View Full Version : Non-Title: Daymon v Entertainment (c)

07-17-06, 01:54 AM
All RP for the non-title match between ROCKO DAYMON and MR. ENTERTAINMENT (c) at RAUCOUS should be done in this folder. Any RP posted outside of the folder will not count.

The RP deadline is 11:59pm on Monday, July 24th. Angles should be sent to secandido@san.rr.com ..

07-20-06, 10:01 AM
[FADE IN… and CUE UP, as Iceland’s own Silvia Night is singing a new version of her Eurovision2006 song, “Congratulations”. The stage is setup just like it was that night in Athens when she got boo’d off stage]

SN: Hey you looking at him,
I’m talking to you
He’s the TV Champ
Beatin’ all the tramps,
I know you want him too
In New ERA he’s the biggest star
Ain’t no boring freak-show
The match is in
He’ll freakin’ win
Too bad for Rocko Daymon

So Congratulations
He has arrived
He’s kicking their asses
To make the show bright.
New ERA of Wrestling
Your dreams coming true
You’ve been waiting and waiting
For him to save you
Wham bam boom!

His moves totally cool
No yesterdays news.
He is hot, OK
Unlike Rocko Gay.
With him the belt will stay
Wanna piece of him
Listen carefully
You’ll be D.E.A.D.
So boys and girls
Around the world
Let’s meet next week in Ashland

So Congratulations
He has arrived
He’s kicking their asses
To make the show bright.
New ERA of Wrestling
Your dreams coming true
You’ve been forever
For him to save you

[Just then, Mr Entertainment appears on a rampway which has been wheeled into centre stage]

ME: Hello, God? What’s up dog, it’s your favourite entertainer in the world, ME. I’m saving the world fro boredom, see you, goodbye.

[He ducks back off stage, as Silvia continues the song]

SN: So Congratulations
He has arrived
He’s kicking their asses
To make the show bright.
New ERA Wrestling
Your dreams coming true
You’ve been forever
For him to save you

So Congratulations
He has arrived
He’s kicking their asses
To make the show bright.
New ERA of Wrestling
Your dreams coming true
Just cheer for your hero
That’s what you must do

I love YOU!

[The crowd give a good pop as Silvia and her dancers pose on stage. Meanwhile, the camera pans round to show Mr Entertainment, fresh from his appearance on stage, leaning with his back against the studio wall, leading the crowd in their applause. There’s a new addition to his usual attire of leather jacket, white T-shirt and jeans - the New ERA of Wrestling Television Title - thankfully gold-painted dildo free. As the applause dies down, he shifts his weight to move clear of the wall, and walks over to a stool sitting purposefully on the stage just vacated by Silvia]

ME: What a show there folks. Give her another round of applause!

[The crowd respond with another decent pop]

ME: OK now. For all the doubters, all the critics, all the weirdos who said I was just hype - not only have I increased New ERA’s ticket and merchandise sales exponentially since I joined the roster… not only did I make the TEAM Invitational a success and in my first year pro got to the semi-finals of a tournament featuring the best this industry had to offer… I’ve only gone and carried Emily to the best performance of his LIFE not once… not twice… BUT THREE TIMES!

[The crowd pops again]

ME: And not only that - I gave the world one of the greatest pieces of footage in wrestling history. Let’s see it.

[A screen has rolled down into place behind him. Now appearing on the screen is footage from the recent Mr Entertainment vs. MWG match]

GHEORGHE: “MWG finally finds him …. ONE ….. TWO …. THREE—NOOOOOO!!!”

JIVE: “Entertainment kicked out! Those few extra moments saved the match for Mr. Entertainment!”




[The footage rewinds, repeating Gheorghe’s comment - “THE TELEVISION CHAMPION IS PINNING THE REFEREE” - several times before Mr Entertainment makes a “CUT” motion with his hand. The audience are now in hysterics]

ME: [wiping a tear from his eye] Boy, that was CLASSIC. Who woulda thought ol’ Emily had a comic side. It was all I could do ta not bust a gut out there, I tell ya. Right there and then, I knew I had ta take this belt off him - after a moment like that, he’d peaked - he had FINALLY shown he could be entertaining given the right circumstances, so it’s time fer him ta fly solo. BE FREE, EMMY!

[Mr Entertainment waves to the camera, before theatrically wiping another tear from his eye]

ME: An' thanks fer the celebration party, Krist. [He winks]

Now, let’s move onta Mr Socko. He’s found himself one on one with the greatest entertainer on the PLANET, insteada next ta Mankind’s manhood.

