Post by Jason Kaine on Oct 28, 2013 21:38:38 GMT -5
[It seemed as if all of the state of Maryland was wrapped in a constant shiver this past week and the city of Baltimore was no exception. All week the sky had been a dreary shade of grey, the perfect backdrop for the feelings of the friends and family of the man named "Tiny" Joe Watts. The obituary in the paper would describe Tiny as a devoted family man, working man and a loyal friend but those words wouldn't even touch on the man Tiny was. He was indeed devoted to his wife and fourteen year old son and had worked for the same iron working company for thirty years but to a select group he was much more than just a loyal friend. He was a brother, mentor and the highly respected Sargent at Arms of the Misfits Republic Motorcycle Club, members of which now gathered at a cemetery just south of the city.
Twelve active members of the MRMC stood around a mahogany casket dressed in jeans and their cuts, the logo of which was that of the punk band The Misfits. Around half of the men had what was referred to as the "Misfit Hand" tattooed on their left hand, a tattoo consisting of a skeleton hand on the top of their own. It was the sign of a member of the club and was a respected symbol of loyalty that wasn't required but strongly recommended. This funeral differed from most as there wasn't a reverend. Instead the president of the club, Richard "Buck" Buckley, stood in front of the headstone. A grizzled forty-five year old, Buck sported a shaved head and a braided goatee that went down to his throat. His face was tired and weathered with a thin mouth drawn into a tight frown. He held his head low as he prepared to begin his eulogy but just as he is about to speak, a black '69 Camaro roars up on the stone path leading around the perimeter of the cemetery and parks under a tree next to the MRMC member's motorcycles. All twelve men turn and eye the car with anger towards the outsider inside who dares interrupt the sad event as the driver's side door opens.
Slowly Jason Kaine pulls himself out of the car dressed in a solid black suit complete with a black fedora held under his arm. He's grown out a chinstrap to match his goatee and shaved off his mustache as well as grown a very short mohawk that's been dyed blonde. He pops the fedora onto his head as he walks around the car and doesn't make it half the distance to the coffin before he's stopped by a few MRMC members. They eye him up and down as he eyes them all right back for a few tension filled moments before they all start sharing solemn handshakes and greetings. They all head back to the funeral but Buck cuts Jason off with a hard, two fingered poke to the chest. He sneers at Jason with what appears to be disgust as he talks in a deep growl.]
Buck: "What the fuck are you doing here, Kaine? You left the club, remember?"
Jason: (Trying to remain calm) "I'm here to pay respects to Tiny."
Buck: "What the hell do you know about respect? Huh? Two years ago you leave your brothers for a blonde bitch and a slim chance to be a damn pro wrestler. Now you show up in some damn monkey suit, not even on a bike might I add, and say you want to pay respect to Tiny? The man that helped you whenever he could and always thought you were something only to have his generosity returned with your punk ass indifference. Fuck you Jason."
Jason: "Don't you bring my wife into your problems with me Buck. I was just a kid back then."
Buck: (Enraged) "AND YOU THINK THAT'S SOME KIND OF EXCUSE?! You think that just because you were young means you had a right to walk around with ZERO respect for the guys that came before you and paved the way for you to have a club you could call a family? Answer me this, Jason, was the Republic just something to make you feel like a bad mother fucker?"
Jason: "No."
Buck: "BULLSHIT! The moment you put that prospect cut on you walked around like you were Billy Badass. You picked fights for no God damn reason and brought this club a lot of unneeded trouble. Why Tiny talked me into keeping you around I'll never know. What he saw in you I'll never know. All I DO know is that you don't belong here and need to move the fuck along before something really bad happens to you."
Jason: "I'm sorry, buck, but that ain't happening. I came here to do what I should have done two years ago."
