Post by Jay Omega on Jan 30, 2019 13:35:47 GMT -5
*Welcome back True Believers! Oh yeah, you know what's up; it's gonna be one of those weeks. As per usual, the scene fades in from a black screen, and we find the shot centered on everybody's favourite Red-Eye Jedi, the Once and Future King of Pain, the Greatest Showman On Earth, the Emperor of Entertainment, the Maharaja of Marijuana, The Omega Man: Jay Omega! Sorry, I got a little excited there; it's been a while since Los Hombre Omeguloso has been in the running for the Hardcore Championship, and we're all still a bit salty about Torture's bullshit run, aren't we? Sorry, sorry, gotta stay current. So, Jay's torso is in the center of our screens; his sweatshirt gray, his leather jacket red, his face a-smilin', and his positioning such that the rest of the shot is cleanly bisected behind him. The upper half of the screen is a beautiful sky blue - because it's the sky - while the lower half of the screen is a consistent sandy brown - because it's sand. It would appear that Jay's hanging out in the desert for some reason, though which desert is anybody's guess.*
Jay Omega: What up, faithful viewers? Thanks for joining me in the Mojave desert, where I'm looking to do some harsh environment conditioning.
*Ah, well I guess that answers those questions.*
Jay Omega: It sucks that I got dropped out of the Tag Team League due to the departure of my erstwhile partner Kennedy Matthews et al, but it did end up putting me at the front of the line for the Hardcore Championship. And let's be honest; if Matthews had been a worthwhile partner, and we had won the League, everybody knows I was going to set myself up with a shot at that belt anyway. Though none of that came to pass, the show must go on and so I find myself challenging for the title right away. And I figure if I'm gonna be facing Dune for the Hardcore Championship, I should probably do what I can to bring myself as close as I can to his level, because once that bell rings and I downgrade from demigod to mere man, Dune's got several clear advantages over me.
*A weird chirping sound comes from the vicinity of Omega's left arm, and he pushes back the sleeve to check the screen of what looks like a slim, curved tablet strapped to his forearm, then taps at it to answer the call.*
Jay Omega: What's up, Whittaker? Kind of in the middle of something.
Whittaker: Yeah, I know, Cap'n; I'm the one archiving the footage. Had to stop ya before ya got too far an' let ya know ya ain't facing Dune, yer up against Samuel McPherson.
*Jay looks up at the camera and rolls his eyes with an expression that clearly says "not this shit again".*
Jay Omega: They're not the same guy? So Samuel McPherson isn't Dune's real name?
Whittaker: Nope.
Jay Omega: Well fuckbunkies. Thanks for the head's up, I guess I'm gonna have to wing it on this one.
*Omega disconnects the call, then blows out a lengthy sigh as he runs a hand through his hair.*
Jay Omega: Okay, I can do this. What do I know about Samuel "Don't Call Me Dune" McPherson? Well, he's apparently not Dune, pretty sure we've established that. Oh! Wasn't he that dude what fought Alex a few weeks ago? Gotta admit, I don't think I paid too much attention to that, I kinda tuned out when John Rabid took over the commentary and acted like his usual fuckwit self. Well, I know that Dune and McPherson are roughly the same size, and come from roughly the same area... Are we sure Dune didn't just suffer a brain injury or something? Maybe this Lord Raab dude is controlling him with drugs and hypnotic suggestions? Hey, it happened to me once upon a time.
*Jay pulls a black cigarette case and a gold Zippo out of his pockets, then produces a doobie and lights up.*
Jay Omega: Okay, well, I know he doesn't talk much, he likes a good scrap, and he's smart enough to wear armour to the ring, which isn't strictly forbidden by the rules. Which is fine, because this is a Hardcore match, and there really aren't any rules other than "survive". He's got a mouthpiece manager, too, right? That dude who not only talks for him but also kinda directs traffic down at the ring, yeah? Wonder what Sammy's reaction would be if I dropped his mouthpiece mid-match? Think he'd lose focus and not know what to do? Or do you think it would enrage him? Either one works for me; a loss of focus would give me an advantage while enraging him would give me a good fight, since I understand that's what fuels McPherson.
*Omega hauls a little too hard on his joint and goes off into a coughing fit that doubles him over, causing him to almost completely disappear from view. His right hand appears holding up the index finger, indicating he'll be with us in a moment. Finally recovering somewhat, The Omega Man regains his verticality.*
Jay Omega: Whew, that hurt a little. But you know what's gonna hurt a lot? Every single part of Sammy's body Tuesday morning. If we're being completely honest with ourselves here, this match is a foregone conclusion and the millions of people watching at home are tuning in not to see who's going to win, but to see how badly I demolish Samuel McPherson along the way to my assured victory. I know you like to think you're oh so big and strong, Sammy, you like to think you're a dangerous animal. But that's not going to help you against the likes of me. I'd say you don't have a snowball's chance in Hell of beating me, but the snowball would last a few seconds until it melted. No, you don't stand an eight ball's chance at ZeeMAC's, that's how quick you're going down. And much the same way ol' Zee MackleMorris sees an eight ball, I look at you as nothing more than a waste of my time. A tease that does nothing but whet my appetite for more. Thrashing you isn't even going to take the edge off, Sammy, because - and I'm only gonna tell you this one time, Sam - Jay Omega is hard as fuck.
