Post by Michael James on Sept 18, 2013 8:25:27 GMT -5
09/18/2013
Copia Restaurant and Wine Garden
St Louis, Missouri
* We open with an exterior view of the Copia Restaurant and Wine Garden in St Louis. The sun is shining down on what appears to be a regular afternoon for the local dining establishment. A few seconds later, a pitch black stretch limousine pulls into the parking lot. We can hear the sound of death metal blasting from the inside of the car. The car comes to a stop and the driver steps out from the front of the vehicle. He walks to the back of the car and opens the passenger door. A jump cut sets the scene inside of the building where a crowd of locals are seen enjoying their lunch. The front doors open and we see a large man entering the restaurant dressed in black. When the camera glare clears the frame zooms in on the man revealing his identity as the Personification of Perfection, Michael James. A large number of the locals stop what they are doing upon sight of James, most of them wide eyed in amazement from the sight of an actual celebrity. He removes his sunglasses and casually approaches the bar. He removes a cigarette from his mouth and blows a cloud of smoke into the air. The bartender is quick to approach James *
Bartender: Pardon me, sir.
* James ignores the man *
Bartender: Excuse me!
* James turns his sight towards the portly bartender *
Bartender: We don’t allow smoking in here. You’re gonna have to put that out or leave the establishment.
* James replies to him in Japanese *
Bartender: Huh?
* James takes another drag from the cigarette and blows the smoke into his face *
Bartender: Okay, you’ve had your fun. Put it out or pay the price.
* James inhales one last drag from the cigarette and drops it into a glass pitcher filled with beer. The bartender begins to clench his fists as James begins to mockingly laugh at his frustration. He says something else in Japanese while pointing to a sign posted on the wall. The bartender turns his attention towards the sign *
It reads “THE CUSTOMER IS ALWAYS RIGHT”
* The bartender turns back to James just as he begins to move away from the bar. He begins to look around the establishment with an expression of disgust. His attention seems to be focused on a section of the wall that the owner used as a dedication to their home town hero, Chelsea Armstrong. A huge poster of Armstrong is seen with her autograph at the bottom. There are multiple framed photographs of Chelsea eating at the restaurant and sharing drinks with a selection of the employees *
Michael James: In less than a week, I’m scheduled to go head to head against Chelsea Armstrong in what is supposed to be the turning point of her decaying career. Personally, I could really care less what they want to call it. Everyone knows there is only one possible outcome and it isn’t going to be one that Chelsea will be expecting to see. Since the day she decided to foolishly spit my name out of her mouth, I made it a point to become a metaphorical thorn in her side. She could have made the smart move by showing me respect instead of making an ass out of herself but she didn’t want to do that. She wanted to do what she does to everyone else by trying to outshine my talent with her mindless ego. But much like her prior efforts to get under my skin, she couldn’t do that either. So now she’s stuck in the middle of a war that she knows he will never win.
* He notices an image of Chelsea sitting with St Louis world famous musician, Nelly. Michael’s aim seems to be focused on the v-neck crease in her shirt causing the bust of her breasts to be slightly exposed *
Michael James: She can lie and say she’s more than willing to do whatever it takes to achieve victory but I refuse to listen to the bullshit. Unlike everyone else on the roster, I can’t sit by and willingly support the actions of a bold faced liar. I’m sure guys like Kurt Ryan, Dick Bag Dreadful and Surge have no problems doing it but I’m nothing like any of those useless assholes. I don’t have to make imaginary claims of greatness or empty promises. I’m living the dream they wish they could have. I’m everything they wish they could be. And you know what? That includes Chelsea Armstrong. Unlike Michael James, she doesn’t have a flawless record or the center of the entire company’s attention. As far as I’m concerned she might as well be in the same league as people like Jordan Caliban.
