Post by Jack of Blades on Dec 24, 2006 17:53:38 GMT -5
The mass of Christ returns once more, and despite its repeated appearances, is no bore. At least to all, except an old miser, named Jack of Blades, who was none the wiser. Scowl and attack, nobody gave him any Christmas flack. But it is this night that shall matter, otherwise the ghosts he will batter.*
(Cut to Jack of Blades walking down what seems to be a snowed in victorian street with paupers, whelps and all the trimmings. He takes the scene in before slightly pausing.)
Jack of Blades: Fuck. I've walked onto the film set again.
(He walks to the side of the camera, with it following, showing that the whole background was a cleverly designed stage for some televised production. Jack continues on walking down a modern, sunny street presumably in his native New York or at least the parts without dead bodies and streaks of yellow waste. He continues his stroll before being stopped by a person holding a bucket. Shaking it, he reveals its contents of spare change and practically grapples Jack into communication.)
Charity 'Volunteer': Hello, there and Merry Christmas. Did you know that 80% of old people spend Christmas alone?
Jack of Blades: Oh, right. And the bit where you ask me for money is...?
Charity 'Volunteer': And that, without anybody to light fires, put up decorations and entertain them, there are a lot of accidents that happen to these venerable members of our community.
Jack of Blades: So, the money question comes when?
Charity 'Volunteer': So being alone isn't the only problem at Christmas...
Jack of Blades: If you don't start speaking about money in moments time, I'm going to set fire to Fort Knox to simply spite you...
Charity 'Volunteer': So all we're asking for is some money to maintain our great group of helpers who spen--
(At this, Jack of Blades takes the bucket from the helper and goes off camera. The 'Volunteer' seems happy with this as Jack has much about his person to suggest him an affluent member of society. A sudden second of realisation visibly sets in.)
Charity 'Volunteer': You're just going to urinate in my bucket again.
(Constipated groans from off-screen. We then cut to Jack preparing for bed as a ghastly figure emerges from the ether much to the indifference of Blades.)
PC Cradle: Blades. You are walking the wrong path. The path that is of momentary celebration and eventual disappointment. I am an example of this. I walk the streets away from the lights with everyone confusing me for you. Take away from this and admit yourself to a new existence. To show you the path, on this night, Christmas Eve, you will be visited by three members of my unit to show you the true meaning of Christmas. The first will arrive now.
A transparent figure arrives familar to all of the WCF. Shading in and out, it looks like the ghost of Christmas Wrestling Past is Gravedigger.
Gravedigger: Blades. You bastard. I was enjoying my retirement on Fire Island. And then I get a call for a cameo in this piece of shit. Seriously, Chino and I were sharing a reefer that big. Suppose I better take you to...Jesus Christ...the past.
(Gravedigger begins to wave his hands and make 'woo' noises as the screen gets fainter and fainter as it looks as if they are moving into flashback. We then cut to another angle as Blades watches Gravedigger oddly performing the theatrics.)
Jack of Blades: Stop doing that.
We turn to a few years back with clips of PC Cradle beating Madd Dogg at One with Gravedigger and Blades poorly superimposed in.)
Gravedigger: This is PC Cradle at his greatest. At Christmas and yet here, now, he walks alone with people confusing you too up. See the danger. It is now time to go deeper into the past. To go to your Christmas. The one where Ricky wants Santa Claus to come and so you have to dress up as him and allow the sharade to continue.
Jack of Blades: Pretty sure that was an 'I Love Lucy' Christmas episode.
Gravedigger: The Ghost of Wrestling Christmas Present will be present in a moment.
(Before Jack can remove his shoes, a grey haze emerges and materializes into one of the more feared competitors of Wrestling Championship Federation's most recent history. The Barbed Wire Freak.
Barbedwire Freak: Bastards. Fucking mist makes my asthma go. I'm the Ghost of Longwinded Names or something. Got any barbed wire?
Jack of Blades: No.
(They arrive at what appears to be a busy office hall with much debauchery going on. A banner reading 'Team of Treachery Office Xmas Party' demonstrates the setting.)
Barbedwire Freak: Here we are. At the Christmas party you refused to go to.
Jack of Blades: Right, we're at this place. Can we go before we see Logan's testicles?
