’re going to keep cleaning it until you get the stink of that Neonero off!

Fairchild: Don’t we have more important things to do?

Samuels: What do you mean we? And what’s more important than making sure I have a title belt worthy of my accomplishments?

Fairchild: I’d say preparing for your opponent this coming Monday is more important.

Samuels hits the power button on the monitor and looks inquisitively to Fairchild.

Samuels: What do you mean? I thought I was fighting Crimson Cobra?

Fairchild: Well yes, you are. Your opponent Crimson Cobra.

Samuels bursts into laughter, startling Fairchild enough to drop the windex bottle onto the floor.

Samuels: You can’t call him an opponent. He’s more like an obligation.

Fairchild: Just because you’re the champion doesn’t mean that you can start taking people lightly. How embarrassing would it be if your run as European champion only lasted a week? You’d be the laughingstock of the entire XWF.

Samuels: How embarrassing would it be if I kicked your ass to the curb for even insinuating such a thing?

Fairchild bows her head and continues wiping away at the title.

Samuels: Thought so.

Before Samuels can continue the phone on his desk begins to ring. Samuels sits there, silent, as the phone continues to ring. Samuels leans back into his chair and loudly clears his throat, sending Fairchild scrambling to answer the phone. On the last ring, she finally manages to get the phone off it’s hook and to her ear, drawing out a sarcastic clap from Samuels.

Fairchild: H-H-Hell--Hello? Oh Mr. Heyman! It’s so nice to hear from you! I was just thinking how-- Oh. Yes, of course I’m sorry. Here he is.

Samuels rolls his eyes at Fairchild then turns back to the phone, grinning ear-to-ear.

Samuels: Mr. Heyman! What a pleasure this is!

Heyman: Hello there, champ. I just wanted to call you and congratulate you on your big win.

Samuels: Well I couldn’t do it without you, sir. We make one hell of a team.

Heyman: Oh please, you’re too kind.

Samuels: And that elbow drop! The speed, the velocity... That was the beginning of the end for Nero.

Heyman: Just doing my job. Monday Night Madness needs a man of integrity, strength and intelligence to be it’s main focus.

Samuels: Well thank--

Heyman: And as that man, I deemed it necessary that that title could NOT be in the possession of Neonero one more moment.

Samuels: And what an admiral move to allow me the opportunity to take that belt away from that bottom feeder.

Heyman: You were the right man for the job. Hey listen, champ, I gotta run. Good luck in your match with Cobra, I know you won’t let me down.

Samuels: Actually Paul, I wanted to talk to you about that.

Click.

Samuels: Hello? Hello? Must have been a bad connection.

Fairchild: See? Even Paul Heyman wished you luck against Cobra.

Samuels: He was just being cordial. He knows just as well as I do that Cobra is only in this match because he got lucky. Do you remember what happened when I first met Cobra?

The scene changes to then FTW UFO Champion Cobra walking down a hallway. From out of nowhere John Samuels tips a vending machine over, landing right on top of Cobra. The Senator pins and gets the three count, becoming the new champion. The camera cuts back to Samuels, laughing while admiring his work.

Samuels: He didn’t even see that coming! He was probably picking Bugles out of his ass for a week! Ah, good times, good times. Say, do you remember what happened the next time I met Cobra?

The scene again changes, this time to multiple replays of a distracted Crimson Cobra being rolled up for the three count by Samuels. Once again, the camera cuts back to a smiling John Samuels.

Samuels: And because of that, I now hold the European championship. Hell, I should thank Cobra. Everytime I get into it with him, I win a title. Maybe I’ll be his new number one fan, he can’t have more than a couple anyway.

Fairchild: He doesn’t have anything for you this time though, that could make him more dangerous.

Samuels: Again, he’s not dangerous. And you’re wrong, he does have something for me. This time, he’s got something much more sentimental: His dreams being crushed. Back before I burst onto the scene, he was the number one contender for the European title, and he just seemed so excited. He couldn’t stop talking about ‘his’ Europen championship. And then I beat him and became the true contender to the title. But he still had hope for ‘his’ European championship and he rambled on about how he would take that title away from Neonero or Jeff Hardy, despite the fact that he knew I was going into that main event and taking the title back home with me. So, was he too stupid to know that I was going to beat Nero? Or was he smart enough to realize that the only way he was going to win that title was by beating anyone but me? I wish I could honestly give him the benefit of the doubt and choose the latter, but that boy doesn’t have a brain in his body. And now here we are. I’m the champion, and he’s still the number one contender, for now. Once that bell rings on Monday he’s going to see his dreams of being the champion slip right through his fingers. I’m going to beat him with one of those ladders he loves so much until he wishes he would have lost to Blaze last week. It’s too late for him to duck now though, the match is made. And the fact that I get to take that dream from Cobra, and crush it underneath my boot, is almost--almost-- as good as winning another title.