* He directs his sight towards one particular image of Chelsea. It is a sepia toned picture of Armstrong from the early days of her career. She is standing in the middle of a wrestling ring having her hand raised by a referee. James rolls his eyes as he looks back to the poster from before. He pulls a sharpie marker from his pocket and removes the cap. He illustrates several genital warts around the mouth of Chelsea and crosses the eyes of Armstrong in order modify the poster’s accuracy for continuity *
Michael James: As each day passes by, my value in the EAW continues to rise. Everyone wants a shot at Michael James and only one of them have earned the right. But you know what? I’m used to that. In this industry there will always be a handful of undeserving mother fuckers expecting something for nothing. I’m not one of those people. Since I arrived in the company, I have brought a new level of prestige to the EAW that no one could have expected. That’s why I’m the most sought out adversary on the entire roster. At this point it really has nothing to do with the ranking system. People want to test Michael James because they want to prove they can do the impossible. I know they don’t like being mocked and ridiculed but I don’t really give a shit. I didn’t become most feared man in the EAW by being a nice guy. I did it with the same ruthless intelligence and unmatchable aggression that turned a cluster fuck of douche bags into a bunch of helpless paraplegics. Unlike Chelsea, I earned my flawless reputation the old fashioned way.
* James tightens his fist causing a few of his knuckles to pop under pressure *
Michael James: What has she done lately besides lose to me and the rest of the U-N? I can’t think of anything. Ask around the locker room and even the fans will tell you that Chelsea is the same pitiful sack of shit she was before. She isn’t the future of the company. She’s barely the present. All she’s doing at this point is wasting people’s time and it makes me want to fucking puke. No one wants to pay money to listen her tired bullshit anymore. And you know what? I don’t blame them at all. I was sick of listening to her the moment she first opened her mouth. Hopefully, suffering another loss to me on Collision will give Chelsea the inspiration needed secure her permanent place in the company. I know she might not like spending the rest of her days with TJ’s testicles jammed in her mouth but that’s just how things go for people like her.
* James turns away from the wall and takes a seat at an open table. He gets comfortable and begins looking over the menu. A few seconds later a waitress approaches the table *
Waitress: See anything you like, sir?
* James looks away from the menu and directs his attention towards the waitress *
Michael James: What?
Waitress: How about a drink for starters?
Michael James: Alright. Do you serve Sake here?
Waitress: I’m not sure. I could check for you.
Michael James: Forget it. Just bring me a glass of bourbon and a sirloin.
Waitress: That we can do. I’ll be right back with your drink.
* James looks at the waitress with a confused expression as she turns away from the table. A server passes by his table and James signals for him to stop. He glares at an individual dish that seems to resemble of bowl full of diarrhea *
Michael James: What the fuck is that supposed to be?
Waiter: That’s our famous steak pie.
Michael James: Okay. We’ll see about that.
* James sticks his finger into the bowl and the waiter jerks the tray away from him. James tastes the sample of the steak pie. Disgusted by the taste of the sample, he starts to gag and spits the food onto the floor *
Waiter: Sir, please don’t do that--
Michael James: What the hell is it famous for? Food poisoning?! That tastes like shit!
* A few of the customers turn their attention to Michael James and the mention of his food being poisoned. The moves away and tries his best to calm everyone down. A few seconds later the waitress returns and places a glass of bourbon on the table. James thanks her and takes a sip from the glass as the waitress turns away. Suddenly, he grips his stomach and feels a sudden burst of unwelcome gas in his gut. James stands up and moves to the bathroom. He walks into a stall and takes a seat on the toilet. He locks the door behind him and notices another framed picture of Chelsea mounted on the wall of the bathroom stall. James hears an alert on his cell and he pulls the phone out of his pocket to receive the text message. He reads a new message from EAW management regarding the stipulation for his match against Chelsea Armstrong. James begins to smile as he places his phone back inside of his pocket *
Michael James: Sometimes, I just have to accept the cards that I’m dealt. Take this match on Collision as a perfect example. It might not be what I asked for but it’s still a perfect chance to make an example out of an delusional skank that is clearly confused about her place in the pecking order. Keep in mind with her desperately low intellect it really doesn’t take a lot of talent to overcome the efforts of a complete imbecile. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. Chelsea Armstrong is not a smart person. She has a short temper that causes her to act like a spoiled brat when she is faced when any kind of controversy. Instead of thinking out her problems like a rational human being, Armstrong tends to kick and scream hoping someone will pay attention. No one cares about Chelsea Armstrong. They don’t want to listen to her words or see her walking around with a title she hasn’t earned. As much as I hate to side with the people who serve as nothing more than a paycheck, we are all in agreement that something has to be done about this problem before things get out of hand. The company needs someone that can represent the World Championship with class and the natural born talent to achieve victory. That man is me. The Personification of Perfection. I’m the only name on the entire roster with a perfect record and the ability to defeat anyone at the drop of a fucking hat. When is the last time we even heard from Armstrong? If she can’t keep up with the rest of us then she might as well put in her two weeks notice and spare people the agony of listening to her routine bullshit. I heard what she had to say last week and I’m still not impressed. I don’t want to hear her excuses anymore. I just want my shot at the EAW World Championship.
