Post by Storm on Oct 29, 2011 16:00:27 GMT -5
The scene opens up on the outside of a school; “St. Mary’s Academy for the Gifted.” At one time this may have been an impressive bastion of education and preparation for life. But now it has fallen into disrepair and ruin; signs everywhere have marked it as “condemned” and dates of when it is to be demolished. The ACW camera “walks” into the school, to see a sight of rust and destruction, the inside having been stripped of much of what made it once valuable, leaving only the dredged up remains of St. Mary’s. The camera cautiously walks about the halls until it finally gets to a single place with lights on.
Room 101.
A hand reaches out and opens the door, and there seated in one of the desks, facing an old TV is Jason Storm, diligently writing on a paper as if he was diligently dictating whatever the teacher had to say. In this case, the teacher was none other than AC Smith, going on his latest verbal tired against the duo of Storm and Harrison.
“There is a lot you can learn from listening. You can learn whether they are liars or not, whether they believe what they say, what part of the country they are from. You can also learn what setting is appropriate to rip that person to shreds verbally, and I can think of no better place than to take little pot shots at AC Smith than right here in a dead school, due to how well it matches both the mentality, ignorance, and all around ultimate worthlessness of my opponents. And seeing as how we are almost done here…”
Indeed, the video of Smith talking had just gone black, and was now at static. Storm casually reached for a remote and switched the machine off.
“…I think we can get started with said ripping. Now, how’s about we go through this here list I crafted about everything that Smith was going to say, and see how well we can match it?”
“Brag about his few accomplishments in ACW…check. No-sells humility…check. Called Evan and myself morons…check. Brag about countering Snake’s Injection…check. Brag about beating Snake, check. Congratulations for finally making that list, by the way.”
Jason shrugs his shoulders and continues to run through this list, chicken scratching as he goes.
“Brag about beating Mike Voland…check. Brag about beating Kyle Travis, despite neither never cleanly winning nor successfully defending the World title…check. Mention me losing to Logan Alexander, while forgetting to mention the times I’ve beaten Logan Alexander, check! Paint himself as the victim of two-on-one assaults despite it always being just me that made him my little -ACW Forced Censored-…check.”
Storm reaches back and stretches, working out some imaginary kinks in his arms. “Good to know Smith that the more things change, the more they never really do. Take me for instance; I’m now a husband and a father with responsibilities and all that other wholesome family stuff. Does this mean I am a changed man, full of sunshine and roses?”
Storm gags at the very thought, shivering and shuddering in an overdramatic way so as to make his point.
“Hell no; I’m a heartless bastard who will punch you in the dick, smack upside your head, shrine a bright beacon on any and all insecurities you have in as large and public a place as possible, all just before stabbing you in the back and twisting the knife. The only difference is that now I have to turn to my little son and say, ‘don’t you ever let me see you do that.’”
“And you Smith, what’s changed? A little older, a little dumber, and you have a World title reign to your resume that is so low on credibility you need to reference the fact that back in AWA after winning a number one contendership match, and the champion could not successfully defend his title, it was forfeited to me. Yet you’re still giving the same speeches in the same way to the same people who don’t matter in the slightest and we’re supposed to believe it was spontaneous. Who the hell IS Mitchell, anyway? Just a random “cop” you happened to “pass-by” in “your neck of the woods” while ACW cameras just “happen” to be there? Please Smith, this song and dance is pathetic, even for you.
“You see Smith, your hypocrisy is so well known that even pointing it out would be minus points against me; a failure to grasp the painfully obvious. ‘The sky is blue, grass is green, Brian Stevens’ homosexuality is the worst kept secret in professional wrestling, and AC Smith is the world’s biggest hypocrite.’ All you do is try and justify how you are a changed person; how I won’t walk all over you like I ALWAYS walk over you, but then turn around and say how neither Evan nor I are at your level. Oh really? I won’t speak for Evan, because Lord knows that little bastard will speak for himself, but me?
“Smith, how many times do I have to knock you out? How many times do I have to beat you? How many times do I have to smack you around before you take one look at me and say, ‘Wow, I don’t like him, but that Jason Storm is quite the wrestler.’? You underestimate me all the time, and it bites you in the ass every time. Now me?”
