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Messages - Mr Ringo

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1
Supercard Archives / NXT vs POWER PLAY
« on: January 09, 2015, 09:06:19 PM »
 :FADE IN:

AUGUST 18 2014

INT. DINER – NIGHT

The camera fades in to a small diner in the middle of the Nevada desert. The noise was almost too much to take. The clattering of dishes and the scrape of the knives and forks scratching back and forth on the used and almost abused white porcelain. She stared at her scrambled eggs covered in ketchup, wondering how she could have been so stupid as to drive to the Nevada desert with $100,000 of his money in a bright blue duffel bag. She wondered if he would take her with him this time, or if it would be like the last however many times where he paid for breakfast and rode away alone. She wondered if he would even show. She stared up the big oak kitchen door that stood five feet in front of her. The same oak door she had been staring at for the past two hours. As the bus boy walked towards it carrying a stack of plates, the door swung open.

CRASH!

The old waitress with a scar of her left cheek collided with the bus boy and the dishes went flying. She chuckled to herself. April was twenty-three years young with bright blue eyes and a smile that could make Helen of Troy jealous. Her bright blonde hair stood out as if it were the only color in a black and white picture. Her pasty white skin screamed for a sun tan. Maybe even a tanning booth. She had spent the better part of the last year waiting for the man she loved to come back. She would tell you she just worked for him if you asked her, but even a stranger would know she was lying. She was his personal assistant. He was a user. Not a drug abuser but a people abuser. People mostly meaning April. He would send her on all sorts of odd missions. Most recently a call in the middle of the night, asking her to drive to the Juarez bus depot and go to locker 353. Grab the blue duffel bag and bring to Rick’s Truck Stop Diner on I215 in the Nevada desert. “Don’t look inside.” he said. But this time April wasn’t going to listen. She was going to look inside and she was going to confront him. Or maybe not. The small scar above her right eye was not from the car accident she told everyone about. She heard a car pull up in the parking lot and she heard the door to the diner swing open. She recognized the clap of his Italian leather shoes hitting the tile floor as he walked towards. As he got closer she could smell his scent and she could all of the anger that she had been harboring towards him disappear. She cracked a smile. He walked around her and met her eyes with his. He’s taller than most. His broad shoulders blocked April’s view of the kitchen door she had become so familiar with. He wore a white suit with a red shirt with an open collar that fit snugly underneath his suit jacket. His short cropped black hair seems to flow through the air and his designer sunglasses shielded his eyes from the desert sun. APRIL was staring at her lover and her abuser. She was staring at James Nathaniel Ringo. He had aged since the last time they were in the same room. The bit of boyish charm that use to light up his eyes was now gone. The man sitting before her was not the same man she once knew. He took off his sunglasses as he sat down across from her. As he looked her over, he cracked a smile.

RINGO: Hey baby.

APRIL: Where have you been?

RINGO: I’m sorry I got held up in Miami.

APRIL: Miami?

RINGO: I was, but something came up. Did you bring it?

APRIL: You know I did.

RINGO: Well give ‘er here…

She paused for second, if only for a moment. He knew.

RINGO: I told you not to open it April!

APRIL: I know Jimmy but-

RINGO: Listen woman, I send you that money once a month for a reason and it is not so I could sit here and explain to you what that bag is for. Now give it here or so help me I will slap you in front of these redneck losers.

April froze. Out of all the times he had been drunk and an asshole, he never spoke like that before. Something changed him. She stammered, but slowly slid the small duffel bag across the table. As he opens it to inspect its insides, April squeezes a small tear drop and a slight whimper. RINGO looked up.

RINGO: Oh baby I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I just-

APRIL: I know you don’t mean it baby but you scared me. Why are you acting like this?

He stood up quickly and walked around to the other side of the small booth and plopped down next to her. Just as he sat down the waitress came over.

Waitress: Can I get-

RINGO: Coffee, Black.

She rolled her eyes as she walked away. He turned to April and grabbed her fork. He slid her plate in front of himself and started to eat her breakfast.

APRIL: Just this once baby, what’s the money for?

He thought for a long minute as if he did not trust her with the answer.

RINGO: I’m going back. I’ve done what I had to do with my father. I’m going back.

A smile lit across April's face.

APRIL: You’re coming back to Vegas?

The waitress came over and poured the coffee.

RINGO: Yes. It’s time. I was in Miami to finish something. To finish something so I COULD go back.

An even bigger smile lit across APRIL's face.

APRIL: You’re really coming back?

RINGO: Yes, that’s what I said isn’t it?

He took a sip of his coffee and put the cup down.

APRIL: When are we going?

RINGO: As soon as I finish my coffee. I have someone to see.

APRIL: Do they know you’re coming already?

RINGO: Not yet baby doll. But they will. They’ll know when James Nathaniel Ringo rolls back into town. And they’re gonna wish he never did.

:FADE OUT:





The Personal Diary of James Nathaniel Ringo


January 7th, 2015

It is a new year. The plan is in place and things are in motion. Three heroes of years past are to be taken away, dragging and screaming toward their demise. Power…is absolute. I’ve tried to assemble the best team I could. Former champions who have been wronged in the same way. Forgotten…disposed of. These two men will meet a similar fate as Steve Ramone and his group of slack-jawed yokels…but in due time.

John Dough, a former foe, who I have bested before. For some reason it is you who wants to hold up a banner of a group long been forgotten. A mantle of what success was once like here in Sin City Wrestler. For some unknown reason it is you that has firmly placed yourself in our cross hairs. We did not seek you out…you were brought to us. I know this must be hard for you to hear and probably even more difficult to comprehend but I will try to dumb things down for you. There are people in your group, like Steve Ramone, and your once great leader Spike Staggs who have moved on from their chance to shine in the spotlight and bask in the glory. They are, in every essence of the term, has-beens. They have already reached their pinnacle and have long since been removed from any prominence or relevance. But you, my masked friend, are the anomaly of your group. You are a never was. Useless and undeserving, you hold up the banner of a once great man. He should be ashamed of what NXT has become.

NXT has become a breeding ground for talentless hacks who can’t get out of their own way. Take Connor Murphy for example. He is the definition of replaceable. A nameless face lost in the crowd, hoping that somewhere somehow something near greatness rubs off on him. It’s laughable that this is what now represents Spike Staggs’ legacy. A winless wonder, destined to be a copycat for his whole life. It makes me chuckle to myself when I see how easy it truly is to move right through NXT.

The most entertaining part of all of this is Steve Ramone; a champion of the people and a man who could’ve been something. Instead he chose to align himself with two men who will forever drag him down to the bottom of the Sin City Wrestling ladder. He could’ve been something, there was potential there. Sadly, all is now lost. Unfortunately, he’s just another member in a band of losers.


2
Climax Control Archives / ...
« on: December 05, 2014, 10:40:35 PM »
 :FADE IN:

APRIL 19 2014

INT. RINGO MANUFACTURING – NIGHT

The camera fades in to the large office of James Orion Ringo and pans around the room and shows older, out-of-date furniture, different pictures on the walls, and an awkward color scheme. The large window on the right wall is covered by a dark red curtain and the lights from the Miami, Florida city night is barely creeping in the through the curtain and into the dark office. Above the large desk and the leather chair is a sign that reads, “Without Power, There is Nothing.” Sitting behind the desk is James O, wearing a white suit with a light blue shirt and a clementine colored tie. His salt and pepper is slicked backed and his face is slightly hidden by the large nose placed on top of it that holds his small bifocals. Sitting in front of him on his desk is nameplate that reads “JAMES O. RINGO”. Standing behind him in a black suit and a black shirt with an unbuttoned color is Ringo, folding his hands in front on him. One of his hands is bandaged up from where his father had stabbed him with a fork earlier that week.

Sitting in front of James O’s desk is an older Italian man dressed to the nines. Wearing a double-breasted, three-piece, pinstriped suit with a wide paisley tie and a white shirt. He sits nervously as two of James O’s henchmen flank him on either side. He removes his white pocket square from his jacket breath pocket and wipes the sweat from his brow as he clears his throat. His name is Enzo.

ENZO: Mr. Ringo…please…I…

James O chuckles a bit as he cuts off his guest.

JAMES O: Please, Enzo. There’s no reason to be nervous here. You are among friends. Continue…

He gestures his hand as if motioning Enzo to move on.

ENZO: Like I was saying…this economy has been very tough on my family’s business. We have been struggling these past few months. If there were any other way…

James O listens to the man across from him without changing his facial expressions. He pauses for what seems like an eternity before cracking a smile. He turns back to his son Ringo and makes sure he’s paying attention before turning back to Enzo.

JAMES O: Enzo…your family has been buying textiles from Ringo Manufacturing for thirty years…

Enzo interrupts him.

ENZO: Thirty four…

James O sneers at Enzo a bit for interrupting him.

JAMES O: Yes…thirty four. Why would you feel that after all that time, after the business you’ve done with my father, and me, that you couldn’t come to me? That you couldn’t come tell me about the troubles that you’ve been having. We could’ve helped, we’re always here for our partners, you know that. Don’t you?

Enzo gulps.

ENZO: Of course, Mr. Ringo.

James O holds his hand up, still smiling.

JAMES O: Enzo…please call me James.

Enzo gulps again.

ENZO: Of course, James. It’s just that…with all the trouble that we have had…I wanted to make sure for certain that we would not be able to meet our agreement before I came to you. I understand that you are a man that does not like to be disappointed.

James O lets out an uncomfortable laugh that seems forced. He turns back around to Ringo and slaps him on the arm, still laughing. He turns back to Enzo and holds out his arms before getting up out of his chair. He walks around the desk and sits on top of in front of Enzo, buttoning his expensive white suit jacket as he does. He leans forward and puts his hands on each of Enzo’s shoulders.

JAMES: You are a good man, Enzo Brazzini. And it means a lot to me that you came here today to tell me in person that you feel that your family has to go with a different supplier. Of course this is disappointing news but this is business, Enzo. Business is business. This is something that I’m trying to teach my knucklehead son.

James O points back to RINGO who is still awkwardly standing behind the desk with his hands folded, not moving.

JAMES O: Maybe one day your son can do business with my son and our families can once again enjoy the prosperity they once had. After all…family is everything. Please, have a drink.

James O reaches to his left and grabs a glass carafe  full of scotch. He pours it into the two open glasses next to the carafe before picking them both up. He hands one to Enzo and keeps the other for himself and raises it up to his now former business partner.

JAMES: To family…

Enzo raises his glass as well and both men take a sip.

ENZO: James, thank you. I must be heading back now as I have some business to attend to. I hope you will forgive me.

James O smiles at Enzo.

JAMES O: Of course, please, I’m sorry if I’m holding you up.

Both men stand up and shake hands. Enzo nods to Ringo who stills stands awkwardly still.

ENZO: Thank you again for understanding, James.

JAMES O: It’s just business, Enzo. Take care.

They watch as Enzo walks out of the office. James O nods to he is body guards and they both leave the room, and he turns to Ringo, pouring out the rest of his scotch as he does.

JAMES O: I never understood society’s fascination with liquor. Tastes like shit.

He walks back around his desk and sits down.

JAMES O: Well, James. That’s what it’s like to lose twenty million dollars a year. I hope you learned something. Have a seat.

Ringo walks around the table and sits in front of his father.

RINGO: Business is just business, it’s ok to let partners go.

SLAM!

James O slams his fist on his oak desk.

JAMES O: Have you paying attention to anything? This man just cost us twenty fucking million dollars because he thought he could get some cheap shit from Mexico or Cuba or wherever the fuck he’s getting it from.

RINGO: But you said…

JAMES O: I know what I said, James.

He stands up, his hands pressed against his desk, and leans over toward his son.

JAMES O: Do you know what happens when we lose face like that?

Ringo shakes his head from side to side.

JAMES O: We lose power, James. And what is more important than all the money in this crappy world of ours.

RINGO: Power.

JAMES O: That’s right. And what happens when we have all the power, James? The whole world listens to us. The whole world kneels before us. Never forget that, James. That is the most important lesson of all. They all must kneel.

