Post by Deleted on Feb 17, 2012 4:48:21 GMT -5
From The Personal Blog Of Jay Fucking Price
This match has been described as a punishment of sorts for The Society. Seth thinks that by making the three of them fight over who should get the pin on Greenfever and win the...okay seriously, I can't even finish that sentence without laughing. I'm sitting here at my laptop, trying to type that sentence and every time I try to finish it, I break out in side splitting laughter. A member of The Society pinning Greenfever? The only people those jack-offs can pin are the other members of their little group. A punishment for them? Pfft, more like a punishment for Greenfever and I. We're the ones who are truly suffering here. I mean, look at us. We're above being fed the scraps. We should be challenging the tag champs, not facing the Three Stooges of wrestling. But fuck it, Seth wants to try and make a point, then Greenfever and I will be more than happy to oblige by slaughtering the little sheep he's leading into the ring to face us. Society, enjoy the three minutes of fame you're going to get by just being in the ring with The LadyKillerz, because when the match is over you're going to be too fucked up to remember any of it.
February 17th, 2012
The scene fades in on a shot of Jay Price relaxing comfortably on his couch, feet propped up on the coffee table in front of him, a can of Diet Coke in his hand and an old episode of Married With Children on the television courtesy of Netflix. As he takes a sip from the can, the sound of the doorbell ringing interrupts the calm.
Ding-Dong.
He takes a look at the clock, decides to play it off like he isn't home and goes back to watching the tv.
Ding-Dong. Ding-Dong.
With a sigh, he sets the can on the table and gets up to answer the door.
Ding-Dong. Ding-Dong.
Jay Price: Yeah yeah, I'm coming. Hold your damn horses.
Price pulls the door open, revealing a guy, probably in his late teens or early twenties and dressed in a cheap black suit, standing on his porch.
Jay Price: Look, I don't care what religion you're spreading the good word about or what kind of books you're trying to sell, I'm not interested.
Price goes to slam the door shut when the kid sticks his foot in the doorway.
Young Guy: No! I'm actually with the WCF.
Price, now intrigued, pulls the door back open.
Young Guy: I was told to come to this address and get a few words from you. Here comes my cameraman now.
Price looks over at the car in the driveway and recognizes Bob The Cameraman.
Jay Price: Bob? He usually works with Hank. Is ol' Brown a little under the weather or something?
Young Guy: Uh, actually, I have a note from Seth Lerch explaining that.
The kid fishes around in his pockets and pulls out a folded piece of paper which he hands to Jay. He opens it and reads.
Dear Jay,
Seeing as how you've been such a thorn in my side as of late, I've decided that it was time I turned up the heat. I already dropped you to the bottom and now I'm making you do the one thing you hate more than anything: being in a tag team. Well now, it's time to demean you even more. Starting now, you no longer get to enjoy the services of Hank Brown as an interview. I've decided that perk is going to be for those that actually deserve it. But don't feel bad, I sent you a highly skilled intern that should be able to do the job. Enjoy.
Oh, and FYI, lay one hand on him and it'll be a week without pay. HaHaHaHaHa.
Price re-reads the note a few times and then crumples it up before tossing it to the side. He eyes up the intern and then turns and walks back into the house. The intern looks to the cameraman for advice and he simply shoes the intern through the doorway. The two walk into the living room where Price has taken his spot back on the couch.
Intern: So what I thought we could do is I...
Price holds up a hand, cutting the intern off.
Jay Price: Look, kid, I'm sure you're fresh out of college and just eager as hell to jump right on in to the fascinating world of journalism. But this right here, this little interview thing you think is going to happen, it's not. I barely tolerate Hank Brown enough to sit around and talk business with him and that's because I can at least be assured he knows what he's doing. You, I don't know you, I don't trust you and, by the looks of you, I'm not missing out on much. So here is what is actually going to happen. You're going to sit over there, pull out your little pen and your little tablet, and you're going to write down every word I say. And maybe, just maybe, you'll learn something. Bobby, you know the drill.
Bob The Cameraman pulls up a chair opposite of where Price is sitting and keeps the camera trained on Price as he takes another sip of Diet Coke.
Jay Price: Last week each and everyone of you mindless drones bared witness to the reformation of one of the most talented, most ruthless and most feared tag teams that has ever stepped foot in the WCF. The LadyKillerz. Jay Price and Greenfever. Two men who, as good as they are on their own, are quite simply the perfect pair to put together as a team. We're both known psychotics, neither of us give a shit about what anyone thinks about us and when it comes down to it, there isn't a person in this company who goes around saying "You know what, I want to face him next week." Greenfever and I....that's just a fucking nightmare for everyone in this company. Seth had to have had a memory relapse when he said I had to find myself a partner, because he knew Greenie was around and he knew Greenie was the only son of a bitch crazy enough to trust me.