I wonder what excuses he’ll come up with when he gets his ass handed ta him? Ya see, I’ve seen him around - an’ when he loses, he normally comes up with some lame-ass excuse. [He puts on a fake, falsetto voice] Oh, I didn’t want to win. The secondary title is beneath me. Management’s holding me down. Mummy never taught me how ta tie my shoelaces, an’ the Velcro came undone. I’m God, so I didn’t want someone else ta challenge fer a title that’s beneath us both, so I made sure someone with more talent than the both of us combined got the shot instead. I’m a whiney *****!

[The crowd laughs as Mr Entertainment starts a child-like crying spat, wringing his eyes and ‘waaaaaaah’ing for several seconds before settling back to his usual demeanour]

ME: Seriously, watchin’ the tapes of his career, it’s the same thing time an’ time again. Look how great he is. Look how fantastic he is. Look at management holdin’ him back. Look at how he lost his smile. Look at how he didn’t want ta challenge fer that title an’ got screwed outta challengin’ fer another one. Is it any wonder that the mags are wonderin’ how long he’ll last in New ERA before cryin’ about conspiracy theories? Could it be he’s just… not very good in the ring? I mean, his wife’s shown he’s useless in bed - why else would she go around the corner ta get knocked up? That means nine months without havin’ ta fake it fer Socko! “I don’t wanna hurt the babyzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz”.

But seriously though - Socko, you do know you’re borin’, right? The first step towards recovery is admitting that you’ve got a problem. Fer yer other problem, there’s some Viagra in the post, should be with ya tomorrow. Ya can thank me later fer that. Fer stinkin’ in the ring, I can help you again. Don’t worry, it’s only a few short, simple steps, and I can make YOU entertaining. I can make people care about you for the RIGHT reasons - like they now care about MWG and his comic ref-pinning antics. The more people like ya, the more money you make, the more your wife can blow on blowin’. Everybody’s happy. All you gotta do is turn up, let me pretend yer beatin’ me up fer a few minutes, then BIG HEROIC COMEBACK from me and one two three - you have a loss on yer record, but yer in the highest rated match on the card. See? Ain’t that simple?

Of course, ya’ll could always take the MWG route and have yer woman attack me with a dildo, but then ya’ll just prove yer a bad sport an’ can’t get it done. Turn up, get yer ass handed to ya, and you’ll have a nice big cheque waitin’ for ya when Julie posts them. We all know that’s the only chance ya’ll’ve got - none. So why bother? You ain’t ever gonna be as entertaining as ME.

Mister Entertainment.

But when I’m done with ya, you’ll be damned close.

[He winks at the camera, turning his back and walking further up-stage]

ME: Ladies an’ gentlemen - SILVIA NIGHT!

[Silvia Night (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lBERx_Dw0fw") takes to the stage again, this time singing the ORIGINAL version of her song. FADE OUT]

07-21-06, 12:57 AM

(University Park, where Joe Paterno is God and the Nittany Lions are his seraphim soldiers. It's a lush summer day on campus, and everybody is out enjoying the weather. Well, perhaps not everybody. A long panning shot of various students outdoors lounging in the sunlight comes to rest on Daymon, looking out of place in his black drabs against his bright surroundings. He wipes his furrowed brow clean of sweat and grimaces toward the sky.)

****in' sun. This is easily my least favorite time of the year...

(With a grunt, Daymon finds a bench beneath a tree. He retreats into the cool shade and takes a seat with a weathered sigh.)

Normally around this time, my ass would still be in bed. But all I have is time to kill until the next Raucous, where once again, the fans will watch me step into the ring and put the next NEW veteran on his ass like it's a bad habit...

But wait, I'm getting ahead of myself... I'm out bright and early today looking for somebody. And it seems I don't have to look far to find him...

(Daymon's eyes fixate on something off camera. The camera pivots around to catch a glimpse of a male student, complete with the standard frat boy pinstripe shirt and faux shag hairstyle, sitting alone in a grassy area. The pertinent thing about this image is that he quietly strums an acoustic guitar, mind supposedly going to deeper places as he laments in his isolation.)

What do you see there? An introspective, visionary artist? A warrior poet trapped in a world of people who simply can't understand? I'm sure he'd like all the girls to believe that... improves his chances of getting laid through sympathy, anyhow.