James O steps away from his desk and walks toward the window. He stares out to the bright Miami afternoon sky and lets out a deep breath. He turns back to RINGO.

JAMES O: And they will James…if I have to die trying…they will all kneel to a Ringo.

:FADE OUT:



:FADE IN:

APRIL 24 2014

EXT. MIAMI COFFEE HOUSE – DAY

The scene backs in outside of a coffee shop. Through the front window we can see Chloe, with a white short-sleeved collared shirt and black pants, serving coffee to a young couple sitting at a table in front of the window. She smiles  a bit as she talks to them, brushing her blonde hair behind her ear. The camera zooms out a bit to show man, standing outside, watching her. He stands tall in a black suit, with a black shirt, and slicked back black hair. His dark features glisten in a pretty yet somewhat frightful way in the hot Miami son. As the camera zooms out even further we see that it is Ringo. He leans forward and taps on the glass to get her attention. She looks up and her eyes widen when she sees him. She gasps a bit before clenching her lips and shaking her head side to side a bit. She politely excuses herself and leaves the table, walking around and pushing open the front door where Ringo meets her.

RINGO: Hi…

She brushes past him, walking briskly around to the side of the sea foam green building. She gets to near the back of the building, by two large dumpsters, and turns back to him.

CHLOE: What are you doing here?

RINGO: I felt bad how things ended last time we spoke, at the diner.

CHLOE: Yeah, well I don’t. I told you not to talk to me anymore.

RINGO: I know but…

CHLOE: There are no buts, ok. I can’t do this.

She throws her arms up in the air and goes to walk passed him but he takes a step forward getting in her way. She stops and looks up into his vulnerable brown eyes.

CHLOE: James…

He puts his hand on her shoulder and steps a bit closer again.

RINGO: I can’t stop thinking about you. I don’t know what it is but…I can’t get your eyes out of my head.

She closes her eyes a bit and lets out a long, soft sigh. She looks up at him and a tear wells up in her right eye. It slowly drips out and Ringo is quick to wipe it away with his index finger.

RINGO: Hey…I’m sorry.

She shakes her, taking a step back, and dries her own eyes. She runs them ferociously for a second with both hands and then looks at Ringo again, her cheeks and her eyes both red. She lets out another sigh.

CHLOE: I don’t know how to tell you this James, but…I can’t do this. I can’t be your friend after knowing who your father is.

He takes a step back and a light flash of anger comes over his face before he quickly washes it away. He cocks his head as if he’s confused and then takes the step forward again.

RINGO: What is it about my father that you think is so bad? I know he’s a tough business man and he has a bad reputation but he’s my father, Chloe. He’s not some evil human being.

CHLOE: That’s the problem, James. He is. Take a look around here.

She walks past him and steps out towards the street. She points at the decaying buildings, the drug dealers standing on the corner, and the gangs of Cuban and Haitian immigrants walking each side of the busy main road.

CHLOE: Your father’s “company” pumps millions of dollars worth of illegal drugs into our city. He pillages our community down here as he drinks his Cristal and drives around in his Mercedes Benz. Our community was once proud…and now the few decent residents we have left don’t have the strength to stand up to him because they are afraid, James. They are afraid just like I am afraid and I’m sorry but you’re part of the problem.

He tries to cut her off.

RINGO: I’m not…

CHLOE: Yes, James, you are. That two thousand dollar suit you’re wearing and those alligator shoes you strut in, where do you think that money comes from?

RINGO: We own a manufacturing company, Chloe, we’re not…gangsters for God’s sake.

She stares at him and nods his her head a bit. Her blue eyes now filled with tears.

CHLOE: Tell that to my dead brother….

She cocks her head sideways as Ringo looks away.

CHLOE: Tell that to his three year old son who I have tell every night that his father isn’t coming home. This is the real world, James…not some wrestling ring in Las Vegas.

He rolls his eyes in a bit of embarrassment as she walks quickly up to him and stands just inches away from him. She leans her head in and the volume of her voice gets down to just above a whisper.

CHLOE: Yeah, I know all about “REAL MONEY” Jimmy Ringo, ok? While you were off playing Hulk Hogan I was putting my baby brother in the ground. So when you go home and you have dinner around that big fancy table, I want you to ask your father what it is that he’s not telling you because if you really don’t know…if you truly have no clue…then I take pity on you.

RINGO: I…

CHLOE: Goodbye, James.

She pushes past him and walks around the corner. He hesitates for a moment but then decides to go after her but by the time he gets to the edge of the building he hears the door close to the front of the coffee shop. He hangs his head for a moment but then turns around and walks down the street. He looks over the decaying buildings that Chloe pointed out and shakes his head a bit. Two small Latino kids run past him, both wearing white bandanas tied around there heads, playing with fake guns. He shakes his head again. He gets to the corner and sees a group of men, wearing white bandanas on their heads and white tank tops across the street. Half of them are leaning up against a six foot cement wall facing him while the rest have their backs in his direction. He looks over them all, four men, all wearing identical clothing. The only identifying factor between any of them is the small nickel plated pistol that is sticking out of the front of the man in the center of the pack’s waistband. Again the children run by him playing with their fake guns. Ringo’s blank expression turns downward, almost sinister. He turns to his left and walks across the street to the pack of neighborhood drug dealers. As he gets closer, the man with the gun in his waistband notices him coming.

DEALER: Hey whatchyou walkin so fas’ for meng?

Without hesitation, Ringo walks through the group. He grabs the man with the gun by the throat with his right hand and pushes him back against the wall. On instinct, with his left hand, he grabs the gun out of the dealer’s waistband. Still holding on to the guy’s throat, he slams the butt of the gun into the nose of the man directly to his left, knocking him unconscious.

SMACK!

Out of the corner of his right eye, he sees the third dealer coming in to attack. Ringo lets go of the man’s throat and then smashes his right elbow into the third dealers nose. He immediately, again on instinct, takes the butt of the gun and cracks the man in the jaw with his left hand, knocking him and a few of his teeth down to the pavement. He doesn’t see the fourth man coming in.

CRACK!

He gets blasted in the middle of his left cheek, knocking him over and sending the nickel plated gun skidding across the sidewalk. He balances himself on his hands and then turns, upper-cutting the fourth man numerous times in the gut before grabbing him by the back of the head and kneeing him right in the nose, knocking him down and out to the pavement. Just as the man falls, Ringo catches a sound coming from behind him.

CLICK-CLICK!

He turns to the first man, his gun now returned, holding up his weapon and pointing it right at Ringo. JN lets out a few breaths before finally giving in.

RINGO: Do it.

DEALER: Meng I’ll fucking shoot yo crazy ass.

RINGO: I said do it.

He walks closer to the dealer and the man begins to shake. Ringo’s sigh turns back toward a twisted grimace when he sees the man’s weakness and he grabs the gun, pulling it barrel first into his forehead.

RINGO: I said shoot…me…

The scared dealer lets go of the grip on his gun and steps back a few steps until bumping into the cement wall.

RINGO: Get on your knees.

DEALER: I got a family…please…

RINGO: I said KNEEL BEFORE ME…

The man, frightened, gets down on his knees and shuts his eyes. He starts mumbling under his breath and Ringo takes a step closer to him. He dusts off his expensive black suit and looks at the gun in his hand. He hears a commotion behind and he turns to see what’s going on. There are about a hundred people on the sidewalks, watching him. Leading the pack, is Chloe. The two make eye contact before Ringo turns back to the man. With all his might, screaming as he does, he kicks the man in the face, driving him into the cement wall.

:CUT TO BLACK:



:FADE IN:

APRIL 24 2014

EXT. MIAMI STREETS – NIGHT

The camera fades back in to see Ringo, bruised on his cheek, walking on a sidewalk on an empty road. He rubs his left hand where a band-aid sits, covering the holes from his father’s fork. As he walks down the road a large Mercedes-Benz sedan pulls up behind him. As it gets close, the rear window rolls down and James O pokes his head out.

JAMES O: I’ve been looking for you…

RINGO: I’m shocked.

JAMES O: Get in.

The car stops and so does Ringo. He turns to see his father’s smiling face and he nods. He walks around the other side of the car and gets into the back with James O. The car starts moving again as soon as he closes the door.

JAMES O: Eventful day?

RINGO: Wasn’t it you who said don’t waste time answering questions you already knew the answer to?

James O laughs.

JAMES O: It’s good to know you pay attention to me.

RINGO: Sometimes.

He laughs again at his son. He pulls out an ice pack and tosses it to his Ringo.

JAMES O: Put this on your face, you’re beginning to swell.

Ringo grabs the ice pack and applies to it to his left cheek. He stares at his father, his twisted grimace still there.

RINGO: I wanna know the truth.

JAMES O: What are you talking about?

RINGO: Who are you?

JAMES O: Stop this nonsense. You’ve been listening to the tabloids again, James.

With all his might, Ringo throws the ice pack against the rear window, shattering it.

JAMES O: What the…

RINGO: I said tell me!

JAMES O: There’s nothing to tell you, child! I’m an industrial capitalist that the media likes to make stories up about flying cocaine in over night with Pablo fucking Escobar.

He wipes glass off of his coat.

JAMES O: You’re gonna pay for that. Now keep your mouth shut, there’s something I want to listen to on the radio.

Ringo sits back in his seat, angry and still a bit confused, as James O reaches forward and turns up the radio in the backseat. A news reporter gets on the air…

“The latest news in the story of a missing Miami business man is tragic. Sixty seven year old Enzo Brazzini was found dead in a dumpster outside of a Motel 6 in Ft. Lauderdale in what is an apparent car jacking gone awry. Mr Brazz-“

James O shuts the radio and leans back in his seat. Ringo begins to breath heavily as he watches his dad take out a newspaper and begin to read the ‘Business’ section.

James O: It’s a shame what happened to Enzo. People are such animals sometimes, James. And for what…

He turns to his son.

James O: A car?

He shakes his head as he looks back at his paper. Ringo turns his straight forward and takes a few deep breaths…he shuts his eyes…

:CUT TO BLACK:



:FADE IN:

SEPTEMBER 5TH 2014

INT. UNDISCLOSED LOCATION – NIGHT

The scene fades in what looks like the backroom of a restaurant a bar. The room is dark, dimly lit, with a bit of a red glow to it. Wine bottle line the walls of the small room that has one table in the center of it draped with a dark plum table cloth. Sitting at the table, facing the curtain entrance to the room is Ringo. His hair is a bit longer then when we saw him last, his face a bit hardened. He sits with his legs crossed in his black suit, with a black button up on underneath the collar unbuttoned. His chrome cufflinks glisten in the dim light of the dark room as he looks at the scar of four small holes in left hand. He looks up when he sees the curtain open. In walks a young brunette, presumably the hostess of wherever they are followed by two familiar looking men. The first is wearing a black suit as well only his button up shirt is white. His cocky smile and boyish look is recognizable as the former James Huntington Hawkes III…J2H. Behind him walks in a large man, wearing a Gucci t-shirt and white jean shorts. His giant Cross hanging from his neck brightens up the room all on it’s own, which is particularly good given the dark sunglasses the man is wearing. He is recognizable as well as former SCW Heavyweight Champion Giani di Luca. Ringo stands up as the men enter the room.

RINGO: J…

He extends his hand for J2H and they both shake. He then turns to Giani and holds out his arms and smiles.

RINGO: The television star himself. James Nathaniel Ringo…

Ringo holds out his arm toward Giani for him to take it. Di Luca stares at him a for a moment before finally shaking hands with Ringo.

RINGO: Please, have a seat.

He turns to the hostess.

RINGO: Lease us.

He turns back toward J2H and Giani and they all sit down as the hostess leaves the room, closing the curtain behind her.

RINGO: So…I’m glad you changed your mind, Giani.

GIANI: I didn’t change nothing yet, dawg. Just that my boy here said you was legit and that I should hear you out.

RINGO: What do you think?

GIANI: I don’t got time for this, dawg. Let’s bounce J…

As Giani stands up, Ringo interrupts him.

RINGO: Sit down.

