Post by Teo Blaze on Dec 2, 2018 23:42:29 GMT -5
As the scene fades into view, the viewer is greeted by what can only be called unusual. An elaborate set has been erected directly in view for all to see, with numerous setpieces, including a large white piano, behind which conspicuously hangs a white and gold tuxedo. All around the room one can see a grocery list of peculiarities, from a framed painting of a Satchmo armstrong impersonator from the Scatman John video to a large plate of traditional New Orleans style food placed on a counter just to the side.
But the room, despite its decoration, is empty.
A few moments of silence pass, which turn into awkward minutes. The sound of murmuring can be heard, as though a discussion not meant for the viewers ears is-
BAM!
Suddenly in the distance, a white rectangle appears. A doorway to the studio, obscured by the darkness of the sets has been kicked open, and in walks who else, but the Television Champion Teo Blaze.
Fashionably late, but unfortunately not equally fashionably dressed.
The man is dressed from head to toe in his traditional street clothes, from his blue jeans to his white sneakers to his plain black T-shirt, but every inch of the man is soaked right through with dripping saltwater.
Teo Blaze: For those of you who have been following my Twitter, you’re probably expecting me to address the fact that I have spent the past 48 hours locked inside a pirate ship in a location that, due to legal reasons, I am not technically able to disclose.
Teo is of course referring to his forced apprehension and subsequent escape from John Rabid, who followed up on a vicious attack by marooning Teo inside a would-be prison cell to coerce him into a pirate ship deathmatch.
Teo Blaze: Now I know that there are many of you who are expecting me to address this situation, to explain exactly what I think of this...unfortunate set of circumstances.
Teo glances over the now cracked lenses of his red glasses, taking in the scene with a watchful eye.
Teo Blaze: But those of you who know me better than that know that is not what I’m here for.
As Teo speaks, he begins to walk to the set with a motion that could only be described as purposeful, stopping in front of the sparkling white and gold tuxedo, cut in the style of a Cab Calloway band leader.
Teo Blaze: It is a doomed champion who takes his eye off the ball. My hatred for John Rabid may be such that I was willing to swim the three miles to shore rather than take the speedboat he had offered me.
As Teo speaks, he begins removing the salty clothes, throwing them to the side where they land with soggy “splats”. A Must-See TV logo (with Teo’s smiling face of course) covers any bits that would take the broadcast beyond a Pg-13.
Teo Blaze: But brass tacks, I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that on top of everything else, he managed to make me lose the Television Title to someone like Jazzy John McCarthy.
As Teo finishes his narration, he turns back towards the camera with a flourish. It’s amazingly clear that something has changed in his demeanor in the instant since he finished changing. He does not look like a man who has just swam for hours in icy ocean water, in the white and gold tuxedo, it’s as though he has become new…energized.
Teo Blaze: Hit it!
The Television Champion holds out his left hand and snaps his fingers with a flourish, and instantly the room is filled with a swirling melody, the unmistakable, irreplaceable sound of New Orleans Jazz.
Teo Blaze: Oooh yeah, that’s good, I like that. Keep it going.
Teo walks towards the piano, leaning on it with a grin, and holds out his right hand. As if by magic, a sceptre flies from off screen in a perfect arc, landing in his outstretched palm. He twirls it quickly and then places it under his arm with a flourish.
Teo Blaze: Now I have to admit, I was surprised to hear my opponent for Payback. I don’t consider myself one to underestimate people, but the name didn’t exactly strike me as the most...deserving contender. Jazzy John isn’t the kind of face you expect to see on a Pay-Per-View poster, after all...more like a milk carton.
“Have you seen this man?”
Well, I have, believe it or not, even though John’s appearances in WCF are so sporadic and, frankly forgettable that you’d think he was part sasquatch. Trying to find video evidence of the man’s career results in the same amount of blurry footage and contradictory stories after all.