Buck: "Don't try and fool me you piece of shit. You're only here to help yourself. I saw you on TV. I see how you're trying to bullshit your way to feeling better about all the fuck ups you've had in your life. Letting your wife get grabbed by your psycho friend, almost loose your damn mind over some other bitch when the wife ditched you, for the second time, waste every damn opportunity you've ever had. You're worthless Jason. You might as well face that because no matter what little thing you do to try and make up for lost time none of it will mean a damn thing. My advice is to give your kids up before you fuck them up too."
[Jason snaps. He lunges out and palms Buck's face hard, almost knocking the MRMC president to the ground. Buck quickly regains his footing and crashes a fist against Jason's jaw and nose, rocking his head back and causing blood to seep out down from his nostrils. Jason goes to hit back but both men find themselves being separated by the other club members. Jason and Buck struggle for a minute before both calming down to a level where the men let them go. Jason spits a bloody wad onto the ground and stares darkly at Buck.]
Buck: "Jason...why don't you just leave. I don't time for a guy who does nothing but turn his back on everyone."
[Jason doesn't move. He silently stands his ground as the bikers keep watchful eyes on him for any sign of another outburst. He sighs deeply and turns to walk away but before he does he looks over his shoulder at Buck.]
Jason: "You're wrong, Buck. I can make up for my lost time. I might not be able to stop being an angry asshole but I can at least do that."
Buck: "You know what, Jason? I might be able to believe that if I didn't already know that to you that meant turning your back on anything and everything you either did or do believe in. Selling out and buying in are two different things, son, and what I'm seeing there with blood on his tie is nothing but a sell out. Putting fresh paint on a shitty ride don't change what's under the hood, Jason."
Jason: (Turning back around) "Then how about I change that?"
Buck: "What do you mean?"
Jason: "Let me back in the club. Make me a prospect again."
Buck: "Hell. No."
Jason: "Fine."
[Jason turns again and walks to his car. As he does that, a few senior members of the MRMC walk up to buck and discuss something with him in hushed tones. The conversation turns into a near argument before Buck shouts out "Fine!". He walks over to his personal motorcycle, a red Harley Davidson Fat Boy, and lifts up the seat. Jason is about to slide back into his car but is stopped by a leather vest flying at his face that he barely catches. He unfolds it and sees the back of it has the large logo of the "Misfits" covering the entire back with a patch with simply the word "Punk" on the bottom, punk being the term used by the MRMC as a replacement for prospect. Buck walks up to Jason and talks to him at a volume only he can hear.]
Buck: "Look, I don't want this but the VP and the Sargent do for some fucking reason so i'll allow it. Under two conditions. The first of which being if you fuck this up I get to break every part of your face that I can get my hand on."
Jason: "And the other?"
Buck: "You have to do the one thing you didn't want to two years ago."
[With a grin buck holds up his Misfit Hand tattoo in front of Jason's confused face.]
Buck: "You have to give your body to the club."
========================================================================================
[The promo begins with darkness and the buzzing of a tattoo machine. The scene fades slowly onto the image of Jason Kaine seated in a black, leather tattoo chair and dressed in a black tank top, ragged black cargo shorts and black Chuck Taylor high tops. He is inside a small shop with black floors and red velvet walls and appears to already have had extensive work put into his right and left bicep and his left forearm. The artist, former Ink Master contestant and one of the stars of Tattoo Nightmares Tommy Helm, busily puts the final dabs of color into the finishing piece of Jason's forearm tattoo. Jason stares directly into the camera, showing no sign of pain from the needle going in and out of his skin. As the camera settles on him, he speaks.]
Jason: (Flatly with no sign of humor) "Ever since Un-Killable I have been on the path of redemption. I have tried to do the right thing for EoV, my fellow wrestlers and my family but it seems that no matter how hard I've tried my deeds have done nothing but bite me right in the ass. I try to help Chelsea Armstrong and get a beating, over shadowed by Chase Michaels' lack of action and almost completely ignored. I try to keep Michael James from further interfering in my match with HfH last week and what does that little rat do? He tries to steal the match. I denied the chance for the easy win in the name of being 'The Good Guy' and the little pussy tries to one up me with a dirty fucking roll up. Now instead of getting the match I deserve against Kuk Killswitch aka Tommy Rowan aka Phillip fucking Brand, I have to make my way through a stupid fucking tournament just for a CHANCE to get a match against that piece of human waste."