GIANI: What the fuck? Who does this cat think he is bruh? You ever talk…

As Giani gets up set, Ringo picks a black canvas bag up off the floor and unzips before dumping the contents onto the table. Giani’s eyes light up when he sees that what Ringo is dumping on to the table is rolls of one hundred dollar bills.

GIANI: Oh shit, dawg.

J2H: I told you, bro.

RINGO: That’s one hundred thousand dollars, Giani…and it’s all yours…

GIANI: You for real, Jimmy?

RINGO: I prefer Mr. Ringo and yes, Giani, I am for real. All you have to do is help me with a problem.

GIANI: Must be a big problem.

RINGO: The problem I have, Giani, is bigger than you probably know.

He stands up and starts pacing around the room as he sells Giani on his vision.

RINGO: You see, my problem isn’t a problem…not yet anyway. My problem is anticipation. I have a goal. One day I’ll share it with each of you but for now, all you need to know is that I want to cause as much unrest, as much havoc as possible in the one place we all have in common…Sin City Wrestling.

GIANI: What’s the catch? What’s the money for?

RINGO: Anarchy, Mr. Di Luca. The first step is anarchy. That’s the only way to start an implosion.

GIANI: But what’s the point, bro? I ain’t seeing the big picture, dawg.

RINGO: The big picture is that at the end of all of this, the end our journey together…you’re a very rich man.

GIANI: You know who you’re talking to? I’m rich as a mother fucker, dawg. I don’t-

Again Ringo interrupts him.

RINGO: Are you? Was that not your credit card that was declined a few weeks ago at Nordstrom’s?

A nervous look comes over his face.

RINGO: Don’t worry, Gi. You’ll never have to deal with that again. None of us will.

He sits back down.

RINGO: For too long you have been pushed aside for the likes of Simon Jones and Drake Green. You are the prize jewel of Sin City Wrestling. No one comes before you…no one, Giani.

Giani: But I still don’t…

RINGO: Anarchy, Mr. Di Luca. First we ruin them from within. We make their titles useless and meaningless. We’ll start with the roulette title and then eventually they’ll be dumb enough to make us number one contender’s for the tag team championships. And eventually…

Ringo leans forward.

RINGO:…eventually I want to see the whole place burn. But if you’re to join me on this quest…if you’re to become part of this movement…you’ll have to make only one commitment.

GIANI: Oh yea, what’s that, dawg?

RINGO: That our mission is paramount…our goal to stand over a fallen Sin City Wrestling becomes more important than anything else…including us.

He stands up and buttons his jacket.

RINGO: Think about it…keep the money.

He goes to walk out of the room and as he moves the curtain to leave, he turns back to Giani and J2H.

RINGO: Together we can accomplish anything, gentlemen. But alone…well…we saw how that worked out.

He confidently leaves the room as Giani stands up and starts to collect the cash.

:FADE OUT:





The Personal Diary of James Nathaniel Ringo



December 4th, 2014


The plan moves forward. The pieces have begun to fall and align themselves in the way they were predicted to. I always knew there would be someone to stand up and call ‘bluff’. There would be someone that needed to be sacrificed for the greater good in order for the world to take us seriously. There would be someone who was not intentionally targeted that would have to fall in order for certain things to come to light. I was waiting, watching, and hoping for someone to stand in my way so they could be dealt with in a humiliating public display of power and dominance. Caleb Houston has decided it would be wise to step in our path. He and JT Midas have done all that they can to try and intimidate and challenge us. They’re not worth it. Nothing about them is worth it. Unfortunately, that other worthless piece of trash Christian Underwood decided to once again over step his authority and force us into a match with two inferior opponents, he is trying to prove to us that he can control us. That sad part of this is it will come at the sacrifice of two of his newest stars.  

I don’t pretend to be something that I’m not. I don’t need to use the words “hard” or “bad” to describe myself. I don’t need to go on camera and call out half of the roster in order to try and prove to everyone what I am. I don’t do what I do to protect or develop an image. I don’t need to incessantly tweet to remind people that I exist or to constantly call attention to myself. I don’t have to ask myself a thousand questions and try to pretend people are actually interested in me, because I don’t give a fuck if they are. I don’t need to do any of that because what I am…what I do…is more important than that. I am not in the business of writing love stories with my brothers in Power.  I find it utterly repugnant when I log onto my social media outlet to promote my business, and I see two men professing their fake love for one another.  It is because of these people, and I use this term very loosely, that I can’t expect reputable viewers to take me seriously.  At least I know how to translate my mission statement each time I enter the ring.  Between the asinine brown nosing of sub par wrestlers such as the ultimate embarrassment, Liz Smalls, the repetitive cries for attention to feed into their own need for validation through others, and the love letters they write one another in one hundred and forty characters or less, I can’t even take this useful business tool seriously any longer.  And speaking of these desperate love notes, how am I expected to take these two ass clowns serious when they sum their love for one another up with “bae”?  I am not the type of individual who would call another man, or anyone else for that matter “bae”.  And no, it’s not because I’m too cool for fucking school, but it is because I have a fucking brain.  

I would never profess love to someone in such a lazy manner.  I don’t believe in speaking lazily, because that is a sign that what you are saying lacks any importance.  It is at this point that I can no longer take someone who says or types “bae” as anyone worth my time.  I would not expect those who are as uncultured as Players Club to look beyond the latest trendy atrocity to the English language for it’s true meaning.  When Caleb Houston caresses his blushing boyfriend, and whispers that sweet nothing into his ear, he is not calling him a prize.  He is not calling him something worth holding on to.  He’s calling him shit.  That’s right.  The word literally means “shit” in the Dutch language.  Actual… human… feces.  He is insulting him, and what is even more depressing is the fact that JT swoons in response.  He’s flattered that Caleb thinks of him as disposable human waste.  And yet, I am expected to take these two seriously?  I’m expected to take them as a threat?  It is my job to do so, yes, but I simply cannot.  I am already looking ahead to the next hurdle, because these two clearly lack common sense, and they have an even greater deficit of intelligence.  This showed the moment these two dick smackers challenged us on Twitter.  It showed when they lacked the testicular fortitude to challenge us face-to-face, when they instead insulted us with homophobic insults which they now cry foul when we say it about them. They mock me, saying I have abnormally large head, as juvenile as that sounds.  They walked into our yard, and they decided that they wanted to attack the nearest group with accomplishments and future promises galore.  In this world, it is dog eat dog, and they looked at us as three course meal.  They want to make a statement, but that will go by the wayside as Giani and I are tearing out their entrails, and dragging them across the ring.  Only by sheer luck could they ever survive an encounter with us.  The way they talk, one would think that they have some sort of statement to make.  Their wish is unclear, because of their unintelligent speech patterns and inability to make a meaningful statement, but the end result?  The statement that they will be making?  It will be getting planted on their fucking backs, and sent packing back to their Penthouse suite, protected from the dangers that linger in the outside world.  The dangers known as Power Play.

For some reason Caleb feels like he needs to prove something to me. I will give him credit, I finally know his name. But the sad part about all of this is that he has nothing to gain by getting into the ring with me, nothing at all. He can pin me in the center of the ring or make me pass out, it will not matter. No matter what the outcome, win or loss, it will not stop my plan. My vision for SCW will come to fruition no matter what my win loss record is. I’m not threatened by him or his “bae” JT Midas. The two of them are complete representations of everything that I’m not. They’re reckless, uncontrolled, and delusional beyond all sorts of proportional beliefs. They think they matter. They talk as if smoking marijuana and getting drunk on a Tuesday afternoon is done with a purpose. They’re such a good friends that they pretend like they’re dating, which is weak. Their abnormal connection hurts one another and they’re too blind to see it. They’re weak. Their reliance on substance abuse makes them weaker and even more pathetic. They lack control. They don’t know how to shut their secondary school level mouths and plot and plan on how to react. Instead they react in such a knee jerking way that it’s laughable. “Hey you’re the heavyweight champion Sean Jackson, so I’m gonna come out here and say stuff about you because it’s my second day on the job.” Pathetic. Earn something. PROVE SOMETHING TO ME. They lack focus. They don’t know which direction they want to go in. They attack one group, insult another incessantly in their promos and on twitter, and then request a match, with all people James Nathaniel Ringo and Giani Di Luca. This brings me back to their intolerable level of immaturity and their strategy of throwing darts at a board and hoping something sticks. They remind me of a middle child. One lost behind the one who currently achieves and the one with all of the promise and innocence. But most importantly, they lack the power to take control of themselves and their situation. They beg for this, and they beg for that. If they really wanted to make a statement they wouldn’t have attacked the weakest member of a group and they wouldn’t have run to the bosses and requested a match with me. If Caleb really had any fight in him, if JT really had any manhood in him, we all would’ve seen it already. We wouldn’t be laughing at them. But alas, we are…




3
Supercard Archives / EQUINOX (c) and GIANI vs J2H and JN RINGO
« on: November 06, 2014, 11:33:07 PM »
 FEBRUARY 2014

FADE IN:



INT. ST. LUCIA’S CHURCH – NIGHT



The camera fades in to the post-meeting refreshment session at St. Lucia’s Church in Miami, FL. Numerous attendees circle around the refreshment table and coffee station, chatting and laughing, feeling great about sharing their deepest thoughts and feelings. Across the room is CHLOE, wearing a bright pink zip-up hoodie and blue jeans, she stacks up a pile of self-help books and walks them toward the staircase that leads out of the basement recreational room of the Catholic Church. Several men offer to help her on her way out but she politely refuses as he makes her way up the steps and out the door to the warm Southern Florida night.

CUT TO:

EXT. ST. LUCIA’S CHURCH - NIGHT

CHLOE makes her way up the steps outside. As she gets to the top of the steps she stumbles a bit. She manages to balance herself but drops a few of the inspirational books in the process. She lets out a loud sigh but is surprised to see a man, dressed in a black suit, bending over to pick up the few books that had just fallen to the pavement. She smiles when she recognizes him as James Nathaniel Ringo.

CHLOE: Hi!

She feels slightly embarrassed by her near school reaction to seeing James. Noticing this, Ringo cracks a small smile.

RINGO: Hi.

CHLOE: You gave me a small shock there.

RINGO: I didn’t mean to startle you.

CHLOE: No, it’s ok. I just figured you had snuck out again like usual.

RINGO: I did, but my ride isn’t here.

She nods a bit with a hint of slight disappointment. She was hoping he had stayed behind for her.

CHLOE: No fancy car service today?

She gives him a playful but snide look as she waits for his response. He small, cracked smile disappears when he suddenly realizes that she thought for a moment he had been there for her.

RINGO: I’ve been meaning to say thank you.

CHLOE: Thank you for what?

RINGO: The other day when you had chased me down.

CHLOE: There’s nothing to thank me for.

She brushes past him, still holding her books, and makes her way across the street towards an old faded-green Fiat parked on the street. She opens the trunk and unceremoniously dumps the stack of self-help books inside. She shuts the trunk and turns to see RINGO standing next to her Fiat as if he were waiting for something from her.

CHLOE: Look I’m gonna run so…

RINGO: Wait.

CHLOE looks at him a bit alarmed that he is even trying to hold a conversation with her, let alone asking her not to leave.

RINGO: I thought maybe we could talk.

CHLOE: Talk about what?

RINGO: I don’t have the strength to share in there.

He points across the street in the direction of St. Lucia’s Church.

RINGO: But I desperately need to get some stuff out.

CHLOE stares at him for a moment. She tries to think of the right way to respond to him. Just as she chooses her words and is about to speak a loud car horn blares from down the road. They both turn their heads quickly to see a black Mercedes-Benz S550 parked at the end of the street. The long sedan has near black tinted windows and has a certain evil look to it.

CHLOE: Your chariot?

RINGO I…

CHLOE: It’s ok, I’ll be here next time.

He goes to turn away and head towards his father’s car but at the last moment he turns around and stares back at CHLOE.

RINGO: No. Let’s get out of here.

CHLOE: What? Where…

RINGO: I don’t care. How about that cup of coffee you keep offering me?

