Fade into the top of the St. Louis arch. Looking out the window onto the great city on the Mississippi are JA and Lollipop.
JA: You know, from up here, people look like ants if you can even see them at all. It's easy to get all high and mighty up here, but in reality, you have no base to do so. You think you're higher up, but you're really only breathing thinner air, and it makes you crazy like November de la Rossi on a speedball at the company holiday party.
In many ways, Jo-Jo, you remind me of the guy who thinks he's hot sh*t just because he's above everyone in elevation alone. You may think you're the **** and you hold people's lives in your hands. I mean, in your ranting and raving mind, everyone down there would be ants, literally. All you'd have to do is drop a penny from here like lightning down from Zeus on Olympus, and you'd have everyone shaking in their boots, literally quaking.
Yet, in all your power and glory, you still have to rely on smoke and mirrors to eke out those tough matches. I mean, feet on the ropes to beat me? To you, it might have been some quaint triumph of the spirit, where you philosophize about how that affects you in the grand scheme of things with your midget life partner before you go watch him fist a hamster. To me, it just looked like you ran out of options, couldn't beat me and had to rely on the ref only having one set of eyes that wasn't looking at your feet on the ropes. To you, it may have proven your craftiness. To me, it only proves you're running out of steam. You won't be able to pull that wool over my eyes forever.
And at Onslaught, we get to do this again, only this time, we get a third dance partner with his hardware on the line. Iguanadon Brown, normally, I'd relegate you to bothersome interference with this score I need to settle with Cuckold Joey, but seeing as you've got that shiny piece of gold and leather, I can't take you lightly. For one, I'd love to have that strap back around my waist, if only because the belt I hold for Tard down in Enn-See isn't enough to satisfy my hunger for the most precious of metals. Two, well, you holding that title and having that trophy you won in Jesse Chapel's lil ol' tournament means you're a pretty damn good grappler if I may say so myself.
It's a damn shame that All-Natural had to involve you in this little dustup between Jo-Jo and myself. If I may be so politically incorrect, it would be like forcing Sri Lanka to get involved in this Israel-Hezbollah bloodbath going on. It's not fair to you, but no one ever said life was going to even out for everyone. You losing your title might seem outrageous, but in the end, it's a necessary evil for me to show the world that Roger Daltrey isn't the only one who won't get fooled again.
But hey, if you're feeling down after this match, you can always come up here and at least try to make yourself feel better.
(FADEIN: Joey Melton leaning over the balcony of an 11th floor room at a Howard Johnson’s in Dumb ****, USA. Melton gleefully stands on his tip-toes and SPITS over the ledge. The camera follows the loogie as it topples end over end, splits in the middle and falls harmlessly to the Earth.)
JOEY MELTON: Yes Virginia even in the nose bleeds at Howard Johnson’s you all look like targets to me. Should I hang the “do not disturb” sign on the door while we argue semantics or can I just take responsibility for you? My foot slipped and unfortunately got caught on a rope. What do you want, an apology? The words would ring hollow and insincere. In life, JA, happy little accidents occur: A French fry is innocently dipped in Ranch dressing, the atomic bomb is built, Monkeys shot into space because they couldn’t verbalize “no.” And our world’s glaciers melted by global warming continues to happen because the people who pay to see men like me, (Joey struggles) okay and men like you, have to keep their jobs.
When I’m old and gray, when you finally might be able to put one over me, none of this will matter. Take solace in that. You were made to suffer, to serve your better, but in due time, we’ll all be like you. Bitter, helpless, and dreaming of being in another man’s shoes. I’m sorry you’ve bought into the “it’s how the game is played” bull****, kid. Really, behind these crocodile eyes a tear is shed. I’m sorry I built my house on understanding the game, and having a ****ing roof that’ll withstand a heavy rain. It’s not that my foot was mistakenly on the bottom rope that hurts, is it? It’s that fate didn’t have to add insult to injury. Hey, I’m upset myself. I would’ve preferred to walk out being thought of as a Gentlemen, but reputations have a funny way of managing our intentions. Maybe, absent-mindedly I cheated because I thought back to a time when I was in-ring with a worthy opponent. Someone who’d appreciate the dirty tip of a hat, or provide sufficient resistance.