What you're dealing with instead is your average technology-major jackoff who probably wastes every Friday evening playing what he thinks is "deep, emotional" music in front of a bunch of people who could otherwise give a damn. But when you think of it that way, somehow it's a little less interesting. More specifically, it's a little less entertaining...

Which brings me to my point... when you look at it from both perspectives, which one holds up best? Is it the true self, or the entertaining self? I take this kind of approach to my opponent this week, who, ironically, goes by the monicker "Mr. Entertainment." Very original...

(Daymon rolls his eyes.)

Being a guy with a name like Mr. Entertainment, it isn't too hard to figure out what his business is. But, like with emo-**** over there, what are you left with when the entertainment aspect is stripped away? What do you see when you dissolve the crowd-pleasing and showboating, and leave only the very base of the man beneath?

Unfortunately for my opponent... I don't buy into entertainment. I only see that true man. And Mr. Entertainment, real name Stephen Forester... that doesn't leave much to be impressed.

Now that's not to say the man doesn't have talent... after all, I am dealing with the newly crowned Television Champ, not to mention making it to the Semi-Finals of the TEAM Invitational Tournament is further than I got. I can say, with a straight face, that this won't be an easy match.

But what is considered 'easy' these days? Through my entire career, I've defined myself as a professional wrestler thrown into situations where the odds are stacked against them, and prevailing like a man oughta. I don't blow off a challenge like this, but I'm hardly at the point where I'm going to fret over it.

I won't be as arrogant to say I'll walk into this and walk out without breaking a sweat... but don't for one moment delude yourself by thinking this is going to be the squash Mr. Entertainment thinks it will be. Far from it, in fact. As I've told previous opponents, I am a man who goes out there and gives more than 100% every night. Not because it's expected of him, or because he considers it his duty... nor is it because he can't settle for anything less than victory.

Sometimes... being that ****ing badass is just natural.

Now THAT is what I call REAL entertainment, when you can win a crowd over without antics or gimmicks or monickers... by just being the epitome of what a professional wrestler should be. Unfortunately for someone like Steph-O, some have to lower themselves to being something he's not just to get the attention he so desperately craves... kinda like emo-**** there in the grass with his guitar.

(Daymon bears a smirk, totally cool and in control.)

First, Steph-O, I should probably congratulate you twice... first for your recent victory over MWG for the TV Title, and again for being the first misguided buffoon I've seen in a while. You couldn't make it any more obvious that you know absolute jack about your opponent, could you?

Fact of the matter is, I never made any excuses after losing any matches--mostly because I don't often LOSE matches, if you haven't noticed. I didn't have any excuse ready when Lt. Hawkeye stripped me of my International Title in EUWC; he outwrestled me, plain and simple. I certainly didn't have any excuse ready when Dan Ryan justly beat me in the TEAM Invitational; on that night, Ryan proved himself the better wrestler. I have to work to get above that level I was at, and making excuses won't help that. Excuses are for the punks and the dreamers... the guys who think their **** is too cool to mar their own pride by admitting they lacked the talent to win. A man like me needs no excuses. Like I said, I don't believe in bull****ting.

Besides that, I don't seem to ever remember *****ing about how the corporation is holding me down. Can't say I've had any problems with any of the feds I'm currently signed to, including NEW. I've actually been quite happy with the management here. I didn't complain when I saw Jonathan Marx go straight into a World Title match after I all but handed him his ass the week before. Nor did I complain when I heard that this match is non-title. Leave the politics to management; I just do my thing in the ring.

Makes me wonder what "tapes" you've been looking over, Steph-O. Just to clarify, if you look under D for Daymon, as opposed to S for whoever the **** "Socko" is, you might instead find a good-sized folder filled with eight years of professional wrestling accolades. No excuses. No whining. I let my work speak for myself.

Just a bit of advise... from a true professional wrestler to a man with a lot of potential who has to inflate his lack of ego by associating himself with a dull and unoriginal gimmick... might be wise to KNOW WHO YOU'RE FIGHTING before you open that yapper of yours. You just might look like one bona fide ass in from of thousands of fans, otherwise.

But what can I expect from you, anyhow? You are, afterall, "Mr. Entertainment." Details don't matter; you just want the laughs!

And what better way to get it than to take the usual path... saying a bunch of things about me that have nothing to do with my ability in the ring, but hey, ragging on your opponent is cool, right, and what's the point of wrestling if you can't make it entertaining using your natural ability, like a TRUE athlete?

"Daymon, you're so boring, it puts me to sleep!"

"HA HA HA HA, you're wife's a slut!"

