Post by Nate Nytro on Aug 6, 2006 5:32:15 GMT -5
(In an almost cinematic fashion, the camera pans around a very familiar environ…a pub, crowded with desperate men and willing women, though the two often find themselves to be reversed. A faint ambience of jazz music settles in amongst the scattered conversations. On top of those, we hear the sound of laughter, and it becomes more apparent as the camera view approaches the bar of where and why it exists. The answer is Nate Nytro and his manager Rich, and they are, once again, diligently cleansing themselves for the day of competition ahead.)
Nate Nytro: Cheers to another morning of combat preparation!
Richard Cunnings: Here, here!
(The camera centers on the two men’s jugs as they collide, creating a loud cling of celebration. Zooming back out, and after they dispose of the liquid into their gullets, they continue their unwound and friendly exchange, filled with hysterics.)
Richard Cunnings: ‘Cause God forbid we do something like…some physical activity prior to a match.
(Nate smiles.)
Nate Nytro: I’m a man steeped in tradition. Besides, heavy drinking and the loss of heavy, otherwise burdening memories that follows builds character.
(Nate slaps Richard on the back, who quickly puts his hand on his chest, possibly to prevent a gas reflex.)
Richard Cunnings: (sarcastically) I can almost feel my manhood swelling.
Nate Nytro: So it’s working then!
Richard Cunnings: Seriously, Nate. Why not cut a promo?…just this once? I mean…you are set to contend for the WCF Television Title. Surely this is an occasion to speak out…let your opponent hear you.
Nate Nytro: And just what would I have to say?
Richard Cunnings: Something courageous, bold…call him out.
Nate Nytro: Absolutely not, man.
(Nate’s jug is refilled, and he takes a quick sip.)
Nate Nytro: My philosophy is the same now as it was then; any competitor, who needs to reiterate to the tired ears of fans and opponents just how great he is, really isn’t that good. I have nothing to say to him.
Richard Cunnings: Oh come on; try for once to show some competitive spirit. Get into the game a bit.
Nate Nytro: Professional wrestling doesn’t really qualify as a game, Rich.
Richard Cunnings: Yes, but like a game, every element can be changed by your choice…the difficulty, the intensity…you make it what you want.
Nate Nytro: The point is there’s nothing to be said.
Richard Cunnings: You never say anything-
Nate Nytro: And maybe it’s best that way. I have no desire to be arrogant and make my name seem important. There would be no sense in mindlessly jawing some half-assed preludes to “his loss” Sunday night. Sorry. I have no detailed monologues, no elaborate metaphors, no intimidating threats. The guy’s a champion and I’m not. I think the only thing I could say - am “in line” to say - would be a simple, “Best of luck!”
(Rich sighs, realizing Nate is steadfast on his silent approach to everything wrestling. The mood once again relaxes. Rich takes a big swig of his drink, and begins to laugh to himself. This draws the attention of Nate, who just stares blankly as his manager continues to fall into a state of drunken euphoria. It quickly brings a smile to Nate’s face. Rich nudges Nate in the side with his elbow.)
Richard Cunnings: I guess Biggs was right then, eh?
(Rich continues laughing, followed by Nate.)
Nate Nytro: Yeah, I guess he was.
(The laughter gets louder, and Rich continues to go off into sarcastic impersonations.)
Richard Cunnings: Phenominal! Hehe, I’m the manager of a talentless prick! HAAAAAAAHAHAHAHA!
(The two are bent over in so much laughter that Nate begins to pound on the table.)
Nate Nytro: That you are my drunken friend!
Richard Cunnings: Hi! I’m JJ Biggs! I like myself…a lot! I want to make sure all you people remember it till you die!
(Nate Nytro laughs, but suddenly, it seems his sense of humor is seemingly subsiding, as he quietly takes in Richard’s impression on a more serious level.)
Nate Nytro: That’s about right.
Richard Cunnings: I think I’m the best the industry’s ever seen, and can only talk about myself!
(Nate is now holding his head, seemingly talking to himself.)
Nate Nytro: That’s all you do.
Richard Cunnings: THAT’S ALL I CAN DO! HAAAAHAHAHAHA!
Nate Nytro: That’s all they ever do!
(Without any instigation, Nate grabs Rich’s beer jug and smashes it over his manager’s forehead. Rich’s face is reduced to plain, concussed shock. The camera angle zooms in on his face, as we watch him hurdle down with his stool to the floor. Then the camera is looking up, as though it were mounted directly on Rich’s face. Nate bends down to talk directly to Rich, apparently convinced by his impression that he is his foe.)
Nate Nytro: That’s ALL YOU PEOPLE EVER DO! You win a match…you win a title…and suddenly, you’re on top of the fucking world. Suddenly you are important, and a valuable asset to the world. Why do we glorify people like you? Why do you people constantly show up on the cover of every newspaper? Why is it never anybody noble, anybody with personal fortitude, with something of worth to say and prove to the world? No…it’s always illiterate apes like you, spewing more toxins into the air we breathe, only concerned about yourself.
