|
[... static ...] [...] [... blackness ...] [...] [... static again ...] [...] [... more blackness ...] [...] [... still more static ...] [...] [... And yet more blackness. Starting to get deja vu, here...] [...] [The blackness engulfing the screen soon parts like the Red Sea, giving way to an ever-changing cavalcade of words...] [GREED...MURDER...LUST...JEALOUSY...PIZZA...POWER...DETERMINATION...SEX...SCANDAL...SOUR-CREAM AND ONIONS...] [These words continue to flash across the screen like breasts in a Girls Gone Wild video, before a logo appears upon the screen...] Zzzzz...! Fake-Ass Pro-Amateur-E-Sports-Entertainment-Wrasslin' Story [As soon as these words settle upon the screen, they are quick to vanish, and be replaced by the name of this biography program's subject ; ] "The Jamaican Growth Infection" ... Drew Jockstrap. [The name hovers over the pitch black screen for a few seconds, as the rythmic beat of a Rastafarian tune plays in the background. The drums increase as seconds pass. Before too long, this name dissapears, and soon, the screen, at first void of anything but darkness, illuminates with the vision of a sandy beach. Not a cloud looms in the sky, and every color present in the scene is vibrant and magnificent. Children play along the near mile stretch of the beach... and couples bask in the sun's glowing light, as the ocean laps at the shore.] Voice-Over: Eight Mile, St. Bernie, Jamaica... home of some of the greatest hot spots in all of Jamaica. The Leaning Tower of Ganja... the Ganja State Building... GanjaStone Park... But perhaps Eight Mile's greatest name is none other than that of "Jamaican Desperation", Drew Jockstrap. [The scenic view of 'Eight Mile Beach' transitions into an old, stained photograph, of an infant, with what appears to be a large wig atop its head, dreads dangling off the back. The infant has patches of hair taped around its mouth in an attempt to form a scruff beard.] Voice-Over: Drew Jockstrap was born into a poor, lower-class family of 22 and a half children. At the tender age of 1, Drew had already entered the family business of selling products crafted from Ganja ; Ganja-based Clothing Apparel, Ganja-based Toilet Paper, Ganja-based Ganja. If you could name it, the Jockstrap family would sell it. But the young lad, Drew Jockstrap, felt as though he were a small fish in a big pond. ... Or was that, a medium fish in a deep pond... Either way, young Drew knew that Ganja may have been the family business... But it wasn't HIS business. [The baby picture soon gives way to a sit-down interview with an older, black man ; scruff beard accentuating his face, and a full head of, long, dirty dreadlocks. The man sits on the edge of the rickety wooden chair, gripping a cane in his right hand... possibly made of ganja.] Caption: Stu Jockstrap, Drew's GrandFather. Stu Jockstrap: 'Ey mon! I tell ya mon, that little mon, mah grandson? He be crazy mon! Damn straight, he be irie, mon! He da Jamaican Scandinavian, mon, the hottest t'ing undah the sun, mon! And when he just a boy, mon, he say to me, mon, he say, "Boss man", cuz the boy would call me 'Boss Man', he say, "Boss Man. I shot the sheriff, but I did not shoot the deputy!" HaHA! Mon, he a crazy, irie boy, mon-of-a-gun. So then me slapped 'im. Voice-Over: And indeed, Stu did slap Drew. He slapped him all the way to the land of opportunity... the land of freedom... the land of milk and honey ; Canada. Well, except for the milk and honey part. More like... syrup and moose droppings. ... Either way, at the tender age of 3, Drew left his grandparents' home, for the world famous wrestling school, the one and only 'Dungeon'. No, no, no, not THAT 'Dungeon'. The other one and only 'Dungeon', owned by Drew's father, the legendary Ru-Paul Jockstrap. This Dungeon, based out of Canadian Bacon, Alberta, Canada, was the place where, at the tender age of 4, a young Drew Jockstrap would hone his craft. [We re-open, this time to a dingy gym, with an even dinger wrestling ring set up. The only light is that which is cast from a tiny, dim bulb hanging above the ring. A man in grey sweat-pants, wearing no shirt or shoes, sporting a short, brown hair-cut, is slammed roughly to the canvas by another man... or atleast, what APPEARS to be a man, who wears a sparkling red dress, fish-net stockings, and his hair ; long, blonde, and pinned up