[Tommy Helm moves from Jason's forearm piece and onto the most important of them all, the Misfit Hand tattoo. He begins the outline of the bones which causes a minor flinch from Jason as the needles come very close to the bone. He snorts and continues on.]
Jason: "I know what you people are thinking. 'Gee, Jason, this sure is a change from last week!' And to that I say you;re all right. This is a change from that weak, bald, suit you saw behind a podium last week pandering for business for EoV. Why, you may ask. Well the answer is quite simple. That trying hard to be good only to have bad happen bullshit got really old really fast. Not only do I get beaten, screwed and overlooked but all of the sudden ass hats like that Middle Eastern fuck nut, Kareem al-BaSHIT, want to start rumors about who I am and what I am as if they fucking know me when they don;t. There's only one person that knows me and she's at home right now with my two daughters."
[Jason flinches again as the needles of the tattoo gun cross his knuckle.]
Jason: "Look Kareem, you spoiled, entitled little shit, I heard what you said the other day and to be honest, it kinda made me laugh but it also pissed me the fuck off. I'm not going to recap your whole statement because I feel it only really deserves a basic summary. You basically said I was PG. Do you forget who I am, little man? I'm the guy who a year ago speared you off of the top of the Hell in a Cell. I'm the guy who put you through the stage with a senton off the titantron but more importantly, I'M THE GUY WHO GAVE YOU A FUCKING JOB!"
[Jason;s outburst almost causes Helm to draw a much unwanted line across his hand. Jason apologizes to Helm and calms down, allowing him to continue.]
Jason: "Without me, Kareem, you would not exist in this business. I gave you a chance to be a part of MY group and when I decided to peacefully leave the group that I created, you all attack me from behind and spread lies about me stabbing you all in the back. You know, you all almost had me convinced of that but now I see that you are all lying just to cover the fact that without me you;re all falling apart. Without me there is no UN. I was the pin holding the whole thing together and that now only makes me even happier that I left you three egomaniacs behind."
[Jason stops as Helm wipes away excess ink from the nearly half done tattoo. Jason admires the work done for a moment and continues.]
Jason: "And now all of that brings us to this week. Me and you, Kareem. One on one. Mono y mono with a shot to be in the Hybrid Championship number one contenders Cage of Death match at the next pay-per-view. I want you to forget any ideas you have of my attention being diverted towards Rowan this week. That simply isn't going to happen because it is all going to be on Rowan. I have a big mother fucking score to settle with that son of a bitch and until it is, everyone looks like Tommy Rowan to me. I don;t care who it is. Chelsea Armstrong equals Tommy Rowan. HfH equals Tommy Rowan. Ian Lenton equals Tommy Rowan. EVERYONE equals Tommy Rowan and there is nothing I want to do more than break his fucking face and if that means I have to break the face of every other person on the fucking roster to do it then, now, that's fine by me. All of you mother fuckers need to be on high alert because I'm not getting bit again. It's time for me to bite back and I'm not going for anyone's ass. I'm going for your necks and this week, that neck is yours, Kareem. I hope you like neck braces.'
[Helm finishes up the Misfit Hand and wipes the fresh ink down with anti-septic. Jason stands up and strongly shakes his hand and slipping him a stack of hundred dollar bills for the eight hours of work put into his arms. He walks to the shop's door, picking up his black fedora from a counter and placing it on his head. He walks out into the California sunlight and crosses the street to where his motorcycle is parked. it is a custom built chopper from front to back with sharp angles and tribal like lines everywhere accented with a lot of chrome, brass inlays and glistening black paint. Two big rig like tail pipes rise high over the back fender on the bike's right side. Jason;s Misfits Republic cut hangs over the handlebars and he throws it on as the camera follows him. He throws a leg over the bike and pumps the kickstart, the massive engine roaring to life. He throws on a pair of large, black, reflective Oakley sunglasses and looks into the camera.]
