Post by Michael James on Sept 4, 2013 14:34:23 GMT -5
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09/04/2013
San Francisco, California
Le Meridien Hotel
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Fade In
* We fade in to an opening shot that sets viewers inside of a moving elevator. It stops on the third floor as we hear a “DING” sound. The doors open and we begin to move forward as the obvious smell of marijuana fills the hallway of the hotel. We follow the scent all the way down the hall until it stops near a room marked “328”. The door opens and we move inside the room to find members from the death metal band Six Feet Under lounging around the room. Suddenly, Michael James walks into frame from an adjoining room and sits down on a couch next to the lead singer, Chris Barnes. He hands James a finely rolled blunt and begins looking over a contract. Upon further inspection of the document, it is revealed as a binding agreement involving an upcoming Six Feet Under music video that will be directed and produced by Michael’s production company. A few seconds later he signs the paper and hands it to James *
Chris Barnes: Looks like we’re all set, amigo.
* James looks over the contract and grows a smile on his face *
Michael James: You all got your passports, right?
Chris Barnes: We did. I locked them up in my safe so we don’t lose track of them.
Michael James: That’s a good idea.
* James takes another drag from the blunt *
Michael James: Judging from the weed you guys smoke it’s a miracle you remember anything.
* Chris and the others laugh at James’ humor *
Chris Barnes: What can I say? That’s what happens when you live in a state where medicinal marijuana is just as common as macaroni and cheese.
Michael James: Keep in mind it’s also the same state that helped that douche nozzle Schwarzenegger make his way into politics.
Chris Barnes: That wasn’t me. I voted for the other guy.
Michael James: What other guy?
Chris Barnes: Whoever he was running against.
Michael James: What was his name?
Chris Barnes: Shut the fuck up and pass the blunt. That was his name.
* Michael James laughs and hands the blunt to Chris. He lies back on the couch and gets comfortable while Chris and the other members of Six Feet Under begin discussing ideas for the video. We hear a knock on the door and Chris gets up to answer it. When he comes back into the room he is joined by EAW personality, Danny Brannigan, who is seen waving his hands around in an effort to avoid breathing the smoke in the room *
Chris Barnes: Does this belong to you, James?
* James looks up and takes notice of Danny standing next to Barnes. James rolls his eyes and stands up *
Michael James: Remember the camera crew I said might be stopping by?
Chris Barnes: Yea.
Michael James: You’re looking at him.
Chris Barnes: Alright. You need us to leave?
Michael James: Of course not. Stay put. Danny, tell your crew to hurry up and set up their shit. We don’t have all day to do this.
* Without saying a word Danny motions for his small camera crew to enter the room and get their equipment set up. Michael James places a Cuban cigar between his teeth and lights the end of it before casually sitting down in a chair placed near the center of the room. The camera crew gives Danny notification that they are ready to roll as soon as he is. He takes a seat across from Michael James and removes a microphone and recording equipment from a small bag on the floor. He sets up the equipment in its proper place and powers on the microphone. The main camera operator informs Danny that the camera is rolling and he brings the microphone to his mouth *
Danny: Greetings EAW fans all over the world—
* Michael James snatches the microphone away from Danny and looks directly towards the camera lens *
Michael James: Chelsea fucking Armstrong. The self proclaimed savior of the EAW. I have four simple words for you. Get...Off...My...Dick.
* Chris Barnes begins to choke on a hit from the blunt due to his erratic laughter upon James’ comment about Chelsea Armstrong *
Michael James: Don’t get me wrong, Chelsea. I understand the plight of your pathetic existence. I understand how truly depressing it must be to have to wake up every morning to a life filled with constant incompetence no matter which way you turn. Obviously, I can’t relate to these kinds of problems since I’m not a functioning member of the lower class like you. But no matter what the circumstance may be I always find a way to comprehend the source of the stink. When it comes to people like you and David Dreadful, I’m really starting to grow tired of hearing the same shit over and over again. The last time I saw you, TJ Pain was wrapping a steel chair around your head while you were begging for mercy from yours truly. I know it wasn’t the turnout that you might have expected but that’s what happens when you back the wrong bull. When you make bad decisions you end up with disappointing results. I don’t have that problem. I made the right decision to make an example out of Jordan Caliban and now I’m at the top of the mountain. What about you, Chelsea? Where are you at this particular point in time?