Storm picks up the piece of paper, showing it to the camera in full.
“I have you pegged; can read you like a book all the time. Hell, the only thing I have on here that you didn’t go on and on incessantly about is beating three men in one night. In other words, the one thing you have that would actually impress me is the one thing you didn’t touch on. But you were sure to mention how I’m oh so not your level!”
Storm gives the camera a goofy ‘thumbs up’ before crumbling the paper and throwing it over his shoulder. He gives a deep sigh and shakes his head, clearly wondering what in the world is going through his mind.
“I know you so well Smith that I can make a stupid list about all the crap you will say, but what do you know of me? That I haven’t wrestled a match in over three years, so I am at a huge disadvantage against you? That because after I leave wrestling, you finally gain some measure of success at a world level, therefor every time I made you my -ACW Forced Censored- is magically invalid?”
Storm leans forward, giving the camera a very odd, quizzical look.
“Do you think I have done nothing but sit on my ass in those three years? That I have just wasted away into some farcical has-been who wastes the time by reminiscing about the good ole’ days and wanting that one last run in the sunset? Of course you do, because in magical Smith land, only AC Smith is in tip-top shape every day! You know, in between giving motivational speeches to a bunch of brats the week of AN IMPORTANT PAY-PER-VIEW MATCH!!”
Storm rubs his head, trying to make the pain go away and clearly failing.
“‘Ring rust’ is a bullshit theory that has been destroyed by the likes of George Foreman and Muhammad Ali, a little fairy tale that people like you tell yourselves in order to convince the world that there is a possible way that I won’t march to that ring and do what I have done to you every time we met; whether your ‘Big Apple Asskicker’ storm, yawn, then slap you so hard you get flashbacks.
“Incidentally, I’m glad you tried to gloss over the subject of you getting knocked out, I really, really am. Because it is just like you to gloss over something important and the important thing there Smith, is that I. Can. Hit. You. Hard. Er. Then. You. Can. Hit. Me. Have I spelled that out for you enough, you pillow-fisted pussy?”
Storm gets up and motions for the camera to follow him, leaving the room and walking down the hallway, passing by rusty old lockers that have long sense fallen out of use.
“But that is a symptom of your whole problem, isn’t it Smith? The reason Evan is angry at you, the reason hitting you is so fun; you flippantly try and degrade everyone else down to a level below you, because deep down you are a scared little boy. A little boy who wants so desperately to be the big dog on campus and the thought that there would be anyone tougher than him was so unbelievable that he denied it, even when it was proven true time after time, again and again. You are not superior to Evan, Smith, and certainly not to me. But the fact that you constantly portray yourself as this ultimate man, this great and heroic figure to be admired and adored by all the little people makes me sick.
“And you think that you are going to intimidate me by holding a victory over Logan Alexander? In a triple threat match? You think that I am going to fold like a little girl because after I retire you actually start to win some main events?
“Or maybe you think that I am intimidated because you ran away and got the world’s toughest Goth to hide behind? That’s right; it is finally time to talk about Brian Stevens.”
Jason shakes his head before leaning on a locker. Then he does something that causes the cameraman to take a few steps back; he begins to clap.
“I actually have to hand it to you; going to Japan and dragging him out of the dying cesspool that is Japanese professional wrestling is a masterful stroke. He clearly needs the crack money, and you clearly needed a friend, someone else who is by no means intimidated or frightened by you. I suppose I COULD delve into your pathetic inter-personal skills that you had to drag a complete ego-maniac from the past you just couldn’t stay away from the lime-light rather than rely on anyone here at ACW. I mean, come on Smith, you’ve been here how long and already people can see through the NYPD bullshit? That’s a little sad even for you.
“But rather than that, I want to say something that I think may knock you dead on your feet, which, given everything is not too unpleasant a prospect.”
Storm puts his hands together, as if in prayer, bringing his folded hands to his mouth, closing his eyes and shaking his head. He remains like this for a while, before opening them again. He has the most sincere look in his eye when he mutters his next words.
“Thank you.”
Jason gets a smile that almost touches his eyes. It is wiped away quick enough, but for a moment it looked like his soul was bared for the world to see.