Teo chuckles, walking over to a counter. He taps his sceptre on the counter and all at once the counter is consumed by a blinding light as a hundred bulbs illuminate a lavish, fully stocked bar. Multicolored bottles advertise sinful and sumptuous delights for any man brave enough to take the dive, but Teo simply smiles as a buxom young woman seems to rise from behind the bar as if by magic with a long grin across her face. She reaches behind the bar and pulls out a glass filled with thick, white liquid, which Teo takes with a grin before spinning back towards the bar.
Teo Blaze: Any man who doesn’t order a white Russian needs to watch more Coen Brothers...now where was I...
Teo takes a long, deliberate drink before leaning against the platter of Crawfish, Turtle Soup, Boudin, and other New Orleans delicacies.
Teo Blaze: You know John, I’m actually a southern man myself. I know it doesn’t come up that often in conversation, but I grew up a stone’s throw from New Orleans, down in Houston Texas. Of course my tastes tended a bit further South, but that doesn’t mean I heard nothing of the culture, the history, the wonderful everything that makes up that city.
It’s a city of contradictions. On the one hand you have the history and culture of a people disparaged, a misunderstood populace of hardworking men and women pushing themselves to elevate their city into something great, embracing those of all walks of life and offering a sanctum for any and all to hold their heads high and proudly celebrate their differences, rather than be defined by them.
And at the same time you have an entire culture of cutthroats, thieves, robbers, swindlers, and all other types waiting just below the surface to take advantage of anyone who happens to come across them at the wrong time.
It’s a city of love, of understanding, but also of greed and danger. Truly one of a kind.
Which perhaps makes it fitting that you are its representative, Jazzy John.
Because when I look at you, I also see a man of tremendous contradiction.
Teo places the glass on the piano and turns, leaning on one end, and gently pressing down on the ivory keys, accenting his words with sound.
Teo Blaze: I see a man with potential….talent… I see a man who, frankly is rather respectful of his fellow wrestlers and doesn’t let ego get in the way. Looking at it on paper, I see no reason that you shouldn’t be successful with all the tools in your toolbox.
You’ve got it down body.
Plink.
Teo Blaze: Mind.
Plink.
Teo Blaze: and Soul.
PLING!
As Teo says the final word, a loud note registers from the piano, and Teo looks down, wincing at the sharp sound. Something is off about the melody, as though the piano is warped...broken.
Teo Blaze: Ah...I think we might have found the problem.
Teo nods ruefully, twirling the sceptre and shaking his head, letting his eyes wander down in silence.
Teo Blaze: I may have spoken a bit prematurely, John. You see, it’s very true that you are a respectful, I would daresay likable human being, and someone that I personally could see myself hanging around on the weekends with.
But there’s that contradiction. You’re a standup guy out of the ring….and a complete and utter joke inside of it.
A walking punchline of a performer whose biggest career accomplishment to date has been successfully avoiding the label of jobber.
Since coming back for WAR, John has managed to win a grand total of none of his matches, including his most recent appearance in which he was crushed, in just about every sense of the word, by a beluga whale masquerading as a luchador. He got beaten so badly that it took almost a month to recover! This from a man so stupid that he’s worked for both Stephen Singh and John Rabid!
Teo rolls his eyes with disgust at the very thought of either circumstance.
Teo Blaze: Well John, I guess someone up there decided your new role is getting embarassed by Luchadors on Pay-Per-View, because they’ve booked you in this match. I was literally thrown fifteen feet through sound equipment, hospitalized, kidnapped and shanghaied onto a pirate ship, and then forcefully escaped to cut this promo, and even after all that I know I could kick your ass blindfolded!
Shaking his head ruefully, Teo walks back to the bar, leaning against it.
Teo Blaze: John, serious question. Do you realize what you’ve signed up for?
Teo pauses, looking over to the young woman behind the bar, who smiles and goes to retrieve something else from beneath the counter.
Teo Blaze: I know what you’re thinking, I know that it seems like a tremendous opportunity to get to compete for something as valuable, as prized, as fought for as the WCF Television Championship.
