Post by Jack of Blades on Apr 6, 2006 19:27:21 GMT -5
(This is Jack of Blades’ true response to his first match. Jack of Blades is completely alone in a dark room. He is sitting but it is to dark to distinguish the furniture. It could be an antique rocking cradle or a spinning office chair. He is cradling his head in his arms as if he were crying. He makes no sounds. After about ten seconds of inertia, he moves his hands into his hair systematically sweeping it back. At this the camera reveals the ever-present daemonic smile.)
According to some, I have been unfocused. According to some, I am undeserving of the match and its opportunities. According to some, I am unfit to take part in my first match. The lens of my concentration only captures one name: Ellis.
Well, I am here to tell these nay Sayers that they are completely, unequivocally, perfectly correct. I could not care less about becoming the WCF Television Champion. But, I do care about winning that title. Why? My reasoning is simple.
Before my attack on ‘Scarface’ at ‘Blast’, I noticed her watching Tommy Havock intently as if he were a four-tier wedding cake waiting to be devoured by her and then regurgitated and then most probably, swallowed again. Now I’m thinking that this interest does not come out of a sort of maternal want to reproduce with the current champion as let’s face it, you probably vomited up your ovaries a long time ago. Therefore, by logical deduction, you must be interested in his championship title. But unfortunately for you, Ellis, I am the one given the opportunity to wear it.
You see, despite my apathy towards the title, earning the championship lends some sort of useful results such as the fact that if you ever want to wear the only belt that will fit you, you will have to confront your future self. You see, me and you, doll, well we are two of a kind. A winning hand. When you look at me, you see a mirror. And no-one knows you better than your own reflection.
And now to my opponents in the match: Ace and JJ Biggs. Psst…you two wanna know why you have a snowball’s chance in Hell of earning that contendership? Simple. I don’t care. I don’t need that title, you however, do.
Let’s examine JJ first, shall we? You see Mr. Biggs recently came here after single-handedly killing off the NWA. Well, if that’s not an accomplishment nothing is. Yes, JJ Biggs represented the NWA as its world champion. Great job! You were meant to carry the weight of the NWA on your shoulders and act as its bastion. You were Sisyphus pushing the rock up the mountain but never getting anywhere. However, whereas Sisyphus continued with determination, you sold the rock off to some local Sherpas for a can of beans. And, yet you forgot the tin opener. And therein lies your need for this title. You need to prove to everyone, the NWA, that eunuch fellow who follows you around and most importantly, yourself, that you are not a failure. But if I were you, I’d fold and give in your hand. You already killed one company. Really want to risk another?
But I'll give credit where credit is due. JJ Biggs is right and I quote: "Unless, Scarface is more important than grasping WCF gold." Well, to be somewhat base and flippant: duh! I think you're not grasping the fact that I am utterly psychotic. So psychotic in fact that I'll admit it. And so psychotic that because I don't care about the title and thus do not care about winning the match, that I may just take a weapon and pummel your beautiful, hollywood face into the canvas just because I feel bored. I'll let you decide whether my apathy is a bad thing for me or you.
Of course, we should not discount this selfish effort of JJ’s. Oh no, there is another competitor with an equally vain need to win the title. Ace, how long has it been? It seems that our existences are running parallel to one another. You know I hate anything with any sense of rationality and that includes symmetry. Therefore, I’m going to have to end this string of coincidences and send you packing to the indies.
How does it feel, Ace? To be completely hollow? I already know. I lived twenty years of my life as a vacuous entity but I filled that bottomless pit inside of me with my raison d’etre: insanity. Of course, you are too valiant to give in and laugh at the mundane reality we function in aren’t you? You are too grounded in ego to find humour in life’s random injustice. You are the equivalent of a lice holding on to that last strand of hair on a shaved scalp. You really believe your going to fill that void by winning the match? You really believe that you are going to fill that void with championship gold? You don’t. You are just living in fantasy. You know me as ‘Honest Iago’ and you know that I tell truth, don’t you Ace?
And that is why, I will become the numero uno contender for the Television Title. I have nothing to lose. I do not need a title to validate my existence nor do I need it as a way of compensating for previous failures. While you will risk all for such a chance, I will remain sedate and connecting a method of subtle attack. I’ll be the proverbial ‘Blitzkrieg’ of the triple threat match but in this instance, that tactic will lead to victory.
And that leads me to you: Havock. I admire you. I really do. I do not know many men who would scour the earth to find a suitable manager. Problem is I just cannot conclude on her whereabouts. It must have been from either the ‘Red Hook District’ or ‘Babylon.’ I’m not sure. Tell you what, send the answer on a postcard to someone who cares. You see, Havock, I know you’re not keeping that belt warm for me and I’m not going to ask you polish it for me. You carry on making your jokes. Each comedian needs a rival. You see I don’t even regard you as a factor. You’re just the remaining card I need. The card I need for my royal flush. The hand that leads me to my queen.
(Jack breaks into laughter as he opens up his jacket pocket revealing a set of five cards: two jokers, a queen, a king and an ace. However, these have been defaced and have the faces of Chrissy, Havock, Ellis, JJ Biggs and Ace stuck onto them. He is laughing absolutely maniacally now. This is the most sonorous and rapid that his laughter has ever been. He holds the cards even closer towards the camera before taking out a lighter and setting the cards on fire. He casually chucks them over his shoulder and slows his laughter down. He wipes a tear from his eye showing the intensity of his outbreak.)
Oh sorry. I just kill myself, especially when I’m thinking about killing you.