Barbedwire Freak: But look at Danny Vice. His concern about fighting a respected comrade, Skyler Striker. He could really cheer up with a friend like you.
Jack of Blades: I'm beginning to understand.
(Off-screen, drunkenly) Logan: Who wants to see my testicles?
(They cut to what seems to be a Shakeys restaurant. The Ghost of Wrestling Christmas Present turns to Blades and points at an attendant mopping. He is now wearing a robe which he wasn't wearing before.)
Barbedwire Freak: Now see, her present Christmas because of you.
Jack of Blades: Which her? I have two hers of relative importance. Do you mean the slut or the anorexic? The anorexic I bet.
(We zoom in on the mop.)
Jack of Blades: Nice addition of Ellis-being-a-mop-joke bit. But can I ask why you are wearing a robe now?
(Barbedwire Freak undoes his robe and presents two children huddled against his body.)
Jack of Blades: I'm pretty sure kids under the robe is illegal. A big no no. Worse than Barbedwire around the cock. Remember that? In the shower and Torture had to lather you up to get it off? So are they mans?
Barbedwire Freak: No they're yours.
Jack of Blades: Get me out of friggin' here.
Jack of Blades returns to his bedroom where he finds a Grim Reaper-esque figure with an inexplicable rabbits tail. They teleport into the future scene on what appears to be a graveyard.)
Jack of Blades: No, it cannot be. This is the Graveyard of Wrestling Shite. Do I end up here?
(Blades frantically rushes around reading tombstones to confirm this explanation. The inscriptions on the graves include 'Mr. K. Angle: He was Nucking Futs' and 'VKM's last shred of ingenuity: 1997 - 1998.' Blades eventually runs to the centralized and most massive grave of all and reads 'Blades last bit of original writing and thought in his sketches: Early 2007.' He lets out a loud scream before we cut to him in bed, waking up, sweating all over. Excitedly, realizing it's day, he exits the bed and runs to a nearby window where he opens it and shouts at a boy on the street skateboarding.)
Jack of Blades: You. Boy. And what day is this day?
Skate Boy: It's January 19th. You've been in a coma for four weeks.
Jack of Blades: Screw it, I'm fucking going back to sleep.
*: To batter someone is an English colloquialism for beating the shit of.
[glow=red,2,300]Happy Christmas WCF![/glow]
(Cut to Jack of Blades walking down what seems to be a snowed in victorian street with paupers, whelps and all the trimmings. He takes the scene in before slightly pausing.)
Jack of Blades: Fuck. I've walked onto the film set again.
(He walks to the side of the camera, with it following, showing that the whole background was a cleverly designed stage for some televised production. Jack continues on walking down a modern, sunny street presumably in his native New York or at least the parts without dead bodies and streaks of yellow waste. He continues his stroll before being stopped by a person holding a bucket. Shaking it, he reveals its contents of spare change and practically grapples Jack into communication.)
Charity 'Volunteer': Hello, there and Merry Christmas. Did you know that 80% of old people spend Christmas alone?
Jack of Blades: Oh, right. And the bit where you ask me for money is...?
Charity 'Volunteer': And that, without anybody to light fires, put up decorations and entertain them, there are a lot of accidents that happen to these venerable members of our community.
Jack of Blades: So, the money question comes when?
Charity 'Volunteer': So being alone isn't the only problem at Christmas...
Jack of Blades: If you don't start speaking about money in moments time, I'm going to set fire to Fort Knox to simply spite you...
Charity 'Volunteer': So all we're asking for is some money to maintain our great group of helpers who spen--
(At this, Jack of Blades takes the bucket from the helper and goes off camera. The 'Volunteer' seems happy with this as Jack has much about his person to suggest him an affluent member of society. A sudden second of realisation visibly sets in.)
Charity 'Volunteer': You're just going to urinate in my bucket again.
(Constipated groans from off-screen. We then cut to Jack preparing for bed as a ghastly figure emerges from the ether much to the indifference of Blades.)
PC Cradle: Blades. You are walking the wrong path. The path that is of momentary celebration and eventual disappointment. I am an example of this. I walk the streets away from the lights with everyone confusing me for you. Take away from this and admit yourself to a new existence. To show you the path, on this night, Christmas Eve, you will be visited by three members of my unit to show you the true meaning of Christmas. The first will arrive now.