She stares a long look into his eyes, trying to gauge whether or not she can trust him. She looks over his boyish looks that are desperately trying to hide behind his $2,000 suit and thinks hard about who he is.

CHLOE: Fine, get in.

He can’t help but crack another smile as she walks around her old Fiat and gets in to the driver’s seat. He stares off down the road at the large Mercedes sedan waiting for him as she interrupts his train of thought.

CHLOE: You coming?

RINGO: Yeah.

He smiles a bit wider as he opens the passenger side door and gets in.

FADE OUT:



FADE IN:

INT. ELMER’S DINER – NIGHT

We fade back in to a diner. The place is reminiscent of old 1950’s style burger and shake shops with bright aqua paint on the walls, pink neon lighting, and a black and white checkered floor. Sitting in a booth along the outside wall are CHLOE and RINGO. She sips on her cup of Earl Grey tea and he slurps down his coffee. He seems a bit jittery, checking his watch often and shaking his legs back and forth. Noticing this, she asks the obvious.

CHLOE: Are you ok?

RINGO: Yeah, I’m fine.

She shakes her head a bit.

CHLOE: Why did you want to come here with me? I don’t get it.

He stares at her trying to find the right words to explain himself to her.

RINGO: I’m not an alcoholic.

CHLOE: Ok…

RINGO: My father makes me go to those meetings because he believes I have a problem.

CHLOE: DO you…have a problem?

RINGO: I don’t think so.

She purses her lips a bit as she stares back across the table into his ultra vulnerable brown eyes.

CHLOE: It’s ok to admit…

RINGO: I don’t have a problem. He believes that I need to go to these meetings to try and rid myself…of me.

CHLOE: I don’t understand.

RINGO: My father is a very complicated man.

Again, she stares at him with a confused look on her face.

CHLOE: Really, I don’t understand.

RINGO: I was different a few months ago. I dressed differently, acted differently. I was living in Las Vegas and he wasn’t happy about. He basically sent his people to get me and bring me home. He told me I had to be more like him, more like a Ringo.

As he mentions his last name CHLOE nearly drops her tea on the old, beat down diner table. She stares at him with an almost blank expression, fear trembling in her eyes.

CHLOE: You’re…James O Ringo’s son?

He stares back at her with a feeling of disappointment in his veins that he shouldn’t have mentioned what she now had just figured out. He sets down his cup of coffee and slowly lowers his head a bit.

RINGO: I am.

CHLOE: Are you fucking kidding me?

He seems shocked by the sudden outburst from the girl who up until now has been very quiet and reserved.

CHLOE: Do you know who your father is, what he is capable of?

RINGO: Yes, yes I do. I know exactly who he is which is why up until now I go to these meetings, don’t say a word and leave very, very quickly. Up until now anyway…

Her eyes widen.

CHLOE: Oh my god. You need to go.

He tries to calm her down.

RINGO: Look, my father doesn’t know…

CHLOE: Leave.

She points her finger toward the door with a stern look in her eyes, trying to enforce the fact that she is indeed serious. He nods slightly and then stands up.

RINGO: I’m sorry.

As he apologizes, CHLOE turns the other way, hiding her eyes. Still pointing toward the door she again asks him to leave. He drops a few bills on the table and slowly walks out of the old diner. As he steps through the door he again sees his father’s Mercedes Benz although now it is sitting in the parking lot of the diner. He hangs his head as he walks toward the large sedan.

FADE OUT:



FADE IN:

INT: THE RINGO HOME – DAY

The camera fades back in to the dining room of the Ringo Mansion. Sitting at the head of the large oak table is JAMES O. He is flipping through the newspaper, reading the morning headlines, and enjoying a warm cup of coffee. He is wearing dark blue silk pajamas underneath a dark maroon robe made of velvet. His initials “JOR” are largely embroidered on the chest of the left of the side of the robe. His pajamas a are unbuttoned just enough to expose his hairy chest adorned with a golden Italian Horn necklace. He hears a few footsteps coming from down the hall and calls out after who he expects it to be.

JAMES O: James!

He lifts his head, awaiting a response but one never comes. Before he can call out one more time he hears the footsteps again, this time coming closer. From down the hallway comes RINGO, dressed again in a black button down shirt, black slacks, and shiny black shoes. He pokes his head in to the grand dining room to respond to his father.

JAMES: James, do sit down.

RINGO: I was just going to…

JAMES O: Please, James. Have a seat.

He sits downs next to his father on his right. JAMES O looks at him with a hard stern look before an almost completely fake smile comes across his face. He folds up his paper and sets it aside and then pulls over a small dish with a soft-boiled egg on it. He picks up his fork and slowly and softly starts to tap the sides of the egg to crack it as he addresses his son.

JAMES O: I heard you had some extra curricular activities last night, James.

RINGO: I had a coffee with someone from the meeting.

JAMES O: Someone?

RINGO: Her name is Chloe, that’s all I know.

He stares sternly again for a moment before forcing the small smile once more and returning to his egg cracking.

JAMES O: I encourage interaction with other people, James. It can go a long way toward helping you grow into the man you are going to become. But I must caution you. Do not let a pretty face and a nice set of tits get in the way of what must be done…of what is necessary. You do know what is necessary don’t you, James?

RINGO: Yes sir.

JAMES O: Good! Now, there is something I have been meaning to discuss with you. Do you know why I am grooming you, James?

RINGO: TO take over the family business when you’re ready to retire, no?

JAMES O: Actually…no.

RINGO stares back at him a bit confused over what he had just said.

RINGO: I don’t understand.

JAMES O: I didn’t expect you would. You see for the last thirty or so years I have been living out your grand father’s wishes. He wanted nothing more than for you Uncle Louis and I to run his company and sustain that level of success that he had. He wanted us to be just like him. He was a tough man, your grand father. He knew how to get he wanted and he wasn’t afraid to take it. A quality that he so gratefully passed on to me, and one that I am so desperately searching for in you.

RINGO looks on as his father takes a sip of his coffee and then very quietly and patiently goes back to tapping the soft-boiled egg.

JAMES O: You see, my son, what I’m trying to do here is teach you how to be the son that I can be proud of. We’ve done very well, the Ringos have, and it’s time for some aggressive expansion. We don’t need to dominate Miami anymore. It’s time to move on to other places.

RINGO: Like where?

JAMES O: The world, James. You see, we have more money than we know what to do with. It’s not a driving factor for me anymore, James. What I’m interested in is something that you can’t buy. I want power. I want more power than any man before me and you are the key, son.

RINGO: I am? I mean…I am. But how?

JAMES O: You follow on your original path, James…in Las Vegas. That’s a start. You will show those ignorant, useless, miscreants that the Ringo name carries more weight than any title belt or trophy that they have held in their hands before. You will conquer these people, James. They will kneel before you.

RINGO: But…

JAMES O: Don’t worry, my son. I will give you the tools. That is the pledge that I make to you. I will teach you. I will groom you to be the next Ringo. It’s the least I can do…after all you are my child.

RINGO: These meetings…

JAMES O: They are important, James. They will teach you discipline by not only harnessing the ability to suppress those urges that have plagued you for so long but also so you can sit there and learn to take no pity for the weak and helpless. They are peasants compared to who and what you are, James. This lesson is more important than any other. They are not on your level.

RINGO: There is one who may be.

His father stares at him with a blank expression. He tilts his head a bit to listen intently to what his son has to say. He quietly stops smacking the egg and holds his fork in his right hand.

JAMES O: Go on…

RINGO: This Chloe, she is amazing. She’s beautiful and caring. She has a bright look in her eyes that lights up that dark Church basement. You should meet her. I really believe that she can…

JAMES O: No. You are not to consort with this “girl” again, James. Your mission is much too important to be wasted on an Alcohol Anonymous slut who probably has AIDS from her whoring around and her intravenous drug using.

RINGO: You don’t know her. She’s an amazing woman, Pop.

An angry look covers JAMES O’s face. His dark Italian skin turns a shade of red that would make a tomato jealous. He quickly takes his left hand and grabs hold on his son’s left wrist. He pulls it close and then, in a fit of rage, slams his fork into the top of RINGO’s hand.

RINGO: AAAAHHHHHH!

RINGO looks up to his father who is seething and almost foaming at the mouth. The two men’s eyes meet with JAMES O’s bearing down on his son’s with a fit of fury.

JAMES O: You listen me you little shit! I own you! You do what I say and when I say it. This is not a negotiation. You will learn to obey or help me god, you will pay for your mistakes!

RINGO: AAAAHHHHH!

He screams out in pain as his father pulls the fork out from his hand. As RINGO grabs a napkin to cover the blood pouring out of the top of his hand he looks over to his father. To his surprise and horror, JAMES O is now once again quiet and collected. He very delicately knocks the top off of his soft-boiled egg and then, quite disturbingly, takes his blood soaked fork and sticks it into the egg. He pulls out a chunk of egg and shoves it into his mouth, his son’s blood and all. He swallows with a smile on his face and then turns back to his RINGO.

JAMES O: Weakness, James. It will not be tolerated. Now go clean yourself up, we have a big day ahead of ourselves.

RINGO stands up and quickly walks out of the room. The camera focuses in on JAMES O eating his soft-boiled egg as it fades out.

FADE OUT:





The Personal Diary of James Nathaniel Ringo

November 3rd, 2014

For the first time in nearly nine months I am starting to see an end to my father’s journey. It’s been a long road but we have finally begun to make our plans known. Power is imminent. There have been a few surprises along the way since I returned to Sin City Wrestling, some agreeable and some quite unpleasant. Many have asked over these two months…why Equinox? Why the Roulette Championship? It’s simple…he deserves it.

I have no care nor do I have any use for a championship. It does not advance my goal in any way shape or form. It is a tool if anything else to move on from my foe and bury him in the process. You see, Equinox was the perfect play. He was the only choice in the beginning. He is in a world that of which he does not belong. An outsider that some how found his way in to a club he does not belong to. The theory here is easy, Equinox must go for the sake of all of us.

Yes it is true that I am on a mission, one that will forever alter the face of Sin City Wrestling. But I am not alone. J2H stands by my side in this fight for true justice. He is not the only one, there is another. He will soon play his hand and my plan…my father’s plan…will be well under way. Equinox is just a cog in that wheel. He is a lost soul that has no direction, no excuses, and no reason for being in the same world as us. He is beneath me. That is a fact and if any one were to deny then they would be lying to themselves and only hurting Equinox.

He has been fed these lies long enough. People have convinced him that he has a meaning and that he has a purpose beyond that of just losing to me. The sad and pathetic truth of all of it is that he already knows it. He comes out and twirls his umbrella like a lunatic and tries to play to the people who purchase tickets but he knows that these are all lies and theatrics masking the real truth of who he is. Michael Hardy is a nobody. He is a loser who put on a mask and grabbed an Umbrella and tried to fool the world. No more shall I let this injustice go unpunished. This Sunday at West Point I end this…we end this…and we take whatever dignity Mr. Hardy could possibly have left. On Sunday, he is finished.

Although my quarrels begin with the man known now as Equinox, that most certainly do not end there. Giani di Luca must be punished as well. He stuck his nose in to something he knows nothing about and now he must pay as well. I understand why he came back. He was on mission, just like my friend J2H and myself. He was on a mission to prove to the world that he was still relevant. After completely tanking in television and embarrassing himself week after week he came groveling back to the fans of Sin City Wrestling, hoping that this last stop with an uneducated and un-bathed fan base that someone there could forgive him for his awful reality television and embrace him as a star again.

The worst part about all of this is that it has actually worked. The retarded fools of the SCW fan world have taken you in again and loved every second of it. Makes me wonder why you left these morons of a lesser gene pool to begin with. You clearly have no talent for anything else. Your show is terrible, your choice in woman is worse, and even worse is your choice in allies. You could’ve come back here and done anything you wanted but instead you chose to defend the likes of that disgusting fool Equinox. I need you to remember that on Sunday, when all is said and done, when the Roulette title has moved on from that loser Equinox that you failed.