“Everyone has low points in their career. Losses to people they shouldn’t have lost against, accomplishments that people run down to the point of making them look like jokes, being AC Smith, whatever. Mine was a loss in my first and only singles match with Brian Stevens. What people need to understand is that this was a time when Brian Stevens was considered this unstoppable machine of lipstick and drag. You could attempt to dig his eyeballs out with a piece of glass, and he would just laugh and then orgasm. And then beat you to death with his eyeball. It was a hype train that I thought I wouldn’t buy into, that I was too good to buy into. I would go in there and show Brian Stevens that I was the man who could hang with anyone in any type of environment. I could go hardcore, I could do technical, I could compete in the most insane and violent matches of all time.
“Brian Stevens beat me in five minutes, and I didn’t hit him even once.”
Storm gets a lost look in his eyes, replaced soon enough by disgust. He picks himself up and continues to walk out of the building.
“That loss was one of the contributing factors of my deciding to walk away from professional wrestling. If I couldn’t, after all my accomplishments, trials and tribulations, after becoming World champion, choking out Brian Williams, knocking out AC Smith, and decimating Evan Harrison in a career defining feud, lay a single finger on Brian Stevens…then what the hell had a done up to that point? That loss has haunted me for a long time.
“So that you Smith; thank you for taking the time to come up with enough cocaine and nail polish to pick Stevens out of the gutter. Thank you for getting his ass in the ring and back into shape. Thank you for bringing him to ACW. Thank you, for giving me my redemption.”
Storm pauses just at the door, wondering what he should say next, if anything. Finally, he turns around one last time.
“Stevens, I know you; if you say anything at all, you’ll give an interview laced with profanity, you’ll say that you are Brian -ACW Forced Censored- Stevens and that you are the best ever, that Smith is a cool cat despite you hating his guts so many years ago, and that Evan and I don’t amount to even the genital warts you no doubt have incurred so very long ago. And I’m glad. The more things change, the more they stay the same. You are exactly as you were all those years ago, so I’ll prove to myself, that there is one thing that can change. If it is the last thing on earth I do, I will pin your shoulders to the mat. If I have to find you a thousand times, wrestle you a thousand times, and lose a thousand times, I. Will. Beat. You. And then I can truly get back into wrestling, and move on with my career.
“Class dismissed, boys.”
Storm opens the door, and steps out into the light. The camera, however, fades to black.
Room 101.
A hand reaches out and opens the door, and there seated in one of the desks, facing an old TV is Jason Storm, diligently writing on a paper as if he was diligently dictating whatever the teacher had to say. In this case, the teacher was none other than AC Smith, going on his latest verbal tired against the duo of Storm and Harrison.
“There is a lot you can learn from listening. You can learn whether they are liars or not, whether they believe what they say, what part of the country they are from. You can also learn what setting is appropriate to rip that person to shreds verbally, and I can think of no better place than to take little pot shots at AC Smith than right here in a dead school, due to how well it matches both the mentality, ignorance, and all around ultimate worthlessness of my opponents. And seeing as how we are almost done here…”
Indeed, the video of Smith talking had just gone black, and was now at static. Storm casually reached for a remote and switched the machine off.
“…I think we can get started with said ripping. Now, how’s about we go through this here list I crafted about everything that Smith was going to say, and see how well we can match it?”
“Brag about his few accomplishments in ACW…check. No-sells humility…check. Called Evan and myself morons…check. Brag about countering Snake’s Injection…check. Brag about beating Snake, check. Congratulations for finally making that list, by the way.”
Jason shrugs his shoulders and continues to run through this list, chicken scratching as he goes.
“Brag about beating Mike Voland…check. Brag about beating Kyle Travis, despite neither never cleanly winning nor successfully defending the World title…check. Mention me losing to Logan Alexander, while forgetting to mention the times I’ve beaten Logan Alexander, check! Paint himself as the victim of two-on-one assaults despite it always being just me that made him my little -ACW Forced Censored-…check.”
Storm reaches back and stretches, working out some imaginary kinks in his arms. “Good to know Smith that the more things change, the more they never really do. Take me for instance; I’m now a husband and a father with responsibilities and all that other wholesome family stuff. Does this mean I am a changed man, full of sunshine and roses?”