"You're IMPOTENT, Daymon!"

(Daymon breaks out into a fit of the most annoying, high-pitched squealing laughter in absolute mockery of the people who actually think the sort of **** Stephen Forester puts forward as "entertainment" is, in fact, entertainment. All at once, Daymon stops and stares coldly into the camera. Then his eyebrow arches and a smile forms on his face.)

Both you and I know that saying such **** won't save the new Television Champion from being given a humbling upset in a non-title match a week after his crowning achievement. So what's the point? Well, there's only one reason why anybody would go beyond the boundaries of criticizing talent and go as low as drag your name through the mud... you know what it is?

The reason, Steph-O, is because deep inside that pea-sized brain of yours, there's an overwhelming feeling of dread, because for the first time you're face to face with somebody who doesn't buy the usual bull**** facade you put on for every match.

History has proven... that entertainment isn't always reality. So, living true to your name, you keep your feelings tucked away and talk the tough guy talk, because the only thing you know how to do well is act like an asshat whenever you can--boy, the fans sure love that kinda "ha-ha" funny baloni. But at the end of the day, when you pull off the boots and put your head down on the pillow to sleep, you realize that it's nothing more than bull****. It's "entertainment."

I don't see entertainment. I only see Stephen Forester, a small, scared little man who has to inflate his own ego by trash talking a man he never thought he'd have to stand eye to eye with. Talented, yes... but talent only gets you so far. When you lack the motivation and confidence to go the extra mile, you might as well stay at home and sit on your hands, let some other guy take the beating so I can prove to the entire fed that Daymon is NEW's future.

But it wouldn't be very entertaining that way, would it, Steph-O? No, probably not... which is why I sympathize for someone like you, who can never live out of the shadow of his own self-absorbed ego. You'll walk into that ring, knowing you're going to be humiliated in front of the thousands of fans in attendance, because you're too chicken**** to strip away your own facade and be a man. You'd rather be a coward.

Personally, I think cowards are *****es. *****es get *****slapped. So that's the fate you've decided for yourself, Steph-O.

I'm sure this will be a very "entertaining" week until Raucous. Suffice to say, I can't wait to hear all the entertaining things you have to say. I'm sure it'll make a lot of people laugh, and who knows, you might even get a chuckle out of me. But bull**** aside, Steph-O, if you think childish potshots and blind arrogance are going to take you that extra step in the ring, then you might as well reserve your room in the hospital ahead of time, cause you'll probably want someplace with a nice view being bed-ridden for what could be several long, grueling weeks in a full body cast.

Say what you will, Steph-O. It doesn't change the fact that you're a coward, and a *****. It doesn't change the fact that I'm a man who strives for excellence in the ring, and won't stop at anything until he's completed the task he came to do. It certainly doesn't change the fact that in the past few weeks since my coming here, I've put two prominent members of the NEW roster--one of them our current World Champion--flat on their backs.

I guess that means your next on the chopping block, Steph-O. Just another sack of **** the company gives me to make an example out of.

But don't strain that itty-bitty brain of yours. All is not lost for you. As I've said, you've got a hell of a talent. It's too bad you don't have a brain--or a personality--to go along with that talent. But rest assured, Steph-O, when the final bell rings, and you see from your perspective on the ground the image of a TRUE professional wrestler standing with his arms raised, and your ears are flooded with the sound of thousands of roaring fans, and your eyes are blinded by the strobes of hundreds of flashing photo opps, you'll understand what TRUE entertainment is.

(With a confident smile, Daymon comes to his feet and steps out of frame. We fade to black.)


07-24-06, 03:12 PM
[FADE IN… erm… kind of. The screen is showing that nice little snow effect as if it’s waiting for someone to play something. It stays this way for several seconds - the background hiss you would expect getting increasingly irritating. Finally, the screen cuts to black as if a TV had been turned off. A recognisable voice speaks to us from the past]

RD: Empire Pro Wrestling... I am Rochester Vincent Daymon. Rocko, for short.

[A second voice joins the fray - speaking again from the past. A voice fans might recognise as Rocko’s former nemesis, Clapper]

Clapper: After all, an enemy of Robert James DeLion, a.k.a. Rocko Daymon, is a friend of mine.

[Appearing now on screen, some letters start to form, left to right. As each set of letters fades, Rocko’s voice comes back, only to die again before being replaced with more white letters]

You’ve some nerve calling yourself a real man and having three different names.

RD: maybe I just may quit, again.

You lost your smile.