on top. The man on the mat, a student of the man in the ruby-red dress, rolls out of the ring under the bottom rope, feeling the full force of the slam. The man in the dress rips off one of his red, high-heeled shoes and tosses it out at his student, whacking the poor guy directly in the side of the head. The camera then cuts to another sit-down interview, this time with Ru-Paul Jockstrap, who sits in a plush, hot pink chair. Ru-Paul Jockstrap: So, like, my son, and stuff? He was sooo queer! I'm telling you girl, the boy was gay! And I know gay when I see gay, lemme tell YOU! *giggles* ... Whadya mean by that? Of course I'M not gay! What, are YOU gay? ... Is my make-up running?Voice-Over: But the 4 year old Drew was not, in fact, gay. Atleast not yet... Either way, for 20 years, Drew's father trained the third generation Jockstrap in the ways of Professional-Amateur-Fake-Ass-E-Sports Entertainment... But, after 20 years, and after many, MANY embarrasing moments (including the time Drew ended up in a 69 position with his dad in one of the most humiliating wrestling hold "reversals" ever witnessed), Ru-Paul finally gave up on his son, something he'd never thought he'd do. Well... atleast not when he was getting paid to put up with the little bastard. Ru-Paul Jockstrap: Drew... he's just one of those kind of wrestlers... they call them something, uh... oh yeah, Jobbers. That's the ticket... Voice-Over: Drew was destined to be a jobber for the rest of his wrestling career, never meant to be a champion... That is, until a man by the name of Aidan Cocks gave the "Jamaican Lost-in-Translation" a shot at superStardom... the shot to Rise to the top... or, atleast a shot at jobbing to the best of the best, in the best fed around ; Porn-Star Wrasslin' Little-To-No-Entertainment [H.O.R.N.D.O.G.] *static* [For a split second, the screen fills with static, as the channel is flipped to another station...] [... And when the screen lands upon its destination, we find the 'MBtv' logo in the corner of the screen... and one word plastered in the center ; ] CRiBS [The camera opens to the drive-way of a crummy looking trailer, lined with shattered windows, and an eye-gaugingly terrible shade of puke green paint smeared across the mobile home. Along the driveway are small, plastic palm trees, and a beach chair and plastic table set beneath an out-stretched umbrella in the lawn (the grass of which appears to not have been mowed in literally centuries...). It is the middle of the evening... the sounds of crickets warming up for their nightly tune may be heard... The sky above is made of brilliant hues of red and purple, and the sun is slowly sinking beyond the scenery in the distance. As time passes, a rusty '78 Ford pick-up rolls along the cement street, turns, and heads into the drive-way... As we receive a full picture of the truck, we find a few surfboards, some tiki dolls, some hula-dancer bobble-heads, and a bunch of "Ganja", which is actually nothing more than a heaping helping of pencil shavings. The crust of dirt embedded upon the back window of the vehicle has been traced inside of, displaying the message "Ganja for Sale ; May Cause Lead Poisoning".] [The driver's side door swings open, and out steps... Jack... wait, that couldn't be... Dre? ... Aw heck, Jack's actually put on BLACK-FACE! Not only that, but he has atop his head some of the longest dreads I have EVER seen... long enough they could be cut off, tied together, and used as a damn lasso. He also wears a cheesy Hawaiin shirt, his usual pair of jean shorts, and his usual pair of flip-flops. Jack reaches into the bed of his truck, and pulls out a surfboard... before running toward the trailer, and as we come closer to the trailer, we find a small, children's pool set up. Jack tosses the surfboard into the pool, which barely fits... Before actually trying his damndest to hop aboard the long piece of plastic... Of course, he has fairly any luck, before slipping off and tumbling into pool, sending seemingly a tidal wave of water into the air and crashing against the ground.] Jack Hoff: GAT DAMM- *5 minutes later...* [We return to the lawn, where Jack is now dripping wet, but standing. He gives the board a kick, but ends up holding his toes in pain, hopping up and down on one foot.] Jack Hoff: SON-OF-A- *3 minutes later...