JA, you might as well tattoo “Welcome Home” across your chest and let the ***** talk in hopes she has something more interesting to say. This time it won’t be the bottom rope, it’ll be your chest. My being your better isn’t a happy accident, JA. I don’t need the stars aligned to collect the bigger paycheck. The difference between you and I, it’s I’m willing to suffer for my craft. I don’t HAVE to be in a Howard Johnson’s right now. But it’s all the local Make’A’Wish could afford to put me up in. Tomorrow I visit an 8 year-old girl dying of cancer, you selfish prick. She’s dying of cancer and her only wish was for Joey Melton to swing by for a few minutes and say hello. To make her believe that she’s worthy, if only at the end, to be in my presence. I’ll put an arm around her shoulders, take a few snap shots, and shoot as straight with her as I am with you. I’m not going to lie and tell her she’s going to find a way to beat this thing. I’m not going to pretend that laughter is the best medicine and walk in there with a “Cameron Cruise wrestling buddy” to stand up in the corner as a prop. I’m going to kiss her own the cheek, and ask how much pain she’s in.
She knows death is near. My brief appearance will be a TREAT.
You could learn a lot from a little Make’A’Wish girl, JA.
Instead of *****ing and painting me into a box, accept your career death and smile for the cameras as I create a photo-op.
Karl Brown. I want your IC title like I do a man's dick in my ass. But if it's going to happen, let's go big. See me before the show, Adrian and I have worked up a few storyboards that should sufficently put me over.
[FADE IN. “The Dragon” is standing in the middle of a training ring in an empty gym. The houselights are on, and Brown has a CD of pan-pipe music playing in the background]
Karl: And Shane makes my third draw in less than three years. Of course, when he gets a time-limit draw, it’s a conspiracy against him. When I get a time limit draw, it’s just another match. A match that gives me an indication of how much further I have to go to the next plateau - wins, losses, and draws all have that in common. They serve as an indication of where you are at that moment in time. No excuses needed for any of the three situations. No need to complain about time limits running out, or people cheating. I just go back to training, pushing myself harder and harder until I go beyond my own limits. That, to me, is what professional wrestling is about. Professional wrestling is a way to better myself by forcing me to reach beyond my physical, mental and emotional potential. The only way I can truly lose is if I lose to myself. There’s no shame in losing by pinfall, submission, knock-out, count-out, or disqualification. Losing to an opponent is nothing to be ashamed of. Losing to an opponent, and not getting back up and intensifying your effort, learning from the defeat - that’s a loss. Winning a match and resting on your laurels - that’s a loss.
Unfortunately, not everyone is as philosophical about it as I am. On Onslaught, we’ve got a match that many would pay to see at Wrestleverse in a few weeks - and we’ve got JA complaining, with Joey saying it was an accident, he’s great, and look how much of a humanitarian he is. The former is refusing to admit that Melton simply used his in-ring intelligence to take advantage of a situation that presented itself. And Melton - he refuses to admit to himself that maybe that match he wasn’t entirely focused, and it almost cost him the victory.
That’s the problem with personalities - they’re too wrapped up in style. They’re too wrapped up with keeping an image on display in a pristine state. The problem is, when they do that, they don’t say anything. They don’t do anything unexpected. They become so worked up about protecting their reputation, their heat, that they fail to notice how silly they look. Shane’s doing it with his complaining. Melton’s doing it by trying to claim it was an accident, instead of just admitting he used the ropes and getting on with his life. JA’s working so hard to paint himself as gaining a moral victory, that he’s sounding like Cameron Cruise did when he suggested that I had something to do with him being stripped of the Intercontinental Title.
Yes - the Intercontinental Title. The prize that awaits the winner of the upcoming match. If you sneezed during what JA and Melton said, you could be forgiven for forgetting that fact. Let’s strip down what they both said to the bare bones.
JA said that Melton cheated, that Joey Melton’s past it, and that Joey Melton should admit defeat. He also said that he still feels the loss of the A1E World Title, and that he’s forgotten that the reason I hold this title is because he lost to me at Black Dawn, so he already knows a little about how tough a competitor I am.
Joey Melton said that it was an accident, that he’s great, and a humanitarian. And he believes his own hype.
Out of all the words they used, they said next to nothing about the title. Truth be told, they said next to nothing at all. They were so wrapped up in their own images that they added to the stereotype of professional wrestlers as drug-riddled, steroid taking muscle-heads with the same intelligence as a deceased amoeba. I understand that they do their best talking in the ring - but I do wonder why they felt the need to say nothing and waste the fans time. Or maybe they were being nice to the fans and giving them a chance to make a cup of tea.
Whatever their reason, I know that they’re tough competitors. I know that on their days, they can beat anyone they set foot in the ring with. That’s the joy of professional wrestling as a fan - anyone can beat anyone at any time. And a triple threat match just adds to the tension. It adds to the spectacle, and gives the fans that added sense of drama - who can keep two people incapacitated long enough to get the victory?