* James reaches inside of his jacket and pulls out a silver flask. He takes a swig of sake from and turns back towards the camera *
Michael James: That’s right. You're sitting on your ass, running your mouth about the only man who has any kind of value in the EAW. Michael fucking James. You can disguise your intentions any way you want, Chelsea. The truth speaks for itself and any idiot can see why you’ve been giving me all of this extra attention. Unfortunately, it isn’t going to happen. I have bigger and better things to worry about than the ramblings of a fucking crack whore. Just think about something for a second. You say I will never be able to compare to your levels of depravity. And you know something? I’m okay with that. I encourage you to express your fraudulent opinions. But, if that was truly the case, why were you the one on your knees instead of me? I mean, if you really were this “sick and deranged” person you claim to be you shouldn’t have any problems getting the best of the Personification of Perfection. But, it’s like I’ve always said. Most people are full of shit and will say anything to prove their own intimidation. Unfortunately, I’m not intimidated by spineless skanks that have nothing to bring to the table. The only thing that kept me from taking your head off was my loyalty to the owner of the company.
* He exhales a cloud of smoke towards Danny and causes the camera operator to begin coughing *
Michael James: I was given an opportunity and instead of letting it go to waste I fulfilled my promise to become the future of the EAW. Right now, you’re just blowing smoke out of your rotting twat trying to get under my skin. I’m sure it may have worked for someone like Jordan Caliban or Dick Bag Dreadful but I’m not buying it. You can spit as much bullshit as you want but at the end of the day none of it is going to mean a fucking thing. No one is listening and no one cares. Again, I don’t have that problem. I’m the next World Champion so when I speak people have no choice but to give me their full attention. If I was someone like Chelsea Armstrong who does nothing but lose matches and run from championship opportunities then I might have something to worry about. But I’m not Chelsea Armstrong. I’m the Personification of Perfection. I’m undefeated. More importantly, I’m the object of Armstrong’s affection despite her transparent denial.
* James adjusts his sunglasses and takes a drag from his cigar *
Michael James: Sometimes, I really have to question if Chelsea is playing with a full deck. Think about it. Why would she put so much of her energy towards a man she claims to care less about? It’s not that hard to figure out. I’m the only valuable thing left in her pathetic life. The entire motive of her one sided promo was directed towards one man and it sure as hell wasn’t TJ Pain. Sure, she took a brief moment to cover the essentials but let’s be honest with each other, Danny. Chelsea could really care less about getting even with TJ Pain because he isn’t the one she wants. You know why? It’s because the cockeyed bitch is obsessed with Michael James. I’m like Tommy Lee Jones. I’m the man people love to hate and Armstrong is no different. She wants people to believe otherwise for appearance sake but I know better. Any simple minded imbecile with half a brain would know better so I really fail to understand the logic behind Chelsea’s consistent fabrication of the truth.
* He leans forward and removes his sunglasses. He exhales once again through his nose *
Michael James: If she can’t accept the way things are it isn’t my problem. When things don’t work out for me I don’t try to turn the tide with pointless bullshit. I rise above the problem and find a way to achieve success. That’s why I’m the next World Champion. That’s why people like Dick Bag Dreadful, Ricky Kimmel and Jordan Caliban are desperate to earn my respect. The past is the past, Chelsea. No one cares what you may have done before so please do us a favor and get with the fucking times. It doesn’t matter if you can accept it or not. I’m the new face of the EAW and there isn’t a damn thing you can do to change that. You are never going to be the world champion and you’re NEVER going to get under my skin no matter how many pathetic lies you spit out of your snatch.
* A static feed interrupts the promo. A commercial for the upcoming edition of Collision begins to play. A variety of well known EAW personalities are included in the footage. A spotlight is put on the main event match featuring Chelsea Armstrong, David Dreadful, Michael James and TJ Pain. A static feed transition ends the commercial and we cut back to James sitting in the chair with Six Feet Under lounging around the spacious room *
Michael James: Chelsea Armstrong and David Dreadful are forgotten relics of the past. If they want to refuse their place in the pecking order there isn’t much that anyone can do for them at this point. Like they say, you can’t fix stupid and that’s exactly what it boils down to with Chelsea and Dick Bag Dreadful. It’s just another case of two clueless people who have nothing left to do with their lives. They might have had some kind of influence over how things were done in the old EAW and I’m cool with that. I encourage them to cherish those stale memories and aimless accomplishments. What else do they really have to look forward to? I can’t really think of anything. Of course, one of the two will be preparing a response as they read this impeccable promo; most likely filled with the usual fraudulent material. And I’m prepared for that. I know how predictable David and Chelsea have become so it’s not very hard to know what to expect from either one of them. If I know what they’re going to do beforehand it makes things so much easier for me. Take my prediction of Caliban’s loss at Collision as an example. I told everyone that he was going to get his teeth kicked in and what happened? He lost. Just like I said he would. And no, I’m not a psychic or anything like that. I know how to read people and it’s not difficult to see how fake Chelsea and the Dick Bag supreme have proven to be.