* Jack Hoff: - MOTHER-FUH- *2 minutes later* Jack Hoff: ... [... And so-] Jack Hoff: GATDAM MOTHER-FUGGIN' SON-OF-A- *5 minutes later...* [...] Jack Hoff: ... [... Ahem. AND SO -] Jack Hoff: Yo Mon! This be ya main mon, mon, ol' "Jamaican Infatuation", Drew Jockstrap! The sun, she be goin' down, but the spirits? They be liftin' up mon! This is MBtv CRiBS, and today me gonna show ya mon's an' mon-ettes mah very own Crib, a place I like tah call mah very own Island Paradise! ... Even though it's... not actually ON an island... Mon! Come on in, lemme show ya to mah humble abode! [Jack, or should I say, "Drew", heads for the front door of the trailer and opens - ... Well, he TRIES to open it, but the door won't budge. He jiggles the handle, but still ; no give. "Drew" finally begins to bang on the door wildly, like a man possesed, until a voice from within the trailer calls out...] Voice: WE DON'T WANT ANY! "Drew Jockstrap": Dammit, woman, you get your ass out here! Jack Hoff's Wife: Jack, you stop callin' me "woman", ya hear?! My NAME is Darlene. You married me as Darlene, and yer gonna damn well CALL me Darlene, ya block-headed oaf! "Drew Jockstrap": No, no, no, NO! For the purposes of this promo, your name is SUE! Sue Jockstrap! "Sue Jockstrap": ... Are you drunk again? "Drew Jockstrap": Oh, just get your fat ass over here and open this fuggin' door, ya cow! [Steps are heard inside... before the door is swung open, smacking Jack, er, "Drew", right in his forehead.] "Drew Jockstrap": YA PIECE AH SH- *5 minutes later* ["Drew" is standing in the bedroom of his 'crib', the room being just a tad bigger than a janitor's closet...] "Drew Jockstrap": So... uh... this be da master bedroom. She... also be the ONLY bedroom... There be da bed, mon. ... And the tv tray... with the, uh... tv on top. The tray, she wobble sometime from the weight since, well... you know, it actually be made for food, not... tv's. And that's about it. ... On to the kitchen! [That'd be your favorite part of the whole trailer, eh Jack?] "Drew Jockstrap": Yer damn ri- HEY! Son-of-a-BITCH, you KNOW my name isn't Jack! It's... er, It be Drew Jockstrap. ... Mon. ["Drew" walks toward the bedroom door, which isn't that far... nothing really is in this room... He steps outside, and we find that the VERY next room actually is the kitchen... as well as the dining room... as well as... yuck, the bathroom...] "Drew Jockstrap": Ah, the good ol' KitcheDiniBathroom! Somedays me never even leave this wonderful room! It irie like a mo-fo! ["Drew", what exactly IS irie?] "Drew Jockstrap": Uh... ... ... Look over there! Refridgerator! [...] "Drew Jockstrap": The fridge be me absolute favorite piece of furnite, mon! Me can go to the fridge, me open the fridge, and me find everything me like! It is paradise! ["Drew" walks toward the refridgerator, grasps the handle, and pulls it open... before his wife pops out, slapping the taste out of "Drew"'s mouth.] "Drew Jockstrap": Uh ohh... me sense trouble in paradise... "Sue Jockstrap": You gat dam sumbitch! You locked me in that damn refridgerator so you could do yer stupid little promo! "Drew Jockstrap": Oh come ON! Do you HONESTLY believe that? "Sue Jockstrap": ... YES! "Drew Jockstrap": Damn, there goes plan B... Uhm... hey, look over there! Elvis! "Sue Jockstrap": THE KING! ["Sue" looks in the direction "Drew" is pointing, while he runs out of the kitchen at full speed... which isn't really very fast at all. We enter the third and final room, the living room, which is decorated with Jamaican items... or atleast, island decorations. You really can't count on Jack to research anything before he puts it together... Hell, one of the items is a Beach Boys album collection... "Drew" stands by the back door, and smiles.] "Drew Jockstrap": Folks, I hope ya enjoyed the look into me home! [Suddenly, "Sue" bursts into the living room, holding a frying pan like a club in the hands of a primal caveman... "Drew" gulps... and looks into the camera, with more than a little concern in his eyes.] "Drew Jockstrap": Aloha... and please, somebody, anybody... HELP MEEE!!! *static* Alex Tra-blech: Hello, and welcome... To Jep-Parody!!! [The music begins to play, and the canned applause, er, I mean "studio audience", begins to cheer, as we open upon our three contestants for another edition of 'Quasi-Celebrity Jep-Parody'. One of them is a man in a suit and tie, with