God damn, I literally have chills right now just thinking about all the things that Greenie and I can do these days. It's not like the old days when there was actually other teams for us to compete with. Bob, you remember the battles we had back in the day right? I know you remember the match against The Man Made Gods.
Price pauses and takes a look at the intern.
Jay Price: For guys like you who don't know history, The Man Made Gods was the team of Creeping Death and Torture.
Price turns his focus back to the camera as the intern scribbles down more notes.
Jay Price: Shit, I haven't thought about those days in a long time. Those truly were the glory days of the WCF tag division though. The LadyKillerz. The Man Made Gods. The New Confederacy. Now look at it. Not a single team worth mentioning, and that includes the tag champs. Come on Bob, admit it. None of these guys would have lasted a day back then against the real teams.
Bob remains silent but the camera nods slightly.
Jay Price: Which brings me to the other, slightly smaller, reason I picked Greenfever as my partner. The main reason was of course because he's the only person I trust to not stab me in the back the second I turn away. I can take solace in knowing that if Greenie does stab me, he'll at least give me the courtesy of doing it to my face. But I also did it because, if I'm going to be forced to tag for a while, I might as well bring some talent and some class to the division, because let's face it, it's in the shitter right now. This company needs a team to be the face of the division, and that team is The LadyKillerz. We have the talent, we have the pedigree and...well we have the talent and that's all that really matters. Point blank there isn't a team today that can hang with Greenie and I. I hate to piss in everyone's Wheaties, but it's just that simple. We're good, you aren't. I mean you're talking about Greenfever. The man's been a World Champion, a Hardcore Champion and currently he's the People's Champion, which let me just say again that it's fucking awesome for him to be holding gold again. And then you have me, Jay Fucking Price. Do I need to repeat my resume? Fuck no. Go look in the history books, my names written all over them. Either one of us could go and challenge the World Champion tomorrow and walk away with a win. On our own, we're good. Together, we're fucking unstoppable.
Intern: Speaking of the People's Title, didn't you hold that one also.
Price chugs the rest of his Diet Coke and then hurls the can at the Intern. It smacks him dead in the side of the temple.
Jay Price: Shut the fuck up.
As the intern wipes soda residue from his face, Price turns back to the camera.
Jay Price: Actually, I suppose if this were all in writing I'd put an asterisk next to the word unstoppable. Because you see, as bad ass as we are and even though there isn't a team around that can beat us, there is one thing and one thing alone that can stop the freight train that is LK 2.0. And that thing is named Seth Lerch. That's right, the man who forced me into bringing back the team of all teams. The constant pebble in my shoe, as I've started to think of him as. I swear, at first the childlike antics were kind of amusing, but as of late they've become increasingly annoying. Losing my entrance music, having it replaced with 3 Count's, being dropped to the bottom of the ladder both figuratively and literally, and now to top it off, almost being left off of the Timebomb PPV. Really Lerch? You're going to drop me off the card? I knew you were an idiot, but fuck, I get the buy-rates that you're so called World and United States Champions should be getting but can't. Truth be told, Greenfever and I are your money makers. And you know what, I'm sure the board of directors and your investors are all going to agree with me after we talk tomorrow. You want to book me in shitty hotel rooms? Whatever, all our shows are so damn close to my house I can just sleep at home. You want to force me to be in a tag match? Hell, you got me and my only friend back on good terms, so gracias. But you want to fuck with me and my payday? Oh hell no, that's not happening Lerchykins, not by a long shot.
Price pauses as he stands up and walks toward the kitchen. He pulls open the refrigerator in search of another Diet Coke but finds none.
Jay Price: Well now that's just not going to do. Come on boys, time for a road trip.
Price grabs his keys from the dining room table and heads for the front door. The Intern and Bob exchange looks and then get up to follow. The scene fades out as the intern and cameraman climb in the backseat while Price gets in the drivers seat.
A Short While Later
The scene fades back in as Price is now weaving in and out of the mid-day traffic on the bypass in his '09 Cadillac Escalade. Price is looking into the rear-view mirror at the cameraman and the intern, both sitting in the backseat.