* A hand creeps into frame offering James a hit from another blunt. He places his cigar on the ash tray and accepts the blunt offering *
Michael James: Dreadful saw what I did to Jordan Caliban and he wants no part of it. His transgender whore of a partner might want a piece of me but David has no desire to be anywhere remotely close to my striking distance. He decided to draw first blood in this war that he has no chance of winning. Is that my fault? No, it isn’t. I’m simply defending my name against two people that still have no idea who they are fucking with. I’m defending myself like any rational thinking person would and what do I get in return? Nothing but ludicrous disrespect from a couple of maladjusted imbeciles. Did I ask for that? No, I sure as Hell didn’t. I have never judged anyone based on their outside appearance. I have always determined my opinions of people through character and so far I have yet to find anyone in the EAW worthy of being called a decent human being.
* He spits a few pieces of marijuana from his mouth and casually exhales another drag from the blunt *
Michael James: Other than the Ultraviolent Nations it’s basically an entire roster of clueless assholes. Just take a look around and you’ll see what I mean. You got Chelsea and Dick Bag Dreadful making promises they will never keep, Justin Evans taking his claim on every championship in the company while Jordan Caliban continues to perfect his newly adapted role of a human punching bag. Obviously for some, it’s not a pretty picture. For others like Caliban that have found comfort in the idea of loss and public humiliation, it’s a way to try and avoid another loss to Michael James. Despite whatever bullshit Dreadful and Armstrong want to believe that isn’t going to change anytime soon.
* He exhales a thick cloud of smoke from the blunt through his nostrils and tries his best to keep from releasing a cough. James smiles and passes the blunt to someone out of frame *
Michael James: Judging from what I’ve seen and experienced from my opponents, it’s safe to say that this match is going to nothing more than a walk in the park for the Personification of Perfection and TJ Pain. Let’s face facts here. Dreadful isn’t the man he once was. Everyone knows that he is just going to no show the match and end up at the back of the line with the likes of Lenton, Surge and Jordan Caliban. Truthfully, David hasn’t done a fucking thing to deserve this opportunity but that makes no difference to me. I’m getting paid to successfully defend my flawless reputation and that’s exactly what I plan to do. Just take a moment and think about something. The last time we were in the same ring I had you groveling at my feet in less time than it took to cook my breakfast this morning. What the fuck does that say about you, David? It says that you and I are not performing on the same level. If I can do something like that in less than five minutes just think about what I’m willing to do to become the next World Champion. Yes. A full fledged massacre of Dick Bag Dreadful is right. If you don’t know by now I have plans to become the most celebrated champion in company history. And you know something else? I plan on staying the EAW World Champion for a VERY long time.
* He removes his sunglasses. He looks down for a few seconds while holding the shades below the camera lens. James pulls his head up and directs his sight towards Danny Brannigan *
Michael James: If you really believe I’m going to let a clueless whore and a washed up piece of shit stand in the way of that you’re going to need to come up with another game plan, motherfucker. As it stands right now the only choice you have is to show up ready to lose the same way Caliban lost to me on Collision. Sure, you could break your usual routine and actually promote this match but we both know that isn’t going to happen. You can’t win so why put forth any effort? You could prove to be in the same classification of people like Havok, Ricky Kimmel and the Brooklyn Brawler. Wouldn’t that be cool, David? What’s that you say? You’re better than them? Well, guess what? I don’t believe you. No one does. Not anymore at least. But who can blame them? You’re not the person they’re expecting to see so it’s only natural for them to express their disappointment.
* Chris hands James the blunt and tells him they are going to take off. He thanks them for stopping by and inhales another hit from the blunt as Six Feet Under makes their exit from the room *
Michael James: The EAW World Championship is going to look damn good on me. You know why? I look like a champion. I look like someone that any established promoter would be proud to have as their flagship player and world heavyweight champion. Neither one of you posses those type of qualities because no one wants to hire a couple of fucking crack heads to represent the company. That’s what people see when they look at Chelsea Armstrong and David Dreadful. You are both nothing more than a couple of broken down, homeless bound, washed up douche bags with no possible future. It might not be the image you see when you look in the mirror but that makes no difference to me. I call them exactly like I see them and that’s what I see when I look at the both of you.