(Nate throws his drinking glass on the floor, and continues his sudden rampage.)
Nate Nytro: God, I can barely live with myself! The thought of, even for a second, sharing the same insensitive, self-diluted traits as you makes me sick to my stomach. You’ve been here for no more than four months. You managed to capture the World Title through a fluke, only to lose it in your first defense a month later. And have had the Television not even a week…and already, you’ve worked up the gull to say you’ve worked hard and deserve what you have; that you are the poster boy of a new generation, and I the worn out prototype who knows nothing of hard work. Don’t you and your little cohort EVER lecture me on conviction again! I gave everything to this company, for not very much, and with little attention from the media, from fans. This has been my life, even when it hasn’t been my main focus, I’ve been here! Like a family, I’ve never always seen eye to eye with the rest of them, or cared to be a part of it, but have stayed right here! And now you walk in, and suddenly command the respect of the staff, of the fans, and of the competitors. WHO exactly do you think you are? I-
(Nate stops, and rubs his chin, trying to regain composure to his train of thought. He soon bends back down into the face of his motionless friend.)
Nate Nytro: Every person who has ever had an ego has had to swallow it. And the sad part is most of them never believe that day is going to come, making it all the harder to stomach. But they never learn. Like a moth to the flame, they just keep begging for more cruel, cold, inexplicably painful reality. I’m going to do you a favor, Mr. Biggs, and help you focus more intently on your prostitution and business with Drake, by putting the Television Title in the hands of someone who understands what it means to have integrity, for the business and for himself! Best of luck my ass! I hope you choke!
(Nate walks away into the distance of a camera angle position on the floor by Rich’s left ear. We see him throw another glass from a consumer’s table. The camera then looks down on top of Rich, whose eyes are open, and face expressionless. The square frame of the shot begins to fade into the distance of our screen, as we here Richard begin murmuring to himself, slowly beginning to echo, and fade away into nothing.)
Richard Cunnings: Well, I suppose I’d be happier for his lovely breakthrough in stage fright if I weren’t currently lying on my back, possibly suffering a concussion, lying in what smells like someone’s vomit…or maybe that’s urine…fair guess would be urine. No, but that’s ok…you go ahead and have your random tantrum, Nate, while I just lie here bathing in every waste cell of some inbred human being…slowly…forgetting where I am…no, you go right ahead. In fact, do it again! Hehe, the money you pay me more than compensates for the emotional trauma I go through on a day-to-day basis…huuuuuhhhh, I need a new job.
(End transmission.)
Nate Nytro: Cheers to another morning of combat preparation!
Richard Cunnings: Here, here!
(The camera centers on the two men’s jugs as they collide, creating a loud cling of celebration. Zooming back out, and after they dispose of the liquid into their gullets, they continue their unwound and friendly exchange, filled with hysterics.)
Richard Cunnings: ‘Cause God forbid we do something like…some physical activity prior to a match.
(Nate smiles.)
Nate Nytro: I’m a man steeped in tradition. Besides, heavy drinking and the loss of heavy, otherwise burdening memories that follows builds character.
(Nate slaps Richard on the back, who quickly puts his hand on his chest, possibly to prevent a gas reflex.)
Richard Cunnings: (sarcastically) I can almost feel my manhood swelling.
Nate Nytro: So it’s working then!
Richard Cunnings: Seriously, Nate. Why not cut a promo?…just this once? I mean…you are set to contend for the WCF Television Title. Surely this is an occasion to speak out…let your opponent hear you.
Nate Nytro: And just what would I have to say?
Richard Cunnings: Something courageous, bold…call him out.
Nate Nytro: Absolutely not, man.
(Nate’s jug is refilled, and he takes a quick sip.)
Nate Nytro: My philosophy is the same now as it was then; any competitor, who needs to reiterate to the tired ears of fans and opponents just how great he is, really isn’t that good. I have nothing to say to him.
Richard Cunnings: Oh come on; try for once to show some competitive spirit. Get into the game a bit.
Nate Nytro: Professional wrestling doesn’t really qualify as a game, Rich.
Richard Cunnings: Yes, but like a game, every element can be changed by your choice…the difficulty, the intensity…you make it what you want.
Nate Nytro: The point is there’s nothing to be said.
Richard Cunnings: You never say anything-
Nate Nytro: And maybe it’s best that way. I have no desire to be arrogant and make my name seem important. There would be no sense in mindlessly jawing some half-assed preludes to “his loss” Sunday night. Sorry. I have no detailed monologues, no elaborate metaphors, no intimidating threats. The guy’s a champion and I’m not. I think the only thing I could say - am “in line” to say - would be a simple, “Best of luck!”