Jason: "Now Kareem I know you want to know why you." (In a mock whiny voice) "Why oh why poor you." (Using a deep growl joined by a sneer.) "Fuck you that's why."
[Jason revs the engine hard and flies off down the street, disappearing into the horizon as the camera fades to black.]
Twelve active members of the MRMC stood around a mahogany casket dressed in jeans and their cuts, the logo of which was that of the punk band The Misfits. Around half of the men had what was referred to as the "Misfit Hand" tattooed on their left hand, a tattoo consisting of a skeleton hand on the top of their own. It was the sign of a member of the club and was a respected symbol of loyalty that wasn't required but strongly recommended. This funeral differed from most as there wasn't a reverend. Instead the president of the club, Richard "Buck" Buckley, stood in front of the headstone. A grizzled forty-five year old, Buck sported a shaved head and a braided goatee that went down to his throat. His face was tired and weathered with a thin mouth drawn into a tight frown. He held his head low as he prepared to begin his eulogy but just as he is about to speak, a black '69 Camaro roars up on the stone path leading around the perimeter of the cemetery and parks under a tree next to the MRMC member's motorcycles. All twelve men turn and eye the car with anger towards the outsider inside who dares interrupt the sad event as the driver's side door opens.
Slowly Jason Kaine pulls himself out of the car dressed in a solid black suit complete with a black fedora held under his arm. He's grown out a chinstrap to match his goatee and shaved off his mustache as well as grown a very short mohawk that's been dyed blonde. He pops the fedora onto his head as he walks around the car and doesn't make it half the distance to the coffin before he's stopped by a few MRMC members. They eye him up and down as he eyes them all right back for a few tension filled moments before they all start sharing solemn handshakes and greetings. They all head back to the funeral but Buck cuts Jason off with a hard, two fingered poke to the chest. He sneers at Jason with what appears to be disgust as he talks in a deep growl.]
Buck: "What the fuck are you doing here, Kaine? You left the club, remember?"
Jason: (Trying to remain calm) "I'm here to pay respects to Tiny."
Buck: "What the hell do you know about respect? Huh? Two years ago you leave your brothers for a blonde bitch and a slim chance to be a damn pro wrestler. Now you show up in some damn monkey suit, not even on a bike might I add, and say you want to pay respect to Tiny? The man that helped you whenever he could and always thought you were something only to have his generosity returned with your punk ass indifference. Fuck you Jason."
Jason: "Don't you bring my wife into your problems with me Buck. I was just a kid back then."
Buck: (Enraged) "AND YOU THINK THAT'S SOME KIND OF EXCUSE?! You think that just because you were young means you had a right to walk around with ZERO respect for the guys that came before you and paved the way for you to have a club you could call a family? Answer me this, Jason, was the Republic just something to make you feel like a bad mother fucker?"
Jason: "No."
Buck: "BULLSHIT! The moment you put that prospect cut on you walked around like you were Billy Badass. You picked fights for no God damn reason and brought this club a lot of unneeded trouble. Why Tiny talked me into keeping you around I'll never know. What he saw in you I'll never know. All I DO know is that you don't belong here and need to move the fuck along before something really bad happens to you."
Jason: "I'm sorry, buck, but that ain't happening. I came here to do what I should have done two years ago."
Buck: "Don't try and fool me you piece of shit. You're only here to help yourself. I saw you on TV. I see how you're trying to bullshit your way to feeling better about all the fuck ups you've had in your life. Letting your wife get grabbed by your psycho friend, almost loose your damn mind over some other bitch when the wife ditched you, for the second time, waste every damn opportunity you've ever had. You're worthless Jason. You might as well face that because no matter what little thing you do to try and make up for lost time none of it will mean a damn thing. My advice is to give your kids up before you fuck them up too."