* James rips the framed photograph of Chelsea from the wall. He punches the glass covering and pulls out the raw photograph *
Michael James: Excuse me while I push out a Chelsea.
* James turns his head to the side and closes his eyes. He makes a silent grunting sound followed by a loud fart *
Michael James: From where I’m sitting, the EAW deserves more than anything Armstrong can possibly deliver. Why else would she have a reason for laying low? It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what’s going on with Armstrong. She’s scared of Michael James. She’s scared of losing to me because she knows it’s bound to happen one way or another. I don’t know if I’m the only one who truly understands what it means to be a World Champion but either way, the lack of confidence around the locker room is working in my favor. Maybe the rest of those useless assholes have some kind of retardation problems that I’m not aware of. It really makes no difference to me. The only thing I’m concerned with is honoring my flawless reputation through the pain and humiliation of oblivious assholes. Upon my debut match in the EAW; what started with the defeat of Jordan Caliban quickly developed into the end of his pathetic career. At Collision, there is no way to know what to expect. The card could say one thing and end up being a completely different scenario in a matter of days. Right now, all I have to look forward to is a match against an egomaniacal whore with no sense of style. And I’m fine with that. In this type of match I could rip Armstrong’s heart from her chest, jam it down her throat and it would be perfectly legal. If she has no pulse she can’t bore the rest of us with her tired ass material and the EAW would be better off without it. It’s like the killer Russian Ivan Drago said in Rocky IV. If she dies, she dies. It isn’t my damn problem.
* James stands up and uses the photograph of Chelsea Armstrong to wipe his ass. He drops the crumpled image into the toilet and flushes it. James makes an exit from the stall and casually returns to his table. He takes a sip of the bourbon and leans back in his chair. A few seconds later the waitress returns with his sirloin and places the plate down on the table in front of him. She offers to get him a refill on his drink and he happily accepts her offer. He picks up the fork and James stabs the center of the steak. He uses the knife to slice through the meat. He jams the fork into a small piece of sirloin and brings it to his mouth. He bites down on the sirloin and grows a satisfied expression on his face *
Michael James: I don’t think it will come to that. Hopefully, Chelsea will realize how much she fucked up when she decided to start disrespecting my name. Hopefully, she will accept this loss and recognize her place with the rest of the mid card clowns. But knowing her like I do, she won’t learn a fucking thing. You want to know why? She’s an idiot. Something tells me she’s always been that way so losing her shot at the World Championship was just the beginning of her downward spiral. She was born an imbecile and she’s going to die an imbecile. I don’t know about the rest of you but in my opinion this isn’t the type of unreliable douche we need representing the company or the World Heavyweight Championship. The joke was funny at first but no one is laughing anymore.
* He picks up his glass and takes a sip of the bourbon. The ice in the glass moves around as he swishes the liquor in his mouth. He swallows the bourbon and directs his attention towards the wall devoted to Chelsea Armstrong. He grows an expression of bitter disgust on his face before looking away *
Michael James: As far as Armstrong is concerned, she just needs to treasure the memories she had competing in the old EAW and realize that she was never meant to be a champion of any kind. Sometimes, personal hopes and dreams of ignorant people have to be set aside for the greater good. Chelsea happens to be one of those people. She had her chance to become the new face of the company but unfortunately a better man beat her to it. Just look at all of the promos from the last week and you’ll see what I’m talking about. People aren’t talking about Chelsea Armstrong. They’re talking about me. You want to know why? It’s not that hard to understand. I’m the only thing that matters and everyone fucking knows it. Chelsea and Dick Bag Dreadful can deny it all they want but at this point it’s going to do nothing more than further prove my point of their mindless stupidity. Truthfully, they both seem to do that well enough on their own. But then again, these aren’t intelligent people we’re talking about here. It’s Chelsea Armstrong and David Dreadful, a spineless duo of constant douchebaggery that refuses to die.