Jay Price: What the fuck is the real deal with all of this "The Society" bullshit that has been going around? Am I really supposed to take this group of nobodies as a serious threat when they're being lead by a guy who's been in over a dozen matches and has won all of one match? Seriously, sixteen matches and he's won one match. Where I come from we don't call that kind of man a leader, we call him a taxi to take him to the unemployment office. That's right, I'm calling out Tek because, honestly, it's time somebody takes off the kid's gloves and lets this walking embarrassment know just how bad he is. How do you still have a job in WCF? Or for that matter, how have you ever been a part of a wrestling company anywhere in the world? It's 2012. Everybody has the internet and Google at their fingertips and yet nobody can take the five seconds to look up and discover that in the course of your career you've amounted to the equivalent of what a brain dead chimp in a mask is capable of. And you're the guy in charge of a stable? You? For the love of god, I remember a time when stables were lead by men of importance. I hate the fucking bastard, but at least I can say at one point I was lead by a World Champion in Torture's T.o.T. What's your biggest accomplishment? Proving to the world that you're capable of not putting your pants on backwards?
Price pauses as he flips on his turn signal and switches lanes.
Jay Price: But of course, if I'm going to bash the leadership of "The Society", then it's only fair that I talk about the blind sheep being led to slaughter by the retarded shepard. Steeltoe Joe. "The Righteous Juggernaut". "The Holy Flame". "The Holy Grail". "Your Own Worst Fear". Holy fuck, if this guy spent more time working on his in-ring performance and less time coming up with nicknames, maybe he'd have some success. And that's a pretty bold maybe I'm making. But the one that's got me scratching my head the most has to be "The It Factor". The It Factor for what? For The Society? You're supposed to be that person that makes this gaggle of morons noteworthy? My friend the only thing that you do for The Society is strengthen the argument for getting rid of them on the basis that they drag down the appearance of this company. You talk up this big game, bringing up all the things you've done, and my question is: Where the fuck is this big game at now? I'll be the first to admit that I talk up myself more than anyone, but I can back it up. You, you can't do shit except get your ass handed to you on a weekly basis by the bottom scraps of the barrel.
And you know, I could probably go on and let you be because you're not the first wannabe big shot that ends up fizzling within the first two months, but you had to go and be one of those bible thumping jackasses. And that, I just can't stand. I'm not against religion, but when somebody goes to the extent you have, talking about how you're going to eradicate those that you see unworthy, that's when I start to get pissed off and I start saying the things that nobody else has the balls to say. A servant of God? Hah. If you're a servant of God, sent here to eradicate the evil of man, then I pity all of those that pray to God. Because if you are the one he sent, if he saw you to be fit for the job, then he's either been up there on a cloud smoking with Bob Marley or he's got one hell of a sense of humor. I'm supposed to fear you? I laugh in your face because I am better than you. I drink, I smoke, I gamble and I fornicate like a rabbit all while knowing where my soul is going to end up, and I give a shit less. You on the other hand, Mr. Holy Flame, I'm sure are going to live a nice, happy life, end up in heaven and all that other jazz, but for now you're just a stepping stone for the rookies that actually have some level of talent. Fear you? Respect you? No Joe, I pity you.
Price again pauses as he gets into the far right lane and takes the exit into downtown Philadelphia.
Jay Price: And then that brings me to the last two member of The Society, Eric Price and Nic Daniels. You two are perfect, not just for each other, but for this whole group that you're in. You see all of you, including Tek, need each other. If any of you were to decide to go into the singles division, it doesn't matter which, you'd fade into obscurity in less than a week. None of you have what it takes to be on your own in the world of WCF, which is why the four of you are together right now. It all makes so much sense. The four of you feed off each other, combining to make just enough talent to barely skate by each week.
Eric "Will Never Be Better Than Jay" Price, you say that resourcefulness in the key to success in this business. It's what "gets you ahead", I believe I heard you once say. That might ring true...anywhere else. Resourcefulness in this business will get you as far the opening the bell, and then after that you're shit out of luck. Look at me. What resources do I have? I've got an owner making sure my life is a living hell for the fun of it. And you know what? I'm more successful than you, Tek, Daniels and Eric combined. Why? Because I have the one thing that you and your buddies will never have: Talent. In the ring, holding a microphone in front of a crowd, it doesn't matter what I'm doing, I have the talent that you will never have unless somehow find a way to buy it. And even then I will still continue to exceed at everything that you fail so miserably at because that's what I do. You're resourceful, I'm successful.
