Post by A.C. Smith on Oct 21, 2011 20:45:39 GMT -5
(Our scene opens today at what we see is one of the most bustling spots in the world: The Las Vegas Strip, brimming with lights and activity on a Friday night as an added volume of tourists mixes in with the Sin City locals. We see it all: The ship outside Treasure Island, the volcano outside the Mirage, trucks advertising scantily-clad escorts driving up and down Las Vegas Boulevard...until, that is, the scene suddenly fades to black.
After a few seconds, we fade in on the serene countryside. We see a lone brick house on top of a hill, with trees all around brandishing the many colors of autumn that can also be seen on leaves that have jumped onto the ground and since been raked into large piles. Gentle breezes are heard whistling through and moving the branches around...until the scene, again, fades to black abruptly.
After a few seconds, all we see is a lime green background. The camera zooms out, and we see we're in a television studio, one with a green screen normally used by meteorologists in forecasting the weather. As we continue to zoom out to a wider and wider angle, we see the frame of the one and only Big Apple Asskicker, A.C. Smith, smiling and leaning up against the edge of the set.
Smith seems happy, but before he opens his mouth to speak, he shakes his head with almost an air of pity to the action.)
A.C.: “OK, you're probably wondering why I tricked you guys. Well, after having to deal with Sang Real's claims, which start out as laughable and end up as just plain sad, I figure you're all used to dealing with things that are pretty far from the truth. I get Connor and Gabriel are jokesters. And to be fair, they're pretty funny when they want to be. But earlier this week, they weren't funny, 'ha ha.' They were funny, 'how many times have they hit their heads to where they actually believe what they're saying is true?'
Anyone who takes these guys for more than the frauds they are is either overly sympathetic or just plain clueless. For starters, they've christened themselves the ACW World Tag Team Champions. Smart when you consider there are no full-on tag teams to challenge that quote. Hell, when Antimatter, Mayhem and Brooks, even Travis and Hiashi Shinsuma, were around, did you see Sang Real anywhere near the tag title picture? No. They've used their mouths, not their skills between the ropes, to get where they are right now, and if you ask them what their career-making victory is as a team?”
(Smith shrugs.)
A.C.: “You won't get a straight answer out of them. It's not because they want to be funny, or because they want to jerk people around. It's because they don't have one. They don't much like dealing with facts and logic. Those might as well be foreign concepts to Connor and Gabriel, and that's a real shame, because, well, that's ALL myself and the Strong-Style Legend, Brian Stevens, will be bringing to the table this week in preparation for Sunday's main event.
Ah, those last two words. Main. Event. Myself and Brian Stevens have headlined shows all around the world. We've won over the toughest crowds, we've drank with the most hardcore fans in the world, and we've earned the respect of anyone that ever bought a ticket to see us tear the house down. Nothing intimidates us. We've seen it all, and to say that puts us in the driver's seat this weekend is an understatement.
Sang Real? Well, they've SEEN a lot from the safety of the broadcast booth, or the dressing room, or even from home when they haven't been booked on shows. That's not an oversight by ACW management, and it's not someone with a vendetta trying to bury Connor and Gabriel. It's because, well, outside of throwing out one-liners at a rapid pace, they haven't proven a damn thing. And instead of facing a TV monitor or a microphone from someplace where they can't get hurt, this week, they get a former ACW World Heavyweight Champion and someone that's seen truckloads of success everywhere he's gone.
This is the type of challenge Sang Real hasn't seen before, and it's one they're clearly not prepared for. After all, if they wanted ACW fans to believe that they were ready for the biggest stage in the world this weekend, the main event of a program televised around the world, they'd certainly do a lot more than sit around on some no-name radio show operated out of Matt Slam's mother's basement, talking about a title they've bestowed upon themselves, the injustices of them being held out of the ring when they haven't proven anything, how I apparently hate women, and how Brian Stevens went to Japan to do something the members of Sang Real haven't ever done: Better himself.”
(There's bite in Smith's words now, and a glare in his eye that wasn't there when the camera first zoomed out to fit him in the screen. He walks to his left, finding a news desk and sitting down on a wooden stool behind it.)
A.C.: “I'm not here to make political jokes. I'm not here to use humor to hide how unprepared I am for this weekend. I'm here to deal in the truth, something Sang Real tried to hide from earlier this week. See, in all their rambling, in all their insanity, they failed to bring up the events of last week. For those that missed Shockwave, I beat the living stuffing out of Derryk Aires for the second time in a matter of weeks while Sang Real looked on. And after the match, they tried to bum-rush Aires when I'd done all their dirty work for them.