* He stabs the steak with the fork and cuts away another piece of the meat. He uses the fork to place the food inside of his mouth. He chews and swallows the appetizing steak before taking another sip of bourbon. Out of nowhere, we see the small hand of a child tap James on the shoulder. He looks down and gains sight of a twelve year old girl around with a golden blonde ponytail. He can’t help but smile down at her *
Michael James: Yes?
Girl: Is your name Michael James?
Michael James: Possibly.
Girl: Well, come on, is it or isn’t it?
Michael James: You’re kind of pushy, you know that? Why do you want to know my name?
Girl: ‘Cause if it’s you I can get an autograph and show my brother that’s stupid in love with Chelsea Armstrong. She gets on my nerves.
* James drops his fork and gives the girl his full attention *
Michael James: You want to see something funny?
Girl: Okay.
* He points towards the poster and shows her the graffiti he illustrated on the image of Chelsea Armstrong. The girl begins to laugh and giggle as he turns back to James with a huge smile on her face *
Michael James: Shhhh.
* He places his index finger in front of his mouth *
Michael James: But to answer your question, yes, I’m the one they call Michael James.
Girl: Finally.
* She says with childish sarcasm causing James to laugh *
Michael James: So, what can I do for you?
Girl: I already told you. Autograph.
Michael James: Wait a second. Aren’t you a little young to be watching EAW? The violence factor alone almost cost the company their contract with the network.
Girl: Well, this isn’t the eighties so things are different when it comes to stuff on TV. We have a special access channel at my parent’s apartment that shows nothing but wrestling and horror movies. It’s pretty cool.
Michael James: You’re the last person I could imagine being a horror fan. But, then again, that’s why I always follow the rule to never judge a book by its cover.
Girl: I don’t like books. I like TV.
Michael James: Me too. Especially when it has something to do with that rotten whore Chelsea Armstrong getting her butt kicked.
* The girl begins to giggle once again. James reaches towards an empty table and picks up one of the menus. He flips it over and pulls out his sharpie marker. He removes the cap and prepares to give the girl his autograph *
Michael James: Okay. What do you want it to say?
Girl: To Mattie…
Michael James: Is that you?
Girl: Duh.
* James keeps a smile on his face as he follows Mattie’s directions regarding the autograph. A slow fade cuts the scene and ends with a static feed *
09/18/2013
Drury Plaza Hotel at the Arch
St Louis, Missouri
* The feed clears and the image gradually begins to focus. We open with an exterior view of the Drury Plaza Hotel. The camera pans up the building until stopping midway up to gain sight of a large man standing a few feet away from his room window. We move through the glass and into the room to find Michael James pacing around his exquisite suite. He is wearing a black robe with Japanese symbols printed along the arms and back. He opens the window and takes a moment to visually analyze the view of downtown St Louis. He builds up a wad of phlegm in his throat and spits it out the window to show viewers an example of how he feels about his trip to Missouri. He places a blunt between his lips and uses a lighter to ignite the tip. He inhales a drag from the blunt and holds the smoke inside of his lungs *
Michael James: When I look out to the horizon, I envision a variety of events that are destined to commence. The first to develop is clearly obvious. I’m going to be the next EAW World Heavyweight Champion. Chelsea Armstrong isn’t the same whore she was five years ago. She’s a broken down version of a woman that used to be able to hold her own against the weight of the world. When people look at Chelsea now all they can see is a bunch of bullshit. When they humor the idea of her with the EAW World Championship, all they can do is laugh. You want to know what those same people do when they look at Michael James? They jump to their feet and begin to sweat in anticipation of what I’ll do next. Unlike Armstrong, I’m not going to willingly take people’s hard earned money and pretend to give them an unbelievable performance.