And Daniels, why bother? I could stand here, belittle you and make you look foolish, but something tells me it'd just be easier to sit back and watch you do it yourself. You know they say that with every team or group, there's always a Michaels and a Jannetty, meaning one has talent and is meant for great things while the other is meant for washing windshields at red lights. And please, for the love of god, don't think that I'm even remotely suggesting that anyone in The Society is going on to do anything of importance. But if I had to peg the one of you that will fizzle out the fastest, it's you. You know, I look at you, and I just don't get it. Why are you here? Or better yet, why are you still here? You still being employed makes my head spin because out of all the failures I've seen come and go, you rank only slightly above people like the GLS. Hey wait, congratulations. You finally have something to pat yourself on the back for. And as for being worried about losing the match and costing Greenie his People's Title, I'm not the least bit worried. I'm not worried...because I could stand on the apron the entire match and just watch as Greenie systematically destroyed each of you with his bare hands. I have not one single shred of doubt in my mind that this match could be a 3-on-1 handicap match and Greenfever could walk out as the winner in under three minutes. And that's not just because he's good, because he is, but it's because you three collectively suck just that much. You don't believe me? Well you will after Slam.
Price pauses as the group finally reaches their destination: Wal-Mart. Price finds a parking spot and pulls in. As they exit the car, Price pulls Bob aside.
Jay Price (whispering): Look, Bob, I'm in a bit of a jam here and I need you to help me out. Lerch says I can't touch the kid or I lose my pay for a week. But you and I both know we can't let a new guy just walk in and not be initiated. So uh, would you do the honors?
Bob The Cameraman: Hells yeah!
Price takes the camera from Bob and turns it on the Intern.
Jay Price: Hey kid! Over here!
Intern: Wha-
Bob executes a beautiful superkick to the kid's jaw, knocking him to the pavement in an unconscious heap. Price hands the camera back over to Bob as they share a laugh. A frumpy looking mother pushing a cart full of groceries walks by, giving Price a dirty look in the process. She starts to comment when Price cuts her off.
Jay Price: Keep it moving there tits, nothing to see here.
With a hefty "Hmmph" the woman picks up her pace as she walks away. Price takes a last look down at the intern, still out cold, and then walks off with Bob right behind him. They enter the store, get greeted by an eighty year old woman with a cane and then take a look around.
Jay Price: What's today? The 15th? 16th?
Bob: 17th.
Jay Price: Figured. It's always crowded as shit around this time of the month.
The two make their way back to where the sodas and chips are kept. Along the way Price spots a toddler sitting in a cart holding an unwrapped lollipop. Price looks around, sees nobody watching, and steals the candy before calmly walking off. The toddler of course immediately starts bawling as the mother runs up to see what's wrong.
Bob (laughing): You're a bastard Price.
Jay Price: Says you!...and my mother. And my psychiatrist. And all of my exes.
The two continue walking to the back of the store when a woman runs up, squealing in delight.
Woman: OHMYGAWD! OHMYGAWD! JAYPRICEIFUCKINGLOVEYOU!
Jay Price: Err...okay.
Woman: Can I have your autograph? Please. Please. PLEASE!
Jay Price: Sorry, I only autograph tits.
The woman quickly yanks up her top, revealing a rather floppy set of DD's. With a shrug of his shoulders, Price pulls a marker from a nearby shelf, rips it from the packaging and signs the left tit. "Jay Fucking Price Was Not Here". The woman again squeals in delight and tries for a hug but Price ducks it and runs. A few zigs and a couple of zags later and he's in the soda aisle. Bob however wasn't so lucky and is locked in an embrace, cursing out Price. Price meanwhile has located the Diet Coke and grabs two 20 packs, but not before opening up a 12 pack and pulling one out. He pops the top and starts sipping on it as he walks toward the front of the store. Bob rejoins him, a nice lipstick mark on his cheek that's red, which fits since it matches his face at the moment.
Bob: You bastard! You left me with that psycho!
Jay Price: You're surprised? Bobby, I'm hurt. I thought you knew me better than anyone.
As they pass by a cereal display, Bob grabs a box with his free hand and throws it, hitting Price in the back of the head with it. Price spins around looking for the culprit and Bob points to a chubby fellow looking at the back of a box of Cheerios.
Jay Price: You son of a bitch!
Price runs up to the man, snatches the box of cereal from his hands and begins beating him over the head with it. The man drops to the ground and Price rips open the box before pouring it out over him.
Jay Price: Got milk, bitch!
As the man curls up in a ball and begins sobbing, Price drops the empty box on his head and walks off. Bob bursts out laughing as Price shoots him a dirty look. Price picks his two 20 packs back up and they head for the checkout lanes as a group of people gather around the man. They reach the lanes just as security goes running past them. A few minutes later Price and Bob are leaving the store and headed back to the car. A groggy Intern is walking their way holding his jaw.
Intern: You brook my toof you bafard!
Jay Price: Bob?
Bob snaps off another superkick to the Intern's jaw and he drops like a sack of potatoes. The two share another laugh as the scene fades out to black.