Remember what happened next, Connor and Gabriel? The same man who I tore limb from limb, the same man I destroyed in systematic fashion, and the same man who I've proven time and again that I OWN from bell to bell didn't just fight you two off. He annihilated you. Left you laying in the middle of the ring. And all of a sudden, you weren't too eager to crack jokes, were you? No, someone you had every conceivable advantage over, from numbers to physical well-being and everything in-between, beat the living daylights out of you.
Where are the jokes about Derryk Aires, Sang Real? Oh, right, you don't have any; at least nothing of any substance. And if you don't have anything to say about HIM, what does that say when you have to prepare for yours truly, who has trouble telling Aires from an ant given how far above him I am? Add in the fact that I'm bringing along one of the men I respect more than just about anything, and suddenly, this match this week doesn't look like a laughing matter, now does it?”
(Again, A.C. shakes his head, and this time, it's accompanied by Smith's brown eyes rolling in a counter-clockwise direction.)
A.C.: “And in addition to all of that, when they had a chance for parting verbal shots, they made the classic mistake made only by wrestlers unprepared for what I bring to the table. They made the same mistake made by Derryk Aires, made by Evan Harrison, made by Carnage, made by Logan Alexander, made by plenty of people I've embarrassed in front of millions of fans around the world. Connor and Gabriel said, ahem...that I'm washed-up with only occasional bursts of luck.
So let's regroup. Thrashing champions like Snake, like Hyena, like Mike Voland. Earning a rabid fan following the likes of which has rarely been seen before. Earning wins over guys Sang Real won't ever be in the same ring with, let alone have a chance to beat. Winning the ACW World Heavyweight Championship and sending Kyle Travis's career into a tailspin it may never bounce out of. Right. All luck. CLEARLY there's no talent involved. CLEARLY I should just retire now. And clearly I should apologize to fans around the world for being the biggest fake since whatever evangelist stole money most recently.”
(Smith takes a break to chuckle before refocusing his brown eyes on the camera.)
A.C.: “I guess I should leave the 'sarcastic comedy' routine to Sang Real. And that's fine. They can have it. But while they're being the best in that part of the business, I'll settle for being among the best in the part of the business that MATTERS. Delivering week-in and week-out, and settling for nothing less than my best every week, proving all the people who say my career's been the direct result of luck and chance dead wrong in the process.
You'd think Sang Real would know better than this. They were up close last week at ringside. They got a front-row seat at what I do to people who don't take me as seriously as they should. Derryk Aires has done that twice now, and both matches have ended the same way, with the man who laid out Sang Real GETTING laid out by the one and only Big Apple Asskicker, A.C. Smith. But far be it for ACW's favorite satirists to actually take in a lesson in reality, right? Nope, they're happy enough being ignorant.
If that's how they want to view the world, then you know what? It's fine with me. They'll go into Sunday's match with their guard down, and maybe even try to compensate for the truth I've just dished out by saying they were just joking when in fact they actually believe their crap doesn't stink. And when they come forward, talking instead of working like they always do? THAT'S when I'm the most dangerous. THAT'S when I inflict the most damage. And THAT'S when maybe, just maybe, they'll FINALLY get it.
Nah. That'd be too easy.”
(Smith gets up, rising to his full 6'8” frame and cracking his thick neck once in each direction. He walks back where he originally started, passing the green screen before stopping just shy of the studio's doorway and turning his head back towards the camera.)
A.C.: “I didn't come to ACW to be like Sang Real. Connor and Gabriel squandered whatever chance they have of being remembered in this business because they wanted to be comedians. They've proven nothing in the ring of late, and it's not because someone's holding them back.
If they wanted to be the ACW World Tag Team Champions, ones that would actually be taken seriously by everyone associated with this organization, you know what they should've done? They should've just gone to Jack Marrow, lobbied for the belts to be put back into play, and won them. But no, they're content just talking about it and crowning themselves like a bunch of fanboys who know they have no chance at glory when true champions are also in the mix. And this week, that's exactly what they get, as Brian Stevens and myself will stop at nothing, NOTHING, to knock Sang Real off their not-so-lofty, imaginary perch.
Connor and Gabriel did a lot of laughing at their own jokes earlier this week. But they also did so last week, before the man I steamrolled dished out some punishment of his own despite being dinged up and outnumbered. They got quiet about that misadventure awful quickly. And I fully expect Sang Real to pipe down again after Brian Stevens and I tear them apart on a stage our opponents will never be prepared for, in a manner they'll never be prepared for, all while using the truth, a concept that might as well be a foreign language to them.
Does it sound like Connor and Gabriel are ready for this Sunday and the challenges that await them? Because to me, it sounds like two immature little boys swimming way too deep in a pool without a lifeguard. And when they start flailing their arms, realizing that big talk doesn't get them anywhere? THAT'S when they start sinking.
Sang Real? Take note: Joke all you want. Turn this into a satire as much as you damn well please. But this Sunday night in Birmingham? None of it will matter. What'll matter, instead, is how ready you are. And in this case? Let me repeat the words I uttered last week at Shockwave, when Storm and Harrison thought they held all the cards.
