View Full Version : WEEK 8: Joey Melton vs. Shane Southern

12-12-03, 07:13 PM
Two NFW South playoff hopefuls square off in a conference matchup, sure to be full of fireworks.

12-16-03, 11:51 AM
{{...FADE-IN: A "star" on a large steel door that reads "SHANE SOUTHERN". The door opens and we see SHANE SOUTHERN still dressed in his wrestling attire sitting on a wooden bench with his back to the door. His hair is a mess, hanging in his face, his body is beginning to turn shades of blue, red and purple from the WAR he was in tonight, and his wrestling trunks are stained red with blood, whose we're not quite sure...}}

SHANE SOUTHERN: " ... yeah, match is over. ... Uh-huh. ... ... No, lost again. ... ... Yeah, well Mathews fuc<BLEEP>ed up, but he ain't ta' blame totally. ... ... Yeah well I know, but you know what's at stake here. I can't have people thinkin' that ... ... Yeah. ... Yeah, I KNOW. Look I've heard it all before. ... ... WHAT makes you think I AIN'T doin anythin' about it? ... ... Look, I'm sorry, maybe this call was a mistake. ... ... No, No don't hang up, I'm sorry. ... ... Yeah, I'll see ya'. ... ... Uh, ... Love you too. ... Bye. "

{{...Southern clips the cell phone shut and lets out a deep breath that seems to take his soul with it. He slumps a little more before finally dropping the phone on the concrete floor and turning to see the camera...}}

" You must have ah' death wish Jim. "

{{...The camera shakes side to side, and begins to back up indicating the camera man thinks now would be a good time to go...but Southern walks closer...}}

" No stay. Now's as good ah' time as any ta' getta' few things off mah' chest. First of all, lemme' just say...I'm sorry to Miss Troy. Spearin' you was NOT my intention, and even though you're a "wrestler", I'm not one ta' hit a woman. Ya' know Troy, I think you n' me got off on tha' wrong foot. Yer a businesswoman, and I can respect that. What I CAN'T respect is people doggin' me for somethin' they don't know anythin' ah'bout. I like you Troy, you've got spirit, you don't often find that in this business, so let's just agree ta' disagree on tha' point of mah' private life and be done with it. As you saw out there ta'night, I could care less ah'bout what Douglas and Mathews do. I'm "on their side" because I'm forced ta' be right now, n' that's tha' only reason. You wanna' throw a ninja star inta' his leg, {{...shrugs...}} I'm not gonna' take one for tha' "team" if ya' know what I mean. On tha' other hand, if ya' step in middle of a fight, sometimes ya' might become PART of tha' fight, n' ta'night, you made yerself a competitor...right now, with me, that's a dangerous thing. "

" So next week I face yer "boy" Joey Melton. Ta' be honest, I'm lookin' forward ta' this match as much as I did Hornet a few weeks back. Defeatin' Joey Melton not only gets me one step closer to tha' Ultra-title, but it puts another notch in mah' belt, it puts me that much higher on that pedestal...so that when I fall, I don't just fall a few feet, I fall OUT OF SIGHT. "

" Melton, I expect you ta' come out here, n' do tha' tired ol' Southern hick insults ever'body's heard a hundred times before. I EXPECT you ta' cut yer standard promo, you know, tha' one ever'body's heard a thousand times, ah'bout how great you are and how much WE suck. But I also EXPECT one helluva' match from you. I EXPECT Miss Troy ta' know her BUSINESS and stay out of things. Aaron Douglas, at least for this match, has agreed ta' stay in tha' back n' let me HANDLE it. And oh' Joey, am I gonna' handle it. You think you bled alot at BYOB, you think you're sore NOW, wait until CRASHMAS. "

" Tis' tha' season to be jolly my friend, and ol' Shane-Ah-Clause has got one HELL uva a can of whoop ass ta' put in YER stockin' on CRASHMAS. "

" N' all I want fer CRASHMAS Joey, is just tha' NEXT ten points. "

" Party's Over. "

{{...FADE OUT on Southern's cold stare....}}

12-16-03, 12:27 PM
(Hornet is standing outside a stage door at some non-descript arena. He's dressed in street clothes with a gym bag over his shoulder.)

First it's a spear, Shane. Then it's a table. Then maybe it's a branding iron.

Once it starts, it doesn't stop. You can call it accidental, or blame it on circumstance, or even call it necessary. But it becomes a crutch, something you have to have to get the job done.