Storm gags at the very thought, shivering and shuddering in an overdramatic way so as to make his point.
“Hell no; I’m a heartless bastard who will punch you in the dick, smack upside your head, shrine a bright beacon on any and all insecurities you have in as large and public a place as possible, all just before stabbing you in the back and twisting the knife. The only difference is that now I have to turn to my little son and say, ‘don’t you ever let me see you do that.’”
“And you Smith, what’s changed? A little older, a little dumber, and you have a World title reign to your resume that is so low on credibility you need to reference the fact that back in AWA after winning a number one contendership match, and the champion could not successfully defend his title, it was forfeited to me. Yet you’re still giving the same speeches in the same way to the same people who don’t matter in the slightest and we’re supposed to believe it was spontaneous. Who the hell IS Mitchell, anyway? Just a random “cop” you happened to “pass-by” in “your neck of the woods” while ACW cameras just “happen” to be there? Please Smith, this song and dance is pathetic, even for you.
“You see Smith, your hypocrisy is so well known that even pointing it out would be minus points against me; a failure to grasp the painfully obvious. ‘The sky is blue, grass is green, Brian Stevens’ homosexuality is the worst kept secret in professional wrestling, and AC Smith is the world’s biggest hypocrite.’ All you do is try and justify how you are a changed person; how I won’t walk all over you like I ALWAYS walk over you, but then turn around and say how neither Evan nor I are at your level. Oh really? I won’t speak for Evan, because Lord knows that little bastard will speak for himself, but me?
“Smith, how many times do I have to knock you out? How many times do I have to beat you? How many times do I have to smack you around before you take one look at me and say, ‘Wow, I don’t like him, but that Jason Storm is quite the wrestler.’? You underestimate me all the time, and it bites you in the ass every time. Now me?”
Storm picks up the piece of paper, showing it to the camera in full.
“I have you pegged; can read you like a book all the time. Hell, the only thing I have on here that you didn’t go on and on incessantly about is beating three men in one night. In other words, the one thing you have that would actually impress me is the one thing you didn’t touch on. But you were sure to mention how I’m oh so not your level!”
Storm gives the camera a goofy ‘thumbs up’ before crumbling the paper and throwing it over his shoulder. He gives a deep sigh and shakes his head, clearly wondering what in the world is going through his mind.
“I know you so well Smith that I can make a stupid list about all the crap you will say, but what do you know of me? That I haven’t wrestled a match in over three years, so I am at a huge disadvantage against you? That because after I leave wrestling, you finally gain some measure of success at a world level, therefor every time I made you my -ACW Forced Censored- is magically invalid?”
Storm leans forward, giving the camera a very odd, quizzical look.
“Do you think I have done nothing but sit on my ass in those three years? That I have just wasted away into some farcical has-been who wastes the time by reminiscing about the good ole’ days and wanting that one last run in the sunset? Of course you do, because in magical Smith land, only AC Smith is in tip-top shape every day! You know, in between giving motivational speeches to a bunch of brats the week of AN IMPORTANT PAY-PER-VIEW MATCH!!”
Storm rubs his head, trying to make the pain go away and clearly failing.
“‘Ring rust’ is a bullshit theory that has been destroyed by the likes of George Foreman and Muhammad Ali, a little fairy tale that people like you tell yourselves in order to convince the world that there is a possible way that I won’t march to that ring and do what I have done to you every time we met; whether your ‘Big Apple Asskicker’ storm, yawn, then slap you so hard you get flashbacks.
“Incidentally, I’m glad you tried to gloss over the subject of you getting knocked out, I really, really am. Because it is just like you to gloss over something important and the important thing there Smith, is that I. Can. Hit. You. Hard. Er. Then. You. Can. Hit. Me. Have I spelled that out for you enough, you pillow-fisted pussy?”
Storm gets up and motions for the camera to follow him, leaving the room and walking down the hallway, passing by rusty old lockers that have long sense fallen out of use.