Boys? You're SO screwed.”
(Smith turns away from the camera, exiting out the door as the scene fades to black.)
After a few seconds, we fade in on the serene countryside. We see a lone brick house on top of a hill, with trees all around brandishing the many colors of autumn that can also be seen on leaves that have jumped onto the ground and since been raked into large piles. Gentle breezes are heard whistling through and moving the branches around...until the scene, again, fades to black abruptly.
After a few seconds, all we see is a lime green background. The camera zooms out, and we see we're in a television studio, one with a green screen normally used by meteorologists in forecasting the weather. As we continue to zoom out to a wider and wider angle, we see the frame of the one and only Big Apple Asskicker, A.C. Smith, smiling and leaning up against the edge of the set.
Smith seems happy, but before he opens his mouth to speak, he shakes his head with almost an air of pity to the action.)
A.C.: “OK, you're probably wondering why I tricked you guys. Well, after having to deal with Sang Real's claims, which start out as laughable and end up as just plain sad, I figure you're all used to dealing with things that are pretty far from the truth. I get Connor and Gabriel are jokesters. And to be fair, they're pretty funny when they want to be. But earlier this week, they weren't funny, 'ha ha.' They were funny, 'how many times have they hit their heads to where they actually believe what they're saying is true?'
Anyone who takes these guys for more than the frauds they are is either overly sympathetic or just plain clueless. For starters, they've christened themselves the ACW World Tag Team Champions. Smart when you consider there are no full-on tag teams to challenge that quote. Hell, when Antimatter, Mayhem and Brooks, even Travis and Hiashi Shinsuma, were around, did you see Sang Real anywhere near the tag title picture? No. They've used their mouths, not their skills between the ropes, to get where they are right now, and if you ask them what their career-making victory is as a team?”
(Smith shrugs.)
A.C.: “You won't get a straight answer out of them. It's not because they want to be funny, or because they want to jerk people around. It's because they don't have one. They don't much like dealing with facts and logic. Those might as well be foreign concepts to Connor and Gabriel, and that's a real shame, because, well, that's ALL myself and the Strong-Style Legend, Brian Stevens, will be bringing to the table this week in preparation for Sunday's main event.
Ah, those last two words. Main. Event. Myself and Brian Stevens have headlined shows all around the world. We've won over the toughest crowds, we've drank with the most hardcore fans in the world, and we've earned the respect of anyone that ever bought a ticket to see us tear the house down. Nothing intimidates us. We've seen it all, and to say that puts us in the driver's seat this weekend is an understatement.
Sang Real? Well, they've SEEN a lot from the safety of the broadcast booth, or the dressing room, or even from home when they haven't been booked on shows. That's not an oversight by ACW management, and it's not someone with a vendetta trying to bury Connor and Gabriel. It's because, well, outside of throwing out one-liners at a rapid pace, they haven't proven a damn thing. And instead of facing a TV monitor or a microphone from someplace where they can't get hurt, this week, they get a former ACW World Heavyweight Champion and someone that's seen truckloads of success everywhere he's gone.
This is the type of challenge Sang Real hasn't seen before, and it's one they're clearly not prepared for. After all, if they wanted ACW fans to believe that they were ready for the biggest stage in the world this weekend, the main event of a program televised around the world, they'd certainly do a lot more than sit around on some no-name radio show operated out of Matt Slam's mother's basement, talking about a title they've bestowed upon themselves, the injustices of them being held out of the ring when they haven't proven anything, how I apparently hate women, and how Brian Stevens went to Japan to do something the members of Sang Real haven't ever done: Better himself.”
(There's bite in Smith's words now, and a glare in his eye that wasn't there when the camera first zoomed out to fit him in the screen. He walks to his left, finding a news desk and sitting down on a wooden stool behind it.)
A.C.: “I'm not here to make political jokes. I'm not here to use humor to hide how unprepared I am for this weekend. I'm here to deal in the truth, something Sang Real tried to hide from earlier this week. See, in all their rambling, in all their insanity, they failed to bring up the events of last week. For those that missed Shockwave, I beat the living stuffing out of Derryk Aires for the second time in a matter of weeks while Sang Real looked on. And after the match, they tried to bum-rush Aires when I'd done all their dirty work for them.
Remember what happened next, Connor and Gabriel? The same man who I tore limb from limb, the same man I destroyed in systematic fashion, and the same man who I've proven time and again that I OWN from bell to bell didn't just fight you two off. He annihilated you. Left you laying in the middle of the ring. And all of a sudden, you weren't too eager to crack jokes, were you? No, someone you had every conceivable advantage over, from numbers to physical well-being and everything in-between, beat the living daylights out of you.