RD: Two men await me in another city, in another arena, in the same promotion... but it matters little to me. My dreams have been crushed. My hopes have been erased. I never was the kind of guy who liked to settle for second best...

All because you lost one match given to you because your boss didn’t like you

RD: I'm talking about becoming Empire Pro's first World Champion. And there isn't a damn thing that Dan Ryan—or Paul Freeman, for that matter—can do to stop me. Someone figured it was perfectly fair to roll the red carpet straight into round two for “our buddy” Maelstrom. Where was he the day we all went to the Empire Pro headquarters, and signed up for this tournament? Where was he while we all got seeded accordingly? Where was he while the twelve of us busted our asses in preparation for the second round?

No, you’ve never whined or complained about management before, have you?

RD: It's time for me to stop dreaming about reclaiming my lost fame.

[Another voice joins the party - one we all know and presumably love. At least, he likes to think you do, and that’s all that matters]

ME: Damn Skippy, Crockosh!t.

[The screen suddenly explodes as a drum counts in twice, leading to Lithuanian band LT United doing a new version of their sixth placed Eurovision 2006 song, We Are The Winners. The band are on stage, and the studio audience is really enjoying themselves as this happy little party number is played out]

He is the winner
He is the winner

He is the winner
Here in New ERA
He is the winner
Here in New ERA
So you gotta cheer (cheer)
Cheer (Cheer)
Cheer (cheer)
Cheer (cheer)

He is the winner here in New ERA
De Vilnius city Paris
Mister Entertainment ici
He is the winner here in New ERA
Chantons la meme chanson
He’s got it goin’ on

Everyday you see him on the TV
And everyday you hear of him on the news
(That’s right)
It doesn’t matter in mono or in stereo
(Better in stereo)
Cos he’s here to your ass, it’s true.

He is the winner here in New ERA
He is the winner here in New ERA

Go baby!

[Two of the group have stepped forward - the one now giving us a violin solo, the other dancing rather madly. The solo’s soon over, and the song can continue]

He is the winner here in New ERA
He is the winner here in New ERA
He is the winner here in New ERA
He is the winner here in New ERA

So you gotta cheer (cheer)
Cheer (cheer)
Cheer for the winner
Cheer (cheer)
Cheer (cheer)
Cheer for the winner

Cos he is the winner here in New ERA


[The crowd once again go wild, as the surprisingly catchy song ends. The members of LT United bow deeply, as the camera pans round to show the crowd. After several seconds letting the applause and cheers soak in, it zooms in on one man, sitting in amongst the crowd. The man who in just a few days squares off against Rocko Daymon. A man who in just a few days promises to entertain you all once again - Mr Entertainment]

ME: I swear, we American’s can’t write stuff like that. Hell, find a Euro-buddy - every year they have stuff like that at the Eurovision Song Contest. The cheesiest, bubbliest, poppiest two nights on the planet. Over there, they know popular. They know how to sing from loadsa different hymn-sheets without sounding contrived.

Unfortunately, Crocodillicus hasn’t yet managed that, judging by what that lil’ ol’ package at the start o’ today’s show. Now, maybe he’s just been hit on the head a few too many times - an’ we all know he never had much up there ta begin with. But seriously, if he thinks he can just forget the past and start anew as if it never happened - ta paraphrase Judas Priest, he’s got another thing coming.

But then again, he’s Rocko Daymon, God among men. I mean, do you hear the shill he gets every time he shows up in some promotion or other? It’s always “Look how great he is! This is a coup of coups! The rest of the roster better watch out, because GOD’S GONNA KILL ‘EM ALL!!” [pause for contemplation]

ME: Julie, take Alcoholica’s royalties outta Crocko’s payslip. Have him pay fer any libel settlement they might make too, mmmkay? Mmmkay.

You see? The guy’s so fearsome, he’s got me insulting a bunch a rich windbags insteada concentratin’ on him. He’s so powerful in his Godly ways, he’s manipulatin’ me ta talk about heavy metal bands! That’s why my next guests’re here - ladies an’ gentleman, turn yer attention to the stage, and welcome PROPPET! PHENOMEBORE! AND CROCKO****!!