As if on cue, the bartender returns carrying the golden belt on a purple satin cloth, she places it in front of Teo before laying the Lerch, Black, and Gravedigger stone in front of it in a small arch.
Teo Blaze: John, someone up there is lying to you.
Because you’re not signing up to compete for it.
A smile appears on Blaze’s face.
Teo Blaze: This won’t be a competition.
This will be a slaughter.
This will be an beatdown.
This will be rough, John. You’re going to be dragged out of the building by paramedics, with little winged saxophones circling your head after I put a Blazing Knee right through your dome! Mothers will cover their children’s eyes, young men and women’s hands will be clasped to their cheeks as your unconscious frame is carted out like a sack of garbage. They’ll look at you and they’ll shake their head, the only solace for you as you are slowly lifted into the back of a waiting ambulance the fact that you have the pity, the sympathy of the WCF audience.
But here’s the thing.
Teo holds up his index finger in the air as if to pause and draw attention to something.
Teo Blaze: The thing is John, as sorry as they’ll feel, as bad as they’ll feel for this poor, hapless goof who got into the ring with a killer like Teo Blaze, who got his bell rung in seconds, who is now likely going to need several mechanical devices in order to digest food properly… no matter how much sympathy they wring out for you?
At the end of the day, they’ll know, they’ll realize that all that you had to do to stop it, all that you had to do to save yourself from this pain, this torment, this agony..? Is to just walk away.
To do like you always do and disappear.
That’s all you had to do. It’s what you’re famous for after all.
Ask anyone out there to name Jazzy John’s most striking feature, his most well known quality, and the answer you will invariably receive, aside from “who the hell is Jazzy John?”
Is disappointment.
That’s your legacy, John.
That’s what you’re known for.
You’re known for having all the tools in the world to make something of yourself, and stumbling at each and every hurdle that’s placed in your way.
I know you’ve been fighting John, I’ve watched every one of your matches since you’ve returned.
But ask anyone to name a Jazzy John McCarthy match? I’d put a hundred dollars on it right now that noone but me could do it off the top of their head.
You know why?
Because on top of everything else, on top of the mountains of failures, the bigfoot-like sporadic appearances, the desperate, hopeless attempts to keep from getting beaten down time after time again…
You’re forgettable, John.
That’s the worst part.
You’re so forgettable that you didn’t even recognize yourself in the WCF intro video.
The only, and I mean only reason people don’t know you as a jobber is because they barely know you at all, and only realize you’re on the cards when they come back from commercial and you’re already in the ring.
Teo turns towards the Television Championship, tapping it lightly with his sceptre.
Teo Blaze: So John, I’m going to do you a favor at Payback. I’m going to give you the one thing you’ve never had in your entire life.
I’m going to give the people a reason to remember you.
Because after our match at Payback, you won’t be Jazzy John, the sad waste of potential whose most notable quality is the astonishing rate in which he embarasses the otherwise proud city of New Orleans, no!
After Payback, you’ll be known as the stupid son-of-a-bitch who took a match against the most dominant Television Champion in years and paid for it with a beating so brutal they can’t re-air it.
You won’t just lose at Payback, you will suffer John, you will be a message to anyone else who thinks that they’ve won the jackpot by falling backwards into a Television Title match with me!
When it comes to this belt, John McCarthy, there is no sympathy! There is no pity! There is only the champion and those who fall to him, kill or be killed! You get the same treatment as anyone else who would try to take this prize from me!
As Teo speaks, his fist closes around the glass in his hand, spilling the drink over the counter in a haze of white and red. He breathes heavily, looking at the ground for a moment. He gestures to the bartender.
Teo Blaze: One for the road.
The young woman nods, reaching behind the counter and retrieving a milk carton. Teo shakes the broken glass from his hands and grabs it, taking a long hard pull from it before looking at the camera.
Teo Blaze: When I’m done with you John, they’ll never forget you again.