Where are the jokes about Derryk Aires, Sang Real? Oh, right, you don't have any; at least nothing of any substance. And if you don't have anything to say about HIM, what does that say when you have to prepare for yours truly, who has trouble telling Aires from an ant given how far above him I am? Add in the fact that I'm bringing along one of the men I respect more than just about anything, and suddenly, this match this week doesn't look like a laughing matter, now does it?”
(Again, A.C. shakes his head, and this time, it's accompanied by Smith's brown eyes rolling in a counter-clockwise direction.)
A.C.: “And in addition to all of that, when they had a chance for parting verbal shots, they made the classic mistake made only by wrestlers unprepared for what I bring to the table. They made the same mistake made by Derryk Aires, made by Evan Harrison, made by Carnage, made by Logan Alexander, made by plenty of people I've embarrassed in front of millions of fans around the world. Connor and Gabriel said, ahem...that I'm washed-up with only occasional bursts of luck.
So let's regroup. Thrashing champions like Snake, like Hyena, like Mike Voland. Earning a rabid fan following the likes of which has rarely been seen before. Earning wins over guys Sang Real won't ever be in the same ring with, let alone have a chance to beat. Winning the ACW World Heavyweight Championship and sending Kyle Travis's career into a tailspin it may never bounce out of. Right. All luck. CLEARLY there's no talent involved. CLEARLY I should just retire now. And clearly I should apologize to fans around the world for being the biggest fake since whatever evangelist stole money most recently.”
(Smith takes a break to chuckle before refocusing his brown eyes on the camera.)
A.C.: “I guess I should leave the 'sarcastic comedy' routine to Sang Real. And that's fine. They can have it. But while they're being the best in that part of the business, I'll settle for being among the best in the part of the business that MATTERS. Delivering week-in and week-out, and settling for nothing less than my best every week, proving all the people who say my career's been the direct result of luck and chance dead wrong in the process.
You'd think Sang Real would know better than this. They were up close last week at ringside. They got a front-row seat at what I do to people who don't take me as seriously as they should. Derryk Aires has done that twice now, and both matches have ended the same way, with the man who laid out Sang Real GETTING laid out by the one and only Big Apple Asskicker, A.C. Smith. But far be it for ACW's favorite satirists to actually take in a lesson in reality, right? Nope, they're happy enough being ignorant.
If that's how they want to view the world, then you know what? It's fine with me. They'll go into Sunday's match with their guard down, and maybe even try to compensate for the truth I've just dished out by saying they were just joking when in fact they actually believe their crap doesn't stink. And when they come forward, talking instead of working like they always do? THAT'S when I'm the most dangerous. THAT'S when I inflict the most damage. And THAT'S when maybe, just maybe, they'll FINALLY get it.
Nah. That'd be too easy.”
(Smith gets up, rising to his full 6'8” frame and cracking his thick neck once in each direction. He walks back where he originally started, passing the green screen before stopping just shy of the studio's doorway and turning his head back towards the camera.)
A.C.: “I didn't come to ACW to be like Sang Real. Connor and Gabriel squandered whatever chance they have of being remembered in this business because they wanted to be comedians. They've proven nothing in the ring of late, and it's not because someone's holding them back.
If they wanted to be the ACW World Tag Team Champions, ones that would actually be taken seriously by everyone associated with this organization, you know what they should've done? They should've just gone to Jack Marrow, lobbied for the belts to be put back into play, and won them. But no, they're content just talking about it and crowning themselves like a bunch of fanboys who know they have no chance at glory when true champions are also in the mix. And this week, that's exactly what they get, as Brian Stevens and myself will stop at nothing, NOTHING, to knock Sang Real off their not-so-lofty, imaginary perch.
Connor and Gabriel did a lot of laughing at their own jokes earlier this week. But they also did so last week, before the man I steamrolled dished out some punishment of his own despite being dinged up and outnumbered. They got quiet about that misadventure awful quickly. And I fully expect Sang Real to pipe down again after Brian Stevens and I tear them apart on a stage our opponents will never be prepared for, in a manner they'll never be prepared for, all while using the truth, a concept that might as well be a foreign language to them.
Does it sound like Connor and Gabriel are ready for this Sunday and the challenges that await them? Because to me, it sounds like two immature little boys swimming way too deep in a pool without a lifeguard. And when they start flailing their arms, realizing that big talk doesn't get them anywhere? THAT'S when they start sinking.
Sang Real? Take note: Joke all you want. Turn this into a satire as much as you damn well please. But this Sunday night in Birmingham? None of it will matter. What'll matter, instead, is how ready you are. And in this case? Let me repeat the words I uttered last week at Shockwave, when Storm and Harrison thought they held all the cards.
Boys? You're SO screwed.”
(Smith turns away from the camera, exiting out the door as the scene fades to black.)