Post by Mr. Jack Happy on Jan 3, 2014 23:45:41 GMT -5
(Our camera fades inside what we presume is an upscale doctor's office. Diagrams of the human body abound as well as large, cumbersome medical journals. As the camera pans around, we see that the office is located near the top of a very large building with an extensive view of the bustling metropolis below. We then hear the door open as out emerges Mr. Unhappy in doctor's scrubs, chart in hand. Behind him is the hulking form of The Hangman. Mr. Unhappy....or should we say DR. Unhappy....looks into the camera as if the cameraman is a patient and motions for him to be seated. Looking over the chart, Jack clears his throat and then speaks...)
"Doctor Micayle? I'm sorry, but I can't really bring myself to keep calling you a doctor. Remus, the truth of the matter is that if we were to compare each other side by side, I'd be on a whole higher level than you and that's being modest. So, from here on out, I'm going to refer to you as Patient Micayle. You may refer to ME as your personal doctor because, after all, I am going to be doing things to you in the ring with surgeon-like precision."
"Patient Micayle, it brings me great disdain to have to tell you that I've diagnosed you with something that is running rampant around here. It's spreading like H1N1 and to see it afflicting you so, it sickens me thoroughly. You see, you have a bad case of....happiness. You're cheerful nature is downright appalling and you're frightening people everywhere with that hideous smile that is splayed across your face. Oh, you may feel as if nothing is wrong at all, but I assure you that it is. In fact, your happiness is causing pockets of success to break out within your working environment and holding the US Title is symptomatic of your diagnosed condition."
(Jack nods as if to console the camera and he even reaches out in the direction of the camera as if to take a person's hands and hold them. He looks over his shoulder at The Hangman. As The Hangman nods back towards Mr. Unhappy, Jack acknowledges the nonverbal gesture, taking a deep breath, and continuing...)
"It's going to be okay patient Micayle. Fortunately, for you, your timing could not have been better....FOR ME. I want you to know that my very capable hands will alleviate your high spirits. Why, you can't focus on your academic studies scaring children with that gleaming rictus now can you? Of course you can't! Cheerfulness can be such an inconvenience. Joviality will only be a distraction to your usual doldrums. Yet, fear not. I have just the thing for your pretty plight."
"Of course, this isn't just about what I can do for you. There's so much more to it than that. In addition to my efforts, you must realize that this is also about what YOU can do for YOURSELF. I'm sure you have questions. So let's explore those questions together and get you in the worst possible shape for Sunday."
(As if on cue, The Hangman blurts out...)
"Why is this happening to me?"
"A very bad question. You are experiencing happiness because you have a very low bar of goals that you've stumbled over and cleared. Happiness ensues. I will help you return back to your miserable existence by showing you that you really aren't the great success you see yourself to be. I will raise your bar to an unattainable clearance height to give you the crushing depression you are so sorely lacking. NEXT QUESTION!"
"How long will it take until I can start feeling useless again?"
"After our match on Sunday, patient Micayle! IMMEDIATELY after our match and I take all misconceived notions of granduer away, which also includes the US Title. I will even hold the title just out of your reach to expedite the rejected reassurances that all in attendance will be shouting at you. No extra cost for that service."
"Does God hate me?"
"Thoroughly! God will never own the mistake that is you, but this is the same God that created the platypus so you do the math. He was bound for another mulligan and...voila!...here you are. Come to think of it, the platypus looks better and better the more I look at you."
Does my insurance cover this?"
"I really don't give a fuck. The real question should be: 'Can I tolerate any more asinine questions coming from a certifiable nincompoop?' The answer to that is....no, not really."
"Remus, everything about you smacks of Jeff Purse. You're so prim and so proper. Everything has to be just perfect for you or else you make a thousand adjustments to fix it until it is. Your outfit has to be just right, your interview time has to be just right, and the way you enunciate every last utterance emerging from your mouth...just right. And,for all your 'just rights', you're 'just wrong.' I've got to help you realize just how beautifully broken and tragically imperfect you are. I need to take that smile and turn it back around and upside down until you've got the most perfect frown."
"I've had the distinct displeasure of disposing of former champions. At Slam, I will pry that title from your emaciated hips and hold it up high in derisive jubilation. I will mock the WCF with its very own symbol of prestige, drawing out others with your condition and curing them as well. No need to thank me, your tears of angst will more than suffice. Malpractice makes imperfect, and you will be my disasterpiece!!!! What's that? You're not happy? You really know how to flatter me."