Teo turns, tossing the milk carton over his shoulder as he retrieves his title and stones. As he walks in the distance, the camera hangs on the milk carton, with a picture of Jazzy John McCarthy emblazoned across the back.
But the room, despite its decoration, is empty.
A few moments of silence pass, which turn into awkward minutes. The sound of murmuring can be heard, as though a discussion not meant for the viewers ears is-
BAM!
Suddenly in the distance, a white rectangle appears. A doorway to the studio, obscured by the darkness of the sets has been kicked open, and in walks who else, but the Television Champion Teo Blaze.
Fashionably late, but unfortunately not equally fashionably dressed.
The man is dressed from head to toe in his traditional street clothes, from his blue jeans to his white sneakers to his plain black T-shirt, but every inch of the man is soaked right through with dripping saltwater.
Teo Blaze: For those of you who have been following my Twitter, you’re probably expecting me to address the fact that I have spent the past 48 hours locked inside a pirate ship in a location that, due to legal reasons, I am not technically able to disclose.
Teo is of course referring to his forced apprehension and subsequent escape from John Rabid, who followed up on a vicious attack by marooning Teo inside a would-be prison cell to coerce him into a pirate ship deathmatch.
Teo Blaze: Now I know that there are many of you who are expecting me to address this situation, to explain exactly what I think of this...unfortunate set of circumstances.
Teo glances over the now cracked lenses of his red glasses, taking in the scene with a watchful eye.
Teo Blaze: But those of you who know me better than that know that is not what I’m here for.
As Teo speaks, he begins to walk to the set with a motion that could only be described as purposeful, stopping in front of the sparkling white and gold tuxedo, cut in the style of a Cab Calloway band leader.
Teo Blaze: It is a doomed champion who takes his eye off the ball. My hatred for John Rabid may be such that I was willing to swim the three miles to shore rather than take the speedboat he had offered me.
As Teo speaks, he begins removing the salty clothes, throwing them to the side where they land with soggy “splats”. A Must-See TV logo (with Teo’s smiling face of course) covers any bits that would take the broadcast beyond a Pg-13.
Teo Blaze: But brass tacks, I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that on top of everything else, he managed to make me lose the Television Title to someone like Jazzy John McCarthy.
As Teo finishes his narration, he turns back towards the camera with a flourish. It’s amazingly clear that something has changed in his demeanor in the instant since he finished changing. He does not look like a man who has just swam for hours in icy ocean water, in the white and gold tuxedo, it’s as though he has become new…energized.
Teo Blaze: Hit it!
The Television Champion holds out his left hand and snaps his fingers with a flourish, and instantly the room is filled with a swirling melody, the unmistakable, irreplaceable sound of New Orleans Jazz.
Teo Blaze: Oooh yeah, that’s good, I like that. Keep it going.
Teo walks towards the piano, leaning on it with a grin, and holds out his right hand. As if by magic, a sceptre flies from off screen in a perfect arc, landing in his outstretched palm. He twirls it quickly and then places it under his arm with a flourish.
Teo Blaze: Now I have to admit, I was surprised to hear my opponent for Payback. I don’t consider myself one to underestimate people, but the name didn’t exactly strike me as the most...deserving contender. Jazzy John isn’t the kind of face you expect to see on a Pay-Per-View poster, after all...more like a milk carton.
“Have you seen this man?”
Well, I have, believe it or not, even though John’s appearances in WCF are so sporadic and, frankly forgettable that you’d think he was part sasquatch. Trying to find video evidence of the man’s career results in the same amount of blurry footage and contradictory stories after all.
Teo chuckles, walking over to a counter. He taps his sceptre on the counter and all at once the counter is consumed by a blinding light as a hundred bulbs illuminate a lavish, fully stocked bar. Multicolored bottles advertise sinful and sumptuous delights for any man brave enough to take the dive, but Teo simply smiles as a buxom young woman seems to rise from behind the bar as if by magic with a long grin across her face. She reaches behind the bar and pulls out a glass filled with thick, white liquid, which Teo takes with a grin before spinning back towards the bar.