[Jason snaps. He lunges out and palms Buck's face hard, almost knocking the MRMC president to the ground. Buck quickly regains his footing and crashes a fist against Jason's jaw and nose, rocking his head back and causing blood to seep out down from his nostrils. Jason goes to hit back but both men find themselves being separated by the other club members. Jason and Buck struggle for a minute before both calming down to a level where the men let them go. Jason spits a bloody wad onto the ground and stares darkly at Buck.]
Buck: "Jason...why don't you just leave. I don't time for a guy who does nothing but turn his back on everyone."
[Jason doesn't move. He silently stands his ground as the bikers keep watchful eyes on him for any sign of another outburst. He sighs deeply and turns to walk away but before he does he looks over his shoulder at Buck.]
Jason: "You're wrong, Buck. I can make up for my lost time. I might not be able to stop being an angry asshole but I can at least do that."
Buck: "You know what, Jason? I might be able to believe that if I didn't already know that to you that meant turning your back on anything and everything you either did or do believe in. Selling out and buying in are two different things, son, and what I'm seeing there with blood on his tie is nothing but a sell out. Putting fresh paint on a shitty ride don't change what's under the hood, Jason."
Jason: (Turning back around) "Then how about I change that?"
Buck: "What do you mean?"
Jason: "Let me back in the club. Make me a prospect again."
Buck: "Hell. No."
Jason: "Fine."
[Jason turns again and walks to his car. As he does that, a few senior members of the MRMC walk up to buck and discuss something with him in hushed tones. The conversation turns into a near argument before Buck shouts out "Fine!". He walks over to his personal motorcycle, a red Harley Davidson Fat Boy, and lifts up the seat. Jason is about to slide back into his car but is stopped by a leather vest flying at his face that he barely catches. He unfolds it and sees the back of it has the large logo of the "Misfits" covering the entire back with a patch with simply the word "Punk" on the bottom, punk being the term used by the MRMC as a replacement for prospect. Buck walks up to Jason and talks to him at a volume only he can hear.]
Buck: "Look, I don't want this but the VP and the Sargent do for some fucking reason so i'll allow it. Under two conditions. The first of which being if you fuck this up I get to break every part of your face that I can get my hand on."
Jason: "And the other?"
Buck: "You have to do the one thing you didn't want to two years ago."
[With a grin buck holds up his Misfit Hand tattoo in front of Jason's confused face.]
Buck: "You have to give your body to the club."
========================================================================================
[The promo begins with darkness and the buzzing of a tattoo machine. The scene fades slowly onto the image of Jason Kaine seated in a black, leather tattoo chair and dressed in a black tank top, ragged black cargo shorts and black Chuck Taylor high tops. He is inside a small shop with black floors and red velvet walls and appears to already have had extensive work put into his right and left bicep and his left forearm. The artist, former Ink Master contestant and one of the stars of Tattoo Nightmares Tommy Helm, busily puts the final dabs of color into the finishing piece of Jason's forearm tattoo. Jason stares directly into the camera, showing no sign of pain from the needle going in and out of his skin. As the camera settles on him, he speaks.]
Jason: (Flatly with no sign of humor) "Ever since Un-Killable I have been on the path of redemption. I have tried to do the right thing for EoV, my fellow wrestlers and my family but it seems that no matter how hard I've tried my deeds have done nothing but bite me right in the ass. I try to help Chelsea Armstrong and get a beating, over shadowed by Chase Michaels' lack of action and almost completely ignored. I try to keep Michael James from further interfering in my match with HfH last week and what does that little rat do? He tries to steal the match. I denied the chance for the easy win in the name of being 'The Good Guy' and the little pussy tries to one up me with a dirty fucking roll up. Now instead of getting the match I deserve against Kuk Killswitch aka Tommy Rowan aka Phillip fucking Brand, I have to make my way through a stupid fucking tournament just for a CHANCE to get a match against that piece of human waste."
[Tommy Helm moves from Jason's forearm piece and onto the most important of them all, the Misfit Hand tattoo. He begins the outline of the bones which causes a minor flinch from Jason as the needles come very close to the bone. He snorts and continues on.]