(Jack's unhappyshades fall over his eyes. The frame is bent, and one of the lens is missing. Instead of casting his trademark scared flinch, he just goes from almost smiling, to shaking his head as he bows it. His shoulders rise and fall twice as he takes two deep breaths. Rising, he starts to go towards the door, The Hangman following suit. We hear Jack mumble something to the effect of, 'Fuck no I'm not validating your parking,' as our scene fades out.)
"Doctor Micayle? I'm sorry, but I can't really bring myself to keep calling you a doctor. Remus, the truth of the matter is that if we were to compare each other side by side, I'd be on a whole higher level than you and that's being modest. So, from here on out, I'm going to refer to you as Patient Micayle. You may refer to ME as your personal doctor because, after all, I am going to be doing things to you in the ring with surgeon-like precision."
"Patient Micayle, it brings me great disdain to have to tell you that I've diagnosed you with something that is running rampant around here. It's spreading like H1N1 and to see it afflicting you so, it sickens me thoroughly. You see, you have a bad case of....happiness. You're cheerful nature is downright appalling and you're frightening people everywhere with that hideous smile that is splayed across your face. Oh, you may feel as if nothing is wrong at all, but I assure you that it is. In fact, your happiness is causing pockets of success to break out within your working environment and holding the US Title is symptomatic of your diagnosed condition."
(Jack nods as if to console the camera and he even reaches out in the direction of the camera as if to take a person's hands and hold them. He looks over his shoulder at The Hangman. As The Hangman nods back towards Mr. Unhappy, Jack acknowledges the nonverbal gesture, taking a deep breath, and continuing...)
"It's going to be okay patient Micayle. Fortunately, for you, your timing could not have been better....FOR ME. I want you to know that my very capable hands will alleviate your high spirits. Why, you can't focus on your academic studies scaring children with that gleaming rictus now can you? Of course you can't! Cheerfulness can be such an inconvenience. Joviality will only be a distraction to your usual doldrums. Yet, fear not. I have just the thing for your pretty plight."
"Of course, this isn't just about what I can do for you. There's so much more to it than that. In addition to my efforts, you must realize that this is also about what YOU can do for YOURSELF. I'm sure you have questions. So let's explore those questions together and get you in the worst possible shape for Sunday."
(As if on cue, The Hangman blurts out...)
"Why is this happening to me?"
"A very bad question. You are experiencing happiness because you have a very low bar of goals that you've stumbled over and cleared. Happiness ensues. I will help you return back to your miserable existence by showing you that you really aren't the great success you see yourself to be. I will raise your bar to an unattainable clearance height to give you the crushing depression you are so sorely lacking. NEXT QUESTION!"
"How long will it take until I can start feeling useless again?"
"After our match on Sunday, patient Micayle! IMMEDIATELY after our match and I take all misconceived notions of granduer away, which also includes the US Title. I will even hold the title just out of your reach to expedite the rejected reassurances that all in attendance will be shouting at you. No extra cost for that service."
"Does God hate me?"
"Thoroughly! God will never own the mistake that is you, but this is the same God that created the platypus so you do the math. He was bound for another mulligan and...voila!...here you are. Come to think of it, the platypus looks better and better the more I look at you."
Does my insurance cover this?"
"I really don't give a fuck. The real question should be: 'Can I tolerate any more asinine questions coming from a certifiable nincompoop?' The answer to that is....no, not really."
"Remus, everything about you smacks of Jeff Purse. You're so prim and so proper. Everything has to be just perfect for you or else you make a thousand adjustments to fix it until it is. Your outfit has to be just right, your interview time has to be just right, and the way you enunciate every last utterance emerging from your mouth...just right. And,for all your 'just rights', you're 'just wrong.' I've got to help you realize just how beautifully broken and tragically imperfect you are. I need to take that smile and turn it back around and upside down until you've got the most perfect frown."
"I've had the distinct displeasure of disposing of former champions. At Slam, I will pry that title from your emaciated hips and hold it up high in derisive jubilation. I will mock the WCF with its very own symbol of prestige, drawing out others with your condition and curing them as well. No need to thank me, your tears of angst will more than suffice. Malpractice makes imperfect, and you will be my disasterpiece!!!! What's that? You're not happy? You really know how to flatter me."
(Jack's unhappyshades fall over his eyes. The frame is bent, and one of the lens is missing. Instead of casting his trademark scared flinch, he just goes from almost smiling, to shaking his head as he bows it. His shoulders rise and fall twice as he takes two deep breaths. Rising, he starts to go towards the door, The Hangman following suit. We hear Jack mumble something to the effect of, 'Fuck no I'm not validating your parking,' as our scene fades out.)