Teo Blaze: Any man who doesn’t order a white Russian needs to watch more Coen Brothers...now where was I...
Teo takes a long, deliberate drink before leaning against the platter of Crawfish, Turtle Soup, Boudin, and other New Orleans delicacies.
Teo Blaze: You know John, I’m actually a southern man myself. I know it doesn’t come up that often in conversation, but I grew up a stone’s throw from New Orleans, down in Houston Texas. Of course my tastes tended a bit further South, but that doesn’t mean I heard nothing of the culture, the history, the wonderful everything that makes up that city.
It’s a city of contradictions. On the one hand you have the history and culture of a people disparaged, a misunderstood populace of hardworking men and women pushing themselves to elevate their city into something great, embracing those of all walks of life and offering a sanctum for any and all to hold their heads high and proudly celebrate their differences, rather than be defined by them.
And at the same time you have an entire culture of cutthroats, thieves, robbers, swindlers, and all other types waiting just below the surface to take advantage of anyone who happens to come across them at the wrong time.
It’s a city of love, of understanding, but also of greed and danger. Truly one of a kind.
Which perhaps makes it fitting that you are its representative, Jazzy John.
Because when I look at you, I also see a man of tremendous contradiction.
Teo places the glass on the piano and turns, leaning on one end, and gently pressing down on the ivory keys, accenting his words with sound.
Teo Blaze: I see a man with potential….talent… I see a man who, frankly is rather respectful of his fellow wrestlers and doesn’t let ego get in the way. Looking at it on paper, I see no reason that you shouldn’t be successful with all the tools in your toolbox.
You’ve got it down body.
Plink.
Teo Blaze: Mind.
Plink.
Teo Blaze: and Soul.
PLING!
As Teo says the final word, a loud note registers from the piano, and Teo looks down, wincing at the sharp sound. Something is off about the melody, as though the piano is warped...broken.
Teo Blaze: Ah...I think we might have found the problem.
Teo nods ruefully, twirling the sceptre and shaking his head, letting his eyes wander down in silence.
Teo Blaze: I may have spoken a bit prematurely, John. You see, it’s very true that you are a respectful, I would daresay likable human being, and someone that I personally could see myself hanging around on the weekends with.
But there’s that contradiction. You’re a standup guy out of the ring….and a complete and utter joke inside of it.
A walking punchline of a performer whose biggest career accomplishment to date has been successfully avoiding the label of jobber.
Since coming back for WAR, John has managed to win a grand total of none of his matches, including his most recent appearance in which he was crushed, in just about every sense of the word, by a beluga whale masquerading as a luchador. He got beaten so badly that it took almost a month to recover! This from a man so stupid that he’s worked for both Stephen Singh and John Rabid!
Teo rolls his eyes with disgust at the very thought of either circumstance.
Teo Blaze: Well John, I guess someone up there decided your new role is getting embarassed by Luchadors on Pay-Per-View, because they’ve booked you in this match. I was literally thrown fifteen feet through sound equipment, hospitalized, kidnapped and shanghaied onto a pirate ship, and then forcefully escaped to cut this promo, and even after all that I know I could kick your ass blindfolded!
Shaking his head ruefully, Teo walks back to the bar, leaning against it.
Teo Blaze: John, serious question. Do you realize what you’ve signed up for?
Teo pauses, looking over to the young woman behind the bar, who smiles and goes to retrieve something else from beneath the counter.
Teo Blaze: I know what you’re thinking, I know that it seems like a tremendous opportunity to get to compete for something as valuable, as prized, as fought for as the WCF Television Championship.
As if on cue, the bartender returns carrying the golden belt on a purple satin cloth, she places it in front of Teo before laying the Lerch, Black, and Gravedigger stone in front of it in a small arch.
Teo Blaze: John, someone up there is lying to you.