Fairchild hands Samuels the European title once more. He sniffs the title and gives Fairchild a nod of approval before setting on the desk next to him.

Samuels: And now Cobra’s stupid little face is popping up on my television, stealing my routine? He’s going to get everything that’s coming to him. Where does he get this bravado from? All the sudden, he’s walking around like he’s the king of the XWF, thinking he can just talk to me like I’m some rookie trying to make a name for himself. All of this ‘speed’ and ‘skill’ he’s talking about sounds all fine and dandy, but I wonder if he forgot that they failed him the last two times we met? The big bad Cobra, taking out worthless rookies and thinking he’s something for it. Cobra is nothing, just like his partner and just like that rookie he beat. Well, I’m not Blaze. I didn’t get lucky like Blaze, or Cobra. I got to where I am because I dominate my opponents, and I learn to grow. Think about it: Since I beat Cobra, I’ve stepped my game up, became the European champion and established myself at the top of Monday Night’s food chain. And what has Cobra done since our match? He got a haircut. Hardly striking fear into my heart. He hasn’t changed one bit, and that’s why he’s going down. I’ve already solved this puzzle twice and it’s not going to get any less boring.

A beeping halts Samuels’ speech.

Fairchild: Oh perfect timing! It’s time to deliver your speech to the John Samuels Fan Club.

Samuels: Ah yes! I’ve been waiting for this all week. Let’s go.

Fairchild: I should warn you, the crowd is a little...off.

Ignoring her, Samuels pops up from his chair and the pair make their way out of the room. The camera trails them as they make their way through long corridors, inaudibly chatting with one another until they reach a large curtain. Fairchild straightens Samuels’ tie for him and checks his hair. She gives him a thumbs up and pats him on the back as he enters the stage from behind the large, purple curtain.

Samuels: Hello my fellow lovers of America!

“Hyuck”

Samuels looks down into the crowd in disgust. The room is filled with overall wearin’, pig-loving, sister touching hillbillies. Samuels scans the crowd, hoping to find some normalcy, but each face is worse than the last. Samuels vomits a little in his mouth as the inbreds cheer wildly. He musters up the courage to smile and wave as he takes note of a young mutant hillbilly wearing an ‘XWF’ T-shirt.

Samuels: So, you guys like the XWF, huh?

"Hyuhhhh”

Samuels: Hyuhhhh? Is that a yes?

The wildly cheering cretins in the front row all enthusiastically nod their heads while clapping their hands together.

Samuels: Well hyuhhh then! How many of you want to see Crimson Cobra become the new European Champion?

“Nerrrr”

Samuels: I didn’t think so! You... people? Deserve a real champion. A champion that didn’t earn his spot by falling ass backwards into it. You know what Cobra’s claim to fame is? He beat a rookie in a short amount of time. That’s right, he wants us to be impressed by that. Excuse me for being too busy putting on the fight of a decade for me to not notice how quickly you finished Blaze off. You know who he reminds me of? That gabby, liberal sow, Rachel Maddow. All she does is talk, talk, talk, while the real men are in the trenches, doing the important work. Just like you, Cobra. You like to flap your yap a lot, but you don’t do anything about it. Hell, I might as well call you Barack Cobrama, since you’re not doing a damn thing right around here! You think you can deserve to stand around cracking jokes at my expense? Here’s a joke for you: Crimson Cobra, European champion. I think mine’s funnier, what about you guys?

“Hyuhhhh”

Samuels: I’m not going to be too harsh... Crimson Cobra does happen to be my own personal lucky charm. I beat him the first time, and it won be a title. I beat him a second time, and it lead to me winning a title. And when I win the third time, I’ll have the luxury of not having to hear about this talentless, joke of a man thinking that he’s in my league. Unfortunately, the opposite holds true for Cobra. I took his title when we met first and he ended up losing to a masked weirdo after I beat him the second time. And the third time? When he’s no longer in title contention? He’ll be back to being nothing. He and Neonero can play scrabble or I-Spy, or whatever it is that irrelevant Monday Night Madness members do. There will be no redemption. You cannot redeem something that you never had.

The crowd of mouth breathers and genetically challenged all begin to cheer loudly. They attempt to start a “We love Samuels” chant, but their poor speaking makes more of a loud gurgling sound than anything.

Samuels: I would ask if you had anything you wished for me to elaborate on, but I have a feeling you people aren’t too fond of questions.

The crowd erupts again in cheers, unaware that they’re cheering on their own ignorance. With that Samuels gives a lazy grin and walks backstage to Fairchild, laughing hysterically into her jacket.

Samuels: What the hell was that!? Cobra's family reunion!?

Fairchild

: No more making me clean your title?

Samuels stops and slumps his shoulders. He slowly nods his head as a smile creeps in on his lips.

Samuels: Deal.

The camera fades out as the two begin to laugh.

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