“But that is a symptom of your whole problem, isn’t it Smith? The reason Evan is angry at you, the reason hitting you is so fun; you flippantly try and degrade everyone else down to a level below you, because deep down you are a scared little boy. A little boy who wants so desperately to be the big dog on campus and the thought that there would be anyone tougher than him was so unbelievable that he denied it, even when it was proven true time after time, again and again. You are not superior to Evan, Smith, and certainly not to me. But the fact that you constantly portray yourself as this ultimate man, this great and heroic figure to be admired and adored by all the little people makes me sick.
“And you think that you are going to intimidate me by holding a victory over Logan Alexander? In a triple threat match? You think that I am going to fold like a little girl because after I retire you actually start to win some main events?
“Or maybe you think that I am intimidated because you ran away and got the world’s toughest Goth to hide behind? That’s right; it is finally time to talk about Brian Stevens.”
Jason shakes his head before leaning on a locker. Then he does something that causes the cameraman to take a few steps back; he begins to clap.
“I actually have to hand it to you; going to Japan and dragging him out of the dying cesspool that is Japanese professional wrestling is a masterful stroke. He clearly needs the crack money, and you clearly needed a friend, someone else who is by no means intimidated or frightened by you. I suppose I COULD delve into your pathetic inter-personal skills that you had to drag a complete ego-maniac from the past you just couldn’t stay away from the lime-light rather than rely on anyone here at ACW. I mean, come on Smith, you’ve been here how long and already people can see through the NYPD bullshit? That’s a little sad even for you.
“But rather than that, I want to say something that I think may knock you dead on your feet, which, given everything is not too unpleasant a prospect.”
Storm puts his hands together, as if in prayer, bringing his folded hands to his mouth, closing his eyes and shaking his head. He remains like this for a while, before opening them again. He has the most sincere look in his eye when he mutters his next words.
“Thank you.”
Jason gets a smile that almost touches his eyes. It is wiped away quick enough, but for a moment it looked like his soul was bared for the world to see.
“Everyone has low points in their career. Losses to people they shouldn’t have lost against, accomplishments that people run down to the point of making them look like jokes, being AC Smith, whatever. Mine was a loss in my first and only singles match with Brian Stevens. What people need to understand is that this was a time when Brian Stevens was considered this unstoppable machine of lipstick and drag. You could attempt to dig his eyeballs out with a piece of glass, and he would just laugh and then orgasm. And then beat you to death with his eyeball. It was a hype train that I thought I wouldn’t buy into, that I was too good to buy into. I would go in there and show Brian Stevens that I was the man who could hang with anyone in any type of environment. I could go hardcore, I could do technical, I could compete in the most insane and violent matches of all time.
“Brian Stevens beat me in five minutes, and I didn’t hit him even once.”
Storm gets a lost look in his eyes, replaced soon enough by disgust. He picks himself up and continues to walk out of the building.
“That loss was one of the contributing factors of my deciding to walk away from professional wrestling. If I couldn’t, after all my accomplishments, trials and tribulations, after becoming World champion, choking out Brian Williams, knocking out AC Smith, and decimating Evan Harrison in a career defining feud, lay a single finger on Brian Stevens…then what the hell had a done up to that point? That loss has haunted me for a long time.
“So that you Smith; thank you for taking the time to come up with enough cocaine and nail polish to pick Stevens out of the gutter. Thank you for getting his ass in the ring and back into shape. Thank you for bringing him to ACW. Thank you, for giving me my redemption.”
Storm pauses just at the door, wondering what he should say next, if anything. Finally, he turns around one last time.
“Stevens, I know you; if you say anything at all, you’ll give an interview laced with profanity, you’ll say that you are Brian -ACW Forced Censored- Stevens and that you are the best ever, that Smith is a cool cat despite you hating his guts so many years ago, and that Evan and I don’t amount to even the genital warts you no doubt have incurred so very long ago. And I’m glad. The more things change, the more they stay the same. You are exactly as you were all those years ago, so I’ll prove to myself, that there is one thing that can change. If it is the last thing on earth I do, I will pin your shoulders to the mat. If I have to find you a thousand times, wrestle you a thousand times, and lose a thousand times, I. Will. Beat. You. And then I can truly get back into wrestling, and move on with my career.
“Class dismissed, boys.”
Storm opens the door, and steps out into the light. The camera, however, fades to black.