This match has been described as a punishment of sorts for The Society. Seth thinks that by making the three of them fight over who should get the pin on Greenfever and win the...okay seriously, I can't even finish that sentence without laughing. I'm sitting here at my laptop, trying to type that sentence and every time I try to finish it, I break out in side splitting laughter. A member of The Society pinning Greenfever? The only people those jack-offs can pin are the other members of their little group. A punishment for them? Pfft, more like a punishment for Greenfever and I. We're the ones who are truly suffering here. I mean, look at us. We're above being fed the scraps. We should be challenging the tag champs, not facing the Three Stooges of wrestling. But fuck it, Seth wants to try and make a point, then Greenfever and I will be more than happy to oblige by slaughtering the little sheep he's leading into the ring to face us. Society, enjoy the three minutes of fame you're going to get by just being in the ring with The LadyKillerz, because when the match is over you're going to be too fucked up to remember any of it.
February 17th, 2012
The scene fades in on a shot of Jay Price relaxing comfortably on his couch, feet propped up on the coffee table in front of him, a can of Diet Coke in his hand and an old episode of Married With Children on the television courtesy of Netflix. As he takes a sip from the can, the sound of the doorbell ringing interrupts the calm.
Ding-Dong.
He takes a look at the clock, decides to play it off like he isn't home and goes back to watching the tv.
Ding-Dong. Ding-Dong.
With a sigh, he sets the can on the table and gets up to answer the door.
Ding-Dong. Ding-Dong.
Jay Price: Yeah yeah, I'm coming. Hold your damn horses.
Price pulls the door open, revealing a guy, probably in his late teens or early twenties and dressed in a cheap black suit, standing on his porch.
Jay Price: Look, I don't care what religion you're spreading the good word about or what kind of books you're trying to sell, I'm not interested.
Price goes to slam the door shut when the kid sticks his foot in the doorway.
Young Guy: No! I'm actually with the WCF.
Price, now intrigued, pulls the door back open.
Young Guy: I was told to come to this address and get a few words from you. Here comes my cameraman now.
Price looks over at the car in the driveway and recognizes Bob The Cameraman.
Jay Price: Bob? He usually works with Hank. Is ol' Brown a little under the weather or something?
Young Guy: Uh, actually, I have a note from Seth Lerch explaining that.
The kid fishes around in his pockets and pulls out a folded piece of paper which he hands to Jay. He opens it and reads.
Dear Jay,
Seeing as how you've been such a thorn in my side as of late, I've decided that it was time I turned up the heat. I already dropped you to the bottom and now I'm making you do the one thing you hate more than anything: being in a tag team. Well now, it's time to demean you even more. Starting now, you no longer get to enjoy the services of Hank Brown as an interview. I've decided that perk is going to be for those that actually deserve it. But don't feel bad, I sent you a highly skilled intern that should be able to do the job. Enjoy.
Oh, and FYI, lay one hand on him and it'll be a week without pay. HaHaHaHaHa.
Price re-reads the note a few times and then crumples it up before tossing it to the side. He eyes up the intern and then turns and walks back into the house. The intern looks to the cameraman for advice and he simply shoes the intern through the doorway. The two walk into the living room where Price has taken his spot back on the couch.
Intern: So what I thought we could do is I...
Price holds up a hand, cutting the intern off.
Jay Price: Look, kid, I'm sure you're fresh out of college and just eager as hell to jump right on in to the fascinating world of journalism. But this right here, this little interview thing you think is going to happen, it's not. I barely tolerate Hank Brown enough to sit around and talk business with him and that's because I can at least be assured he knows what he's doing. You, I don't know you, I don't trust you and, by the looks of you, I'm not missing out on much. So here is what is actually going to happen. You're going to sit over there, pull out your little pen and your little tablet, and you're going to write down every word I say. And maybe, just maybe, you'll learn something. Bobby, you know the drill.
Bob The Cameraman pulls up a chair opposite of where Price is sitting and keeps the camera trained on Price as he takes another sip of Diet Coke.
Jay Price: Last week each and everyone of you mindless drones bared witness to the reformation of one of the most talented, most ruthless and most feared tag teams that has ever stepped foot in the WCF. The LadyKillerz. Jay Price and Greenfever. Two men who, as good as they are on their own, are quite simply the perfect pair to put together as a team. We're both known psychotics, neither of us give a shit about what anyone thinks about us and when it comes down to it, there isn't a person in this company who goes around saying "You know what, I want to face him next week." Greenfever and I....that's just a fucking nightmare for everyone in this company. Seth had to have had a memory relapse when he said I had to find myself a partner, because he knew Greenie was around and he knew Greenie was the only son of a bitch crazy enough to trust me.