* A few fireworks are seen exploding around the famous St Louis arch located in the far distance *
Michael James: When people see my name booked in an event coming to their town they know they’re going to get their moneys worth. Even if the entire card is nothing but shit, people know without a shadow of a doubt that their experience with the Personification of Perfection will be worth the price of admission. I’m the one people love to hate. But at the same time I’m also the one they can’t live without. This type of persona comes natural to me because I live and breathe the words behind my name. Unlike Chelsea, I’m not going to lie to people about who I am or what I can do. She says she has no limitations but if that was the case why was she unable to keep me from pinning Dreadful on Collision? If you want my opinion, not having the intelligence to make the right move at the right time is definitely something that I would consider to be a serious limitation.
* James takes another drag from the blunt and inhales the smoke into his lungs *
Michael James: Don’t get me wrong, Chelsea. I get it. You love attention. But what I don't understand is why you think anyone would want to give it to you. I mean, let's face facts. After this match is all said and done not much is going to change for you. No one is going to take notice of your loss to me so you're basically just going to be going back to where you started. Where’s the fun in that? Granted, it will be fun to watch you try, fail and have to work your way back up but it's not going to be as promising on your end. You probably think you're untouchable going into this match. You probably think you're the next big thing since you've been given the opportunity to name your own stipulation in your match against TJ Pain. Confidence is always a plus when it comes to circumstances as delicate as this one. But you know what? You aren’t going to make it that far. This isn't your opportunity to shine. I know you have it set in your head that you're the above all bitch that's going to achieve the impossible but the fact is you aren't facing Jordan Caliban or some piece of shit that isn't prepared compete on your level. You're dealing a guy who is more than ready to see you dead before letting you walk away with a victory. The fact is whatever you've learned, whatever you feel has served as a life lesson means nothing now. I've been there, done it twice and gone back for more. Everyone has a breaking point and after I beat your ass on Collision you will learn where yours is, Chelsea. You'll learn that you're not the up and coming legend that you expected to be. You'll learn that I wasn't fucking around when I said that you can't win this match.
* James grips the blunt between his teeth and looses the belt of his robe. He exhales some smoke from his nostrils and removes the blunt from his mouth *
Michael James: You didn’t win last week so this match isn’t going to be any different. I’m going to defend my perfect record while making a complete joke out of your career in the process. In my eyes, that’s all you really are at this point. You’re just another fucking joke like Jordan Caliban or David Dreadful. You aren’t anything like me, Armstrong. You aren’t anything special or unique. If you were you wouldn’t be sharing a mutual alliance with a cocksucker that has become famous for his undeniable losing streak. You need to understand something. I refuse to associate with losers. If someone can barely stand on their own two feet it isn’t my responsibility to teach them how to walk. You’re the complete opposite, Chelsea. You have no problems lowering your standards to help people with no common sense. Unlike you and Dreadful I don’t need the assistance of anyone. And before you blow more predictable smoke out of your snatch, don’t take my new found alliance with the Ultraviolent Nations the wrong way.
* He opens his rope completely and reveals the latest Ultraviolent Nations t-shirt featuring a bloody fist wrapped with barbed wire. The rendition of this particular shirt has an assortment of Japanese text printed near the bottom *
Michael James: They have sworn loyalty to me out of respect just as I have to them. I’m sure in your feeble mind it’s a way to insure our individual safety and that’s fine. Keep relying on those inaccurate accusations and see how far it gets you, bitch. People saw what happened to Dreadful when he underestimated me and the same thing can just as easily happen to you on Collision. You know from experience that I’m not a patient man. If you don’t want to approach me like a professional I will have no choice but to grant you the same courtesy I have to all of my other weak minded opponents. And that’s fine with me. If you want to be just another Caliban and portray the personality of a complete imbecile then it’s your prerogative. Just do me a favor and keep these mistakes in mind when you end up on your back having your meals fed to you through a fucking straw.
* James takes another drag from the blunt and moves back into the room. His cell phone begins to ring. He moves towards the nightstand and picks up his phone to check the caller identification. He takes the call and brings the phone to his ear. He begins speaking to someone in Japanese. He carefully snuffs out the blunt and ends the call. James sets the phone down on the nightstand and closes the window. A knock is heard at his door. James gets up from the bed and looks through the keyhole. He opens it and invites three separate large Japanese men into the room. They all appear to be wearing designer suits like something out of a modern gangster film. They gather around the table and take a seat in what appears to be a private meeting with Michael James. Suddenly, the frame cuts to a static feed *