You failed just like you did in television, just like you had in BACW, just like you had in the Blast from the Past tournament, and just like you had against Simon Jones. You’re finished. You are a washed up bum and a punch drunk fighter who is too pathetic to know when the bell has been rung. I want to know that when the bell is rung at the end of that match Sunday that is was me, James Nathaniel Ring, the son of James Orion Ringo, that put you down for good like the sick dog that you are. It’s been a good run for you Giani Di Luca but the time has come. You’ve punched your last ticket and this time, that ticket has an admission for one to the has-been never was section. And from there you’ll be able to watch myself, James Nathaniel Ringo, and J2H conquer what is rightfully ours. You will be forced to watch all of Sin City Wrestling KNEEL BEFORE POWER…



4
Climax Control Archives / ...
« on: October 17, 2014, 09:50:57 PM »
 :FADE IN:

INT. RINGO MANUFACTURING – NIGHT

The camera fades in to a large office and pans around the room and shows older, out-of-date furniture, different pictures on the walls, and an awkward color scheme. The large window on the right wall is covered by a dark red curtain and the lights from the Miami, Florida city night is barely creeping in the through the curtain and into the dark office. Directly next to the window, posted on the wall, is a calendar that shows the current month as February 2014. Above the large desk and the leather chair is a sign that reads, “Without Power, There is Nothing”. A loud creek is heard behind the door and the sound of a lock unlocking can be heard.

Sitting behind the desk is a middle-aged man in a dark suit. His hair is salt and pepper and he is slightly balding. He is of average height and has a small frame. His face is slightly hidden by the large nose placed on top of it that holds his small bifocals that seem to sit right on the tip. Sitting in front of him on his desk is nameplate that reads “JAMES O. RINGO”. As he hears the door open he looks up to see two large men in black suits, white shirts, and black ties walk in. They are both wearing matching Ray-ban sunglasses and both share an equally unsettling look to them. The middle-aged man gasps for a moment and then lets out a soft smile.

{JAMES O.}
Well? Did you find him?

The henchmen move to either side and standing behind them is a punk looking kid wearing baggy shorts, Nike Air Force Ones, and a Dwayne Wade Miami Heat Jersey. He is JIMMY RINGO.

{JAMES O.}
Welcome home, James.

{RINGO}
This ain’t home, Pop. I told you…Vegas is where it’s at. It’s poppin-

SLAM!

James O. slams his fist on his desk. The younger Ringo very quickly quiets down and purses his lips as he stares at his father.

{JAMES O.}
Things have been rather…quiet…with you gone these past few months, James. Your late night endeavors with Mr. Runner have been quiet expensive for us here, I’m not sure if you’ve noticed.

{RINGO}
Nah, Run didn’t say nothin’ about that.

SLAM!

Again JAMES O. slams his fist on his desk, annoyed by his son’s lack of proper grammar.

{RINGO}
I meant, Harold didn’t say anything to me about that.

JAMES O. lets out a wide smile.

{JAMES O.}
See, you’re not an idiot after all. I’m sure your mother will be very pleased.

{RINGO}
Why did you bring me back here? I thought I was free to-

{JAMES O.}
No, James…you are not.

JAMES O. walks around his desk, picking up what looks like a glass of brandy from his desk, and takes a seat on the small leather couch at the far end of the room. He motions to RINGO to sit across from him, which he does, and then he motions to the two large henchman that they are free to go. He waits for the two men to leave the room and close the door behind them and then he leans in, across the couch toward RINGO, and whispers to him.

{JAMES O.}
You were never free, James, never. Remember that.

He leans back in the couch and smiles as he swirls his brandy in the snifter and then takes a sip. RINGO stares back at him with what looks like a lump in his throat and after a moment, clears his vocal chords.

{RINGO}
What do you want from me?

{JAMES O.}
What do I want from you?

{RINGO}
That’s what I said isn’t it?

JAMES O. stares back at RINGO and shakes his head a bit before letting out a long sigh.

{JAMES O.}
You’re my son, James. You belong here.

{RINGO}
I go by Jimmy…

JAMES O. again smiles and shakes his head a bit.

{JAMES O.}
No son, I named you over the two most powerful people I ever knew. The two strongest men I have ever come across. My father, your grandfather, Nathaniel Orion Ringo who was the founder of our great company and a true patriarch to this family. He provided for your grandmother and me, and your uncle Louis, more than he had to and he instilled a discipline in my brother and myself that to this day guides me.

RINGO looks up at his father.

{RINGO}
And the other…”powerful” person.

JAMES O. again leans in across the couch. This time his smile fades and he grinds his teeth a bit.

{JAMES O.}
Me you ignorant fuck. Now you listen to me, I didn’t raise you to be a stunad. I raised you to be my heir…my successor. So you listen to me, from now on, all you do is listen to me. I’m going to teach you to be a Ringo…even if it means I have to beat it into you. Do you understand me?

RINGO sits with a blank look, as if he’s thinking, and this enrages JAMES O. even more.

{JAMES O.}
Are you listening to me?!

{RINGO}
Yes! I am.

JAMES O. again sits back and swirls his brandy.

{JAMES O.}
Good. You are going to make a fine Ringo, James. I can feel it.

He chuckles a bit as he takes a drink of his brandy.

:FADE OUT:



:FADE IN:

INT. ST. LUCIA’S CHURCH – NIGHT

The camera fades back in to the basement of a small Miami church. There is a circle of chairs in the center of the room, almost all filled with different types of people. A pregnant woman, a dark skinned man with scars on his face, a Latino man with a shirt two sizes too small and so on. In the center of the far side of chairs is a young blonde woman with bright blue eyes. She is wearing a pink collared short sleeve shirt and a rainbow striped zip up hoodie over it. On the left side of her chest is a nametag that reads CHLOE. She is talking, telling a story of some sort, but it’s impossible to make out what she is saying. Even she seems to be disconnected from her speech as she stares at the man sitting directly across from her burning a whole right through her with his dark eyes. Wearing a black suit and a black open collared shirt underneath, her eyes can’t move away from him. She looks over his dark features and stares right back in to his eyes, he is RINGO.

{CHLOE}
…and that’s what lead me to here. So as is customary…my name is Chloe and I’m an alcoholic.

{CROWD}
Hi Chloe.

{CHLOE}
That will be all the time we have tonight. Remember there’s a meeting every night here but if you need an afternoon one, we also host one at the rec center down the road.

As she stands up she looks for RINGO but all she gets is a glimpse of him walking out the door.

:CUT TO:

EXT. ST. LUCIA’S CHURCH – NIGHT

CHLOE runs outside to see RINGO walking briskly down the road. Trying to get his attention, she screams out as if almost unintentionally.

{CHLOE}
Hey you!

He stops in his tracks and then turns around. He is a bit shocked to see her standing there so he doesn’t say anything. He only stares straight through her again.

{CHLOE}
My name’s Chloe.

{RINGO}
I heard you.

{CHLOE}
What’s yours?

He shakes his head a bit.

{RINGO}
Is there something I can help you with Chloe?

{CHLOE}
I just want to know your name. I see you hear every night but you never share or stay for coffee or anything. I see you looking at me…

{RINGO}
Well don’t get the wrong idea. You’re easier to look at than some of those people in there. I’m really in a rush so I-

{CHLOE}
Please. Your name?

{RINGO}
My name is Jimmy…James. My name is James.

She smiles at him.

{CHLOE}
It’s nice to meet you, James.

He stares back at her and flashes half of a smile. He wants to respond but he can’t bring himself to. He shakes his head a bit and then turns around and starts walking again.

{CHLOE}
See you tomorrow!

He stops in his tracks when he hears her sweet voice again. He can hear the smile in her words and it almost forces him to smile back. But as he thinks about her he looks ahead to see his father’s limo waiting for him so he hangs his head and starts walking again.

:FADE OUT:





The Personal Diary of James Nathaniel Ringo


October 16th, 2014

I have returned. The plan is in motion and so far it seems to be working. They don’t understand, just as he said that they wouldn’t. My father was right. Everything he said so far was right. I don’t know why it took me so long to accept that this was the only way. Why I fought so hard, I could’ve saved…

There are tasks now. Missions that have been set forth in front of me that must be completed. Task one is John Dough. A familiar face…or should I say mask…that must be dealt with and dealt with swiftly. I’m not here this time for fun. I did not return to drink champagne and rap and be the life of the party. I came back for one reason and reason alone…to conquer.

John Dough will fall. It is now his destiny. The son of the faraway land called FoShan has drawn the first unlucky short straw. My colleague took care of Equinox but I know that our chapter has not been finished yet. The final note has not been written for our Enigmatic friend. First FoShan will fall. The world will know that no mask can protect you. John Dough will kneel before me…he will kneel to…POWER.



5
Climax Control Archives / Strip Gazing..
« on: February 14, 2014, 10:56:57 PM »
 

The scene fades in to a large, over priced hotel suite. The floor, the walls, and probably the ceiling are all made of marble. There are several marble columns that are reminiscent of Greek architecture spotted throughout the suite. Standing over on the side of the suite, near the windows, is Jimmy Ringo. He is wearing a white suit over a pink t-shirt. His expensive Gucci sunglasses are hooked on to the front of his t-shirt as he looks out side of the hotel windows across the Las Vegas strip. In walks his assistant April Roundbottom; a long legged brunette in a business suit. Her heels are nearly half of a foot high and are as bright red matching her lipstick and square framed glasses. Her hair is up in a bun and she is holding a small piece of paper as she makes her way over toward Jimmy. She speaks up in an English accent.

AR: Excuse me, Money?
>JR: Jesus, bitch. Don’t you ever take a day off?

AR: You know sooner or later you’re going to have to speak to me with a bit more respect.

Jimmy stares up at her a small smirk squeezes it’s way out of his lips. He stares her up and down with his dark eyes and smirk turns in to a twisted looking grin.

JR: What respect do you deserve? You walk in to Money’s suite with an attitude like Money actually has to give a shit what you have to say. You’re nothing but an employee and if you don’t start giving Money some more respect then ya might ya fine English ass on the unemployment line.

A look of surprise rolls over April’s face.

JR: What? You got a problem with what Money said?

She stands there frozen for a moment before coming to her senses.

AR: I just wanted to let you know that Erik Staggs had sent over a note and your partner and first opponents have been announced for the “Blast From The Past” tournament.

Jimmy’s interest seems to peak as he quickly walks over to April and grabs the small piece of paper in her hand. He feverishly skims through it and the more he reads it the more his smirk fades in to a deep scowl.

JR: Is someone trying to play a joke on Money?

AR: What seems to be the problem?

Jimmy crumples up the small piece of paper and checks it back at April.

JR: I’ll tell you what the problem is. First Money had to drag that dead weight Mickey Carroll around through My Bloody Valentine and now he’s got to tag with Lizzie Short? Money is the Pinnacle Player. He is the reason people even show up to these shit shows in the first place. He should be tagged with Gothika or that fine piece of ass Mercedes…on second thought…why the f*** is Money even in this lousy tournament. He’s a main eventer not some tag team wrestler who’s there to make some bitch look good.

AR: We talked about this. We thought it would be good for your exposure to do these types of things. It’s like charity…

Any remnants of a smile are now completely gone from Jimmy’s face. He stares at April with a look of complete disgust and walks up to her in a threatening manner and gets right in her face.

JR: Don’t you ever mention that word in Money’s presence again. I hate that word. Money doesn’t spend money on anyone else but himself.

AR: Forget I said anything.

JR: I always do. Pour me a drink.

Jimmy smiles as he takes himself back over to where the window is and resumes his staring out on to the Las Vegas strip. April walks over to the small bar and pours a glass of Grey Goose Vodka and brings it over to Jimmy. She holds out to him and before she can even extend her arm out he snatches the drink out of her hand.

JR: Where was I?

AR: You were complaining about the “Blast From The Past” tournament pairing.

JR: Exactly. This poor Lizzie Short probably had to bribe and sleep her way around Erik Staggs just to get this pairing. It was probably her plan all along. Why wouldn’t she want to team with me? I am Jimmy “Real Money” Ringo and I am better than all of them!

AR: It was a random drawing, Money.