God damn, I literally have chills right now just thinking about all the things that Greenie and I can do these days. It's not like the old days when there was actually other teams for us to compete with. Bob, you remember the battles we had back in the day right? I know you remember the match against The Man Made Gods.
Price pauses and takes a look at the intern.
Jay Price: For guys like you who don't know history, The Man Made Gods was the team of Creeping Death and Torture.
Price turns his focus back to the camera as the intern scribbles down more notes.
Jay Price: Shit, I haven't thought about those days in a long time. Those truly were the glory days of the WCF tag division though. The LadyKillerz. The Man Made Gods. The New Confederacy. Now look at it. Not a single team worth mentioning, and that includes the tag champs. Come on Bob, admit it. None of these guys would have lasted a day back then against the real teams.
Bob remains silent but the camera nods slightly.
Jay Price: Which brings me to the other, slightly smaller, reason I picked Greenfever as my partner. The main reason was of course because he's the only person I trust to not stab me in the back the second I turn away. I can take solace in knowing that if Greenie does stab me, he'll at least give me the courtesy of doing it to my face. But I also did it because, if I'm going to be forced to tag for a while, I might as well bring some talent and some class to the division, because let's face it, it's in the shitter right now. This company needs a team to be the face of the division, and that team is The LadyKillerz. We have the talent, we have the pedigree and...well we have the talent and that's all that really matters. Point blank there isn't a team today that can hang with Greenie and I. I hate to piss in everyone's Wheaties, but it's just that simple. We're good, you aren't. I mean you're talking about Greenfever. The man's been a World Champion, a Hardcore Champion and currently he's the People's Champion, which let me just say again that it's fucking awesome for him to be holding gold again. And then you have me, Jay Fucking Price. Do I need to repeat my resume? Fuck no. Go look in the history books, my names written all over them. Either one of us could go and challenge the World Champion tomorrow and walk away with a win. On our own, we're good. Together, we're fucking unstoppable.
Intern: Speaking of the People's Title, didn't you hold that one also.
Price chugs the rest of his Diet Coke and then hurls the can at the Intern. It smacks him dead in the side of the temple.
Jay Price: Shut the fuck up.
As the intern wipes soda residue from his face, Price turns back to the camera.
Jay Price: Actually, I suppose if this were all in writing I'd put an asterisk next to the word unstoppable. Because you see, as bad ass as we are and even though there isn't a team around that can beat us, there is one thing and one thing alone that can stop the freight train that is LK 2.0. And that thing is named Seth Lerch. That's right, the man who forced me into bringing back the team of all teams. The constant pebble in my shoe, as I've started to think of him as. I swear, at first the childlike antics were kind of amusing, but as of late they've become increasingly annoying. Losing my entrance music, having it replaced with 3 Count's, being dropped to the bottom of the ladder both figuratively and literally, and now to top it off, almost being left off of the Timebomb PPV. Really Lerch? You're going to drop me off the card? I knew you were an idiot, but fuck, I get the buy-rates that you're so called World and United States Champions should be getting but can't. Truth be told, Greenfever and I are your money makers. And you know what, I'm sure the board of directors and your investors are all going to agree with me after we talk tomorrow. You want to book me in shitty hotel rooms? Whatever, all our shows are so damn close to my house I can just sleep at home. You want to force me to be in a tag match? Hell, you got me and my only friend back on good terms, so gracias. But you want to fuck with me and my payday? Oh hell no, that's not happening Lerchykins, not by a long shot.
Price pauses as he stands up and walks toward the kitchen. He pulls open the refrigerator in search of another Diet Coke but finds none.
Jay Price: Well now that's just not going to do. Come on boys, time for a road trip.
Price grabs his keys from the dining room table and heads for the front door. The Intern and Bob exchange looks and then get up to follow. The scene fades out as the intern and cameraman climb in the backseat while Price gets in the drivers seat.
A Short While Later
The scene fades back in as Price is now weaving in and out of the mid-day traffic on the bypass in his '09 Cadillac Escalade. Price is looking into the rear-view mirror at the cameraman and the intern, both sitting in the backseat.
