Post by Jake Keeton on Oct 24, 2011 16:57:57 GMT -5
The camera zooms on a bottle of Jack Daniel’s, or at least what’s left of it as it has tipped over and most has run out onto the dresser and into the floor or Jake Keeton’s hotel room at the Abraham Lincoln Hotel in Reading. Lying in the floor next to the bed dressed in only a pair of tight white Fruit of the Loom briefs is Jake Keeton clutching another half drank bottle of Jack. A thin beam of light from the sun slips into the room and hits The All-American Nightmare in the face. He squints and puts a hand up trying to block it and ends up pouring the whiskey on himself. He sits up, soaked in whiskey and puts his hands on each side of his head applying pressure.
Jake: What the fuck did I do?
He looks around the trashed hotel room, and then over at the clock
Jake: Oh shit.
He jumps up, and wobbles towards a pair of wadded up jeans and a WCF t-shirt. He throws the clothes on and slips his sockless feet in a pair of shoes and rushes out the door but suddenly the door opens back up and the former TV champion grabs a trash can and vomits violently into it. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and continues on his way. The scene then switches to Hank Brown sitting in some unknown restaurant looking down at his watch. He shakes his head in frustration and goes to stand up but a hand on his shoulder from Jake Keeton pushes him back down into his chair.
Jake: Sorry I’m late Hank, my alarm didn’t go off.
Hank: It’s 5:30pm.
Jake: So? I been asleep since sometime last week.
Hank: You what… nevermind. You know you’re inside, you can take your sunglasses off now.
Jake: I’d rather not, let’s just get this over with.
Hank: Alright, well this week you’re teaming up with one of you opponents at Helloween, Doc Henry, to take on the World Champion Johnny Reb and a man who you brutally attacked with a chair two weeks ago, what are your thoughts going into the final match before Helloween?
Jake: I think I’m gonna Hank, because I’m the best fucking wrestler alive and I think that before every match, it don’t always happen, but more often than not it does. I could give a shitless about this match, it’s meaningless and I don’t plan on tagging in unless I have to. If Reb and the Tard take out Doc that’s less I gotta worry about at the PPV.
Hank: Reb and who?
Jake: The retard, D-day.
Hank: Oh, ok. So you’re saying you’re not going to tag into this match?
Jake: I might get in there for a lil bit, but I won’t be saving my partner from an ass kicking when I’m gonna be kicking it myself next week, that doesn’t make any sense. Johnny and I have unfinished business and he said himself I pushed him to his limit, well next time we face in one on one competition I hope it’s for that strap he’s wearing and if that’s the case I’ll take him past his limit. He’s the only guy that’s beat me in singles competition inside a WCF ring, and even if him and D-Day win this week it doesn’t count cause I’m handicapped by the sack of shit he used to team with, of course he’s handicapped with someone who is literally handicapped after I scrambled his brains a few weeks back. All in all it’s gonna be a fun night, I gotta run Hank.
Hank: But you didn’t even order.
Jake: I know, I stiffed the waiter walking this way on a tip last week, I’ll just grab something at the hotel.
Jake gets up and runs out of the hotel as the scene fades.
*Modified to fix spacing error.
Jake: What the fuck did I do?
He looks around the trashed hotel room, and then over at the clock
Jake: Oh shit.
He jumps up, and wobbles towards a pair of wadded up jeans and a WCF t-shirt. He throws the clothes on and slips his sockless feet in a pair of shoes and rushes out the door but suddenly the door opens back up and the former TV champion grabs a trash can and vomits violently into it. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and continues on his way. The scene then switches to Hank Brown sitting in some unknown restaurant looking down at his watch. He shakes his head in frustration and goes to stand up but a hand on his shoulder from Jake Keeton pushes him back down into his chair.
Jake: Sorry I’m late Hank, my alarm didn’t go off.
Hank: It’s 5:30pm.
Jake: So? I been asleep since sometime last week.
Hank: You what… nevermind. You know you’re inside, you can take your sunglasses off now.
Jake: I’d rather not, let’s just get this over with.
Hank: Alright, well this week you’re teaming up with one of you opponents at Helloween, Doc Henry, to take on the World Champion Johnny Reb and a man who you brutally attacked with a chair two weeks ago, what are your thoughts going into the final match before Helloween?
Jake: I think I’m gonna Hank, because I’m the best fucking wrestler alive and I think that before every match, it don’t always happen, but more often than not it does. I could give a shitless about this match, it’s meaningless and I don’t plan on tagging in unless I have to. If Reb and the Tard take out Doc that’s less I gotta worry about at the PPV.
Hank: Reb and who?
Jake: The retard, D-day.
Hank: Oh, ok. So you’re saying you’re not going to tag into this match?
Jake: I might get in there for a lil bit, but I won’t be saving my partner from an ass kicking when I’m gonna be kicking it myself next week, that doesn’t make any sense. Johnny and I have unfinished business and he said himself I pushed him to his limit, well next time we face in one on one competition I hope it’s for that strap he’s wearing and if that’s the case I’ll take him past his limit. He’s the only guy that’s beat me in singles competition inside a WCF ring, and even if him and D-Day win this week it doesn’t count cause I’m handicapped by the sack of shit he used to team with, of course he’s handicapped with someone who is literally handicapped after I scrambled his brains a few weeks back. All in all it’s gonna be a fun night, I gotta run Hank.
Hank: But you didn’t even order.
Jake: I know, I stiffed the waiter walking this way on a tip last week, I’ll just grab something at the hotel.
Jake gets up and runs out of the hotel as the scene fades.
*Modified to fix spacing error.
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