a clean crew-cut, and plastic smile. One of them is a man clad in nothing but popsicle sticks... and the third, your friend but not mine, Jack Hoff, aka, "Drew Jockstrap". We head over to Alex Tra-blech for the introductions...] Alex Tra-blech: Hello ladies and gentlemen. Our reigning champion on 'Quasi-Celebrity Jep-Parody', Yolanda Deborah, the nose whistler, could not make it today, as she is rehearsing for her band, Nose Temple Pilots, and their big gig coming up on the 15th at Timmy Jones' birthday party. We wish her the best of luck. Now it's time to introduce the contestants for today's edition. First, he is a stand-up comedian, Bob Boring, voted most boring stand-up comedian three years running, with his material based around foot fungus and the fear of flounders. Also - Mick Quivers, a Gene Simmons impersonator... whose costume consists entirely of popsicle sticks. And finally, H.O.R.N.D.O.G. Super-Dee-Duper Star Wrassler, "The Jamaican Flatulation", Drew Jockstrap. The best of luck to the three of you. Mick Quivers: ROCK ON!!! "Drew Jockstrap": Let's get irie! Bob Boring: Thank you, Mr. Tra-blech. It is an honor and a privilege to - Alex Tra-blech: The topics for today's edition are ; Jamaican Cuisine, Jamaican History, Jamaican Tall-Tales, Jamaican Politics, Jamaican Language, Jamaican Geography, Jamaican Television, and Jamaican Music. We'll start off with - *BZZZ* "Drew Jockstrap": WHAT IS LINCOLN MEMORIAL?! Alex Tra-blech: ... We'll start off with - *BZZZ* "Drew Jockstrap": WHAT IS PLYMOUTH ROCK?! Alex Tra-blech: ... We'll start - *BZZZ* "Drew Jockstrap": WHAT IS THE EIFFEL TOWER?! Alex Tra-blech: OH FUCK IT! "Drew Jockstrap": ... Alex Tra-blech: Drew, go ahead. Just... go ahead, pick your damn topic... Son-of-a- "Drew Jockstrap": Jamaican Sayings, for $1,000,000, Alex. Alex Tra-blech: ... Drew, there is nothing for $1,000,000... "Drew Jockstrap": ... $999,999? Alex Tra-blech: ... No. "Drew Jockstrap": ... $999,998? Alex Tra-blech: No. "Drew Jockstrap": ... $999,997? Alex Tra-blech: NO! And just so you know, there's nothing for $999,996, $999,995, or even $999,994!!! JESUS JUMPIN' JIMMY JACK FUCKIN' CHRIST! "Drew Jockstrap": ... Chill, mon! You no get so irie, eh? Alex Tra-blech: AGGGHHH! ... *sigh* Ok, you want 'Jamaican Sayings'? For $500 - This is the definition of Irie. "Drew Jockstrap": Uhm... er... uh... *BZZZ* Bob Boring: I-rie , I ' -ree (Rasta/Jamaican Patois) Adjective ; 1. powerful & pleasing 2. excellent, highest feeling / Noun ; 3. the state of feeling great. "Drew Jockstrap": ... Asshole. Alex Tra-blech: Oh, sorry Bob. Your response must be posed in the form of a question. This means that our interim champion for the week is none other than Ohio's own, Mick Quivers! Congrats Mick! ... Mick, what are you doing naked? Mick Quivers: All of my popsicle sticks fell off... they WERE just glued on, ya know... Bob Boring: Oh, dear boy, we do NOT need to see your bits and pieces! Nothing could be worse! *BZZZ* "Drew Jockstrap": What is 'This Show'? *static* [After cutting to static once more, the camera opens again, this time to the set of a movie review program. Two men sit, both in director's chairs ; one of the men, slender, and balding, while the other man is plump, with greying hair, and a pair of reading glasses covering his eyes. Music plays in the background, as they welcome the viewers at home to another episode of their program...] Grissle: Hello movie-goers, and welcome to another edition of 'Grissle and Cewbert at the Movies'. Cewbert: Tonight's episode is stacked with films, from "Ernest Goes to Iraq" to "Wayne's World 3: Bleedin' It Dry". Grissle: Our first theatrical work is the debut of the next Bond, as the guy who replaced Pierce Brosnan came down with a severe case of the sniffles. Cewbert: ... How do you come down with a severe case of the sniffles? Is the "sniffles" even a legitimate disease??? Grissle: Why, of course! Cewbert: You sure about that? Grissle: Why, of course! [Cewbert looks over at his partner, who has a wide grin placed on his face, with his eyes as wide as plates. Cewbert shakes his head to himself.] Cewbert: ... You're just going to keep saying "Why, of course", aren't you. Grissle: Why, of course! [Cewbert looks away from Grissle, back at the camera.] Cewbert: ... Moving right along. The man the studio chose to replace the previous Bond actor