JR: So they say…Money knows a conspiracy when he sees one. But that’s not the only problem, bitch, not only does Money have to pair with this losing machine but he also has to get in the ring and go against some fake tittied nasty trash bag ho and someone Money’s never heard of.

AR: You’ve never heard of Simon Jones?

JR: Did Money stutter? Who is he? Another throw away like Connor Murphy or another loser like Ben Jordan? That would be great, just what I need, another useless Englishman.

AR: You do know that I’m English, right?

Ringo just stares at April for a moment with a blank stare on his face.

JR: People like them are exactly what’s wrong with the world today. Pretenders….phonies just like Ben Jordan. I’m sure this Simon is supposed to be some one right? Like a famous SCW Star or some one who is more accomplished than Money right?

AR: He’s a former Heavyweight Champion, Ji---I mean he’s a former Heavyweight Champion, Money.

The smirk comes back across Ringo’s face.

JR: Is this true? Now it all makes sense. The powers that be have seen my brilliance, never been pinned before, and now they are putting me in a number one contender’s match!

April gets a confused look on her face.

AR: I’m not exactly sure that’s what they meant to do…

Ringo waves her off.

JR: Please…like you know anything. You’re a woman! Money has been forced into a match with former Heavyweight Champion and a loser slut who looks like a man with long hair. There’s nothing worse than a country whore who walks around pretending to be a man who is pretending to be a woman. The whole thing sort of sickens me. And then there is that matter of her gigantic head. It looks like someone dropped a bowling on top of manly looking used chop sticks and called it a woman. Disgusting! And top of it…no brains….at least you are semi good looking.

AR: Umm…thanks…I think.

JR: Only one woman can catch the eye of Real Money…that is my beautiful Angelica.

AR: Right…

JR: And then there is this Simon…who is he again?

AR: He’s the former Heavyweight Champion who just retired Casey Williams at My Bloody Valentine.

Ringo’s eyes light up a bit.

JR: Of course! The skinny little limey who got his house burned to the ground. That was brilliant. Why didn’t Money think of that? The truth is…this match is beneath me. Money is better than his opponents and he’s certainly better than his partner. Little Simon Jones doesn’t stand a chance against someone like Money. I’m bigger, I’m stronger, I’m better looking, and I’m just plain better than him. In fact….I’m better than you too. Get the fuck outta here.

AR: Excuse me?

Jimmy throws back some of his vodka.

JR: You heard me bitch…

AR: But…

Ringo cuts her off.

JR: But nothing….Money’s got some ladies comin’ up in here and he don’t need ya fancy lookin’ ass hanging around. Beat it.

April storms out as Jimmy drinks his Vodka and looks out over the Sin City strip.




OOC: Sorry to Brandi and Simon and Lizzie…..struggling with this character….

6
Supercard Archives / BEN and JORDAN vs MICKEY CARROLL and REAL MONEY
« on: January 23, 2014, 06:18:15 PM »
 Miami Love

The camera fades in outside to a bright sunny day at what looks like a back alley of an arena. Jimmy “Real Money” Ringo is wearing black jeans, a white tank top, a Bling Bling chain and a black Miami Heat hat that matches his black Gucci sunglasses as he paces back and forth in front of a big medal door. Standing a few feet away from him with his back up against the wall of the building is Mickey Carroll, smoking a cigarette.

JR: Where is she, Red?

MC: I’m still not sure who it is ye looking for, mate.

JR: I told ya, Red…my girl Angelica.

MC: Didn’t realize ye had a girl now.

JR: I don’t think she realizes yet either. But I’ma show her what’s up when she gets out here. Gonna show her how Real money do. See she don’t know it yet….but she’s gonna be mine.

MC: Don’t ye think we got more important thing to be worrying about than ye sex life, mate?

JR: What’s more important than sex?

MC: I don’t know…My Bloody Valentine maybe?

JR: You think I’m worried about them punks, Irish? Shit dog…I don’t give a fuck about them. Some 45 year old bald headed statue that belongs in a museum and punk like Jordan? Please…Money’s got way more important things to worry about than those two.

MC: I’m with ye mate, just makin’ sure yer heads in the right place.

JR: My head is exactly where it needs to be. Shit...here she comes.

Jimmy peers in to the window next to the door to see the Mean Girls’ Angelica walking toward the door. She is wearing a tight black dress and matching heels and her dark hair is mostly straight with a bit of a bounce at the ends. She pushes through the door and nearly jumps up in to the air as Jimmy startles her.

JR: My love!

Mickey shakes his head.

A: Eww! What are you doing?

Jimmy gets down on to one knee.

JR: Money is professing his loving feelings of love for you.

A: What are you even saying?

MC: I’d like to know too…

JR: My heart is but an open bottle of Cristal…waiting to be poured over your naked body-

Angelica cuts him off.

A: Ok that’s enough! Stand up.

Jimmy reluctantly gets up off of his knee.

A: You need to stop this. No more professing anything and no more twitter stalking. This is getting creepy.

JR: Money loves it when you play hard to get baby…

A: Oh my god! I am not playing hard to get you weirdo. I think your gross and if you touch me again I’m gonna vomit all over my $500 shoes. Please go away.

JR: Our love is but an ocean of Gucci and Louis Viton-

A: Please make him shut up!

Mickey steps in between Angelica and Jimmy.

MC: I got this, love.

A: Please stop saying that word! I’m gonna be sick…

Angelica walks around the corner and the click clacks of her heels slowly fades away. Mickey turns to Ringo and shakes his head again.

MC: Really?

JR: What, kid? That’s my girl.

MC: I believe that ye believe that but it’s gonna take some real convincing to get her to come around.

JR: She’ll come, Irish. Oh will she come.

Jimmy laughs.

JR: Now what are we gonna do about your boy Ben. I ain’t worried bout it but if any one is gonna win this thing for them it’s gonna be him. Old PS Williams might throw out his back on the way out from backstage. Dog is old, son.

Mickey smirks.

MC: Ye just let me worry about Ben.  

JR: Ya go ahead and worry then. Money’s got a rub down. I’ll catch you later, homie.

They slap hands and head in separate directions as the camera fades out.

Annoying Pussy

The scene fades in to a large, over priced hotel suite. The floor, the walls, and probably the ceiling are all made of marble. There are several marble columns that are reminiscent of Greek architecture spotted throughout the suite. Frantically pacing across the imported tile floor is Jimmy Ringo. He is wearing nothing but a black silk robe and a pair of chrome sunglasses. The robe is nearly untied with his waxed chest sticking out of the front. Bouncing off his pecks is his large crucifix that glistens in the bright light of the crystal chandelier above his head. In walks April Summers, a long legged brunette in a business suit. Her heels are nearly half of a foot high and are as black as the thick rims of her glasses. Her hair is up in a bun as she trots over toward Jimmy. She speaks up in an English accent.

AS: Jimmy-

Jimmy gets annoyed.

JR: Bitch! I told ya to call Money by his proper name…Money.

AS: A thousand apologies Mr. Ringo.

JR: What tha fuck ya want from me anyway. Can’t you see Money is busy. He don’t got no time for ya annoying business like things. Money is working on more important things.

AS: Like what?

JR: Angleica.

AS: The girl again?

JR: She ain’t a girl, bitch. She’s a woman, she an angel. She’s Money’s angel and I can’t stop thinking about here.

AS: Well I hate to be the bearer of bad news but Pussy Willow is here for our scheduled interview.

JR: What? I told ya I won’t do those interviews anymore. Money don’t have time for shit like that.

AS: Well I’m sorry Money but we don’t have a choice. We have to do them.

JR: Says who?

AS: It’s in your contract with Sin City Wrestling. They’ll likely to fine you pretty heavily if you keep blowing these off.

JR: You think Money cares about money?

April tries to fight back the smile in response to his ridiculously worded question.

JR: I got more money than all ya’ll out here. I’ll buy this whole town up ya heard?

AS: Yes I ‘heard’ Jimmy-

JR: Money!

AS: Right. I ‘heard’ Money but not only will they fine you but they will also fire you and I know that you don’t want to be fired. After all, it would take you away from your precious Angelica.

The look on Jimmy’s face along with his demeanor changes dramatically.

JR: You think they would do that?

AS: Oh yeah, absolutely.

JR: Ok, shit. Let’s do this interview. Go get her. Go get her. Do I look ok? Shit, I gotta go throw some pants on.

Jimmy runs off camera as April chuckles. She walks over to the door and lets Pussy Willow in. They return to the room to see Jimmy, now fully dressed, sitting with his legs crossed politely on the couch.

JR: Pussy! Money didn’t know you were coming! This is such a nice surprise.

Jimmy gets up and kisses Pussy on her cheek and then guides her to the couch and they both sit down.

JR: Can I get you some Cristal? Grey Goose?

PW: No, thank Jimmy. I’m just fine.

Jimmy’s face tightens up as he hears Pussy call him Jimmy instead of Money but he calms himself down and smiles.

JR: So, how can Money help you?

PW: Well I just wanted to get some questions in on your upcoming match.

JR: Aight, what up?

PW: Well you’re facing relatively accomplished stars in a former SCW Heavyweight Champion in Jordan Williams and Ben Jordan was a Triple Crown Champion in All-Pro Championship Wrestling.

JR: And?

PW: Well despite being a former ACW Tag Team Champion Mickey hasn’t really accomplished much at all and you…well this will only be your third match.

JR: Fourth.

PW: I’m sorry?

JR: It will be Money’s fourth match.

PW: Ooh, you’re right Jimmy I’m so sorry.

Jimmy’s face starts to turn a bit red when she calls him Jimmy again.

JR: Look, bi…Pussy. Money is a competitor. It doesn’t matter if he has ten or twenty or three hunit championships. Jordan Williams is an old horse that needs to get sent to tha glue factory and Money is the ripe and ready to send his ass packin’. Ya feel me?

PW: Jimmy, I have to ask. Why did you attack Ben Jordan in the first place.

Jimmy turns bright red and April, who is standing behind Pussy, desperately tries to tell Jimmy to calm down but it’s too late.

JR: Money…

PW: Excuse me?

JR: My name is Money. Ya don’t have permission to call me anything else.

PW: But I-

Jimmy cuts her off.

JR: And to answer ya condescending question, bitch, I hit that punk ‘cause he hit me. Period. If ya can’t deal with the consequences then ya shouldn’t stick ya hand in the fire.

PW: I have never-
>JR: Just shut ya damn fake tittied mouth and get the fuck outta here. This is Money’s house. I call the shots here. Not you or any body else, bitch.

Pussy stands up and is so upset that she can’t even say anything before she storms out.

AS: Are you happy now?

JR: Whatever, bitch. You can show ya ass out too.

AS: Fine, Money. Just make sure you’re ready for the press conference in the morning.

JR: There ain’t gonna be no press conference.

AS: Money-

JR: We’re doin’ something’ different this time. You  make sure you ain’t late.

AS: Whatever.

She rolls her eyes as she walks out and the camera cuts to the next scene.

Money Talks

The camera fades in to Jimmy standing with Mickey. Jimmy is wearing and all white suit with no shirt underneath, platinum rings and a large gaudy necklace. Mickey is standing awkwardly next to him in a flannel shirt. There are three girls on either side of them wearing tight spandex and dancing around as a heavy hip hop beat comes on. Jimmy starts to dance as picks up a microphone.

This is the year twenty-fourteen it ain’t no 1983
You’re reppin’ depends while I drive my benz reppin Miami to the highest degree
This ain’t rock ‘n wrestling…this is rap ‘n hustlin’…I’m main eventin’ this
This ain’t a re-run…this is brand new…I invented this


Jimmy waves his hands in front of his face.

Come at me hard Jord-an
I’ma get you son
Ain’t gonna be no theatrics
Just gonna send you back home with the geriatrics


He puts his arm around Mickey.

Father time has come to collect you sonny
He’s got mad rhymes and calls himself Money
You and the cock loving king can’t touch me
I’m rolling deep with a glock and a Irishman named Mickey


Jimmy grabs one of the dancing girls and starts to grind with her.