[The crowd cheer, as appearing on a small curtained proscenium arch stage are three puppets - closer to muppets, actually. The first is wearing a mask, with LED’s for eyes which glow alternately red, green, blue and white in a slow loop. The second is a plain, white, bland, boring looking muppet, with “Phenominally Boring” written across his chest - meant to signify Frankie Scott. The third… is a toilet bowl? Let’s see where he’s going with this]

Proppet: I like… hurting people…All I care about…. is hurting people…

PB: I see through entertainment. I am great. I am going to win. Games mean nothing. WATCH ME JUGGLE!! [he starts juggling - very badly, constantly dropping his balls as Proppet keeps saying how much he enjoys hurting people]

Toilet-bowl, aka Crocko****: Aye reckon Aye’m gonna win because aye’m readin’ from the same script everybody else who’s faced the deity of Entertainment has ever read from. Looka’me, aye call people out ‘bout usin’ other names because they only have two an’ aye have seven… DeLooney, Gaymon, Digimon, Vinnie Jones, an’ Crocko****icus.


CS: Now hol’ on a my-newt. Aye am the greetest. AYE am the one who first said ta the God that is Mr Entertainment tha’ AYE don’t care fer his games. AYE can see into his SOLE!!

[At that, CS holds up a very thin piece of fish - so thin, in fact, you can, just about, see through it. And don’t ask me why a toilet bowl has arms, or where he got the fish]

CS: See? SEE? AYE am the one who’s gonna win because AYE have never complained about nothing and losses have never meant a thing ta me… except when aye got SCREWED by that damn promoter who made me lie about not carin’ that he had me fight someone with more talent in his pinky than aye have in my whole body.






[Just then, two gunshots ring out, killing Phenominally Boring and Proppet, leaving CS on stage all by his lonesome]

CS: That’s better. Now, where was AYE!

[Fans of Monty Python know this bit - a giant foot comes down, squashing CS - and then scrapes itself along the back of the stage, trying to get a brown squishy substance off of itself. “Time to leave this insanity,” thinks the cameraman, turning to find Mr Entertainment still sitting in the audience, who are having a good ol’ laugh at the puppet show]

ME: That’s better.

Ya see, Crocko - what you said, about bein’ able ta see through this so-called disguise you seem ta think I have - you ain’t the first. I’ve heard it from everyone from Camero Cruisemissile, ta Proppet, ta the Snorgaon - a guy who if memory serves me right, you only beat because he got distracted by someone even MORE boring than you, the Sandsman.

An’ there’s another cheque ta Some Kind of Monster.

[The audience laughs politely]

ME: What you see with me is what you get. Not some guy living off of past glories. Not some guy who doesn’t even know what name to call himself. Not some guy who wants the paying public to forget moments in his eight year career. It didn’t take me long ta go back a couple of years into your career and find the comments the people heard earlier - each an’ every single one proving my point that you’re a whiny bastard who quite simply can’t get it done anymore. But then again, you’ve never been one ta listen to other people. I mean, did I EVER call your wife a slut? All I said was she was that fed-up with havin’ ta fake it for ya, she had to go out an’ get some action round the ol’ corner - I reckon that means she has as much sense as she does looks. She should be given a medal fer even bein’ able ta stay with you this long. She’s a martyr to the cause - nowhere near a slut.

But you’re superman! You’ve got X-ray vision! You’re able ta see through the lies and rose tinted veneer that makes up every other competitor in the WORLD!!

An’ I thought the Snoragon had that market cornered. When he an’ I have our little rematch, I’ll be sure ta tell him he has a challenger to the title of most worthless clairvoyant.

Tell me, Crocko - which of us is BSing? Me, the guy who week in an’ week out goes out and is himself, putting on a show for the people that they’ll remember for the rest of their LIVES - or a guy who claims his history includes time in the mob?

But, keep believin’ what ya’ll want ta believe. Keep cowerin’ behind the thought that commentators like ta fellacio yer ego. Keep cowerin’ inside that wee bit of personality you’ve worked so hard ta find - because it’s gonna be all you’ll have left when, despite yer boasts, despite yer *****ing, you find yourself flat on yer back, lookin’ up at the lights, and wonderin’ if people will even notice you contemplatin’ quitting again. Enjoy bein’ made an example of - I gave you an easy way out, but it looks like your birds-eye-chilli sized brain couldn’t grasp that yer over the hill.

Because this is New ERA of Wrestling - a new ERA in which those that can do, and Rocko Daymon finds he once again can’t. This isn’t a place ta relive the glory days - go to Extremely Poor Wrestlin’ if you want that - and haven’t burnt yer bridges. Because New ERA is about the NEW - the young - the hungry.

And it’s all about ME.

Mister Entertainment.