*Jay hits the joint again, then checks the device on his arm.*
Jay Omega: I still have plenty of time, so I'm gonna kill a little bit of it by doing some actual research. The next time you hear from me, I'll know a little more about McPherson. Until then, remember to stay in drugs, drink your school, and don't do milk. Wait, that doesn't sound right. Whatever, you know what I mean. I'm outta here for now. Later, folks.
*Omega gives us a mock salute and an easy grin, and the scene fades to black.*
Jay Omega: What up, faithful viewers? Thanks for joining me in the Mojave desert, where I'm looking to do some harsh environment conditioning.
*Ah, well I guess that answers those questions.*
Jay Omega: It sucks that I got dropped out of the Tag Team League due to the departure of my erstwhile partner Kennedy Matthews et al, but it did end up putting me at the front of the line for the Hardcore Championship. And let's be honest; if Matthews had been a worthwhile partner, and we had won the League, everybody knows I was going to set myself up with a shot at that belt anyway. Though none of that came to pass, the show must go on and so I find myself challenging for the title right away. And I figure if I'm gonna be facing Dune for the Hardcore Championship, I should probably do what I can to bring myself as close as I can to his level, because once that bell rings and I downgrade from demigod to mere man, Dune's got several clear advantages over me.
*A weird chirping sound comes from the vicinity of Omega's left arm, and he pushes back the sleeve to check the screen of what looks like a slim, curved tablet strapped to his forearm, then taps at it to answer the call.*
Jay Omega: What's up, Whittaker? Kind of in the middle of something.
Whittaker: Yeah, I know, Cap'n; I'm the one archiving the footage. Had to stop ya before ya got too far an' let ya know ya ain't facing Dune, yer up against Samuel McPherson.
*Jay looks up at the camera and rolls his eyes with an expression that clearly says "not this shit again".*
Jay Omega: They're not the same guy? So Samuel McPherson isn't Dune's real name?
Whittaker: Nope.
Jay Omega: Well fuckbunkies. Thanks for the head's up, I guess I'm gonna have to wing it on this one.
*Omega disconnects the call, then blows out a lengthy sigh as he runs a hand through his hair.*
Jay Omega: Okay, I can do this. What do I know about Samuel "Don't Call Me Dune" McPherson? Well, he's apparently not Dune, pretty sure we've established that. Oh! Wasn't he that dude what fought Alex a few weeks ago? Gotta admit, I don't think I paid too much attention to that, I kinda tuned out when John Rabid took over the commentary and acted like his usual fuckwit self. Well, I know that Dune and McPherson are roughly the same size, and come from roughly the same area... Are we sure Dune didn't just suffer a brain injury or something? Maybe this Lord Raab dude is controlling him with drugs and hypnotic suggestions? Hey, it happened to me once upon a time.
*Jay pulls a black cigarette case and a gold Zippo out of his pockets, then produces a doobie and lights up.*
Jay Omega: Okay, well, I know he doesn't talk much, he likes a good scrap, and he's smart enough to wear armour to the ring, which isn't strictly forbidden by the rules. Which is fine, because this is a Hardcore match, and there really aren't any rules other than "survive". He's got a mouthpiece manager, too, right? That dude who not only talks for him but also kinda directs traffic down at the ring, yeah? Wonder what Sammy's reaction would be if I dropped his mouthpiece mid-match? Think he'd lose focus and not know what to do? Or do you think it would enrage him? Either one works for me; a loss of focus would give me an advantage while enraging him would give me a good fight, since I understand that's what fuels McPherson.
*Omega hauls a little too hard on his joint and goes off into a coughing fit that doubles him over, causing him to almost completely disappear from view. His right hand appears holding up the index finger, indicating he'll be with us in a moment. Finally recovering somewhat, The Omega Man regains his verticality.*
Jay Omega: Whew, that hurt a little. But you know what's gonna hurt a lot? Every single part of Sammy's body Tuesday morning. If we're being completely honest with ourselves here, this match is a foregone conclusion and the millions of people watching at home are tuning in not to see who's going to win, but to see how badly I demolish Samuel McPherson along the way to my assured victory. I know you like to think you're oh so big and strong, Sammy, you like to think you're a dangerous animal. But that's not going to help you against the likes of me. I'd say you don't have a snowball's chance in Hell of beating me, but the snowball would last a few seconds until it melted. No, you don't stand an eight ball's chance at ZeeMAC's, that's how quick you're going down. And much the same way ol' Zee MackleMorris sees an eight ball, I look at you as nothing more than a waste of my time. A tease that does nothing but whet my appetite for more. Thrashing you isn't even going to take the edge off, Sammy, because - and I'm only gonna tell you this one time, Sam - Jay Omega is hard as fuck.
*Jay hits the joint again, then checks the device on his arm.*
Jay Omega: I still have plenty of time, so I'm gonna kill a little bit of it by doing some actual research. The next time you hear from me, I'll know a little more about McPherson. Until then, remember to stay in drugs, drink your school, and don't do milk. Wait, that doesn't sound right. Whatever, you know what I mean. I'm outta here for now. Later, folks.
*Omega gives us a mock salute and an easy grin, and the scene fades to black.*