is the first Bond of Jamaican descent. In fact, he's the first EVER black James Bond! Grissle: I hear his biggest 'top secret' weapon is in his pants, wink, wink. *chuckles* Cewbert: ... No. Just... no. Grissle: Sorry... [Grissle looks down, with a sad look replacing the grin he had on his face before.] Cewbert: Oh, it's ok Grissle... come on, let's see that big, often times creepy, smile! [Grissle looks back up at the camera, with his grin now back on his face, a sparkle in his eye.] Cewbert: That's better... I think... (looks from Grissle toward the camera) The actor's name is "The Jamaican Castration", Drew Jockstrap, and he is one of the newest members of the H.O.R.N.D.O.G. Wrasslin' Roster. He's big, he's black, and he's ready to do Bond like never before! Roll the clip. [The screen cuts to a clip from the newest Bond movie, "Jamaican Bond : GanjaEye". The scene is set in a high-falootin' bar, set somewhere in the mid-to-late 50's. It is an extravagant setting, with expensively dressed people filling the place from wall to wall... Our hero, "Drew Jockstrap", playing the role of 'Jamaican Bond', rolls into the bar through the front door, and everyone instantly turns their attention to the agent... Which is understandable, as he's the only guy wearing a t-shirt with a printed on "suit and tie", along with black, ripped shorts, his standard flip flops, along with a wig consisting of long dreadlocks, reaching all the way down to his ass... and a rolled paper, supposedly containing 'ganja'. Who KNOWS what it could really hold, taking into account who's holding it... Jack/Drew/Bond walks toward a stool, and takes a seat.] "007": Hey, bartender mon! Two glasses of ya finest Ganja-based martini. Shaken... not stirred. [The bartender walks over to '007', and as our hero lays his eyes on the bartender, he finds himself staring at the most beautiful, gorgeous, voluptous woman he's ever layed eyes on... and trust me, there's been a "few". '007' smiles, winks, and takes the two glasses, filled to the brim.] Bartender Lady: Ah... so big boy, who's the lucky gal? "007": Whadya mean, angel? Bartender Lady: Well, ya ordered two glasses, hot stuff. [As these words escape the mouth of the lovely bartender, '007' downs BOTH martinis in the span of 3 seconds... before releasing a huge belch.] Bartener Lady: ... "007": What t'were ya sayin', mah sweet t'ing? Bartner Lady: ... Ew. Uhm... nevermind. "007": Hey, would you be wantin' a martini, child? Bartender Lady: ... Sure? "007": Swell. Could you be willing tah pay for mah drinks as well, sweet t'ing? I be broke. Bartender Lady: >:-( "007": What? Be it somethin' me said? Bartender Lady: What's your name, anyway? "007": Me name be Bond... Jamaican Bond. I be a secret agent. Bartender Lady: ... Not much of a secret, if ya go around telling everyone, is it? "007": ... Good point. [Suddenly, the front door of the establishment bursts down, and a pack of mobsters flock inside, with tommy guns at the ready.] Bartender Lady: Well, secret agent Bond, what are you gonna do about those guys?! "007": I be havin' a brilliant idea! ['007' rises from his seat, and stares across the bar at the mobsters... One approaches him. At this, he leaps behind the counter... before standing back up, right behind the bartender. '007' holds onto her as a shield...] Bartender Lady: WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?! "007": Hey, one of us got to be dyin', sweet t'ing, it can't be me and me pretty face! Bartender Lady: Don't 'sweet t'ing' me, you ... you ... Jamaican COWARD!!! [The clip comes to a close, with Grissle and Cewbert sitting... dumbfounded. Grissle can't even manage his normal, creepy smile.] Cewbert: What.. in the HELL was that? Grissle: Cewbert, I think movie-dom has just reached a new low... The industry as we know it has come crashing down around us! Cewbert: Well, Grissle, I think we BOTH know what this film deserves. Grissle: Two thumbs down, and a kick to the gonads of whoever's "great idea" it was to produce this pile of sh- Cewbert: See ya at the movies, folks! *static* [The screen fills with static once again, but this time, instead of cutting to another channel, the screen is submerged into darkness, as the tv set is switched off. We pan out slowly... Soon, we realize that we've been viewing this screen from the inside of Jack Hoff's pad, on his