[A decent length pause follows, before LT United (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wtI-OfZljmE) take to the stage again. The change in mood lifts the crowd into a happy spirit as they sing along, and we FADE...



07-24-06, 10:26 PM

(Beaver Stadium, the stomping grounds for the Nittany Lions. College football season is still a few months away, but that doesn't stop Joe Paterno from getting his team into shape through extensive training. We look down upon the scattered clusters of players as Paterno himself walks among them, barking intangible obscenities as he is popularly known to do.)

(The camera moves to a secluded corner of the arena where a black dot stands out against the thousands of purple and white seats in the massive bowl stadium. The camera fades into a closer shot on the man seated by himself, none other than Daymon.)

(Daymon wears his typical get-up, black cargo shirts and a Pyramid Head t-shirt. His contrast with the sun is alarming, and he doesn't look at all comfortable wearing dark in bright light. But sight of the camera seems to cheer him up significantly, taking his eyes off the practicing football players below.)

Football. Guys like to call it a "man's" game. Never was there a better time in life to drink beer and eat pizza than on a Saturday or Sunday evening, watching a few passes of the pigskin.

I see football as the true sport of entertainment. Sell-out crowds are always drawn, not because it gives everybody an excuse to look up the cheerleaders' skirts or watch coaches argue with referees, but because there's a certain awe in seeing so many talented athletes compete in such a brutal contact sport.

Doesn't matter if its the Brady's, or the Barber's, or the Polamalu's, people come and admire these true champions because they do what they do well. Nothing else.

Of course, you'll always have the few that like to take it a step further, like Terrell Owens, whose only talent, it seems, is to raise some sort of contraversy. These guys get their exposure by being jack-offs. It's not unlike wrestling, where similar types of jack-offs step up to use their shocking antics to gain exposure in light of their lack of talent. Unlike wrestling, people usually don't buy that kind of ****, and said jack-offs fall into the shadow of obscurity faster than you think.

Things aren't quite the same for wrestling. This is a very dramatic sport, where feuds and schemes always seem to run rampant. Some athletes remain true to their roots and wrestle damn well, and the fans are entertained. Others, like Stephen Forrester, see themselves as very miniscule and insignificant in the grand scope of things, and therefore must go to the most unoriginal and bland gimmicks to make themselves seem more important than they should be. More exposure means more money, if you can pull it off.

So I guess what I'm trying to say is Stephen Forrester is a whore.

(Smirks as he shrugs to the camera.)

But can you deny it with a name like "Mr. Entertainment," Steph-O? You whore yourself to the fans with annoying song and dance numbers and lower yourself to making toilet jokes just to amuse your handful of fans watching out there. When you have to be a whore, it's a pretty obvious indicator that you can't wrestle your way to stardom.

Not like me, of course. That "shill" you talk about is the result of being a damn prodigy of professional wrestling talent. Not by being some jackoff who probably got molested by his uncle when he was a kid...

Is there anything you can say to prove me wrong, though? No, instead, you just go and do the stupidest thing I think I've ever seen, by actually taking the TIME and EFFORT to scrawl through a couple years worth of history in ANOTHER FEDERATION to find a promo where I actually DID make something that could be seen as a criticism of the front office.

Must've set you out of the gym for a good couple days just to dig up those old promos, Steph-O. You know, I'd hate to have to fight a Television Champion that was fatter and slower than normal because he sat on his ass and pounded down twinkies for 72 hours straight just so he could strip 15 seconds of dialogue from a couple promos that nobody else in the world remembers. I'd hope I'd be fighting you in prime condition, so when the fans watch me beat you, they know I beat you at your best. That's because, you know, I like to do REAL entertainment; not dick and fart jokes.

All that effort to make the one, single message of your entire promo, which was otherwise as nonsensical and random as a Japanese cartoon. You nearly put my kid in a damn seizure! But what difference did it make in the end? Did you have any point, Steph-O? Were you trying to convince me that I should just stay in the safety of my hotel and let you walk? Does it give me a clear idea of what's in store for me when that bell rings?

I guess I'll never know, because like I and supposedly everybody else has said, I look beyond entertainment and straight to the truth. The truth is, you haven't a hope in the world.

But don't feel too bad. If anything, you helped me recall a few fond memories of my days in EPW.

(Daymon looks off into space momentarily, travelling back to a time this writer can't fully remember.)

Ah yes, the whole "EPW" fiasco. It's one of those things my more weak and pathetic opponents like to bring up every now and then because they can't think of anything better to talk about than past media embarrassments. Adam Benjamin and John Doe, namely.

