Post by Deleted on Jul 11, 2011 16:22:38 GMT -5
The scene opens up inside of the locker room of the one and only Jay Price as he is lacing up his boots. He finishes up the left one, takes a look up at the camera and starts to say something...but then he lowers his head and goes back to lacing the right one.
Jay Price: You know, you would think that after spending the better part of the last two years here in WCF that I'd be used to dealing with all sorts of people. After having to face off against the outrageousness of people like the Hotdog Mascot or The 'Scot or even the Face Of Treachery and Homosexuality himself, Logan, you'd think that nothing in this world could surprise me anymore. But then along comes a man that goes by the name "Magnificent" Russle Morris and he proves that the state of professional wrestling is tanking faster than the value of the all mighty U.S. dollar. I mean honestly, this is the type of person that people these days are looking toward to lead the next generation of wrestlers? Where exactly are they expecting that generation to be lead to...over a fucking cliff? When I arrived on the scene I was labeled the leader of my generation of talent, and I took that label and I ran with it, creating a legacy that compares with some of the all time greats. I wasn't just another two bit hack that ran around claiming to be "The Future", I really was what the people wanted and expected for the future of this industry. And if this is what people are expected to look forward to now, guys like Russle Morris or Shadow or Roy Speede, then I pity the future fans and the bullshit they're going to be subjected to.
Price pauses as he finishes lacing his boot and ties it. He then looks up toward the camera as he leans back in the folding chair he's sitting on. He starts to talk again when he's interrupted by a knock at the door.
Jay Price: Who is it?
It's Hank, I've got something for you.
Jay Price: Come on in Hank.
The door opens and Hank enters holding a manila envelope in his hand. He hands it to Price and then exits. Price opens up the envelope and pulls out the single sheet of white paper inside.
Jay Price (reading aloud):
Dear Mr. Price,
We apologize for the lateness of our reply and for any inconvenience you may have incurred during your wait. In response to your inquiry regarding the accuracy of the DNA test performed on both yourself and Logan, we are happy to inform you that our tests were 100% accurate. ...
Price groans loudly with disappointment.
... However in regards to your inquiry about the validity of the relationship with one Roy Speede, we regret to inform you that an error was made and there is no direct relationship between you and Mr. Speede. We apologize for the mix-up and we hope this does not make you think poorly of us. Thank you for choosing our services and we hope you use again for any future inquiries.
Price crumbles up the piece of paper and casually tosses it to the side.
Jay Price: Well there's one less shit bag I have to be affiliated with. Which reminds me of the last part of tonight's match that I seem to keep overlooking. Ms. Aubrey Summers, the woman of few words yet so many bad choices. I'm a bit surprised I haven't heard from you yet Aubrey, it's not often that you find a woman who's at such a loss for words. Could it be out of fear? Maybe the idea of having to step into the ring with someone besides a who's who of the bottom of the ladder has your nerves so worked up that you can't fathom the words for a retort. But regardless of the reasoning, you're future remains the same: that pretty little face of yours is going to be driven into the mat and you'll be sent right back to the end of the line with all the rest of the nobodies. And you want to know why? Because I'm Jay fucking Price and you aren't.
The scene cuts abruptly.
Jay Price: You know, you would think that after spending the better part of the last two years here in WCF that I'd be used to dealing with all sorts of people. After having to face off against the outrageousness of people like the Hotdog Mascot or The 'Scot or even the Face Of Treachery and Homosexuality himself, Logan, you'd think that nothing in this world could surprise me anymore. But then along comes a man that goes by the name "Magnificent" Russle Morris and he proves that the state of professional wrestling is tanking faster than the value of the all mighty U.S. dollar. I mean honestly, this is the type of person that people these days are looking toward to lead the next generation of wrestlers? Where exactly are they expecting that generation to be lead to...over a fucking cliff? When I arrived on the scene I was labeled the leader of my generation of talent, and I took that label and I ran with it, creating a legacy that compares with some of the all time greats. I wasn't just another two bit hack that ran around claiming to be "The Future", I really was what the people wanted and expected for the future of this industry. And if this is what people are expected to look forward to now, guys like Russle Morris or Shadow or Roy Speede, then I pity the future fans and the bullshit they're going to be subjected to.
Price pauses as he finishes lacing his boot and ties it. He then looks up toward the camera as he leans back in the folding chair he's sitting on. He starts to talk again when he's interrupted by a knock at the door.
Jay Price: Who is it?
It's Hank, I've got something for you.
Jay Price: Come on in Hank.
The door opens and Hank enters holding a manila envelope in his hand. He hands it to Price and then exits. Price opens up the envelope and pulls out the single sheet of white paper inside.
Jay Price (reading aloud):
Dear Mr. Price,
We apologize for the lateness of our reply and for any inconvenience you may have incurred during your wait. In response to your inquiry regarding the accuracy of the DNA test performed on both yourself and Logan, we are happy to inform you that our tests were 100% accurate. ...
Price groans loudly with disappointment.
... However in regards to your inquiry about the validity of the relationship with one Roy Speede, we regret to inform you that an error was made and there is no direct relationship between you and Mr. Speede. We apologize for the mix-up and we hope this does not make you think poorly of us. Thank you for choosing our services and we hope you use again for any future inquiries.
Price crumbles up the piece of paper and casually tosses it to the side.
Jay Price: Well there's one less shit bag I have to be affiliated with. Which reminds me of the last part of tonight's match that I seem to keep overlooking. Ms. Aubrey Summers, the woman of few words yet so many bad choices. I'm a bit surprised I haven't heard from you yet Aubrey, it's not often that you find a woman who's at such a loss for words. Could it be out of fear? Maybe the idea of having to step into the ring with someone besides a who's who of the bottom of the ladder has your nerves so worked up that you can't fathom the words for a retort. But regardless of the reasoning, you're future remains the same: that pretty little face of yours is going to be driven into the mat and you'll be sent right back to the end of the line with all the rest of the nobodies. And you want to know why? Because I'm Jay fucking Price and you aren't.
The scene cuts abruptly.