Jason: "I know what you people are thinking. 'Gee, Jason, this sure is a change from last week!' And to that I say you;re all right. This is a change from that weak, bald, suit you saw behind a podium last week pandering for business for EoV. Why, you may ask. Well the answer is quite simple. That trying hard to be good only to have bad happen bullshit got really old really fast. Not only do I get beaten, screwed and overlooked but all of the sudden ass hats like that Middle Eastern fuck nut, Kareem al-BaSHIT, want to start rumors about who I am and what I am as if they fucking know me when they don;t. There's only one person that knows me and she's at home right now with my two daughters."
[Jason flinches again as the needles of the tattoo gun cross his knuckle.]
Jason: "Look Kareem, you spoiled, entitled little shit, I heard what you said the other day and to be honest, it kinda made me laugh but it also pissed me the fuck off. I'm not going to recap your whole statement because I feel it only really deserves a basic summary. You basically said I was PG. Do you forget who I am, little man? I'm the guy who a year ago speared you off of the top of the Hell in a Cell. I'm the guy who put you through the stage with a senton off the titantron but more importantly, I'M THE GUY WHO GAVE YOU A FUCKING JOB!"
[Jason;s outburst almost causes Helm to draw a much unwanted line across his hand. Jason apologizes to Helm and calms down, allowing him to continue.]
Jason: "Without me, Kareem, you would not exist in this business. I gave you a chance to be a part of MY group and when I decided to peacefully leave the group that I created, you all attack me from behind and spread lies about me stabbing you all in the back. You know, you all almost had me convinced of that but now I see that you are all lying just to cover the fact that without me you;re all falling apart. Without me there is no UN. I was the pin holding the whole thing together and that now only makes me even happier that I left you three egomaniacs behind."
[Jason stops as Helm wipes away excess ink from the nearly half done tattoo. Jason admires the work done for a moment and continues.]
Jason: "And now all of that brings us to this week. Me and you, Kareem. One on one. Mono y mono with a shot to be in the Hybrid Championship number one contenders Cage of Death match at the next pay-per-view. I want you to forget any ideas you have of my attention being diverted towards Rowan this week. That simply isn't going to happen because it is all going to be on Rowan. I have a big mother fucking score to settle with that son of a bitch and until it is, everyone looks like Tommy Rowan to me. I don;t care who it is. Chelsea Armstrong equals Tommy Rowan. HfH equals Tommy Rowan. Ian Lenton equals Tommy Rowan. EVERYONE equals Tommy Rowan and there is nothing I want to do more than break his fucking face and if that means I have to break the face of every other person on the fucking roster to do it then, now, that's fine by me. All of you mother fuckers need to be on high alert because I'm not getting bit again. It's time for me to bite back and I'm not going for anyone's ass. I'm going for your necks and this week, that neck is yours, Kareem. I hope you like neck braces.'
[Helm finishes up the Misfit Hand and wipes the fresh ink down with anti-septic. Jason stands up and strongly shakes his hand and slipping him a stack of hundred dollar bills for the eight hours of work put into his arms. He walks to the shop's door, picking up his black fedora from a counter and placing it on his head. He walks out into the California sunlight and crosses the street to where his motorcycle is parked. it is a custom built chopper from front to back with sharp angles and tribal like lines everywhere accented with a lot of chrome, brass inlays and glistening black paint. Two big rig like tail pipes rise high over the back fender on the bike's right side. Jason;s Misfits Republic cut hangs over the handlebars and he throws it on as the camera follows him. He throws a leg over the bike and pumps the kickstart, the massive engine roaring to life. He throws on a pair of large, black, reflective Oakley sunglasses and looks into the camera.]
Jason: "Now Kareem I know you want to know why you." (In a mock whiny voice) "Why oh why poor you." (Using a deep growl joined by a sneer.) "Fuck you that's why."
[Jason revs the engine hard and flies off down the street, disappearing into the horizon as the camera fades to black.]