Jay Price: What the fuck is the real deal with all of this "The Society" bullshit that has been going around? Am I really supposed to take this group of nobodies as a serious threat when they're being lead by a guy who's been in over a dozen matches and has won all of one match? Seriously, sixteen matches and he's won one match. Where I come from we don't call that kind of man a leader, we call him a taxi to take him to the unemployment office. That's right, I'm calling out Tek because, honestly, it's time somebody takes off the kid's gloves and lets this walking embarrassment know just how bad he is. How do you still have a job in WCF? Or for that matter, how have you ever been a part of a wrestling company anywhere in the world? It's 2012. Everybody has the internet and Google at their fingertips and yet nobody can take the five seconds to look up and discover that in the course of your career you've amounted to the equivalent of what a brain dead chimp in a mask is capable of. And you're the guy in charge of a stable? You? For the love of god, I remember a time when stables were lead by men of importance. I hate the fucking bastard, but at least I can say at one point I was lead by a World Champion in Torture's T.o.T. What's your biggest accomplishment? Proving to the world that you're capable of not putting your pants on backwards?
Price pauses as he flips on his turn signal and switches lanes.
Jay Price: But of course, if I'm going to bash the leadership of "The Society", then it's only fair that I talk about the blind sheep being led to slaughter by the retarded shepard. Steeltoe Joe. "The Righteous Juggernaut". "The Holy Flame". "The Holy Grail". "Your Own Worst Fear". Holy fuck, if this guy spent more time working on his in-ring performance and less time coming up with nicknames, maybe he'd have some success. And that's a pretty bold maybe I'm making. But the one that's got me scratching my head the most has to be "The It Factor". The It Factor for what? For The Society? You're supposed to be that person that makes this gaggle of morons noteworthy? My friend the only thing that you do for The Society is strengthen the argument for getting rid of them on the basis that they drag down the appearance of this company. You talk up this big game, bringing up all the things you've done, and my question is: Where the fuck is this big game at now? I'll be the first to admit that I talk up myself more than anyone, but I can back it up. You, you can't do shit except get your ass handed to you on a weekly basis by the bottom scraps of the barrel.
And you know, I could probably go on and let you be because you're not the first wannabe big shot that ends up fizzling within the first two months, but you had to go and be one of those bible thumping jackasses. And that, I just can't stand. I'm not against religion, but when somebody goes to the extent you have, talking about how you're going to eradicate those that you see unworthy, that's when I start to get pissed off and I start saying the things that nobody else has the balls to say. A servant of God? Hah. If you're a servant of God, sent here to eradicate the evil of man, then I pity all of those that pray to God. Because if you are the one he sent, if he saw you to be fit for the job, then he's either been up there on a cloud smoking with Bob Marley or he's got one hell of a sense of humor. I'm supposed to fear you? I laugh in your face because I am better than you. I drink, I smoke, I gamble and I fornicate like a rabbit all while knowing where my soul is going to end up, and I give a shit less. You on the other hand, Mr. Holy Flame, I'm sure are going to live a nice, happy life, end up in heaven and all that other jazz, but for now you're just a stepping stone for the rookies that actually have some level of talent. Fear you? Respect you? No Joe, I pity you.
Price again pauses as he gets into the far right lane and takes the exit into downtown Philadelphia.
Jay Price: And then that brings me to the last two member of The Society, Eric Price and Nic Daniels. You two are perfect, not just for each other, but for this whole group that you're in. You see all of you, including Tek, need each other. If any of you were to decide to go into the singles division, it doesn't matter which, you'd fade into obscurity in less than a week. None of you have what it takes to be on your own in the world of WCF, which is why the four of you are together right now. It all makes so much sense. The four of you feed off each other, combining to make just enough talent to barely skate by each week.
Eric "Will Never Be Better Than Jay" Price, you say that resourcefulness in the key to success in this business. It's what "gets you ahead", I believe I heard you once say. That might ring true...anywhere else. Resourcefulness in this business will get you as far the opening the bell, and then after that you're shit out of luck. Look at me. What resources do I have? I've got an owner making sure my life is a living hell for the fun of it. And you know what? I'm more successful than you, Tek, Daniels and Eric combined. Why? Because I have the one thing that you and your buddies will never have: Talent. In the ring, holding a microphone in front of a crowd, it doesn't matter what I'm doing, I have the talent that you will never have unless somehow find a way to buy it. And even then I will still continue to exceed at everything that you fail so miserably at because that's what I do. You're resourceful, I'm successful.