living room television set. Jack has carved out a hole in the couch with his own, monumental ass. He rests, with the remote in his right hand... He drops the remote on the coffee table before him, and lets out a sigh.] Jack Hoff: 200 channels, and not a damn thing tah watch. [Jack rises from the sofa, and stretches his arms out at his sides, yawning, before scratching at his rear. Jack wipes his nose, and shakes his head... before heading toward the KitcheDiniBathroom. Jack opens the refridgerator... and out pops his wife (again, deja vu...).] Darlene: YOU LOCKED ME IN THERE... AGAIN! Jack Hoff: Hey, I had to watch tv. Didn't need your fat ass barkin' at me every fifteen minutes! Darlene: You HAD to watch tv? Jack Hoff: Yeah... for company related purposes... Darlene: Oh yeah? Well, you can forget about watchin' the tube for the next month, ya fat bastard! Now go to the store and pick up some damn hog's feet, I've got a soap opera marathon in an hour, and I'll be DAMNED if I let you screw it up for me! Jack Hoff: (mumbles under his breath, as he heads out the door...) Fat cow... Darlene: WHAT WAS THAT?! Jack Hoff: I SAID 'FAT COW'! Darlene: OH! OK! GOODBYE, HONEY! Jack Hoff: BYE, SUGAR! [Jack parts from the trailer, and walks toward the old, crimson red, Ford pick-up. He reaches into the back, and pulls out a dark purple cap, with the word "Giants" across the front... Jack fits the cap around the top of his head, as he rests a flabby arm on the side of the truck... He turns an eye to the camera, with a smirk on his face, and a twinkle in his eye.] Jack Hoff: Ya see this cap? (points at the cap) This hee-yah is the cap of CHAMPIONS. (lowers his hand, gripping it into a clenched fist) Super Bowl champions, man. People said it couldn't be done... people said it'd nev-ah happen. But bucko, these guys? They proved those sons-a-bitches WRONG! As it was then, as it is right hee-yah, right... friggin'... now. People are sayin' the Hoff isn't cut out tah be a champion... much less cut out tah be the Savior of this company. But buddy boy, lemme tell ya. I am the Savior... No if's, and's, or but's about that. That's a fact, plain and simple. I'm here in this company, with one main goal, and that is tah liberate it from the threats that plague it... guys like Zawk-when Up-yo-azz. Guys like Duff Beere D'EEdiot. Guys like... Victoria Loudmouth. These are the kinda guys that I have sworn tah protect this federation AND its fans from. Jack Hoff: They're heels. And the Hoff is a face. Therefore? The Hoff will rid the company of heels! My mission is clear... [Jack reaches again into the back of the truck, this time procuring his... wallet. ... Why he'd keep his wallet in the back of his truck, I'll never know.] Jack Hoff: Easy, fucktard. It's the same reason AWE keeps lamps under their ring! [... Huh?] Jack Hoff: Didn't you see the match between Jen and Kim at 'Dead End'? Kim brought out a lamp from under the ring! And you know why that lamp was there?] [... For absolutely no reason at all?] Jack Hoff: Well... yeah. ... But that's not the point! [Jack opens the wallet, and pulls out a photo of a young child.] Jack Hoff: Drew Jockstrap, this here's my son, Freddy Fingered. [... Jack, you don't have a son. That picture came with the wallet.] Jack Hoff: ... Oh yeah. Well, that's not the point either! [Jack tosses the photo to the ground, and pockets the wallet, before opening the driver's side door and stepping inside. On the dashboard rests a hula-dancer bobble-head, left over from the 'CRiBS' skit. Jack tightens his hands around the steering wheel, and speaks into a camera mounted inside the truck, beside the tiny bobble-head.] Jack Hoff: Drew... I want'choo tah know, I'm gonna fuck your ass. I'm gonna put you down on the mat, old country way, and I'm gonna lock you in da camel clutch, and I'm gonna break your back, and I'm gonna fuck your ass! Praise Allah, Praise Muhamad! Drew, you listen up now, I'm gonna lesson you good too! You make me sad! You, and that faggot-ass BITCH Brian B. Blair, you no respect good, intelli-jawnt Jewish friends! [Jack, what the HELL are you going on about?!] Jack Hoff: Uh... I dunno, sorta zoned out there for a bit. ... [Yeah, I noticed. Could you try and make some sort of sense? And hurry things along, kinda, I need to get to bed...] Jack Hoff: Alright... Well, as I said, my number one