A transparent figure arrives familar to all of the WCF. Shading in and out, it looks like the ghost of Christmas Wrestling Past is Gravedigger.
Gravedigger: Blades. You bastard. I was enjoying my retirement on Fire Island. And then I get a call for a cameo in this piece of shit. Seriously, Chino and I were sharing a reefer that big. Suppose I better take you to...Jesus Christ...the past.
(Gravedigger begins to wave his hands and make 'woo' noises as the screen gets fainter and fainter as it looks as if they are moving into flashback. We then cut to another angle as Blades watches Gravedigger oddly performing the theatrics.)
Jack of Blades: Stop doing that.
We turn to a few years back with clips of PC Cradle beating Madd Dogg at One with Gravedigger and Blades poorly superimposed in.)
Gravedigger: This is PC Cradle at his greatest. At Christmas and yet here, now, he walks alone with people confusing you too up. See the danger. It is now time to go deeper into the past. To go to your Christmas. The one where Ricky wants Santa Claus to come and so you have to dress up as him and allow the sharade to continue.
Jack of Blades: Pretty sure that was an 'I Love Lucy' Christmas episode.
Gravedigger: The Ghost of Wrestling Christmas Present will be present in a moment.
(Before Jack can remove his shoes, a grey haze emerges and materializes into one of the more feared competitors of Wrestling Championship Federation's most recent history. The Barbed Wire Freak.
Barbedwire Freak: Bastards. Fucking mist makes my asthma go. I'm the Ghost of Longwinded Names or something. Got any barbed wire?
Jack of Blades: No.
(They arrive at what appears to be a busy office hall with much debauchery going on. A banner reading 'Team of Treachery Office Xmas Party' demonstrates the setting.)
Barbedwire Freak: Here we are. At the Christmas party you refused to go to.
Jack of Blades: Right, we're at this place. Can we go before we see Logan's testicles?
Barbedwire Freak: But look at Danny Vice. His concern about fighting a respected comrade, Skyler Striker. He could really cheer up with a friend like you.
Jack of Blades: I'm beginning to understand.
(Off-screen, drunkenly) Logan: Who wants to see my testicles?
(They cut to what seems to be a Shakeys restaurant. The Ghost of Wrestling Christmas Present turns to Blades and points at an attendant mopping. He is now wearing a robe which he wasn't wearing before.)
Barbedwire Freak: Now see, her present Christmas because of you.
Jack of Blades: Which her? I have two hers of relative importance. Do you mean the slut or the anorexic? The anorexic I bet.
(We zoom in on the mop.)
Jack of Blades: Nice addition of Ellis-being-a-mop-joke bit. But can I ask why you are wearing a robe now?
(Barbedwire Freak undoes his robe and presents two children huddled against his body.)
Jack of Blades: I'm pretty sure kids under the robe is illegal. A big no no. Worse than Barbedwire around the cock. Remember that? In the shower and Torture had to lather you up to get it off? So are they mans?
Barbedwire Freak: No they're yours.
Jack of Blades: Get me out of friggin' here.
Jack of Blades returns to his bedroom where he finds a Grim Reaper-esque figure with an inexplicable rabbits tail. They teleport into the future scene on what appears to be a graveyard.)
Jack of Blades: No, it cannot be. This is the Graveyard of Wrestling Shite. Do I end up here?
(Blades frantically rushes around reading tombstones to confirm this explanation. The inscriptions on the graves include 'Mr. K. Angle: He was Nucking Futs' and 'VKM's last shred of ingenuity: 1997 - 1998.' Blades eventually runs to the centralized and most massive grave of all and reads 'Blades last bit of original writing and thought in his sketches: Early 2007.' He lets out a loud scream before we cut to him in bed, waking up, sweating all over. Excitedly, realizing it's day, he exits the bed and runs to a nearby window where he opens it and shouts at a boy on the street skateboarding.)
Jack of Blades: You. Boy. And what day is this day?
Skate Boy: It's January 19th. You've been in a coma for four weeks.
Jack of Blades: Screw it, I'm fucking going back to sleep.
*: To batter someone is an English colloquialism for beating the shit of.
[glow=red,2,300]Happy Christmas WCF![/glow]