Win, lose, or draw - whether I retain the title or not, I’m going to learn something from this match. For the fans, it’s like the tri-nations in rugby union, or like a three-way tournament in cricket between Pakistan, the West Indies, and South Africa. It’ll be fun and enjoyable for them.
For Melton and JA? If they keep making excuses, if they keep trying to save their carefully made images, they’ll find themselves embarrassed. If they can’t adapt and change, if they can’t accept what life throws at them, and insist on closing the barn door after the horses have bolted, they’ll never improve beyond what they already are. They’ll each continue to be milestones on my way to my goal.
And neither will have the Intercontinental Championship to decorate them.
JA: ...if the better we're talking about is eating strained pears off a spoon being shoved in your mouth by nurse Helga. It's funny, you talk about being old and gray before I'd be able to get one over on you like it's in some far off, distant future. I thought it was here today.
YES! I went there, I made the old-man joke. You made me do it though, Jo-Jo-Ba. You made me come out and take the shortcut because you've gone and assumed that I'm some fresh off the turnip truck rube from Northeast Philadelphia, where the men are men and the women are all probably Russian mail order brides. That's what I'd have to be if I was going to believe you when you say that it was an honest mistake. Yeah, if that's an honest mistake then I voted for George Bush in 2000.
Lolli: Like, no you didn't. You cast a write-in vote for Bobcat Goldthwait.
JA smacks his forehead.
JA: Ladies and gentlemen, my fiancée.
Lolli sticks her tongue out at JA.
JA: Back on topic here, Jo-Jo, I wasn't born yesterday. Hell, I wasn't even born yesteryear. From what I've been told, I was conceived on the tail end of an all-night bake-off at Studio 54. Some folks say that makes sense, but I tell 'em to f*ck off. Either way though, I've seen a few tricks of the trade. Growing up and watching the See-Ess-Dub on Saturday mornings, most of those tricks, (said like the kid on those drug commercials back in the 80s) I LEARNED FROM WATCHING YOU! Back then, it was amusing. When I was a rebellious teen, I often looked back on the Jo-Jo Meltedwax playbook and thought of ways I could get back at The Man for holding a black fellow like myself down.
Then I realized I wasn't of the African-American persuasion, and your tricks didn't seem to resonate with me anymore. Besides, if you're going to cheat, I'd rather it be some ostentatious display of balls rather than the ***** sh*t you claim to be a senile indiscretion. Your explanation sounded about as genuine as Marcus Vick's (JA makes the finger motions) "apology" to Elvis Dumervil. It's funny that there's at least one parallel you share with Mexico the Lesser. You both like girls that are more than half your age. The only difference is you're a dirty old man and he's a statutory rapist. Go fig.
Sooner or later though, the weasel gets caught by the farmer and has his neck broken for pillaging the hen house under the cover of night. And by George, Jo-Jo, my speciality is snapping necks. How á propos.
As for you, Iguanadon Brown, you can spare me your metaphysical ravings. I was half expecting you to say that God was dead just so some random vandal could scribble on your headstone what was put on Nietschze's [sic]. You look down on me because I fit the mold of the professional wrestler. That's something I hold in high esteem. Everything you described in jest... outside the steroid crack of course, is something I like about being a wrestler. Hey, what other job in the world actually lets you come on camera and talk smack about the guy you're about to beat up. Maybe boxing, but that sport's more rigged than we're purported to be.
The reason why I didn't mention too much about you and your strap is that you've never given me anything to talk about. Sure, you beat me to win that title, and it was a win you deserved. You should never expect to win all the time, because if you happen to win all the time, you get really, really bored. Still though, the biggest mistake you could have made was assume that I have no interest in you or your title. Sure, I spent a lot of vitriol so far on Jo-Jo, but assume you're in my position and you'd probably feel the same way. Like I said before, you have a good reason to be pissed off at All-Natural here. He put you in the middle of a fight that you had no business being in. I gather he just wanted to add some more bells and whistles to the bee-show main event. It's unfortunate, but it's true.
AS a living, breathing person who holds a victory over me, I'm bound to be concerned with you Brownie Boy. You just haven't given me a reason to address you until now. But since you had to go and open your mouth like some egghead humanities major who will probably use his degree to get him his own tip jar at Starbucks, you now have given me a reason to smack the taste out of your mouth. You shouldn't have pissed me off like that.
Because it's one thing to face me in a wrestling match where I don't have anything against the opponent. It's another to make it personal.
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