Which brings me to you Benny Bro Bro
Couldn’t keep quiet while Money stole the show
I got style, I got class, my ring is made of brass
Women want me, they love me, even Kia Kaha’s ass


He pushes off the girl and takes off his shirt very slowly to the beat and dances around a bit in ridiculous fashion.

I ain’t got no problems with ya kind
My boy Mickey he be doin’ just fine
It’s your face and your words that I don’t like
Come at me, I’ll show ya just what Money’s fist tastes like


He takes out a wad of $100 bills and throws it at the camera.

I’m a mean machine I got those green Benja-meens
I could take your wife and your whole damn life
Ya bout to burn out bro
Don’t ya realize ya boys got a shelf life


Jimmy grabs an open bottle of Cristal and starts pouring it over the dancing girls.

I’m sick of all ya’ll on my jock
Not just Ben and Jordan even Chris U wants my cock
He came out to ringside and set this whole match up
We all knew he was just looking for a close-up


He drops the bottle and stops dancing as we walks up real close to the camera.

Truth be told Money doesn’t even care
Ya’ll are beneath me, this is all just wasted air
I’m a run right through ya and end it real quick
‘Cause I got a date with my girl Emma, she needs some real….


Jimmy laughs at the camera as it fades to black.

7
Climax Control Archives / Green Grass & High Tides Part II
« on: January 03, 2014, 08:20:03 PM »
 Grumpy Money

The scene fades in to a large, over priced hotel suite. The floor, the walls, and probably the ceiling are all made of marble. There are several marble columns that are reminiscent of Greek architecture spotted throughout the suite. Frantically pacing across the imported tile floor is Jimmy Ringo. He is wearing nothing but a cream colored silk rob and a pair of chrome sunglasses. The robe is nearly untied with his waxed chest sticking out of the front. Bouncing off his pecks is his large crucifix that glistens in the bright light of the crystal chandelier above his head. In walks a long legged brunette in a business suit. Her heels are nearly half of a foot high and are as black as the thick rims of her glasses. Her hair is up in a bun as she trots over toward Jimmy. She speaks up in an English accent.

“Jimmy-“

“You must mean Money…”

“Yes, I apologize. Money, we have to be down in the press lobby in twenty minutes and you’re still trotting around in your robes.”

“Real Money don’t give no shit about no press conference.”

“What?”

“You deaf? I said I don’t care.”

“Jimm-“

Ringo cuts her off with a look of disgust.

“Money. We have made commitments to Sin City Wrestling and as your administrative assistant it is my duty to make sure you appear at said event so please, if you will, put some pants on.”

“April, this is bullshit. I don’t owe those trash bags nothin’ over at SCW. I already beat this fool. Now I got to do this dance again…with Steve ‘fucking’ Ramone? This is just wasted time.”

“It’s a match isn’t it? I mean, you could’ve been left off of the card completely…”

“Don’t play me, bitch! I’m the Icon this business needs…the freshest playa on the planet. Me and Mickey are on the verge letting the whole damn world in our little secret and these bitches do what? They drop us in with Steve Ramone and this McMaple monkey again? And at the bottom of card? The beginning of the night? I got better things to do on Sunday than waste my time with a has been and a never gonna be.”

“Look at it this way, Money. There are plenty of Sin City Wrestling superstars that they could have asked to be included in this event. They wanted you. And you’re not opening the show. There is a Bombshell match on before you.”

Jimmy chuckles to himself.

“You mean two bitches in the ring? That’s just background noise for people getting to their seats, April. Nobody wants to watch that. Not when they could watch me.”

April rolls her eyes behind Jimmy’s back.

“It’s just fucked up, man. I don’t deserve to be treated this way. I’m a diamond in the sky and they put me in a match with Steve Ramone? Really? The guys ain’t done shit since he claimed he won all those titles in a place that no one even knows existed. I’m-a show him what a real hall of famer is. What it’s like to be in the ring with a real man. Shit, I’m so fresh I bet he doesn’t even get tagged in. Bet you a G-note the boy just watches from the ropes as I crack the back of that Blue Jay’s fan for the second time. I bet you a G-note he don’t even have the balls to come to the ring.”

“Actually, he doesn’t fear anything. That’s his thing.”

“Say what?”

"No, seriously. He calls himself the Fearless One.”

Jimmy starts cracking up.

“Boy is so tough he’s gotta run around telling everyone he ain’t got no fear? Sounds to me like he’s a scared little mess waiting to piss his wrestling tights when a real man gets in front of him and smacks his bitch ass in the mouth.”

“I don’t know, Money. He hasn’t broken out yet here but he’s been in some big matches. Especially with Max Burke. Those matches could’ve gone either way…”

“Who? I don’t know of you’ve noticed this April but you’re standing in front of Real Money. Nothing goes either way with me. I win, bitch, That’s it.”

A loud knock is heard at the front door of the hotel suite.

“Now go get the door.”

Jimmy picks up an open champagne bottle off of a table and takes a large swig of it as April walks over to the door. She opens it and two men brush by her. A large man in a black suit and a shorter gentleman in a similar suit.

“My man, H-Run in the house.”

H-Run is the shorter of the two gentleman and head of Real Money’s private security operation.

“Hello, Money. This is Tango.”

“Tango? Sounds too much like Ringo, dog. We gotta give ya a new name. Let’s call this big mother fucker W.L. for Wide Load.”

Jimmy and H-Run chuckle.

“Bitch, give me and Run a minute while we do business.”

“You too, Tango…I mean W.L.”

The two leave the room and Jimmy and H-Run sit down at on the couches along the far wall of the room. Jimmy takes another swig of his champagne and then sets it down on the table in front of them.

“What’s good Run?”

“You tell me.”

“You know, just being breezy.”

“Yeah, breezy.”

H-Run leans in toward Jimmy.

“I hope you haven’t forgotten our little arrangement, James.”

“Nah, man.”

“Good. Because I did not come out to the desert, to this city that disgusts me, so I could run around and pretend to be your bodyguard. Let’s not lose sight of it. I came here for the pay day. I came here because you told me all about your damn scheme not so I could watch you in the ring with two perennial losers.”

“Run…I got this. This is all Money.”

“It better be. Let’s not forget about Joey Naples.”

H-Run picks up the bottle of Champagne off of the table and takes a large sip before smiling at Jimmy as the camera fades out.

Green Money & High Tides Part II

The camera fades back in to a large club in Miami. In the VIP section Jimmy is sitting with H-Run and Frankie Periwitch. Run leans in toward Jimmy.

“I want in.”

Money laughs.

“Ya want in what, bro? This is wrestling. It ain’t some book stuff like we’ve done in the passed. That kind of money ain’t there.”

H-Run looks at Ringo and smiles. He gently pushes Ringo on the shoulder, which very obviously annoys Jimmy.

“What?”

“I don’t care about the wrestling kid. I want in on Vegas. You know how much money I guy like me can make out there? Private security business is dead out here. Only people who got money in this town don’t wanna spend it or the’re moving on, like you.”

“So you want me to hook you up?”

“Just an introduction here and there.”

“And what does this gotta do with Real Money?”

“Ten percent.”

“Fifteen. And you get rid of this problem I’ve got.”

“Oh yeah, what’s that?”

“This little bitch named Joey Naples.”

”What about Joey Naples?”

H-Run and Jimmy look at each other and then look back over at Frankie.
“Why don’t you take a walk Frankie?”

”Nah I’m just chilling here with you guys…”

H-Run leans in close to Frankie.

”Take a walk, kid.

”Alright, I’m walking.

Frankie gets up and leaves the VIP section.

”So…Joey Naples.

“Yeah., this punk’s got it coming, Run.

”What did he do?”

“I don’t even wanna say it, it makes me so angry.”

”Money, you gotta tell me if you want me to help.”

”Mother fucker closed down my tanning salon. Turned that bitch in to a Chinese food take out joint.

H-Run starts laughing.

“Something funny?”

”You can’t be serious.”

“You know hard it is to maintain these tan lines, Run? I’ve searched years for the right combination of bed and oil and this place had it. But then, these people sold the place to this zip.

”Naples?

“Naples. Next thing you know he brings in his girl’s Pops to make chicken chow fun and my damn tan lines are starting to blend. Look at this!

Jimmy stands up and pulls up his shirt, showing his perfect tan.

”I don’t really see-

“You help me with Joey Naples and I’ll make any introduction you need...”

H-Run sits back in his seat and smiles at Jimmy as the camera cuts out.

Fresh To The Press

The camera cuts to a press conference. Sitting at a table in front of the sea of reporters is April, Jimmy, and a SCW Press agent. Jimmy is wearing his white pants with a bright pink v-neck t-shirt. Ridiculously huge designer sunglasses cover his eyes and gaudy platinum and diamond rings wrap seven out of his ten fingers. Around his neck sits a large blinged out cross with a thick platinum rope chain. He stairs out in to the sea of reporters with a blank look on his face. He turns around and exchanges a few whispers with H-Run, who is standing behind him in a black suit with another large man beside him. The reporters start throwing questions at Jimmy but he continues with his blank stare. After a moment, he leans over to April and whispers something in her ear. She nods her head and stands up, walks over to the podium, and clears her throat.

“Thank you for joining us ladies and gentlemen. Instead of answering your questions this afternoon, Mr. Ringo has prepared a statement.”

She walks back over to her seat as the hum of a sea of whispers sets in over the crowd of reporters. Jimmy stands up and walks over to the podium. As he gets there he nods his head toward the back of the room.  A loud, slow, hip-hop beat begins to play in the room and the men and women of the press become even more confused. Jimmy begins to dance in place. He tries to grab the microphone off the podium but it is fastened to the wood. He pulls hard with both hands, breaking the microphone off of the stand. He bounces his head to the beat as he pulls the microphone up to his mouth.

“For those of ya that don’t know, I was born to drop rhymes
On all you little bitches, so read between these lines
I was born in Magic City, half cocked and oh so pretty
Made more cash than a federal tax collecting committee”


Jimmy begins to walk around the table and moves with the beat as if he is giving a concert for the members of the press.

“I put the sin in Sin City and the style in Las Vegas
I beat Murphy in mere seconds and gave him a taste of real greatness
It should be illegal that I’m forced to face him one more time
Only now he’s got a partner in this organized crime.”


He waves his free hand back and forth through the air.

“Steve Ramone calls himself a hall of famer
But I really hope he reads this disclaimer
There ain’t nothing fearless about giving it up
Throw in the towel before I make you look like a chump”


He pulls his sunglasses down as he stares at a female reporter. He gives her a quick wink and a smile before he starts his next verse.

“You ain’t got nothing on me or even my Irish boy, Mickey
We’ll end this real quickie, just like when Charlotte tugs on my dickie
Ya see you can’t begin to fathom what Real Money can do
Quit now and still have something for Chloe to look up to”


He motions for the crowd to start bopping their heads and they reluctantly do.

“Ya say you from Queens in the city of Gotham
But I’m a brother who knows that you really ain’t got none.
No balls, no stones, no juevos, no yoke
To call you fearless is a laughable joke”


Jimmy moves back behind the podium and puts his finger on his lips in an effort to quiet to everyone down. The music cuts out and Jimmy begins to almost whisper his last verse.

“But the real joke is on Murphy who’s sad as can be
Why don’t you go back to Canada, and play with a Mountie
Drink ya maple syrup and watch Boondock Saints
Cuz Mickey and I gonna take this, a winner you ain’t”


He drops the microphone on the floor and heads out of the side door. April quickly gets up and follows him and so does H-Run and the other security guard. The SCW press agent seems like she’s not sure what to say as the camera cuts out.

8
Climax Control Archives / Green Money and High Tides Part I
« on: December 12, 2013, 11:26:23 PM »
 The scene fades into a long pier. The older wood pier looks somewhat picturesque in the warm bathing light of the early morning Miami sun. The waves crash against the old wooden structure sending small splashes of water on to the planks of splintery wood. Two men stand at the end of the pier, staring out to the beautiful ocean horizon. One man, taller is stature stands wearing all white. White pants, white shoes, and white v-neck t-shirt. Around his wrist sits a diamond covered watch which matches almost perfectly with the diamond covered chain around his neck. His eyes are shielded from the Miami sunshine buy his oversized designer sunglasses. The shorter, yet stockier man who stands beside him is almost the exact opposite. He is wearing a black suit and tie, with a white shirt. His black banded wristwatch is barely visible and his sunglasses look like they came out of a supermarket quarter machine. The man in white turns the shorter man and lets out a sigh.