(Jack breaks into laughter again and stumbles off-camera. It remains there for 15 seconds before fading out. In this time, we can just hear the cackles of Jack laughing off-screen and occasionally saying ‘killing you’ as if demonstrating the joke’s greatness.)
According to some, I have been unfocused. According to some, I am undeserving of the match and its opportunities. According to some, I am unfit to take part in my first match. The lens of my concentration only captures one name: Ellis.
Well, I am here to tell these nay Sayers that they are completely, unequivocally, perfectly correct. I could not care less about becoming the WCF Television Champion. But, I do care about winning that title. Why? My reasoning is simple.
Before my attack on ‘Scarface’ at ‘Blast’, I noticed her watching Tommy Havock intently as if he were a four-tier wedding cake waiting to be devoured by her and then regurgitated and then most probably, swallowed again. Now I’m thinking that this interest does not come out of a sort of maternal want to reproduce with the current champion as let’s face it, you probably vomited up your ovaries a long time ago. Therefore, by logical deduction, you must be interested in his championship title. But unfortunately for you, Ellis, I am the one given the opportunity to wear it.
You see, despite my apathy towards the title, earning the championship lends some sort of useful results such as the fact that if you ever want to wear the only belt that will fit you, you will have to confront your future self. You see, me and you, doll, well we are two of a kind. A winning hand. When you look at me, you see a mirror. And no-one knows you better than your own reflection.
And now to my opponents in the match: Ace and JJ Biggs. Psst…you two wanna know why you have a snowball’s chance in Hell of earning that contendership? Simple. I don’t care. I don’t need that title, you however, do.
Let’s examine JJ first, shall we? You see Mr. Biggs recently came here after single-handedly killing off the NWA. Well, if that’s not an accomplishment nothing is. Yes, JJ Biggs represented the NWA as its world champion. Great job! You were meant to carry the weight of the NWA on your shoulders and act as its bastion. You were Sisyphus pushing the rock up the mountain but never getting anywhere. However, whereas Sisyphus continued with determination, you sold the rock off to some local Sherpas for a can of beans. And, yet you forgot the tin opener. And therein lies your need for this title. You need to prove to everyone, the NWA, that eunuch fellow who follows you around and most importantly, yourself, that you are not a failure. But if I were you, I’d fold and give in your hand. You already killed one company. Really want to risk another?
But I'll give credit where credit is due. JJ Biggs is right and I quote: "Unless, Scarface is more important than grasping WCF gold." Well, to be somewhat base and flippant: duh! I think you're not grasping the fact that I am utterly psychotic. So psychotic in fact that I'll admit it. And so psychotic that because I don't care about the title and thus do not care about winning the match, that I may just take a weapon and pummel your beautiful, hollywood face into the canvas just because I feel bored. I'll let you decide whether my apathy is a bad thing for me or you.
Of course, we should not discount this selfish effort of JJ’s. Oh no, there is another competitor with an equally vain need to win the title. Ace, how long has it been? It seems that our existences are running parallel to one another. You know I hate anything with any sense of rationality and that includes symmetry. Therefore, I’m going to have to end this string of coincidences and send you packing to the indies.
How does it feel, Ace? To be completely hollow? I already know. I lived twenty years of my life as a vacuous entity but I filled that bottomless pit inside of me with my raison d’etre: insanity. Of course, you are too valiant to give in and laugh at the mundane reality we function in aren’t you? You are too grounded in ego to find humour in life’s random injustice. You are the equivalent of a lice holding on to that last strand of hair on a shaved scalp. You really believe your going to fill that void by winning the match? You really believe that you are going to fill that void with championship gold? You don’t. You are just living in fantasy. You know me as ‘Honest Iago’ and you know that I tell truth, don’t you Ace?
And that is why, I will become the numero uno contender for the Television Title. I have nothing to lose. I do not need a title to validate my existence nor do I need it as a way of compensating for previous failures. While you will risk all for such a chance, I will remain sedate and connecting a method of subtle attack. I’ll be the proverbial ‘Blitzkrieg’ of the triple threat match but in this instance, that tactic will lead to victory.
And that leads me to you: Havock. I admire you. I really do. I do not know many men who would scour the earth to find a suitable manager. Problem is I just cannot conclude on her whereabouts. It must have been from either the ‘Red Hook District’ or ‘Babylon.’ I’m not sure. Tell you what, send the answer on a postcard to someone who cares. You see, Havock, I know you’re not keeping that belt warm for me and I’m not going to ask you polish it for me. You carry on making your jokes. Each comedian needs a rival. You see I don’t even regard you as a factor. You’re just the remaining card I need. The card I need for my royal flush. The hand that leads me to my queen.
(Jack breaks into laughter as he opens up his jacket pocket revealing a set of five cards: two jokers, a queen, a king and an ace. However, these have been defaced and have the faces of Chrissy, Havock, Ellis, JJ Biggs and Ace stuck onto them. He is laughing absolutely maniacally now. This is the most sonorous and rapid that his laughter has ever been. He holds the cards even closer towards the camera before taking out a lighter and setting the cards on fire. He casually chucks them over his shoulder and slows his laughter down. He wipes a tear from his eye showing the intensity of his outbreak.)
Oh sorry. I just kill myself, especially when I’m thinking about killing you.
(Jack breaks into laughter again and stumbles off-camera. It remains there for 15 seconds before fading out. In this time, we can just hear the cackles of Jack laughing off-screen and occasionally saying ‘killing you’ as if demonstrating the joke’s greatness.)