(Rich sighs, realizing Nate is steadfast on his silent approach to everything wrestling. The mood once again relaxes. Rich takes a big swig of his drink, and begins to laugh to himself. This draws the attention of Nate, who just stares blankly as his manager continues to fall into a state of drunken euphoria. It quickly brings a smile to Nate’s face. Rich nudges Nate in the side with his elbow.)
Richard Cunnings: I guess Biggs was right then, eh?
(Rich continues laughing, followed by Nate.)
Nate Nytro: Yeah, I guess he was.
(The laughter gets louder, and Rich continues to go off into sarcastic impersonations.)
Richard Cunnings: Phenominal! Hehe, I’m the manager of a talentless prick! HAAAAAAAHAHAHAHA!
(The two are bent over in so much laughter that Nate begins to pound on the table.)
Nate Nytro: That you are my drunken friend!
Richard Cunnings: Hi! I’m JJ Biggs! I like myself…a lot! I want to make sure all you people remember it till you die!
(Nate Nytro laughs, but suddenly, it seems his sense of humor is seemingly subsiding, as he quietly takes in Richard’s impression on a more serious level.)
Nate Nytro: That’s about right.
Richard Cunnings: I think I’m the best the industry’s ever seen, and can only talk about myself!
(Nate is now holding his head, seemingly talking to himself.)
Nate Nytro: That’s all you do.
Richard Cunnings: THAT’S ALL I CAN DO! HAAAAHAHAHAHA!
Nate Nytro: That’s all they ever do!
(Without any instigation, Nate grabs Rich’s beer jug and smashes it over his manager’s forehead. Rich’s face is reduced to plain, concussed shock. The camera angle zooms in on his face, as we watch him hurdle down with his stool to the floor. Then the camera is looking up, as though it were mounted directly on Rich’s face. Nate bends down to talk directly to Rich, apparently convinced by his impression that he is his foe.)
Nate Nytro: That’s ALL YOU PEOPLE EVER DO! You win a match…you win a title…and suddenly, you’re on top of the fucking world. Suddenly you are important, and a valuable asset to the world. Why do we glorify people like you? Why do you people constantly show up on the cover of every newspaper? Why is it never anybody noble, anybody with personal fortitude, with something of worth to say and prove to the world? No…it’s always illiterate apes like you, spewing more toxins into the air we breathe, only concerned about yourself.
(Nate throws his drinking glass on the floor, and continues his sudden rampage.)
Nate Nytro: God, I can barely live with myself! The thought of, even for a second, sharing the same insensitive, self-diluted traits as you makes me sick to my stomach. You’ve been here for no more than four months. You managed to capture the World Title through a fluke, only to lose it in your first defense a month later. And have had the Television not even a week…and already, you’ve worked up the gull to say you’ve worked hard and deserve what you have; that you are the poster boy of a new generation, and I the worn out prototype who knows nothing of hard work. Don’t you and your little cohort EVER lecture me on conviction again! I gave everything to this company, for not very much, and with little attention from the media, from fans. This has been my life, even when it hasn’t been my main focus, I’ve been here! Like a family, I’ve never always seen eye to eye with the rest of them, or cared to be a part of it, but have stayed right here! And now you walk in, and suddenly command the respect of the staff, of the fans, and of the competitors. WHO exactly do you think you are? I-
(Nate stops, and rubs his chin, trying to regain composure to his train of thought. He soon bends back down into the face of his motionless friend.)
Nate Nytro: Every person who has ever had an ego has had to swallow it. And the sad part is most of them never believe that day is going to come, making it all the harder to stomach. But they never learn. Like a moth to the flame, they just keep begging for more cruel, cold, inexplicably painful reality. I’m going to do you a favor, Mr. Biggs, and help you focus more intently on your prostitution and business with Drake, by putting the Television Title in the hands of someone who understands what it means to have integrity, for the business and for himself! Best of luck my ass! I hope you choke!
(Nate walks away into the distance of a camera angle position on the floor by Rich’s left ear. We see him throw another glass from a consumer’s table. The camera then looks down on top of Rich, whose eyes are open, and face expressionless. The square frame of the shot begins to fade into the distance of our screen, as we here Richard begin murmuring to himself, slowly beginning to echo, and fade away into nothing.)
Richard Cunnings: Well, I suppose I’d be happier for his lovely breakthrough in stage fright if I weren’t currently lying on my back, possibly suffering a concussion, lying in what smells like someone’s vomit…or maybe that’s urine…fair guess would be urine. No, but that’s ok…you go ahead and have your random tantrum, Nate, while I just lie here bathing in every waste cell of some inbred human being…slowly…forgetting where I am…no, you go right ahead. In fact, do it again! Hehe, the money you pay me more than compensates for the emotional trauma I go through on a day-to-day basis…huuuuuhhhh, I need a new job.
(End transmission.)