“You know, H-Run, I fucking love Miami.”

H-Run is the nickname of Harold Runner, a prominent private security executive in Miami, Florida.

“I know, Money. The best fucking place on earth.”

Money, of course, is Jimmy “Real Money” Ringo. A local hustler and heir to the Ringo family fortune. The two men turn to each other and smile.

::::6 HOURS EARLIER::::


Miami at night is one of the most exciting cities in the world, let alone the United States. The streets are filled with a mix of ethnicities and cultures that seem to blend together in a way that seems almost operatic. The camera moves through the city streets before it finally stops in front of what looks like a club. Security guards man the velvet ropes as people try to sneak in what clearly looks like a VIP facility. A Maserati pulls up and one of the security guards leans down and opens the passenger door. A long legged blonde woman steps out. Her red heels match the carpet run up directly to the car and her black dress matches the midnight sky. From behind the other side of the car steps the driver who is wearing and all white suit with a white v-neck t-shirt on underneath, Jimmy Ringo smiles to the security before giving him a handshake full of a $100 bill. He walks around the car and locks arms with the gorgeous blonde before walking up the carpet toward the entry of the club. They get to the top of the steps, beyond the crowds, and the woman stops. She pulls out a small trinket from her red Chanel clutch and opens it. She pulls out a small spoonful of Cocaine and snorts it. She offers it to Ringo who declines before closing it back up.

“When are you gonna live a little, Jimmy.”

“My drug ain’t white, bitch. It’s green.”

They push open the door to the club and the loud house music consumes them. The woman begins to dance almost immediately but Ringo seems disinterested. They stand at the top of a long staircase looking down on to the dance floor and the bar area. He looks around the club before spotting a young man wearing a LeBron James jersey and sporting a rather large blowout sitting in a private roped off section.

“This way.”

“I wanna dance, baby.”

“Then go dance woman. Real Money’s got business.”

“Give me some money so I can find some X.”

“Here, bitch.”

Ringo hands her a wad of cash and leaves her standing at the top of the staircase. He heads down onto the dance floor and pushes his way through. A few women try to grab him and pull him in but he shoves them off as if they were men. He gets through the crowd and over to the roped off section and a security officer, as tall as the moon and wearing a dark suit, stops him.

“I’m sorry sir but you can’t come in here.”

“What the fu-“

Before he can finish his sentence, the young man in the LeBron James jersey runs over and interrupts him.

“Yo, yo. This is Jimmy Ringo, bro. He’s allowed in.”

“My apologies Mr. Ringo.”

Jimmy gives him a condescending look as he passes by. He follows the man in the jersey over to one of the couches and they sit down.

“My man Ringo.”

“Frankie. Where’s H-Run?”

Frankie is Franklin Periwitch IV, the heir to the Periwitch family toothpaste fortune and a gambling addict.

“H said he’d be back here in like a little while. He said to have a drink and relax.”

Ringo turns his back to Frankie and with a slight look of disgust, he cocks his head to the side.

“Real Money does not drink, Frankie. He doesn’t drink, he doesn’t smoke and he certainly doesn’t waste his time in places like this.”

“I’m sorry, Money. He said-“

“Don’t be sorry, Frankie. Real Money knows you don’t have the mental ability to think bigger than this. He forgives you.”

Frankie raises his drink to Jimmy.

“Thanks, broski!”

Ringo shakes his head.

“So what’s this I hear about you cage fighting?”

“It’s not cage fighting Jimmy it’s professional wrestling and what Real Money does is none of your fucking business.”

“For real, dog? Like Hulk Hogan shit”

“Nah, dog.”

Ringo mocks Frankie.

“This is the real fucking deal, kid. This is Sin City Wrestling. Real Money is taking that shit by storm.”

“That sounds real good, man. Gonna make a name for yourself.”

“A name? I already have a name you idiot. It’s Jimmy ‘Real Money’ Ringo”. It’s the most feared name there is out there, bro. Ya feel me? These cats out there in SCW are already scared ‘a me. Like that limey trash bag Ben Jordan. Wouldn’t ya know I smacked him around on television on Sunday. Boy got real scared real quick, Now he’s telling everyone how sorry he is about mentioning my name.”

“For real?”

“What do you mean for real? I just said it didn’t I? All those big dogs out there ain’t got nothin’ on Real Money. All them women want me kid. They come at me all the time on Twitter, just saying how they can’t wait to get to get there hands on me. How they wish they could. But you know, Real Money’s a bit too good for trash bags like that, kid.”

“I heard that.”

“I know you did ‘cause I said it. These guys out there think they got something special. They think they got world class talent. Let me tell you something, Frankie. They ain’t got shit compared to Real Money. I seen them. I seen them all. Take this Connor Murphy mother-“

“Gentlemen.”

Both men look up to see H-Run standing in front of them.

“Mr. Run.”

“Money.”

H-Run sits down next to Ringo and unbuttons the button on his black suit jacket. He crosses his legs as he pans around the club. His eye catches Ringo’s girl dancing on the dance in a group of women.

“Is that you?”

H points out to her.

“Come on, H. What ya know? Tell me why I’m in this dump.

H smiles.

“I’ve heard about your little venture. You know the one in Vegas.”

“Yeah, and?”

“I want in.”

Money laughs.

“Ya want in what, bro? This is wrestling. It ain’t some book stuff like we’ve done in the passed. That kind of money ain’t there.”

H-Run looks at Ringo and smiles. He gently pushes Ringo on the shoulder, which very obviously annoys Jimmy.

“What?”

“I don’t care about the wrestling kid. I want in on Vegas. You know how much money I guy like me can make out there? Private security business is dead out here. Only people who got money in this town don’t wanna spend it or there moving on, like you.”

“So you want me to hook you up?”

“Just an introduction here and there.”

“And what does this gotta do with Real Money?”

“Ten percent.”

“Fifteen. And you get rid of this problem I’ve got.”

“Oh yeah, what’s that?”

“This little bitch named…”

::::To Be Continued::::


The camera kicks on in a large, over priced hotel suite. The floor, the walls, and probably the ceiling are all made of marble. There are several marble columns that are reminiscent of Greek architecture spotted throughout the suite. A loud knock is heard at the door. After a moment there is another knock., and then another, another, another, and again. Finally after the near tenth knock Jimmy “Real Money” Ringo walks out of the suites bedroom. He is wearing nothing but a black silk rob and a pair of chrome sunglasses. The robe is nearly untied with his waxed chest sticking out of the front. He gets near the front door of the suite, checks his hair in a mirror by the door, and opens the front door. In front of him stands Ms. Rocky Mountains in tight blue dress that looks like it’s about to pop in front. Behind her is a SCW Cameraman with his camera locked, loaded, and filming.

”Ms. Mountains….come in.”

Rocky pushes passed him and admires the over priced suite for a moment before turning back to Ringo.

“Jimmy, I-“

“Mr. Ringo.”

“Excuse me?”

“You will refer to me as Mr. Ringo when you’re looking to ask me a question.”

“Umm”

“Are we clear?”

“Umm…sure.”

“Now, you may proceed.

“Well I just I wanted to ask you a few questions about-“

“I always wanted to be a professional wrestler…”

She rolls her eyes.

“I’ve always admired the conquerors of the squared circle.  The men who have done battle inside SCW’s six sided ring are some of the most admirable of men to have stepped inside of the ring. Ya with me so far?”

“You men and women. SCW is known for their deep and impressive Bombshell roster.”

“Nah, actually. I just meant the men. Now where was I? Oh yeah, word. Real Money always knew that one day he would join these men in these games and that one day he will be their champion.”

“Champion? Pretty bold talk for someone who hasn’t had a match yet here in SCW. Especially since the one time you were actually in a SCW ring you thrown out of it by Ben Jordan.”

“Listen, bitch. Ringo doesn’t take lip from a second class citizen like yourself. You’re here because I want you to be. Ya only exist in my world because someone needs to come here and take notes of my story, to spread to the world the word of Real Money. To let all the trash bags of Las Vegas know that he has arrived. Finally their hero is here.”

“What makes you think that you’re their hero? Looked like it to me that they were telling you that you suck.”

Ringo gets right in the face of Rocky Mountains and it startles her a bit, forcing her to take a step back.


“Quiet you insignificant woman! I am the future of this company. There is no one who can touch me. No one in this disgusting little city who is even in the league beneath me let alone my league. I am what the Gods envisioned when they designed the perfect man. Do ya really believe that a few losers in the stands really have an effect on Real Money? That they even matter?”

“I guess they don’t. Not to you anyway.”

“Finally a woman says something that isn’t completely full of crap and useless.”

“But what about Sunday? You have to start somewhere don’t you? What about Connor Murphy?”

Ringo lets out a loud belly laugh.

“Connor Murphy? When I told these bros Christian and Mark I was coming down to ya house here in Vegas to make some noise I told them to put ya best competitor in the ring in front of me. Ya heard? To show what’s up when I got here. And what do they do? They book me with Connor Murphy? That’s a damn insult. Ya feel me? I might as well go back to Miami and bang some ho. It woulda been a better use of my time.”

“What makes you so sure that Connor will be a breeze? He’s making his debut too, you know?”

Ringo takes his sunglasses off and places them down on a table in the center of the suite.

“Did you know he ain’t even Irish? Bro walks around like he’s the second coming of Mickey Carroll and he ain’t even Irish. He’s Canadian!”

Ringo belts out more laughter in almost feigned, obnoxious way. Rocky looks at her cameraman and they both seem a bit confused as if they don’t get the joke.

“What’s so funny?”

“Didn’t you hear me? He’s Canadian!”

Ringo laughs even harder.

“The only thing worse than a Canadian is a Canadian who pretends to be an Irishman.”

“You’re laughing at him because of his nationality.”

“Well, yeah. But for real, this kid’s a whack and a hack and half ‘a joke. He can talk all the Veritas and Aequitas that he wants to spew out of his nasty ass cigarette smoking face but the real veritas of the matter is…see what I just did there?...the real truth is this kid ain’t nothing more than a punk who’s stepping in to the ring at the wrong time against the wrong G fella.”

“Why’s that?”

“Hello? I’m Jimmy ‘Real Money’ Ringo. This is my debut match. I’m gonna take this poor little boy to the bank. He’s gonna have to pay this bad piper and he ain’t gonna have the paper to do it. I hope he drinks all the beer he can out of that little red solo cup ‘a his ‘cause on Sunday….bitch is going down. I hope his little boyfriend Devlin comes to watch and I hope his sister Vixen joins ‘em. I should send out tickets to the whole Murphy family so the whole crew can see what a lame ass wannabe loser their little boy has become. I’m a take Mama Murphy for a little Money Ride and I’m a take an express train to Grandma Murphy’s piggy bank. Ya feel money. I’m a own this little man and it’s all ‘cause Christian and Mark booked him against Real Money.”

“Is that right?”

“Yeah, that’s right. I hope this kid don’t blame it on me when he’s lying down on that mat wondering what the fuck just happened to him. Trying to think of why his ass is on that mat and why Real Money is raising his arms ten feet away. The kid ain’t got shit on me, Rocky. Now if ya excuse me, I got some shit to do.”

“I just have one more question, Mr. Ringo.”

“Arite, fine but I’m a have to start billing ya ass for my time.”

“What do you plan on doing about Ben Jordan?”

“What do I plan? The Cockney Trash King is gonna pay, bitch. I told him to keep his mouth shut. I warned his Union Jack loving ass. He didn’t listen and when it’s all said and done he’s gonna have no one to blame but himself. Now get out.”

Jimmy forces Rocky Mountains and her cameraman out the door and the scene starts to fade out.

::::FADE 2 BLACK::::

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