priority is liberating this company from the evils that threaten to poison it. I'm on a journey, and the destination is the freedom of AWE from the villanous villains that are here already... and those that wait on the horizon. But to do so, I'll have to do something that noone believes I can. Noone believes... but me. I'm gonna hafta take Drew Jockstrap to his very limit... and then? Then, I'm gonna hafta take a rest, cuz I'll probably be PAST my limit. A few good breaths, though, and I'll be ready to kick more ass. A rest here, kick ass, a rest there, more kickin' ass. I'll be restin' and ass-kickin' till Drew's had all the ass-kickin'... and waitin' for more ass-kickin' while I rest... that he can handle! I will - not - stop kickin' ass, and restin', until I've brought Drew to his back, pinned him, and secured my spot in the Rising Star title match at the next pay-per-view. And then? When I've kicked your ass, Drew? After I've given you all you can handle, till your nothin' more than a stain on the mat? ... Well, I'll probably rest for three weeks, cuz bah gawd, I'm gonna be damn tired! [Jack smiles, and looks up at the rear-view mirror, reaching up and adjusting it... before looking back into the camera.] Jack Hoff: Drew... I saw ya on tv. [... You sure about that Jack?] Jack Hoff: Of course! You saw it, just as I did! Just as the millions... and MILLIONS of Hoff-a-Holics did! [Well, unless I'm missing something, wasn't that just you in crappy make-up, and a wig with dreadlocks longer than a pack of boa constrictors?] Jack Hoff: Well... no! It wasn't! It was DEFINITELY that punk, Drew Jockstrap! And Drew, as EVERYONE witnessed, thanks to the miracle of television, you trained and trained to become a wrestler, but alas, you FAILED! So you became a jobber, and the rest, as they say, is history! Your "crib"? A wreck. Your acting skills? Abysmal. And I think we all know now how you react when in 'Jeopardy'! [... Jack, for one thing, it was pretty obvious that the so-called 'crib' used in that skit was yours.] Jack Hoff: How ya figure? [... Well, oh, I dunno, the fact that EVERY room looked exactly like the rooms in your trailer! The 'KitcheDiniBathroom' was a dead give-away.] Jack Hoff: I don't think anyone believes ya, crumb-bag! [Oh? Then what's that hula-dancer bobble-head doing beside the camera? Sure seems familiar, doesn't it? Like... from the back of your TRUCK?] Jack Hoff: ... [And besides, even if Dre DID have a crappy home, sucked at acting, and didn't know anything about Jamaican History, Geography, or Cuisine, what does ANY of that have to do with... you know, WRESTLING?!] Jack Hoff: Dammit, why d'ya always hafta ruin my fun? Ok, sure, I may have just taped all of those segments and put 'em together on a blank VHS tape... but the truth of the matter is, when it comes right down to the cold hard reality of it all, I, Jack Hoff, WILL become the first Rising Star champion of the new AWE! And that's not a bet, a threat, or a promise. It's a guaran-goddam-tee! Drew, MON, I've been bitin' and clawin' and workin' my way towards makin' somethin' out of myself for years now. I've been strivin' tah provide for my wife, no matter HOW much of a bitch she may be sometimes. I love her... and truth be told, I'd do anything for the broad. And if that means puttin' my life on the line to take home that piece ah gold, so's I can move me and my woman outta that crummy trailer, intah somethin' a bit more decent, and to put a better meal on the table for the two of us? Then dammit, kid... I'm gonna do it. I don't care if you get in my way, and whoever else may wind up in that 4-way along with me when I get there. One thing's for certain... I am gonna do what's best for the company, the fans, and myself... and I'm gonna do it no matter what. [Jack revs up the engine, before backing out... right over the Hoffs' mailbox. He drives forward... turns a bit, and backs out again. He turns, and as the truck rests in the middle of the road, he stops for a bit, looking into the camera that is being held by a cameraman on the outside of the truck...] Jack: Oh it's real... it's DAMN real. [Jack speeds off down the road, toward the dollar store... as our camera slowly fades to black.] - the - |
|
Ya know why? Because THAT'S... How I Rick
Roll !!! Promo Title: "Channel
Surfing..." Current Win / Draw / Loss Ratio: 3 / 0 / 2 |