But that's between you and God, Shane. And maybe Joey Melton and Lindsay Troy. Just do me a favor, one little favor, and make sure that you don't take it so far that I have to get involved.

And it's good to see that you and Douglas have an 'agreement.' I'm glad that you've come to terms with the man that's holding something over your head... that you've given in to the man holding you hostage. Great to hear. I'm sure it'll turn out just fine, because Aaron Douglas is such a rational guy who always keeps his promises and never lets emotion or his own ambition get in the way.

Yeah, good luck with that.

(Hornet gives the camera a look of disgust and walks out into the parking lot.)

12-16-03, 01:09 PM
{{...FADE-IN: Shane Southern, dressed and cleaned up, getting out of a new 2004 Toyota Tundra Double cab...}}

SHANE SOUTHERN: " Oh geezus Hornet, spare me tha' sarcasm huh? What's tha' sayin', "let he who is without sin cast tha' first stone.'"

" Fact is that you've got no room ta' talk Mister All-American hero. Yer sins are enough ta' fill up tha' North n' South arena's combined, so takin' advice from ah' guy like yerself on "ETHICS in WRESTLIN'" ain't exactly my top priority right now. "

" Troy stepped in tha' way, she got nailed. END OF STORY! "

{{...Shane wheels n' kicks a trash can half full sending it ten feet down the street and spilling its contents all over the street...}}

" So take a LARGE step down off yer high horse Hornet, or I may just have ta' knock you off. "

" Party's Over. "

{{...FADE OUT...}}

12-17-03, 11:36 PM
(FADE-IN: Joey Melton in a radiation suit stands in-front of a door. A crooked “Out-Of-Order” sign hangs on a rusty nail.)

MELTON: And the problem Shawn, becomes quite clear.

You expect so much from me, but nothing of yourself. Otherwise, you would have gotten your ass back to school, picked up your GED, or at the least taken a career placement test, instead of wandering off to musky gyms to wrestle boys, only to one day become the sole man that Aaron Douglas could ever control.

(mock Southern accent) Was tha ole samin’?

Shawn Southern...THIS is your life.

If it doesn’t scare you as much as it does me, then I suggest either begin getting drunk earlier, or placing an index finger in an appropriate place to check for a pulse.

Once again, a new week another poor soul makes my point for me. You’re why NFW’s version of the ULTRATITLE is nothing more than a prop, an out-of-order sign on the door of a sh*t infested bathroom. You shouldn’t go in, smart people don’t, but there are blessed few that, ya know...just have to go, and as long as they can sit and sh*t, they’ll deal with the aftermath.

Shawn Southern...THIS is your life.

You expect nothing of yourself, you willingly allow yourself to be led around by the nose by a man who apparently can’t get a job wrestling himself anymore, and have the nerve to imply I’ll be a notch in your belt.

That you need me, that the NFW’s ULTRATITLE needs me to sell that tired angle is exactly why you can’t read the signs, Shawn.

I shouldn’t have to be a notch on your belt.

The name Joey Melton shouldn’t mean jack to you. And I know it does. I’ve signed autographs for 2/3rds of the locker room and after each one, I pocket the points, because sooner or later Shawn, they’re as good as mine. It’s all a matter of when I choose to cash in, because once you’ve bowed before me, once you’ve admitted you NEED me to validate your career, you stand about as much chance as woman’s pear-shaped ass does with me on the first date of not blushing.

When it’s mine, Southern...I smack it. The record shows...

You can expect all you want from me, that’s fine. But don’t try and think with me, don’t place yourself in my shoes, because you haven’t done dick to fill them, otherwise this encounter wouldn’t keep you hard at night.

My expectations week in and week out here are met. I’ve come to terms with never being wrong. But, Southern...as any great man would tell you, I’d like to be.

I’d like to think you don’t give a hoot about what I’ve done the last 15 years.

I’d like to think the name Joey Melton rolls right off your back.

I’d like to think you have the guts to say “Joey, f-off, you’re a sad, shell of the man you used to be, or maybe of the man you thought you were.”

You see, Shawn...if I could expect that from you, and know that I’d get it...then my happy ass would be back in New York dating attractive single mothers.

As it is...this is your life Southern...and to pay for it, I’m trying to do a job only a wrecking ball is capable of.

What Miles didn’t understand when I signed on out of boredom, was this...I can get on public access television and cry to the heavens that you’re worthy of my attention, but I’m not James Franco, or Meryl Streep.

Meaning I don’t have the range to make the idiots at home believe it.