Because you’re not signing up to compete for it.
A smile appears on Blaze’s face.
Teo Blaze: This won’t be a competition.
This will be a slaughter.
This will be an beatdown.
This will be rough, John. You’re going to be dragged out of the building by paramedics, with little winged saxophones circling your head after I put a Blazing Knee right through your dome! Mothers will cover their children’s eyes, young men and women’s hands will be clasped to their cheeks as your unconscious frame is carted out like a sack of garbage. They’ll look at you and they’ll shake their head, the only solace for you as you are slowly lifted into the back of a waiting ambulance the fact that you have the pity, the sympathy of the WCF audience.
But here’s the thing.
Teo holds up his index finger in the air as if to pause and draw attention to something.
Teo Blaze: The thing is John, as sorry as they’ll feel, as bad as they’ll feel for this poor, hapless goof who got into the ring with a killer like Teo Blaze, who got his bell rung in seconds, who is now likely going to need several mechanical devices in order to digest food properly… no matter how much sympathy they wring out for you?
At the end of the day, they’ll know, they’ll realize that all that you had to do to stop it, all that you had to do to save yourself from this pain, this torment, this agony..? Is to just walk away.
To do like you always do and disappear.
That’s all you had to do. It’s what you’re famous for after all.
Ask anyone out there to name Jazzy John’s most striking feature, his most well known quality, and the answer you will invariably receive, aside from “who the hell is Jazzy John?”
Is disappointment.
That’s your legacy, John.
That’s what you’re known for.
You’re known for having all the tools in the world to make something of yourself, and stumbling at each and every hurdle that’s placed in your way.
I know you’ve been fighting John, I’ve watched every one of your matches since you’ve returned.
But ask anyone to name a Jazzy John McCarthy match? I’d put a hundred dollars on it right now that noone but me could do it off the top of their head.
You know why?
Because on top of everything else, on top of the mountains of failures, the bigfoot-like sporadic appearances, the desperate, hopeless attempts to keep from getting beaten down time after time again…
You’re forgettable, John.
That’s the worst part.
You’re so forgettable that you didn’t even recognize yourself in the WCF intro video.
The only, and I mean only reason people don’t know you as a jobber is because they barely know you at all, and only realize you’re on the cards when they come back from commercial and you’re already in the ring.
Teo turns towards the Television Championship, tapping it lightly with his sceptre.
Teo Blaze: So John, I’m going to do you a favor at Payback. I’m going to give you the one thing you’ve never had in your entire life.
I’m going to give the people a reason to remember you.
Because after our match at Payback, you won’t be Jazzy John, the sad waste of potential whose most notable quality is the astonishing rate in which he embarasses the otherwise proud city of New Orleans, no!
After Payback, you’ll be known as the stupid son-of-a-bitch who took a match against the most dominant Television Champion in years and paid for it with a beating so brutal they can’t re-air it.
You won’t just lose at Payback, you will suffer John, you will be a message to anyone else who thinks that they’ve won the jackpot by falling backwards into a Television Title match with me!
When it comes to this belt, John McCarthy, there is no sympathy! There is no pity! There is only the champion and those who fall to him, kill or be killed! You get the same treatment as anyone else who would try to take this prize from me!
As Teo speaks, his fist closes around the glass in his hand, spilling the drink over the counter in a haze of white and red. He breathes heavily, looking at the ground for a moment. He gestures to the bartender.
Teo Blaze: One for the road.
The young woman nods, reaching behind the counter and retrieving a milk carton. Teo shakes the broken glass from his hands and grabs it, taking a long hard pull from it before looking at the camera.
Teo Blaze: When I’m done with you John, they’ll never forget you again.
Teo turns, tossing the milk carton over his shoulder as he retrieves his title and stones. As he walks in the distance, the camera hangs on the milk carton, with a picture of Jazzy John McCarthy emblazoned across the back.
HAVE YOU SEEN THIS MAN?