* He shrugs his shoulders and grows a cynical expression on his face *
Michael James: Just take a moment to think about something, Chelsea. If I have problems considering people like Jordan Caliban and Justin Evans to be active competition how much do you think I value your presence in this confrontation? You might as well just stay home and continue to show everyone how much of a fucking chicken shit you truly are. That’s how much I value your attendance in this match. You’re just a damn blip on my radar screen and after this is over I plan to clear you from anything involving MY World Championship. You’re just one of the many assholes gunning for the title so having to defend it against someone who is notorious for backstage bukkake is the least of my concerns. I have Caliban trying to use my coattails to guide his failing career, the biggest whore in the company trying to get into my pants and Dick Bag Dreadful begging me to hang myself just to avoid the agony of watching another one of his half assed promos. I have enough problems as it is so being placed in a tag match isn’t going to add any additional weight to my shoulders. The only weight I need to be concerned with is the EAW World Championship resting exactly where it belongs.
* James places the shades back onto his face. He looks away from the camera and directs his attention towards his shoulder, symbolizing the future resting place of the EAW World Championship. A few seconds later a random topless woman in her early twenties walks into frame and sits down on Michael’s lap. She begins to whisper something into his ear and James smiles while cupping his hand around her breast *
Danny: And what about Dick Bag…I mean, David Dreadful? Do you really think he’s going to just let you take the World Title without a fight?
Michael James: Who knows? Who cares? It isn’t his choice to make so Dreadful might as well just get used to seeing me with the most sacred prize in the company. That’s just the way things are meant to be.
Danny: What about Chelsea Armstrong? She has stated on numerous occasions that she has future plans to hold the championship despite her recent loss to Dreadful.
* James turns his attention away from the woman and glares at Danny *
Michael James: Let me explain something to you, Danny. I always found that the best way to break someone is to do it when they’re at their very best so when it’s all said and done they truly have nothing left. Chelsea is what you would call a whore with nothing to lose. She already lost her shot at the World Championship and she isn’t going to be taking it back anytime soon. She knows this. I know this. The entire fucking company knows it so this match on Collision is be nothing more than an example of what kind of champion I plan to become. She apparently couldn’t hack it and now she’s trying her best to hang onto the bottom rung of her decaying career. Granted, if Chelsea had any kind of say in the matter she would probably disagree. But since she’s obviously consumed with the degradation of her pointless ego I guess we’ll never know. That’s just the kind of defeatist whore that Armstrong has become. She is content living with the reputation of a coward that couldn’t get the job done. She said she was going to beat David Dreadful at Collision and earn the right to face me at Unkillable. She didn’t do that. Instead, she dropped to her knees like the whore that she is and accepted defeat. Unlike Chelsea, I didn’t have that problem because I’m nothing like that rotten bitch. I’m undefeated. She isn’t. I’m a future champion. She isn’t. I’m the new face of the company while Chelsea and Dreadful are nothing more at this point in time than two ancient relics collecting dust.
Danny: And what if they still refuse to listen to your advice after everything is said and done?
Michael James: I told everyone exactly who I am and they still refuse to accept it. Even after I walked out of Collision with a victory I predicted beforehand, I get nothing but disrespect in return for my accomplishments. Fuck it. If people want to be jealous assholes there isn’t much I can do to change their way of thinking. You know what people like Armstrong, and Dreadful see when they look at me? They see the end of an era in the EAW. They see their instant dismissal from a company they claim to have built from the ground up. Yea, right. Truthfully, I don’t care what they might have done in the past. You don’t see me coming out bragging about my championship reigns or prior accomplishments from 2005, do you? Of course not. You know why? Because no one gives a shit what I did then. Just like no one gives a shit what either one of those burnt up motherfuckers did in the past. Tell me something, Dick Bag. What are you doing now?
* He says with an apparent sarcastic tone *
Michael James: Oh, that’s right. You’re sitting on your ass collecting dust while a scabbed up vagina does all the talking for you. If that isn’t something to be proud of I don’t know what is. Give me a fucking break. How about you, Chelsea? What are you doing? Wiping some of the piss off your leg after getting a glimpse of this promo? That’s what I thought. Just do us both a favor after you both lose on Collision and stay out of my way. Make the right choice and shuffle your sorry asses to the back of the line. Kimmel and Caliban refuse to stand aside and it has done nothing but caused fatal problems for the both of them. Kimmel is too scared to show his face and Caliban hasn’t said a fucking word since I cut my last promo. That’s what happens when you fuck with the future World Champion. And if you don’t believe me go ahead and ask around. Talk to the douche bags that were stupid enough to try and test me and see what they have to say.
* James turns his attention away from Danny and looks directly at the woman’s breasts. He grabs a hold of them both and pulls her to him so both of her nipples are inches away from his mouth. As he goes to engulf one of her breasts the frame cuts to a static feed *
Fade Out