However the media puts it, the truth is that there were a few contract disagreements between myself and the management at the time. A few others too, if I remember correctly; I believe they were trying to make budget cuts, being a fledgling fed at the time and trying to save on money. Long story short, a member of the board, R. Strawsm, had one contract to give between myself, a couple of blockhead commies, and some kid from Kokomo, "Waltz," or something...

Sadly, I wasn't the one who was picked, and had to pack my bags shortly after being eliminated from the World Title tournament. I thought I played it pretty well more the media, in any case... made it seem like I was pissed off at the way I was treated and giving up on the whole thing. They ate it up like my kid eats his Cocoa Pebbles. Unfortunately, I didn't foresee those antics coming back to haunt me as I tried to move on to other opportunities.

And here I am, yet again, with some moron who wasn't even IN Empire Pro at the time trying to put me on the hot seat by slinging these fabricated contraversies into my face. I'd almost assume somebody was trying to take a page out of Christian Sands' Big Book of Keyfabe.

But even if anybody was dumb enough to actually BELIEVE all that **** about me and EPW is true, then what matter does it make, Steph-O? It doesn't change the fact that I'm still going to make you fight for your life when the bell rings. It doesn't change the fact that I'll give everything I have and more to see NEW's own Television Champion humiliated in a non-title match. But seriously, is that all you have to say to me? That I'm boring? That I ***** and moan? Can you only find flaws in personality and not in talent?

****, I almost wonder how you even GOT the belt being as dense as you are...

(To capitalize on this point, Daymon knocks his knuckles into the side of his head.)

You know what you say to me when you have to dig way into your opponent's obscure past just so you have a little ammo for the airwaves? It means you're scared, Steph-O. You see that I'm not the man who carries a lot of little things you can pick apart about him. Eight years of professional wrestling, and the only thing you can think of bringing against me is a contract dispute that the media twisted around into something it really wasn't?

It's a sign of panic, if you ask me. You don't know enough about your opponent to compare your abilities to his, and now you find yourself unconvinced you can even beat him.

Yet still the facade holds. Gotta keep up the role of "Mr. Entertainment." Otherwise, what good are you to this industry if the fans can't get a laugh from your witty commentaries and your oh, so cutting edge insults.

So do your duty to the fans, Steph-O, if it truly helps you believe you have a shot at beating me in the ring. Me, I find enough entertainment in knowing that you humor yourself with that kind of mindset.

But who cares. In the past two years alone, I've improved beyond all my expectations in talent and finess. You think I'm trying to relive my glory years? Man, it's been my goal in the past eight years to never have "glory years," because EVERY progressing year is more glorious than the next! New ERA is all about the new... but just because I'm a veteran doesn't mean I'm getting too old to continue kicking ass like any punk straight out of wrestling school. Yet you're still looking at the Daymon before that, under the delusion that nothing has changed.

But you know nothing about the me of then, and you know nothing about the me of now. Time is flux, and so am I. Every match, I improve. Every week, I grow stronger. Every day I wake up and the sun hits me in the face, I get a little bit wiser. Every moment this heart beats, I become something newer, better, and more dangerous in the ring.

You'd rather live in the past, because only back then could you have had a chance in beating me. Now, your chances have dwindled to next to nothing. "Mr. Entertainment" doesn't grow; five years from now, he'll still be the same cowardly little man he is today, trying to convince himself that he's better than the rest by picking away at the skeletons in their closet. But I do grow, Steph-O, every time that bell rings. Rest assured, I don't have to skim through the towers of goat porn and Jerry Seinfeld tapes to know that I can beat you.

That was obvious the moment I saw that your warm-up act was some chick from Greenland who can't sing or write good lyrics.

There won't be any of that for me, Steph-O. No music numbers, no flashy light shows, or pointless video packages. There won't be any bull**** coming between me and the act of kicking your ass. The music will hit, and there I'll be, looking back at you, pissing your pants because you finally realize your entire career is a joke in like of a true professional wrestler.

You have my sympathy, Steph-O. At Raucous, I'm going to come to the ring, show you exactly what it means to REALLY entertain the fans, then I'm going to go home and bang my wife until I black out or crack my head against the wall. I'm sure THAT will do more damage than YOU could ever do in the ring...

(With these words left to sink in, Daymon comes out of the seat and steps out of frame. The camera pivots around to look over the Nittany Lions again. Paterno bounces madly on his tiptoes as football players do push-ups at his feet. On this image, we fade to black.)