And Daniels, why bother? I could stand here, belittle you and make you look foolish, but something tells me it'd just be easier to sit back and watch you do it yourself. You know they say that with every team or group, there's always a Michaels and a Jannetty, meaning one has talent and is meant for great things while the other is meant for washing windshields at red lights. And please, for the love of god, don't think that I'm even remotely suggesting that anyone in The Society is going on to do anything of importance. But if I had to peg the one of you that will fizzle out the fastest, it's you. You know, I look at you, and I just don't get it. Why are you here? Or better yet, why are you still here? You still being employed makes my head spin because out of all the failures I've seen come and go, you rank only slightly above people like the GLS. Hey wait, congratulations. You finally have something to pat yourself on the back for. And as for being worried about losing the match and costing Greenie his People's Title, I'm not the least bit worried. I'm not worried...because I could stand on the apron the entire match and just watch as Greenie systematically destroyed each of you with his bare hands. I have not one single shred of doubt in my mind that this match could be a 3-on-1 handicap match and Greenfever could walk out as the winner in under three minutes. And that's not just because he's good, because he is, but it's because you three collectively suck just that much. You don't believe me? Well you will after Slam.
Price pauses as the group finally reaches their destination: Wal-Mart. Price finds a parking spot and pulls in. As they exit the car, Price pulls Bob aside.
Jay Price (whispering): Look, Bob, I'm in a bit of a jam here and I need you to help me out. Lerch says I can't touch the kid or I lose my pay for a week. But you and I both know we can't let a new guy just walk in and not be initiated. So uh, would you do the honors?
Bob The Cameraman: Hells yeah!
Price takes the camera from Bob and turns it on the Intern.
Jay Price: Hey kid! Over here!
Intern: Wha-
Bob executes a beautiful superkick to the kid's jaw, knocking him to the pavement in an unconscious heap. Price hands the camera back over to Bob as they share a laugh. A frumpy looking mother pushing a cart full of groceries walks by, giving Price a dirty look in the process. She starts to comment when Price cuts her off.
Jay Price: Keep it moving there tits, nothing to see here.
With a hefty "Hmmph" the woman picks up her pace as she walks away. Price takes a last look down at the intern, still out cold, and then walks off with Bob right behind him. They enter the store, get greeted by an eighty year old woman with a cane and then take a look around.
Jay Price: What's today? The 15th? 16th?
Bob: 17th.
Jay Price: Figured. It's always crowded as shit around this time of the month.
The two make their way back to where the sodas and chips are kept. Along the way Price spots a toddler sitting in a cart holding an unwrapped lollipop. Price looks around, sees nobody watching, and steals the candy before calmly walking off. The toddler of course immediately starts bawling as the mother runs up to see what's wrong.
Bob (laughing): You're a bastard Price.
Jay Price: Says you!...and my mother. And my psychiatrist. And all of my exes.
The two continue walking to the back of the store when a woman runs up, squealing in delight.
Woman: OHMYGAWD! OHMYGAWD! JAYPRICEIFUCKINGLOVEYOU!
Jay Price: Err...okay.
Woman: Can I have your autograph? Please. Please. PLEASE!
Jay Price: Sorry, I only autograph tits.
The woman quickly yanks up her top, revealing a rather floppy set of DD's. With a shrug of his shoulders, Price pulls a marker from a nearby shelf, rips it from the packaging and signs the left tit. "Jay Fucking Price Was Not Here". The woman again squeals in delight and tries for a hug but Price ducks it and runs. A few zigs and a couple of zags later and he's in the soda aisle. Bob however wasn't so lucky and is locked in an embrace, cursing out Price. Price meanwhile has located the Diet Coke and grabs two 20 packs, but not before opening up a 12 pack and pulling one out. He pops the top and starts sipping on it as he walks toward the front of the store. Bob rejoins him, a nice lipstick mark on his cheek that's red, which fits since it matches his face at the moment.
Bob: You bastard! You left me with that psycho!
Jay Price: You're surprised? Bobby, I'm hurt. I thought you knew me better than anyone.
As they pass by a cereal display, Bob grabs a box with his free hand and throws it, hitting Price in the back of the head with it. Price spins around looking for the culprit and Bob points to a chubby fellow looking at the back of a box of Cheerios.
Jay Price: You son of a bitch!
Price runs up to the man, snatches the box of cereal from his hands and begins beating him over the head with it. The man drops to the ground and Price rips open the box before pouring it out over him.
Jay Price: Got milk, bitch!
As the man curls up in a ball and begins sobbing, Price drops the empty box on his head and walks off. Bob bursts out laughing as Price shoots him a dirty look. Price picks his two 20 packs back up and they head for the checkout lanes as a group of people gather around the man. They reach the lanes just as security goes running past them. A few minutes later Price and Bob are leaving the store and headed back to the car. A groggy Intern is walking their way holding his jaw.
Intern: You brook my toof you bafard!
Jay Price: Bob?
Bob snaps off another superkick to the Intern's jaw and he drops like a sack of potatoes. The two share another laugh as the scene fades out to black.
